Читать книгу The Billionaire Bridegroom - Emma Darcy - Страница 9

IT WAS just on one o’clock when Serena rang the doorbell of the Gifford home. Perfect punctuality, she thought, and wondered if Nic Moretti would keep her waiting again. He had been told when she’d return. It was a matter of courtesy and respect to answer her call with reasonable promptness. No excuse not to.

She was constructing a few pertinent remarks about the value of her time when the door opened and there was the man facing her, all polished up and instantly sending a quiver through her heart. His black hair was shiny, his gorgeously fringed chocolate eyes were shiny, his jaw was shiny, even his tanned skin was shiny. The guy was a star in any woman’s language.

He wore sparkling white shorts and a navy and white sports shirt and a smile that was whiter than both of them. Positively dazzling. ‘Hello again,’ he said pleasantly, causing Serena to swallow the bile she’d been building up against him.

‘Hi!’ she croaked, cravenly wishing she had put some effort into her own appearance. Too late now. Frantically regathering her scattered wits, she made the totally unbrilliant statement, ‘Here’s Cleo.’

He smiled down at the dog. ‘And looking very…feminine.’

As opposed to her?

No, no, he was referring to the pink bow.

Get a grip, girl!

‘I take it you’ve clipped her claws?’ he asked.

‘As much as they can be without making her bleed,’ Serena managed to answer sensibly.

Her own blood was tingling as though it had been subjected to an electric charge. It was embarrassing to find herself so taken by him this time around. Hating the feeling of being at a disavantage, she seized on the action of detaching the leash from Cleo’s collar. Retreat was the better part of valour in these tricky circumstances and the dog was now his responsibility, not hers.

Her fingers fumbled over the catch and the little silky terrier wriggled with impatience, anticipating the moment of freedom. Finally the deed was done, release completed, and Serena straightened up from her crouch, feeling flushed and fluttery, making the quite unnecessary declaration, ‘She’s all yours!’

Whereupon Cleo shot into the house, barking like a maniac.

Nic Moretti grimaced a kind of helpless appeal. ‘What’s got into her now?’

Here was opportunity handed to her on a plate and Serena found she couldn’t resist asking, ‘Is your girlfriend still here?’

‘No. She left some hours ago,’ he replied, frowning over the noisy racket inside the house.

‘Well, I’d say Cleo is checking everywhere for her presence.’

The frown deepened. ‘I think I might need some help. Would you mind coming in for a few minutes?’

He stepped back, waving her forward.

Serena hesitated, not liking the sense of having her services taken for granted just because she’d helped beyond the call of duty this morning. Being used by this man did not appeal to her. She wasn’t his dogs-body and she certainly didn’t intend to give him any cause to see her in that role.

She folded her arms in strongly negative body language. ‘Mr. Moretti…’

‘Nic.’ A quick apologetic smile. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t catch your name this morning.’

‘Serena.’ Which shouldn’t ring any bells because Ty had decided Rene was a more fashionable name for her and Lyall had always used it, having first met her at Ty’s salon where he regularly had his hair cut, styled and streaked to complement his yuppie image. ‘Serena Fleming,’ she added so she wasn’t just a one name person. ‘And I have to pick up another pet…’

‘Please…’ He was distracted by the shrill yapping, now in the living room behind him. It stopped abruptly, just as he glanced back at the dog. ‘Oh, my God!’

He was off at a fast stride, leaving Serena standing at the door. Curiosity got the better of her earlier inclination to get out of here and away from an attraction that made her feel uncomfortable. Besides which, he had invited her in. She stepped into the foyer. On the polished floorboards of the living-room floor, precisely where the evil witch-woman had aimed a kick at Cleo this morning, was a large spreading puddle.

The dog stood back from it, wagging her tail triumphantly. Serena rolled her eyes, thinking she should have walked Cleo on the lawn before ringing the doorbell. From the kitchen came the sound of taps running full blast. Nic Moretti reappeared with a bucket and sponge.

‘Why would she do that?’ he demanded in exasperation. ‘She knows where the doggy door is and has been trained to use it.’

‘Primal instinct can be stronger than any training,’ Serena dryly observed. ‘Cleo has just reclaimed her territory from the enemy.’

‘The enemy?’ He looked totally lost.

‘I’d say that’s where your girlfriend’s scent was the strongest. It’s now been effectively killed.’

‘Right!’ He gritted his teeth, bent down and proceeded to sponge up the puddle.

His thighs bulged with muscular strength. His shorts tightened across a very sexy butt. From her elevated position in the stepped up foyer, Serena couldn’t help smiling at the view of this magnificent male, almost on his hands and knees, performing a menial task that a woman was usually expected to do. Her feeling of inferiority evaporated.

‘See what I mean?’ he grumbled. ‘I have a problem.’

‘It is easily fixable,’ Serena blithely assured him. ‘You’re doing a good job there.’

‘This is only one thing.’ He looked up, caught her amused smile and huffed his frustration at the position he was in. ‘Obviously I need a dog psychologist to explain why Cleo is running amok.’

‘Well, you can always contact the television show, Harry’s Practice, and see if you can line up a visit.’

‘From everything you’ve said, you’re the person I want,’ he declared, dropping the sponge into the bucket and straightening up to his full height to eye her with commanding intensity.

Serena couldn’t deny a little thrill at his wanting her, even if it was only in an advisory capacity. Which would put her on top in this relationship. The boss. A very tempting situation. Except she couldn’t bring herself to pretend she was something she wasn’t.

‘I’m not a qualified dog psychologist.’

‘But you know how dogs think. And react,’ he bored in.

‘More or less,’ she replied offhandedly, half turning towards the front door as she realised he was grasping at what he saw as the easy option. He didn’t want her. He wanted to make use of her, which placed her as his servant, and she was not about to become his willing slave. ‘I really do have to go now,’ she tossed at him. ‘Muffy’s owner is expecting me to…’

‘Wait! I’ll pay you.’

Typical, thinking money could buy him anything. Serena steeled herself against giving in. ‘I have a schedule to keep. If you’ll excuse me…’

‘When do you finish work today?’ he shot at her.

That gave her pause for second thoughts. She eyed him consideringly. ‘What do you have in mind?’

‘If you could give me the benefit of your expertise for an hour or so…’

‘You’re asking for a consultation?’

He seized the idea of a professional appointment. ‘Yes. I’ll pay whatever fee you nominate.’

An edge of desperation had crept into his voice. Serena did some swift calculation. An hour’s work on a client’s hair in Ty’s salon would usually cost well over a hundred dollars. But she had been an expert stylist with years of training behind her. As far as canine behavioural science was concerned, she was strictly an amateur. But Nic Moretti didn’t know that and being cheap did not engender respect.

‘Seventy dollars an hour,’ she decided.

‘Fine!’ He didn’t even blink at the fee. ‘Can you come this evening?’

A bit of power dressing was called for in these circumstances. Not to mention a shower, shampoo and blow-dry in order to look properly professional. ‘Does seven-thirty suit?’

‘Great!’ he said with a huge air of relief.

The guy had to be really desperate, Serena thought, feeling positively uplifted at the idea of being the font of all wisdom to him. And she’d better arm herself with a stack of practical wisdom from Michelle this afternoon so he’d think the consultation was worth every cent of that outrageous fee.

Flashing him a brilliant smile to assure him all was well between them, she raised her hand in a farewell salute. ‘Must be off. I’ll be back at seven-thirty.’

Deal closed.

Very much in her favour.

More sweet satisfaction.

Nic watched her jaunty walk to the front door, his gaze automatically fastening on the sexy roll of the delectable twin globes of her highly female bottom, pouched pertly in the tight denim shorts. He grinned in the triumphant belief he’d just won this round with the cheeky Miss Serena Fleming. Her brain was his to pick tonight and maybe—just maybe—she’d unbend enough to let him explore the possibility of enjoying more of her than the workings of her mind.

She pulled the front door shut behind her, cutting off the visual pleasure of her back view. Nic, however, had no problem recalling it. Her front view, as well, the firm roundness of her breasts, emphasised by her folded arms as she’d stood her ground and denied him any more of her time. No favours from Miss Fleming.

It was quite clear she disapproved of him—not the usual response he got from women—and despite his putting his best foot forward to make up for this morning’s fiasco, she hadn’t intended to budge from her stance. Not until he’d offered payment for her expertise. He suspected she’d done him in the eye there, too, demanding top dollar. Probably thought he wouldn’t agree to it.

The money was irrelevant.

He’d picked up her challenge and forced her to come to his party. The sense of winning put Nic in such a good mood, he even grinned down at the troublesome terrier who had brought him no pleasure at all to this date. ‘You might be good for something after all, Cleo,’ he said whimsically.

The stumpy tail wagged eager agreement.

Then Nic remembered having to clean up the puddle and he wagged an admonishing finger at the dog. ‘But you certainly don’t deserve that pretty pink bow. What self-respecting female would let her bladder loose in the wrong place?’

The accusing tone instantly broke their brief understanding. A series of hostile barks reminded Nic that hostility bred hostility and he couldn’t blame the dog for wanting to get rid of Justine’s smell. ‘Okay, okay,’ he soothed, copying the soft, singsong lilt Serena had used to calm the beast. ‘You probably did me a favour there, too, bringing out the worst of her character for me to see. Let’s call it quits on Justine.’

Back to tail wagging.

‘It’s time for lunch now.’ If any of his friends ever heard him talking to a dog like this, he’d never hear the end of it. However, it was definitely a winning ploy, so he continued in the same soppy vein. ‘Would you like some more chicken?’

Chicken, according to Angelina, was a magic word that could winkle her darling pet out of any bad mood. It hadn’t produced the desired result while Justine had been present, but right now it worked like a charm. Cleo literally bounced out to the kitchen and stood in front of the refrigerator, yipping impatiently for her treat.

Nic obliged, carefully deboning the chicken as he filled her food dish. She wolfed it all down, moved on to her water dish, took a long drink, then happily trotted off to her miniature trampoline in the living room, hopped onto it, scratched it into shape, curled herself down and closed her eyes in sleepy contentment.

Nic shook his head in bemusement. Maybe he didn’t need Serena Fleming’s advice after all. Maybe he’d only needed to get rid of Justine. On the other hand, one little success did not guarantee peaceful coexistence for two months. And something had to be done about the barking at night.

He knew Angelina and Ward let Cleo sleep on their bed. They actually laughed about it burrowing up between them. No way was he about to start sleeping with a dog, waking up to a lick on the face. Devotion to duty only went so far. And if he managed to get Serena Fleming into bed with him, he certainly didn’t want a jealous dog leaping into the fray.

Wondering if he could persuade the feisty little blonde into being his playmate for the next two months, Nic went back to the refrigerator to see what he could rustle up for his own lunch. His appetite for tasty morsels had been aroused. He spotted a bottle of Chardonnay and thought he might begin tonight’s consultation by offering a glass of wine—a friendly, hospitable thing to do.

The idea of killing two birds with one stone had fast-growing appeal.

A desirable woman in his bed.

An expert dog-handler on tap.

Definitely a challenge worth winning.