Dash and Dingo Read Online Free Page B

“Dash,” he said softly.
    That was another surprising thing. That he could speak softly and the strine of his voice faded so much when he did so. It took Henry aback for a moment, and Dingo continued to stare at him.
    Henry finally found his tongue again. “This is a priceless collection.
    How did you get in here, anyway?”
    Dingo grinned, and it seemed like he was back to his normal self as well. “Through the door, Dash.”
    “You need a key.” Henry moved around him; it was a tight fit to get between him and the table, and Dingo stood to let him squeeze past. They bumped chests, and he was surprised by the amount of warmth that poured off Dingo—as if he were composed of the bright sun of his homeland itself.
    “I’ve never met a lock I couldn’t charm.” Dingo tipped slightly, and his chest brushed against Henry’s once more.
    Flustered, Henry swayed away from him and began to gently pack up the pelt. “So you’re admitting you broke in here.”
    Dingo gave him that disarming smile again. “Ah, yeah, mate. I just did.”
    “And you think that is acceptable?”
    “Well, I knew if I asked you, you’d let me.”
    18 | Catt Ford and Sean Kennedy

    “You’re presuming too much. How did you find the pelt, anyway?”
    Tiring of the interrogation, Dingo sat back down. “I can read a catalog, you know.”
    “Oh,” Henry said, deflated. “Of course.”
    “Yeah, of course.”
    Knowing that he had overstepped the bounds of propriety, Henry was at a loss on how to proceed. He stared down at the pelt and tenderly stroked the caramel fur. For a second, he caught a fleeting glimpse of how it would look in the wild, wrapped around a living, breathing, sentient creature. It would be just a flash against the lush green of the Tasmanian rainforest, gone so fast you would wonder if it were just a dream… or your heart wanting you to see something so badly it would pull it out of the realms of imagination to make it real for you.
    “This isn’t just a thing to you,” Dingo said, breaking his reverie.
    Henry blinked, collected himself, and met the other man’s gaze. “No,”
    he replied simply.
    “I came in here to touch base,” Dingo told him. “I’m still battling with myself, wondering if this is the right thing to do. But when I saw that pelt and thought that in a few years’ time this could be all that’s left of the poor buggers… we have to do whatever we can. Even if it means coming here—
    one last chance. It’s probably all they’ve got.”
    Henry nodded.
    “I like that you give a shit,” Dingo said. “That’s why I already met with Lardarse and told him you were going with me, no arguments.”
    “You saw him without me?” Henry protested.
    “Do you ever listen to a bloody word I say?” Dingo asked.
    Confused, Henry pressed the lid back onto the pelt box. “And what did he say?”
    “Well, he was as mad as a cut snake, said I had no right to boss him around. But in the end, he knew I had him by the balls.”
    Henry looked at him agape.
    “Not literally.” Dingo scowled. “Get a grip, Dash!”
    “But what does that all mean?”
    “That you’re coming to Tassie, of course. I always get my way.”
    Dash and Dingo: In Search of the Tasmanian Tiger | 19

    Speechless, Henry did the thing he least expected to do, and before he could even think of the possible ramifications. He threw himself into Dingo’s arms and hugged him enthusiastically.
    “I’m going to Tassie!” he cried. “I mean, Tasmania.”
    He felt the warm breath of Dingo’s chuckle against his cheek, and he came back down to earth when he realized the position he was in. He pulled away and instantly regretted it. Dingo stared at him with faint amusement.
    “Er, sorry,” Henry said hastily.
    “No worries,” Dingo replied. “You know, Dash, if I knew you felt that way about me, I would have had all this sorted out on the first day I got here.”
    “It’s a British custom,” Henry lied, regaining his usual