She laughed at being caught and deliberately turned off the recorder, tucking it away. “I guess it’s bath time, Digby.” She held out her arms and the dog wriggled, eager to return to her embrace. “If you want to let him off-leash out here, you’ll need a paver or some gravel and a few bricks.”
“And I’ll put them where?”
She kissed the top of the dog’s head and set him down. Walking to the wooden privacy fence, she pointed out a few inches of separation between the fencing and the ground. “Right here.”
“No way,” he argued, looking back at the dog.
She knelt and flattened the grass in front of the spot. “Way.” She tipped her face up to his. “Digby was following a slide left by something else.”
It took a second to process what she was saying. With her on her knees and peering up at him, his body had dragged his mind to places best ignored. He took a hasty step back, then went through the fence to check it from the other side.
“I’ll be damned,” he muttered.
Her low chuckle rippled through the air like a dare, stirring his senses. He should send her away, immediately. Because being attracted to the local reporter was a disaster waiting to happen.
CHAPTER 3
The sun was beginning its slow, golden descent, casting long shadows across the courtyard and turning the sky into a wash of pastels. Holly knelt by the modern dog-wash station, her sleeves pushed up past her elbows. Digby, surprisingly docile now that he was the center of her undivided attention, sat in the basin with an expression of stoic resignation.
“You’re a good boy, Digby,” she crooned, testing the water temperature until it was perfect. She was no expert, but she guessed the shampoo products on the shelf cost more than her own hair care routine. No judgement. She was more impressed by Sebastian’s care for the little guy. There were some quick wipes and a brush as well, but Digby had become quite the mess on his unauthorized excursion.
She brushed as much of the dried muck out of his coat as possible and then turned on the water. He grumbled a little, but didn’t fight her as she wet his coat. When she poured a dollop of the whitening shampoo onto her palm, the scent of lavender and honey wafted up into the air.
“I didn’t believe a word of that Tasmanian devil nonsense.”
From the corner of her eye, she watched Sebastian.Seb. Apparently, he’d found several decorative bricks near the garden shed and was currently hauling them toward the gap in the fence. Every time he moved, the muscles in his back and shoulders played a rugged symphony beneath the thin, sweat-dampened fabric of his Metallica shirt.
A lovely view, but definitelynotwhere her focus should be.
Holly forced her gaze back to the dog. She was a journalist and the man’s physique wasn’t the focus of her article. Although she had no doubts that he would gain plenty of attention when he finally made it to town.
“You’re doing something wrong,” he called out, trudging back toward the shed.
“Have to disagree,” Holly countered, when he reappeared, bricks in hand. She lathered Digby’s shoulders. “He’s not even wiggling.”
He paused, glaring at the scene. “Did you slip something into his dog treats? Usually by this time, he’s screaming bloody murder and trying to tear off my skin.”
“Of course not.” She bent down and kissed the top of Digby’s head. “I guess I just have the right touch.”
Seb grunted. “Guess so.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. His dark hair was damp with exertion, sticking to his forehead in a way that made him look younger, less like a wealthy recluse and more like a man just trying to keep his head above water. “Admittedly, intuition isn’t my forte. Logic is more reliable. And logic tells me that dog should be trying to bite your hand off after the day he’s had.”
“Maybe he just knows who the good guys are,” Holly said, rinsing a patch of suds from Digby’s flank.
She felt the man’s gaze on her, heavy and thoughtful. It did nothing to ease that persistent hum of attraction heating her skin. She’d felt it the moment she saw him at the gate and ifanything, the sensation had settled into a steady pulse between them. She was acutely aware of her stained shirt and the hair coming loose from her ponytail, though she couldn’t change anything about her appearance right this second.
She gave Digby a final rinse, noticing his patience was coming to an end. “You’re doing great,” she said.
“Thanks.” Seb dusted off his hands. “You can double check it, but if he gets through that, he’s not a dog, he’s a ghost.”
“Or a very determined excavator,” Holly teased. “Does he look more like the dog you know and love?”
His lips twitched. “Yes.”
“Great.” She turned off the water and felt the dog shiver. She nearly pulled him to her chest before she remembered her messy shirt would only dirty his white fur all over again. “We just need a towel.”
“Right.” Seb plucked at his own dusty, sweaty shirt. “Be right back. Do not let him off that leash,” he advised, darting for the door.
Looking around, she thought the afternoon sunlight might take the edge off the dog’s chill, but Seb returned in record time, a towel in one hand. “Here.”
