Can't Touch This (3 page)

I flipped her the bird as I vanished out the door.

FUCKING FINALLY.

Took her long enough.

Pikachu wriggled in my arms as Vesper Fairfax blasted through the door separating the surgery to reception as if she’d been pushed from behind.

If this practice didn’t have the best veterinary equipment in Thorn River (a tiny town located in Brisbane, Australia), and wasn’t so close to my house, I wouldn’t put up with the dilly-dallying of its resident vets.

“Ms. Fairfax, did you come via Canada? Is that your reason for the delay?”

Her cheeks heated with a mixture of embarrassment and rage.

I didn’t care that I annoyed her. She’d annoyed me by being tardy. I had a dog in pain. Didn’t that mean anything?

She glared. “I assure you that despite your unplanned arrival and urgent demands for care; I will do my best for your pet.”

I huffed. “Your website says pop-ins welcome and critical care takes paramount. Are you saying those terms aren’t correct?”

Her chin lifted, revealing the length of her milky throat and the sexy sharp angles of her cheekbones. Out of all the women I’d met, dated, and dealt with, she was the prettiest.

Which pissed me off.

I would’ve been much happier if she was a troll with sausages for fingers and warts on her nose—then, perhaps, I could focus on the reason (the only reason) I was in a vet’s office.

The current poor beast in pain.

However, her blonde curls, slightly upturned nose, and damn pixie features meant my cock wanted to visit just as much as doing the right thing by the dogs I cared for.

The first time I’d seen her came back to haunt me as she glowered with ice blue eyes. What did I do for my first impression?

I tripped.

Literally, I tripped over my fucking shadow.

Not because she was drop-dead gorgeous in a nerdy librarian kinda way, but because she’d smiled so big and kind, she’d somehow removed the fear about my charge’s agony and assured me it was okay to worry but she would hold that weight for a while.

Even though she’d just hung the closed sign, and clicked the lock for the night, she welcomed me in, booted up the computer, and assessed little Heineken (a rescue wiener from a family who deliberately fed him rat poison) and somehow managed to stop the diarrhoea and vomiting he endured.

The way she soothed both me and the dog caused memories of being cared for by my mum rise up and grab me around the throat. How long had it been since I’d been petted just for the sake of comfort? How many years had passed since I’d cared for another in the same way?

Too fucking long and I didn’t know how to let my guard down anymore. I didn’t know how to reciprocate simple kindness that didn’t come with conditions or awful memories of death.

“Those terms are correct.” The friendly sympathy she’d given me that first night had slowly vanished the more I was an asshole. “But it doesn’t mean I’m yours to snap your fingers at and make me magically appear.”

The more we met and stood shoulder to shoulder while discussing the symptoms of a sick poodle or spaniel, the more a wall went up between us.

It was my fault, even if I didn’t mean to do it. And now, I needed a bulldozer to break it.

Not that I wanted to break it.

We had a professional relationship.

That was it.

That’s all I want…I think.

“Oh no? I thought that’s what money did these days.”

Well, if I wanted to add another layer of cement for her hatred toward me, I just achieved it.

Great work, Ry.

“Did you seriously just say that?” Her hands slapped onto her hips. “Do you have no filter as well as no off switch?”

I had no idea what she meant by no ‘off switch’ but I would take responsibility for being a jerk.

“Look, I’m sorry—”

She cut me off. “What seems to be the problem, Mr. umm…Carson.”

The deliberate pause on my name was a stupid power trip. She damn well knew who I was. She’d known it the night I stormed in with a bleeding dog and had been nice to me. She’d listened with glowing concern and didn’t care that it was just us until well after ten p.m. by the time we’d flushed the poor dog’s system and ensured his vitals were good.

I’d liked her that night.

I’d liked her intelligence and caring and (yes, I will admit it) her perky rack beneath her light blue uniform.

The second visit had gone just as well. She’d listened to me with sincerity and the dog had fucking loved her. I couldn’t stop staring while her hands soothed the skittish creature and her peach lips regaled what she would do to help.

By the third visit, I was mildly obsessed with her and had full intentions of asking her out.

But then, she’d cooled.

And I had no bloody clue why.

The fourth and fifth appointment had been the same. She gave the dogs the best attention, scratched behind their ears, murmured to them in her sexy voice, but gave me no mind. I was just the wallet paying for said service.

Which was fine.

She wanted to be a shrew, I could be a…what?
What hunts a shrew?
A badger? A fox? Whatever stupid analogy. I would be a pissed off man and let her know I’d take my business elsewhere if she continued to be a brat.

Go where?

The other vet in town is a seventy-eight-year old man who can’t see around his cataracts and will probably cut off Heineken’s penis rather than his balls when it’s time to have him neutered.

Nope, I had to stick with Tales of Tails.

And because of that, it was time to chill out and remember how to be a gentleman and not an asshole.

Rubbing the back of my neck while holding the pooch like a soccer ball, I said, “Look, I’m sorry. I haven’t slept all night from rescuing this little tyke.” I held up Pikachu like a white flag of surrender. “I need coffee and it seems like I need to avoid people until I’ve correctly installed my filter.” I half-smiled. “Truce?”

She tilted her head, her nostrils flaring as she deliberated.

“Look, if you’re wondering why I’m impatient, it’s because it’s not me I’m worried about…it’s him.” I jiggled Pikachu. “And the reason I’m being a jerk is because I don’t know how to transmit worry. It just comes across as nasty bastard.”

Accept my apology, goddammit.

I’d tried to be nice. I’d tried to thank her (to really show just how much her tenderness to mistreated animals meant to me), but my patience only stretched so far.

Her hands slid from her hips. “Nasty bastard, huh?”

Pikachu barked as if he understood our minor stand-off.

I shrugged. “Hey, if the description fits.”

“I wouldn’t say it fits.”

My eyebrow rose. “Oh? What would you say?”

She narrowed her eyes, assessing me. “Rushed, worried, empathic.” She sighed. “It’s me who should’ve given you some slack. I know what it’s like to wait while an animal is in pain.”

The tension between us faded.

My gaze dropped to her hands.

She had very pretty hands. Strong fingers with pale pink painted nails. Capable for delivering salvation. I wouldn’t admit it, but I had some nights where I fantasised about her petting me and not just the dogs I brought in.

My hug tightened around Pikachu as he trembled. If I could smell bleach and disinfectant, it must burn his sensitive nose.

“So this is the latest in need, is it?” She smiled at Pikachu who sniffed the air, trying to pinpoint her scent.

The wiener dog should’ve been called something like Bun Boy or Ketchup to play on his frankfurter shape, but his previous asshole owners didn’t care about names. They’d called him Shit Stain.

Which I refused to use.

So, I’d given him the nickname of the latest idiotic Pokémon craze after almost running over a few ‘poke ball hunters’ on the way here.

“Yep. He was found in an abandoned rental apartment where the owners were evicted a month ago. He’s been living on rotting food in the pantry until he ran out and started howling.”

Whatever trace of annoyance she still held melted away as utmost sympathy filled her face. She drifted closer. “Oh no, you poor poppet. Did those nasty people not take care of you?”

The dog who’d been shivering as if I was about to put him on the BBQ with some fried onions instantly squirmed to get closer to her. His stupid banger-shaped body wriggled in need.

He whined as she kissed his nose. I did my best not to sniff her hair or perve down her top. Her closeness had muscles contracting and body parts swelling.

Christ, this woman did things to me.

Gritting my teeth, I let her pat the pooch. Her affection seemed random but her hands drifted from his ears, along his neck, to the stark skeleton beneath his faded chocolate coat.

“He’s severely dehydrated. How long have you had him?” She looked up. Having her so damn near and staring with intense concentration made my cock disobey and thicken in want.

I swallowed a groan as a stray blonde hair curled around her face from her loose ponytail. Normally, I went with women with more padding, more makeup, more interest in me and my little friend (excuse me, wrong word choice,
big
friend in my pants).

But there was something about this one. “Only a few hours.”

Thankfully, her eyes didn’t drift to my groin as her hands continued fluttering over Pikachu. “He needs to go on high vitamin diet and undergo some blood work to make sure the starvation hasn’t affected his kidneys. Are you okay with that?”

“Of course.” I cleared my throat. “Whatever you need to make him happy.”

“I guess I’ll just put it on your tab? Seeing as you’re our most frequent visitor.”

I stiffened. “Is there a law stating I can only visit every six months?”

She flinched. “Sorry, of course not.” Looking at Pikachu again, she asked, “Where do you get all these dogs, anyway?”

Finally, a question about me and not the welfare of the animals I brought in. A few meetings ago, I would’ve answered openly with no douche-baggery. But she’d been a cow to me first, might as well milk her a bit to see what sort of cream I could earn.

Another bad analogy?

So what, I wasn’t a poet. Suck it.

“Oh, I can’t help it if the bitches flock to me.” I smirked.

She rolled her eyes. “That quip might’ve been smart if you only brought in female dogs.” She clucked her tongue. “Unfortunately for you, your past few patients have been male.” She cocked her head, her ponytail clinging to her shoulder in its curly glory. “Does that mean you’re gay, Mr. Carson?”

What?
Is that why she lost interest in me?
She thinks I’m gay?

I narrowed my eyes. “Did you just think of that come back or have you been dying to inquire about my relationship status since we met?”

Her cheeks pinked. “I have no interest in your sexual or marriage status.”

“Marriage? Jesus, who said anything about marriage?” I shoved Pikachu into her arms. “God, woman, if you think bringing around a few dinged up pooches is a proposal, I better get out of here stat.”

A soft giggle sounded behind me.

Ah, yes. The receptionist. The impressionable young thing watching and listening to every erotic charged look between me and this stuck-up vet.

I didn’t do young girls. Even though Ms. Fairfax was young, she’d lost that idealistic edge—the one that held fucking unicorns in their eyes believing that any guy they met was the one.

I wasn’t the one. I was just a good time.

And I’d been willing to share that good time with this sexy woman currently cuddling my adopted sausage since I set eyes on her.

Backing away, she waved at the consultation room I’d been in half a dozen times already this month. “We can continue this discussion while helping your little friend.”

My eyes glued to her ass. “Can I come too or do you intend to hold my hot dog ransom?”

“Depends? Are you going to garnish him with chilly and mustard?”

I couldn’t stop it. My lips twisted into a smirk. “Dunno. If I did, would it entice you to go to dinner with me? He could be the main course. And I have plenty of ideas for dessert.”

She slammed to a stop in the doorway, her eyes wide as the plate where such dinner would be served.

I tensed, waiting for her to shoot me down. The inevitable ‘I have a boyfriend, asshole. How dare you step on his territory’ or ‘I’ve already been pissed on by another tom cat thanks very much.’

However, she looked me up and down in the way only a woman can full of scorn and inconvenience, shoved Pikachu back into my arms, and headed into the room without me.

Well, that went well.

Following her into the small, sterile box where a stainless steel bench sat in the centre with charts of innards of canines and felines pasted the walls in happy festivities of medicine, I did my best not to stare.