I slip my cell phone into my purse and glance around, adjusting Zelda’s lead. She’s a nine-month-old Pomeranian with fur the same color and pattern as a fox, a face like a little bear, and a personality as big as a lion. I’ve had her for a couple of weeks, but I already love her more than I knew I could ever love anything.
“Well, where is he, Zee?” I murmur, glancing around.
My parents offered to pay for training lessons for Zelda. I think they were relieved when I adopted her, knowing I’d have a companion. The training is for both of us—so little Zee can be successful, and I can practice some semblance of routine, control, and leadership.
Our first lesson is today, and I’m meeting a trainer whose resume includes training military and police K9s, bomb dogs, and emotional support dogs. I suppose my seven-pound dog could fall into the latter category, but it makes me smile to think of her wearing a K9 vest.
Suddenly Zelda lets out one sharp bark, then takes off like a bat out of hell. I’m not paying close attention, and her lead jerks right out of my hand.
“Zelda!”
She makes a beeline for a tall Asian guy a dozen yards away, standing beside a tall oak tree. He sees her coming and kneels down.
Oh my god, he’s going to steal my dog! I run faster. Over my dead body!
But to my surprise, as I get closer, the guy is cradling Zelda, who is licking his face like crazy.
His incredibly gorgeous face.
He glances up as I approach, and I suck in a breath. Wide-set, twinkling dark-brown eyes meet mine. A pair of sensuous lips curl up into a grin on one side, and a dimple digs into one side of his cheek. His thick black hair is stylishly cut, short and trimmed on the sides with a little length on top.
“Hi,” he says in a deep voice that echoes the smile on his face. “I’m guessing you’re this lovely girl’s mom?”
Say something, dolt. “Uh—yeah. She’s mine.” The words come out clipped—so not what I intended.
Mr. Gorgeous extends Zelda. One arm is covered in a colorful, intricate tattoo of a blue, red, and green dragon. “Here you go. I can tell it runs in the family,” he adds.
I set Zelda on the ground. “What?”
“Uh…” He blushes and chuckles. “Sorry. That was a stupid joke. Because I said she’s lovely. And so are you. But it went differently in my mind. I—sorry.”
“Oh.” I huff something that approaches a laugh. “Um. No worries. Sorry, I need to meet my dog trainer. Thanks for—”
“Wait, are you Maya?” The guy extends his hand. “Wow, how weird is this? I’m Cameron Kang, your trainer.”
My chest immediately gets tight and my breath threatens to accelerate. This beautiful man would be my dog trainer, and I would be wearing old jeans, a stained sweatshirt, and a messy bun. Jesus.
“Hi,” I say meekly, shaking his hand. Mine disappears into his. “Cameron. It’s nice to meet you.”
“Call me Cam,” he says warmly, turning on that megawatt smile. He crouches down to pet Zelda. “And you must be Zelda. You sniffed me right out, huh, girl?”
Sure did, I think. His snug T-shirt outlines all the sinew and muscle of his back.
“What’s that?” Cam lifts his head.
“What?”
“You said something?” He straightens.
Oh shit. “No—nope,” I say, forcing a bright smile.
Cam shrugs. “Okay. Well, are you ready to get started?”
“Sure.”
“Then let’s do it.” He winks.
Do it? Oh Lord hammercy. That’s definitely one area where I’m pathetically inadequate. I lost my virginity junior year of high school. And…that’s been the extent of my sexual experience. I’m twenty-four. You do the math.
This tall, tattooed drink of water simply cannot say things like that to me and expect me to concentrate.
Oh well. He’ll be nice eye candy for as long as this lasts.
2
Cameron Kang
A week later
Saturday morning I stand at what I’ve started thinking of as “our tree.” I’ve never looked forward so much to training someone’s dog, but then again, I’ve never had a client like Miss Maya Mitchell.
We’ve had one other lesson since last Saturday, and she was almost as tight-lipped on Wednesday evening as she was at the first lesson. It took me all of three seconds to realize she’s painfully shy, so I did my best to put her at ease while I introduced little Zelda to some basic commands.
I’ve been training dogs since my Marine Corps days. After a few tours overseas, I left the Corps—though once a Marine, always a Marine—when a slot opened up in the highly competitive Alpha Force Elite unit. There are only seven of us in the unit for now, but we are the cream of the crop, and we often work with other military branches in the United States and overseas for missions that involve varying levels of security. As it stands, I do possess a top-secret security clearance, and the intel that passes through my hands on a daily basis is definitely on an “if I tell you I have to kill you” level of confidential. In AFE, I’m a weapons specialist and analyst. I focus on enemy forces’ weaponry—what they’re using, how they acquired it, how many. I can tell you with a single glance how much after-market modification a submachine gun has gone through. I can tell you just by looking at the curve of an extended magazine how many rounds it will hold. Weapons are my specialty—and so is keeping them out of bad guys’ hands. And in a couple of weeks, I’ll be deploying to Kuwait for a month to train our forces there on the very same thing.
Dog training is something I’m passionate about and do for both military and law enforcement as well as civilians. It’s easy. Enjoyable. I understand dogs. I respect them. I love them. And especially when it comes to civilians, I love seeing a dog find his or her confidence and helping build another bridge of communication and happiness between them and their owner.
At that moment, Maya and her little lionhearted Pomeranian approach me. Zelda’s ears flop back against her skull and her tail whips from side to side as she spots me. I’m not supposed to become partial to my clients’ pets, but damn it all if this little girl didn’t claim my heart immediately.
Not unlike her mother…
Today, Maya looks especially delicious in a pair of snug jeans that follow every curve and dip of her luscious body, and a flowing floral tank top that makes her tan skin pop. I immediately suspected when I first met her that she’s half or part Asian, and she confirmed in our last session her mom is from Shanghai—the same city my dad is from—and her dad’s an American-born guy of English and Irish stock. Whatever the case, they came together and made one stunningly beautiful woman.
I’m dying to tell her that.
Her eyes are large and a beautiful deep brown-green, flecked with gold and ringed in black. Her long black hair looks like pure silk, and I’m dying to run my fingers through it as I kiss her pouty pink lips.
Focus, Cam. I clear my throat. “Good day, ladies.”
Maya smiles. “You’re a morning person, huh?”
I shrug and grin back. “Of course! You aren’t?”