He asked about New York and they chatted briefly of non-dog things. His sister sounded happy by the time the call ended, her concern over Cleo having abated.
Nic did not go back to reading his book.
He thought about Serena Fleming…about her quick wit and air of self-confidence…her ability to take charge…her disdainful attitude towards Justine who, on the surface of it, cut a stunning image that would intimidate most ordinary women…her experienced comment on the Chardonnay…and last, but not least, her incredible sangfroid in dismissing their clinch as a mere thank you from him.
Adding all this to the fact that she was very new to Michelle’s Pet Grooming Salon, Nic was strongly reminded that his first impression of Serena Fleming was that he’d seen her before somewhere, most probably at some social function in Sydney. She might well have a city background. When he’d asked if she’d always lived in Holgate, her answer had suggested but not confirmed it was so.
The suspicion grew that she wasn’t what she presented herself to be, but something very different and not ordinary at all.
The picture now emerging in his mind placed her as extraordinary, which made him feel considerably better about the whole situation. She posed far more of an intriguing challenge that he had initially assumed, and Nic knew he wouldn’t rest content until he got to the bottom of Serena Fleming.
He grinned to himself.
In more senses than one!
CHAPTER SEVEN
MONDAY morning…back to the Gifford house to collect Cleo for her weekly grooming. Serena wished she could ask Michelle to do it, but that would give rise to searching questions and ultimately embarrassing answers. It would also be an unfair request since her sister’s time was better spent in grooming the pets to the standard of perfection which was her trademark. In short, this was Serena’s job and she couldn’t shirk it.
Which meant facing Nic Moretti again.
He hadn’t called about any problems with the dog. Presumably Michelle’s instructions had worked and the nights were now smooth sailing. A pity she couldn’t say that about her own. She’d spent many sleepless hours in her bed, going over and over what had happened with the testosterone loaded architect.
It was the sheer shock of her total vulnerability to what Nic Moretti could make her feel that had sent Serena skittering into her car. Fate had played a very unkind trick on her, placing such a bombshell in her path when she was fighting to attain some level-headed wisdom after her bitter disillusionment with Lyall.
Serena told herself it was just as well Nic Moretti hadn’t attempted any follow-up to that devastating kiss because temptation was a terrible thing and it would have been very very difficult to handle, not to mention maintaining the dignity her self-respect demanded.
It took true grit to put herself in the van and drive to the Gifford house. Along the way, Serena decided she’d prefer a dog’s life. Much simpler.
Michelle had told her about a silky terrier who’d flatly refused to be mated with her own kind. She preferred big dogs. She’d ended up with a litter by a labrador and a litter by a Doberman pinscher before her owners gave up on getting purebreds from her and had the terrier desexed. Only people wanted purebreds, Serena thought darkly. Animals followed their instincts.
No doubt Angelina Gifford would want Cleo mated suitably with another pedigreed silky terrier. Running wild would be frowned upon in that family, especially when it came to mating. A man might sow some wild oats but when it came to marriage, it was usually to their own kind. Only men like Lyall, who wanted an underling wife, went beyond the fold. And Serena knew what Nic Moretti thought of that!
She’d worked herself up into a finely edged temper by the time she arrived at the Gifford house. One bit of condescension or snobbery from Cleo’s guardian and fur might fly. At least he couldn’t think she’d dressed up for him. Her work clothes were the same as last week, though she’d teamed a plain blue singlet top with her denim shorts this morning so he couldn’t possibly see a bare midriff as a come-on. And her hair was stuffed back into a practical plait. Not a skerrick of make-up, either.
Serena walked to the front door with stiff-backed pride and pressed her thumb to the bell-push rather longer than necessary. She didn’t want to be kept waiting. Her feet felt as though they were on hot coals.
The door opened only seconds later. Nic Moretti filled the space with such overwhelming impact, Serena found herself retreating a step in sheer defence against the male dominance of his big strong physique, once again blaring at her since he only wore surfing shorts. Her hands clenched and the nails digging into her palms helped to ground her at an arm’s length away from him.
He smiled. ‘You’re on time.’
He had a killer smile. Serena’s pulse-beat soared. Fighting the dizziness in her brain, she poured out every word she could think of. ‘I’m always on time. I consider punctuality a courtesy that I like to have returned.’
‘Ah!’ The smile turned lopsided. ‘Black mark against me last week. I promise it won’t happen again.’
The warm charm had the perverse effect of chilling her nipples. She could feel them tightening into hard buds, pushing against her sports bra. Any moment now he’d see them poking at her clingy singlet and he’d know…
‘I take it Cleo has settled down at night,’ she gabbled, desperate to keep his attention on her face.
‘Your plan worked like a charm. I picked up a wooden crate to replace the bar stools. Want to see?’
‘No, no, as long as it works. I must keep moving this morning.’
She tore her gaze from the twinkling invitation in his and looked down at the dog who was waiting at his feet. The leash attached to Cleo’s collar ran up to a loop around Nic Moretti’s wrist. Vividly recalling how treacherous that leash could be, Serena immediately crouched and picked up the little silky terrier, cradling her against her chest, which also helped to hide the aroused state of her breasts.
‘If you’ll just unhand the leash, I’ll be off,’ she said somewhat breathlessly.
He took his time unhitching himself from the looped strap, chatting on as he did so. ‘My sister called from New York, wanting to know if Cleo was fretting for her. I told her about you helping me. The odd thing was…’
He paused and Serena made the mistake of meeting his eyes again, dark probing eyes that had the searing intent to scour her mind.
‘…she told me there was no Serena Fleming working at Michelle’s Pet Grooming Salon.’