Busting Loose (8 page)

Great timing.

“Syringe feed for another few weeks. Then wet food, and on to dry.” He picked up another of the pups, filled a syringe with the pre-mixed liquid he always kept in stock for occasions just like this, and inserted the dropper end into the side of the dog's mouth. Training took over and he gently released a little at a time while the dog ate. Bea took a few more photos with her phone.

“Since we don't know how old they really are, we'll play it by ear as to when to move on to the food. But for now, they'll need to be fed every few hours for a couple of weeks.”

“And who does that? You?” Bea looked skeptical. “You're already here all the time. Isn't this a little much for you to take on?”

“I've got a few foster families. Several of them have fed newborn pups before, so it's nothing new.” He warmed at her concern for him. “But I can't call them until tomorrow morning, so I guess these guys are sticking with me tonight.”

“I'll do it,” Bea blurted out, then looked shocked at herself.

“You . . . want to take them home with you?” He started to say no, they shouldn't be moved tonight, but she interrupted him.

“No, I mean, I'll stay here. With you. And . . . help.” She looked down at the other five bodies in the box, then at the one in her hands. “Besides, I have an idea.”

“Sounds ominous,” he joked. But when she turned her eyes to his, his amusement faded.
Please, God, let that idea have something to do with us picking up where we left off yesterday.

“I think . . .” She trailed off as a knock sounded at the front door. “Never mind. That's probably Jo with our dinner.” She carefully laid the puppy in her hands in the box. Immediately, he—she?—belly-crawled toward the pile of brothers and sisters for warmth and comfort.

“Come on, Milton.” She stood, using her hands on her knees for leverage.

Milton sat quietly by the box.

“Milty, come.”

He lay down, snubbed snout on his front paws. The tip of one turned-down ear flicked.

“Looks like these guys have a pseudo big brother,” Morgan said. “It's okay. He's not going to bother them.”

“Yeah, but . . .” Bea looked a little hurt, and Morgan's heart cracked. Just a nick. But then she shrugged and headed toward the front door.

A few minutes later, Bea and Trace came back together. Morgan was on puppy number three.

“You look nothing like Jo,” he commented as Bea set the bag of food on a stool. Milton, ever loyal, abandoned his new friends to sit by the good-smelling stuff.

“I'm just the errand boy. I was on my way back to the house for dinner when she caught me and asked me to make the delivery.” Trace sat down at the box and peered in. “Hello, what have we here?”

“New guests.” Morgan handed him a syringe and a puppy. “Here you go.”

Bea hovered behind them. “Should I stay?”

“No, no. You've got stuff to do for tomorrow's adoption fair. Go for it, and then get a good night's sleep.” He didn't look up from the pup in his hands as her heels, followed by Milton's nails, clicked out of the room to the reception area.

“Running that one to ground, are we?” Trace asked mildly.

“There's been progress,” Morgan said defensively, then winced. This was Bea's brother. Probably not a great idea to spill details. But the urge to confide in his friend, the friend he'd missed for nearly a decade, was strong. “I'll just leave it at that.”

“Whatever, man. All I'll say is . . . good luck.” Trace raised his hand to bring the pup to eye level. “Exactly what kind of mix do you think these guys are?”

“All but impossible to tell at this stage. Their coloring should be a bit more defined in a few weeks. But right now, a little bit of everything is my unofficial guess. Hound, shepherd, retriever. Put them all together, and what do you got?”

Trace grinned and held up the puppy again. “Hot dog?”

They laughed at the old schoolyard rhyme and finished feeding the puppies. Then Trace stood and brushed his hands off on his jeans. “I've got bath time and bedtime to get to, so I'm heading out. We'll stop by the fair tomorrow morning to help out if we can.”

“Great. See ya.” He walked Trace out the front door and locked it behind him, then turned and watched Bea working at her desk.

“Where are the flyers?”

She didn't look up, just clicked something on the computer. “I'll get to those in a minute. Wanted to upload the pictures I took first.”

“Okay, then. Make sure the door is locked behind you when you leave.” He left her to her job and headed back to the shelter side. He had puppies to get settled for the night.

 

Oh God, that hurt. Bea shook her hands at the wrists, fingers flying limply. Two hours of folding flyers later, her hands looked like the steel claw from an arcade game. She could barely hold them steady on the steering wheel to get her car to the tiny newspaper distribution center and back to the clinic.

As she unlocked the front door and walked in, she heard masculine humming. And not bad, either. She locked the door behind her and followed the sound.

Morgan sat on the floor of exam room two, reading what looked like a textbook. Three cats were draped over his long, extended legs in various poses of languid bliss. A fourth was curled up by the book, tail swishing every so often over the page. The page shuddered with every flick of the furry whip, but he didn't shoo the cat away.

A vet and his harem, she thought with a smile. Most men would love to say they were surrounded by pussy all day . . . but Morgan wouldn't find that joke humorous. “Did you eat?”

He jolted, then looked up. “You're back.”

“Of course I'm back.” She sat on the chair. Milton trotted in behind her and curled up under her legs, eyeing the cats warily like a ninety-pound junkyard guard dog eying a burglar.
My mommy,
his evil glance said. “I can't leave you alone with those puppies all night. How unfair.”

“It's nothing I haven't done before, I assure you,” he said, but his smile was welcoming. He started to close the book, then double-checked to make sure the cat's tail was out of the way first. “Now that we're alone, should we talk about . . . that thing?”

“That thing.” She tapped one finger on her chin. She loved making him squirm. “I'm drawing a blank.”

His face reddened. “You know what I mean. That thing. The thing from the other day. The kiss.”

“Oh, the kiss.” Bea nodded and scratched Milton's head. “I'm not sure we need to talk about it.”

“So, you're not upset?”

“Upset?” She laughed. “Why would I be upset? It was a kiss. A great kiss, actually. You didn't molest me.”

He sighed, and she could tell he was getting aggravated at her deliberate obtuseness. And he was just as cute aggravated as he was squirming.

“I just wanted to make sure. I mean, I didn't . . . and you hadn't said . . . but then you didn't stop me so . . .” He ran a hand through his hair, which tilted his glasses a little on the bridge of his nose. She bit back a smile. “I wanted to make sure I didn't have to apologize.”

“When did you feed the puppies last?”

He blinked behind his skewed lenses. “What?”

“The puppies,” she said patiently. “The ones from the box? When did you feed them last?”

He checked his watch. “About an hour ago. They'll probably be hungry in another two hours or so. I've got the alarm on my phone set.”

“Good.” She held out a hand, standing when he took it. He stood with her. When she pulled, he followed easily. She led him to the back area where they kept the paper supplies, and the small twin-sized bed his techs slept on when it was their night to do the overnight shift. They stood together, both staring at the tiny bed in silence.

“You're thinking loudly.”

He glanced down. She was watching him carefully, but with a small smile tilting her lips. “Sorry?”

“Stop thinking. If you don't want to . . .” She shrugged a shoulder. “It's fine. But I do, and I figured I might as well say it. Cut through the middle, right?”

Did he want to? More than he wanted to breathe. But the long-term effects . . . would she think he wanted just a one-night stand? He'd mapped out a slow, tender courtship in his mind. Easing her into the idea of dating, then of thinking of Marshall as her home.

“Morgan,” she whispered. Her hands wrapped around the back of his neck and pulled at him until her lips brushed his. “Morgan, stop thinking so hard. In or out?”

Plans be damned. “In.”

B
ea started to reach for him, then paused. “Those sheets were changed, right?”

He grinned. “It's part of their routine. Strip the bed, put on fresh sheets, pop the ones you used in the washer out back before you end your overnight shift.”

“Okay then.” She could live with that. She yanked his head down to meet hers in a searing kiss. The kind that sets flames flickering behind your eyelids while they're closed and makes your skin feel like it's too tight for your body. She wanted to scale him, squeeze her legs around his waist, and feel weightless.

He sat down at the edge of the mattress, raised her shirt just an inch, and pressed a kiss to the bare skin revealed. She shivered. He continued the pattern, raising her shirt by inches and following the trail with his lips until he reached the underside of her breasts.

She couldn't take the torture any longer. Bea took a step back, ripped the shirt over her head, and let it fall to the floor. Before he could say a word, she climbed on his lap, her knees pressing into the mattress, her center pressing against the hard, long ridge of his erection. Oh God, if only there weren't clothes between them. This would be a magical position.

Later, she promised herself as he kissed her again. Later, they could try everything. But first, ring the bell, check the box, dull the knife-edge tension between them so that next time, they could enjoy it more.

“God, Bea,” he moaned when she reached back to unhook her own bra. “You're so beautiful. It's like I can't see anything but you.”

She let the lacy bra fall behind her with the shirt and reached for his glasses. “These are probably smudged enough, that's true.” She set them on the small table and smiled when he blinked like a sweet pup opening his eyes for the first time.

“You drive me crazy,” she mumbled, then kissed him again. She made quick work of the button-down shirt he'd worn, though he didn't make it easy. She had to fight his arms, wrapped around her, to get it off. It was as if he didn't want to let go for even a second in case she changed her mind.

Not freaking likely.

But when she stood up to take off her own pants, he all but gasped. “I think we need to slow down.”

“Nope. Not happening.” She kicked her heels to the side—sorry, cute Blahniks—and shimmied out of her cropped black pants. The underwear naturally came with the pants, and she was naked. Standing in the back room of a vet's office.

Why was she not appalled by that situation?

Morgan stared, dumbfounded, at her. “I . . . uh . . .”

“Pants, Morgan.” She smiled when he barely budged an inch. The man was good for the ego.

“Right. Yeah, pants.” He stood so fast he had to steady himself with a hand on the wall. But faster than she could say “What's my line?” he was as naked as she was. And impressive. He managed to hide quite the body under his lab coat and office wear.

Bea ran one hand down the lean muscles of his chest and waist. Not a body builder, not a man used to hitting the weights in the gym. His body was sculpted from lifting hundred-pound dogs onto exam tables and wrangling misbehaving cattle.

As her hand drifted lower and reached around to stroke his erection, she grinned. And yes, he was proportional to his six-foot-three-inch frame . . . everywhere.

“Ho boy . . . okay, you have to stop that.” He grabbed her wrist when she gave another playful tug. “I can't let that happen the first time. I'll have to kick my own ass.”

She laughed. God, he made her laugh. “Morgan, you're the sweetest man.”

He guided her down to the bed and kissed her harder than before. “I'm not sure
sweet
is a compliment in this area.”

She cupped his head and sobered her expression. “Sweet is always a compliment. Trust me.”

His penis was heavy against her thigh, but she paused. “I'm hoping you're a good Boy Scout and are prepared.”

He winged one brow up. “Jesus, Bea. If I were any more ready, we'd already be done.”

She snorted. “I meant a condom.”

He blushed. “Right. Of course. In my back pocket.” He reached around and patted his bare butt. “Jesus. Dammit,” he muttered as he crawled off and over to where his pants lay in a heap.

She was never going to make it through without laughing. And what a fantastic feeling. She was already loose and limber, before the lovemaking.

Sex. Not lovemaking. Sex, she reminded herself sternly.

“Ah, there we go.” He held the foil packet up like a trophy. “Score.”

“You're seventeen again, aren't you?”

“Hardly. I didn't cash in my V-card until I was in college.” He grimaced as he rolled the rubber on. “And that's so not something I should be admitting. I'm much cooler now,” he added.

“Of course.” She nodded seriously, then kissed him again when he settled over her. “Very cool. I only work for the cool kids.” She nibbled up to his ear. “Wanna make out behind the lockers after class?”

He growled, settled between her legs, and pushed in without further warning. It was exactly what she wanted. Morgan, on the edge. He pumped into her, moaning with pleasure as she clenched around him.

“Bea, I can't believe . . . I'm not going to make it. Aw, dammit. I'm sorry.” He spoke through gritted teeth as he slowed down in an obvious effort to make it last longer.

“I'm a big girl,” she assured him, then reached between their sweat-slicked bodies to flick one fingertip over the bundle of nerves at the top of her center. And then she was flying, her own orgasm taking her over before even his.

“Thank you, God,” she heard him mutter before a quick warning shout and he collapsed over her.

“That,” she said a few minutes later when she could breathe, “was so much more than checking a box.”

“What, like a To-Do list? Check e-mail, run to post office, have sex with Morgan. That sort of thing?” He kissed the side of her neck.

“No. Not at all.” She smoothed a hand down his back, then grimaced a little. “We're a sweaty mess.”

He licked her collarbone. “Yup.”

“Morgan!” She pushed at his shoulder. “There's no shower here, is there?”

“Unless you want to use the shower attachment in the dog bath . . .”

“That would be a no.” And ick. She waited while he managed to lurch his way to the employee bathroom.

She'd just reached for her bra when he came back. “Don't.”

“Don't what?” She held the bra up. “Want it? Trophy?”

“Don't leave.” He held out a hand and she stood. It was ridiculous. They were both still naked, in the back room of the vet clinic. But when he pulled her into his arms, she couldn't help but go willingly.

“Stay,” he said, cheek resting against the top of her head.

“Fine.” She'd stay for another hour or two. Maybe there'd be a repeat performance. And how could she turn that down?

 

Morgan shifted in an attempt to get more comfortable. Not that it worked, thanks to the fact that they were two tall people wedged into a twin-sized bed. Only so many places for the limbs to go, and right now one of Bea's legs was wedged against his crotch in a not-so-erotic sort of way.

She murmured something, rolled away delicately, then back again. Her breath puffed out, warm and soft, against his chest. His hand smoothed over her baby-fine hair and he wondered . . . just what the hell was he thinking?

The back storage room? Their first time, on a twin-sized bed in the back of his clinic? What a moron.

But she didn't seem to mind. In fact, she'd instigated it. This could be good, or this could be bad.

Good . . . because she was so hot for him she couldn't wait.

Bad . . . because romance didn't matter and you could have a one night stand anywhere.

Good . . . because it gave them a funny story to share in the future.

Bad . . . because she might just remember the vet who had no moves on a bed the size of a cot when she moved back to California, the land of Men with Smooth Moves.

Or, he could just lie here awake all night, making himself crazy.

His cell phone beeped, and he cursed.

Bea mumbled and tried to wrap herself tighter around him.

“We need to get up,” he whispered into her ear.

“Five more minutes,” she muttered.

“Puppies need to be fed.”

That brought her awake. “Oh, right. We have the puppies.” She yawned and stretched, and it took everything he had in him to not take one tight breast into his mouth while it was thrust toward him. “You go feed, I'll fix coffee.”

“No, you go back home.” He kissed her nose. “You're the ambassador of this little function tomorrow. We're counting on you to keep it running smoothly. So go home, get a good night's sleep, and tomorrow you will lead the troops in what will be an epic adoption fair.”

She side-eyed him while putting her bra back on. “That sounded suspiciously like a nerdy commercial.”

He blushed.

Then she kissed his cheek while grabbing her pants. “I happen to find the nerdiness adorable. Now, go feed the puppies. And if they do anything adorable—”

“They won't. They're too young.”

“—then take a picture and text me,” she finished, as if he hadn't said a word.

Fine. He'd prop them up doing something adorable, like reading a book. Then she'd laugh at him for being a nerd, and he'd have invested his time wisely. Making her laugh was always worth the time. Plus, it was the middle of the night. What else did he have to do?

She finished getting dressed and opened the door to the main hallway. Milton sprinted in and glared at him, as if he was accusing Morgan of violating his mother.

“Sorry, bud. She said yes.”

Bea rolled her eyes and scooped the dog up. “Don't mind him, baby. I'm sorry I had to lock you out. But you're a bed hog and there was hardly any bed to hog.”

Milton gave him the stink eye over Bea's shoulder.

Get over it,
Morgan mouthed, then realized he was talking to a dog and grabbed his pants before he lost his mind.

“Are you sure you want me to go? I can stay.”

“Go,” he insisted. “You get your beauty rest—not that you need it—and I'll see you in the morning.”

“Okay.” She put Milton down and slipped her heels on. He was buttoning his shirt, ready to walk her to the door when she sneaked in another kiss, almost as hot as the one that had landed them in the bed in the first place. It was a good thing his hands were still stuck holding a button or else he'd have started something they shouldn't finish.

“I'll see you in the morning,” she said when she pulled back, voice a little husky.

“Yeah,” he answered dumbly, then hopped into his shoes while following her out the back door. He watched to make sure she got into her car, got it started, and pulled out before closing himself back in the clinic.

Then, with only the dogs as witnesses, he pumped his fist like a tenth-grade nerd who had just scored with the prom queen.

Nerd status: confirmed.