It's In His Kiss by Mallory Kane

routine. And because he hadn't washed clothes in at least a month, he was down to the bottom of his underwear drawer. The only shorts left were a couple of Christmas ones his mom had given him several years ago and those cursed Carrie Underwood promo shorts. He glanced down and grimaced. So Small was emblazoned right across the very front of the boxers. He'd forgotten what songs were on them. A reluctant grin tugged at his mouth. Leave it to Cat to notice. 
    Of course, he'd noticed her too. That tiny little top with the embroidered flowers, and those teeny weeny bikini panties. Whoa ! He swallowed as he pulled on his suit pants. Suddenly, he had trouble zipping them. 
    Okay. Deep breath. Think about those briefs waiting for you. His brain interpreted briefs as something very unlike piles of computer-generated forms. Clenching his jaw, he recited the premise of the case he was working on until he regained control. 
    He finished dressing and headed for the kitchen. The shower was running in the front bathroom, the shower he'd just stepped out of not thirty minutes ago. A vision of Cat, this time without any underwear, rose in his brain. Stop it!  
    He reached for the coffee pot, only to find it full. She'd made the coffee. Damn. He could get used to this.  
    After pouring himself a mugful, he blew on it as he walked over to the balcony doors and looked out, trying to ignore the sound of the shower, trying not to imagine where that water was splashing, running, dripping. He'd hoped, after all these years, that he was over Cat. It had been a challenge, to come back to Nashville and not let her know he was home. But he'd wanted to be absolutely sure he was over her. Then when Sara told him Cat’s latest fiancé had called off the engagement, he'd acted against his better judgment by going to check on her, he'd told himself. 
    What had possessed him to invite her to share his apartment? It had seemed too big for him alone, but it was fast becoming way too small.
    He wasn't over Cat. He would never be over Cat. He'd loved her from the first time he'd seen her. She'd been six years old, and he still remembered the look on her face, would remember it if he lived to be a hundred. It was her first day at his school, and she was frightened, angry, vulnerable, but her thin little shoulders were squared, her jaw was rigid, and her head was as high as she could hold it.
    And Michael Grey was smitten by her courage, her determination, and her flashing green eyes. Now, more than twenty years later, he was still smitten, and Cat was still meeting the world with a chip on her shoulder as big as a log.
    The bathroom door opened, and the scent of peaches wafted out. He took a long breath, then turned around, just in time to meet Cat's gaze as she appeared, wrapped in a white terrycloth robe with a towel wound around her hair. She stuck her tongue out at him and scurried off to her room.
    He laughed. Some things never changed. Cat would always meet the world head on and dare it to ignore her, and he would always be there, waiting for her to stop long enough to notice him. He drained his coffee cup and grabbed his briefcase.
    It was going to be hell, having her here, and not being able to touch her. But he'd had lifetime of practice at that, and things could always be worse. She could not be here. At least this way, he could keep an eye on her, make sure she didn't get into trouble, leading with her chin the way she did. 
    And maybe, just maybe, he could one day convince her he wasn't just the same old Michael. Maybe he could sneak past that brave façade of hers long enough to show her he could be so much more, to show her he wouldn't die, like her beloved stepfather had, or fail her, like her mother had.
    He set the mug in the sink and reached to turn off the coffee pot, then remembered she'd want coffee.
    "Morning, lover boy." Cat was dressed in a short skirt and a long top. Her legs, encased in brown stockings, went on forever until they