New Year, New Man: A Kiss on Crimson Ranch / The Dance Off / The Right Mr. Wrong

“Do you hear that?”

A sudden sound of pounding filled the air.

“That sounds like—”

He turned as Buster, his oversize bloodhound, charged down the hall, galloping toward the kitchen.

“Buster, sit.” The dog slid across the hardwood floor and ran smack into Josh’s legs, all enormous paws and wiggly bottom.

“Buster’s harmless.”

He looked back at Sara, now crouched on the butcher-block counter with wide eyes. “Keep that thing away from me.”

He felt a momentary pang of sympathy for her obvious fear, then glanced at Buster and smiled. “Looks like I’ve got you right where I want you, Hollywood Barbie.”

Chapter Two (#ulink_c00ead1d-e730-568a-931b-07c89ce90168)

So much for being cool, calm and in control.

“This isn’t funny.” Sara hated that her voice trembled.

Josh bent to rub the giant beast’s belly. The dog was deep brown with a wide ring of black fur around the middle of its back. Its eyes were dark, at least what she could see under the wrinkles that covered its head. It yawned, displaying a mouth full of teeth and flopped onto the wood floor. One pancake-size ear flipped over his snout. Outstretched, it was nearly as long as she was.

“This is Buster,” Josh said with a laugh. “He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“That dog looks like he could eat me for breakfast.”

“Lucky for you, it’s nearly lunch.”

“You are so not helping here.”

“I like you better up there. You’re not chewing me out.”

“I wasn’t chewing—” She stopped and met his gaze, now lit with humor. “You’re living in my house.”

“I explained that.”

“I need to sell it.”

“Sell it to me.” He stepped closer. “At the end of the summer.”

Fear had taken most of the fight out of her. “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?”

He held out a hand. “You could start by climbing off the counter.”

She watched Buster, who’d begun to snore. “I don’t like dogs.”

Josh’s low chuckle rumbled through her. “I never would have guessed.”

She didn’t move from the counter. “The fourth season of the show, I got a dog.” She closed her eyes at the memory. “My character, Jenna, got a dog. It hated me on sight. The first day on set it bit me. Twice. I wanted to get rid of it, but the director’s girlfriend was the dog trainer. She said it could sense my fear. That it was my fault the dog growled every time I came anywhere near it. Of course, the thing loved Amanda. Everyone loved Amanda.”

“Who’s Amanda?”

“Amanda Morrison.”

“The movie star?”

“Highest-paid woman in Hollywood three years running. Back in the day, she was my sidekick on the show.”

She expected a crack about how far the mighty had fallen. He asked, “How long was the dog around?”

“Lucky for me, the director was as big of a jerk with girlfriends as he was with me. By the end of the season, the dog was gone.”

“Did it ever warm up to you?”

She shook her head. “I got faster at moving away after a scene. I never realized how much my fingers resemble bite-size sausages.” She blew out a breath. “Animals and me, we don’t mesh.”

She looked away from the sleeping dog, surprised to find Josh standing next to her beside the kitchen island.

This close, she could see that his dark brown eyes were flecked with gold. A thin web of lines fanned out from the corner of them. He was tall, well over six feet, with broad shoulders that tapered into a muscled chest under his thin white T-shirt. Unlike most guys in Southern California, Josh didn’t look like he’d gotten his shape with an expensive gym membership or fancy trainers. He’d clearly worked for it. Real sweat kind of work. He wasn’t bulky, but solid. Although he wore faded cargo pants and gym shoes, he still gave off a definite cowboy Mr. Darcy air.

If Mr. Darcy had an unnervingly sexy shadow of stubble across his jaw, a small scar above his right eyebrow and a bit of a crook in his nose like he’d met the wrong end of a fist one too many times. A dangerous, bad boy Mr. Darcy.

It was one thing to slip on giving up chocolate; bad boys were quite another. She’d had enough of bad boys in her time. They swarmed L.A. like out-of-work actors.

His gaze caught hers, and it took her a moment to remember what she was doing in this house in the mountains, cowering on the kitchen counter.

He reached out a hand and she took it, still a little dazed. “It’s not going to come after me?” she asked, throwing a sharp glance at the dog.

“I’ll protect you,” he answered, his tone so sincere it made her throat tighten. Among other parts of her body.

Off balance, she scrambled down, the heel of one shoe catching on the corner of a drawer and sending her against the hard wall of his chest. She stepped back as if he’d pinched her, but he didn’t release her hand.

His calloused fingers ran the length of hers. “Nothing like sausages,” he said with a wink.

She snatched her hand away and moved to the other side of the island, thinking the altitude was making her light-headed. Praying it was the altitude.

“Where’s Claire’s mother?” she asked. As she’d hoped, the spark went out of his eyes in an instant.

“She was having some problems—personal stuff—needed a little time to get herself back on track. So Claire’s here with me.”

“For how long?”

He shrugged. “As long as it takes. Why do you care?”

“I have experience with bad parents. It can mess with you if you’re not careful.”

“Are you careful, Sara?”