by Andrews, Amy
“Do you want the guy-on-a-date-with-a-girl answer or the real answer?”
“The real one,” she said quickly. “And this isn’t a date.”
“Pulp Fiction.”
She nodded approvingly then looked at him sideways. “Okay, I’ll bite, what’s the other answer?”
“Titanic.”
“Chicks don’t believe that crap, do they?”
Doyle smiled. “It’s not exactly a lie. I liked it well enough; I just prefer my movies with a higher body count.”
Sal laughed then and it startled him again. “Jesus, Doyle, fourteen hundred people died on the Titanic. How many more do you need?”
“Oh yeah.” Doyle laughed, too. “I meant the kind where they blow shit up.”
“The best kind,” she quipped as they crossed the road and stepped onto the curb, following the neat path to the door of the vet practice. The building was all closed up, and Sal fished around in her bag for the key.
“Favorite smell,” she said as she located it.
It was Doyle’s turn to mimic. “Oh, that’s easy,” he said as she inserted the key into the lock. “Tequila and cookie dough.”
Her hand stilled and she seemed to freeze on the spot. Was she thinking about that night? “Veto.”
The word was faint, but he heard it well enough. “You don’t get to veto my answers.”
She looked at him. “Don’t use them to…flirt with me and I won’t.”
Her expression was deadly serious, the dry humor she’d exhibited evaporating like a mirage. He held up his hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am.”
But he totally checked out her arse as she stomped up the stairs in front of him.
Chapter Seven
Tuesday night, Doyle watched as the guy with the eyebrow piercing and the huge bull mastiff puppy called Rex hit on her at the end of the class. He was more persistent. Stroked his hand down her arm. She laughed and took an easy step back, but Doyle was at her side in a flash.
The guy looked surprised as Doyle glowered at him. “Let me guess,” he said looking to Sal then back to Doyle, “you’re the boyfriend, right?”
“That would be me,” Doyle said, and the guy took a step back.
“That’s cool. Sorry, man,” he said, his hands raised in surrender as he backed away.
Sal watched him go, then turned to him, hands on her hips. “Don’t think he’ll be coming back for night three, do you?”
“I sincerely fucking hope not,” Doyle growled, his gaze still glued to the retreating back.
She shook her head. “Jesus… Men. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself, you know.”
He looked at her. She was in skin-hugging Lycra tights that showed off her bony ankles and knees and emphasized the slenderness of her thighs, and a T-shirt that outlined the petite set of her torso. She was tiny compared to him. She looked like a guy could snap her in two if his intent was not good.
But he wasn’t dumb enough to say it.
He just said, “I know,” before stalking away to pick up cones and cool down.
What on earth did eyebrow dude think he was doing touching her? Sure, there were times when that was appropriate. Allowable. After a little back and forth, some banter and light conversation, on a date. But not straight up, not without some very strong cue or encouragement, and Sal certainly hadn’t given him any of that. And definitely not with someone who had a boyfriend.
It put a damper on Doyle’s quiet celebrations over the success of his spur-of-the-moment idea last night to play a completely made-up game with Sal. They’d actually had a decent if somewhat superficial conversation, and he’d had high hopes that he could make up more ground over the next couple of weeks even if she had been pissed at him again at the end of it all.
“So,” he said as they left the park and headed for home again, “first question.”
She looked at him. “We’re seriously going to do this again?”
“Yep,” he grinned. “Unless you want to cede to a date?”
She shook her head emphatically. “Not if you were the last man left on earth.”
Doyle laughed as he grabbed his chest. “You wound me.”
“Hmph! Don’t give me ideas. And don’t forget I have the power of veto.”
He nodded. “Over my questions, absolutely.”
“Yeah, yeah. Come on then, let’s get it over and done with.”
Doyle was more prepared tonight. He’d strategized questions all day. The object wasn’t to find out the answers to questions he wanted to know—although that would be a bonus—but to try to initiate a conversation with her.
She was more likely to drop her guard if they were just talking instead of indulging in an active fact finding mission.
Jesus. He’d never had to scheme so much just to talk to a woman.
“Favorite childhood memory.”
“Oh, that one is easy,” she said. “The day my dad first took me on his rounds.”
Doyle smiled at the genuine warmth the memory had injected into her voice. “How old were you?”
“It was my eighth birthday present. He’d taken Mack on his eighth birthday so I’d been counting down the days to my turn for a very long time.”
“What’s the age difference between you two?”
“Four years. How many between you and your sister?”
Doyle just about held his breath at the spontaneity of the question. “She’s ten years older than me.”
“Big gap.”
“I guess. I have three other sisters in between, though, so it doesn’t seem like it.”
Sal stopped abruptly. “You have four sisters?”
He stopped, too, laughing at her incredulity. “Yes.”
“So you’re the baby brother?”
“Yes.”
“Figures.” She nodded as she resumed walking, her stride easy, her arms swinging casually by her side. “I can see you’ve been spoilt rotten. Indulged by a gaggle of women who probably thought you were the baby freaking Jesus.”
Doyle laughed again as they trampled over the purple carpet at their feet. “What makes you say that?”
“You’re clearly not good at taking no for an answer.”
“I think you more than adequately make up for things in the no department, don’t you?”
She gave him a grudging smile, and Doyle almost had a heart attack. The start of a conversation and a smile.
“Anyway, we’re digressing,” she said sharply, straightening up, her stride becoming more businesslike. “What number question are we up to now? I think you’ve had more than five.”
“No way,” Doyle objected. “The other questions go to clarification.”
“I think they were a little more than clarification,” Sal said. “How about we compromise and I give you one more?”
Doyle liked that she was compromising—it boded well for him. Hopefully. “Two,” he pushed.
“Okay…fine. Two.”
Doyle refrained from punching the air and whooping. He was making real progress with her tonight. “Where are your parents now?”
“They retired to the Noosa.”
“That’s a different pace,” Doyle said. Noosa was sunshine and beaches.
“Yes. Dad wasn’t keen on retiring and moving so far away from here, but Mum doesn’t miss him being out all hours of the day and night.”
“Does a vet ever truly retire?” Doyle couldn’t imagine just walking away from it all. “Your dad’s not doing any animal work at all?”
“He volunteers at an animal shelter down there a couple of times a week. Orphaned joeys, mainly, the odd koala. Keeps him and Mum happy.”
It was said affectionately, a small smile playing on her mouth. “So you come from traditional loving family stock, too?” he said.
He sensed her tense beside him. “Yes.”
From the way she’d been so disparaging of such a notion the morning after he’d made her come her brains out, he’d just figured her parents were div
orced and it’d been messy and was one of the factors that made her the way she was.
But clearly not.
He wanted to ask more, but knew he’d be venturing into pressing-his-luck territory.
“Do you miss your brother?”
If she was surprised at his change of topic, she didn’t show it, but he felt her relax again. “Mack? Sure.”
“You’re close?”
She nodded. “We’ve lived together practically all our lives, and we’ve been running the practice together for the last couple of years. He’s been my…”
Doyle heard the husky hesitation and held his breath. Was she going to open up a little?
She cleared her throat. “Mentor as well as my brother. But I’m happy for him and Josie, too. They belong together.”
“More soul mates, Sal?”
She stiffened by his side again. “I think your questions are up.”
“Okay,” Doyle said, backing off. She was like a cornered animal, ready to fight or run if he advanced too far, too quickly. “Your turn.” She sighed and he chuckled. “Humor me.”
“Fine… How many nieces and nephews do you have?”
“I have four nieces and seven nephews. And, because I know you’re going to ask this next, I am an awesome uncle. I’m their favorite uncle.”
“Oh yes,” she said derisively, “my next question was going to be one that deliberately stroked your giant-sized ego.”
He laughed. “Hey, it’s just the facts.”
“Must be a noisy Christmas.”
“Is that a question?” he said, lowering his voice to a tease.
“An observation. But if you want me to tick it off, then I’m more than happy to do so.”
Doyle grinned. An observation. Slowly but surely Sal was warming up. “Oh yes,” he laughed. “Big and crazy and noisy as hell.”
“And you love it.”
“Of course. Christmas is about family, right?”
She seemed to think about that for a bit, absently chewing on her lip. What? She had to think about Christmas?
“What do your parents do?”
“They’re retired now, too, but they were both primary school teachers. Met at uni, been together ever since.”
“And what are they doing now that they’re not working?”
“Looking after grandchildren. Traveling the world. My mother’s into golf and my father’s taken up bonsai.”
“Golf, huh? Is she any good?”
“She plays three days a week—sometimes more. I don’t like to take her on. None of us do. She’s got a killer swing.”
She looked at him then, and even though it was overcast tonight and darker, he could feel her gaze skating over his torso and landing on his biceps. “Are you telling me you can’t hit a ball farther than a woman?”
“Oh, I can hit it well enough, I just can’t seem to get it on the damn green.”
She laughed then. “Hard to imagine you with poor aim.”
He chuckled. “That’s okay,” he said, his gaze finding hers despite the night. “I excel in other areas.”
Like orgasms.
And he could tell by the way she tore her gaze away from him and stumbled a little that she’d been thinking the same thing. Doyle smiled. Had he actually flustered her?
“Does your family live in Brisbane?” she asked after a couple of pregnant seconds.
“No. Only Abi. The others are all just north of the border.”
“And are you close with your sisters?”
“Now. Sure. I guess we all had our moments growing up.”
“Like what?”
“Like my second sister putting her two pet mice in my bed when I was a kid and scaring the living daylights out of me.”
“Ah. That explains your dislike of the poor defenseless animals.”
He shuddered. “They’re twitchy and those beady eyes are just plain…creepy.”
Her laughter did funny things to his pulse. “Spiders are creepy. Cockroaches are creepy.”
“Well, I’m pretty damn sure creepy is in the eyes of the beholder, but, that aside, my point is that far from spoiling me, there were times I would say they barely tolerated a bratty baby brother hanging around. But now I can babysit and give free pet advice…they adore me.”
“Are you closer to one more?”
Doyle nodded. “Probably Abi. Her partner walked out when Harry was a baby, so I lived with her for a couple of years, pitched in where I could.”
He could sense her growing tense again, and he wasn’t sure why. Surely a woman who had a brother she clearly loved could appreciate a man helping out his sister?
Hell, he’d been counting on it for brownie points.
“Favorite childhood memory,” she said.
Doyle blinked. Topic closed. “Don’t you want to know more about how I went to work perpetually tired with puke stains on my shirt?”
He kept his voice light, teasing, but hell…did he have to supply the questions as well?
“No,” she said. Her voice sounded so tight he was worried her vocal cords were going to snap. “Favorite childhood memory,” she repeated, a thick edge of who-the-fuck-knew-what in her voice.
It didn’t brook any argument, though.
“Well, there are many, but probably the time I won first place in a school photography competition when I was eleven.”
She glanced at him as if she hadn’t expected that answer. “What was the picture?”
“A line of eight yellow Labrador puppies all standing on their hind legs looking over a low white picket fence.”
“Oh my God,” she gasped, looking at him, her tenseness dissolving right in front of him. “That sounds very cute.”
He grinned. “It is.” Nowhere near as cute as Sal with a smile reaching right to her eyes and sparkling in their pale blue depths.
“You’ve still got it?”
“Yeah, it’s on my wall in my old bedroom. And my mother keeps the ribbon pride of place in her china cabinet.”
They were almost home now, the practice just across the street, as she asked, “So why didn’t you go on to become a photographer?”
“I did think about it for a while. Took a couple of courses when I was a teenager, but when I realized most of my photography was usually some kind of animal or other, I knew it was always only going to be a hobby, and it was animals I was passionate about.”
“Lucky me,” Sal quipped as her foot hit the path to the front door.
Doyle was momentarily stunned at her teasing reply, lobbed back at him in a flash like they were two people enjoying each other’s company, bantering.
Progress?
“Hey, you should be more impressed. It’s not every woman who gets the chance to share an apartment with an award-winning photographer.”
She stopped on the doorstep and turned to face him. “Tell me, why is it again you’re staying with me when you could be staying with Abi your sister who lives in Brisbane and adores you so much?”
Doyle was conscious of how close they were. Sal was standing on the step up, and while that didn’t exactly even up their height, it put her closer. Much closer. His body blocked the arc of light from the streetlight behind, except for a narrow shaft that slanted in on one side, glowing in the blond tips of her bangs and slashing a narrow band of light across her eyes.
The startling blue that could so often look freezing like arctic ice looked warm tonight, like a tropical sea. They really were mesmerizing.
He had a feeling if she ever turned them on him with the intent to seduce—if she used them for evil—he’d do whatever the hell she wanted. God knew he’d seen her do it too many times to count already, catching men with those eyes as surely as a spider caught flies in her web.
“She’s newly remarried,” he said, bringing his errant thoughts back to the conversation. “They don’t need me around as a third wheel, especially while they’re trying to establish a routine with Harry, and there’s no point finding a flat to rent f
or six months when they’re damn near impossible to find at the best of times. This temp job complete with accommodation was perfect.”
She quirked an eyebrow. “Until you realized you had to share it with a heinous bitch?”
He chuckled at her self-deprecation. If she kept this up, she may actually start to appear human. “Nope. You’re just the cherry on top.”
Their eyes met temporarily, and he swore he could hear the husky rasp of her breathing as her gaze dropped to his mouth. He was certainly aware of the sudden thickness of his own breath battling to escape his lungs.
But then she was turning away, breaking the weird moment, sliding the key into the lock, pushing the door open as it gave. She didn’t move for a second or two, and he gestured for her to precede him.
“No way.” She shook her head. “You think I didn’t know you were checking out my butt last night? You first. I insist.”
Doyle grinned. “So you can check out mine instead?”
“Oh dear,” she said. “You’ve uncovered my devious plan.”
“Okay fine,” he sighed in a faux dramatic fashion. “But no touching.”
She folded her arms. “I’ll try to control myself.”
Doyle sobered. “That’s your problem, Sal—too much control.”
And he turned away before she had a chance to react. But she definitely checked out his arse as he took the steps two at a time—he could feel the hot burn of her gaze.
…
Sal was relieved when Friday swung around so she could have a night off puppy preschool and Doyle’s relentless questions. Sure, he’d been true to his word about knocking off on the whole date idea, but the plan had been to not get to know him. To have him do his six-month stint and then have him leave in time for Mack and Josie to come back.
She knew things about him now she never wanted to know. About his childhood and his college years and his friends. How much he loved his job. His passion for photography. Every holiday he’d ever taken. Hell, she even knew the name of the dog he had as a kid—Dutch. Who had been a German shepherd with only three legs.
Christ—she knew his childhood pet only had three legs!
And she knew about all his nieces and nephews, and it was easier to just let him talk about them than make him stop and draw attention to her wounds, but damn if it didn’t drive a big stake through her heart every time he talked about some cute baby exploit or other.