Trusting a Warrior (Loving a Warrior #3) - Melanie Hansen Page 0,119

across the aisle was a booth filled with stained-glass pieces.

It was a cool place, one he’d have to come back and investigate when he wasn’t on a mission. A puppy bark caught his attention, and coffee in hand, he headed for it. In the middle of the building, he found his target standing in front of a long table loaded with pottery, tangled up in the leash her puppy had wrapped around her legs.

“He taking you prisoner?” Jack said.

She glanced over at him with laughter in those golden-brown eyes, and his heart thump-skipped in his chest. That had never, ever happened before, and he almost turned and walked away. A female-induced twitchy heart wasn’t his thing.

Then she leaned precariously, looking like a tree about to topple over. Jack dropped his coffee onto the table next to her and was at her side in time to catch her before she landed face-first on the cement floor. Damn, she smelled good, like vanilla and maybe almonds. Whatever it was, it made his mouth water.

“Um, you can let me go now.”

And there was that throaty voice that had kept him awake last night. “Do I have to?” He winked to let her know he was teasing—not really—and then he made sure she was steady on her feet before crouching down in front of the puppy.

“Hey, buddy,” he said, putting one hand on the dog’s rear end. Jack lifted his gaze to his new fantasy. “What’s his name?”

“Rambo.”

“Here’s the deal, Rambo. When I say sit, you’re going to plant your butt on the ground.” He pushed down on Rambo’s rear end while pressing the palm of his other hand to the puppy’s nose. “Sit.” Still keeping his hands on the dog, he had to repeat the command a second time when the little guy tried to climb onto his lap.

Rambo wasn’t stupid. He recognized Jack was the alpha and kept his butt glued to the ground this time, although he did wiggle his rear end, all that puppy energy making it impossible to sit completely still. But he kept his gaze on Jack, as if waiting for his next instructions.

“Good boy.” Jack gave him a chin scratch as a reward.

“Wow, how did you do that?”

As soon as the puppy heard her voice, he tried to jump up her legs, his tail furiously wagging. She laughed, a musical sound that Jack liked a lot.

“A combination of things. Using my hands to signal what he needs to do for one, but mostly the tone of my voice.”

“Can you show me?”

That would be an affirmative. Jack took a moment to rein in his lust before lifting his eyes to hers. “I could help you train him.”

He took the end of the leash from her hand and unwound it, freeing her legs. Wasn’t his fault if the leash was so tight that his fingers brushed across her skin as he performed his chore. Not that it was a chore in any way, shape, or form. The goose bumps that rose where he touched her pleased him. She wasn’t immune to him.

“Are you a professional dog trainer?”

How much truth to tell her? Most of it, just not the stalking part. That was entirely too creepy. He stood, keeping the leash and tightening it so that Rambo had to stay by his legs.

“Jack Daniels,” he said, holding out his hand.

She raised a finely arched brow. “For real?”

“Yeah. My parents had a weird sense of humor. My SEAL teammates call me Whiskey, if that works better for you.” A lot of people thought SEALs weren’t allowed to reveal their identity, but that wasn’t true. They just didn’t go around advertising the fact. He hoped knowing would make her feel more comfortable with him.

He smiled—impressed that he remembered how—and waited to hear her answer.

Nichole eyed the blond-haired, blue-eyed man who was apparently a dog whisperer. Wow, an honest-to-God SEAL, and he was as hot as the SEAL heroes in her romance books. Maybe even hotter. Definitely hotter.

“Nice to meet you, Jack. I’m Nichole Masters.” She held out her hand, and it disappeared inside his massive one. His touch was gentle, but she was sure he could crush her bones if he wanted. His voice sounded vaguely familiar, but she was positive she’d never met him before. Jack Daniels was not a man a girl would forget.

“And you, Nichole.” Rambo barked, and Jack let go of her hand. He smiled down at her puppy. “Yes, we haven’t forgotten about you, Rambo.” He glanced