The woman’s dog obsession was a menace. She was going to get eaten or arrested or arrested and then eaten. He couldn’t let that happen.

Nash hurried down the steps, getting to Chelle’s side prepped and ready to dive between her and the jaws of death just when the German Shepherd lifted its right paw.

“Oh, what a good girl you are,” Chelle praised the K-9 as she gave it a treat. “Darnell, your mom was right. Georgette really is the sweetest girl.”

Some of the confused shock Nash was trying to process must have shown on his face, because when Chelle looked up, she took pity on him. She chuckled, the sound full-bodied, like an aged whiskey with a complex flavor profile that knocked a guy back on his heels and said, You’ve never had anything like me before and you never will again.

“Darnell, meet my soon-to-be husband, Nash. And Nash”—she tucked a long section of salt-and-pepper hair behind her ear as the wind tugged at the rest of it—“meet Darnell, my best friend Karmel’s recently married son and his K-9 partner, the gorgeous and very brilliant Georgette.”

Nash warily eyeballed the dog who looked like she could easily take down Thor and stuck out his hand to the officer. “Good to meet you.”

“You, too.” The other man looked Nash over with the critical eye of a cop before turning back to Chelle. “Beware, my mom said she’s stopping by your place for all of the gossip this afternoon.”

“I’m surprised she stayed away this morning at all,” Chelle said with a laugh before saying her goodbyes and heading up the stairs to the courthouse door with Nash. She glanced down at his feet with concern. “How’s the ankle?”

Nash flexed the foot in question. “All better.”

“I’m glad,” she said, sounding as if she really had worried. Then, a second later, she grimaced as a buzz sounded from her coat. “Oh crap!” She unzipped her bright-blue puffer coat and pulled her phone out of an inside pocket. “Sorry, I have to respond to this text from the foundation board real quick.”

The move gave Nash the perfect view of the upper curve of her full, pillowy tits showing above the V of her sweater, and his mouth went dry and his brain went blank—for all of fifteen seconds. After that, it went straight into a million naked possibilities.

Maybe sex wouldn’t be such a complication. It could be a relief, an emergency relief valve, a—

Get a hold of yourself, Beckett. Chelle Finch is going to be your wife, but she’s off-limits. Just stock up on lotion and you’ll get through the next month just fine.