by Roni Loren
He closed his eyes, his nostrils flaring with a deep breath. “You’re not making this easy, angel. Not when you say things like that.”
On a surge of bravery, I reached up and slid my hands along his neck, pulling his forehead down to mine. His skin was fever hot against me. My voice was a soft rasp, nerves still constricting my throat. “Can you show me, Foster? Show me what you like?”
“Cela,” he groaned, his voice laced with gravel, taut. “Don’t.”
But I was rolling down a hill too fast to stop now. “Did you know I’ve been bitten by a mastiff or that I’ve groomed the meanest Shih Tzu the vet’s school had ever seen and ended up with stitches? Or that I grew up with a brother who made me spar with him so that I could defend myself? I could totally kidney punch you right now.”
He lifted his head, the blue of his eyes like a January storm.
I took a deep breath. “I’m not that fragile. And I’m tired of other people sheltering me from things. I liked what happened the nights we were together. I know I don’t really know anything about your . . . lifestyle. But I do know that you taking control in bed made me feel comfortable, took away any worries of doing something wrong. Chased off the shame.”
“Did it now?” he asked, a shade of surprise coloring his voice.
“Honestly, I haven’t thought about much else since.” I looked down at my paint-splattered feet. “In fact, I think it’s all your fault I fell off the ladder—you having the nerve to walk around all naked in your room.”
He laughed then, a bark of a thing that seemed to surprise him. “How dare I change clothes in my own room.”
“Sadistic bastard.”
He sniffed and cupped my shoulders. “You have no idea.”
“So show me,” I said, my voice calmer than I felt inside. “Teach me how this works. I’m a no-risk investment, Mr. Businessman. I’m leaving soon, so you don’t even have to worry about me getting all where-is-this-all-going, relationship obsessed on you.”
His hands coasted up and down my arms, a war raging in his eyes, then he leaned down and put his mouth to mine. I gasped at the contact, the simple softness reaching down inside me and bending everything out of alignment. His lips moved over mine, his tongue easing inside, caressing and invading my senses like a drug. He tasted of cinnamon gum and want—the need pouring out of him and making me desperate to press my body against his.
But his hands stilled on my shoulders and kept me in place, fastening me to the edge of the counter at my back. I wanted to touch him, to deepen the kiss, to strip down and have him take me right there in my little kitchen. But before I knew it, he was lifting his mouth away from me, sadness etched into his face.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, breathless.
He cupped my chin and laid one last brief touch to my lips. “I don’t want you to be my fling, angel.”
The words slashed right through me, opening up a gaping hurt. I bit the inside of my cheek, fighting off the stupid burn of tears that climbed up my throat. “You don’t think I can handle it.”
He took a step back and shook his head. “Whether you can or can’t is not the point. I can’t, Cela. I’m tired of one-night stands and living my life like I’m some frat boy. Being with you the other night, feeling that connection, that pure moment, it made me realize what I want and need. And what I need is something real. Not a week or two getting a taste of what could be, then letting it go. I don’t want a woman to play submissive to me every now and then. I want to find the woman meant to be mine, want to own her submission . . .”
My jaw went slack, my mind snagging on part of that last sentence. “You want to own a woman?”
He gave a ghost of a smile as he reached out and swiped a thumb over my lips. “The kind of relationship I desire is intense and unpalatable to most. I’m not an easy man to be with. And even if there could be something between us, you’re not ready to make that kind of decision—not without some experience behind you. Go be young and live your life. Figure out what you like and don’t. I’m not on a path you need to follow right now.”
“Foster,” I whispered, so many emotions whirling through me, I couldn’t pin one down.
“Thank you for letting me be your first, angel. I didn’t deserve that privilege. But I’ll never be sorry for it.”
I closed my eyes, wanting to protest, to say a hundred things back to him, but words were sticking like hot marshmallows in my throat, expanding and blocking my air.
This wasn’t supposed to feel this way. A fun night with the neighbor wasn’t supposed to tear at me like this when it was done, was it?
“Good-bye, Cela,” he said softly. Then his touch was gone, and his footsteps were hitting the tile. The door closed before I had the energy to open my eyes.
PART IV
NOT UNTIL YOU TRUST
SIXTEEN
My penmanship was appalling as I scrawled down information on the paper in front of me. Since Foster had walked out of my apartment last weekend, I couldn’t seem to do anything without a flourish of frustration. I dotted an i with pointed vigor and slashed through a t.
“Well, aren’t you all sweetness and roses today,” Bailey said, turning from her computer to eyeball me. “What did that intake form do to you?”
“It required me to fill it out. All those tiny little boxes.”
She lifted a brow. “Who are you and what have you done with my Cela, the paperwork Nazi?”
I sighed and set down my pen. “Sorry, long week.”
Bailey frowned. “You should go home and open that tequila I bought you.”
Heh. The tequila. Bailey had no idea that her gift had actually been the match that set my previously predictable life on fire. “I don’t have any left.”
“Wait, what?” Bailey swiveled in her chair, her streaked blond hair whipping behind her as she whirled to face me. “Dude, there’s no way you drank all of that already.”
“I didn’t. I shared it.”
Bailey huffed. “So you finally decide to let loose, and you didn’t invite me to the party? Lame.”
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed a hand over my forehead, Bailey’s accusatory tone blending with the sound of barking dogs in the kennels in the back. “It wasn’t a party. Just a . . . date.”
“Shut. The. Eff. Up.” Bailey’s chair squeaked, and without looking I knew she’d pitched forward—on the prowl. “You had a date and didn’t tell me? Oh my God, that’s why you’ve been so all over the place for the last couple of weeks. You met a guy!”
I could hear the squee in her voice and had no doubt she was about to morph into some cheerleader version of herself. If I didn’t head it off at the pass, it was going to quickly disintegrate into hand grabbing and bouncing with glee as she begged for details. Bailey was only two years younger than me and was the closest thing to a best friend I’d found since moving here, but sometimes her enthusiasm made me want to duck and cover. I held my hands out. “Calm it down, chica. Met is the operative word here. Past tense.”
Her bright smile instantly dimmed. “Oh, no. What ha—”
But before Bailey could play Oprah to my Gayle, Dr. Pelham strode in from the back, already rambling off information she needed Bailey to pull up on the computer. Bailey spun around, instantly tapping away at the keyboard, her game face on. I smiled a greeting at our boss as she stepped behind us to the wall of file cabinets, and went back to finishing the intake form I was supposed to be doing.
“I have a surgery scheduled first thing tomorrow morning for that Yorkie that came in on Monday,” Dr. Pelham said in my direction as she flipped through the folders in the file cabinet nearest me. “Poor thing’s got a pretty aggressive tumor, but I think we may have caught it early enough. I’m going to use the new laser. You should assist.”
I looked up from my mess of an intake form
, my heart doing a little leap and spin. “Really? That’d be great. I haven’t seen this new equipment in action yet.”
Dr. Pelham smiled, pushing her reading glasses onto her head, making her salt-and-pepper bangs stick up every which way. “Yes, Doctor Medina. I’m hoping if I tempt you with our fancy new gadgets, you won’t leave us at the end of the month. Have you given my offer any more thought?”
I pressed my lips together, the offer tempting me to no end every time she brought it up. The clinic couldn’t pay as much as I’d make in my dad’s practice, but since it was funded by the university it meant the vets had access to the latest technology and experimental treatments. And Dr. Pelham knew more about veterinary oncology than anyone in the state. Working under her would give me experience I couldn’t get anywhere else. But I didn’t need to specialize in oncology. When I’d mentioned it to my father, he’d dismissed it with a sniff.
You don’t need to waste time specializing, Marcela, he’d said with that exasperated tone. I need a Jill-of-all-trades for the clinic. You’ll learn what you need to know down here.
I tried not to let my face belie how torn I was. I knew I couldn’t accept the position. My father was counting on my picking up the slack in his practice. But anytime Dr. Pelham brought up the job, I couldn’t bring myself to give a firm no. “I’m giving everything a lot of thought.”
Her smile climbed up to her eyes. “Fantastic. I’m interviewing a few candidates next week, though, so think quickly.”
“I will, thank you. I promise I’ll let you know by then,” I said, misery making my stomach burn. Why was everything that seemed so simple a few weeks ago starting to feel like a maze filled with ticking grenades and no right decisions?
I waited until Dr. Pelham disappeared back into the clinic before I groaned and lowered my head to tap it against the desk. “I’m having a midlife crisis.”
“I think it’s called a quarter-life crisis,” Bailey offered brightly, still tapping away at her computer.
“Yes. That. Maybe I do need more tequila.”
“Be careful what you wish for, doc.”
My head snapped up so fast I almost flipped backward in the well-oiled office chair. I grabbed for the edge of the desk with a curse.
Amused green-gold eyes stared down at me. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”
I put my hand to my chest, his sudden appearance sending my heartbeat into staccato mode. “Pike? What are you doing here?”
“Well, the sign does say open to the public,” he said with a good-natured smirk.
“Right.” Seeing Pike standing in the waiting area of my job had my worlds banging together—the crazy mixing with the mundane. It seemed a dangerous mix, like coming face-to-face with yourself in time travel. That shit never ended well.
In my peripheral vision, I could see Bailey turning forward to see our new guest. Pike seemed to notice her for the first time and sent her a tip of an imaginary hat before turning back to me. “So, I’m here because I’m thinking you were right.”
“I was right?” I shook my head, trying to clear it. “About . . .”
He grinned. “That I should get a dog.”
The gears in my head ground to a halt. “Wait, you’re here for a dog?”
“Um, excuse me,” Bailey interrupted as she rolled her chair closer to me. I turned to find her staring up at Pike with stars in her eyes. “You said your name is Pike?”
He glanced her way. “It is.”
Bailey’s hands gripped the arms of her chair. “Are you, like, the Pike? From Darkfall?”
Pike leaned his forearms on the counter and graced Bailey with a smile so panty melting it should be outlawed. “I am.”
Bailey’s gasp was audible. She sent me a look with a capital L, apparently registering that Pike and I already knew each other. Then her mouth dropped open. Her eyes said Him? He’s the guy?!
I cleared my throat and stood before my dear friend had an aneurism. “That’s great, Pike. We’ve definitely got a lot of dogs looking for homes here. Why don’t we go in the back, and I can walk you through the kennels so we can get an idea what you’re looking for?”
“Sounds good, doc.” His gaze slid away from Bailey and alighted on me—all good humor and mischief. No doubt he was fully enjoying Bailey’s bedazzled reaction. Like a vampire who fed on blood, he fed on making girls go giddy and tongue-tied. “Lead the way.”
“Come on.” I left a gaping Bailey behind us and stepped around the front counter to lead Pike toward a door opposite from the one Dr. Pelham had gone through. As soon I pushed through, the cacophonous chorus and the telltale scent of doggy-ness greeted us, instantly soothing me. This was my territory and Pike was a friend, no need to freak out just because we’d seen each other naked. “So you know Bailey is now texting everyone she’s ever met telling her she just met you, right? And probably that she’s going to marry you and have your rockstar babies.”
Pike laughed. “Yeah, I got that.”
We walked down the hallway toward the main adoption area. “Just another day at the office for ya, huh? Girls falling at your feet.”
He lifted an eyebrow and tucked his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. “You know, doc, I’d make a cat sound right now and poke at you about being jealous. But you’ve been at my feet, and I know you aren’t all that interested in returning there.”
I choked on my gasp and peered over my shoulder at the empty hallway. “Pike.”
“Don’t worry, doc. No one’s in here with us. I was just trying to get the potential awkwardness out of the way.”
We reached the end of the corridor, and I pressed my back to the door we were about to go through to face him. “I’m sorry, I just don’t know how to do this. I’ve never been in this kind of situation before.”
He smiled, good-natured as always. “Not that complicated. We fooled around. We both enjoyed it. Thoroughly, I might add. But you’ve got the hots for my best friend.”
“I—”
“Plus, if I even thought about making another move on you, Foster would stab me with one of my own drumsticks.”
I blinked, the words not computing for a moment, then I turned back toward the door to yank it open. “Yeah, well, Foster told me good-bye.”
Pike sighed and laid an arm across my shoulders as we both stepped into the adoption area together. “He had to, gorgeous. Doesn’t mean he wanted to.”
I couldn’t even respond to that. At the mention of Foster, everything crappy about my day came rushing back, and my mood plummeted. I slipped out from beneath Pike’s arm as soon as we got to the first row of kennels. The smell of his cologne was only reminding me of that first night with the two of them. Something I definitely did not need to think about right now. I switched into professional mode, my spiel robotic. “These first two rows have your smaller dogs—terriers, toy breeds, et cetera. Over in the back to the right are the bigger dogs. There are a number of purebreds, but the majority of what you’ll see are mixed breeds. If you prefer a puppy, we have a litter of Lab/shepherd mix that will be ready to adopt out in about a week.”
Pike crossed his arms over his chest and frowned. “No puppies. Those are the easiest to adopt out, aren’t they?”
I shrugged. “Families can’t resist them. Cute. Clean slate with no previous trauma to worry about.”
“And which ones are hardest to adopt?”
I cocked my head toward the back-left corner. “Row five. Those are the dogs that have been here longer than any others or have been returned after an unsuccessful adoption.”
He headed that way without another word. I had to hurry to catch up and keep pace with his purposeful stride. I heard myself warning him that these dogs were great but had issues and maybe were better for experienced dog owners, but I don’t think Pike even heard me. After only a few mi
nutes of scanning the kennels and coaxing the occupants within, he zeroed in on Monty, a brown-and-black dachshund/schnauzer mix that had been cussed at by more staff than any other pet in there. Pike leaned forward to slip his finger inside the gated front, but Monty backed into the corner, barking like he was on fire. “What’s this guy’s story?”
“Monty’s been returned twice. Once for snapping at a little girl and another for being resistant to any kind of training.” I sidled up next to Pike and frowned down at the deceptively cute occupant. Monty had the body of a dachshund, but longer legs, and the face and wiry hair of a schnauzer. But his cuteness had been his downfall. All the young families were drawn to him, but he was easily overwhelmed by the chaos of children. “He was a rescue dog. We suspect the original owner dealt with Monty’s feistiness by abusing him or outright neglecting him. He came in with a broken rib, internal bleeding, and barely any meat on his bones.”
“Fuck,” Pike said, moving his hand away but keeping his focus on Monty. “And been brought back twice. No wonder he’s snarling at me. I’d have trust issues, too.”
“He’s a bit of a project,” I agreed.
“I want him,” Pike declared, turning to me.
“Pike, I don’t know, this isn’t exactly a job for an inexperienced owner. Maybe you . . .”
“Doc, this dog has issues with authority, is still feisty even after being treated like shit early in his life, and has spiky hair. Monty is made for me.”
The corner of my mouth lifted. “Made for you?”
He shrugged. “Let’s just say I can relate to what he’s been through.”
My heart squeezed, his quiet tone saying more than he probably realized. I found myself wondering what was behind those seemingly carefree smiles, who Pike was beneath the I’m-a-sexy-badass-drummer persona. “Don’t you want to go into one of the private rooms and visit with him to make sure this is the one you want? I’d hate to see him get brought back again.”
“No chance that will happen, doc. I won’t give up on him.”