Busting Loose by Kat Murray

could spin her around and plant her against the wall with no trouble at all. Her height was a big advantage, and her impractical heels only added to the benefit, bringing her right to the perfect height for kissing. No bending or stooping from his excessively tall height, just a lovely leaning in and melting together.
    Or maybe he could find a table. Desk. Floor. Where was the nearest sanitary horizontal space he could set her on and ...
    â€œEither you have one extraordinary penis with some superhuman perks,” she murmured against his lips, teasing the corner of his mouth with the tip of her tongue, “or your cell phone is vibrating.”
    â€œMy cell phone?” he asked dazedly, then flushed when she laughed.
    â€œIf it’s not your phone, then I’ll have to admit, I’ve never been with someone whose equipment buzzed.”
    â€œBuzz . . . ah, shit. Sorry,” he muttered as he broke off and checked. It was his office phone, the one only used for emergencies. Nine times out of ten, his clients either called the office phone, or his regular cell. But a text on this one meant he couldn’t just fling it against a wall and continue his impromptu make-out session with Bea.
    Fuck, fuck, fuck.
    â€œSomething wrong?” She stepped back and twisted her hair behind her ears, a habit that was becoming more common with her now.
    He held up a finger and scrolled quickly through the text, then sighed. “We’re gonna have to make a quick stop at Three Trees first, before we hit any of the scheduled clients.”
    â€œBut we’re due at our first place in”—she checked her watch—“thirty minutes.”
    â€œI know. You’ll have to make some calls and switch things around on the drive out there.” Damn not having a partner. Damn not having enough time for her . He nodded toward the side door. “You ready to roll?”
    Bea hustled out ahead of him, Milton hot on her heels. She bent over and reached in her car to grab something, ass straight in the air. It was then he realized she wasn’t wearing her usual cute office attire, but something very un-Bea-like. Jeans, no frills or designer holes in sight, and a simple plaid shirt. Of course, the shirt was fitted to her body and tied up in some weird bow at her navel, and the tank she wore under that shirt was displayed nicely. But it was more practical for the barn call day than her skirts and pristine white blouses. The heels, though, were still present.
    He sighed as she hopped in the passenger seat of his truck, settling Milton on the backseat to take a nap. “You’ve really got to stop wearing those shoes to barn calls. Unless you actually like wearing my ‘nasty boots,’ as you called them last week.”
    She grinned slowly, and reached in the bag she’d hauled from her car. “Not especially. I’m a quick learner, Morgan.”
    He shifted the truck into DRIVE and backed out of the small parking lot behind the clinic. “How so?”
    â€œWell,” she said easily, “after last week, I went home and did some online shopping.” She reached into the bag and pulled out a pair of rain boots with a tan plaid pattern. They were clearly designer, and likely the makers had envisioned beautiful women wearing them while strolling down Fifth Avenue on a relaxing shopping day. Not going from barn to barn standing ankle-deep in mud.
    He stared at them a moment before heading out to the main road. “Those are meant for the barn?”
    Bea laughed. “Morgan, if you’re going to be knee-deep in shit, it can’t hurt to make it look good.”

Chapter Seven
    B ea’s nerves hummed continuously throughout Friday. Not just from the anticipation of the Adoption Fair the next morning, and the fact that she’d be up nearly half the night prepping and making sure she had every last detail ready to roll. No, it was that darn Morgan. He was everywhere.
    In