It looked ridiculously dinky cupped in his wide palm. The memory of his thick, hard cock pressed against her returned in full force, and all of the sudden she wanted to cry. Cute as it was, that micro-wand was never going to do it for her now. She took it, walked over to her trunk, and slipped it into a side pocket, though she might as well have marched over to the trash bin and thrown it away. Instead, she closed the lid of the trunk, and sat on it to secure the latches.
It took a few seconds for her to realize the latches hadn’t simply popped open when the trunk had hit the floor. They’d busted. “Dammit.” She blew out a breath and looked up at him.
“I’ve got the universal fix. Hold on.” He walked across the small lobby, past the sole ticket counter, and it into a darkened hallway beyond. This left her alone with the wolf. It continued to sit obediently, watching her with stunning crystal blue eyes, but stunning or not she intended to keep her distance. An animal that size made her nervous.
Lights flickered on from a closet or office along the vestibule, followed by the faint sound of drawers opening and closing. Moments later the hallway went dark, and he reappeared, holding a X-Acto knife and a silver roll of…
“Oh, no.” Shooting to her feet, she protested. “You can’t be serious.” The thought of super-sticky duct tape affixed to the trademark laminated canvas of her monogrammed trunk made her cringe.
He nodded. “You have a better idea? I don’t think all this is going to fit in your purse.”
With a small groan, she shook her head and buried her face in her hands. “I can’t watch.”
He made quick work of it, turning her icon of gracious travel into something that resembled a poorly repaired booth at a second-rate diner. “There’s a leather goods shop in town,” he said, and whistled for the wolf as she rolled her duct-tape-defiled trunk out of the terminal. “They’ll be able to fix it or sell you a similar-sized piece that will stand up to real travel so you can ship this one to the manufacturer for repair. Either way, we’ll cover the cost.”
Stand up to real travel? Was that a critique of her luggage? Evidence suggested he had qualms about her gender and her personal presentation, and on top of all that, he didn’t like her luggage? Forget it. The man could keep his bear-daddy dick and his disapproval. And his explanations. She would package up his damn air and freight business and get the deal done in record time so she could go home and collect her partnership. And she would enjoy all the bear-daddy dick Captivity had to offer while she did it, but she was through giving Trace Shanahan the time of day.
“Don’t worry about it.” Despite the slow burn of her temper, the outside temperature startled her. Sharp little snow flurries stung her face. She shoved her free hand into her coat pocket and wished she’d thought to put her gloves on. The wolf danced ahead of them, its loud, seemingly happy barks shattering the silent evening.
Yeah, yeah. The prospect of a blizzard excited one of them.
Trace led the way to a green Yukon with the Captivity Air and Freight logo and contact information emblazoned across the rear window. The engine already ran, which she deduced meant he’d activated some kind of remote warm-up mode. Polite of him. He popped the trunk and hauled her bag into it.
“Up, Key,” he said, and the beast hopped in as well.
Hell, maybe he’d warmed the car for the animal.
…
Trace helped Isabelle into the Yukon, then came around to climb behind the wheel. He wasn’t an impulsive person, as a rule, but acting on her completely off-the-cuff comment about starting with a kiss had been pure impulse—the only means that had sprung to mind to salvage a chance of preventing the town from knowing her true purpose for being there.
And it was a good plan, actually. As his potential fiancée from California, they could spend all kinds of time together, and no one would suspect he was up to anything beyond helping her get to know and love his hometown.
It had also been a good kiss. Technically, two kisses, and both had packed a punch. A mutual punch. He wasn’t so out of practice that he didn’t know when a woman came alive in his arms, or eagerly reached for his—
“Ooof.” Key bounded over the third-row seats and plunked his butt down on the floor of the second row, directly behind the front seats. His furry head popped into the gap separating driver’s seat from passenger seat, and he panted happily.
“Woof!”
Isabelle jumped at the bark, which made him feel even more guilty. Those kisses, no matter who’d made the initial suggestion or how mutual the punch, hadn’t been a fair thing to pull on her. She’d gone along, yes, and then been swept along, just like him, but the punch he’d felt might just as easily have been her fist into his face. Still might, and he definitely had it coming.
“Hush, Key.” Trace put the car in gear. The wipers activated. “I’m going.”
His passenger gave Key a wary look. “Does your wolf bite?”
Trace shook his head. “He’s not mine, and he’s not a wolf. He’s a dog. Part husky, part malamute. You don’t bite, do you Key?”
The dog lifted his nose to the moonroof and howled.
“That’s good. Good to know.”
But it was a telling question. Most visitors fell deeply and profoundly in love with Key. A king-sized white furball with an overabundance of personality—much like his owner—and a penchant for hyper-vocalizing didn’t usually generate concern from even the timid tourists. But now that they were in close proximity, he could see she was a little afraid of the animal. He could also see she was shivering. He reached across her and activated her seat warmer, then pumped the climate control on her side of the vehicle up several degrees.
She put her hands near the vent and sighed deeply. Her long eyelashes lowered as if she found the blast of heat blissful. After a second she leaned back and snuggled into her seat.
“Not a dog person?”
She glanced his way. “I don’t know. Never had one. He’s very…big.”
Or, from the other perspective, she was very not big, but fair enough. Key was oversized for the breed, and probably outweighed her. Why not be nervous around something larger, stronger, and wholly unfamiliar? “He’s also very well-trained. Key”—he lifted his hand off the wheel, made a fist, and tipped it back toward the dog—“bump.”
On cue, Key’s paw tapped his fist. “Good dog,” he praised, and offered Isabelle a smile. “Your turn.”
She squirmed around in her seat until she faced Key and held her fist out tentatively. Key, being his master’s dog, bypassed her fist and licked her face with enthusiasm.
“Oh!” She jerked back, gave a soft, self-conscious laugh that landed straight in Trace’s balls, then aimed a look at him as she wiped her face on the sleeve of her coat. “Jeez, does every male in this place just kiss a girl whenever he feels like it?”