Love Is a Four-Legged Word

by Kandy Shepherd

  “That’s right. I bought the apartment as part of an investment portfolio. It’s registered under the name of a company, so it would be difficult for anyone to trace you there. You’ll be safe.”

  Safe? thought Maddy. That depended on his definition of safety. Safe from Jerome and unwelcome reporters maybe. But what about safe from Tom and the attraction she didn’t want to feel? “Just you and me?”

  “And Brutus.”

  “Of course.”

  “There’s just one problem.”

  “Yes?”

  “There are no dogs allowed where I live.”

  “No dogs,” she repeated, knowing she sounded dopey but seizing on the opportunity to distract herself from the thought of being alone with Tom in his apartment. And to stop the surge of excitement that flared through her. “So what do we do about Brutus?”

  “We think of ways around the restriction.”

  “You mean break the rules? Are lawyers allowed to do that?”

  “Well ...” he said and the dimple appeared for the first time that evening.With a great deal of effort, she refrained from leaning forward and kissing it “hello.”

  “We’ll have to smuggle him in and keep him completely under wraps,” he said.

  “Which might not be so easy with Brutus.”

  “Correct.”

  She looked up at Tom. Some of the strain had gone from his eyes. He had never looked more handsome. Her heart did a series of disconcerting somersaults.

  “Brutus has a pet carrier that Walter used to take him to the vet.”

  “Too obvious.”

  “What about my suitcase?” She answered her own question before Tom had a chance to comment. “No. Too confined. He’d panic. And when he panics he po-”

  “I don’t want to know about that scenario.” Tom grimaced.

  Maddy thought. “I’ve got just the thing. We’ll disguise him as shopping.”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose. “Shopping?”

  “I’m a chef. I’d be bringing food into your house, right?”

  Tom nodded.

  “I have a big woven straw market basket. It’s deep, it has air holes, it has handles. And I can cover the top with a dishtowel. No one would dream there was a dog in there. We’ll smuggle him into your apartment in my shopping basket.”

  Twelve

  Brutus did not want to be stuffed into a shopping basket. He did not want to be tucked in with a dishtowel. He protested. He barked. He scrabbled with his claws and scratched Maddy’s arms. She yelped. Tom cursed. Then Brutus jumped out of the basket, scampered off, and hid behind Serena’s sofa. To inform the humans of his extreme displeasure he peed on Serena’s rug.

  Thank heaven for the wonders of veterinary science, Maddy thought as, much later that night, she found herself outside Tom’s imposing apartment block on South Beach. She had parked her car at a parking garage a few blocks back.

  She was carrying her shopping basket with Brutus safely inside. Protruding from one corner, for authenticity’s sake, was a bunch of celery and a couple of leeks. From inside the basket emanated the faintest of doggy snores.

  Tom strode beside her, carrying her hastily-packed-again purple suitcase.

  “Good thing Serena still had some of the dog sedative the vet prescribed for Snowball when he travels,” Maddy whispered. “But we’d better get Brutus inside before it wears off.”

  Tom stopped mid-stride. “Don’t call him Brutus,” he hissed. “The whole country knows Brutus the millionaire mutt. That would be a dead giveaway. We’ll have to call him something else.”

  Maddy stopped, too. “You’re right,” she whispered. “And there’s another thing. What if someone hears us calling for him and knows we’ve got a dog in your apartment? I mean if he escapes or something.Why don’t we give him a kid’s name?”

  Tom nodded his agreement. “Good idea. What kind of parents would call their kid Brutus?”

  “Okay. So what will we call him?”

  “How about Bruce?”

  Traffic whizzed along the Embarcadero, and she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. She forgot to whisper. “Bruce? Would you honestly call your child Bruce?”

  Tom’s eyebrows rose in exasperation. “What’s wrong with the name Bruce? I play soccer with a very nice guy called Bruce.”

  “You’re not serious? You wouldn’t call a baby Bruce?”

  Tom looked at her uncomprehendingly. “Does it matter what I’d call a baby?”

  Suddenly it did. And the realization shocked her. Why would she be thinking about baby names and Tom O’Brien in the same thought? Or arguing with him about it? What did it matter to her what he’d call his kids? That is, if he ever got around to amending his famous plan to include them.

  She shook her head to clear her brain of such disturbing thoughts. She’d better concentrate 100 percent on Brutus and getting him safely away from Jerome with his poison T-bone and toxic chocolate.

  “Right. Bruce it is, though I’m agreeing under protest,” she said.

  She looked around her, impressed, as Tom keyed in the security code to the main entrance of the apartment complex. These executive apartments overlooking the South Beach Marina were quite the thing for an up-and-coming lawyer.

  She continued to be impressed by the sleek, modern, marble-paved lobby. But it was definitely not dog friendly. She swallowed hard. Could they pull this off? If they couldn’t, where else could she and Brutus go where they’d be safe?

  Tom nodded in the direction of the doorman as they walked past. So did she. But just then Brutus shifted around in the basket and gave a distinct snore.The doorman looked over.

  Maddy froze. Then started to cough. Loud, exaggerated coughing that she hoped could be mistaken for the snore.

  Tom looked mystified. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” she spluttered, “just coughing, you know, coughing.”

  “I get it,” said Tom. And kissed her.

  Pow! Just the touch of his lips on hers and she felt weak at the knees. For a moment she swayed forward, wanting more. But she made herself pull back. “I’m . . . uh . . . okay now.”

  As soon as the elevator closed in front of them she kicked Tom lightly on the shin.“Hey, what was the kiss thing all about?”

  Tom’s brown eyes widened. “I was just distracting the doorman. You coughed. I kissed.” His gaze appeared innocent, but she couldn’t be sure of his motives.

  “Well, quit with the kissing.”

  “It was just a pretend kiss.”

  “Well, quit the pretend kisses, too.”

  Why did he have to remind her that he was the sexiest kisser in the universe? Right when she was about to be holed up with him in his apartment. Just him and her, with their only chaper one a doped-up, unconscious little dog snoring away in a shopping basket.

  “Right,” Tom said, “no kissing even of the pretend kind. For a moment I forgot I’d passed my use-by date.” His words were heavily underscored with sarcasm.

  She felt herself flushing. “You know what I mean,” she muttered.

  A grin tugged around the corners of his sexy mouth. “You can explain it to me later,” he said. “Maybe run the ‘kissing occasion’ theory by me again. I’m still not quite sure how it works.”

  As she carried Brutus in his basket out of the elevator, Maddy had to admit to herself that neither did she.

  Tom’s apartment was just as she’d imagined it—large and airy, with a wall of glass facing the water with views across the palm-tree-lined Embarcadero to the marina.

  It was immaculately furnished in a minimalist style with tones of black, gray, and the occasional deep purple highlight. Stylish, expensive, and undoubtedly—she thought with a heart sinking rapidly south—the most dog-unfriendly place she had ever seen.

  “I bought the display apartment,” Tom explained, “all the furniture included. They used a top interior designer. All I had to do was move in.”

  His enthusiasm demanded a response but “Mmm” was
all she was able to murmur. She preferred something with more character, something that reflected the personality of the human being who lived there. On a quick glance around she could see that Tom hadn’t put his mark on the place at all. Everything was probably as the designer had left it. But didn’t he say it was an investment, not a home?

  Still in the shopping basket, but uncovered now and with no celery for company, Brutus stirred in his sleep, nose twitching, a paw quivering. Was he dreaming of chasing imaginary girlfriends, or of his little canine family? “Good little fellow,” she crooned.

  She looked up at Tom. “Brutus seems absolutely fine, but I wouldn’t mind keeping him in the room with me so he doesn’t get too scared when he wakes up.”

  “Good idea,” said Tom.

  “So, uh, where is my room?” she ventured.

  Tom looked disconcerted. “Your room? Uh, actually there is only one bedroom.”

  Her defenses sprang immediately to life. She put up her hands as if to ward him off. “Tom, no way am I—”

  “Maddy, you can sleep in my bedroom. I’ll take the couch,” he said, indicating a deep, black leather sofa positioned in front of an enormous flat-screen television.

  She took a deep breath. Maybe she’d overreacted. “Fine,” she said, “I . . . uh . . . fine.”

  Even in his fantasies, Tom hadn’t thought about the sleeping arrangements once he’d gotten Maddy and Brutus safely into his apartment. His only concern had been to protect them from that maniac Jerome.

  But now that he had her here, suddenly all he could think of was her in his bed lying seductively across it with her hair bright against the pale gray of the pillow and him slowly stripping her of her sexy underwear.

  Were Maddy’s thoughts running along the same erotic lines? She looked more ill at ease than he’d ever seen her, nervously twisting the leather handles of the basket, her cheeks flushed, not meeting his eyes.

  “So. You’d better show me around. You know, kitchen, bathroom . . .” She paused as if the thought had just struck her. “I guess there’s only one bathroom?”

  Of course. She’d be sharing his bathroom. He groaned inwardly. Naked in his shower. Standing naked in front of his sink, reflected naked in his mirror. Dashing naked across the hallway to the bedroom even? How was he going to be able to endure this? He cleared his throat. “Yeah, there’s just one bathroom, but I’ll stay out of your way.”

  “We’ll be sharing the bathroom with Brutus, too,” Maddy informed him. “We’ll have to put some paper down on the floor for him, in case of accidents. He’s used to being outside.”

  “Accidents?” Tom shuddered at the thought of Brutus’s “accidents” in his immaculate apartment. He certainly hadn’t thought things through before issuing his impulsive invitation to Maddy and the mutt. And is that what she’d been thinking about while he’d been entertaining erotic thoughts of her?

  “Yeah. Well, that can be your department,” he warned. “And keep him away from the leather furniture.”

  He knew he didn’t need to remind her of the incident with the BMW upholstery. Her deepened flush let him know she hadn’t forgotten.

  “I’ll do my best,” she said. “I’m sure the, uh, thing with your car was a one time deal. He certainly never chewed on any of my furniture or Walter’s.” She leaned over to croon at Brutus still zonked out in the basket. “Did you, little guy? Maybe you were upset on the day of the funeral.”

  Brutus opened one round black eye but closed it again immediately and burrowed farther into the basket.

  “Do you seriously believe that he understands what you’re saying?”Tom was unable to resist asking.

  Maddy looked up at him, her eyes wide with surprise. “What do you mean?”

  He gestured toward Brutus. “The way you talk to the dog. Like he’s a person. Like you expect him to answer.”

  “Do I?” Her eyebrows rose.

  “You must know you do. My mother does it to her cat, too. I guess it must be some kind of weird female thing.”

  “Weird female thing? I’m not sure that I like the sound of that. Do you, Brutus?” She slapped her hand to her mouth as she realized what she’d said. Then she giggled, a sound Tom found utterly delightful.

  “See what I mean,” he said unable to suppress a smile at the look on her face. “It’s like you expect him to answer you.”

  She crinkled up her nose in that so-cute way that had become so familiar. “Maybe I do. Sort of. I’ve always talked to animals. My mother did, too. I’ll swear my horse understood every word. I guess it probably does sound a bit . . . weird.”

  “Hmm . . .” Tom tried to sound noncommittal. He’d enjoyed riding horses. But he’d never talked to them beyond the required “go” and “whoa.”

  “My mother told me that of course the animals didn’t understand the words but could tell from the tone of our voices that we loved them.”

  “Of course. It’s all in the tone of the voice,” agreed Tom, now totally unable to tease her anymore. Who knew? Like the alpha-male theory, maybe there was some kernel of truth in what she said.

  She looked down at Brutus. “And I have grown very fond of this little animal.” Suddenly she yawned, hastily covering her mouth with her hand. “It’s been a hectic day,” she said. “Let’s skip the tour of the kitchen and bathroom and head straight for the bedroom.”

  Her hand dropped and she stared up at Tom. For a long moment he stared right back at her, as speechless as she was.

  “Uh, th . . . that’s not what I meant,” she stuttered.

  If only that’s what she had meant to say. Right now Tom couldn’t think of anything he’d like to do more than make love to Maddy. Only he was absolutely sure that if a “kissing occasion” was out of bounds for this passed-his-use-by-date man, a “red-hot-sex occasion” wouldn’t even be considered.

  Thirteen

  Maddy’s heart was beating a million miles an hour.Why, oh, why did she have to say such a dumb thing?

  From the moment Tom had said there was only one bedroom, all she’d been able to think about was how it would be if he were in the bed with her rather than sleeping alone out on the sofa. But the more she tried not to think about it, the more the thought kept reappearing, taunting her with sensual possibilities.

  She could feel the color burning her face. “Show me the bedroom. Where I’m to sleep. Alone. That’s what I meant. Not . . . not . . .”

  His dimple was in full evidence. Was he laughing at her? No, his eyes were giving a different message instead. A message that made her nipples tighten and her insides go all shivery. She couldn’t lie to herself any longer. She wanted Tom O’Brien—badly. And unless she was misreading the signs, he wanted her.

  It would be so easy to step close to him, wind her arms around his neck, press her body close to his, and pull his head down for a kiss. A kiss that would be just the appetizer for a main course too delicious to even think about.

  But Brutus’s basket stood as a barricade between him and her. A blessing, really, because sex without love, without commitment, wasn’t her thing. And that appeared to be all that Tom O’Brien had to offer.

  She faked another yawn and then forced her voice to be calm and not betray the want she could no longer deny. “So, I guess the bedroom is down the hallway somewhere?”

  “Yes,” he said gruffly. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

  Tom’s bed seemed enormous, dominating the large room with floor-to-ceiling windows facing the bay. Or did it just seem enormous because she couldn’t stop her eyes from straying to it and imagining Tom in it—with her? It was way too big for one person.

  She was very aware of Tom’s solid, manly presence behind her, of the scent of him, the warmth of him. “The room is, uh, nice,” she said, aware of how stilted her voice sounded. The bedroom was as sleek and impersonal as the rest of the apartment.

  “I hope you’ll be comfortable,” he said. “There are fresh sheets on the bed; the housekeeper came this morning.”
<
br />   Fresh sheets? She shivered at the thought of sheets he’d slept in, rumpled and warm with his body heat. “Uh, great,” she said. “That’s, uh, nice, too.”

  She carried the shopping basket to a spot between the bed and the door where she could easily keep an eye on Brutus. But now it was no longer a barrier between her and Tom.

  Tom raked his hands through his hair, then loosened his tie and undid the top button of his shirt. It was cool in the air-conditioned room, but he looked hot and uncomfortable. “I, uh, need to get a few things from the closet,” he said.

  “Oh.Your pajamas, I guess,” she said.

  “I don’t wear pajamas.”

  “Oh,” she said, “what do you . . . ?” Her cheeks burned. “Don’t answer that question,” she amended.

  He stepped closer; she stepped back only to feel the bed pressing into the back of her legs. She went to sidestep but stopped. It would be way too undignified to scuttle like a crab sideways around the bed.

  “I’ll ask a question myself,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “What do you wear to bed?”

  She looked up at him. There was a smile hovering around that sexy, sexy mouth.

  Her mouth was suddenly dry. She licked her lips. “It . . . it depends,” she said.

  He stepped closer, so close she could breathe his citrus scent, note the pulse throbbing at his temple. “Depends?” he said. “On what? The company you’re with?”

  She cleared her throat. “That, yes. But the weather, the . . . the . . . time of year . . .”

  “Tonight. What are you going to wear tonight? Here in my bedroom.” He reached out and trailed a finger down her cheek and past her mouth.

  She swallowed convulsively. “A nightie, I guess.”

  “Tell me which one,” he said, his voice deep and husky. “One of the ones you packed to take to Serena’s house?”

  His hand now traced the length of her neck and slid over her shoulder. She trembled at his touch. She’d spent six whole days reliving his kisses, missing him, trying to talk herself out of her longing to see him again.