The Kitten Has Claws

The Kitten Has Claws [Chapter 12]

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Chapter 12

Without knocking, Ingrid entered Paxton's room with a stony silence. She would teach him a lesson about being an idiot. "Take your shirt off and shut up," she commanded fiercely, slamming the bucket down on a small table.

"In any other situation I would love to hear those words from your lips," he grinned sexily.

"I believe I told you to shut up," Ingrid hissed. Trust him to find a sense of humor now, of all times. He raised an eyebrow and fisted his shirt over his head, tossing it aside. Ingrid had to force herself to tear her eyes away from his sculpted chest. Muscles after muscles were covered in golden, sun-kissed skin. He had small white scars scattered randomly over his abdomen and shoulders, speaking of the many battles he had fought and won. Unconsciously, she licked her lips before grabbing a towel.

"Sit on the bed," she ordered in what she hoped was a steady voice. He complied, pasting an innocent smile on his face. In irritation she dunked the towel in the scalding water and stalked over the bed. She noticed that his back had a large claw mark in it that matched the one on his abdomen so she crawled on the bed behind him.

"Having you behind me, on my bed, takes my mind of any pain," Paxton remarked suggestively.

Ingrid sucked in a breath through pursed lips and deliberately slapped the towel hard onto his back. He hissed in pain, but made no remark, even when she started to rub the towel forcefully. She pulled the towel back to flip it over and slapped it hard again. He flinched, but still didn't retort in anger. Ingrid felt bad when his back started turning red from her ministrations so she eased up on the pressure.

"Ingrid," he murmured softly, "I'm sorry."

She snorted and got off the bed, dropping the bloodstained towel on the bed. "No you're not."

"I am," he protested. "Well, I'm not sorry I beat the shit out of that bastard, but I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Oh, I see," she replied sarcastically, reaching around his back to apply antiseptic. "So if I hadn't come across you two fighting it would have been ok then? Is that what you're trying to say?"

"No I—" he hissed when the medicine stung, "what I mean is that...well you see...ah shit Ingrid. He has no right!"

"No right?"

"I know I haven't claimed you as my mate yet, but that doesn't give him any right to go poaching on my territory."

"Your territory?" she drew out slowly, "Is that what you think I am? Well I have news for you, buster, I am a human being. I have rights, and they include choosing who I want to be with."

Paxton gave a frustrated groan, piercing her with his silver eyes, "I understand and respect that, but he's not the type of man you need. Ryder will protect you and keep you safe, but he'll also coddle you. I can teach you how to deal with your past, how to handle the pain and overcome it. Isn't that what you ultimately want?"

She looked away from him because his words hit too close to the truth. She longed to be free from the past pain, but she realized that it wouldn't be merely finding a perfect relationship it would also entail confronting her past and conquering it. Paxton might just be the man for her. But so could Ryder.

"That may be what I long for," she admitted softly, "but Ryder is everything you aren't: kind, thoughtful, safe and comfortable."

"Do you really want to settle for comfortable?"