Spring Into Love

by Chantel Rhondeau

  Cara’s mouth dropped open and then, to his astonishment, she belly-laughed, happy tears sparkling in her dancing eyes. Frowning, Ron waited through her lingering chuckles to be let in on the joke.

  Strands of her strawberry-blonde hair had escaped her braid, and she brushed them back from her cheeks. Then Cara shot him a full-blown smile that made something squeeze almost painfully in Ron’s chest. She gestured to the homely pooch. “Charlie is a Chinese crested hairless dog. He’s supposed to look like this. Well, except for the bad teeth, that is.”

  “You’re shi--, uh, kidding me, right?” Ron stepped closer to the cage. “He’s bred that way?”

  Grinning, Cara opened the cage, reached in, and lifted out the dog. “Charlie has the sweetest disposition. He may not win any beauty contests, but he’s got the title of Mr. Personality locked in.”

  Ron held out his hand, which the dog sniffed and then licked, his tongue warm and tickling. He slid the tips of his fingers down Charlie’s back, amazed at the softness of the animal’s skin. It was a shame that no one had wanted this gentle creature. “Since he didn’t get adopted, what will happen to him?”

  Cara sighed. “There are rescue groups dedicated to different dog breeds, including cresties. I’ll call the local contact on Monday, to see if they can place him. It could take several weeks to a month, though, before we can find him a new home. I was hoping he’d be adopted today or, at least, fostered.”

  “Fostered?” Ron stopped stroking the dog when his hand bumped into Cara’s as she cradled Charlie. Just that slight touch spurred the needs that always flared in her presence.

  “Foster parents, or ‘Shelter Angels’ as we call them, keep animals in their homes until we can arrange for a permanent adoption. The fostered dogs and cats get love and attention, in addition to developing their socialization skills. At the shelter, we make sure they're good with people and other pets before they're fostered or adopted. We don't allow a skittish dog to go into a home with young children, for example.” Cara rubbed the crestie's pointed ears. "I hate that Charlie has to return to the shelter, but we'll take good care of him until he finds his forever home."

  Even as his mind yelled “No!”, Ron opened his mouth and volunteered to foster the pooch. “I guess I could take Charlie for a month or so until a rescue group finds him a home.”

  Her eyes rounded. “You’d do that?”

  A plan was finally forming in his brain, and he hoped like hell it was a good one. Because he needed more time to convince Cara to see him again. “Yes, if you’ll come over and help me get him settled. I’ve never owned a dog, so I’m not even sure what he eats.” When she didn’t respond, he mentally crossed his fingers and added, “I can order pizza for us, unless you have a date...”

  Chapter 2

  Cara ducked her head to hide her expression while her thoughts rioted. Ron Hart was as tempting as a pound bag of M&Ms and, in the long run, just as bad for her. Her girlfriends had thought she was nuts when she’d broken up with the handsome DJ. He’s a nice guy. He has a steady job. He treats you good. But her friends didn’t understand that something vital was missing from their relationship--a satisfying love life.

  Sure, she'd climaxed with Ron, but the excitement had been...tame. Cara didn't want a nice guy. She wanted a take-charge lover who was sexually aggressive to the point of political incorrectness. And as much as she cared for Ron, he wasn't the inventive lover of her kinky dreams.

  She'd learned the hard way that not every guy was looking for an erotically adventuresome partner. Cara had been honest about her desires with the man she’d dated before Ron, and he’d been shocked by her fantasies. Not only had he refused to fulfill her needs, he’d called her “unnatural,” broken things off, and told his friends about her “slutty ideas.” They must have told their buddies, too, because she’d gotten so many obscene phone calls, she’d changed her number. They’d even hassled her online. She’d had to delete her social media pages and get a new email address. It had been a nightmare.

  Then she’d met “Rabid Ron” and thought he might be the bad boy for her. But behind closed doors, he was “Sweet Ron”--a conventional, meat-and-potatoes kind of guy in bed. Still, they’d had wonderful times together in all other ways. So for months, she’d tried to make things work, to just enjoy his gentle lovemaking. But in the end, she couldn’t keep living a lie.

  She wasn’t the demure woman he believed her to be. Okay, that wasn't his fault. Cara hadn’t shared her dark fantasies with him because she knew what she’d see in his eyes--disapproval and disgust. So she’d just walked away. Unfortunately, her heart had insisted on staying with Ron.

  “Cara?”

  Damning herself for a fool but needing to help this little dog, she met Ron's gaze. “If you foster Charlie, I’ll help you get started. You’ll need supplies, which the shelter pays for. You can give us back anything you haven’t used once Charlie’s adopted.”

  Ron opened his mouth to speak, but she startled him into silence by handing him the crestie.

  She gestured to Dalton’s Pet Supply. “The store has assembled foster starter kits for the adoption fair. I’ll be back in a minute with one for a toy-sized dog.”

  Cara strode swiftly to the store, trying not to feel like she was rabbiting away from an uncomfortable situation. She wasn’t a coward. She was simply removing herself from Ron’s proximity until she could get her emotions under control. A strategic retreat, so to speak.

  Spotting the store manager, she explained to Mr. Blanchard what she needed. He went to the storage room to get the kit, which was actually several bags of supplies--from Charlie-sized food and a doggie bed to small treats and toys. While she waited, she paced in front of the check-out area, trying to settle her nerves.

  Seeing Ron again could be a good thing. After all, she hadn’t been able to banish him from her heart or her dreams. After seven months apart, she still loved him. Maybe she needed this reminder of why she’d left. Yeah. And maybe she was just trying to justify going home with him tonight.

  Mr. Blanchard returned with the supplies, the cost of which he added to the shelter’s store account. Thanking him, she carried the bags out into the early evening air. The volunteers had packed up the rest of the tables and left in the first shelter van. Cara’s steps slowed as she caught sight of Ron standing next to the empty cage. He was holding the crestie carefully--if a little awkwardly--and talking to him. What a cute, incongruous pair they made.

  Ron’s hands were almost bigger than Charlie’s body, making the full-grown dog look like a puppy in his cupped palm. He had his face close to the dog’s, and his windblown hair matched the chocolate color of Charlie’s liver spots. As Cara reached them, the crestie leaned up and licked the tip of the DJ’s nose.

  Ron chuckled, the corners of his warm brown eyes crinkling into laugh lines. “I guess he likes me.”

  Love and regret tightened her throat, and Cara swallowed it down. She was a sucker for a man who liked animals. And, darn it, she didn’t need another reason to want this guy.

  “Good thing he doesn’t know your DJ name is ‘Rabid Ron.’” She set the bags in the back of the van. “He’d be shaking more than normal.” Heck, she was trembling a little herself at the thought of being alone again with Ron at his place. He might not be her fantasy lover, but he could kiss like a dream. Get a grip. You’ll just be there for an hour or so until Ron is ready to care for the dog. Do this for the crestie. Cara faced the pair. “I can transport Charlie in the cage in my van to your place.”

  “Does he have to go back behind bars?” Ron held the dog closer to his chest, and Charlie appeared comfortable being five feet off the ground.

  Cara smiled despite her inner turmoil. Ron was already protective of the little crestie, so maybe he’d end up a pet owner instead of a foster parent. “I think we can come up with an alternative.”

  She picked up the cage and set it in the back of van. Then she pulled out a padded dog carrier with more than enough roo
m inside for the tiny crestie. “He can travel in your Jeep’s backseat in this. See, a seat belt goes through this loop at the top.”

  Ron nodded, but there was a definite reluctance in the way he gently placed Charlie in the carrier. The dog whimpered when he shut the carrier’s screened door. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he reassured the crestie before adding to Cara, “I’ll go get my Jeep.”

  He jogged to the side parking lot, where his dusty red Jeep was parked--a car that held memories of make-out sessions and good times. Heaven help her, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the play of muscles under his clothes as Ron moved. One area of their relationship that had never been a problem was her appreciation of his body. She missed touching and tasting it.

  Had her time with Ron been so bad? A traitorous part of her heart whispered about second chances, but her brain warned of future unhappiness. She had to be true to herself, and Ron deserved a woman who wasn’t hiding behind a prim facade. You could just tell him what you want. Yeah, look how well that had gone with her previous boyfriend. Cara couldn’t stand the thought of seeing the same contempt for her in Ron’s eyes.

  “Oh, Charlie, I’m in deep doo-doo,” she murmured to the dog. “You better be a good chaperone tonight. No human hanky-panky, okay?”

  Chapter 3

  “You better be a good matchmaker tonight, Charlie.” Ron drove his Jeep into his ranch house garage, as the dog yipped in response. “I’m counting on you to soften her up. Cara definitely prefers people who like animals.”

  He glanced in his rearview mirror as he shut off the engine. Cara pulled the shelter van into his driveway and stopped behind him. God, it was good to have her back at his place. But that was only the first step in his still-formulating plan.

  He got out of the car and freed the dog carrier from the seatbelt. He looked through the carrier’s screened door at the tiny dog. “Mi casa, su casa...at least until Cara finds you a new home.” Why did that idea make him frown?

  Cara walked into the garage, her slow steps at odds with her tight smile. Was it that difficult to be here with him? Ron’s determination to get to the bottom of their break-up doubled.

  “Why don’t you take the carrier,” he suggested, handing it to her, “and I’ll get the supplies?”

  She nodded and carried the crestie into the house, apparently remembering he never locked the door between his garage and mud room.

  Déjà vu hit hard. Toward the end of the time they’d dated, she’d practically moved in, and he’d loved having her in his home. Sure, he’d been on his best behavior to impress her--keeping the house clean, throwing the dirty laundry in the hamper, and always putting the toilet seat down. He’d hoped they could relax more around each other as they settled in, but she’d left before that could happen. Sighing, Ron grabbed the two bags of supplies from the van, locked it, and shut the garage door. Then he followed her inside.

  Cara had placed the carrier on the counter between his dining area and kitchen. Given the look on her face, he’d bet he wasn’t the only one getting slammed with memories of their time together. He set the supplies on his oak table. “I didn’t know I’d be having company, or I’d have cleaned up.”

  She waved her hand as though brushing his comment aside. “You’re the neatest bachelor I know.”

  A hot jolt of jealousy flashed through him at the thought of her with other men. “Just how many bachelors do you know?” Her startled gaze met his, and he silently cursed. Great, he was being a jerk--not a smart addition to his plan. Ron apologized before she could speak. “Sorry, really, I’m sorry. Let’s pretend I didn’t just say that, okay?”

  She nodded, her expression wary.

  Damning himself for making her ill at ease, he emptied the first bag onto the table. “I appreciate your coming over to get Charlie acclimated.” He picked up the small, multi-colored doggie bed. “Where should we put this?”

  “Well,” she faced the hallway, “if you’re still using your second bedroom as an office, it could go in there.”

  He carried the circular bed to the room at the end of the hall, gratified to see Cara follow, then hesitate in front of the open door to his bedroom. Was she remembering their lovemaking? He’d always given her romance--being a perfect gentleman, treating her with care, and seeing to her pleasure before his own. Yeah, so he would’ve liked to have been more adventuresome in the sack, maybe made love someplace other than the bed, for instance, but he hadn’t minded curbing himself for the sake of romance. What had mattered most was having Cara in his life. And she'd always been satisfied--no faked orgasms, no complaints--so his sexual performance couldn’t be the reason she’d broken things off.

  Cara trailed after him into his office, then took the dog bed from him and placed it on the floor near the windows. The last rays of the day filtered through his blinds to form a pattern across the Charlie's bed. “I think he’ll like it here once he gets used to your house.” She lay a small rawhide chew on the bed.

  As they walked back to the kitchen, he asked, “Do you think Charlie needs to go outside to, you know, do his business?”

  Cara met his gaze, and her sexy mouth curved into the first real smile she’d offered since entering his home. “You won’t have to worry about that until morning. While you were wrapping up the adoption fair, I gave Charlie the chance to use the grass before putting him back in the cage.” She stopped by the dining table and indicated the supplies. “In that second bag is a leash, which clips onto his collar, so you can walk him. There’s also a pooper scooper.”

  Ron groaned, eliciting an honest-to-God giggle from Cara.

  “Fostering isn’t all petting and doggie kisses,” she teased.

  He stifled another groan when the mention of petting and kisses steered his mind back to his big plan. Somehow, once they settled Charlie for the evening, he needed to put the second step of Operation Cara into action: getting her to stay for dinner and hopefully the night.

  She unpacked the rest of the supplies, including water and food bowls. “This explains the basics of fostering,” she held up a tri-fold brochure, “and tells you how often and how much to feed a dog the size of a crestie.”

  Cara spoke like she was leading a class on proper dog ownership, and Ron wondered if she was nervous being alone with him.

  She continued. “You can also dole out these doggie treats for good behavior and train him to respond to voice commands or hand signals. Since your back yard is fenced in and the weather's so nice right now, you can practice calling him to you there. And the yard is big enough for Charlie to get plenty of exercise.”

  Ron took the bowls and filled them with the specified amount of dry dog food and water. Then he placed them in the corner of the dining room on the hardwood floor. “Can Charlie check out his new digs now?”

  “Sure.” She opened the carrier and lifted out the crestie. When she placed Charlie next to his dishes, he sniffed them, then did a circuit of the room. Finally, he returned to his bowls and started delicately crunching on his food.

  Ron smiled. “At least he likes the grub here. Hopefully the rest of the place will meet his approval.” He opened the refrigerator. “Speaking of food, would you like something? A sandwich? Or I could order a pizza?”

  She hesitated, then shook her head. “No, thanks. But I could use something to drink.”

  “I have the chardonnay you like.”

  Cara tilted her head as if considering something, her expression hard to decipher. “Do you have any beer?”

  “Ah, sure.” He'd rarely seen her sip beer, but he pulled two microbrewed ales out of the fridge and twisted off the caps. Then he reached into the cupboard for a glass for hers.

  “I don’t need a glass.” Not looking at him, she picked up a beer and took a long swig. Then she wiped some foam off her mouth with the back of her hand.

  God, when had a woman with a beer become so damned sexy? He’d never seen Cara drink from a bottle before, and the phallic image shot straight to his cock.
The organ in question had been pretty much dormant since Cara’s blow-off--a very bad choice of words--months before.

  “Do you have any chips?” she asked, even as she checked the cabinet where he stored potato chips. Without waiting for an answer, she opened the bag and grabbed a handful of chips. “The salt goes great with beer.” She popped several in her mouth and chased them down with beer.

  She kept watching him, as if waiting for some reaction, and her clear oral enjoyment was earthy and eye-opening. This was the woman who primly dipped French fries into ketchup one at a time and ate fried chicken with a fork and knife, instead of her fingers. When had she started eating like, well, like him?

  She offered him the bag. He munched on chips, then set the bag on the table, where she could reach it. As they ate, Charlie finished his dinner and wandered out to the living room. The dog explored the room, sniffing everything. The second-hand couch and side tables weren’t in any danger from this petite dog, unless he decided to mark his new territory.

  Ron turned his attention back to Cara. "Is Charlie neutered?"

  She nodded. "We spay or neuter all the pets before they go up for adoption."

  Charlie headed down the hall to check out the bedrooms. They followed the crestie and watched as he climbed into his dog bed and enthusiastically chewed his rawhide strip.

  “He’s had a long day,” Cara said. “Let’s let him chill out by himself.” She motioned Ron out of the room and closed the door to the office.

  “Think he’ll get lonely?” Ron walked back to the kitchen and reached into the chip bag again for another handful of Ruffles.

  “Charlie’s a mature dog and used to being alone in his run at the shelter. He’ll bark if he wants your attention.” Cara ate more chips, but instead of wiping her hand on a napkin, she licked and sucked the salt from her fingers.

  Christ Almighty. Ron went lightheaded as every bit of his blood abandoned his brain. Memories of her mouth on his cock crowded his mind, even though he’d rarely allowed her to pleasure him that way. He knew a lot of women only performed oral sex as a favor to a man, and he’d refused to let her make that sacrifice. He’d preferred orally enjoying her, when they’d indulged in foreplay.