Love Is a Four-Legged Word

by Kandy Shepherd

  He had to kiss her. Her lips were warm and yielding as she kissed him back, pressing her delicious curves against him. She smelled intoxicatingly of lavender, a touch of hay, and warm, lovely woman. His woman. Maddy. Beautiful. Funny. Generous. His woman.

  He kissed her harder, parting her lips with his tongue, savoring the feel and the taste of her. Enjoying her enthusiastic response, the throaty little murmurs of appreciation as he slid his hands down her arms and pulled her tighter to him.

  In response she slid her arms around his waist, hugging him hard.Tom couldn’t help but wince at the pressure.

  “You’re hurt,” she said, alarmed.

  “Not really,” he said, releasing her to rub under his shoulder blades. “It’s just where that idiot Stoddard thumped me. After a day on horseback I’m feeling it.”

  She slid her hands under his shirt, her fingers delicate but firm. “Can I rub your back for you? I’m quite good at massage.”

  There was nothing he’d like better than her warm, slender hands on his bare skin. His body’s response was instant.

  “I’m sure you are,” he said. “But, Maddy, you start massaging my back, and I won’t be responsible for what might follow.”

  “You mean, step six?” she whispered, looking up at him, her green eyes lit by a provocative gleam.

  “Step six and all the steps after it,” he said.

  She smiled a mischievous, catlike smile. “I’ve never been afraid of heights,” she murmured.

  “You really are the best kisser in the world, Tom O’Brien,” Maddy murmured on a sigh of contentment sometime later. She always liked to give credit where credit was due.

  “I’m glad you think so.” Tom pressed a trail of hot little kisses down her throat that sent shivers of pleasure coursing through her.

  “In fact, I’d say the best kisser in the universe,” she amended in a whisper.

  “Let’s not get into any more semantic debates. I’m far more interested in exploring what those hungry ponies are after.”

  “I—” she started, then gasped as, with his fingers, he traced the shape of the carrots embroidered on the pocket over her breasts. Her nipple peaked immediately in response.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he said, cupping her breast. “Poor old ponies, doomed forever to never getting nearer to their target.”

  “Whereas you . . .”

  “I’m right where I want to be.” He dipped his head and nuzzled at the pocket, taking her nipple into his mouth through the fabric.

  “Right where I want you to be,” she said, suddenly short of breath. She pushed her fingers urgently through his hair.

  “The next place I want to be is under the carrots,” he said, tugging at her T-shirt and pulling it from the waistband of her breeches.

  He slid it over her head, stood feasting his eyes on the sight of her in her bra. “Ah, good enough to nibble on,” he said in a voice husky with appreciation.

  He caressed her over her bra until her breath came in short gasps and her nipples were so hard they ached.

  “You always surprise me with your underwear,” he said, sliding the straps over her shoulders.

  Lucky she’d worn a pretty, lacy set and not some utilitarian sport bra.

  “You mentioned surprises yourself,” she murmured. “You’ve got me wondering what they could be.”

  “They wouldn’t be surprises if I spoke about them, would they?” he said, his voice roughened with impatience.

  She wound her arms around his neck and kissed him, pushing her tongue through his lips, breathing in the delicious scent of him, more male than citrus after a day on horseback. Now she wanted more than kissing. “So why not show me?”

  “You can start by riding me,” he suggested.

  “What? Here? Now?” she stammered.

  “Not that kind of riding. Not yet.”

  “I don’t get it,” she said, aware that she was crinkling up her nose in the way that seemed to charm him. He was right, the nose thing only worked when she didn’t think too hard about it.

  “Take off your boots,” he ordered, then helped her pull them off, followed by her socks. Mmm. She hadn’t known her feet were an erogenous zone until he made sliding off her horseshoe-patterned socks into an exciting caress.

  He lifted her up from under her arms and lowered her bare feet onto the toes of his riding boots. “I still don’t get it,” she said but gripped his boots with her toes to keep her balance.

  “It’s easy. Just hold on and ride me,” Tom said, then started to walk her toward the bedroom.

  Maddy hung on tightly around his neck and laughed in delight as, step by step, he moved her backward. “Now I get it. Silly me, how could I have imagined any other kind of riding?”

  To keep her balance she had to press her body intimately to his, so closely she could feel the powerful muscles in his thighs working as he stepped forward. So close, she was aware he was as aroused as she was.

  She took the opportunity to rain urgent little kisses down his throat. To kiss again the dimple that had fascinated her from the get-go.

  “But what about Brutus?” she asked as they neared the bedroom. Behind them, the little dog lay asleep in his favorite spot near the big windows overlooking the bay.

  Tom stopped. “What about Brutus? That crazy mutt ran around so much today—not to mention barking out of the window for most of the journey home—I doubt we’ll be hearing from him.”

  “I’m just thinking of other occasions . . .” Her voice trailed off. “You know, unwelcome interruptions.”

  “We’ll shut the bedroom door,” said Tom. “Brutus can spend some quality time with the view.”

  “But what . . . ?” Whether he barfed or barked she was determined the little dog didn’t upstage Tom yet again.

  “Maddy, quite honestly, I don’t give a damn what Brutus does. All I’m interested in right now is his mistress.”

  He closed the door behind them, walked her over to the bed, and lowered her onto it. “Now you’re exactly where I want you to be,” he growled.

  Maddy lay on his bed before him, exactly as he had fantasized her, her hair bright against the silver gray of the cover, her face flushed, her eyes expectant and just a little nervous.

  Had riding gear ever looked so erotic? Well, if you counted just tight breeches and a lacy, see-through bra as riding gear.

  Tom allowed himself to feast his eyes on her. He was overwhelmed by the strength of the feelings she aroused in him. She was so beautiful, so special, and here she was in his bedroom.

  Just him and her with that pesky little dog snoozing out in the living room behind a firmly closed door.

  It was taking all of his self-control not to tear through steps one to whatever and straight to the ultimate step that would make her his.

  Impatiently he pulled off his boots, threw them on the floor, and knelt astride her. She wiggled beneath him and made little purring noises of anticipation that did nothing for his self-control.

  “Maddy,” he said. He bent and made himself kiss her slowly, leisurely, wanting to make this special for her. Not wanting to rush their first time.

  She kissed him back, murmuring with pleasure deep in her throat. Her bra was a greenish blue color, see-through in places, revealing tantalizing glimpses of milky skin and pink nipples puckered into sexy, tight peaks.

  In seconds the bra was off and he was stroking her breasts, in awe of their perfection, her beauty. When he lowered his head and took each pink nipple in turn in his mouth, Maddy’s breath came in quick gasps, her hands gripping his shoulders.

  “Step three already,” she murmured, “and I’m loving it.”

  Impatiently, she wiggled her way out of her breeches, leaving only the briefest of tight, lacy French panties that left him in no doubt that she was a natural redhead. He wanted them off, too, pronto.

  But as he tugged at the elastic, she stayed him with her hand. “I think things are kind of one-sided here, me weari
ng only my panties and you fully dressed for riding of yet another kind.”

  So who was he to protest when she proceeded with much laughter and sexy innuendo to divest him of his polo shirt and breeches?

  Maddy could hardly breathe at the sight of Tom clad just in his boxers—made of a fine knit fabric that didn’t need ironing, she couldn’t help but notice. Those magnificent shoulders looked even better naked, the dark hair on his marvelously muscled chest just the right amount, his six-pack belly totally awesome.

  “I promised you a massage,” she murmured, starting to explore the ridges and hollows of his body.

  “Later,” he said.

  “You promised me surprises,” she said, scarcely able to talk as his hands slid down from her breasts to her tummy and around to stroke the top of her bottom.

  “We could talk about the various ways of moving from step four to step six or we could do them,” he said hoarsely as he pulled her to him, bare skin to bare skin. Her breasts ached with pleasure at the contact with his hard chest, the tickle of his hair. “What would you prefer?”

  “Uh, trick question.” She gave up on trying to make a witty reply as he slid her panties off, somehow making the act a caress of her legs from thigh to ankle. Her ankle—just another erogenous zone Tom had discovered on his sensual exploration of her body.

  As he kissed her, she tried to remove his boxers in as exciting a manner. Her fingers weren’t as skillful, but if his moans of appreciation were anything to go by, she was succeeding in some measure.

  Then they were naked—skin to skin, softness to strength. “Tom, this is wonderful,” she whispered, unable to keep a tremor from her voice. “I can hardly believe we’re here together like this, can you?”

  “Believe it,” he said, cupping her face in his hands and kissing first her forehead, then each cheek, then her nose in a way that was as tender as it was passionate. “And yes, it’s wonderful.”

  For a long moment she gazed into his eyes, dark as bitter chocolate in the subdued lighting. The warmth she saw there only served to underline the sincerity of his words, the passionate yet respectful way he touched her body.

  There was still so much unknown on this journey she was about to take. But even if this were all there ever would be with Tom, she wanted it. Now.

  “Now about those steps . . .” she murmured on his mouth.

  Step five was every bit as amazing as she remembered from last time as he stroked her intimately until she was melting with want.

  She was too light-headed with desire to even think about whether it should be labeled step six when his tongue worked even more magic. Or did that count as one of his surprises?

  Was it step seven when she returned the favor, his deep moans transmitting his pleasure? Or step eight when she pushed against him in urgent need?

  Step nine, step ten, who cared anymore about counting or keeping track of steps? All she could think of was Tom and how much she wanted him as he took care of the protection and slid deep inside her.

  Exquisite pleasure pulsed through her body until her whole being was centered on attaining the ecstasy that was so nearly in her reach.

  Their rhythm became faster, more urgent. Then Maddy’s last conscious feeling was of looking up to see Tom’s face above her, focused, intent, until he let go, calling out her name, and she went with him in a kaleidoscope burst of sensation.

  Twenty-two

  Judge Irene Eaton was not happy to have a dog in her courtroom. Maddy was aware of her skewering glances of disapproval from the bench every time Brutus so much as shifted on her lap.

  Despite his perfectly groomed coat and smart new black collar with coordinating leash, the little animal did not appear to have gotten off on the right paw with Her Honor.

  Maybe the steel-haired judge with the piercing gaze did not approve of Brutus’s celebrity status. Maddy and Tom had had to run quite the gauntlet of press just to get him into the courthouse. The photographers had gone crazy to get a new shot of the millionaire mutt.

  The judge’s gimlet eyes turned to Tom, who sat to Maddy’s right on the defense table. “Counselor, is the dog entirely necessary to your case?”

  Tom stood up. He cleared his throat. “With due respect,Your Honor, the case hinges on the relationship the dog had with the testator, the late Walter Stoddard. This dog must have his day in court.”

  Maddy felt a warm buzz of pride. Tom was a hotshot corporate lawyer. This was the first—and he’d vowed the last—time he’d represented a dog in the San Francisco County superior court. She knew he feared he would expose himself to ridicule in the legal community.

  Yet for Brutus’s sake he was determined to defend the authenticity of Walter’s will against Jerome’s challenge. That showed honor. And she loved him the more for it.

  The judge nodded. “All right, Counselor, I’ll allow it. But the first sign of trouble and the dog is out.”

  Tom settled back in his seat. Maddy didn’t dare look at him. Jerome was sure to malign her as a woman no better than a hooker. She didn’t want to send out even the faintest signal that she’d spent last night in opposing counsel’s bed. And the night before. And the night before that.

  Instead she bent her head to Brutus’s ear. “Please behave, little guy,” she whispered under her breath. “Don’t let your leader of the pack down.”

  Short of doping him again with Snowball’s leftover tranquilizers, she’d done everything possible to ensure Brutus would make a good impression in court.

  She’d groomed him with a soothing lavender and chamomile spray. She’d dosed him with a calming herbal tonic. She’d even considered the doggy diaper route in case Brutus decided to make his mark on the courtroom. But the logistics of fitting him with a doggy diaper for the first time seemed way too daunting. Instead she’d walked Brutus around the Civic Center Plaza outside the courthouse and let him lift his leg until there could not possibly be a drop left.

  Her precautions appeared to have worked. Against all expectations, Brutus sat as docile as could be on her lap. He didn’t even chew on his toy gorilla. Rather, ears alert, he rested his head on his front paws and looked straight ahead.

  Maddy could only wonder if her canine buddy felt as intimidated as she did by the scary new experience of being in court.

  She shivered, in spite of her long-sleeved jacket. She hated the fact that the probate court was open to the public and the gallery behind her was packed with press.What scandalous new headlines could she expect? What innuendo-laden television reports?

  Worse, every time she looked up, she seemed to catch Jerome’s eye from where he sat at the next table. And each time he smiled, with a polite baring of those toothpaste-commercial-perfect teeth. Did no one else notice that the smile never reached his too-blue eyes?

  Jerome Stoddard was sly as a fox all right, thought Tom. No way would the court guess what kind of guy the Englishman really was. The mask of courteous charm fit so perfectly in place it forced from Tom a kind of grudging admiration for his opponent. Followed by a fierce determination to wrench it away and expose Stoddard for the contemptible lowlife he was.

  The judge called on the plaintiff’s attorney to make her opening statement. Zoe Wong was whip thin with a sharp, intelligent face framed by a cap of glossy black hair. Tom knew her by reputation—and it was excellent.

  She addressed the bench. “Your Honor, my client, Jerome Anthony Stoddard, contends he was unfairly excluded from the last will and testament of his great-great-great-uncle, the late Walter Stoddard. He contests the will on the grounds that his uncle lacked mental capacity at the time it was executed.”

  She paused for dramatic effect before she continued. “He also asserts that his uncle was under the undue influence of the major beneficiary of the will, Madeleine Grace Cartwright.”

  Maddy gasped out loud. Tom shot her a warning glance. There would be worse to come and he had briefed her to try not to react. He wished she didn’t have to hear the hum of interest from the publ
ic gallery.

  The judge addressed Tom. “And what is your position, Counselor?”

  Tom stood. “I intend to prove that the late Walter Stoddard was of sound mind when his last will and testament was executed, that it reflected his true wishes for the dispersal of his estate, and that he did not consider Jerome Stoddard to be in any way his heir.”

  Tom took his seat at the defense table, as careful as Maddy had been not to make eye contact. He waited for the judge to call the first witness for the plaintiff.

  Not surprisingly, it was Jerome Stoddard himself.

  He was dressed in an immaculate, judge-pleasing dark suit. Tom noticed, with no small degree of satisfaction, that he was limping—no doubt from Snowball’s killer grip on his thigh.

  When Stoddard took the stand, his crisply modulated voice oozed sincerity. “I met my uncle Walter for the first time just six weeks before his death.”

  “Did your uncle appear in good health?” his attorney asked.

  Stoddard assumed an expression of gravity that made Tom grit his teeth with disgust at his hypocrisy. But he suspected it looked good to the judge. “Sadly, no. Physically he appeared quite robust for a man of his years. However, his mental health was another matter altogether. Quite frankly, I considered him to be stark raving bonkers.”

  Again Maddy gasped audibly. Tom thought he also heard the beginnings of a faint, menacing growl rumbling from Brutus.

  “What made you draw that conclusion, Mr. Stoddard?” Zoe Wong asked.

  “On the afternoon we first met, he had just held a birthday party for his dog. With a cake and candles. And a number of canine guests. At the time of my visit the dog was still wearing its party hat.”

  “So?”Tom heard Maddy hiss under her breath. “That’s hardly a sign of insanity in California.”

  “He was forgetful. Vague. Unable to recall details of his earlier life. I had a feeling he was not all there. Sad, really.”

  “Any further evidence of your uncle’s instability, Mr. Stoddard?”