“Thanks for all your help, goofball.” The dog groaned and was snoring softly before they reached the highway. Gwen switched on the radio, punched in the local classic rock station and tapped out a beat on the steering wheel. Ahead of her was a tour bus wrapped in promotional graphics for the TV show The Dog Talker. An oversized image of the show’s star—posing with two dogs—stared out from the back of the bus.
Gwen was lost in her examination of Alex McKenzie’s handsome smile when a convertible swooped between the two vehicles, narrowly missing the Jeep’s front bumper. Gwen laid on her horn. The driver didn’t turn around, but his passenger did and when her long blonde hair blew back from her face, Gwen could see that the woman was terrified.
Chapter Two
Leaning against the passenger door, Charlene Taylor looked in the sideview mirror. The Dog Talker bus was trailing them closely and when the GPS indicated a right at the next intersection, Alex eased the jet-black convertible into a perfect ninety-degree turn.
“Three-point-two miles to your destination,” the robotic female voice purred.
Charlene stole a glance at the tall star’s handsome profile. An ever-present layer of copper-colored scruff accentuated his strong jaw and framed full lips. She wondered how he managed to maintain that perpetual five-o’clock shadow.
His reddish-brown hair was ruffled by the breeze and it was all she could do not to reach over and run her fingers through it. But that was against the rules. She wasn’t allowed to touch his face or hair and she certainly wasn’t allowed to kiss him. Those were just a few of the provisions in the mile-long contract she’d signed.
The document also clearly stated that Charlene was not to discuss their arrangement, but everybody knew that the two were fucking. And what a fuck he was! True, he always wanted to get right to the main event, but their agreement didn’t say anything about exclusivity. There were plenty of other men who were more than happy to play with her tits and lick her pussy and she was usually able to imagine it was Alex’s head between her thighs.
His big, thick cock was always ready and even without foreplay he knew how to use it to make her come almost every time. He was rough and demanding and animalistic and she loved it. Her mind wandered back to their encounter in the editing room that morning and a gush of moisture soaked her thong.
She’d been so primed when he’d locked the door behind them that she thought she’d explode before he’d even had a chance to touch her. When he’d rammed into her, the mixture of pleasure and pain had been fantastic. She loved this way he filled her so completely and each thrust stretched her opening, teasing her clit. He had spread her legs wide and the wild look in his eyes turned her on even more.
Then she’d made the mistake of trying to kiss him and he’d pulled out quickly and turned her around. Alex had pounded her from behind with such force that she’d had to hold on to the edge of the worktable to keep from being pushed into the equipment. She’d moved one hand long enough to reach between her legs and frantically rub herself, racing to come before he finished.
The orgasm had been so intense she’d cried out, not caring who else heard. He’d come immediately after she did, stood, wiped off his cock, passed her the box of tissues then hurried out of the room without so much as a kiss. It wasn’t exactly wine and roses, but she didn’t care. She couldn’t get enough of the sex.
After they’d climbed into the car, Alex had dropped the convertible top and now Charlene tried to tame her swirling hair by tucking it behind her ears. She stole another look at his profile. God, he was sexy! It had been barely an hour since they’d been together, but she was ready for another round. She fidgeted with the leather stitching on the armrest and involuntarily rubbed her thighs together.
He tilted his head from side to side as if working out the kinks, then glanced over. It was unnerving how he seemed to sense when she was turned on. He met her smile with a stony stare and her belly knotted. Back to business, Charlene thought. Her hands shook as she flipped through her notes. “Okay. Four-year-old Papillon, acute separation anxiety. I did a pre-production meeting last week. The owner’s a real piece of work. It should make for great TV.”
Alex just nodded, ran a broad, tanned hand through his hair and checked himself in the mirror.
“Destination is one-hundred-twenty feet ahead on the right,” the GPS announced. Alex smoothly swung the car to within inches of the curb, cut the engine and stepped out. Charlene instinctively reached for her door handle, but when Alex glared at her through the windshield she quickly folded her hands in her lap and gave him an apologetic shrug. This ritual wasn’t in the contract, but Alex insisted. Charlene could never get her head around a guy who could screw her without making eye contact and demand to perform little acts of chivalry.
When Alex opened her door and offered his hand, Charlene allowed herself to be helped out. He glanced at the place where her breasts mushroomed from the front of her tank top and raised one eyebrow. Charlene retrieved a light cotton cardigan from the front seat, slid it on and yanked up the scooped neck of her top a couple of inches.
Thetour bus had parked behind Alex’s car. She scanned the advertising graphics that wrapped around every surface. Huge yellow letters stood out against the navy-blue background—”Watch The Dog Talker, starring Alex McKenzie! Thursday nights, only on the Pet Channel! “
The words curved above an enormous photograph of Alex, his right arm around the neck of a huge Old English sheepdog and his left around a Rottweiler. The Rottweiler was slurping the side of his face. Charlene examined the broad smile and thought the only time Alex ever seemed truly happy was in the company of four-legged creatures.
The cameraman and sound technician tumbled out of the bus, laughing and chatting. They immediately settled down when Alex shot them a look. He held up his hand, fingers spread wide, to indicate that he needed five minutes. The men nodded and walked quietly to the cargo hold to unload the equipment.
As popular as The Dog Talker program was, the small cable network ran a tight ship. They sent skeleton crews out on location, and everyone wore multiple hats. Besides sourcing interviews and doing the advance work, Charlene handled makeup. That usually just meant powdering down interview subjects when their skin was too shiny. Alex refused to wear makeup. Not that he needed it. The camera loved him.
The cameraman also handled lighting and the sound guy did all the post-production audio editing. They were also in charge of keeping the tour bus running when they were on the road. The only thing new about the vehicle was the graphics. As pretty as it was, the thing belched exhaust and frequently broke down.
It seemed that the network sank all its profits into star salaries. Rumor was that Alex had negotiated a killer contract. Supposedly he was paid more than any other host, he got a piece of all the merchandising and even a percentage of the advertising dollars. Charlene wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. He was definitely persuasive.
As Charlene watched him head toward the house, she thought he could persuade her to do just about anything. Alex turned and with a sweep of his hand, motioned Charlene up the walk. She stiffened and led the way.
Her fisted hand was suspended mid-knock when Mayola Sutton swung open the door. The plump, elderly woman was stuffed into a short-sleeved peach polyester jacket with matching pull-on pants. A satiny peach and turquoise flowered blouse rounded out the ensemble. Her face was consumed by a giant dentured grin. She shook her head in excited disbelief and her lavender-tinted bouffant bounced like a puff of cotton candy.
“Ooo! Oh my! Oh goodness! Hello, Charlene. So good to see you again! Come in! Come in!”
Mrs. Sutton held the screen door open—rather than yielding the doorway—and Charlene had to turn sideways to squeeze past her. A muffled yapping came from deep inside the house.
“Ooo! And there he is! Oh, Dr. McKenzie. Oh my! Oh! Please come in!”
Charlene turned to watch her boss make his entrance. As if flipping a switch, Alex’s face lit up
with a broad smile. He inclined his head slightly to the right and winked at Mrs. Sutton.
“Mrs. Sutton, what a pleasure. I have looked so forward to meeting you and Marie Antoinette. Charlene says Marie Antoinette is just a wonderful little dog.”
Mrs. Sutton was motionless as Alex breezed past her into the bismuth-pink living room. The yapping increased in volume and frequency. Mrs. Sutton seemed not to notice.
“What a lovely home,” Alex said. He turned slowly as if taking in every nuance of the room—the pink floral overstuffed furniture, the pink shag carpeting, the pink Grecian goddess table lamps, and the pink plastic floral arrangement on the pseudo-French Provincial gilt and marble coffee table.
Mrs. Sutton demurred. “Please come in and sit down. Can I get you something to drink, Charlene? Dr. McKenzie? I’ve made lemonade.” She left to fetch the refreshments without waiting for an answer.
The crew filed into the small living room, moving carefully to avoid nicking the walls with their metal equipment cases, and after brief introductions, they set to work.
Paul Evans was in charge of lighting and camerawork. He bent over his gear surreptitiously glancing around the room. He caught Charlene’s eye, wrinkled his nose and mouthed, “Pink!”
Charlene gave him her “Uh, yeah” look and shrugged.
Josh Walenski was engrossed in assembling and plugging in his sound equipment. He slid the gray furry cover over the end of the boom mic and positioned his huge headphones over his ears. He flipped the toggle switch on his hip-mounted board and adjusted the volume.
The yapping picked up steam and Josh slowly followed it, swinging the boom like a high-tech divining rod until it rested in front of a door off the living room.
With Mrs. Sutton’s enthusiastic permission, Charlene began rearranging the space for the shoot. Following Paul’s direction to frame up the shot, Charlene moved the armchair closer to the sofa, asked Mrs. Sutton to sit down, and positioned Alex on the end of the couch nearest her.
“Oh, I’m just so nervous!” Mrs. Sutton said, “I’ve never been on TV before!”
Alex winked at her. “Ah, there’s nothing to it. We’re just two old friends having a chat.”
A blush rose from Mrs. Sutton’s fleshy jowls and disappeared under her Easter-egg-colored hair.
While Paul held the light meter up to the subjects, Alex kept his attention on their hostess, “Thank you for the lemonade, Mrs. Sutton.”
The old woman giggled, “Oh, it was nothing Dr. Mac…Alex.”
The crew exchanged glances and knowing grins. Charlene shook her head and smiled with admiration. Alex could turn on the charm when it served him, and his ability to read dogs was uncanny.
“Tell me about Marie Antoinette,” Alex said, never releasing Mrs. Sutton from his gaze.
YAP! YAP!
“Well, Marie Antoinette is four years old. She’s a little Papillon,” Mrs. Sutton began. She spoke as if she were gossiping at a neighborhood coffee klatch. “Did you know that Papillon is French for ‘butterfly’?”
Alex nodded slowly, apparently hanging on Mrs. Sutton’s every word.
“They’re called that because their little ears flare up and out just like butterfly wings. They’re just the sweetest little dogs.”
Alex pulled his eyebrows together as his expression took on a serious air. “And why did you call us, Mrs. Sutton? Are you concerned about Marie Antoinette?”
“Oh Alex,” Mrs. Sutton said, leaning in and resting her hand lightly on his forearm. “I’m just so concerned! Marie Antoinette has started acting out. I just can’t understand it. I can’t leave her alone for a minute. The second I leave the house, she just turns into a little monster! It’s like she’s possessed!”
YAP! YAP! YAP!
“Go on.”
“She tears things up—just rips them to shreds and sometimes she even,” Mrs. Sutton leaned in and whispered, “She even, well, tinkles on my bed!”
YAP! YAP! YAP!
Mrs. Sutton reached down the front of her shirt, extracted a pink tissue and dabbed at her eyes. “I’m beside myself, Alex! I love her to bits, just to pieces! I don’t know why she’s behaving this way but I simply can’t have it!”
Alex furrowed his brow and shook his head in a show of sincere sympathy. Paul and Charlene looked at each other and executed synchronized eye rolls.
“Maybe I should meet Marie Antoinette.”
YAP! YAP! YAP!
Mrs. Sutton sniffed and nodded slowly.
Alex looked at Charlene and inclined his head toward the door. Paul trained his lens on the lower portion of the doorway and Josh positioned the mic just out of the frame then gave Charlene a thumbs-up. Charlene took a breath, turned the knob and slowly opened the door.
“Marie Antoinette!” Mrs. Sutton called out in a singsong voice.
Every one leaned in toward the door and Josh dialed up the volume another notch.
“Marie Antoin—”
A seven-pound whirling dervish of black and white fur wrapped in pink satin and tulle burst through the doorway. Her butterfly ears were perked so high they nearly met in the middle and her plume of a tail fanned out behind her.
Charlene plastered herself against the wall. Paul staggered backward as if trying to keep the furry blur in frame, then stumbled over a pink vinyl footstool and landed flat on his back. The cameraman rolled on one side and continued filming from ground level. Josh kept the boom mic close to the action.
Marie Antoinette’s tiny paws dug into the shag carpet as she bolted across the room toward Paul. He held his position but moved one hand from the camera and cupped it protectively over his crotch. Marie Antoinette launched herself into the air, spring-boarded off the ottoman and landed within six inches of the camera lens. The little dog resumed her frantic yapping and, without the door as a muffler, the noise buried the soundboard needle. Josh let out an “ARGH!” dropped the microphone, yanked off his headset and clasped his hands to the side of his head. “Holy shit! Are my eardrums bleeding?”
Marie Antoinette wheeled around and started yapping in Josh’s direction. She spied the boom mic on the floor, pounced, and yanked the furry gray cover from the microphone. Snarling, the little dog shook it until she seemed sure it was dead.
Mrs. Sutton managed to get Marie Antoinette back into the guest room and, minutes after the fur-tornado’s impressive entrance, the crew had determined that neither their bodies nor their equipment had suffered serious damage—with the exception of the microphone boom cover, which had been reduced to tiny faux-fur tufts.
Josh found a new boom cover in the bottom of his equipment case and kept testing his hearing by humming and snapping his fingers near each ear.
Charlene moved quietly around the room, repositioning displaced furniture and righting overturned bric-a-brac, then helped Mrs. Sutton compose herself before glancing at Alex. He had not moved from his position on the couch. He calmly turned to where Paul was doing a quick review of the video. Paul looked up from the monitor and gave a thumbs up. “Got it.” The corners of Alex’s lips twitched upward.
When Mrs. Sutton was back into position, Alex leaned in and patted her hand. She frowned, shook her head and stared at her hands twisting in her lap. “Alex, I am just so embarrassed!”
Alex curled his index finger and used it to raise Mrs. Sutton’s chin. He held it there until her eyes met his. “Don’t be silly. That’s why we’re here. If all dogs were perfect, I’d be out of a job.”
Alex gave her a wink and the woman instantly relaxed. “Now, let’s give it another try. Shall we?”
Alex stood and walked toward the guestroom door. He placed his hand on the knob and the yapping started up again. Paul picked up his camera, turned three-hundred-sixty-degrees to check for obstacles and framed up the lower half of the door. Josh repositioned his headphones and dialed down the soundboard volume, Charlene huddled in the far corner of the living room, and Mrs. Sutton leaned forward from the couch. Alex twisted the knob with his left
hand and jerked open the door.
The furry blur burst from the doorway, airborne. Alex’s right hand shot out and caught hold of the pink tulle. The Papillon twisted in midair, squirming wildly and yapping. Alex walked to the couch, holding the little dog at arm’s length, then sat down and placed the struggling furball on his thigh. Mrs. Sutton’s hands fidgeted in her lap as she watched the Papillon bark her steady stream of canine profanity.
Alex placed his hand on the dog’s back and slowly slid it up between the butterfly-wing ears. He stared into the shiny black eyes and Marie Antoinette quieted. Her tiny head cocked slightly under Alex’s broad hand and her fringed ears twitched. He stroked the dog from ears to tail until she lay down in his lap and dropped her head to her paws.
Paul zoomed in. Charlene bit her lip. Mrs. Sutton’s hands stilled. Alex slid one finger under the little bow that covered the hook-and-loop closure at the back of the dog’s pink satin dress and unfastened it with one smooth motion. The dog was limp as he pulled the costume from her thin legs.
“Mrs. Sutton,” he began, “how long have you been dressing up Marie Antoinette?”
“Well, always—since she was a little puppy. She just loves it.”
“Does she?”
“Well yes. Every time I bring out her little basket of pretties, she just gets so excited. And if I leave the basket where she can get at it, she pulls out all of her things and—” Mrs. Sutton stopped suddenly. She looked at the pink dress wadded up on the couch cushion then at the little dog sleeping peacefully on Alex’s lap.
“Oh, Dr. McKenzie! Do you think? Could it be that Marie Antoinette doesn’t like her little outfits?”
Alex stroked the silky fur. The dog had begun to snore softly. “Sometimes, Mrs. Sutton, especially with smaller, more sensitive dogs, the fabric of…little outfits…irritates them. Makes them feel constrained.”
Mrs. Sutton pursed her lips. “But Dr. Mac…Alex, we’ve always dressed up! I just want her to feel pretty—to know how much I love her.”
Animal Behavior Page 2