Can't Touch This by Pepper Winters, Tess Hunter Page A

marijuana. They couldn’t give a shit about these two pups.”
    “That’s not true.” I shook my head. “I can’t believe that. I’m sure they’ll take evidence and add the charge to his record.”
    He snorted. “You have a much better view of the law system when it comes to preventing animal cruelty than me.”
    I wiggled my nose with the back of my hand as the stuffiness grew worse. Blinking back dizziness, I tucked the little body under my arm and headed toward the cabinet drawers that held syringes, gauze, and a camera for instances such as these. We were required by law to record any injury that looked human caused and report it. Regardless if the owner seemed concerned when bringing in the pet.
    Once I’d grabbed the camera, I turned to grab a fresh towel.
    But Ryder had already pre-empted me.
    He’d spread an additional wash-faded orange one and already plonked a little tan, black, and white critter onto it, ready to hold him firm for close-ups.
    I swallowed my thanks and positioned the matching fluff ball to inspect them side by side. I squinted, trying to decide what breed they were. They were tiny—a miniature breed—but their markings were that of a Dachshund.
    “They’re apparently called a Chiweenie.” His voice was rather disgusted.
    I smiled, smug that he didn’t like the breeds name and not yet sick enough to ignore a prime opportunity to rib him. “Something about that you don’t like, Mr. Car—I mean, Ryder?”
    I just called him Ryder and my stomach flipped.
    God, I needed help.
    “I think it’s insulting to the dog. Chiweenie.” He pulled a face. “What sort of name is that?”
    I shrugged. “Same sort of name like the made up mess of Yorkipoo or Bogle.”
    “What the hell is a Bogle?”
    I ran my hands over the spine of one of the Chiweenies. “I believe it’s a Boxer crossed with a Beagle.”
    Ryder rolled his eyes. “Well, I think they deserve better titles.”
    “What like Butch and Bite Me?”
    “No, like Perfect Handful or Pocket Best Friend.”
    And there he went again; infiltrating my heart and making it betray me.
    I didn’t let him see my heavy sigh or the stupid girlish swooning inside. Such simple and sweet names—highly unpractical and made no sense whatsoever—but things didn’t need to make sense when chemistry and flirtation was this strong.
    Hell, Ryder could tell me he was homeless and killed a person or two and my heart would still skip like a giddy idiot.
    What’s become of me?
    I hate myself.
    But I didn’t really. I rather liked being pursued and told he had to strangle his snake once a day because he wanted me.
    There was power in that.
    Pity that power didn’t have the skills to take away my flu so I could think clearly.
    The urge to zing him again was too strong to ignore, especially now my inhibitions were stuffed up with phlegm. “So, it’s nothing to do with the fact that it has the word ‘weenie’ in the title and you’re afraid your own weenie is wee like these dudes are? And by wee, I mean…tiny. If you didn’t get my drift.”
    “Oh, I get your drift.” He gritted his teeth, fighting a laugh. “Believe me, it’s not wee. And here we were having a civilised conversation before you once again brought it back to my cock.”
    “Your cock seems so big it just naturally gravitates all topics around it.”
    He chuckled. “You can see it if you want? Make up your own mind?”
    “Wow, first you offer me to touch it and now you’re giving me permission to look at it?” I gasped loudly. “Whatever will be next? The generous opportunity to suck it?”
    He shuddered, groaning low. “Careful what you say, Vesper. I’ll hold you to it.”
    My entire body jerked with white hot desire as my name fell from his lips. It took all my control to remain coy and light-hearted rather than get on my knees right there—stuffed-up nose or not. “You’d actually force me to suck your cock?”
    His eyes blackened. “Only if you get off on that.