Free An American Bulldog by Liz Stafford Page A

actually looked like a bulldog. Another sigh squeezed past her lips. Back to business.
    “Okay, Bulldog it is then. Let’s get on with the exam.”
    “Isn’t the doctor coming in? Or did you suddenly get a veterinarian’s license?”
    Why did he ask this every time?
    “I am a vet tech,” she explained. “I help the vet. In this case I will examine the dog, weigh him, trim his nails, etc.” To prove her words, she grabbed the trimmers from the drawer, knelt beside Denver and went to work.
    When Bulldog laughed she realized she’d been had. He shined a wide Chiclet grin down on her. Taryn went back to work on the dog’s feet.
    “Nice.”
    He drew out the word so long she had to look up—and realized he’d been looking down her shirt. Talk about embarrassing. The one day she couldn’t find a clean bra and went without one.
    Rather than go all shades of red, she nodded and said, “Same here.”
    Which made him realize he’d worn baggy running shorts—and no underwear.
    Oh God, oh god, oh god. He had red hair. She dropped the trimmers and lunged out of the room. The sound of baritone laughter followed her down the hall.
     

Chapter Two
     
    Dolf Bulldog Brown threw back his head and laughed so hard the dog yelped in surprise.
    Man, what a doll she was. Doll was probably too tame a word. Dolls were plastic with synthetic hair. Nothing synthetic or plastic about that gal! From the top of that ebony black ’fro to the high—though small—dark points visible down the front of her shirt to the tips of those clunky, awkward looking blue clogs.
    Nametag said she was Taryn B. Since the first time he came here, he’d wondered what the B stood for. Darned if he’d ask. No way she’d tell him since he gave her such a hard time about his own name.
    The door at the back of the small examination room opened. The shortest vet—well, the shortest woman—he’d ever seen came in the room. She couldn’t have touched five feet tall, but she was perfectly proportioned. “Good afternoon, I’m Dr. Tonya Lansing.”
    “Dolf Brown. Nice t’meetcha.”
    She went to reading the dog’s chart and he went to wondering how he could get Taryn back in here. If he told the vet she hadn’t finished trimming Denver’s nails, she might catch some trouble. And the only trouble he wanted that woman in was with him. Under him. On top of him. Or slapping skin-on-skin against that wall beside where the vet stood.
    “Something wrong?” the vet asked.
    “No. Why?”
    “You sounded like you were choking.”
    “No. No, I’m fine.”
    The vet tilted her head at him. He wondered if this perspective could give her insight into his psyche. Before he could ask, she righted herself and went on to give Denver what was known as a “comprehensive exam”—kinda like the physical he got last week. The wrestling commission required them every six months.
    Dr. Lansing straightened up and patted the dog on the head. “Good to see you again.” She shook Dolf’s hand. “Nice seeing you also.” The vet picked up the folder and dangled it in her fingers.
    “Ditto.”
    How to get Taryn B. back? He didn’t want another three months—or longer—to pass before he saw her again. He was pretty sure this was the one who’d bear his children, and sit beside him in a rocking chair. Damn, if the guys at the arena could hear his sissy thoughts, he’d be the brunt of every joke that came over the loud speaker. They’d bounce him off the ropes till he grew too dizzy to fight back. At the same time, the crowd would boo and taunt…
    “Um. Ma’am?” Yeah Dolf,—real intelligent conversation-maker you are. Be a real turn-on for Miss Taryn B.
    The vet turned, hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”
    Why not try a dose of honesty, Dolf?
    Sure, tell her I want to shove the tech up against the wall and slide my dick between those glorious dark folds and push it up as far as her tonsils. Over and—
    Yup, she’ll run right out and order the woman back here.