Sit...Stay...Beg (The Dogfather Book 1)

by Roxanne St Claire

  She almost smiled, but it faded. “Not my fate to be anyone’s…number one.”

  As if to underscore that, Lola stood up and took a few steps away to sniff some grass. And Garrett moved right in and got closer to Jessie. “What does that mean?”

  She tried to shrug off the question, shifting her attention to Lola, then glancing around. “You want to play fetch, sweetie? I’ll find a—”

  “Jessie.” He put his hand over hers. “Don’t change the subject. It’s my turn to ask probing questions.”

  “How you started your business isn’t probing. Hate to tell you this, honey, but there was no real probing this morning.” She turned her hand and threaded their fingers. “I was warming up for the real game. But not until you kick up that search in Rhode Island.”

  “I was wrong.”

  “About Rhode Island?”

  “About you and Lola. If you’re ready to put the Rhode Island search above another hour of questions, then you’ve already fallen for her.”

  She let out a sigh. “Yeah, maybe.”

  He studied her for a moment, lost in eyes the same color as the grass behind her, inexplicably drawn to her, feeling something he hadn’t felt for a long, long time. Not your garden-variety attraction, but something deeper. A connection. A connection that made him want to open up to her and get even closer. Which made him wonder…was it her extraordinary skill or her extraordinary self that made him feel that way?

  “Garrett?”

  “How are you doing this?”

  She lifted a brow. “Not really doing anything…yet.”

  He slid his fingers through her silky locks, enjoying the feel more than he’d enjoyed anything in a long time. There was something about her. Something.

  Something he wanted.

  Their lips met in the middle, a mutual kiss started by both and instantly deeper.

  Falling on the grass was easy. Tucking her under him was perfect. And letting their bodies mold against each other was as natural as breathing.

  She purred contentedly as he broke the kiss to trail his lips down her neck, arching enough to give him access to the sweet, warm skin of her throat.

  Blood pulsed in his head as his hands traveled up and down her sides, her T-shirt slipping up enough that his fingers grazed her skin. And more blood rushed, building heat with each kiss, making him ache to press harder against her.

  “Garrett, what are we doing?”

  He laughed into the next kiss. “Reenacting that night in the kennels?”

  “Oh.” Her hips rocked slightly, enough to give him no choice but to move against her in the same way. “You almost made it all day without mentioning that.”

  “Because I can’t forget it.” He stroked her side, touching her possessively.

  “You were a good kisser all the way back then. I remember.”

  “Do you remember”—he inched his hand higher up her warm skin—“this?”

  “That’s how I got myself into this predicament.”

  Lifting his head, he narrowed his eyes at her, not following.

  “My boss asked how well I knew you, and I said you were the first man to touch my boobs.”

  He felt his lips kick up in a satisfied smirk. “I was?”

  “Hey, I was barely sixteen. The image of inexperience.”

  “And you told your boss that?”

  “He asked how well I knew you. He wasn’t overly impressed, by the way.”

  “Then he’s stupid.” He slid his hand over the bare skin of her stomach, letting out a soft grunt at how good it felt. “Because this is impressive.”

  “This is…crazy.”

  He looked at her, waiting and sinking a little deeper into an attraction he didn’t really want to feel…but didn’t want to fight, either.

  “I like you,” she whispered.

  He started to respond, but she put a finger over his mouth.

  “I really like you,” she repeated. “I want to kiss you…a lot. I want to lie in the sun and make out for hours. I probably don’t want to stop at kissing, either.” She pressed her finger harder to keep him from saying anything. “This is probably—no, wait, no probably about it—this is unprofessional, questionable, and maybe not the brightest move on my part. Still, I can’t stop thinking about it. Wanting it. Wanting you. I get the impression you might be feeling the same thing.”

  “I am,” he whispered. “Exactly the same.”

  “But I’m supposed to be interviewing you, writing a profile, doing my job.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m supposed to be avoiding you, spending as little time as possible with you.”

  She frowned at him. “You are?”

  “That was my evil plan for at least a week.” He gestured to the picnic and their closely lined up bodies. “Fail.”

  “You better fail with that plan. My boss did not send me down here to play Manhunt, and if I screw this up because…because I like you, then I’m going to be sorry when I get back to New York.”

  He considered that, nodding, seeking out a solution to the problem the way his mind always did. “We need boundaries,” he said. “A place where we do your interview, and everywhere else is…safe.”

  “Safe.” She breathed the word as if it felt foreign and wonderful and right to her.

  But was it? Could he trust her? He closed his eyes and pulled her into him, putting a kiss on her forehead as if that sealed the deal.

  If he didn’t take a chance and trust her, then Claudia won. Betrayal won. Love didn’t have a chance.

  Love?

  It was the first time he’d thought of that concept in a long time, and it felt so damn good.

  “Safe,” he repeated, tipping her chin up. “Let’s try it.”

  Her answer was to kiss him softly on the mouth, angling her head and bowing her back to offer him her body.

  Which he would have taken, but Lola started barking furiously, making them both turn as a group of dog training students came marching down the path single file, each with a dog.

  Lola darted toward them, making Jessie leap up to get her, killing the intimate moment but not his hope that a woman—this woman—could be safe for him.

  Once she got hold of Lola, she turned, beckoning him. “Back to the torture chamber, Garrett. We’re not done.”

  Oh no, they were not done. Not even close.

  Chapter Fourteen

  By Sunday afternoon, Jessie was anxious to make some more progress with the Kilcannon family. They were all so busy, constantly on the go or with the dogs or meeting with trainers, that she hadn’t really spent as much time as she wanted to with the family.

  With Garrett?

  Well, sometimes it felt like no amount of time was enough. They’d fallen into a lovely routine over the past few days. She’d go to Waterford Farm in the morning to play and work with Lola. She’d slipped into one of the group training classes, just as a way to socialize Lola, but the dog was so smart and willing to learn, she’d picked up all kinds of commands.

  On a lunch break, she and Garrett would go into town on errands or sit at the picnic table and watch training. A few times, they’d gone back down to the creek, and Lola would sleep in the sun, while Jessie and Garrett talked and talked. And kissed and kissed.

  By mutual agreement, it was “safe” time, with no interview questions, but as the man’s character took shape, so did her profile piece.

  Except, it was missing something, and that had been bothering her for a few days. Spark. Depth. Color. Something wasn’t on the pages of notes she’d typed and typed. Even though every afternoon she’d visit his office and they’d have a more “official” talk, which was short and far less satisfying than the time they had at the creek.

  They’d gone out to dinner on Friday with Shane, which was incredibly fun, but there was much more laughter than questions answered. On Saturday, Garrett had to pick up a dog with Liam, so she’d stayed at the B&B all day working on the story and crashed early, frustrated that she still didn’t
feel that she’d captured the essence of the man.

  Were her feelings for him getting in the way? Because they were deepening daily, and saying goodbye at night had been inching close to impossible.

  How would it be saying goodbye when this was over, she wondered as she pulled into the wide drive at Waterford.

  Looking at the house and hills, she already knew that it would suck.

  But she’d done it once, so she’d do it again.

  Today, though, would be Sunday-afternoon perfect. Nothing was as much fun as the Kilcannon Sunday dinner, which was served in the late afternoon and, even back in the old days, was always cooked by Dr. K.

  Jessie was already humming with happiness at being here, and at seeing Garrett again, since the last time was at her door on Friday night, and those kisses were hot, heavy, and hard to stop.

  But she had to finish the story first. Something deep inside her set that rule, and she couldn’t break it. And he hadn’t pushed to spend the night…yet.

  As Jessie walked down the large driveway of Waterford Farm, she turned at the sound of another car, spying Molly at the wheel of a little blue hybrid with a girl in the passenger seat next to her.

  “This must be Pru,” she called, walking to the car as Molly turned off the engine.

  Molly popped out at the same time as a slight, dark-haired child with huge golden-green eyes that stared at Jessie.

  “This is my pride and joy and occasional headache, Prudence Anne Kilcannon. Pru, meet your aunt Jessie, my BFF from the time we were your age until she flew the coop at sixteen.”

  “Hi, Pru.” Jessie reached to give her a hug, taking a minute to drink in the child who had Kilcannon stamped on every feature of her face. Annie’s eyes, Molly’s face, and a self-assurance in her stature that all of Daniel Kilcannon’s offspring had.

  “Should I call her Aunt? It’s not actually accurate.”

  “Term of endearment,” Molly said, looking skyward. “Pru likes things just so,” she warned Jessie. “And has no qualms about letting you know.”

  Pru gave a grin, showing a mouthful of metal and a twinkle that matched the one in her mama’s eye. “I’m a perfectionist,” she corrected. “And my mother is a…not-perfectionist.”

  “I am perfect when I have to be,” Molly retorted. “Like when performing emergency surgery on a Saint Bernard, like I did this morning. Thank God it’s Sunday and never too early for whiskey in an Irish household.”

  “Just one, you’re driving,” Pru said quickly, getting yet another eye roll from Molly.

  “Tell you what, pumpkin. If I get schnockered, Aunt Jessie can drive us both home, and we’ll get my car in the morning.”

  “How will I get to school tomorrow?”

  “It’s not my carpool day.”

  “But what if Mrs. Freeman sleeps in like she did last week?”

  “Then it’s her fault for not having a human alarm clock like I do.” She grinned at Jessie. “Welcome to life with Molly and Pru. The Odd Couple reigns again.”

  Jessie laughed in spite of herself, a funny twitch in her gut that took her by surprise. A twitch of…envy? Why on earth would she feel that? The last thing she wanted in the world was a twelve-year-old, no matter how responsible she was.

  No, it was their banter. Their connection. Their…Mom and Stephanie-ness.

  “So what grade are you in?” she asked Pru.

  “Seventh grade,” she said. “Home to the world’s most terrifying, perplexing, and smelliest beast, Puberty Boy.”

  Jessie snorted a laugh. “So true.”

  “I guess living with four brothers made me immune to them,” Molly said. “But the stories Pru tells me would curl your hair.”

  “Oh, I remember seventh-grade boys,” Jessie assured her. “And I don’t envy you. The good news is they get better.”

  “When?” Molly asked. “At fifty?”

  “Mom’s a manhater,” Pru informed her. “How about you?”

  At that moment, the front door of the house opened and Garrett stood in the doorway, too far away to hear them, but not too far that she couldn’t appreciate the sight of him from here. She took a double take, not meaning to, but unable to stop at the sight of his bare chest and jeans.

  “I don’t hate them at all.”

  “Not that one, anyway,” Molly added in a stage whisper.

  “Put a shirt on, Uncle Garrett!” Pru yelled. “There are innocent females out here.”

  “Why is he half undressed?” Jessie asked. Other than to make a woman’s mouth water.

  “Because he can be,” Molly said. “And he conveniently forgot the time and, lo and behold, Jessie is coming up the driveway when he happens to open the door.”

  Jessie shot her a look. “Seriously?”

  “Hey, you’re the one who’s attached at the hip to him.”

  “You are?” Pru almost tripped.

  “Not literally,” Jessie fired back with a glare at Molly.

  “Then you can be my aunt. Eventually.”

  “Calm down, child,” Jessie instructed. “Is she always like this, Molls?”

  “Oh, she’s just getting started.” Molly laughed. “And, fair warning, she and Gramma Finnie are bookends of trouble. The oldest and youngest Kilcannons are never dull, and whatever is said will end up on the Internet. Hashtag nothing is private anymore.”

  Garrett opened the door wider to let them in, and Lola came bounding out to greet Jessie.

  “I was going out to the Jeep,” he said.

  “And dressed so nice,” Molly teased.

  “I showered here after we did some work with Colonel Mustard but left a clean shirt in the back.” Water dripped from the ends of his long hair, trickling streams down broad, muscular shoulders. Still petting Lola, Jessie did her best not to stare.

  But her best wasn’t good enough.

  “Hey, I have news,” he said softly to Jessie, putting a cool hand on her arm. “Come and talk to me for a second.”

  She caught the silent look that passed between Molly and Pru. “Meet us in there, Aunt Jessie!” Pru called, rushing off with Molly and bursting into a noisy giggle.

  “What kind of news?” Jessie asked, turning to walk with him as Lola circled her and got closer.

  “We’ve finally had a response from someone in Rhode Island.”

  “Really?” In the days since Garrett had reached out to his network, there’d been nothing but silence about Lola.

  “A vet in Providence said one of his patients is a collie-Aussie shepherd mix that went missing about a month ago. He tried calling the owner to ask about Lola, but now the woman isn’t returning his calls. Oh, and a shelter in Newport said someone had come in with posters looking for a missing dog that might have been her, but they sent a picture and it doesn’t match. Close, but not Lola. But I talked to that vet myself, and it sure sounded like she could be the same dog.”

  She pressed her hands to her chest as if to contain the hope that someone who loved Lola would get her back. “That would be great.”

  He opened the Jeep and sat in the front to reach for a shirt, and Lola jumped in, smiling and ready for a ride.

  He nuzzled her a bit, then looked up at Jessie, letting Lola down. “I missed you yesterday,” he whispered. “How goes it?”

  She lifted a shoulder, knowing he hated the subject of her profile and especially hated when she said she hadn’t dug enough. But she hadn’t dug enough.

  “Don’t tell me you have more questions.”

  And they all centered around his time in Seattle, a window of the few months when he was negotiating and selling his company, a window he’d kept firmly shut and locked. She didn’t even want to hint at it now, though.

  “I need more color commentary from your family,” she said instead. “So I’m looking forward to today.”

  “Kilcannon dinner is a safe zone.”

  “For you, not them.”

  Still holding a folded T-shirt, he gave a sly smile, sliding his hand up to
palm her neck and send a million chills down her spine. “What are you doing after dinner?” he asked, his voice husky, his intent clear.

  “I don’t know. What do you have in mind?”

  He leaned in and kissed her. “A rousing game of…” And again, letting their tongues tangle and pulling her all the way into his bare chest, which was warm and strong and perfect. “Say it with me now…”

  “Manhunt.” She laughed the word into the kiss.

  “I’ll see you in the kennels.”

  But she had three days left to file some kind of story for ITAL. “Garrett, the clock, as your grandmother would say, is a-tickin’.”

  “You’re not going to work tonight. Play with me.”

  She moaned, “Yes,” into one more kiss, letting her fingers splay over his bare chest for the sheer pleasure of it.

  “Hashtag shirtless.”

  Speaking of Gramma Finnie.

  They separated at the sound of her voice, turning to see the woman coming up the driveway with a phone camera aimed at them.

  “You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Garrett teased.

  Gramma held out her arms to Jessie. “I’m not as big and bad as my grandson, but give me a hug.”

  Jessie did, falling right into the little old lady’s arms and spell.

  “Sorry I broke up your game of tonsil hockey,” Finnie whispered in Jessie’s ear.

  Jessie bit back a snort. “It’s fine.”

  “Pru teaches me all the latest sayings.”

  She couldn’t bear to tell her “tonsil hockey” was anything but one of the latest sayings.

  Garrett shook his head and got between the two women, draping an arm over each. “Take it inside, ladies.”

  “Hashtag killjoy,” Gramma Finnie muttered.

  * * *

  To no one’s surprise, Jessie fit right back in at the Kilcannon Sunday dinner. Maybe the players around the table had changed in the years that had passed since the last time she sat at this table—Mom was gone, Liam was home, Aidan was overseas, Pru was new, and everyone else was seventeen years older—but the vibe was the same. Dinners at home were lively, loud, opinionated and, since Dad cooked one of the four versions of meat and potatoes he’d mastered, pretty darn delicious.