"Oh, Gabe…" She melted against him, rested her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to feel this way. It isn't fair to you. It's not right of me to enter into this relationship making you feel like you have to prove yourself, or make something up to me." She raised her head and looked into his whiskey-colored eyes. "I believe in you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. I need you to know that."
"I know it." He touched his lips to hers. "Just try to remember we're starting fresh. It'll work out."
Her smile was tremulous. "Don't say that. It's what we always used to tell each other. 'It'll work out.' Let's just concentrate on the starting-fresh part."
He kissed her again, lingeringly, plucking gently at her lips. "You taste like Kahlua."
"Mmm … so do you."
"See? A match made in heaven." He deepened the kiss as his hands followed the curve of her back down to her hips and the hem of her burnt-orange satin T-shirt. "You know what I've been thinking about all day?"
"Case law? Jury selection? Torts? What are torts anyway?"
"A kind of dessert. I've been thinking about tonight, and seeing you naked in my bed."
"Good gracious, sir, are you propositioning me?"
"Here's the proposition." Gabe whispered in her ear, and her response to his first carnal suggestion was to laugh and pull away. He held her still and made her listen to the protracted list of everything he intended to do to her.
"Tell me," she asked, as heat seared her cheeks, "did you get any work done today, thinking up all this stuff?"
"Not a lot, no." He slipped his hands under her satin T-shirt. She began slowly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
"I love weeknights," she said. "I love these dress shirts on you. You look so businesslike, so buttoned up, but so … I don't know … virile at the same time with the top open and that sexy chest hair peeking out." She nuzzled the gaping V, gorging her senses on the intoxicating essence of him.
"I changed my mind," he said, backing her toward the sofa. "About getting you into bed. Here is just fine."
His erection nudged her through their clothing. Her body answered with a surge of heat, deep and low. Yes, here was just fine. The sofa had definite possibilities. So did the chairs, the carpet, and the coffee table, for that matter.
"This one's a giveaway." Gabe's hands, still under her shirt, fondled her bra. It had become a game with them, his trying to identify which scandalous brassiere she was wearing, by feel. He always approached the task with scientific thoroughness, taking his time, examining every seam, every bit of trim, loving stroking the cups, carefully gauging cleavage depth and the degree of lift and separation.
Dena had promised him a very special reward if he ever got it right. He had yet to accomplish that feat, thanks to her vast collection of sexy underthings.
"The black one," he pronounced, and began to pull the shirt up.
She stayed his hand. "Which black one?"
"The satin. With the crossed cords in front and that kind of halter thing going on at the shoulders."
"Racer style."
"Whatever. You know the one I mean. I'm right, aren't I?"
She lifted an eyebrow. "And you're sure it's black."
He began to answer. "Think carefully now."
Gabe's eyes narrowed. She sensed his detail-oriented lawyer's brain sorting through the possibilities. When he spoke, his voice rang with authority. "It's black. Now let's see it."
Dena whipped off the top and displayed her black satin bra. Racer style with crossed cords in front.
Gabe gasped in stunned delight. "I was right!"
She wiped away an imaginary tear. "Gosh, I'm just so darn proud of you."
"What do I get? What's my prize?"
"How about a nice fruit basket?"
"Think again." He propelled them both onto the sofa. His weight pressed her into the soft cushions. He kissed her throat, once, twice. She sighed and reached under his shirt, kneaded his wide back, hot and solid under her hands.
Gabe groped under her back for the bra's hook-and-eye closure.
The phone rang. She jumped. He cursed.
"The machine'll get it," he murmured.
"I'm not in," his recorded voice said. "You know what to do."
The instant Dena heard Wendy Chow's frazzled voice, she shot up off the sofa, shoving Gabe onto the floor. No one on her payroll would bother her here if it weren't urgent.
"I'm trying to get Dena Devlin," Wendy was saying. "We've got a situation here—"
Dena snatched up the phone. "Wendy. What's up?" As she listened to the manager of her newest pet resort describe the problem, she looked at Gabe, lounging on the sofa in his faded jeans and half-open white dress shirt. So close and yet so far.
She sent him an apologetic look. He answered with a wistful smile. The bad news was that she had to leave, which Gabe had obviously figured out. The good news was that this was one man who didn't need to be told that there were times when business came first.
Dena reassured Wendy and hung up the phone. She stood over Gabe with her hands on her hips, in her autumn-leaf leggings and her black Satin Fantasy bra. "Put your shoes on. We've got a reservation at the Xanadu."
* * *
15
« ^ »
The Xanadu Pet Resort was located in a charming old brick building in Litchfield that had once been a hotel for human beings. Gabe perused the lobby as Dena met with the manager, a young Asian woman named Wendy Chow, in Wendy's office. The lobby floor was pink marble, the check-in counter gleaming brass and burled wood. Over the counter hung an enormous, gilt-framed oil portrait of a black pug standing proudly against an autumn landscape. It appeared to have been painted in the last century. Gabe had to chuckle. He wasn't the only one with an eye for antique pugs.
On the way there Dena had explained the problem. While every Xanadu resort offered oversize, dormitory-style dog runs, the most sought-after accommodations were the individual apartments. Staff members lived in these apartments, sharing them with a guest dog or cat.
Brenna Rose, a newspaper heiress and an important client of Xanadu, had booked such an apartment for her two poodles. Unfortunately the young man who occupied it, a college student named Mario Messina, had been called away to Naples on a family emergency. Mrs. Rose would be back from her weeklong trip to California tomorrow, but that still left one night that had to be covered.
It was Friday night of the Columbus Day long weekend, prime travel time. All the Xanadu resorts were booked solid, and Wendy had been unable to locate a reliable, trained replacement to fill in. Since Dena was staying close by at Gabe's, the honors had fallen to her.
And to Gabe. Not a dog person by nature, he still wasn't sure how he was going to manage sharing an apartment with a couple of poodles, of all things. German shepherds, he could deal with. He'd even take a pair of Dobermans. A man's dog. But poodles?
"Okay, we're set." Dena bustled out of Wendy's office, snatched their sack of Chinese take-out food off the counter and started up the curving, plushly carpeted staircase. She stopped halfway up and sent him a look of studied patience. "You can't sleep in the lobby, Gabe."
Sighing, he lifted their overnight bags and followed behind her. "This ought to tell you how much I love you."
"Stop grumbling. You didn't have to come along." She started down the hallway on the second floor, decorated with an Oriental runner, old-fashioned wall sconces and the ubiquitous antique portraits of dogs and cats.
"We don't get enough time together," Gabe said. "I wasn't going to give up a night with you just because it means sharing you with … poodles."
She smirked at him as she unlocked the door of apartment number seven. Vigorous barking greeted their arrival, a deep man's-dog bark and a yippy little step-on-me-dog bark. The animals bounded toward them as Gabe shut the door. He was surprised. He'd expected a couple of pathetic specimens with pink-dyed fur clipped like topiary hedges, complete with pom-pom tails and hair bows.
One of these dogs
was a big fellow—a standard poodle, Dena explained, and a large one at that—with floppy ears and a curly apricot coat trimmed to a uniform thickness. He had to admit it was an attractive animal, even if it wasn't necessarily what he'd call a man's dog. The other one was a toy poodle, a tiny white ball of fuzz, blessedly free of pompoms, that had Dena squealing with delight and scooping it up into her arms.
"Aren't you just the sweetest thing!" she exclaimed as she let the little beast lick her face!
Gabe wrinkled his nose. "I hope you're not expecting me to kiss you after that."
"Pay no attention to the mean man," she told the creature as she nuzzled and stroked it. "He's a lawyer," she stage-whispered into its furry ear. "Need I say more? Now, which one are you? Susie or Shaynie?"
The big standard poodle responded enthusiastically to the second name, so there was one mystery solved. They were both girl dogs, then. Outnumbered, Gabe thought. Naturally.
Shaynie appeared overly interested in the bag of Chinese food. Dena moved it into the kitchen, then knelt and quickly made friends with the big dog, speaking to her in a high, friendly voice, letting her sniff her hands and offering doggie yummies from her shoulder bag.
"You got anything in there for me?" Gabe asked. "Like a handful of Valium?"
"The mean man is trying to be funny," she told Shaynie. "Sad, isn't it?"
"I'll move our bags," he grumbled, scoping the place out and quickly locating the bedroom. It was a cozy, utilitarian apartment, ideal for a single student like the young man who lived here. More than ideal for pampered mutts like Susie and Shaynie.
When he reentered the living room, Dena was flipping through papers on a clipboard. "Okay, let's see what we have here. Shaynie likes to watch NASCAR racing on ESPN, and usually falls asleep in the middle of it. Susie stays up for I Love Lucy reruns on Nickelodeon." She checked her watch.
"Oh, please," Gabe said. "Tell me the dogs don't get to pick the TV shows."
"The usual choice is the Discovery Channel, with the Food Network running a close second. But these gals don't seem to run with the pack. So to speak. Oh, and they both like Lite FM," she said, consulting the notes, "although we are warned that Shaynie likes to howl along to Sting's 'Fields of Gold.'" She rubbed the big dog's head. "I'm with you, Shaynie. That's just the most romantic song."
"Okay, one question," Gabe said. "Where do they sleep?"
Dena grinned. "That's like asking where a thousand-pound lion sleeps." She spread her arms. "Wherever they want to."
Gabe pointed toward the bedroom. "The bed's ours, though, right? I mean, these are dogs. They sleep on, like, dog beds or something." He looked around. No dog beds in sight.
She grabbed two leashes off a hook by the door.
"Are you going to be this anxious and upset all night?"
"I'm not anxious and upset, I just want to know— What are you doing?"
"Taking these ladies outside for a few minutes. Come along and keep us company."
He did, and found himself impressed by the resort's huge yard, about a half acre, meticulously landscaped. Dena explained that all canine guests were brought outside for play and exercise several times a day.
When they returned to the apartment, she tuned in to NASCAR racing on the TV, but thankfully kept the volume low. Shaynie planted herself in front of the set, while Susie seemed more interested in Dena and Gabe's dinner preparations as they set their take-out feast on the small table in the L-shaped dining alcove.
Dena settled herself in her chair across from Gabe. "I know you've already eaten," she told the dog. "General Tso's Chicken isn't what your little tummy needs." She lifted a rawhide chew toy from the carpet and tossed it into the living room. Susie watched it land and turned back to stare at the General Tso's Chicken.
"I just know I'm going to step on that hair ball," Gabe muttered as he dug in to his pork lo mein. "It's always underfoot."
As if Susie knew he was talking about her, she trotted to his side and sat staring up at him, tracking his every movement with her dark little eyes. He lifted a few strands of lo mein with his chopsticks and held them over her head.
"Don't you dare!" Dena scolded.
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"That you'll be up with her all night. In the yard."
Gabe popped the lo mein into his own mouth. Susie scooted closer still, licking her chops.
Eventually the toy poodle lost interest and went into the living room to harass Shaynie, who had begun to doze. Susie leaped on the much larger animal and bit her tail. Shaynie came instantly awake, snarling and snapping, batting at the tiny dog and trying to chomp it.
"Aren't you going to stop them?" Gabe demanded.
Dena spared them only a glance. "They're just playing."
The two animals didn't look like they were playing. Susie, the instigator, fought like a demon, biting the big dog every chance she got. Shaynie had the obvious advantage and easily immobilized Susie, closing her huge jaws over the furry little head.
Gabe was out of his seat like a shot. "Shaynie! Stop that! Dena, she's going to kill it!"
"If Shaynie wanted to kill Susie, that little devil would've been lunch a long time ago. Mind if I finish the lo mein?"
Gabe didn't answer, too distracted by the sight of Susie, having been released with her cranium intact, pouncing on Shaynie yet again. Gabe would have thought she'd learned her lesson. Once more the big dog threatened to devour the little one.
"You see?" Dena said. "Playing."
Gabe dropped into his chair and picked up his chopsticks. "Yeah," he griped, "but where are they going to sleep?"
This man needed a real pet, Dena thought. Something warm-blooded, with fur and a personality. Something he wouldn't mind curling up with on a chilly night. Those exotic fish of his were closer to kinetic sculpture than pets.
Not for the first time, she thought of how it would be to share her big, eclectic house with Gabe. She thought of how much he enjoyed playing with her spirited puppies, how delicious he looked sprawled on her queen-size sleigh bed, bathed in early morning sunlight slanting through the dormer window. With the white bedsheets twisted around his naked body and his light brown hair in disarray and his jaw rough with beard stubble, he looked more like some kind of old-west desperado, or an outlaw biker perhaps, than a partner in one of Wall Street's most prestigious law firms.
"What are you thinking?" Gabe asked. "What put that dreamy expression on your face?"
"I'm thinking how irresistible you look in my bed."
His whiskey eyes darkened to maple syrup. He glanced at the door to the bedroom. "What do you say we leave the little darlings to their bloodbath and turn in early?"
The "bloodbath" had wound down. The little darlings were now tussling over a squeaky rubber dog bone.
"I wish we could," Dena said, as they started clearing the white cardboard take-out containers off the table. "But we really have to spend a little quality time with these guys."
Gabe muttered something under his breath, but he didn't argue.
Two hours later, Shaynie was snoring on the love seat. Gabe lounged in an armchair in front of the television, absently stroking the fluffy little dog curled up in his lap, both absorbed in Lucy and Ethel's latest harebrained scheme.
Dena got ready for bed and padded back out to the living room wearing a short white silk robe covered in hot pink kissy lips. On-screen, an exasperated Ricky scolded, "Looo-ceeee…" Gabe snorted. Susie's ear pricked.
"I hate to break this up," Dena said, "but I thought you were ready to turn in."
Gabe did a classic double take worthy of Ricky Ricardo, eyeing Dena's state of dishabille. "I'm ready," he said, and lost no time turning over the armchair to the tiny poodle.
Dena had turned down the covers on the double platform bed. The only light came from several short votive candles in glass holders, which she'd arranged on the nightstands. Gabe followed her into the bedroom, took one look at her handiwork and kicked the door shu
t. He unfastened the buttons of his white shirt with lightning speed and tossed it in a corner, even as he kicked off his shoes.
"You're in a hurry," Dena laughed.
He advanced on her where she stood near the bed. Flickering candlelight accentuated the sinewy terrain of his bare torso. "We were interrupted back at my place," he said, as his fingers went to the fly of his jeans. He popped the brass button free. "Now, where were we exactly?"
"On the sofa in your den." She stroked her hands up his warm chest. "You were intent on collecting your prize, as I recall."
"My prize? Oh yeah." His hands came up to fondle her breasts through the silk robe. His brow knitted. "What are you wearing under this?"
He started to pull the robe open. Dena playfully swatted his hands away and shoved him so he fell onto the bed.
"Patience." She knelt on the mattress, straddling him. "Some things are worth waiting for."
He folded his arms under his head. "So what's my prize?" he asked. "Don't keep me in suspense any longer."
"I'll keep you in suspense as long as I feel like it."
His smiling eyes glittered in the warm candlelight. "Ooh, tough lady."
"That's right." Dena slid onto the floor, where she knelt between his legs. Lightly she touched the distended front of his jeans. His breathing picked up speed; he watched her intently. She grasped the zipper pull and slowly worked it down his fly until the denim gaped open, revealing white briefs stretched taut.
Dena bent over him and pressed her lips to the straining fabric. Gabe's breath left him in a rush. He caressed her hair, wordlessly encouraging her. Not that Dena needed any encouragement. She hooked her fingers in the waistband of his jeans to pull them off.
Gabe jerked up with a strangled cry, holding his pants closed. Dena whipped around to see what had alarmed him, and came face-to-face with Shaynie, not a foot away. Shaynie's tail wagged. Hot dog breath fanned Dena's face.
The raw curses erupting from Gabe had Dena biting her lip, trying not to laugh. Shaynie climbed onto the bed and got herself settled.
"How the hell did that thing get in here!" he cried, zipping up. "I closed the damn door!"
A CLASS ACT Page 13
