Busting Loose (7 page)

The man was crap at hiding his emotions, if he even bothered trying. He wanted her. It was obvious the way he sometimes stumbled over his words and dropped things. And he would sometimes reach out to touch her, in completely normal ways, and yank his hand back quickly like he'd decided against it.

But his want for her didn't rub her the wrong way, as some others did. Maybe because she could almost guarantee he didn't just want a quick roll in the hay. Morgan would romanticize the idea of sex. It wouldn't be sex; it would be making love. He was the kind of man who looked past the physical and wanted more. Had he found something “more” in her?

When was the last time she'd been “more” to anyone?

“Almost done with those cats?” Morgan asked from behind her.

She jumped, banging her head on the open cage door above her. “Son of a bitch!” she howled, and Milton scurried up to see the problem. He barked once at the offending cage door. “Thanks,” she added wryly to her knight in shining armor.

“Whoa there, easy.” Morgan shut the cage and guided her back a few steps, gentle hands on her shoulders. “Let me look at that.”

“It's just a bump.” She rubbed at her skull where it hurt the most, but he grabbed her hand and held it away, fingers lacing with hers to keep her from pulling back. “Morgan.”

“I just want to double-check. Trust me, I went to med school.”

“For animals,” she reminded him, but gave in and let him cup her chin with his other hand and angle her head down.

The pose had her nearly cuddled into his chest, the way he held one hand out and cupped her face with the other. It took a lot out of her to avoid moving one half step in and pressing her nose against his chest.

Give a girl a break. Almost two years without any physical contact with a man? She was due a few fantasies, right?

“Ow!” She jerked back, fantasy shattered. “That hurt.”

“The dogs never say that.” The humor was evident, but she still had to fight hard not to step on his toes. Though in his boots, that wouldn't do much good. “I'll be more gentle, promise.”

His fingers rifled smoothly through her hair, and her eyes closed just a minute. It was quite possibly one of her favorite places to be touched, which made no sense at all. But a man who could give a good head massage could make her a very happy woman.

“No blood, not even a bump.” His fingers trailed down, just a little, to the underside of her jaw and tilted her face up. She let him, didn't move a muscle when his thumbs traced over her eyebrows, around her cheekbones, and back up again. “Did I put you to sleep?”

Her eyes opened a fraction, unwillingly. “Hmm?”

His face was closer than she'd expected, though that was obvious really. He'd been examining her head. Of course he was bent over her. But he hadn't backed away. Hadn't, in fact, let go of her face quite yet. And she liked his warm fingers there. Almost like acupuncture, the soft touch against her neck and jaw calmed her and slowed her heartbeat until she was nearly putty in his arms.

“I can't believe I'm going to do this,” he said softly.

“Do what?” she slurred, just before his lips covered hers.

Maybe he was an ass for kissing her when her defenses were down. Though, exactly how those defenses had dropped, he wasn't sure. One minute she'd been in serious pain, then the next it was like she was almost drunk on pleasure, from nothing more than his quick examination.

But like hell was Morgan going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

He paused, their lips gently pressed together, waiting for her to slap him upside the head or bite him or something less dramatic to prove her displeasure. But she didn't. She made a soft sound, like a contented kitten who'd found a warm basket of laundry, and stepped into him.

And that's when any thought of holding back became null and void. One hand drifted down her neck to her lower back and pressed her into him. Her arms wrapped around his waist as she accepted the position. As he angled his head to the side to take the kiss deeper, she kneaded his back with her hands.

Oh God, she was going to undo him.

If he gripped her just under her ass, he could spin her around and plant her against the wall with no trouble at all. Her height was a big advantage, and her impractical heels only added to the benefit, bringing her right to the perfect height for kissing. No bending or stooping from his excessively tall height, just a lovely leaning in and melting together.

Or maybe he could find a table. Desk. Floor. Where was the nearest sanitary horizontal space he could set her on and ...

“Either you have one extraordinary penis with some superhuman perks,” she murmured against his lips, teasing the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, “or your cell phone is vibrating.”

“My cell phone?” he asked dazedly, then flushed when she laughed.

“If it's not your phone, then I'll have to admit, I've never been with someone whose equipment buzzed.”

“Buzz . . . ah, shit. Sorry,” he muttered as he broke off and checked. It was his office phone, the one only used for emergencies. Nine times out of ten, his clients either called the office phone, or his regular cell. But a text on this one meant he couldn't just fling it against a wall and continue his impromptu make-out session with Bea.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Something wrong?” She stepped back and twisted her hair behind her ears, a habit that was becoming more common with her now.

He held up a finger and scrolled quickly through the text, then sighed. “We're gonna have to make a quick stop at Three Trees first, before we hit any of the scheduled clients.”

“But we're due at our first place in”—she checked her watch—“thirty minutes.”

“I know. You'll have to make some calls and switch things around on the drive out there.” Damn not having a partner. Damn not having enough time for
her
. He nodded toward the side door. “You ready to roll?”

Bea hustled out ahead of him, Milton hot on her heels. She bent over and reached in her car to grab something, ass straight in the air. It was then he realized she wasn't wearing her usual cute office attire, but something very un-Bea-like. Jeans, no frills or designer holes in sight, and a simple plaid shirt. Of course, the shirt was fitted to her body and tied up in some weird bow at her navel, and the tank she wore under that shirt was displayed nicely. But it was more practical for the barn call day than her skirts and pristine white blouses. The heels, though, were still present.

He sighed as she hopped in the passenger seat of his truck, settling Milton on the backseat to take a nap. “You've really got to stop wearing those shoes to barn calls. Unless you actually like wearing my ‘nasty boots,' as you called them last week.”

She grinned slowly, and reached in the bag she'd hauled from her car. “Not especially. I'm a quick learner, Morgan.”

He shifted the truck into DRIVE and backed out of the small parking lot behind the clinic. “How so?”

“Well,” she said easily, “after last week, I went home and did some online shopping.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of rain boots with a tan plaid pattern. They were clearly designer, and likely the makers had envisioned beautiful women wearing them while strolling down Fifth Avenue on a relaxing shopping day. Not going from barn to barn standing ankle-deep in mud.

He stared at them a moment before heading out to the main road. “Those are meant for the barn?”

Bea laughed. “Morgan, if you're going to be knee-deep in shit, it can't hurt to make it look good.”

B
ea's nerves hummed continuously throughout Friday. Not just from the anticipation of the Adoption Fair the next morning, and the fact that she'd be up nearly half the night prepping and making sure she had every last detail ready to roll. No, it was that darn Morgan. He was everywhere.

In the exam room when she let patients in. In his back room, when she needed office supplies. Behind her desk, when she scheduled a patient. In the shelter, when she took a quick stretch and wanted to let out the big dogs for a fast run. She couldn't avoid the man.

And she didn't want to. But she needed to, for the sake of her sanity, not to mention her job. How the heck could she concentrate on the all-important task of a successful adoption fair if her libido was busy figuring out ways to accidentally-on-purpose brush against the cute vet's arm, or staring at him for ten minutes before realizing she'd lost track of time?

It was embarrassing, she admitted as she zoned out, eyes locked on the framed poster of a puppy and kitten playing together in a grassy meadow. Jaycee had caught her at least once staring at his ass while he bent over a low file cabinet digging for paperwork. But she played it off like she'd just been staring into space, as she was now, as if she hadn't even really seen Morgan and his nicely shaped behind. Hadn't been fantasizing about squeezing said behind while he was on top of her, thrusting into her, making her moan like her ex-prostitute character, Trixie, on a sex bender and—

The phone rang, and her elbow slammed into the keyboard as she jerked from her mental sabbatical. Crap. She really had to stop doing that.

“Browning Veterinary Clinic, how can I help you?” she answered, amazed her voice sounded as smooth as normal. Her heart was a jackhammer in her chest.

There was a slight pause, and then a tentative woman's voice asked, “Beatrice Muldoon?”

“Yes, this is she.” Who the hell would call her Beatrice?

“This is Cynthia Browning.”

“Morgan's mother?”

“Oh! Oh yes, of course. I'm sorry.” She laughed weakly. “Afternoon brain lag.”

“It's been a while, of course. How are you, dear?”

The tone said she was asking to be polite, but would prefer to move the conversation along. “Just fine, thank you. Morgan's with a patient right now, but I can—”

“Don't bother him,” she cut in. “I just wanted to ask you a quick favor.”

Ho, boy. “Yes?” she asked, trying not to sound suspicious.

“Could you make sure he eats something for dinner? He's staying overnight tonight at the clinic, and he gets all lackadaisical about eating if someone doesn't pester him from time to time.”

She'd just bet he did. “I can make sure he's got dinner before I leave for the night. No problem.”

“Thank you. That is a big weight off my mind.” She paused, drew in a breath as if she were going to say something, but nothing came.

Bea counted to five, then asked, “Is there anything else?”

“No, no.” The answer was fast, a little breathless. “Thank you, dear.”

You already said that.
“Not a problem.” Bea hung up and leaned back in her chair. What was that all about? Was Morgan a big mama's boy? Or was his mother just having trouble cutting the apron strings? He didn't strike her as the kind of man who needed his mother to baby him.

She checked her watch. Either way, it was definitely time to get some grub. It was coming up on seven, and they'd had an early lunch to accommodate a patient. The clinic was closed, and it was just the two of them until she headed home. Time to eat. She was starving.

After calling in an order to Jo's, and begging Jo to run it over so she wouldn't have to leave, Bea went in search of Morgan.

He was in his office, going over paperwork. She leaned in just a tad and watched the process. His brow furrowed, and his eyes squinted from time to time. Maybe he needed an eye exam, a new prescription. She'd ask later when the last time he'd made it to the eye doctor was. His pen was fast, scratching out words, writing new ones in bold strokes. He had good handwriting, she knew. None of that illegible doctor scrawl crap she always heard jokes about. Nice and efficient, but easily read. Every minute or so, he reached up to touch his glasses between the eyes, like he was pushing them up again, even if they weren't slipping. Habit.

It was cute, really, how absorbed he was in his work. The animals meant everything to him, and he'd jump through fire to save one. Quite literally, she imagined.

When he sighed, stretched his back, took his glasses off, and massaged between his eyes, she stepped in with a quick knock. “Hey.”

He jolted, then smiled wearily. “Hey. You still here?”

“Of course I am. I've got a few hundred flyers to fold and deliver to the newspaper so they'll go out with the morning delivery. And I promised to help get all the supplies prepped and loaded into your truck so all you had to do was load the babies and go tomorrow, didn't I?”

“You did.” He smiled and nodded. “Thanks for all the help, by the way.”

“It was my idea in the first place. I'm afraid my plan might have made more trouble for you than I anticipated.” She grimaced and sat on the corner of his desk, butt barely perched on the edge. When his gaze wandered down her legs and ended at the straps of her very cute Choos, she knew he was slipping out of work mode. Lucky for her. “I feel awful that you got sucked into my scheme. I don't think this was what you had in mind when you said, ‘run with it.' ”

“It's a good idea,” he insisted firmly, grabbing her hand and squeezing. “A great one. All these guys need new homes, and if we can find them in one day with a big push, then fantastic. The timing was a little sooner than I anticipated, but it's solid. And if it goes well, then a repeat performance can definitely be expected.”

If.
If it went well. That two-letter word hovered over her like a gray cloud. Was that cloud going to move on its way and threaten someone else? Or dump a load of rain on her ...

When she looked down, she realized his hand was still holding hers. She bit back a smile. “I'm going to need that back sometime, you know.”

“Huh? Oh.” He let go so fast, her hand smacked the top of the desk with a slap. “Shit, shoot, sorry.” He picked her hand back up, clinically this time, examining her wrist and fingers. “You okay?”

“Yes,” she said on a laugh. “I'm fine.” Without thought, her hand trailed up his arm and to his shoulders, where she rubbed. “You need to walk around and stretch out. You've been bent over your desk for a while now.”

“If you're saying something, I don't know what it is. That is magical,” he said quietly, eyes closing.

She observed him while her hands worked on his shoulders, kneading the tension away. With his eyes closed and his glasses off, his features seemed both sharper and softer at the same time. No warm eyes watching her quietly, no sexy glint of metal, no sweet smudge of glass. A man relaxed, satisfied. This was what he would look like if she rolled over in the middle of the night and watched him sleep.

And holy crap, where had that come from? Her hands froze, mid-squeeze, and she forced them to relax. But her knuckles were screaming from the effort. When she heard a loud banging, she sprang up. “That's dinner.”

“Dinner?” One heavy eyelid slid open, and he gazed at her languidly.

“I ordered delivery from Jo's.”

“They don't deliver.”

“I know the owner,” she said with a wink, then walked out. But when she got to the front door, nobody was there. Huh. She stood for a second, then headed out through the shelter to the back door. Maybe Jo thought the front would be locked since it was after hours, or something.

Wagging tails and a few excited yips greeted her. Other dogs just eyed her sleepily from heads laid on paws. Most of the rest ignored her completely. She hustled to the door, opening it a little.

The back lot, where employees parked, was decently lit, but no car other than hers and Morgan's was there. And no Jo. Strange. She would have sworn she'd heard knocking. Maybe something had fallen in the storage closet. She grabbed the handle to the heavy door and pulled it shut, then halted when the tiniest of whimpers caught her ear.

The door slammed into her shoulder and she nearly stumbled in her heels. She cursed and pushed at the heavy door, as if that was going to make her feel better. In response, the whimper turned into a whine. There. She wasn't crazy at all. Propping the door open with a brick, she stepped out into the night and searched.

Due to the building's
U
shape, the corners of the back lot weren't as well lit as the center, where the cars were parked, but she did her best to search. Did Morgan have a flashlight in one of the storage closets?

And duh, she didn't need that. She reached in her pocket and pulled out her cell, which she kept in her pocket on vibrate while working. Thumbing through, she found the flashlight app and let the light shine. Not as good as a high-watt floodlight, but better than nothing.

It took her almost no time to find a closed box on the opposite side of the door. It looked like one of the boxes produce came in at the grocery store. Sure enough, as she stepped closer, she saw bananas pictured on the sides; the top flaps were folded in. She approached slowly, then nudged the box with the toe of one shoe.

The whimper started again, insistent, and then in stereo as several more joined in.

“Oh God!” She shoved her cell in her pocket and lifted the lid to the box, uncovering several puppies.

At least, she thought they were puppies. But the hairless little things could have been moles, or rats for all she knew.

“Okay, then . . .” She replaced the lid gently, not worried about air flow as the box had several holes. “Let's just get you guys inside and see what our favorite hottie vet has to say about you.” When she grasped the handles and lifted, the whimpers turned to wails of what could only be described as terror. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I know. Let's get you in here. I'm going as fast as I can.”

Inside, she settled the box on the floor and popped the lid open again in the overhead light. Yup, definitely . . . something animal-ish. There was only one thing to do.

“Morgan!”

 

Morgan lifted the first pathetic squirming bundle of skin and bone. Bea hovered behind him, anxiously watching as he handled the small pup.

“So they're dogs?”

He chuckled. “Yes, puppies. This one's eyes aren't open yet, so I'd say under two weeks.”

“Oh,” she cooed. Her arm reached over his shoulder, brushing against his cheek as she used the pad of one finger to rub the pup's head. Then she gasped, reached into her pocket, and brought out her phone.

“Making an important call?” he joked. “Alerting the media?”

“No.” The sound of a fake shutter told him she was taking pictures. “I just want a few photos of these cuties. Why would someone dump them and not wait around?”

“I don't know.” Anger boiled up in him, enough to have his jaw clenching. “It's not the first time. There's a reason I put up that sign on the back door, about no questions asked, to ring the bell and wait until someone answers since we're staffed twenty-four-seven. Not to just ditch and run. If you hadn't been listening for a food delivery, we might not have heard the knock at all. These guys could have stayed out there all night.”

“Oh,” she said again, but in a sad tone this time. “What a bastard. Milton, no.” She picked Milton up, who'd been sniffing the edge of the box.

“He's fine. Put him back down.” Milton strained from Bea's arms toward the puppy in Morgan's hand, whining and snuffling like a pig desperate to find a truffle.

“I don't want him to hurt them.” She bit her lip, worried.

Morgan looked at Milton, then shook his head. “He won't. I trust him.”

Bea muttered something, but set the dog back down. Milton huffed, obviously indignant at her lack of trust in him, and approached the box. He sniffed, nuzzled the box a little, then peered over the edge.

And stayed that way, tail wagging. He never touched any of the wriggling bodies, but he sniffed and breathed and snorted with excitement. One of the puppies wiggled and slid until he—or maybe she—could almost touch Milton's nose, and his—or her—littermates followed.

“If they can't see him, can they hear him? How do they know he's there?” she asked in wonder.

“Smell. It's the first of their senses to develop. They can barely hear, definitely can't see, but they smell him and want to investigate. Or just find another warm body. The heat aspect is another factor.”

“Ah.” She didn't take her eyes off the box.

Morgan watched her face as she observed the dogs. Soft. Unguarded. Beautiful. He wanted to go back to that moment the day before when they'd been so madly intent on each other's pleasure they'd forgotten they were in the hallway of the damn clinic. He would have given his eye teeth to drag her to the cot in the back room and strip her bare.

But first things first. “These guys probably need a meal. In the supply closet, there's . . . never mind.” He passed the dog into her cupped hands. “You hold him. I'll be right back.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn't say no. He stayed for a moment to make sure she was comfortable, then hurried to grab the supplies.

“So what's the plan, doc?” She was rubbing the pup's stomach with the tip of one finger. Just the sight of that caress, and his body went into lust overdrive.