Animal Instincts [The Andersons 2] (Siren Publishing Classic)

by Marie Jermy

  The imminent arrival of what would no doubt be a menacing thunderstorm didn’t concern Rex in the slightest. He just didn’t think it would be a good idea to stand outside. He hurried over to the house and had only just crossed the threshold when there was a resounding crack and the heavens opened.

  “What a welcome,” he said as he planted the slab of solid oak that was the front door between himself and the teeming sheets of moisture and searched for a light switch to illuminate the dim hallway. Not finding one, he stumbled down the narrow passage and entered an equally dim room. A timely flash of lightning showed it was a living room. Feeling around the doorjamb, he located a light switch and flicked it on. The bulb flickered and then blinked out.

  Another flash of lightning made it possible for him to see there was a lamp behind the armchair in the far right hand corner. He waited for another flash and then went over. Nothing happened when he turned it on.

  “Oh, this just keeps getting better. Look, I want to explore my new home, so cut us some slack here, will you?” he said to the heavens above. His reply was a boom of thunder that literally shook the house.

  Obviously, the storm was not in a slack-cutting mood, so using the lightning to find his way about, Rex left the living room and entered the kitchen, situated at the rear of the house. A subsequent search through the various buttermilk-colored Shaker-style cupboards and drawers produced candles and matches. Sitting smack-dab in the middle of the worktop beside the sink was a jar of coffee, almost as though it was waiting for him. And he was in luck with boiling water for that coffee as the stove was gas and not electric.

  After drinking the best-tasting coffee he’d ever had, which he noticed from the label came from CC’s Coffee Shop, the welcoming café in the town, he took a candle and went upstairs, the worn yet lovingly polished boards creaking all the way.

  There were six bedrooms. Six! What on earth was he going to do with six bedrooms, all of which were comfortably furnished with more than a touch of Western charm? Once he had dispensed with Stetsons, spurs, chaps and John Wayne, and along with a flash of lightning, the image of the wife and brood of kids again entered his head.

  This time, Rex banged his forehead against the light switch of the master bedroom he was standing in to clear it. And hey presto, the lights came on. However, the image of the wife and kids remained.

  Grimacing, Rex threw his backpack on the plain blue comforter covering the king-sized, black-metal bed and started to unpack. With regards to the wife, he’d been there and done that. The kids, on the other hand, were something else entirely, and he was still coming to terms with the fallout that ended with divorce, yet had started out with such happiness. Well, happiness wasn’t exactly how it started, more like panic when Stacey, his wife of five years, discovered she was pregnant despite being on the pill. However, after he had managed to calm her down and talk her round that a baby was wonderful, she was happy.

  He was happy.

  They were happy.

  It was short-lived.

  Their joy turned to heartache when Stacey suffered a miscarriage. That heartache then turned into arguments, which subsequently turned into bitter accusations and blame, blame that Stacey solely laid at his door.

  “The incident” as it came to be referred was flung in his face every time they argued. No amount of reasoning or counseling sessions convinced Stacey that neither of them was to blame for the loss of their baby, and a year to the day after it happened, rightly or wrongly, he’d walked out of the matrimonial home and his marriage.

  That was six months ago. He now had a new life and a new home. He also had a new job, hopefully one that would ultimately lead to buying a sizable share in the well-established and profitable vet’s practice.

  After unpacking, and because the lights were still on, Rex decided to check out the adjoining practice. However, he hadn’t even crossed the threshold when another deafening thunderbolt threw the place into darkness once more.

  He sighed as he relit the candle. “This just isn’t my night. All I need now is a bolt of lightning to hit the house and raze it to the ground.” That remark reminded him he’d left lit candles downstairs. Never mind about a bolt of lightning, he could quite possibly do the deed himself.

  Muttering and cursing, Rex went downstairs and blew the candles out. He returned to the bedroom. Deciding to watch the storm, he sat on the loveseat by the window. Storms fascinated him. There was something awe-inspiring about Mother Nature at her worst. Whenever work allowed, he would visit a meteorologist friend of his in Kansas and they’d go storm chasing.

  This storm, though not a tornado, rated a five on his scale. The house vibrated from the deafening thunderclaps, the landscape illuminated and split in two by the jagged lightning spikes, and the rain lashing at the windowpane… Well, in spite of everything, all the pain, all the hurt, he’d never considered embracing celibacy. He was still a romantic at heart, who liked making love with a woman to the drumming sound of rain.

  Rex sighed as he glanced toward the black-metal bedstead, wondering if he would share that bed with the woman who might become his wife. He frowned. Since his less-than-amicable divorce from Stacey, a wife was the last thing he needed. One-night stands he could do. He could even stretch to a fling. But marriage? No way.

  The knife that Stacey had twisted would also ensure, whether it was a one-night stand or a fling, he would never forget to use protection. He doubted he would ever fully trust a woman who said she was on the pill.

  The storm rumbled on for a further three hours. The electricity, however, remained off. Not really in the mood to read the science fiction novel he was in the middle of by candlelight, Rex set the old-fashioned bell and fortunately battery-operated alarm clock on the nightstand and went to sleep, his head still full of images of that damned wife and brood of kids.

  Chapter 2

  The next morning, the alarm clock failed and, running two hours late, Rex woke in a cranky mood. However, his mood improved considerably when he drank a mug of that fabulous coffee from CC’s. When he got the chance, he’d go to that shop and buy a lifetime’s supply.

  Despite the muggy air, he took a hot shower, further improving his mood. Then, dressing in a pair of tan slacks, a blue Oxford shirt, the sleeves of which he rolled up to his elbows, and a blue-and-white striped silk tie, he went down to the practice.

  At first, Rex thought he would have to go outside to get inside, but a door at the far end of the hallway, which he’d thought was to a cupboard, opened out into the reception-waiting area. For a moment, he thought he had passed through time. Unlike the house, with its ditsy, flowered wallpapered walls and nineteenth-century cowboy furnishings, the business was very twenty-first century.

  Though painted clinical-white, the walls were dotted with posters advertising various treatment remedies and products. A stack of new magazines in a wide range of topics lay on a low table beneath the window, and with the selection of healthy green foliage plants, the area exhibited a calm and friendly ambiance.

  Opposite the small reception desk was an open doorway. Rex wandered through. As with the reception, the rest of the practice was modern with up-to-date equipment and facilities. There were two treatment rooms, one of which doubled as an office. There was a laboratory with an attached darkroom, a full surgery, and a dispensary pharmacy. Another door led into a back room that contained a variety of animal kennels and a separate quarantine area.

  An excited yap greeted him when Rex entered. The yap belonged to the only resident, a lively golden Labrador puppy, which gave his fingers a thorough licking when he approached and hunched down in front of its cage.

  “Hello, little fella,” he greeted, picking up a clipboard from a nearby bench. “What are you in here for?” He quickly scanned the printed top page of the medical records. “Ah, you’ve had your balls cut off. How come you’re so happy then, hey?”

  Placing the clipboard on the top of the cage, Rex removed the piece of folded paper threaded throug
h the bars. He read the note.

  Good morning, Dr. Latimer. My name’s Benji. I’ve been asleep all night dreaming doggie things. I won’t embarrass you by saying what, but as a man you can probably guess. Anyway, now I’m hungry. Please feed me.

  Rex laughed. It appeared that Ramona Anderson, his new work colleague and co-owner of the practice, and who’d obviously written the note—the initials “R.A.” proof to that conclusion—possessed an impish wit.

  Pun intended, but it was funny that, when he’d asked Stephens about Ramona before leaving Miami, sense of humor wasn’t even mentioned. Sure, Stephens had supplied him with details of her qualifications and such like, but as to her character, he hadn’t even touched upon it, which gave Rex the distinct impression that Stephens, despite employing Ramona and offering her a partnership, was extremely uncomfortable around women within the workplace. He, on the other hand, had no such qualms.

  Rex had just put a bowl of food down for Benji when he heard movement and the sound of somebody talking in the reception-waiting area. It was a woman’s voice, soft yet authoritative, and despite the stifling heat, made him break out into goose bumps. Surprised and intrigued, no woman had had that effect on him before, he wandered back through.

  He instantly broke out into a sweat.

  Seated at the reception desk, talking on the telephone, was one hell of a stunner. Short and spiky chestnut-colored hair topped a heart-shaped face that had almost a pixie appearance, full of mirth and mischief. She wore no makeup, and really, she didn’t need to. Not only would it have marred her lovely sun-kissed complexion, but it would have disguised the faint smattering of freckles across her pert nose.

  As Rex stepped closer, the woman looked up from the appointments book she was thumbing through and gave him a friendly, welcoming smile. He hoped to God his deodorant was holding out because that unpainted mouth of hers was like a plum—ripe, luscious, sweet, and just begging to be eaten.

  With effort, he lifted his eyes to hers. His heart and soul dropped into his shoes. He had never seen eyes as green, or as striking. Naturally fringed by long, dark lashes, they were like emeralds, all sparkling and precious. Pure, untamed sexual energy exuded from the depthless gems, causing a distinct lack of air. And as he tripped and fell into them, he wondered if this was what drowning felt like.

  Liking himself to be a Southern gentleman, he wouldn’t say the term to a woman’s face, but Rex quickly decided a suitable description for this green-eyed stunner was “sex kitten.” A playful, yet serious sex kitten, particularly if the way she was dealing with whoever it was on the other end of the line was anything to go by.

  Hard being the operative word, Rex suddenly had a hard need to spread this receptionist across the desk and book an appointment with her. However, the need waned the second he took in her clothing. The black shapeless T-shirt with “Wild and Free” emblazoned in gold lettering across the front, gray three-quarter-length jog pants, and the pair of well-worn Nikes were not only unsuitable, but so not sexy.

  Still, she has nice ankles, he decided as he watched her swinging her legs back and forth. Suddenly, the image of the wife and brood of kids popped into his head. Only this time, the wife had a face. And he was staring right at her.

  It’s the heat, Rex firmly told himself as he returned his attention back to her telephone conversation. The person on the other end, a Mr. Watson, sounded a difficult client. However, the sex kitten in her authoritative voice soon sorted him out, and, with a flourish, she replaced the receiver.

  “Bud Watson,” she informed him, just in case he hadn’t been listening. “A monumental pain in the ass. And an ass that needs a fucking good kicking. Preferably all the way to Helena.”

  Rex raised an eyebrow at the receptionist’s crass language, but allowed it to drop. He wasn’t averse with using the F-word himself. Neither was the client present, so no real harm done. “You’ve got great people skills,” he told her. “The way you handled Mr. Watson was excellent. I would prefer, however, for you to come to work dressed in something a little more suitable. Surely there’s a standard dress code in force?”

  “Pardon me?”

  He gestured to her T-shirt. “Don’t get me wrong, I can take a joke and I’m as broad-minded as they come, but you are the first person to greet existing and prospective new clients. So ‘Wild and Free’ isn’t exactly appropriate. Nor is it what I expect for a weekday-nine-to-five, or whatever hours you work, receptionist of this practice to advertise.”

  The sex kitten-come-receptionist rose to her full height. At six five, Rex was used to being taller than most people, but he wasn’t just taller than her—he towered over her. Even so, at five feet three inches, the sex kitten not only had sass, but was beginning to display a full set of nasty-looking claws. Why all of a sudden did Rex feel like he was about to be awarded a prize for being the world’s biggest dickhead?

  Perhaps an introduction would be a good idea. He held out a hand and smiled his best “charmed” smile. “Dr. Rex Latimer, the new vet. Dr. Stephens hired me to take his place. And you are…” He quickly glanced at her left hand. No rings adorned her third finger. He ignored the extremely happy and not so gentle thump-thump of his heart. “Miss…?”

  “Doctor Ramona Anderson,” she spat out, lengthening the title so he got the point. “Vet and co-owner of this practice. Certainly not receptionist. For your information, Doctor Latimer”—again, she lengthened the title—“Mimi Parish fills that position. The only reason why she’s not here is because she’s on a two-week vacation.”

  Ah. Rex stepped up and collected his “World’s Biggest Dickhead” trophy. His outstretched hand continued to be ignored, so he shoved it into his slacks pocket. “My apologies. I just thought with you being at the desk…” He smiled. “An easy mistake to make.”

  She raised one slim eyebrow, that gorgeous plum of a mouth taking a downward turn, clearly not amused with either his apology or his explanation. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  “If you say so.” Her departing smile did better at cooling the air than the small air conditioning unit situated in one corner.

  Still feeling a dickhead, Rex shook his head and blew out a long breath. That wasn’t exactly the best start in meeting his work colleague and possible future business partner. He sat in the chair vacated by Ramona and checked the appointments for the day. The afternoon was fully booked, but there was only one entry for the morning. A cat named Mudge was booked in to be neutered at 9:30 a.m.

  “Gee,” he drawled to the waist-length white jacket hanging on the coat stand by the front door, “what is it about dicks and the sex ki—” The sound of running water from upstairs stopped him. It then dawned on him which door Ramona had left by—the door to the house. His house. He bristled. She was taking a shower in his goddamn bathroom!

  Dashing through to the house and up the stairs, Rex was just about to thump his fist on the bathroom door when it opened and Ramona, accompanied by a steamy mist, emerged. An ample offering of pink-tinged flesh and a blue towel hugged a curvaceous body that made his mouth water.

  Immediately his anger dissolved and another kind of heat spread through his body. The type of heat that made him want to unwrap the towel from her body and generate some steam of his own.

  “Since you’ve taken the master bedroom, I’ve moved into the one next door.”

  He drew up short, a sudden uneasiness washing over him. “Moved in?” he croaked, his mouth now as dry as sandpaper. “When?”

  “Earlier this morning when you were in the shower. Didn’t you hear me?”

  No, Rex hadn’t. But then again, he wouldn’t have heard a tornado over the water gushing through the creaky pipes.

  “Since I own half the business, I also own half the house. Didn’t Greg tell you?”

  No, Stephens hadn’t. But then while Rex knew that Stephens had told him the house was his when he’d given him the keys, he could understand Ramona’s logic. The practice and the house were j
oined, so it was only reasonable she would think she owned half of each. And really, he wasn’t going to argue the point. He’d had his fill of lawyers to last him for the next five years.

  “Besides,” she continued, “I thought you’d be lonely. I mean, six bedrooms is a lot for just one person.”

  He opened his mouth to protest then, but pressed it shut again. He had to agree with her. Hadn’t he, just the night before, thought the same thing? What he didn’t agree with was the bit about being lonely. Since his divorce, he liked living by himself. Admittedly, he was no cook, only knowing the basics, but wasn’t that what restaurants and takeouts were for? But more importantly, there was nobody—no woman—to moan at him, to shout and scream at him, to remind him of what a conniving and “damaged” bastard he was for wanting a family. He could do what he liked, when he liked. Hell, he could even leave the toilet seat up without being nagged about it.

  A droplet of water sliding down Ramona’s neck caught Rex’s attention and cured his dry mouth. He followed that droplet as it traveled over the rather delicate collarbone and down to the top edge of the towel. Beneath, the plump breasts appeared just the right size for his hands.

  His gaze dropped lower. Her shapely calves made those nice ankles even more appealing. He’d never had a fetish for feet before, but he suddenly wanted to kiss and suck on her toes, the nails of which were painted vivid blue.

  “My little piggies are ticklish, so don’t even think about it.”

  His eyes jerked back to her face and became riveted on her mouth. She was smiling at him. It was the kind of smile that reminded him that living with a woman also had its good points, like the shared intimacy of two toothbrushes side by side, the little chats over morning coffee, and the cuddling up on the sofa watching television in the evenings. The lovemaking…

  Rex leaned against the doorjamb and returned Ramona’s smile. “I have an annoying habit of leaving the seat up.”