Page 34 of Butterfly

She examines his eyes, gums, and heart while Dart licks her hand and puts his big head on her lap. Lucky bastard.

“Since I can’t put a cone collar on Dart, I’ve brought you this.” She rubs his belly, and the cheeky sod exposes it, begging for more. From her bag, she takes out a rubber sock. “It’s for his hind leg in case the wound itches and he scratches himself. He won’t like it, but it’s important he doesn’t scratch the wound or it’ll get infected.”

“Of course, thanks.” My fingers brush hers when she hands me the sock. “That earns you a dessert at the end of our dinner.” I’ll remind her of our deal any time I can. No mercy. She won’t escape this time.

“Oh, right.” Her long eyelashes flutter over her cheeks. “When would you like to go?” The enthusiasm I wish to hear isn’t there.

“As soon as Dart is better. In a few days, I have to go to L.A. for a promo tour.” Shit. When do I have time to take her out? Didn’t check my calendar. “Are you hungry?”

“A bit. I slept almost all afternoon, then went to a yoga class, and didn’t have time to have lunch.”

She must be super flexible. Cue my gaze travelling down her legs.

She notices my stare and flushes. That bloody flush will give me wet dreams. I wonder if she flushes like that when she’s having sex.

“Have you been doing yoga for a long time?” I ask.

“Years.” Another flush. Sod it. My balls tighten. “I started when I was in secondary school, along with singing lessons.”

“I studied singing as well at school, but I hated it.”

Dart gives a huff, agreeing with me.

Her stomach rumbles, and she laughs, a hand on her belly. “Sorry.”

“I’ll put something together to eat.” I stand up. “But that doesn’t count as our dinner. That will be somewhere fancy.”

She laughs again, a sound so bright and happy that even Dart’s ears pull up. “Let me help.”

I’m not much of a cook, mostly because I don’t have time to cook, but I enjoy it, and Mum taught me a thing or two. As I stir-fry chopped capsicums, mushrooms, and spinach in a pan, Sienna prepares the salad. We don’t talk, but the silence is comfortable, strangely familiar. Only the sound of the sizzling oil fills the kitchen.

She spies on me as she adds green olives to the salad. “May I ask how much this house was? It’s in the centre of London and has a huge garden. It must be worth a fortune.”

I lift a shoulder, not sure I want to talk about money. It seems a sensitive topic to her. “A little over a couple of million pounds.”

“Wow.” She stops chopping the tomatoes, her lips parting and not in a good way.

“It’s not a lot, considering there are houses well over the five-million mark.” I wave the wooden spoon to encompass the whole damn city.

“I guess you don’t have a mortgage.” Is there a strained note in her voice?

“Do you?”

“Two.” Her shoulders slump. “My student loan and my flat, although I was lucky with the last one.”

“It’s central, isn’t it?” I hope I don’t sound too curious, but I want to see where she lives.

“Yes, close to the clinic, within walking distance. A sweet old lady sold it to me after I took care of her Yorkshire terrier. We became friends, and when she left London to move to Bath, where her sister lives, she sold me her flat for a ridiculously low price.” She clicks her tongue. “Still, I have sixty thousand pounds to pay, plus the student loan. Depressing.”

Shit. I could pay her mortgage tonight with one click and not even notice the absence of that money. My last car was sixty thousand pounds. She doesn’t ask anything else, but if the merciless set of her jaw is any indication, the conversation about money has put her off. What am I supposed to do, lie about my wealth?

I finish cooking the veggies and add the chopped salmon, the silence now a little strained. When everything is ready, we sit at the dining table in front of the fire. Dart pads across the room, his big nose sniffing the air before he decides that walking is too much of an effort and collapses on the sofa.

Sitting across from me with the soft lights suffusing her face, Sienna looks serious and ethereal. Something is bothering her, judging by the frown between her eyebrows. Still the bloody money?

“What is it?” I ask, sipping my glass of wine.

“What?” The frown disappears as she gazes at me.

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