The Hound of Bar Harborville (A Jane True Short Story) (Trueniverse Book 1) by Nicole Peeler Page A

a silent prayer of thanks to whatever power had brought this woman into my life. She may have nearly been the death of me roughly seventeen times, and there was the whole getting-turned-into-a-dragon thing, but anything was worth it for Jane.
    We approached the mirror-paneled desk, which sat between the swooping construction of the grand double staircase. No one was behind it, so we rang the bell that sat in on the old-fashioned register. A few seconds later, a lovely older woman wearing a pink and black suit came in from an invisible door set in the wood paneling behind the desk.
    “Bonjour,” she said, in a sultry, French-accented voice that spoke of a lifetime of black tobacco and champagne. “Welcome to Chateau Bar Harbor.” A long-fingered hand reached toward us and Jane shook first, then I did, careful of the woman’s talon-like red nails.
    “I am your hostess, Edith Dupont,” she said, her accent perfectly pitched to be entirely understandable yet completely adorable. She pronounced her name with no “H” and like it had an exclamation point at the end—Edeet!
    Jane, always a sucker for an accent, actually cooed.
    “It’s very nice to meet you, Edeet!” she said, attempting the woman’s French accent for herself on her name. They both looked pleased at the results.
    “Yes, very nice to meet you,” I said, wanting to get things moving. And by get things moving, I mean get Jane naked.
    Having twins was hell on our sex life.
    “We’re the Barghests,” I said, pointing at the small laptop that sat on the desk. “We’re staying the weekend.”
    “Of course,” she said. “But I am so sorry! Your reservation said you’d be here later. I’m afraid you’re room isn’t ready. Although it will be very shortly, I promise.” The last was said hastily, except for the drawn out, very French “promeeeese” after she saw the look on my face.
    I sighed. We had gotten here hours earlier than planned, after the woman Jane’s dad was seeing had canceled their usual breakfast date to help a friend with a minor emergency. At loose ends, Jane’s dad had showed up at eight in the morning instead of eleven, and we’d launched ourselves out the door at his arrival.
    “Really, it will only be a few minutes,” the woman said, walking from behind the desk to grasp our elbows. “Leave your things right where they are sitting and come with me. I will get you une boisson, and you may explore the house. C’est bien?”
    Minutes later, Edeet! had led us to a snug little library and left us with insanely delicate champagne flutes, filled to the brim. Jane eyed the delicate stem precariously clutched in my paw with trepidation.
    We toasted. “To sexy getaways,” she said, and I said, “When they finally get to the sexy part,” mournfully.
    “Poor puppy,” Jane said, and I gave her a Look that said “you’re not getting any either, so I don’t know why you’re so chipper.”
    I also leaned down and claimed her mouth in mine. She melted against me, and I felt a hot stir of lust in my soul and another stirring, more corporeal, in my jeans.
    We heard the sound of a door slamming somewhere in the hotel and Jane jumped, pulling away. I growled and reached for her again, but she shook her head, patting my arm in consolation. “Later. We’ll be interrupted. Let’s explore.”
    I sighed with the deep regret of the truly martyred, but I nodded. “Sure.”
    We took the side door out of the library, which led into a spacious parlor, full of comfortable seating set up to give groups places to sit, couples a nook to canoodle, and the odd chaise or comfy chair for any individuals who wanted to set up camp and read or whatever. The decor was less modish and more rustic than the rest of the house, with walls in both warm cream and sage that made me want to nestle in something.
    Preferably between Jane’s thighs, but that wasn’t happening till we got our keys.
    Another door led off to a room that would be next to the