Savas's Wildcat

Yiannis ground his teeth. He would have shut his eyes and gone back to sleep again, given half a chance, even though he’d doubtless have Cat’s curves dancing on the insides of his eyelids. But he knew sleep was out of the question.

Cat would be back, even more annoyed than she was now—and she’d wake Harry. And while a part of him thought it would serve her right to deal with a screaming child, the sane sensible part knew that Harry didn’t deserve to be awakened again.

Sighing, Yiannis worked a hand under Harry’s belly and slowly rolled onto his side so he could slide Harry off onto the mattress. Harry made a soft whuffling noise. Yiannis froze.

The door cracked slightly. “Well?” a voice whispered.

Yiannis’s teeth ground together. “Out!” And he held his breath, waiting until he was sure Harry was asleep again. Then he brushed a hand over Harry’s downy head and started to slide off the bed when suddenly he felt something bounce onto it.

“What the—?”

A hard fur-covered head bumped against his shoulder. Yiannis reached out a hand and encountered a cat. A cat?

He grimaced. Oh, hell, yes. He remembered it now. Careful not to jostle the mattress, Yiannis eased himself off it, then snagged the cat up into his arms and, quietly as he could, he crossed the room and eased open the door.

Catriona MacLean was hastily zipping herself into a pair of baggy shorts. Pity. He would have liked to have seen more of those long bare legs. He remembered them well enough. Too well, damn it, for his peace of mind. The sight of them and the pert breasts that still peaked braless beneath her shirt were distractions that would only complicate things. More complications he didn’t need.

When he dragged his gaze up to her face, he found her glaring at him. Deliberately and quietly he shut the door behind him, crossed the room and dropped the cat into her arms. “Yours?” he said acidly.

Her arms came around the cat and she buried her face against him for one long moment. Excellent. The feline covered her breasts.

“Mine,” she said tersely. Then she lifted her flashing eyes. “What are you doing here? You and … and … your baby?” She almost stumbled over the last word.

Hell! She thought it was his?

“Not my baby,” Yiannis said firmly.

An expression he couldn’t quite interpret flickered across her features. “Then what are you doing with it?” she demanded.

“Him,” Yiannis said. “His bed is here.”

“His bed?” She blinked.

“Crib,” Yiannis said. “Didn’t you see it?”

“I didn’t notice. I saw—you … and …” She gave a wave of her arm toward the bedroom.

“Harry.”

She stared. Her mouth opened. And shut. “H-Harry?” There was a flicker of recognition colored by doubt.

Yiannis nodded. “Harry.”

“Not …” She shook her head as her voice trailed off. Her gaze flicked to the closed door, then back to him. She hugged the cat tighter, as if he were some sort of shield she could hide behind. But of course he was a cat and had no intention of letting himself be used for anything at all. So he twisted and rippled right out of her arms and bounded away. Cats were like that. That’s why Yiannis was a dog person.

“Misty’s Harry?” Her tone was a mixture of doubt and disbelief.

“The very same.”

He watched as Catriona MacLean digested that. The doubt and disbelief both wavered, then slowly vanished, followed by a look, not of shock, but of weary resignation. Her mouth tightened into a thin line. It looked as if she had the same opinion of Misty that he did.

Finally—something they could agree on.

“Where is Misty?” She looked around as if she might not have noticed Harry’s mother in the room.

“Germany.”

“What?” Then, “You’re joking.”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

Their gazes locked, dueled.

Finally Cat accepted the truth and shook her head. “Oh, for heaven’s sake.” She sounded weary and disgusted, and her still pale face now showed an interesting blotch of freckles that stood out against her pallor. The indomitable Catriona MacLean looked worn out.

It was the first time he’d been given a glimpse of the Cat beneath the fierce facade she presented to the world. Or at least to him. It reminded him of the day she’d told him her hopes—and he’d walked away from them.

He didn’t want to think about that. Nor, apparently, did she. She must have realized that she was betraying her feelings, so she drew herself up sharply and wrapped her arms across her breasts.

“So what’s he doing here?” she asked coolly. “With you?”

“He was staying with your grandmother.”

“While Misty went to Germany?” Doubt dripped from her words.

“Apparently that’s where Harry’s father is.”

Cat pursed her lips, the information obviously gave her pause for thought. Then she apparently had the same thought he’d had. “Why didn’t she take Harry?”

“Maggie said Harry’s dad doesn’t know he is one.”

Cat groaned. “So she’s gone to tell him.”

It wasn’t a question. She sighed and shook her head. “Fat lot of good that will do.” Then she reconsidered. “Well, I suppose it does her some good. Gets her away from her responsibility for a day or two.”

“Week or two,” Yiannis corrected. “Two, actually.”

“What?”

“Quiet! You’ll wake him up again. You don’t want that. Trust me.”

To his amazement, she immediately pressed her lips into a firm tight line and didn’t say another word, just stared at him mutely. And he stared back, wondering why he did—why he always had. Catriona wasn’t beautiful, God knew. And she wasn’t his usual type. Ordinarily Yiannis went for blondes with long straight hair, small curvy girls who fit beneath his arm. Cat was nearly as tall as he was, more angles than curves, with vivid red curls, a million or so freckles, a tiny gap between her front teeth and green eyes that flashed fire rather than spoke of bedroom delights. Not his type at all.

And yet he’d wanted her from the moment he’d seen her.

Still did. And that was the annoying part.

He didn’t want to be plagued by attractions that wouldn’t go away. He’d steered clear of them his whole life. He’d had plenty of women tell him he was commitment-phobic. They all wanted to know what dire circumstance in his past had so damaged his psyche that he couldn’t bring himself to get involved.