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‘I think she’s afraid that I’m going to grow fangs as soon as your back’s turned,’ Ryan said with uncanny perception.
‘You could be a serial killer for all we know about you,’ she pointed out nastily.
Dave scratched his head. ‘Well, based on many years of experience observing what we in the psychiatric profession refer to as “total wackos”, I can honestly say that I don’t think that Ryan is one of them.’
“‘Total wackos”?’ Nina echoed faintly.
He grinned. ‘It’s a clinical term—I guess you’d need seven years of medical school to understand it. To put it in layman’s terms, Ryan shows no signs of a psychotic personality.’
Ryan was grinning now, too, and Nina’s feathers were thoroughly ruffled by the male conspiracy.
‘He might just be very good at hiding it,’ she said tartly.
‘That’s true. So what do you want me to do?’ The question was sober, but the glint in his eye was definitely amused. He seemed to guess that she didn’t seriously view Ryan as a physical threat.
She was not going to play head games with someone who was way overqualified to tie her up in embarrassing knots. Who knew what inner secrets she might be tricked into revealing? God, what if she found herself telling him that she and Ryan had already crossed the line between hostess and guest?
As her face burned with guilt, she saw Dave’s speculative gaze suddenly shift to Ryan, who unfortunately was wearing a glaringly obvious poker face.
‘Oh…go home to your wife!’ Nina said in exasperation, waving him towards the door.
‘Right!’ Dave said cheerfully, picking up his coat. ‘Uh-oh, sorry…’ As he opened the door, Zorro had shot in between his legs on mud-soaked paws.
‘Hey, where do you think you’re going, mate!’ Nina’s heart flipped at the hint of Australian drawl, and Zorro screeched to a halt as Ryan stooped and cupped his furry face in his elegant hands to look into his eyes and deliver a stern lecture on consideration for others. ‘You don’t get to run around in here until we’ve got you cleaned up,’ he finished.
Unoffended by the reprimand, Zorro stretched up on his hind legs to try to lick the nose that had just poked itself into his business, a tribute to the new dominant male of the household. Ryan laughed, a rich, vibrant sound of pure enjoyment that made Nina’s heart flip again. Laughing, he was another man entirely—warm and appealing rather than cool and brooding. Looking at him was like peering down a kaleidoscope, each shake of his personality presenting a different arrangement of the disconnected fragments of his life.
‘You know how to handle dogs,’ Dave said from the stoop, fighting the wind to get his arms into his coat. ‘Have you got one yourself?’
‘No, but—’ Ryan lifted his head, his eyes shimmering ‘—but I did have one as a child,’ he said slowly. ‘A big white dog with lots of spots…like in that Disney movie.’ His words were unconsciously boyish. ‘He was a Dalmatian.’
‘Do you remember his name?’
Ryan thought, then shook his head.
‘Spot?’ Nina suggested facetiously.
He shot her a scathing look. ‘I should hope that I was a bit more creative than that!’ He glanced back down at Zorro, his frown suggesting he was struggling to expand the picture in his mind. ‘There was a big yard…and a tree—the dog used to sit in the shade and the leaves’ shadows would look like more spots. But…no…’ He let out a puff of frustration. ‘I can’t remember any more.’
‘That’s the way things usually start coming back,’ Dave encouraged, flicking up his hood against the rain. ‘Distant recollections pop into your mind first, then progressively more recent memories begin to appear. I told you it would happen!’ He went off, smug in the knowledge that his professional reputation was still intact.
Nina shut the door behind him and took a deep breath as she turned to face her unwelcome duty, only to have the wind sucked out of her sails.
‘I know you’re busy, so if you want to go off and paint or whatever, I’ll wash this grubby wretch for you.’ Ryan ruffled Zorro’s head affectionately, not seeming to care about the amount of dirt he was getting on his hands. ‘And once I’ve cleaned up that bag of mine—’ he jerked his head towards the limp mound of expensive leather ‘—I can give this floor a good mopping.’
