Perilously Fun Fiction: A Bundle by Pauline Jones (best fiction novels of all time .TXT) 📕

crank up. We were that close. This seemed a good time to deny complicity in the embrace. “Could you let me go? The gear shift is giving me another navel.”

His hands fell away. “What—”

Back in my cold seat, I squirmed. “I was just trying to bandage your wound and you got…confused.” That sounded better in my head than it did out loud.

He produced a slight smile and a slight dimple. “What happened to the van?”

“They left. This bald guy in a bathrobe scared them off with a shotgun.”

“I see.” He didn’t sound like he did, but that didn’t stop him from reaching for the keys. “Let’s get out of here.”

I covered his hand.

“This time I drive. I’m more likely to stay conscious.” We traded places the usual way, though the walk around the car cost him. He faded out on me before I got the car started. When I backed out of the driveway I saw a police cruiser turn the corner ahead of us, which could explain why the minivan was nowhere to be seen. That didn’t stop me from checking all possible directions during the endless drive to the hospital, all the time praying my underwear would hold out.

I was so busy checking for danger, I missed my turn and had to backtrack to the hospital from a different direction. Even then I almost didn’t see the minivan lurking in the shadows near the emergency room door, positioned to cover the direction we would have come if I hadn’t muffed it.

I don’t know how they knew that he’d been injured, maybe he’d left a blood trail in the house. I just knew we’d never make it inside those doors.

It would never have occurred to me to take him to my vet if I had another option. But I'd watched enough TV to know how dangerous hospitals are when you're being stalked by killers.

I met Mike Lang when I adopted Addison—over the stringent objections of my mother. She doesn’t like anything that licks its butt or smells hers. Mike doesn’t mind either of these things. He’s easy going and a bit like his doggy patients, large and shaggy with dark eyes, a slow, deep voice and endless patience. He needed that patience when he got me and my dog. I'm the first dog owner in our family. Not a natural at dog owning, I had a lot of questions which Mike answered without any indication that he thought they were dumb. I like that in a man. He’s also patient with the strays I have a bad habit of picking up and bringing to him. I try to stop, but he doesn’t make it easy. He attached his practice to his house, so I know right where to find him.

Though I’ve never brought him a stray this late before. Or this particular breed.

The heat from my passenger’s nibbling had faded, leaving me feeling cold and not too steady on my pins when I scrambled out of the car in front of Mike’s house. I retrieved my jacket from the back seat and pulled it on for the walk to Mike’s door. After pressing the bell, I sagged against the door frame and took a brief nap.

“Stan?”

I opened my eyes to find Mike towering over me, his hairy legs planted like twin tree trunks. He was wearing an elegant robe that opened to expose dark, curling chest hair all the way to his navel. I averted my gaze from the vee because I was already in a weakened condition.

“Do you know what time it is?”

I shook my head, feeling a strange detachment. “Not a clue.”

Mike’s eyes narrowed and he grabbed my chin, turning my face towards the mellow porch light. He rubbed a thumb across my temple, then examined the dark smudge it had acquired. I looked at it, too.

“Blood? Is Addison hurt?”

“No—” I hesitated, not quite sure where to start. The beginning wasn’t good. The middle was worse and the ending—

He gave a huge sigh, almost breaching the fragile closure of his robe. I’d never noticed what a nice chest he had. Course I’d never seen it uncovered until now.

“If you don’t stay away from strays, you’re going to get hurt.”

“No kidding.”

“Where is this stray of yours?”

“In Rosemary’s car. Though there’s something I should mention—”

He moved away, his long legs using up the distance between his door and Rosemary’s car. I trotted after him like an apologetic mongrel.

“I just hope it’s not rabid.” Mike bent and grabbed the door handle.

The door opened, the interior light throwing a ghastly glow on the man slumped in the seat. His dark coat and darker suit jacket were open, giving us both an unobstructed view of my no longer white underwear and his no longer white shirt. Scarlet trails also dripped from his limp hand onto the concrete between Mike’s feet.

I smiled weakly. “Pretty sure he’s not rabid.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this!” Mike’s face was an unfamiliar grim as he eased Kelvin Kapone-with-a-K onto the examining table.

“I’m sorry, Mike, but I couldn’t take him to the hospital in this condition. They’d have killed him.”

Mike looked at me for a moment. Opened, then closed his mouth, clearly struck dumb by my masterful logic. I guess, I decided with a spurt of pride, I wasn’t as tired as I felt.

He switched on the harsh, overhead light and turned to his new patient. Since this was my first opportunity to see my passenger in good light, I turned toward him, too. I half expected to be disappointed, but even with the color gone from his face and his chest covered in blood, he didn’t disappoint. Broad shoulders, lean hips, good bones and taut flesh in an attractive package. His hair was more blond than I’d thought, his skin lightly tanned, as if he’d just come back from a sunny climate. His mouth—I realized I was rubbing my neck where his mouth had been and yanked my hand down. What