She barked out a harsh laugh. “I don’t want to go home.”
James stilled. “What’s wrong at home?”
“Nothing.” Pulling his hair, she tried to drag his lips back to hers.
He tensed. “Bullshit. Tell me.” Sarah deserved to feel safe in her own house. And he didn’t want her to have sex with him just because she was avoiding something. Or someone. “Harry?”
She shrugged, her one bare shoulder lifting to within striking distance.
He bent his head and kissed the smooth skin.
Her sigh ruffled his hair. “It’s just, we don’t have much in common, you know?”
Not really, but it was something to work with. “How long is he staying with you?”
She shrugged again. “His car runs a little rough. He’s worried about driving it back down to L.A. without getting a new transmission. But he can’t really afford it, so…”
He drew his head back and glared down at her. “You’re not buying it for him.”
Her gaze skittered sideways. “I want to help him out.”
There was help and there was being taken advantage of. Throwing her money around on a virtual stranger when she would struggle to open up her new shelter fell under the latter category. Acid churned in his gut. Maybe he should meet this man. Maybe he should—
She squeezed her legs and gave a little wriggle. His cock perked up to tell him maybe he should shut up. He had a warm, willing woman in his arms and it had been way too long since he’d sunk into a woman’s heat.
Sarah hooked an elbow around his neck and pulled him down, clearly in agreement with his smaller head.
Gripping her under her thighs, he walked back to his desk and carefully made a space, stacking folders in piles and moving them to the side of the desk.
She stopped sucking on his neck long enough to say, “Do you want me to get down and help you file?”
He swatted her butt before lowering it to the wood desk. “Shut it, woman. I’m not going to spend hours sorting through reams of paper by knocking these files to the floor. My time is much more valuable spent elsewhere.” And he proceeded to show her exactly that.
Her head fell back onto her shoulders. “Oh, God. No arguments here.”
He wrapped her braid around his finger, loving the feel of the thick, silky plait against his skin. He tugged on it, pulling her backwards until she lay on top of the desk. He settled himself between her legs.
“Sweetheart, you know how badly I want you”—he pressed his hips against her to prove his point—“but nothing’s changed. Neither of us has time for a real relationship. I don’t want you to misunderstand what this is.”
She worked at his tie, loosening the knot and yanking it over his head. “I’ll find a way to survive without your rudeness and arrogance.” She pushed at his blazer. “Why are you wearing a full suit working at home?”
“Studies show that your mental attitude follows—” He snapped his mouth shut and shrugged out of his jacket. “Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” Hooking his thumbs under the hem of her sweatshirt, he peeled it up, revealing luscious inch after inch of smooth, silky skin. He tossed the top behind him and stared down at what he’d just unwrapped.
She was beautiful, flushed and half-naked on his desk. He stroked across her skin, up her stomach, down her arms. Christ, if the inside of her elbow was this soft, how would she feel in even more intimate places?
His middle finger hovered over a scar on her arm. Several small white marks grouped in a row. He raised an eyebrow.
“I tried to capture a stray dog when I was fifteen.” Her lips tipped up. “He didn’t want to be captured.”
Attacked by an ungrateful beast as a kid and she still became a vet. She really was just that nice.
But it was her naughty side that he wanted now. He ran his fingers along the zipper of her jeans and cupped her heat.
Sarah arched her back, the pulse at the base of her throat fluttering.
He leaned over her until they were nose to nose. He circled his palm into her heat, her soft, little moan burrowing to a place deep inside of him. “It’s good to know a little biting doesn’t scare you off.” And he grinned, all teeth.
Her whiskey eyes crinkled at the edges. And then widened in shock as she stared over his shoulder.
James whipped his head around. His father stood in the open doorway, jaw hanging low. “I’m sorry, boy,” he stammered. “I thought—”
“How’d you get in here?’ He put his body between Sarah and his father’s view. “I locked the damn door.”
“The lock’s broken.” His dad ran his hand up the back of his head and stared out the window. “I just wanted to know if the Doc was staying for dinner.”
“We already ate,” he gritted out. This wasn’t working. He felt like a damn teenager caught with a girl in his room.
“Right. Sorry. Right.” His dad stepped back. “Then I’ll leave you to it,” he said and shut the door, leaving James and Sarah alone.
She jumped off the desk and grabbed her sweatshirt. In one second, she’d covered all that gorgeous skin. She dropped her face in her hands and took a deep breath. “Your dad is going to have to find a new vet. I can never face him again.”
“It’s not that bad.” Besides, as far as he knew, there weren’t any other vets in Shelter Bay.
She looked up at him, eyes narrowed. “It is most definitely that bad.” She grabbed her tote bag and headed for the door.
“Sarah…”
“Let me know if there’s anything else I need to do for the nonprofit. I’m going to go look into changing my name.” She fled out the door, leaving nothing but her scent behind.
He dropped his head back on his shoulders.
And leaving James with one raging hard-on.
Chapter Twelve
Sarah tilted her head, examining the new photos she’d uploaded to her Feral Feline Services website. The problem with wild cats, they didn’t like to stand still to pose for pics. Her photography skills could use some work.
The phone on her office desk rang, and since Melanie had left an hour ago, she picked it up. “Doctor Martineau’s Veterinary. Can I help you?”
“It’s me,” Cassie said. “I wanted to call to see if you were okay?”
Sarah paused. Why wouldn’t she be okay? The only thing horrible to happen to her lately was James’s dad seeing way too much of her last night. “Oh God. How did you know?” Shelter Bay was a small town, but this was nuts. The only way Cassie would know was if Mr. Marshall told people what he’d walked in on.
Or if James had.
“How don’t I know.” The sound of the pop top of a can opening came over the line. “The flyers are everywhere.”
Sarah examined her office, as if these flyers might appear on her walls. “What flyers? Are there pictures?”
“Pictures? What are you talking about?”
Sarah pressed a hand to her heart. “What are you talking about?”
“The flyers calling you a colonizer and a human supremacist for starting your feral cat operation.” Cassie snorted. “I always knew Kimberlee was a little bit out there, but this is some next-level crazy she’s throwing at you.”
“What?!” What the heck was a human supremacist? “Do you have one of the flyers? Send me a picture.”
“Okay, hold on.” Cassie shuffled papers. Her phone clicked. “Okay. Sending it to you now.”
Sarah bobbed her foot as she stared at her dark phone, waiting for it to come through. When it did, she jumped on it. She expanded the image trying to read all of the small print. “It’s a poorly designed flyer,” she muttered. “The layout is awful. There’s not enough empty space.”
Cassie sighed. “Focus. She’s calling on people to boycott your vet clinic. I don’t think anyone would listen to this nonsense, but…”
A familiar logo caught Sarah’s eye, and she expanded that section on the flyer. “Hey! She used my logo.
” Her cheeks flushed. And not in a flattering way.
“Yeaaah.” Her friend cleared her throat. “FFS? You sort of tee-balled that one up for ridicule.”
Sarah ground her jaw. “It stands for Feral Feline Services. I wanted the alliteration.” And the S had wound so nicely between her two Fs in the logo. It was a graphic design triumph. “When most people see the letters FFS, they don’t think—”
“Yeah, we do. I probably type that acronym ten times a day when I’m texting.”
“Oh God.” She dropped her forehead in her palm. Yes, Cassie did use it all the time. How had she not seen it?
“Kimberlee is really going to town making fun of it.” Cassie chugged something down. “It’s all over her social media. Oh, and she started a Facebook group to stop you, too.”
“Perfect.” Really, could her life get any worse? Making a mess with her family? Check. A completely complicated romantic life? Double check. And now her business was under attack by a woman who thought cats should rule supreme over the earth?
“You really should have thought about the name of your organization more,” her friend said helpfully.
“I know!”
“No need to get so touchy.” Cassie sniffed. “Besides, you can always change the name.”
“The paperwork has already been sent to the state.” She wasn’t going through all those forms again. “The website is up. The name stays.”
“Well, you know what they say. All publicity is good publicity.” But Cassie didn’t sound convinced.
“I guess.” Sarah opened up her computer’s browser and searched for the Facebook group. Rats. It already had nine members. In a town of Shelter Bay’s size, that wasn’t an insignificant number.
“In better news, I hear you were over at James’s place last night.”
Sarah froze. “How did you hear that?” Oh God. She couldn’t relive that humiliation, not even for her best friend. Not on top of this Kimberlee nonsense.
“Mrs. Gonzalez saw your car and told her son, who told his girlfriend, who—”
Sarah hung up.
Cassie would make her pay for that, she had no doubt. But she had bigger fish to fry. She joined the Facebook group. All she needed to do was explain to the members that it wasn’t healthy for the cats to remain feral, and this whole mess would blow over. She would inundate Kimberlee and her friends with the facts, and they’d have no choice but to drop their opposition to her nonprofit. Heck, they might even become volunteers.
She might be struggling to be a good daughter and sister, and she would probably never have sex again, but she would save the cats.
Failure was not an option.
Chapter Thirteen
James stepped out of his car as Sarah came out onto her porch. Leaning against his door, he watched as she made her way to him. She looked like a Renaissance painting of an angel through the tint of his sunglasses – golden hair, golden skin, golden eyes.
And one pissed off, un-angelic scowl.
“What are you doing here?” she asked suspiciously, crossing her arms over her chest. She wore a faded T-shirt, a Ms. Pac Man emblazoned across it.
Not the warm welcome he’d been hoping for. “I’m here because you didn’t pick up your damn phone.” And because he’d wanted to see her. Obviously.
Her gaze shifted sideways. “I was busy.”
“For three days?” Ever since their clinch at his dad’s house, or more accurately, getting caught in the clinch, he’d worried about her. She’d been so embarrassed, which was just silly if you asked him. Two adults getting caught doing adult things wasn’t a big deal, but Sarah worried about what people thought of her. After she’d ignored his messages, worry had melted into irritation. He wasn’t a problem to be avoided. And he refused to be ignored.
“Really, really busy.”
Unable to stop himself, he reached around her head and picked up her braid. He placed it over her shoulder, and ran his finger along it. “Just because my dad—”
“Nope, nuh uh, not going there.” She held up her hand. “Your best move here is to help me pretend that the incident never happened.”
He grinned. “What incident?”
“Smart boy.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt. “Look, I’m sorry I didn’t get back to you. It was an uncomfortable situation, and I don’t handle those well. And I really was busy. Things with my nonprofit have gotten…weird.”
“Let me take you out to dinner and you can tell me all about it.”
Shaking her head, she stepped back. “I can’t. It’s family dinner night at my dad’s and I already told him I’d be there.” She raised her hand and jingled her keys. “I’m on my way out now.”
“Sounds like fun.” He took her arm and led her around to the passenger’s seat. “I’ll drive.”
She spluttered. “You can’t invite yourself to my dinner!”
Settling her in, he pulled the seatbelt around her body and snapped her in. “Why? Won’t I be welcome? Besides, I’m hungry.”
She watched him through narrow eyes as he circled back to the driver’s side and climbed in. Before she could decide to jump out, he turned the ignition and backed down her drive. “Plug the address into the GPS.”
With a grumble, she did. “You will be welcomed,” she muttered. “My dad lets all sorts of riff-raff eat at his table.”
“Why isn’t Harry coming?” His car had still been in her driveway, much to James’s disappointment. “Is he busy going through your stock portfolio, picking out which ones he’d like?”
Her glare could have melted paint. “You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are.”
He shrugged. He hadn’t been joking. He had a bad feeling about her dad, and he’d never even met the man.
He gripped the wheel. But it wasn’t his problem. Sarah wasn’t his problem. They’d enjoy each other’s company while he was in town and then never see each other again.
“I invited him,” she admitted. She scratched at an invisible mark on the leg of her jeans. “Harry thought it would be best if he skipped it. He’s probably right. We’re not at a place in our relationship where having a horde of Martineau’s scrutinizing his every move would go over well.”
“I really don’t get why you care about that relationship.” James flipped his blinker on and turned down a narrow street. “Basically, you’re strangers. Why try to force something?”
“How can you say that?” Sarah turned in her seat, leaning on one hip to look at him. “You don’t have much family, not that I know of. Wouldn’t you jump at the chance to increase the number of people you care about, who care about you?”
He shifted, uncomfortable. Being on his own had never bothered him. But maybe, if the right person cared about him, it might be nice to have his own family. Maybe. “And you’re bursting with family.” Following her pointed finger, he turned into the driveway of a large ranch house with a second-story addition. “Why add to the chaos?”
She looked out the window. “People can disappear so quickly. I’ve learned not to take anyone for granted.”
Her voice sounded so forlorn, James wanted to gather her up, hold her close. But the large man standing on the front porch eyeballing him like he was a member of the Hell’s Angels put the brakes on that impulse.
“Is that your dad up there?” He pointed.
Sarah brightened. “Yep.” Unbuckling her seat belt, she hopped out of the car. “Come meet him.”
The man was joined by two other giants, all three of them well over six feet. Their matching grins and similar features told him they were the twins Sarah had spoken of, even though they weren’t identical. Taking the stairs two at a time, Sarah ran into the fold, getting a hug from her dad and a playful headlock from one of the brothers for her trouble.
James peeled himself from his car and made a more measured approach. The men turned silent and watched him climb the steps. When James reached them, one of the twins turned
to his sister and asked, “You have a boyfriend now?”
“Guys, this is James Marshall. He’s the CPA helping me set up my shelter.” She pointed at the man who’d spoken. “James, that’s Conner, the most annoying of my brothers, his twin, Joe, and my dad, Robert.”
They shook hands all around, James forcing himself not to wince. Too much testosterone on the porch combined with the Martineau men sending him a message—don’t mess with Sarah—made for a battle of who had the manliest handshake.
James feared he might have lost.
“Glad that you could join us,” Robert said. “We always have plenty of food.” He eyed Sarah. “Though I don’t see that ten-layer dip I like so much.”
She crossed to the door and pulled it open. “That dip is a heart attack waiting to happen. You know you have to watch your cholesterol. But I put a salad mix in your fridge earlier that I’ll whip up.” She looked at James. “You coming?”
“You bet.” With a smile at the men, he weaved his way through the wall of Martineaus.
Joe bumped him with his shoulder.
James pretended it was an accident.
Stepping into the living room, James was surrounded with even more Martineaus. How many people were in this family? A young woman by the fireplace had to be Sarah’s sister. She looked like the twins, but much prettier. The sister wore some sort of riding gear, and mud smudged the sides of her boots. She was talking to a man James recognized as the other brother, Brad. That man’s eyes tracked their progress, and his shoulders relaxed fractionally when no one followed them through the door.
Sarah led him to an L-shaped suede sofa and introduced him to a red-head planted at one end. “James, this is my good friend, Cassie. Cassie, James.” She gave her friend a look he couldn’t decipher. “He decided to tag along. Can you look out for him while I get us drinks? Protect him from my family.”
“You bet.” Cassie grabbed his arm and tugged him down next to her. “You’re a smaller target down here.”
“What do you want to drink?” Sarah asked.
“Uh…” Maybe coming to dinner with Sarah wasn’t a great idea. How deranged, and violent, was her family? “Whatever you’re having.”
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