by Dawson, Zoe
Loaded down with dog food and Daisy’s bowls, Nate gave the dog a pitying look. “That’s what I normally do. She’s one lazy hound dog.”
“Carry that stuff down to the truck for me.”
“Sure. This was perfect timing. I’m headed to Oregon for some whitewater rafting. Now I won’t have to kennel her.”
“You are morally bankrupt, Nate.”
He shrugged, pushing the button on the elevator. “Why? Because I’d rather do something fun then tend to my obligations like you?”
“You say ‘obligations’ like they have that cow shit/horse shit smell.” They entered and Nate pressed the button for the lobby.
“No obligations are okay. You treat them like they’re the be-all-end-all. There’s fun to be had while I’m young. I’m going for it.”
Jared stopped in the lobby, his hand on his hip, the dog warm under his arm, against his ribcage. She watched them with interest. Seemed even lazy hound dogs liked drama. “You’re saying I’m boring?”
Nate returned his stare innocently. “I’m just saying you’re responsible.” He went past Jared out onto the sidewalk.
Jared followed. “Again, sounds like manure.”
Nate chuckled, the amusement rich in the evening air. “Try to find some fun, brother. Life is too dang short.”
Nate sauntered back up to his apartment and Jared mulled over his brother’s comments. He couldn’t deny the truth in his words, but when a comfortable pair of shoes fit, there just wasn’t any incentive to try a pair that might end up too tight or too loose. He guessed he was more like Baby Bear in that nursery story…the one that needed everything to be just right.
This assignment was unorthodox. But he couldn’t turn Harper down. For one, he owed Aiden, for two he couldn’t turn away from women in distress or danger, and for three Harper wouldn’t take no for an answer anyway.
After getting the basset situated in the front seat, he drove home. The dog just looked at him when he came around to her side of the car. Jared scooped her up, snapped on the leash, although he suspected she wasn’t going anywhere, and set her down on the sidewalk.
Daisy didn’t even sniff the wind, which was odd for a hound. They were interested in all smells. He tugged on her leash, and she looked up at him sorrowfully, but didn’t move.
He sighed, knelt down on the still-hot pavement, and looked into her eyes.
“Hi there, Daisy. How about we go for a turn around the block and get you some exercise?”
She looked at him with those mournful brown eyes that said, fat chance, buster.
Then plopped down onto the pavement.
Blowing out a breath, he scooped her up. He shook his head ruefully. He couldn’t think of what to do, because he certainly wasn’t going to drag her down the street by her collar.
In his apartment, he fixed her food and water. She was still where he’d set her down, near the front door. He called her and she made her slow way over to him. She looked at the bowls and then at him as if to say, what the hell is this?
Finally she trundled over to the bowls and started to eat.
He grabbed up his cell and punched in the number Harper had given him. Two rings later a female answered the phone.
“Hello, Ms. Madigan. I’m Jared Taylor. I’m calling because Miles Sawyer indicated you were looking for another dance partner in The Fur Ball competition.”
“I am. He only just called me last night. Such a bad break. Oh, I didn’t mean that to be funny,” she said sounding flustered. “It was a pun, I guess. I meant it was bad luck for me. I would never make fun of someone who broke their leg.”
The sound of her winsome, sultry voice wound around him like vines entwining and curling around a trellis, cutting off his speech.
“Are you still there, or did you think I was just too rude to partner with?”
He found his voice and freaking lost his mind. “I’m still here. I’m sure you didn’t mean to ridicule Miles.”
“I didn’t. He is such a nice man, a dreamboat dance partner, and his Bichon Frisé, Snowball, danced as lightly as a little white cloud.”
He swallowed hard, sweat starting to bead on his forehead as he glanced down at the lump that was Daisy. Had she really fallen to sleep with her face still in the dog food bowl?
“That’s great. Really great. We’re sorta beginners at this, so we’ll need a little bit of instruction.”
“Well, of course you will. You don’t know the routine. But I’m sure you’ll pick it up in a jiff.”
How was he supposed to concentrate and talk to this woman when her voice was so dang distracting? The cadence of it washed over him with a rich, soothing tone.
“Can you meet me tomorrow at the Clover Dale Dance Studio? I’m using that temporarily for practice.”
“Are you up for that so soon?”
“What do you mean?” Her voice was both sexy and wary.
Shoot, she’d so totally enchanted him he forgot he wasn’t supposed to know about her attack. “So soon after losing your partner,” he said quickly, filling in the silent gap.
“Oh, sure. The show must go on. The Terrible Two will miss Snowball, but I’m sure your dog will be great.”
The Terrible Two?”
“Oh, those are my Jack Russell terriers and they’re…um…they can be buttheads. What breed do you have?”
He looked at Daisy again. He had a big—no, ginormous—headache coming on. “A basset hound. She’s still a bit young.”
“How old?”
“Year and a half, maybe two.”
“Oh that will be fine. I’m looking forward to meeting you. I get off work around six and have to change. Would seven work for you?”
“Sure.”
“Okay. Thank you so much. My other choices were old Mrs. Miller who teeters around the floor with her little Chihuahua—I think she drinks, and I wouldn’t put it past the dog, either—and Mr. Hicks, who is so hard of hearing that trying to direct him would make me hoarse. Thank you for the call. It’s a relief to find someone willing to participate. Goodbye, Mr. Taylor.”
“Oh, call me Jared.”
“Then you call me Poe.”
“Deal,” he said, grinning like an idiot.
He disconnected the call and the spell over him burst like a bubble. The stupid smile faded. What the hell was he doing acting like a dang fool? He wasn’t doing this job to get closer to the woman who was at the end of that voice. He was doing the job for Harper. It was a job, not a flirtation or anything else. It was serious and required him to totally ignore how she sounded. Except then he lost focus again, and found himself wondering what she looked like. If her voice matched up to her looks. Hooboy! He was in some deep trouble.
He bent down, picked up Daisy and lugged her into the living room, then settled her on the couch.
His stomach clenched. How stupid and awkward was he going to look tomorrow? How would Daisy act? Would she perk up when there were other dogs to interact with? He could only hope.
He found himself both dreading and anticipating meeting Poe Madigan and hoped for the best. He was already hogtied by Harper’s promise. There was no going back now.
#
At seven sharp he was standing outside the entrance to the studio. Why did she have to choose one with wall to wall glass where anyone walking by could see them…actually, him…stumbling around in there? The temperature had dropped from eighty-five to a comfortable seventy-five, but he still was sweating a little.
He scanned the area to look for her, spinning in a circle. A woman caught his attention through the glass of the studio as she emerged through a door inside. When she stopped and stood just inside the entrance, his attention focused in on her like a homing beacon.
He tilted his head slightly to one side. She bent over, her dark, blue-streaked hair falling softly against her cheeks as she untangled the leashes of two rambunctious Jack Russell terriers. Whoa, tight black leather across that shapely ass would easily capture a man’s atte
ntion. There wasn’t much of it, but he was going to go ahead and call it a pair of shorts for lack of a better term. And he was going to call her ass incredible. Her creamy smooth, heartbreaking legs tapered down to a pair of unbelievable heels—a multi-colored zombie motif. Those were just plain dangerous.
She straightened up from the dogs, and Jared quickly reworked the whole fatal combination in his head. The black and white polka-dot halter top she was wearing was definitely the danger area. The pale ivory tops of her full breasts played peek-a-boo with the polka dots, and to his very hungry eyes, that was a kill zone—a verifiable hot spot with a very elegant string of black pearls looping across her chest with a cross at the end, teasing the notch of her cleavage like sin and redemption all nestled together temptingly.
Fuck yeah…wait…oh fuck was more like it!
Jared never really considered himself a possessive man, but one look at her and he was transformed into a bona fide selfish jerk.
And she was a magnificent Goth princess.
From the shapely mounds of her breasts, it was a hop and skip up the satiny skin of her throat to the profile of her face, from the elegant angle of her jaw to the deep purple lipstick on her lips. Geezus, he didn’t trust himself to stare at that mouth. For survival reasons, he moved on to the rest of her striking details—smooth, pale cheeks, a pert nose, and thickly lashed and darkly outlined eyes, almond-shaped, sultry.
Hoo-yah. She was gorgeous.
He felt it like a physical ache in his heart.
She shivered delicately. Had she sensed him ogling her, or was she truly cold?
From a very interesting zombie bag she produced the tiniest black lace wrap he’d ever seen. It fit over her arms and draped in ruffled folds beside each breast. It fit like a glove, and after it was on, she did one of those simply ultimate female things for which the common male simply had no protection—she slid one manicured hand up around the back of her neck and with the utmost unconscious grace, fluffed her hair, the black nail polish catching the overhead lights. The next move was also filled with so much fluid, female style. The head toss to settle her midnight dark hair in place, artlessly performed with mesmerizing skill.
And she did him in.
He waited to see what else she had in her bag of tricks—and so help him God, when she moved, it blindsided him—turning towards the door, she saw him. When she made eye contact, she smiled. It was a genuine smile, which made it all the more dazzling, especially for a woman who had just recently been attacked.
For a man of stealth, a Marine who’d had to live and breathe evasion and concealment, to be so caught off-guard was astonishing.
One long-legged, spike-heeled stride after another, she walked toward him, towing the two Jack Russells with her. She pushed the door open and tilted her head.
Unbelievably, he found himself steeling his heart against the sound of her voice. The sultry welcome of her stunning cobalt blue eyes was only eclipsed by that voice.
“Don’t tell me you’re Jared?” Her normally exuberant voice was hushed as if there wasn’t enough oxygen on the whole planet in which to ease her compressed lungs.
Which only made it deeper, and sexier. Ah, hell.
His reaction to her voice was just as potent as it had been on the phone.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And this must be Daisy. Come on in.”
He’d totally forgotten about the dog, why he was here, and what he was supposed to be doing. Dang it, he’d have to keep his head screwed on tight while he was around this sexy Goth goddess.
Her dogs regarded him with interested, defensive stares. One was larger, his body pure white, ears and upper face black with a caramel brown muzzle. With markings like a Doberman, what he lacked in stature he made up with that intense, protective stare. The smaller one with the intelligent, mischievous eyes had a mostly white body with caramel brown patches here and there, his head different shades of brown, with white patches on his muzzle. These had to be who she was referring to on the phone, The Terrible Two in the fur.
She angled her head, and that’s when he saw it, the darkening bruise on her eye and on the tantalizing plane of her cheekbone.
Fire started in his gut and burned like a wildfire through his veins until he was infused with a consuming rage he’d never felt before. The world shifted on its axis, and he tilted with it in an uncontrollable spin. Instead of Harper’s abstract friend, Poe solidified into a woman in danger, one who needed him. Resigned to do what it took to protect her, he let the warrior loose.
#
That wall of glorious muscle came at her as he dropped the leash of the small basset and pushed through the door of the studio. Poe backed up, mostly intrigued by the poleaxed expression on his face, and then she saw his eyes change and this…this warrior emerged, his gaze hardening, his jaw getting tough, even dusted as it was with that sexy brown-sugar stubble.
Edgar and Allan growled deep in their throats, reacting to the menace Jared Taylor exuded as he barreled toward her. She shushed them, absolutely sure this man would never hurt her. She caught the heel of her shoe on the edge of the wooden dance floor and lost her balance. The dogs scattered. But his strong arm curled around her back and caught her suspended between the floor and his hard-muscled body.
Oh, God. This close she could see that his eyes were a breathtaking moss green. His thick, dark hair gleamed in the overhead lights, a rich espresso brown, cut short on the sides, longer on top so that it stuck up. His dark blue t-shirt fit tight to his wide chest and impossibly broad shoulders, so that Poe could tell he was ripped. The sleeves molded over the thick, bulging biceps that said, Look at me! and her hormones acquiesced like the lemmings they were. To catch her external balance, she curled her hand around his left bicep, and found his skin hot and smooth to the touch, the muscle like a rock. She promptly lost her internal balance, too.
It was a pure, primal female reaction. Oh, yeahhhh, this man was a zombie-killer. There was no doubt.
He smelled fantastic. All cinnamon and citrus and musky, sexy male.
She caught their image in the full length mirror and couldn’t help thinking they looked like they were frozen in a tango move, her back arched, his intense and focused stare. She trembled inside at the warmth of his arm across her back and how sexy they looked in the waning light. The air thickened and crackled around them with almost a substantial texture.
Then with the gentlest of touches, he grabbed her chin and tilted her head. She gasped at the warmth of his index finger nestled against her jaw and against her neck.
Oh. The bruise.
“What sonofabitch did that to you?”
“I don’t know. It was a mugging and he was masked.”
He righted her with a fluid move, making sure she was steady before he removed his arm.
She shouldn’t feel disappointed. Jared was her new dance partner, he wasn’t her type, and she barely knew him.
He brushed his thumb along the bruise on her cheekbone. “Well, if you recognize him, just point him out to me. He won’t be punching out any more women with a broken arm.”
She let out a soft breath and his eyes snapped to hers. He stepped back. “Sorry. Here you’ve just been victimized and I’m going all aggressive on you.”
That soft twang resonated in his voice last night, but it was more pronounced now that they were face to face.
“Shoot. Daisy!” He tensed and whirled to look behind him, relaxing only when he saw she was still lying on the sidewalk where he’d left her.
Striding to the door, he called her, but she didn’t even look at him.
Poe frowned. That was odd.
He gave her an embarrassed glance and stalked out and scooped her up. The dog didn’t even make a sound.
Oh God, those faded jeans molded over his fine backside and made her naughty bits tingle. Suddenly the crotch of her shorts seemed too constricting, flush up against her groin. She tried to smooth the leather down her hips, but that only made it wo
rse. She absolutely could not get turned on by her hunk of a dance partner. That would really complicate things. And Poe didn’t want complications.
He came back inside and set the dog down. Edgar and Allan wasted no time checking out the new addition. They trotted up like gangbusters and boldly sniffed around both Jared and Daisy. Jared watched them with an intensity that seemed an integral part of him. Daisy didn’t move or acknowledge her boys.
“They aren’t shy,” he said, giving her a wide grin that sucked out all the oxygen in the room.
Her knees wobbled a bit.
“No, they are complete and utter rascals. That’s a warning.”
“Daisy is shy and reserved.”
Reserved was an understatement. He knelt down at the same level as Edgar and Allan. Reaching out, he scrubbed his hand over Edgar’s head and, to Poe’s astonishment, Edgar stood still.
It must be the quiet confidence Jared radiated as easily as breathing.
Allan was a little trickier. He ducked Jared’s attempt to pet him and sidled away, giving him a, ha-ha-gotcha look.
“You’re a slippery fella, aren’t you?”
“With a capital S. He’s usually the instigator.”
Jared rose to his full height and Poe’s mouth went dry. In those thickly-lashed eyes, with that unusual color, she caught the humor and the ease, but always lurking beneath them was that powerful warrior.
“Well, we’d better get started. No sense in wasting the time. We only have just a little over three short weeks before the competition. Did Miles explain the routine to you?”
“No, ah, he didn’t. Must have been in too much pain with the broken leg of his to talk.”
“All right. I’m going with a disco, Saturday Night Fever thing.”
He groaned.
“What?”
He winced. “White suit, black shirt and disco dancing.”
“I know, but it’ll be comical with the dogs and hopefully get us some points with the judges.”
“What’s this Fur Ball all about?”
“It was conceived by Mrs. Seymour Craig.”
“Marion Craig? The philanthropist’s wife?”
