He peered up at me from under the brim of his cap, a half-smile tugging at one corner of his perfect lips.
My gaze dropped to those lips in probably the most obvious way possible, but I couldn’t help it. I wanted him to kiss me so badly my own lips tingled.
He didn’t, but I thought maybe he wanted to. “Come on,” was all he said, lifting his chin a fraction to indicate the direction he wanted to go.
We walked toward the river, and I could feel him relaxing beside me as the crowd of commuters thinned out around us.
“So where are we going?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me.
“Right now, we’re walking along the river.” His slight smirk made me grin, even as the non-answer drove me crazy.
“Fine,” I huffed, “be all mysterious. I’ll find out eventually, you know.”
“What if it’s only a walk I’ve got planned?”
Actually, that sounded pretty nice. Not very private, and my impatient body shrieked at the idea of not getting his big, capable hands all over it in the next five seconds, but I could control myself. At least, I’d always been able to control myself before. I’d enjoyed sex in the past. But no man I’d been with had ever made me feel like this.
“Then I’m glad I wore flats instead of heels,” I replied gamely. “And that it’s such a beautiful evening.”
It was too, I finally noticed as the world around us began to filter back into my consciousness. The first few minutes after seeing Ian again were all-consuming for me—a bomb could’ve gone off five feet away and I probably wouldn’t have noticed. But now that I’d acclimated myself to his sexiness again, at least somewhat, I could see that the darkening sky was clear. The streetlamps glowed softly, casting their warm light across the choppy waters of the Thames to our right. Low buildings lined the street, the spaces between them forming spacious plazas dotted with benches.
He shrugged, the movement a little stiff. “Nah, no fear. I only thought . . . where we’re going, it’s not much. You might not think it’s . . . anyway, I thought, a walk. Can’t go wrong, can you? Even if the view’s not much just here.”
“I guess there are more romantic walks in London,” I said without thinking, then felt my cheeks catch fire. What was I doing, bringing up romance? This was a sex thing, whatever this thing was between us. It would be insane to expect more than that.
But luckily, he was too much of a gentleman to call me on it, although his shoulders hunched a little in his shearling-lined denim jacket. “Don’t be fooled by the movies and gossip rags,” he muttered. “I’m not much cop at romance.”
“I don’t need romance,” I rushed to assure him. “I’m fine without it! Can’t miss what you never had, right?”
He didn’t join in my forced little laugh, and I bit my lip. We trudged on in increasingly awkward silence, past the US Embassy and the New Covent Garden Market, as buildings gave way to the cranes and smokestacks of the old Battersea Power Station.
“Here we are, then.”
I blinked at his abrupt announcement. Our date was in a decommissioned coal-fired power station? But no, he was leading me toward a nondescript building of beige bricks a little way down the road. I peered at the far side of the building where a modern-looking construction with a rounded glass wall squatted incongruously. I could barely make out the letters of the sign that ran vertically down the wall.
“The Battersea Dogs and Cats Home? You brought me to an animal shelter?”
Ian palmed the back of his neck. “So. Yeah. Sorry.”
“Sorry?” I stared at him, my heart battering at my rib cage. “What on earth do you have to be sorry about? This is fantastic! This is where you found Roxy, isn’t it?”
A slow, warm smile kindled behind his blue eyes. “It is, yeah.”
I couldn’t contain my excitement, bouncing on my toes like a kid at Christmas. “Can we go in? I’ve heard about this place—it’s one of the oldest animal shelters in the UK, right?”
“Founded in eighteen sixty,” he confirmed, leading me through a high gate and into a pretty little courtyard that seemed to unite the old brick building with the newer construction of glass and chrome. There was a gift shop in the center of the courtyard that looked like a small house painted white with cheerful blue trim and window boxes of flowers.
Utterly charmed, I turned a slow circle and took it all in while Ian chatted to the security guard on duty at the gate. They seemed to have a lot to catch up on.
“Friend of yours?” I asked as Ian rejoined me.
He poked his tongue into his cheek and said, “I may come here quite often. When I’m in town.”
“Do you volunteer?” I didn’t know if my heart could take this.
“Nah,” he shrugged. “Can’t commit the time it takes to be a real volunteer. There’s weeks of training and the like. Those people are very dedicated. Maybe someday.”
He sounded so wistful, it made me sad. What was the point of being an international movie star if it meant you didn’t get to do the things you loved? But all I said was, “So what do you do when you come here?”
We had been strolling along the courtyard to a set of glass doors in the new building. Ian pushed the doors open and said, “This.”
It was paradise for dog lovers. Spacious enclosures lined the walls, each one inhabited by a bed, bowl, a variety of chew toys . . . and a dog. There were small, scruffy terriers and big, rangy hounds and a placid, yawning Great Dane in the corner. Some of them ignored the new humans in their midst, clearly used to visitors, but a lot of them noticed Ian right away and came wagging up to their enclosure doors.
The dog runs opened onto a play space that looked like an obstacle course, nylon tunnels snaking between ramps set with treads to make them easy for paws to climb. There were trampolines and knotted rope with frayed ends and about a million tennis balls.
“I come here whenever I can,” Ian said, shoving his hands into his jeans pockets. “They’re not bothered. They let me pet the dogs and play with them. Sometimes I help out when they need an extra pair of hands.”
But he wasn’t a real volunteer. Right.
I watched him glance around the room, his shoulders relaxed and his body language totally open. Ian had taken me at my word. He was happy here, I realized. This was where he came to get away from it all, maybe when he was depressed or stressed, and this place and these animals made him feel better. It was his happy place. And he was sharing it with me.
My heart warmed till it was like a little sun in my chest. It was probably glowing out of my eyes. “Ian,” I said helplessly. I didn’t even know what I was going to tell him, but a glimpse of movement at the corner of my eye stopped me.
A man I hadn’t noticed before stood up from his crouch by one of the dog enclosures at the other end of the hall. He was older, balding and soft in the middle, with very kind eyes that twinkled as he came toward us. “Ian! Back again, are we?”
“Can’t get enough, mate.” Ian smiled easily and clasped the man’s hand, and I was struck by how comfortable he was here. This guy clearly recognized him, but as a person, not a movie star.
“And you’ve brought a friend, I see.” The man shifted his twinkly gaze in my direction and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Lester Quinn. Lovely to meet you! I didn’t know Ian had any friends of the two-legged variety.”
Ian shook his head at the gentle ribbing, but I could tell he was pleased. “Aw, mate. Don’t go telling all my secrets. Give me a chance to impress her before she figures out what a sad bastard I am.”
“I’m impressed already,” I declared, turning in a slow circle. “I mean, look at this place! It’s incredible.”
“I like her,” Lester told Ian.
“So do I.”
Ian looked right at me, and I felt myself flush with pleasure. For the first time, I felt my heart open to the possibility that this incredible man actually wanted to be with me. And not for some brief sex thing—because this was not a sexy date.
/>
I mean, it was. Because everything Ian Hale did was sexy, sort of by definition. But it was also more than that. It was an incredibly private man showing me a place he loved, where he was perfectly himself. He’d opened a door to the real man, the real Ian Hale, and invited me in.
And as Lester let us into the playscape and Ian was rushed by a Scottie, a Jack Russell and three Labradors, I let my expectations start to rearrange themselves in my head. Within seconds, though, I had no more time for thinking about anything beyond the wiggle of warm canine bodies winding around my legs and tripping me up, and the joyful growl of Ian’s laughter when a poodle mix bowled him over.
We played with the dogs for an hour or so, by the end of which Ian’s whole face had been fully tongue bathed several times over—and not by me. I’d never seen anyone give themselves up to doggie kisses the way Ian did. I was utterly delighted by his transparent joy at being slobbered on.
“Sorry to interrupt.” Lester appeared at the edge of the playscape. “Ian, can I commandeer the use of your strong back for a bit?”
“Course you can,” Ian said at once, climbing to his feet with a last ruffle to the ears of the mutt he’d been communing with.
“Bruno needs a bit of a wash, I’m afraid.” Lester tilted his head apologetically, but Ian only laughed.
“Doesn’t he always. You can stay here if you like,” he told me. “This is going to get messy.”
“I don't mind messy,” I said confidently, kneeling up and giving Scarlett, a silky-haired spaniel, a gentle push off my lap. She nudged me with her cold, wet nose and I couldn’t resist bending down to bury my face in her soft fur for just a moment. She was so sweet, I wished I could take her home.
When I finally managed to stand up, both men were looking at me with identical expressions of approval.
“She’ll do,” Lester said decisively.
“Was there a test I had to pass before being allowed to wash one of the dogs?” I asked, brushing absently at the fur clinging to my pants. “I’m glad I passed!”
“Well, it’s quite the job,” Lester allowed, sharing an amused glance with Ian. He led us down the hall to a smaller room with a grooming station and a large tub with a drain and a removable showerhead. “I’ll be back with Bruno in just a moment.”
Alone for the first time since we arrived at the shelter, I found myself unaccountably shy. Tucking my flyaway curls behind my ears, I attempted a smile and was surprised when it wobbled a little. “This place is wonderful, Ian. Thanks for bringing me here.”
He propped his lean hips on the grooming table and crossed his arms over his massive chest, something like satisfaction in his blue eyes. “I knew you’d like it. Well, I didn’t know. But I hoped.”
“It’s perfect,” I told him. “Best date ever.”
His gaze sharpened and heated, a dagger held over an open flame, and the desire that had been banked between us ignited. But all he said was, “You may change your mind about that after you see Bruno.”
The door opened before I could reply, and in walked Lester with a hundred and fifty solid pounds of bounding, energetic, absolutely filthy Newfoundland puppy.
“Wow,” I said, eyes going wide to take in the impressively mud-splattered expanse of dog. “That is a lot of dirty dog.”
“It’s not too late to back out,” Ian said as he stepped forward to take Bruno’s lead.
My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth as he bent down and casually gathered the huge, squirming dog into his arms and lifted him into the waiting tub. The muscles in Ian’s back flexed under his thin cotton shirt, and my breath left my lungs in a whoosh.
“No, no,” I murmured in a daze. “I’m good here.”
“I’ll just leave you to it, shall I?” Lester made his escape swiftly. I barely registered the click of the door closing behind him.
Bruno barked happily, wiggling in the tub. His tail banged the metal sides like a drum as he wagged his heart out. Every movement whipped muddy water in an arc across Ian’s front, dampening his shirt and dripping down his arms.
“Here now,” Ian protested, laughing. “Watch it, pup.”
Undeterred, Bruno started trying to get his front paws onto Ian’s shoulders. He probably wanted to give him a big, slobbery kiss. I could relate.
“How can I help?” I asked.
“Fetch the soap from the cabinet, if you don’t mind?”
I rushed to look for it, coming up with an oatmeal-based dog shampoo in a blue bottle with a triumphant “Ha!”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Ian confirmed as he gently wrestled Bruno under the spray of the retractable showerhead. “Bring it here, but stay well back if you don’t want to get soaked.”
He wasn’t kidding. That T-shirt of his was transparent now, the shadows of his abs and the dark points of his nipples showing right through the fabric. I gulped, my eyes riveted to the incredible sight as I absently handed over the shampoo. There was nothing that could’ve dragged my attention away from a wet, grinning Ian Hale . . .
Except getting splashed full in the face by a Newfoundland puppy shaking his head.
I sputtered, laughing, and Ian cried, “Aw, shite! Bruno!”
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” I gasped, raking my hair out of my face. “At least it’s not cold water.”
“And the mud is mostly down the drain.” Ian hooked an arm around Bruno’s neck and regarded me penitently. “Sorry, Mallory. Truly.”
“Honestly, I should’ve known better. If I was a good planner, I would’ve packed a change of clothes, since I always seem to get wet when I’m with you.”
I registered the double meaning of the words when I saw Ian’s eyes widen slightly in shock, then narrow with wicked heat. The corner of his lush mouth quirked up in a smirk. “I’ll admit, I definitely intended to get you wet tonight—but not like this.”
A full-body shiver racked me, and it wasn’t because I was feeling chilled.
“Well. Wow.” I swallowed, searching for words. “That’s quite a mouth you’ve got on you, Ian Hale.”
One brow arched and a dimple popped into existence in his cheek. “It’s a mouth I’d like to get on you, Mallory Pritchard.”
And that was it, I was done for. I sputtered a laugh as Ian grinned, wide and happy and so, so fucking handsome it almost hurt to look at him. But it was a pain I wanted to feel. It grounded me in this moment, in this whole surreal day.
Bruno bounded in place, the laughter spinning him up and making him bark excitedly and splatter water all around. Ian held out a hand for the soap and I opened the bottle and squeezed some into his palm.
“Thank you, nurse,” he said, waggling his brows and working the shampoo into a frothy lather in Bruno’s long, matted fur.
“I always wondered if actors liked role-play in real-life sexy situations,” I confessed, “or if it would be like asking an accountant to bring his calculator to bed. Too much like work.”
Ian shook his head in bemusement. “I love the mad things that come out of your head.”
“Ha! Well, I’m a writer; there’s a lot of weird stuff going on in here.” I tapped the side of my head, which Bruno seemed to take as an invitation to lick. “Ack!”
“I can’t believe how many animals have gotten their tongues on you before I had the chance,” Ian grumbled.
Ignoring the flush that warmed the tips of my ears, I reached into the tub to grab the dangling showerhead and started rinsing Bruno off. “I’ve got to get my kicks somewhere, since you keep refusing to touch me.”
Tension crackled between us as we both remembered exactly how I’d already gotten my kicks once today, without Ian laying a hand on me. I was surprised the water in the tub didn’t convert instantly to steam, what with the sudden blast of heat. I got caught in Ian’s intense stare, a long, breathless moment where I felt every inch of his hard body next to mine, so close and yet so far.
Distracted, Ian lost his grip on Bruno’s wet fur when the pup gave a particularly muscular w
iggle. Bruno scrambled up and out of the tub so fast, he bowled Ian over onto his ass with a shout of surprise. I grabbed for the dog, but he gave a jubilant bark and evaded me easily, his heavy tail whacking me in the thigh as he skittered across the tiled floor.
“I’ve got him,” I gasped, lunging after him, but the tiles were wet now, and slippery, and my flats provided zero traction to keep me from going down.
Arms pinwheeling like a goddamn cartoon character, my feet slid out from under me and I landed on something unyielding and hot that let out a startled “Oof.”
I was laid out on top of Ian, fully horizontal, our fronts pressed together from chest to knees. As if it was answering some ancient instinct, my body immediately softened and molded to his.
Leaning up with my hands pressed on either side of his head, I stared down into his hard, set expression.
“I didn’t get him,” I said huskily.
Ian’s jaw was clenched and his eyes were hot blue, like the summer sky at noon. For the space of several heartbeats, neither of us moved.
Then I felt his big hands come up to clasp my hips, his wide palms burning through the fabric of my jeans. I made a sound I’d never heard myself make before, a sort of bitten-off whimper in the back of my throat, and his fingers flexed on my ass.
I shifted slightly, mindlessly, my legs falling open enough to cradle his hips. And there it was, the solid, unmistakable evidence of exactly how much Ian wanted me.
We both groaned as my softness settled against his hardness, notching together so perfectly and yet so teasingly, tantalizingly not even close to enough.
Desire wiped my mind clean of every thought beyond getting more—more of Ian, more of his touch, more, more, more.
Moving hesitantly, I pressed my hips down and made him shudder under me. Power flooded me in a giddy rush, along with the sweet spike of pleasure from the grind of our bodies. His fingers were iron bars on my ass, the imprint of each digit searing me.
He threw his head back and gritted out, “What are you doing, Mallory? I’m trying to be good.”
“You don’t have to be a good boy for me,” I whispered, aching, and Ian sat up in a single powerful move, as if he didn’t have a curvy brunette straddling him. Except I was straddling him, and now my legs were parted wide around his lean hips, my empty, throbbing center pressed tight to the shape of his cock under his jeans.
Naughty Brits: An Anthology Page 29