All Fired Up

by Lori Foster

  The howling started, a bizarre sound of mixed glee and excitement.

  Brute peeked out, appeared horrified, and tucked in again.

  “Shh, shh,” Mitch murmured, keeping a comforting hand on his neck. He asked Brodie, “Should I leash him?”

  “Naw, it’ll be fine. You’ll see. Howler’s good with other animals. Basically, he’s an affectionate grandma in a loose suit of fur. If he could bake biscuits, he would.”

  Mitch snorted over that.

  Charlotte said, “It’s true. My money’s on Howler. He’ll win Brute over in no time.”

  Brodie strode to his wife’s car, helped her out, kissed her warmly and then released Howler with a flourish.

  The dog’s long body unfolded in a rush from the back seat with a lot of awkward thrashing before he found his big feet and, with a lumbering lope, charged over to Brute.

  Brute moved so quickly between Mitch’s legs, he almost knocked him over.

  The extra-sweet part, at least to Charlotte’s mind, was how Howler immediately realized the problem and stopped, lowering his upper body to the ground with his bony rump still high in the air, tail flagging. He whimpered, whined, gave a few happy yaps, then army-crawled closer while Mitch tried to reassure Brute.

  “Howler,” Brodie said softly. “Wait.”

  Howler flashed him an impatient look, then rested his head on his massive front paws, his jaws lapping over, his expressive eyes constantly shifting.

  “Brute, my man. It’s fine, I swear.” Mitch managed to peel himself away from the dog enough to sit on the ground, one leg bent, the other sticking out. Brute immediately crawled into his lap and tucked his face in his neck.

  “My heart is breaking,” Charlotte whispered, watching Mitch speak softly in Brute’s ear while stroking all along his back and head.

  “Yeah,” Mitch said without looking at her. “I don’t know what kind of hell he went through before I got him, but it must’ve been ugly.”

  Had he witnessed dog fighting? Tears burned her eyes and made her nose tickle, her throat thick. She wasn’t a violent person, but she wouldn’t mind—

  “I’m just glad you got him.” Ros sniffed. “Howler will be good for him, you’ll see.”

  Finally, Brute stuck his head out and peered at Howler.

  Taking that for an invitation, Howler immediately crawled closer to snuffle against Brute’s foot. The dog tried to snatch his leg up as far as he could, but Howler just followed and Mitch ended up with both dogs draped over him.

  He laughed quietly. “Hey there, big guy.”

  Howler answered with a wet lick across his face.

  Brodie stood there, arms folded, legs braced apart, watching the scene and allowing Mitch to handle it.

  Without his restraint, Charlotte lowered herself to sit on the ground beside him. “Come here, Howler. Let’s give Brute room to breathe.”

  Howler didn’t want to, but he twisted so that his lanky butt sat on her thighs.

  “Now,” she said calmly, patting Howler and then Brute, alternating until Brute peeked out again. “Such a good boy,” she praised, tickling under his chin. “You’re just shy, aren’t you? You don’t mean to make me cry.”

  Howler swiped her with his wet tongue too, then lavishly bestowed his love on Brute...and poor Brute couldn’t dodge him. In fact, he stopped trying. He even gave Howler a tentative lick in return.

  “This is getting gross,” Brodie said.

  “From over there?” Mitch snorted. “Try being in the middle of it.”

  Charlotte heard the humor in his voice, and the pleasure. “It’s turning into a regular lickfest—shut up, Brodie.”

  Both guys laughed.

  “There’s a lot of butt wagging going on too, so I think they’re getting along now.” She eased back so that Howler’s weight no longer pinned down her legs. “What do you say, guys? Furry friends?”

  Brute yawned, and she suddenly understood that it was a stress thing for him.

  Charlotte scooted over to sit beside Brute and he gave her a happy nuzzle, looked at Howler and woofed.

  Mitch’s brows shot up. “Man, he’s usually so silent.”

  “It was a happy sound,” Charlotte said, thrilled to hear it.

  Lunging back, Howler acted like he would pounce and instead turned a circle. Tentatively, Brute edged away from Mitch and tried to smell Howler’s backside, but Howler kept jumping around to face him, and that turned into a fun game of turning circles for both of them.

  Mitch nudged her with his shoulder. “Thanks for the help.”

  God, the way that simple touch and comment affected her, he may as well have said, Get naked with me, because that’s what her beleaguered brain heard.

  “You’re good with Brute,” he added. “Really good. He trusts you.”

  “It was either help, or really start sobbing, and I’m an awfully ugly crier.”

  “Yeah?” Wearing a half smile, his gaze searched hers. “Somehow I find that hard to believe.”

  “Stick around and you’ll see what I mean.” Wrinkling her nose, she confessed, “I’m one of those sappy people who get teary-eyed over dumb commercials. You’re bound to witness it sooner or later.”

  “Thanks for the warning.” Rising easily to his feet, Mitch stuck out a hand out for her. She took it, her toes curling at the warmth of his big hand as he tugged her up. Smiling warm and teasing, he said, “Crying chicks make me uneasy.”

  With mock affront, Charlotte repeated, “Crying chicks?”

  She saw his grin as he...

  Turned and walked away from her.

  She didn’t understand him, but then, when around him, she didn’t understand herself either.

  * * *

  THE TIME IT TOOK to catch up with Mitch left Newman stewing in resentment. He swigged more beer, swiped a wrist across his mouth and glanced around the overly lit bar.

  At only 6:00 p.m., Freddie’s felt like a ghost town, boring as shit. Patience wasn’t his virtue. He’d rather be fucking or fighting, but none of the bitches here paid him any attention, and the dudes all avoided eye contact.

  Just as well. If he started gutting people, no one would be willing to talk after that.

  Thanks to one of Mitch’s old pals, Newman knew he was supposed to be in this area. Hadn’t been easy to get the clown to talk, but a few gut punches worked wonders to loosen closed lips.

  Punches...and the threat of his blade.

  Now he needed more info on Mitch to formulate a plan. He wasn’t at the hotel, the sneaky bastard—and there didn’t seem to be anywhere else to rent.

  So where was he holed up? Why was he in this Podunk town anyway?

  Trying to stay off the radar? That’d make sense. Wasn’t easy for a man with a record to make legit coin, and unless he’d done a one-eighty, Mitch had zero interest in the drug trade. He tried to keep things clean, the uppity bastard.

  Running his tongue over his teeth, Newman thought on all the ways he’d make Mitch pay for putting him to so much trouble.

  Wouldn’t have mattered to Newman if he never saw Mitch again—if the house was his, as was right, and if Mitch hadn’t let the city bury his stash in the demo.

  For those things, there’d be no forgiveness.

  Ritchie slid into the booth seat across from Newman. Elbows on the tabletop, he leaned in and spoke low. “No one here has seen Mitch, but one guy said his friend, Bernie, told him he’d tangled with a big guy who could’ve been him. Said he popped Bernie right in the mouth for no reason at all.”

  Newman grunted a laugh. “Getting ballsy, isn’t he? Prison must’ve toughened him up a little. God knows I couldn’t, though I tried hard enough.” It never had set right with Newman, having Mitch underfoot, always judging him with his condemning stares, coming to his mom’s defense whenever the bitch got what was c
oming to her.

  A man shouldn’t be questioned by a kid. Would it have killed Mitch to show a little appreciation now and then? Not like Velma could have gotten another man to do better by her. She was lucky he’d stuck around as long as he had.

  Ritchie ran a hand over his greasy blond hair. “So you think it’s him?”

  “How should I know?” Last he’d seen him, Mitch was an obnoxious, too-proud dick—but he wasn’t the type to sucker punch a person. Then again, prison changed a man. “The dude know where to find him?”

  Ritchie shook his head. “Nah. Says his friend, Bernie, hasn’t seen him since.”

  Had Ritchie asked the right questions? Who knew?

  Though he was thirty-five to Newman’s fifty-two, Ritchie looked older and had the thought processes of a rat. Unlike Newman, Ritchie didn’t take care of himself. Too much time spent getting high had wasted Ritchie’s body and his meager brains.

  Newman balanced his life, hitting the weights and feeding his libido and stomach equally. Sex, good food, strength—and then a hit. That’s how he’d always run it, even when Velma still hung on.

  Ditching her had freed him up big-time; her whining and complaints, clinginess and constant ODs were a grind. Was it any wonder he lost his temper on occasion?

  Now that he no longer had to suffer her, he should have had her house to sell as compensation, with his drugs hidden inside, and instead she’d left it to a pansy-ass son who’d run off as fast as he could.

  Stupid bitch.

  Newman watched as Ritchie tipped up his beer and guzzled it down, a trickle escaping the side of his mouth to catch in his whiskers before dripping along his throat and onto his dirty shirt.

  Judging by the emaciated looks of him, Ritchie would burn out soon, and good riddance. But Newman planned to be around, kicking ass and fucking women bowlegged for a good long while yet.

  After a loud belch, Ritchie asked, “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Lee’s out asking around. Maybe he’ll turn up something.”

  Unfortunately, Newman thought, he was short on comrades right now. Not that long ago he’d have pulled together a dozen men to search.

  Now it was just him, piss-poor Ritchie and psycho Lee. Between the three of them, they’d eventually find Mitch, then he’d get what payment he could out of him.

  And after that?

  Newman smiled. He’d probably leave the bastard to die in a ditch somewhere.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  AFTER SPENDING THE rest of his day configuring his new up-and-coming business, Mitch arrived at Rosalyn’s house for dinner. He was a few minutes early, but clearly that wasn’t a problem.

  From the driver’s seat he noted Brodie and Jack’s red and yellow Mustangs, parked on the right side of the driveway. Charlotte’s little blue Ford was behind a newer white Mustang that he thought was Rosalyn’s.

  Everyone was already here...including Charlotte who sat at her leisure there on the front porch steps. Now dressed in a pink camisole with denim shorts, she showed a lot of peach skin and had a very fine set of legs on display.

  Damn but the sight of her hit him like a punch to the gut. Her particular blend of sex appeal and innocence pushed all his buttons, even buttons he hadn’t known about.

  What would it be like to have those sleek legs wrapped tight around him while he rode her deep and fast? And after the sex, while she was still warm and damp and satisfied, he’d hold her close, see her smile, smooth that wild abundance of curls...

  The fantasy drew him as much for the carnal appeal as the emotional balm. His balls tightened and his heart beat heavier.

  Charlotte Parrish was the real deal, the whole package, a woman who’d make a man content just with her presence.

  Course, she had a temper too—and from what he’d seen of it so far, it was just as nice.

  Was she waiting for him?

  The idea warmed him, but also made him wary since he had an agreement with the guys. Teasing her this morning, flirting while others were a few feet away, helped her relax with him without the risk of things getting out of hand.

  She needed to know he wanted her.

  This? Alone on one side of the house?

  Dangerous.

  Charlotte pointed to a spot behind her car where he saw just enough room for him to park.

  After he let Brute out of the back, he said, “Hey.”

  Elbows braced behind her, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, she smiled. “Hey, yourself.”

  Was that flirting? The way she looked at him, with her eyes heavy and intense...normally he’d say yes, but with this woman? He just didn’t know.

  Maybe he’d been more successful this morning than he’d realized. For now, with that smile and in that relaxed position, she looked far from shy and reserved.

  More like interested and on the make.

  Damn, but the different facets of her mesmerized him.

  Voices carried from the backyard, interspersed with happy barking that made Brute’s ears perk and twitch.

  As if she’d read his mind, Charlotte said, “Brodie and Mary, Jack and Ronnie, Ros and the animals are all around back setting up. Ros decided to do dinner picnic-style so the dogs had more room to play.” Scrunching her nose, she looked up at the sky. “With those dark clouds moving in, hopefully we won’t get rained on.”

  Brute looked toward the back, then walked over to Charlotte, nudging her hand for a pat. As she sat forward to oblige, the press of her breasts pressed against the lightweight material of her camisole snagged all his attention.

  Did she wear a bra? While she fawned on Brute, Mitch got entirely too engrossed in studying the delicate curves, imagining how those small, soft breasts would feel in his hands—and how her nipples would feel in his mouth.

  Knowing he had to clear his head before she busted him ogling her, or worse, his body reacted—with the entirety of his newly found family on the other side of the yard—Mitch said, “Brute likes you.”

  “And I like him.” Touching her nose to Brute’s and sweetening her voice, she crooned, “Yes, I do. I like this furry face. It’s so cute.”

  Huh. The silly way she talked to his dog had as much effect as that body-hugging top.

  Who knew it’d be a turn-on to have his dog so loved and accepted?

  Sure it was different, more tender than carnal—and possibly more powerful because of it.

  Desperate to get his libido under control, Mitch cleared his throat. “Coming here has been good for him.”

  “And you?” The tilt of her, the way she looked up at him, emphasized her blue eyes and long lashes. “So far, it’s good for you too?”

  What did she expect?

  For him to admit how much this, an opportunity to belong, meant to him?

  A confession that the prospect of not being alone was equally alarming to no family at all?

  No, he’d say none of that. Keeping it superficial made more sense. “So far it’s going better than I had hoped.”

  “Yeah.” Her smile held secrets he didn’t understand. “That’s just how they are. You’ll see.”

  In her case, he understood why. Charlotte was pretty hard to resist. “You’re a part of them. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were their actual sister.”

  “Because we squabble like siblings?” Sighing, Charlotte braced a forearm on her knee. “There are times I want to punch Brodie in the throat, or maybe throw dirt on Jack just to muss him up a little.” She flashed an endearing, impish smile. “But I love them both.”

  Fighting a laugh over the casual way she addressed violence, Mitch nodded. “I picked up on that right away.” Little by little, he got the hang of her relationship with Jack and Brodie. He’d never been that close to another person.

  For him, if he issued an insult he damn well meant it, and knew it co
uld come to blows.

  “What about you?”

  Eyes squinted against the sun, she asked, “What about me?”

  “Other than with the guys, do you interact with insults?” Somehow he couldn’t see it. Friendliness, yes. Above and beyond with assistance, sure. But he’d bet that playful harassment started and ended with his brothers.

  “Have I insulted you?” she countered with a smile, then shook her head. “I try to be nice to people, and that’s easy enough around here. We have a lot of good people in town.”

  Her being one of them. “I’m seeing that.”

  “Occasionally a customer will be a butthead, but I ignore it because I know I won’t see them often.” Putting her nose in the air, she stated, “I can be professional.”

  She could be adorable—but maybe he shouldn’t say that.

  “The way you are with Brute...are you that good with all animals?”

  Her slender shoulder lifted. “Far as I know, yeah. I love animals and they love me.” Voice going softer, she added, “I visit the animal shelter when I have free time. They always need volunteers to walk the dogs or play with the cats.”

  So instead of dating, she spent her time with homeless animals in need? Fuck, she might as well take his heart right from his chest. “Maybe I could go with you sometime.”

  Admiration, and more, shone in her eyes. “I’d like that.”

  Standing over her, nearby but not too close, he noticed how the humidity had turned her cheeks dewy and the way a warm flush covered the skin of her throat and exposed chest. She’d caught her frizzy hair into a high ponytail but still little curls sprang out around her ears, her temples, and along her neck. “Then it’s a date—when you have free time.”

  Her mouth twitched, probably because her free days were few and far between. “Deal.”

  What he wanted to do? Sit down close beside her so their hips touched. Lay his arm along the step behind her, breathe in the fragrance of that wild hair and sun-heated skin. See how she’d react, how she’d fit against him, maybe go for a kiss.

  Touching her would be incredibly nice.