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The man wants me to babysit his dog.
I try to clarify. “Would Sheba be okay at my house?”
“She’d do better in her own environment, if that’s not too inconvenient for you.”
Fuck. A night in hishouse. Granted, he wouldn’t be there, but his presence will have permeated every room. His scent. Would I be able to restrain my curiosity...or would I snoop unapologetically?
He flashes that dimple again, as though he knows I’d snoop, and he hopes I find something that would pique my interest even more. “It’s only one night. I’d be back before dinner on Christmas Eve if you have plans with your family. I’d ask my neighbor to come check on her, but she doesn’t like to be alone. Plus she likes you, Ranay. She knows and trusts you.”
The soft, rumbly way he says my name makes me quivery with excitement. He’s never made a point to say my name quite so many times before. Worse, I can tell he knows how much it affects me.
“I like you too.”
I still, sudden dread squeezing my throat. I dare a quick look into his eyes to gauge his intensity, but he’s still playful and light. Am I still reading too much into this? Or is he merely luring me into his den with an innocent request to dog sit?
“I hope you like us.”
I open my mouth but can’t respond. I’ve done a lot of things I’m not very proud of, but I’m a terrible liar. Luckily, Dr. Wentworth and Sheba save me from having to answer.I’d crawl across broken glass if you told me to.
“Your beautiful lady’s manicure was quick and easy today.” Dr. Wentworth hands over the leash to Charlie. “That must have been one heck of a talk you gave her, Mac, because she didn’t give us one whimper. What’d you promise her?”
He winks at me. “Just a visit from a friend.”
“Oh, good,” Dr. Wentworth replies. “I’m so glad Sheba will have some company. Do you need directions, Ranay?”
I nod, unable to trust my voice.
Dr. Wentworth launches into turn left here and then two rights, and don’t I know where so-and-so lived twenty years ago (considering I haven't lived in Missouri since I left home for college, no, I certainly don't). I’m seriously regretting accepting.
But in the midst of her chatter, he slips a folded note to me, keeping his fingers on the paper as I lay my own on it. I’m tempted to touch his hand, but I don’t trust myself. Especially not in front of others.
“Call me if you have any problems at all.”
It’s not a command, not exactly, but my entire being vibrates with anticipation. I want his commands. I want his control. Pain. Punishment. It’ll all be pleasure to me. My chest seizes, my lungs aching because I can’t breathe. Not with him standing here so close. I’m careening down a mountain road in the pitch-black night, and I don’t have any emergency brakes.
“I need to leave for the airport by eight.” He lets me slip the paper free and lightens his voice enough that I’m able to haul in a deep, shaking breath. “Any time after six is fine. Whatever’s easiest for you. I can come get you if you’re afraid you might get lost, but I thought you might rather have your own car at your disposal.”
After waving at us both, he heads for his car with Sheba at his heels. I don’t have to ring his bill up. He pays a flat amount monthly, an automatic deposit to his account with us. The perfect client.
Dr. Wentworth insists we close up early. She won’t even let me clean up the break room. “You need time to get home and pack so you can spend the night with Sheba. I’m sure he’ll need to show you all her routines. How much to feed her. Where she likes to walk.” But then she spoils her reasonable arguments with a wink and a nudge that tells me she isn’t oblivious to my attraction to Mr. MacNiall. “If you get there early enough, you might even have time for dinner. Trust me, darling, he has a fabulous wine collection. Make sure you sample it before the holiday’s over.”
Convinced I’ve made a terrible mistake, I head for my car, determined to arrive a few minutes before eight. I certainly won’t hope for dinner. Or wine. Or the thousand other inappropriate things running through my mind that involve naked skin.
Though I sure as hell want to know how Dr. Wentworth knows all about his fabulous wine collection.
2
Calling myself an idiot, I ring Mr. MacNiall’s doorbell at a minute past six.
I have a small bag slung over my shoulder and hope I’ve managed to pull offinterested but this isn’t a date so I’m not wearing a dress, but I want to look my best without being obvious. I’m wearing my favorite clothing staple—black jeans—and a simple sweater. My only nod to the holiday season is the color, a brilliant spruce. I probably look more prepared to tromp around in the snowy woods than ask about his wine collection, but I’m not going to pretend to be anything more than I am.
Mom swears I always look like I’m headed to a funeral—deep down, I think she fears my own. But black hides dog slobbers really well, and while most dog hair is painfully obvious on black, Sheba's won't be. Mom would probably fall over in shock if she could see me in this sweater. I'll wear it over to their house Christmas Day too. Maybe that will take some of the worry out of her eyes.
Dread chokes me at the thought of another family dinner, made worse by all the supposed Christmas fucking cheer. All I'll get are questions and unvoiced doubt.Are you really okay, honey? Should I make another appointment? I know how hard the holidays are...
Breaking through my bleak thoughts, Sheba barks on the other side of the door as though she’s been sitting there waiting for me all evening.
His house is nothing like I expected. No suburban tract home, but an ancient farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. It’s scary how quickly Springfield disappeared into rolling hills, even though he only lives a few minutes on the other side of the city limits. He mentioned a neighbor but I can't see street lights from here, let alone someone's house.
