Читать книгу The Billionaire Bridegroom - Emma Darcy - Страница 8

NIC MORETTI watched the van until it turned onto the public road, chagrined by the way the sassy little piece behind the driver’s wheel had got under his skin, yet unable to dismiss the truths she had flung in his face. A pet groomer…obviously caring more about the canine breed than she did for people. Though he had to concede he hadn’t cut too impressive a figure this morning. Justine even less so.

Which brought him to the sobering conclusion that the scorn in those vivid blue eyes had been justified and maybe it was time he took stock of what he was doing, shrugging off stuff he didn’t like for the sake of cruising along in the social swim, doing his balancing act with people on the grounds that no one was perfect and if they were good for something, what did it matter if they fell short in other areas?

Judgment day…

He shook his head over the irony of that being delivered to him by a pet groomer who’d descended on him out of nowhere. Damned if he could even remember the name she had given! Michelle had been printed on the van she drove but he was sure it wasn’t that.

And it still niggled him that he had seen her before somewhere. Though it seemed highly unlikely, given her job and location on the Central Coast. Sydney was his usual stamping ground. Besides, how could he forget that pert mouth and even perter bottom? Both of them were challenges he rather fancied coming to grips with.

He smiled self-mockingly at this last thought.

The hangover from last night’s party was obviously affecting his brain. What could he possibly have in common with a pet groomer, except the welfare of Cleo for the duration of Angelina’s overseas trip? Better get his mind geared to deal with Justine who was turning into a royal pain over his sister’s beloved Cleo. Worse than that, in fact. There was a cruel streak in her treatment of the dog and Nic didn’t like it. He wouldn’t invite her here again.

He frowned over the memory of her laughing as she’d tossed her hapless victim onto the slippery dip yesterday. ‘Here’s company for you, Nic!’ A great joke, laughing at the dog’s frantic attempts to fight its way back up to the spa level against the inevitable skid into the pool. Unkind laughter.

He’d been annoyed by the whole episode, especially the painful scratches which had led him to transfer his annoyance to Cleo. Wrong! He could see that now. The pet groomer had straightened him out on quite a few areas that needed his attention. For one thing, dog-minding was not a breeze. It obviously required some expertise he didn’t have.

Having resolved to take more positive action on that front, he went inside to face the problem he now had with Justine. She was in the kitchen, watching coffee brew in the percolator. While her attention was still engaged on getting a shot of caffeine, he viewed her with more critically assessing eyes.

Did he want their affair to continue? They’d been reasonably compatible both sexually and socially, but the relationship had been more about superficial fun than deep and meaningful. He had the very definite feeling that the fun had just run out.

She turned around, probably having heard the front door shut and looking to check where he was. ‘Ah! You’ve seen them off,’ she said, rolling her eyes at the fuss of it all. ‘Blissful peace for a while!’

‘Cleo will be returned at one o’clock,’ he informed her as he strolled into the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator. A couple of glasses of iced water should help clear the hangover.

‘It is ridiculous to have our lives ruled by a dog!’ Justine declared in exasperation. ‘Why don’t you put her in one of those boarding kennels, Nic? It would save all this aggravation and you’d be free to…’

‘Out of the question,’ he cut her off.

She swung on him, hands on hips. ‘Why is it out of the question?’

‘I promised Angelina I’d take care of Cleo.’

‘Boarding kennels are better equipped to look after that dog than you are.’

She was probably right, but that wasn’t the point, Nic thought as he downed the first glass of water. Besides, he intended to learn how to handle Cleo better.

‘Your sister need never know,’ Justine argued.

‘I would know. A promise is a promise.’

‘What people don’t know won’t hurt them.’

He cocked a mocking eyebrow at her as he reached for the jug again. ‘One of the principles by which you live?’

‘It avoids trouble.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Seems to me you get double the trouble when people find out what you’ve tried to hide from them.’ He poured more water from the jug and drank again, wondering how many deceptions Justine had played with him.

She threw out her hands in frustrated appeal. ‘You can’t want to be tied to that cantankerous little bitch for the next two months.’

‘I’ll learn to get along with Cleo,’ he answered blandly.

‘Well, I won’t!’ she hurled at him, eyes flashing fury at his stubborn resistance to her plan. ‘I’m not spending another night with that damned dog yapping its head off.’

‘Then I suggest you pack up and leave, Justine, because the dog will be staying. With me.’

She looked gob-smacked.

He set the empty glass down on the kitchen bench. ‘Best be gone before one o’clock,’ he advised coldly. ‘Please excuse me while I clean up the mess in the laundry which doesn’t happen to have a doggy door for Cleo to go outside.’

He was at the doorway to the mud room before Justine caught her breath. ‘You want me to go?’ It was an incredulous squawk.

He paused to look back at her, feeling not one whit of warmth to soften his decision. ‘What we have here, Justine, is an incompatible situation.’

‘You’d put that miserable little dog ahead of me?’

‘Perhaps the dog will be less miserable with you gone.’

‘Oh!’ She stamped her foot.

Nic sensed a wild tantrum teetering on the edge of exploding from her. He didn’t wait for it. If she followed him to the laundry, he’d hand her a bucket and suggest she clean up the result of her action in carelessly shutting Cleo in an inescapable place. That would undoubtedly send her packing in no time flat.

The pet groomer would have no problem with it but Justine…no way would she get down on her knees for a dog. Nor get her hands dirty. In fact, she obviously wanted to be treated like a pampered pet herself. Nic decided he didn’t really care for that in a woman, certainly not in any long-term sense.

He wasn’t followed.

By the time he had the laundry back in a tidy and pristine state, Justine had dressed, packed, and gone without favouring him with a farewell. The front door had been slammed shut on her way out, transmitting her pique at coming off second best to Cleo, and the engine of her SAAB convertible had roared down the driveway, punctuating her departure and displeasure.

Nic poured himself a coffee from the brew that had been left simmering and reflected that he could have appealed for understanding, maybe shifted Justine’s attitude a little. Cleo wasn’t just a pet to Angelina, more a surrogate child on whom she poured out all the frustrated love she couldn’t give to a baby.

After years of trying to get pregnant, it had been a terrible grief to her when medical tests had revealed her husband’s sperm count was so low it would be a miracle if she ever conceived. Poor Ward had been devastated, too, even going so far as to offer Angelina a divorce, knowing how set she was on having a family.

That wasn’t an option to his sister. She and Ward really did love each other. Their marriage seemed to have grown even stronger since the pressure to have a child had been erased. Ward had brought home the puppy for Angelina, a loveable little bundle of silky fur, and they both treated it like the queen of Egypt, nothing too good for their adored Cleo.

To put it in an impersonal boarding kennel… Nic shook his head. Angelina would never forgive him. And she’d know about it. Cleo was booked into the pet grooming salon every Monday morning. He’d forgotten about that earlier today but he knew it was written on Angelina’s list of instructions. If the appointments weren’t kept, no doubt Michelle would reveal that fact to his sister on her return.

Besides, as he’d told Justine, a promise was a promise. If she couldn’t respect that, he was definitely better off having no further involvement with her, even if it meant being celibate for a couple of months. He couldn’t overlook the cruel streak in her, either. The thought of it dampened any desire for more of Justine Knox. Good riddance, he thought, downing the last of the coffee.

A shower, a shave, a couple of hours’ work in the room he’d designated as his office for the duration of his stay here, and he’d feel much more on top of everything when the pet groomer returned with Cleo at one o’clock.

‘Aren’t you beautiful now!’ Michelle crowed indulgently as she ruffled Cleo’s silver-grey silky hair with her fingers while giving it a last blast from the dryer. ‘You look good, you smell good and you feel good.’

The dog’s big brown eyes clung soulfully to Michelle who invariably talked nonstop to each pet as she gave them whatever treatment was scheduled. Cleo had been given the lot this morning; nail trim, hair-clip, ears and eyes cleaned, shampoo, conditioner and blow-dry.

Serena reflected this was very little different to a hairdressing salon. Michelle even played background music, always soft romantic tracks to soothe any savage hearts, and she charged similar fees. Of course, it wasn’t as upmarket, no stylish fittings or decorator items, just plain workbenches, open shelves, and a tiled floor that made cleaning easy.

The best thing about it, Serena decided, was the pets didn’t talk back, dumping all their problems or complaints on the stylist who was expected to dish out unlimited sympathy even when it was obvious there were two sides to be considered. Not that that was the case with Cleo who was clearly an innocent victim, yet the darling little silky terrier hadn’t even raised a bark since Serena had rescued her from the dark brute and his evil witch-woman.

‘You can put on her pink ribbon, Serena,’ Michelle instructed, having finished with Cleo and about to pick up another dog waiting for his turn to be pampered, a Maltese terrier who’d sat tamely in line like all the other pets in the salon, content to watch Michelle do her thing.

‘I’m not sure Nic Moretti is going to appreciate the pink ribbon,’ Serena dryly commented as she cut off an appropriate length from the roll Michelle kept on a shelf.

It earned the look of unshakeable authority. ‘No pet leaves this salon without wearing a ribbon. It’s the finishing touch. Cleo knows it and expects it. She’ll be upset if you don’t give it to her. You can tell Angelina’s brother that from me. He has to consider the dog’s sense of rightness or he’s going to have a traumatised pet on his hands.’

When it came to dog handling her sister was a genius. Serena accepted her advice without question. But would Nic Moretti? Confronting him again stirred mixed feelings. The fear of being recognised as Lyall Duncan’s belittling choice of wife had been somewhat allayed. It seemed unlikely that he would make the connection now, given the distraction of her current job. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had got rid of his penthouse pet in the interests of properly safeguarding his sister’s.

Smiling at Cleo as she tied the ribbon around her neck, she softly crooned, ‘Pretty pink bow.’

The dog sprang up from the bench top and licked her chin. Starved for praise and affection, Serena concluded, and decided to add a bit more advice to her sister’s when she spoke to Nic Moretti again. Her smile widened to a grin. Teach the brute a few lessons that would hopefully stick in his arrogant craw.

‘I’m off now,’ she called out to Michelle.

‘Okay. Don’t forget to pick up Muffy at Erina on the way back.’

‘Will do.’

It was twenty minutes to one o’clock. As Serena took Cleo out to the van, she thought how good it was to be out of the city. Although Michelle’s five acre property at Holgate wasn’t exactly country, it was big enough to give a sense of real space and freedom while still being located close to the large populated areas of Gosford, Erina, Wamberal and Terrigal.

The salon was a large two-roomed shed behind the house and the parking area that served it took up quite a bit of room, but there was still plenty of land for Michelle’s seven-year-old daughter to keep a pony which she rode every day after she came home from school. All in all, Serena thought her widowed older sister had done a fantastic job of setting up a business she could run while looking after Erin. Though she did seemed to have settled too much into the life of a single parent. Did the idea of getting involved in another relationship make her feel too vulnerable?

At thirty-two, Michelle was only four years older than herself, still very attractive with lovely glossy brown hair, big hazel eyes, a young pretty face and a whip-lean figure from all the physical work she did. Maybe her manless state was due to not having much opportunity to get out and meet people. Which could certainly be fixed now that Serena was here to mind her niece whenever her sister would like to go out.

On the other hand, not having a man in one’s life was a lot less complicated. Maybe both she and her sister were better off on their own.

Serena pondered this dark thought as she settled Cleo in the van, then took off for the return trip to the Gifford house. Without a doubt she was starting to enjoy this complete change of lifestyle; not having to put on full make-up every day, not having to construct a hairstyle that fitted the out-there image of Ty’s salon, not having to worry about wearing right up-to-date fashionable clothes, nor compete on any social scene. Lyall hadn’t wanted her to compete with him but he’d certainly wanted her to shine amongst other women.

From now on, she simply wanted to be her own person. No putting on a show for anybody. And that included Nic Moretti. Wealth and success and good looks in a man were attractive attributes, but she wasn’t about to let them influence her into not looking for what the man was like inside. Nor was she about to change herself to please him, just because he was attractive.

Well, not exactly attractive.

More loaded with sex appeal.

A woman would have to be dead not to notice.

But snobbery was not sexy at all, Serena strongly reminded herself, so she was not about to be softened up by Nic Moretti’s sex appeal. In fact, it would be fun to get under his skin again, have those dark eyes burning intensely at her, make him see her as a person he couldn’t dismiss out of hand.

Sweet revenge for how he’d spoken about her to Lyall.

Yes.

This was one man who definitely needed to be taught a few lessons.