The Billionaire Bridegroom

He frowned over the memory of her laughing as she’d tossed her hapless victim onto the slippery dip yesterday. ‘Here’s company for you, Nic!’ A great joke, laughing at the dog’s frantic attempts to fight its way back up to the spa level against the inevitable skid into the pool. Unkind laughter.

He’d been annoyed by the whole episode, especially the painful scratches which had led him to transfer his annoyance to Cleo. Wrong! He could see that now. The pet groomer had straightened him out on quite a few areas that needed his attention. For one thing, dog-minding was not a breeze. It obviously required some expertise he didn’t have.

Having resolved to take more positive action on that front, he went inside to face the problem he now had with Justine. She was in the kitchen, watching coffee brew in the percolator. While her attention was still engaged on getting a shot of caffeine, he viewed her with more critically assessing eyes.

Did he want their affair to continue? They’d been reasonably compatible both sexually and socially, but the relationship had been more about superficial fun than deep and meaningful. He had the very definite feeling that the fun had just run out.

She turned around, probably having heard the front door shut and looking to check where he was. ‘Ah! You’ve seen them off,’ she said, rolling her eyes at the fuss of it all. ‘Blissful peace for a while!’

‘Cleo will be returned at one o’clock,’ he informed her as he strolled into the kitchen and headed for the refrigerator. A couple of glasses of iced water should help clear the hangover.

‘It is ridiculous to have our lives ruled by a dog!’ Justine declared in exasperation. ‘Why don’t you put her in one of those boarding kennels, Nic? It would save all this aggravation and you’d be free to…’

‘Out of the question,’ he cut her off.

She swung on him, hands on hips. ‘Why is it out of the question?’

‘I promised Angelina I’d take care of Cleo.’

‘Boarding kennels are better equipped to look after that dog than you are.’

She was probably right, but that wasn’t the point, Nic thought as he downed the first glass of water. Besides, he intended to learn how to handle Cleo better.

‘Your sister need never know,’ Justine argued.

‘I would know. A promise is a promise.’

‘What people don’t know won’t hurt them.’

He cocked a mocking eyebrow at her as he reached for the jug again. ‘One of the principles by which you live?’

‘It avoids trouble.’

‘Oh, I don’t know. Seems to me you get double the trouble when people find out what you’ve tried to hide from them.’ He poured more water from the jug and drank again, wondering how many deceptions Justine had played with him.

She threw out her hands in frustrated appeal. ‘You can’t want to be tied to that cantankerous little bitch for the next two months.’

‘I’ll learn to get along with Cleo,’ he answered blandly.

‘Well, I won’t!’ she hurled at him, eyes flashing fury at his stubborn resistance to her plan. ‘I’m not spending another night with that damned dog yapping its head off.’

‘Then I suggest you pack up and leave, Justine, because the dog will be staying. With me.’

She looked gob-smacked.

He set the empty glass down on the kitchen bench. ‘Best be gone before one o’clock,’ he advised coldly. ‘Please excuse me while I clean up the mess in the laundry which doesn’t happen to have a doggy door for Cleo to go outside.’

He was at the doorway to the mud room before Justine caught her breath. ‘You want me to go?’ It was an incredulous squawk.

He paused to look back at her, feeling not one whit of warmth to soften his decision. ‘What we have here, Justine, is an incompatible situation.’

‘You’d put that miserable little dog ahead of me?’

‘Perhaps the dog will be less miserable with you gone.’

‘Oh!’ She stamped her foot.

Nic sensed a wild tantrum teetering on the edge of exploding from her. He didn’t wait for it. If she followed him to the laundry, he’d hand her a bucket and suggest she clean up the result of her action in carelessly shutting Cleo in an inescapable place. That would undoubtedly send her packing in no time flat.

The pet groomer would have no problem with it but Justine…no way would she get down on her knees for a dog. Nor get her hands dirty. In fact, she obviously wanted to be treated like a pampered pet herself. Nic decided he didn’t really care for that in a woman, certainly not in any long-term sense.

He wasn’t followed.

By the time he had the laundry back in a tidy and pristine state, Justine had dressed, packed, and gone without favouring him with a farewell. The front door had been slammed shut on her way out, transmitting her pique at coming off second best to Cleo, and the engine of her SAAB convertible had roared down the driveway, punctuating her departure and displeasure.

Nic poured himself a coffee from the brew that had been left simmering and reflected that he could have appealed for understanding, maybe shifted Justine’s attitude a little. Cleo wasn’t just a pet to Angelina, more a surrogate child on whom she poured out all the frustrated love she couldn’t give to a baby.

After years of trying to get pregnant, it had been a terrible grief to her when medical tests had revealed her husband’s sperm count was so low it would be a miracle if she ever conceived. Poor Ward had been devastated, too, even going so far as to offer Angelina a divorce, knowing how set she was on having a family.

That wasn’t an option to his sister. She and Ward really did love each other. Their marriage seemed to have grown even stronger since the pressure to have a child had been erased. Ward had brought home the puppy for Angelina, a loveable little bundle of silky fur, and they both treated it like the queen of Egypt, nothing too good for their adored Cleo.

To put it in an impersonal boarding kennel… Nic shook his head. Angelina would never forgive him. And she’d know about it. Cleo was booked into the pet grooming salon every Monday morning. He’d forgotten about that earlier today but he knew it was written on Angelina’s list of instructions. If the appointments weren’t kept, no doubt Michelle would reveal that fact to his sister on her return.

Besides, as he’d told Justine, a promise was a promise. If she couldn’t respect that, he was definitely better off having no further involvement with her, even if it meant being celibate for a couple of months. He couldn’t overlook the cruel streak in her, either. The thought of it dampened any desire for more of Justine Knox. Good riddance, he thought, downing the last of the coffee.

A shower, a shave, a couple of hours’ work in the room he’d designated as his office for the duration of his stay here, and he’d feel much more on top of everything when the pet groomer returned with Cleo at one o’clock.

‘Aren’t you beautiful now!’ Michelle crowed indulgently as she ruffled Cleo’s silver-grey silky hair with her fingers while giving it a last blast from the dryer. ‘You look good, you smell good and you feel good.’

The dog’s big brown eyes clung soulfully to Michelle who invariably talked nonstop to each pet as she gave them whatever treatment was scheduled. Cleo had been given the lot this morning; nail trim, hair-clip, ears and eyes cleaned, shampoo, conditioner and blow-dry.

Serena reflected this was very little different to a hairdressing salon. Michelle even played background music, always soft romantic tracks to soothe any savage hearts, and she charged similar fees. Of course, it wasn’t as upmarket, no stylish fittings or decorator items, just plain workbenches, open shelves, and a tiled floor that made cleaning easy.

The best thing about it, Serena decided, was the pets didn’t talk back, dumping all their problems or complaints on the stylist who was expected to dish out unlimited sympathy even when it was obvious there were two sides to be considered. Not that that was the case with Cleo who was clearly an innocent victim, yet the darling little silky terrier hadn’t even raised a bark since Serena had rescued her from the dark brute and his evil witch-woman.

‘You can put on her pink ribbon, Serena,’ Michelle instructed, having finished with Cleo and about to pick up another dog waiting for his turn to be pampered, a Maltese terrier who’d sat tamely in line like all the other pets in the salon, content to watch Michelle do her thing.

‘I’m not sure Nic Moretti is going to appreciate the pink ribbon,’ Serena dryly commented as she cut off an appropriate length from the roll Michelle kept on a shelf.

It earned the look of unshakeable authority. ‘No pet leaves this salon without wearing a ribbon. It’s the finishing touch. Cleo knows it and expects it. She’ll be upset if you don’t give it to her. You can tell Angelina’s brother that from me. He has to consider the dog’s sense of rightness or he’s going to have a traumatised pet on his hands.’

When it came to dog handling her sister was a genius. Serena accepted her advice without question. But would Nic Moretti? Confronting him again stirred mixed feelings. The fear of being recognised as Lyall Duncan’s belittling choice of wife had been somewhat allayed. It seemed unlikely that he would make the connection now, given the distraction of her current job. Besides, it would be interesting to see if he had got rid of his penthouse pet in the interests of properly safeguarding his sister’s.

Smiling at Cleo as she tied the ribbon around her neck, she softly crooned, ‘Pretty pink bow.’

The dog sprang up from the bench top and licked her chin. Starved for praise and affection, Serena concluded, and decided to add a bit more advice to her sister’s when she spoke to Nic Moretti again. Her smile widened to a grin. Teach the brute a few lessons that would hopefully stick in his arrogant craw.

‘I’m off now,’ she called out to Michelle.

‘Okay. Don’t forget to pick up Muffy at Erina on the way back.’

‘Will do.’

It was twenty minutes to one o’clock. As Serena took Cleo out to the van, she thought how good it was to be out of the city. Although Michelle’s five acre property at Holgate wasn’t exactly country, it was big enough to give a sense of real space and freedom while still being located close to the large populated areas of Gosford, Erina, Wamberal and Terrigal.

The salon was a large two-roomed shed behind the house and the parking area that served it took up quite a bit of room, but there was still plenty of land for Michelle’s seven-year-old daughter to keep a pony which she rode every day after she came home from school. All in all, Serena thought her widowed older sister had done a fantastic job of setting up a business she could run while looking after Erin. Though she did seemed to have settled too much into the life of a single parent. Did the idea of getting involved in another relationship make her feel too vulnerable?

At thirty-two, Michelle was only four years older than herself, still very attractive with lovely glossy brown hair, big hazel eyes, a young pretty face and a whip-lean figure from all the physical work she did. Maybe her manless state was due to not having much opportunity to get out and meet people. Which could certainly be fixed now that Serena was here to mind her niece whenever her sister would like to go out.

On the other hand, not having a man in one’s life was a lot less complicated. Maybe both she and her sister were better off on their own.

Serena pondered this dark thought as she settled Cleo in the van, then took off for the return trip to the Gifford house. Without a doubt she was starting to enjoy this complete change of lifestyle; not having to put on full make-up every day, not having to construct a hairstyle that fitted the out-there image of Ty’s salon, not having to worry about wearing right up-to-date fashionable clothes, nor compete on any social scene. Lyall hadn’t wanted her to compete with him but he’d certainly wanted her to shine amongst other women.

From now on, she simply wanted to be her own person. No putting on a show for anybody. And that included Nic Moretti. Wealth and success and good looks in a man were attractive attributes, but she wasn’t about to let them influence her into not looking for what the man was like inside. Nor was she about to change herself to please him, just because he was attractive.

Well, not exactly attractive.

More loaded with sex appeal.

A woman would have to be dead not to notice.

But snobbery was not sexy at all, Serena strongly reminded herself, so she was not about to be softened up by Nic Moretti’s sex appeal. In fact, it would be fun to get under his skin again, have those dark eyes burning intensely at her, make him see her as a person he couldn’t dismiss out of hand.

Sweet revenge for how he’d spoken about her to Lyall.

Yes.

This was one man who definitely needed to be taught a few lessons.

CHAPTER THREE

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.