Chapter Five
Grady Hart frownedas he drove his truck down the rutted dirt lane to the Mountain Dog Rescue Center. He hadn’t expected Linx to be quite so hostile about him adopting the dogs on behalf of theveterans.
Wasn’t she the one who had donated the seed money for his charity by buying Jenna’s sexy see-through high-concept wedding dress for a reality showfundraiser?
True, she’d told him to stay away from her place because her dog supposedly hatedhim.
Last Christmas, he’d come to Colson’s Corner when his sister Cait was kidnapped by a deranged psychopath. He’d met some of Linx’s family, and she’d pretended she hadn’t known him, by allowing Cait, who she’d befriended, to introducehim.
He’d returned the favor and didn’t let his family know about her—or their past—either. It was better that way—given the heavy accusations she’d thrown his way—threatening to blackmail him for sexual harassment if he didn’t do as shedemanded.
True, he’d been her smokejumping instructor, but she was over eighteen and she was the aggressor, chasing him all over the camp and cornering him when he’d leastexpected.
He slammed the door of his truck and walked up the path to the wooden cabin which served as the office. A chorus of barks ranging from deep bass bellows to the sharp yips of smaller dogs competed to welcomehim.
He stepped onto the porch and spied the sign. It said, “Closed.”
What game was she playing? She’d agreed to meet him, but now she was playing hard toget?
As if he’d have anything to do with any woman, including her. All they wanted was a man’s money and having him whipped to the size of a kitty cat at their beck andcall.
Nope, because of Linx Colson and others like her, he would never allow himself to be caught up in their drama and games. He simply needed the dogs, nothing more, nothingless.
Grady pressed the buzzer, and a dog barked and whined behind the door. It wasn’t a warning bark, or an aggressive “get off my property” bark, but a playful and demandingbark.
The sound was almost familiar. It was a big dog, that much he could tell. Maybe female and very affectionate—begging for a tummyrub.
How could a dog expert like Linx interpret these noises ashate?
He heard sounds of her scolding the dog named Cedar who she dragged away from the door. Another door slammed and footstepsreturned.
Linx opened the door, looked around, and grabbed him by thelapels.
“Get in here before anyone sees you.” She slammed the door, then shoved him against the log walls of her cabin. Still clutching his jacket, she attacked hislips.
Her hot tongue drilled into his surprised mouth—not that he was shocked, and her breath came fast and panting. She devoured him, kissing and nipping his lips and rubbing her cheek against the two-day growth of beard hesported.
He quickly took control of the kiss and grabbed her tight, turning her so she was pressed against the wall, and he was the one plunging his tongue into hermouth.
What was going onhere?
But then, this was vintage Linx through and through. She used to jump him behind the mess hall, entice him to follow her to the far side of the hangar, or find him on “mop up” duty and tumble him onto the still smoldering ashes, trusting their flame retardant clothes would take care of any lingeringembers.
Then there was the skinny dipping. How could heforget?
But he needed answers, and as long as her lips ravished his, he’d get nothing useful from her—not even the reason she shut her friendly-sounding dog in thebathroom.
Taking a breath of her spicy and seductive scent, he pulled back from her swollen lips enough to mutter, “What’s wrong with your dog? Aren’t you going to put her out before she hurtsherself?”
“How do you know it’s a her?” Linx’s head snapped back. “Have you been snooping around? You know my dog hatesyou.”
“I think she wants toplay.”
“You don’t know my dog.” She pushed back from him, and he wanted her lips back on his. Kissing was better than arguing. “We shouldn’t be meeting here. Toodangerous.”
He changed the subject instead. “Let’s go to the barn out back so you can show me thedogs.”
“No, you’re not supposed to behere—”
