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.