“Annnd for the millionth time, he’s a damn cat, so who cares what I call him?” Magnus said, following her. “He’s in my bedroom, by the way.”

Well, that was a start at least. “Show me where that is.”

“Right this way, your majesty,” Magnus said, doing a mocking little bow as he moved in front of her. He headed to the back of the building and then up a twisting staircase.

Of course it was upstairs. There were always damn stairs. Edie ignored the throb of her knee and followed him as quickly as she could, not wanting to seem as if she needed help or was lagging behind. She didn’t want to be seen as “less” in his eyes, damn it. Not when he was so smirky and judgy already.

Upstairs, the barren motif continued, and Edie wondered why someone would get such a big house to put hardly anything in it. Magnus strode down the hall toward a closed door, and then turned and gestured at it. “This is my room. Last chance now to back out.”

“Why? Am I going to be bombarded with blow-up dolls or something?”

“No, just one super pissed-off cat,” he said, his tone as sarcastic as hers. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Magnus opened the door and Edie stepped inside. It . . . wasn’t what she expected his room to look like. She knew he was into computers and his big shoulders and muscular build spoke of an athletic lifestyle. But again, he had the minimal room set up with hardly any furniture. There was a treadmill desk in one corner of the room, a big brass bed off to one side and some strange-looking scarves covering the window that trailed onto the floor. One was slightly destroyed, and the other puffed out at the bottom, a tail flicking underneath.

That would be her charge.

Edie slid off her shoes since the floor here was wood and they’d make a lot of unnecessary noise. Her stockinged feet wiggled and she stepped forward, eyeing the room. “This is a rather unfriendly place for a cat.”

“Why’s that?” Magnus’s deep voice made her jump. She didn’t realize he was so close behind her.

She gestured at all the empty air. “There’s no place for him to hide. Did you just move in or something? There’s no furniture.”

“It’s called a minimalist look,” Magnus said, and he sounded as if she’d insulted his decorating. “The last owner of this place was an artist. We paid a lot of money to buy the place.”

“I’d have paid more for some furniture,” Edie commented, studying the bed. “I would have thought he’d go under the bed, but—”

“There’s storage under there. No room.”

“Cats like having a secure place to hide, you know. He’s probably terrified.”

“He’s a demon,” Magnus said in that grumpy voice. “You know he bit me?”

“Were you trying to pick him up?”

“How do you think I got him in here?”

Her heart softened. Poor cat. “He’s scared. Don’t make any sudden movements, okay? I’m going to go say hello.” She slung her backpack off of her shoulder and set it next to her shoes, and then padded forward. Her bad knee throbbed as she knelt next to the curtain, but she ignored it. She sat down and crossed her legs, then tugged her scarf off and folded it neatly, then placed it near the curtain.

A paw swiped out, and the low growl started.

That was okay. She’d be patient and wait. Edie settled her back against the wall a few feet away and stretched her bad knee out, rubbing it.

“You want a chair or something?” Magnus said, clearly uncomfortable standing around. He had his arms crossed over his chest again.

“No, on the floor is good,” she said, her gaze on that huddled form behind the curtain. “It makes me less frightening. Where’s his litterbox?”

Magnus was silent.

She looked over at him again. “Well?”

“Uh, I haven’t gotten one yet.”

Seriously? What kind of cat owner was he? She looked around at the room again, and then her lips twitched. “That might explain why he took a shit on your bed, then.”

“What?” Magnus barked, striding toward his bed and the white coverlet with a brown stain on the end.

“Don’t raise your voice,” Edie said, keeping hers low and soothing. She set her hand on the floor and stretched her fingers between her scarf and the wall. “Dumbass.”

“He crapped on my bed,” Magnus whispered. “That’s disgusting!”

“He’s an animal,” she said, keeping her voice soft and sweet—kind of like Bianca’s fake tones. “That’s what he does when no outlet is provided for him.” The cat wasn’t moving, so she decided to keep waiting. She’d give him more time. Sometimes cats needed a lot of time, especially when the new environment was frightening. And hell, this one wasn’t even welcoming to people. “You might as well take a seat,” she murmured. “It might take him a bit to come out.”

A clattering sound made her grit her teeth, and she looked over to see Magnus removing his shoes and then taking a seat on the floor across the room, mimicking her pose as she leaned against the wall. He looked . . . annoyed. Not concerned for his cat like any good pet owner. Strange man.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the curtain move a little, saw a nose stick out to sniff her scarf. Well, that was promising. Daring greatly, she kept her movements slow and peeled the curtain back, revealing the hissing occupant.

The cat was utterly terrified, which broke Edie’s heart. Drool leaked from its mouth and it panted, a sure sign of anxiety and stress. The warning rumble continued in his throat, so Edie didn’t reach for him. She did, however, study the cat’s markings, the tufted ears, the size of him, and looked over at Magnus, frowning. “What made you pick this cat out of the shelter?”

He shrugged. “Felt like having a cat.”

Her brows drew together. “No, I mean, why this cat?”

He shrugged again. “Why?”

“Because it’s a Savannah cat.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You, sir, have picked out a breed that is half wildcat.” Her mouth curved into an amused smile. “Good luck with that.”

***

Magnus couldn’t stop watching Edie. When she wasn’t sniping at him or lashing out with that forked tongue of hers, she was . . . interesting. He wanted to know more about why she limped. It was natural curiosity, being an athlete himself once upon a time. He’d had dozens of injuries when he’d played football, from a torn ligament to a sprained ankle to whatever his opponents could dish out. A knee that injured . . . something bad had happened to it or she’d been born that way. Either way, it was a curiosity, and he wanted to know what had happened. Maybe it was why she was so damn cranky all the damn time.

That overarching crankiness was what made her so fascinating to watch right now. Her fingers were gentle as the cat reluctantly pushed its head out, and she extended them toward the cat. Not moving more than that. Just waiting. And he leaned back to watch her, because it was more riveting than anything he’d seen in a long time. Minutes passed as the cat sniffed her fingertips, sniffed her scarf again, and then moved forward a tiny bit. It crept forward, shoulders hunched, and kept slowly moving until it was near Edie’s leg. She gave it a cautious head skritch, and when the cat decided it liked that, it moved forward a bit more. Within the space of about twenty minutes, she had the cat resting on her lap and relaxing as she rubbed and petted it.

“I think this is a young cat,” she said in a slow, sweet voice that was like liquid honey on the senses. He knew the voice was for the cat’s benefit, but his dick still responded to it. “She’s frightened, but she also wants love and attention.”

“Isn’t that what we all want?” He joked back, and his voice must have been too loud, because the cat jolted, earning him an ugly look from Edie.

“This sort of thing takes time, you know,” she murmured again, her hands gently stroking the alert ears, smoothing over striped fur. “You’re free to leave at any time.”