One swirled around Shelly’s legs, wagging its tail excitedly. The other leapt on me and licked my beard and neck.
“Down, Laika.” Shelly reached for the dog around the chest and I tried to help, which allowed Laika to lick my face more fully.
“This dog has made it to first base.” I laughed, turning from the dog’s ardent attentions.
Shelly laughed too, wrestling with the canine. But as soon as Laika was within her grip, the other dog aggressively stuck its nose in my crotch.
“And this one has made it to third.” I struggled to push its head—which was as big as a horse’s—away.
Shelly was laughing so hard she snorted. And then she snorted again, presumably finding the first snort hysterical.
Of course I was laughing too, and I almost forgot about the sound of the engine that had spurred us inside until the dogs suddenly grew stiff and alert. In the quiet, our eyes locked and I was certain we’d both heard the same thing.
An engine, coming up the drive. Shit.
Laika and the other dog were barking again in earnest, adding a snarl or two, and running for the front door.
Shelly started after them, but then there was a thud as some part of her connected with a piece of furniture. “Shit!”
“Hey, hey,” I whispered, coming to her side. “Are you okay?”
“Yes. I just stubbed my toe.”
“Where are the lights?”
“Should we turn on the lights?” Her face was directly in front of mine, our mouths two or three inches apart. Despite the situation, my body took note of her closeness. And the dark.
The sound of the engine cut—or at least I thought it did. It was hard to tell with the dogs causing such a ruckus and my mind turning to more agreeable matters.
“You’re right. I don’t want you answering the door.” I slid my arm around her waist, bringing her tighter against me . . . for her safety. Yeah. That’s why I did it.
“Why shouldn’t I?”
Laika and her friend kept barking and snarling. I doubted anyone outside could hear us.
“They might’ve seen you behind the wheel when we left.” Best we ignore them and make-out instead. “Let the dogs handle it.”
These dogs sounded terrifying. No one owning sense would dare enter with those two beasts making such a ruckus.
I could just decipher the lines of Shelly’s face, the movement of her eyes. She searched the darkness, her brow furrowing.
“You sound different.”
I slid a hand up her arm, over her shoulder to cup her jaw.
Her eyelashes fluttered. “There might be a man with a gun outside, and you want to kiss me?”
“I always want to kiss you.”
Shelly shivered and she turned more completely against me. “Beau—”
“You driving my car was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” I lowered my head, pressed the flat of my tongue against the junction of her shoulder and neck, and swirled it against her skin, giving her a small bite.
She shivered again, twining her arms around my neck. Shelly tilted her chin, offering more access even as her shoulder lifted in an automatic reflex.
“That feels good.” Her voice was breathless. “Do not stop doing that.”
I skimmed my fingertips down the other side of her neck, to her chest, cupping her breast over her dress. “Can I do other things?”
“Yes. All the things. Do all the things.” She was pressing herself against me. The barking dogs, the potential danger outside now forgotten.
She smelled heavenly, like lavender and gardenias and sugar. I took another soft bite of her neck, loving the way her nails dug into the back of my head, loving how she arched and rubbed against me, like she couldn’t help herself.
She groaned, her breath hitching as I tugged on the center of her breast through the fabric.
“Beauford Winston! I know you’re in there.”
I stiffened, my eyes flying open, because I would know that voice anywhere.
“Duane,” Shelly whispered, though she didn’t move.
“Come on, Beau. I saw your car in the garage out back. Open the door and call off Cerberus.”
“I’m here, too,” Jessica hollered. “And I have pie.”
* * *
My twin glowered at me. I was used to his surly moods. His glower didn’t affect me any. Plus, truth be told, I wasn’t too happy with him either. His nosy self had just interrupted a moment. And now, instead of making out with Shelly—or more than making out with Shelly—I was on the receiving end of my twin’s tremendously unsexy frown.
When he was done glowering, he turned softer features to Shelly. “Mind if we come in?”
“Yes. Please come in.” Shelly waved them forward, still looking a little hazy from our earlier encounter.
Before opening the door, she’d put the two dogs in the bedroom. They were still barking, but were no longer snarling.
“How many dogs do you have in there?” As they entered, Duane sent a wary look toward the bedroom door. “Twenty?”
Jess huffed at Duane and then turned her smile to Shelly. “I’m Jessica.”
Shelly stiffened, and I witnessed her panic war with frustration.
But before Shelly could say anything, Jessica continued, “Duane told me not to try to shake your hand, so don’t worry about that. Honestly, I hate shaking hands. I never know how long to hold a handshake. And then, who does the shaking? What if no one shakes? Then I’m just standing there, holding some stranger’s hand. It’s the worst.”
One of Shelly’s almost smiles made an appearance as her gaze moved over Jessica.
Finally, she said, “I’m Shelly.”
“Yes. I know.” Jessica beamed at her, then held up her pie. “I brought pie.”
“You said that already.” I squinted at my brother’s girlfriend.
She was acting funny. Sure, she’d always been a little zany, but this was different. Jess looked excited and nervous; it reminded me of how she used to act around me when we were kids, when she had a crush on me and struggled to string three words together.
“Did I?” Jess continued to smile, her attention never leaving Shelly’s face.
“Come into the kitchen, I have plates.” Shelly waved my brother and Jess forward, flipping on a light by the door.
I didn’t follow. I could hardly believe my eyes. The interior of Mr. Tanner’s shack had been transformed. It was still small, but it was no longer shabby.
The room where we stood, because the front door opened onto a room, was lined with bookshelves. She’d placed a brown leather couch and ottoman in the center of the room along with a lamp. Furniture was sparse, but it was nice furniture. It looked comfortable, definitely high quality.
A console table stood directly opposite the front door with a large, brass tray on it. I spotted screws and bolts and other various and sundry widgets scattered on its surface, along with a thick brown wallet.
The place used to have visible pipes and electrical wiring; that was no longer the case. The walls not lined with shelves were covered with drywall and fresh white paint. The installation looked brand new. Upon the walls hung a collection of captivating paintings, drawings and prints—all framed and precisely aligned.
“In a minute,” Duane called to Shelly. “I need to speak with my brother.”