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I’d neatly arranged all the clothes and accessories Marialena and Rosa left me and remember there was some sort of a handbag. I look in the closet and bite my lip when I see a slender, black leather crossbody bag.Yup. I could do this.
I don’t have anything to do for a few more hours.
I slide it over my shoulder.
I’m going exploring, something I could never do in my former life.
Something I’m dying to do here.
I step out into the bright sunshine, looking over my shoulder like an escapee, and bask in the warmth on my face. I breathe in the scent of lilacs from a nearby garden. Birds sing prettily in a nearby bush, and a young man jogs by with a dog on a leash. It’s gloriously spring, and even though we’re in the heart of the city, there are glimpses of green and the light fragrance of blossoms. I inhale deeply and let out a happy sigh as a dog flashes past me in pursuit of the jogger’s dog.
“Hey!” the guy with the leashed dog yells over the sound of the dog parking loud enough to trigger an alarm. “Whose dog is this?” He gives me an accusatory look.
The little thing is feisty. When it doesn’t want to give up barking at the dog on the leash, the guy lifts his leg as if to kick it.
Oh, no,he does not.No one will kick an underdog – literal or otherwise – onmywatch.
“Hey! Wait!” I yell. I run to them fall to my knees, reaching for the lively little dog. Its muddy brown fur is matted and muddy. “You don’t kick a dog. What kind of a person kicks a dog?” The truth is, I know exactly what kind of person kicks a dog and it’s not the kindIwant anything to do with.
“The kind of a person who defendshis,” the man says heatedly. “Get your fucking dog out of here.”
I glare at him and tuck the little fur ball under my arm. “This isn’t my dog!”
“Fine, then,” he says, pulling out his phone with a scowl. “I’ll call animal control.”
I don’t even know what animal control is, but I suspect it has something to do with not being very nice to this dog, and I don’t want that to happen.
I turn back to the club. “No need. Go on, continue jogging and we can pretend this never happened.”
“Fine,” he says. “But if your dog ever comes near mine again—”
A husky, dangerously low voice, interrupts. “Are you threatening her?”
Sergio steps out from behind one of the parked cars. I watch, fascinated, as he begins to roll up his sleeves with his thick, very masculine, verycapablefingers. Tanned skin and corded muscle, inked forearms and a smattering of dark brown hair, his arms are etched with muscles and so strong, I’m not the only one staring.
Oh. Ohwow.My mouth is dry and my heart beating so fast I can feel it in my throat, and he’s only rolled up hissleeves.
The atmosphere shifts as Sergio directs the full heat of his gaze on the man that yelled at me. “And tell me I misheard you.” The clearing of his throat makes the other man take a step back. “You didn’t just… raise yourvoiceto her?”
Something tells me that calm voice of his is misleading. Maybe that something has to do with the fact that the other man takes one look at Sergio, glances at the marks along his arms and the club behind his back, then turns and flees, and at a much faster pace than he was before.
My throat tightens and my heart beats even faster.
Sergio turns to face me. I stroke the mud-caked dog in my arms, who licks my hand encouragingly.
He folds those uber masculine arms on his chest and now directs his gaze tome.I swallow. “Going somewhere?”
“I was… I, um, came out to rescue the dog. That man tried to kick him!”
Sergio glances down at the muddy mutt in my arms.
“I didn’t think you were capable of lying, Eden.” At the sound of him saying my name, my heart comes to a stuttering halt before it picks up again at a rapid pace. It feels intimate and seductive, like the whisper of a promise over a bedside pillow.
But the slight downturn of his lips and the disapproval in his voice makes my heart sink to my toes. “I’m disappointed in you.”
Oh my goodness. I’m disappointed in me, too. I don’t lie.
Wait. Did I just lie?
