Filthy Rich, Wild with Lust

Chapter 8

“Judging by his teeth, we think around three. Although he could be a bit younger or older. He’s not super old—put it that way.”

“And how did he come to be in the shelter?”

“His owner died unexpectedly.”

“Oh.” My heart sinks. “Poor baby.”

“Out you come, Barry,” she says.

“Barry?” I frown.

“Yes, his name is Barry. Of course, you can change it if you want to.”

“Did his last owner call him Barry, or did you just make that up since he’s been here?”

“He’s always been called Barry.”

Oh, I don’t really want to have a dog called Barry. I was thinking something more noble and cool.

Hmm, I’ll have to think on this.

“He was an outside dog at his last home.”

“But... does he like inside?” I ask.

“Show me a dog who doesn’t.” She puts the leash on him, and he tentatively walks out.

I hold my hand out for him to smell. “Hi.” His tail gives a weak wag, and I smile. “Let’s go home.” I carefully lead him out the doors, and he looks back at the attendant as if to say I’m allowed to leave? We walk out to my car, and I help him climb into the back seat. He sits quietly, and I shut the door behind him. “You’re a good boy.” I smile at him in the rearview mirror. This is so wonderful to be able to do this. It doesn’t get any better than this.

1:00 a.m.

“Woof, woof, woof” echoes through the entire neighborhood.

I wait.

“Woof, woof, woof.”

I roll over in bed. “f**k’s sake, Barry.”

Silence for a few moments.

Owoooooooooooo.

“What the hell? He’s howling like a werewolf now?” I flick back the blankets and march downstairs. I open the back door. “What?” I whisper angrily. “What do you want?”

Barry wags his tail, ready to play.

“Come inside. You’re keeping the entire street awake.”

He barrels into the house past me, and I close the door behind him. This has been going on for hours. He barks when he’s left outside, and then I let him in. Five minutes later he barks to go back outside.

I have no idea what he wants or what to do.

I lie on the floor, exhausted, as Barry runs around in circles. Woofing at me to play, he jumps and nips at my hair. He picks up a ball and drops it next to my hand.

Oh god...

“It’s not playtime,” I murmur sleepily. He picks up the ball and drops it again.

I doze for a moment, and he goes to the back door and begins barking to go out.

“What are you doing?” I sigh in frustration. “I just let you in.”

He begins to scratch on the back door to go out.

Hell, this was not in the brochure.

I get up and let him out, and he runs back out to the backyard all excited.

“Go. To. Sleep.” I close the door and march back to the living room. There’s no point even going back upstairs. I’m only coming down again in two minutes. I grab the throw and snuggle up on the floor with some cushions.

Bang, bang, bang.

I wake with a start.

Bang, bang, bang.

Huh? I sit up all disheveled. I fell asleep. Is someone banging on the door?

Owoooooooooooo, I hear from the backyard.

Crap, Barry is howling again.

I open the front door in a rush to see Henley standing at the door, wearing navy satin boxers. “Are you seriously this selfish?” he spits as he marches past me into my house.

“Huh?” I’m squinting as I try to focus my eyes. “What?”

“Your dog is keeping the entire neighborhood awake,” he spits angrily.

Owoooooooooooo, the werewolf cries from the backyard.

“I’m so sorry,” I stammer. “He’s new and just settling in. I just got him today.”

“He’s a literal f*****g nightmare.”

Owoooooooooooo, sounds the werewolf.

Henley marches over and opens the back door in a rush. “Shut. Up!” he yells so loudly that it could be heard from the next neighborhood.

Barry quiets for a moment and then barks again.

Henley marches out into my backyard. “Listen, you,” he yells as he points to Barry’s kennel. “Get in your bed, and you go to sleep. Right. Now.”

Barry walks into his kennel and curls up.

Henley marches back into my house and slams the door.

“You are taking that dog back to wherever he came from tomorrow,” he demands.

This man is the most self-entitled asshole of all time. I scratch my head and feel my hair standing on end.

“Do you understand?” His eyes drop down my body, and his eyebrow rises. “And what the f**k are you wearing?”

I glance down at myself and cringe. What am I wearing? “Well... obviously...” I search for something to say, some divine intervention that offers an excuse for me. I glance up at his muscular body in only boxer shorts, and I hold my hands up toward his body. Of course he looks photoshopped. “What are you wearing is the question,” I splutter.

He puts his hands on his hips in a silent dare. “Pajamas.”

“Well...” I’m tongue tied and can’t find the right words. Why the hell does this guy make me so dumb? “How dare you come over here in the middle of the night and start ordering me around half-naked in your pajamas. That is not how this works, Henley. I do not know who you think you are, but I can assure you that you have no say whatsoever in anything that goes on in this house.”

His demeanor changes, and he steps forward, causing me to take a step back.

His closeness causes my heart to somersault in my chest.

“I came over here to control your mutt.”

“The control of my mutt is none of your concern, Mr. James.”

He steps forward again, his eyes darkening. I instinctively step back until I am cornered against my fridge.

“Your mutt is all of my concern.”

How does he make the word mutt sound hot?

I swallow the lump in my throat as we stare at each other, the air swirling between us.

He picks up a piece of my hair and holds it between his fingers. His breath tickles my skin. “Your pajamas are ridiculous.”

“I like them,” I spit. That’s a lie. I want to die a thousand deaths right now.

Without another word, he turns and leaves through the front door. I stare at the back of it as it closes behind him.

My heart is beating hard in my chest. I glance down at my Minnie Mouse underwear. “f**k you, Minnie.”

“Oh my f*****g god, I cannot believe Blake Grayson lives here,” Chloe whispers as she peers through the curtains. “This street is the mothership of orgasms. The holy grail, even.”

I roll my eyes, unimpressed. “They’re dickheads. All men are giant dickheads.”

“That’s exactly what I’m after, so it’s a win-win,” she replies as she keeps up her spying. “Who put that putting green there, anyway?”

“Ethel’s husband was a greenkeeper. Apparently, he loved golf, so he turned the center of the cul-de-sac into a putting green, put a grill over there with a table and chairs. He died, but everyone else uses the park area he created now.”

“So they all just hang out in the middle of the street? This is seriously brilliant. We can see what they do right from your window. Pole position.”

“Ugh, I really didn’t think this through.”

“Okay, so give me the rundown,” she says as she keeps peeking through the window. “Who’s who?”

I get up and join her. The men are all sitting at the table and chairs, and a few are putting golf balls.

“So there’s Henley putting the golf ball, and obviously Blake Grayson is beside him.”

My eyes linger on the shoulder muscles twitching beneath Henley’s shirt as he putts the ball.

Flipping hell...

“f**k, Blake’s hot,” she murmurs, her eyes glued to them. “I hope he takes his shirt off.”

“Why would he take his shirt off?” I frown.

“Because he’s hot from all the golfing.” She widens her eyes as if I’m stupid.

Seriously?

“Then there’s some lawyer guy, but I forget his name. I haven’t seen him yet,” I continue. “And I don’t know, but I’m assuming that one of the guys sitting at the table is my next-door neighbor on the other side, Antony or something.” I shrug. “And beside him is...” I shrug. “I don’t know. I haven’t met the others yet.”

“Well, get out there.”

“What?”

“Let’s go out there and meet them.”

“Let’s not. I’ve already had a fight with King Henley the Great, and I do not want a rematch.”

We continue to spy out the window.

“This is excellent viewing,” Chloe whispers, her eyes glued to the street. “This is my new seat, twenty-four seven. Got any popcorn?”

Nighttime, beholder of secrets. Instigator of sins.

I stand in the shadows of my bedroom. My light is off; his bedside lamps are on.

Front-row seats at the best show in town.

I have a new hobby, one that I’m not proud of. Spying on someone I shouldn’t: the self-proclaimed God’s gift to women, Henley James.

The golfing was bad enough, but this is taking it up a notch.

I shouldn’t be doing it. I am well aware of how creepy it is, especially since we hate each other, but somehow that makes it so much more delicious.

A wicked temptation.