Valentine Hound Dog

by Rachelle Ayala

  Obviously not. She pressed her ear to the door. He was home, or at least the TV was on, and yes, the sound of a low bark warned of Treat’s presence. So, why wasn’t he answering?

  The door opened and Jenna fell forward, right onto Larry’s chest. Little Treat hopped and wiggled, delighted to see her, and a loud chuckle sounded behind Larry as he helped her regain her balance.

  “You always did listen through doors,” Connor said, referring to when Jenna used to press a glass against his door to hear him talk with his buddies about girls. She’d been the designated spy into her brother’s exclusive group of jocks and hunks, with every girl in the school envious of her close proximity to such studliness.

  “Oh, Connor. What are you doing here?”

  Lame. Real lame. He’s Larry’s best buddy.

  “I should ask why you’re here.” Connor ran a judgmental brotherly eye over her exercise outfit, which suddenly seemed way too skimpy and tight. Okay, so the latest styles called for revealing. It wasn’t her fault she couldn’t afford to be seen in anything less than fashionable. Her boss would have a cow if she didn’t keep up her appearance.

  “I, uh, came to, uh, measure, uh, Larry.” She patted her skin-tight capris for a tape measure. Duh. Of course she had nothing in her nonexistent pockets. All she wore was an armband with her key and ID card. “I need a tape measure.”

  Little Treat rested his paws on her legs, whining to be picked up. That seemed to have thawed Larry from his shock or stupor. He cleared his throat and said. “He’s pretty much potty-trained. I should take him for another stroll before bedtime, but he can hold it four hours now.”

  Connor’s eyes narrowed and he looked from Jenna to Larry to Treat and back to Jenna. “This is your dog?”

  “Why, yes.” Jenna bent down and scooped up Little Treat, who was feeling heavier, into her arms. “He’s my pet.”

  “You two know each other?” Connor directed a questioning glare at Larry. “I mean more than mere acquaintances?”

  “It was an accident,” Jenna said. “I lost Little Treat the first day I had him, and Larry found him. What a coincidence. Didn’t Melisa tell you?”

  She didn’t know why she was in such a rush to explain away her “knowing” of Larry.

  “No, but he doesn’t look like your kind of dog,” Connor said, eyeing Larry as if he were hiding something. “Larry’s agreed to do the fashion show, and I gotta get going.”

  “You don’t have to leave,” Jenna said, buying herself time. She hadn’t eaten all day and the aroma of barbecue chicken pizza was more than she could resist. Besides, there was the big presence of Larry to escape from, and she wasn’t wearing nearly enough clothes, and even worse, she was sweating like a pig and holding a heavy dog who smelled.

  Just then, Little Treat let out a long, loud squealing fart.

  Great. What if Larry thought it was her?

  Jenna wrinkled her nose to show she wasn’t the guilty party. “What have you been feeding him? Rice and beans?”

  “Actually, he gets a healthy diet specially formulated for basset hounds. I bought a big bag,” Larry stumbled over his words. “Here, I’ll show you.”

  Connor put his beer bottle down and sauntered to the door. “I’ll leave you two to your measuring and dog talk.”

  “You don’t have to go,” Larry said. “You just got here.”

  Connor patted his back and winked. “I’ll make you a deal. I’ll get over Elaine if you get over Shelly. Bye.”

  With that cryptic remark, he hurried out the door so fast Jenna wasn’t even sure she’d heard right. He’d get over Elaine? Finally?

  “And who’s Shelly?”

  “Shelly?” Larry said.

  Crap. She hadn’t realized she’d spoken aloud.

  “Never mind.” Jenna set the dog down. “I’m dizzy and hungry. Let’s get this measuring done. Do you have a tape measure?”

  Larry shook his head. “I might have some string, or a rope.”

  “Won’t help. I need a tape measure.” She busied herself by rummaging through his kitchen drawer. “I have to get you measured. It isn’t easy to find so many big and tall tuxes on such short notice. I also want to tailor them, at least temporarily. Can’t have you guys looking baggy in oversized tuxes. I might have to fly some in from New York. We weren’t expecting so many firemen to participate.”

  “Then, maybe you don’t need me.” Larry’s voice was soft behind her shoulder.

  Jenna turned abruptly and lost her balance. She would have reeled and crashed into the refrigerator, but once again, Larry held onto her.

  “I do need you.” Ugh. That came out wrong. “I mean, Connor agreed to have his entire squad, well, all the single men do it and that includes you.”

  “But you said you were running out of tuxedos.” Larry let go of her arm.

  “We’ll get one for you. But I need a tape measure.” She wiped the sweat from her forehead and took a deep breath. She wasn’t going to faint again. No, she couldn’t. But she felt hot and stars flitted behind her eyelids. “Excuse me. I need to bend over.”

  “You okay?” He held her arm and led her to the couch. “What you need is some food.”

  “Yeah, but I can’t. The show’s in a week and I’m still too fat. I designed a dress, except I’m too short and dumpy to wear it.”

  “Short? You’re not short. And I bet you don’t weigh more than a hundred pounds.”

  “Nice try. I’m five-eight and a hundred thirty pounds. My legs and arms aren’t long enough and my bra size is too big, er … why am I telling you?” She closed her eyes and lay down on the couch, putting her legs up to let blood flow to her head. “I’m starving, but I don’t want pizza. I want your lasagna, your salami, and calzoni. I’m not making any sense, and I owe you an apology. I’m sorry.”

  Larry didn’t say anything. Jenna heard his footsteps depart for the kitchen. Good. Maybe he’d bring back a glass of water. She had to be dehydrated in addition to starving. After all, she didn’t want to retain water and look puffy. When Irina had tried on the gown, she’d looked perfect. But then, Irina had a twenty-two inch waist, three inches less than hers, and Irina had no hips and no bust.

  “You’re in luck,” Larry said. “I made spaghetti yesterday and had some left over. It’s not vegetarian, but it’s pretty light. Fresh chopped tomatoes, garlic, butter, balsamic vinegar, and pancetta.”

  The plate he held in his hand smelled heavenly, and despite herself, drool collected in her mouth. Jenna sat up and leaned over her knees, not trusting herself not to faint.

  “If I can’t wear that dress, it’ll be your fault.” She took the offered fork and stabbed it into the plate of noodles.

  “Aren’t you the designer?” Larry sat carefully at her side, not touching her. His hand remained on Little Treat’s head as he scratched the puppy behind his ears.

  “Yes, but it doesn’t mean I have free rein. I still have to follow my house rules, and make sure everything I do reflects well of my training. It has to be new and original, but also part of me, organic. I want to make a big statement.”

  “I’m sure you’ll look great in whatever design you come up with.”

  “True. I’m known for my cut. I can take pounds off with a well placed seam, or draw the eye away with a curving element, but that’s not the point. I have to look as good as the models.”

  “I think you look better.” Larry kept his eyes glued to the basketball game on the screen. Of course, he had positioned himself so his scarred side was hidden.

  Wow. Where had that come from? Jenna twirled a bit of spaghetti into her mouth and almost moaned at the taste. But then, he was her brother’s friend and he was saying nice, friendly things to encourage her.

  “Are you giving me permission to eat?” She eyed him until he turned his gaze back to her, showing both sides of his face.

  “You don’t need my permission.” His voice lowered, suddenly husky, and his eyes seemed to say more.

  Dropping
her fork, she leaned to her left and touched his jaw, bringing him toward her. Her brain was too tired to scream at her to stop, and her heart wanted to know what was behind that mask of his. What made a gorgeously handsome man risk his life for people he didn’t know? How did he deal with his changed outlook to life? Why was he so honest and caring? So good to her and her dog? And why was she so curious? Unable to drive him from her mind?

  But instead of asking those questions, she let her lips brush over his.

  He kissed her back, giving her the only answer she’d needed.

  Chapter Eight

  Larry closed his eyes and kissed Jenna carefully. He wasn’t sure why she was kissing him, but he’d enjoy it and show her how he felt about her. Not that he knew, except his heart was already reeling—and he was headed into a firestorm, knowing he’d be hurt, knocked to the ground, and burnt.

  Instead of pulling back, he leaned into her and kissed her with everything he had. One hand wrapped around her neck and the other one stroked her face, her smooth, perfect face.

  She moaned in the back of her throat and turned her head, deepening the kiss. Her lips were firm and saucy, tasting of marinara and spice, demanding. She was a woman who knew how to kiss and she wasn’t shy.

  As to why she wanted to kiss him? He’d table that thought for now. Not that he had any blood left in his brain for thinking. It had all gone to his heart and made him swell with hope, and yearning, and a silent wish.

  That she’d never stop kissing him. That she’d done it out of desire and not pity. Because while Melisa was the type of women who’d throw him a bone, her hard as nails sister, Jenna, would never do anything unless it suited her.

  So, she wanted him and he’d let her take it as far as she’d go. It didn’t matter. He’d suffered greater pain in the burn unit. Daily, agonizing pain all over his body. Even Jenna ripping his heart would be worth it. If only she’d never stop.

  He responded to her, allowing her to set the pace. She swept her tongue along the seam of his lips and tilted her head, pressing herself close into him. Her breathing rasped, and she drew her hands firmly over his shoulders and down the sides of his body. He didn’t resist when they crawled under his shirt, exploring the tight scars on his left side. When she lifted his T-shirt, he raised his arms and shrugged out of it, unlocking their lips.

  Breathless, he watched her face as she touched the burnt side of his body, the deformed nipple, the ridges and pits, and red and purple welts.

  “Do you like what you see?” The words slipped from his mouth. It wasn’t a brag or a man showing off his stuff, but a plea that she didn’t see him as a sideshow freak.

  “I like you, Larry.” She closed her eyes and kissed the top of his shoulder where he’d had a skin graft from his thigh. One by one, she pecked each scar, each stretched area, the divots and ridges of his mottled skin. She caressed him with her smooth cheek and brushed her hand over his unblemished side, kissing her way up his chest until she straddled his lap and licked a line up his neck.

  He couldn’t help his body’s reaction, but he wasn’t going to cross the line—not when he didn’t know the reason she’d kissed him. He wasn’t going to be a curiosity lay, or the freak she’d add to her collection. With every ounce of control he could muster, he picked her up and moved her back onto the couch.

  His eyes locked onto hers, but his tongue was thick in his mouth and his heart was pounding from his throat. Her touch was killing him—bringing him back to the time before the burn unit. When women touched him because they wanted him—desired him, and maybe even loved him.

  But now, it was the Big After. And in the Big After, he was a monster—and he hadn’t let anyone close enough to touch or kiss, or even like him.

  “I like you too, Jenna. But I can’t take this too far.”

  “Are you able?” She glanced down below his hard abdominals.

  “If you’re looking for fun, then no, I’m not able.” Anger roiled in his chest, killing his desire. “I’m no longer the guy you heard about in the Big Before.”

  “Big D. Larry D.”

  “Right, so whatever you’ve heard, that’s not me anymore.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you,” she muttered, biting her lips.

  That simple phrase and gesture tossed his insides like a bag of orphaned kittens thrown in a river. Was it true concern or arrogance? Did she think him easy? Desperate, or love-starved? Like she was a goddess bestowing herself on an ugly beast?

  He stiffened his back and tensed his belly. “What makes you think I won’t hurt you?”

  He expected a flippant remark. A toss of her hair. A sniff and an eye roll. As if he, the beggar, shouldn’t be choosy.

  But she stared at him, intently with that ferocious intensity he found off-putting, unsettling, and so attractive. She was a designer, an artist, a creative soul.

  And he was bare without a shirt—his striated skin on display—again like a butterfly pinned to a board. Under the magnifying glass. Perhaps she was memorizing each line and curl. Perhaps she’d design a paisley shirt, purple and red and white as the web of burns across his chest.

  “What are you looking at, Jenna?” He was paralyzed under her gaze.

  “The man who’s going to hurt me bad.” She ran her teeth over that lush lower lip he’d been devouring moments ago. “And there’s not a thing I can do about it.”

  * * *

  Jenna had gone too far. She should have left well alone. She’d wanted to kiss Larry—wanted to taste that fire inside of him and feel those arms around her. But lust had kicked in and she’d ruined the moment when she’d rode up onto his lap and rubbed herself against him, pressed him too fast for something he could not give.

  He didn’t react to her last statement, the one about hurting her. Perhaps he didn’t understand how it was possible. Except he’d turned her down.

  Gathering what was left of her dignity, she shrugged and glanced around the apartment. The television was still on. Little Treat was snoozing on the floor. The stale pizza was congealed on the coffee table and her plate of spaghetti was cold.

  “Let’s take that piece of string and measure you.” She wiped her hands on her workout tights.

  “For the tux?”

  “Yes. I want you in the show.”

  “You don’t have to.” He picked up his shirt and shrugged it over his head. “You have enough men.”

  “But I want you to escort me. I want to come down that runway with you and Little Treat.”

  “Wait, you’re going to hold a dog while wearing a designer evening gown?”

  “Yes, he’s going to be one of my models. He’ll be my signature. Should I hold him in my arms or have him walk beside me?”

  Larry shook his head and glanced at the lazy dog. “He’s cute and all that, but I think he goes better with leather and boots than a fancy dress.”

  “It’s all about the contrast. That’s how art is. He’ll give me the illusion of being slim because he’s so chubby.”

  “Ahh … I got it. That’s why you don’t want a greyhound or an Afghan hound walking with you on the runway.”

  “Yep. Because I’d look like chunk-a-lard.” She eyed the plate of spaghetti oozing with sauce. “After the show’s over, I’d like to sample your lasagna, if the offer’s still open.”

  “Will you take it with cannelloni?”

  “Gladly, and gelato for dessert.”

  “Great. It’s a date.” That endearing crooked grin of his spread across his face. “I will ply you with so much food, you won’t be able to roll out of here.”

  “I may not ever want to roll out of here.” Jenna eyed the big, comfortable body and the warm brown eyes of the hero sitting in front of her. “Let’s get that rope and start tying me up.”

  “You mean a measuring tape.”

  “Thought you didn’t have one.” She tapped his arm as he stood.

  “I just remembered, I have my foster mother’s sewing kit. I’m sure she has one somewhere in
there among the pincushions and needles.”

  “A sewing kit. Now you’re talking my language.” She punched him lightly on the bicep. “I think we’re made for each other.”

  At that moment, Little Treat woke and shook his jowls, slinging drool on the floor. He lifted his little head and howled his approval. “Waaarroooh.”

  Chapter Nine

  Over the next few days, Jenna flew around like a pigeon with her head cut off. The caterer mess was averted, but one of the models had to be substituted, and she had had to spend hours every day smoothing ruffled feathers with the celebrity invites, press, and photographers, in addition to stitching up her designs and having Irina parade around in them so she could fix any visual defects.

  A Grammy award winning rap artist was put off by not getting front row seats and threatened to badmouth the show. A Silicon Valley former-CEO who was now a senatorial candidate was offended by the rap star being on the invite list and withdrew her support. Every actress, venture capitalist, and fashion magazine editor threw their people at her person—meaning Jenna, as she had no “people.”

  But no matter how harried she was by day, or how much hair she tore from her head, or how many pins she stuck in her fingers, Jenna looked forward to her evening walk with Larry and Little Treat, who now went more by Larry’s name, Harley, than the name the rescue mother gave him because he was always begging for a treat.

  She knocked on Larry’s door, bearing a loaf of homemade sourdough bread baked by her mother. She hadn’t spoken to Larry about that embarrassing kiss and almost-make-out session, and he’d been gentleman enough to pretend it hadn’t happened.

  The door swung open and Jenna’s heart warmed over at the sight of man and dog. Larry held Little Treat with one bulging arm. Rivulets of sweat ran down his face and the ripped tank he wore was damp.