Can't Touch This by Pepper Winters
Damn him.
I didn’t normally mind living alone. After a long day working all I looked forward to was curling up with me, myself, and I with a good dinner, my cuddly companion, and an enjoyable movie.
Ryder had ruined even that by making me worry.
Was he okay? Had he been in an accident? Should I stalk the streets for him just in case he’d wrapped himself around a pole and hung to dear life in a ditch?
Or was he with family and friends and completely forgotten about little ‘ole me and our standing agreement to fuck like bunnies and put each other out of our joint misery?
Maybe the misery was always one sided.
The pumpkin pasta tasted like cardboard and after I’d eaten, I washed my dishes, spruced up my small lounge, and dragged my drained corpse to bed.
Sliding out of my tight jeans, I unhooked my bra, pulled it from my shirt through the trick of a sleeve and burrito-rolled myself in my coverlet.
Visa positioned herself on top of my head like a kitty crown and my last thought as sleep finally dragged me under was, screw you, Ryder Carson.
Screw you.
CHAPTER TWENTY
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Vesper
I WOKE TO AN EAR SPLINTERING chicken cock-a-doodle-doo from my phone’s barnyard ring.
I hated being woken up in the middle of the night. Hated it.
God, this better be an emergency.
Hauling myself upright with sleep sticking to my thoughts, I grabbed my phone and answered while my keeping my eyes shut from the glaring screen. “Meloo?” I cleared my throat and tried again. “Hello, Vesper speaking.”
I wasn’t the vet on call tonight—that was Polly’s turn, according to the roster—but I would never turn down a panicked owner with a life or death situation on their hands.
However, this was not a panicked owner.
“Vesper, it’s me.”
“You!” I sat upright, wide awake and fumbling for the hang-up button. “What the hell are you doing calling me after standing me up?”
My heart raced with hurt.
“Wait, don’t hang up on me. Let me explain.”
“You have precisely three seconds—”
“I don’t need three. I only need one.”
“Well, you just wasted all of them so spit it out. One…two...”
“Okay, okay. Hold up.” He sighed. “I got a call at three p.m. from the council about an illegal dog fighting ring. They’d managed to ferry off eight of the nine dogs but one was so badly damaged, both physically and psychologically, they couldn’t catch him to transport him safely. I said I’d go and help. It took me three hours to get there and another two to finally catch him. But my phone died. By the time I noticed it was dead, I had no way of charging it and still had a three-hour drive back home. I just got back, but the mutt I rescued is in a real state. I’m worried.”
My anger melted into sympathy. I didn’t for a second doubt his story. His sincerity and apology resonated in his voice. “Wow, that sounds awful.”
“It was.” A rustle came over the line. I imagined him pinching the brow of his nose.
My heart pounded knowing how tired and stressed he would be. “You did the right thing, Ry.”
His voice shuddered. “Thanks, Ves. That means a lot.”
We were silent for a second before I asked, “Do you want me to come over? Help?”
I expected him to brush me off. But his reply was instant.
“Oh God, would you? I didn’t want to ask but…he’s in a bad way. He needs proper care.”
Adrenaline already coursed through my blood, waking me up and preparing me for whatever I would find. “Of course. I’ll be right there.” Launching myself out of bed, I grabbed my jeans and awkwardly tugged them on one handed.
“You are seriously the best woman I’ve ever met,” Ryder murmured. “If you continue being this incredible, I might just have to marry you.”
I froze.
The line crackled with shock from both of us.
I laughed uncertainly but Ryder recovered. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m knackered and worried about this poor thing. He’s bleeding. I’m bleeding. The fact that you forgive me for standing you up and coming to help means the world…to both of us.”
Now was not the time to talk about how deep our feelings had somehow fallen. My mind focused on easy things—things I knew how to address rather than matters of the heart. “Wait, you’re bleeding?”
He tutted. “That’s the least of my worries. Just…come quickly. Okay?”
Dashing through my apartment, I collected my keys and wallet. “I’ll be right there. I’m leaving now.”
I didn’t care that I had bed hair and most likely racoon eyes from sleeping with make-up on, and I definitely didn’t have time to stop and put a bra on. I was focused. Like I always was when it came to animal safety.
Stepping over my threshold and locking my door, I asked, “Oh, one important thing before I hang up.”
“Anything. Ask and it’s yours.”
I smiled at the genuineness in his tone.
“What’s your address?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
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Ryder
HER HEADLIGHTS APPEARED AT THE bottom of the driveway.
Back in the glamour days of this fancy mansion, there would've been gates and expensive hedges escorting her up the long twisting road. These bygone days, she was welcomed by tangled weeds and unkempt bushes.
The fact she’d come at—I checked my watch—one in the morning meant the bloody world to me.
This girl better run if she didn’t want anything more than sex, because the moment I got inside my home, I doubted I’d let her leave anytime soon. I wanted to laugh with her at night and tease her in the morning. I wanted to create a life with her and if she didn’t want me in that way, I was motherfucking screwed.
They said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.
Bullshit.
The way to a man’s heart was supporting his idiotic scheme of trying to save helpless animals and being there for him no matter what. It made my chest expand, and I wanted to make all her dreams come true in utmost gratitude that she’d found something inside me worthy of attention.
She’d well and truly bulldozed down my walls and no longer needed a key. She was my key.
Shoving aside my chaotic emotions for her, I jumped off the stoop to open her door the moment she’d pulled to a stop. “Thank you so much for coming. Seriously this means—”
Climbing out, she silenced me with a cool finger on my lips and grabbed my hand. Her blue eyes glowed in the darkness and her blonde hair somehow captured the embarrassing excuse for a porch light and turned it into spun gold. “Don’t mention it.”
I had a wounded dog who hadn’t stopped howling. I had a bleeding arm that hadn’t been washed. But all I wanted to do was kiss her.
So I did.
Pushing her shoulders, I backed her against the car and flattened her body with mine. “Fuck, Vesper, what the hell am I going to do with you?” My lips locked over hers.
She didn’t fight me.
Her mouth opened, and we slipped from welcome kiss to savage.
The explosive past two days erupted and her leg hooked over my hip as I did my best to morph into her body while unable to stop rocking my hips.
Her breathy moans only made me harder, fogging up my brain, adding to the pain in my cock.
The kiss lasted a lot longer than was appropriate for middle of the night canoodling, and when I pulled away, she giggled. “Dry humping me again, Mr. Carson. Are you sure you aren’t part dog like all your rescue friends?” She cocked her head. “Do you have any secrets you’d like to tell me?”
She had no idea how much I needed a light-hearted joke. The past few hours had been far too serious. I’d had tears in my eyes most of the time from listening to the rescue dog whine in pain on the way home. She took away that heavy anxiety an
I laughed, taking her hand and leading her up the rickety front steps. “Not part dog but I can’t deny I have fantasises of taking you doggy style.”
Her cheeks heated but not in embarrassment. We’d spent enough time together now that I recognised it for the same desire I felt.
“I’ll hold you to that.”
“Promise?” My stomach clenched.
She looped her pinkie with mine. “Pinkie promise. It’s a favourite position of mine.”
Honestly, could she get any more perfect?
First, she let go of all inhibition and then didn’t mind discussing sex even when we hadn’t leapt that barrier yet. It was so natural, so easy. No hesitation or coyness.
Letting her go, I took a step away. “I’m sorry, but I can’t touch you right now.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Because we have work to do and creatures relying on us and if you don’t stop touching me, you’ll slam be against another convenient hard surface and have your wicked way with me?” She pulled a foil packet from her back pocket. “Because if that’s the case, then yes, I suggest you keep your dirty paws off me, but if you can’t, at least one of us is prepared this time.”
I groaned loudly, stirring sexual intoxication with mirth. “Fuck.” Rubbing my face, I murmured, “Everything you said is true and put that damn condom away. I don’t need any more temptation than I already have.”
She waggled the packet, pouting with her delicious watermelon flavoured lips. “Pity. I was rather hoping I could break you.”
“Oh, you’re breaking me all right.”
Her chin popped in the air. “Well, I’m glad. You’ve already broken me.” Her eyes darkened. “Want to know a secret?”
I groaned again. “Does this secret have anything to do with how wet you’ve been over the past few days? Because if it is, I don’t want to know.” Cupping between my legs, I fisted my erection. “This damn thing hasn’t deflated since our last phone call. It’s your responsibility to do something about it.”
“My secret was I’ve been through a whole weeks’ worth of knickers because I get so worked up whenever I think of you.” Her gaze dropped to my groin. “And because of that, Mr. Carson…you have a choice. I’m here to help, after all.”
I stiffened. “What choice?”
She took a sensual step toward me. “One, I help you out with your problem.” Her finger lashed out and drew a line down the length of my dick. “Two, you keep being a selfless saviour and point me in the direction of your canine friend so I can help him or her.”
I shuddered as I released my hold, pushing her away a little. “I’m not a saint, Vesper Fairfax, and if you touch me again, I’m going to put myself first. But…if you keep your distance, I can manage—just barely—to let you give your Mother Theresa routine to someone much more deserving of your help than me.”
She smiled, the sexual teasing faded, but her eyes spoke of deep affection and respect. “Ryder, I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving than you in this current moment.” Tucking a stray curl behind her ear, she smiled. “However, you’re right. Let’s cure the patient and then we can cure ourselves.”
I laughed loudly, feeling the stress of the past few hours trickle off me. I would never tell her how horrifying the fight pit had been when I’d helped the council round up dogs who were scared shitless and bloody from fighting for asshole’s pleasure. I would never speak of the wire muzzles, barbed wire chains, or filthy cages.
She didn’t need to know.
I wanted the images gone so I could get past it and be happy. At least the dogs were safe now and on their way to better lives.
But I did show her my earlier purchase. After all, she’d shown me hers. As we cut from the foyer into the kitchen, I grabbed the paper bag on the temporary wooden counter. “You’re not the only one who’s prepared this time. I bought two boxes. Extra large.” I winked. “And ribbed for her pleasure.”
“The ribs have nothing to do with it.”
“Oh?”
She grinned. “It’s all on the man. No pressure or anything.”
“Believe me, I’m feeling the pressure.” I tossed the box back onto the table top and guided her into the lounge where the overhead chandelier with sixteen light bulbs and glittering glass crystals illuminated a dog snapping and pulling at the tight collar and leash tethering him to a heavy rosewood snooker table in the middle of the space.
Dust sheets covered furniture that I wanted to preserve, while paint splattered old couches that I wasn’t precious about, littering the large room for the tradesmen to kick back while eating lunch. The floor was dusty, the chandelier full of cobwebs. The only thing finished in here was the north wall with the most incredible marble fireplace that I’d painstakingly cleaned and restored.
But Vesper didn’t care about any of it. Not the old world glitz or the modern run down mess. She only had eyes for the growling Pusky Bull currently cowering with his tail tucked, ears flat, and teeth bared.
The shelter had informed me this breed was a Pitt-Bull crossed with a Husky. It was a favoured fighter dog for its vicious bite and endless stamina. Its ice blue eyes were entirely too wolf like as he tracked us as if we were a roast beef buffet.
Vesper switched into vet mode. “Hey, little guy.”
I snorted. “Hardly little.”
She ignored me, sitting on her heels as she put her hand out. I squatted behind her, fighting the instinct to snatch back her hand and bring it to safety. “Careful, Ves.”
“I know. But he needs to smell me if I have any chance of helping him.” Turning her gaze on me, she added, “I forgot my medical bag. I swung by work to grab a few things. Do you mind? It’s in the backseat of my car.”
“Do I mind? Shit, woman. Of course, I don’t mind.” Stroking the back of her head in utmost gratitude, I stood and backed slowly away as the Pusky Bull snarled. “Just be careful. He’s not in a good space.”
“I will.”
Dashing back to her car, I grabbed the bag—surprised at how heavy it was—and ran back inside.
I expected Vesper to still be in a standoff with the black and brown snarling death machine, but I walked into a miracle. The growling had stopped. The teeth were still bared, but the ears were working as radar, listening to her voice as she murmured kind comforting things; his nose twitched, sniffing her from a distance.
“Wow, you charmed him pretty fast.”
She didn’t look up, keeping eye contact with the glacial blue irises of the fighter. “It’s a matter of changing your intentions inside.” Her voice remained soft and soothing. “They can sense so much of what we don’t say. To him, our nervous energy at wanting to save him puts him on edge. I calmed myself—sending an internal message that all I want to do is hang out. He relaxed instantly.”
Carefully placing her bag on the floor, I sat on my haunches beside her. “Well, it worked.”
Shuffling forward in an awkward frog-leg kinda walk, Vesper kept her hand out and body language calm. “What did they do to you, Scar?”
“Scar?”
She pointed at the crisscross wounds all over his body.
Scar was apt.
Just sad.
I tried to give them names that made me smile when I called them, so they didn’t remember the rough life they’d had before coming to me. However, this dog was brave. Messed up and dangerous, but brave.
“Do you have any food?” Vesper asked, slowly making contact with the dog’s wet nose with her knuckles.
My stomach twisted in fear. Her hand could be mauled in two blinks. But she didn’t seem to worry. Her fingers unfurled, letting the Pusky Bull lick tentatively and accept a soft touch on his muzzle.
“Food, Ry?”
“Shit, sorry. Yes, I do. I’ll go get some.” Climbing to my feet slowly to avoid any spook induced attack, I reluctantly turned my back on the woman I desperately wanted and the dog I didn’t trust, and dashed to the fridge where I kept gourmet homemad
Mrs. Fitzherbet down the road made a mix of all natural grains and meats and bound it with proper stock gravy. None of that additive store bought shit for my pooches.
Once I’d ladled a generous potion out and added some dried kibble into a stainless steel bowl (seriously, my cupboards were more stainless steel and ceramic for canines than crockery and crystal for humans), I headed back to find Vesper with her legs crossed and the Pusky Bull over her lap.
His large head draped over her knees and his front paws, still bleeding from whatever fight they’d enrolled him in last, spread over her ankles. Vesper looked up as she massaged his torn ear; the stethoscope from her bag pressed on his barrel chest, a distraught look on her face.
The dog wheezed and huffed, breathing shallow but calm. He tracked me with his eyes but didn’t try to move, even with the promise of good food.
I didn’t interrupt as I placed the dog dish in snarfing distance and waited for her to finish listening to his chest. When she finally pulled the earpieces free and told Scar what a good patient he was, she looked up and made eye contact with me.
And I just knew.
I fucking knew.
I hated this part.
“What’s wrong with him?” I asked, tipping the bowl so he could eat without having to lift his head far from Vesper’s lap. Instead of diving in like his skeletal ribs suggested his hunger, he took a delicate mouthful and chewed slowly as if savouring every taste.
Anyone who said dogs didn’t feel pain or happiness like we did were morons.
This dog knew what we did.
This was his last meal. Or, if not his last…definitely numbered.
His last chance at comfort before he could finally let go because he knew what we did.
Vesper’s eyes glossed, but she didn’t cry—a professional with high levels of empathy—but still a professional. “His heart is struggling. I can’t tell without an X-ray, but it sounds over enlarged and pressing on his lungs. There’s a lot of liquid on his chest and it’s slowly suffocating him.”