Page 27 of Daddy's Rules

“Yes, Sir,” I whisper, looking around for witnesses. His serious tone and stern manner has my body tingling.

“Good girl. Any more disobedience and you’ll be going over Daddy’s knee for a long hard lesson later, understand?”

I gulp. “Yes, Daddy.”

When we start to walk again I look down the alley as we pass and my heart plummets but not because of his threat. “Oh, Owen!” I jog toward a scruffy dog cowering against the brick wall. I crouch, holding my hand out. “C’mere, sweetie.”

“Jordan!” Owen’s voice is tight and firm. I turn to look at him, startled. He’s at my side now but still moving past me, his brow furrowed with worry.

“Don’t scare him!” I say. Owen steps between me and the dog and gives me a sharp look.

“He’s clearly a stray and God only knows what he’s got or if he’ll bite. Stay back.” He shakes his head. “What are you thinking?”

“Owen, don’t be silly. Look, he has a collar. He’s lost.” The dog dodges past Owen and comes straight to me, jumping up to lick my face. “Are you lost, boy?” I croon and scratch his head. He’s thin, in need of a bath, and his collar has no tag. “Maybe he’s microchipped.” I look up at Owen’s stormy face. He’s mad and it makes my gut flip.

“You and I are definitely going to talk about this,” he says, crossing his arms. His casual black golf shirt stretches nicely across his chest and I ignore the fluttering his biceps give me. I’m in trouble and the last thing I should be doing is staring at his body, especially when we are trying very hard to keep things platonic.

The dog whines, pulling my attention. “Owen, I know you’re upset with me, but can we please go to the ASPCA and see if this little guy has a microchip? See how friendly he is? You’re not dangerous, are you, little guy?”

“Jordan, that beast is not going in my car. He’s filthy.” Owen scratches his neck. “And I’m already itchy thinking of the fleas and God knows what else that creature has.”

“But we can’t leave him here! Look at him. He’s starving.” I give Owen my best pout. “Please!” He growls but I can see he’s softening. “Please, Daddy,” I say softly.

“Jordan, he’s a mess.” He looks at the dog and runs his hand through his hair.

“I saw a vet office just a bit down the block. We could see if they can scan for a microchip. Then he doesn’t have to get in your car.”

“And what if he doesn’t have a chip?” His lips are pressed and hard now and his hands go to his hips. Damn if it doesn’t make my abdomen clench with need.

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” I say brightly and scoop the little dog into my arms. He licks my face and as I giggle, Owen growls again.

“Give me that beast. I’m not going to have you sick with worms or fleas or whatever sort of disease this thing has.” He grabs the dog and tucks him under his arm so the little guy can’t reach anything with his licky tongue.

“Thank you!” I squeal and clap my hands.

“Don’t thank me yet, woman. Our talk is getting longer by the second. Your ears are painted on today.”

“Don’t worry, squirt, he’s not as scary as he seems,” I say to the dog as I rub his furry ears.

“Hell no, don’t you dare name him! And keep your hands off.”

“I’m not, but I have to call him something.”

“Call him dog or beast,” Owen says, looking at the dog with a face similar to the one he made over the sour milk in the morning. “You stink, beast.”

“How on earth can you call this sweet little baby a beast?”

“Easy. Beast,” he says to the dog, whose stubby tail starts wagging crazily. His lip curls. “Geez, he likes it.”

“He doesn’t know any better,” I grumble.

“Oh, little girl, you just keep digging.”

I swallow hard and bite my lip. God, his threats are sexy.

We confirm the dog doesn’t have a chip and that hasn’t it hasn’t eaten for a while. I look pleadingly at Owen. “Can we keep Beast until I find the owners or a new home?”

“It stinks, and it’s not getting in my car.” He’s trying to hold his ground but I can see his eyes softening as the dog rests his head on Owen’s arm from the exam table. “We were just supposed to have a nice lunch.”

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