The way he’d stumbled over the word told Ryan the man had never used it before. Dom must have told him what to say. Not that “time sensitive” had appeared to be in the Native American’s vocabulary either. He’d probably heard the term from his fish-faced attorney.

“I’m well aware of the time factor involved.”

Dom’s man edged forward and for an instant Ryan thought he didn’t understand what factor meant. Quick as a snake, a meat hook of a hand whipped out and grabbed Ryan by the balls. One deft twist of the man’s wrist and Ryan had to bite the inside of his cheek to control a scream of unimaginable pain. Despite his efforts, a choked grunt escaped his lips. No one in the noisy bar noticed.

The man released Ryan’s gonads, saying, “Dom always gets what he wants.”

Without waiting for a reply, the cocky prick muscled his way through the crowd and vanished. Ryan didn’t need the threat spelled out. Deliver or you’re dead.

It took several minutes for the pain in his groin to ease enough to move. Both hands in front of him to protect his balls, Ryan wended his way out of the crush of kids hustling each other. He walked haltingly, each step bringing another stab of pain. He stopped and stood at the edge of the crowd for a moment, waiting until the ache subsided. He didn’t want to hobble back to the table and face Ashley’s questions.

He’d managed to keep his gambling a secret from Whitney. She’d thought his late night forays had been to the hospital. It had worked during his two residencies, but that excuse no longer held water. Cosmetic surgeons didn’t go to the hospital at night unless there was an emergency. And having worked for a group of cosmetic surgeons, Ashley would know this.

He couldn’t fool her. Just as well, he decided. He’d sworn off gambling. Still, the pull was there. A sense of inevitability seeped through him like a powerful narcotic. If only he could score big-the way he had in the past-his problems would be solved.

Remember. Dom always gets what he wants. Ryan knew he had no choice but to deliver.

IT WAS ALREADY DARK WHEN Whitney returned to the cottage. After her confrontation with Ryan, she’d been playing catch-up all day. In addition to Da Vinci, Whitney now had Maddie, a fluffy white bichon frise, while her owner traveled to a gala in New York City.

She hoisted Da Vinci out of the carrier strapped to her back. “You’re spoiled silly. I’m going to have a bad back from carrying you around all day.”

Da Vinci scampered after Maddie, intent on chasing her and not caring one bit about Whitney’s aching back. Oh, well. Being a pet concierge brought in the money she needed, but who promised it would be easy?

Lexi licked her hand and Whitney took time to pet her retriever. The dog seemed eerily in tune with her. When Whitney had been despondent over Ryan’s betrayal, Lexi had never left her side. Whitney could see what a help Lexi was going to be in her new venture. She had a calming effect on other dogs because she obeyed and didn’t get excited over little things like unexpected noises or other pets.

A sharp knock on the front door stopped Whitney halfway to the kitchen to prepare two special diets and scoop a bowl of kibble for Lexi. Da Vinci went into a frenzy of sharp yips and Maddie joined in, dancing a jig on her hind legs.

“No. Bad,” she scolded them. “Quiet.”

It must be Ryan, she decided. The man just never knew when to give up. Once she’d thought it was an admirable quality. Now she’d been exposed to the dark side of his behavior. Trish might be right about needing a restraining order. Her anger at Ryan put steel in her spine, and she swung open the front door, saying, “Get out of here or I’ll call the police.”

The dark figure was backlit by the dim porch light. All she could make out for a moment was a tall, broad-shouldered silhouette. Too tall, too big for Ryan.

“I hope I’m not interrupting your dinner, Whitney.”

She instantly recognized Adam Hunter’s voice. He unnerved her in a way no other man ever had, but then, she’d never been attacked before. She reminded herself that he’d helped her this morning. Stay calm; the guy wasn’t all bad. “No, I just came home.”

He took a step forward, and the light from inside the cottage washed over him. Their brief encounter this morning hadn’t prepared her for this clean-shaven man with a fresh haircut. Now he was dressed in crisp tan slacks and a light blue polo shirt that emphasized his dark hair.

His crystalline blue eyes lacked warmth or spark. They seemed vacant, almost haunted. And they bore into her with unwavering intensity. She suddenly remembered Adam had lost his uncle. The death must have upset him the way her mother’s death had stricken Whitney.

She took a deep breath and forced a smile. “Thanks for helping me this morning.”

“Your ex-husband seemed…unreasonably angry.”

“He’ll get over it.”

He gazed at her for a moment in his direct way, and she knew he saw through the lie. Ryan held a grudge like an ayatollah, but she didn’t give a hoot. Let him stew.

“I went to see the executor of my uncle’s estate. It still isn’t settled, but I’m going to stay here until I find an apartment. We want you to continue taking care of Jasper.” He snapped his fingers and Jasper appeared out of the shadows. The Chinese crested gazed up at Adam as if he’d hung the moon.

Oh, well. The little dog was an international champion who’d made countless transatlantic flights. Obviously, the altitude had addled what brains the champ had once possessed. Jasper didn’t come when she called his name, but he responded to a snap of Adam’s fingers.

“What about the relatives who are supposed to take Jasper?”

“That’s me. I’m the only relative Uncle Calvin had.”

Whitney tried for a sympathetic smile, but it was difficult after last night. She again reminded herself of the incident with Ryan. Adam Hunter wasn’t as bad as she’d first believed, but a gentleman would apologize.

“You’ll be taking Jasper with you when you find an apartment.”

“It depends.” He studied the dog at his side for a moment. Jasper had no hair on his body except for his head and feet. Brown and white fur sprouted from his paws and shot out from his ears like a patch of crabgrass. Whitney had always considered the nearly hairless dogs to be a little goofy. Jasper had done nothing to change her mind.

“Depends,” she prompted.

“Some apartments don’t allow pets,” Adam replied, a hollow tone in his voice.

There were plenty that did, she thought. Obviously, Adam didn’t care enough about his uncle to give the orphaned dog a good home. It took him down another notch in her estimation.

“Jasper’s a champion. Maybe I can locate a breeder who would like to show him or use him as a stud.”

“He’s due to be bred in a few days. That breeder might want Jasper, but I promised my uncle that I would look after his dog.”

This did not make sense. How did he plan to take care of the dog if he rented an apartment that didn’t accept pets?

“I’ll feed Jasper in the morning,” he told Whitney, oblivious to her concern. “If you could walk him once during the day, it’ll help. Most nights I won’t be home until late. Give me your number and I’ll let you know if I’m not going to make it home in time to feed him dinner.”

Whitney walked over to the small nook that Miranda had set up as her office and took a business card out of the box that she’d had printed at Speedy Press. She turned to give it to Adam and discovered he’d moved into the center of the room without making a sound. The dogs were hovering around his feet, sniffing.

“This has my cell number and the number here. Try the cell first. I’m usually out taking care of animals.”

“Right.” He reached into the cluster of dogs and plucked out Jasper. He headed for the door, the little pill of a dog tucked under one arm, then stopped. “I’m sorry about last night. I overreacted.”