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‘Faint heart never won fair Julian. You need to be more open to new experiences—to say yes more. You might even find you have fun.’
‘Besides—’ Kallie’s reply is cut off by the doorbell, the noise quickly followed by Sir Lancelot’s pounding feet and his deep and deafening barking.
‘You said he was a poodle cross,’ I complain as he almost knocks me over in his quest to get to the door.
‘He is,’ she answers. ‘Poodle cross wolf hound, I think. Aren’t you going to open it?’
‘Open the door tomy date, you mean?’
‘Hmm. Like I said, sweets, he’s not adateexactly. More a. .. service provider.’
‘What does that even mean?’ I grumble, my annoyance quickly ramping from slow simmer to rapid boil. It’s probably this anger which powers me to pull Sir Lancelot away from the door by his collar. It’s the first time I’ve been able to make him go anywhere he doesn’t want to since I’d arrived.The spoiled curly lump must weigh at least a hundred pounds.
‘Mean?’ she asks benignly.
‘Stop repeating me and tell me exactly what you’ve done!’ I yank open the door, dog collar, curly fur, and phone all grasped in the other hand. ‘Down, Sir Lancelot!’ I yell, using my weight as a counterbalance to his bulk.
Dark, shiny shoes. Expensive looking.My gaze travels up.An undoubtedly tailored dark suit. A sharp jawline—clean shaven. Broad shoulders. Dirty blond hair. Brilliant blue eyes. Pillowy lips that are just an invitation to kiss. Holy hell, he’s gorgeous.
But I can’t quite fully appreciate the sight as Kallie replies.
‘I hired you a male escort.’
Chapter Three
WILL
‘Y-you did what?’ she stammers, and though her question is directed to her phone, her eyes remain on me.
‘A male escort,’ comes the loud-speaker reply. ‘I know that’s why you’re stammering. He’s arrived, hasn’t he?’ With each statement, her companion’s tone becomes more gleeful. ‘Come on, give me a look!’
‘I can’t believe you.’ Her whisper sounds awe filled andnotin a good way.
‘Give the lady a look at her goods,’ I find myself suggesting. ‘Sorry I’m late.’ And not sorry the actual escort screwed up. Or is late.
The girl’s eyes rise immediately to my face—which serves to prove they’d dropped to the vicinity of my junk—her dark lashed eyes blinking rapidly. She’s striking. An unusual combination of light hair and dark eyes.
Her phone giggles—or her caller does. ‘Yes, the least you can do is let me see what I paid for, especially as I won’t be sampling.’
‘I can’t do that,’ she almost whispers.
‘Spoilsport,’ comes the voice from the phone. ‘Just a quick glance, come on.’
‘No, I really can’t,’ she replies, tugging on Sir Lancelot’s collar to prevent him from greeting me in a most discourteous way.Bloody ridiculous name for a dog, especially one as ill-mannered as he is. It’s not only the ladies who love my junk...
‘The damn dog,’ she complains, fighting his bulk as he strains ahead.
‘Watch me.’ I pitch my voice low and firm—a command, if you will. While I’m familiar with dog handling, what I hadn’t expected were two spines snapping to attention, two beings awaiting my command.
‘Drop,’ I say firmly, ignoring the instant image of her doing the same.Dropping to her knees, her fingers reaching for my zipper as she licks her pretty plum lips.
Sir Lancelot follows my order immediately, almost dragging his damsel with him.
‘Oh!’ I catch her elbow before she lands in a heap, the phone slipping from her hand.
‘Hello.’ I smile into the camera thinking that the woman on the other end of this call is more likely the connection to Mo. Dark hair andcafé au laitskin, she pushes the mass of tangles away from her face almost disconcerted.
‘Oh, hello!’ Her accent is mostly Brit with a transatlantic hint.Probably a recent transplant.
