by Dawson, Zoe
“Yes.”
His brows rose. “Damn, they are richer than the Sinclairs.”
“Exactly. She’s a bit eccentric. She’s also the patroness of the shelter where I do pro bono work. She met her husband at a similar competition and they fell in love. As a result of that, she wanted to do something to celebrate their life together when he passed six months ago. So, that’s why we have to couple up. I’ve incorporated disco moves with the dogs, and you and I will be doing some partner dancing. It’s required. Other than that, it can be free form.”
He shrugged. “Sounds easy enough.”
“Why are you interested in competing? Is it the purse? It’s forty thousand smackers, twenty apiece.”
“No, not the money. I thought Daisy could use the exercise and it’d be something fun to do. I don’t do a whole lot of fun stuff. No one wants to be boring and unadventurous, especially after having to live by your wits and an M-16.”
His face immediately said he hadn’t meant to mention that. But he intrigued her. “You were over there?”
“Yes, Afghanistan.”
“Oh wow.” That explained the warrior aura. “So this must seem really silly to you.”
“Silly as all get-out, but it’ll be fun.”
“I’ll show you the routine first and then teach you the separate dance steps and how Daisy fits in. Is she asleep?” Poe hadn’t seen the basset move since he’d brought her inside.
“Um, no, she’s just a bit lazy.”
Poe frowned again, but let it go.
She walked out to the dance floor. “Edgar. Allan. Dance.”
Both dogs perked up and dashed to her. “Stay,” she ordered and walked over to the portable CD player and pushed play.
The Bee Gees belted out Staying Alive.
She started with the Hustle and then incorporated other moves into the routine.
“This is when we’ll partner up, but I’ll have to go over that with you when we’re together.”
He nodded. The look on his face got more and more unsettled as she progressed through the routine.
Finally she finished. Breathing a little harder. “Ta-da. That’s it. What do you think?”
“All we can do is give it a try. You look pretty good.”
“I took dance when I was younger. I made up plenty of modern dances and performed them in my basement.”
He chuckled. He bent down and tried to rouse Daisy, but when he set her on her feet, she just looked up at him.
“Don’t worry about her right now. Let’s just get your moves down.”
“Okay.”
He sauntered over and stood next to her, wiping his hands on his jeans.
She showed him the first steps which were to sidle right, then left, then forward. Then it was his turn. He sidled right and his upper body was so stiff, then left but it didn’t loosen up at all, then forward in a shuffling awkward gait.
Fifteen minutes later, her gut was tied up in knots, and all the hope of winning the competition and helping her mother out of her terrible foreclosure mess died.
Not only was his dog unresponsive and a lump of fur on the floor, but Jared simply could not dance.
What was she going to do?
Chapter Three
The princess wasn’t happy. Damn him all to hell for his inability to do the simple dance steps she wanted him to do. A smile on her face was much better than the discouraged frown. But as Harper said, the competition wasn’t really important. Keeping Poe safe was.
But in this case it was important, to her, and he was worried she would cut him loose and that would put an end to having an excuse to hang around with her. He didn’t want to let Harper down. Now that he’d met Poe, he was doubly determined to stay close.
His only recourse was to get into her good graces and hope his charm did what his freaking feet couldn’t. Keep her interested.
“How about we get a coffee? It’s just right around the corner. We can get a little better acquainted.”
She looked at her skull-shaped watch and frowned. “It’s getting late. I should really get home.”
Was she not interested or was she sincere? With most women he could take the hint, but Poe was indescribable. He kept getting lost when he looked at her. He used the excuse to himself that getting to know her better would make guarding her easier. Yeah, he was going to go with that.
Sometimes being direct was the best course of action. “You brushing me off, darlin’?”
Her head snapped up and her expression changed to alarm. “Oh geez, no. I was being truthful. I get up early.”
“So, you’re not ready to bolt ‘cuz of my two left boots?”
She made a sympathetic face and sighed. “I’ll admit that I think you have a lot of catching up to do, but I think I’m a good enough teacher to get you there. You have homework, I’m afraid. You’ll need to practice those steps over and over every night.”
He nodded. “So, coffee, then?”
She shuffled those offbeat stilettos and looked down the street. The soft layers of her dark hair tumbled in the warm, coffee-tinged wind and rippled around her face. Strands got caught in her lipstick and he reached up, pushing them back. Her head whipped around to him.
He shrugged, giving her his best, I’m-too-cute-to-refuse look, and she smiled back at him.
She took a deep breath, draining the tension from her body. “If this was the Wild West, cowboy, this would be the part where you cock your hip, emphasizing that six-shooter in your holster, shove back your hat with your thumb and say something charming to entice me.”
She liked to play games. He was okay with that. He tilted his hip and shifted towards her, lowering his voice, giving her a once-over just for fun. “Well, aren’t you a fine filly? Let’s git you to the waterin’ hole.”
She laughed, and the soft, lilting sound of it tied him up in knots. Figuring out how to make her do it again went to the top of his list.
She was wavering. Her expressive eyes sparkled as they met his and then darted away.
She sighed again. “Okay, half an hour.”
They crossed the street and Jared stiffened when he saw someone behind them cross, too. His back prickled with awareness. “I’m guessing you’re an espresso girl, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me it’s too late for that.” He kept his voice even.
She turned her head, her hair swinging with the movement, and his fingers tingled with the remembered warmth.
They passed a liquor store, the buzz-snap of the flashing neon light casting her features in blue to match the cool streaks in her hair. “That’s where you’d be wrong. Caffeine doesn’t affect me. I can have an espresso right before I go to bed and sleep like a baby.”
Why did she have to mention the word bed? Now all he could do was picture her in it, naked. And there wouldn’t be much sleeping. That didn’t help his focus one bit. It was a good thing he could multi-task. He wanted to make sure she was safe before he left her and make sure the furtive guy back there wasn’t following her. Without giving anything away, he glanced back. When the guy saw him looking, he slipped away down a side street.
“I don’t have to guess about you. That twang is pure Texas.” They passed a dark alley and she glanced down it, then shivered a little before looking forward.
“Yes, ma’am.” The small tendril of fire in his chest flared. He hated it that this sweet thang was afraid of walking down the street.
She looked at him, the fear replaced with a bemused smile. It wasn’t a laugh, but it was close. “That title usually makes me feel really old, especially when the boy at the supermarket bags my groceries. But with you it makes me feel…”
“What?” They walked past a steaming grate, and Jared took her elbow at the uneven pavement, the lace warm from her skin and a little rough against his fingertips. He released her when they passed. The smell of Chinese food filled the air.
She flushed. “Never mind. I talk too much.”
“My father used to say never dis
regard a good chance to shut up. My brother and I called them Royisms.”
They stopped for a light, watching a bike messenger whizz by and traffic move in what seemed like a never-ending stream. Poe laughed again. “Your dad sounds like a character.”
Score. “He is quite the character, old Roy.” The light changed and Jared’s quick glance both left and right preceded them across the side street.
“Is that where you got your charm?”
His heart jumped in his chest. He hadn’t been smitten like this in…he couldn’t remember when. He gave her a sidelong look and grinned to himself. This assignment was proving to be way too interesting.
“You know what that twang is, right?”
“Downright sexy?”
She flushed and shoved at his shoulder.
“No.”
“No! Not sexy?” He clutched his heart.
She pushed his shoulder again. “Well, yes, but that wasn’t what I was getting at.”
“Whut were you gettin’ at, little lady?”
“Diphthong.”
“Say what? Are you calling me a dip?” They turned the corner and the coffee shop came into sight, the bright sign with the cup of Joe and a curl of steam distinct.
“No.” She giggled this time, which was even cuter than her laugh. “It’s a figure of speech. A diphthong is two sounds or two tones used in one syllable. It’s known as a gliding vowel. The sure giveaway of a Texas or Southern accent is the flattened monophthong, a vowel with only one part. Of course, every accent has a monophthong, but Southerners and Texans put their own unique spin on it. For example, Texans have a way of using the “ah” sound in words like pah for pie and naht for night. Northerners have a hard one-tone ie syllable for pie.
“I’ll be damned.” Could this woman get any sexier? Now he was irresistibly attracted to the whole package, her uniqueness, her kicking body, and that sharp brain full of oddly fascinating trivia.
She gave him an indulgent smile. “It’s heartbreaking to think that your very charming speech is getting homogenized.”
“How?”
“Believe it or not, TV.”
“I didn’t watch much TV.”
“It’s probably why your accent is more pronounced. I bet when you’re dealing with clients, you clip it.”
“Shoot, yeah. I don’t want to sound like a hick or redneck. This is New York City.”
“You made my point, exactly. And, you do relax and do the diphthongs in casual conversation with me.”
“What?”
“Be yourself with that down-home country charm. When you get a compliment, what do you say?”
“Thank you kindly.”
“Saying Southern phrases like that puts people at ease and evokes hospitality. You have the best of both worlds.”
They arrived at the coffee shop. Jared didn’t see the guy who had seemed to be following them. Maybe he’d been mistaken. It was only eight o’clock and there were quite a few people still out. The coffee shop luckily had a table outside.
Now he had a dilemma. Asking her to order and pay just wasn’t gentlemanly, but leaving her out here with a possible stalker wasn’t the best way to protect her. In the end, since there was no visible sign of the stalker and he was trying to charm her pants…urm…socks off, he decided to step inside and order. There was no line. “I’ll go order. Be right back.” He kept his eyes moving around the street. Just let that stalker try something, please. He’d snap the bastard in half.
All the while he ordered, he watched Poe outside, trying to coerce some kind of reaction out of Daisy, but, although the basset raised her head, she immediately dropped it back down again. She was a cute little thing with her hangdog eyes and her black and brown patches. How would anyone know if a basset was happy?
He ordered Poe an espresso and a black coffee for himself. Back outside, he placed Poe’s drink in front of her. Keeping an eye out for the creep that had been following her, he settled into the chair.
She took a delicate sip of her coffee, and his blood stirred when she pursed her lips to blow on the hot beverage. “How long have you had Daisy?”
It took him a moment to realize she’d asked him a question. “Not long.”
“She seems really subdued for being so young.” She blew on the coffee again and he yanked his gaze away.
He wasn’t really sure what to say. He knew next to nothing about Daisy, but he knew dogs, and hounds in particular.
“The most I know about her is she’s a hound. Back in Texas, we always had Blue Lacies. Good herding dogs. I kind of got her by default.”
“How is that?”
“She belonged to my ex-girlfriend, but when she left, she didn’t want anything to remind her of me.” He kept as close to the truth as possible. It was less likely he would mess up his story if it was true.
“Oh. Doesn’t sound like she was too dedicated to Daisy. I would never leave one of my boys behind.”
“One of your boys is getting whipped cream all over his muzzle.”
“What?”
He tipped his chin towards the table behind her. “He’s drinking someone’s coffee.”
Poe whipped around. “Allan!”
The dog didn’t miss a beat. After scooping up the rest of the whipped cream with his little pink tongue, he jumped down as he licked his chops.
Jared had to stifle his smile.
“Don’t encourage him,” she scolded with distinct laughter in her voice.
When the owner of the ravaged latte came back to the table, Poe insisted on buying another for her. The woman smiled and laughed and gave Allan a pat on the head as she walked by. Poe pulled treats out of her zombie purse.
“You’re going to reward that kind of behavior?” He arched his brow.
“Excuse me, but have you met my dogs? The Terrible Two? If I don’t distract them right now, there’s no telling what they’re going to do next.”
“Yeah, agreed. I’d keep handguns away from those two. No telling what they’ll do for whipped cream.”
She laughed just like he hoped she would.
She gave one each to the Jack Russells. Then she extended one of the treats to Daisy, and Jared was happy to see her accept it and start munching.
“Aw, there we go. She just must be shy.”
Steering Poe away from talk about Daisy and his non-existent ex-girlfriend, he said, “You’ve got a whole zombie thing going there. You looking forward to the invasion? Or hoping to blend in?”
She stared at him, her eyes as dark as midnight, in a completely odd, but extremely good, way. The way she looked at him sizzled along his nerve endings.
It sent chills through his system like the first free fall on a rollercoaster. That quick minute when the cars drop away and travel a million miles in two seconds flat, leaving your stomach behind.
The way she dressed was intriguing, sexy, as if she knew exactly what she did to a man, but there was an aura of innocence that still clung about her like an intoxicating perfume. His innocence had been lost on the battlefield and, for a moment, what he had done and the consequences of those actions twisted in his gut like barbed wire.
“Neither, actually. I’m hoping to survive.” She grinned.
He couldn’t argue with that. “How do you propose to do that?”
“Well I’d have to give you some background on my theories. Do you want to hear them?”
“Hell to the yeah!”
She looked around and then leaned forward as if she was about to impart classified government secrets. “There are two types of zombies. The kind that run at you like high-speed homicidal maniacs or as I call them, the crack group and the kind that shamble along and they’re the coma group.”
“So you have a strategy for each group?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your weapon of choice?”
Her grin turned a shade wry. “Crack group, bacon.”
“Bacon is your strategy? I can’t wait to hear this.”
> “Sure. Everyone loves bacon. It transcends death. I’d come back from the dead for it.” Her eyes twinkled. “Much more appetizing than icky, slimy brains.”
“So you’re going to cook breakfast for zombies?” He sat back, hitching an ankle across this thigh.
“Not exactly. Carrying it around with me is the best policy, in case I run into the crack variety. I’ll throw it like a bone. Instead of chasing me, they’ll chase the bacon. I scamper away.” She waggled her fingers in a running motion.
“Like Fido with a Frisbee?”
“Something like that.”
“Are you sure you’re not more delectable than any crispy fried meat?”
She gave him that look again, and he suspected it was because she knew he was just playing along with her. But he wasn’t totally sure. Maybe he was analyzing it too much.
“That’s blasphemy. The pig is not exactly an elegant animal, but consider this. It’s smart and resourceful, and its daily hygiene is to wallow in the mud. I say it gets M&M’s just for that.”
His brows rose. “It’s a survivalist?”
“Again, something like that.”
“Rambo pig. Hmmm. Somehow I can’t see Porky pullin’ out an Uzi and going all badass and saving your bacon.” She giggled and he felt buoyant inside.
“I’ll have you know Porky is a legend. Don’t mess with legends. And whether I’m tossing it or covering it, I can take care of my own bacon.”
He chuckled. “Ah, darlin’. There are some, maybe not many, people in this world who don’t like bacon.”
She gasped. Mock horror in her eyes. “More blasphemy!”
“I would hazard a guess there are. What do you do in that case?”
“I don’t have to outrun the zombies. I just have to outrun the person behind me.”
He chuckled. “That’s a good strategy.”
“That brings us to the second group. The coma group. That’s where my next contingency comes into action.”
“I like contingency plans. So what is Plan B? You know, in case I have a client who needs advice on security for the apocalypse.”
“A zombie killer.”
He laughed out loud. “A zombie killer. All right, darlin’ I’m all in. I’ll call your hand.”