Free An American Bulldog by Liz Stafford Page B

More likely she’ll send the SWAT team. Try again. “Um. I wondered if you’d ask Taryn to come back. I, er, wanted to ask her something.”
    “Any problem I should know about? She doing her job all right?” Vet Lansing tilted her head again.
    “Yes. I’m sure she—”
    The vet laughed. The sound said she was teasing—knew exactly what was going on. He chuckled, feeling heat rise in his face, something he thought only happened to women. He gave a two-shoulder apology. “If she’s got a minute, that is.”
    Dr. Lansing straightened her head—funky habit she had. “I’ll see if I can find her for you.”
     

Chapter Three
     
    Taryn leaned against the inside of the employee’s bathroom door. Finally, her breathing returned to normal. Maybe she could go back to work now, but not to Exam Room Two. No, go on to the next client. Onward and upward. Wasn’t that what her granddad always said?
    She moved toward the sink to throw water on her face. Good thing too; her face was red as Christmas lights.
    That Bulldog guy must be thinking she was a nut case. Oh, what did it matter? The only time they saw each other was here, if the dog got sick or needed shots.
    Pretty sad really. Sad that she went home every night imagining him waiting in the kitchen with dinner on the table, and him wearing aluminum foil, or a layer of whipped cream on top of a layer of maple syrup—the real stuff.
    She wasn’t being entirely fair. She didn’t only imagine him in bed. She pictured them married, having coffee together then going off to work, and coming home exhausted to fall into each other’s—
    A light knock came on the door. Taryn crumpled the brown paper towel and heaved it in the trash. Damn sad life she had, pining after somebody who was probably married with ten kids. Okay, decision made, next time that janitor guy asked her out, she’d say yes.
    She twisted the knob and opened the door. But rather than step away to let her pass, the person moved into the bathroom, forcing her back against the wall.
    The door—her only escape—shut. And she was face to face with…
    Bulldog. The life-sized human version.
    “What are you doing in here?”
    “I asked the vet if I could see you.” He shot her a wide grin. “Pretty sure she’s playing matchmaker.”
    She squashed the urge to race around him screaming into the hall, because wasn’t this what she’d been wanting? Taryn crossed her arms and peered up at him. He took a step closer. His huge hands came up. Up. And cupped each breast. Shocks, like she felt on her granddad’s electric fence, bolted down her legs. They wanted to buckle but she willed them to stay stiff.
    His fingers tightened around her breasts. No pain, just wild sensations. Some came from his hands, others from the knowledge that they were in her place of work, and how embarrassing it would be if they were caught.
    She didn’t move. He did. He came closer, unbuttoned her shirt, all the way. Then he took a nipple in his mouth and sucked. Sucked so hard she felt it hit the roof of his mouth.
    One of them made a sound, like choking. Might’ve been her. Maybe not.
    Somebody knocked. Taryn’s knees gave out. Bulldog’s hands grasped her upper arms and kept her from sliding to the floor. All the while, his mouth kept that suction on her nipple.
    “Taryn, are you all right in there?”
    All she could do was squeak.
    Another knock. “Taryn?”
    “Y-yes? Yes, I’m fine.” Triple-time fine. “B-be right out.”
    Bulldog raised his head, licked his lips like a cat with a bowl of milk, then set to buttoning her shirt. “Ready to go?” he said.
    “Wh-where?”
    He thumped the dial of his watch. “It’s dinnertime.”
    Last thing she wanted to do was eat, but if that was what he wanted. Right now, anything he wanted was A-ok with her.
    He flicked a tear from her cheek and sucked it off his thumb. Then he opened the door and gestured for her to go first.
    They drove to Bulldog’s apartment, a high-rise in