“Your father passed recently?” Laina’s eyes tightened at the corners. “Goddess, I’m an idiot. I’m sorry, Kyle. I didn’t know.”
He sighed heavily. “How could you have?” He shrugged. “It was a shock. My brother and I used to joke that the man was a cockroach—nothing could kill him. The guy smoked like a chimney, drank like he had a replaceable liver, and burned through women half his age while subsisting on a diet of bacon and butter sandwiches.”
“Quite a man.” Her lips twitched before she could force her face back into a solemn expression.
“It’s okay. You can laugh. He would’ve liked a beautiful young woman laughing at his antics. Sort of his game, actually. You could say he was the quintessential American playboy. Hunt Club was his idea. It was the last business our company established with his direct involvement.”
“When did he decide to get Milo?” she asked.
“About a year before his death. He died a few days before I came to see you. We didn’t know he was sick until the end. Everyone assumed he was off sowing his wild oats. Turns out he was spending his days dying in a cabin in Red Grove, New Hampshire. The nurse said he’d wanted the dog for protection.”
Laina raised an eyebrow as Milo shook his jowls, drool spraying the remains of the couch cushions around him. As he stared at the slobbery mutt, Milo’s tongue lolled out the corner of his mouth, the billows of his leathery nose snorting. Kyle frowned. Gross. Laina may have plenty of experience with dogs, but this was a majorly unsexy way to welcome her to his home. And despite inviting her here under the pretense of watching Milo, Kyle wanted her here for other, more interesting reasons—namely, he wantedher.
“Protection huh? He may have chosen the wrong mastiff,” Laina said lightly.
“He does seem more of a chewer than a fighter,” Kyle murmured.
“Not just that, he’s an English Mastiff, not a bullmastiff.”
“There’s a difference?”
“A big one. English Mastiffs are bigger but much less aggressive. Don’t get me wrong, they can be protective of their owners and do make good watchdogs. His size and bark would be a major deterrent to most people. But it’s usually the bullmastiffs that are used for security. They’re more aggressive. You break in to a house with a bullmastiff, and his size would be the least of your worries. You’d likely get up close and personal with his teeth. English Mastiffs don’t have a mean bone in their bodies naturally.” As if to illustrate her point, Milo lay down near her feet and rolled onto his back. She knelt to scratch his belly. “The rash is completely gone.”
“I changed his food like you said. He’s been doing a lot better.”
She gave him an appreciative nod. “Excellent.”
“I don’t think my father was worried about getting robbed,” Kyle said, circling back to their earlier conversation. “His nurse said his first night there, something big scratched at the door and scared the hell out of him. He thought it might have been a bear and wanted a pet who’d scare away any wild animals who took an interest in the place.”
Laina tapped her chin as she observed Milo and the couch he’d destroyed. When she was finished assessing the situation, she looked straight up into his eyes. And didn’t that just make his blood pound in his ears and his dick twitch. All he could think about was what he’d like to do with her now that she was on her knees in front of him. He took a long blink, forcing his head back into the moment.
“I think we’re dealing with more than an undisciplined dog here, Kyle. He’s grieving—just like you. Your dad was his pack, his alpha. All the feelings of loss you’re experiencing, he’s experiencing too.”
“He bonded with the old coot, huh?”
“Dogs weren’t meant to be alone,” she said, stroking Milo’s ears. “Milo is lonely. He wants a leader. If you want Milo to respect you, you need to win him over, get him to see you as his alpha. Not only will he feel secure enough to stop eating your furniture, he’ll be loyal and protective of you until the day he dies.”
Kyle’s polished smile faded into something more vulnerable. “How do I do that?”
“Two things.” She stood, dusting Milo’s hair from her hands. “The first is to earn his trust by caring for him on a predictable basis. That means he can’t spend all day locked in this room. He must be fed a quality diet, be exercised regularly, and be socialized with both people and other animals. He needs a predictable schedule that includes work and reward.”
Kyle snorted. “Don’t we all. What’s the second thing?”
She met Kyle’s stare. “Love.”
The intense and immediate reaction Kyle had to the word left him swallowing hard. He studied her expression. “Love?”
“Seriously. A dog can tell when you love him. They need love the same as food or water. The same as humans do.” Her voice petered out at the end. Could she feel the charge in the air the way he did? He shifted his gaze toward the dog again to try to ease the tension.
“So, we start with trust,” he murmured under his breath, then decided he had nothing to gain by hiding his attraction to her. Turning back to her, he stepped in closer. “There’s something else I want to tell you.”
“About Milo?”
He shook his head. “I wish we’d had that date. That first day I met you, you knocked me off my feet.”
“Please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You are surrounded by supermodels. I highly doubt a woman with blood in her hair and smelling of fecal samples knocked you off your feet.”
He allowed a languid smile to spread across his face. “There’s something about you. You’re different. Almost…wild.”
