Читать книгу How To Get Your Man - Elizabeth Harbison - Страница 11

The key to making a man fall in love with you is making him feel comfortable around you. One of the best ways to achieve this is by a little technique I like to call “mirror breathing.”

Next time you’re together, watch his breathing pattern and match yours to his. When he breathes in, you breathe in. When he breathes out, you breathe out. This sends a subconscious signal to the man that you are on the same frequency and that, thus, you are a safe person to open up to.

The results will amaze you.

—Leticia Bancroft, How To Seduce Your

Dream Man

It was just bad luck to run into Dalton Price at the Tappen Home Center that night.

“The building has approved colors if you’re planning to redecorate, you know.” He nodded at the handful of paint samples she was holding.

“These aren’t for me.” She paused and looked at him. “Approved colors? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Yup.” They edged toward the long checkout line. “I am. You can paint the whole damn building pink if you want.”

“Gee, thanks. Then you get paid for my work, huh?”

“You always think the worst of me, don’t you, Bon?”

“That doesn’t seem to bother you.”

He grinned. “Nah. I know you’re just fighting an attraction to me.”

With that smile, he could almost be right. But Bonnie had already fought her attraction to him, and won. A long, long time ago.

“So, what are you doing here?” she asked, watching him put a collection of screwdriver bits, some duct tape and a fancy new showerhead on the conveyer belt. “I suppose I shouldn’t dare to hope that’s to fix my shower.”

“Actually—” he handed a platinum credit card to the cashier “—it is.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”

He nodded.

“Gosh, the landlord’s getting generous.”

He hesitated, then signed the charge slip and took his bags. “The building’s changing hands. I guess the new owner wants to make a better impression than the last guy.”

“Hm. As long as he doesn’t want to make a lot more money than the last guy, we’ll be all right. And as long as he doesn’t make too many changes.” She’d lived in the old building for five years now, ever since she’d graduated from college and come back to Tappen. She loved the place. Loved its old fixtures, glass doorknobs, carved wooden doors and clanging fire escapes. Sure, everything needed work, but she hoped to heaven the place hadn’t been bought by some up-start who wanted to turn it into one of those generic boxes that were springing up all over the suburbs.

“I don’t think you’ve got to worry,” Dalton said as they stepped into the crisp evening air outside the Home Center.

She shrugged. “I hope not.”

He indicated a beat-up Toyota parked in front of the store. “So, you want a ride back?”

“No, thanks, I can use the walk.”

“Eight blocks? With your arms full like that? Come on, Bon. It’s cold out here.”

A cold front had moved in, and it was crisp, even for November. “Don’t worry about me.” She opened her purse to stuff the paint samples in but lost her grip on the strap and the whole thing dropped to the ground.

How To Seduce Your Dream Man was, of course, the first thing to plunk out onto the sidewalk.

“Let me help you.” Dalton bent down to help gather the things that had spilled.

“No—”

But it was too late. He took the book in hand and stood up.

“How to seduce your dream man?” He looked at the book, then at Bonnie, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

Her cheeks flamed. “It’s not mine. It’s for a campaign I’m working on.” She snatched the book away from him and shoved it into her purse, not caring what she bent, broke or shattered in doing so, just as long as it was out of sight.

“A campaign.”

“Yes. For a very important client.”

“Hm.” He went to his car and opened the back door, saying over his shoulder, “Hell, I could tell you a hundred ways to get a guy right now. For the sake of your client, I mean.”

“Like…?”

He put his bags on the seat, shut the door and came back to her. “Like stop dressing like an old lady.”

“Me?”

He moved fractionally closer and she felt his warmth move into her space. “Yeah, you.” He reached over to undo her top two buttons. His fingertips brushed against her skin, leaving a small trail of tingles after his touch.

Her breath caught in her throat and for just a split second she felt like a blushing teenager.

She stepped back. “Keep your hands off me!”

He gave a laugh. “You’ve been saying that since high school. Loosen up a little.”

She swallowed hard, still reeling from her reaction to his touch more than his impertinence. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”

He gave a rakish grin. “But I meant something different back then. Back then I was just trying to help me. Now I’m trying to help you.”

“I think you even said that in high school.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Man, if I’d known you were actually listening to what I was saying, I would have been a lot more careful.”

“You probably should have been anyway.” She wondered if he remembered the one single night they’d spent together as well as she did. She wondered if he knew it had been her first time and that when he hadn’t called her back, it had made her feel cheap and tawdry.

“I’m going,” she said, taking a step away. “See you later.”

He watched her for a moment, frowning. “What did I say?”

“Nothing.” She wasn’t about to admit she was still holding on to a hurt that he’d inflicted eleven years ago. “I just want to get walking.”

“Bon—” He came up behind her and took her by the arm, turning her to face him. “What’s wrong?” His face was serious, still. Handsome in the twilight.

“Dalton, nothing’s wrong. Can’t a girl get some exercise if she wants to? It’s a nice night, I just want to walk.”

He studied her for a moment and she stood still under his scrutiny. “If that’s all it is.”

“That’s all it is,” she assured him.

“Because I didn’t mean to say anything that would hurt you.”

It wouldn’t be fair to make the man pay for a mistake the boy had made so long ago. She gave a smile. “Careful, Dalton. Someone might think you care.”

His blue eyes narrowed, tweaking laugh lines she hadn’t noticed for a long time. “Does someone actually think I don’t?”

Her throat went tight. So did her chest. That he could elicit this kind of response from her troubled her more than anything else. “Don’t go soft on me.”

He shook his head, a smile denting his cheek. “I’d never do that.”

Well, she’d set herself up for that one. “Go home, Dalton.” She turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until she finally heard his car rumble to life and drive past her.

Only then did she relax.

The next day, Bonnie discovered that Leticia Bancroft’s mirror-breathing technique was a disaster.

Bonnie had never realized before just how hard it was to breathe consciously. In when Mark breathed in, out when he exhaled. It took so much concentration, she could barely think about anything else.

Maybe if they’d been lying quietly in bed—a scenario she liked—she could have done it, but with him sitting at a table in front of her, moving every once in awhile to get papers or artwork or whatever, she couldn’t keep up.

When he eventually looked at her and asked if she was hyperventilating—his hand hovering over the telephone, ready to call for help—she decided to give up.

“It was so embarrassing,” she said to Paula later that night at Bungalow Billiards, a little dive of a bar in Tappen. “The idea, as I understood it, was that this was supposed to create a subconscious feeling of comfort in him. It wasn’t supposed to make me look ill.”

Paula downed a big gulp of beer. “Frankly I think all of this makes you look ill. Think about it, you’re reading a book on how to make a man fall in love with you!”

Bonnie squeezed a slice of lime into her club soda. “I’ve been back here for five years, working five days a week in a bustling metropolis that you would think would have men to spare, yet I’ve met no one interesting. Mark is the first guy I’ve really thought might be It. I mean, if you look at his stats, he’s perfect for me.” She shrugged. “I’ve got to do what I can.”

“His stats? What about chemistry?”

Bonnie shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, chemistry has failed me far too often. I’m not listening to that anymore. I’m listening to my head on this one, and my head tells me Mark is perfect for me.”

Paula looked skeptical. “Then I think you ought to consider Dalton’s offer. Get a real guy’s take on seduction, not some highfalutin semi-psychologist’s.”

“For one thing, Dalton wasn’t really offering anything except snide commentary. And for another thing, I stopped trusting Dalton Price’s judgment a long time ago.”

“He’s a guy. You can’t argue with that.”

“No. I can’t.”

“A guy who knows women.”

“Tons of them.”

“That makes him an expert in my book.”

“Well, in my book, that makes him something else.” She took a sip of soda. “Look, Bancroft has got the numbers behind her. I looked at her Web site. Over a thousand women have reported marriage proposals that they attribute directly to her book, and that’s just over the past three months. She’s onto something.”

“I’ll say,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “She knows how to make money off of desperate women.”

Paula stifled a laugh and Bonnie turned around. “Dalton. How nice to see you again.”

He signaled the bartender for a beer and said to Bonnie, “So that book was for a client, huh?”

Her face warmed. “One of my favorites.”

He smiled. “Mine, too. Come on, Bon. You like a guy, he likes you, what’s the problem? Be yourself. Why use tricks?”

“Because the guy doesn’t know she exists,” Paula interjected.

Bonnie shot her a look before turning back to Dalton. “Maybe not, but he will soon.”

“If a guy doesn’t know you exist, he’s got to be blind.” Dalton took the beer the bartender handed him, sloshing some over the side and onto the scarred wooden bar top.

Bonnie flushed at his compliment. Why did he affect her this way? This was Dalton Price, for crying out loud. “From your lips—”

“Speaking of lips,” he said, pulling up a bar stool and sitting uncomfortably close to her. “What’s with the red lipstick?”

Red lips remind men, on a primal level, of the fruit of your sex, ripe for the picking.—Leticia Bancroft.

“Nothing,” Bonnie said.

“In the book, huh?”

She didn’t answer.

A drunk swaggered up and asked Paula to dance. She accepted and bounced out to the dance floor, leaving Dalton and Bonnie alone.

“Look, I need to talk to you about something else,” Dalton said, dragging the basket of pretzels closer to him. “I need a favor.”

“Did you fix my shower?”

“I did.”

She smiled. “Okay, shoot.”

“You know how I told you the building had a new owner?”

She nodded.

“Yeah, well, it’s me.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You? You bought the building?” She thought of Elissa, and her future security, and felt a warm ember of pride in her chest.

“You don’t need to sound so surprised. It wasn’t like I just wanted to clean it up for someone else for the rest of my life. I was checking the place out.”

“But how did you swing it? That place must have cost a fortune!”

He looked a little taken aback. “I’ve got some resources.”

Bonnie could have kicked herself. She really needed to be more careful and think before speaking. “Of course you do, I didn’t mean—”

“Whatever. Here’s the thing. I want to fix the place up and get some advertising going. We only have sixty percent occupancy at the moment.”

“I kind of like the emptiness.”

He shook his head. “Much as I’d like to please you, I’d prefer to have more renters.”

“Of course,” she acknowledged. “But what can I do? I’m no Realtor.”

“You’re in advertising. You’re surrounded by people who spend their lives making things look appealing to the public.”

She was glad he didn’t add a codicil about the exception of herself in drab green clothes and red lipstick. “True. But real estate…” She shook her head. “If you wanted to sell toothpaste, I’m a pro.”

“I’ll keep it in mind. Meantime, can you recommend someone who might want to take on some freelance ad work?”

So he wasn’t even asking her to do it? “Someone else? Not me?”

He drank some beer and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Is that what you thought? I was asking you to do it?”

She took a pretzel from the basket in front of him. “What are you saying, you don’t trust me to do it?”

“You just said you can only sell toothpaste.”

“I didn’t say I could only sell toothpaste. All I meant was, yours is a different job than I’m used to doing.”

He shrugged. “And you don’t feel capable of handling it on your own. I get that.”

“Hey, it’s not rocket science. I think I could handle it.”

“Yeah? Hey, thanks for offering.” He gave a broad smile. “I’ll take you up on that.”

Once again, Dalton had steered the conversation to his benefit. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean—” She couldn’t give him this. “What’s in it for me?”

“I could pay you, of course. Or—” he smiled “—we could barter.”

“Barter?”

He nodded. “I help you get your guy.”

Her face went hot. It felt like far too many people knew about her quest for—and inability to get—Mark Ford. “Seriously, Dalton.”

“I am serious. Money has a finite value, but the wisdom of experience…” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “Priceless. I can unlock the secrets of seduction for you.”

She gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not interested in hands-on training, you know.”

“There’s no better way to learn.”

She scoffed and started to turn away. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

He stopped her. “But first things first. You need the basics.”

“Now you’re saying I don’t even have the basics?”

“Oh, you’ve got ’em all right. You’re just not using them. You’re going about this all wrong.”

“Meaning…?”

“The lipstick, the ugly clothes. Forget it. If you really want this undeserving slob, I can help you get him.” He shrugged. “Or I could pay you and you could go out and burn more bucks on bad advice. Whatever you want.”

She wanted Mark. And she had to admit that the Bancroft method wasn’t really going all that well.

But what if Dalton was wrong, too? He knew how to get women, God knew, but that didn’t automatically mean he knew how women could get men. Men like him, maybe, but a guy like Mark Ford? Maybe she was better off sticking with the advice of an expert like Leticia Bancroft.

“I’ll think about it,” she said.

Dalton raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. His eyes were bright with amusement. “You don’t think I can help you.”

“What?”

He’d always, always, always been able to read her.

It drove her absolutely nuts.

“I wasn’t born with blue blood so you don’t think I can help you get some guy who was.”

She did think that. “No, I don’t.”

He laughed outright. “Sure you do. You also think you have to be Miss Park Avenue 2005 in order to snag a guy who’s gainfully employed in midtown, which would explain your recent change of wardrobe.” He looked her up and down. “This guy work in your building?”

“That doesn’t make any difference.”

“So he does. I knew it. I bet he went to one of those fancy Ivy League schools too, right?”

After a moment of contemplating denial, she nodded.

“That’s why you’ve got this preppy look going on. You believe you need to look like the girls he’s been around all his life. And like everything you believe, you’re going to have a hell of a time letting go of that idea.”

“See, this is exactly why you can’t help me,” Bonnie said, trying to deflect some of the attention from herself and how right he was about her. “You always think you know better than I do.”

“I usually do.”

“Not this time.”

“Okay.” He gave a broad shrug. “Do it your way. This should be fun. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next. Vanilla perfume to make him think of Mom? Feathers in your hair to make him feel free?” He downed his beer and started to walk away.

Studies show that men react to the scents of vanilla and pumpkin pie. Try to incorporate those scents subtly into your environment, to make him relax.—Leticia Bancroft.

“Wait,” Bonnie called.

He stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”

“Are you a betting man?”

He gave a lazy smile and leaned against the bar. “What do you have in mind?”

She nodded toward the pool tables. “One game. If I win, I get—” she considered “—one month’s rent free.”

He looked skeptical. “And if I win?”

“I’ll try this seduction thing your way.”

He scoffed. “Sounds like I’m doing the work either way. And you win either way.” He shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

“Oh, okay, okay, if you win we’ll do it your way and I’ll create an ad campaign of some sort for you.”

He considered this. “Far as I’m concerned, that’s an even trade, not a winning bet.”

She sighed. He was smarter than the average Tappen guy. Always had been. “So what else do you want?”

He thought for a moment, then a smile curved his lips. “As I recall, you were a pretty good cook.”

She frowned. “And?”

“And I like to eat. So does Elissa.” He tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it in his mouth. “So how about this: add five meals, my call, and you’ve got a deal.”

“And if I win I get two months’ rent free.”

“One.”

“One and a half.”

“One.”

He’d wear her down, she knew it. That was how she’d lost her virginity to him. “Okay. Deal.”

“And you can’t deviate from my plan to get your guy. You’ve got to do everything I say.”

“Within reason.” Something tremored through her. Excitement at the possibility of winning over Mark Ford? Reluctance to take the advice of a guy who had, himself, broken her heart? She honestly couldn’t say.

“Honey, I’m always reasonable.”

There was that tremor again.

They went to the vacant pool table by the window and Dalton racked the balls while Bonnie took out a cue and chalked the tip.

Dalton turned and watched her for a moment. “Not so hard. You’re gonna break something.”

She looked at the chalk, which was falling in crumbles to the ground. He was making her nervous, that was all. She blew the residue off the top of the cue and set the chalk down.

“Consider that your first lesson,” Dalton said devilishly.

“In—” She realized what he meant. “Oh, jeez, Dalton. Keep your mind out of the gutter.”

“And you get off your high horse.” He stepped back and gestured for her to break. “Consider that lesson two. A little gutter thinking could only help your cause.”

“There’s a difference between sex and the gutter, you know.”

His smile was sly. “It’s a fine line.”

He was kidding, and it was obnoxious, but she was struck by how sexy he still was. Suddenly she remembered what it felt like to fall for Dalton. She recalled the feeling of being with him in the back seat of his old Chevy Impala, remembered the feel of his muscular body, the taste of him, the smell of him. After eleven years the memory should have faded, but it hadn’t.

Eager to push the thoughts aside, she bent over the table and broke the balls with a loud crack. The heavy balls scattered, bouncing off the velvet walls of the table. The cue ball jumped the side and dropped heavily onto the floor.

Dalton looked at the cue ball for a moment, then calmly bent over, picked it up and set it on the table.

“Something on your mind?” he asked, straight-faced.

“I think it’s your turn.”

He laughed and dropped two striped balls into pockets before scratching. Bonnie took a cleansing breath and made one clean shot, six ball into the corner pocket.

After that, her game improved considerably and for a good half she was ahead. She was already counting the money she’d save with a month off from rent when Dalton had a long streak of good luck. He won by a single point.

“I’m thinking I’m in the mood for spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, with a languorous stretch. “With garlic bread. The real kind, not that stuff you buy at the grocery store.”

“You’re going to stink.”

“That’s right.” He smiled. “Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I’m starving.”

“I demand a rematch.”

He shook his head. “This one was too close for comfort. Think I’m gonna take a chance on losing out on all that home cooking? I’m no fool.”

Bonnie heaved a long sigh. “I hope you’re not,” she said. “Suddenly it seems my future rides on it.”