by Becca Barnes
“What are you talking about? I came to your rescue.”
“My rescue?” I cocked my eyebrow.
“Ahh, yes, I’m sure you can handle five dogs in your sleep, blindfolded, with your hands tied.”
“Umm.” I couldn’t shake the image of blindfolds and hand ties, which didn’t help my blushing issue at all.
“We’ll agree to disagree.” Mac cocked his own eyebrows. “Do you need to finish their walk? They still seem to have a lot of energy. And...pee?”
“No. The dalmatians already went. Duke, on the other hand, could hold it for days if he had to.”
“Duke being?”
“The mutt.” I patted the fat yellow lab mix on his rump and he went into a whole body wag.
“I would have thought you catered more to the fancy breeds.”
“Mutt mamas love their babies as much as the purebred moms do. Sometimes, I think that the dog chooses his owner more often than the other way around. But Duke is actually Gretchen’s dog--the girl who was working in the store yesterday when you came by. Well, her family’s dog. Duke here has been coming to me since he was a six week-old puppy.”
Hearing his name, the dog paused to rub his muzzle against my hand, prompting the other dogs to follow suit.
“Heel,” I said authoritatively. All the dogs moved back into formation.
“Well, if I’d known that you had that little party trick up your sleeves, I wouldn’t have bothered to stop and rescue you.”
“Again, you didn’t rescue me. They were temporarily distracted by a seagull. That was all. I had it under control.”
“Hmmph.”
“But I appreciate the sentiment. And the sacrifice of your shirt.” I caught a peripheral glance of his bare chest. Boy, did I appreciate the sacrifice of that shirt.
We reached the spa, and I released the hounds, literally.
“Is it weird that I’m kind of frightened of the little one now?” asked Nate as Beauregard traipsed up to him and gave a sharp yap.
“Nah. Beau’s a bully. He’s going to have to reserve a private appointment from now on. Costs twice as much.” Not that I’d see one penny of the extra money.
I scooped up the dog and removed his collar. Then I tossed four chew toys to the other, waiting dogs.
“Can I help?” asked Mac. “Since it was my fault that they have to get another bath.”
“It wasn’t your fault. It was the seagull’s fault.” I filled the sink and tested the water with my elbow. “And I’ll get them taken care of in no time. You can head upstairs and get yourself cleaned up, though. Top of the stairs. Second door on your left.”
“Do I smell that bad?”
“Oh, gosh no. You smell amazing.” I froze in horror.
I’d said that out loud, hadn’t I? What was it about this guy that had me blurting every thought that sprang to my mind?
“I mean, you smell fine,” I stuttered.
But I thought I caught a satisfied grin spread across his face as he headed up the stairs.
Eight
Mac
I was not going to snoop. There was gathering information, and then there was invasion of privacy. This seemed to be her private break room. One could barely call it a studio, much less an apartment. It consisted of an open landing that served as living room, bedroom, and kitchen, judging by the futon, microwave, and mini-fridge. There was a closet and a bathroom. That was it.
No doubt she had a house elsewhere but kept this tiny nook for crashing since it was so close to the beach. Like my Malibu bungalow. Well, similar in that they existed. Not so similar in size, decor, or...anything else.
But no snooping. No spying. No keeping an eye open for financial records or open planners or…
Seriously skimpy underwear hanging on door handles.
Okay, then. I glanced down the stairwell and caught a glimpse of her bending over the sink. I’d been so preoccupied with the dogs earlier that her clothes hadn’t even registered with me. She wore a flouncy cotton skirt and a tank top with their store logo on it that clung to her every curve, slender as those curves were.
Tearing my shirt up had been stupid. I knew that. I wasn’t sure exactly what I’d been thinking at the time. Mostly, I just wanted to distract her from her needless worrying and to make her laugh. Mission accomplished, I supposed. I’d been going for gallant, and I seemed to have missed the mark and hit goofus instead.
Which was unusual in itself. I wasn’t the gallant type. I’d be the first to admit it. Normally, I was the definition of pragmatic.
In fact, I could think of only one other non-pragmatic, totally impractical thing I’d done in my life to this point. Majored in Film Theory. It had been on a whim my freshman year, heady from the freedom of living away from family and my father’s heavy thumb.
Well, I’d majored in Film Theory until Dad had marched me up to the Dean of the Business School’s office at the end of my sophomore year and introduced me as “their newest Finance major.”
And that was that. I’d fought back a little, but I knew it was pointless. I switched to Finance.
It had been similar with Felicia, although I hadn’t even bothered to fight my father on that one. She’d been a natural match, an up and coming public relations director at MacCarthy Enterprises. My parents approved of her. What parents wouldn’t? She had been silk and polish from the first moment Dad asked me to show her around and make her feel at home.
What was it my father had called her after our first date? Marriage material.
She was all slick manners and glossy finish. And our relationship had been the same…slick, polished. It was perfect as long as you didn’t look too closely and notice the spider web of cracks in the facade.
And that was all our relationship had been from the beginning—a facade. Hollow bricks composed of nothing but the lies she’d told me and the lies I’d told himself.
From the beginning, it was like she’d taken a course in “How To Be a Perfect Future CEO’s Wife.” She put her best, stiletto-clad foot forward every waking moment, even when we were alone.
If I was being fair, I had to admit that I’d willfully chosen to keep my eyes closed to potential red flags. Like, whenever we went out to eat, she always had me choose what to order for the both of us. At first, it had seemed like mere nervousness. Or maybe over-the-top politeness. After all, she was dating the boss’s son. Then it was a cute quirk. But after awhile, I started to test it and ordered more and more bizarre items to see when she’d finally crack and admit she didn’t want what I’d chosen for her.
But she never cracked. She smiled her way through our final dinner, when I ordered her a big lump of eel pâté. It seemed appropriate given the way she’d slithered under the radars for so long. But even as I slammed the door in her treacherous face, she kept a serene smug grin on it.
Turned out that majoring in Finance had ended up serving him well. I’d caught Felicia’s embezzlement before she had gotten away with more than $50,000 or so. I’d been tempted to rub my dad’s nose in it. This was the woman my father had poured his trust into, had prodded me toward pursuing every step of the way.
But in the end, I chose to keep it quiet. My dad showed no mercy. Ever. He would have had Felicia arrested and put away for the maximum sentence.
I didn’t want to be the person who sent her to prison, no matter how badly she’d betrayed me and my family. I just wanted her out of my life. So I packed her bags. I informed her that I accepted her resignation, effective immediately. And I made up a cock and bull story about the two of us drifting apart and her taking a job in Los Angeles.
At every chance, my dad continued to stick jabs in about me “letting the big fish get away” and how he hoped that I’d learned from his mistakes.
There was only one thing I had learned: It was a mistake to let personal feelings cloud your business vision. It would never happen again.
Although, I had to admit that the rule was a little harder to follow while staring dow
n at a pair of sincerely naughty knickers hanging on Ellie’s bathroom door.
Nope.
Never mix business and pleasure.
I started to splash off in Ellie’s tiny sink but quickly realized I’d make a complete mess of the place.
“Mind if I hop in the shower?” I yelled down.
“Help yourself,” said Ellie. She’d finished with the little dog and gestured to the corner where the dalmatians were. “I’m going to take these three out to use the outdoor wash. They shouldn’t need more than a rinse down anyway. Duke can wait until later. He’s more here for a play date with Bentley anyway.”
“Oh, yeah, your dog. Where is she?”
“She’s not up there?”
“I don’t see her.” And he would have. It wasn’t like Bentley could have been stowed away in the parlor or formal dining room.
I scooped up the thong with my pinky finger so it wouldn’t catch on the door latch. It was made with nothing more than a scrap of black lace and fuel for the imagination.
The thought of this snippet of fabric being under that skirt down there was simply too much. Better make it a cold shower.
I closed the door and stripped down to my boxer briefs then twisted the shower knob.
Big mistake.
As soon as I turned the water on, I had my answer to where Ellie’s dog was. Bentley, I presumed, hopped up from the floor of the shower, woofing and running in tight circles around the tiny bathroom.
“Whoa...whoa!” I clambered backward to open the door and let the dog out, but she jumped forward and placed her paws against my bare chest. The force sent the door sailing open and threw us out into the hallway.
“Oh...my.” Ellie had run back inside and stood with her hand over her mouth, watching from the bottom of the stairs. I couldn’t tell if she was laughing or about to cry, but then her eyes flew wide as her gaze descended to my crotch.
Damn thong.
Normally, I would have had a sarcastic quip ready and waiting on the tip of my tongue (not that there was anything normal about my current circumstances), but instead I couldn’t tear my mind away from wondering whether or not she liked what she saw.
Not that it mattered. Even if I did sleep with her, it wouldn’t be more than a one-time thing. Let her think what she wanted, good or bad. I’d wasted too many months and years of my life trying to figure out what ran through Felicia’s mind and heart. All the while, I missed that there was nothing running through her mind but schemes. And to this day, I questioned if she even had a heart.
Besides, I was only staying in the area until I sealed the subscription box deal. Then I would leave this quaint town and shake the sand from my feet. No entanglements. No complications. No sexy, delectable dog-washers.
“So I found your dog.” I tried to lift the canine’s paws off my chest, but Bentley took it as an invitation to get closer. She placed her head on my shoulder. I patted her head. At least her claws were trimmed. We started shuffling around in some sort of weird canine snuggle dance.
As if I didn’t look like enough of a perv already, standing half-naked in Ellie’s hallway.
“Oh my gosh.” Ellie came bounding up the narrow stairwell. “Down, Bentley. Down.”
Bentley obeyed immediately, and when Ellie reached the landing, she pointed down the stairs. “Outside.”
Bentley gave my side one final lick then ran downstairs and out the doggy door.
“I am so sorry,” said Ellie. “I should have checked to make sure where she was. She sometimes likes to curl up in the shower during the day, especially if we’re busy. She’s actually really shy.”
“Shy?” I shot her an incredulous look.
“Yeah, she usually hides from strangers at first. I’ve never seen her so friendly with a new person.”
“Must be my natural charm. Seriously, don’t worry about it.” I placed my hand against Ellie’s arm.
It was then that I realized that that hand was still holding her skimpy underwear.
Nine
Ellie
I noticed the sliver of black lace draped off the crook of his finger the same moment he did. We both gulped.
“And I also found your, umm, underthings,” mumbled Mac.
Could this afternoon get any more humiliating? I snatched the underwear away and shoved it in my pocket. I’d forgotten that I’d hung them up. I only owned a few pieces of expensive underwear. Most of the contents of my so-called lingerie drawer consisted of cotton hiphuggers from Target. So I hand washed the nice ones that I did have. Hence, drying it on the door handle.
“Sorry,” he said. “They were hanging on the knob. I didn’t want it to snag on the latch. I promise I wasn’t trying to...I don’t know...what would a creeper do? Steal them? Or...something else. Wow, this is making it so much worse, isn’t it? If that’s even possible.”
His voice got faster and faster as he spoke, and he hadn’t moved his hand from my arm.
“It’s fine,” I said, a brilliant flush crawling up my cheeks. “I mean, they’re clean. It’s not like I just took them off and am walking around without any—”
Now I was the one making it worse.
We both froze for a moment. I found myself acutely aware of the spot on my arm where he was touching me. The narrowness of the hallway pressed in on all sides.
“Does it feel warm in here to you?” I asked. “Seriously, it feels like the air conditioner might be broken or maybe someone left a window open. I should...I should, umm--”
My mind flew twenty-seven different directions to distract me from the one very attractive and very male body standing inches away.
“Feels okay to me,” said Mac, and with a smirk, added, “Then again, I’m the one stripped down to my skivvies.”
“True.” The mention of said near-nakedness did not help me in my quest of distraction, though. I made the mistake of glancing down and--sweet holy banana hammock--he wasn’t hurting in the endowment area.
“Sorry. I realize how awkward this is.” He took a step back.
“It’s not your fault. It was my dog who--oh no.” Red scratches ran up and down the skin on his chest where Bentley had balanced her paws on him. It was a sign of affection from Bentley, but how do you explain that to the person covered in angry slash marks?
My fingertips grazed one of the scratches. At least Bentley hadn’t broken the skin.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “She didn’t mean any harm. Does it hurt?”
His chest, which had been rising and falling with each breath, paused midway through an exhale. I thought I detected a shiver dance across his core.
“It’s fine.” His chin tilted down. He placed his free hand against the wall above my shoulder. He shifted his body weight toward me.
Oh, good gracious. This Adonis of a man was about to kiss me. The breath hitched in my throat. It wasn’t like I was completely inexperienced. But between growing up with an overprotective father and then working nearly twenty-four seven since his death, I hadn’t had time to date much.
And the boyfriends I had been with--the men who hadn’t copped an attitude about my intense schedule and work commitments--had been duds more than studs. I tried to think of the last time a guy had made my stomach flutter and my knees melt like this, much less making my lady parts do the cha-cha. It had been, well, never.
Hmm, maybe a fling wouldn’t be so bad after all.
Mac bent down and brushed his bottom lip against mine. It was like a question more than anything. May I?
Yes, please.
He started off gentle, but it became quickly apparent that there were no questions of inexperience on his part. He clutched his hand at the base of my hip and beckoned my body closer. A barely audible sigh escaped my lungs as his thumb stroked up and down my neck.
“You’re so soft,” he said.
“And you’re really...hard.” My eyes flew open as the word popped out and was quickly followed by a chirp of laughter. “I meant your chest. Not your, um
m...well, not that it isn’t plenty hard as well. But…”
Oh, sweet babbling blobs of shut up, mouth. What was wrong with me? Maybe Isobel was right. Maybe I truly didn’t have the ability to just chill out and enjoy myself.
Mac let out a chuckle and nipped at my earlobe.
“You’re quite observant,” he said.
“Uh huh.” My eyes drifted closed again and as his lips made his way southward to my neck, all observations other than yes flew clear out the window.
His kisses grew more daring, more deliberate, and I could feel my lips puff with pleasure as he had his way with them. Not that I was a passive observer in all this. I ran my finger down his spine, drawing a shiver in its wake, then slipped my thumb under the band of his boxers and teased it down across the curve of his perfect backside.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, meshing his fingers through mine. His other hand drifted down to my skirt, lifting the flirty hem.
“Ahem!” The store’s front door slammed, and I whipped around to see a very angry Mrs. Fitzgerald--the awnry Beauregard’s dog mama--tapping her foot and shooting me the stink eye.
“I’m so sorry.” I pushed away from Mac and skittered down the stairs, tugging my skirt straight as I went. I hadn’t even heard the door open. “I was, uhh—”
“Oh, I have eyeballs. I can see exactly what you were doing.” Mrs. Fitzgerald turned her wrath on Mac. “Or should I say who?”
Unsure of what I was even saying, I stammered out more expressions of apology. The word, “profusely,” came out a few times.
“I’ll go get Beau. He’s in the drying room.”
“The drying room? He was supposed to be finished hours ago.”
“I know. But I had to take him out, and he got dirty when—”
“I don’t need or want your excuses. Especially when I walk in to catch you canoodling with your boyfriend in the middle of the day.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Oh, then. That’s certainly better, isn’t it?” The woman lifted her judgmental nose so high, I could see straight up her nostrils. “I’ll be taking my dog and my business elsewhere.”
