He lifted the poker with his left hand, yanked the door wide open with his right, and prepared to bash rat heads.
Lucca froze. Not rats. They looked like rats, but those weren’t rats. “Puppies?”
He set down the poker and squatted to get a better look. Yes, puppies. Three of them. Unless that bump was …
Lucca reached into the closet to push aside a pile of his clothes. He absently noted a sound behind him, but his hangover-dulled wits didn’t process it. Pain, however, processed immediately, so when the fangs sank into his ass, he knew instantly what had occurred. “Ya-eeh!” he yelled, jerking and shoving to separate the mother dog from his butt.
“Yarrrrgh,” the mutt growled back, letting loose of Lucca and planting herself between him and the closet, keeping her teeth bared.
Sprawled on his naked, aching ass, Lucca snarled back at the dog. He recognized her. She was little and fluffy and brown. Probably a terrier mix of some sort. She belonged to the sexy redhead who lived next door. “So why the hell did you whelp in my house, in my closet, on top of my favorite jeans?”
He went to stand and she lunged at him again. Crap. He shifted backward, giving her the stink eye as he climbed to his feet. He rubbed the bite and saw blood on his hands. Sonofabitch. The dog wasn’t wearing a collar. Wasn’t wearing tags. The lady next door damned well better have made sure the mutt had had her shots.
Lucca’s ass ached, his head pounded, his temper surged. He backed away from the dog, strode into the bathroom, and washed the bite with soap and water. He rummaged through the supplies his mother had added to the house but didn’t find any antiseptic. “Figures,” he muttered. Who planned for a dog bite? “Well, then, guess I’ll just have to borrow some from the neighbor.”
He paused long enough to grab a pair of gym shorts from the duffel lying on his bedroom floor and slip them on. He marched out his front door and arrived on her porch thirty seconds later. His gaze fell upon her doorbell, but that didn’t do it for him at the moment. He made a fist and pounded the door. Hard. Then he braced his hands on his hips, his legs spread in an aggressive stance, and waited for her to answer.
He waited. And waited. Pounded again. Waited. Waited. Yelled, “Hello?”
Hell. She wasn’t home.
He rubbed the burning bite and turned to leave, then stopped abruptly. Just like her damned dog, she’d sneaked up on him.
She had earbuds in her ears and a garden hose in her hand, and despite his general pissed-off frame of mind, Lucca couldn’t help but appreciate the view. Curls and curves, he thought. His favorite combination. He noted the burnished wisps that escaped the thick knot of red hair piled atop her head to frame big brown eyes. Faint freckles dusted a thin, straight nose above full cherry lips. She wore an oversized white tank top over a black sports bra and pleasingly short running shorts. Full breasts, shapely legs. Cute little bubble butt. Nice. Very, very nice.
But a hot body didn’t make up for poor dog-owner practices, he told himself when he shifted his weight and again felt the burn of the bite. He should call the cops and have her ticketed. He might do it, too, if the mutt’s shots weren’t up to date. He had connections, after all. Might as well make use of them.
Yeah, right. Like he’d ever want his brother and sister know he’d let a ten-pound mutt take a chunk out of his ass. The throb seemed to intensify as he started toward her. “Hey, lady.”
Not having seen him, she’d turned away and now stood at the side of her house watering a group of herb pots set upon a whimsical castle-shaped iron planter. While she watered, she swung her shoulders and hips in such a way that made him think a rock tune belted through her earbuds.
He stepped closer, raised his voice, and repeated, “Hey, lady!”
She startled, jerked around.
The ice cold water from the hose soaked his shorts.
He yelped and jumped sideways, away from the stream.
Hope squealed and dropped the hose. She yanked off her earphones and got her first good look at the man in her yard.
Almost immediately, she realized otherwise. He wasn’t Zach Turner. The eyes blazing out at her weren’t Zach’s striking blue eyes. These were emerald green shards of ice.
Hope gave him a closer look. He was tall, more than a foot taller than her own five feet five inches. He had the look of an athlete, with broad, muscular shoulders and flat abs and … her gaze lingered on the wet gym shorts plastered against him. All parts of him. Oh, wow. The man was big all over.
Hope felt heat sting her cheeks as she forced her stare back to his face. Unnerved, she went on the offensive, though the voice that emerged pitched higher than normal. “Excuse me, this is private property and you’re trespassing.”
“Your damned dog bit me.”
“What?” She glanced toward the fenced section of the backyard where Roxy should be. Had she dug out or found a hole? She’d been back there drinking from her water bowl not too long ago. “Where?”
“I’m halfway tempted to show you. On my butt, that’s where.”
His butt? Hope’s mouth twisted in disbelief. If Roxy was a Great Dane, maybe.
“I meant where were you when you were attacked?”
“In my bedroom.”
“Then you must be mistaken, mister …”
“Romano. Lucca Romano. And I’m not mistaken. Your dog bit me.”
“Actually, I don’t have a dog.”
“Oh, yeah? You say you don’t have a little fluffy brown yappy mutt? Then what are those?” He pointed at the two dog bowls sitting on her kitchen stoop.
“What I mean is that I’m not her real owner. I’m taking care of a neighbor’s dog until they get settled in their new home.”
“Not very well, apparently. You lost her.”
“You let her invade my house and my privacy.”
His tone held that same accusatory note that her ex-husband had used with her, and it sparked Hope’s own temper to life. The jerk. The jock. Athletes often think they’re God’s gift to the world. Mark, her ex, had played college baseball and sometimes he’d been exactly the same way. She put the frost of a Rocky Mountain winter in her voice as she said, “I beg your pardon?”
“Yes, you should.”
“You have some nerve.” Hope braced her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Listen, mister, if Roxy found her way inside your house then you invited her in by leaving it open. Roxy is a sweet dog. If she bit you, then you must have done something to provoke her.”
His gaze had slipped to her chest. It remained there. Pig. She crossed her arms. “What did you do to her?”
“Nothing. I didn’t do a damned thing to that dog. All I did was look to see what was making the noise in my closet and she bit me on the ass.”
“Closet? I don’t understand. Are you saying Roxy was in your closet?”
“Yes. That dog is a pain in my ass in more ways than one. She had puppies in my closet on top of my clothes.”
Hope froze. “How did she get inside your … whoa … did you say … puppies?”
“Yes, puppies! Three of them. Maybe four.”
“When did she have puppies?”
“Sometime last night, I imagine. Maybe earlier this morning. Haven’t you seen her? Some sort of dog-sitter you are. I heard them a little while ago. I was trying to get a closer look when she came out of nowhere and sank her fangs into me.”
“Where?”
“I told you.” He hooked a thumb toward his rear, his expression peeved.
