Home Is Where the Bark Is (36 page)

It took all his self-control not to spit it out.

He picked over those gray, unappetizing bits before he tasted his next mouthful, aware of Serena’s watchful eyes. The sausage tasted good. So did the cheese. But nothing else about this dish resembled in any way the superlative lunch he’d been served at Serena’s apartment.

That time, the eggplant had been a triumph—redolent of garlic and fresh herbs, soft and sweet and melt-in-the-mouth. The layers of pasta had absorbed the varied yet perfectly balanced flavors of the sausage and the sauce to make a memorable impact on the palate.

He gulped down a mouthful of wine to help him swallow this poor imitation of Serena’s previous triumph. “Delicious,” he lied.

Across from him at the table, Serena pushed her portion of dud lasagna around her plate with her fork. There was an expression of profound misery in her eyes as she watched him manfully transfer forkfuls of her prized recipe to his mouth.

“I’m glad you think so,” she said.

The dogs. Where were the damn dogs when he needed them? During his childhood, Fella had often been the recipient of unwanted food from the family table. He thought back to that Saturday lunch at Serena’s apartment and remembered how the dogs in the next room had been slavering for their share.

Now Snowball lay nearby but didn’t even stir. Surreptitiously, Nick nudged him with his foot. The Maltese looked up at him with round, dark eyes and seemed to sniff his disdain. Mack stayed steadfastly in his dog bed, even though he’d been successfully hobbling around Paws-A-While all afternoon. No, Mack seemed to say,
that
is not worth getting out of bed for. Nick didn’t even bother with Bessie. He knew she would turn her dainty little Yorki-poo nose up at such an unfortunate offering.

Then he realized the lasagna had onions in it. Onions weren’t good for dogs. There was no way he could slip a portion or two of this truly awful meal to the dogs even if they wanted it. With no rescue in sight he knew he could not endure another bite. He pushed his plate away with a sigh of what he hoped sounded like repletion, not relief.

“Think I’ll try some salad now,” he said.

“Sure,” said Serena in a quiet little voice that tore at him. “Let me serve you.”

To his relief the salad was every bit as delicious as last time. In fact the dressing was one of the best he’d ever tasted. He ate two servings.

Serena just nibbled on a few leaves of lettuce and pushed the rest to the side of her plate.

Nick chased the last leaf of radicchio from the plate. Tasty as it was, salad was no meal for a man of his build. He had woken very early in San Diego and been flat out all day. He was still hungry. But he didn’t let on for fear Serena would offer him more lasagna.

“That was . . . wonderful,” he said.

Her mouth twisted downward. “No, it wasn’t.”

“The oven . . .” he began, not really believing the disastrous dish was the fault of the oven. That eggplant should have been fried in olive oil and garlic long before it ever hit the oven. And there was something radically wrong with the pasta sheets.

Serena compressed her lips in the way she tended to do when agitated. “It wasn’t the oven. It was me.”

To Nick’s alarm, tears welled in those beautiful, luminous eyes. “I’m a hopeless cook. Always have been. Probably always will be.” Now her lovely lush mouth began to tremble.

“But the lasagna you made at your house was wonderful.”

She shook her head. “Maddy cooked it.”

“Huh?”

Her mouth wobbled some more. “I never . . . I never actually said I cooked it. In fact I tried to tell you, but you were so sure I’d made it. Seemed so pleased I’d made it. In the end it was easier not to keep denying it.”

“Oh, Serena.” Now he recalled she had kept trying to interrupt his lavish exclamations of praise.

“I . . . I wanted to impress you.” Her voice trailed away.

She looked so woebegone, her makeup smudged beneath her eyes, her hair dampened into waves that fell over her forehead.

He got up from the table and took the few steps needed to take her in his arms. “You impress me just by the fact you wanted to impress me,” he said. “If you get my meaning.”

Wordlessly, she nodded.

“What about the cookies?” he asked.

“Maddy,” she mumbled into his shoulder.

Scratch that thought of Serena making a farmer’s wife. Not in the cooking department anyway. With her empathy with animals and her physical strength she might prefer to work outdoors with him.

“I hope you told Maddy how much I liked the cookies,” he said.

“She was delighted with the feedback; she was testing the recipe for her magazine.”

“What about that amazing salad?”

Serena pulled back to face him. A watery smile struggled to life. “All my own work. The avocado dressing is my mom’s recipe. You’d expect good salad in a vegan household, wouldn’t you?”

“You can make that salad for me anytime.”

“But not the lasagna.” Even she seemed to gag at the very mention of it. “I wonder what went wrong? It seemed so easy when Maddy did it.”

He shrugged. “I’ve never cooked lasagna myself. But the pasta sheets tasted kind of uncooked.” He decided to gloss over the inedible eggplant.

“But Maddy didn’t cook them; she put them straight in the pan.” She paused, frowning. Then he saw the lightbulb moment illuminate her face. “I don’t think I bought the ‘no boiling required’ kind. That was it. I’ll go to the kitchen and check the pack.”

She went to pull away from him, but Nick stopped her. “Serena, who cares? You tried.You impressed me.”

“And next time you’ll cook.”

“That’s right.”

He used his index finger to tenderly wipe away the smears of black makeup from under her eyes. She sniffed. “I’m not great with onions,” she said.

“Buy the frozen kind all chopped up,” he said. He was all for shortcuts when it came to cooking.

“I guess,” she said, her eyes still vulnerable.

He bent his head and kissed her. She kissed him right back, her mouth eager and responsive.

And suddenly that other kind of hunger was the only thing on Nick’s mind.

Nick
was strong, he was tough, he was smart. He was, without a doubt, the most physically attractive man she had ever met. Tonight, in black jeans and a gray shirt, he was the hottest of the hot.

But the tipping point for Serena was that Nick was kind.

He could have reacted very differently to the lasagna debacle. On more than one occasion she had called him a liar. “Liar” was a fitting label for her tonight. But he had not chosen to use it.

“The dinner was a disaster,” she murmured against his mouth, “not the kind of impression I wanted to make.”

He kissed the side of her mouth in a way that sent shivers of longing through her body. “I can think of other ways to impress me,” he said.

“Let me guess,” she murmured. “Should I start like this?”

She slid her hands through his hair and angled his head down to meet hers. She pressed teasing little kisses along the line of his jaw, then stopped at the corner of his mouth. Then planted another line of kisses ending at the other corner of his mouth. She kissed his nose. Then the line of his cheekbone. Gently, she swept tiny, featherlight kisses over his eyelids. Only then did she kiss his mouth.

What started as fun quickly turned urgent as her lips parted under his, her tongue darted in to mate with his. She pulled away. “I think I could impress you more if we were somewhere more comfortable,” she murmured.

“The living room,” he said. He walked her backward until they reached the sofa and he gently pushed her down onto the seat.

Soon kissing didn’t seem enough.

 

 

As
Nick kissed Serena, her throaty little murmurs of delight sent his senses into overdrive. He ached so much to make her his that it hurt. The part of his brain that wasn’t fogged with want began to think logistics.
Stairs. Bedroom. Bed.

She started to unbutton his shirt, first one button and then another. Slid her warm, sure hands onto the bare skin of his chest. He reacted with a shudder that reverberated through his body in shock waves of excitement. Serena laughed against his mouth, a low sensual sound full of pleasure and promise.

He pulled her tighter. Felt her heart pounding against his chest. Found the zipper on the back of her dress and tugged. Pushed her dress off the smooth skin of her shoulders and down to her waist. She wiggled to make it easy for him, kissed him more fervently as he brushed his fingers over the swell of her breasts. She gave a little moan of appreciation. Her hands slid down to rest at his waist. Then she hooked her thumbs into his belt.

He broke from the kiss, eased her back against the sofa, feasted on the sight of her, that glorious hair tumbling wildly around her shoulders, her mouth pink and swollen from his kisses, her breasts . . .

Her breasts. Wrapped in a black, lacy bra, they were beyond perfect, her tight, aroused nipples pushing against the lace. Her body was even more perfect than the chocolate-coated images the ad campaign and calendar had hinted at. He cupped her breasts in his hands, thumbed the hard peaks, and she pushed herself closer with another of those insanely arousing murmurs.

He kissed the delicate curve of her ear, bent his head to kiss the beautiful hollow of her throat, intoxicated by her scent. Pushed aside the lace of her bra—

Only to feel her tense.

With great effort he stopped, pulled back, struggled to get his breath under control.

“You okay?” he managed to get out.

She was looking over his shoulder. “We’re being watched,” she whispered.

In an instant Nick was on full alert. Off the sofa. Crouched on the balls of his feet, tensed, his hands held flat in front of him ready to fend off danger. Fight if necessary.

To meet the intense gaze of his dog.

“Mack!” Nick growled.

Pleased at the sudden attention, Mack made his ponderous way closer toward the sofa. His mouth was creased in his doggy smile, his tail wagging.

“Stay!” Nick commanded.

At the sound of stifled laughter, Nick turned back to Serena. She leaned toward him, her black dress rumpled around her waist, her breasts heaving with the effort of suppressing her mirth.

“I meant we were being watched by a dog,” she said, her eyes bright with humor. “Not a stalker. But I so appreciate your readiness to fight for me.”

That Serena could joke about a stalker was something Nick’s brain only scarcely registered.

He turned back to glare at Mack. Already he loved the animal. But right now he did not appreciate the interruption.

“Bed,” he commanded, pointing at the fireplace. “Now.”

“Bed? Okay,” said Serena, her voice rich with laughter. “I’m good with that.”

As Nick watched, stupefied, she stood up from the sofa. Her dress slid down the length of her hips and legs to pool at her feet. She wore only her bra, a triangle of black panties, and those follow-me-home shoes strapped around her ankles. Nick had never seen anything so seductive.

 

 

Serena
enjoyed the conflicting looks that played across Nick’s face. Impatience. Humor. Lust. And something else. Something warm and wonderful in those pale blue eyes that made her quickly step out of her dress and take the next few steps to reach him. She twined her arms around his neck.

“I don’t want an audience; do you?” she murmured.

He swallowed. “You mean the dogs?”

She nodded. “Much as I love them, I’d be happier if they were on the other side of a closed door.”

He picked her up. All five-ten of her. As if she weighed nothing.

“Bed it is,” he growled as he headed toward the stairs.

Serena squealed. She protested. She laughed. But Nick did not put her down until they reached the top of the stairs. And she loved every second of it. He made her feel cherished, protected, and on fire with desire for him.

He kicked open the door of his bedroom and pulled her in after him. She got an impression of white-painted walls with a big iron bed in the center, the linen in crisp, blue-and-white stripes. But her senses were too taken up with Nick to register anything else. His taste. His scent. His hard, muscle-packed body. The sound of his ragged breathing.

They kissed, urgently, hungrily. With impatient fingers she fumbled open the remaining buttons on his shirt, tugged it off him. She let him deal with his belt but helped him push down his jeans. They broke the kiss as he kicked off his shoes, followed by his jeans. Then he stood in just his boxers.

She caught her breath. His body was magnificent. Broad shoulders, the muscles of his chest and arms pumped and defined. Just the right amount of hair on his chest. No wonder he had the strength to carry her up the stairs as if she were a featherweight. His legs, too, were muscled, long, and firm. She noticed a white scar on his right knee that stood out against his tan—no doubt the aftermath of his knee surgery.That was the only flaw in his masculine perfection.

But Nick did not give her time to stop and admire him. He pulled her to him again. Skin against skin. Her breasts pressed against his bare chest, her hips against his. She thrilled to the evidence of his arousal. She was ready for him, too. Knew that from the very first day she’d seen him at Paws-A-While she’d wanted this, wanted him. Wanted him so much she trembled.

He pulled her down to sit next to him on the bed, then untied her shoes, one after the other, making the act an erotic caress. Who knew her instep was an erogenous zone?

Then he cradled her face between his large hands, tilting her to meet his gaze, warm now with passion and tenderness. His voice was deep and husky. “This is special. Us.You know that.”