The Billionaire Bridegroom

‘Psychology?’

‘Yes. The more you make people pay, the more they believe they’re getting something special. Ty taught me that.’

The disbelief took on a sceptical gleam. ‘And what’s the something special you’re going to give Nic Moretti for his seventy dollars?’

‘That’s where you come in. I need all the tips you can give me on solving problems with dogs. And I’ll go you halves on the fee.’

Michelle sighed at the offer. ‘Well, I won’t say no, but I think you might be putting yourself at risk, Serena.’

‘How…if I’m all prepared?’

‘I’m just remembering something Angelina Gifford said about her brother. She was expecting Cleo to adore him because there wasn’t a female alive who didn’t l…u…u…u…v Nic.’

‘No way am I going to be a victim on that count,’ Serena emphatically assured her sister. ‘I’m simply fleecing the guy for being as arrogant as Lyall Duncan. Though I will play fair by giving him value for his money.’

‘Hmm…he’s got to you already. You’ve just been hurt by one rich, eligible bachelor. Better watch your step with…’

‘Michelle! I don’t even like him!’

‘He’s striking sparks in you. That’s more dangerous than like.’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake! It’s just a one-hour deal. And I need your help.’

‘Okay. Let’s see if you can keep your mind on the job.’

I am not going to let Nic Moretti close enough to hurt me, Serena silently vowed. Her sister didn’t understand the score. This was simply a game of one-upmanship where she ended up the winner.

For the rest of the afternoon, her mind was trained on collecting all the advice that would make Nic Moretti’s head spin with her bank of expert knowledge. Admiration, respect, gratitude…that was what she wanted from him. Balm for her wounded pride.

And, of course, it was pride behind the care she took with her appearance that evening. Not that she went all out to impress in any sexual sense. No perfume. No jewellery. No eye make-up. Only some perfectly applied pink lipstick. Her hair was newly clean and shiny and she left it long and loose, except for the side tresses which were held together at the back with a clip to maintain a neat, tidy effect.

Deciding on smart casual clothes, she teamed turquoise blue slacks with a tailored white shirt sprinkled with pink and turquoise and purple daisies. She strapped a businesslike navy Swatch watch on her wrist, pushed her feet into navy sandals and picked up a small navy shoulderbag to hold her keys and money. With this outfit, no one, not even her too perceptive older sister, could say she was man-hunting.

Michelle and Erin were settled in the lounge room, like two peas in a pod with their light brown hair cut in short bobs, their delicately featured faces recognisably mother and daughter, and both of them dressed in blue jeans and red T-shirts. Serena waved to them from the doorway. ‘I’m off now.’

‘You look pretty, Aunty Serena,’ her niece remarked.

‘Good enough to eat,’ Michelle dryly added. ‘Watch out for big bad wolves!’

‘Oh, Mummy!’ Erin chided, giggling at the reference to a fairy story. ‘She’s not wearing a red cape and hood.’

‘Besides, I’m wolf-proof,’ Serena declared.

But she wasn’t quite so sure of that when Nic Moretti invited her into his lair twenty minutes later. He suddenly looked very wolfish in tight black jeans and an open-necked white shirt which played peek-a-boo with the sprinkle of black curls that had been fully displayed on the centre of his chest this morning, reminding Serena of what else had been displayed.

Fortunately, Cleo was also at the door to greet her. She bent down to scratch the little terrier behind her ears, sealing an easy bond of affection between them while sternly reminding herself that the dog had to be the focus of her attention here, regardless of how distracting Nic Moretti was. However, as she straightened up, the top button of her shirt popped out of its buttonhole, giving the man of the moment a tunnel vision shot of cleavage.

Which he took.

Completely destroying the sense of starting this encounter on a professional footing.

Serena sighed with frustration, inadvertently causing her breasts to lift, pushing the opening further apart. Embarrassed, she clutched the edges of the shirt and hauled them back together.

‘Excuse me. This new cotton stretch fabric obviously has its perils,’ she bit out, shoving the button back in its hole and fiercely hoping it would stay there.

Nic Moretti lifted a twinkling gaze that elevated the heat in her bloodstream. ‘That button would have to be classified as a sexual tease,’ he said, amusement curling through his voice.

‘It’s not meant to be,’ she flashed back at him.

‘Perhaps it’s better left open. The temptation to watch for it to pop again might get beyond my control.’

‘This is ridiculous!’ Serena muttered, fighting against losing her own control of the situation. ‘Why are you flirting with me?’

He laughed. ‘Because it’s fun. Can’t you enjoy some fun, Serena?’

‘This is a professional visit,’ she hotly insisted.

His eyes teased her attempt at seriousness. ‘Does that mean you have to keep yourself buttoned up?’

‘Oh, puh-lease!’ Anger at his lack of respect flared. ‘If you’re going to be impossible, let’s call this consultation off right now!’

Cleo yapped at the sudden burst of temper from her.

‘Sorry, sorry.’ Nic’s hand shot up in a halting gesture as he made a valiant attempt to reconstruct his expression into apologetic appeal. ‘Just a touch light-headed from the relief of having you come.’

She wrenched her gaze from the lurking twinkle in his and looked down at the agitated dog. ‘It’s okay,’ she soothed. ‘As long as your keeper behaves himself.’

‘She’s been very good this afternoon. No trouble at all,’ Nic said in a straight tone.

‘Then you don’t need me.’

‘Yes, I do,’ came the quick retort, the vehement tone drawing her gaze back to his. The dark eyes were now burning with an intensity of purpose that would not be denied. ‘The nights are bad. Very bad. Come…I’ll show you.’

He gestured her to fall into step with him. Relieved they were getting down to proper business, Serena moved forward, traversing the foyer to the living room with a determinedly confident walk, though feeling oddly small and all too vulnerable with her head only level to his big broad shoulders. She wasn’t petite. In fact, she was above average height for a woman. It was just that he was very tall. And strong. And terribly macho looking, which was probably due to his Italian heritage.

Nevertheless, her heart was racing.

She was acutely conscious of being alone in this house with this man, not that she believed he would really come onto her but that initial bit of flirting had been deeply unsettling, making her aware that he found her attractive. Maybe even desirable.

While that was very flattering—and ironic, since he’d criticised Lyall for choosing her as his mate for marriage—Serena wished Nic Moretti wasn’t quite so sexually desirable himself. He was much more of a hunk than Lyall, whose luxurious lifestyle and lavish romancing had seduced her into thinking herself in love with him. Which, she realised now, wasn’t the same as being hot for him.

Every nerve in her body jangled alarm as Nic cupped her elbow to steer her towards what she had assumed this morning was the bedroom wing. ‘Where are we going?’ she demanded suspiciously.

‘To view the damage so you’ll understand what I’m dealing with,’ he answered reasonably.

‘Okay. Damage,’ she agreed unhitching her elbow from his grasp.

He cocked an eyebrow at the somewhat graceless action. ‘Do you have a thing about personal space?’