“It’s not for you.”

Ildaria blinked at that growled announcement in a thick British accent and dragged her gaze from the delicious smelling food to the man’s face to see that he wasn’t looking at her. He was peering down toward . . . his groin? Confusion filled her at that realization. He couldn’t be talking to his penis. She didn’t think. Shaking her head, she said, “I didn’t presume it was for me.”

The big man stopped walking and jerked his head up at her words, his eyes widening when he saw her standing there. “Marguerite’s Ildaria?”

“Si.” She started forward again.

“Hi.” He smiled and then added, “Sorry. I wasn’t talking to you, I was addressing my . . . Arsehole!” he ended with irritation and did a little shuffling dance.

“You were addressing your arsehole?” she asked, amusement curving her lips as she reached the bar and stopped between two stools.

Looking flustered now, the man shook his head and then scowled down at something she obviously couldn’t see below the bar. “No. I—” Pausing, he did another little shimmying dance and barked, “Dammit H.D.! Stop that! You aren’t getting any food.”

Curiosity rising within her, Ildaria stepped up on the brass rail that ran along the bottom of the bar and leaned over the dark stone top to peer at the floor on the other side.

“Oh, my,” she murmured and then bit her lip to hold back a burst of laughter when she saw the tiny, cream-colored ball of fur that was presently humping the huge man’s ankle. It looked like a fluffy teddy bear come to life, and he was really romancing the big guy’s ankle.

“Your dog?” she asked mildly.

“Yeah,” he grunted, giving his leg another shake in an effort to dislodge the determined little guy.

“What kind?” she asked with interest.

“Bichonpoo,” the man said still glaring down at the dog, and explained, “Bichon Frise and toy poodle mix.”

“Oh.” Ildaria nodded, a grin pulling her lips wider as H.D. refused to be removed and continued to hump at the big man’s lower leg. Lifting her gaze to the plate the man was holding, she snatched a french fry from the pile and tossed it to the dog. The pup was immediately off the man’s leg and leaping to catch the treat. Really, it was an impressive catch. He got some serious height in his jump to snatch that fry out of midair. As the dog dropped to the floor to gobble up his prize, the man heaved a sigh, drawing her attention back to him.

Ildaria’s gaze moved with interest over his muscular body before sliding up to his head. When Marguerite had asked her if she’d mind stopping to pick up some blood from the Night Club on the way back from the university, she’d said the man she would be getting it from was G.G. which stood for Green Giant. Ildaria had immediately asked why he was called that, but the other woman had merely smiled and said she’d understand when she met him. Her gaze moving over the green strands of hair standing up stiff on his head in a Mohawk, Ildaria understood.