“I’m not skinny.”
“Thank God for that.” Had he really just said that? I looked again at my drenched rat clothes and hair, trying to see myself through his eyes. All I could see was imperfection. Nothing that would turn the head of a man like him.
“Where are we going?”
“Home. You need to get out of those wet clothes and in front of a heater. And some soup. I think some hot soup is definitely called for in this situation. Maybe even a shot of whiskey.”
He pulled the car back out onto the road, and I closed my eyes. Annie would take care of me after we got back to the dorms. She’d know just what to do. Exhaustion overtook my senses and I allowed my eyes to flutter shut, wanting to block out all of the evils of the day. But I couldn’t drift off because Judge was so close I could have reached out and touched him. I shoved my hands in the pockets of my sweatshirt as arousal pulsed through my veins.
“You’re okay?” he asked, and I heard the distinct change in the pitch of his voice. It got lower, huskier, and I wondered if he was as overcome with sensation as I was even under the stress of the situation.
“Yes.” I pulled the cloak of the blanket around my shaking body even tighter.
“You’re shivering,” he said, reaching to the knobs to turn the heat on higher. The temperature in the car was already high. My shivering had more to do with his body looming so close to mine than my walk in the rain. He draped an arm around my shoulders and pulled me in close so that my face nuzzled his shoulder.
My pulse jackknifed, and I felt my throat tighten. I looked down at myself, knowing without visual verification that I’d lost it. Anxiety pummeled all four limbs, and I held on to my fabric shield for dear life.
“Devon.” He said my name deeply, with a touch of authority. “Look at me.”
My traitorous brain had been trained through fantasy to obey his every command. But in my latest version, when he’d demanded that I look at him, we’d been in bed. He’d grabbed my knees, pulled my legs apart, and met my eyes just before he’d licked me.
I peeked around the rim of my hood, meeting his tortured eyes. He looked like hell. Obviously, he’d read the social media post and felt sorry for me. I didn’t want or need his pity. All of a sudden, the air left my lungs and the car. I needed to get out. I waited until he slowed down for a stoplight and pushed the door handle. Locked. A muscular arm snaked out to stop my forward movement.
“What are you doing?”
“Leaving.”
“Like hell. Sit your ass in that seat. Do you think I could ever face your father again if you scrambled out of a moving vehicle and hurt yourself? Besides, you probably already have hypothermia from your poor decisions. Why didn’t you call me? I would have come right away to fetch you.”
Because there isn’t one damn thing you can do for me that won’t cause me even more pain.
His hand remained steady and firm on my shoulder. And God, I felt it. I still couldn’t wrap my head around the heat that consumed me whenever he laid a hand on me. He didn’t speak for long seconds, but he was definitely appraising me. Daring me. After several tense moments, I settled back again and he broke contact.
“This isn’t your fault, Judge. I don’t understand why you keep insisting it is.” I felt my hands start to shake from my nerves. I was losing it, but I couldn’t stop the energy moving through me. Sexual energy. The confines of the already small car seemed to be caving in all around me.
“Devon.”
Butterflies took root in my belly at the way he said my name with such authority, demanding in that single moniker that I speak and explain myself. But I couldn’t. How could I tell him that every cell in my body yearned to flee the shit storm of my current life and become enveloped in the cocoon of his protection? But that wasn’t possible because I didn’t belong to Judge. And I never would. In spite of the perfect kiss we’d shared. Thankfully, he hadn’t mentioned it and I sure as hell wasn’t going to open that writhing can of worms.
“What?” I snapped, unable to keep the waspish tone from my voice. Hoping against hope that if I kept up the bitchy routine, he’d get frustrated and drop me off on the nearest street corner.
But he didn’t. He just sighed as if he saw right through my routine.
I felt my damn tears intensify and pulled the drawstring on my hood to tighten it.
“So, that’s how it’s going to be? Okay, then. You can remain silent. For now.”
He looked at me after scanning my drenched body for several tense seconds. I liked that he took charge. I’d fantasized about it for so many years that now that it was actually happening I didn’t know what to do with myself. I felt safe in the confines of his car. But not safe enough to admit to anything of any import.
True to his word, he just drove and we didn’t speak until the car slid to a halt in front of a two-story house on an oak-lined street. It looked like something out of a children’s storybook. This was not my dorm. Where in the hell had he taken me?
“Where are we?”
“My house.”
No. No. No.
I struggled against the handle again and it remained locked. He must have hit the child safety button, effectively keeping me trapped inside the vehicle. I was a grown ass woman! He couldn’t keep me hostage in here. I could leave if I wanted to.
“I want to go home. You don’t need to take care of me, Judge. I’m not some little play toy for you to hover over and then put away on a shelf.”
He reached up and snatched my hood off my head, causing my long hair to cascade in a damp halo around my face. His tender fingers traced from my jawline, across my lips, and over my eyelashes. My heart hammered against my chest as Judge’s scent entered my nostrils, and I inhaled his essence. His passion. After several long moments, he wrapped his long fingers around the back of my neck and pulled me so close our breath mingled.
“This has nothing to do with protecting you, Devon. This bullshit is over. I’m tired of the intense struggle, the yearning, the wanting. I’m ready to make you mine.”
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CRABBYPANTS
Chapter 1
Brooke
“Sit.”
My newest trainee, Beau, just stares at me with giant black eyes before bolting down the hall. The adorable pug has big-time cooperation issues along with debilitating separation anxiety that’s been known to compel him to chew through table legs. Every time I call out an obedience command, he runs for the door and lets out an ear-piercing, high-pitched yelp.
I love what I do, but the sun’s just now peeking over the horizon to greet the day when all I want to do is go back to bed and pull the covers over my head. I throw my shoulders back and soldier on. Working with dogs every day is my dream job, without question. I can handle a little frustration.
But as I stand there with Beau’s pitiful yelps ringing around the room, a familiar throbbing starts in my temples. Shit, not a migraine on top of everything else. “How about a little break?” I suggest. Beau’s answer involves a yelp so loud anyone outside must think I’m torturing him.
I toss a homemade dog bone from Chuck & Don’s on the floor. A little spoiling can fix just about any attitude challenge. I can tell by the way Beau gobbles it up that he appreciates every morsel of the fresh-baked treat. After a few more rounds of the canine chorus, I enjoy a much-needed moment of silence. I take a sip of water from my bottle, and my headache fades. When a bell chimes at the front door, I snap my head up in irritation until I recognize the familiar face.
“Howdy, bestie.” I grace Pam with my morning smile, which happens to be more like a tugging of lips until I’ve had at least one cup of coffee.
Pamela Jesperson is one of the hottest chicks in Prior Lake, with long chestnut hair and hypnotic green eyes. Many a man in a bar on Main Street has taken the walk of shame back to his buddies when she shoots him down like a fighter jet over the Bermuda Triangle. Worse yet, she has absolutely no idea that she�
�s drop-dead gorg. Some women seem to get it all, and my college roomie has beauty, brains, and personality in spades.
I glance around the training center with pride and a touch of awe. This tiny lake community reeks of class and money, and things aren’t exactly cheap around these parts. The accessibility and perfection of this location won me over. When the opportunity to rent a place on Dakota Street presented itself, I didn’t hesitate. The only reason I could afford the rent was because the elderly owner didn’t keep up the property. It boasted a huge great room ideal for training and an acre yard with a six-foot privacy fence that kept barking to a minimum. No need to piss off my neighbors.
Not discouraged by the house’s original lack of aesthetics, Pam and I went to the hardware store and stocked up on paint, drywall, and supplies. After devoting a week to several DIY projects, the place looked great. We threw a K-9 themed grand opening and even managed to get a story published in the Prior Lake American. That was four years ago, and we’ve been going strong ever since.
“Here you go,” Pam says, handing me a Starbucks soy caramel macchiato.
“Thanks.” I wrap my hands around the warm cup and take a long sip. “Yum. Did Kim make this at the Target café?”
Pam wiggles her eyebrows. “Of course. She’s the best.”
I take another long sip of caffeine heaven, my eyes closed in bliss. It doesn’t take much to make me happy. “Thank you. I couldn’t ask for a more awesome best friend in the world.”
Her full lips tug upward as she takes a dainty sip of her skinny vanilla latte before kneeling to pet Beau. “Hey there, handsome.” She glances up at me with a question on her face. “How’s the training going so far today?”
“Could be better.” I sigh and carefully watch the pitiful little pug. “He’s really missing his owner. When I recommended daycare with training for him, I thought that keeping him occupied would help him forgo some of his separation behaviors.”
She rubs his back and speaks in a doggie voice, “You wouldn’t give Brooke a hard time, would ya?” Beau sighs in pleasure and leans into her scratches.
“He may be cute, but he’s going to be a project. I wish the owners would seek help sooner because the longer dogs indulge in negative behaviors, the harder they are to break.”
Pam laughs, and I know I’m preaching to the choir. She purses her lips at Beau, blowing the toy dog a kiss. He just stares back in pleasure at all the attention. “My mom always warned me that the hottest guys cause the most trouble.”
“Your mom is a wise woman. I guess that applies to men and dogs.”
She snorts. “Is there a difference?”
I’m saved from a reply when the business landline peals out a ring, and I hurry across the room and pick it up. “Bark Buddies Training, Brooke speaking, how may I help you today?”
“Hi, I’m looking for a good purebred Chihuahua,” a woman says. “Since you’re the best-known dog trainer in Scott County, I thought you might know of some reputable breeders I could contact.”
“I’d be happy to help you with that.” I chew my bottom lip, thinking hard. The truth is, I have no clue how to help her. I know of folks who breed everything from Great Danes to Pekinese. But Chihuahuas? No way. Still, one of the most important things I know about success in business involves helping your customers even if you don’t have an immediate solution. In a tight-knit bedroom community like Prior Lake, word of mouth reigns supreme.
“Great.” I can hear the relief in her voice. “I’d really appreciate the help. My granddaughter is obsessed with those Taco Bell commercials. We’ve tried to talk her into adopting a dog from the Last Hope Animal Rescue, but ever since she learned to say the word Chihuahua, she’s talked of nothing else. I’m afraid it’s a Chihuahua or nothing.”
“I’ll have to consult my contact list, and I’m in the middle of a training session right now. How about I take down your name and phone number, and I’ll follow up with you?” I reach for a pen and jot down her information.
After I hang up, I rack my brain, searching for anything that might allow me to help this nice lady and her granddaughter. When kids get something in their mind, they’re hard to dissuade. I hope I can come up with something, so she doesn’t tell the entire town I let her down.
Pam glances over at me. “What was that about?”
“A new customer wants a purebred Chihuahua, and I’m kind of at a loss for ideas of where to find one.”
Her eyes light up. “That’s an easy one. Remember that old woman, Mrs. Barrett? She used to live in that big house on the waterfront? You know the one? People swear to God it’s haunted.”
A vague memory comes and goes through my mind, but I can’t bring the image forth fully. “What does she have to do with Chihuahuas?”
“She used to breed them.”
As Pam talks, a light bulb goes off in my brain. I remember an elderly lady with a Chihuahua in her purse getting bread at Edelweiss, but I’ve never seen her house, haunted or otherwise. “I think I do remember that lady. She was such a sweetheart.”
“Yeah, her dogs were champions. One even won the Toy Group at Westminster back in the eighties. But unfortunately, she passed away.”
I watch Beau forage for crumbs on the hand-scraped floor. “That’s so sad.”
Pam sits down on the floor and tempts Beau over to her for more pets. “I know, she really loved those dogs.”
“Where are they now?”
“As far as I know, some long-lost relative has taken over the operation. When he first moved to town, no one ever saw him. It fueled all those rumors about the house being haunted. Lights were constantly turning on, and people heard strange noises, but no one ever saw a human being inside.”
I laugh and imagine watching Lifetime movies after dark. “You mean like a vampire who never ventures out in daylight? Has anyone tried garlic? Holy water? A stake through the heart?”
Pam snorts out a laugh. “Turns out it’s just Prior Lake folklore. I guess you could say he’s finally making a name for himself, and it starts with an ‘a’ and ends with an ‘e.’”
“What are you talking about?” I ask, falling cross-legged to sit next to her. Beau snuggles in between us. He’s apparently forgiven me for our earlier conflict.
“Turns out, this guy is a real asshole. If he’s related to Mrs. Barrett you’d never know it.”
“Really? What happened?”
Pam leans forward, getting into storytelling mode. “You know how news travels fast around here. Apparently, he got into an argument outside Lund’s with some Girl Scouts over the last box of Thin Mints.”
I bark out a laugh of surprise. “You can’t be serious. He argued with little girls? Who does that?”
“I know. It was an ugly scene. This guy was such a douchebag that all the other customers ganged up on him. Screaming. Swearing. According to Dave Chromy, the manager over there, he almost had to call the police on the guy.”
“Serves him right!” Anger starts at the base of my spine and snakes its way up to land on my cheeks. They flush with a heat I haven’t experienced in a while. Men and their antics piss me off in a way I can’t really explain. It’s my past rearing its ugly head again. “If my Uncle Lenny would’ve been there, he would’ve gotten a knuckle sandwich!”
“He almost did! Like I said, it was awful. He starts spazzing, screaming about how all he wants is a damn box of cookies. By this point, the entire Girl Scout troop is traumatized.”
I run a hand through my thick head of raven hair, wishing I’d opted for a messy bun today. It’s been hanging in my face. “Probably for life.”
“Exactly! So anyway, this prick pulls out his wallet, since, like most men, he thinks he can just buy whatever he wants. Dave said he thought the guy was going to try to pay him off so he wouldn’t call the cops.”
I hold my breath. “And?”
“Then, he does the strangest thing.”
I grin, shaking my head. It sounds like a scene out of a bad comed
y. “What?”
“He buys all of the boxes of cookies. I mean, every last one of them.”
My mouth falls open. “You’re kidding? All of them?”
“Yep.”
“That’s weird. Wouldn’t that cost thousands of dollars? Who carries around that kind of cash?”
She scoffs and waves her expressive hands through the air. This guy must really be a prick if he’s getting Pam all worked up. She’s known a lot of men, most of them less than stellar. “I know, so all of the other customers were pissed because no one else could buy a box. A little boy started crying because his grandma couldn’t get him any Do-si-dos. Of course, the douchebag didn’t care. There was a line to buy cookies, Brooke. A long line!”
I can’t even imagine. Then again, considering the selfishness of my unfortunate exes, I can. “He sounds like a real piece of work.”
“Yeah, I have no idea how someone like him is related to someone as sweet as Mrs. Barrett. He must be a distant cousin or something like that.”
I roll my eyes, hoping I never cross paths with Mr. Douche Canoe. “Yeah, like the width of the Grand Canyon.”
Pam sighs, and her hands finally land on her knees. From experience, I know that she won’t gain any wind in her sails after her dramatic story for at least an hour. I’m safe to continue my lesson with Beau until his owner comes to get him after work. “I guess there’s one like that in every family. The Black Sheep.”
“I doubt it. Do you really think your Uncle Lennie would torment little girls?”
I shake my head. Uncle Lennie’s got a temper, but his heart is always in the right place. And he loves kids. “Come on, what about your looney cousin, Rudolph?”
“The good ole red-nosed reindeer has his moments, but he would never get into an argument with Girl Scouts. I can’t figure out for the life of me who would do something like that. It’s like he should have his head examined or something. Maybe we should call Cheryl Prekker and ask her what to do. Jeez.”
Crabbypants Page 5
