When An Alpha Purrs(4)

By: Eve Langlais


“Why not?” He could have blinked in astonishment when the query emerged from his mouth. However, a curious kitty needed to know. Women just didn’t say no. It wasn’t arrogant of him to claim it, not when it was fact.

Rejection was not something he encountered. Until now.

“Are you seriously having to ask why I won’t date you?” She sounded so incredulous. “Would you like me to recite the list alphabetically?”

Actually, he did. “Let’s hear it.”

Not even a pause. “Asshat. Braggart. Cocky tied with chauvinist. Dumbass. Egotistical. Do I really need to go on?”

A chuckle rumbled forth from him—again. What was it about this woman that delighted him? She kept arguing and defying him at every turn, and yet he couldn’t help but find her amusing. She utterly intrigued him, especially as he tried to guess what she’d say next. How refreshing to come across a female that wasn’t related to him, or impressed by him, who dared to treat him as a man.

One she considered beneath her standards.

“I think your list needs tweaking.” He launched a defense of his character.

“Oh really? And just how do you see yourself? I’m sure this will be good.”

“Let me see. Attractive, bold, courageous, daring, elegant, ferocious, especially as a lover,” he admitted with a wink. “Gallant.”

With a derisive snort, she interrupted. “Ha. I highly doubt that.”

“And yet you don’t really know me. My lady friends would tell you that I am a gentleman.” When it came to opening doors and picking up the check. Other than that, there was nothing gentle about him. Just ask those who crossed him.

Kings didn’t let anyone question their authority.

“I wouldn’t know, though, about this supposed gallantry, because I’m not your lady friend.”

“You could be.” He gave her another chance. She truly did draw him in with the roundness of her figure, hugged by faded denim and topped with a baggy sweatshirt that drooped enticingly off a shoulder, baring a black strap.

Lace or cotton? A feline mind wanted to know.

But apparently he wouldn’t know today, as she, yet again, managed to resist him.

“Date you? Not likely.”

Again words emerged from him without volition. “Why not?”

“Oh please. I’ve seen enough to know you’re not my type.”

Such a liar. Apparently he wasn’t the only one aroused by their repartee. The musky scent of her arousal tickled his senses. It made him bolder. “I guarantee when I’m between your thighs and you’re clawing my back, you’ll be screaming a different tune.”

So he might have come on a tad strong with that last statement. That was still no excuse for what happened next.

“Pig.” However it wasn’t the animal insult that was her most grievous crime. It was the gigantic hunk of hair she snipped off!

An irreplaceable, thick chunk of his hair permanently removed. Accidental or intentional, it didn’t matter.

Ack! My mane. My beautiful, precious mane.

He couldn’t help a low rumbling growl. His eyes glinted in the mirror, the gold catching the light and reflecting it, along with his fury.

“You. Did. Not. Just. Do. That.” And yes, he might have growled the last bit.

“Oops? Did I do that? Sorry.” Said with no repentance at all. With a smirk and a blown kiss, she let her crime rain down over him in a golden, threaded shower.

And then, she ran.





Chapter Two


“You. Did. Not. Just. Do. That.” The client who’d blatantly sexually propositioned her sounded more beast than man. His evident rage and disbelief had her eyeing the clump of hair she had just hacked off.

Oh hell. I did not just do that. But she had. She’d cut the big guy’s precious hair.

It’s his own fault. Off balance since she’d met him, she blamed her raging hormones—which hadn’t stopped turning giddy somersaults in her lower belly since she’d met him.

He’d walked in, and she’d gotten slammed with awareness. He spoke, and all her nerve endings tingled.

He also riled her like no man. She should hate him. Yet, instead, she wet her panties as she could so easily picture what he said.

Clawing, sweaty, hot sex.

With a guy who annoyed her and kept needling her until she snapped—and retaliated.

Treat me like a sex object indeed.

Later, she’d blame her hands for momentarily taking on a mind of their own and snipping.

At least for once, it wasn’t her mouth getting her into trouble. However, instigating it didn’t mean she’d stay to face the consequences. Not when the big guy looked fit to kill.

Listening to her sense of preservation, which screamed, “Run, you idiot!”, Kira dropped her scissors and bolted.