Free Groomed for Murder (Going to the Dogs) by Zoe Dawson

“Oh, no. The elevator is out.”
    “It’s only four floors up,” he said. “I could carry you and this bag and not break a sweat.”
    “Me?” she squeaked.
    “Yes. You look like you don’t weigh more than 99 pounds.”
    “A lady doesn’t reveal her weight,” she said sniffing.
    “You are a pistol.”
    Before she could say another word, he gently placed the dog food bag in her arms, and then proceeded to lift her, the dog food, the dry cleaning, her groceries and the flowers. Settling her against his chest, he headed for the stairs.
    “Drew. Stop being ridiculous.”
    He took the first flight of stairs at an easy pace. With her nestled against his chest, he could feel the soft curves of her body molding to his. Zoooommmm went the blood in his veins, heading straight for all points south.
    “Oh, no. I want you to realize I’m true to my word, and, as a bonus, I got you to finally call me by my first name. Now we’re getting somewhere.”
    The second set of stairs he looked into her eyes as he climbed, such an intense and warm brown. Pow, right to his solar plexus, as their gazes connected and deepened.
    “Probably not a place we should go,” she murmured.
    “How about we just visit,” he said with a husky edge. His nerves went ratatattat with a delicious kind of vibration as he easily climbed the third and then final set of stairs.
    At her apartment door, she grabbed the bag and set it down on the floor. He supported her as he released her legs, but the rest of her slid down his torso. He got lost in her eyes as she flowed to the floor. Damn that slightly lush bottom lip of hers that just begged a man to taste it. Bite it. Just a little. For a moment, they stood in the hall until a door opened and an aged female voice called out.
    “Is that you, Brooke? Did you remember to pick up my dry cleaning?”
    It took Brooke a moment to answer as her eyes stayed locked with his. “Yes, Mrs. Santos. I have it,” she said, her voice just as flustered as her face, with a breathless quality that made his body tighten. He removed the groceries and flowers from her arms and she moved away from him, but not breaking eye contact until she turned the corner.
    He took a deep breath and felt like his chest couldn’t expand enough to get the air he needed. Must have been the climb making it hard to catch his breath.
    When she came back, she unlocked the door. The scent of apple and cinnamon lingered on the air, and he hadn’t realized until now just how much he had longed to smell it again.. Roscoe greeted her with a bark, and she took a moment to bend down and ruffle the fur of his head. He looked at Drew as if to say, “Oh, you again. Don’t make me have to prove again that I’m top dog by taking another bite out of your backside.”
    He chuckled and cautiously reached out his hand. Roscoe looked away, then gave him a quick lick. Looked like he was making a bit of headway with the dog, at least. He closed the door behind him and followed her from the foyer into her kitchen, where she set down her parcels. Roscoe padded after them, his eye on the dog food slung over Drew’s shoulder.
    “The container for the dog food is in the corner cabinet. Would you mind terribly pouring it for me? I always spill it because it’s so unwieldy.”
    He pulled the bag of dog food off his shoulder, set it on the floor, and opened a cupboard door, but found pots and pans.
    “Oh, no, this one,” she said as she opened it for him. They reached for the top to the container at the same time and his face went right into her fragrant hair. Where he had wanted it buried at the dry cleaners. He should immediately back up, put the appropriate amount of space between them. In his head, that’s exactly what he did. In reality, though, he kept on moving, pushing her up and back into the countertop.
    His breathing was raspy, his body surging in response to her closeness. She was trapped between him and the counter, and that was just fine,