Paws for a Kiss (Canine Cupids Book 1)

by Stephanie Rowe

Bev jerked as if he'd slapped her. "I know I'm not the fancy, sophisticated woman you want."

  He blinked at her misinterpretation. "You think I want that kind of woman? Do you know how tired I am of women who care more about the designer of their shoes than finding their life's passion? You're the one who makes me see the world in a different light. You're the one who makes me want to be a better man than I am."

  She frowned. "Don't mess with me, Mack. We both know I'm the kind of woman who wears overalls and gets bitten by dogs, and that's not your type. I have scars all over me."

  "All over?" This conversation was getting much too serious for him. He didn't even know what he wanted to say, how he was supposed to respond to her words. He sighed and slid his finger along her jaw. "I want to see your scars, Bev. I want to see and know everything that makes you special."

  "My scars are not special, and they're definitely not romantic, despite how you make them sound." She shook her finger at him. "You. Stop. This thing between us can't happen, and we both know it, so just stop." She held up her hand to silence him when he started to protest. "Good night, Mack. Let me know if you hear from Jez, and I'll do the same." She picked up her purse. "I'm glad they found this. Josie would have killed me if I'd lost it."

  "I knew it wasn't yours." He was beginning to know her, he realized, recognizing her style and her preferences. "It's Josie's dress too, isn't it?"

  She shot him a defensive look "So, what now? You're saying I didn't pull it off? I think I did pretty well."

  "Pretty well doesn't even come close. You rocked the dress."

  She narrowed her eyes. "So, you want to kiss me because you liked the dress? See, I told you that women in dresses and heels were your type. Don't forget that these aren't my clothes. I'm a jeans and overalls girl most days." She pushed him away and pulled open her car door.

  God. The woman was a master at turning a compliment into a brick wall. Mack caught the doorframe just before she slammed it shut. "For your information, Bev, the first time I kissed you was in a pen on a dog bed. Trust me, I like all facets of you."

  For a moment she paused, her hand next to his on the door, her eyes searching his. Finally, she shook her head. "Sorry, Mack, I can't."

  He frowned. "Can't what?"

  "I can't trust you."

  And then she shut the door, cutting him off before he could ask for clarification.

  Mack stepped back, watching the rusty clunker rattle out of the parking lot. She'd said he could break her heart. He wasn't quite certain what he thought of that. And he was equally sure that hers might not be the heart that was at risk.

  Chapter 13

  "The sellers want to give Bev, I mean the current occupant, ninety days to clear out, not the ten you asked for." Mack sat across from Whittle, tapping his gold pen on his mahogany desk. He wasn't having a great deal of success thinking of Bev as an anonymous "current occupant." He was more focused on her soft lips, her silky hair, and her deep passions…and he couldn't stop thinking about those dogs. Why hadn't Jez called back?

  "Ten days, Spenser." Whittle was standing in the window, looking out across the Boston skyline, his ruddy hands clasped behind his back.

  Mack growled under his breath at Whittle's mulishness. The sellers were due in his office in ten minutes, and the only term they hadn't settled was the closing date. They wanted ninety days to give Bev more time. They liked her, and they regretted that they had to sell the property before Bev could save enough money to buy it. Whittle wanted ten days to make Bev suffer. And Mack wanted no closing at all. Not a good situation.

  Given their financial situation, Mack suspected the sellers would accept the earlier closing date rather than lose Whittle's offer, but he hadn't told Whittle that. All he could think of was Bev, struggling as it was to find a solution in ninety days. She and those dogs would never be able to handle a ten-day closing. He couldn't let it happen.

  He'd been up every night until four searching listings for other properties that would work for her. He'd visited over a dozen sites. Nothing worked for what she needed. Nothing except the property she was on.

  Hell, he'd even contemplated outbidding Whittle on the property, but if he did that, he'd lose his reputation, and his career. There had to be another answer. He just couldn't find it.

  He cleared his throat. "It makes sense to wait ninety days, Whittle. It gives us time to get an accurate bid from a contractor and to make sure we can get all the relevant permits for construction. I would hate to see you buy that property and then find out there's an issue."

  "Make it happen." Whittle didn't even turn around. "I pay you to do what I want."

  Mack ground his jaw. "You pay me to make sure your company turns a profit. I'm trying to protect your interests by giving you more time before the closing. It also gives us time to negotiate the best deal for financing." Anything to stall.

  Whittle turned around and leaned against the window, folding his arms across his chest. "Are you telling me that you're incapable of arranging good financing and getting accurate bids and relevant permits in ten days? Is that what you're saying?"

  Mack swore under his breath. "No. I can do it. I just don't think it's the wisest business decision to rush." Mack wondered if Whittle could tell he was lying. Of course he could accomplish everything in ten days.

  Ten days would be untenable for Bev. Yeah, he knew that Bev's interests shouldn't be relevant. Whittle was his client. But hell, ninety days wouldn't hurt Whittle one bit.

  Whittle waddled over until he was in front of Mack. Slamming both sweaty palms on the desk, he leaned forward until his beaked nose was inches from Mack's. "That little wench made a fool of me. I didn't become a success by allowing people to manipulate me. There is no way I'm giving her ninety days. If you can't do it for me, I'll find someone else to do it, someone who is worth the money I'm paying."

  His stale breath made Mack want to retreat, but he held firm, Whittle's words sinking in. If Mack walked away, Bev would still be out of the warehouse. If he tried to outbid Whittle, Whittle would ruin him, exactly as he was planning to ruin Bev. If he stayed part of the deal, maybe there were ways he could protect her, somehow get language into the deal that would help her….

  Shit. Was he really thinking of compromising his client's deal to help her? That would get him fired, and deservedly so. Whittle might be an ass, but Mack had an ethical duty to put his needs first.

  He swore under his breath. Was he really going to give up his career, violate his ethics, and destroy his reputation for a woman and her animal shelter? Yes, she was amazing. Yes, her kisses were like playing with lightning. Yes, he couldn't look at his own dog without thinking about all the ones relying on her. Yes, yes, yes. But he couldn't let his hormones screw up everything he'd worked so hard for so long. He had to stay in, do what he could to protect Bev, and continue with what he'd promised himself so long ago when he'd sat in the front row at his sister's funeral. "I'll get it done, Whittle."

  "Ten days?"

  Mack ground his jaw. "The sellers are hoping for ninety, but I'm certain I can get them to at least fourteen." Fourteen days. God, the idea made his stomach turn. But Bev and her shelter were not his life's mission. They weren't. And if he repeated it enough times, maybe he'd start to believe it.

  "Fight for ten, but I'll settle for fourteen. And you can get my financing and permits?"

  "It's not a problem." And it wasn't. Mack felt a surge of strength, reassuring his priorities. His oath to himself that he'd made so long ago was what mattered. "I'll get it done."

  Whittle slapped his hands on the desk, startling Mack. "Great. Let's get this settled then. When are those sellers getting here?"

  "Any minute. My assistant will let us know when they arrive." Mack pushed his chair away from his desk and stood up, trying to walk away from the guilt pressing on his shoulders. His gut felt like a cement block.

  No, he didn't need to feel bad. Bev had survived this long on her own, she certainly didn't need him
to protect her. So why did he want to do just that?

  The speaker on his desk buzzed. "Mr. Spenser, your six o'clock meeting is here. Shall I show them in?"

  Whittle grinned, and Mack's stomach dropped like a broken elevator. "Yes, please do."

  Bev sat on the balcony of her tiny second floor apartment, her computer on her lap, the power cord trailing behind her back into the building. There had been no contributors for her crowd funding post, no calls about her ad in the paper. None except Jez, who hadn't called since their dinner.

  She was out of options.

  No, there had to be something else she could do. There just had to be.

  And no calls from Mack since Chez Pierre. Which was her fault. She'd pushed him away, after nearly tearing his clothes off in public. And she'd regretted it ever since...pushing him away, that is.

  She couldn't deny her attraction to him. Despite the trouble he'd caused her with the shelter, she liked him. A lot. He was a good man who was trying to do his job. And she knew there was more to him, something deeper that was driving his actions. She was sure of it.

  And he thought she was beautiful. There was no doubt in her mind about that anymore. He truly thought she was beautiful. As she thought it, something warm and soft blossomed inside her, something beautiful that she'd never felt before.

  He knew what she was like, and he liked her anyway, exactly as she was. She could tell.

  So why was she holding back? Just because she was afraid he'd hurt her? Bev shook her head. That reason just didn't seem sufficient anymore, not when she wanted to be with him so desperately. She should just enjoy the situation, protect her heart and let her fantasies carry her along. Just enjoy being swept away by him for the moment.

  The question was, could she really hold onto her heart? She wasn't sure she could. "What am I supposed to do, Mac?"

  The shaggy gray tail thumped on the cement floor of the balcony. She patted her lap, and he leapt up on it, curling up in a tiny ball. She wrapped her arms around him, holding tightly, breathing in the sensation of his fuzzy little body in her arms. Whenever she snuggled with her dog, she felt a deep sense of peace, but this time, it didn't come. She couldn't stop thinking about Mack, about the shelter, about why she was so drawn to Mack when he was making choices that were making her lose her building.

  Somehow, he seemed able to separate himself from his work. He seemed like he would never let a situation overwhelm him. He'd assess, make decisions, and take action. She wanted to be like that, but she couldn't. She didn't know what to do. Not about him, not about her shelter.

  He would take control. If he were in her situation, and he decided he wanted her, he'd make mad passionate love to her and not worry about the morning after, and he'd find a way to save the animals at the same time. He was that capable, that bold, that confident. Somehow, someway, he'd do it. Bev lifted her chin. He was just a human being, and so was she, right? If he could do it, why couldn't she do it, too?

  The phone rang, nearly startling her off her chair. She barely caught Mac from being upended onto the floor, as she grabbed her phone. The number was unfamiliar. Was it Mack calling from his cell phone? "Hello?" Her voice was embarrassingly breathless.

  "This is Jezebel Barnum."

  Holy cow. "Hello, Jez. How are you?" Her hands started to shake, and she clutched Mac more tightly to her chest. The potential future of her shelter was on the other end of the phone.

  "Stellar, my dear. I need to see a business plan from you. I'll be out all day tomorrow, but if you could drop it off at my husband's office by five, that would be great. He'll bring it home with him."

  A business plan? What in the heck was a business plan? "Um, okay. Where is your husband's office?"

  Jez chuckled, a raspy sound that belied her age. "Oh, I think your crafty boyfriend can figure that out. I'll call you after I've had a chance to look it over. Ta ta."

  The phone buzzed in Bev's ear, but she didn't move. She didn't know the first thing about a business plan. Was that a balance sheet? Or her adoption contract?

  Mack would know. And damn it, if she was going to be like Mack, she had to take advantage of her resources, and he was one of them. The fact she still fantasized about naked time with him had to be irrelevant.

  Ignoring the much bigger issues still hovering in the air between them, Bev called Mack's office and left a message. It was ten at night. Shouldn't he still be at work? What was the use of being in love with a workaholic if he wasn't at work when she needed to reach him? She so needed his cell phone number—

  Whoa. What thought had just run through her mind? She replayed her thoughts, and her gut sank when she realized she'd heard right. In love with him? No way. She was attracted to him. She needed his help. He was a nice guy. That did not mean she was in love with him. Heaven help her if she was. Yes, so what if he was funny, handsome, and had bailed her out with Jez? So what if he was so much deeper than he wanted anyone to see? So what if he made her feel more beautiful than she'd ever felt in her life? That was irrelevant…right?

  Okay, time to stop thinking about that nonsense. Mack was unavailable and probably wouldn't get her message until tomorrow. So she'd just have to get started on her own.

  Bev hung up her phone, her mind spinning as she did a quick Internet search for a business plan. Twenty minutes of online reading made it clear that the first thing she needed was the financials of her company, which were at the shelter, because she'd never taken the time to figure out a computer program to load it. All hand-written records, kept at the shelter, the moment that costs were incurred.

  She supposed Jez would not be impressed with a hand-written ledger. So…she'd have to get them into a file of some sort, right? "Okay, Mac, let's hit the road. It's going to be a data entry night, I'm thinking."

  Maybe Mack would call while she was gone, or at the very least she would have them ready for when he called in the morning.

  She had no doubt in her mind he would call her the moment he received her message. He was the kind of man a girl could count on, whether she wanted to admit that to herself or not. She grabbed her car keys, smiling when Mac started barking and wagging his tail. "To be so happy," she mused. "Why can't I be a dog, huh?"

  He barked again, and she held out her arms. He took his customary flying leap into her arms, making sure to give her puppy kisses until she finally burst out laughing. "Okay, okay, I'm smiling. Let's go, sweetie. We have a shelter to save."

  And a man to deal with, because she was beginning to realize that Mack wasn't going to disappear from her life, no matter how much a part of her wanted to not deal with him.

  He was there, and she had to figure out what to do about it.

  Chapter 14

  Mack slammed his fist on his steering wheel. Ten days! He couldn't believe they'd gotten it.

  He was disgusted at himself for fighting for it, guilty as sin for accepting it. The instant the sellers agreed, he'd felt sick. Sick! For doing his job!

  There was no use telling himself not to feel bad, no point in saying how he was doing nothing wrong. Bev deserved more, and he'd failed her. Why had so much been at stake? His job. His career. His way of life. Not things he could throw away in an instant because of a woman he barely knew.

  No wonder he never made time for women. It was easy when he didn't care, but awful when he did. And there was no use denying he cared about Bev and her animals.

  His truck bounced over the curb and skidded into the shelter parking lot. It was nearly midnight and there was no way he was going home to his empty house to think about what a jerk he was. He was going to face Bev and tell her what he'd done. And he'd help her find another solution, no matter how hard she tried to push him away.

  Bev was like him. He was sure she'd be at work at this hour, fighting the battle until the end. And her classic old jalopy in the parking lot told him he was right.

  He was getting to know her.

  He jumped out of his truck, and stalked to the front door. His
mood was rank, his body tense. When the front door opened easily under his touch, Mack cursed. The woman did not take her safety seriously enough. He stepped inside, but before he could lock the door behind him, his feet became very cold and wet.

  "What the...?" He looked down to discover his leather loafers submerged beneath murky brown water, his black socks blending into the opaque darkness. A quick glance revealed the entire floor had turned into a pond, a few papers floating on the surface of the water. "Bev! Are you all right? Bev!"

  He sprinted across the entry, dirty water soaking his pants as he splashed to the door to the pens. "Bev!"

  There was no answer.

  Vaulting down the steps to the first aisle, he sank another two inches into the water. "Bev!"

  What had happened? Was she all right? Visions of her slipping and knocking herself out, sinking below the surface of the water sent shudders through his body. "Bev!"

  "Mack? Is that you?" Her desperate call wafted out of a doorway on his right, relieved disbelief in her voice. "Help me!"

  His heart clenching at her voice. She was alive! "Bev! Are you hurt?" He sloshed through the hallway in water up to his mid-calf.

  "Hurry up!"

  "Hang on! I'm coming!" He ran through the water, imagining all the precarious situations she could be in. If anything happened to her...

  He burst into the room before he could finish the thought. Relief surged through him. She was all right.

  The moment of respite was brief, as he took in the rest of the scene. The water was halfway up the bottom row of cat cages, leaving the tall cats up to their chins in water, and the kittens were paddling desperately to stay afloat. "Holy cow, Bev. They're going to drown."

  "I know!" She was on her knees fishing kittens out of the first cage. The ends of her hair were dipping in the water, and pink hearts on her underwear showed through her wet, white shorts. "I just got here. I'm never going to get them all out before they drown." Panic shook her voice, even as she draped two wet kittens over her shoulder. "I don't know what happened!"