‘You like it?’ he asked.
‘Nice oaky flavour,’ she answered, not to be out-done on the wine-tasting front. Nic Moretti might mix with high society in Sydney, but she wasn’t exactly a backwoods girl to be patronised by him or anyone else.
He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘You’re an expert on Chardonnay, too?’
‘I have many talents,’ she said loftily and deliberately left him guessing as she returned to the one he was paying her for. ‘Since you don’t want Cleo in your bed…’
His eyes said he infinitely preferred her between his sheets.
‘…and you don’t want her keeping you awake all night…’
‘Please don’t say I have to camp permanently on the chaise longue,’ he appealed.
Not big enough for two, putting a severe constriction on his sex life, Serena thought, though a wicked afterthought fancied it could provide some interesting sensations. She dragged her wayward mind back to the business in hand.
‘No. But we do have to create a secure and comfortable environment for her with no access to the bedroom wing. I presume there is a doggy door for her to get in and out?’
‘The mud room.’
‘Can this room be closed off from the rest of the house?’
‘Yes,’ he breathed in huge relief. ‘It’s just through here.’
They moved from the kitchen to the mud room which Serena had briefly seen this morning. She checked out the doggy door, then viewed the rows of hooks on the wall.
‘I think they’re too high to hang blankets from,’ she decided.
‘Blankets?’
‘What I’d recommend is a kind of cage to throw blankets over at night. You put the trampoline bed inside and make it a snuggly place for Cleo so she’ll feel safe.’ She nodded to the corner where only an easily removable umbrella stand was in the way. ‘That corner would be best.’
‘The bar stools could make a cage.’ Having seized the idea, he moved into action. ‘I’ll go and get them. Blankets, too.’
Relieved of the influence his magnetic presence had on her, Serena took a long, deep breath and tried to figure out what she should do about Nic Moretti. Before the hour was up a decision had to be made. Yes or no. Hold the line here or let it be pushed further.
She remembered her sister relating Angelina Gifford’s words… There wasn’t a female alive who didn’t love Nic. So getting any woman he wanted was all too easy.
The idea of being easy for him did not appeal.
It smacked of being one of a queue lining up to serve his pleasure. Never mind that her pleasure might be served, too. Pride insisted that he would value her more if she played hard to get.
But then she might lose her chance.
Well, if she lost it she lost it, Serena finally reasoned. After her experience with Lyall Duncan, she wanted to be valued as the person she was, not considered just another roll in the hay, suiting Nic Moretti’s convenience.
To be viewed—taken—like that would be too demeaning.
Humiliating.
The decision had to be no.
The plain truth was she was off her brain to even consider having any kind of relationship with Nic Moretti. How could she ever feel good about it, knowing what she knew about him and his attitudes?
Give it up right now.
Right now! she repeated to stamp it in her mind.
CHAPTER FIVE
NIC returned to the mud room, carrying a bar stool heaped with blankets. He grinned at her. ‘If this works, I’ll have a cage frame made tomorrow.’
The grin played havoc with Serena’s resolution. Warm pleasure zinged from him, making her skin tingle and her toes curl. She found herself clutching her wineglass too tightly and realised she was still holding it. Nic had set his down somewhere.
He put the stool in the corner she’d indicated. ‘Won’t be long bringing the others,’ he tossed at her and strode off through the doorway to the kitchen again, leaving Serena to catch her breath.
The guy was dynamite, especially when he was being charming. She gulped down some of the Chardonnay in the hope it would cool her down. A console table with a mirror above it stood near the entrance to the kitchen. She set her glass on it and checked her reflection in the mirror.
Her cheeks were almost as pink as her lipstick and her eyes were fever bright, vividly blue. Her hair was slightly mussed from lying on the porcupine chaise longue and she quickly smoothed it back and refastened the clip. It made her feel slightly more together, instead of in danger of falling apart.
While Nic brought the other three stools, Cleo trotted back and forth with him, intrigued by all this strange activity. Serena concentrated on keeping out of his way, unfolding the blankets and figuring out how best to construct the cave for the troublesome little terrier.
Once Nic had finished his task, he closed in on her again, assisting with the blanket spreading. Desperate to avoid even accidental contact, which Serena feared might lead to purposeful contact, she sent him off on another mission.
‘We need a radio.’
He gave her a quizzical look. ‘What do we need a radio for?’
‘Company for Cleo.’
‘Company?’
‘She won’t feel she’s alone if a radio is playing. You can set it on the console table over there. I saw a power-point next to it.’
‘I’m to leave a radio playing all night?’ he queried.
‘If you turn the volume down low, you shouldn’t hear it from the bedroom wing.’
He went off, shaking his head and muttering, ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this for a dog.’
Serena smiled and her inner tension relaxed a little. The pro temps cave was as secure as she could make it by the time Nic returned with a very expensive looking radio. He looked sternly at the dog at his feet as he set it on the console table. ‘I hope you appreciate I’m giving this up for you.’
Cleo yipped her appreciation.
‘Best you tune it into a station now so you can just switch it on later,’ Serena advised. ‘Find one that plays classical music.’
Nic gave her an incredulous look. ‘Are you telling me dogs know the difference between Beethoven and Britney Spears?’
‘Which music would you prefer to go to sleep with?’
‘Now there’s an interesting question.’ Wicked speculation sparkled at her. ‘What turns you on…or off…as the case may be? Violins, guitar, tom-toms…’
‘I doubt Cleo will settle down to a jungle beat,’ Serena cut in with pointed emphasis on the terrier. ‘Excessive drumming might well set her barking.’