Ichiko yelled, “Oh my God, Jericho, are you okay?”
“Woof, woof!” Batshit appeared in front of Jericho, licked his face, and barked like a loon as Jericho tried to sort out his extra-long appendages, while the leash wrapped itself around him, tighter and tighter with every move by Batshit.
A soft, smooth voice said, “I’m so sorry. Rodolfo got away from me. May I help you in some way?”
Jericho, who at that moment was lying face downward, but with his hips turned up and legs crossed while the leash bound his arms to his chest, raised his eyes to look at the most gorgeous man he’d ever seen. Medium height and as delicate-featured as a Papillon, his longish, dark hair contrasted with brilliant blue eyes that, at that moment, sparkled. His voice sounded very sincere, but his lips seemed to be fighting to turn up, and oh what lips they were, full and slightly rosy.
Since the guy, soaking wet, couldn’t be half Jericho’s size, Jericho said, “I, uh, better get myself out of this.”
“Woof. Woof.”
“Werf.”
Where a second before he’d had one dog licking him, there were suddenly two, as the little black-and-white critter that turned out to be a Papillon, too, joined the fun of lick the stupid klutz.
Jericho sputtered, “Batshit, come on. Give me a break, please.” The little black-and-white dog ran, and Bat tried to follow, but the leash was wrapped around Jericho’s chest.
The gorgeous man knelt beside him, the smile almost breaking through, and said, “Hold still. I’ll help.” He must have unfastened the collar from Bat, because she ran off, apparently to play with the other Papillon. Beautiful One pulled on the leash until it slid out from under Jericho’s body and he was finally free.
But free to do what? He was still lying in a heap, looking what had to be indescribably foolish in front of a man so stunning he would have made Jericho tongue-tied without benefit of dogs and leash.
The guy stood and extended a hand. Without thinking, Jericho took it and clambered to his feet. The man’s eyes widened as Jericho kept stretching up and up. About halfway to standing, the man’s hand ran out of leverage and he grinned. “Oh my, I didn’t quite realize I’d bitten off more than I can chew.”
Somewhere around that same second, Jericho really felt the skin on the guy’s hand, like maybe he poured satin from a bottle and rubbed it on. Jericho also caught a whiff of a scent like someone had mixed lemon with a flower like gardenia, but just a hint that made him want to lean down and bury his nose in the man’s neck to be sure.
The whole ridiculous sensory combo of sight, touch, and smell proved way too much for Jericho’s cock and it rose, sucking all the energy from Jericho’s brain and making him stagger back.
“Whoa!” The guy tightened his grip on Jericho’s hand and pulled, suggesting a strength not immediately obvious in his slender, graceful body. That idea hardened Jericho’s dick even more and he stumbled in reverse, landing flat against Mr. Gorgeous.
“Double whoa!” The guy grasped Jericho’s shoulders, and for one blissful second, Jericho stood body-to-body with a man so amazing Jericho wouldn’t even have presumed to dream of him. Of course, he now had a nine-inch, solid-steel erection pressing against the guy’s upper abdomen.
Jesus, I should just resolve this by fainting dead away from embarrassment. But not since corseted ladies of the nineteenth century had anyone been able to produce a good swoon when they needed one, so Jericho took a half-step back, folded his hands in front of his crotch, and murmured, “Sorry.”
When Jericho got steady on his feet, the man took his supporting hands away and said, “No, I’m sorry. My dog was so excited to see Ichiko, he exhibited no restraint, or training I might add.” He smiled—sunshine!—and said, “But you must know how they are.”
“Uh, Papillons? Yes.” Not another word would force itself from his mouth and he just stared at the ground.
A hand came into Jericho’s field of view. “I’m Brees Apollonia, by the way.” The name sounded vaguely familiar. The last name, anyway.
Jericho looked up, stared at the guy’s hand for one beat too long, and finally took it. “Jericho Jones.” He gave one shake and practically ripped his hand away, since the humiliation of the moment had almost persuaded his hard-on to go into hiding and he didn’t want to risk it returning. “Uh, did you say Brees?” The word sounded like a soft wind.
“Yes, and did you really call your dog Batshit? Or is that only used in extremis?”
Jericho couldn’t fight a grin. “It’s a long story, but my friend who owns her found her on the street and she was acting batshit crazy. Since he didn’t know her name, the description stuck.”
“She’s a gorgeous dog. He found her?”
Jericho nodded. “She’d run away from her owners who turned out to be not very nice people. Anyway, her registered name is Champion Rosewell’s Marisol of Treadwell.”
“Ah, that sounds more like it.”
“But we actually do call her Batshit. She seems to approve.”
Brees finally released his smile like the Krakon of enchanting sexiness. “I love that.”
Jericho wanted to sigh and say I’m so glad you do but managed not to. “So, you’re in this class too?”
“Not exactly. Ichiko is actually the handler for all my dogs. I was bringing Rodolfo to her for an upcoming show and arrived a bit early due to an appointment. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have interfered with her class.”
From behind Brees, Ichiko said, “Yes, which Rodolfo is very much doing. Please restrain your beast, Brees-sama.” She gave a small bow and then laughed.
Brees laughed, too, a sound almost as tinkling and melodious as Ichiko’s, and called, “Rodolfo, here.”
Like someone flipped a switch, the black-and-white Papillon stopped leaping in midair with Batshit and raced to Brees’s side, where it sat like a little foo dog.
Batshit looked across at her playmate with what had to be a confused expression. She trotted over, gave the other dog a sniff, and then sat beside Jericho’s left foot.
Jericho clapped a hand to his chest. “What is it they say about company being stronger than willpower? Good girl, Batshit.” He reached in his pocket for a treat and handed it to her.
The look she gave him made him grin. That sharp little brain seemed to calculate one more excellent way to get a treat.
Ichiko said, “So you two have met?”
Brees nodded. “You could say I swept him off his feet.”
Jericho barked a laugh but felt heat singeing his cheeks, which was something he rarely did. Humiliation, yes. Blushing, no.
Ichiko made a hand gesture to the black-and-white and the dog moved to her side. “We’re almost done.” The other students were busily putting their dogs into position, hand-stacking them. “Rodolfo will be a good boy and watch, right, Rodolfo?”
“Woof.”
She moved her hand toward the back porch. He trotted over to it, climbed the step, found a comfortable position, and lay down.
“Wow.” Jericho looked at Ichiko. “I’ll never be that good with Batshit.”
“Chances are, Bat—I mean Marisol already knows most behaviors. Papillons are extremely intelligent. She now behaves as you require her to behave, but I doubt she’s forgotten much of her training. You simply have to polish it up. And since she’s so much happier now, I’ll bet she does even better than she used to.” She looked at Brees. “Mr. Jones is just learning dog handling so he can show Marisol for his friends.”