Sleet Kitten: Book One of the Sleet Series

The deep voice behind me is so unexpected that I let out a short scream, spinning around and clutching my chest. Only to find myself face-to-chest with … a beast.

All I see is a vast expanse of man-body, covered by a black button-up that’s tight enough for me to tell that this guy is built. With slight trepidation, my gaze traces upward, where I find the top two shirt buttons undone, exposing a bit of dark chest hair. I’ve never been attracted to chest hair before, but good gods my hands are itching to reach out and touch it. Continuing the theme of dark hair, my view reaches the bottom of his beard. It’s not a long beard, but it’s not trimmed close to his face, either. Maybe it’s like an inch? I don’t have a measuring tool on me at the moment, but – if I did – you can be damn sure it wouldn’t be his beard I’m measuring. Scruffy beard or not, it doesn’t hide the wide jaw with a mouth showing exactly no emotion. Not a smile or a frown, just man lips held in a firm line. Sexy. Tempting. Man lips.

I almost hesitate, but there’s no turning back now. With a swallow, I drag my eyes up to meet his. They’re almost eerily blue, set off by long dark lashes. Not dropping his stare, I’m able to see his hair is the same dark brown as his beard. It’s unruly and longish, reaching just past his ears. A natural wave making it look both rugged and touchable.

Stick an apple in my mouth. Drop me on a platter. And ring the bell. 

I’m done. 

This guy is my wet dream come to life, served up in a dark secret library. I cannot imagine a single scenario where I get out of here with my dignity intact, but I am going to try. I’m going to try real hard to focus on reality, and not on climbing this man like a tree.

“Well?” he says.

Oh right. He asked me a question. The one that gave me a heart attack.

What’d he ask? Find what you’re looking for?

“I did find it… A hideout.” Ugh. I want to slap myself. I sound like an idiot. Clearing my throat, I try again. “So, um, I came down here to hide. What brought you to this gem of a room?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Gem of a room?”

Gah, his voice.

I don’t really know what to say to this guy. His silence is making me want to fill the quiet. But I, more than most, know that oversharing is a problem in these situations. So I force myself to take a breath and glance away.

In doing this, I see that second caramel laying on the floor next to this man’s foot. I must’ve released my grip when he scared me half to death. Not wanting to waste the delicious morsel, I quickly crouch down to retrieve it. 

Straightening back up, I realize I’ve moved dangerously close to the stranger, so I take a large step back.

Except now he’s looking at my hand. And that’s when it dawns on me… This might be his place. Not only because he’s huge, fit, and could for sure be a professional athlete, but also because he seems very at home down here. He knew about this room. He’s not looking like this is his first time down here.

 Find what you’re looking for?

This is his room. His home. His homemade caramels.

Shit.

“Sorry,” I say, holding the caramel out to him. “This is yours, isn’t it? I didn’t mean to intrude. I just wanted to get away from the crowd for a moment and got sidetracked with all your beautiful books. When I first saw the staircase leading down here, I thought there might be some sort of hidden sex chamber. You know… for going all Fifty Shades and shit. But a secret library is way better. And when I saw these puppies -” I indicate the caramel – “I just had to try one.” 

Ohmygod for the love of humanity, stop talking!

I clamp my mouth shut.

“Hmm…” is his only response. 

Good lords, the sound coming from him is deep and rumbly, and I swear I feel it vibrating through my bones. But it still doesn’t reveal how he feels about our situation.

I make eye contact with him, arm still extended with the caramel between us. He slowly looks down my body, assessing me, taking me in. I know what he sees. I’m cute. Cute, pretty, occasionally beautiful, but I’ve never been called hot. Unless you count hot mess. 

I can feel that my hair has lost some of its curl. I’m sure my makeup is smudged. And the icing on the cake, I’m barefoot. My damaged shoes casually discarded somewhere between here and the door, along with my purse.

By the time his eyes meet mine again, my candy offering has lowered to my side. I feel small. Literally, because this man is a good foot taller than me. But also because the past two hours of being surrounded by perfect human cyborgs has dented my tough exterior. Dulled my shine. Bruised my confidence.

His voice pulls me back to the now. “I’m not really sure where to go from here. I’ve never found a girl like you in my place before, trying my mama’s caramels, making herself at home.” He pauses. “You sure you should be eating those?”

I feel my throat constrict. Isn’t that a line I’ve heard too many times in my life. Should you be eating that? 

You know what? Fuck this guy. I came down here to get away from Bashing Bradley, and then this Adonis takes all of a minute to assess me and dole out his findings. I am so over this night.

Setting the caramel down on the nearest bookshelf, I look at my toes. I’m trying to decide if I want to unleash my rant on this guy or just walk out. The last thing I’m expecting is for his large hand to come up and cup my chin, applying just enough pressure to have me looking up into his eyes. 

His face shows pure puzzlement, and I’m sure he’s taking in the sudden, and embarrassing, shine in my eyes. 

I swat his hand away.

“I may not be the perfection that you’re used to, like all the gorgeous creatures upstairs. And I may have come into your library uninvited, but that doesn’t give you the right to make me feel like I’m less.” I straighten my spine. “I’m sorry for disrupting your evening.”

I move to step around him, knowing it’s past time for me to go.

“Whoa now, hold on a second -” he reaches out and grabs my arm just above the elbow.

I pause but I don’t look back over to him. Even though I don’t know him, I don’t feel any fear being alone with him. But I’ve already made a fool of myself in front of this complete stranger, and I need to get away from civilization before I punch someone in the throat.

He doesn’t let go of my arm. “I have a sister I’ve pissed off more times than I can count. Seeing your reaction, and replaying my own words back in my mind, I think that maybe there was some miscommunication between us.” He gives my arm a little tug, causing me to turn back toward him. He leans in to make sure I’m looking in his eyes before he continues. “You, my little Kitten, have some claws hidden in that enticing package. And right now, I’m looking at the only gorgeous creature that has captured my attention tonight.’

“I saw you upstairs earlier, so that once-over wasn’t the assessment you seem to think it was. That was me taking in the details up close. Now – I’m trying to be polite – so I won’t make a comment about your delicious curves in that dress. Rather I’ll comment on how much I like your attitude. And when I said ‘Are you sure you should be eating those,’ that was in reference to you thinking I had a sex dungeon down here for – how did you put it? – going all fifty shades and shit. For all you know those could be laced with some sort of mood-altering sex drug. They are homemade, after all. But since my mama makes me those caramels, and I’ve eaten plenty, I’m fairly certain that there aren’t any roofies in them. I can text her to ask though. If you want.”

Oh. Wow.

I’m legit speechless right now. And anyone who has ever met me knows how momentous that is. I feel like I should be apologizing for thinking the worst of him, while also thanking him for his compliments. 

But all that comes out is . . . “Kitten?”

He smirks. And freaking crap, it’s adorable.

“Yeah, Kitten. You’re equal parts little and fierce. It seemed appropriate.” He holds out his hand. “Jackson Wilder. Pleasure to meet you.”

I can’t help the blush that rushes to my cheeks while I place my hand in his. He doesn’t shake it, nor does he pull my hand up to kiss it like some old-timey weirdo. He just holds it. His giant palm completely consuming mine while adding just a hint of a squeeze. It’s way hotter than it should be. 

As he releases my hand, I find my voice. “Hi Jackson, the pleasure’s mine.” This brings his smirk into a full-fledged grin. “I’m Katelyn Brown.”

“Hmmm. Katelyn… Kitten… I was pretty close. Do you go by your full name?”

I shrug. “You’re the first one to change it to a feline form, but some people call me Kate or Katie or Kay. I’m pretty lax on the nickname thing.” I can’t help but to ball my hand into a fist. His palm was so warm against mine that the loss makes it feel almost cold. “Thank you for your hospitality tonight. I know Daniel really appreciated that you opened your home to him.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Daniel… as in – the man of the hour? Are you two close?”

It takes a moment for me to get what he’s hinting at, and I can’t help my snort of laughter while scrunching up my features into a grossed-out face. “Sure, we’re close. Daniel’s my twerp of a cousin. He’s three months older than me and likes to pretend that makes him some wise old prophecy-maker rather than the giant dork that he is.” I quickly add, “But you should totally vote for him. He’s great.”

“Copy that.” The damn smirk is back. “So, if Daniel’s your cousin and you’re down here hiding by yourself, is it safe to assume that you’re flying solo tonight?”

I do my best to control my eye roll as I reply. “That’s a safe assumption.”

He asks, “Care to tell me who you’re hiding from?”

“I’m not dying to, no.”

His response is a direct stare with a slight tilt of his head.

I sigh. I shouldn’t have told him I was down here to hide. “Okay fine. If you must know, I was trying to leave. But my ex, and what I’m assuming is his new girlfriend, were chatting with some people right in front of the door. I did not feel up to dealing with that drama.”

His face darkens. “Want me to go kick his ass?”

Laughing, I say, “Desperately.”

Jackson turns towards the stairs, which only causes me to laugh harder. Lunging forward I grab his arm and choke out, “I was kidding!”

Jackson turns back to face me. “Well, if I can’t kick his ass for you, then we’ll just have to entertain ourselves down here for a while. Until we know the coast is clear.”

“I really should head home,” I mildly protest.

“Pets waiting for you?” he asks.

 I shake my head. 

“Did you drive yourself here?”

I shake my head again. “I took a Lyft.”

“Sounds like you don’t need to leave. And you’ll just bruise my ego if you try to ditch me now.” As he says this, he takes hold of my hand and starts to lead me toward the door that was closed when I got down here, but now sits partially open.

There is a blue glow coming from the room on the other side of the door.

“Umm . . .” My feet slow a bit. “Where are we going?”

Jackson looks down at me. “Let’s go get freaky in my sex room.”

Excuse me, what?!

Half a second later, Jackson breaks out into loud, manly laughter.

“Oh Kitten, the look on your face…” He starts laughing harder, to the point of bending over and putting his hands on his knees.

Damnit, he is way too hot to laugh like that. Surly hot men are one thing, but that same face broken into a wide smile… it should be illegal.

Narrowing my eyes at his hunched over form, I mumble to myself, “We’ve got Mr. Fuck Hot over here thinking he’s all hilarious, cracking jokes.” I don’t want to admit how much my pulse skyrocketed, in a good way, when Jackson said he was taking me to his sex room.

“Fuck Hot?” Jackson questions.

Crap, I must’ve mumbled too loud.

I give him a glare. “You done?”

Chuckling, he grabs my hand again and continues our path to the doorway. At this point I’m ninety-five percent sure that there’s not a sex room down here.

“Oh, wait.” He drops my hand and quickly strides back to the bookshelf. Grabbing the bowl of caramels, he says, “I almost forgot these.” Then he winks at me.

He fucking winks.

“Kitten, may I present to you . . . my movie dungeon.” With a bow he pushes the door open.

“Har. Har,” I fight a smile as I cross the threshold.

I try to act unimpressed, but I’ll admit – this room is pretty awesome. Straight ahead is a giant screen mounted onto the wall. Technology is not my area of expertise, so I won’t pretend to know anything other than it’s large and probably expensive. There’s some sort of screen saver or hold screen that is casting the room in that blue glow. 

Instead of having the fancy reclining movie chairs that I’ve seen in some home theaters, this room just has a couch. One gigantic U-shaped couch that looks like it could easily seat a dozen Jackson-sized men. 

Football players? Basketball? 

I feel like I should know what sport he plays but asking him now might be insulting. I’ll wait and Google him when I get home.

The couch is dark grey, and – once I get close enough to touch it – I can feel that it’s a soft, almost fuzzy fabric. It might be okay for Jackson to sit on and still have his feet on the ground, but the sitting part is so deep that if I put my back against the rear cushions my feet will stick off the end like a little kid. I cannot wait to get on this couch. This is the sort of furniture you’d volunteer to sleep on. 

Without waiting for further invitation, I hurry around and plop myself in the middle of the couch. I pull my knees up and to the side to keep my dress from showing too much leg.

Jackson is smiling at my reaction as he makes his way over in a much slower and more controlled fashion. He sits to the left of me, wedging his body into the corner. Maybe it’s the extra corner cushions around him, or maybe it’s just because he’s sitting there looking divine, but his spot looks even more comfortable than mine.

“Were you watching something?” I ask, nodding towards the big screen.

“I was. Then I thought I heard a noise in my library and figured I should go corral the drunk partygoer back upstairs.”

“Hmm. How’d that work for you?”

“Jury’s still out. But now I have company to share a movie with, so I’m thinking it’s working out okay.”

“Decent answer.” My cheeks feel like they’ve been in a constant state of blushing. “So, Jackson, what’re we watching?”

“The Godfather Part Two.”

“Cool.”

Jackson watches my reaction with suspicion. “Have you seen it?”

I shrug, “Nope.”

He narrows his eyes a little. “Have you seen the first one?”

I feel like I’m failing a test, but I answer truthfully. “Also, nope.”

“That settles it. We need to start at the beginning.”

“I mean I’ve heard of it,” I state, while he clicks his remote to pull up the new movie choice. “Is it a favorite of yours?”

“The original is definitely in my top-ten list. I watched it with Pops, my grandfather, when I was probably too young. Mama had a righteous fit when she found out, so it’s always stuck with me for sentimental reasons.”

He calls his mom mama. Melt.

I make a sound of agreement. “I can understand that. Is your pops still around?”

“Nah, he passed several years ago.”

“I’m sorry. Grandparents are the best. Of course mine never let me watch racy gunslinger movies. But I did get my fair share of cookies from my grandma.”

“Well, you’re in for a treat.” He looks at me for an extra beat. “I think my pops woulda liked you.”

This guy. One little comment and just like that, all the bumblebees land in my stomach. Jackson saying his grandpa would like me shouldn’t feel like such a big thing. I just met him. Like less than ten minutes ago. But this thing, this energy, already feels like something. Like a start. 

I know better than to catch feelings so quickly, but he’s so damn likable.

My internal buzz intensifies. People always talk about butterflies. But they’re fragile, and I’ve never run away from a butterfly. Now, a belly full of bumblebees? Bumblebees are cute, and necessary for life, but a whole pile of them can be more than a bit terrifying. Kinda like feelings.

“Are you single?” I blurt out.

Wow, Katelyn, way to be subtle.

“Yes?” he replies. Dragging the word out, turning it into a question.

“Just wondering if there’ll be any territorial women breaking through that door looking for you,” I rationalize, gesturing to the now closed again door behind us.

“Not likely. I imagine at some point I’ll be hunted down by the party staff to let me know the guests are leaving. But you shouldn’t have to worry about pulling out your claws for that.”

“Cute.” I deadpan.

“And you? Any boyfriends gonna come sniffing you out?”

“Not even the slightest chance.” Looking back toward the screen, I pretend our mutual single status isn’t affecting me. “Are you ready, or do you want to hype it more before we start?”

With a chuckle, Jackson starts the movie. As the opening credits roll, I notice the bite to the air on my bare legs and arms. Looking around I spot a blanket draped over the back of the couch on the far side of Jackson.

“Um, can I borrow that?” I ask, pointing to the blanket.

“You cold? I can turn up the heat.”

“I’d prefer the blanket actually. I like chilly rooms, so long as I can cuddle up into a blanket or something to stay warm.”

He hums, pulling the blanket toward him. But instead of passing it over to me, he just lays it across his own lap. “I agree with you.” Then he lifts the edge of the blanket closest to me in blatant invitation. I give him side-eye in return. “Kitten, I’m not trying to pull a fast one on you. But this is the best and softest blanket in the whole house. Trust me when I say that it, combined with me, will keep you plenty warm.” He holds my gaze for a beat, then adds. “I promise to remain a perfect gentleman.”

The sad part is that I totally trust he’s telling the truth right now. I’m sure he will be a gentleman. I’m also sure that I really really don’t want him to be one. But keeping our movie viewing behavior PG is the smart choice here.

Without further comment, I rise off the couch and walk the half dozen steps over to where Jackson is sitting. With him pressed all the way back into the corner I will either need to crawl, scoot, or walk across the three-foot-deep cushion to get myself properly situated into his side. I may never see this man again, so I’m going to bring my cuddle game up to Olympic levels and savor every moment of it.

Standing there, I contemplate the best approach. Scooting myself backward across the cushion toward him is a no go. Trying to crawl, in a dress, without catching myself on the hem and faceplanting into the back of the couch… hard pass. So, with my hands holding down the edges of the skirt I step up so I’m standing on the couch. The look of surprise on Jackson’s face gives me a moment of smug victory as I take a step toward him, then spin around and drop into a seated position snug against his side. He wastes no time draping the blanket across me and putting his arm around my shoulders.

Since I’ve already decided to go big or go home, I curl myself into his side and rest my head on his chest. Relaxing into him, I almost feel like I’m in high school again. Snuggling under a blanket in the dark. Almost… because none of the boys in high school were built like Jackson.

I take a deep breath to calm my poor heart, and am forced to stifle a groan. How does a man smell this good, this late at night? I’m not sure if it’s cologne, or if it’s just him. If it is bottle-produced, I might need to buy some. Then I can shamefully spray it on a pillow when I’m feeling lonely and want to come back to this moment. Yikes. Just thinking that depresses me a little. Okay, whatever, I’m going to live in the now. I’m going to enjoy this feeling, watch the movie, and go home with a lovely memory of the evening that didn’t turn to shit after all.