Trusting a Warrior

by Melanie Hansen

  She was gorgeous. Her shoulder-length hair was a riot of curls in a fascinating mix of colors—reds, golds, and browns. A man could happily get lost in all that hair. She was tall, which he liked, and a little on the thin side, which he didn’t like. Made him want to feed her.

  He wasn’t close enough to hear what she was saying to the puppy straining at the other end of the leash, but the dog was completely ignoring her. Jack could have told her that the little beast was going to keep winning their test of wills unless and until she positioned herself as the alpha dog in their relationship.

  The puppy finally lifted a leg and watered a bush. The woman disappeared back inside with her little friend, and then a few minutes later walked out with a purse over her shoulder and the dog still on his leash.

  Jack followed her to the River Arts District. After she parked and exited her car with her dog, he waited a few minutes before heading for the renovated warehouse she’d entered. As soon as he walked in, the aroma of coffee caught his attention and he headed for the small concession stand. While he waited for his order, he scanned the area. Artists on both sides of the aisle were setting up their tables and booths for the day.

  It was a mix of arts and crafts. Next to the coffee stand, an older couple had a display of landscape paintings: waterfalls, mountain sunsets, and a few of downtown Asheville. Directly across the aisle was a booth filled with stained-glass pieces.

  It was a cool place, one he’d have to come back and investigate when he wasn’t on a mission. A puppy bark caught his attention, and coffee in hand, he headed for it. In the middle of the building, he found his target standing in front of a long table loaded with pottery, tangled up in the leash her puppy had wrapped around her legs.

  “He taking you prisoner?” Jack said.

  She glanced over at him with laughter in those golden-brown eyes, and his heart thump-skipped in his chest. That had never, ever happened before, and he almost turned and walked away. A female-induced twitchy heart wasn’t his thing.

  Then she leaned precariously, looking like a tree about to topple over. Jack dropped his coffee onto the table next to her and was at her side in time to catch her before she landed face-first on the cement floor. Damn, she smelled good, like vanilla and maybe almonds. Whatever it was, it made his mouth water.

  “Um, you can let me go now.”

  And there was that throaty voice that had kept him awake last night. “Do I have to?” He winked to let her know he was teasing—not really—and then he made sure she was steady on her feet before crouching down in front of the puppy.

  “Hey, buddy,” he said, putting one hand on the dog’s rear end. Jack lifted his gaze to his new fantasy. “What’s his name?”

  “Rambo.”

  “Here’s the deal, Rambo. When I say sit, you’re going to plant your butt on the ground.” He pushed down on Rambo’s rear end while pressing the palm of his other hand to the puppy’s nose. “Sit.” Still keeping his hands on the dog, he had to repeat the command a second time when the little guy tried to climb onto his lap.

  Rambo wasn’t stupid. He recognized Jack was the alpha and kept his butt glued to the ground this time, although he did wiggle his rear end, all that puppy energy making it impossible to sit completely still. But he kept his gaze on Jack, as if waiting for his next instructions.

  “Good boy.” Jack gave him a chin scratch as a reward.

  “Wow, how did you do that?”

  As soon as the puppy heard her voice, he tried to jump up her legs, his tail furiously wagging. She laughed, a musical sound that Jack liked a lot.

  “A combination of things. Using my hands to signal what he needs to do for one, but mostly the tone of my voice.”

  “Can you show me?”

  That would be an affirmative. Jack took a moment to rein in his lust before lifting his eyes to hers. “I could help you train him.”

  He took the end of the leash from her hand and unwound it, freeing her legs. Wasn’t his fault if the leash was so tight that his fingers brushed across her skin as he performed his chore. Not that it was a chore in any way, shape, or form. The goose bumps that rose where he touched her pleased him. She wasn’t immune to him.

  “Are you a professional dog trainer?”

  How much truth to tell her? Most of it, just not the stalking part. That was entirely too creepy. He stood, keeping the leash and tightening it so that Rambo had to stay by his legs.

  “Jack Daniels,” he said, holding out his hand.

  She raised a finely arched brow. “For real?”

  “Yeah. My parents had a weird sense of humor. My SEAL teammates call me Whiskey, if that works better for you.” A lot of people thought SEALs weren’t allowed to reveal their identity, but that wasn’t true. They just didn’t go around advertising the fact. He hoped knowing would make her feel more comfortable with him.

  He smiled—impressed that he remembered how—and waited to hear her answer.

  Nichole eyed the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who was apparently a dog whisperer. Wow, an honest-to-God SEAL, and he was as hot as the SEAL heroes in her romance books. Maybe even hotter. Definitely hotter.

  “Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Nichole Masters.” She held out her hand, and it disappeared inside his massive one. His touch was gentle, but she was sure he could crush her bones if he wanted. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she was positive she’d never met him before. Jack Daniels was not a man a girl would forget.

  “And you, Nichole.” Rambo barked, and Jack let go of her hand. He smiled down at her puppy. “Yes, we haven’t forgotten about you, Rambo.” He glanced up at her. “That’s a big name for the little man to live up to.”

  “I’m hoping he’ll grow into his name. He’s a rescue, part German shepherd, part anyone’s guess. The vet said maybe some sheltie.” Her hand was warm from being in his, her fingers tingling a little from his touch. The last time she’d had tingly anything from touching a man had been with Lane, before he had shown her his true self. But she wasn’t going there, not when a hotter-than-hot hero was sharing her breathing space.

  He handed her the leash. “Two intelligent dog combinations and very trainable. He’ll test you, but he’ll also want to please you.”

  She blinked, trying to catch up with their conversation. She ran his last words through her mind. Right. They were talking about Rambo. “Believe me, he’s doing a great job of testing me.” She’d never had a dog before, and honestly hadn’t had a clue how rambunctious or destructive a puppy could be.

  He glanced around. “Maybe this isn’t the best place for him. At least not until he’s trained.”

  As if to prove his point, Rambo tangled his leash around her legs again, then stuck his nose under her dress, lifting the hem halfway up her thighs. She bent over to grab the skirt before she flashed not only a hot SEAL but all the strangers around them, whose attention suddenly seemed to be on her.

  Rambo dropped to his feet, gave a happy bark, and then tried to run in the opposite direction. With her legs bound together by the leash, preventing her from getting her balance, she toppled forward, her face heading directly for Jack’s crotch.

  She put her hands out to keep her mouth from landing on the most private part of him, but when she realized that would result in her groping him, she panicked and ended up windmilling her arms. A mere inch before her mouth got entirely too up close and personal with a man she’d only met minutes ago, a pair of hands slid under her arms and lifted her back to her feet. That would have been great if her new position wasn’t breast to SEAL chest. An extremely hard chest. Desire spiked through her, adding to her embarrassment. Her cheeks and the back of her neck felt like they were on fire.

  “Ah...ah.” She realized her arms were sticking out in a pretty good imitation of a scarecrow, so she dropped them to her sides. He kept his hands on her arms, trailed his fingers over her skin, dow
n to her wrists, leaving goose bumps in his wake. She lifted her gaze to his. Lord have mercy, his eyes were a hundred times darker than they had been before she’d smashed her breasts into his chest. She wondered if he would mind if she climbed him like a tree.

  A slow—sexy as all get-out—smile curved his lips. “Hello,” he murmured.

  “Hi,” she chirped. Really, Nichole, you’ve taken to chirping? He let go of her and stepped back, then dropped to his knees. Her heart slammed into her rib cage at seeing him in that position while her mind was stuck on the breasts-to-chest thing and her skin tingling from his touch.

  As if he could read her thoughts, he lifted his eyes—still a darker blue—and gave her that sexy smile again. “I’m just going to free you.”

  “Oh.” That came out sounding disappointed, and he chuckled. What in the world was wrong with her? She’d never reacted to a man like this before, not this fast and this...well, tingly.

  “There, all better,” he said once he had her unwrapped from the leash. He tapped the puppy’s nose. “You’re a handful of trouble, aren’t you?” Rambo tried to lick him. Jack stood and handed her the end of the leash.

  “This is the first time I’ve brought him here with me. I guess I jumped the gun, but he’s learned to recognize when I’m leaving and starts to cry. I felt guilty for sticking him in his crate all day. Eventually I want to be able to bring him, but obviously I need to wait until he loses some of his puppy energy.”

  “That will happen, even faster if he gets some training, but yeah, this isn’t a good place for him right now. Too many interesting things and people to check out.”

  “Live and learn, right?” A couple walked up to her booth. “Um, I need to get to work.”

  “You have your phone on you?”

  “Yes. Do you need to make a call?” Heaven help her, the man really did have a killer smile.

  “No. I was going to put my number in it. You know, in case you decide to take me up on my offer to help you train Rambo.”

  “Oh. Right.” He probably thought she was a scatterbrain, but it was entirely his fault for being so sexy that it was hard to think around him.

  As if to prove he needed training, her dog was straining at the end of his leash, trying to get the couple’s attention with begging yips, hoping for a little petting. “Rambo, no.” She pulled him back toward her, and of course, he planted his paws so that she ended up dragging him.

  She glanced at Jack, expecting to see disapproval, but the only thing in his eyes was amusement. “Here.” She unlocked her phone and handed it to him. “You’ll definitely be hearing from me if you can teach him some manners.”

  “I can.”

  When he handed her phone back, their fingers brushed against each other, and there was that tingling again.

  “Take care, Nichole.” He squatted in front of Rambo. “I know you have a lot of energy, buddy, but try to behave for your mistress.” Rambo tossed himself onto his back, his tail scraping across the floor.

  “I don’t think behave is in his vocabulary.”

  Jack glanced up at her as he gave her dog a belly rub. “Part of teaching him that word will be to teach you how to master him.”

  There was something in the way he said that, in the flash of heat in his eyes, that had her almost fanning her face. “Um, master him, right.” Jeez, Nichole, get your mind out of the gutter.

  That was easier said than done with this man, and when the heat returned to his eyes and one side of his mouth curved up, she knew he knew right where her mind had gone. Again.

  She glanced at the couple, who were still browsing. The woman picked up a mug. “I love how you embedded a maple leaf in these. I’ll take the set.”

  “I’ll be right with you.” She glanced at Jack. “Gotta go.” Before something else came out of her mouth... Like my bed is only a few minutes from here. Want to go play?

  He rose in a slow unfolding of his body that had her eyes tracking every movement and flex of his muscles. Oh, yeah. Sex. On. A. Freakin’. Stick. She’d been burned so badly by her last boyfriend that she’d gone through an I-hate-men stage. That phase might have just ended.

  “Hope to hear from you, Nichole,” he said before picking up his coffee.

  “I think you will,” she murmured as she watched him walk away. “And real nice butt, Whiskey,” she added.

  Her morning had started off as one of the crappiest ever. She’d woken up tired and out of sorts after drinking enough wine to get up the nerve to call Trevor the Bastard Allen at three in the morning and tell him what she thought of him for sabotaging her commission. She’d figured that if she was up at that time of night, stewing over what he’d done, that it was only right for his sleep to be disturbed. The jerk had pretended not to know who she was.

  Rambo hadn’t helped her mood when she’d found her favorite running shoes chewed up. Her fault for leaving them out, but weren’t all the toys she’d showered him with enough? Considering everything the world had rained down on her recently, she deserved a hot SEAL to play with, right? But she refused to appear too eager—because, really, the man probably had eager-to-get-into-his-pants women at his beck and call—so she’d wait a bit to contact him.

  Don’t miss Operation K-9 Brothers by Sandra Owens,

  available February 2021 from Carina Press.

  www.CarinaPress.com

  Copyright © 2021 by Sandra Owens

  Author Bio

  Melanie Hansen doesn’t get nearly enough sleep. She loves all things coffee-related, including collecting mugs from every place she’s visited. After spending eighteen years as a military spouse, Melanie definitely considers herself a moving expert. She has lived and worked all over the country, and hopes to bring these rich and varied life experiences to the love stories she gets up in the wee hours to write. In her off-time, you can find Melanie watching baseball, reading or spending time with her husband and two teenage sons.

  Visit Melanie’s website at melaniehansenbooks.com. Find her on Twitter, @MelJoyAZ. Find her on Facebook as Melanie Hansen: Facebook.com/profile.php?id=100009084006829.

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  ISBN-13: 9781488036286

  Trusting a Warrior

  Copyright © 2020 by Melanie Hansen

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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