Leashed (Going to the Dogs)

  Leashed

  Book #1

  Going to the Dogs Series

  By Zoe Dawson

  Published by Blue Moon Creative, LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright by Karen Alarie. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. The author acknowledges the copyrighted or trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Jeep Sahara, Pottery Barn, The Walt Disney Company

  License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  ISBN: 978-0-9884188-0-6

  Find Zoe Dawson on the web!

  Website: www.zoedawson.com/

  Twitter: www.twitter.com/ZoeDawsonAuthor

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/zoe.dawsonauthor1

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/zoedawsonauthor1

  Cover Design by Robin Ludwig Design, Inc.

  http://www.rldprint.com/

  Acknowledgments

  I'd like to thank Sarra Cannon for all her encouragement and support as I embark on this self-publishing adventure. I owe a debt of gratitude to both Bridget Foy for believing in me and Dare Cook for her beta reading. Thank you, also, to Faith Freewoman for her excellent advice and editing skills.

  Chapter One

  A woman’s laughter drifted into the hall as Callie Lassiter trudged home. She glared at Owen McKay’s door as she slipped her key into the lock of her trendy Tribeca loft. Sounded like Owen was having much more fun on his date than she’d had on hers.

  Yep, another dating disaster. Okay, so not as much a disaster as a ho-hum snooze fest. With an inner sigh, she reflected on this evening’s dating fiasco. He was nice. Quite nice, but he might as well have been an amoeba, because she’d felt no attraction. None. When had dating become so…rote?

  Since she decided a man with an edge was not an option. Yep, she was a bad boy junkie, but often addictive things were just plain not good for you. Like chocolate. Also not good for you. Still, Callie couldn’t help but feel let down.

  The laughter tinkled again, sweet and clear. Envy twisted in her stomach and pressed against her chest. She threw his door another glare. She bet the woman Owen was entertaining looked like one of those high-fashion models she usually saw hanging on his arm in the New York Scoop photos she pretended not to notice. The guy was gorgeous; of course he would only date high-quality arm candy, never a girl-next-door type like Callie.

  He also had to keep up appearances. As one of Manhattan’s players, he owned FLASH, a classy nightclub that everyone in the city considered the place to see and be seen. He was often reported to be with a different woman each week. But even his stylish clothes and expensive, hip haircut couldn’t disguise his true nature. And she’d learned the hard way that untamable, audacious, and daring meant Bad Boy with capital Bs.

  At least there was one male eager to see her, one she could depend on, and who was always excited to greet her as she came through the door. And this enormous boy wasn’t at all boring.

  Pushing the door open, she braced herself for her exuberant but well-trained Great Dane, Jack. He was right there to greet her, as always, and Callie kissed him on the bridge of his black and white nose.

  She deposited her Judith Leiber vintage clutch on the hall table and gave her full attention to Jack.

  He filled the doorway with his big body. Every time they did their welcome-home ritual, she was grateful for the first skill she had taught Jack—not to jump up. With a dog this large, it would be unpleasant, and could be dangerous to small children.

  “Hi there, Jack! Who’s a good boy?” Callie cooed as she stroked Jack’s head and rubbed all over his silky fur. She wouldn’t be able to get past this cheerful, affectionate two hundred pound bundle of canine energy without first paying the entry fee of a big dose of love, which she did gladly.

  She was having so much fun with Jack that she barely noticed a door open down the hall, followed by a brief conversation before the door closed and footsteps retreated toward the elevator.

  Grabbing Jack’s leash, she clipped it to his collar, headed back out the door, and locked it behind them. She enjoyed their walks as much as he did, and did them as often as her busy business allowed. And since she was the boss and owner of Sit Happens, an obedience and dog training business on the Lower East Side, she could build her schedule to suit her needs, and Jack’s. “I had a really disappointing date,” Callie confided as they headed down the hall.

  Jack’s ears pricked and he made a comforting sound. Then, prancing with excitement, he proceeded to get tangled in his leash. As Callie bent down to unravel him, she heard a most unwelcome voice behind her.

  “Your Dane is big enough to be a pinto, and he has the right two-tone coloring.”

  Callie’s bad boy meter shot up into the red zone. Owen McKay would have to mock her. There he stood in all his glory, just outside his loft door, his hip cocked and his intent eyes studying her. Naturally, Owen lived in the most modern and sleek of all the lofts her brother and his outrageously creative friends had produced. As if his clothes were a natural extension of his upscale residence, he had on a black crew neck sweater and a pair of sinfully tight black leather pants, accentuating narrow hips and hard, strong-looking thighs. His come-hither eyes traveled slowly over her, and she realized that she was staring and holding her breath.

  Instructing herself to snap out of it, she mentally reiterated her vow never to get involved with another man who was dangerous, unpredictable, a rebel who didn’t care whose feelings got hurt. Callie firmly reminded herself why she had stopped dating selfish and emotionally unavailable men. She was the one who usually got hurt.

  She straightened and stood for a moment in silent agony. Why did she become speechless every time she saw Owen? Thank God it only happened with him, or she’d be out of business in a week!

  “His markings are referred to as Harlequin.” Oh, my God! Did that nonsense come out of her mouth in that stuffy, schoolmarmish-correcting-the-student-tone? She should find a comfortable and quiet spot to bang her head repeatedly against the wall. Hard.

  He smiled as if he was indulging her. “I know.”

  A big, dark muzzle pushed its way out of his half-open loft door. The big body came after, the dog’s tail wagging so hard her whole body shook.

  “Ah, another Dane lover.” Then he probably wasn’t all bad. Maybe.

  Owen reached inside the door and grabbed a leash, then closed and locked his door. “Yes, I am. I’m Owen McKay, by the way, and this is Jill.” He clipped the leash to the black and white bitch’s collar. “Time for your walk, girl.”

  “No way.”

  He shot her a puzzled look.

  “Meet Jack. And I’m Callie Lassiter,” she said with a grin.

  Owen laughed, and it was like a rich, decadent dessert. Incredibly tempting and probably very bad for her.

  At the moment she was distracted by Owen’s hot-fudge-sundae laugh, Jack made a totally unexpected, lightning move, all the while crooning a soft woofing noise deep in his throat. “Jack, heel!”

  Jack merely jerked the leash out of her han
d as he bolted for the pretty female.

  Her dog’s completely uncharacteristic behavior left her speechless, and, for critical seconds, completely at a loss.

  “Jack!”

  Jill coyly sidestepped Jack as Callie zipped down the hall and caught her dog’s collar, but moving two hundred unwilling pounds was impossible. “Jack, sit!”

  Incredibly, he ignored her again.

  In the meantime, Jill danced around her master with Jack in hot pursuit. Jill’s leash wrapped around Owen, and then around Callie, at the same time that Jack’s loose leash got snagged around their ankles. In moments they were completely entangled with the dogs and with each other.

  The clinging black crew neck shirt he wore felt soft under her fingers as she clutched him for balance. His pecs were thick and hard, his scent and physicality making her feel weak in the knees while her insides melted into a gooey mess.

  This close, she could see that his irises were a vivid blue, shot with deep gold and rimmed in black. His eyes were intense and compelling, and she felt her interest in him deepen. Damn!

  In spite of the canine commotion surrounding them, she could not shake off this man’s spell! At least she couldn’t until she felt the leashes tighten and yank her off-balance and into a tangled heap with Owen on top.

  And then her brain seized up completely when one of those hard thighs pushed between her legs and that flat stomach came up against hers.

  For a suspended moment she took in his gorgeous, masculine features backdropped by thick black hair that was mussed and sexy. His mouth was close to hers, lips pursed and so sensual. Her mouth tingled and ached with wondering what they would feel like against hers. Almost as though he also could feel the magnetic connection vibrating between her mouth and his, he angled his head toward her, his eyes on her lips.

  His lazy smile captivated her, coiling low and deep inside. And she could feel herself softening, heating, pulsing with a need to press against his thigh, which was parked so temptingly close to her center.

  She heard a woof in the distance and something prodded her with the impression that the sound was important. When she heard it growing more distant, she snapped out of her daze.

  “Jack!”

  “Jill!”

  Owen moved off her quickly, but the hall was empty and the door to the stairs was wide open.

  “Holy crap!” Callie shouted as she took off down the hall. When she reached the stairs, she saw Jill’s leash and broken collar. “She must have gotten it caught on the railing. Damn, Owen. Without her tags it’ll be hard to identify her.”

  “Don’t worry. She has one of those ID chips. Thanks for caring, though.”

  The warmth of his voice made her sigh softly, in spite of her desperation to find Jack before something happened to her precious two-year-old.

  “Jack does, too,” she said breathlessly as they raced down to the lobby, but the dogs were nowhere to be found. Callie covered her mouth, fighting tears. She ran out the door and into the street.

  “How do you think they got out? This is so unlike Jack. He never runs away.”

  “Jill’s gotten away from me a couple of times.”

  “Jack!” Callie called. “Come!”

  She took off down West Broadway towards the Hudson River with a lump in her throat that was pure fear. Where was he? This street led directly to the Hudson, and he could be hit by a car, or catch his paw in a pothole, or any number of other dangers that could befall her precious baby.

  Night had fallen, and even though streetlights illuminated the sidewalks, it was slow going. They stopped people as they ran, asking them if they’d seen the two Danes. After she and Owen searched corners and doorways and alleys for more than an hour, they decided to return home and see if the dogs had found their way back.

  “I can’t believe this.” Callie felt tears welling again as they finally reached their building. “I’m going to call the recovery company right now.”

  Owen touched her arm, a comforting warmth. “I’m sure it won’t take long to find him then.”

  “I hope so. He’s never been alone and in this city…”

  But when they walked into the building, both their rascals were cozied up next to the elevator, their big heads snugly nestled on each other’s bodies.

  “Jack!” Callie called, so happy to see him she didn’t even scold.

  He got up and came trotting over. She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him. “It’s getting late, but he still needs a walk,” she said to herself.

  “So does Jill. Could you keep her occupied until I run upstairs and get her other collar and leash?”

  “No problem.”

  While Callie waited for Owen to come back, she struggled to shut out memories of the hot, etched-permanently-in-your-mind night she’d once spent with a sexy bad boy who’d encouraged her to be as reckless and wicked as she dared. But, she firmly reminded herself, she’d grown up, left that phase of her life after one too many emotionally unavailable men. Her sexy neighbor was off-limits. Totally. Off. Limits.

  The moment in the hallway when his body had been pressed to hers was incredibly sensual, though… It had made her remember what it had been like to experience that twist of excitement, that overwhelming attraction that made her want to risk her safety and her sanity just to get close to a man.

  When Owen came back downstairs, he was wearing a light coat and an air of detachment that effectively obliterated her budding fantasies.

  “Thanks,” he said, slipping the collar over Jill’s head. “It was nice to finally meet you.”

  “Yes, we’re now well acquainted.” Oh, my God! How lame that sounded. Where was that head-banging wall anyway?

  As Owen moved past her towards the front door, Jack whined. Callie kept a tight hand on his collar and waited until Owen was out the door and had turned down the street before following.

  “Yeah,” Callie said softly, her eyes on Owen, but her words were for Jack’s ears only. “I know exactly how you feel.”

  #

  “Someone just walked into her apartment and took it right off the couch.”

  “A pillow?”

  “That’s what I heard. But, her door was unlocked. Her husband had just run downstairs for a paper. Lesson learned. I’d say.”

  “What would a thief want with a pillow?”

  Callie didn’t wait to hear the answer as she ushered Jack toward the door and past two women talking next to the mailboxes. Today Jack was behaving like his old self, instantly obeying her every command.

  They crossed West Broadway at the traffic light and walked until she reached the Union Square Dog Run. Brooke Palmer was already there with her bulldog Roscoe. Waving to Brooke, Callie went through the gate and closed it behind her, latching it securely.

  “Hey,” Brooke said to Callie, and then to Jack, “How’s my big boy?” She rubbed Jack’s head. “When are you bringing him in again for grooming?” Brooke owned Pawlish, a high-end dog spa that catered to the wealthy dog owners of Manhattan. She was presently in the middle of an impressive expansion to her business.

  Roscoe and Jack sniffed each other and then ran off to wrestle around together. “Next week. I don’t think I can fit it in this week. My schedule is too full.” Callie sat, crossing her legs as she leaned back against the park bench.

  “He’s always so well-behaved, not like Kristen Davis-Wright’s fidgety poodle. I wish that woman would take her dog somewhere else,” Brooke said, pushing back her dark hair in exasperation.

  Just then Harper Sinclair and her standard poodle, Blue, entered the park. Harper released her dog and watched her race off to meet up with Roscoe and Jack, but not before Callie noticed the sparkling collar around Blue’s neck.

  Harper’s grandfather owned large parcels of land in the City and had made a large fortune from both selling land and developing it. His moneymaking talents had obviously been inherited by her friend. Case in point her poodle’s undoubtedly diamond-studded collar. The poodle
was a best-in-show blue-ribbon moneymaker, but Harper never treated her like anything but a dog. No pampering for Edgewood Sky High Blue.

  Her pedigree was clear in the exquisite lines of the poodle’s solid body, but Blue’s registered name always made Callie smile. It was derived from her sire, Topgun, and the dam’s name of Freefalling – resulting in Sky High Blue. Or Blue for short. And, champion or not, the silver-grey poodle joined right in with the ruckus.

  “What’s going on with the bling?” Callie asked.

  Harper sighed. “Grandmother Sinclair strikes again. She’s staying with me for a few days. She made me put it on Blue before we left.”

  “It’s real? A diamond dog collar?” Brooke asked, an incredulous look on her face. “I thought Davis-Wright was overindulgent.”

  “Yes, fifty thou worth. Can you imagine walking your dog around Manhattan with that thing around her neck? Grandmother Sinclair is a few diamonds short in her tiara. Hopefully people will think it’s fake. But, if I were mugged, I’d give them the damn thing. I don’t think Blue likes it much.”

  “For your safety, you should leave it at home,” Brooke advised.

  “I can only try,” Harper said. “By the way, ladies, whose idea was it to meet at eight-thirty on a Saturday morning?” Harper groused. In her Vuitton coat and designer sunglasses, she looked like a rich snoot, but Harper was as down to earth as dirt.

  “Scoot over, I’m bushed, too much party and not enough sleep,” she said, working her way onto the bench between Callie and Brooke.

  “My heart bleeds for you,” Callie said sarcastically.

  “Social climbing is a full-time job,” Harper said, flashing a wily grin. She shrugged out of her caramel and cream coat, fluffing up her golden locks.

  “Right,” Brooke said, rolling her eyes. “And I seem to recall that it was your idea to meet at this hour.”

  She paused in mid-fluff, turning to look at Brooke. “Was I sober at the time?”

  “I think so,” Brooke said, smiling indulgently.