Animal Attraction: Buckhorn Ever AfterImagine Me and YouGimme ShelterPartner in Crime

by Lori Foster

But the motel employee letting his penis do the thinking was currently her best friend, so she wasn’t complaining.

  She extricated her hands from their place of warmth and knocked on the door again. “Jace!” she shouted for good measure. She knocked again; the cold, combined with the hard door, made her feel as if she was in danger of splitting her knuckles open.

  Fine. She’d knock ’til her hands were bloody. She didn’t care.

  Finally the door opened, and there was Jace. Shirtless and scowling, a blanket wrapped partway around his shoulders. He winced against the light. Hungover. She recognized his hangover posture well.

  “Mornin’, Superman,” she said. “Nice cape.”

  “What the hell are you doing here, Sam?”

  “I came to see you.”

  “Why?”

  She laced her fingers together, squeezed them tight, tried to ease some of the nerves, the adrenaline that was rushing through her body. “Because. Because I was stupid last night, and while I lay by the fire crying like an infant for half the night, leaving a snot trail on your rug, I realized something.”

  “What’s that?” he asked, leaning against the door frame.

  She drew in an unsteady breath, releasing her hold on her hands and shaking them out. “I can’t stop you from being everything to me because you already are. I thought the key was keeping sexy Jace and buddy Jace separate so I couldn’t fall in love with you, but here’s the thing. I loved you without the sex. I have loved you from the moment I met you. But I was afraid you could never love me. So it was safer to forget the attraction part. To lean on your strength, to be your buddy. And I counted on you, and your presence in my life, so much that I never, ever wanted to take a chance of losing it. But everyone in my life has walked away so easily, Jace, so I was afraid of upsetting anything. Afraid you would be like everyone else, not because there’s something wrong with you, but because of me.”

  “Samantha,” he said. “That’s not...”

  “It wasn’t fair. Because never once have you ever let me down. You’ve never lied to me. You’ve never disappointed me. How dare I question you? You didn’t deserve that.”

  “That stuff is hard to shake,” he said. “I know. I’m the king of the bleach bucket, right?”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “I was wrong, Sam. To ask so much of you all at once. To walk away when you couldn’t give just what I wanted.”

  “You didn’t ask anything of me. You gave. I’m the one that shoved it back at you and asked for different. And you were right—it was all because I was scared.”

  “So what is it you want now?”

  “Everything.” Her chest burning, a tear sliding down her cheek that she didn’t bother to wipe away. “Your friendship. Your heart. You, all of you. Your love, every kind of love. That everyday friendship love that makes me excited to see you. That deep intense love that makes all the pieces of me ache a little bit. Makes me want to cry over its beauty. The kind of love that makes my body burn for yours. Every emotion. Die Hard and romantic comedies. Every. Damn. Thing.”

  He dropped the blanket and walked out of his room on unsteady feet, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her up against his body, his breath hot on her neck. “I want it, too,” he said against her skin. “The way you kiss me and make me feel like I’m finally home. I want your mess in my house. I want you to take some of the control from me. I want your dog and your dishes in my sink to frustrate me. I want you so that I can feel that kind of happiness only you make me feel. You’re my smile, Sam. You always have been. Until you walked into my life fourteen years ago, I’d forgotten how. And when I walked out last night, I thought I would forget all over again. But now you’re here.” He tilted his head back, and he smiled. “It feels easy now.”

  “I love you, Jace.”

  “I love you. Forever. No matter what. Do you believe me?”

  She nodded. “Yes. I do.”

  His heart on the verge of bursting, Jace looked at Sam standing outside of his hotel room door, backlit by the early morning light, snow piled high behind her. She looked like an angel.

  “Now why are you standing out there doing a dramatic reenactment of ‘The Little Match Girl?’” he asked, his smile widening.

  “I thought my best friend might take pity on me. Because I was an idiot, and I hurt him. And he was right about me. I was a coward. But I thought standing in a snowdrift looking pitiful might earn me a little compassion.”

  “I’m all out of pity. How about love? The deep, everlasting kind?”

  “I would take that.”

  “And a place in my house, permanently.”

  “You know, Jace, every other time I’ve thought about putting down roots with someone, or, until recently, even when I thought of putting them down alone, I panicked.”

  “Are you panicked now?”

  She shook her head, hazel eyes glistening with tears. “No. I’m home.”

  “You’re at a motel.”

  “No, silly. I’m with you. And that means I’m home. I think that’s why you always felt like my foundation, why I could never settle anywhere else. Because I was supposed to be wherever you were. With you.”

  “Welcome home, baby,” he said, kissing her nose. “I’m so glad you came.” A hard knot loosened in his chest, emotion flooding through him. Joy. Contentment. Love.

  “Me, too.”

  “So come in and stay a while.”

  “Eek. Can’t.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s cold and I have Poppy in the van. And a cherpumple.”

  “The pie cake thing?”

  “Yes. I have to deliver it.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  He joined Sam out at the van a moment later, fully dressed, his hat doing something to keep the sun from making his headache worse. Really, his heart felt so good the hangover didn’t seem that bad.

  “Okay, Sam, let’s take that sugary abomination to its rightful owner.” He got into the van and closed the door.

  “What about your truck?”

  “I’ll come back for it.”

  “You seem so relaxed about all this spontaneity. We’re practically being unruly! Disorganized, in fact.”

  “The most important thing in the world is in place, Sam. Nothing else seems to matter that much.”

  “Not even throw pillows?”

  He looked back at Poppy, sitting between the racks of desserts, gazing at him and wagging her tail. “Sam, she can chew up one throw pillow a day for the rest of her life and I’ll give thanks for every damn fluff of cotton I sweep off of my floor, and do you know why?”

  “Why?” she asked, smiling that sweet, special smile.

  “Because it’ll mean you’re there. And I would rather have you and a little chaos than a clean but empty house.”

  She leaned over and kissed him. “Now I know you love me.”

  “More than anything, Sam. More than anything.”

  Her grin turned wicked. “Enough to let me make a cherpumple for our wedding?”

  “No.”

  “A true representation of blending lives by blending desserts.”

  “Sam, I have my limits.”

  “Come on, baby.” She wiggled her brows, her voice getting breathy. “Blend desserts with me, you dirty pastry-mixing boy.”

  “When you put it that way,” he said, “it sounds kind of hot.”

  “Just wait. I have even better ideas for mixing butter cream frosting and...skin.”

  “Well, hell.” He sat up straighter, arousal pulsing through him. “If that’s what I get for letting you experiment, you can have a wedding cherpumple and a wedding turducken for all I care.”

  She smiled, and his heart melted. “Stick with me, baby, and it’ll be a
fun ride.”

  “It always has been. And I’m sure it always will be.”

  * * * * *

  USA Today Bestselling author Maisey Yates lives in rural Oregon with her three children and her husband, whose chiseled jaw and arresting features continue to make her swoon. She feels the epic trek she takes several times a day from her office to her coffee maker is a true example of her pioneer spirit.

  In 2009, at the age of twenty-three, Maisey sold her first book. Since then it’s been a whirlwind of sexy alpha males and happily ever afters, and she wouldn’t have it any other way. Maisey divides her writing time between dark, passionate category romances set just about everywhere on earth and light sexy contemporary romances set practically in her back yard. She believes that she clearly has the best job in the world.

  Look for The Couple Who Fooled the World coming from Harlequin Presents in July!

  GIMME

  SHELTER

  Heidi Betts

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  About Heidi Betts

  Chapter One

  It was a dark and stormy night. The kind ball-of-nerves Murphy hated, but Erica Castillo loved, because it was the perfect excuse to curl up on the sofa with a bowl of popcorn and a cup of hot tea to watch one of her favorite movies. Tonight, she thought it might be Morning Glory or The Ugly Truth.

  After the corn had already popped and the tea steeped, she carried everything to the living room and slid a disc into the DVD player. While it went through random previews and got set up, she trailed through the condo, checking on her babies.

  Not surprisingly, pint-size Lola was at her heels, prancing along behind like her shadow, nails clicking on the bare floor. Her three cats—Jasper, Rascal and Sampson—were all sleeping. Two on her bed, the other at the top of the cat tree in the living area near the sliding doors.

  And finally, poor Murphy. She never knew where she would find the part-Labrador, part-retriever, part-who-knew-what breed when he got scared, but it was under the bed, under the desk, under a pile of shoes in the closet. Always any tight dark spot he could squeeze himself into.

  Tonight, he was in the bathroom, the only room without a window, huddled between the toilet and the bathtub.

  Lola hurried ahead to give Murphy a couple of reassuring licks on the nose and ear.

  “Good girl,” Erica praised, patting Lola on the head before crouching down to pull Murphy close and scoop him into her arms. Which, at forty-plus pounds, was no easy feat.

  “It’s all right,” she said, hefting him up and hugging him close in an attempt to alleviate his shivering. “Just a little bit of rain and thunder. It will pass, and nothing is going to hurt you while I’m around.”

  Not that her words had any effect. Erica suspected the poor thing had been tied out in all sorts of ungodly weather, day and night, by his previous owners. Something that, if Erica had her way, would be illegal.

  Lola followed Erica back to the living room as she carried Murphy to the sofa. It took some minor acrobatics, but she finally managed to stretch out, cover herself with a light throw and get Murphy tucked in in front of her.

  When she patted the cushions near her legs, Erica encouraged Lola to jump up and make herself comfortable, too. It made Erica feel like a human burrito, but if the kiddos were happy, she was happy. And Murphy’s shaking was already beginning to subside.

  Halfway through the movie, the storm had died down, Murphy had relaxed and Erica had eaten her popcorn except for the kernels—with a bit of help from her canine companions, of course. Erica was even getting a little sleepy and wondered if she’d make it through the entire film.

  She was just hiding another yawn and thinking she might spend the night on the couch instead of dragging herself to bed when a heavy knock sounded at the front door. At first, she thought it was another clap of thunder, and both she and Murphy jerked. But then she realized that, even though it was almost midnight, she had an uninvited visitor.

  Of course, at this time of night, it could turn out to be an ax murderer or a sex criminal or something.

  Thankfully, though Murphy was jumpy about storms and loud noises, he loved people. Company was his favorite thing, and a knock on the door was as exciting as a newly opened bag of Snausages for him.

  Earlier fears forgotten, he leaped from the sofa and raced to the door, tongue lolling and tail wagging.

  Lola, however, waited for Erica to extricate her legs from the blanket and pick her up to carry her to the door. Ever the aspiring pocket pup.

  Erica wasn’t sure what to expect when she peered through the peephole. It was a little late for Jehovah’s Witnesses, but the possibility of a psychotic killer didn’t appeal, either. A dozen gory scream-queen scenes flashed through her mind, and that was without having watched a horror flick for the past hour.

  What she found on the other side of the door was a bit heart-stopping, though. A man—dark hair, dark jacket, soaking wet with water still dripping down his face and clutching...something to his chest.

  She didn’t see an ax, but a knife, a gun, a rope were still possibilities.

  Stop it, she chastised herself. This wasn’t a game of Clue. And with any luck, it wouldn’t turn into an episode of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre, either.

  Clearing her throat, she raised her voice to be heard through the door and the still-falling rain. “Yes?”

  “Erica? It’s Dean Maxwell. From next door.”

  Buh-dump. Her heart gave a lurch.

  Dean from next door was a hunk. They barely spoke, mostly waved to each other in passing, but she saw enough of him to know that he was tall, broad shouldered, well muscled and filled out a pair of jeans like nobody’s business...and every woman’s dream. His dark brown hair was cropped short, and he was fond of T-shirts, long-sleeve flannels over the T-shirts and a faded, well-worn denim jacket.

  She thought he might also be a mechanic or something, but wasn’t sure. He tooled around with his truck sometimes on the weekends but otherwise tended to leave early, come home late and keep to himself.

  Not that she paid all that much attention.

  Now here he was, at her door at the stroke of midnight, in the middle of a giant thunderstorm. She probably should have been more wary about letting him in but was just plain curious. Besides, if he tried anything untoward, she could always sic Lola on him. The little Chihuahua would nip at his heels and make it impossible for him to ever wear those pants again.

  Flipping on the overhead porch light, she slid the chain from its latch and twisted the dead bolt, then opened the door to let Dean in. He didn’t waste a second, pushing inside and slamming the door behind him with the heel of his boot.

  Erica took a step back, momentarily nervous, even as Murphy danced around, sniffing and trying to get this new person’s attention. Neighbor or no neighbor, what if he was up to no good?

  But then she noticed his expression—a mix of confusion and near panic. He closed the distance between them and thrust the wadded-up towel in his arms toward her.

  The corner flipped back to reveal three tiny balls of wet fur huddled together, and Dean’s green eyes widened as they met hers.

  “Help.”

  * * *

  “Oh, my goodness.”

  Dean watched as Erica placed the tiny brown Chihuahua in her arms on the nearby countertop and reached for the bundle of kittens he’d been holding against his stomach. For the first time since finding them, he released a relieved breath.

  He liked animals, but he sure didn’t know what to do with a bunch of kittens smaller than the palm of his hand. They didn’t even look old enough to be away from their mother.

&n
bsp; But Erica took them as if she knew exactly what she was doing. She cradled the kittens, towel and all, in the crook of her arm, running the tip of her index finger over each of them in turn.

  “Poor babies,” she said in a soft, sympathetic voice. “Where did you find them?”

  “Behind the garage after work. I almost didn’t hear them over the rain. And I don’t know if they were dumped or if the mother abandoned them. But they were tucked in behind some old parts near the Dumpster, practically drowning in a pool of runoff water from the spouting.”

  As he spoke, Dean realized his heart was pounding, and he had the urge to wipe his hands down the front of his jeans a few times. Who knew finding a trio of helpless balls of fluff could make a guy so damn nervous?

  “I didn’t know what to do with them, so I wrapped them up in a towel and... Well, you were the first person I thought of who might be able to help. Especially at this hour.”

  She smiled, and for the first time he noticed how pretty she was up close. Her chocolate-brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail, but the color perfectly matched her doelike eyes. She had high cheekbones in a heart-shaped face and lips that looked awfully kissable even without a hint of lipstick or gloss.

  It made him wish he’d paid a little more attention to his single female neighbor before now. All he really knew about her was that she worked as a paralegal, volunteered at the local animal shelter and had several rescued pets of her own. He was pretty sure one or two of them were new since she’d moved in only a year ago, too.

  Which was why he’d thought—hoped, prayed—she’d know what to do about the found kittens. His only other option was getting them to a veterinarian, and he wasn’t sure where the nearest all-night clinic was. Come morning, though, he was going to make it his business to find out.

  “I’ll do my best,” she replied. “First, let’s get you out of that jacket. You’re soaked clean through.”

  Only too happy to oblige, he shrugged the stiff, army-green denim—which was more of a khaki color when it wasn’t wet—down his arms.

  “You can just hang it on the back of one of those chairs,” she said, gesturing toward the dining room table only a few feet away.