Home Is Where the Bark Is (11 page)

Coco realized someone was there before Serena did, letting the human know with a shiver of awareness and a pricking up of her ears. Serena turned to follow the miniature poodle’s gaze. Then felt her own shiver of awareness as she saw Nick Whalen standing there, quietly assessing her with those compelling blue eyes.

Their gazes connected. For a long, still moment it was as if all the noises of the adjoining playroom receded, the whimpers, the whines, the sharp, yipping demands, the deep, growly barks, the voices of her staff rising and falling with commands and conversations and the odd burst of laughter.

It was just him and her.

That hotter-than-hot Rottweiler guy.

She could feel the throb-throb-throb of the knowledge of her attraction to him as it pulsed through her veins, taking a flush high to her cheeks. She’d thought of him way too often in the days since she’d forbidden herself contact with him.

How long had he been standing there? Surely he hadn’t heard her debating out loud with Coco the merits of red as opposed to pink claw polish?

The little doggy diva loved to be spoken to, uttered soft, throaty noises in reply. Serena knew Coco was just responding to the attention she craved in her needy, poodle way. But Serena found it fun to pretend they were having a genuine conversation.

She suspected Nick Whalen would think it eccentric at the very least.

She cleared her throat. Channeled cool, detached professional. Someone totally unaffected by the six-foot-three hunk who towered over her. “Nick. Hi. Is everything okay with Bessie?”

“Yes, perfectly okay,” he replied. If testosterone had a sound, it would surely be his voice.

“You sound surprised,” she said, carefully putting down the claw polish when she realized her hand was trembling. Damn! Her brain and her libido seemed to be at war when it came to this guy. She slid her hands into Coco’s fur, and scratched her behind the ears, much to the poodle’s butt-wiggling delight.

“Surprised? Maybe. To be honest I didn’t think a dog would like being left all day with a load of strangers.”

“That she’d prefer being locked in a yard by herself? Remember, dogs are pack animals. It’s natural for them to enjoy the company of other dogs. And people, too. We’re part of their pack world.”

“So it seems. Kylie fixed me up with the password for the doggy day cam, too, so I can check on Bessie during the day if I need to.”

“Glad to hear Kylie is looking after you.”

Like she hadn’t heard every last detail of Nick’s visits from Kylie. The new client had caused quite a stir among the all-female staff.

“The day cam is a great idea. When I log on, Bessie looks like she’s really living it up. Is it possible to get a copy of the tape?”

She shook her head. “That would be an invasion of privacy of the other clients. Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Just an idea.”

“We have to be careful who we even give a password. The footage can be used as evidence in a canine custody battle.”

Doubt creased his forehead. “How so?”

“Putting the dog in day care can be cited as a sign of neglect of care by the partner suing for custody.”

His unsuccessful attempt at masking his “I can’t believe I’m hearing this” expression amused her more than it bugged her. He had a lot to learn about the canine subculture of San Francisco.

But she didn’t feel inclined to be his tutor.

Ohmigod, where did that thought come from? And the tremor of anticipated pleasure that shivered through her? She gripped the fur on Coco’s neck so hard the little dog yipped.

She had spent the last three days trying to tamp down the temptation to fantasize about her sexy new client. Which was just the kind of disruption she’d been trying to avoid.

She’d done daily battle with herself to stay away from the check-in desk when she knew he was due to drop off or pick up Bessie. And now she had to admit to herself that she was losing the battle. She was so glad he had hunted her down she just wanted to sit and feast her eyes on his face.

“How’s Freya doing?” he asked with what sounded like real interest.

“She’s comfortable and happy. She watched
Lady and the Tramp
today.”

Serena saw he struggled with himself not to make a smart remark about the movie. “That’s, uh . . . nice,” he said. “What about her owner?”

She welcomed the chance to talk to someone about what had happened with Joe Godfrey. She had not told anyone else at the center about the new arrangement with Freya’s owners. Her staff would just tell her she was too much of a soft touch. She lowered her voice. Couldn’t help but notice when Nick lowered his head to hear her.

She took a quick, deep breath at his closeness. He smelled of leather and sandalwood and—was that pepper? Whatever it was, he smelled good. “You know, it’s awkward with Joe and me now? I guess he feels bad about not being able to pay, even though I’ve reassured him that I just want Freya to be okay.”

“That’s to be expected. Accepting charity would sit heavily on a guy like that.”

“I guess. It makes me kinda glad that the other client just took her dog away without any notice.”

“The
other
client? You lost another dog?”

“Yes. The Cavalier King Charles spaniel. That was a surprise. And not of the nice kind . . . He stayed here two days a week. Nice little dog.” She’d been stunned when the owners, the Landers, had given notice. But she could not have afforded to offer free day care to him, too. Not on top of Freya and Mack.

“What reason did they give?”

“‘Financial difficulties,’ according to him. But she said there had been some kind of fraud. Weird, isn’t it? You hear about these scamtype things but you don’t think it will happen to people you know. Or affect your business.”

She pulled a downward twist to her mouth. That made two dogs down; she couldn’t face the thought of what would happen if she lost any more clients.

“Yeah,” he said, without further comment, and the lack of expression on his face made her feel she was boring him.

“So, how can I help you?” she said, wishing she hadn’t confided in him. She knew she shouldn’t care what he thought of her, but it smarted that he might think she was dull. “Want to book Bessie in for a pawdicure like Coco’s?”

“Paw . . . pawdicure?” His gaze turned to the equipment on the countertop. Beside her was an electric claw filing tool, some clippers, cotton wool, and styptic powder in case of a too-close clip. There was also a caddy holding ten different new-season shades of polish. “That’s what you’re doing?”

It really was very difficult not to be amused by his daze of disbelief. But dammit, he was a dog owner. A person who owned a pocketbook pooch like Bessie should surely be more aware of these basic tenets of doggy fashion.

She nodded. “Not as frivolous as you so obviously think.” “Did I say it was frivolous? I know some dogs need their claws clipped regularly.”

“And some need them polished,” she said. She held up Coco’s right paw. The little black claws were painted a glossy red. “The red looks very fetching against her dark fur, don’t you think?”

Nick made a strangled kind of sound that made Serena suppress a smile.

“So you prefer pink? I like pink, too. But Coco—”

“Why the hell would you put nail polish on a dog?” he growled.

“Claw polish,” she corrected him, aware she was provoking him.

But he didn’t bite again. Rather, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling in an exaggerated way. That only encouraged her to embellish her story, to see how much doggy nonsense he would take.

“Some dog moms like claw polish on their babies for special occasions. And Coco is going to a family reunion on the weekend. Coco used to be a show dog, and Maddy wants her to look her best.” She paused, waiting for his reaction.

“Family reunion? You mean people?” He put up his hand in a halt sign. “Don’t tell me you mean dogs?”

“Of course. What else?”

“What else indeed,” he said with a hint both of a groan and the grin that tempered the harsh angles of his face in a way she found so devastating.

“Coco and Brutus—”

“Brutus is the millionaire mutt, right?”

She nodded.

“And this poodle’s ‘husband’?” He made quote marks in the air with his fingers.

She nodded again. “They had five puppies. Maddy and Tom kept Tinkerbelle, but Maddy found it very hard to let Coco’s other babies go. In the end Tom laid down the law and found homes for them himself. Three of the partners in his law firm adopted a puppy each and his mom adopted the last one. Every so often they all get together with their dogs in Golden Gate Park.”

“So they can all sniff each other’s butts?”

“You mean, of course, the dogs?”

“Hold that thought. It’s not an image I care to take away with me.”

“The
humans
have a civilized picnic. The dogs run around and—”

He put up his hand in the halt sign again. “We all know what dogs do.”

“Tom doesn’t think it’s a great idea, either.”

“Tom sounds like my kind of guy.”

For an insane split second of a split second, Serena thought of inviting Nick along to the descendants-of-Brutus picnic on Sunday. But he was a client. And hadn’t she resolved to keep him just that? Then there was still that niggling sense that he wasn’t all he said he was and that he could do damage to Paws-A-While.

Coco started wriggling and she knew the little dog had just about reached her keep-still limit. “Can you help me with the other paw, please?” she said to Nick, as she slid off her stool.

“With the . . . the pawdicure?”

“You interrupted me. I have to catch up on my time.”

“You’re seriously asking me to help you? I can’t guarantee my skills with, uh, claw polish.”

“Just keep Coco still while I paint the rest of her claws.”

“Okay,” he said in that sexy, gravelly voice. “But on one condition.”

“Condition?”

“Don’t ever tell anyone outside this place that I did it. Because I will deny it with every breath in my body.”

“Deal,” she said, her lips twitching.

But, as soon as she thought through the logistics of it, Serena realized that asking Nick to help her finish the pawdicure was a bad, bad idea.

The treatment cubicle was designed for one dog and one groomer. At a pinch one dog and two female groomers. Not one dog, one taller-than-average female and one tall, powerfully built male whose body mass dominated the space and whose proximity sent her heart into a series of hiccups.

If she had Kylie helping her, she wouldn’t care if their shoulders collided. Or their hands accidentally grazed while they were handling the dog. And she certainly would not have felt self-conscious if their faces moved kissing-distance close.

“You hold her left leg still while I take her paw,” she said, only too aware of the tremor in her voice. “I don’t want to get polish on her fur.”

It was a routine job yet her fingers felt clumsy as she pressed gently down on Coco’s little black toe so the filed claw extended far enough for her to paint with the red polish. She did one claw, then the next, rushing through the job with little of her usual finesse. No double coats of polish today. She was too conscious of Nick’s nearness. Half giddy from holding her breath every time she felt they were going to inadvertently touch.

“Done,” she said, after what seemed an age but could only have been minutes. She looked up as she spoke and just for a microsecond caught his gaze unguarded. In the instant before the shutters went down she swore she saw mirrored the same intense awareness she fought to mask from hers.

Immediately she dropped her eyes, too confused to make sense of it. If he felt it, too, that made all the difference. Her heart hammered against her rib cage. Serena risked a peek back up, but his eyes were the same inscrutable pale blue. She must have imagined it. She didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

“Thank God that’s over,” he said, releasing his grip on Coco’s leg.

She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Not quite.”

“How can you bear the smell of that stuff?”

“The nail polish? It’s a girl thing. And a girl-dog thing, too, of course.”

Her twice-weekly mani-pedi was one of the few things she missed about her old life. She’d been proud of her long, elegantly manicured nails, even when she was that awkward teenager. Now they were filed short and unpolished. Dealing with dogs every day dictated that. She hoped Nick didn’t notice. But was he the kind of guy to care if he did?

Willing both her breathing and her hands to stay steady, she reached into a drawer and pulled out a length of red satin ribbon patterned with tiny white bones. Deftly, she tied it in a bow on the puff of fur on top of Coco’s head. “There. All done,” she said.

“What do you think?” she asked Nick, as she admired the little poodle.

“Charming,” he said in a deadpan voice that left her in no doubt as to his real opinion.

She called over to Heather, one of the groomers, and handed Coco over to her.

“Now for Bessie,” she said to Nick.

“Whoa,” he said. “No colored claws. No way.”

“Chill,” she said. “You’re out of luck. I’ve given enough freebies for this week.”

She pulled out another ribbon, a cheerful yellow one this time, and dangled it in front of him. “But I’ll give you this for a bargain price.”

Nick Whalen and the ribbon thing still bothered her.

“I noticed Bessie wasn’t wearing her bow yesterday,” she said. “This color would be pretty with her fur. Want to tie it on her now?”

Nick shook his head. “I’ll pass.”

“You’re sure, now? Bessie doesn’t seem Bessie without that cute bow on her forelock.”