“I’m sorry,” I say, planting my hands onto my knees and dragging oxygen into my fire-laden lungs like my life depends on it. Because it does. “I don’t know what got into her.”
“I’d say it was her that got into something.”
I start to reply—to apologize for her transgressions. To offer to dry-clean his shirt. To do something to ease the rigidity of his posture. But as I open my mouth, something stops me.
The scent of Oud Wood by Tom Ford.
The sharp jawline that I can make out despite his dipped chin.
A blast of energy that can—strangely—only be explained by the presence of one man.
I want to close my eyes and melt into the ground. I want to turn around and find Rusti. I want to hit rewind and stop this entire scenario from playing out. I want to not be panting—with one boob hanging out of my sweaty bra—and look in control of my life.
But I can’t. I don’t have access to a remote control.
My fears are realized as he lifts his face to mine.
Oh no.
Oh fucking no.
FIVE
DARA
I take a step back.
It’s a purely instinctual move to put some distance between me and the man who is clearly unhappy.
Embarrassment adds to the fire in my oxygen-deprived cheeks as his gaze finds mine.
His eyes are a slideshow. Each frame offers another piece as the last few seconds connect to the one before it, snapping into place. My chest rises and falls with uncertainty, and humiliation, as I watch him determine—incorrectly—that Cleo is my dog.
“I’ve never seen an animal resemble their human quite like this,” he mutters before glancing down at Cleo and grimacing.
His statement lights a fire inside me that dissolves my embarrassment.
My jaw falls open. “Excuse me?”
“You both have quite enthusiastic greetings.” He holds Cleo out to me. “Do you mind taking her? Or him? Or … whatever.”
I make absolutely no effort to take the dog.
“Yes, I mind. I don’t want to get all muddy,” I say.
He blinks.
“She’s not mine,” I say. “I don’t even like that dog.”
“I assure you that you like her more than I do.”
I wrinkle my nose. “I’d bet not. I wouldn’t even mind if you just tuck her under your arm and take her home with you.”
He sighs as Cleo squirms in his hands.
“If this isn’t your dog,” he says, lifting a brow, “then why were you chasing her through the park?”
Bastard.
“Why are you even here?” I ask, turning the tables back on him. “Aren’t you so busy? Shouldn’t you be in the office handling projects?”
He wasn’t expecting this question. Hell, I wasn’t expecting it either, but I’m not mad that I followed up with it. His response to my challenge licks the flame starting to burn in my stomach.
Wade’s eyes run up and down my body. A trail of heat is left in its wake, and I’m suddenly reminded of my floppy boob.
My cheeks heat again. “Just … just a second.” I turn and make a point of looking for Rusti. But while I’m facing the other way, I situate myself back into my bra as discreetly as I can—which isn’t very discreet. Once I’m as put together as I’m going to be, I turn to face him again. “Cleo’s mom should be coming. I thought I saw her over there.”
He smirks. I try not to die. Cleo squirms until she’s against his chest and licking his face again.
The dog’s actions give me a second to really take Wade in today. A white T-shirt hugs his lean, solid body. His shoulders look strong but not stupid. He might be able to pick me up and throw me over his shoulder, but he’s definitely not picking up the back of a car.
Black athletic pants are tight enough to showcase his thighs, and running shoes are in stark contrast to his dress shoes from yesterday but are wholly acceptable. A black Atlanta Falcons hat completes the casual Wade look.
And I’m a fan. I’m a big fan.
“She likes you,” I say as he pulls Cleo away from his face.
“She doesn’t know me.”
“Obviously.”
He tries not to smile. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”
I try not to smile either. “That means that women always like men until they get to know them.”
“Are we stereotyping this afternoon?”
“I like to think of it as speaking from experience. Besides,” I say, reaching for Cleo. “You’re the one who implied that she wouldn’t like you if she knew you.”
He’s not thrilled by my point. I, on the other hand, am.
I smile as I take Cleo from him. “Thank you for catching her.”
“She didn’t leave me much choice.” He watches me set her on the ground with a bit less disdain than before. “She just leaped toward me like a little flying …” He stops as if he’s just aware of the smile kissing his lips. “Anyway, I caught her.”