Baby, Hold On (8 page)

He watched his dog, his heart pounding against his breastbone. Sheridan circled and backtracked until he stopped at the front door and barked to be let out.

“Good boy,” Mike said. He texted Lacey the signal, then opened the door and bounded after Sheridan.

Outside it took the dog a few seconds to pick up her scent again, but he found it and was soon trotting down the asphalt. Mike called out encouragement as he followed behind. Several hundred yards later, Sheridan veered off the road into the brush and Mike realized Lacey had walked toward Timber Creek. When they emerged from the brush onto the bank of the creek, Sheridan walked up to the water, then balked.

Mike scanned the opposite bank, and caught a sliver of pink through a brush pile. “Sheridan, find Lacey,” he encouraged.

The dog loped back to him and whimpered.

“Sheridan, find Lacey,” he commanded.

Sheridan barked, then turned and went back to the creek bank. He hesitated, then jumped into the shallow water and half walked, half swam to the other side. Mike waded in and followed, his pulse beating furiously to see his dog returning to his heroic self.

Once Sheridan emerged on the other side, he paused only long enough to shake himself off, then found the scent again in seconds. When he found Lacey behind the brush pile, he barked excitedly. Lacey did her part, exclaiming happily and throwing her arms around him, praising him.

Mike waited, then walked up, his chest welling with pride. “Good boy,” he said, then offered Sheridan a special treat. Sheridan took it and chomped away, his tail still wagging.

Lacey rushed up and threw her arms around Mike’s neck. “We did it!”

His initial surprise quickly morphed into something else as her touch brought his hormones raging to the surface. He lowered his head to claim the kiss he’d been wanting all week, keeping it PG-rated as his mouth scraped across those soft, plump lips, although his body was pushing for R. When he released her, her eyes were wide, and he felt like a heel for crossing the line.

“Yes, we did it,” he said, pretending the kiss had been celebratory. “This is the best he’s been since Missouri.”

Lacey angled her head. “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

“
But
,” he added, “these are perfect conditions, and Sheridan was working alone. A real-life crisis is much more demanding and distracting. Even the training facility will be more rugged than this little test.”

“But it’s progress.”

“Yes,” he agreed. “It’s progress.” Especially because Sheridan seemed to have forgotten about the toy. Mike wanted to throw the pink annoyance as far as he could, but he didn’t want to litter. Besides, Sheridan might perceive it as a game of fetch and then they’d be right back where they started. So instead he kept it out of sight under his T-shirt.

The trek through the creek had stirred up the thick Georgia red clay along the bottom. When the three emerged on the other side to return to the cabin at a more leisurely pace, they all had mud and debris hanging from them. Sheridan shook himself repeatedly, but the mud had hardened his coat by the time they’d reached the yard.

“Labs don’t need baths very often,” Lacey said, “but I think this is one of those occasions. We’ll see how he handles being immersed in water.”

“I wouldn’t mind hosing off, myself,” Mike agreed. And considering the wayward direction of his thoughts since that kiss, the colder, the better. He’d hoped his curiosity would be sated, that there would be no spark between them.

He was wrong.

When they reached the cabin, there were only a couple of hours of daylight left. He found a tub in the utility room and set it in the yard next to his SUV. Lacey added pet shampoo from a grooming bag she’d brought with her, then he filled it with water from the hose. Sheridan eyed the suds warily, but Lacey coaxed him inside one leg at a time and began to brush him down while talking to him in that way of hers that seemed to cast a spell on Sheridan.

Watching the lovely blonde, Mike knew exactly how his dog felt.

“Want to help?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, and with a pang, he realized he agreed not so much to be able to tend to his dog but to be near Lacey.

She handed him a brush and he got on the other side of the tub, plunging his hands into the slippery water, still warm from the hose having lain in the sun. He concentrated on cleaning the fur on his side, but didn’t mind when his hands encountered Lacey’s under the water. Between the humidity, the creek and the splashing dog bath, her hair had sprung back into corkscrew curls. Her green eyes were radiant in the fading glow of the sun, framed with a dark fringe of lashes. And that mouth…

He wondered if she had any idea how beautiful she was. His body hardened at the thought of her pressed up against him, this time naked. Now that Sheridan was on the mend, Mike felt relaxed enough to tend to other parts of his life he’d neglected. He wouldn’t mind having a fling with the pretty woman for the remainder of the time he’d be in Sweetness.

But would Lacey be willing? There didn’t seem to be a boyfriend in the picture—she’d even said she was a loner.

Cute, hot and available. Perfect fling material. His sex hardened into a persistent reminder of how long it had been since he’d desired a woman so much.

But some part of him hung back—he was indebted to Lacey, and he didn’t want to offend her.

At last, Sheridan was clean. He jumped out of the tub, and neither one of them moved fast enough to avoid the shower of him shaking himself off.

They laughed and Lacey held up her arms, completed soaked now. “Ugh, I need a shower.”

When Mike looked over, he couldn’t speak. The water had rendered her T-shirt almost transparent, molding to her firm breasts and peaked nipples. His gentlemanly resolve snapped. He stepped closer and tipped up Lacey’s chin.

“We could save water. Wanna share?”

Chapter Eleven

Lacey opened her mouth, but all that came out was a squeak. Mike Nichols had just told her he wanted to get naked and soapy with her, and all she could manage was a noise that sounded more like it came from a newborn puppy than a full-grown woman.

“Pardon me?” he murmured, his lips so close to hers, she could feel his breath.

Her wet, tired body was going haywire, screaming yes, yes, YES! But in the space of a few seconds, reasons to say no bombarded her—she was working for Mike, after all, and the man was only passing through town, so at most, it would be a quickie fling. And what if things went sideways? It had been so long since she’d had sex, what if she’d forgotten how?

Lacey swallowed and tried again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

When the fire in his eyes dimmed, regret wrapped around her chest. He pulled back and gave her a rueful smile. “You’re probably right. I thought I’d head into town for dinner, if you’d like to tag along.”

Tag along, not join him. The man was horny…he was probably hoping to run into Julie Whelk, or any number of eligible women who’d jump at the chance to take a shower with him. Far be it from her to get between the man and his…satisfaction.

“You go ahead. I think I’ll relax with a book.” She winced inwardly—had she really said that?

“Suit yourself,” he said, then emptied the tub of water and strode toward the cabin.

Lacey watched his retreating back—the man had shoulders like the mountains surrounding Sweetness—and realized her body was still tingling from his nearness. A groan sounded deep in her throat. The fact that he could make her want him without even touching her…well, it made a girl wonder what Mike Nichols could do if she gave him permission to unleash his full arsenal.

He disappeared into the cabin and she remembered Traci’s words, telling her to go for it. Everyone in town already thought she and Mike were
friendly
…it was pretty sad when she was alleged to be having more fun than she actually was.

And Mike
wanted
her. Hadn’t she always wished for a movie moment when a man would look into her eyes and tell her, without the benefit of alcohol and “last call,” that he wanted to have sex with her? In her fantasy script, she didn’t respond by folding like an ingenue.

Lacey screwed up her courage and marched into the cabin. Sheridan had retreated to his bed for a nap. She walked quietly to Mike’s closed bedroom door and pressed her ear against it. His shower was running.

Before she could change her mind, she opened the door and stepped inside his bedroom. The bathroom door was ajar and she could hear him splashing. She began peeling off her clothes so by the time she reached the shower curtain surrounding the tub, she was completely naked. She opened the curtain and had a glimpse of his big nude body before climbing inside.

The man had an arsenal, all right. He was built like a tank.

Mike jumped in surprise, but recovered quickly. When he grunted with appreciation at her naked body, she felt her femininity unfold in the face of his hard, muscular planes and his growing erection.

He pulled her against him and murmured, “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”

“It still is,” she whispered, then pulled his mouth onto hers for a hard kiss.

The water pinged off their bodies as they devoured each other’s mouths. He sank his fingers in her hair and she skimmed her fingers down his corded back. The dark springy hair on his chest felt wonderful against her nipples, bringing the tips to hardened buds. He swept his hands down to her buttocks and pulled her up to meet him, grinding his stiff shaft against her stomach. She reached down to clasp the slippery knob and he groaned against her neck. “That feels so good.”

He palmed her breasts, then dipped his head for a taste of each. Lacey’s knees felt rubbery from the onslaught of sensations arrowing to her womb. She stroked the length of him and when his fingers delved into her slick folds, she sucked in a sharp breath.

An orgasm swirled low in her stomach, a humming, thrumming energy that made her weak and excited at the same time. She clung to him and he followed her vocal cues, caressing her with greater urgency until she came apart in his arms. She gave up pretense of standing, gave herself over to his support. He kissed her deeply, absorbing her moans, then lifted her out of the shower and carried her to his bed.

He lay her down, then stepped away to rummage in a toiletry bag. Lacey felt so wanton, lying there just waiting to be taken. She was glad Mike had the presence of mind to retrieve a condom, and roused herself enough to help him roll it onto his large member. Just the size of him sent a thrill through her. And when he thrust into her, filling her completely, she could only sigh in his ear.

“You feel amazing,” she whispered.

His eyes were half-closed, glazed with passion. His big bronze body was still wet and glistening. He was glorious, and made her feel utterly female. He stroked the already-sensitive nub of her desire until she cried out in ecstasy again, then wrapped his arms around her and thrust deep to take his own release with a long, shuddering groan that left her shaken to the core.

This man moved her.

At length, he stilled, kissed her and pulled away. When he left to dispose of the condom, Lacey sat up gingerly, wondering if she should leave. But when Mike returned, he was wearing a big grin—and holding up another condom.

* * *

Lacey started awake and glanced at the clock on the nightstand—it was almost midnight. She and Mike had spent the entire evening in bed, stopping long enough to raid the refrigerator for cold-chicken sandwiches. He lay next to her sleeping, but their bodies weren’t touching, as if he wasn’t comfortable sharing his bed—overnight anyway. Her body still pulsed, tender and swollen from his attention. She marveled over their physical compatibility…and tried to ignore the disturbing feelings clicking in her chest.

Like the feeling that she wouldn’t mind if Mike Nichols stuck around Sweetness for a while.

A storm had blown in. The steady rain would’ve been soothing on the roof if not for the frenetic flashes of lightning through the window and the sporadic boom of thunder.

From the main room, Sheridan began to whimper, then howl in earnest.

Lacey got up and grabbed the first article of clothing she could find—Mike’s T-shirt—and pulled it over her head. She opened the door and found Sheridan cowering under the bench as before. He sounded so panic-stricken, her heart went out to the animal.

“I thought you fixed him.”

Lacey turned around to find Mike standing there in boxer shorts, hands on hips.

“I thought you fixed him,” he repeated. His voice rang with accusation.

She was stung he could talk to her like that, especially after what had just happened between them.

Then realization dawned: He’d slept with her because he was happy—maybe grateful—she’d “fixed” his dog, not because he’d felt anything special for her.

“It’s not that simple,” she said, gritting back tears. “I told you, some things can’t be fixed.”

Lacey got down on her stomach and inched forward until she could hold Sheridan’s head and make him look into her eyes. It was dark under the piece of furniture, the dog wouldn’t care if she cried.

So she let the tears fall and said the same comforting words in his ear that she’d used to soothe her pet Max after her father had left when she was seven years old. During those unhappy days when her mother had been buried in melancholy and her sister had been busy consoling their mother, Max had been her salvation.

At length, Sheridan quieted and his tail thumped on the floor. She coaxed him out and back to his bed, where he circled a few times before settling down. The storm still raged overhead. Lacey pulled the curtains closed, scrupulously avoiding eye contact with Mike, who stood like a sentry in the dark, silent and condemning.

“I’ll leave tomorrow,” she murmured. “You can have a refund.”

“Lacey—”

“Don’t,” she cut in, chopping the air with her hand. “From the very beginning, you made it clear you don’t trust me. But I agreed to try to help Sheridan anyway, because I felt sorry for him and frankly, because I needed the money. But I told you there were no guarantees. I’m sorry you’re disappointed, but I won’t let you blame me for Sheridan’s setback.”