Pawfectly In Love Page 2

  Dear God. No man had looked at her like she was a woman in years. He had to be a pervert, or suffering from a neck cramp, or just randomly insane, right? But just to be sure…she looked down to confirm what he was looking at…and immediately wished she hadn't. Or at least wished the ground would swallow her up.

  She'd forgotten that she was covered in dirt and leaves from her wrestling match with Bandit. But that was no big deal, at least not in comparison to the fact that her wet, white tee shirt was spotlighting to the world, and to her nice-car-hottie specifically, that she had not bothered to put on a bra for her afternoon walk.

  Double crap.

  Going braless was so not a big deal when the only male she was with had four legs and a tail. An entirely different matter when faced with a ridiculously handsome man dressed like he was ready to pose for a cover of GQ.

  Damn. She wasn't sure she could ethically attribute all sorts of nefarious adjectives to him now. It would have taken a eunuch not to at least glance at a pair of nipples gawking at him, and given the way her body was reacting to his overpowering maleness, she was willing to wager that he had a couple of perfectly functioning testicles inside those expensive pants. Gritting her teeth, she crossed her arms over her chest and tried to appear nonchalant. "Can I help you?"

  "I'm looking for Freedom Dog Training, but I must have taken a wrong turn." His voice was a deep rumble, so insanely delicious that she almost asked him to keep talking, just so she could listen for a while.

  Dear God, he was like a sex-demon-incubus-hypnotic-vampire-seducer or something. He had to be, because she simply didn't find men in suits attractive, and she was not the type to start purring at the sound of a man's voice.

  Oh, wait…she belatedly processed his words, and realized that he had come looking for a dog trainer.

  This delicious cauldron of smoking hot male, who clearly represented the world that had almost destroyed her, had come looking for her. Yay? Or…major panic attack and meltdown?

  She wasn't sure yet which it was going to be.

  Chapter 2

  Apparently, the "PTSD-oh-hell-no" was going to win today, which sucked because the "yay-hot-client" would have felt so much better.

  The panic closed in fast and furious, clamping down on her lungs like a vice. Paige stumbled backwards, reaching for Bandit as he pressed himself up against her leg, as he always did when a panic attack hit. She dug her fingers into his fur, focusing on his soft, damp coat. The moment she did, some of the panic eased, enough that she could think.

  Okay, she needed to chill, and look at the facts instead of reacting emotionally. Like the fact that the man standing in front of her might look like he was from her old world, but that's not why he was there. He was looking for a dog trainer. Not an attorney. A. Dog. Trainer.

  He was looking for Paige, the dog trainer, not Paige, the ex-attorney. Right? Right.

  The words settled in her mind, giving her space to breathe again, more deeply this time. She looked at him more closely, and noticed a patch of long, brown dog hairs on his left leg, as if his dog had brushed against him as they were getting into the car. Aww…he had dog hairs on his nice suit. That was awesome. It was going to be okay. All okay.

  Now she knew why she'd found him to be so hot, despite his nice car and gorgeous clothes. The man had a dog. That automatically gave him street cred. Handsome as sin, plus he had a dog? No wonder her hormones had gone a little wonky. It all made sense now. Yay for logic!

  Plus, he was a potential client. Income would be great, given that most of her dog training these days was donating her time to the Give a Dog a Bone dog shelter back in Boston, four times a month. She was still building her business, and a client would be fantastic. Especially one who could probably pay his bill.

  Feeling much better, and super impressed with herself for her excellent recovery, she smiled at him. "You've found Freedom Dog Training. I'm Paige Turner, the owner and head trainer." She was, in fact, the only trainer, but it sounded better to imply she had an entire staff of professionals because she was so damn good, right?

  "Really?" He surveyed the small cottage with what could definitely be interpreted as a haughty smirk, if she were insecure enough to do so, which she definitely was, so yay for her.

  So…was he disdaining her adorable little cottage, or was her slightly skewed view of suit-clad men interfering with her perception of reality? She'd learned enough in her self-help book obsession to know that fabricating reality was a very distinct possibility.

  So…which was it?

  Was he an enemy with fantastic style, or a potential bestie who simply had no clue what life in New Hampshire was like, or somewhere in between? His suit and car indicated that he wasn't accustomed to the casual New Hampshire lifestyle, so that could explain his confusion, right? It was understandable that he would be surprised a business could be run out of a cottage, with no signage. There was a time when she would have also been surprised. Back when she was a city girl.

  She decided she liked that interpretation of his question. There was no need to feel like he'd just likened her to the muck on the bottom of Rockwood Cove. So, again, super proud she'd managed to choose the more innocuous interpretation, she grinned at him. "Yep, really. Typical New Hampshire office. You're obviously not from around here?"

  He shook his head. "I'm from Boston."

  Oh…he was from Boston. The root of all her misery. Her stomach tightened, and she decided to change the subject quickly, before she had a panic attack. Nice cars were one thing. Custom suits, another. Put those together with the word "Boston," and the trifecta might do her in. Time to focus on the only thing that made her life worth celebrating these days. Canines! "You have a dog?"

  "Yes." He walked toward her, apparently tiring of the shouting across the twenty-foot gap between them. She had halted quite a distance from him when she'd first arrived, after all.

  As he neared, Paige instinctively edged back from the heat he was giving off. Not actual heat. More like a smoldering cauldron of masculinity, which she was so not prepared for, and really not interested in. She'd sworn off men after her fiancé had utterly failed to support her when the law firm had done her in. His complete abandonment of her had taught her important life lessons about heartbreak, trusting the wrong guy, and all that sort of fun stuff.

  She was definitely not ready to jump back in the dating pool, or even try her luck in the random-sex-with-strangers pool. And if she ever did, she would stay far, far away from the type of man who'd taken a chisel to her poor little heart and done his best to mince it up into teeny, tiny pieces that were currently held together by duct tape.

  This guy might be here for a dog, but he seemed far too much like her old life for her to feel remotely comfortable with the degree of attraction she was feeling.

  He stopped, apparently sensing her thinly-veiled terror of his hotness, showcasing a level of consideration that was unexpected, and proof that he couldn’t be a lawyer.

  She knew what lawyers were like. Not that she was judgmental or anything, but they were doughboys who used money and power as a substitute for actual testosterone. Okay, maybe a little judgmental. Just a bit. But at least she could acknowledge it, right? So that was a bonus.

  This guy was too raw, too untamed, too considerate, and too strong to possibly be a lawyer. She was just overreacting due to her law firm PTSD, right? Overly sensitive. Looking for threats where there were none. There was no way he was a lawyer…was he? She had to know. "Are you a lawyer?"

  He lifted his eyebrows above the rim of his glasses, revealing dark, vibrant brows. "Yes, as a matter of fact I am. What gave it away?"

  Oh…can't breathe. Can't talk. Must pass out.

  He reached out quickly, as if to catch her. "Are you all right?"

  She stared at his hand, shocked by his instinct to help her, and by the fact he'd sensed her distress. Dammit. He was nice? How could he be nice to her? That would make her like him, and her defenses would falter, and he
r little heart would want to peek out into the sunshine again, and then disaster would ensue all over again. But despite her best wishes to not care that he'd reached out to help her, to offer her a single hand of support, which was more than her fiancé had ever given her, she felt better. Just having his hand on her arm made her feel less panicked and more capable of breathing. She managed a breathy smile at him. "Yes, I'm fine. Thanks."

  She meant the thanks. For a girl who'd had her self-esteem carefully carved up by lawyers, both the one she'd been sleeping with and the ones she just worked for, she really did appreciate the fact that this particular one was nice.

  His eyebrows went up again, and he didn't lower his hand, clearly not completely believing her. "Are you certain?"

  "That I appreciate your concern? Yes, I'm absolutely certain."

  A grin crooked the corner of his mouth. "I meant, are you certain you're all right?"

  "Oh…right. That makes more sense. I'd have to be an ogre not to appreciate your concern, and I think we can both agree that I'm not an ogre."

  His grin widened. "You still haven't answered my question. Are you sure you're okay?"

  Again, she heard the genuine concern in his voice, and the last of the tension around her lungs eased. He really was nice. Like, the whole nine yards, nice. Suddenly, her throat tightened, and she had to look away. She wasn't used to nice, when it came to men like him. "I'm sure. I really appreciate your concern, though." Her gaze flicked toward him, and she suddenly wished he'd take his sunglasses off. She wanted to see his eyes, to see if they were as kind as his voice…and as if he'd heard her, he raised his glasses and rested them on top of his head.

  Good heavens. She'd never seen such riveting blue eyes before. They were bright blue, like the sky on the most gorgeous of summer days. Her heart literally skipped a beat as she met his gaze, so intense as he studied her. Heat flushed her cheeks, and she shifted relentlessly, her body literally warming at the way he was looking at her.

  "No problem." He grinned. "I'd have to be rather heartless not to care, don't you think? I try not to be heartless on Sundays, so today is your lucky day."

  She grinned. "I guess so." He even had a sense of humor?

  "Maybe mine, too." He held out his hand. "I'm Luke Donovan, of Hawthorne, Finch, & Stims."

  "HF&S?" Oh, God. Really? She took a step back, panic trying desperately to consume her. At his nod, her hands started to shake. His firm occupied the floors directly above her old firm. He'd probably heard all about her episode. It had been all over the building, she was such a joke. She'd been the woman who was supposed to break through the glass ceiling at her firm, the first one to make partner, and she'd completely crashed and burned. She still wondered how far she'd set back the women who had come behind her at her old firm…and Luke might even have been one of those people waiting in the lobby for an elevator when she'd been wheeled out.

  "Whoa. Now, I know you're not okay." He stepped forward, catching her arm before she could retreat. "You need to sit down." His voice was gentle and kind, his hand strong and supportive.

  The feel of his hand closing around her bare arm literally shocked her back into the present. His touch was warm and strong, comforting, and sexy as all hell. She looked down at his hand, heat rising in her belly at the sight of his fingers clasping her elbow. Holy crap. One touch could have that affect? What about a hug? Or a kiss? Or something even more…

  God. What was her problem? She had to stop this! Quickly, she moved her arm away and held out her hand to shake his. "I'm totally fine. It's nice to meet you, Mr. Donovan."

  She shook his hand, nearly falling over in surprise as her nerves roared to attention. His hand wasn't soft and pasty like she'd desperately hoped it would be. It was strong and powerful, as if years of hard labor had built that muscle. Just having her hand in his made all her panic flee instantly, replaced by a warmth that made all her nerves simply settle.

  "Most business associates call me Mr. Donovan." He held her hand after they were finished shaking, as if he were unwilling to let go. "But please, call me Luke."

  "Luke." That was a great name. Strong. Sexy. Kind. She smiled at him, increasingly aware that he was still gripping her hand. Why? Was he as entranced by this spark between them as she was?

  He glanced at their entwined hands, as if he'd just realized he was still holding her hand, and then quickly released her.

  Damn. He'd let go very quickly, once he'd made the move. No slow, deliberate temptation that would indicate he had the hots for her.

  Of course he wouldn't. Men like Luke would not be interested in who she had become: a rural New Hampshire dog trainer. She knew what they liked, what her ex had wanted her to be. She'd tried so freaking hard to fit that mold, until there was nothing left of herself, and then she'd given still more, until that horrible day when she'd snapped.

  Even when she'd tried to fit in, she hadn't been enough for that world. Her ex had left her quickly once he'd realized that she couldn't be what he wanted. His bags had been packed literally forty-eight hours after her collapse, after seven years of being together.

  So, she was so not going to go down that road with Luke, or even fantasize about it. She was not a romantic fit for him, and that was fine. Better than fine. She so didn't need anyone in her life who was from her past, who believed in all that had nearly destroyed her. No need for that, right? It wasn't like she had time to add multiple low-level panic attacks into her day, right? She had things to do. Dogs to train. Fantasies about hot lawyers that she needed to scour from her mind. She was a busy girl.

  She did, however, suddenly notice that he was staring at the dirt and leaves on his hand, as if he didn't quite know what to do with it. Yeah…oops. She'd forgotten her hand was still covered in muck. Yay her for being so suave and sophisticated. "Sorry about the dirt. Want a towel? I can grab one from inside."

  He gazed at his hand as if he wasn't quite certain that he wanted to wipe it off. Probably because he didn't have a towel. Not because he was feeling the same sparks that she was, right?

  Then he looked up and met her gaze, and something leapt inside her. There was something smoldering in his gaze, something unmistakably…hot.

  Oh….

  For a moment, she forgot to breathe, completely stunned by the way he was looking at her. She wasn't in his world anymore. As far as he knew, she was totally a non-starter when it came to his level of class and sophistication, but he was staring at her as if he saw a fire within her that she'd never been able to access.

  She had no idea how to handle the interest in his eyes, so she managed an awkward giggle and flashed her palm at him to show him the source of the muck on his hand. "Sorry. My hand was dirty." She pulled her t-shirt out of her shorts and stretched the bottom of it toward him. "Use this. It's wet, but at least it's clean, since it was in my pants."

  Luke's eyebrows shot up. "Seriously?"

  "Um..." Crap. She was losing her mind. Tell me I didn't just offer my shirt to him to wipe his hand. But she had. Hell yeah, she had. She managed a guffaw that sounded more like a dog with kennel cough than a flirty chuckle. "No, of course not. I was just joking, right? Trying to ease the tension." Yeah, right. Heat fused her cheeks.

  "Well, it worked." He flicked his wrist, sending several leaf bits to the ground. Another flick banished some of the dirt, but there were still a few flecks clinging. Involuntarily, he glanced at Paige's shirt, and she swallowed.

  "Sorry, you missed your chance," she managed, trying to somehow act like she wasn't a complete idiot.

  "My loss." He cocked his head. "Definitely my loss." The second was a whisper under his breath, almost too quiet for her to hear…but she did hear it…and yes…it did make her belly tighten.

  What. The. Hell. What was with all the sexual tension here? This was not her modus operandi…oh…that meant it was his. Was he one of those guys who tried to sleep with anyone with breasts? God, she had to stop thinking about her breasts. "Did you bring your dog with you?"
Please let him say yes. She had to get focused on something that didn't have the potential to make her head explode and her fragile little heart disintegrate into little puffballs of powder, drifting through the wind.

  But dogs didn't seem nearly as appealing as the idea of losing herself in his gaze again. Maybe she should just enjoy the hot-Luke-scenery and stop worrying. Most of the locals were grizzled and gray, men who were on the wrong side of the half-century mark. Even if Luke was a lawyer from Boston who wouldn't want her and who she wouldn't want, that didn't mean she couldn't appreciate him physically, right? Just a little harmless eye candy to make a girl's day, right? That was okay.

  Yes, yes, that was fine. Her shoulders relaxed, and she took a deep breath. It was just an attraction. Nothing else. Nothing harmful. All was well.

  "My dog? Oh, right. Yes." Luke rubbed his eyes, suddenly looking weary and defeated, stripping away the façade of arrogant lawyer, and leaving behind only a man who needed help.

  Her heart immediately softened. "What's going on?"

  He nodded toward the car. "My dog's a nightmare. I can't deal with him."

  "A nightmare?" She sighed at his word choice, completely disappointed. She realized she'd already started to think he was a nice guy, to believe that maybe this moment didn't have to be about her past. But he'd called his dog a nightmare? What loving dog owner did that? "Why do you have a dog if you don't love him?"

  He raised his brows. "He's not that easy to love."

  She set her hands on her hips, gladly grasping the opportunity to talk herself out of liking him, or even being attracted to him. If he didn't like his dog, then that told her all she needed to know about him. "All dogs are loveable. They're endless sources of unconditional love and positive energy. Yes, sure, some of them have some behavior issues, but we can still love them." Her ex hadn't believed in love, unconditional or not. Bandit had been the first time she'd felt loved and appreciated for who she was in a very long time, maybe ever.