Cuddly Behavior Read online

  Cuddly Behavior

  Bad Behavior #6

  Cari Z

  L.A. Witt

  Contents

  About Cuddly Behavior

  1. Andreas

  2. Darren

  3. Andreas

  4. Darren

  5. Andreas

  6. Darren

  7. Andreas

  About the Authors

  Copyright Information

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cuddly Behavior

  First edition

  Copyright © 2020 Cari Z & L.A. Witt

  Cover Art by Garrett Leigh

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher, and where permitted by law. Reviewers may quote brief passages in a review. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact L.A. Witt at [email protected]

  ISBN: 978-1-64230-086-4

  Created with Vellum

  About Cuddly Behavior

  Detective Andreas Ruffner is less than thrilled when his husband and partner, Detective Darren Corliss, announces they’ll be cat-sitting for a couple of weeks. He’s even less pleased when he realizes the cat in question is a large grumpy thing with razor-sharp claws and no regard for personal space.

  When Darren deploys the puppy dog eyes, though, Andreas is powerless to say no, so they’re on kitty detail… and despite his best efforts, Andreas is a sucker for the critter shedding all over his apartment and stealing his husband’s affection.

  It’s only for two weeks. Plenty of time for the cat to get on his nerves, but not nearly enough for her to trick him into falling in love with her. Right?

  This 15,000 word short story is Bad Behavior book 6, and is best read after Protective Behavior.

  Chapter 1

  Andreas

  “Come on. It’s only for a few days.” Darren was shamelessly deploying his puppy dog eyes, which was ironic, given that he was trying to persuade me to let a cat stay in our apartment. “She has nowhere else to go!”

  I gave my husband my most exasperated glare, but if there was one thing I’d learned since we’d been together, it was that the puppy dog eyes always won. It was like a bullshit version of rock-paper-scissors, except I hadn’t figured out what beat puppy dog eyes yet.

  With a sigh, I shifted my glare to the creature in question, which had—in the ten minutes since Darren had opened the cage—made itself at home on the couch. In my spot.

  And I’ll be damned if the cat didn’t look right back at me with a glare of its own. As much as I really, really didn’t want a cat even on a short term basis, I had to admit I was impressed by how much contempt radiated from such a small package. Well, “small” compared to a person, maybe. I knew nothing about cat breeds, so God knew what this thing was. Whatever breed could be described as “enormous pile of gray fluff with a pair of disdainful yellow eyes.” I didn’t think cats wagged their tails when they were happy, so the sharp swishing next to its huge body probably didn’t translate to any particular giddiness about being here.

  “Is it even friendly?”

  “Uh, I think so?” Darren watched it too. “I mean, she was kind of friendly whenever I went by to fed her while Mark was in the hospital. And the whole reason she needs a place to go is because she jumped on him after he got home and messed up his stitches.”

  “So does that mean it’s friendly?” I shifted the glare back to him. “Or that it was trying to murder him?”

  The faintest smirk played at his lips. “Which version will make you say yes to keeping her?”

  I exhaled hard. I wasn’t winning this. I’d known that the moment Darren had told me there was a cat in our living room and a litter box—a fucking litter box!—in the laundry room. “Okay. Fine. But only until Mark is healed enough that it won’t try to murder him.”

  “Awesome!” Darren’s face lit up, and it wasn’t just glee because he’d won. He seemed genuinely excited about this fluffy interloper’s presence. “Mark sent over some food and treats for her, so I’ll—”

  “Please tell me it doesn’t eat canned food.”

  His excitement faltered, and he shot me his please don’t fuck with me look. “Would you stop calling her ‘it.’”

  “What am I supposed to call… uh…” I glanced at the cat, and I swear to God it—she—lifted her chin like she was daring me to call her the wrong thing.

  “Her name is Harley.” Darren leaned over the back of the couch to scratch behind her ear, which earned him a swat by a giant paw and a look that screamed contempt. He jerked his hand back. “Okay, okay. Jesus.”

  “So, friendly, eh?”

  Darren rolled his eyes. “I’m going to go get the rest of her things out of the car.”

  “The rest of—how much stuff does she have?”

  He met my gaze, his expression one of pure innocence. “What? You don’t want the six-foot cat tree in here?”

  “Darren…”

  He snorted, gave my arm a squeeze, and continued toward the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  The door shut behind him, and it was just me and Harley in the apartment. We stared at each other.

  Then she sat back, jutted one of her back legs into the air, and started licking her asshole.

  “Seriously?” I grumbled.

  She looked up at me, tongue still sticking out.

  Rolling my eyes, I left her to it and went into the kitchen. So we were cat caretakers for the next, what, week? Two weeks? How long did Mark need to recover before his cat wouldn’t fuck him up?

  I’d have bet money he was loving this, too. As much as we’d settled the shit between us, there was probably some part of him that still wished he’d been right when he’d tried to burn me. No Internal Affairs detective liked getting bested by the cop he was trying to investigate. We had a truce now, but yeah, I wouldn’t have been surprised if he was laughing over the idea that his cat would be shitting in my house for a while. Well, laughing as much as a man could while he was recovering from bullet wounds. Especially after said cat had apparently dive-bombed him.

  Darren and I had floated the idea of getting a pet at some point, but the discussion had always involved a dog. There was a week or two in there where Darren got it into his head that a bird might be fun after we’d searched a house containing a very animated and foul-mouthed cockatiel, but that hadn’t lasted. My father-in-law had graciously informed Darren of how much damage a bird could do to a person’s fingers, and suddenly we were talking Black Labs and Golden Retrievers again.

  We both liked my daughter’s dog, Scruffy, and we’d have happily let him stay here whenever she did if our apartment allowed it. Unfortunately, this landlord had a policy of no dogs. Cats were fine, though. Lucky me.

  I was just opening a beer bottle when the door opened again, and plastic bags crinkled.

  “No, no, you can’t go out—no!” More crinkling, plus some shuffling. The door shut harder than Darren usually shut it, and he muttered, “Your dad says you’re an indoor kitty. You can’t go outside without your leash.”

  Leash? I mouthed into the silence. Dear God. What had Darren gotten us into?

  I took a swig of beer, then moved to the living room, where my usually rational husband was explaining to that furry stack of sentient anger that she was allowed on the couch and the chairs, but that the coffee table was off limits.
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br />   He pointed at the floor. “Down. Kitties don’t belong on tables.”

  Her tail swished violently, knocking a few file folders and magazines askew. Maybe cats did wag their tails when they were happy? Because she seemed pretty happy about staring defiantly up at him.

  “Harley. Get down.”

  Swish. Swish. Swish.

  I pressed my shoulder against the door frame and brought my beer to my lips. “How’s that working out for you?”

  He glared at me, still pointing at the floor as if the cat might respond. During his moment of distraction, she reached up and swatted at his finger.

  “Ow!” He jerked his hand away from her and shook it. “Listen here, little missy…”

  I choked on my beer.

  “You deserved that,” he muttered, inspecting his finger.

  “So did you.” I leaned into the kitchen to put the bottle down—I didn’t dare set it on the table next to the fluffy poltergeist—and crossed the floor. “How bad did she get you?”

  “Eh. It’s not bad.” He shook his hand in the air and gritted out, “Just like a paper cut. Hurts like hell.”

  “Bet she’s pleased with herself, too.”

  We both looked down at her.

  Yep. That cat was spectacularly pleased with herself.

  “Oh God.” I shook my head. “What did you get us into?”

  “I don’t know.” Then he grinned. “But I live with you, so I can handle a foul-tempered cat.”

  “Hey!”

  “What?” He touched my cheek with his uninjured hand. “Don’t act like it isn’t true.” Before I could comment, he pushed himself up and kissed me, and damn it. I was almost as much of a sucker for that as I was for his puppy dog eyes.

  “You’re lucky you’re cute, you know that?”

  “Oh, I do.” He grinned. “I definitely—”

  A thump turned both our heads, and I looked just in time to see a fluffy tail disappearing past the couch.

  “Do I want to know where she’s going?”

  “Probably not, but I think we better find out.” He stepped past me and jogged after her. “Harley? What are you getting into?”

  “If she answers,” I called after him, “she’s going home right now.”

  She didn’t answer, though, and neither did he.

  But then something crashed, and Darren swore.

  Oh for fuck’s sake.

  What had we gotten ourselves into?

  Chapter 2

  Darren

  “I see you, you furry menace,” I called out to Harley as I stirred the sauce on the stovetop. “You might have won the table battle, but you keep away from the stove, got it? It’s called self-preservation, I know you have some of it in there.”

  Harley gave me her patented “Bitch, please” look from what had quickly become “her” spot on the corner of the kitchen table. If I didn’t know better, I’d have sworn she learned it from Andreas. I was pretty sure that expression came standard with cats, though.

  Day three of Harley-watching was going pretty smoothly, insofar as nothing had been chewed on or casually knocked off a shelf to shatter on the floor, and she was actually using the cat box instead of the hall closet for her business. That had nearly ended in tears, probably mine, as I’d have mourned over the body of my dead husband, murdered by this massive feline assassin.

  I dipped a fresh test spoon in the sauce. Mmm, just about perfect. It was my mother’s recipe, which she assured me was foolproof, but this was the first time I was making it on my own. Andreas usually did most of the cooking, and I was more than happy to let him, but he’d had to work late, which meant I was the one tasked with prepping dinner for when Erin and her new husband came to visit. They were getting homemade pasta Bolognese and a salad fresh from the bag, and they would like it, too.

  The door opened, and Harley jumped down from the table and ran into the hall. A second later I heard, “Damn it, cat!” and the sound of the door slamming shut.

  “We’ve got a runner!” I called out.

  “I noticed,” Andreas replied, coming into the kitchen. Harley followed him, and as soon as he stopped she twined herself around his feet and settled in, like a furry doorstop. “For shit’s sake,” he said at her, “I am not your goddamn easy chair, cat.”

  “Harley,” I emphasized. “Call her Harley. Erin will have words with you if you don’t treat Mark’s cat right.”

  “She’s a cat. She doesn’t respond to her name.”

  “That doesn’t mean she doesn’t know when it’s being said.”

  Andreas leaned in and wrapped one of his arms around my waist, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck, then pulled back a bit with a pained sigh and shook one of his legs out. “She’s using me as a damn scratching post. Knock it off, cat,” he warned. Harley didn’t even deign to meow. “Why do I even bother?” he muttered.

  I grinned at him over my shoulder. “So what you’re saying is, she’s ornery and opinionated and doesn’t listen to anyone but herself? Sounds familiar. No wonder I like this cat.”

  “Darren—”

  “It’s a compliment!”

  “For her or for me?”

  I kissed his cheek, then turned off the burner. “For both of you. I mean, look at her, she’s so regal. Wouldn’t you like to be as pretty as she is? Yes,” I cooed, bending down and very slowly extending my hand toward Harley. “So regal, yes you are.” I’d found that if I went slow, and gave her plenty of chances to pull away, Harley would usually let me pet her. Only under the chin and behind her ears, but it was progress. This time she was feeling gracious, and I got some good scritches in before she decided enough was enough and pulled away. “Thanks,” I told her.

  Andreas was ignoring both of us, leaning over the stove. “What’s for dinner?”

  “Mom’s Bolognese sauce.”

  “Nice.” He took a spoonful for himself. “It actually tastes like hers, too. Did you really make this, or did she bring it over before I got here?”

  “Keep it up, smartass,” I said, standing up and putting the dirty spoons in the sink, “and I’ll tell Erin that you’re blowing spitballs at Harley.”

  “She’d never believe you.”

  “Your idea of bonding with your future son-in-law was to have a paintball fight right before the wedding. I think she’d believe me. Not that it wasn’t a great idea,” I added as I surveyed the stove. The sauce was done, it could sit for a while, the pasta I’d do once they got here, the salad was in the fridge… Should I open the wine? Eh, that could wait until they arrived too.

  Andreas’s hand found my waist again. He trailed his fingers along my belt, pausing to slide them inside the front of my pants. My mouth went dry.

  “Are you done in here?” he asked, his voice low and gravely and right against my ear.

  “I could be,” I said, going for coy but not coming off that way, if his chuckle was any indication.

  “You are,” he said, and turned me around to face him.

  There was nothing soft about Andreas’s appearance. He looked as hard as granite, as tough as nails—handsome, but rough. There was nothing rough about the way he was gazing at me now, though. It had taken me too long to realize that his tough, untouchable front vanished for the people and things he loved. He was as squishy as a marshmallow with his kids, and with me?

  He was a different kind of gentle altogether.

  I knew the look he was giving me. I loved the look he was giving me. I also knew we were going to have company in less than half an hour. “We don’t have time,” I breathed, but I was already winding my arms around his neck and pulling him in close.

  “We do,” he said, hitching me closer to him. He was just barely taller than me, but he made the inch of difference count. “We could.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Don’t I feel serious?” he asked, and—yeah, he sure as hell did. I was getting pretty serious myself.

  “Not in the kitchen, though,” I told him right before
I kissed him. He tasted like coffee—coffee was the fuel that our precinct ran on, and nothing got you blacklisted faster than drinking the last cup and not bothering to refill the pot. I forced myself to pull away. “Couch. Come on.”

  Andreas shook his head. “Bedroom. I don’t want an audience.”

  “She’s a cat, she won’t care.”

  “Still counts as voyeurism. No.”

  “Whatever makes you happy, dear.” I took his hand and led the way to the bedroom. Twenty-eight minutes—yeah, we could do this. We’d both been working unpredictable hours lately, pulling doubles as more cops got caught up in the mess that was the aftermath of Mark’s latest investigation, the one that had gotten him gut-shot and us cat-sitting. It was convenient his new boyfriend was a doctor, because if I knew Mark at all, he was probably going to fuck himself up trying to go back to work too soon.

  I shut the bedroom door, pushed my husband up against it and immediately, all thoughts of everyone and everything else flew out of my head. We didn’t have time for anything elaborate, but… “I’m going to give you a blowjob,” I told him. “And you’re going to stand right here for it, and after you come I’m going to put you on your back on the bed and fuck your face. Sound good?”

  Andreas’s eyes had gone totally black, all the color drowned out by the size of his pupils. “Sounds perfect,” he said, raspy and eager, and I fucking loved how much he liked letting me take control sometimes. No one else would ever guess it to look at him, and they weren’t fucking allowed to. Every time Andreas let go when he was with me, every shield and wall and affectation designed to keep him safe that fell with me was a gift, and something I was determined that he would never regret.