Читать книгу How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates - Jane Linfoot - Страница 8

LATER that afternoon, back in the sun-baked courtyard, working on her collages and her tan, Mille mulled over what Ed had said, as she concentrated on her French theme, and arranged a mix of roses, lace and tri-colours onto a box. Okay, the guy could lay on a scrummy picnic, and maybe fish and chips for lunch was a welcome change, but overall Ed was a complete pain in the butt, especially with the way he kept appearing. But he maybe had a point about fierce independence making you weaker, not stronger. It was good to hear a different viewpoint. She’d missed that since she moved here, yet another drawback of the isolation. It had become too easy to shut herself away, driving herself towards her goals. Maybe it was good to have some company, even if the company in question annoyed the hell out of her at times. Her life-plan was about taking responsibility for herself, her decisions, and her actions. Independence was what she’d become obsessed with as a means to achieve those aims, but what he’d said reminded her she needed to make sure she didn’t lose sight of the bigger picture.

‘Anyone home?’

Millie jumped as she heard Ed’s voice reverberate through the house. What the heck was he doing rocking up in the middle of the afternoon, and her in her skimpiest bikini?

‘I knocked, but you obviously didn’t hear, so I let myself in.’

And then he was there, sauntering through from the house, talking to her, but not looking at her face. Eyes all over everywhere else. Devouring.

‘Who finishes work at three thirty?’

Not that she wasn’t completely at ease with her body – she was. Just not at ease with the way her skin sizzled under his scrutiny. She rubbed her nose with the back of a gluey hand, playing for time as she worked out her next move. Diving into the house to grab a vest would be preferable.

But how to get past him? He was leaning languidly across the doorway, all tanned brooding strength, eyes sootier than ever behind those amazing lashes, and uncannily silent. She saw his jaw clench imperceptibly, his broad shoulders shift.

A guy with a habit of getting stuck in doorways. Again.

‘If you’ll excuse me?’ She took one firm step towards him.

He didn’t move. Simply stared. And swallowed.

‘Can I pass please?’ She ignored the banging whack of her heart against her ribs, dragged her eyes away from the unmistakable blue shadow of an erection, forging against the denim of his jeans.

‘Of course.’ His eyes narrowed. Then he went sideways, back still grazing the wall, to make room, and his lips slid into the laziest of smiles. ‘Any time.’

She hauled in a breath, hesitated, hardly trusting herself to pass him so close, hating that her body was betraying her, fizzing with excitement.

She needed to man up. What the heck was happening here? It was only one man, and one doorway she needed to get through. What could be so difficult?

Fixing her eyes firmly on the island unit in the kitchen, she set off.

Easy as. Except just after she’d made it past him, he snagged her. Not hard, not fiercely, hardly at all in fact, just the slightest graze of her forearm, then his fingers gently locking around her wrist.

Enough to make her heart-beat crash to a standstill, as her legs turned to hot syrup.

She stopped, turned a fraction, and the unbearable scent of him knocked her off her guard. As she rolled her eyes to meet his, she registered smoldering heat in their dark chocolate depths.

And the thought that any moment his mouth was going to come crashing down on hers.

‘Millie..?’ His voice was hoarse, gravelly.

Frozen as the goose-bumps raced up her arm, nipples like … ‘What?’

He let her wrist drop, and he cleared his throat. ‘I brought cakes. Any chance you could make some tea? ’

And then there was nothing, except her hand, limp at her side.

As if she’d imagined it, as if it hadn’t happened at all.

‘Actually I’m just about to go out.’ And then she was in the kitchen, grabbing a t-shirt from a kitchen stool and grappling her way into it.

A gut reaction. There was plenty of time for tea, so why was she pretending there wasn’t? Lashing out because she was disappointed? Or saving herself from looking like a total fool when her over-active imagination made her think he wanted her? Hearing his voice advancing as he came in from the courtyard, she blurted out a hurried excuse.

‘Sorry, I have classes this evening. I need to get ready. I should have said before.’ She shrugged, diffidently. ‘Some other time perhaps?’

‘When are you back?’ His eyes narrowed, more calculating now than smoldering.

Despite the blasts of hot air wafting from the courtyard, she shivered. ‘Nine.’

Suddenly she wasn’t sure she trusted herself to be around him any more. The more infuriating she found him in real life, the more she ached for a piece of him. She hated her body for playing tricks on her. No way could she be interested in any man right now, without de-railing her life-plan. She needed to get a grip on reality, she was a million miles away from ready for another guy. She had her priorities, and more to the point, she had her self-preservation instinct firmly in place. No guy, no matter how much animal magnetism he exuded, would be allowed to distract her and make her drop her guard.

‘Catch you later then.’ He was sauntering towards the door as airily as he had sauntered in. One cheery wave, one disgusting, tummy flipping, laid-back smile, and he was out of her hair. Easy peasy. But something about the set of his jaw made it sound like a threat not a promise.

***

Ed, batting down yet another country lane, grappled with the unwieldy steering wheel, and cursed as he bounced the Land Rover around yet another corner.

Basic transport. One wealth-concealing novelty I can do without, he thought. Same with the full-time countryside. Two more excellent reasons to dispatch this challenge, and fast. Kicking around the local quarries all day, relying on the phone and lap- top to keep tabs on the rest of the worldwide business, tracking the progress of the French firework extravaganza. He couldn’t remember a time he’d been out of the office so long. Holidays weren’t his thing, he was more a work kind of a guy. Good job his various teams ran like clockwork in his absence. Cassie was another reason to get the challenge over and done with. She was sitting with her high-and-mighty judge’s hat firmly placed, ruling that casual cups of tea didn’t count as dates, even if you did take cakes. Especially when you didn’t have the tea, not that he’d actually admitted to that bit. Still, he mused, if this afternoon wouldn’t have counted as a date in Cassie’s darned book, then him being shown the door didn’t count either.

No-one had ever refused him a date before. Ever. But Millie had, and she was rubbing his nose in it. And he was letting himself take it, all in pursuit of the challenge. Although maybe it would have panned out differently if he hadn’t grabbed her. He was kicking himself for losing it like that, simply because she brushed by him practically naked.

Scraps of bikini, skin like hot toffee. Hardly worth the bother of dressing at all.

He wrenched the gear stick, crashing the gear-box to a howl as he missed the change.

He swore loudly.

He should be stronger than this. He knew he should be holding back, taking it slow, that if he didn’t he risked stuffing up completely. So why the hell hadn’t he?

And he hadn’t even got the twirl on the pole she’d promised.

At least she’d conceded ‘some other time’ as she blew him off. The smallest chink in her defenses, but it hadn’t gone un-noticed, and now he was here to capitalise on it.

Nine o’ clock. Time to try harder, and this time he’d get it right. He was on his way to one more spontaneous, original, and low-spend date tonight, already run past Cassie, and this time he’d make sure it was a date that counted. Date 4. This time he wouldn’t lose control. He’d give her all the space she needed, and work like crazy at making her feel comfortable. Hell, there were still so many dates left, there was plenty of opportunity to move things on later. Right now he needed to consolidate his position gently, and make sure she wasn’t so jumpy that she wrecked his plan entirely.

He allowed himself a secret self-congratulatory smile as he flung the Land Rover into her drive, and let it spread to a triumphant grin, as he saw Millie, just home, killing her car lights, opening her car door, and pushing out one deliciously curvy leg.

Perfect timing.

Drawing up beside her now. Sensibly. Absolutely no skidding. Window down, and drumming his fingers on the battered side of the door. ‘Hi! I thought I’d call by on my way home, just on the off-chance … ’

‘Home? I thought you didn’t have a home.’ And she’d already started, being exacting.

‘I’m crashing with friends until the barn’s ready.’ He’d already started lying – besides, if he told her he had the run of the East Wing at his parents’ Elizabethan castle, she wouldn’t have believed him anyway. ‘Coming for a spin? A warm summer’s evening, the moon on its way up.’

Out of her car now, and eyeballing him across her car roof, she was dropping her eyes, hesitating, the way she did yesterday, when he talked about independence. He’d seen that same flicker of her eyelids when he got to the bit about relying on people, the flicker that told him she couldn’t trust, wouldn’t trust. With his own trust issues, he knew the signs. Except her problems would be way less screwed up than his, probably all down to some unreliable guy.