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I just need to push them aside long enough for the dog to tug his paw back.
Gritting my teeth, I pull, letting out a triumphant sound when the dog gets free and I let go, causing the trap to clasp with a loud sound. Exhaling I fall back on my hands, feeling like laughing but the dog is holding his paw in the air, whimpering and growling and snarling, all at the same time.
Quickly and without thinking, I pull my shirt over my head and Dom lets out a hiss but I’m too busy to see what that’s about. Moving toward the dog, I wrap my shirt around his wound but he still watches me with suspicion.
“Be careful,” Dom warns again, “or I’ll yank you right out of there and break every single fang in that animal’s mouth.”
Shivering but not protesting, I nod and I take a step away from the husky. Turning to Dom, I gasp when I realize that he’s not watching the dog. He’s watching my body and the notion that I’m only in bras and panties dawns on me.
Once again I’m pretty much half-naked before him and I curse inwardly because why does this keep happening around Dom?
12
Dominic
Meadow is once again, practically not wearing anything and I rub a hand down mymouth, having difficulties on concentrating on anything other than the girl. The whole surrounding forest seems to have faded and all I can see is her.
She melts into it, her chest rising softly with each of her breaths, making my blood pump. Her eyes are watching me like I’m so much more than I am. No girl should ever watch a man like that. It gives rise to indecent, dangerous thoughts and she licks her lips.
“Dom,” she whispers, “we should head back.” Meadow breaks our eye contact, breaking the entrancement that previously held us in place and I jerk myself. Her gaze goes to the wounded dog, “Will you carry him for me?”
“Carry him?” My brows curve. “He’s not coming with us.”
“Oh yes, he is,” Meadow says with a good amount of arousing anger but when she catches the look in my eyes she adds, “not even for me...?”
Cursing, I bend down to the dog, “The things you make me agree to...” I mutter, feeling annoyed at the fact that my small cabin is slowly turning into a dog shelter. As if it wasn’t enough with Meadow’s little bitch, now I got this one too.
I’m pretty pissed but then I feel Meadow’s hand on my shoulder blade. Her silent way of thanking me and just like that, the anger drains from me. Sticking close to me, while keeping an eye on the dog, Meadow doesn’t say much on the way home.
But her energy is different and a small smile keeps popping on her lips and I know she’s proud of herself for handling that dog seamlessly. I’m pretty proud of her too.
It strikes me how underestimated she must be by most people, who think she’s all about getting massages and having her hair done. Clearly there is more to her than meets the eye because I have a feeling that I have a little, nursemaid on my hands.
The dog barks and makes a fuss all the way back and it’s not until we’re at the cabin and I put him down on a carpet in the corner that he settles. “There, you ugly bastard,” I say, straightening, “happy now?”
In response he growls at me and Meadow snickers. “Don’t call him ugly. I bet he’s not ugly at all once he’s given a nice bubble bath and a good brush through.” Tilting her head to the side, she adds, “Think I’m going to call him Precarious. Or Prec for short.”
Precarious and Persnickety? Seriously?
Rubbing a hand down my mouth, I shake my head. Already giving the dog a name, already growing attached and that dog better not have an owner. I don’t want to have to chase some stranger away with my shotgun in case Meadow starts crying.
She winces next to me when her dog walks up to the husky, sniffing his hurt paw.
“I wish she wouldn’t do that,” Meadow says anxiously but I shrug.
“If he hasn’t hurt her by now, I don’t think he will.”
Nodding, she fidgets with the first aid kit and just like she did with me yesterday, she wraps a compress around the dog’s wound and I thoughtfully inspect her.
“You’re good at that,” I rasp, “a natural.”
A rosy shade marks her cheekbones and her eyes dart. “I wanted to be a doctor when I was a kid.”
“And here I thought you wanted to be the next billionaire influencer,” I say but she shakes her head.
“That’s just a fake dream I told everyone. My parents...” she inhales, “myself...” She trails off when I put my hand out and stroke a hand over her head, playing with the ends of her tresses and she looks up at me with wide eyes, letting me know what she needs and I pull her in for a hug.
Her body hardens against mine, like she doesn’t know what to do but then she wraps her arms around my shoulders and buries her face against my chest, stroking her cheek against it as if she likes the feel of it.
