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Lilac
Good God. What in the world have I got myself into?
I stare at the man’s muscled form, covered in nothing but tats, a sheet, and a bandage. According to the pet-care agency, this Mr. Slate wasn’t supposed to be in residence. I specifically asked the woman who hired me, and she assured me he worked in Manhattan and rarely came home.
Why then, does he even own a dog? Selfish bastard. He probably has a Doberman or a German Shepherd as a guard and needs someone to feed the poor thing.
I thought I landed a cushy job for the summer, especially when she told me it came with a place to live. Until about ten minutes ago, I was thrilled. It just goes to show you, if something sounds too good to be true, it probably is.
Shit, shit, shit. The man with thighs on either side of mine is pure testosterone. He’s got dark, bedroom eyes, black lashes and a short beard. It looks so soft, I have to force my palm from caressing it. His lips, turned down at the moment, look like they could curl my toes when pressed to mine. That is, if I was looking for sex, which I definitely am not.
Enough! Jeesh.
Luckily, the doctor within takes over as I peel off his bandages and hiss.
Oh My God. What kind of guy is he?
“You were shot?” Shivers run up and down my spine. “Are you a cop?”
Please say yes. Please say yes.
Of course, he’s going to say yes. What else could he say? ‘No, I got shot robbing a bank?’
“Bodyguard.” He shrugs it off as if he just said he’s an accountant.
Okay. It could be worse. I take out my new doctor’s bag from under the bed and assess the pulled stitches. “You got alcohol or something to clean this with?”
He grunts some kind of affirmation and I wonder why I can’t understand him so look down. His face is toward the window, otherwise his mouth would be right at my breasts. Realizing how intimate this seems, I step back, and my butt bumps the open dresser drawer. It slides in with a loud thunk and I jump.
“And where would I find this alleged alcohol?” Damn, talking with him is like pulling teeth.
He starts to get up, but I take his hand and use it to press the towel into his shoulder. “I’ll get it. Just tell me where to go.”
He smirks at my unfortunate choice of words. “In the main house. Go up the deck and down the long hallway. The bathroom is the fourth door on the right.”
Where my palm rests over his knuckles, my skin tingles and a part of me doesn’t want to pull away. His dark eyes widen, his nostrils flair, and his breath hitches.
That can’t be good.
“I’ll be right back.” Best to run, rather than walk but I come to an abrupt stop at the kitchen door when his dog barks wildly from the main house.
“What’s her name?”
“Who?” Dark eyes shoot me a confused look.
“Your dog? Its name?”
“How the hell would I know? I call it Dog.”
What an asshole. Doesn’t even bother to name his pet.I click my tongue and pause, needing just a bit more intel.
“Well does Dog bite?”
“I don’t think so. Didn’t bite me.” A cocky grin spreads over his face.
“That’s not funny, Mr. Slate.”
“Just Slate.”
