Читать книгу How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates - Jane Linfoot - Страница 7

MILLIE stretched out on Ed’s threadbare sofa, loving the tea-lights placed at intervals around the floor edge, and the flickering shadows which danced up the rough stone walls.

‘You okay there?’ Ed leaned over the back of the sofa, and gave her quilt a tweak.

Was that a glimmer of a smile playing across his mouth, or just another ironic grimace? She’d definitely got her gratitude-goggles on here.

‘Yep.’ She nodded. Way more than okay in fact. Try couldn’t be better. Perfect even.

Indian take-away, watching the sun go down on the terrace-to-be outside the huge barn doors, and washed down with alcohol-free beer, in case there was an emergency later. Bossy Ed had come through. So far, he was looking like a whole lot more than just a pretty face. And then all rounded off with luxury ice-cream. Now he was looking like a god. Not necessarily the best news for her, with her strict man-ban in place.

‘The barn’s still a work in progress, obviously. We’ve stripped out, done the roof and drains, and enough electrics to run a fridge. Should be good for a night of summer camping.’ As he craned his neck scanning the roof timbers, she reeled as one glimpse of the exposed column of his throat fired a shiver down her back. Then he sent her a grimace so close to a smile it made her tummy tumble into free-fall. ‘Better than hospital, I guess.’

‘You bet.’ The secret cat-who-got-the-ice-cream grin she’d been guarding made a surprise escape, somehow plastering itself from ear to ear. Hopefully he’d turned away before he saw.

As for her man-ban, he’d given her no reason to think she had any chance with him. On the contrary, he was keeping his distance.

‘So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll get on with that work I told you about.’ He sauntered to the table by the doors, flopped onto a chair and opened his lap-top.

There you go. Point made. One more flip of her stomach as she took in those long legs, and the chiseled perfection of his cheekbones in the last of the daylight. Unusually, she didn’t correct herself. For one night only, given she had a head injury, she would let her mental tongue hang out.

Now he’d lost the bad temper, if you overlooked his gloriously decorative side, there was something reassuringly basic and normal about this guy, sitting in his stripped out barn. It was going to be years before she had consolidated her independence enough to consider hooking up with anyone again, but when she did, she hoped it could be with someone like this. Someone hard working. Honest. As far away from trust-fund-on-a-plate Josh, and his rich-boy throw-away morals as she could get.

‘Another beer? Hot chocolate? Ibuprofen?’ Ed was at the fridge now, waggling a bottle. Smart black fridge too. She liked that. A bit like the one back home at her parents’ place in London. Expensive, then. Good to see he’d got his chilled-beer priorities right.

‘No thanks to all of those, I’m good.’ Another escaping grin.

And thinking of home, she knew her family would blow a fuse when she chose to settle down with someone ordinary, so lucky it was a long way off then. Hopefully by that time she’d have proved she was capable of living without the intervention of their wealth, and was capable of making her own decisions, her own mistakes. She’d been independent of them for almost a year now, and although at times it had been tough, she knew that was how she had to play it. She had to be her own person.

‘I’ve a lot to do here; I’ll be busy for the next few hours at least.’ He screwed the top off his beer as he walked back to the table and took a swig. Exposed his beautiful, kissable throat. Again. ‘Settle down whenever you want. I’ll leave the candles to burn. They should last beyond dawn.’

A shame he’d dismissed her so firmly. She’d have liked to know why a guy who appeared from the quarry in ripped jeans had so many hours of lap-top work to do. Costing out the building work perhaps? Too late to ask. She’d probably never find out now.

Pulling the quilt up under her chin, she felt a pang of disappointment that she’d dashed to sponge the blood out of her scalp, rush on some make-up, and pile up her hair, and he’d still shown no sign of noticing she existed. Not that she’d wanted him to. But as she closed her eyes to sleep, a tiny part of her was hoping she’d have the same dream as this morning. Okay, come clean. A large part. How ridiculous was that?

That when she woke up, it would be to find him giving her the second snog of her life.

***

Millie was woken at the crack of dawn, not by Ed snogging her socks off sadly, but by Ed shaking her shoulder, and bellowing in her ear.

‘It’s six thirty! The builders are on their way. I need to get you home.’

Less of the chocolate, more of the fog-horn voice this morning.

She groaned, dragged her fingers through her hair, and groaned again. ‘Sorry – I’m not a daybreak person!’

‘I gathered that already. Well done anyway. You’ve survived your twelve hours of surveillance, and now it’s time to go!’ He was sounding disgustingly awake, standing by the door, laptop in one hand, take-away rubbish and empties in a carrier in the other. ‘Whenever you’re ready … ’

Twenty minutes later, she was unceremoniously ejected from the Land Rover outside her front door, and he’d driven off in a cloud of dust before she even had time to thank him.

***

There was definitely something to be said for a dawn start. By nine, Millie had caught up on most of what she’d missed yesterday, and was about to head for a shower when she heard the sound of hooves on gravel, and caught the un-mistakable neigh of Cracker the pony, on his way home.

Blast. She’d been hoping to make herself presentable, and then go up to the quarry to collect Cracker herself. Not that she wanted to attract the attention of anyone special, obviously, but simply to prove she wasn’t always mud-streaked and bloodied, although seeing Cracker dragging Ed headlong into the yard more than made up for that disappointment.

‘One mad pony and you’re more than welcome to him after what he’s just put me through.’ Ed threw the reins at her, then delved into a pocket, and flipped out her missing phone. Same jeans, same shirt, same glorious body. But this time the thunderous brows lifted as his face split into a self-deprecating grin. He followed at a safe distance as she led the suddenly compliant pony towards his stable. ‘Busy morning?’

She gave a ‘whatever’ shrug, tried to stop her head spinning from the heat of him. ‘Sorted out a dance sequence for a private lesson this afternoon at the Country Club, though who knows why anyone would want to dance to Santa Baby, in July.’ Accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to mention the ‘B-for-burlesque’ word. ‘Packed up an order of my boxes to send to London, so now Cracker’s home safely, I’ll head out to the post office.’

His gaze honed in on her mucking-out shorts.

‘After a shower, obviously.’ And she thought he hadn’t noticed her! How bad did she look? ‘Thanks for last night, by the way. You saved my life twice yesterday.’ She smiled, dipping as far behind her dangling hair as she could, as the thought of the snog made her cheeks whoosh scarlet. ‘Anything I can do in return, just let me know.’

A last throwaway comment, meant politely, not needing a reply.

‘You’re welcome. All in a day’s work for a Super-hero.’ Inscrutable. No trace of embarrassment, at all. ‘And there is something, something you can do, that is … ’

‘Yes?’ She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, her heart belting her chest wall as she waited.

‘Come out with me tonight.’ Just like that. Cool as a chilled beer. Unleashing a waterfall of shivers to cascade down her neck.

Oh lordy. ‘You got me there, I’m sorry, I don’t think so, I don’t … ’

Now he was the one narrowing his eyes, staring like she was gone out, planting his hands on his hips. Definitely not happy.

‘Let's get this clear. I saved your life twice, and you’re refusing me a date? Don’t even think about it.’ Chocolate voice like an incendiary now.

It was her turn to be chilled as a cool thing. Icey. Decided.

‘I was planning to make you a thank-you batch of cookies.’ She watched his expression slide from disbelieving to incredulous. ‘I’m very sorry, but my life-plan doesn’t include dates. I’m aiming for total independence.’ Despite it being the truth, out loud it sounded ridiculous. But she couldn’t be independent and have dates. Dates robbed you of your independence on every level.

‘Excuse me? I’m talking about going out for an hour, not moving in!’

‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. This was not negotiable.

‘Jeez, if you can dance around to Santa Baby all morning, you can damn well fit in an hour with me tonight.’ Sounded pretty non-negotiable too.

But she’d got in first, and he knew that. Which was why he was backing away now, retreating. Heading out of the yard, his long legs swinging. Only as he got to the gate, did he turn his broad shoulders, and his even broader grin shone towards her like a beacon. He was laughing, she could see that now, and his dark voice bounced at her, off the gravel.

‘Pick you up at seven.’

***

Rolling up at Millie’s that evening five minutes early, Ed found the door open, so he knocked and went on in.

‘Anyone here?’ With a sweeping glance he took in a long room, open to the rafters, more like a gallery than a home. Passed a work table at one end, smothered in clippings, a sofa, and lots of lacey things in piles. Lots of stuff not in piles. ‘Millie?’

He hoped she hadn’t gone AWOL. Just his luck to hit on a date-phobic woman for this damned challenge. But having got one date under his belt, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.

His gaze stopped abruptly at a multi-coloured line of satin corsets, hanging from a beam, laces dangling. Okay. Whatever. Plenty of people had corsets hanging in their living rooms. Didn’t they?

And then he spied the pole – floor to ceiling, shiny chrome – and his face split into a grin the width of the sky.

Jeez. This had to be good. He’d calculated that tattoos and ragged hair would have maximum shock value for Cassie, but if Millie was a pole-dancer, that rated off the scale. Cassie really should have been more careful with her rules. Nice work. He’d landed on his feet here. Accidentally dating a stripper? Even if she was reluctant to date, from where he stood, this challenge suddenly couldn’t get any better. Let the fun begin.

And then Millie appeared, eyes wide, startled to see that he was already here, but covering well, making his pulse surge way more than it should.

‘Sorry I wasn’t expecting you.’

Except she was, judging by her girlie pumps, and mini dress. Large black and white spots. He stifled a grin. More jockey than race-horse, this one. She turned, and he gave one mental thumbs-up as he clocked a patch of exposed, perfectly tanned back, that made him want to whistle, and a large bow, that put him in mind of a present waiting to be opened.

‘Someone scrubs up well when they take their shorts off.’ He shot her a wink.

‘Ah, so wrong! I’d never go out without shorts.’ She winked back and flicked up her voluminous skirt, to give a flash of the shorts below.

So that told him! Time to try another opening line.

‘Nice place you’ve got here.’

‘Great, isn’t it? It isn’t mine, I told you before, I get it in return for pony exercising, and Grandma-sitting. It lets me be … ’

He cut in.

‘Let me guess – independent? Why does that not surprise me? Sounds like a good deal, though having met the horse in question, I’m not so sure. My shoulder’s still in recovery after he dragged me down the road this morning.’ He assessed the large open space again, this time being careful to avoid the pole area. Every surface was covered. ‘I take it someone ransacked the place whilst you were away?’

He couldn’t resist the jibe, if only to see how she came back at him, given the chaos.

‘Artist at work.’ She gave a sheepish shrug, apparently not offended. ‘I prioritise, and housework comes last every time. Plus I hold on to anything I might use for my work. I’d have cleared up if I’d known the Tidy Police were coming.’

Nice return. One to raise the eyebrows. Neat was okay, but Tidy Police? If this was getting to know your date, he wasn’t sure he liked it.

He’d made it to her work table now, and helped himself to a small patchwork box, by way of retaliation. ‘So this is what you make?’

‘Certainly is.’ She shuffled, more uncomfortable with the scrutiny than she was letting on, he guessed. ‘I specialise in collage – papering over the cracks.’ She shot him a grin. ‘At uni I did large scale pieces, but in terms of making a living it’s more commercial to do smaller items, and people love boxes. I’ve hit on an unexpected niche-market, for original pieces. Every one’s different.’

He nodded, examining the colourful surface, built up of cut and pasted images. ‘I’ve seen something like it before. Can’t remember where, though. I take it you sell them?’

‘To exclusive stores in London mostly. That one is part of a French Theme series I’m working on. I’m building up, turning my art into business, filling in with the dance thing too.’

‘Oh, the dancing.’ The dancing. Slip this in, casually, drop it and let it bounce. ‘So you’re a lap-dancer? A stripper? Let me guess – to supplement your income?’ He’d swung his head round, and was eyeballing the pole, as her loud guffaw slapped him in the face.

‘Typical man.’ She was laughing now, those lovely lips drawing back to reveal beautiful, even teeth. ‘You saw the pole, and assumed I’m a stripper? Sorry to disappoint you, but the pole’s just a great way to keep fit. I’m no way athletic enough to be a professional.’

Damn. He squeezed the disappointment out of his voice. ‘Not meaning to be nosey, but what’s with the corsets then?’

‘They’re for the dancing. I teach Burlesque.’

‘Ahhh, I see.’ He didn’t at all, but he wasn’t about to admit it.

‘Anyway, I thought you were taking me out? I haven’t got all night.’ She brushed back her hair, pushed a smile in his direction, presumably to sugar the impatience. ‘So what are we doing?’

‘A picnic!’ He took a deep breath, unsure how she was going to take it, what with her date reluctance and all that.

Thank Cassie for this one. No posh baskets and absolutely no champagne.

‘A picnic?’ She chewed her thumb, and then fixed him with those deep grey eyes until he wished she would stop. ‘That I can handle.’

***

‘So why the date?’

Millie held up her glass of bubbly, and nailed him with her stare. It was only the way she chewed on what had to be the fullest lip in the history of pouts that gave any indication that maybe she wasn’t as fearless as she made out.

This so wasn’t going how he’d planned. Not that he had an exact plan.

The rug by the river, the cava and the smoked salmon had gone down okay. But she was so much more challenging than he’d anticipated, questioning everything, screwing answers out of him. And she was jumpy as hell. No need for Cassie’s rules about sex and first dates. At this rate he’d be lucky to have scored by the last one. Memo to himself. More work needed in that department.

‘Why the date?’ Repeating the question showed he didn’t have a clue about the answer, and he didn’t. Not any answer he could give her.

‘Whatever the rights and wrongs, the blast caused your fall, and I wanted to make amends.’ He replied, aiming for plausible. ‘Aw, that’s nice.’ Her eyes crinkled into a smile, and she dipped a strawberry deep into the cream pot, and then bit into it. Showing off those delectable teeth. Again.

And that was it? Phew! An answer that wasn’t another question.

‘Yep, I’m really sorry about it.’ And this wasn’t faking, he really was.

‘I don’t think it was your fault.’ Another easy response.

Under normal circumstances this was where he’d have made a move. Slid his hand over hers, looked deep into her eyes, said ‘No hard feelings?’ and got straight in there. Hell, by now he’d more than likely have been chasing that strawberry down her throat, his hand heading up her dress, and he wouldn’t have found shorts up there either. But there was too much at stake here to move in too early and get blown off.

‘So how come you can afford jeans like those, working in a quarry? Or have you hit gold?’

And she was off again. It was hard work keeping up with her. ‘My sister’s seriously loaded husband gave me a taste for good jeans with his cast offs, and great jeans are worth the investment. Now and again.’ More ambiguity. He’d seriously underestimated how difficult he’d find the lying, and the whole pretence that he had no money. Darn careless of him to wear these particular jeans in the first place.

‘Very cool, but I think I preferred the one’s you wore yesterday.’ She spun him a wicked grin. ‘I liked the rips.’

Predictably contrary. And how did she know the price of these jeans anyway, given how ultra-exclusive they were?

‘These chocolate pots are scrummy, by the way. Where did you find them?’

Yet another question, fired as she sucked on a fingerful of dark chocolate mousse. Maybe Cassie had a point about him making bad choices with women. The Big Challenge. He’d ended up choosing a woman who couldn’t be further from his ideal type, who not only refused point blank to date, but who was also a nightmare to handle. If he was going to have any chance of success here he was going to have to raise his game, massively.

Or he could give up on Millie, and begin again, choose someone easier, more polished, more suited to his tastes and needs. That was the obvious option, the easy option, the sensible option. But as he watched her kneeling now, all strawberry stained lips, tangled hair, and voluptuous curves, he knew wasn’t going to give up. No way. Giving up was out of the question. He was going to raise his game, work out his strategy, and go for broke. Because the woman in front of him might be unsuitable, she might be crazy, reluctant, and jumpy; she could be everything he didn’t want in a woman, but he couldn’t give up on her yet – simply because he couldn’t bear to let her go before he’d tasted her again.

***

At lunchtime next day, Millie arrived back from the Country Club to find Ed’s Land Rover parked in the yard, and Ed sitting on her doorstep. Literally. Back against the door jamb, legs bent, jeans under a lot of pressure.

She grabbed a box from the car boot, and then walked towards him, blaming her suddenly feeble legs on the weight of the parcel.

‘And where have you been?’ As usual he was looking like a dream, as usual he was sounding indignant.

‘A private lesson with my Santa Baby client.’ She refused to ask him why he was here, and refused to let herself be pleased he was. ‘At current rate of progress she will be ready to perform her Christmas Gift Dance for Christmas in eighteen months time, not six.’

‘I’ve come to see how your head is, and ask if you’ve got any ketchup?’

She blinked. Sitting on her doorstep, and making random comments? ‘Head still there, or it was last time I looked, thanks, and ketchup in the cupboard. Large bottle. Why?’ Damn. Now she’d cracked, and asked.

‘I’ve brought fish and chips for lunch.’ He sprung to his feet, jumped towards the Land Rover, and returned with two packages and a grin that flipped her insides. ‘You need a balanced diet to aid recovery. I’m taking responsibility.’

‘Since when were fish and chips balanced?’ She stifled a smile, went in and dropped the parcel on the already over-burdened sofa, then led the way through the house and out into the sun-splashed back courtyard, grabbing ketchup and cans of coke as they passed. ‘They smell delicious, let’s be wicked.’

She gave herself a hard kick for saying that, but he was already settling in at the outdoor table, rolling open the parcels of food. He pushed one towards her as she arrived.

‘Pleased to see you’re wearing your superior jeans today.’ Saying that took her mind off his broad tanned hands, and the way the jeans in question sat so tantalisingly low and tight on his hips they made her stomach drop. All but took her appetite away.

‘I’m not here to talk about jeans.’ He picked up the ketchup, and put a neat blob by the side of his fish, then held the bottle out to her.

She took it from him, and squirted a winding trail all over her chips, clocking his disapproving frown. ‘So? I like ketchup. It’s a free world.’ How could anyone be that judgmental about condiments? ‘What are you here to talk about then?’

‘You and this independence thing.’ He paused, chip in mid air, and studied her gravely. ‘I think you’ve got it all wrong.’

And who asked him anyway? She hated that shadowy hollows formed under his cheekbones when he looked at her like that, and the raw sensuality of his lips. The way his dark eyes melted. She scowled to cover that her insides were squelching again, and scraped at the angry prickles at the back of her neck.

‘No, don’t get cross, listen. No one’s more independent than me, but you need to understand, being independent isn’t about being alone. If you’re hoping independence will make you stronger, you’re wrong. What you have to realise, is that you can’t be strong on your own, because humans aren’t like that. People need each other. We get our strength by cooperating, by sharing talents, not from isolation.’

‘And you are going where with this exactly?’

‘Well, as I see it, your take on independence doesn’t make you strong. Ultimately it makes you weak. And lonely too.’ He was watching her carefully now, scrutinising her reactions.

Without thinking she dragged her hair back from her face, twisted it, and caught it on top of her head with a scrunchie from her wrist, so she could concentrate better. Her eyes locked on the lines of his mouth. Yesterday, at the picnic, she’d had a sudden, overwhelming sense he was going to kiss her, and all evening, her skin had been tingling, her treacherous body aching in anticipation. So wrong, so not what she wanted. But he was making her shiver again now, and once more she doubted her body’s ulterior motives. No one as amazing as him would go for anyone like her. Would they? ‘Look, take me with my barn conversion. If I tried to do it on my own it wouldn’t get done at all. I have the builders to help, and that makes it happen. The skill is to choose builders who are reliable.’

‘And your point is?’ Not meaning to be rude, but …

‘That you’ll only be truly strong and independent when you learn to accept help. You need people around you trust, who you can rely on.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Been there, done that thanks. With Rat-of-the-decade-Josh, who ran out the second she tried to lean on him. Her chest tight as a drum even as she thought about it now. She suppressed a shudder, but it took hold and leap-frogged down her spine.

‘I’ll give it some thought. Thanks for that.’ Not.

She tried to sound firm enough to close the subject, and it worked. He went back to his lunch, eating with scary efficiency, and then rolled up the chip papers neatly as he finished, and stood up abruptly. ‘Better be off then.’

Whatever. Millie stood up too, gave up all hope of ever getting where he was coming from, and followed him back towards the house. As he reached the doorway he paused, his large body barring her path, and grinned down at her. She hung on to her racing pulse rate, remembered to breath as his eyes, drilled into her.

‘Don’t suppose you’d give me a twirl on the pole?’

The guy was unbelievable. She shook her head, rapped out a good excuse, to hide her shock. ‘After fish and chips? No way. If you wanted twirls you should have brought salad.’

He rubbed a thumb over his jaw, deep in thought. Narrowed his eyes. ‘So twirls on the pole aren’t hundred percent ruled out?’

What? Cheeky and persistent? And why the hell was she lapping it up?

‘Get back to work before I kick your ass!’ He’d dislodged himself from the doorway, got as far as the sofa, and stopped in front of the package she’d brought in earlier. ‘So what’s in the parcel then?’

She chewed her lip hard to cut her smile. He’d asked for this.

‘If you must know, leopard-skin hand-cuffs, whips, long black gloves, under-bust corsets, over bust corsets, feather fans, suspender clips, and top hats. All times twenty.’

She was rewarded by his jaw on the floor, and his eyebrows on the ceiling.

‘You are joking?’

‘Nope.’ She allowed herself a full-blown grin now. ‘Supplies for a Hen Party I’m booked for – a Burlesque Workshop. Theme of Fifty Shades mean anything?’

He raised his eyebrows, gave a slow nod, and a knowing smirk, as he headed towards the door.

‘I’ll be back to tie you up later then.’ His growl sent an avalanche of ice chips sliding down her back. ‘I’ll call in on my way home, to check you’re okay. Maybe teach you more about this independence game. And don’t forget, I’ll be expecting that twirl!’