Dare Me Again

by Alexander, Shelly

  Chapter Eleven

  #CRUNCHTIME

  Well, hell. Elliott stared at the empty doorway of his office with no idea how to make things right with Rebel. Two half-eaten plates of food on his desk, a burn in his stomach, and a bulge in his pants that could pitch a circus tent wasn’t quite how he’d seen the evening unfolding.

  He covered both plates with metal lids, leaned back in his chair, and drummed his fingers on the desk.

  After he’d overheard Rebel mention extending the camp, he’d honestly thought a working dinner might help improve their working relationship, might help their progress with potential matches, might help keep the camp moving in a positive direction.

  He certainly hadn’t intended for the evening to end in a kiss and with her storming out the door.

  Kissing her was probably stupid. But he hadn’t been able to stop himself when she’d opened up about her mother and alcoholism and the destruction it caused, while picking at the food on her plate like it might bite her back if she tasted it. His protective instincts had thundered to life, and he did the only thing that had popped into his stupid male brain.

  He’d pulled her into a kiss.

  Then all but accused her of lying by omission.

  He scrubbed a hand down his face.

  Prince Charming he obviously was not.

  Extending the camp simply wasn’t an option. Not with the partners at his firm about to vote him out and take his life savings as they gave him the boot. Mick had made it clear he could hold them off for a month but no longer.

  Spending that month on the island only to have the camp end in shambles because of lack of help and a condensed schedule was even worse.

  Canceling might’ve been best, but it was too late now. There was a garage full of barking dogs on the premises and an angry, stubborn redhead who was likely planning to sleep with them again on an empty stomach.

  Elliott might be a hard-ass when it came to business, but he couldn’t let her suffer, no matter how hardheaded or upset she might be.

  If she was hell-bent on keeping her past a mystery, he should let her. He should.

  He blew out his cheeks, disgusted with himself that he couldn’t let it go, then got out his phone. He downloaded Instagram and started to set up an account. He paused to decide what to call himself. A smile formed on his lips, and he typed in @NumbersWhisperer. The only account he followed was @WestCoastDogWhisperer.

  Then he slowly scrolled through her posts. The most recent was her ferry ride to the island. Obviously, she’d been stressed. He thumbed through a few more, stopping on a trip to a dog park in Portland where she was teaching her dog the proper manners when socializing with other four-legged friends.

  Who knew there was dog etiquette.

  In the video, her golden retriever was particularly jumpy around a female German shepherd whom he obviously wanted to date.

  Apparently, manners didn’t just make the man. They made the dog too.

  But the video showed Rebel’s patience, because as she filmed her interaction with her dog, she finally managed to get him to sit and settle.

  Elliott thumbed the screen again. Most of her posts featured clients from up and down the West Coast, and she had thousands of followers. She’d obviously built a name for herself in the world of dog whispering.

  Elliott belly-laughed when he tapped a video post that featured a tiny Yorkie with a gigantic attitude. A mammoth-size husband and his perturbed wife were about to give up on the dog. Enter Rebel Tate with her patient but firm demeanor. Within minutes, she had the dog under control and the owners thanking her like she was a superhero.

  But what had Elliott’s eyes widening and his heart softening was a teenage boy with a traumatic brain injury from a car accident who suffered extreme panic attacks. His family had rescued a dog so he’d have a pet. Unfortunately, the Great Dane puppy had not only grown to the size of a large human, but he’d also grown aggressive toward anyone who wasn’t part of their family. Desperate, they’d called in the West Coast Dog Whisperer.

  As Elliott continued to watch the video, his breaths grew shallow, and his pulse started to pound in his ears.

  When Rebel showed the family that the dog’s behavior wasn’t because he was mean, it was because he was undisciplined and they were reinforcing his bad behavior instead of deterring it, the dog’s demeanor transformed instantaneously.

  Elliott closed the social media app and rubbed the corners of his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.

  Then he pushed out of his chair to go take care of business the way a real man should.

  Fifteen minutes later, he walked into the garage with a picnic basket of reheated food and a heavy blanket rolled up under one arm.

  Rebel and Jax were returning several dogs to their crates. He said something to Rebel that Elliott didn’t catch, and she and Jax laughed, continuing to crate each dog.

  Elliott tried to ignore the burn of jealousy in his stomach.

  The easy way they worked together shouldn’t bother him, but it did.

  As soon as Buddy noticed Elliott, he scampered to his side and panted up at him. Bogart hopped over too.

  Rebel unleashed a black Lab, gave it a signal, and the dog trotted into the crate while she latched the door. She looked up and narrowed her eyes at Elliott.

  Most men would be put off by her fierce stare. It was bold enough to cause an enormous amount of shrinkage.

  Elliott wasn’t most men, though. He liked a challenge, no matter what he was doing. Loved the thrill of the chase, whatever he might be chasing. Thrived on assessing risk and rolling the dice when he had a gut feeling that he’d come out on top, even when the odds were against him. It was the reason he was so damn good at his job.

  It was the reason he shouldn’t just walk but run from Rebel, from this camp, and from the resort. Go back to his life in San Francisco now instead of waiting a month.

  But he could still taste her sweetness. Feel her softness. Blood pounded through his veins to settle in parts he’d rather not admit to.

  Nope, no shrinkage here.

  And he’d given up on the old wrinkly guys. They didn’t stand a chance against the sassy dog whisperer who’d invaded his thoughts, his dreams, and his fantasies.

  Even though he shouldn’t, even though he couldn’t, he still wanted more of her.

  “Yo,” Jax greeted Elliott as he put away a white Lab. “That smells awesome.” He sniffed the air just like the dogs.

  “It’s not for you,” Elliott snapped, immediately feeling like an ass. He walked over and set the picnic basket and blanket down on the bedroll that was already spread out in the middle of the garage. He got out his phone and sent a text to Charley. “Jax, why don’t you head over to the dining hall. My cousin’s making the biggest steak in the house for you. How do you like it cooked?”

  “Medium rare,” Jax blurted. “Thanks, dude.”

  Elliott typed in the order and hit “Send.” “Go on over. We’re treating you like a king tonight.”

  “You sure you can hang without me?” Jax asked Rebel.

  Elliott assumed hang meant manage, but he wasn’t going to ask. Nor was he going to wait for Rebel to respond. If he did, he’d likely be out on his ear. “I’ll stay here to help.”

  Buddy and Bogart returned to flank her.

  She hesitated, her blatant stare staying on Elliott. It was full of that same fire that had wowed him when they were young. Reeled him in and stolen his heart.

  He needed this camp to fly for the good of the resort. It was going to be a miracle if he could pull that off without giving in to the desire that kiss had stoked to a raging inferno. He couldn’t deny the fact that he wanted her. Badly.

  Finally, she nodded. “We’ll be fine, Jax. Go enjoy your dinner, and take the rest of the night off. I’ve got this covered.”

  When they were alone, Elliott started to unload the picnic basket onto the blanket.

  “What are you doing?” Irritation threaded through her w
ords.

  Buddy leaned hard against her leg.

  “I couldn’t let this great meal go to waste, and we still have work to do.” He finished setting out the thermal foam takeout containers. Then he got out two packages of disposable utensils wrapped in napkins and two bottles of water. “Can we try this again? Unless you’ve got something against the food here at the Rem?”

  Her dog spun in a circle and yelped.

  “Settle!” she hissed. She closed her eyes and said it again in a much calmer voice. When Buddy pressed into her again, she said, “Of course I don’t have anything against the food here at the . . . resort.” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her hand trembling ever so slightly. “It’s just that I’ve spent most of my time either in the garage or in my room and ordered room service instead of eating in the dining hall.”

  “Why is that?” He arranged their meals on the blanket just so.

  “I wanted to stay out of your family’s way. They’ve been fairly welcoming under the circumstances.” She chuckled. “In an Angelina-and-Jennifer-reunion kind of way, but there’s an edge in the air. This is your space, and I’m the interloper.”

  The hint of vulnerability in her voice caused Elliott’s chest to warm, even in the cold garage.

  He wasn’t sure about his family, but he’d treated her like an interloper. At least at first. Now he was getting used to her being around. A little too much. “I’m not leaving until you eat, I’m not leaving you to do all the work, and I’m certainly not letting you sleep in this cold, dank garage again,” Elliott said.

  “You might own the resort, but I can sleep wherever I want,” she shot back.

  When he stilled and looked up at her, his expression must’ve communicated his thoughts. Thoughts of her sleeping curled into his side wearing nothing but a smile that said she’d been well satisfied.

  Her bottom lip disappeared between her teeth.

  “That’s not helping me concentrate on work,” he said, and Buddy and Bogart joined him on the blanket.

  Her forehead scrunched. “What’s not helping?”

  He drew in a heavy breath. “That thing you do with biting your lip.”

  “Oh,” she whispered in a soft voice. “I don’t usually realize I’m doing it.”

  He waved her to the blanket, where he’d opened her takeout container. “I know. That’s why it’s so . . .” Sexy. Sensual. Erotic. “Cute.” Good God Almighty, had he just said cute? Time to take up arm wrestling or run a marathon to earn back his man card. He handed the water to her as she sat across from him. “Want to finish what we started?”

  When her eyes flew wide, he hurried to clarify. “Matching the vets with the dogs.” He nodded to the spread of food. “And our meal.”

  She visibly relaxed. “Okay.” She sprang to her feet, found her notes and iPad, and sat down again.

  “No picking at your food the way you did in my office,” he warned. “Or I’ll stay here all night and watch you until the food is gone.”

  She sighed, digging in. “Fine.”

  He’d never seen anyone devour a plate of food quite so fast. She wasn’t savage or ill-mannered. More like rushed without quite breaching the frantic zone. Like she hadn’t eaten in days and didn’t know when or from where her next meal was coming.

  He froze midchew with a wad of lobster mac in his cheek. That sixth sense, that instinct that’d been gnawing at the back of his mind for days was back. But he couldn’t ask. Not after the way she’d bolted from his office.

  So he kept eating like he was all business. “After we pick a few possible matches for each vet, how do we decide which one makes the final cut?”

  She chugged some water to wash down her meal. “We don’t. The dog usually picks the vet.” She wiped her mouth with a napkin. “We might start with a few veterans in the room and only the dogs we’ve earmarked for them. Then we wait, let them interact, and see if any of them click.”

  Elliott cut off more steak. “And if none do?”

  Rebel gathered up her container and utensils and set them inside the basket. “We keep introducing them to more dogs until they find the right fit.”

  Interesting. Elliott polished off the rest of his meal. “Sounds a lot like human relationships.”

  She stretched out her legs and braced both arms behind her. She glanced around at each crate, making eye contact with the dogs who were restless. One by one, they each settled.

  He’d watched her interact with Buddy, Bogart, and now the service dogs for days. He’d begun to realize she didn’t just train them or calm them. She communicated with them on some sort of telepathic level.

  “Except that dogs are more reliable than people.”

  Says the woman who disappeared with nothing more than a vague kiss-off note.

  Elliott knew his IQ, but women—

  Correction. This woman he still found perplexing.

  Why would she be so unwilling to talk to him about her past but communicate so well with animals without having to use actual words?

  When he’d discarded all their trash, he pulled over a box of supplies and sat next to her on the blanket, using the box as a prop so they could lean against it. “Okay, it’s crunch time. Let’s get ’er done.”

  They worked through each veteran’s profile, picking a few dogs for each. By the time they were done, it was late.

  She yawned and stretched. “I think I’ll turn in for the night. You should be going.” She got up like she was seeing him to the door of her home after a bad date.

  Oh hell no. “If the dogs get noisy, it won’t be much of a problem. There aren’t that many guests left, since we’ve booked out the entire resort starting tomorrow when the vets get here. They’ll be fine without you.”

  She tapped her foot and stared him down. Arms crossed, expression bland, body fucking gorgeous. “Keeping even one guest up is too many. If I remember correctly, your dad likes every guest to stay happy. I’m sure that hasn’t changed. I don’t want to let your dad down.”

  Elliott knew the feeling. He climbed to his feet. “Give them a rawhide to chew on to keep them occupied, but you are not sleeping out here again.”

  She threw her hands up, and Buddy and Bogart crowded her. “Follow me.” She started toward the garage door, then stopped. “Not just the dogs.” She pointed at Elliott. “You too.”

  She marched just outside the door. When he joined her, she tapped her birthdate into the keypad, and the door slid shut. As soon as it closed, a chorus of howling struck up like a really bad country-and-western band.

  She gave him an I told you so look.

  With an exasperated expression, he looked up at the sky. “Fine. Open it.”

  She punched in the numbers, and the garage door motor sprang to life, pulling the door up. Rebel pushed past him and through the door. “I’ll be fine. I’ve slept in worse conditions.”

  And another clue just reinforced his suspicions.

  He followed her inside.

  Abruptly, she stopped and turned on a heel. He had to grab her upper arms to keep from barreling over her.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Good night,” she said.

  The dogs had quieted but were still restless.

  He laughed, went and closed the garage door, and flicked off the lights, only leaving one on in the corner. Then he pushed past her. “If you’re staying, then so am I.” He unfurled the extra blanket, stretched out, and laced his fingers behind his head for a pillow. “Do your thing, Dog Whisperer, and quiet them down so we can get some sleep, because you’re stuck with me.”

  Chapter Twelve

  #NOAUDIENCENECESSARY

  Rebel’s jaw fell open when Elliott patted the empty space on the blanket at his side and said she was stuck with him. All night.

  There were worse things than being stuck with a guy as good-looking as Elliott Remington. She was sure of it. For the life of her, though, she couldn’t think of any at that moment.

  She had to get him out of the garage
because she was not spending the night with him. His presence was too unnerving. His scent was too mouthwatering.

  His body was too tempting.

  Nope, he had to go.

  “You don’t seriously expect me to sleep next to you?” she clipped out.

  Rem and Bogart practically stampeded her.

  “We’re in a garage surrounded by a pack of dogs.” His gaze coasted over her. “As attractive as you are, I don’t particularly like an audience.” His mouth curved into that smart-ass smile that was starting to get under her skin.

  And into her heart.

  “And I especially don’t make moves on women who are sneering at me.” He crossed his legs at the ankles and got comfy. “Consider yourself safe.”

  Oh. Well, in that case. She took small, slow steps toward the blanket. “I wasn’t sneering.” She lay down, keeping at least six inches between them.

  “Your teeth were bared.” His voice was already relaxed and lazy with sleep.

  “What do you expect?” she asked, defending herself. “I’m used to sleeping alone.”

  He rolled onto his side to face her. “So you don’t have a boyfriend? No fiancé? No ex-husband who pops in once in a while?”

  “No, no, and no.” She gave his shoulder a push to roll him onto his back again.

  Didn’t work. Probably because his large frame was solid steel.

  “That’s surprising. I’d think men would be lined up at your door.” The timbre of his voice—so rich, so velvety—skated over her.

  There was never anyone for me but you almost slipped out.

  His words. His tone. His thirsty look that said he wanted to drink her in and let her essence roll over his tongue like fine wine turned her insides to liquid fire. And he wasn’t even touching her.

  A shiver lanced through her.

  “You’re cold.” He reached for her, running a strong hand the length of her arm. His touch left a scorching trail of heat in its wake. She should pull away, go sleep in one of the Jeeps outside, but that wouldn’t keep the dogs quiet. So she stayed put and stared at the muscles that flowed and flexed under his thermal, which was pulled taut across his broad chest.