Sweet and Dirty

by Christina Crooks

  “I knew you weren’t a huge fan of dogs,” Lizbeth said. She flipped through the Dog Day Care and Cage-Free Boarding Application, making sure the Chihuahua’s owners had attached copies of vaccination dates, spay/neuter certificate, and the pet’s personality profile. It didn’t surprise her to see the small dog described as “nervous.”

  Lizbeth could relate. Especially with Posh’s speculative, hungry gaze on her, like some she-wolf waiting for a rabbit to poke its head out of a burrow.

  “I never did thank you for picking up those collars yesterday,” Posh said suddenly. “I half-expected you to bring back some cheap, ugly Petwise collars instead. But you didn’t. How did you like Fantasy Dresser?”

  “I think we paid too much for dog collars.”

  Posh waved this off. “People of extravagant means in LA demand originality with a bit of ostentation. They don’t trust bargains, so they expect to be gouged. I know my Richie-riches.” Posh grinned, looking particularly feral. She approached Lizbeth, scanning her from head to toe. “Michelle, people don’t surprise me much. But you, my decidedly unbleached-blonde”—she pinched a lock of Lizbeth’s light brunette hair between two fingers, examining—“and thoroughly Midwestern dog whisperer…I am surprised you brought back those collars.” Posh strolled, her five-inch heels clicking against the slick floor. She clearly assumed Lizbeth would follow.

  Lizbeth followed. “It’s Lizbeth,” she reminded Posh.

  Posh didn’t seem to hear. She trailed a long, polished nail over the top of the taller plastic fence enclosing the large dog area. She tossed handfuls of treats as if throwing grain for chickens. The wink of leather and metal from the four new collars appeared among a pack of dogs racing toward her. They scrabbled for the bright red, donut-shaped treats. When Lizbeth saw the treat colors she groaned to herself. A junk brand. Diarrhea would strike half the dogs before 3:00. Lizbeth would have to clean it.

  Lizbeth opened her mouth to protest.

  Posh wheeled, spoke first. “You say you’ve worked with dogs all your life. But you avoid them here, unless I give instructions otherwise. Why?”

  Lizbeth closed her mouth.

  “Don’t look so worried. You’re doing a great job, feeding them and cleaning up, taking care of the paperwork and errands and things. It’s just strange. You told me you loved dogs in the interview, but you don’t spend much time with them.” Posh upended the treat bag, emptying it. The dogs boiled around the food, but Posh barely glanced down. “So what’s the deal?”

  With lightning-strike suddenness a dogfight broke out. Snarling from a half-dozen canine throats, yips of pain, and one mournful howl that sounded so familiar to Lizbeth it rooted her to the spot.

  Posh cursed, ran to her office, and returned. Before Lizbeth could protest, her boss cracked a bullwhip over the heads of the fighting dogs. “Stop that!” she commanded.

  The fight stopped as if by magic. Wrestling dogs separated. Winners and losers both looked shamefaced. A greyhound favored his leg for a moment, but the limp disappeared after a few elegant steps. His new collar seemed bulky on his graceful neck. Lizbeth could have sworn he licked the air in Posh’s direction with something like adoration.

  Posh glared at one dog in particular. “The Labrador started it. I saw him bite the Australian shepherd.”

  Lizbeth stared at the perpetrator. “Charlie started it? But he’s…”

  “The overly friendly one. Drools on your khakis. Wags his tail and follows you around when you scoop poop. Yes, him. Put him in solitary to cool off.”

  “Do you have to call it solitary?” As if the single-occupancy rooms were jail cells. It smacked of cruelty. Yet Lizbeth found herself unhooking a leash at the gate. She didn’t have to call Charlie to her, since he was right there wagging his tail and smiling his distinctive Labrador smile. His long, white teeth sparkled more brightly than she remembered.

  “Time-out room, then. Rest room. Pick whatever euphemism suits you. God, why did I ever start this business? Are you having some kind of trouble?”

  Lizbeth tried to control her shaking hands, but they trembled despite her mind’s commands. She managed to clip Charlie’s leash to the collar, though he lunged away with an excess of enthusiasm. He wagged his tail furiously. “No trouble at all.”

  “Good. I’m taking the rest of the day off. Lock up when you leave.”

  “But I leave at 3:00. The dogs’ owners get here at 5:00.”

  “Would you please stay until 5:30, just for today? I’d really appreciate it. Thanks, Michelle.”

  At that moment, Charlie pulled forward. Lizbeth stumbled and almost fell on her chin.

  As she hauled the dog back, his leash pinching the tender flesh of her palm, she noticed one of the other big dogs squat. The first of her afternoon chores streamed out.

  The front door clicked shut.

  “Great!” she shouted mutinously.

  But Lizbeth stayed late, cleaned up, and matched the dogs with their owners when they arrived, some of whom she thought she recognized from television. She stayed past 7:00. Who else would care for the dogs, if not her?

  The Hollywood types were nice enough people, but many carried an air of demanding impatience—as if they’d pigeonholed Lizbeth on first glance as a submissive and therefore didn’t need to treat her with respect.

  Then again, maybe she was oversensitive about dominance and submission issues, Lizbeth thought wryly as she drove the long way home, squinting at the lingering Los Angeles sunshine.

  She had no business driving to The Dungeon.

  An orange quality to the light, flashing off building windows and car paint jobs and sidewalks, soothed her. The smog and heat made her somnolent, and the memory of Ro’s face appeared in her mind, handsome and stern and knowing. Her flesh felt heavy and tingly with desire as she thought of Ro’s touch.

  She had to see him again.

  Her heart began to hammer in her chest. It was wrong, it was perverse, it was dangerous. She should drive straight home.

  The lure of Ro directed her steering.

  She parked in front of the club.

  He was outside.

  Ro worked on the sidewalk, cleaning glass and staring critically up at his nightclub sign. The sight of him outside, laboring in the fading daylight like an ordinary mortal, made him less intimidating. He worked for a living, just like her.

  Then he looked up and their eyes locked. No, he was anything but ordinary. He was more attractive, more graceful, more there than other men. His torso twisted as he set down a sponge, and his graceful stride toward her exuded power and confidence. She felt a momentary clash of desires: she wanted him, badly, but she also desperately needed to possess some of that power and confidence.

  She laughed, a bit bewildered, as she climbed out of her car. Amazing how he had the ability to turn her mind into a twisted mass of contradictions, and make her body eager for his touch, just with one look.

  He wore black jeans, this time, and a snug-fitting black T-shirt that showcased his strong shoulders and taut waist.

  “I was just going to grab a bite to eat inside. Join me?”

  “I don’t mean to interrupt you…”

  “Sure you do. You just told a lie.” His eyes laughed. She sucked in her breath as memories of the night before filled her mind, her skin tingling all over as if he were touching her once more.

  He stepped into her personal space as if he had a right to it. She supposed she’d given him the right last night. She sure wasn’t about to revoke it. He towered over her and around her once more and she had to fight the urge to drag him into the club, back to that alcove….

  She concentrated. “Yes, thanks. I’d welcome some real food. The dogs ate better than I did today.”

  “You train them somewhere nearby?”

  “Um…” Tell the truth, that she was a lowly peon? Images of everyone she knew, from Posh to the customers to the dogs themselves, all united in their disregard for her, speared her with anxiety. Ro might stop
his unique tutelage if he suspected she was that much of a doormat. “I run a dog day care facility not far from here.” She did run it. When Posh wasn’t around.

  “That’s wonderful. You must be great with animals. And, you can relate to the problems a start-up business faces.”

  “Yes. It can be a challenge.” Stretching the truth again. But she had owned half the breeding business in Alabama. She shifted on feet sore despite her cushy, thick-soled work shoes. Lizbeth remembered the tall, slim heels Posh wore with such ease. She’d bet Posh didn’t have sore feet.

  “I’m all alone for hours and hours. Until doors open tonight.” He offered his arm once more. “Keep me company?”

  She doubted a man like him lacked for company. Whenever he wanted it and with whomever he chose. His proximity and his words gave her a familiar breath-stealing pang of delight. She placed her hand on his arm.

  She narrowed her eyes with the sensual pleasure of touching him. How nice to feel his bare skin, his lightly haired forearm warmed by the sun and his own body heat. Her hand wanted to move over it, caress it. She made herself keep still. His natural scent—a clean masculine sweat and some faint exotic cologne—intoxicated her.

  Her mind leapt ahead, wondering if he’d lead her to the café she remembered from the night before…or to that alcove, which she remembered so much more vividly.

  She blushed, appalled at herself. What kind of charisma did he possess that ran such end runs around her second thoughts?

  They walked together up the steps into the vast and silent darkness of the empty club.

  When the heavy door swung shut behind them the resulting echoes made it feel as if she’d stepped into a cavern rather than a club. But there was the same long bar. Its smoky mirror reflected the fading light from the front stained-glass window. And the clean-scrubbed dark wooden floor was fully revealed. She hadn’t noticed the beautiful matched sets of wooden chairs and tables in the café.

  “Do you want it fast, or do you want it good?” Ro asked as she settled into a chair.

  She couldn’t help the thoughts that sprang to mind. “Excuse me?”

  “The food.”

  Lizbeth’s heart slowed down. “Fast. I need your expertise on something, afterward.”

  He nodded, noncommittal, and walked past her to the back room. Moments later he returned with a couple of saran-wrapped sandwiches and two sodas. “I keep fresh stuff in the fridge for me and the staff,” he explained as he placed hers on the table.

  She tried not to wolf the delicious sandwich.

  He did wolf his. Gone in four bites. He grinned, lounged in his chair, his eyes resting easily on hers. His relaxed confidence failed to put her at ease. She could tell those eyes missed very little. And why couldn’t she stop thinking about those dangerous teeth nibbling their way down her body, pausing every so often to bite?

  He shifted in his chair and his T-shirt stretched across his chest. She tried and failed to avoid looking at the pectorals it revealed. His arms looked immensely capable, too. Which they were, she remembered.

  “It’s not just for the dogs, is it? Your need to learn dominance.”

  Lizbeth jerked in her seat. She lowered her food to the plate. How did he know?

  “Something’s happened to you to make you want to change. You don’t have to tell me. However, my ‘expertise’ might be better targeted if you do.” He waited.

  When she didn’t speak, he nodded. “Let me tell you something then, Lizbeth. Submissive people, just like animals, give off a subliminal vibe. Gestures and posture combine into a wavelength that tells me they’re looking for a dominant. Someone to take control. To make them feel safe and fulfilled. There is absolutely nothing wrong with someone giving this vibe. Submissiveness is as natural as dominance, and subs wield more power than you might suspect. But you. You give off a mixed signal. I wonder why.”

  Should she tell him? Lizbeth agonized, picking at the remains of her sandwich. He might despise her. On the other hand, he sounded as if he might actually understand.

  She mulled, then decided.

  “My dog Sasquatch. He bit me.” Lizbeth took a deep breath. Plunged in. “Long story short. Mom and my older sister always lectured me to stick up for myself, while bossing me around. Dad left her when I was very young—maybe that had something to do with it—but they were real control freaks. Mom was the worst.” Lizbeth shrugged and smiled, but felt the thickness in her throat that presaged tears. She fought them grimly. “When I wanted honest affection and someone to listen to me, I preferred my dogs. Mom didn’t mean anything bad. She just wanted me to grow up capable and strong, so I’d never be a victim. But I wasn’t like Nora, and they never stopped trying to improve me. Pound me down a lot, then build me up a little. You know? Then, Ted. Single-minded, financially well-off, traditional values…and willing to take over from my mom in regard to controlling me.”

  She didn’t see Ro change position, but sensed a sudden stillness in him, as an animal coming to cautious attention. “Ted let me start my own dog training and breeding business. It started small, but when I bred some pedigreed champions, my reputation grew. Then one of the local TV channels covered my training routine. Business started to boom, and Ted became a partner to help manage the money.

  “Then, disaster. My Akita, Sasquatch. My gentle, humane methods of handling and training—using clickers and treats and lots of patience—seemed to work most of the time, but not always. When Mom and Nora heard from Ted about the hourly rates I charged for training and the premium stud fees I was able to get, they got involved, too. They started micromanaging, and I started doubting myself, just like always. It all went to hell when I got in a difficult bitch to mate. Sasquatch took one sniff and growled at her! I put the bitch in the rack, but Sasquatch still wasn’t interested. He ran away from me and wouldn’t come when I called, even when I tried to lure him with treats. Nora and Mom kept saying I should use a stronger hand, that I wasn’t assertive enough. Ted…he just smirked. They all said I’d never get Sasquatch to obey me unless I showed him who’s boss.” Lizbeth felt the self-disgust that accompanied the memory. “Part of me thought they might be right. I got an animal control loop and dragged Sasquatch toward the bitch. ‘Don’t you let that dog walk all over you,’ Mom was yelling. And so help me, I wasn’t going to. He struggled, so I threw him to the ground four or five times.

  “When I let my guard down with Sasquatch, he bit me. Hard enough to draw blood. Then he ran and hid. Mom and Nora flipped out about him biting me. The next day, while I was out, Mom sold Sasquatch.” Lizbeth blinked away tears. “Ted claimed he didn’t know about it. I was finally able to pry the buyer’s information from Mom and drove there within a couple of days, but the family she’d sold him to wouldn’t sell him back. Said their youngest kid had already bonded. They let me say good-bye, though. The hardest thing I ever had to do was leave Sasquatch there. I heard him howl when I drove away.”

  “That must have been incredibly difficult.”

  Lizbeth managed a small, bitter smile. “Yes. Because it’s all my fault. Oh, my mom shouldn’t have sold him behind my back. But it never would have happened if I hadn’t been such a doormat.” Self-loathing colored her voice. “I should have been the alpha dog with Sasquatch all along. Not to mention standing up to them all along. When I finally did try to be the alpha, I did it wrong. I didn’t know how.”

  Ro spoke in a low, encouraging voice. “And that’s when you moved here and started over at the dog day care?”

  “Uh-huh. Clean break from the past. Except…”

  “Except the past followed you here.”

  Lizbeth started, remembering Ted’s arrival. But of course Ro didn’t know about that. He knew nothing but what she told him. She was determined to tell him the truth as best she could. “Yes. I wanted a fresh start. But it’s like Mom and Nora are still in my head whispering that I’m not smart enough, strong enough. I can still see Ted smirking. At work, customers walk all over me. Everywhere, I
have trouble sticking up for myself.”

  Lizbeth lowered her gaze, feeling her face heat with the shameful admission. Now was when he’d make some excuse and throw her out, if he was going to.

  She felt his large, warm fingers gently tilt her chin up. His lips curved slightly in an understanding smile, and his eyes were compassionate. “Thank you for trusting me. It means more to me than you realize.”

  Lizbeth felt her insides swirl pleasantly.

  “I think I see,” he continued, gazing at her with speculation. “And now, here you are. Where you think you can learn assertiveness. From me.”

  The way he was looking at her made her nervous, but it wasn’t the kind of nervous that made her want to pinch her arm for relief. Instead, her heart beat a little faster with anticipation, and she felt warm all over.

  “Isn’t that right?” He waited for her to nod. “Then, let’s practice taking what you want. Come with me.”

  “Now? Here?”

  “Now. Here.” He smiled at her reluctance, unfazed. “Trust me.”

  She felt a smile tug at her lips. The odd thing was, she did trust him. Her instincts informed her he wasn’t a sadistic killer. Sadistic, perhaps. He might torture her. Just not to death.

  She stood. “Lead on.”

  He did. When he reached a thick wooden door, he stopped. It was the Cage Room she remembered seeing last time.

  Ro made a long, old-fashioned bronze skeleton key appear in his hand. “This room—this key—is special. It’s awarded as a judgment during The Dungeon’s Saturday night Crime and Punishment Party.” He handed her the key.

  Feeling a return of the sensual exhilaration that he brought out in her, she inserted the key into the lock.

  4

  Ro watched Lizbeth push open the thick wooden door.