Page 45 of Dangerous King
"What?" He puts his hand to his ear, and this time, I see the mischievous grin on his face.
"I didn't mean—" I try again.
"What?"
"Alright, I'm coming down," I say, this time lower.
"Bring some treats from the kitchen island."
Funny, this time he seemed to have heard me just fine.
A smile spreads across my lips. There is something forbidden and arousing about moving through the dark house, going to meet Enrico in the yard, like a clandestine date.
I scold myself,Clandestine date? Really, Catalina? You're losing it.
True to his word, I find a glass canister sitting on the kitchen island, filled with small bone-shaped biscuits—the dog treats. I fill my pockets and walk outside. Marveling for one short moment at the fact that I'm in the kitchen, and don't feel any hunger. This has to be a first in… a long time.
The patio is even grander than it looked from up on the balcony. Several lights are strung over and through wooden beams that make up the roof, surrounded by grapevines.
In one corner is a large kitchen island, complete with a full-sized fridge and an oversized barbecue. Chaise lounges, chairs, and tables occupy the other side. A full-sized bar stands against the house.
Several steps lead down into the yard, and then I have to move around the pool before I reach Enrico and his dogs. The Shepherds surround him, eyeing me cautiously, waiting for a command from their master. I'm sure they would rip me to pieces if he gave the order. The thought makes my feet falter for just a moment. Giovanni would have. I swallow and ask a little too late, "Do they bite?"
"Only when I tell them to or when someone they don't know comes too close without one of us around." He replies. And then, "Easy, Boris," he tells one of them, who was about to rise.
"Uhm…"
"Just come closer, they won't hurt you," he promises.
"Okay." Even I can hear the quiver of mistrust in my voice, and he laughs.
"Hold out a treat," he tells me.
My hand digs into my pockets, and I pull one out, approaching the first dog.
"Hold it on the flat of your hand. They have sharp teeth." He advises.
I gulp, but seeing the magnificent dog so close to me, all I want is to pet him. Or her?
I hold out my hand like Enrico said.
"Go ahead, Sally," he tells the dog, and only then does she approach me cautiously. I feel her breath on my hand, before a long snout slowly opens.Oh Dio, those teeth. They look long and sharp. But Sally surprises me, as she almost daintily picks up the treat.
Enrico points at the next. "Dexter."
I can tell she's scared, but I'll be damned if she even shows an ounce of it. Slowly, she gives each dog a treat. I want them to get to know her so that she can stroll through the property like everyone else.
The dogs have been trained to tear intruders apart, and they don't distinguish between men and women. People always say dogs are smart, that they know who is a threat and who isn't, and maybe that's true for other breeds, but my Shepherd's protective instincts have been honed over many generations. They will protect whoever I tell them to protect and tolerate who I tell them to tolerate; anybody else… they will tear apart.
"Can I… can I pet them?" Cat asks.
The dogs weren't really bred for petting, love, and affection, but I nod, knowing that women feel a lot differently about that kind of thing than men do. Carefully, she pets Boris over his flank.
Surprised, she looks at me. "He's so soft."
Shepherds shed like a motherfucker, which is something my mother can't abide. The dogs aren't allowed in the house, despite their weekly grooming, but I take pride in them having the kind of coat that makes other dogs look homeless.
She looks delectable, standing there in a pair of pajama pants and a simple t-shirt, with the V neck of her robe exposing the swells of her breasts.
