Page 6 of Love, Lacey Donovan
After Aslan visited his favorite bush, I called him back inside and secured him in his gated room.
He lay down in his plush dog bed and settled in for a nap.
I’d warned Pressly about making sure Aslan was confined when he wasn’t getting attention. Aslan couldn’t handle free rein in a house, especially a house as stark as a museum. It wasn’t Aslan’s fault his human couldn’t follow directions.
If only people were as trainable as their pets, everything would be so much simpler.
Last week there had been no problems. Aslan had behaved like the perfect dog. He and Summer and Pressly were on their way to becoming a family unit.
Would Aslan’s adventures in the trash can send him back to the rescue center for good? I couldn’t let that happen.
I rummaged in the pantry until I found cleaning supplies and got to work. I righted the rubber tree, trapped the feathers, and swept the floor. The sofa was in need of a deep clean, but anyone who bought a white sofa was begging for trouble.
A loud thump sounded from overhead, and I remembered the brother. He was the one stupid enough to purchase white furniture. He must have been the one to leave the gate open.
The faint pulse of music drifted down from above. I glared at the ceiling, my anger mounting. After I finished cleaning, I marched up the stairs, straight to the source of the problem.
Chapter 4
I knocked, but there was no answer. He probably couldn’t hear me over all the horrible noise that hardly passed for music. I knocked again, harder this time.
The music stopped and a muffled voice called, “Yeah?”
I tried the knob, but it didn’t open. I leaned against the door. “Can you unlock the door?”
There was a loud thump and then a mechanical whir as the locks released. I pushed the door open, hoping I wouldn’t be greeted by Quasimodo.
I knew nothing about him. When I’d asked where he’d been all last week, Pressly had shrugged and said, “Working.” There were no family pictures around the house, no personal touches. No clues to the owner’s identity.
The room was empty. It smelled of candle wax, cigar smoke, and sweat.
A whoosh followed by a clang sounded to my left. I pivoted and saw another door, which was cracked open.
“I told you not to bother me while I’m working,” he said, sounding as annoyed as I felt.
I glanced around at the wasteland of an office. The only light came from a burning candle on the desk. It didn’t look like he was getting much work done, and the candle was a safety hazard. There was enough loose paper littering the room to make the whole house go up in flames.
I marched over to the desk and blew out the candle, then threw open the door to the adjoining room.
Presley’s brother lay on his back on a weight bench, straining to push up a loaded bar. My first instinct was to help him, but I stopped mid-stride as I took in the amount of weights on the bar. As a spotter for so much weight, I’d be useless.
He finished his set, then dropped the bar to the rack with a loud clank. The noise was deafening in the quiet room.
He sat up and aimed a glare in my direction. My heart lurched and then skipped back to life. Heat flooded my cheeks.
This man was no Quasimodo.
He belonged on the cover of a romance novel ripping bodices. He had one of those broad male chests that looked like it had been hewn from stone and polished to a high sheen. A light smattering of dark hair covered his flat, hard pecs and then thinned to a line bisecting his distinctly carved abs. Not one ounce of fat dared to cling to his body.
Dark hair curled in damp hanks over his forehead, and his skin shined with sweat.
Fire streaked down my spine, and my heart leaped into my throat. I didn’t usually go for the jock types, but this guy would get anyone’s heart pumping. I shut my mouth before the drool could escape.
He grabbed a towel to rub the sweat from his eyes. “You’re not Pressly,” he said, his tone both disapproving and Southern genteel. “You’re the one who tripped the alarm?”
My skin tingled at the sound of his rich baritone. His voice was just as sexy as the rest of him. “You changed the code.”
His body was a work of art. Lean chest, muscular thighs, rounded calves, and…bright pink socks emblazoned with yellow rubber ducks?What the hell?
