followed, she snatched the end of his leash and
held on
as tightly as she could.
Except she’d forgotten the dog weighed more than she did. The subsequent tug and pull of the dog on the leash almost ripped her arm from its socket as she was jerked forward by force.
“Oof!” Her hat and sunglasses flew off, along with her recyclable shopping bag, as her good knee hit the pavement hard.
She cursed loudly. But she did not let go of that leash.
Fully expecting to be dragged along, she braced herself, but the dog had stopped running. When she realized she wasn’t moving, she made to rise, but she was too late. The dog swung around and came at her fast.
She peered up at him, rooted to the spot. Would he growl at her? Bite her?
He did neither. Instead, he bent his great head and, still panting hard, gazed at her with sorrowful blue eyes. Then he gave one earth-shattering bark and licked her cheek with a huge tongue.
Grace melted.
Reaching up, she scratched him behind the ears, and he closed his eyes. “Oh, buddy,” she breathed. “You are in a world of trouble.”
She was vaguely aware of some smattered clapping and muttered whispering. But when a pair of polished oxford dress shoes came into her line of sight, she forgot all about everyone else.
She tipped her head up to find Marc looking down at her, his cheeks red, a look of surprise marring his typically stoic face.
“You!” he exclaimed. Then the mask fell back into place, and for a few long moments, she couldn’t get a read on him at all.
She pushed her hair out of her face, more than cognizant that while she was a complete wreck, he was barely winded and utterly gorgeous, despite his mad dash.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Ever the gentleman. Or should she say Eagle Scout.
She took brief stock. Except for her formerly good knee, which would be a little bruised, she was actually all right. “I think I’m okay.” She patted her ankle and knee, ensuring the braces were still in place. “I’m okay,” she said more firmly.
An expression of relief washed over him, and he held out his hand to help her up. “Allow me.”
She reached out to clasp his palm, and he easily pulled her to her feet. Unbalanced, and not wanting to put any pressure on her newly hurt leg, she stumbled a little, coming right up against his big body. He grasped her waist, his fingers grazing her back.
God, his hands were big.
“Steady there,” he murmured, holding her close, one hand still clasped around hers, his gaze focused. His eyes had darkened in color, gray morphed to steel. She could feel his chest rising and falling against hers. His body was hard and warm and strong.
His lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. “Thanks for grabbing him.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back.
Unconsciously, she took in his scent. Musk and sweat and man.
Delicious.
Her skin prickled in awareness and her cheeks warmed.
Suddenly conscious of the fact that she’d just smelled him—
smelled him!
—in public, she stepped back. With what seemed like reluctance, Marc let her go.
Beside her, the Great Dane tipped his head up. He had her hat in his mouth.
“Uh, thank you,” she said to the dog. “And ew.” She shoved the now wet hat into her satchel—which miraculously had stayed hooked on her arm—and swept up her shopping bag and sunglasses from the ground, jamming the glasses back on her face.
Marc glared at the dog. “Beast,” he growled.
“He’s really yours?” Grace said, blinking.
“Sit,” Marc commanded in a voice that almost had her scrambling to do his bidding herself.
But the Great Dane ignored him, and instead dipped his big head and shamelessly nuzzled her hand.
Marc muttered a curse and his face turned even redder.
He was being too rigid. And the dog wasn’t responding well.
“Let me try.” She turned to the dog. “Sit,” she said, in a calm, but firm tone. Immediately, the dog lowered his hind legs and sat, looking up at her.
held on
as tightly as she could.
Except she’d forgotten the dog weighed more than she did. The subsequent tug and pull of the dog on the leash almost ripped her arm from its socket as she was jerked forward by force.
“Oof!” Her hat and sunglasses flew off, along with her recyclable shopping bag, as her good knee hit the pavement hard.
She cursed loudly. But she did not let go of that leash.
Fully expecting to be dragged along, she braced herself, but the dog had stopped running. When she realized she wasn’t moving, she made to rise, but she was too late. The dog swung around and came at her fast.
She peered up at him, rooted to the spot. Would he growl at her? Bite her?
He did neither. Instead, he bent his great head and, still panting hard, gazed at her with sorrowful blue eyes. Then he gave one earth-shattering bark and licked her cheek with a huge tongue.
Grace melted.
Reaching up, she scratched him behind the ears, and he closed his eyes. “Oh, buddy,” she breathed. “You are in a world of trouble.”
She was vaguely aware of some smattered clapping and muttered whispering. But when a pair of polished oxford dress shoes came into her line of sight, she forgot all about everyone else.
She tipped her head up to find Marc looking down at her, his cheeks red, a look of surprise marring his typically stoic face.
“You!” he exclaimed. Then the mask fell back into place, and for a few long moments, she couldn’t get a read on him at all.
She pushed her hair out of her face, more than cognizant that while she was a complete wreck, he was barely winded and utterly gorgeous, despite his mad dash.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
Ever the gentleman. Or should she say Eagle Scout.
She took brief stock. Except for her formerly good knee, which would be a little bruised, she was actually all right. “I think I’m okay.” She patted her ankle and knee, ensuring the braces were still in place. “I’m okay,” she said more firmly.
An expression of relief washed over him, and he held out his hand to help her up. “Allow me.”
She reached out to clasp his palm, and he easily pulled her to her feet. Unbalanced, and not wanting to put any pressure on her newly hurt leg, she stumbled a little, coming right up against his big body. He grasped her waist, his fingers grazing her back.
God, his hands were big.
“Steady there,” he murmured, holding her close, one hand still clasped around hers, his gaze focused. His eyes had darkened in color, gray morphed to steel. She could feel his chest rising and falling against hers. His body was hard and warm and strong.
His lips curled in the barest hint of a smile. “Thanks for grabbing him.”
“You’re welcome,” she whispered back.
Unconsciously, she took in his scent. Musk and sweat and man.
Delicious.
Her skin prickled in awareness and her cheeks warmed.
Suddenly conscious of the fact that she’d just smelled him—
smelled him!
—in public, she stepped back. With what seemed like reluctance, Marc let her go.
Beside her, the Great Dane tipped his head up. He had her hat in his mouth.
“Uh, thank you,” she said to the dog. “And ew.” She shoved the now wet hat into her satchel—which miraculously had stayed hooked on her arm—and swept up her shopping bag and sunglasses from the ground, jamming the glasses back on her face.
Marc glared at the dog. “Beast,” he growled.
“He’s really yours?” Grace said, blinking.
“Sit,” Marc commanded in a voice that almost had her scrambling to do his bidding herself.
But the Great Dane ignored him, and instead dipped his big head and shamelessly nuzzled her hand.
Marc muttered a curse and his face turned even redder.
He was being too rigid. And the dog wasn’t responding well.
“Let me try.” She turned to the dog. “Sit,” she said, in a calm, but firm tone. Immediately, the dog lowered his hind legs and sat, looking up at her.
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