Paws for a Kiss (Canine Cupids Book 1)

by Stephanie Rowe

  "No, I don't suppose it would," Bev sighed. "You know, when I first met your dog, I thought for sure you'd turn out to be a good guy."

  "But you've changed your mind?" He didn't even know why he'd asked. Why did he care what Bev thought of him? Not that it mattered. He cared, for whatever reason. There was no use in trying to deny it any longer.

  "Well, unless you've killed your dog, I guess that's one redeeming quality that you still have." She waggled her finger in his face, the twinkle in her eye softening her words. "It's not enough, though. You're still too selfish to be likable, or even trustworthy."

  "Spenser!" Whittle's bellow bounced off the cement floors, setting off a rousing chorus of barks and howls.

  Mack touched her cheek, grimacing when she jerked away. Not that he'd expected a woman like her to be interested in him, but it didn't feel any better to have it reinforced. She was caring, warm, and devoted to causes bigger than herself, a woman who would see through a man like him, a man who lived for his job, a man who couldn't embrace life and love the way she could. No doubt, he would never have a chance with a woman like Bev. "I'm impressed with you, Bev. You'll end up a success."

  "End up a success? Meaning I'm a loser now, stuck running my pathetic little shelter? But maybe someday I can hope to wear a suit like yours and trade political jokes over cocktails?"

  "You're not a loser, Bev. But do you really want to do this for the rest of your life? Clean out cages every day?"

  She lifted her chin. "You want to know what I want to do, Mr. Bigtime Business Consultant?"

  "Yes, I do." To his surprise, he realized he really did.

  "I want to pay someone else to clean the cages while I spend all day finding good homes for the wonderful animals that come to my shelter."

  He felt humbled. "What about money?"

  "All I need is enough money so I don't have to work a second job anymore, so I never have to worry about paying my bills or being able to take care of my animals. I don't need any more money than that."

  "Spoken like a woman who's never had a major financial crisis." Mack kept his voice quiet, trying to keep his pain at bay. Heaven forbid Bev would ever have her radiance dimmed by a tragedy like the one which still haunted him.

  "And what exactly do you think I'm facing at this very moment, thanks to you?"

  "It's not the same."

  "It's not the same as what?" As if she sensed his pain, the accusation and defensiveness vanished from her voice, replaced by concern and empathy.

  Warmth tumbled over him, and he stepped back. "What if you had a major medical crisis and you couldn't pay those bills? So you were going to die, merely because you didn't have enough money?"

  Her forehead furrowed, creating a divot between her delicate eyebrows. "That's what health insurance is for, isn't it?"

  "Not experimental treatment." Mack could taste the bitterness in the back of his throat.

  "Spenser!" The canines barked at Whittle's bellow, the din reverberating in Mack's head as the familiar pain brought a lump to his throat.

  "What are you talking about?" She touched his arm, her fingers resting lightly on the sleeve of his suit. "Are you okay?"

  He tensed at his sudden urge to unburden himself to her, to tell her what he never talked about with anyone. "I've got to go. I'll see you around."

  She pursed her lips, as if she wanted to pry but didn't dare. Mack jerked his head in farewell, then strode down the hall toward the exit. What was his deal? He never talked about his past, so why had he brought it up with her? It wasn't as if he wanted her to know why he was the way he was. Definitely not. It was just the guilt making him do strange things. He'd go back to his office, bury himself in his work, and forget about her and how she and her dogs tore at his gut.

  Chapter 7

  Three long days later, Mack had been almost successful in keeping his resolve. He hadn't thought about Bev at all, except when he looked at his dog. Or any other dog. Actually, he thought about her whenever he saw any domestic animal. And whenever he saw Whittle's name on a document. Or heard Whittle's name. Or saw an old junker of a car. Or the time he'd passed a florist and had wanted to stop and buy her flowers. Or when he saw that stuffed puppy dog in the window of the toy store and had been on his way into the store to buy it for her. But that wasn't all the time, so he was pleased with himself. Sort of.

  Until he'd sat down with Whittle and the sellers to negotiate the purchase of the shelter property. Then he couldn’t stop thinking of her, even when Whittle's sweaty brow was in his face demanding his full attention.

  Whittle. The man was the stuff of nightmares. Once he'd found out Bev had made up the story about the EPA, Whittle had made it his personal agenda to make her suffer. Whittle held a high degree of antipathy for attractive people, unless they were stupid. But since Bev was smart and beautiful, and had made Whittle look dumb, Whittle had made it his personal agenda to return the favor.

  Mack was in a rank mood. Usually he enjoyed late night business deals, because it kept him out of his empty house. Not tonight. Negotiating on behalf of Whittle to try to get Bev kicked off the property as soon as possible had been miserable. Whittle wanted two weeks until closing, instead of sixty or ninety days. Unbelievable. Unfortunately, Mack knew he'd be able to get it, if he battled hard enough.

  He'd been relieved when the sellers had walked out at ten fifteen, delaying resolution for another day. Another day of grace for Bev. Not much, not enough, but better than putting the final nail in the shelter's coffin tonight. But then Whittle had demanded he stay for wine and a delivery of Italian food, a meal that hadn't set well in his stomach, not with Whittle's glittering eyes plotting Bev's demise, his pudgy hands wrapped around his pizza like a doughy octopus.

  Mack had to endure Whittle for nearly two hours before he could tactfully excuse himself, his release coming only after Whittle had drank enough wine to become slothfully indulgent. Mack was now sitting in his SUV in front of Give a Dog a Bone Animal Rescue, the glowing clock on his dashboard announcing three minutes past midnight. He should have gotten on the highway to go home, but instead his car had driven him over to the shelter. All on its own.

  An uncovered light bulb over the front door of the shelter cast a haunted glow over the chipped asphalt, and the rusted car was parked at a careless angle. Bev was still at work, and it was his fault. A tug of affinity caught him, as he realized she was like him, working until the late hours for a cause she believed in. His was to never let anyone he loved die because there wasn't enough money, hers was animals. Two of them with passion and a willingness to work as hard as necessary to accomplish their goals.

  Mack gritted his teeth. With each passing moment, with each new piece of information or conversation, his attraction to Bev increased. It would be best if he left now, before he could see her again, inhale her pure scent, and hear her voice.

  And he would leave, except for the fact that it was past midnight and Bev was alone in the shelter. Vulnerable and exposed, should any asshole decide to break in. He couldn't drive away and leave her alone in the warehouse.

  He was going to check on her, and he'd just have to exercise enough control not to touch her...because he couldn't give a woman like Bev the relationship she deserved, so he needed to stay away.

  Glad he remembered that. For a moment, he'd been unable to remember a single reason to stay away.

  Mack pulled the leftover wine and food out of the backseat and nudged the door shut with his hip. He started to walk to the door, then changed his mind, going back to his car to retrieve Janey.

  "Come on, girl. Let's go find Bev."

  He was irritated to find the front door unlocked for any wayward passerby. Didn't she have any sense of her own vulnerability? Anger simmered inside his chest at the thought of Bev falling victim to some jerk. It was a good thing he'd stopped by to check on her. He stepped through the door, locking it behind him once he and Janey were inside.

  Again bypassing the bell, he walked bac
k toward the animals. Only a few quiet yips sounded, as most of the dogs were curled up on their fleece beds, their noses tucked and their eyes squeezed shut, probably dreaming of happier times.

  Mack walked slowly, peering into each pen. His throat tightened when he finally found her.

  She was sitting in a pen on a fleece dog bed, her laptop computer open on her knees, and her head lolled back against the wire wall. Her eyes were closed, dark lashes resting against her cheeks. The blond hair he'd spent too many nights fantasizing about was cascading down her shoulders, curling up at the ends.

  Her hands were buried in fur: a beagle was curled up on one side, nestled against her thigh, while a shaggy gray fur ball was spread across her feet. A woman who slept with her dogs. That was the kind of woman he could fall in love with.

  Mack scowled. Not that he was the type to fall in love. But if he were, he'd definitely need a woman that would sleep with dogs. He had yet to date a woman who would be willing to have Janey on the bed. Which was one of many reasons why none of them had lasted. But Bev would fit perfectly into his life. Or at least his bed.

  A tiny snore jerked his attention back to the present. He wasn't sure if the snoring was coming from her or the dogs. He kind of hoped it was her. For some reason, he found it ridiculously sexy.

  Then again, he seemed to find everything about her ridiculously sexy.

  He tapped softly on the wire cage, keeping his voice low. "Bev?"

  The beagle lifted her head, resting her chin on Bev's thigh so she could inspect Mack and Janey. Her eyes were the same expressive brown that Bev's were.

  Mack unlatched the door and swung it open, cringing when it banged against the wall. Both dogs immediately leapt to their feet, barking. Bev's head jerked forward, her bleary eyes trying to focus. When she saw Mack in the shadows of the doorway, her face blanched in terror and she jumped to her feet, the laptop sliding to a safe landing on the fleece bed.

  "Bev, it's me. Relax." He wanted to reach out and steady her, hold her until she calmed down. But he didn't.

  She staggered slightly, sleep still fogging her eyes. "Mack? What are you doing here?"

  He held up the remainder of the wine and a brown paper bag. "Dinner and drinks. I thought you might need it."

  Bev rubbed her eyes, still looking confused. "What are you talking about?"

  "Have you had dinner tonight?"

  "I don't know. I guess not. What time is it?"

  "Late. Mind if I join you?" Without waiting for an answer, he walked across the rubber mat and handed her the bag. "Do you like Italian food?"

  Chapter 8

  Bev took the bag from him before she could remember he was the cause of her misery, and once she did remember, the smell of oregano and fresh bread was too tantalizing to resist. Plus, the earnest look on his face was so endearing. And his woodsy scent reawakened the sensations of his hands on her thigh, soothing, teasing... She cleared her throat. "Are you operating under the philosophy akin to 'fattening up before the kill?'"

  "Do you have any glasses around here?"

  "No." She had to get him to leave. Already she'd been unable to stop thinking or dreaming about him, even while she was trying to claw her way out of the mess he'd put her in. Having him bringing her dinner would not help her overcome her delusional fantasies that he'd find himself overwhelmingly attracted to her. As hard as she'd tried, she hadn't been able to forget the look of heart-wrenching agony on his face when he'd mentioned not having money for experimental medical treatment. Mack had had his heart shattered, and she knew it.

  And she couldn't forget it, and she couldn't reconcile it with a man who would put an animal shelter out of business, a man who had a mutt of his own.

  "Be back in a sec." Mack disappeared out of the pen, leaving his rangy mongrel behind.

  Bev collapsed back on the fleece bed, grimacing when she caught sight of the time. She'd be a zombie tomorrow, that was certain. Especially now that Mack had arrived. She'd never be able to sleep tonight.

  The aroma of tomato sauce and Italian spices teased her, drawing a low grumble from her stomach. Bev peeked into the bag, just to check what he'd brought her. She peeled the foil back to reveal a calzone dripping with cheese. The smell of roasted garlic made her mouth water almost instantly. One little bite couldn't hurt. It didn't mean she had capitulated to her crush on Mack. It just meant she was hungry.

  Bev pulled the calzone out of the bag and unfolded it on the floor of the pen, immediately surrounded by three eager dogs.

  "You guys are such pigs." She broke off a piece of calzone, giving Janey the first bite.

  "Hey, if you're not going to eat it, don't give it to the dogs. I'll eat it tomorrow." Mack reappeared, two plastic containers in his hand.

  "I wasn't wasting it. I was merely letting your dog be my taster to see if you'd poisoned it. She's still breathing and her pupils aren't unusually dilated, so I guess I'll take my chances." She picked up the calzone with both hands and took a big bite, as if she were eating a peanut butter sandwich. She paused mid-chew and eyed Mack. "Unless you used slow-acting poison?"

  "Why would I want to poison you?" He pulled the other fleece bed beside her and lowered himself to the pillow, apparently not caring that his expensive suit wasn't exactly made for lounging on dog beds.

  "Because you know I'm not going to give up on this property. I'm going to be a pain, and you can't stand people who keep you from accomplishing your goals."

  "Is that right?" He took the lid off one of the opaque plastic containers and poured some wine in the dish. "Here."

  She grinned. "Thanks."

  After he poured his, she lifted the makeshift cup. "To your failure and my success."

  He touched his cup to hers. "To your success."

  Bev waited until he'd taken a sip. "Do you know what you're drinking out of?"

  He froze, eyeing her over the top of the rim. "What?"

  "This is what I use to take stool samples to the vet."

  Mack gagged, spewing wine all over the floor of the cage. "This is part of your nefarious plan to destroy me, isn't it?"

  "Nope. You did that one all by yourself." Mack looked distinctly gray even in the dim light, and Bev grinned. "But, of course, these are brand new containers, so they're fine." She took a long sip of her own wine, chuckling into her cup. She had to admit, however, that he was taking the incident with remarkable good humor. Couldn't she find anything about him not to like?

  Mack set his cup on the floor of the pen. "Why are you being so difficult?"

  "Me? I'm not being difficult, Mack. I'm just cranky, overtired, broke, and entirely without any appealing options whatsoever. And I can't seem to stop holding you directly responsible for all my problems." She took another deep bite of the calzone. "But thanks for dinner. If I didn't know better, I might think you were a nice guy."

  To his credit, the man did look a little weary, but she wasn't going to attribute that to feelings of regret for putting her animals out on the street. Just because his shoulders were as wide as a mastiff's, and his chin looked awfully masculine covered with the whiskers of a late night did not mean that the man was nice. No. Men like Les were nice, with his slightly rounded belly and his shirts that never fit him quite right. And nice was what she wanted. Nice and safe. A man who wouldn't reject her if she was careless enough to fall in love with him.

  As if she could ever convince herself of that.

  Mack stretched out on the fleece bed, patting it. All three dogs curled up next to him, with Mac on his lap. She wrinkled her nose. "Mac. Get off him. He's not your friend."

  Mack looked startled and rolled to the side, checking the fleece under his behind. "Who am I on?"

  "I was talking to my dog. Come on, Mac."

  A slow grin spread across Mack's face. "Your dog is named Mack?"

  "Spelled without a 'K', but yes, same name. Only until I change it, though."

  The smile faded. "Ouch."

  Bev took another bite of calzon
e, followed by a sip of wine. "I'm sure there are others who feel the same way about you, but no one has the nerve to tell you." She felt so guilty being mean, but it was her only hope to resist the unbearable attraction swirling through her. If she could only remember how he was putting her animals out of their home, then maybe she could keep herself from obsessing about him. What was her problem? Just because he'd suffered didn't mean he was a good guy. Shoot. She had to stop worrying about him. She had enough to worry about already.

  "I'm so grateful to have you around to keep my head from swelling," Mack remarked dryly. He leaned forward and pulled her laptop onto his fleece bed. "What're you working on?"

  "My future." Despite his suit, the man looked downright comfortable snuggled among the three dogs. It was so incongruous with the money-grubbing consultant he portrayed so well. It was, however, right in line with a man who loved his dog and brought her dinner, a man who had suffered deep, personal grief. Darn it. There she went, thinking about his appealing traits again.

  Mack peered at the computer screen. "You're working on the sign you're going to put on the door after you move out?"

  "Yeah, well, people will wonder where they can go for dogs, and I need to tell them."

  Mack eyed her with just the slightest hint of despair. "What else are you doing?"

  "I'm trying to figure out a way to ruin Whittle's credit record so he can't buy it, but I haven't figured out how. If only he'd hire Josie to bartend one of his parties, I could poison his drink."

  "No, seriously, Bev. Why don't you take some control here?"

  "Control? You're the one with the control."

  "I have control only because I took control, but I took away only one option. Why don't you be creative?"

  "I'm working on a crowd funding post about the shelter to ask for donations. It should be up by tomorrow."

  "Why don't you branch out? Have you even looked for other properties?"

  "I can't afford other properties," she said. "I can barely make the payments on this place, and the owners are giving me a deal."