by Nancy Warren
"Was I?"
"Yes." His eyes crinkled a bit when he smiled, and he developed a fascinating groove in one cheek that was probably an old scar. "You were going to tell me how you came to live in New York because you
are crazy about New York men. Especially tall ones."
She laughed a little. "Well, it's true. I did come here because of a man. He was a chef in the restaurant where I worked." She shrugged. "We fell in love, and I moved here with him. It didn't work out."
Bad news for the chef. Good news, he hoped, for Vince. "What happened?"
"He turned out not to be a good man," she said.
When Vince looked at her with pity, she said, "He got in with the wrong people. He got out of jail a couple of months ago."
"Has he bothered you?"
She shook her head. "He called, but I made it clear I won't see him. He is, as you Americans say, history."
"Good. Is there a man in your life now?"
She blinked. "Is there a particular reason you ask?"
Oh, how he could make her shiver with just a look. "Yes. I'd like to ... get to know you better."
She rose and collected their plates. Vince also rose, and they cleared the table together. She went to the sink, and he moved her bodily out of the way. "You cooked. I'll wash up."
This was so ... domestic that her heart gave a curious lurch.
She found a cloth and dried the dishes he washed. There was silence for a moment. Then he said, "Is
that a problem for you?"
"You're a very direct man."
"Yes, ma'am. Clear, direct speaking is how I operate. I try to say what I mean and mean what I say. If more people did that, there'd be fewer problems in the world."
"But more hurt feelings, perhaps."
He grinned at that. "Well, I believe in direct speaking used judiciously, how's that?"
"Better."
"So, will you go out with me?"
"I'm not sure." She dried a plate so earnestly she nearly rubbed off the glaze before she realized what she was doing and placed it in the cupboard. "May I be as direct?"
"Of course."
She took a moment to compose what she wanted to express. She wasn't one for blurting out exactly what she wanted—she wasn't used to hearing it done by others, either. On the other hand, she was drawn to this man with his big hands and his sweet, absurd dog, and his very straightforward manner.
"Come on," he said, "spit it out. If you're not interested, say so. I'll live."
"The last time I was this attracted to a man I ended up moving to a new country, learning a different language, and my lover ended up in jail. I'm ... hesitant to get involved. And with a man I work for." There. She'd said it, and Vince himself couldn't have been more direct.
He pulled back a little, and she could see she'd surprised him. "Well, to take those points one at a time. I'm not asking you to change countries. We live in the same city. This seems to be a bilingual household.
I stay within the law." He stepped closer. "I liked the part about you being attracted to me, though."
He took the tea towel out of her hands, flipped it over her head so it looped around her neck, and pulled her toward him.
"And the part about me working for you?" she asked a trifle breathlessly. He was close and she could feel the insidious pull of attraction much stronger than the pull of the tea towel.
"I promise that if this doesn't work out it won't affect your job."
She gazed at him, at his rugged, take-no-prisoners face and his sensuous eyes.
"Why don't we take this one step at a time?" he said, letting his lips whisper across hers. "Slow." He came back for another pass, adding a little pressure, his body touching hers lightly from chest to belly. "And easy." And he kissed her again, this time his lips settling on hers as though they meant to stay awhile.
She sighed into the kiss, slid into the easy warmth and pleasure of holding and being held.
New. She loved the new aspect of this man, all his secrets and mysteries yet to be revealed. What was he like as a lover? Which side of the bed did he sleep on? Was he grouchy in the morning? A shower Pavarotti?
She felt the thrill of sensation from her lips zipping all through her body, and she sensed that before long she'd be finding out the answers to all those questions.
Not quite yet, though.
She eased slowly back, knowing if she kissed him much longer, she'd be unable to pull away.
"Stay with me tonight," he said, his voice gruff with passion, his eyes dark and intense on hers.
"We only met yesterday."
"What does length of time have to do with it? Some things you know, instantly."
She understood what he meant, of course; she'd felt that strong and instant attraction, too, but she needed to think a little longer before moving to the next stage.
"You promised it would be slow and easy. I must go," she said.
"I'll drive you home."
"No. I can get a cab."
"Please let me drive you. Your knee ..."
"All right. Thank you. And we can take Mimi out. Come, Mimi," she said briskly, pulling her attention away from Vince with an effort. The dog twirled and yipped with delight as her new lead was clipped to her new collar.
Vince took her hand as they left his apartment, and she didn't stop him.
It felt nice, his hand. Large and warm. As they left the building, her warm, fuzzy feeling was abruptly shattered. "Get out of here," they heard a man yell, followed by a familiar bark.
"Oh, no," she cried, seeing the dog who'd come to her and Mimi's aid being chased away by a burly man in jeans and a grimy T-shirt. She squeezed Vince's hand. "That's the dog who helped us."
"Hey, Bert. What's going on?" Vince said.
"God damned stray. I thought I'd got rid of it, but some asshole's been feeding the thing." He brandished the remains of the bone she'd given the dog herself.
"A stray?" she asked. "Are you sure he's a stray?"
"Course I'm sure. He hangs around, goes through the garbage. I called the pound couple times, but the bastard always runs away when he sees the truck."
"He's a beautiful dog, and so brave," she said. The Doberman loped up and put his nose against her side as if to say, "Can't you do something?"
He'd saved her and Mimi from goodness knew what. He was big and brave and sweet. There must be something she could do for him.
But as she was racking her brain for an answer, Mimi took matters into her own paws.
"Vince, look," Sophie said, laughing. Mimi was on her hind legs waving her two front paws at the big dog. "She plays coquette."
"That's great, lady. You hold on to him while I call the pound. The bastard won't get away this time."
"Mais, non!" she cried. "This dog must not go to the pound. He's a good dog. Brave and strong. He needs a home." She turned to Vince, who looked back at her, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"I'm sure the animal shelter will find him a good home," he said.
Already she was stroking the dog in a way that looked far too much like an owner. "I wish I could have pets in my apartment, but it is not possible," she said, patting the dog's head the way she might have caressed a loved one on his way to the guillotine. "Look how well he and Mimi get on."
Vince felt a prickle of sweat form beneath where his hat band would sit if he were wearing a hat.
"If only you could take him while we try to find him a new home."
He knew where she was going with this, and it was vital he cut her off at the pass. "Sophie, I just got a dog." Though looking at Mimi, he knew that wasn't entirely true.
"Please, Vince, couldn't you give him a try? He's probably lost, and his owner is desperate to find him.
I will put an ad in the paper and make posters to put in public places. Please?"
He stared down into eyes that were big and blue and full of appeal. He dropped his gaze to avoid saying yes to absolutely anything only to find two pairs of brown eyes sta
ring up at him, as though they knew it was all up to him. He'd stared down angry teamsters, managed to hang tough in the face of threats ranging from legal action to physical violence, and he'd never wavered. But when Sophie looked at him with naked appeal in her eyes, he had trouble thinking, never mind saying no to her.
The Doberman had protected his girls when he hadn't been around to do it, and at least the Doberman looked like a dog, acted like a dog, and smelled like a dog; maybe he'd rub off on Mimi.
Still, Vince wasn't a pushover, and he was determined not to act like one.
He glared at the woman and the dog going dopey-eyed underneath her stroking hand—something he'd
like to try sometime. "Is he house trained?"
"He's a very intelligent animal," she said in some indignation, but not answering the question.
"You want my opinion, you'll let the animal control people deal with him," the super said.
"No one asked for your opinion," Sophie said, indignation deepening her French accent.
A few more tense seconds passed before he gave in to the inevitable. "All right," he said. "All right. But it's for a trial only. If that dog messes in the house or does anything I don't like, he goes to the pound. That is not negotiable."
She nodded, her eyes shining.
"All right," he said, knowing when he was beaten. "I'll take him in until we find him a home."
Of course, he was too evolved a man to hope that if he took in the dog at her request Sophie would be
so grateful she'd sleep with him.
No, he realized, when she squealed with delight and kissed him full on the mouth, he wasn't evolved at all. He hoped she was grateful. Very, very grateful.
The super sent him a disgusted look as though Vince had let down the entire male gender.
With the scent of Sophie still in his nose and the taste of her on his lips, Vince didn't much care.
"Yer making a big mistake," the large guy said and stomped away. Mimi yapped at his retreating back,
as though to say, "and don't come back."
The Doberman added a deep growl. "They're going to tag team us, aren't they?" Vince said to Sophie. "Tinkerbell and Godzilla."
"No," she assured him. "They'll be company for each other. It will be much better, I'm certain."
"They'll probably be terrible tonight, what with the Doberman settling in and everything. Probably it's too much for one person. You should definitely stay the night."
She smiled at him, the kind of smile that he bet went a lot of the way toward earning the sexy reputation French women enjoyed. "I'll sleep better knowing he's guarding you and Mimi," she said, and walked on, the Doberman trotting at her side.
Vince wasn't one to blow his own horn, but he had been a wrestling champ in college. He'd worked as a bouncer at a hot Manhattan club one summer. He did not need protection.
Unless it was from one much too sexy Frenchwoman who had somehow added another dog to his increasingly crowded life.
Three days ago he'd been a single man, living a bachelor existence in the greatest city in the world.
And since his aunt's funeral, his happy household of one had quadrupled. He looked at his three companions. One fourteen million dollar poodle, one very sexy French nanny who'd managed to get mugged, alienate his super, and saddle him with a homeless Doberman, and the stray mutt himself, who might or might not be house trained, not to mention dangerous or psychotic. There might be a very good reason why a dog known to have a fierce disposition was homeless. And yet, the Doberman had helped save Mimi and Sophie. Vince believed in returning a good deed with interest.
He sighed and fell in with the other three.
So, the four of them walked the block to where he garaged his vehicle and piled into his dusty SUV. The Doberman leaped into the back without a second's hesitation, but Mimi, naturally, wasn't a jump-in-the-back kind of dog. She sat on Sophie's lap the entire way as he headed south.
Sophie lived in an efficiency sublet in Greenwich Village, he learned. As he pulled up in front of a renovated town house, the kind that had been broken down into tiny apartments, he realized that he was well chaperoned. Getting invited up to her place was not going to be an option.
Perhaps that's why she suddenly stiffened and said, "Oh, merde." She'd turned her head and was looking out the window. He followed her gaze and saw a gaunt-looking man about his own age sitting on the red concrete steps.
"Problem?" he asked, his own hackles rising.
"Gregory." She sighed. "My ex." She sat there for another moment, then gave Mimi a kiss on top of her head, and reached for the door handle. "I'll see you in the morning."
Vince ignored her and got out of the car.
Gregory looked as though he didn't get out much. He was pale, and his eyes had the look of an angry, bitter man.
"What do you want?" Sophie asked when he rose from the steps to lounge against the black wrought-iron railing. Vince noticed that his expression transformed when he gazed at Sophie. He was obviously still in love with her.
"I want to talk to you."
She rubbed her arms. "Your probation officer called on Wednesday. You missed your appointment again."
He dropped his gaze and shuffled his feet on the cement step. A garbage truck roared by before he answered. "I was busy."
"You've got to stop seeing those men, Gregory. They'll only get you into more trouble."
"They're my friends," he insisted.
"Then I no longer am your friend." She shook her head sharply. "Don't come here again," she said, and hurried up the steps.
Her ex grabbed her arm as she tried to pass. "Let me come up and we can talk."
Vince had listened to enough. "Sophie told you to go."
"Yeah? And who the hell are you?"
"Her friend." He motioned behind him. "Get in the car and I'll drop you somewhere."
"Why don't you fuck off?"
Sophie was inside by this time, which was all he cared about. He trod deliberately up the stairs until he and the deadbeat ex were on a level. He had a good six inches on the guy and probably eighty pounds.
"I look after my friends. I hear you've been anywhere near this street, and I'll be on you. Get it?"
Gregory exercised his impressive vocabulary by repeating his last line. Vince didn't move, simply pulled out his cell phone.
"Who are you calling?"
"The police. They might be interested in talking to you about rescheduling your appointment with your probation officer."
Gregory knocked the cell phone out of his hand and turned and ran.
Vince caught the phone and repocketed it, then hung around awhile before heading back home. He hadn't been able to protect her from getting knocked down today, but he could sure as hell keep the weasel chef away from her.
* * *
Sophie had been wrong about the dogs being company for each other. After he got them home, the Doberman launched himself on the pink princess bed and stretched full out as though unable to believe
his luck. Vince did his best to encourage Mimi to shack up with her new buddy instead of him, but it was hopeless. She stayed in her princess bedroom while he was in there, but as soon as he went into his own room, he heard the click, click, click of her nails on the hardwood as she followed him, springing like an oversized flea onto his bed and heading straight for his feather pillow.
He was going to wake up in the morning smelling of Joy again. And not for the right reason.
Six
"Now that you have a love interest, we must update your image," Sophie said to Mimi the next day.
"No, don't give me that pathetic look. We must speak English when Sir Galahad is around. It's all he understands."
Mimi whined, but Sophie was firm. "When I fell in love with an American, I learned English ... Of
course, that did not have a happy ending, but you may be luckier in love."
She put the leads on both dogs, delighted now that Vince had bought the leather and
chain leash. Really, the man must be clairvoyant. He'd bought the perfect leash for Sir G the day before they met.
He was much more intuitive than he knew, that Vince.
"Now, I don't want to hurt your feelings, but you can't go around with blue hair and be considered au courant. The look was fine when you lived with old ladies, naturellement, but now you have Vince to think about, and the Doberman. You have to update, heh?"
Mimi looked unconvinced but trotted happily on one side of her, while Sir Galahad strained against his leash on her other side. "Look," she finally said in exasperation. "You are bigger. Your legs are longer,