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Copyright © 2011 by Liz Stafford All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form, including but not limited to: printing, photocopying, faxing, recording, electronic transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system without prior written permission from the authors or holders of the copyright. This book is a work of fiction. References may be made to locations and historical events; however, names, characters, places and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), businesses, events or locales is either used fictitiously or coincidental. All trademarks, service marks, registered trademarks, and registered service marks are the property of their respective owners and are used herein for identification purposes only. Published by Beautiful Trouble Publishing, LLC PO Box 61 Colfax, NC 27235 www.beautifultroublepublishing.com Cover Art: Les Byerley http://www.les3photo8.com/ Editor: Barb Wilson Proofreader: Novellette Whyte http://authorgurunovellette.blogspot.com/ Formatter: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/ E-book Conversion: Jim & Zetta, http://www.jimandzetta.com/ ISBN: (e-book) 978-1-61788-204-3
Note about eBooks eBooks are NOT transferable. Re-selling, sharing or giving away eBooks is a copyright infringement. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the author or Beautiful Trouble Publishing.
CAVEAT This work of erotica contains adult language and sexually explicit scenes, which are smoking hot. This book is intended only for adults, as it is defined by the laws of the country in which the purchase is made. Keep this book out of the hands of under-aged readers.
Chapter One Tonya maneuvered the Lexus along Broadway, checking out the Christmas lights in the store windows. Business had been slow and she’d decided to close the clinic and go home early. Two days after Christmas, traffic was sparse. People were home resting up for New Years. New Years—another wasted holiday. A day with no paycheck. What was there to look forward to, anyway? Her family was all back east, in the snow. It just wasn’t Christmas without snow. She turned up the radio to drown out the Scrooge-like thoughts. Over the sound of Michael Bublé’s soothing voice, tires squealed. Someone shouted. A cat wailed— long and high-pitched. The sound brought every hair on Tonya’s body to attention. She raced toward the commotion, dismayed to see that a cat had been hit by a car. The animal, a Persian by the looks of it, lay there all glassy-eyed, its hind legs jerking in uncontrollable spasms. Its long black hair was coated with blood. Tonya ran to the scene. She pushed between two male elbows. In response to the muttered, “Watch it,” from the blue-covered elbow, she said, “I’m a doctor. A vet.” She knelt beside the limp cat. Tonya eased open 6
Long Haired Persian an eyelid and checked the pupil’s dilation. No doubt about it, the cat was in shock. The only clear-cut physical injury was a broken rear leg. It lay at a right angle to where it should. More than likely there were internal injuries. She wouldn’t know more until after a thorough exam, which she’d do at the clinic. Tonya peered up at blue-sleeve. “Anyone know who the owner is?” “My cat,” came an accented voice—she couldn’t place it right now, and didn’t try—from just over her shoulder. Gosh, how long had he been standing there? His breath was a mixture of garlic and something else, some kind of meat, she thought. “We have to get him to my clinic.” “S’cuse?” She pointed left. “I am a doctor.” She wasn’t sure how much this pussy-tingling man understood, but he got the gist. He smoothed a hand over curly hair, stood and backed away as she got to her feet. He, as did most people, towered over her by well over a foot. She tilted her head for a better look. Yes, dark curly hair and equally dark eyes. Tonya fell instantly and irrevocably in love. She would have to do something about his clothes. He had on a light blue shirt and orange striped tie. God, who dressed this man? She stifled a giggle. No way was this one married. Together they maneuvered the cat onto a piece 7
Liz Stafford of cardboard they found in the gutter. Thankfully, the kitty had stopped screeching. She hated when pets cried. Its eyes were still glassy, its pulse erratic. The owner steadied the cat on the cardboard. “Stay here while I go get my car.” “S’cuse?” She raised a finger in the universal signal to wait. Pulse thumping, she ran to the car and drove fifty feet to pull up beside him—the man she would someday marry. She got out and raced around to open the rear door and help him inside. Good thing the clinic was only four blocks away. Rianna Farraday, her partner, had been fortunate to find this building—it had once been a Chinese restaurant—in the heart of LA. Tonya tilted the mirror hoping to keep an eye on the cat, but all she could see was the very worried owner. He was obviously foreign, but since he’d only spoken a few words, she’d been unable to place the accent. She loved accents. To stereotype his looks would be wrong, but still, those dark eyes, slightly hooked nose and wavy black hair said he was probably Turkish or Iranian. And gosh, did he smell good—a combination of vanilla and maybe basil. Weird for a guy. But perfect for him. Something inside her jangled. Something not related to the adrenaline rush related to the 8
Long Haired Persian emergency. Of course she recognized horniness. She had a healthy desire for sex. But relationships and Dr. Tonya Lansing didn’t mix. She’d been there, done that more times than she could count. No man she’d ever met could handle a woman who owned a business. Sure, at first they smiled and acted all proud when they introduced her to their friends. Then weeks passed; the men grew aloof and stopped calling. She couldn’t count the times she’d checked her cell phone to make sure it was charged. Oh, who was she kidding? Deep inside, she knew what it was they couldn’t handle—a woman who worked twenty hours a day. Two years ago, she’d had to make the choice: put the energy into the business or a man. There just wasn’t enough to go around. So, the clients’ pets became her children. All the woolgathering brought the devastating reminder that this man was indubitably and unquestionably offlimits. Inside of ten minutes, they were at the clinic with the cat lying on the cold metal table. Tonya performed a thorough exam, then patted the man’s trembling fingers that held onto his cat. She raised her wait-finger again and rushed to the back to turn on the x-ray machine, praying for the damage to the cat—and her heart—to be minimal.
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Chapter Two Gaspar Zakaria watched the doctor leave. All five feet, eighty pounds of her. Doctor, his ass. The little thing couldn’t be more than thirteen years old. In a minute, she’d come through that door accompanied by one of her parents, who really was a vet, and they’d all share a hearty laugh. That flowing golden blonde hair and smooth makeup-free face did nothing but add to doubts about her age. But therein lay the problem. In thinking her a child, he’d acted like a child himself and pretended he couldn’t speak English. Oh well, what was the harm? If she could fix Shamira, they could go their separate ways and he’d never have to see this woman-child again. Never have to admit his mistake. And his lie. Gaspar hated people who lied. The door opened and she came in. She’d divested herself of the sweatshirt. Hot damn! He’d been thinking of her as a doll. A Kewpie doll. The kind with the big, round eyes and plump baby’s body. But this was no Kewpie doll. She was a Barbie doll—like the ones his sister used to play with—a living, breathing, anatomically correct Barbie doll. His eyes must have bugged out or something because she laughed. 10
Long Haired Persian “Most people react that way the first time.” She tilted her head to look up at him. “S’cuse?” “When I— Oh never mind.” Gaspar raised his brows at her. “Let’s start over.” She turned and took a white lab jacket from a stand in the corner. When she slipped her arms into the sleeves, her breasts popped forward and made him ache in a bunch of places at once. She straightened the coat but didn’t button it. There was a blue and white nametag on the left breast pocket, but he couldn’t read it. Darn, why hadn’t he worn his glasses? If he had, the darned cat wouldn’t have gotten out of the car in the first place. The vet stuck out her hand. “Doctor Tonya Lansing, veterinarian extraordinaire.” He couldn’t stop his hand from jumping into hers. His name almost squirted from his mouth. He managed to stop it just in time. She laughed. “Name. What is your name?” He nodded, pretending to understand…and reluctant to remove his hand from her very soft one. If he did, though, the tremors might stop shooting up his arm. She stabbed a finger between those gorgeous breasts. “Tonya.” Then she poked him in the chest and waited. 11
Liz Stafford God, please get him out of this before the lie snowballed into an avalanche. “Gaspar Zakaria.” He pointed to the cat. “Shamira.” “It’s nice to meet you, Gaspar and Shamira, though I wish it were under better circumstances. Well, the x-ray machine should be warmed up by now. Shall we go?” Tonya gently picked up the cardboard, still under his cat, and carried it to the other room. She slid the cardboard from under Shamira and gestured for Gaspar to stay outside the room. A true foreigner would question this, but Gaspar knew well the need to stay away from the machine’s rays.
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Chapter Three Tonya pushed the button to take a picture of Shamira’s broken leg. She had trouble hovering her finger over the button, it was shaking so badly. What was wrong with her hand? Another dumb question. She knew perfectly well it was leftover trembling from Mr. Gaspar Zakaria’s touch. Stop! Stop! Stop. You cannot—will not—fall for him. The man is off-limits. Somehow Tonya managed to take, and process, the x-rays of the cat. She slipped the films inside the lighted boxes and put on her glasses to view the first one, of the cat’s hind leg. “Looks like a break in the metatarsus,” came a soft voice from over her shoulder. The sound—and accent-less English—made her literally leap into the air. She spun on Gaspar, claws distended, ready for battle. “I owe you a serious apology.” “You damn well do.” She whirled away and, stiffspined, went back to reading the x-rays. How dare he deceive her that way! No, it was her fault, for being taken in by a handsome face. For thinking he might be different from other men. For falling under the spell of his touch. He’d been right, though. The cat’s leg was 13
Liz Stafford broken about an inch from the first phalange. As far as she could tell, there were no internal injuries. “I think we should keep her overnight.” The words came out in staccato fashion. She couldn’t help herself. Rage at his deception was barely held under control. An agonizing hour later, she had treated the cat for shock and settled it comfortably in a cage at the back of the clinic. Several times Gaspar apologized. Each time she ignored him. Even when their hands touched as he helped move Shamira into the cage. Just get through this and send him home—the words became her mantra. Get him out of here and she wouldn’t have to see him again. In a day or so, when it came time to release Shamira, Tonya could just sign off and let Taryn, the tech, take care of everything. Taryn would be instructed to encourage Mr. Gaspar Zakaria to take the cat to his own vet for follow-up care. Finally, the paperwork was done. Tonya shut the door on a still-apologizing Persian. A gorgeous, pussydrenching Persian who apparently had knowledge of cat anatomy. And spoke English like a pro. She’d think about that later. No. No. No. She would not think of him any more. Tonya threw on a threadbare robe, reheated 14
Long Haired Persian some chicken curry and ate it in front of the television. Though her favorite show, NCIS, was on, and she was looking at the screen, the only show playing before her eyes was she and Gaspar—even though her anger at him hadn’t abated one iota. They were doing things she hadn’t done in a very long time. She leaned back on the cushions, remembering his face. The tiny dimples at the corners of his mouth when he smiled. The double V between his eyes when he was worried. The five o’clock shadow that, because of his very dark hair, was probably there all the time. Her fantasy-gaze roved lower. Not too much chest hair. Just enough to twiddle as her fingers made their way toward his deep, dark areoles. Nicely defined muscles, though he was no Arnold Schwarzenegger. That was okay with Tonya. She hated a guy that looked better than her. Her robe sagged open as her fingers tweaked her own nipples to eraser-like points. Her right hand pushed lower—on herself, yes, but at the same time, on her imaginary lover. More hair there: an oh-so-defined arrow pointing down, down, to the prize in the Cracker Jack box-ers. She popped open the top and– Yikes! Time for BB to come out and play. Hopefully, the batteries were fresh because she’d need them big-time tonight. 15
Liz Stafford And later she would write one hundred times why she would not think any more about Gaspar Zakaria.
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Chapter Four Gaspar pounded both fists on his desk. Damn, he was mad. And tired. He’d spent the entire night sitting in this chair berating himself for screwing the vet. No. Screwing with the vet. Get a grip, man. He slammed his fists down again. The phone rang. Since the receptionist wasn’t in yet, he answered, hoping it was a cancellation of his first appointment. “Good morning, Gaspar Zakaria here.” “Good morning, this is Taryn from Tender Hearts Pet Clinic.” His heart jumped. Why hadn’t Tonya called? “We wanted to let you know that Shamira is doing fine. She rested well through the night and just finished her breakfast and a bowel movement.” There was a giggle. “Not at the same time, of course.” “Of course. When can she come home?” “Doctor Lansing isn’t in yet. She will examine Shamira later this morning, and someone will call to let you know.” “Okay, thanks for calling.” Sounds in the outer office signaled the receptionist had come in. After checking messages, she’d bring the coffee she’d gotten in the habit of 17
Liz Stafford picking up at the local coffee shop each morning. When she came in, he told her about Shamira’s accident. The receptionist was a cat-lover herself—had five of her own feline creatures. They commiserated a moment. “What time’s the first appointment?” he asked. “Ten minutes.” She thumped the desktop with a knuckle. “So, drink up. A clean lab coat is in the closet.” The morning was busy, and it passed quickly. He hung the lab coat on the back of his desk chair and flopped into it. His lunch had been delivered. The lamb biryani sat steaming in its Styrofoam container. Gaspar distracted his wandering libido with a forkful of pistachio sour cream and a cashew. The door opened and the receptionist poked her head around the door. “Sorry to disturb you, but we have a walk-in. Looks like a dislocated shoulder.” Most times, he made patients who arrived without appointments wait till he finished eating, but a dislocated shoulder was damned painful. He shoved the food aside, washed his hands in the adjoining bathroom, slipped into the lab coat and opened the door that adjoined the examination room. And nearly ducked back into his office because, there on the table sat none other than Dr. Tonya Lansing, woman-child vet. 18
Chapter Five Tonya shot off the table when Gaspar came in. She tripped over her sneakers and launched shoulderfirst into the wall, then crumpled right there on the floor, pain shooting to places she’d forgotten existed. When the pain subsided enough she could breathe, she opened her eyes. And came face to face with that face, those eyes, that V between his eyes, the five o’clock shadow that made her wear out a set of batteries last night. He put a hand to her forehead. “Checking for a fever. You’re all flushed.” Was there laughter in his voice? Tonya didn’t dare look him in the eye. She did deserve laughter. She was acting like a schoolgirl having her first breakup. Okay, get your ass in gear. Go sit on the table like a good girl and let the lying, bastard, lying, son-of-a-bitch, bastard pop the damn shoulder back in place so you can get the heck out of here. Why Rianna wouldn’t do it for her, she had no idea; they had to put several pet’s shoulders back in place over the course of a year. Nothing to it. But noooo. Rianna had to throw her in the car and come here, of all places. Man, would she hear 19
Liz Stafford about it when Tonya got back in the waiting room. Gaspar took out a thermometer and— “It’s my shoulder that’s hurt, you idiot. Nothing else. So put that thing away.” “Wow, you get testy when you’re in pain. Let’s make a deal—I will put it away if you get back on the table.” “Okay. Okay.” He put out a hand. Tonya didn’t want to touch him. Been there, done that yesterday and still felt his hands on her boobs— Wait, that was in her fantasy. She sighed, took his hand, and allowed herself to be helped onto the table. Her feet dangled off the end. Even the moving feet hurt the shoulder. He stepped between her legs—which officially stopped them from dangling. Whoa, he’d wedged himself in there last night too. Damn, that was also the fantasy. “Want to tell me what happened?” His gentle fingers probed the bad shoulder. “Not really.” “Okay. How is my cat?” “Fine. You can take her home tomorrow.” Gaspar chucked a hand under her chin and lifted her head to peer into her eyes. “I really think I should take your temperature.” Big deal, her face was red. What’d he expect? That sort of thing usually happened when faced with a 20
Long Haired Persian serious upheaval in the status quo—which began this morning when she tried to encourage that Great Dane onto the scale. Sheesh. Dog was only in for a postpartum exam. And the whole thing turned into a wrestling match—with her the loser. Red face, huh? Well, he wasn’t making things any easier by rubbing against her inner thighs that way. It was sending her pussy into conniptions. If he didn’t move from there soon, the table would look like a pregnant lady’s water broke on it. “What are you laughing at?” he asked. His breath smelled like garlic. Why did people recommend not eating garlic if you were going to be close to someone? It smelled nice. He leaned back, obviously waiting for a reply to his question. “I’m not—wasn’t—laughing.” “Yes, you were.” “It’s probably nerves. Can you just put my shoulder back in place so I— Ouch!!” “There. Good as new.” Tonya flexed the shoulder. It hurt a little, but moved freely. He dangled a canvas sling in her face. “You should wear this.” “But—” “Have it your way, you know what can happen if you don’t.” He dropped the thing in her lap and 21
Liz Stafford walked to the side of the room. Tonya slid off the table. “Thanks.” She laid her hand on the knob, expecting him to try and stop her. To apologize again for lying to her. He said nothing except, “Let me know if there are any problems.”
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Chapter Six Gaspar flopped on the examination table Tonya had just vacated. It was still warm…very warm. His cock jumped to attention. He had to find a way to get to her. To apologize. To ask her out. To make this boner wilt a little so he could go out there. She was still in the outer office; he could hear her talking to whoever had brought her in. Berating her probably, for bringing her to see this ogre. He hopped off the table and pulled the edges of the lab coat to the front. Looking down on it, the hard-on seemed gargantuan. Maybe from the front it didn’t show. He yanked open the door. Tonya, her friend and his receptionist spun around. It seemed all their eyes focused directly on the bump in his pants. His first instinct was to cup his hands over it, but instead he strode toward Tonya. On the one hand, he wanted to drag her into an embrace and plunge his tongue in her mouth. On the other hand, it was three against one. He’d be pummeled to death before he got so much as a taste of her mouthwash. He covered the awkward moment with, “You left before I finished writing your prescription for the painkiller.” 23
Liz Stafford She didn’t move. Gaspar could tell she wanted to turn it down, tell him to go to hell. Surely she could write her own script. But she stepped forward, good arm stretched toward him. “Thanks.” Then she turned and walked out of his life. He missed another night’s sleep. This time he was working out ways to see her again. One-wait in the parking lot till she got to work. Two-sit in her office till the staff made her come out and make him leave. Three-try and phone her. By morning, he could hardly walk. He’d jerked off so many times his dick was red and raw. He went to take a shower and then find some talc. The message light was blinking when he got out. He perked up hearing Tonya’s voice. “Mr. Zakaria. Your cat is asking for you. She can go home any time after nine a.m.” He played the message three times looking for inflections in her voice. Something—anything—that indicated she wanted to see him. After all, she had called rather than make one of the techs do it. Did that mean she was thawing? He played the tape a fourth time listening to noises in the background. Had she 24
Long Haired Persian phoned from home? Maybe her number was on his caller ID. But no, she’d phoned from the clinic. Which meant she was at work already. If he hurried over, she might agree to see him. He could say he wanted to check on her arm. Any good doctor would. He threw on some clothes and sped over there. She wasn’t in the front reception area. Some cute dark-skinned chick, whose nametag said she was Taryn, greeted him. Disappointed and bordering on desperate, Gaspar gave his name and said he was there to pick up Shamira. Taryn printed out his final bill, swiped his credit card, then wiggled her round ass out of the room. She returned a few minutes later carrying the yowling, squirming Persian cat. He spent a minute cooing to try and calm Shamira, then slid his fingers around, to take possession of the cat. But she twisted left when he cupped a hand under her rear end. The cat thumped to the floor and scooted down the hall, dragging that big, heavy cast behind. He ran after her. How could the thing move so fast hauling around an extra ten pounds of plaster? The desk phone rang and Taryn, who’d begun the chase, gave up and went to answer it. Shamira disappeared to the left. Cursing, Gaspar sprinted through the open 25
Liz Stafford doorway. And stopped in his tracks. Tonya stood there holding the cat and tapping a very irritated foot on the tile floor of what had to be her office. Words failed him, as they so often did when in this woman-child’s presence. He managed a twoshoulder shrug and a half-smirk. As a kid, when he’d done this to his mom, she always burst out laughing. Naturally, Dr. Tonya Lansing’s frown deepened. He wanted to take the cat. At the same time, he didn’t want to take it—because it meant touching the vet, which, if he remembered right, was where all this began. She held the cat away from herself, encouraging him to come forward. Finally he got his feet to move. One step. Two. Reach out; it’s simple. Take the cat. But as his arms stretched out, she backed away, turned and set the cat in a crate near the corner. Then she kicked the door shut with her foot. What was the woman up to? He was even more confused when she strode to the table near the window and picked up an almostfull aquarium—looked like it held about five gallons. She shouldn’t be carrying things like that. He strode to her and took it out of her hands. “Where do you want it?” She moved around him and he followed. She stopped in the middle of the room. “Right here.” Here? Did she want it on the floor? 26
Long Haired Persian Where was she? Something moved at his waistband. There was a metallic clink. He looked down. Couldn’t see her through the aquarium because of the pink-colored gravel in the bottom. Regardless, it was clear that Tonya Lansing was on her knees, unbuckling his belt. “What are you doing?” didn’t seem quite right to say because it was pretty damn obvious. “Why?” wasn’t right either because she clearly wasn’t under duress. The snap on his jeans popped loose. The zipper whooshed down. To say he got a hard-on would be like saying Mount Everest was a molehill. The pressure in his underwear didn’t last long because she divested him of both jeans and shorts in a flash. Her hands eased them down, pried his cock loose, and pushed the clothes down around his shins. Felt a little weird—okay, a shitload of weird—standing here with his wonker waving like a departing sailor. She feathered her hands up his shins, his knees and then his thighs. It seemed like every hair follicle on his legs stood on end. He almost came on the spot when she cupped his balls in one hand and squeezed his dick with the other. If she so much as touched the head— Her lips wrapped around him. Both hands kneaded. She groaned. Or maybe that was him. The 27
Liz Stafford aquarium water sloshed. The glass slipped in his fingers. He tightened his grip. It sloshed harder. Damn, he had to put this thing down. “Don’t move one inch,” she warned. “But the fish…” “None. New tank.” He couldn’t look to make sure because Tonya was swirling her tongue around the head of his dick. Pressure built—it seemed like, in his entire body at once. Tongue-swirl, tongue-swirl, then she sucked the whole head of his cock into her mouth. He nearly fell over. His knees were like molasses. Gaspar’s hands itched to touch her skin. Needed to fondle her breasts. Yearned to touch those lips. Hadn’t he spent two entire nights thinking of all the ways he’d make her moan? Yet, standing here helpless and vulnerable and feeling mighty damn stupid was somehow the most erotic thing he’d ever experienced. Her head bobbed up and down, taking him full into her soft warmth, then pushing him out so the cool air blew chilly on the wet skin. Up down. In out. Stop. Don’t stop. One more and— He came, long, hard and hot, her hands milking every last drop into her throat, his legs longing to give out, his hands hungering to touch her. Everywhere. 28
Long Haired Persian There was a small popping sound as his cock came loose from her lips. Gaspar felt it lay slack and exhausted against his balls. Tonya stood to her full height, barely coming up to his nipples. She took the aquarium, turned and set it on the desk. She returned and pulled up his clothes, tucking everything back in place. Then she reached both hands around his neck. Warm and soft, they encouraged him to bend to kiss her. He tasted her lips, ran his tongue around them twice. As he was about to sink his tongue in her mouth, she pulled away and shot him a sly grin. “Take your pussy home. I have to get back to work.” She turned to pluck a tissue from the box on the desk. Her back was to him. She was looking out the window. Huh? Summarily dismissed, Gaspar went to pick up the cat. What the hell happened? This must be how hookers felt. He turned to leave. The least she could’ve done was open the door for him. Then there she was, turning the knob, and slapping him on the ass. “I’ll be at your place at six for my turn. Be prepared to discuss wedding plans.”
Liz 29
Liz Stafford To read more about the characters connected to this book, check out the following stories: An American Bulldog by Liz Stafford (Dolf and Taryn) The Great Dane by Liz Stafford (Jannick and Rianna)
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*Kewpie Doll is a registered trademark owned by J. Kallus. *Barbie is a registered trademark owned by Mattel & Co. *Cracker Jack is a registered trademark owned by Frito-Lay.
Liz Stafford Liz Stafford is new to the world of short stories—and loving it. Being a pet lover and ex-dachshund breeder, introducing a clinic full of pets seemed only right, and natural. Adding men made it even more so… Email Liz at:
[email protected]
