Page 9 of Imagine Me and You

Jace walked through the front door of his house and was greeted by the muggy, unpleasant scent of dog. Wet dog.

And then his eyes went to the floor and followed the little trail of cotton fluff balls that ran from the kitchen, across the entryway and into the living room, to the fireplace.

He half-expected to see a big black beast at the end of the trail. But he didn’t.

Because the big black beast was on his couch. With the remains of the throw pillow that had been viciously attacked hanging from its jaws.

And its face was wet. It added to the gore of the scene. And judging by the puddles that led from the hall bathroom to the couch, the wet had come from the toilet.

“Hi, Jace! I brought cupcakes.”

He whirled around. “Why is your dog on my couch? Why did it drink out of the toilet? And why in hell did it chew up my pillow?”

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, angry now, unreasonably so, maybe. No, not unreasonable. She’d come storming in yesterday and given him a fait accompli and now she was getting pancake on him and getting his cock hard and her dog was breaking his house.

“She never does stuff like that.”

She crossed to where he was standing and her mouth dropped open.

“See?” he asked. “She did that. She did. She killed that throw pillow and she didn’t even have the decency to consume the body. A pleasure killing.”

“She never does things like that!” she said again, running over to the side of the couch and kneeling down in front of Poppy. “Bad dog! Bad, bad dog.”

She sounded like she was cooing at a newborn baby. Not like she was scolding a two-hundred-pound animal.

“You don’t sound like you mean it.”

“I’m in shock,” Sam said, pushing into a standing position. “She doesn’t chew things at home. She must have been confused about the boundaries here.”

“Confused about the...she’s a dog!”

Sam crossed her arms beneath her breasts, the motion tugging her shirt tight across them. He imagined her expression was fierce, but he was having a hard time motivating himselfto raise his focus and confirm it. Angry eyes...perfect breasts. Frowning mouth...boobs.

There was no contest.

But at some point, he had to acknowledge that he’d passed from normal, expected male study of the female form to slobbering douche bag, so he had to no choice but to look up. Yeah, she was mad.

“Where doyouget off being mad? Your dog chewed up my?—”

“Ten dollar throw pillow.”

“The money isn’t the point. It’s mine. And I like things where I left them and not desecrated by the hound of the Baskervilles.”

“It won’t happen again, Jace. Come on,” she said to Poppy, genuinely stern now. “Outside.”

She walked out with the dog and returned a few moments later without her. “She’s thinking about what she did.”

“No she’s not. She’s thinking about when she can kill again.”

“Jace, I’m sorry. She really doesn’t normally chew. She does drink out of the toilet—I can’t lie. But she doesn’t have opposable thumbs, so we’ll just make sure the bathroom door is closed and she’ll go for her water bowl.”

“She can’t stay in the house, Sam. Not while you’re gone. I can’t have her in here. It would drive me crazy.”

“Jace, what am I supposed to do with her?”

“She can hang out with me. That way I can keep an eye on her. She’s never made a move toward any of the animals on the ranch before, so I’m assuming she’ll stick close, right?”

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