LITMIR.BIZ

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women who don’t care for your chauvinistic attitude have done the same.”

      “Chauvinistic?” Nick moaned, pretending to be hurt. “Hey, you’re way off base on that one, counselor. You see, I’ve always been extremely fond of women.”

      “As long as they’re barefoot and pregnant, and know their place, you mean?” she challenged.

      Nick flinched. In all fairness, he could understand that his lawyer jokes, and now the incident involving his dog, might be responsible for launching a bumblebee up the legal eagle’s attractive little behind. But he was quickly growing weary of being attacked in his own driveway. Determined to make his snotty visitor vanish as quickly as she’d appeared, Nick deliberately let his coal-black eyes travel over her body with a look that even this uptight attorney couldn’t misinterpret.

      And only when she flinched did Nick break his ill-mannered leer.

      “Sorry if my appraisal made you uncomfortable,” Nick lied. “But since you’re already barefoot, I was just trying to imagine the pregnant part.”

      Cassie gasped and looked down at all ten of her hot-pink polished toes. In her haste to get retribution for the heinous crime Nick Hardin’s dog had committed, she had completely forgotten that she left home looking like some reject from a bargain-basement sale. She hadn’t even realized that she wasn’t wearing shoes.

      Clenching her fists to keep from slapping him, Cassie struggled until she finally regained her ability to speak. “If that was meant to shock me, it didn’t,” she huffed. “In fact, that’s exactly the type of statement I would expect from a man like you.”

      Raising one eyebrow slightly, Nick grinned. “Hey, I hate to point out the obvious, but you’re standing in my driveway, counselor, I’m not standing in yours. If you find me so offensive, you can always leave.”

      His comment brought an even deeper shade of pink to Cassie’s cheeks. “Oh, believe me, I’ll be more than happy to leave once we come to an understanding about the damage your idiot dog…”

      “Let’s see. How did you so aptly put that before?” Nick interrupted, bursting out laughing again. “Didn’t you say he accosted…?”

      “That’s exactly what I said,” Cassie snapped, cutting him off. “But your mutt didn’t assault just any dog. I’m talking about a priceless dog. A dog that would put a dent in any bank account. Even one as healthy as yours.”

      She paused then, giving Nick a chance to comment on the significance of her statement. Instead, he remained silent, keeping his eyes fixed permanently on her full, moist lips. The same type of lips he would have preferred tasting and teasing, instead of watching them spout out a bunch of silly nonsense about some famous show dog.

      “Since I’m sure you do little else than listen to your own voice on the radio,” Cassie accused, “you obviously failed to read the front page of the Asheville-Citizen Times a few weeks ago when they did a feature story about the local bichon frise who won Best-in-Show at the Westminster Dog Show in New York City.”

      “Let me guess,” Nick scoffed, thinking that even the name of the damn dog sounded pretentious. “This…be-shon free-za, or whatever name you called the silly dog, just happens to be…”

      “How clever of you to figure it out,” Cassie snapped.

      Stalling for time, Nick let out a long sigh, then removed the leather strip from his ponytail and forced his fingers through his still-damp hair. “So let me get this right. Your fancy show dog didn’t bother to ask for credentials before she lifted her manicured little tail for the first stray male who came along, and you think that gives you the right to sue me? Get serious, counselor. How do I know my dog wasn’t in line behind some other hound who got to her first?”

      “That’s so typically male!” Cassie shrieked. “That’s always a man’s first line of defense, isn’t it? Always try to pawn it off on someone else.”

      Nick shrugged, unwilling to admit or deny the accusation. “Then what about calling in a vet if you’re so appalled that your dog didn’t hold out for a champion stud? I’ve heard they have this shot you can give…”

      “You, Mr. Hardin, are even more disgusting than I imagined,” Cassie interrupted. “How brilliant of you to come up with a man’s second line of defense!” Shaking her finger wildly in his direction, Cassie added, “If you think for one minute I’d risk harming a priceless show dog and possibly prevent her from having champion puppies someday, you’re crazy.”

      Unimpressed with her tirade, Nick leaned against the fender of the Lexus while the hyped-up attorney paced back and forth in his driveway, stewing over his unhelpful suggestions. He was tempted to grab her and hold her in a bear hug until she finally calmed down, but he was actually enjoying watching her flounce around his driveway with her fists clenched at her sides. Most women he met were all over him before he had a chance to say hello, but Nick already knew this sexy spitfire would probably scratch his eyes out if he even took a step in her direction. And the fact that she might intrigued him.

      “And don’t you dare say something stupid, like requesting a doggy paternity test,” Cassie warned, wheeling around to face him again. “I caught your dog in the act, remember? And if I end up playing nursemaid to a litter of unregistered puppies, I intend to hold you and your worthless dog totally responsible.”

      With that said, she marched to her car, opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “I’m taking Duchess to the vet the second I get back home,” she announced as she fumbled with the ignition. “I realize you have little use for legal advice, but it would be wise if you obeyed the leash law and keep that flea-bitten mutt at home where he should have been in the first place.”

      Nick suppressed a laugh, then quickly placed his hand on the driver’s side door. Leaning down, he sent his beautiful but angry visitor a slow, seductive smile. “Hey, just for the record, counselor, it might ease your mind to know that our dogs may be better suited than you think.”

      “Not in this lifetime,” Cassie assured him, grinding the Lexus into reverse.

      “But didn’t you just say your dog’s name was Duchess?”

      “What does that have to do with anything?” she snapped, taking the bait.

      Nick laughed the same hearty laugh she had heard on the radio and by the pool. “Because my dog has a royal name, too. I named him Earl.”

      “After one of your motorcycle-riding, beer-swilling friends, I’m sure,” Cassie shot back, then roared out of the driveway, coming dangerously close to hitting the big Harley Hog that was parked at the edge of Nick Hardin’s paved drive.

      2

      IN LESS THAN AN HOUR after she roared out of Nick Hardin’s driveway, Cassie drove into the parking lot of an elaborate brick building and pulled in beside a lone red Porsche, thinking that she should have taken her best friend’s advice and gone into veterinary medicine instead of law. Dee had been savvy enough to tap into the gold mine that surrounded the movers and shakers in the dog world. Limiting her practice to champion canines only, Dee wouldn’t have allowed a cur like Nick Hardin’s to place a grimy paw on the pavement in the parking lot, much less receive treatment at the chic canine facility appropriately known as Pedigree, Ltd.

      Cassie hopped out of the car, dragged Duchess’s crate from the passenger’s seat, then hurried to the glass front door of the building that had Your Champion Is The Heart Of Our Business stenciled in gold letters across the front.

      “Dee…we’re here,” Cassie yelled the second she stepped inside.

      “Well, hello Daisy Mae,” Dee Bishop teased as she appraised Cassie’s appearance.

      Cassie frowned at her friend’s attempted wit. She still hadn’t taken time to change from her shorts and T-shirt, but she had grabbed her sandals this time. “Don’t start with me, Dee,”

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