2

All I can think is that if this had happened to Chicago PD Sergeant Tom Pierce, the man would be screaming in my face as he “took care” of Rufus. My father is not what you would call “understanding.” Or “lenient.” Or “nice.” He has no tolerance for animals.

For that matter, he doesn’t have much tolerance for people, either. Hell, if he could kick humans across the rainbow bridge and call it a “mercy killing,” he would do it in a heartbeat.

Just the kind of person you want the CPD to strap with a service weapon and send out into the community, right?

I bury that childhood trauma down deep and try to focus on the Greek god in front of me. But between the horror of the situation, his criminally good looks, and the way he’s staying eerily silent as he regards me, I’m breaking out in stress hives. I can feel itchy heat spreading across my chest and up my neck.

“I’m more than happy to have those pants dry cleaned for you. In fact, I insist.” I hold out a hand, finally taking charge.

He gazes down at my outstretched hand and lofts one thick eyebrow. “You want me to take my pants off?”

Maybe a mercy killing isn’t such a bad idea, after all.

“No! I’d never— Of course not. That is not at all what I⁠—”

And then he does the last thing I expect.

He smiles.

His chiseled face cracks in a perfect grin—pearly-white teeth amid a thick black beard and a dimple in his right cheek, like a little kiss from the gods that obviously handcrafted him.

I literally have to grab the back of the bench to keep myself upright.

Apparently, Rufus agrees, because he rears back on his hind paws and attempts to summit the man like Mount Everest.

“Rufus! No, stop⁠—”

“Sit.” That voice again. Pure dark velvet wrapped around steel. It leaves no room for misinterpretation.

One word and Rufus is back to being grudgingly obedient.

“You have to show me how you do that sometime,” I mutter, glaring at Rufus, who still only has eyes for his new favorite human.

“It’s all about showing him who’s boss. You have to be the alpha.”

“Rufus has at least sixty pounds on me,” I point out dryly. “I think we both know who the alpha is.”

He clicks his tongue, the sound dripping with disapproval that shouldn’t turn me on but absolutely does. “It’s not about physical size. It’s about strength of character.”

I shift my measuring hand from my head to somewhere in his stratosphere. “I think it’s at least a little bit about size...”

He chuckles and my heart does an acrobatic routine that I haven’t experienced since Miles Hertz chose me as his Juliet in tenth grade.

I thought I’d outgrown that particular brand of teenage stupidity.

Apparently not.

“Again, I really am sorry,” I press on, hoping to get out of this interaction with at least some of my dignity intact. “But, on the bright side, Rufus doesn’t warm to people easily.”

“Are you telling me I should be flattered?” His large hand drops to Rufus’s head, and I try not to imagine those fingers elsewhere. “Well, I appreciate your enthusiasm, Rufus, but I don’t usually go for public sex on a first date.”

“You shouldn’t ask me out then.”

The moment the words are out of my mouth, I freeze.

Did I actually just say that?

Out loud?

To this walking wet dream?

The man’s silver eyes glimmer with a terrifying mixture of surprise and amusement that has me praying for the pavement to open up and swallow me whole. “Is that so?”

I sweep a hand over my face in an attempt to hide my raging blush. “No! I didn’t mean that like that. It came out wrong… It was just a joke!”

“I’m sure it was,” he purrs, his tone suggesting he doesn’t believe a single syllable.

I bite my tongue to keep from shouting, I’ve never had sex in a public park before! With the way things are going now, he’d probably misinterpret it as an invitation.

I map out the breadth of his shoulder and the catcher’s mitts he calls hands, and I don’t know… maybe it is an invitation…

But no. Definitely not. Bad idea. The worst idea. The kind of idea that ends with my mug shot on the evening news.

He pats Rufus again, scratching him behind the ear until his leg starts thumping the ground. “Next time you take this ogre out for a walk, a studded leather collar might give you more control.”

“Studded leather?” I repeat, trying to beat away images of handcuffs and bondage rope and a tall, broad figure stalking closer and closer… “Oh, I won’t need to resort to that. Rufus is a good boy. I save the whips and chains for the bad ones.”

“In that case, do you have a collar in my size?”

Warning sirens blare in my head. Flirting detected. Abort mission.

It makes zero sense. Men who look like him don’t flirt with women who look like me. I run the calculations, searching for any other way to interpret his words combined with that devastating dimple. I come up empty.

I swallow past my thundering heart lodged in my throat. “If you’re asking for private training, I’ll have to check my calendar. But you seem well-mannered from where I’m standing.”

“Clearly, you don’t know me very well.” He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a sleek black business card. “Here. Just in case you find some room in your calendar.”

I take the card, staring at the slanting gold words embossed into the thick paper.

SAMUIL LITVINOV: CEO, Litvinov Group

“Do you want me to walk your dog?” I blurt out. “Or you?”

I expect him to snatch the card back, to realize he’s made a terrible mistake in wasting perfectly good cardstock on a woman who can’t control one horny Great Dane. Instead, he gives me a laugh that slides down my spine like warm honey. “I guess you’ll have to call me to find out, Ms...?”

“Nova. Nova Pierce.”

“Nova,” he murmurs, and fuck me if my name hasn’t ever sounded like that before—like dark chocolate and broken promises. “It was an unexpected pleasure meeting you today.”

He takes a step back. Rufus lets out a pathetic whimper.

Relatable. I have to bite back a whimper of my own.

“Be a good boy, Rufus. But maybe not too good.” Those Arctic eyes catch mine one last time, burning with something that makes my toes curl in my ratty sneakers. “Bad dogs have all the fun.”