“Err-hem.” He clears his throat. “I have a rescue kitten here that I was hoping to drop off with you. He’s sort of freezing his tiny tail off.”

A cat bribe? A cat bribe?

Bastard!

But I can’t resist; cats are my kryptonite. Or maybe Diego is. So I buzz him in.

I wait by the door, trying to steady my heartbeat, but my heart wants to jump out of my chest and run off to meet Diego down the hall. I compromise by opening the door and waiting for him propped against the threshold.

Mr. Tall, Dark, and Smoldering Hot comes out of the elevator in all black—black hair, black jeans, black leather jacket—carrying a carton transporter box with a cat silhouette on the side and cute, cat-shaped holes for air.

It might be the coldest time of the year, but I’m suddenly all hot and bothered. When did it become so hard to breathe? As Diego stops a few inches away from me, I find it almost impossible to inhale and exhale properly. The air between us seems charged with electricity, and I’m doing my best not to notice his clean and masculine scent mixed with the smell of night winds. And, damn me, the only thing I want to do right now is throw my arms around his neck and kiss those lips.

Instead, I extend one arm toward the carton box, saying, “You can leave the kitten and go.”

“No, I can’t,” he says seriously. “At the shelter, they said I should spend at least an hour with him before leaving him with someone else. They did the same with me before they let me take him.” He’s trying really hard to maintain a somber and contrite expression, but I can see the ghost of a smile dancing behind his eyes. Oh, I shouldn’t have looked him in the eyes. I could get lost in there, and I need to stay grounded now more than ever. “That way, he’ll have the time to adjust to his new home and owner,” Diego concludes.

One hour.

Can I survive that long?

Without a word, I step aside and make room for him to enter the apartment.

“Is your dog home?” he asks.

“No, Chevron is staying at Richard’s for a while. He missed her over the Christmas break.”

Diego nods and walks in, heading for the living room with a familiarity I don’t like. I watch him move the coffee table against the wall, freeing the rug in front of the couch, and set a bunch of pillows down with the same ease as if he were at his place. I hate that I let him so far into my world.

I shut the door and join him. He’s seated on one side of the rug and has placed the carton box, still sealed, in the center. From a plastic bag, he unloads a series of different items: a soft blanket that he spreads over the rug, a plastic box that he fills with litter, a bowl in which he empties a small bag of dry cat food, and finally another bowl that he lifts toward me.