Hot Touch by Deborah Smith Read Free Book Online Page A

communication was staggering, and his gleeful message unnerved her.
    Happy! Good! Master no more lonely! Master takes a mate!
    The atmosphere was electric in the aftermath of their tempestuous confrontation. Paul strode back to the house with Wolf at his heels, and she could tell that he was puzzled and annoyed by her effect on an animal he thought he understood completely.
    Caroline, grinning, followed them through the house and into the kitchen. She sat down in a cane-bottom chair beside a massive, battle-scarred table that was little more than a slab of crudely finished timber atop legs as thick as her waist.
    “I’ll have Wolf wrapped around my little finger by theend of the day,” she announced. “He’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
    Without pausing to look at her, Paul uttered in French a one-word opinion of that claim. He slapped a coffee kettle under the sink faucet.
    Caroline made a face at his well-formed back. “I don’t care whether you believe me or not. And if you’re going to insult me, do it in English. You’re as American as I am.”
    “I’m Cajun, and proud of it. If you were Cajun, you’d understand.”
    She made an odd, strangled sound that was so plaintive, he glanced at her over his shoulder. Paul wanted to ask what was wrong, but he couldn’t bring himself to forgive her for the panther incident, and for being so smug about Wolf, and especially for ruining his gallant intentions about women and friendship.
    To hell with friendship. He wanted to chain Caroline Fitzsimmons to his bed, himself along with her, and see how long it would take for the two of them to scorch the sheets. Then they could discuss friendship.
    “Swallow a bug?” he inquired.
    She huffed in disgust. “You’re so transparent. I may be demanding and cocky, but you admire that. Admit, it, Belue, you’ve met your match.”
    “Wolf likes you. Be happy with that.”
    “Wolf is smarter than his master. He’s willing to give me a chance to do my job.”
    He turned around and shook the kettle at her. “You talk too much.”
    “Probably. I was an only child. It’s a habit.”
    “Break it.”
    He busied himself at the stove. She ogled him shamelessly. He had a great rump, and the thin tank top didn’t hide much of his magnificent back and shoulders.
    This man would age well, adding a little more weight to his torso perhaps, but keeping the solid look of aboxer’s physique. His shoulders moved fluidly, stirring his black hair where it brushed them.
    His height and sturdy build fit the big table and oversize kitchen, she decided. His dark good looks made an intriguing contrast to the bright yellow floor tiles and white appliances.
    The kitchen told her a lot about him. He looked comfortable, as if he spent a great deal of time there.
    It was a plain but homey place, full of gourmet gadgets, many of them hanging from a wrought-iron rack over the stove. Cheerful yellow curtains covered a large window over the sink. Newspapers and science journals were scattered on the countertops.
    A small cappuccino machine squatted on the counter that ran next to the refrigerator. Alongside the cappuccino machine sat a coffee grinder and glass canisters full of coffee beans.
    “Dr. Blue, you’re a confusing man,” Caroline noted bluntly. “Practical and impractical at the same time. Your kitchen table looks like it was designed with a chain saw, what I saw of your beloved upstairs was spartan, and yet you indulge in gourmet kitchen toys.”
    “Don’t talk to me,” he ordered. He went to the refrigerator and began stacking breakfast items in his arms.
    Caroline gazed hungrily at an uncut cantaloupe, a carton of eggs, and a chunk of cheese. “How kind of you,” she said sweetly. “To cook for me.”
    “I’m not cooking for you. Go eat with Frank.”
    She should do that, she knew, but she rebelled at the thought of giving up Paul and Wolf’s company.
    “I can’t,” she told him. “I’m studying Wolf.” That was true, at