Animal Instincts [The Andersons 2] (Siren Publishing Classic) (5 page)

Her sour mood almost matched his own. His dreams the night before had been filled with Ramona and dewy, hunger-driven, tongue-tangling kisses. Consequently, his shower had been a cold one. Not that it had worked. The subsequent hand job had also been just as ineffective. He’d still walked into the kitchen with a stiff.

That second stiff, however, had waned the moment Ramona had said she was going for a shower. If he’d known she was going to say that, he could have forgone the torture of his own shower altogether. Honestly, the night before, when he’d almost broken his neck, he thought he’d entered a bomb site, not a bathroom.

How many bottles did a woman use when taking a long, hot soak? Two at the most, he’d decided—bubble bath and soap. Oh, no, not Ramona. Every one of her two dozen bottles of lotions and potions had been opened and used, and, he suspected, smeared over the tiles. She’d shaved, the evidence of which had been left in the bath. A heap of soggy towels, a heavy dusting of talcum powder, and a gallon of water on the tiled floor completed the bomb site.

Shaking his head, Rex picked up the mug Ramona had banged on the counter and took a sip. Ah, just the way he liked it—black, no sugar. He inhaled and drank a satisfying mouthful. Well, it did seem a pity to waste it, and her half-eaten cereal, too. Not that he normally ate breakfast. He just felt the need for a little payback. No doubt, upon his return to the bathroom, “Bomb II” would be waiting for him.

This time, Rex glared up at the ceiling while he buttoned his shirt and fastened and belted his pants. He hoped Ramona’s shower was every bit as icy as his. He instantly took that back. Icy water meant little gasps and tight nipples, which, in turn, meant if he didn’t put a stop to that train of thought, his “stiff” would return with a zipper-busting and button-popping vengeance.

Finishing the coffee, he made himself another and then sat at the table. Really, he shouldn’t be so uncharitable. After all, she had cooked dinner the night before. Somehow, he hadn’t been surprised to learn she was a vegetarian like himself. But what really surprised him? Not only did she dislike garlic as much as him, but, and again like himself, Ramona was interested in anything science fiction and fantasy. Well, almost anything. Apart from the first one to see what all the hype was about, he’d never had the urge to pick up a Harry Potter book.

Another coffee later and Rex went upstairs. The bathroom door was open. While he felt suitably caffeine-fixed for anything, he still steeled himself before going inside.
Son of a bitch!
Never mind about “Bomb II”—“III”, “IV,” and “V” had been dropped. “Ramona!”

She waltzed from her bedroom, wearing nothing but a faded black T-shirt, the hem of which barely reached midway on a pair of trim thighs, and the most innocent of expressions. She might lack height, but those legs of hers would make any catwalk model green with envy. He’d rather not be reminded, but one model came to mind—his ex-wife.

“Yes, Rex? Something wrong?”

Again, but for an entirely different reason, Rex steeled himself. Now was not the time to think of little gasps and tight nipples, especially when his attention was riveted to her thighs. Thighs that belonged wrapped around his waist, clenching tight as he made himself at home and claimed her slick pussy as his own. He wrenched his gaze away. “Ramona, I cleaned up after you last night because you were good enough to cook. But don’t think it’s going to be a regular occurrence.”

“You could always move out.”

“Move out?” he echoed. “Why would I want to move out? This is my house.”

“Half your house,” Ramona swiftly corrected. “Name your price.”

“For what?”

Her snort was loud and impatient. “For your half of the house. Sell it to me. Well, think about it,” she said when he made no reply. She moved past him and stood in the bathroom doorway, one hand on her hip, the other flat on his chest. She gave him a not so gentle nudge backward. “Now if you don’t mind, I haven’t finished.”

“You haven’t finished?” Rex echoed, not entirely surprised. Her clean and fresh smell, like that of laundered cotton with a splash of lemon should have cleared his head. Not a chance. He glanced down at her hand. He’d never noticed before, but she had the sweetest of hands, her neatly trimmed nails just long enough to rake his back.

On that thought, his annoyance instantly dissolved. The blood racing to a part of his anatomy south of the border, and all thoughts racing to that same area, Rex covered her hand with his, the warmth of her fingers pressed to his chest, searing his skin through the shirt’s cotton material. He met her gaze and began to drown in those sparkling green depths. She parted her lips—an invitation maybe?—and he bent lower, angling his head. “May I?”

“May… may you, what?”

“Kiss you.”

“Do, and you’ll never become partner.”

Ramona’s comment was akin to a bucket of ice-cold water thrown in Rex’s face. Apart from the obvious, what had he been thinking? Hadn’t he, just the day before, made the firm decision not to let his cock rule his head? Ramona was off-limits.
Repeat after me—off-limits.
And if he wanted to become partner, he’d be advised to remember that.

At the same time of Ramona wrenching her hand free, Rex abruptly turned and stalked into his bedroom. “I have thought about it. I’m not selling. Oh, and clean up after you’ve finished,” he said with a growl, slamming the door shut.

* * * *

Her heart thumping wildly against her rib cage, Ramona closed the bathroom door, rested back against it, and swallowed the sharp curse. She hadn’t meant to threaten Rex because basically that was what it had been, but, dammit, if she hadn’t, and he’d kissed her, it would have led to her wanting Rex altogether. His body. His mind. His heart… No, no, no! Wanting his heart was way too close to love.

And I don’t do love! Ramona sternly reminded herself as she went over to the hand basin and brushed her teeth. Then, and for some inexplicable reason, to her at least, she scrubbed the bath until it shone and all thoughts of wanting Rex had been rinsed down the drain.

By mid-morning, however, she did want Rex, though in an entirely different context.

While Rex was out back checking a recent delivery, she was seated on reception opening the morning’s mail and inwardly cursing the air conditioning unit that had decided to fritz out, when a heavily tattooed man, dressed only in a greasy pair of denim dungarees, puffed across the threshold. In one meaty hand, he held a red-white-and-blue bandana that he used to wipe his shaved head with, the other, the handle of a large brown cardboard box that had holes punctured in all four sides.

She’d never seen the man before, and though his appearance didn’t bother her in the slightest, Ramona just knew whatever was in that box would. She rose to her feet and mustered a friendly smile. “Good morning. Dr. Ramona Anderson. How can I help, Mr…?”

“Ed Donovan.” A puzzled frown appeared. “Doctor? But you’re a vet, right?”

She nodded. “Yes. Vets are commonly referred to as doctors. I’m also the co-owner.”

The frown disappeared, and Donovan puffed out a relieved breath, again wiped his shaved head, and approached the desk, carefully placing the box on the opened letters. “I’m worried about Reggie…”

“Reggie?”

Donovan flipped the lid from the box, and Ramona felt the blood drain from her face. Inside, coiled in what she guessed to be a meter long yellow-and-white patterned spiral, a fearsome-looking snake stared back at her with beady brown eyes.

“He’s an albino Burmese python,” Donovan informed her. “Killer, isn’t he?”

“More than likely,” she murmured, taking a nervous step back. “Um, you said you’re worried?”

“Yeah, I’m new to the area. Me and the wife moved to Butte from Philadelphia ’bout a week ago, and we thought Reggie had coped well. But this morning, I notice he don’t look too good. Been off his food.” Donovan smiled as he gave his pet an affectionate rub.

“I see. May I ask where you heard about us?”

“I went online and saw your website.” His smile faltered. “Say, aren’t you gonna pick him up and examine him?”

Ramona froze. Pick up and examine a snake? Oh, crap. She shoved her hands into the pockets of her white coat. “I, ah, um…”

Donovan’s eyes narrowed. “Are you sure you’re a vet?”

Still frozen, Ramona could only manage a dumb nod before a Southern voice behind her drawled, “Well, she’s definitely not the receptionist.” A pair of strong hands cupped her shoulders and slowly turned her around. Staring straight down at her, Rex’s toffee-brown eyes held a derisive glint before they softened as they studied her pale face.

Only her continuing rigor mortis–like state, a state Ramona hoped was temporary, allowed him to divest her of her vet’s coat and slide the top two buttons of her black sleeveless shirt free from their enclosures, his fingertips causing a rush of heated tingles from her head to her toes as they brushed against her skin. The breath that fanned her face, a potent cocktail of rich-roasted coffee and hot man, heightened her awareness of just how close Rex actually was.

“I can assure you, Dr. Anderson is a vet. And a professional one at that,” he said to Donovan over her shoulder, seemingly unaffected with the amount of flesh he had exposed.

“Then why isn’t she acting like one? Reggie needs treating.”

“Because, Mr…?”

“Donovan. Ed Donovan.”

“Because, Mr. Ed Donovan, due to the heat I’m sure that if Dr. Anderson doesn’t take a seat and drink a glass of water soon, she’ll faint on us.”

Ramona stared back at Rex, thankful for the half-lie. Yes, she did feel like fainting, but not through the heat. While on one hand, Rex’s touch had given her a good case of the shakes, Reggie’s beady eyes and the way his forked tongue darted in and out were giving her a really bad case.

His mouth—Rex’s, that is—curved into a smile that bordered on smug as he escorted her from the reception through to the house. “If you’ll give me a minute to make Dr. Anderson comfortable, Mr. Donovan, I’ll take a look at Reggie for you.”

Once Ramona was seated at the kitchen table, a glass of water in her hand, she opened her mouth to speak, but Rex held up a hand and cut her off.

“We’ll talk later.”

And then he was gone.

Ramona finished her water and got another, then went outside to sit on the swing seat in the enclosed rear garden. She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent from the jasmine scrambling up a nearby trellis. It did wonders to alleviate the disgust she felt for herself. Granted, Reggie was her first snake, but that was no excuse for her reaction. Donovan had every right to post negative feedback on the practice’s website.

She began to swing the seat, the gentle breeze it produced pleasant on her bare arms. Ever since she was a little girl when she’d discovered a talent to nursing sick and injured birds back to full health and flight, she
’
d wanted to be a vet. While Samantha had wanted to work with children, Ramona had wanted to work with animals.

It had been the proudest day of her life when she’d gained her DVM, but the dream had come true when Stephens, despite holding the prehistoric view that women should stay at home, had employed her and then asked if she
’
d be interested in becoming his partner. Interested? She
’
d near enough bitten his hand off.

Working with Stephens hadn
’
t been easy, though, and some of her ideas to modernize the practice had been met with disapproval. Stephens could really be stuck in the past, particularly when it came to technology, preferring pen and paper to computers and laser printers. Once the laptop had been installed, however, and she
’
d taught him the basics, he
’
d conceded it to be useful and even expressed an interest with an online veterinary questions and answers service. The only thing he wouldn
’
t be swayed on was the appointments book. Ramona had let him have that, only because she had the feeling it was really for Mimi
’
s benefit, who was even more wary of computers than Stephens had ever been.

But now all her hard work appeared in jeopardy, and all because of her hesitancy to handle a sick snake who needed her help. No doubt if Donovan did post negative feedback on their website, and Stephens saw it, which he would—the novice had turned into an expert—he would probably catch the first flight back, his “women-should-not-be-allowed-in-the-workplace” sermon rolling out of his mouth before she could say “Let me explain.”

On a curse, Ramona stopped the seat, drank the water, and returned the glass to the ground. Actually, truth be told, she couldn’t care less about what Donovan or Stephens did or didn’t do. She only cared about Rex. Well, not cared
cared
, but she was concerned as to what he thought of her. Sure, he
’
d called her professional, but really, and by her own admission, “pathetic” would have been a more suitable description. The day before, he may have satisfied her, but today, just then, she had spectacularly fallen short of satisfying him.

He’d said they’d talk later, so Ramona closed her eyes and waited for Rex to put his true opinion of her into words. She didn’t need to think very hard about it though because his smug smile had said it all.