When Ildaria stared at him blankly, he grinned and said, “Hang on.”
She watched him move along the counter, and then focused her attention on the pup in her arms when he shifted in her hold so that her hand could reach his belly. Grinning at the silent request, Ildaria rubbed his stomach and then chuckled softly when the dog released a little sound that was part grunt and part sigh and then rolled completely onto his back in her arms and let his legs flop open so she could cover more belly. It was a very trusting move. He was lucky she didn’t drop him, but Ildaria managed to retain her hold and petted his belly as he appeared to want. Much to her amusement the dog closed his eyes then and seemed to fall asleep under her ministrations.
“Little gremlin. He’s never like this with women.”
Ildaria lifted her head to find that G.G. had collected two glasses of a clear, cherry-red liquid over ice and walked around to join her on the client side of the bar.
Settling on the chair next to hers, he placed one of the drinks on the bar in front of Ildaria and then took a sip of the other as he pulled his plate closer. After swallowing the drink, he set the glass down, looked at the dog again and shook his head. “Actually, he’s not like that with anyone but me. You must be a dog whisperer.”
Ildaria smiled faintly as she peered down at the sleeping dog. He was a tiny little thing. Hardly the breed she would have expected a big man like G.G. to have.
“Big dogs need room to run and in the UK I live in a flat four blocks from the club,” he said, as if having read her mind, which as a mortal he couldn’t do. She supposed most people commented on the size of his dog when he continued, “A walk to the Night Club there and back is enough exercise for this little guy.”
He didn’t have to say it wouldn’t be enough for a larger dog. She got that, but asked, “And where do you live here?”
Her gaze slid from G.G. to H.D. as she awaited his answer, imagining the sight the pair must make walking down Toronto streets, a big, scary-looking guy with a Mohawk, tattoos, and piercings, leading the fluffy little fur ball on a leash. Probably a black leather leash with studs or something, she thought, taking note of the dog’s black leather collar with spikes sticking out of it. If it was supposed to make the little fuzz ball look tough, it failed miserably. He was too damned cute to look scary. But she suspected the sight the pair made left most people gaping.
“Right now I’m living in one of the apartments over the club,” G.G. told her. And then lowered his gaze to his plate and frowned before muttering, “If you drink soda, you probably eat too.”
Ildaria raised her eyebrows at the comment. “Not as often as I used to, but si, I still eat.”
G.G. nodded. “Would you like something? I can make you a burger.”
Ildaria considered the offer briefly. She was hungry. It was a sensation she experienced less and less often lately, but which was presently gnawing at her stomach. She didn’t want to make him cook for her though, so promising herself she’d hit a drive-through on her way back to Marguerite’s, she murmured, “Maybe just a fry.”
“Help yourself.” G.G. pushed the plate to rest halfway between the two of them on the counter.
“Thanks,” Ildaria breathed, and left off petting his dog to pluck a french fry from the mountain of greasy goodness.
The moment she bit into it, the dog in her arms sprang awake, his body jerking as if the slight sound were an alarm of some sort. The little mutt then squirmed to turn in her arm and climbed up her chest to sniff her mouth as she chewed. Chuckling, Ildaria caught the little beast and set him back in her lap.
“Ill mannered cretin,” G.G. said with a scowl, scooping the dog out of her lap and setting him on the floor as he said firmly, “We’re eating. Go lay down.”
H.D. merely rose up on his back paws and laid his front paws on the man’s lower legs, his eager gaze sliding from his face to Ildaria’s, his eyes wide and tongue sliding in and out of his mouth eagerly.
Ildaria chuckled at the display, amazed at how human he looked with his big green eyes and lip smacking. Her laughter earned a scowl from G.G. and an exasperated, “Don’t encourage him.” He then turned his gaze back to the dog and repeated firmly, “We’re eating, H.D. Get in your basket.”
H.D. hesitated, the hope dying on his face, but then dropped back to all fours and began to walk slowly back along the bar to the end of it. He was walking as slow as molasses, head and tail down, looking back every couple of steps as if checking to be sure G.G. hadn’t changed his stance on the issue, but G.G. just scowled and eyed him firmly until he disappeared out of sight around the bar.
“Where is he going?” Ildaria asked, raising herself up enough to see over the bar again.
“I put his bed behind the bar so he could stay with me until we open,” G.G. said, picking up his burger.
“Oh.” She settled back in her seat as he took a bite, and then commented, “Marguerite didn’t mention that you brought your dog to the club. I’d have come in to check out the place sooner if I’d realized that.”
G.G. shook his head as he chewed and swallowed, and then said, “I don’t usually. But his sitter didn’t come in today and I didn’t want to leave him at home alone.”
Ildaria’s eyebrows rose. “You have a sitter for your dog?”
“Have to. The little monster eats things he shouldn’t if he’s left alone. And I don’t mean human food.”
“Like what?” she asked with interest.
“Shoes, rugs, clothing . . . my razor.”
“Razor?” she squawked with alarm. “Was he all right?”
“It was a cordless electric razor,” G.G. said on a sigh. “He chewed off those little round blade things. Didn’t swallow any of the pieces, though, before I caught him.”
“Oh.” She relaxed a bit.
“He destroyed the razor though,” G.G. added with irritation. “I was pretty pissed.”
“I can imagine,” Ildaria murmured.
“Not as pissed as I was when he ate my passport, though,” he grumbled and bit viciously into his burger.
“Your passport?” she asked on a disbelieving laugh.
G.G. grimaced and nodded as he chewed, but once he’d swallowed, he added, “I was packing and it was lying on the bed next to my suitcase. I left the room, came back and he was chewing on it. He’d already managed to eat a corner of it, the one with the bar code.” Shaking his head with disgust, he added, “This was ten o’clock at night, the evening before I was supposed to fly back to London. I had to cancel the flight and arrange for a new passport. I was not a happy camper.”
“Oh, dear,” Ildaria murmured and then bit her lip to keep from laughing at the gloomy irritation on his face.
G.G. took another bite of his burger, chewed, swallowed and then said, “The worst, though, was the cashier’s check he demolished.”
“Cashier’s check?” she asked, her eyebrows rising.
G.G. nodded glumly. “A hundred thousand dollar cashier’s check. The down payment on this place when I bought it from Lucern. It was on the dresser in my hotel room. I had an hour before my meeting with Lucern and the lawyers, went to take a shower, came back out and he’d jumped on the chair next to the dresser, got a hold of the check and was curled up in the chair eating it like it was a dog bone.”