Seventy One

  "Sansa , this is Pack. Pack, Sansa ."

  "Pack. He's yours?"

  He scratched the dog between his ears. "He was supposed to be my brother's dog, but for some odd reason, he's always followed me around. I'm better with animals than I am with people." And he preferred animals to people, actually.

  Frowning, she watched as Pack scratched at the door of the large bus. Taking out a set of keys from his pocket, James unlocked it and the dog trotted inside.

  "He's a lazy shit. Likes to lie in front of the TV all day."

  "Wait, this bus is yours?"

  "It's a Winnebago," he corrected, resisting the urge to reach out and touch her. He wasn't a touchy-feely person, but Sansa 's skin called to him. Seemingly of its own accord, his gaze flicked to her sensual lips. God, what a mouth. He wanted to taste it again. Thoroughly and commandingly. Then he would bite that bottom lip, mark it.

  "A Winne-what?"

  "A Winnebago."