by Sabrina York
So, while he was excited to see Porsche again, he was just as excited by the prospect of reclaiming some element of control over his household, miniscule though it might be.
His heart jumped when she knocked on the door and he quickly tossed a blanket over some of his personal items on the unused bunk in the back. He’d spent all his time worrying about his outfit and forgotten to tidy up.
Surely she was a woman who appreciated tidiness.
On that point, he nudged the latest poopage out of plain view and scooped Dougal up in his arms. The puppy was utterly unconcerned that they had a visitor—happy to chew on his sleeve—which was a little annoying, because he’d been plenty concerned about the invisible people who’d apparently walked past the camper all night.
Maybe his barker was tired.
Brandon resettled the squirming ball of fluff and opened the door. Ah, there she stood, looking fresh and beautiful and perfect. “Good morning.” He tried to sound chipper, but he was a little afraid she’d take one look at the demon from hell in his arms and run.
She didn’t. She stepped inside, her attention locked on Dougal, and she cooed. Cooed. “Oh my God. He is adorable. May I?”
He went stock-still as she stepped closer and took the dog from him. Her perfume, or her shampoo or something, knocked him off-kilter. And then, there was the softness of her skin where it touched his hand. And her warmth. And—
Crap.
He had a hard-on.
He gestured toward the table and then closed the door behind her.
As she took her seat she kept cooing to Dougal, who—damn him—seemed to be listening. His little doggy head was cocked to the side and his silky ears were perked up as he stared at her fixedly.
“Sorry about the place,” he said, if only to recapture her attention. “It’s a little tight.”
“I think it’s cute.” But maybe she was talking about the dog. Then her nose wrinkled. “But it . . .”
“What?”
“Kind of smells in here.”
Awesome. Excellent. Just what a guy wanted to hear.
He grabbed a paper towel and picked up the present Dougal had left just moments ago. “Sorry about that.”
“They have sprays for that, you know.”
“Sprays?”
“Yeah. Sprays to cover the smell of the accidents. But the best thing is to teach him to go outside.”
“That would be a miracle.”
He didn’t know why she laughed. “What have you done so far?”
“Done?”
“Have you walked him outside and praised him when he poops?”
“Praised him when he poops?” Hell, this was beyond surreal. In the navy, he told one of his men what to do and they did it. He could just imagine handing out an award at the monthly meeting to Seaman Vickers for excellence in evacuation.
“You need to praise him when he’s good, or he won’t ever know what you want. Watch this.”
She set the puppy on the table—he made a mental note to sanitize it later—and then pulled a bag out of her purse. “What do you think, Dougal? Do you want one of these? Do you? Do you, sweet thing?”
Her tone made his head spin, because he could just imagine her speaking to him like that as she rode him . . . and maybe flogged him with her hair.
But enough of that.
It was far too painful to think of that.
Better to focus on the dog.
The dog. That damn traitor.
His little butt wiggled back and forth as Porsche let him sniff the treat, but when he tried to eat it, she said, in a firm voice, “Sit.”
He did not sit, so she tried again, gently pressing his bottom down. When he complied—though it took a while—she gurgled, “Good boy,” and let him have the snack.
The next time she told him to sit, it was immediate. He plopped his ass down on the table and stared up at her intently.
“See,” she said, with her eyes shining. “He’s a smart boy, isn’t he? Oh, yes he is.” She shot a look across the table. “You’re not going to have any trouble training him, Brandon.”
“Do you really think so?”
“I do. He’s very food-motivated. That helps a lot.”
“Any idea how I can keep him from shredding the toilet paper?”
She smirked. “Keep the bathroom door shut.”
“Right.”
“Shall we take him outside for a walk, and see how he does? What do you think, Dougal? Do you want to go for a walk?” She said it in a tone that made the dog cock his head again.
Brandon grabbed the leash and hooked it onto Dougal’s collar, though Porsche carried him outside. She set him down on the ground and said, “Go potty.”
He didn’t—he simply toddled around smelling each tuft of grass within reach—but that was hardly a surprise. Porsche, apparently very patient, kept saying “Go potty,” until finally, her command dovetailed with Dougal’s need.
When he lifted his leg and christened the tire of his camper she was there immediately with a treat and a “Good potty.”
While Brandon really enjoyed watching her—especially when she bent over—he couldn’t envision himself doing such a thing.
But he’d have to, if he wanted to keep Dougal. And it was hardly fair to the dog if he didn’t give this training 100 percent. So when she said, in that chipper voice, “Your turn,” he did it. He tried.
He was delighted beyond words when Dougal sat at his command. He felt like the king of the world.
They continued like this, walking around the yard, occasionally giving Dougal the “sit” command. Most of the time, he obeyed. It was so pleasant, just walking with her. They talked a little bit and she told him about growing up on the ranch next door, how the world had crashed in when her parents died. How her brother had become her keeper. She told him about her passion for her art—she made jewelry and sold it online with her friends and, apparently, judging from the hint of pride in her voice, they did well.
She didn’t speak at all of a boyfriend, which he found encouraging, but when Cody emerged from the bunkhouse, she went on point. Like a cheetah catching a whiff of a tasty meerkat.
It wasn’t the first time Brandon had noticed her interest in Cade’s brother. But this time, he felt it like a slam to the gut, which was probably why he mentioned it.
“Hey there,” he said before he could think better of it. “Don’t get whiplash.”
She shot a frown at him. “What?”
He nodded in Cody’s direction. “I mean, he walks out and your head spins around like something from The Exorcist.”
Her lip came out. It was adorable, but she said, with an outrage that spoke for itself, “My head did not whip around.”
“It kind of did.” He glanced at Cody, who was now walking away, toward the shop. He couldn’t help noticing that her gaze was glued on his ass. The thought sent prickles over his nape. “So,” he said in a tight voice, “you’ve got it bad for him, I take it.” It was painful to come right out and say it, but, hell, he needed to know if he had any chance with her.
His heart plummeted when she leaned against the fence and murmured wistfully, “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
“I suppose.” Though he’d never experienced it. Instant attraction, sure. But love? He wasn’t even sure what love was.
“Well, I believe in it.” Porsche turned to stare out at the horizon. “That’s what happened to me. The first time I saw Cody, I knew he was the man for me.”
“Really?” Bitterness filled his mouth. “Um . . . How old were you?”
She turned to him, her expression somber. “Five.”
He tried not to laugh. “Five?”
“Mmm hmm. I will never forget that day. I was in the ice-cream store celebrating my first day of school. My top scoop fe
ll on the floor and I started to cry. He gave me his cone.”
“That is pretty romantic.” There was hardly any snark in his tone at all. Still, she shot him a glare.
“It was terribly romantic. I fell in love at once.” She sighed and propped her chin on her hands and stared after Cody. “I’ve always been in love with him. As long as I can remember.”
It hit him, and hit him hard. Harder than any IED. She was in love with another man. She didn’t even see him. Not really.
And she didn’t even know his terrible secret.
It was one of the lowest moments of his life, and he wasn’t sure why.
“If I could only get his attention. I know he’d fall for me. I know he would.”
Yeah. That would be awesome. Fan-fucking-tabulous.
She turned her beautiful brown eyes on him. “You’re a man, Brandon.”
Yay, she’d noticed. A minor miracle. “Last time I checked.”
“What do men find enchanting? Fascinating? Irresistible?”
You.
“Well?” She blinked.
“Porsche, I can’t answer that. Every man is different . . . or else we’d all be dating the same girl.”
“Well, what do you find intriguing?”
You.
“Well?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know.” He did.
“You have to know.”
“All right. Let’s see. There has to be a physical attraction.”
“Of course.”
“And a sense of humor.”
“I’ve got that.”
Long, silky black hair. Chocolate-brown eyes with thick lashes. A bow-shaped mouth made for kissing and—
“Brandon! Do pay attention.”
“Oh, I was.”
“I was asking you a question.”
“Were you?” He must have missed it.
“I was in the process.” She put her hands on her hips. “This isn’t easy, you know.”
He had the sense that he’d missed more than a small chunk of the conversation, though he was pretty sure he’d been listening. Still, he was completely befuddled. “What isn’t easy?”
“This.”
Which was not elucidating in the least.
“Porsche, what are you trying to ask me?”
She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away. “I need a boyfriend.”
His heart lurched. “A . . . what?”
“A boyfriend. You know. Someone to make me irresistible.”
She was talking nonsense. She was already irresistible. “I don’t follow.”
“Oh honestly.” She blew out an impatient breath, but he sensed a tremor of despair in it. “Don’t you see?” She turned to him then and grabbed his hands, so no, he didn’t see. He was only aware of her gaze, her touch, her scent.
“Cody doesn’t notice me because I’m too available.”
Again, this didn’t track. In his experience, men honed in on available women like bees to a honeypot. It was almost as though they had some kind of internal radar for it or something.
His expression must have communicated his bewilderment because she stepped closer. “Don’t you see? He’s always seen me as Ford’s little sister. I know, I just know if he saw me as a woman, he’d notice me.” How a red-blooded man couldn’t notice her was beyond him. Such a man certainly didn’t deserve her.
“So you need a boyfriend?” Again, it didn’t make any sense.
“Not a boyfriend boyfriend. But someone to be my boyfriend.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He failed to see the difference.
And then it hit him.
Oh hell. What a horrible feeling. Like a lead ball in his belly, sinking through him and dragging him to the bottom of some swirling salty sea.
“You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend?” So she could win another man?
It was crushing, the way her eyes lit up. “Yes. That’s it exactly. See, I knew you would understand. I knew you were the one.”
Somehow, the declaration didn’t thrill him a whole lot.
“Well?” She stared at him with far too much hopefulness.
“Porsche . . .” It had to be said. “I don’t think this is the best way to go about it.”
“Oh, nonsense. I’ve tried everything else . . . short of kidnapping him.”
To his horror, her gaze softened and she glanced away as though she were considering just that. But then, apparently—and thankfully—she shook her head and focused on him again. “Will you?” She batted her lashes. “Will you be my pretend boyfriend?”
His first instinct was to say, Not only no, but hell no, because he was no one’s second banana—no pun intended. But then he realized something that changed his mind.
If he was Porsche’s “boyfriend,” he would be spending a lot of time with her, getting to know her. And she would be getting to know him. They’d already bonded over the dog and that unfortunate aversion to clowns. He was certain they had even more in common.
If he wanted to be close to her, this was the only way.
And if he wanted to turn her attention away from her ridiculous crush on Cody and on to him, this was his chance. So he said, “Yes, Porsche. I will be your boyfriend.”
And he hoped to God he wouldn’t live to regret it.
Chapter Five
Excitement gushed through her as she stared up at Brandon’s handsome face. He didn’t look terribly pleased at the prospect of being her fake boyfriend, which was a little lowering, but he had agreed. She made a mental note to make it worth his while.
She hooked her arm in his and led him back toward the camper. “We should discuss our plans,” she said.
“Plans?” For some reason, he spoke in something of a squawk.
“Well, we need plans, don’t we? We can’t go in all willy-nilly.” She frowned at him, but it was a playful offering. “You’re a military man. You guys believe in campaigns, don’t you?”
“We do. But this is hardly war.”
“Oh, it is,” she said in her best Yoda warble. “It is.”
She opened the door to the camper, and he picked up Dougal and carried him in. Then they both took a seat at the table.
“So what kind of planning do you have in mind?” he asked.
She pulled a notebook and a couple of pens out of her purse and ripped off two pieces of paper, setting one before him. “Well, first off, I think we should get to know each other better. Don’t you think? So we can appear to be a real couple.”
She glanced at him and stilled. Something flashed through his eyes. It disappeared so quickly, there was no chance to interpret it, but it seemed like pain.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” she asked. She had to. While he was perfect for her needs, the last thing she wanted to do was make him uncomfortable.
He folded his fingers and set his hands on the table. “I did agree.”
“You can always back out.” She hoped he wouldn’t, but the offer needed to be made.
“I always honor my promises.”
She had no doubt this was true.
“Besides, I owe you a favor.” He forced a smile that almost seemed sincere.
“Excuse me? You saved my life. If anything, I owe you.” And damn. She did. All of a sudden, she felt a ping of guilt. She was talking advantage of his good nature and—
“But you’ve agreed to tame my wild beast,” he said, nodding to Dougal, who was shredding a paper towel in the corner.
Well, there was that. Gently and with a no-nonsense demeanor, she picked up the pieces of the towel and gave Dougal a squeaky toy shaped like a hedgehog from her purse in exchange. The dog went into orgasmic raptures, attacking the poor critter with a slavering glee. The hedgehog’s squeals rose to a cacophony.
She shot Brandon a grin. “Do you feel that is a fair exchange?”
“I do.” This time, his smile was sincere.
“That makes me feel better.”
“I am gratified.” Surely there was no whiff of sarcasm in his words. “So, where do we begin?”
She stared at him as her mind spun. Where did one begin? She’d never had a real relationship—other than her fantasy one with Cody, and that dismal experiment in Dallas—so she wasn’t really sure. “We could start with our deepest darkest secrets.” His horrified expression nearly made her laugh. “Or not?”
He forced a chuckle. “Let’s start with the basics.” He leaned in and she was struck by the intensity of his stare, the beauty of his eyes. He really had lovely lashes. “Tell me about Porsche McCoy.”
“Ugh. Why do we have to start with me?”
“Because you started this.”
“But, I’m boring.” She was. Dismally so.
“I’m boring too.”
She eyed him doubtfully. A Navy SEAL? Boring? Not likely. “I bet I’m more boring.”
“Prove it.”
She huffed a sigh. “Okay. Born and raised in a tiny Texas town. Parents killed in a car accident when I was little. Brought up by an older brother who is far too overprotective.”
“So far, fascinating.” He grinned, and dimples exploded on his cheeks. She nearly sighed. Cody had dimples too. Though they weren’t nearly as deep.
“I rebelled when I was eighteen and moved to Dallas.”
He snickered. “I bet Ford loved that.”
“He had an apoplexy, but I’m stubborn.” She waved to the paper in front of him. “You might want to write that bit down.”
“That you give men apoplexy, or that you’re stubborn?” But it was clear he knew damn well which one he should remember.
“In Dallas I got a job designing jewelry for an online company.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Oh, I loved the designing part, but didn’t care for the big city. The trouble was, I’d made my stand, and so it was impossible to come back with my tail between my legs. I was kind of stuck there.” She frowned at him. “What are you writing down?” He’d suddenly started scribbling on the paper.
