“Feel free to bunk down in my bed. Call me if you need a bedtime story. Oh, and if you need a better sex toy than that dinky thing you brought…”
He had sex toys? What kind of sex toys?
“…you’ll have to wait ’til I get home. I could be back and ready to be of service by nine or so.”
Her erogenous zones jumped at the suggestion. Her brain, however, hit the brakes. “That’s the best offer I’ve had since the last offer you made, but I’m afraid the answer is still no.”
“You may change your mind after the bedtime story. It so happens I tell a really good bedtime story.” His voice dropped a note as he spoke, and the words vibrated through her like prelude of things to come—literally.
“You’re awfully confident.”
“On this point, yes, I am. In fact, I’ll issue you a personal guarantee. With your head on my pillow and my voice in your ear, I’ll give you the best bedtime story you’ve had in a year and leave no fingerprints in the process. That wouldn’t violate your precious ethics, would it?”
She wanted to laugh—and cry. “I think that might violate the spirit of the code, if not the letter. I’d have to do some research.”
“You do that, Izzy. Research it.” His voice brimmed with amusement. “Then call me tonight and let me know what you learn.”
This man. Despite herself, she felt her lips curve. “Trace, I can honestly say you’re my most persistent client. Bye for now.”
“Bye, Izzy. Look forward to talking with to you tonight.”
Chapter Fourteen
Izzy hung a right at the address Bridget had given her and pulled up the driveway to a towering home of multipaned glass and natural shingles, rising from stone footings. She stopped in front of a detached garage built in the same style, if not the same era, as the house, in time to watch the sun slip behind the tallest of three staggered peaks in the home’s roofline, throwing shadows over the thickly framed white-trimmed windows and porch. The architectural cross between a lodge and a Cape Cod looked as indigenous to the landscape as the tall spruces and cottonwoods it stood tucked amongst, right down to the smoke curling from one of the three stacked stone fireplaces.
As she sat there, taking it in, Bridget stepped out of a side door—a human beacon in a bright red puffer vest—and strolled over to the Yukon. Izzy cranked the heat up and lowered the window.
“Welcome to our little cabin in the woods.”
“Little? No. But it’s beautiful.”
Bridget shrugged. “It’s home.” She leaned close to the open window and pointed down inside the car. “There’s a garage clicker hooked to the pocket at the base of your door.”
Izzy reached down. “Got it.” She pressed the button. Lights flicked on, and the big door on the right side of the generous, three-car garage slowly lifted.
“Pull on in. I’ll be right behind you.”
Izzy did as instructed, parking next to another Captivity Air and Freight Yukon that was pretty much a twin to the one Trace had left for her. The third bay stood empty. Bridget walked over to the wall and depressed a button to raise that door and lower the one she’d just driven through.
“For Lilah,” she explained as Izzy hopped down from the Yukon and slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Did you pack a bag?”
“I did, but I may not actually stay the night. My body’s just now getting used to my bed at the inn. I don’t want to throw my sleep routine another curveball.”
“Happy to play that by ear, but let’s bring it inside anyway, so you have your stuff handy if you decide to stay.”
“Okay.” She walked to the trunk and popped the hatch. Before she could reach in and grab her nylon tote, Bridget did the honors, slinging it over her shoulder and heading toward the house.
“Come on in. I just opened a very nice bottle of Cab that came highly recommended—and highly free—from a friend of mine in the restaurant business in Juneau.”
Izzy followed her hostess to the side door. From inside, she heard a volley of excited barks. Bridget pushed through the door first, laughing. “Yes, Key. It’s Izzy. Izzy’s here.” Reaching down with one hand, she simultaneously patted his plush head and pushed him back. “You gotta make room, boy, so she can come inside.”
Obediently, the Husky put it in reverse, sort of dancing backward. “Woof!”
“Hi, Key.” She reached out and patted the sides of his head, just below his black-trimmed ears. “Good to see you, handsome boy.” Inside turned out to be what she’d call a mudroom. White trim work rose three-quarters of the way up the walls, punctuated at half-foot increments by silver hooks holding a colorful assembly of coats, hats, and other outerwear, along with one dedicated to leashes. Built-in benches below provided storage as well as a place to sit and deal with boots and shoes. One corner of the small room housed a collection of snowshoes, poles, and some gear she didn’t have a name for.
“Make yourself at home,” Bridget said, gesturing to some empty hooks, before she placed Izzy’s bag on a bench and shrugged out of her vest. What her long, lithe body did for a thin black hoodie and black cotton leggings made Izzy want to sigh. How liberating would it be to go through life so effortlessly runway-ready?
“Lilah should be along soon.”
“Ri-rah!”
Bridget winked at her. “Who’s your girlfriend, Key?”
“Ri-rah!
Izzy hung her parka, took her phone out of her purse and slid it in the back pocket of her jeans, and then hung her purse as well. “You know, I’d never heard of a talking dog before I met Key.” She followed Bridget through a high-ceilinged entryway, past a wide central staircase that led to the second floor, and into a bright, enormous kitchen awash in soft white surfaces and light blue accents.
“The trick with Key isn’t getting him to talk. It’s getting him to shut up. Have a seat.” She gestured to a large, marble-topped island surrounded by low-backed stools. On it sat the open bottle of wine and two glasses. “Key, bed.”
The dog trotted over to a big, tan fleecy bed by a nook that held a fancy coffee machine and, above that, wine storage.
“He’s very well trained.” She nodded when Bridget picked up the bottle and raised a brow at her.
“He had to be,” Bridget replied as she poured two glasses. “Size-wise, he’s kind of a monster of malamutes. Even as a puppy, all you had to do was take one look at his paws to know the animal that grew into them would be huge.”
“Well, you’ve done a really good job with him.”