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other.”
    He reached out, touched her cheek with the back of his forefinger. A shiver of anticipation shot through her. “Until tomorrow, Kat.”
    Then he was gone. As she locked the back door and watched him climb into his SUV, Kat knew she could take Jack’s final words to the bank. Her cheek tingled. She reached up, traced her cheek where he’d branded her with the lightest of touches. Jingle would take a while to heal, which meant Jack Donovan was about to be in her life for a long time.
A very, very long time.
    â€œMerry Christmas to me,” she whispered, and went to check on her patient.

Chapter Three
    By the time Jack appeared around noon, Kat’s nerves had stretched thin from anticipation.
    â€œYou’re being silly,” she mumbled to herself. “Stop it.”
    They were professional colleagues, if that. Certainly nothing more, which didn’t explain the giddy feeling she’d gotten when she’d spoken with him briefly first thing this morning.
    And the moment her tech had poked her head into the office and said, “Mr. December’s just pulled in,” Kat’s stomach had fluttered with thousands of butterflies. Certainly not a professional reaction. More like her teenage, silly self—an often-heartbroken girl she didn’t mind leaving behind.
    Jingle had made it through the night and, thankfully, remained stable. She’d kept the puppy on intensive painkillers delivered directly to his bloodstream along with intravenous fluids. She kept him sedated so he slept, his body’s natural healing mechanism for warding off infection.
    â€œHow is he?”
    â€œStill in intensive care, but I’m very hopeful,” Kat answered as Jack strode into her office like he owned the place, white paper bag in hand.
    â€œNo, don’t get up.” He dropped into the chair in front of her desk and glanced around, as if noting the very comfy couch she always slept on, her degree from the University of Missouri, various knickknacks and books, and the family photo on the bookshelf where the stack of calendars had been. Kat had put
those
in a desk drawer. He set the bag on her desk. Delicious smells reached her nose.
    â€œI stopped at Salume Beddu. Since you ate dinner by yourself, I thought I might tempt you to join me for lunch if I brought the right incentive. Your staff said you had about an hour.”
    Her mouth watered. Considered one of St. Louis’s top sandwich venues, the artisan specialty shop cured its own meats. “What did you order?”
    â€œWasn’t sure if you were vegetarian or not, so I brought a Beast, a Speck, and one of their roasted vegetable with mozzarella. Figured whatever you didn’t want, I could reheat and eat tomorrow.”
    The Beast was a fresh sausage sandwich with roasted hot peppers and onions. “I don’t eat a lot of meat, but I do when the occasion warrants. The Speck will be perfect.” That was thinly sliced, cured Italian pork topped with lemons and Gruyère cheese.
    â€œA woman after my own heart,” he said, passing her sandwich over.
    â€œOr at least your food.” She reached behind her, took out two waters from the dorm-size refrigerator next to her desk. She handed him one, their fingers connecting with a zing over the cold bottle. She snapped her head up, their gazes colliding. For one brief moment she imagined how his electrified hands would feel on other parts of her body. Blushing, she looked away and cleared her throat. “I’ll make up for the calorie splurge by eating a salad later.”
    He held up a hand. “No. Don’t tell me that. I like a woman who eats.” He began to unwrap his sandwich. “Do you know how many women pick at their food and push it around their plates? I don’t know what they hope to accomplish.”
    â€œSmaller hips?”
    â€œWell, whatever the reason, those types of women annoy me. A woman with an appetite