Reluctantly Yours(63)

Minutes tick by and the hope I felt earlier is slowly being replaced by panic again. Mac drives up and down the streets, but with so many gated homes, there’s no way to check every yard.

Guilt gnaws at me. While I’ve always wanted a dog, I can’t help feeling terrible about the reason I signed up to foster Baxter—to drive Barrett insane. I knew he would be displeased about a dog in his space, so, selfishly I used Baxter for my cause. I brought him here for the weekend, and now he’s missing and it’s all my fault.

When I feel like my chest is about to cave in, my phone starts ringing.

“Barrett!” I answer with my heart in my throat.

“I found him.” The second he says the words, the tears in my eyes fall with relief. “We’re heading back to the house.”

“Okay. I’ll see you there.”

I tell Mac the good news and we circle back toward Fred’s house.

Upon arrival, I find Baxter wrapped in a towel, sitting in Barrett’s lap, only his head and wet, muddy paws peeking out. Barrett is rubbing Baxter behind his ears and talking to him in a soothing voice. I stand there for a moment, undetected, while this man I once thought was made of ice comforts an anxious animal.

Unable to stay away any longer, I enter the kitchen.

“Where did you find him?” I ask, moving to cup my hands around Baxter’s head, who immediately licks my face.

“He was huddled down under a neighbor’s porch. He went through the wooded area behind the house and ended up a few houses down.”

When I look up at Barrett, he’s smiling down at me. There’s a streak of mud on his cheek.

“Thank you.” With emotion rising in my throat, it comes out as a whisper.

His hazel eyes intent on mine, he simply nods. With that one look, my stomach cartwheels.

“He’s going to need a bath.”

Barrett stands, and for the first time I realize how dirty he is. The dirt on his face is nothing compared to the mud on his shirt. And his white pants…they’re gray now. I don’t know if they can come back from this. It’s a pity, his butt looked great in those pants.

“You’re going to need one, too,” I say.

Our discussion at the winery about him in the shower this morning pops into my head. Even though I’m his fake girlfriend, I have to admit that him confessing his thoughts about me while he stroked himself this morning made everything between us feel very real. And now this perfectly kempt man, who doesn’t like a hair out of place, is covered in mud from trudging through a wet forest to rescue Baxter? My heart and my panties can’t take it.

I peel my gaze away from Barrett’s muddy appearance, because if there’s anything more attractive than a man getting wet and dirty while rescuing a scared animal, I’d be hard pressed to find evidence.

“I’ll give him a bath while you clean up. I mean, not in the same bathroom.” Again, my mind goes back to watching Barrett naked in the shower, so I laugh to keep from turning beet red. It doesn’t stave off the embarrassment so I gather Baxter in my arms. “I’ll have Lucy help me. Okay, bye.”

I leave Barrett standing in the kitchen, amused with my awkward departure, I’m sure.

Lucy helps me draw a bath and keep Baxter relaxed while I suds him up. Once he’s clean, I dry him with a towel, but he manages to escape and shake, sending water all over us.

We return to our bedroom, Baxter clean and dry, while I am now muddy and smell like wet dog from wrangling him in the tub.

Barrett’s not there.

The shower is empty. I knocked at least fifty times before I opened the door. So, after settling Baxter onto his dog bed, I gather some pajamas and take a shower myself.

We’ve been in the Hamptons one day, yet it feels like so much has happened. My body is exhausted, and my head has a slight ache from all the wine I consumed earlier. The buzz I had at the winery is long gone, chased out by the adrenaline and panic I felt when Baxter was missing. I long for the loose-tongued Chloe that told Barrett about her sexual inexperience. Now, I’m just a ball of nerves wondering if Barrett will deliver on his promise to right that huge injustice.

When I exit the bathroom, the bedside lamps are on and I find a shirtless Barrett on his laptop, the computer screen casting a glow on his chiseled torso and arms. In the middle of the bed, curled up next to him, is Baxter. Apparently, the no dogs on beds rule has been broken, at least for tonight.

Barrett looks up from his laptop.

“Hey.” I wave.

“Hi,” he says, his eyes lingering at the chest of my t-shirt a moment longer before they drop back to his computer.

On the bedside table I find a glass of water and two ibuprofen.

My eyes dart to Barrett. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” he replies, eyes focused on his computer. The energy between us at the winery is a distant memory.

I take the pills and climb into bed. Baxter shifts, pressing his head under my hand.

“Is the light bothering you?” Barrett asks. “I can go downstairs.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, enjoying his presence. The tapping of his fingers against the keys.

While part of me is confused that Barrett is showing no interest in me or any of the things he said earlier, the other part of me is relieved.

Even though I’m attracted to him, more so after this weekend, getting involved with Barrett would only complicate things.