ick shut the door behind him and fell into the leather chair. He stared at his drawing board and curled his hands into tight fists to stop the itch. He wanted to create. He envisioned materials such as limestone and brick, with flowing images of glass and sleek curves. The pictures danced behind his closed lids at night, and here he was, owner of Dreamscape Enterprises, and stuck most of the day in board meetings.

He cursed under his breath. Okay, so the board members aggravated him, with the pencil-pushing tactics and money-grubbing ideas. Most of them opposed the waterfront contract, believing the company would go bankrupt if he took the job and couldn’t deliver. The board was right. He had a simple solution.

Don’t fail.

Conte’s party was Saturday night and he still hadn’t secured a business meeting. Hyoshi Komo hadn’t called either. Stuck at square one, the only thing to do was wait for the man to make his move, and count down the hours to the party. Maybe Conte was waiting to see how the social function turned out before seeking a meeting, unlike he told Alexa.

Alexa.

Her name alone was a punch in the gut. He remembered the way she shrieked and shook her head and bounced around the living room in a victory dance after winning chess the night before. A grown woman acting like a child. And once again, he had laughed his ass off. Somehow, as beautiful as his companions were, their slick wit only rippled the surface. Alexandria made him connect with a deep belly laugh, like he was young.

His direct line buzzed. He picked up. “Yes?”

“Did you feed the fish?”

Nick closed his eyes. “Alexa, I’m working.”

She made a rude snort. “So am I. But at least I worry about poor Otto. Did you feed him?”

“Otto?”

“You kept calling him Fish. That hurt his feelings.”

“Fish don’t have feelings. And yes, I fed him.”

“Fish certainly do have feelings. And while we’re discussing Otto, I wanted to tell you I’m worried about him. He’s placed in the study and no one ever goes in there. Why don’t we move him into the living room where he can see us more often?”

Nick dragged a hand down his face and prayed for patience. “Because I don’t want a fish tank ruining the look of the main rooms. Maggie gave me the damn thing as a joke and I hated it on sight.”

Frost nipped through the receiver. “Messy, too, aren’t they? I guess you don’t do humans or animals. I’m sorry to inform you, but even fish get lonely. Why don’t we get him some company?”

He straightened and decided to put an end to this ridiculous conversation. “No. I don’t want another fish, and he will not be moved. Do I make myself clear?”

The line hummed. “Crystal.”

Then she hung up.

Nick cursed, grabbed the nearest stack of papers from the last board meeting, and got to work. The woman actually bothered him at his job about a fish.

He pushed the image of her out of his mind and resumed his work.

…

“He’s gonna be mad.”

Alexa bit down on her lower lip and wondered why Maggie’s words caused a chill to run down her spine. After all, Nick Ryan was no alpha male. Sure, he’d be a little put out from the situation, but he always remained rational.

She surveyed the living room filled with dogs. Lots of dogs. Puppies and mutts and purebreds and hound dogs. Some crowded the kitchen, bumping into tables as they ate their food and slurped water. Others kept up a furious pace as they explored their new home, sniffing in corners and moving from room to room. The wire-haired terrier chewed on a throw pillow. The black poodle jumped on the couch and settled down for a nap. The mutt looked about ready to lift his leg by the speaker, but Maggie grabbed him and threw him into the back yard before he did serious damage.

The worry blossomed into a full-fledged panic attack.

Maggie was right.

Nick might kill her.

She turned toward her friend. “What should I do?”

Maggie shrugged. “Tell him the truth. You’re only taking them for a night or two until the shelter can make other arrangements. If you give them back, they’ll all be put to sleep.”

She winced. “What if he still makes me get rid of them?”

“Take them to your apartment.”

“Too small.”

Maggie threw up her hands when she spotted the look. “Hell, no, I’m not taking them to my place! I’ve got someone coming over and he’ll be a lot warmer than a puppy. You’re on your own.”

“But, Maggs—”

Maggie gave a wave. “Gotta go. Man, I’d love to see the show when my brother walks in. Call me on my cell.”

The door shut.

Alexa surveyed the room, now in puppy chaos, and decided she’d been a little too impulsive. She could have reasonably told the shelter she’d take a few, then brought them to her apartment. But no, she’d been mad at Nick for being a cold-hearted monster about the fish, and decided to teach him a lesson. Except now she was just plain scared.

The hound dog gnawed at the table leg. She pulled herself together and prepared her battle plan. She’d put them all in the spare room and maybe Nick wouldn’t notice. He never went in that room. She’d bring all their toys and food and sneak them out the back for their walks. She convinced herself the strategy would work, and herded the group down the hall. She dumped out a whole bag of play toys and made sure most of them ran after her. Then she shut the door, gathered up the sleeping puppies on the couch, the food and water bowls, and some spare newspapers. She raced out and got the last stray from the backyard, and set up the room so the dogs would be comfortable.

Alexa stared worriedly at the beautiful loveseat and chair in swirling patterns of silver and gray. Damn, why did Nick have to be rich? No one’s spare room looked this good, with slate carpeting, pewter tables with ornate scrolling, and throws that cost more than her whole comforter set at home. She ran her fingers over the soft, precise stitches of an afghan. She needed some old blankets, and she bet her husband didn’t have one. She decided to go on a hunt upstairs but she heard the key in the lock.

Panicked, she threw the afghan over the chair and shut the door behind her. Then she hurled herself down the hallway and skidded to a stop in front of him. “Hi.”

He looked suspicious already. Blond locks slipped over his forehead and his eyes narrowed, as if he didn’t trust her to be nice. Guilt squirmed within, but she ignored the emotion.

“Hi.” He looked around the house and she held her breath. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing. I was just about to cook dinner. Unless you’re tired and want to go to bed right now.”

One brow shot up at her hopeful tone. “It’s six o’clock.”

“Right. Well, I bet you have a lot of work to do, huh? I’ll bring your food upstairs to your office if you want.”

Now, he looked plain irritated. “I did enough work today. I want to relax with a glass of wine and watch the ball game.”

“Are the Mets on?”

“Don’t know. They’re not in the playoffs anyway and they didn’t make the Wild Card. The Yanks still have a chance.”

She squirmed with pent up annoyance. “They’re too far back—it’ll never happen. New York won’t be getting in the series this year.”

He let out an impatient breath. “Why don’t you watch the Mets upstairs?”

“I want the big TV.”

“So do I.”

Crankiness hit her hard. Alexa grabbed onto the emotion, grateful the fear had melted away. She turned her back and stalked into the kitchen. “Fine, I’m calling in my favor.”

He hung his black wool coat in the closet, then stood in the doorway. She took out ingredients for the salad she wouldn’t eat and cut up vegetables for a stir-fry. He grabbed a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and poured her a glass. “What did you say?”

“I’m calling in my favor. I want to watch the Mets game downstairs on the big TV. I want you to stay upstairs and watch the Yankees game, and I don’t want to hear a sound. Not a cheer, or a yell, or a ‘Go Yankees’ rally. Got it?”

When she looked back, he gaped at her in sheer amazement, as if she’d sprouted horns. She tried to ignore how adorable he looked, with his mouth slightly open, and those incredible shoulders stretched against the pale gray down shirt. Why did he have to be so damn attractive? The shirt sleeves and collar were still crisp after hours of wear. His charcoal pants still held the crease down the middle. He had unfastened the buttons by the wrist and rolled the material up in his usual fashion. Light-colored hair sprinkled over his forearms and strong fingers gripped the delicate wine glass with a power that made her fidget when she thought of the other things he could touch. She tried not to ogle him like a teenager and focused on chopping.

“You’re insane.” He actually took a few moments to gather his powers of speech before continuing. “These favors are supposed to be used for important things.”

“My choice. My favor.”

He stepped closer. His body heat pulled and tantalized and tortured her mental sanity. She ached to lean back against his chest and let his arms clasp around her waist. She craved to feel all that muscled strength support her and pretend they were a real life married couple. They’d neck in the kitchen and make love on the heavy oak table amidst the wine and pasta. Then share dinner and talk quietly and watch the Mets game together. Alexa forcibly swallowed the lump in her throat and pushed away the fantasy.

“You’re using a favor in order to watch a lousy baseball game?”

“Yep.”

She threw the garlic and peppers in the skillet and he moved another inch. His belt rasped against her buttocks. Even covered in thick denim the threat of a more intimate touch made her hands tremble around the knife. His breath rushed warm against the nape of her neck. He placed both palms flat on the countertop and caged her in. “Favors are rare. Want to waste it on a stupid ball game that doesn’t mean anything?”

“I care about every game the Mets play. You, on the other hand, don’t take it as seriously because you’re complacent. Winning comes too easily. You take it for granted.”

He growled in her ear. “I don’t win all the time.”

She stuck to the topic of baseball. “Even after losing the World Series to the Sox you never lost your arrogance. Still didn’t respect another team.”

“Never knew the poor Yanks caused such a fuss.”

“It’s the fans more than the team. We know what it’s like to lose. And each game we win is a small victory we appreciate and never take for granted. We’re also more loyal.”

“Hmmm. Talking Mets or their fans?”

“See, you think it’s funny. If you experienced loss more, you’d be humbled. The win would feel even sweeter.”

He rested his hands on the curve of her hips. The length of his erection pressed against her rear. “Maybe you’re right,” he murmured.

The knife clattered on the chopping block. She spun around and bumped against his chest. He caught her by the shoulders and tipped her chin up. Sensual tension swirled and crested. Her lips parted in unconscious invitation at his admission. “What?”

A savage glint appeared in the depths of tawny eyes. “Maybe I’m starting to appreciate things I can’t have.” He ran one finger roughly down her cheek. Traced her lower lip. Pressed his thumb over the sensitive center of flesh. “Maybe I’m starting to learn about wanting.”

Her mouth went dry. She ran her tongue over her lips to dampen them, and the sensual tension twisted another notch. She poised on the edge of some discovery that would change their relationship, and she battled her instinct to jump over the cliff and to hell with the consequences.

Instead, she forced herself to continue their odd conversation. “So, you agree? You understand why the Mets are a better team?”

A flash of straight white teeth mocked her statement. “No. The Yankees are a better team. They win for one reason.” He whispered his comment against her lips. “They want it more. If you want something bad enough, Alexa, you eventually take it.”

She shoved at his chest and spun back around, wanting to brandish the knife on more than the vegetables. Typical, arrogant, Yankee fan. “I’ll call when dinner’s ready. Until then, I expect you’ll be upstairs.”

His laughter echoed through the kitchen. The chill settled around her as he walked away. Alexa held her breath as he started up the stairs, but the dogs were still quiet.

She raced into the living room, put on the baseball game, pumped up the volume, and went into the back room to check on the canines.

The afghan was torn to shreds.

She pried it out of the black lab’s teeth and stuck it in the bottom desk drawer. The paper was already dirty, so she cleaned up, spread fresh newsprint down, and laid some down over the couch and chair for extra insurance. She refilled the water bowls and figured they’d all have to go out again in another hour before bedtime.

She shut the door, sped into the kitchen, and finished dinner while shouting loud comments to her players.

Nick came down for his dinner and quickly went back upstairs. Exhausted from her trickery, she vowed from now on to be honest with the shelter. She managed to sneak the dogs out in small groups for the rest of the evening.

When the game ended and the Mets had won 4-3 over the Marlins, she did a quick victory dance, cleaned the kitchen, checked on the animals, and climbed the stairs to bed. Her muscles ached and her head spun, but she had been victorious.

She’d need to wake up before five a.m. to get all the animals walked, fed, and cleaned up before Nick left for work.

She winced but managed to shower quickly, and fall into bed. She didn’t even bother with a nightgown, but crawled immediately under the comforter and fell asleep.

…

Someone was in the house.

Nick sat up in bed and listened. A faint scraping noise echoed through the air. As if someone scratched a key against a lock and tried to jimmy the door open.

With quick, economical motions he padded on bare feet to the door and opened it an inch. Silence greeted him. Then he heard the sound.

A low murmur. Almost like a growl.

A chill ran down his spine and he thought over his options. Who the hell was in his house? The alarm hadn’t gone off, which meant the burglar had disarmed it. He didn’t have a gun or a bottle of mace. What else was used in the Clue game? A revolver, candlestick, knife, rope, or lead pipe.

Better off calling 911.

He eased out of the doorway and tiptoed past Alexa’s closed door. He paused, then decided waking her would be the wrong thing to do—she may panic or give the intruder a target Nick didn’t want to deal with. His main goal right now was to keep her safe. He grabbed a baseball bat from the hall closet, swept up the cordless phone, punched out the three numbers and reported a break-in.

Then he started down the stairs to hurt the son-of-a-bitch.

Nick stopped at the bottom and hid in the shadows. The air remained still except for the steady buzz of the refrigerator. He stood alone for a while and studied the darkened rooms. The front door was solidly locked—chain hooked on—alarm set. Strange, if it had been disarmed the red light would be out. Maybe the back door, but he hadn’t heard the panes of glass break unless—

The door to the spare room rattled. He eased forward, keeping tight against the wall, baseball bat brandished while he counted down the seconds before the cops would arrive. Clint Eastwood he was not, but if he got one good hit with the bat he could call himself a man.

Heavy breathing. Almost like a pant. A scratch.

What the hell?

He stopped and reached for the knob. His pulse skittered with a rush of adrenalin. He fought past the fear and latched onto control. Nick raised the bat, turned the knob, and threw open the door with all his strength.

“Aaaaghhh!”

A group of dogs rushed past him. Two, four, six, eight—a crowd of fur encircled his legs—spotted dogs, little dogs, big dogs—all barking and wagging tails and lolling tongues. The bat hovered high in the air but they never sensed danger. Thrilled to see a human in the dark hours of the night, they all leapt to attention and wanted to play.

For a few seconds, he convinced himself he was having a dream, and would wake up in his own bed.

Then he realized the scene was real.

And a murder would be committed.

Involving his wife.

The room was in shambles. Shredded papers flew in every direction. The luxurious carpet was mottled with liquid circles that didn’t look like water. Stuffing poked out of a couch cushion. His potted plant lay drunkenly to one side and one puppy pawed through the pile of dirt. Architectural Digest had been chewed up and spit out.

Nick closed his eyes. Counted to three. Opened them.

Then screamed his wife’s name at the top of his lungs.

Right on cue, he heard her launch down the stairs in a panic. When she saw the problem in front of her, she tried to back off but she was running too fast. Her bare feet skidded on the floor and she hit his body full force. With a whoosh of air released from her lungs, she grabbed onto his shoulders for balance and looked into his face.

She must have realized the danger within seconds. Those baby blues widened in pure fear and she stumbled back with her arms outstretched as if to ward off an attacker. Nick barely registered the movement. He was too intent on squinting through the haze of red that blurred his eyes.

One furry paw landed smack on his groin. He pushed it away and managed a furious whisper. “What the hell is going on?”

She winced. “Nick, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do because the shelter called and said they were full and asked if I’d take a few for the night, and I couldn’t say no, Nick, I couldn’t or they would be put to sleep because the funding is so hard for the shelters nowadays, but I know you hate animals so I just thought they’d spend a quiet night here and go home in the morning.”

“You thought you could hide a room full of dogs from me?” He tried desperately to control the rage this time, he really did, but he felt his voice getting higher. Then he understood why cavemen dragged women around by their hair.

He watched her face gauge his reaction. Her teeth reached for her bottom lip, and she did a little hop from leg to leg as if thinking really hard of how to explain things in a way that wouldn’t make him madder.

A stray bone landed on his bare foot. He looked down at a lolling tongue and wagging tail.

“He wants you to throw it.”

He glared. “I know what the damn dog wants, I’m not an idiot. Contrary to what you must think of me, that is. You used your favor to keep me locked upstairs so I wouldn’t find out about this.” He took in her guilty expression. “You’re a good liar, Alexa. I guess I never knew how good.”

She stopped cowering, and pulled herself to full height in her bare feet. “I had to lie! I’m living with an animal hater who’d rather see innocent puppies in the gas chamber than mess up his house!”

Nick gritted his teeth and swore. “Don’t try to turn this around on me, woman. You never even asked, just snuck a bunch of dogs in my spare room. Did you see what they did to my house? And where’s my orange afghan?”

She threw back her head and made a frustrated wail. “I should have known you care more about your stupid possessions than a life! You’re just like the guy from Chitty Chitty Bang Bang—remember he used to lock away all the children so the city would be neat and clean and organized? Heaven forbid everything didn’t go exactly the way he wanted it. Let’s keep life tidy. Let’s make sure the orange afghan doesn’t get ruined.”

His temper teetered on the edge.

Then snapped.

His fists clenched and he let out a roar, which the dogs must have liked because they all started to howl at the same time and bounced around his feet in a whirl of fuzz and tails and paws.

“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang? You’re insane—you need to be locked up in the loony bin. Lie to me, wreck my house, then compare me to a children’s villain, all because you can’t be a normal person and take responsibility and apologize?”

She stood on tiptoes and got right in his face. “I tried but you’re being unreasonable.”

He reached out and gripped her upper arms. His fingers closed around something silky and he shook her slightly. “Unreasonable? Unreasonable? It’s the middle of the night and I’m standing in a room full of dogs, talking about a stupid movie!”

“It’s not stupid. Why couldn’t you be more like Ralph Kramden from the Honeymooners? Sure, he was loud and obnoxious, but he saved the whole shelter of dogs when he found out they would be destroyed. Why can’t you be more human?”

“The friggin Honeymooners, now? That’s it, I’ve had enough. You are going to pack up every one of those dogs and take them back to the shelter right now, or God help me, Alexa, I’ll get rid of them myself!”

“I won’t do it.”

“You will.”

“Make me.”

“Make you? Make you?” His fingers twisted around a wad of silky, satiny fabric as he fought for a shred of control. When the haze finally cleared his vision, Nick blinked and looked down.

Then realized his wife was naked. Her lime-green robe had slid down over her shoulders and now gaped open. Her sash slipped unnoticed to the floor. He expected to catch a glimpse of some lacy negligee made to incite a man’s lust. He got much more.

Jesus, she was perfect.

No fabric marred the endless curves of warm, gilded flesh. Her breasts were lush and made for a man’s hands, her nipples the color of a ripe strawberry that begged for a man’s tongue. Her hips formed the ancient hourglass figure artists based fantasies on instead of sharp bones that dictated the current fashion. Miles of long legs. A tiny scrap of fire engine red panties was the only thing that blocked his view.

The words died in his throat. His breath stopped, then rushed out like he’d been punched in the gut. She screwed up her face to keep yelling, but paused when she noticed the change in his expression. Nick knew the moment she realized her robe had dropped. Knew when the knowledge she was naked hit her full force. Watched her lips purse a small circle of horror right before sanity hit to make her reach for the robe.

Nick used his two-second time span to make a decision.

Her fingers started to yank up the material when he blocked her motion, lowered his head, and stamped his mouth over hers. Shock held her immobile and he used the time to his advantage. One quick thrust parted her plump lips and allowed him entry—entry to every slick, feminine heated corner of her mouth. Drugged on the taste of her, he circled her tongue with quick, urgent strokes, begging her to give it all back to him.

And she did.

Full power.

As if a tightly closed door opened under a sharp kick, Nick almost heard the shatter as their control broke. She opened her mouth and drank, then made her own demands as a low growl of hunger escaped her lips. He pushed her hard against the wall and challenged each thrust of her tongue, as her arms wrapped around his neck and her back arched. Her breasts tilted upward for full offering. His head spun as her flavor swamped his senses. His hands came around to cup her heavy breasts, his thumbs rubbed her tight nipples. He became mad for the feel and taste and sight of her. A mass of dogs swarmed around their ankles, their crazed barking just a secondary noise to the roar in his blood.

He tore his mouth from hers to sink his teeth into the delicate line of her neck. A shudder wracked her body, and he made a low murmur of satisfaction as he moved lower to feast on her breasts, his tongue delicately licking the tip, nibbling, while she squirmed against the wall and urged him on. His mouth opened over her and he fed, sucking hard on her strawberry nipple as his hands slid around her back to grasp the curve of her buttocks, forcing her hips up to cradle the length of throbbing, hard flesh begging for entry.

“Nick, I—”

“Don’t tell me to stop.”

He looked up. Her breasts were slick from his mouth, her nipples tight and aroused by his attentions. Her belly quivered. Swollen lips parted, allowing panted, ragged breaths to escape. Her eyes darkened to a deep, drowning blue as her gaze locked on his. A second passed as he waited. A moment. A century.

“Don’t stop.”

She pulled his head down and kissed him. He ravaged the flesh of her lips as if he was imprisoned and she was his last taste of freedom, felt himself sink into the depths of her body until…

“Police!”

The sound of sirens fought its way into the sensual world they created. The door banged with command—the flashing red alarms spun a whirl of color through the windows and into the hall. The barking of the dogs grew louder with the commotion.

He staggered back from her as if coming out of a long stupor. She blinked, then with almost mechanical movements reached for her robe. Nick turned and headed toward the door, disarmed the alarm, and let his hand pause on the knob.

“You okay?”

She shuddered but managed to speak. “Yes.”

He opened the door to a uniformed cop whose anticipation for trouble changed to suspicion. Nick’s drugged eyes and obvious arousal must have seemed suspicious, because the cop peeked down the hall to the robed woman and crowd of dogs about her feet. He holstered the weapon. “Sir, you reported a break-in.”

Nick wondered if this moment was about to challenge his most embarrassing. He pushed a hand through his mussed hair and grabbed for his usual, logical sequence of thought. “Right. I’m sorry, officer, there’s been a mistake. Please come in.”

He knew if he didn’t let him in it would look suspicious. The cop took the scene in with a glance and seemed to note the woman appeared willing and the dogs weren’t trying to protect her from a maniac. He tipped his head. “Ma’am.”

She swallowed hard. “Officer. Sorry about this.” As if she knew Nick was also a bit foggy, she attempted the explanation. “My husband thought someone was in the house but it’s all my fault. I hid these dogs in the spare room, hoping he wouldn’t find out, and they must have made some noise in the middle of the night and he thought it was an intruder.”

Nick closed his eyes.

Definitely an embarrassing moment.

He tried to interrupt. “Alexa, why don’t we just—”

“No, Nick, let me finish. You see, officer, my husband doesn’t like animals and I volunteer for the shelter so sometimes I take strays in and this time I didn’t want him to find out about it so I tried to sneak the dogs to a place he wouldn’t notice.”

The cop turned his head politely. “You didn’t notice a room full of dogs, sir?”

Nick ground his teeth in irritation. “She made me stay upstairs.”

“I see.”

“So, anyway, my husband heard the dogs and called 911 but when he tried to check the scene out himself he found the dogs and got mad and started yelling and I came down and we had a bit of a fight and then you showed up.”

The cop glanced at the bat on the floor. “Sir, you were trying to surprise a burglar with nothing but a baseball bat?”

Nick wondered why he suddenly felt like the one accused. He shrugged. “I called the cops but I figured I’d try to get the thug myself.”

“You don’t own a gun?”

“No.”

“I’d recommend next time you think there’s an intruder, call 911, lock yourself and your wife in a room, and wait for the police.”

Steam rose but he forced a nod. “Of course.”

The cop made some notes on his pad. “Ma’am, will you be okay tonight with the dogs?”

“Yes, we’ll be fine.”

“Then I’ll be on my way. Let me take some information for my report.” He took down the basics, then paused to pat the black lab on the head. A smile touched his lips. “Cute dogs. You’re doing a wonderful thing, Mrs. Ryan. I’d hate to see any of these animals put to sleep.”

She practically beamed up at him in her lime-green robe and ravaged, tangled hair. “Thank you.”

“Good night.” With a polite nod, he let himself out.

Nick shut the door behind him, then turned to face his wife.

…

Alexa wasn’t about to wait for his tidy explanations. She bet a long list of excuses hovered on the tip of his tongue. He’d been mad and lost control. Sleep deprivation caused him to reach for her and damn the consequences. Now the police had doused him with a jolt of cold water, he’d gone over the idea and decided it would not be in their best interests to sleep with each other. After all, it was in the contract. After all, this was a business marriage.

After all, this wasn’t real.

The sexual fog drifted away and left her with a dull, nagging pain. She looked upon the policeman as Fate—her Earth Mother finally stepping in to lend a helping hand.

“Alexa—”

“No.” She put up one hand and Nick went quiet, waiting. Alexa knew, right then and there, she had very dangerous emotions for Nicholas Ryan. Messy, real life feelings. She took the truth like a dose of bitter medicine and met the fact head on. If she slept with him, things would turn for her, and remain the same for him. She’d fall in love, and he’d have a good time. She’d be broken-hearted at the end of a year, and he’d walk away without a glance back. Another piece of information hit her like a knockout to the head.

If he asked, she’d go to bed with him.

She practically shuddered with shame. She had no control over her hormones when he touched her. She couldn’t even promise she’d never consider the opportunity in the future. But she knew one thing—the only way she’d go to bed with her husband was if he begged. She wanted him mad for her, hot and explosive and so horny just a touch would push him over the edge. Like tonight. But she wanted no more excuses of temper, or sleeplessness, or alcohol. She wanted straight out, fabulous, passionate sex with his head clear and his eyes on her. Not thinking about Gabriella. And not thinking about an end to celibacy.

She needed him to want only her.

That was the last proverbial nail in her coffin. Because tonight, she still wasn’t convinced he wanted his wife in his bed.

Dully, she congratulated herself on being as logical as Nick. If she couldn’t sleep with him, she’d have to keep pushing him away and walk the line between friendship and desire. She was tired of fighting. So, she chose honesty with a twist. Just like a hot toddy—the medicine went down better with a little bit of liquor.

“Nick, I’m sorry.” She pulled herself to full height and wrapped herself in an invisible cloud of dignity. “I was wrong to hide those dogs from you. I’ll get everything cleaned up and drive them back to the shelter in the morning. If they need me again, I’ll tell you and I’m sure we can work it out.”

“Alexa—”

She continued in a rush. “And about what happened here. It’s okay. I got caught up in the moment like you, and I’ve heard anger usually turns to passion, and let’s face it, we’re both sexually frustrated. These episodes are bound to happen. And I don’t want to talk about it—I’m sick of talking this business relationship to death. It’s just about money so we need to stick to the contract. Okay?”

…

Nick struggled for composure at his wife’s speech. The itch between his shoulder blades warned him she hid a lot more than she let on. He knew this moment could turn on a quarter and not a dime if he took one step away from his logically plotted course.

He pushed the nagging thought away and looked at her. As the days passed, he realized she became more beautiful to him. Light shimmered from her eyes, and smile, and her very heart. Their dialogues pushed open doors he thought had been locked, but the result was a strange flow of emotion he didn’t feel comfortable with—and never would. She was a woman who needed a secure relationship. Hell, she was a woman who deserved it. He could only give her sex and friendship. Not love.

He’d made his decision years ago. The cost was too great.

So, Nick watched the fragile thread snap between them again with a mixture of emotions and too much damn regret.

He forced a nod and a slight smile. “Apology and explanation accepted. No more analyzing.”

She smiled back but her eyes remained distant. “Good. Why don’t you go upstairs while I clean up?”

“I’ll help.”

“I’d rather do it myself.”

He moved toward the stairs and studied the hound dog crouched in the corner. A long, yellow body. Ugly face. Canine eyes echoed his own past—lots of pain and no one to count on. Matted fur matched a long tail, hanging limply to one side. Definitely a loner, like an older kid in an orphanage flung amidst cute, little babies. Probably caught trying to steal some food. Probably no family or kids or connections. The dog stood quietly at the foot of the stairs and watched him climb.

Nick remembered the summer he’d found an old mutt in the woods. The dog was starved, with clumpy fur and hopeless eyes. Nick dragged him home and plied him with food and water. Eventually he nursed him back to health and made a friend.

He’d managed to hide him from his mother for a while since the house was so big, and the housekeeper agreed to keep the secret. Then one day he arrived home from school and went looking for him and noticed his father was back from a trip to the Cayman Islands. He knew immediately his dog was not there. When he confronted his father, Jed Ryan laughed and gave him a rough push. “No losers in this house, buddy. Maybe if you got a real dog like a German Shepherd. That mutt was good for nothing and actually crapped in the house. I got rid of it.”

Jed Ryan had walked away, and Nick remembered the lesson again. Never get attached. He’d thought about that dog every day for years, then finally locked it away where the thought could never bother him again.

Until now.

For the second time that night, Nick hesitated, wanting to take a chance on something but too afraid of the consequences. His heart hitched with longing, unrest, confusion. Then he turned his back on his wife and the ugly dog and shut the door behind him.