‘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.
‘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.
‘What have you done with Ben?’ she demanded anxiously, her glance swivelling back to the empty bed.
‘I’ve put him outside until after I’ve had my supper,’ Piers informed her grimly.
‘What...? Why...? That’s...’ Georgia stopped as her stomach rumbled protestingly again, and so loudly that she knew Piers must have heard it.
‘Didn’t you eat lunch?’ Piers asked her, his eyebrows raised.
‘I...I didn’t have time... I...I was training Ben...’
‘Ah...’ The look Piers was giving her spoke volumes, and Georgia could feel her face starting to burn.
‘Yes, quite successfully actually,’ she fibbed defiantly, tossing her head.
‘Mmm...I saw you,’ Piers told her, to her consternation.
‘Y-you saw me?’ Georgia stammered. ‘But you couldn’t have done; you were out...’
Calmly Piers shook his head. ‘No,’ he corrected her. ‘I was upstairs working... Tell me...just where in the training manual does it encourage allowing the dog to get you to sit...or were you simply demonstrating to him what you required him to do?’ he asked sarcastically.
Angrily Georgia gritted her teeth. There was nothing she could say—not right now. Let him taunt her—it would only make her all the more determined to prove him wrong.
‘You mentioned something about drawing up a rota for using the kitchen,’ she told him stiffly. ‘Perhaps when you’ve finished your meal...’
She’d seen the look he gave her as she’d stressed the word ‘you’, but, instead of retaliating, to her astonishment he simply said, ‘I think on this occasion it might facilitate matters if we ate together. There’s enough for two.’
She was going to refuse. Georgia knew that she had even opened her mouth to do so. But, for some unexplainable reason, the words that actually came out turned out to be a husky acceptance of Piers’s unexpected offer.
‘It’s chicken in white wine sauce with new potatoes and salad,’ he informed her. ‘But if you don’t—’
‘It sounds delicious,’ Georgia assured him quickly.
Ten minutes later she was able to confirm that the chicken tasted as delicious as it had sounded.
She had a good healthy appetite, something very rare in her sex in Piers’s experience, and he watched her enjoy her meal with a relish that was totally innocently sensual. Everything about her glowed with good health, from the shine of her curls to the peachy gleam of her skin. Naked, her body would be firm and warm-fleshed, her breasts high and full, her waist so narrow he could span it with his hands, her hips flaring into the feminine curves of her thighs. Would the silky curls protecting her sex be as richly coloured as those on her head? Piers realised with a sharp jolt just where his thoughts were taking him and got up from the table, asking Georgia tersely, ‘Coffee?’
A little uncertainly Georgia nodded in acceptance, wondering what it was she had done that had caused him to frown so fiercely—and why she should care.
‘The chicken was delicious. Thank you,’ she told him formally as she too got up and carried her plate over to the sink, to rinse it before placing it in the dishwasher. Once she had finished this chore she added, as she heard Ben scratching furiously at the back door, ‘I’d better let him in.’
Piers made no comment, merely pouring boiling water on to the coffee and then waiting until Georgia had opened the door to admit Ben before asking her, ‘Milk?’