Those loose Levi’s of his were threatening to slip down his lean hips, and the lack of shirt was deeply distracting. Smooth tanned skin sliding over muscle, perfectly flat, ridged abs building up to a powerful triangle of chest, shoulders, and arms. His eyes, so sharp when he’d first appeared, were going back to a sleepy look. His hair was mussed as if he’d been tossing and turning. Then he made it worse by shoving his fingers through the silky strands, and when he was done with that, he came close and took over the task of holding Lucky down for her with strong, firm hands and arms.
And sweet baby Jesus, those arms. That whole body. It was completely functional, nothing wasted, no excess, and she couldn’t look away from it. It was enough to make her walk into a wall if she’d been stupid enough to attempt walking and looking at him at the same time. “You going to say anything?” she finally asked.
He slid her a long look. “I was finally sleeping.”
She laughed and he brooded. “It’s not funny. You have me living with the devil’s spawn. So nothing personal, but what can I do to help you here so you’ll get the hell out?”
“Just holding her like that is great. I’m having a tough time here.”
“You would have managed. You’re good with animals.”
“Yes,” she agreed, thinking she’d rather be good with men right about now. In particular, a big, badass, silent, edgy, dangerous man who carried a gun in the waistband of his jeans and had a body so cut it made her want to run her tongue over every indention and then some. “And you’re good with… well, just about everything,” she said. “Well, except cuddling.”
He flashed her a look that was so innately male, as if she’d just questioned his Guy Card or something. It should have been annoying, but instead it made her nipples contract in greedy anticipation. She busied herself with parting Lucky’s fur to get a better look at the first quill.
Brady grabbed the spotlight above the table and better aimed it for her as she poured vinegar over Lucky’s punctured skin. Lucky whined and Lilah did her best to soothe her before glancing at Brady. “Thanks,” she said gratefully.
He leaned close to see what she was doing, and that’s when she realized he smelled amazing.
Warm and sexy and… amazing.
Lucky was growling low in her throat, showing her teeth, worrying Lilah. The dog was older, around nine, and usually sweeter than molasses, which is where Lilah’s decision not to muzzle her had come in. A mistake.
Brady came in from behind Lucky’s sharp teeth and clasped the dog’s head in his big hands, holding her still. “Why the vinegar?”
“It loosens up the quills. It’s why I broke in to do this here. I couldn’t find any white vinegar at home.” Leaning over Lucky, Lilah snipped the first quill at about the halfway mark.
The dog whined and Brady stroked her face in sympathy. “You’re cutting them to let out some of the air,” he guessed.
“Yes.” She forced her attention back to Lucky, using pliers to get a good grip on the quill as close to the dog’s flesh as possible, and pulled.
The quill slid out.
Lucky cried.
Still stroking the trembling dog, Brady bent low to murmur to her softly.
“Another talent of yours?” she asked. “Soothing the scared female?”
He smiled, and she had the most ridiculous urge to pretend to be terrified so he’d hold her and murmur in that voice and hold her close, too. And maybe do other things… “You do this a lot on your travels?”
Brady’s eyes were still amused, suggesting maybe he knew where her thoughts had gone. “Assist a sexy woman in the middle of the night with a dog? Almost never.” He shifted, turning so he could more comfortably hold Lucky for her, and Lilah went very still.
Brady’s back was broad and smooth and gorgeous… except for his side, where a long, jagged scar ran from his armpit down to his ribs. It was a few shades lighter than his normal skin tone, signaling that it was at least a few years old. There were other scars as well, but nothing as major as that one long imperfection.
Lifting his head, his gaze met hers without hesitation or resignation.
Her fingers itched to touch it, to soothe him, which would be a little bit like trying to soothe a wild, untamed mountain cat. “What happened?” she asked as casually as she could, pouring vinegar over the next quill, then snip-ping it with scissors as she had the first.
He remained quiet and she figured he had no intention of answering. “I suppose,” she finally said, “it’s one of those you-could-tell-me-but-you’d-have-to-kill-me things, right?”
His mouth quirked but he held his silence. He was good at that.
“I heard you spent some time in Afghanistan,” she said softly, working out the next quill.
“I flew medical choppers.”
“And in Iraq?”
“Same thing. I was good at the hot spots.”
She poured the vinegar and then snipped the quill halfway as she thought about Brady out there on the front line, right in the thick of things, bringing people in and out on a daily basis, constantly in more danger than she could possibly imagine. “Does it still hurt?” she asked as she pulled out the quill.
“No.”
“How-”
“A machete.” His voice was easy enough, but she heard the steel undertone-he was done talking about this.
She could understand that. “I’m guessing you’ve seen parts of the world that would seem like another planet to me compared to this place,” she said softly after yet another quiet moment.
He let out a low sound of agreement.
“You must think I’m pretty naïve and sheltered.”
“No.”
“But you do think I live safe.”
He didn’t answer, and lifting her gaze, she met his, which was sharp yet warm. It seemed impossible that he could be both, but he was.
Just outside the exam room door, the rest of the center was dark, filled with shadows. Not in the exam room, which felt… close. Intimate.
“You’re right,” she said. “I do live safe. I grew up in this one-horse town with my grandma and good friends, and it’s always been a comfortable fit for me. And very safe.”
“It suits you.”
“It didn’t always,” she said wryly. “By the time I graduated high school, I was chomping at the bit to get out of town and find the real world.”
He smiled, interested. “So did you?”
“I went to UNLV. University of Las Vegas.”
He choked out a laugh. “About as different from here as you could get.”
“You could say so,” she agreed, and yet again wielded the pliers on poor Lucky. “I was a little out of my element.” Like a babe in the woods. Which had been the whole point.
“Is this the part where you tell me you made your tuition by becoming a stripper?” he asked hopefully.
“No,” she said on a laugh.
“A showgirl?”
“No!”
He looked her over. “I know. You became a phone sex operator.”
“Stop.” She rolled her shoulders, the smile fading because the truth was worse.
His expression turned serious. Reaching up, he stroked a loose strand of hair off her jaw. “Something happened to you.”
There was concern in his eyes, and a protectiveness that shouldn’t mean anything to her.
But it did. “No. Not like you’re thinking. It’s really just a very boring old story.”
“You’re in luck, then. I love boring old stories.”
“No you don’t,” she said on a laugh. “You hardly talk at all unless I’m bugging the hell out of you with questions.”
“True,” he said stroking poor Lucky to keep her calm. “But I like to listen to you.”
Her heart tumbled and she sighed, again moved by him when she shouldn’t be. She supposed she could tell him a little more. “I got accepted on a scholarship into the animal science program.”
“To become a vet?”