Tori Carrington - Fire And Ice

“And you missed it?”

“No, I was just wondering what brought about the change.”

Jena found her gaze drawn to the window and the nearby Sandia Mountains. “I wish I knew.”

“Well, at least Caramel is keeping you company.”

Jena gave an exasperated sigh. “No, Caramel is making my life a living hell,” she said of the four-month-old puppy Dulcy had given to her a month ago. A blond boxer, it had to be one of the ugliest dogs she’d ever laid eyes on. Then again, all dogs were ugly to her. They…drooled all over you. And Caramel also seemed to have a gastrointestinal problem that no food the vet recommended solved.

It had taken her awhile to figure out that one. She’d suffered through countless noxious clouds before she’d finally determined the smell wasn’t coming from a backed-up sink or a neighbor’s garbage but was instead from the little dog that constantly panted at her feet.

“Can’t you, please, please take her back to the ranch?” Dulcy was already shaking her head. “I just got her back from obedience school and she still doesn’t have a clue that ‘no’ doesn’t mean squatting on my bed.”

“Maybe because ‘no’ is the only word you’re saying to her.”

Jena made a face as the phone at her elbow chirped. “Ha ha. You, a comedian. Who would have guessed?”

“Lunch?” Dulcy asked, getting up.

Jena reached for the receiver. “Love to but I can’t. Meeting with a client,” she lied.

She answered the phone and began talking to the secretary of opposing counsel in a third case, not lifting her gaze again until Dulcy was on her way out the door. The instant her friend was gone, she put the caller on hold, then flopped back in her chair. She’d never lied to either Dulcy or Marie before. And to get out of a lunch that the firm would probably pick up…well, that was another first.

Yes, something was definitely wrong with her. And she wasn’t all that sure she wanted to find out what.

No, she was positive she didn’t. And she knew the one, surefire way to put it out of her mind. Continue on with business as usual—not only at work, but in her personal life.

Yes. That was it.

She punched the button to bring the caller back. “So, Iris, what can I do you for?”

“THAT DOES IT. I NEED A wife.” Jena stared into her empty refrigerator later that night, making a face at the container of half-eaten strawberry yogurt, the bottle of orange juice, and an unappealing container of Chinese takeout food. At her feet, Caramel looked from the refrigerator, to her, then back again, her tongue forever lolling out of her mouth. Jena asked her to move her tongue so she could close the refrigerator door.

“Hmm. I don’t suppose you would know how one goes about getting a wife?”

Caramel tilted her head, either trying to understand what she was saying or else questioning her sanity. It had been a month since Dulcy had dropped the little fleabag off with detailed instructions on how to care for her—too bad it hadn’t been an operating manual—and the number to a nearby vet.

Jena stared at the smelly canine. Okay, so she was cute. And she did make the apartment seem less…empty somehow. Not that she’d thought it empty to begin with. She only wished Dulcy had given her a later model that was already properly trained. Between arranging for a neighbor to walk the boxer, and rearranging her own familiar routine to accommodate the animal, she thought that having the pet came very close to having a child. She depended on Jena for everything every moment of the day. And that entire concept had scared the hell out of her.

But now that they’d both settled into a routine of sorts, it actually wasn’t so bad. If Caramel would stop mauling Jena’s favorite XOXO shoes, would pick a food she liked and didn’t cause her to stink up the joint, life would be perfect.

Well, almost perfect. There was still the man matter. And the little problem of what she was going to eat tonight.

She went through her cupboards one by one. Empty cracker box. Dusty cans of lentil soup she couldn’t remember buying. A jar of peanut butter that was useless without jelly, even if she had the bread to spread it on. And her large collection of art deco plates was completely useless without anything edible to put on them except dog food. Dog food, she had.

It was just after 7:00 p.m., dark as Hades outside, with absolutely nothing on television. And Jena was about to go crazy trying not to think about the realizations she’d come to with Mona and Dulcy’s help earlier in the day.

Imagine, her without a man for three months.

She stilled, her hand in the process of closing one of the cupboards, and wondered why then she wasn’t out on the prowl even now.

Pizza. So what if she’d had it twice so far this week? A nice, thick Sicilian from Mario’s would do the trick right about now. And—who knew?—maybe the delivery boy would make her stop thinking about the sad state of her sex life.

Within moments she had her pizza ordered, poured herself a glass of ever-present wine, fed Caramel a treat, then stepped into her large living room decorated in various shades of black, gray, red and white. There wasn’t a single mid-western or Indian piece in the two-bedroom condo. Well, aside from the foot-high iron Kokopelli on the side table next to the lamp. But that had been a gift from Marie and she was required to display it, so that didn’t count. Her tastes tended toward the more modern, citified look. She put her wineglass on the gray swirled marble coffee table, then picked up the remote control, flipping through the channels idly. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Caramel nosing in a flowerpot in the corner. The mutt had turned the plant over no fewer than ten times in four weeks. And, it seemed, obedience school had merely heightened the dog’s interest in the forbidden plant.

“No!” Jena said, shaking her finger at the dog.

Caramel looked at her, her snout covered with dirt.

The doorbell echoed through the apartment.

Jena frowned at the dog, then glanced toward the door. Strange. The pizza place had never been this quick before. Sure, they were only five minutes away, but she didn’t think even that amount of time had passed.

She tossed the remote to the couch, shooed Caramel away from the plant, then headed for the door.

But standing on the other side wasn’t some post-adolescent teen with bad skin and braces, holding a pizza. Instead there in all his sexy glory stood the focus of her daydreams as of late: Tommy “Wild Man” Brodie.

Jena smiled so wide her face hurt. “How did you know you were just what I was looking to eat?”

ONLY MOMENTS BEFORE, Tommy’s recovering knee had been throbbing, the pain made more acute by the thin chill of Albuquerque, his mood dark and grouchy. He’d been wondering what he’d been thinking, flying from L.A. on a whim, tired of sitting around his apartment by himself, sick of his own company, and not up to another round of smothering from his mother, albeit via the phone from Minnesota.

But as he stood looking at the woman he’d been thinking about nonstop for the past three months, his mood lightened, he forgot about his knee, and certain body parts that had been dormant since that one incredible night with Jena McCade sparked to life.

Hell, but she looked good. Damn good. Her shoulder-length black hair was slightly tousled as if she’d been running her fingers through it, her purple short, short nightgown shimmered in the light as she moved, and her violet eyes first looked large as hockey pucks, then squinted at him as she smiled that provocative smile he remembered so well.

“Get in here,” her lush mouth said as she grabbed his arm and yanked him inside.

And in Tommy went, the door slamming closed behind him, his duffel bag dropping to the ground as Jena practically launched herself into his arms. He automatically balanced his weight on his good knee as she wound her arms around his neck, then used them to pull herself up and straddle his hips, locking her bare feet behind his back.