“C’mon,” she said. “I’m not sure how to get to the cemetery and I’ll need to follow the cortege.”
She was so anxious to get away from her wayward thoughts about Tom’s underpants that she pushed past him and Brutus in the pew to get out. Her breasts skimmed his arm and she felt her nipples harden in response.
What the heck was going on here? Just because he said he liked Shrek didn’t give her body permission to get turned on by Walter’s lawyer. She rushed ahead of him and outside the church.
She blinked in the sunlight. There seemed to be a lot more people in the churchyard. A gathering of men and women at the gates. Had they mistaken the time of the service? Jerome seemed to be talking to them, explaining their error, she supposed.
She sensed Tom come out of the church behind her. He stopped beside her and put Brutus down on the step. “Give me his leash,” he said, “and I’ll—”
He followed her gaze. “Who the heck are they—?” he started to ask. Then he groaned as the group of people rushed toward them. Maddy blinked against a sudden flash.
“There it is,” a woman shouted, “it’s the millionaire dog.”
“And his mistress,” a man sneered.
Mistress? Whose mistress? Brutus’s?
Beside her Tom groaned again. He swore. “Hell, it’s the press,” he said.
Six
The reporters surged toward Maddy where she stood with Tom on the church steps. There were only about six or seven of them but it seemed like a mob as they simultaneously hurled questions at her. And though they were asking about the millionaire dog, they seemed more interested in her than in Brutus.
She felt unnerved by the unexpected attention, intimidated by the microphones thrust in her face. There was even a television camera, for heaven’s sake. She longed to appear on TV but not like this.
Instinctively she moved closer to Tom and the haven of his broad chest. She snuck a glance up at his face. Her heart thudded into overdrive. Yep, that strong profile was a ten out of ten. Maybe even a twenty out of ten. But gone was the charming smile and the dimple. Back in full grim mode, he was standing rigidly to attention and glaring at the gathered media over the top of Brutus’s scruffy little head.
“Don’t say a thing,” he hissed, without looking down at her.
“I don’t know wh—” she started to reply before being bombarded with questions.
“Hey, Maddy, what was your relationship to the late Walter Stoddard?” called a reporter.
“And how does it feel to be a millionaire?” asked another.
How did they know her name? That fact registered among the barrage of questions. And hadn’t Tom said the will wasn’t public knowledge? She blinked at a camera’s sudden flash.
“I . . . uh . . . I’m not a millionaire. It’s . . . it’s Brutus who—” she stuttered but Tom cut her off.
“Ms. Cartwright has no comment,” he said, bundling Brutus into her arms and holding out both his hands to ward off the photographers.
“Could I have your name please, sir?” asked a reporter from a daily newspaper. “And what is your relationship to Miss Cartwright?”
Tom snorted in disgust but did not reply. Brutus struggled to get down, scrabbling with his claws. He started to bark, urgent, yapping barks. Maddy held his squirming little body tightly but she couldn’t manage to quiet him.
“Hey, the dog’s talking instead,” said a smart-aleck reporter from a radio station, thrusting a microphone toward the little dog. “Anyone here understand dog speak?”
Brutus bared his teeth and snarled, an effect more comical than threatening. The reporter chuckled, “Guess I don’t need a translation for that.”The other reporters laughed.
Maddy found herself wanting to laugh, too. Especially at the way Tom was glowering. Did he have to take everything so seriously?
She still felt bewildered by the presence of the press. And she had no intention of discussing anything about Walter’s will with them. But
She was so anxious to get away from her wayward thoughts about Tom’s underpants that she pushed past him and Brutus in the pew to get out. Her breasts skimmed his arm and she felt her nipples harden in response.
What the heck was going on here? Just because he said he liked Shrek didn’t give her body permission to get turned on by Walter’s lawyer. She rushed ahead of him and outside the church.
She blinked in the sunlight. There seemed to be a lot more people in the churchyard. A gathering of men and women at the gates. Had they mistaken the time of the service? Jerome seemed to be talking to them, explaining their error, she supposed.
She sensed Tom come out of the church behind her. He stopped beside her and put Brutus down on the step. “Give me his leash,” he said, “and I’ll—”
He followed her gaze. “Who the heck are they—?” he started to ask. Then he groaned as the group of people rushed toward them. Maddy blinked against a sudden flash.
“There it is,” a woman shouted, “it’s the millionaire dog.”
“And his mistress,” a man sneered.
Mistress? Whose mistress? Brutus’s?
Beside her Tom groaned again. He swore. “Hell, it’s the press,” he said.
Six
The reporters surged toward Maddy where she stood with Tom on the church steps. There were only about six or seven of them but it seemed like a mob as they simultaneously hurled questions at her. And though they were asking about the millionaire dog, they seemed more interested in her than in Brutus.
She felt unnerved by the unexpected attention, intimidated by the microphones thrust in her face. There was even a television camera, for heaven’s sake. She longed to appear on TV but not like this.
Instinctively she moved closer to Tom and the haven of his broad chest. She snuck a glance up at his face. Her heart thudded into overdrive. Yep, that strong profile was a ten out of ten. Maybe even a twenty out of ten. But gone was the charming smile and the dimple. Back in full grim mode, he was standing rigidly to attention and glaring at the gathered media over the top of Brutus’s scruffy little head.
“Don’t say a thing,” he hissed, without looking down at her.
“I don’t know wh—” she started to reply before being bombarded with questions.
“Hey, Maddy, what was your relationship to the late Walter Stoddard?” called a reporter.
“And how does it feel to be a millionaire?” asked another.
How did they know her name? That fact registered among the barrage of questions. And hadn’t Tom said the will wasn’t public knowledge? She blinked at a camera’s sudden flash.
“I . . . uh . . . I’m not a millionaire. It’s . . . it’s Brutus who—” she stuttered but Tom cut her off.
“Ms. Cartwright has no comment,” he said, bundling Brutus into her arms and holding out both his hands to ward off the photographers.
“Could I have your name please, sir?” asked a reporter from a daily newspaper. “And what is your relationship to Miss Cartwright?”
Tom snorted in disgust but did not reply. Brutus struggled to get down, scrabbling with his claws. He started to bark, urgent, yapping barks. Maddy held his squirming little body tightly but she couldn’t manage to quiet him.
“Hey, the dog’s talking instead,” said a smart-aleck reporter from a radio station, thrusting a microphone toward the little dog. “Anyone here understand dog speak?”
Brutus bared his teeth and snarled, an effect more comical than threatening. The reporter chuckled, “Guess I don’t need a translation for that.”The other reporters laughed.
Maddy found herself wanting to laugh, too. Especially at the way Tom was glowering. Did he have to take everything so seriously?
She still felt bewildered by the presence of the press. And she had no intention of discussing anything about Walter’s will with them. But
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