DANE SINCLAIR
Dane realized Marissa had been staring at him. He shook off old memories and opened the door to the truck. Marissa got out, too. They met at the gate and she touched his arm. "Is everything all right?"
"Yep."
She frowned and a cute little V formed between her brows. He tapped her nose. "Don't worry about me, prin—uh, Marissa. I'm just trying to figure out if I'm crazy or not for letting you talk me into this."
"You are crazy." She smiled. "But I love you for it."
His heart leapt in his chest. His rational mind knew her words were just the same as one of those empty phrases people say when they're grateful, like "you're the best," "that was nice of you," "wow, what a fantastic guy you are," yet his mind discarded all the words around the I love you.
Surprise fluttered through him, followed quickly by a thick coating of cold fear. He wanted her to say the words for real. To look up at him with her tempting mouth and shining eyes and say, "I love you, Dane."
Panic clawed at him. He didn't want another needy, aloof, rich woman twisting his insides and emasculating him. His physical attraction, his painful physical attraction, to Marissa had fried his brain. Yeah. He didn't want her love...he wanted her body. To bury himself in her sweet, luscious, beautiful body.
Today was Thursday. If he could last until Saturday, the day Marissa promised to walk out of his life forever, he would be fine.
He shoved his hands into his jeans pockets, watching Marissa open the door to the shelter. She turned and looked over her shoulder at him and he lost his breath. Her hair, honey blond and soft, glistened in the morning sunshine. Her dewy lips parted with expectation and her eyes sparkled with excitement.
He wanted her underneath him, naked and wanting, and wearing only that expression.
"Dane," she said, her voice breathy and low, "are you coming?"
Not yet, damn it. And not with you.
"Yeah. Let's get this over with."
***|***|***|***|***
MARISSA VANDERSON
MARISSA HADN'T EXPECTED Brent to react the way he did. When they arrived with the animals, Brent had his suitcase ready to go. He looked at Dane, who was trying to restrain the three-legged Dane he'd just released from the truck. "Two days, buddy, then I'm coming back and claiming what's mine. Where's the key to your apartment?"
"What?"
The Dane sat on its haunches not seeming to mind it only had one back leg.
Marissa admired the graceful way it leaned forward on its front legs.
Brent frowned at the dog. "How does he scratch his ears?"
"He won't have to," said Marissa. "I'll scratch them every day."
"Men will always have itches to scratch." Brent was speaking to her, but his stare was directed at Dane. "Just remember that, will you?"
She had called Brent at the first opportunity and told him that their ruse would not work because she'd confessed their intentions to Dane. She had no idea if the two men had spoken, but in the peculiar way men had, she supposed they wouldn't talk about it at all. Yet, they'd be okay with it. This sort of silent man ritual left her with mixed feelings of admiration and confusion.
"Look, Brent, I appreciate you taking the animals in, but it won't be for long. And...well..."
Marissa looked at Dane. He'd looked desperate. Out of his element. She found it quite stimulating to observe his reactions to Brent's decision to switch living arrangements. She suspected Dane didn't want to be left alone with her. She smiled in satisfaction.
He wanted her.
All she had to do was convince him to follow through on those wonderful, intoxicating kisses.
"I will let you use my home as a kennel," said Brent. "But I'm not babysitting those mongrels. The blind kitten you left here keeps running into the walls. It creeps me out."
Marissa put down the carrier that housed cat No. 3. "He shouldn't run into the walls. His other senses are very developed. He has whiskers—which are navigational tools for felines."
"The kitten is very young. He's barely weaned if the way he keeps trying to lick my armpit is any indication. He hops like a bunny and smacks into furniture and it's just too pitiful to watch. I'm not made of stone, you know." Brent picked up his suitcase then extended his hand.
Dane grimaced, took his keys from his jean pocket, and handed them to Brent. "It's the gold one with the blue rubber ring on it." He turned to Marissa. "We're going home hunting today, princess."
"Yes, my liege. As soon as we pick up Tuesday."
Dane rolled his eyes. "Whatever."
***|***|***|***|***
BRENT WILLIAMS
BRENT WHISTLED as he entered the pool area. The one thing his new digs didn't have—yet—was a pool. About the only advantage of living in Dane's hovel was the access to a body of water.
He tossed his towel on a turquoise-and-peach lounge chair, placed the cooler of canned soda next to it, and turned toward the pool. That's when he realized he wasn't alone.
A goddess emerged from the water.
Watching her step out of the pool was like watching one of those health-club commercials where an impossibly beautiful woman touts the benefits of buying summer memberships at the gym.
Rivulets of water sluiced down a perfect pair of tanned breasts, held snug by the copper bikini top, dripped enticingly down a pair of long legs, and splashed across the deep-brown nail polish of her toes. A silver toe ring glittered on the second toe of her left foot. Wow. She had great feet.
Brent's gaze wandered around the lush curves as the woman swung her honey-brown hair to the side and squeezed out the excess water. Then she straightened, and the wet hair swung in a perfect arc before coming to rest against her back.
Brent looked at her face, then, and his heart stopped beating.