Out of Control(10)

“So you don’t think writing is a worthwhile occupation?”

Did she? She tried not to, as it made her particular disability seem not quite so…disabling. “I’m dyslexic,” she said, surprising herself with the admission. She wasn’t ashamed; she just didn’t normally talk about it.

He came to another halt and put a hand on the bare skin of her arm. A shiver ran through her, and she had little choice but to stop beside him.

“So it’s sour grapes then?” he asked.

Dani grinned. The reason she didn’t like talking about her dyslexia was that she hated the sympathy—real or otherwise—it always seemed to invoke in people. Obviously, that wasn’t going to be a problem with Zach.

“How bad?” he asked.

“Medium, I suppose. I can read slowly if I concentrate. The problem was they didn’t realize I was dyslexic until I was in the army, and by then it was too late to do much about it.”

“Why wasn’t it diagnosed earlier?”

She shrugged. “They just thought I was stupid.”

“Who thought you were stupid? Your parents—” He must have noticed Dani’s scowl because he cut off in mid-sentence and changed tack. “How about I read one of my books to you. That way you can have something real to base your low opinion on. And we could act out the interesting bits.”

“Interesting to whom?” she dismissed.

Zach peered down at her. A long way down. “You know,” he said, a wicked glint in his eyes. “I can’t actually believe they let you join the army. I didn’t think they let people that small in.”

“I was only seventeen—they probably thought I was going to grow.”

“So how tall were you?”

“Five foot one.”

“And how tall are you now?”

“Five foot one.”

He chuckled. “So what did your parents think of you going into the army?”

God, he was nosy. His hand was still on her arm and she pulled free. “Nothing,” she responded without making eye contact. “They didn’t think anything. Now, are we going to introduce you to these dogs? You really do have to meet them, you know, and better with me now than alone in the dark.”

Zach exhaled loudly and closed his eyes for a second. Finally, he nodded. “Lead on,” he said, not entirely enthusiastically. “I suppose if you can handle them, they can’t be too scary.”

Dani narrowed her eyes and tried not to hope that Angel and Spike would be on their worst behavior.

The kennels were around the back of the house under the shade of a huge old olive tree. The dogs were dozing in a patch of sunlight but leaped up, barking as they approached. They were beautiful animals, glossy tan and black coats, intelligent faces, long pink tongues, and big teeth.

“Look at those fangs.” He sounded almost in awe, and Dani grinned, feeling her black mood slough off in anticipation of the introductions.

“So did you train these?” Zach asked, peering through the wire mesh but keeping his distance.

“No, but I trained the trainer, and I selected them. I couldn’t do the work, as I was still in the army. That’s Angel,” she said, pointing at the bigger dog. “And the other is Spike.”

“Angel?” he asked. “It doesn’t seem appropriate somehow.”

“They’re named after Buffy’s boyfriends.”

His eyebrows rose. “The Vampire Slayer?”

“Yeah. Anyway, they’re both three years old, and they’re trained as guard dogs.”

“And that means?”

“They won’t actually attack you. But they will let you know if someone is there.”

“They won’t attack?”

She grinned. “Not unless I tell them to.” He was trying, not very successfully, to hide his very real apprehension. “Relax,” she said soothingly. She didn’t like to admit it, but it gave her a lovely feeling of superiority to know he was afraid. Did that make her a bad person? Did she care? She remembered his “Later, Babe” after their kiss and grinned even wider. No, she really didn’t.

He’d been gazing into the pen, but now he turned to face her. He was close, so close she could feel the warmth of his skin. “Stop looking so pleased with yourself,” he murmured.

“What?”

“You love it, don’t you?”

“Love what?” She managed to get her grin under control as she tried to sound puzzled, even though she was sure it was a waste of time. This man read her way too well.

“Seeing me afraid,” he said, lowering his head so the words whispered against her skin.

She swallowed and tried for nonchalance. “I’m supremely indifferent. I’m just doing my job.”