She was pondering its near-bridal magnificence when Valentine shot in front of her and almost tripped her up.
He bounded after the Germa
n shepherd, who was thoroughly overexcited and refusing to come back when called.
“Brutus!” The man’s voice thundered across the park.
Molly slowed her pace. Seriously? He’d called his dog Brutus?
The dog ignored him. He didn’t even turn his head in the direction of his owner. There was no acknowledgment that they even knew each other.
Molly decided that either Brutus was the sort of dog who loved to challenge authority, or else he didn’t often find himself in the company of other dogs and wasn’t about to prioritize obedience over a good time.
Clearly there was one thing that power couldn’t command, and that was a misbehaving dog. Was there any better leveler?
She whistled to Valentine, who was having fun with his new friend.
His head came up and their eyes met across the expanse of grass. After a split second of thought he came bounding toward her, all long lines and lean muscle, and as graceful as a ballet dancer. She heard the muted thud of his paws on the soft grass, the rhythmic panting, and then he skidded to a halt in front of her, the rear end of his body moving with each swing of his tail, that canine barometer of happiness.
There was surely no more uplifting greeting than a wagging tail. It conveyed so much. Love, warmth and unquestioning acceptance.
He was followed by his new friend, the German shepherd, who skidded untidily to a halt at her feet, more bruiser than ballet dancer. He gave her a hopeful look, seeking approval.
Molly decided that for all his bad-boy tendencies, he was cute. But like all bad boys, he needed a firm hand and strong boundaries.
His owner was probably the same.
“Well, aren’t you adorable.” She dropped to her haunches to make a fuss over him, stroking his head and rubbing his neck. She felt the warmth of his breath on her skin and the smack of his tail against the leg as he circled in excitement. He tried to put his paws on her shoulders, almost knocking her on her butt in the dirt. “No. Sit.”
The dog gave her a reproachful look and sat, clearly questioning her sense of fun.
“You’re cute, but that doesn’t mean I want your muddy paws on my T-shirt.”
The man stopped beside her. “He sat for you.” His smile was easy, his gaze warm. “He never does that for me. What’s your secret?”
“I asked nicely.” She stood up, conscious of the sweaty tendrils of hair sticking to her neck and annoyed with herself for caring.
“Looks like you have the magic touch. Or maybe it’s the British accent that does it for him. Brutus—” The man gave the dog a stern look. “Brutus.”
Brutus didn’t even turn his head. It was as if the dog didn’t know he was talking to him.
Molly was puzzled. “Does he often ignore you?”
“All the time. He has a behavioral problem.”
“Behavioral problems usually say more about the owner than they do about the dog.”
“Ouch. Well, that puts me in my place.” His laugh was a rich, sexy sound and heat ripped through her body and pooled low in her abdomen.
She’d expected him to be defensive. Instead, she was the one who was defensive. She’d built walls and barriers that no one could pass, but she was sure that this man with the dangerous blue eyes and the sexy voice was used to finding his way around barriers. She felt breathless and swimmy-headed, and she wasn’t used to feeling that way.
“He needs training, that’s all. He’s not very good at doing what he’s told.” She focused on the dog, rather than the man. That way she didn’t have to deal with the laughing eyes of his insanely attractive owner.
“I’ve never been too good at doing as I’m told either, so I’m not going to hold that against him.”
“It can be dangerous for a dog to challenge authority.”
“I’m not afraid to be challenged.”