The Billionaire Bridegroom. Emma Darcy

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