Page 19 of Daddy's Naughty Dog Trainer

"Perfect."

At the door, he places a hand on my arm, stopping me before I can leave. "One more thing, Jessica."

I look up at him, breath catching at his proximity. "Yes?"

"You were good today." His voice drops lower. "I noticed."

Pride blooms in my chest at his approval. "Thank you."

Sean's hand slides up my arm, sending delicious tingles along my skin. He brushes his fingertips lightly across my cheek, tilting my chin upward. "I think you deserve a reward for beingsuch a good girl." His breath ghosts over my lips, making them tingle with anticipation.

My heart hammers in my chest, both fearful and excited by the look in his eyes. He leans in and presses his lips to mine in a searing kiss. His mouth is firm but insistent, coaxing me to respond with equal fervor. I melt into his arms, all previous reservations were swept away on a tide of desire. This is insane, I tell myself vaguely, but this is Sean Ferguson kissing me, and I've fantasized about this moment for far too long to stop now.

His tongue traces my lower lip, seeking entrance, and with a moan of surrender, I grant it. Our tongues dance together in a kiss that leaves me breathless and aching for more. An electric shock shoots through me as his hand slips beneath my shirt to skim over my bare stomach, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls away but not before whispering huskily in my ear, “See you tomorrow.” He brushes a strand of pink hair from my face, the touch so light it might have been imaginary. "Don't be late."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I promise, and I mean it.

The Barking Bean is crowded when I arrive, exactly three minutes early. The café has a large patio area with special hooks for leashes and water bowls for canine visitors. I scan the tables but don't see Sean or Lucky yet.

I'm about to find a table when a low, familiar voice speaks directly behind me.

"Right on time. I'm impressed. You must have liked the reward for being a good girl."

I turn to find Sean standing there, Lucky sitting obediently at his side. He looks different today. He’s more relaxed in darkjeans and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up to reveal those muscular forearms I can't stop thinking about. His usual stern expression is softened by the hint of a smile.

"I told you I can follow instructions when they matter," I remind him.

"So you did." He gestures toward a corner table. "I reserved us a spot."

Of course he did.

Sean Ferguson wouldn't leave something like table availability to chance. I didn’t even know you could reserve a table at a cafe.

Lucky walks perfectly at Sean's heel as we make our way to the table, drawing admiring glances from other patrons. When we reach our seats, Sean clips Lucky's leash to the hook provided and gives him the command to lie down, which he does immediately.

"Show-off," I mutter, before I bend down and pet Lucky on the head. I’m really fond of this dog… and maybe his owner, too.

"He responds well to consistency," Sean says, pulling out my chair for me. The gesture is old-fashioned, courtly even, and it catches me off guard. I’ve been on a multitude of dates with men my age and none of them have ever pulled my seat out before.

"Thank you," I say, settling into the seat.

Sean takes the chair opposite me, and for a moment, we just look at each other. Outside the context of his living room or a training session, this feels different. More intimate somehow, despite the public setting.

"This is nice," I say finally, breaking the silence. "Lucky seems comfortable in this environment."

"He is. We've been working on public behavior since he tackled the toddler at the park." Sean's eyes don't leave mine. "I take him for a walk downtown every morning at six-thirty. He's getting used to different surroundings."

"Six-thirty? Every morning?"

"Consistency," he reminds me with the hint of a smile. “I’ve also stopped every child who approaches him and tell them to always ask an owner before they pet the dog. For the most part, the kids have all been agreeable and asked and then I let them. Occasionally, they run off. I don’t understand it. I don’t think I’m scary looking.”

We both laugh. “You can be a bit intimidating,” I tell him.

A server approaches to take our order. Sean gets black coffee; I choose a caramel latte. When the server leaves, the silence returns, slightly awkward now.

"So," I say, fidgeting with a sugar packet, "do you always bring your dog trainers to cafés, or am I special?"

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