by Andrews, Amy
She may have been pissed at him, but he was pretty damned sure she wanted him. Sexually. He’d been around enough to know what that looked like. And from what he’d seen of her, that was a huge step forward.
Since their cohabitation had begun, he’d seen a fair few guys come and go, but he’d never seen anything in her eyes for them—not even a hint of sexual longing. Sure, she flirted like a pro, but she looked at her dates like everyone else. Like they could be any pet owner at the clinic.
Her eyes never changed.
Even when she’d gotten off on him that night, he’d seen desperation and a whole heap of other stuff in her pale blue eyes that he didn’t understand, but he hadn’t seen sexual desire. He’d seen her desire to come, to reach the end goal. But not necessarily desire for him.
He could have been a scratching pole. A means to an end—wasn’t that how she’d described her dates to him?
But he had seen that this weekend. In the furtive looks and in the way she avoided looking at him directly at all. And that was what was giving him hope as he helped Sal set up the puppy preschool boundaries on Monday night.
He’d made a decision over the weekend. If she wasn’t going to grant him a date, then he’d just use these next two weeks of intensive puppy preschool as kind of pseudo dates. It was perfect, really. They’d be spending a couple of hours together outside of home and work four nights a week. It was a prime opportunity to get to know her and let her get to know him.
Even better without the pressure of it being an official date.
Then maybe if she relaxed enough, if she liked what she saw, if they were able to build a rapport, she might see starting some kind of relationship with him as possible?
She might even open up to him about the things that clearly haunted her. Because whatever was going on with Sal had obviously made her into the woman she was today. Tough.
Too tough.
Too tough to see that there was kindness and goodness in the world, and she deserved a piece of it as much as the next person.
He wanted to show her she did. He wanted to be the one to show her how.
“Brace yourself,” Sal said from somewhere close behind. “Here comes the first customer.”
Doyle looked up from where he was placing a plastic cone on the grass to see Sal walking toward a chocolate Labrador puppy pulling its owner, a harried-looking middle-aged woman.
Within fifteen minutes, they had a full complement of cute, energetic puppies and owners of varying ages and backgrounds.
The puppies were all over the place, and Doyle could see their owners were already worried they were going to be given a big fat F. He took a few moments to introduce himself to everyone as Sal was doing and assured them everything was fine. He knew that this class was as much about training the trainer as it was about the puppies, and putting people at ease was going to make it much easier for everyone to learn.
Gemma had been right; it was an exhausting exercise spending an hour with a dozen puppies and their owners. And he was only there as the backup, the trusty assistant. Sal did most of the hard work and nearly all of the talking, managing it like a pro. She was encouraging and supportive and had the class eating out of her hand in ten minutes.
It was nice just to see her so relaxed and in her element, hear her laugh and chat.
She wasn’t this relaxed around him. Never had been. She was at work and in her dealings with her colleagues and patients, but not with him. Mostly she’d been polite with a side serving of scowl, then this weekend she’d been cranky with a side serving of distant.
And the other night? Well, he didn’t know what the hell that was, but it had definitely been some kind of aberration.
Except for those looks…
The same kind of looks he’d noticed two of the single guys shooting her throughout the class. They’d both taken every opportunity to flirt outrageously with her, and she’d flirted back good-naturedly because that was what Sal did—as automatic as breathing—but Doyle soon relaxed when he realized there was nothing in her eyes.
It didn’t stop them from pressing their luck after the class broke up. Doyle watched as the one with the full sleeve tattoo pulled up beside her to ask a question.
Doyle didn’t catch what it was, but he rolled his eyes anyway. The puppy sniffing around both their feet was a cute Cavalier King Charles called Persephone. She was a pretty thing with a sweet nature but looked way too girlie for a guy with a seriously kick-arse tat.
Doyle pressed in closer, picking up the cones that had outlined the working area. He was just in time to hear her knock Tats back. “That’s sweet,” she said, smiling nicely. “But I have a boyfriend.”
Tats groaned. “Of course you do. All the best ones are taken.”
Sal laughed. “Sorry ’bout that.”
He bent to pick up Persephone. “No worries. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He waved Persephone’s paw at Sal. “See you tomorrow night?”
Sal laughed and scratched the puppy’s head. “I’ll be here.”
Tats left and Doyle wandered up with an armful of cones and dumped them in a big carryall at her feet.
“You have a boyfriend, huh?”
She rolled her eyes at him, bending down to make sure all the equipment was in the bag. “It’s easier.”
“Not date material?” he asked innocently.
She glanced up at him, the look in her eyes a big blue blaze, but she declined to answer as she zipped up the bag.
“Let’s go,” she said, hauling it over her shoulder. Doyle reached for it. “I’ve got it,” she said briskly, angling her body away slightly. “It’s not heavy.”
Doyle folded his arms across his chest, blocking her way. “I don’t care if it’s a sack of feathers, and I know you’re perfectly capable of carrying a bag, blah, blah, blah, but you asked me here to help and this is me helping. I’m six four and I’m pretty sure if you tucked yourself into a ball you could probably fit inside the bag. Now give me the damn thing.”
She looked like she was going to argue some more, then seemed to think better of it. “Fine,” she said, shrugging it off her shoulder as he reached for the strap. His fingers accidentally brushed her arm as he caught it midslide, and their gazes locked momentarily, that look heating the pale blue center of her eyes briefly again before it disappeared.
“Let’s go,” she repeated. “The council turns the lights out at eight thirty.”
Doyle followed her, his long, easy stride keeping up with her brisk gait. The street that meandered around the park was quiet, the moon was almost full, and the air was cool for an October evening. It was a ten-minute walk back to the practice and the apartment above. His plan was to make some inroads with her on their walks to and from the park. But he’d been caught up at the clinic this afternoon and had to meet her here tonight so he was already at a ten-minute disadvantage.
They walked in silence for a few moments, then she looked up at him. “Thanks for tonight.”
Doyle nodded at her, a little surprised by her genuine expression of gratitude. Not something she often directed his way. “No worries.” It hadn’t exactly been a hardship for him, watching her prancing around the park in her three-quarter gym tights and her Kennedy Family Practice T-shirt, which sat nicely against everything inside it.
Plus puppies. Who didn’t love puppies?
“It’s a lot to handle by yourself,” she said.
“I hear you,” he agreed. “It’s unusual to run an intensive like this, though. Most preschools are run once a week over a longer period of time.”
Sal nodded. “Back when Dad first started a puppy preschool, we used to run them that way, but I trialed the intensive a few years back and found we had more success with the puppies’ behavior overall with more regular reinforcement and a higher level of owner satisfaction.”
“Well, it seems popular.”
“Yep. We never have problems filling a class,” she said as they walked under the mighty span of a floweri
ng jacaranda and traversed the footpath strewn with a carpet of electric-purple flowers.
The flowers glowed in the moonlight.
“I love jacaranda season,” she murmured, reaching down to pluck a newly fallen flower off the ground, barely breaking stride.
Doyle glanced at her, surprised for the second time tonight at both the comment and the way she held it to her nose. The freely volunteered information was uncharacteristic of her and the sniffing gesture not something he’d expect of Sal.
Of most women, sure, but not her.
She seemed a different woman tonight, away from it all. He’d hoped she would be; he just hadn’t expected it.
“I think that’s the first thing you’ve ever voluntarily told me about yourself.” Not counting the lack-of-orgasm thing, of course.
She looked at him for a beat or two, then looked back at the flower. “It must be the moonlight.”
He grinned, encouraged by her wistful tone. “Play a game with me.”
Her startled glance said it all. “No.”
Doyle chuckled. “You don’t even know what it is yet.”
She looked back at the flower before throwing it on the road. “I don’t play games.”
No. He’d have to give her that. Sal Kennedy was a straight shooter.
“It’s called ten things,” Doyle persisted, pulling the name out of the ether as they walked. “I get to ask you ten questions about you and then you get to ask ten questions about me.”
“Why?”
Her question was so matter-of-fact that Doyle chuckled. Jesus, she was hard on the ego. If it had been whiny it would have bothered him, but her complete bewilderment was damn funny. “Don’t you think it’s about time we got to know each other a little?”
“Your name is Doyle Jackson. You’re twenty-eight. You’re a temp vet with impeccable references and an apartment full of asbestos. I don’t need to know anything else.”
“That’s it? That’s all you want to know about the man who sleeps across the corridor from you?”
“Yep.”
Her persistence was annoying. “I sure as hell want to know more about the woman who came all over me, then cried all over me last week.”
She faltered slightly, and Doyle was pleased he’d at least managed to rattle her a little. But she kept moving, kept looking ahead. “I already know more about you than that.”
“Like what?”
“You have a sister. And a niece. And you don’t like mice.”
For a moment there, he’d hoped she’d say “and magic fingers.” Anything to indicate that they weren’t just the colleagues and flatmates she desperately wanted to keep them as.
“Okay. Sure,” he said. “That’s all you know about me. How about a deal? How about I won’t ask you on a date for the next two weeks if we can play ten things on the way home from puppy preschool.”
“I thought you’d given up on that?”
He smiled into the night. “Not a chance.”
Doyle could hear the distant bark of a dog in the following silence. He could tell she was weighing up the pros and cons.
“Two things,” she said eventually.
“Eight,” he countered, already prepared for this tactic.
“Five.”
“Done.”
She looked up at him. “You wanted five all along, didn’t you?”
Doyle grinned. “Maybe.”
She frowned at him before she switched her attention back to the road. “I also get power of veto.”
“So you can veto every question?” He shook his head. “No.”
“I won’t,” she said quickly, looking up at him again. “Only the really personal stuff.”
“What if that’s what I want to know the most?”
Their gazes locked. “Take it or leave it.”
“You drive a hard bargain.”
She smiled sweetly. “And you think you don’t know me.”
“Fine,” he huffed dramatically, and Sal rolled her eyes at him.
She looked back at the road. “Come on then,” she muttered, “let’s get this over and done with.”
“Do you have to act like I’m about to rub your nose in the poop you left on the carpet?”
“Is that your first question?”
“Ha! Funny girl.”
Doyle thought hard. He knew he couldn’t leap right into the biggie—what the hell happened to make you so fucked up? For a start, she’d veto it and possibly the whole game. And secondly, he was hoping she might get comfortable enough with him to volunteer it.
He was going to have to tread very carefully, ease into the harder questions.
“What’s your favorite color?”
“Veto.”
Doyle looked at her startled. “What?”
She laughed. “Kidding.”
Doyle almost tripped over at the unexpected honk of laughter that actually scared a bat out of a nearby tree. He’d expected grudging cooperation, not this laughing, teasing creature beside him.
He suspected it wouldn’t last, but hell if he wasn’t going to lap it up while it did.
“Purple. Jacaranda purple.” She picked up another stray flower on the footpath. “How do they get this purple?” she asked, holding it up in front of her, twirling it, inspecting it. “It’s like something you’d see on the Great Barrier Reef.”
Doyle nodded. The color was unique—so purple it was almost fluorescent.
“What’s your favorite food?”
“Macaroni and cheese. And fairy floss.”
Doyle laughed at the vastly different foods and tried not to think about licking melted sugar crystals off her body. Something stirred inside his underwear when he failed.
“Favorite animal.”
She frowned at him. “You’re kidding, right? You might as well ask me which one of my organs I like the most. I’m a vet. I can’t decide that. I like them all.”
“Okay, which Australian native animal do you like the best?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Wombat.”
Doyle glanced at her. “Wombat?”
“Yes.”
“Not a sweet little bilby or a cuddly koala?”
“Nope. A big, old, fat, lazy wombat. They get a bad rap. Someone’s gotta stand up for the less cute, less svelte creatures out there.”
“Fair enough.” Having been bitten by one he was trying to patch up after a dog attack at an animal rescue center once, they weren’t on his Christmas list. “Favorite movie.”
“Die Hard.”
Doyle chuckled at her answer and she stopped and glared at him. “What?”
“Nothing,” he said, smothering his smile. “I guess I thought underneath all that brisk, no-nonsense shell, you might be a romantic comedy type.”
She rolled her eyes. “Oh puh-lease,” she said as she continued on her way.
“Which one?”
“Is that another question?”
“It’s…a clarification.”
“Fine,” she grumbled. “All of them. Except five. Five was crap.”
Doyle nodded. Five was crap.
“Last question.”
Doyle smiled. Did she have to sound quite so gleeful about it? He thought hard. He’d done well—tread carefully. He hadn’t earned a veto. But he hadn’t learned anything earth-shattering about her, either. Certainly nothing he could use in his favor.
And now wasn’t the time to push. Not yet.
He thought for a bit longer then smiled. Something that seemed innocent enough but he could definitely use to his advantage. “Favorite smell?”
Whatever it was, he’d buy it by the vat-load and bathe in it every night. He wanted to take the Q&A slow, build it over the following days, but he wasn’t above playing dirty, either.
He glanced down at her. The moonlight clearly showed the subterfuge on her face. She was thinking up a suitable lie.
“Puppy breath,” she said finally, her face triumphant as it turned to his.
Doyle shook his
head at her and she smiled even more. It was as if she’d known his ulterior motive. Well, he sure as hell couldn’t buy that, by the vat-full or otherwise.
“Your turn,” he said, accepting that she’d outfoxed him. This time.
She shook her head. “I cede.”
Oh no. That was not the way it worked. “You can’t cede,” he said.
“Why not? You want to play this ridiculous game to find out more about me, then fine, but I know plenty about you. Way more than I ever wanted to.”
Doyle grinned despite his annoyance. It was good to know that the things she did know about him—sexy anatomical things—had gotten under her skin.
“But it’s the game,” he said. “You knew the rules and you agreed to it. You wanted power of veto and I gave it to you—”
“I gave you an extra clarification question,” Sal interrupted.
“Now we’re even,” he said, “but this one’s not negotiable. The only way you get to cede is if you agree to go on a date with me. Are you sure you want to cede?”
She shot him an impatient look. “Fine,” she huffed as she turned her attention to the road. “What’s your favorite color?”
He grinned. “Blond.”
Her mouth tightened a little but she kept on going. “Favorite food.”
“Chocolate chip cookies.”
She frowned this time but stared resolutely ahead. “Favorite Australian animal.”
He chuckled. “You’re being original, I see.”
“So are you.”
Doyle preferred consistent. “Platypus,” he said. “They have such cute eyebrows, don’t you think?”
Sal looked at him like he’d taken leave of his senses before she realized he was joking. She shook her head. “Yes. Because eyebrows are an essential evolutionary tool for strange aquatic egg-laying mammals.”
Doyle laughed at her sarcasm. Sal Kennedy’s sense of humor was as dry as the Australian outback. It shouldn’t be turning him on, but it was. He could see the red light that sat in front of the vet practice up ahead and knew their time was running out. They were nearly home.
“Favorite movie?”
“27 Dresses.”
“Ha! Funny guy,” she mimicked, and Doyle got a lot more turned on.