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.’
