One Intimate Night
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Irritably Piers walked towards the hall door.
Immediately Ben got up to follow him. He was a sociable dog, and in his experience visitors to the house meant an hour or so of entertainment and the added attraction of some of Mrs Latham’s home-made cake—plus, if he was really in her good books, his own special mug of tea. Ben liked tea.
Barking excitedly, his tail wagging furiously, he rushed past Piers, determined to get to the front door ahead of him. Well, after all, he was the main male of the household. That chancy cat didn’t count. It had a home of its own several streets away, as Ben well knew, and only came here for extra meals.
As Ben made to barge past him Piers reacted immediately, grabbing hold of his collar and stopping him and then using it to half push and half drag the dog back into the kitchen, hauling him towards his bed and sternly telling him, ‘Quiet…Stay.’
Unused to such cavalier treatment, Ben did exactly that for just as long as it took Piers to get on the other side of the door and close it, and the sound that greeted Georgia as Piers opened the door to her was one of heart-rending distress as Ben, recovering from Piers’s assault to his household supremacy, started to howl with a piteous and searing intensity.
‘What’s happened? What’s wrong with Ben? What have you done to him?’ Georgia demanded immediately, her glance going anxiously to the closed kitchen door, behind which the dog’s agonised wails were increasing in volume.
‘I haven’t done anything to him,’ Piers denied sharply. ‘What—?’
‘Yes, you have. You’ve hurt him,’ Georgia insisted, ignoring Piers to hurry to the kitchen door and push it open.
As soon as he saw her Ben’s eyes lit up. This was more like it—a human who understood! Whining pitifully, he lay in his basket, his eyes half closed whilst he breathed arduously.
Whilst Piers looked on grimly from the doorway, Georgia rushed over to Ben, getting down on her knees in front of him, quickly checking his pulse and then the rest of him.
To her relief nothing seemed to be wrong, and then, disconcertingly, just as she was about to demand an explanation for his piteous cries from Piers, Ben opened one eye and started to nuzzle hopefully at the pocket where she kept her dog treats.
From behind her Georgia heard Piers saying sardonically, ‘It seems that diagnosis is even less your forte than training…There’s nothing wrong with him.’
‘Where’s Mrs Latham?’ Georgia demanded, hot-faced with chagrin. Piers, it seemed, was quite right—there was nothing wrong with Ben, but there was no way she was going to admit as much.
‘Not here, I’m afraid. Nor will she be here for the next few weeks; she’s having a much needed holiday with her sister, and whilst she’s away I’m going to be staying in loco parentis, so to speak.’
‘She’s left Ben with you? You’re looking after him?’ Georgia queried, unable to hide her feelings.
‘There wasn’t really much alternative. It seems that the kennels weren’t…er…able to take him…’
Georgia’s flush deepened a little as she saw the way Piers was looking at her.
‘You’re staying here, looking after Ben?’ she repeated, swallowing tensely, as though she found the words uncomfortably unpalatable.
‘I’m staying here looking after Ben,’ Piers agreed grimly. ‘And whilst I’m here I am going to look round for a more suitable home for him.’
‘No!’ Georgia protested. ‘You can’t do that. Mrs Latham would never part with him.’
‘My godmother is besotted with the animal, I agree,’ Piers replied acidly. ‘But that does not make theirs in any way a suitable alliance. Far from it…’
‘It isn’t Ben’s fault he’s so…so…so disruptive,’ Georgia defended. ‘If he was properly trained—’
‘If he was properly trained. But that’s the crux of the matter, isn’t it? He is most certainly not in any way trained at all, and in my view—’
‘Setters are scatty when they’re young…but…’
Georgia had no idea why she was defending the dog so fiercely. After all, she had said herself that Ben wasn’t really a suitable dog for Mrs Latham, but something about the way Ben was looking at her, something about the obvious love and the doggy treats and toys which surrounded him touched her heart in a way she could hardly explain to herself, never mind to the tough, uncompromisingly unemotional man standing in front of her.
‘Look, I appreciate that you have a vested interest in him staying here. After all, you were the one who foisted him on my godmother in the first place, weren’t you?’ Piers told her grimly.
Georgia stared at him.
‘No. I…’
‘Don’t bother trying to deny it,’ Piers warned her. ‘My godmother told me herself that you were responsible for her getting Ben.’
Georgia’s heart sank. Mrs Latham had on more than one occasion mentioned how large a part she believed Georgia’s unavoidable absence from the waiting room had played in her becoming Ben’s new owner. But for Piers to claim that she had either actively solicited such a situation or even encouraged it was way beyond the truth. Not that she was going to attempt to tell him so. Why should she? Let him think badly of her if he wished. She didn’t care; why should she?
Just because he had the kind of sexy good looks that made her heart thud and her temperature rise, that did not mean that she was foolish enough to want to solicit his good opinion and ignore her own principles in doing so. Besides, he really wasn’t her type. No, not at all. She liked men with kind, open, honest faces and ready smiles, men who liked animals and understood them. The kind of man she liked would have immediately seen that Ben was as much a victim of the situation as his owner.
Georgia frowned as she looked down at Ben. She had no doubt that Piers would carry out his threat to find him a new home. And if he couldn’t…A horrible mental picture of Ben being dragged into the surgery to face…Georgia swallowed hard. The practice had a rule about not destroying healthy dogs simply because their owners no longer wanted them. But there were other practices…Tears filmed her eyes. Quickly she ducked her head and blinked them away. There was no way anything like that was going to happen to Ben. Not whilst she was around to prevent it.
‘All Ben needs is someone with the skill and the patience to treat him properly. He’s a strong-willed dog but there’s no malice or unkindness in him.’
‘Someone.’ Piers raised his eyebrows. ‘And have you any suggestions where I might find this paragon?’
Both his voice and his expression implied that he already knew that such a task was way beyond her capabilities, and, remembering the chaos of yesterday’s training class, Georgia could understand why.
‘He’s a very intelligent dog,’ she persisted. ‘He could be trained.’
‘But not by you, apparently,’ Piers told her derisively.
Georgia felt her face burn with discomfort. When she had finished her training course the instructor had told her that he had been impressed with her ability to handle the dogs. ‘But you could be a little bit firmer,’ he had added.
‘If I had him on a one-to-one basis then, yes, I could train him,’ Georgia insisted recklessly.
There was a long silence, and then, to her consternation, Piers said coolly, ‘Very well, then, prove it. You’ve got three weeks to persuade me that you’re right.’
Three weeks. Georgia swallowed nervously. What on earth had she done? What on earth had she committed herself to? There were places, she knew, where dogs underwent two-week intensive training courses, guaranteed to have them obeying all the basic commands and walking to heel, but the dogs were boarded at the training school and the trainers spent all day, every day, teaching them. There was no way she could achieve anything like the same effect with a couple of training sessions twice a week for three weeks.
‘It isn’t quite that easy,’ Georgia protested. ‘To train him properly I’d have to have him living with me, and I’m not allowed to have a pet in my flat.’
‘Admit it. You can’t train him,’ Piers challenged her.
Georgia’s eyes darkened to deep purple with the passion of her emotions. ‘I could if I had him living with me,’ she repeated. ‘But, as I’ve just told you, that isn’t possible.’
‘Maybe not, but it is possible for you to come and live with him.’
‘Live with him…?’ Georgia stared at Piers.
‘My godmother has another guest bedroom, and I’m sure, under the circumstances, she wouldn’t have any objection to your moving in here for the duration.’
‘Me…move in here…with you?’ Georgia squeaked.
‘No,’ Piers corrected her gently. ‘You move in here to train Ben.’ And then, even more gently, he explained, ‘If I was inviting you to move in anywhere with me, I promise you the necessity for a spare guest bedroom would not exist!’
Her face scarlet with mortification, Georgia scrambled to her feet.
‘I can’t move in here,’ she said—but then her glance fell to Ben, who was lying peacefully at her feet. He really was the most handsome dog, and his nature was so devoid of any kind of meanness that he deserved a loving owner and a good home. And there was no doubt about the rapport which existed between him and Mrs Latham, even if he did take atrocious advantage of her.
The thought of him being passed on to yet another owner or ending up unwanted in a dogs’ home was just too much for Georgia’s tender heart to bear.
‘I’ll do it,’ she heard herself saying recklessly. ‘I’ll move in and I’ll prove to you just how well-trained a dog Ben can be…’
The derisive look Piers was giving her warned Georgia that he had scant faith in her claim, but that only made her feel all the more determined to prove herself and Ben to him.
Mentally she started to make plans. Coincidentally she had some holiday leave due. If she took it that would give her some extra time with Ben. The practice was within walking distance of Mrs Latham’s house, so she would be able to dash home during her break when she was working to be with him, and then there were her off-duty hours. Three weeks. She could feel the anxiety starting to clutch at the pit of her stomach.
‘Second thoughts?’ she heard Piers asking her sardonically.
‘No,’ she denied firmly. ‘But you will have—once Ben’s trained.’
‘I shan’t hold my breath,’ Piers advised her dryly.
CHAPTER THREE
‘YOU’RE doing what?’ Helen asked Georgia in startled amazement the next day, when Georgia told her what had happened.
‘Not doing, have already done,’ Georgia corrected her wryly. ‘I moved into Mrs Latham’s house yesterday afternoon.’
‘So you’re living with Piers? Mmm…lucky you,’ Helen teased her, rolling her eyes expressively. ‘If I didn’t love David so much…’
‘I am not living with anyone,’ Georgia contradicted her swiftly. ‘I’m simply staying there so that I can train Ben. He’s such a lovely dog, really, Helen, but Piers is determined to put pressure on his godmother to make her get rid of him; I can tell. It will be a strictly business relationship.’
‘I just hope you know what you’re doing,’ Helen told her warningly. ‘You know how keen Philip is on maintaining the right image for the practice, and he does tend to be a little bit old-fashioned. He won’t take it very well if you don’t succeed—your failure reflecting on the reputation and good name of the practice et cetera, et cetera—even more so, I feel, since Piers has put it on a business footing.’
‘Well, I’m under a cloud in Philip’s books already, thanks to Piers,’ Georgia admitted. ‘But I can’t just let him cold-bloodedly send Ben away. Which reminds me, I’m going to have to skip lunch today; I want to go back to the house and do some work with Ben. I took him for a good long walk before I came out this morning.’
‘You did?’ Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘Well, that has to be an achievement all by itself. According to Mrs Latham he hates wearing a collar and pulls like mad on a lead.
‘You did use a lead, didn’t you?’ she demanded when she saw the way Georgia was avoiding looking at her.
‘It was very early in the morning. No one else was about on the river path and I managed to bribe him to come back with some treats,’ Georgia told her defensively. ‘He needed the exercise, Helen; that’s part of the trouble. He isn’t using enough energy.’
‘Mmm…’ was all Helen would allow herself to say.
Piers had been equally unimpressed by the fact that she had walked Ben off his lead. It had been unfortunate that he should have been in the kitchen when she had arrived back with the dog and had seen her coaxing him back into the house with treats.
‘I think my godmother has already taught him that particular message,’ Piers had told her grimly as Ben had refused to come more than a few feet at a time without extra treats. ‘If this is your idea of training him, then—’
‘He needed a walk,’ had been all Georgia would permit herself to say as she’d prepared Ben’s food.
When she had returned to the house the previous day, Piers had been waiting for her and had shown her upstairs to a delightful bedroom complete with its own bathroom.
‘I’m up on the next floor,’ he had informed her, lifting his head in the direction of the ceiling, ‘so we shouldn’t be under one another’s feet too much. Tomorrow, once you’ve had time to settle in, I suggest we draw up a timetable which will allow us both to use the kitchen in privacy, although most evenings I shall probably be eating out.’
Georgia hadn’t said anything for the simple reason that she’d desperately been trying to assimilate the import of the strong surge of disappointment his words had brought her. What was the matter with her? Surely she didn’t want to share her meals with him? Surely she didn’t want to share anything with him? How could she after the antagonism and, yes, dislike, he had shown towards her?
He had also outlined to her the reason why he was staying in his godmother’s house, underlining the fact that when he was working he preferred to do so without any kind of interruption.
‘I wouldn’t dream of interrupting you,’ Georgia began stiffly, but fell silent with fury when he continued as though she hadn’t spoken.
‘Naturally I have no desire to pry into your…private life, but suffice it to say that I also feel it is something that should be conducted in your own home.’
‘If you’re suggesting that I would…that I have—’ she began, and then stopped, contenting herself with a curt, ‘I don’t happen to have the kind of “private life” I suspect you mean, but if there was someone…special…in my life…I can assure you that there is no way I would want to see him or be with him, with you…’ She stopped again as her words threatened to choke her. ‘Anywhere other than…somewhere I could be completely private with him,’ she told Piers shakily.
How dared he suggest that she would indulge in…that she would want to…? The very thought…
Piers watched her with a small frown. There was no mistaking either her sincerity or her vehemence, just as there was equally no mistaking the fierce surge of male pleasure it gave him to know that not only was there no man in her life but also that her attitude betrayed the fact that her sexual experience was probably limited to little more than one relationship—a youthful affair with a fellow student, which she had begun as a virgin and left, though technically a ‘woman’, with very little real experience of true sensuality.
Georgia would have been shocked and chagrined to know what he was thinking, mainly because his thoughts were so accurate. Losing her virginity to her boyfriend at university had seemed to be the right thing to do. She had liked Mark, had trusted him, and had even persuaded herself that she loved him. And for a while perhaps she had, but her sexual intimacy with him had left her feeling that there must be something lacking in her that she should have found it so pedestrian an experience, almost totally lacking in the fireworks and intensity she had imagined. They had parted amicably after just over a year together—Georgia had no regrets about the fact that they had been lovers, only about her own failure to experience the sensations, to feel the ecstasy others seemed so capable of achieving.
Piers had given her her own key to the house and had passed on to her the detailed verbal instructions his godmother had given him as to Ben’s routine and care.
‘He has what?’ Georgia had demanded in bemusement at one point.
‘Bakewell tart on Mondays, cream sponge on Wednesdays and chocolate éclairs on Fridays. Apparently they are his favourite,’ Piers had told her sardonically. ‘Oh, and he likes to wash them down with a mug of tea…’
‘Tea. Well, yes, some dogs do like it,’ Georgia had agreed.
What she couldn’t understand was how Ben managed to stay so healthy-looking and fit on such a patently unhealthy diet and with so little exercise, but when she’d said as much to Piers he’d told her grimly, ‘Oh, but he does have plenty of exercise. Nearly every day, according to my godmother, he manages to escape from the garden, often not returning for close on an hour…’
Which was why she had recently had installed a new dog-proof fence made of strong netting. Georgia had recommended to Mrs Latham that she wire in an underground electric fence, operated via a special unit attached to Ben’s collar, but Mrs Latham had considered it too dangerous for the darling animal!
Georgia had closed her eyes. She really hadn’t wanted to hear any more!
Now she glanced at her watch. It was time for her break.
Ben greeted her with a welcome bark when she let herself into the house, launching himself at her and trying to lick her enthusiastically.
‘Down, Ben,’ she commanded. ‘Down…’
Predictably Ben ignored her. Suppressing a sigh, Georgia went to open the back door. Obligingly Ben followed her.
‘Sit, Ben,’ she commanded once they were outside. Obediently Ben did so.
Amazed, as well as pleased, Georgia went to praise him and give him a treat, but as she reached him Ben nimbly sidestepped her and, with startling speed, raced towards the other end of the garden.
‘Patience and perseverance,’ Georgia repeated determinedly to herself under her breath half an hour later as Ben, having thoroughly enjoyed the game of racing up and down the garden whilst Georgia tried to get him to sit still, stood two feet away from her, tongue lolling, grinning widely.
Georgia closed her eyes and took a deep breath before commanding firmly, ‘Sit, Ben. Sit.’ She grasped his collar with one hand and placed her other firmly on his back.
Ben was a strong dog, though, and from the start it was equally plain to both of them that he was going to win the undignified tussle which ensued. Well, at least Piers wasn’t here to witness Ben’s triumph over her, she told herself as Ben finally grew tired of the game and, with a strong tug, almost pulled her off her feet, causing her to tumble and end up sprawling on the grass.
Her break was over, and so far she had made absolutely no progress whatsoever. Tonight after work she would try a different tack, she promised herself as she managed to coax Ben back into the kitchen before quickly tidying herself up. A long, long walk to burn off some of his energy followed by some walking-to-heel training, and whilst she had him on his lead they could practise some sitting on command as well.
‘How did it go?’ Helen asked her when she was back at work.
‘Don’t ask,’ Georgia responded wearily.
‘Mmm…well, I looked out a couple of animal psychology books for you,’ Helen told her. ‘Perhaps they might help.’
‘If Ben continues to behave the way he did this lunchtime I’m going to be the one needing the psychologist,’ Georgia told her feebly.
‘Remember, per—’
‘Perseverance and patience, I know,’ Georgia agreed. ‘Only Ben already has them both.’
Before leaving work that evening Georgia made a few necessary purchases: a short choke chain to replace Ben’s collar and lead, and some more treats.
Since her training session with Ben had not left her enough time for lunch she was feeling extremely hungry. She had made some chilli the previous day and she was looking forward to eating it along with some of the delicious fresh bread she had bought from the local bakery. However, the first thing that hit her as she walked into the house was the delicious, mouth-watering smell of cooking food. Her stomach started to rumble. Piers was obviously back before her. For some reason she had expected to return before him, and besides, hadn’t he said that he normally ate out?
As she pushed open the kitchen door the first thing she saw was Ben’s empty bed, the second Piers himself, who was standing beside the open oven door stirring something inside it.
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