Chapter Seven
Lisa
“You want me to scrub him where?”
I blink at the friendly attendant who wears a perky ponytail and a rubber apron identical to the one draping my torso. She’s holding a mop-colored terrier and giving me an encouraging look.
“Part of the intake process for grooming new rescue dogs is making sure they’re thoroughly clean,” she says with a lot more cheer than seems appropriate from someone uttering that combination of words. “All you need to do is lift the tail and—”
“Didn’t Doctor Swanson say she wanted to check out some of the smaller guys?” Dax steps between us and touches my hip with one hand. The smile he’s giving the woman makes her quiver like a saucer of Jell-O, and I can’t say I blame her.
He has that effect on me, too.
“Oh.” Jell-O girl beams up at Dax. “Good point. And I suppose it is Lisa’s first day volunteering at Helping Paws.”
“Exactly,” Dax agrees. “We want to keep her coming, don’t we?”
His voice is liquid chocolate, and I shiver when he says that last part. He slides a glance at me, and I try to pretend I wasn’t just having dirty thoughts about him in the grooming suite at the dog rescue facility where he volunteers every weekend.
According to Dax, today’s experience is the opposite of a spa day, which makes it perfect for The Test.
It also makes for a very smelly experience. Wet and filthy and very, very stinky. I’m doing my best to be a good sport, but taking grooming tips from Jell-O Girl might be my tipping point.
“So how about Lisa and I finish up in here,” Dax says to Jell-O girl, and I snap my attention to him. “And we can let Doc Swanson take care of the other details.”
His hand is still touching my hip, and I’m amused to realize how much I like it there. And how much Jell-O girl does not. She shoots me a smile buttered with faux cheer and turns her attention back to Dax.
“The vet just finished up with that Chihuahua, so I’ll just grab Scooter here and run him next door,” Jell-O girl says, still beaming at Dax like he gave her a pair of diamond studs and a G-spot orgasm.
“That sounds fantastic,” Dax says, and it takes me a second to remember they’re not talking about orgasms.
Jell-O girl scoops up the terrier and trots out of the room. I turn to Dax and blow a damn tendril of hair off my face. “I have to admit, this is not what I expected when you mentioned doggy style.”
He grins and jabs a thumb over his shoulder toward the Pekingese mix I just finished blow-drying. “I’m positive that dog has never had so much style in her life,” he says. “I don’t know how you got that little pink bow to look that good.”
“I’ve had a lot of practice with specialty knots.”
“Me, too,” he says, and eyes me in a way that has me thinking about that time my book club read 50 Shades. I’ll admit, I was scandalized.
Now, I’m more…curious.
“You doing okay?” Dax asks.
I adjust my ponytail and try to look like a woman who wasn’t just thinking about bondage. “I’m good.” I sniff the sleeve of my sweater and wonder how long I’m going to smell like wet dog. I’m pretty sure it’s permeated my pores. “Thanks for rescuing me there.”
“You’re welcome,” he says like a perfect gentleman. A tattoo-covered gentleman who’s been wrestling unruly canines all morning, including two big Rottweilers who weigh more than I do. Is it wrong that I find it kind of hot?
“You’re doing a great job, by the way,” he tells me.
He sounds surprised by that. He’s not the only one. I’ll admit I was taken aback when Dax explained that today’s addition to The Test involved bathing and grooming a batch of dogs rescued from a hoarding situation in Gresham.
But the instant he placed a scared, matted Pomeranian in my arms and ordered me to make her pretty, I got it. I may not be a dog person, but spa days are my jam.
“Those little pom-pom things on the poodle were a nice touch,” Dax says. “Stuff like that helps them get adopted.”
“She really was a sweetheart,” I tell him. “Did you notice how she perked right up after her bath? It’s like she knew she looked beautiful.”
“I noticed. And I’m amazed that Labrador let you paint her toenails.”
I laugh and adjust my damp ponytail again. “She seemed mellow enough to try it. I could never pull it off with any of those terriers.”
He smiles and looks me up and down, then shakes his head. “I still can’t believe you wore high heels and pearls to wash dogs.”
“Well, you didn’t tell me we were washing dogs,” I point out. “You just told me I should dress to get dirty.”
“And to you that says ‘put on seven-hundred-dollar jeans’ instead of ‘where’s my dominatrix costume?’”
“They were a gift,” I fire back. His mention of a dominatrix costume has my cheeks flaming, so I choose to nitpick the rest of his comment instead. “How do you know how much Roberto Cavalli jeans cost, anyway?”
The expression he gives me is stony, and I’m not sure what triggered it. “Let’s just say I have experience removing them,” he says after a long pause.
I stare back at him, not sure if he’s trying to make me uncomfortable or if he’s compensating for his own discomfort.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but the jeans were a present from Gary four weeks after he ditched me at the altar and then had a change of heart,” I tell him. “He showed up with a dozen roses, a bottle of Veuve Cliquot, and the jeans he knew I’d always wanted.”
“And you were all too happy to take them?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I chased him down the walkway and threw the roses at him,” I snap. “Then I put on the damn jeans, called my sisters, and spent the evening drinking the champagne and toasting to my good fortune at not marrying the asshole.”
Dax stares at me for a few beats. “You surprise me sometimes.”
“I surprise myself sometimes.”
He studies me a moment longer, then nods at the bank of dog kennels lining the wall. “For what it’s worth, you’ve done great here today. With the dogs, I mean. I figured you’d last ten minutes, tops.”
“Well, you figured wrong.”
“I did,” he says. “I may have misjudged you.”
His words warm me as much as those icy-blue eyes, so I decide not to mention the fact that I did consider fleeing after ten minutes.
“I like being helpful,” I admit, which is mostly why I stayed. “With the dogs, I mean. Everyone deserves a chance to look and feel their best, and if it helps them find homes, then I’ve done something right.”
“That’s the spirit.” He turns and starts toward the bank of kennels. “Come on. Let’s keep scrubbing.”
I step up beside him, remembering what Jell-O girl told me earlier. “Some of these littler ones are afraid of men,” I remind him. “I can grab her.”
I unlatch the door of an upper kennel and greet a curly black terrier with fearful eyes. “Come on, sweetie,” I coax, edging my hand into the kennel. “We’re going to make you soft and pretty and clean smelling so you’ll find your new home.”
The dog gives me a dubious tail wag and shoots a nervous glance at the hulking man beside me. Dax steps back, giving me space to work. “Don’t you worry about him,” I murmur to the dog. “He might look scary, but he’s really quite sweet.”
Dax snorts behind me, making the dog jump and give a halfhearted snarl. “Now, now,” I soothe. “You don’t really mean that. You’re just playing tough because you’re scared. I know all about it.”
I keep my voice low, the words spilling out of me secondary to the soothing tone that’s worked wonders on skittish canines all morning. Slowly, the dog’s ears perk up, and her skinny black tail gives a tentative wag.
“There you go, babycakes. Is that your name? Babycakes?”
“It’s a boy,” Dax points out. “How about Axel or Deathmetal?”
“Deathmetal?” I roll my eyes at Dax, but the dog gives a soft yip and dances forward. He leans down and licks my hand, wiggling in earnest now.
I seize the opportunity to scoop my hands under the wiry little body, and the dog doesn’t resist. “Oh my. Yes, you are a boy, aren’t you?”
“For another day or so, anyway,” Dax say. “There’s a strict Helping Paws policy on spaying and neutering every pet that comes through the doors.”
Deathmetal pricks his ears and gives another soft yip, and I stroke my hand over his ears. “Don’t listen to him,” I soothe. “I’m sure he’s just teasing you. And even if he’s not, I promise all the lady dogs will appreciate a man who has contraception covered.”
The dog licks my hand again as I carry him toward the bank of tubs on the opposite wall. Dax moves beside me, rubber apron straining over his huge chest. “You’ve seriously never had a dog before?” he asks.
“Nope.” I take my time lowering Deathmetal into the elevated, stainless steel tub, scratching his ears so he stays relaxed. “Our parents never allowed it. Said they were messy and uncouth.”
“You’ve spent your life avoiding all things messy and uncouth?”
“Something like that.”
He says nothing in response, so I’m not sure why I find myself blushing. I turn my face to the side, concentrating on adjusting the taps to get the water just right. Beside me, he squeezes dog shampoo into his oversize palm. After doing this all morning, we’ve got our system down. Still, his presence affects me, the way he stands close enough that I can feel the heat from his body.
“There you go, baby,” I say to the dog as Dax begins massaging suds into the curly black fur. The dog stiffens at first, but I keep a gentle hold on him. Soon, Deathmetal relaxes, giving in to the soft pressure of Dax’s hands engulfing his small frame.
“There’s a spot right here,” I murmur, directing Dax’s hand to a patch of burr-matted fur under the dog’s chin. His fingers brush mine as he begins to work the knot with gentle, powerful movements.
“That’s a good pup.” He leans closer, his breath grazing my ear as he reaches across me for the detangling cream. His bicep brushes the edge of my breast, and I remind myself this is the least-sexy activity imaginable.
“Feels good, huh?” he murmurs as he works the detangler into the matted fur.
I nod on Deathmetal’s behalf as the little dog thumps his tail in agreement. I scoot the wiry body to the side to give Dax better access to the pup’s soft underbelly. He reaches across me again, this time grabbing for the handheld nozzle. I lean back against his chest, telling myself I’m only making room for him to position the spray just right. That I’m not just a hussy who can’t get enough physical contact with this man.
He aims the nozzle at Deathmetal, splashing blissfully warm water over the backs of my hands. “You like that, hmm?”
Deathmetal gives a satisfied sigh, and I swallow hard and focus on turning the dog around, angling the little wet body up so Dax can rinse him off.
“Almost done, sweetie.” My voice cracks a little, and I wonder if Dax has any idea how much his nearness is affecting me. “You’re such a good, good puppy. Just a few more seconds.”
Dax leans past me again to set the hose aside, and I shiver, curious if he’s doing this on purpose.
But no, he’s just hanging up the hose, going through the motions of dog grooming. He grabs a fluffy gray towel from a pile beside the tub and turns to me with a conspiratorial grin that makes my toes curl. “Want to see a trick for getting a dog to shake off so you don’t have to do so much toweling?”
“You just now thought of this?” I spit out a hunk of my hair, determined to cover my discombobulation with a hoity air. “Instead of twenty dogs ago, maybe?”
He grins. “Something reminded me just now.”
Then he leans past me, bending low so one meaty bicep brushes my hand. He’s eye level with Deathmetal now, and he uses one massive finger to gently lift the edge of the dog’s ear.
“Just like this,” Dax says. Then he purses his lips and blows into the dog’s ear. Deathmetal twitches into a full-body shake that sends tepid water spattering against the sides of the tub and the front of my apron.
Dax grins and stands up again. “Good boy!”
I laugh because it’s funny, but also to cover the fact that I’m seriously smitten with this version of Dax. The gentle giant and clever animal handler. The guy whose hands are the size of small skillets and whose fingerprints I can still feel all over my body.
I scoop the dog up and hand him to Dax so he can bundle him into the gray towel. Then he hands Deathmetal back to me, and I set to work rubbing down the wiry little body.
“You’re right, this is much better,” I say. “He’s already mostly dry.”
“Sorry I didn’t remember earlier,” Dax says. “I was distracted.”
The way he’s watching me makes me forget I’m soggy and bedraggled and smelling like wet dog. There’s admiration there, surprise, even.
And also desire. I don’t think I’m reading it wrong, but I concentrate hard on toweling off the dog so my knees don’t buckle. Seriously, how is this getting to me? I don’t understand at all.
“Dax,” I murmur, needing to break the tension. “I want you to know that—”
“Okie dokie!” Jell-O girl bursts through the door and bustles over to us, her perky ponytail swaying from side to side. “Looks like I timed that out just right.”
“Perfect,” I murmur, still dizzy from Dax’s closeness.
“The second crew just got here for cleanup, so you two are free to go now that this last little guy is done.”
“Last one?” I turn back to the stacks of cages, amazed to realize they’re empty. “Wow. We’ve been busy.”
“Great work, you two,” she says. “Will we see you again next week?”
She’s talking to Dax, but he looks at me. “I’ll be here for sure. And maybe now that Lisa’s gotten a taste of it, she’ll keep coming back for more.”
“That would be awesome!” Jell-O girl says with a forced chipper tone that says it’s as awesome as herpes. I can’t blame her for wanting Dax to herself.
But right now, so do I.
I wait until Jell-O girl has bustled out of the room with Deathmetal before turning back to Dax.
“I think I’m ready for a shower,” I say.
His eyes flash with interest as he steps closer, then slips a hand under my super-sexy rubber apron to skim my hip. “You need some help with that?” he murmurs. “I’ve been told I’m quite proficient with the shampoo.”
My stomach flips, and I meet his flirtatious tone with my own. “I promise to shake if you blow in my ear.” Okay, that sounded sexier in my mind.
But he grins back anyway and leans close to graze his lips over my earlobe. His breath is warm against my neck, and the way he’s touching my hip leaves no doubt he wants me as much as I want him.
“Let’s get out of here,” he says.