Page 74 of Gideon's Gratitude

Lucky looked back and forth between the two of us several times before deciding the offer was genuine. He leapt from the bed.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t.” Archer leaned over and pressed our lips together.

I was stunned. I’d been the recipient of a mind-blowing hand job, but we’d never kissed.

He feathered my hair and pressed a palm to my cheek. “We’ll be back. I think he needs a good run.”

“He’s going to get muddy.”

“So I’ll wipe him down. It’s all good, I promise.” He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Why don’t you sleep some more? Just take it easy.”

And then they departed.

I should make breakfast.

He told me to take it easy.

I scooted out of my pajama bottoms, tossed them over the side of the bed, then gingerly rolled so my nose lay on Archer’s pillow and my body inhabited the space where his had been. I let the residual heat seep into my bones as I was pulled back into slumber.

Chapter Twelve

Archer

Last night’s rain had given way to brilliant sunshine. Almost unexpectedly so. Somehow, I’d thought more showers were in the forecast, but apparently I’d missed the mark. For a fraction of a moment, I considered yanking out my phone and checking what weather was to come. More rain might oblige me to stay with Gideon.

Which appealed in so very many ways.

Just a hand job.

With the promise of more.

I rarely thought of Nolan, but he came to the fore this morning as Lucky and I meandered down the street.

The dog was obsessed with sniffing every patch of grass and, as much as I needed to get a move on, I gave him this enjoyment. I planned to hustle us back. Always cautious of his previously brokenand now healed leg, of course. Gideon had been right—when I angled my head at just the right view, I could see the repaired injury.

“You were lucky he rescued you.”

The dog glanced up from a particularly interesting patch of tall grass and gave me awhat the fuck, dude?

I laughed. “A lucky dog named Lucky. That works for me.”

“Hello.” A deep voice caught me off guard.

I glanced up to find two men headed my way with two dogs on leashes.

The first man was tall, burly, and attractive. With red hair, a red beard, and a broad chest covered in plaid. He looked like a damn lumberjack. And the pooch on the end of his leash was the cutest little white fluffball I’d ever spotted.

The other gentleman was slighter and a touch shorter. He had short, brown hair that suited his face. His gray eyes were a shade lighter than mine. He had a scar on the left side of his face, and, as I surreptitiously gave him a once-over, I saw he had scars on his hand as well. A golden retriever strained at the leash he was holding.

I held up my hand in greeting. “Uh, not my dog. I think he’s okay with other dogs, though.” He had been with Tiffany last night, at least.

The burly ginger smiled. “We can take it slow. Princess Sofia is as gentle as they come.” He gestured to his pooch, and then to the retriever. “And Chip’s easygoing. Aren’t you, girl?”

The retriever gave him a nod. Almost like she understood what he was saying.

Her owner appeared a little less…convinced. Still, he was the one who gestured for Chip to approach Lucky.

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