Can't Touch This (Can't Touch This #1)

Poor woman was sick as hell, yet she’d stayed and helped tend to two dogs who had no one else. The fact she hadn’t flogged me off or told me to return tomorrow increased my respect for her a thousand-fold.

And with respect came desire and affection.

I’d lusted after this woman for months. I’d grown hard over her jokes and ached for our stupid flirtation. But now, I felt something else. Something deeper and more meaningful. I wanted to take care of her the same way she took care of her patients.

And if that meant making her angry, so be it.

Keeping the keys out of her reach, I grunted, “The guy who plans on driving you home to keep you safe is asking.”

“Well, too bad. I’m not telling. Besides, I don’t need a damn chauffeur.”

“You do when you’re sick as a dog—no pun intended.” I kissed one of the Chiweenies on his tiny head. “You’re not sick, little pup. Not anymore.” Making eye contact with her again, I added, “They’re on the mend because of you. The least I can do is return the favour.”

“Don’t worry about it. You paid me.” Jumping for her keys, she sneezed loudly, bending over with a groan.

Goddammit, I’d suspected she was sick the moment I’d seen her but my selfishness to get the dogs sorted meant I hadn’t seen how bad she’d deteriorated.

As we’d worked side by side, fixing the two mistreated Chiweenies (still hated that name, by the way) she steadily grew worse.

She hadn’t even noticed her business partner pop her head in while we were elbows deep in dirty bath water to say she was heading home and to lock up.

I’d nodded but Vesper had been a freaking automaton washing the pooch and doing her best to swallow and blink through red eyes.

I knew the feeling when the flu hit out of the blue.

And I remembered my mother looking after me when I swore I didn’t need looking after.

I didn’t know if Vesper had anyone but if she was like me and alone, there was no way in hell I was leaving her until she’d been taken care of.

Wait, she might have a boyfriend.

I’d already tried to assess that annoying question last time but still had no answer. Surely, she wouldn’t joke with me if she did? It would be past inappropriate and waltzing into cheating territory.

And Vesper was not a cheater. I didn’t know how I knew that, but I did.

Tucking her keys into my back pocket, I asked, “Do you live alone?”

Her eyes bugged. “Oh my God, your questions just get creepier and creepier.”

“I’m not asking if you’re alone in order to cut you into tiny pieces. I’m asking if there is a boyfriend I can call to get you instead.”

Don’t have a guy.

Don’t already share that bangin’ body with someone.

I didn’t mind some competition, but at the same time, I wasn’t a home wrecker.

She rubbed her temples with another groan. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Shit, that just made me hard again.

“Flat mate? Friend? Sister? Anyone you live with?”

“Nope.” She sighed heavily. “Just me, myself, and I. And already this—” She wiggled her finger between me, her, and the Chiweenies “—is a crowd.”

Holding out her hand, she muttered, “Please, just give me the keys and let me go home. I need to go home.”

“I agree with the need to go home part, but you’re not driving.” Grabbing her handbag that’d fallen to the floor in another sneezing fit, I strode toward the exit. “Come along, Cinderella, you’ve expired and it’s time to get the pumpkin back in the garden.”