"Thank you for that update," he said flatly.

Then for some odd reason, Thomas found himself seized with the need to prove to this woman that he wasn't entirely insensitive. So he reached over to pat Hairy's head the way he figured any pet owner would.

The dog cringed with each pummeling.

"Mr. Tobin!" Emma grabbed his wrist, which turned out to be a rock-solid twist of heat, bone, and muscle. "Could you be a little gentler, do you think?"

He stared at her.

She stared at him.

The drum of his pulse hammered against the pad of her thumb and vibrated all the way down into the pit of her belly. And as they remained linked and the seconds ticked by, everything inside her-every cell, every chromosome, every piece of mitochondria-went on alert.

Sexual alert.

"How-" She blinked. The man's skin was on fire. She swallowed and tried again. "How long have you had this dog? Is this the first dog you've ever owned?"

"Ten days," he said. "And yes. This is definitely a first for me."

Emma decided his eyes weren't cruel; they were solemn and powerful and seemed to pin her down and dissect her without her permission. They didn't frighten her, exactly, but they certainly made her feel a bit off balance.

He pulled his wrist from her grasp. "Hairy is mine by chance, Dr. Jenkins."

"That's a difficult way to begin a relationship, Mr. Tobin."

"You don't say?" He tilted his head and locked his gaze on hers. "The question is what are we going to do about it?"

For an instant, Emma was not entirely sure what they were discussing. The dog, she reminded herself. We were discussing the dog.

With a sigh of relief, she moved her attention from the two-legged enigma to the four-legged one, and bundled Hairy in her arms. She brushed her fingers behind his ears and along his spindly neck.