Page 50 of De-Witched

He eyed Rosie as she strained at the leash, desperate to show her adoration for the stranger. “Are they trained?”

“To do what?” Her grin was unrepentant as those fiercely green eyes slid her way. “They won’t cause you any more hassle than I do.”

“Hmm.” Still, he stepped back, held the door for her as she and the others traipsed in.

Once he’d shut it behind them, she bent to unclip the leashes.

Rosie immediately hurtled to Gabriel, stopping at his feet and panting up at him, whining in despair when he didn’t immediately coo over her.

“She wants you to pet her,” Leah supplied.

“She can want all she likes.” Gabriel sidestepped, flummoxed when Rosie matched him. He changed direction and she matched him again. “You’re not going to win,” he told her.

“Don’t you know females always do?” Leah placed the leashes and her purse on one of the decorative tables Gabriel had in the short hall. Once her hands were free, she threaded fingers through her curls. She was pretty sure she looked like she’d been pulled into a hedge, tossed around, then thrust back out. Windy city and all.

After an amusing thirty seconds, Gabriel finally placed one precise pat on Rosie’s head. The sprocker all but melted to the ground, flipping to her back and exposing her stomach.

Leah sniggered at the nonplussed expression on Gabriel’s face.

Meanwhile, Delilah had had enough of investigating the living room furniture and circled back. She sniffed his feet—bare, Leah noticed with a small jolt—and then huffed as she made a beeline for the kitchen.

“Delilah isn’t much for men,” she explained, following her dog, making sure she wasn’t getting into anything she shouldn’t.

When she looked back, she caught Gabriel’s hand rubbing the spaniel’s tummy. Busted.

He pretended innocence as he rose, cheeks a little pink. “Drink?”

“Sure.” She covertly checked him out as he walked by. “I can’t believe you’re not wearing a suit.” And looking damn good out of one, too.

“I’m at home.”

“I thought I’d be sipping hot chocolate in hell before you relaxed.”

“I’m not so uptight.”

She snorted. “Please. If I cranked you one more notch, you’d go off like an alarm clock.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It means, you’re uptight. But you do you,” she added with a bright, quick smile. “As a friendly acquaintance, I think it’s endearing.” And so were the jeans that hugged his muscular ass. God, she’d thought him annoyingly hot in his vest and shirtsleeves, but seeing this together man unbuttoned?

Undeniable lust shivered over her skin and she stepped back in reaction. Louie yelped and she bent, immediately fussing. “Sorry, Lou.”

She took a moment, breathing out the lust, breathing in a reality check. So, he was hot. And he’d apologized. And helped clean the shelter. So, what? It wasn’t like anything more could happen.

Or would happen. He’d never really given her any indication he thought of her that way. And wasn’t that a kick in the ass?

“Introductions,” she chirped, puncturing the disappointment before it could inflate. “The sprocker acting like she’s been struck by cupid’s arrow is Rosie. The dachshund who’s getting in your garbage by the sounds of it—” she winced at the clattering sound “—is Delilah. And this,” she stroked a hand over Louie’s soft ears, “is Louie.”

“The calm one.”

“Always. He was found wandering on the streets with a bad eye infection. We don’t really know what his background is, but he’s a sweetheart.”

“You rescued him.”

“He bonded with me pretty immediately and I couldn’t bear to leave him. He’s never been trouble; all he wants is love. They all do.”

“You rescued all three?”

---