Leashed (Going to the Dogs) (2 page)

“Jill’s gotten away from me a couple of times.”

“Jack!” Callie called. “Come!”

She took off down West Broadway towards the Hudson River with a lump in her throat that was pure fear. Where
was
he? This street led directly to the Hudson, and he could be hit by a car, or catch his paw in a pothole, or any number of other dangers that could befall her precious baby.
 

Night had fallen, and even though streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, it was slow going. They stopped people as they ran, asking them if they’d seen the two Danes. After she and Owen searched corners and doorways and alleys for more than an hour, they decided to return home and see if the dogs had found their way back.
 

“I can’t believe this.” Callie felt tears welling again as they finally reached their building. “I’m going to call the recovery company right now.”

Owen touched her arm, a comforting warmth. “I’m sure it won’t take long to find him then.”

“I hope so. He’s never been alone and in this city…”

But when they walked into the building, both their rascals were cozied up next to the elevator, their big heads snugly nestled on each other’s bodies.

“Jack!” Callie called, so happy to see him she didn’t even scold.

He got up and came trotting over. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “It’s getting late, but he still needs a walk,” she said to herself.

“So does Jill. Could you keep her occupied until I run upstairs and get her other collar and leash?”

“No problem.”

While Callie waited for Owen to come back, she struggled to shut out memories of the hot, etched-permanently-in-your-mind night she’d once spent with a sexy bad boy who’d encouraged her to be as reckless and wicked as she dared. But, she firmly reminded herself, she’d grown up, left that phase of her life after one too many emotionally unavailable men. Her sexy neighbor was off-limits. Totally. Off. Limits.

The moment in the hallway when his body had been pressed to hers was incredibly sensual, though… It had made her remember what it had been like to experience that twist of excitement, that overwhelming attraction that made her want to risk her safety and her sanity just to get close to a man.

When Owen came back downstairs, he was wearing a light coat and an air of detachment that effectively obliterated her budding fantasies.

“Thanks,” he said, slipping the collar over Jill’s head. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

“Yes, we’re now well acquainted.” Oh, my God! How lame that sounded. Where
was
that head-banging wall anyway?

As Owen moved past her towards the front door, Jack whined. Callie kept a tight hand on his collar and waited until Owen was out the door and had turned down the street before following.

“Yeah,” Callie said softly, her eyes on Owen, but her words were for Jack’s ears only. “I know exactly how you feel.”

#

“Someone just walked into her apartment and took it right off the couch.”

“A pillow?”

“That’s what I heard. But, her door was unlocked. Her husband had just run downstairs for a paper. Lesson learned. I’d say.”

“What would a thief want with a pillow?”

Callie didn’t wait to hear the answer as she ushered Jack toward the door and past two women talking next to the mailboxes. Today Jack was behaving like his old self, instantly obeying her every command.

They crossed West Broadway at the traffic light and walked until she reached the Union Square Dog Run. Brooke Palmer was already there with her bulldog Roscoe. Waving to Brooke, Callie went through the gate and closed it behind her, latching it securely.

“Hey,” Brooke said to Callie, and then to Jack, “How’s my big boy?” She rubbed Jack’s head. “When are you bringing him in again for grooming?” Brooke owned Pawlish, a high-end dog spa that catered to the wealthy dog owners of Manhattan.
 
She was presently in the middle of an impressive expansion to her business.

Roscoe and Jack sniffed each other and then ran off to wrestle around together. “Next week. I don’t think I can fit it in this week. My schedule is too full.” Callie sat, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the park bench.

“He’s always so well-behaved, not like Kristen Davis-Wright’s fidgety poodle. I wish that woman would take her dog somewhere else,” Brooke said, pushing back her dark hair in exasperation.

Just then Harper Sinclair and her standard poodle, Blue, entered the park. Harper released her dog and watched her race off to meet up with Roscoe and Jack, but not before Callie noticed the sparkling collar around Blue’s neck.

 
Harper’s grandfather owned large parcels of land in the City and had made a large fortune from both selling land and developing it. His moneymaking talents had obviously been inherited by her friend. Case in point her poodle’s undoubtedly diamond-studded collar. The poodle was a best-in-show blue-ribbon moneymaker, but Harper never treated her like anything but a dog. No pampering for Edgewood Sky High Blue.

Her pedigree was clear in the exquisite lines of the poodle’s solid body, but Blue’s registered name always made Callie smile. It was derived from her sire, Topgun, and the dam’s name of Freefalling – resulting in Sky High Blue. Or Blue for short. And, champion or not, the silver-grey poodle joined right in with the ruckus.

“What’s going on with the bling?” Callie asked.

Harper sighed. “Grandmother Sinclair strikes again. She’s staying with me for a few days. She made me put it on Blue before we left.”

“It’s real? A diamond dog collar?” Brooke asked, an incredulous look on her face. “I
thought
Davis-Wright was overindulgent.”

“Yes, fifty thou worth. Can you imagine walking your dog around Manhattan with that thing around her neck? Grandmother Sinclair is a few diamonds short in her tiara. Hopefully people will think it’s fake. But, if I were mugged, I’d give them the damn thing. I don’t think Blue likes it much.”

“For your safety, you should leave it at home,” Brooke advised.

“I can only try,” Harper said. “By the way, ladies, whose idea was it to meet at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning?” Harper groused. In her Vuitton coat and designer sunglasses, she looked like a rich snoot, but Harper was as down to earth as dirt.

“Scoot over, I’m bushed, too much party and not enough sleep,” she said, working her way onto the bench between Callie and Brooke.

“My heart bleeds for you,” Callie said sarcastically.

“Social climbing is a full-time job,” Harper said, flashing a wily grin. She shrugged out of her caramel and cream coat, fluffing up her golden locks.

“Right,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. “And I seem to recall that it was your idea to meet at this hour.”

She paused in mid-fluff, turning to look at Brooke. “Was I sober at the time?”

“I think so,” Brooke said, smiling indulgently.

“Well, damn. I guess I should realize I need my beauty sleep before blurting out ungodly meeting times.”

“Are you already picking on Harper?” Poe Madigan asked from behind them as she followed her Jack Russell terriers, affectionately known as The Terrible Two or The Triple T for short. They came trotting into the park like they owned it. Edgar and Allan were notorious little brats.

Poe settled on the bench next to Callie as her dogs raced off. Poe was aptly named, with her blue-streaked hair, raven tattoo and the whole Goth vibe. She planned to open a veterinary practice when her hospital internship was completed in the spring, and Callie was sure Poe’s Cornell DVM would guarantee plenty of patients.
 

“Harper brings it on herself,” Brooke said, picking up the interrupted thread.

“I need to get a second job. New York is so much more expensive than Ithaca,” Poe announced, her face showing that she was already stressed about it.

“Oh, sweetie, I can help.”

“No, Harper, it’s not up to you to support me. I can make my own way. I didn’t bring it up to get sympathy. I just wanted to let you all know that I might not make it some Saturdays for our play date.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Callie said. “We’ll miss you and the triple T’s.” Callie slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulder and squeezed, giving her a reassuring smile.

“I don’t know what kind of schedule I’ll have, so don’t worry yet. Thanks, though.” Poe returned the smile and squeezed Callie’s hand, then wrapped her arm around Harper’s shoulders to give her a quick hug.

“Not to change the subject, Poe, but how did your first laser surgery go?” Brooke asked.

“Great. It was fascinating, and Dr. Martin let me do everything while he supervised. I can’t wait to do another one.”

“Would that be the cute Dr. Martin?”

Poe blushed and looked away. “He’s pretty cute.”

“Ask him out,” Harper urged.

“No. That’s not my thing. A guy should ask a woman out. Besides, I’m afraid I’ll just make some obscure reference. He’ll stare at me and not know what to say. Then, I’ll say something even worse. Then we’ll find it awkward whenever we’re together at work. Or he’ll just look at me and realize I’m a geek.”

“My date last night almost put me to sleep,” Callie said.

“How disappointing. But I can top that.
 
I got a text from Sam, the guy I’ve been dating for a week. He said, and I quote, ‘Can I reserve u for our next date?’ Reserve me? What am I? A restaurant?” Brooke asked.

“Did he spell out
you
?” Poe asked.

“Nope. Used ‘u’ like we’re still in high school. What is it with guys who can’t spell out you? It’s not like the phone company charges you per letter,” Brooke said.

“It’s just plain lazy,” Poe chimed in.

“The boring date was something I could handle, but I had a close encounter with
The Stud
.”

“Owen McKay. He’s bad news. A love ’em and leave ’em bad boy,” Brooke said. “You’ve read the
New York Scoop
.”

“I know, but every time I get near him, I lose it. He has a black and white Great Dane that Jack lusted after to the point where he completely ignored me and yanked his leash out of my hand. That dog of his could really benefit from some training.”

“Callie, you’re getting off topic,” Brooke pointed out.

“Sorry. His dog tripped us, and we ended up on the floor and Mr. Gorgeous landed on top of me with his thigh right between my legs.”

“Owen is great in bed,” Harper said.

All conversation stopped while the group turned in unison to look at her. Harper laughed. “Oh! No! Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t get naked with him. I just heard that.”

“That’s a relief,” Callie said. “Wait. What am I saying? I got myself hurt constantly in college by all the bad boys I dated. It wouldn’t be smart to get involved with Owen. It would have been better if you
had
been intimate with him.”

Even though Callie acknowledged that Owen probably was a bad bet, she was secretly very glad Harper hadn’t done the deed with him. It would make him off limits, and part of her wasn’t against that, but another naughtier and less reasonable part of her was giddy.
 

“I don’t want to sleep with him, but you do,” Harper said smugly.

“He makes me melt.” All three women groaned. “I know, but it’s true.”

“You’re smart to steer clear. Emotionally unavailable men don’t change,” Brooke said.
 
“Now don’t give me that sad face. It’s for your own good.”

“But we all wish they would change,” Poe said wistfully.

Callie couldn’t agree more.

Just then Edgar ran up to a little girl who was holding an ice cream cone.
 
Just as she bent down to pet him, Allan swooped in and stole the treat.

“Edgar and Allan,” Poe scolded. “I’ve told you no team tagging children!”

The Terrible Two ran off to enjoy the spoils and all four women broke out into laughter.
 
Poe made amends by buying the little girl another cone and warned her to keep away from the little varmints.

#

Three weeks had passed since the incident in the hallway with Owen McKay, and Callie was still telling herself she was relieved that he hadn’t spoken to her or tried to ask her out. She knew her mind was strong, but her flesh was definitely still weak, even without renewed temptation.
 

But today when she got home from work, she found a note from Owen on her door. It said simply, “I need to talk to you.”

Callie left Jack safely locked in the loft and walked across the hall to knock on Owen’s door, determinedly ignoring the shiver of anticipation that coursed through her.

It seemed an eternity passed before he opened the door, but it was worth the wait. This time he was wearing only a pair of soft, faded jeans slung low on his hips, and nothing else. His features were just as gorgeous as she remembered, but his lean jaw was clenched tight. His dark hair was a wet, disheveled, enticing mess around his head, making it clear that he’d only just ruffled it with a towel after stepping out of the shower. He looked so sinfully sexy he literally took her breath away. The dreams and fantasies of Owen that she’d spun over the past three weeks paled in comparison to the real thing.