He shook his head.
This didn’t happen to him.
In all his years of dating women, never had a first kiss spun him out of a controlled awareness of how it was going for both himself and the other participant. Completely losing it was incomprehensible to him, especially over a pert little chick with whom he had nothing in common apart from a problem with a dog.
No denying she raised his sexual instincts sky-high. He had one hell of an itch to get her into bed with him. And moving right down to animal level, she had been on heat to mate with him. But for Cleo’s untimely intervention, it could well have ended in a highly primitive fait accompli. Would Serena Fleming have dusted him off her then and made the same fast getaway?
Every woman he’d ever known had lingered for more of whatever he gave them. Purring for it, more times than not. Yet here was a slip of a girl, kissing him with stunning passion, then leaving him as flat as a pricked balloon.
Anger stirred. He glared at the dog who was prancing along, blithely careless of the frustration it had caused. ‘She cares more about you than she does about me.’
Cleo paused and looked at him with soulful eyes.
‘You needn’t think I’m taking you to bed with me,’ Nic growled. ‘You go into your cave tonight.’
He was feeling distinctly cavemanlike himself. In fact, if Serena Fleming was still here, he’d throw her over his shoulder, slap her provocative backside, and haul her off to a sexual orgy that would give him intense satisfaction and reduce her to his willing slave.
Which just went to prove how far she’d got under his skin.
Nic usually prided himself on being a highly civilised man, considerate of others, obliging their needs where they didn’t clash too much with his own, caring about their sensitivities, playing the diplomat with finesse. Clearly there was some strange mutant chemistry at work here with the dog-handler, changing parameters he had always controlled.
The sensible course was to simply let her go, limit their encounters to the brief dog pick-ups and deliveries every Monday. No problem with that arrangement. It was foolish to let what was really an aberrational choice of bed partner get into his head like this, disturbing the general tenor of his life.
Having decided to sideline an obviously unsuitable attraction, Nic took Cleo inside and proceeded to lock up the house. He tried watching television for a while but ended up changing from one program to another, none of them holding his interest. Taking a book to bed with him seemed a better idea. He had the latest Patrick Kennedy novel to read—good author.
Having collected a king-size pillow and Cleo’s trampoline bed, he led the little terrier to the mud room. Almost forgot the water dish. He moved that from the kitchen and placed it next to the doggy door, then followed all Serena’s instructions to the letter. Half of him hoped her advice wouldn’t work so he could take her down a peg or two, demand his money back, but he knew that was being churlish. Better that it did work so he could get a good night’s sleep.
Amazingly, after a few initial barks to protest Nic’s departure, Cleo did settle. Maybe the music got to her, or she decided the cave of blankets wasn’t a bad place to be. Whatever… Nic wasn’t about to check as long as peace reigned. He turned off all the lights and retired to his bed.
After several episodes of his mind wandering where he’d resolved it shouldn’t go, he finally had the characters in the novel sorted out and was getting the hang of the story. Then the telephone rang, wrecking his concentration again.
He checked his watch since Cleo had his clock radio. Ten-thirty. He wasn’t expecting a call from anyone at this hour. Was it Serena, ostensibly ringing to check the dog situation while surreptitiously checking his response to her? Maybe she was thinking about that kiss, suffering some after-effects, having a change of mind about leaving him flat.
Nic was smiling to himself as he picked up the receiver. This was his opportunity to be dismissive, which would put him back on top and in control where he liked to be. If Serena Fleming was hanging out for some pillow-talk, she would come up empty tonight.
‘Nic here,’ he said pleasantly, projecting perfectly good humour.
‘Oh, Nic darling!’ His sister’s voice! ‘You weren’t asleep, were you? I’m calling from New York and it’s morning here. Ward said the time difference was…’
‘It’s okay,’ Nic broke in, trying not to sound vexed and deflated. ‘I wasn’t asleep. How’s the trip so far?’
‘I haven’t managed a decent sleep yet. Last night I couldn’t help worrying about Cleo. Is she missing us terribly?’
‘She’s fine during the day but she does miss you at night.’
‘Poor baby!’
‘In fact, I haven’t managed a decent sleep, either, with her barking non-stop.’
‘Oh, dear!’
‘Not to worry, Angelina. I got some expert advice from your pet grooming lady and Cleo seems to have settled down tonight.’
‘Michelle is quite marvellous, the way she…’
‘It wasn’t Michelle. Serena came and organised…’
‘Serena? Who’s Serena?’
‘From the salon. Serena Fleming.’
‘There’s no Serena at the salon. Only Michelle and Tammy.’
Nic frowned at the certainty in his sister’s voice. ‘Well, she drove the salon van today, picking up Cleo and bringing her back, and she impressed me as knowing a lot about dog behaviour.’
‘Mmm…Michelle must have taken on a new girl then. You say she’s good? She’s helped with my precious baby?’
‘An absolute miracle worker,’ Nic assured his sister while privately notching up a host of questions to be examined later. ‘Cleo is now fast asleep in her own special cave of blankets with the radio playing classical music,’ he explained to soothe Angelina’s concern.
‘Really?’
‘Truly,’ he affirmed.
‘I know Michelle always plays music at the salon. She says it has a calming influence.’
‘Apparently it works. Anyhow, don’t fret about Cleo any more. She’s eating well and we’re getting along just fine.’
The little terrier had a very good appetite, as long as there was cooked chicken or steak or bacon on the menu. The tinned dog food was left untouched but Nic thought it wiser not to tell his sister that her precious pet had decided it would only eat what Nic was eating. Angelina would only fuss and what was the point? He could afford to feed the dog what it wanted.