How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates

Jane Linfoot

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Jane Linfoot

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

About HarperImpulse

Copyright

About the Publisher

Jane Linfoot

I write fun, flirty fiction with feisty heroines and a bit of an edge. Writing romance is cool because I get to wear pretty shoes instead of wellies. I live in a mountain kingdom in Derbyshire, where my family and pets are kind enough to ignore the domestic chaos. Happily, we’re in walking distance of a supermarket. I love hearts, flowers, happy endings, all things vintage, most things French. When I’m not on Facebook and can’t find an excuse for shopping, I’ll be walking or gardening. On days when I want to be really scared, I ride a tandem.

For Phil

CHAPTER ONE

‘SO, how’s things?’

Ed Mitchum turned to see his sister, Cassie, swirling towards him across the lawn. She dropped a fizzing glass into his hand as she came to a halt beside him.

‘Mineral water?’ He surveyed the floating lemon slice with distaste, took in her inscrutable nod, and snatched a glass of champagne in his other hand from a passing waiter, before she had time to protest. ‘Much as I appreciate your concern for my well-being, your assumption that it’s fine to interfere in my life-choices is getting damned annoying. You’re in danger of taking the bossy sister thing too far.’

She spun a dazzling smile up at him and tossed her sea of platinum curls over one shoulder. ‘Okay, keep your hair on! I just don’t think it’s appropriate for you to drink yourself under the table at the Olds’ anniversary party, that’s all. I’d hoped you’d bring Sophie today. Couldn’t she make it?’

‘Sophie .… ?’ Ed racked his brains, and failed to come up with a face to fit the name.

‘As in dark, gorgeous, legs the length of Park Lane – pretty much surgically attached to you at the Carlton’s tennis and Pimms do?’

‘Ahhh, her. Ancient history, I’m afraid.’ Cassie’s incensed expression only served to spur him on. ‘Keep up! There’s been several since – what was she called again? Not that the women or my alcohol consumption have anything to do with you.’

Cassie let out an infuriated sigh. ‘It’s only because we care, isn’t it Will?’

She tilted her head, appealing to his best friend Will, who had just arrived at her elbow, and was wilting visibly under the full glare of her sudden smile.

‘Leave Will out of this.’ Ed grimaced as Will’s scowl over Cassie’s head reminded him of the animosity between his best friend and his seriously annoying younger sister. Cassie had taken great pleasure in driving Will to distraction since the first day Ed had brought him home, aged eleven. Twenty years of torment later, they were still sparking off each other… not in a good way.

‘It’s time you grew up if you ask me.’ Cassie smirked at him. ‘And I’m not just talking about your drinking habits. Seriously Ed, you’re pushing thirty two. Isn’t it time you were settling down?’

An over-bearing sister who thought she knew it all. When in reality the woman hadn’t got the first idea. Settling down was the last thing on his mind, although now she’d mentioned coupling, a party pick-up was no bad idea. On the lookout for a likely candidate, he scanned the neat lawns as far as the distant walls of his parents Derbyshire castle until his gaze snagged on a glossy brunette with a perfect bob, whose sheer sheath of a dress was split to the hip.

Cassie was onto him in a nano-second. ‘Pointless looking there, Ed, that’s Uncle Henry’s latest wife. I know he never keeps them long, but this one’s new enough to make it through to the end of the party.’

‘I wouldn’t bank on it.’ Ed sent her a sardonic smile. ‘Not if the way she’s eyeing up the blonde Adonis waiter is anything to go by. She practically licked him as he passed.’

Will posted him a lazy wink. ‘For a man who specialises in blowing things up, you’ve been remarkably quiet lately. How is your love life these days? Bed still like a conveyor belt?’

Ed shrugged. ‘Can’t complain. Turn-over’s still satisfyingly high.’

‘Well I’m sure you’re going to make plenty of noise with your firework display this evening. You get some points back for doing that.’ Cassie’s face softened to a smile, before she whirled on him again, piercing him with her sky-blue eyes. ‘So why don’t you keep any these women of yours?’

For a fleeting moment he shrank under the ferocity of her scrutiny. Then remembering it was none of her damned business anyway, he relaxed.

‘If you must know, when it comes to it, they never hold my interest. One night and I’ve seen all they have to offer. Two max. Then I’m all ready for the next.’

‘Perhaps you’re dating the wrong kind of woman.’ Cassie said.

‘Meaning?’

Ed saw Will narrow his eyes at Cassie, warning her. With Cassie in full force a guy needed his wingman.

‘I’m not backing off here, Will.’ She sounded fierce. ‘Ed’s always surrounded by women, hoards of them. All desperate to jump onto his love conveyor-belt, all desperate to be the one who gets to hang on in there. But let’s face it, you are a great looking guy with an even greater personality when you want to be, but those women have got their eye on the contents of your wallet more than on your personal attributes. And their desperation to get their hooks into you, and gain access to your billions must make them much more compliant than they otherwise might be. And in my book, compliant equals boring. Be honest Ed, when did you last date a woman who challenged you?’

Ed opened his mouth to answer then shut it again when he couldn’t remember an instance.

‘These polished, high maintenance females, solely attracted to your bank-balance, can’t give you more than one night of distraction. It’s obvious.’

‘You talk about it as if I even give a damn.’ He shot her a pointed grin. ‘I don’t. I’m happy with things as they are.’

‘You tell him Will. You’re his oldest friend after all.’

Cassie appealing to Will? Again? Twice in the course of two minutes.

‘She might have a point.’ Will’s tone was measured. He threw in a conciliatory qualifier. ‘Maybe.’

Now that was an unlikely alliance.

Ed swallowed his distaste. ‘How you two have both survived a decade of serial monogamy without dying of boredom is beyond me, but seeing as you are setting yourselves up as experts here, what do you suggest?’

He hesitated, waited for their responses, which weren’t as immediate as he’d expected, and seized on their silence. ‘There, not so easy is it?’

Cassie tapped her teeth with one crimson nail as she thought. ‘This isn’t something we can rush. It’s too important for that. For starters, I’m thinking you need to choose someone who has no idea you have money. And you need to see her more than twice – give yourself a chance to get to know her properly.’

Ed squirmed. ‘I think I liked you better when you were telling me not to drink so much.’

Will chimed in, ‘Think of it as a challenge. We can add in some motivators, obviously.’

Motivators? Just like Will to know how to make him bite.

‘I haven’t agreed to this.’ It was important to protest, but as soon as Ed heard the word ‘challenge’, he knew he was in. It would shut them up and get them off his back once and for all. Then afterwards the only person he had to please was himself.

Will rubbed his hands. ‘So, down to business. Let’s say ten dates?’ He wrinkled his forehead as he thought. ‘To include at least two nights away – the wonders of the mini-break and all that.’

‘Ten?’ Ed felt his jaw drop.

‘If you’re going to do it, you may as well do it properly.’ Cassie flapped her hands in excited anticipation.

‘And you mustn’t reveal how much you’re worth .… ’ Will added.

‘Or use luxury props or enticements.’ Cassie said quickly. ‘And no sex on the first date.’

Ed shook his head in protest. ‘Hang on; I draw the line at that.’

‘Fine, whatever, but if you’ve got any sense you’ll keep to that anyway.’ Cassie grinned at him. ‘Even if you don’t meet the love of your life with this, you might improve your dating habits. Though frankly they don’t sound like they could get any worse.’

‘Don’t be so sure. I always practise safe sex.’ He flashed her a smirk.

‘There will have to be sex at some stage, or it won’t count either.’ Cassie was quickly getting carried away. ‘And we need to meet her on one of the dates, and it would be good for you to meet her family too.’

‘No pressure there then?’ Ed raised his eyebrows. This was in danger of getting out of hand. ‘So before Cassie adds in any more clauses, what about the carrot, Will? What are you offering?’

‘It’ll have to be good. What do I have that you’ve always coveted? My first-edition Definitely, Maybe album? Yours, if you complete the challenge, regardless of the outcome?’

‘You know you can do better than that, Will.’

‘Okay. Throw in the ski lodge in Klosters too, if you must. It’d be good to know it’s in safe hands with you. Might make you take a holiday at last.’

‘Great, you’re on. And the stick will be that if I fail to complete, I’ll give you my Jarvis Cocker signed T-shirt.’

‘Add in your Edinburgh town house, and we have a deal. I fancy the idea of wearing a kilt.’

‘Fair enough. Though there’s no risk you’ll be getting it – I’ll manage ten dates with my eyes closed. And one last thing… A measure of how confident I am that this whole stunt will ultimately fail.’ Ed swayed back on his heels, and locked eyes with Will. ‘If I find a woman I fall in love with, I’m ready to gift you my vintage Aston Martin.’

‘But come on, you’d never give that up!’ Cassie looked shocked.

‘Exactly!’ His face split into the widest smile. ‘There’s absolutely no danger that I’m going to have to!’

***

‘All set?’

A bright Monday morning, one month later, Ed kicked a foot in the dust as he waited. Digging his hands into his pockets, he stared around the quarry, wondering when he became so removed from the place where he’d had his first taste of the explosions – a taste that had turned into a lifetime obsession. He’d promised the quarry Manager, Blake he’d be here today, when they’d met up at his parents’ party, and he didn’t like to let Blake down. Not after everything Blake had done for him, in those bad old days when Ed was fourteen and a hell-raiser.

‘Ready to go.’ Blake gave him a nod. ‘Jeans and tee okay for you? Sorry, but they’re the best I could muster from the lads. This is Derbyshire, not London, remember.’

‘My fault I ripped the sump of the car then proceeded to smear the contents all over myself. I’ll take what I can get.’ Ed gave a rueful grin, as he looked down at the indecently tight jeans complete with rips, and the saggy, beyond-hope t-shirt someone had donated to his cause. He exhaled deeply, as he glanced at his shiny sports car, waiting for the recovery vehicle by the gate. He, of all people, should have known better. Would have known better if he’d been half-way concentrating, instead of raging because a month into this Dating Challenge, he still hadn’t found a suitable woman. Damn his sister and her determination to make sure the whole world paired up into happy couples. If he hadn’t been fuming about the Coupledom Challenge, instead of looking out for ruts in the ground, he’d still have a working car. He’d have to make do with the quarry Land Rover until a replacement arrived.

‘I feel like we should be smashing bottles of champagne against the cliffs, given all the effort we’ve put into getting the permissions to extend the quarry. I guess we’ll have just have to make do with the big bang instead,’ Ed said, a grin of anticipation playing on his lips. ‘Whenever you’re ready.’

However many explosions he saw, he never tired of the thrill of a good blast. Ten years in the boardroom and yet the warning siren’s wail still sent prickles across the back of his neck as he trained his eyes on the rock face. Then in the split second before the blast, a rider on a horse cut across the skyline, up behind the blast area.

What the hell? There shouldn’t be anyone up there!

Then the boom of the blast smacked against his body, and he heard the echoing thud as the rock-face collapsed. But Ed wasn’t watching the falling rock. Because above it, the horse was jack-knifing into the air. Against the backdrop of the perfect blue sky Ed watched transfixed, as the horse and rider separated, and the rider tumbled downwards, out of view. Then the dust rose, in billowing rolls over the rock-pile, and just before the dust haze turned the blue sky grey, he saw the rider less horse galloping against the horizon.

‘There’s a problem in the field up there! Damned stupid riders.’ Ed hurled himself in the direction of the Land Rover, grinding his teeth on grit.

Within seconds he was roaring towards the quarry gate, powered by a whole mountain of wrath. He was still cursing, minutes later, up in the field, as he jumped down beside the casualty.

A girl. And the fact she’d left her riding hat on the gatepost suggested she had no brains to protect. A blonde, albeit a dirty one. Spread-eagled on the grass. In tiny shorts, and with curvy, honeyed legs, that sent crackles up his spine and made him remind himself he shouldn’t be noticing.

His eye snagged on the tendrils of a tattoo that emerged from the top of her boot.

‘Can you hear me?' The anger drained from him as he waited for her reply. He made the words clear. ‘I’m Ed, I’m here to help. What’s your name?’ He was going through the routine now, and she damned well wasn’t responding. No chance of ringing for an ambulance either, the way the signal was here.

She was very still, face to the sky, blanched beneath her freckled tan. He shivered as he saw blood on the grass, already matting in the tangled strands of her hair, his heart banging, as his training kicked in.

Airways, breathing, circulation.

Bearing in mind not to move her spine, he squatted beside her, and grasped her wrist, wincing at the tightness of his on-loan jeans. Tried not to notice that she smelled of flowers. Vanilla. Warmth. Woman.

Nothing. Damn. He was always crap at finding a pulse. He dragged her hair aside, tried again. This time two fingers under her jaw found firm flesh, slightly clammy, but still no pulse.

He put his cheek to her slightly parted lips. Waited a second to see if she was breathing.

Nothing.

Ninety nine percent sure she was just unconscious, her lack of pulse was down to his lousy technique at locating it, and not because she was dead. But what the hell should he do now? He couldn’t just stand here and do nothing. He stood up, ran his eyes down the length of her, his brain struggling to remember his first aid training. Whether to go for her chest first, where one top button had pulled undone, and, let’s be honest, he might never find a breastbone. Or her mouth.

It was never like this on the first-aid dummies.

He was on his knees now, sizing up lips that were lush, soft, parted, but altogether easier than the alternative. He needed to damn well get on with it before he ran out of time.

Focusing on the graze of mud on her cheek, he nipped her nostrils, grasped her chin. He drew in one long breath through his nose, clamped his mouth over hers and psyched himself up to blow.

Wallop!

One arm flopped up and clamped the back of his head. Then her other landed square on his back.

What the hell?

Her tongue feathered his for a moment, and then came in for the kill, as his already thumping heart exploded in his chest. He fought to pull away but she had him in a head lock, exploring, tangling with him. Drawing him in.

Salty. Gritty. Entirely off limits. And then, in sheer relief that she was alive, he was kissing her back, an ocean-rush of blood hammering in his ears, his whole body on adrenalin-surge, endorphin-pumping, red-alert. Hotter than he could say. Knowing it was out and out wrong, hearing the gentle moans in her throat, but nothing he could do.

Except go with it.

***

Millie Brown was drifting, and dreaming, a thing she tried her best not to do. Even in her sleep, she liked to stay in control, and largely she managed to keep her sleeping mind a blank. But something odd had happened, and she was plunging headlong into a full-on sexy-scenario dream she was powerless to stop.

Right now, a guy with a voice like dark chocolate, was capturing her mouth, and tasting delicious. Cappuccino and hot, raw man. Definitely not love-rat-of-the-decade ex, Josh, then. Who she definitely was over, wasn’t she? No, this was a guy who could really kiss. Talk about tongues and technique. Two years without a snog, but she still knew a high quality kiss when it hit her. And he was ramping it up. In for the kill, and boy, she was happy to die and fast-forward to heaven. Heaven was definitely where she’d arrived, as she shifted beneath him, heard herself moan in the distance, aching for more amazing. Even the sting of his stubble on her chin was delectable. Could almost be .…

Real?

Slowly, she slid her fingers through the strands of his hair, traced them across the alarmingly tangible thrust of his cheekbone, and brought her palm to rest on a rough jaw that sent tingles up her arm. Horribly real tingles.

She opened her eyes. Blinked. Blinked again.

Awwww crap! Her stomach squelched, and her heart did one huge squeeze, then started to hammer, as the very real man who was kissing her tore his face away from hers.

She put a hand to her mouth. Found the hottest kiss ever had morphed into a gaping chasm. And as her eyes finally pulled into focus she heard that chocolate voice again.

‘Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty!’

Millie struggled to catch her breath.

‘Pleased to see you’re not dead then.’ He’d shot backwards, and was towering over her now, face like a storm cloud. ‘And I think we can safely say your arms aren’t broken, given the strength of your grip on my neck.’

Millie rubbed a hand across her bottom lip, tried to make sense of what she was doing here, and gawped at the vision of glorious manhood before her. Dark, choppy hair, jeans like a second skin that underlined the solid power of the guy. Dusty work boots that hollered rough and ready. A ragged t-shirt that screamed don’t-give-a-damn, or up-for-anything, she wasn’t sure which. And this is what she’d woken up snogging? If ever there was sex on legs, this had to be it.

‘What just happened?’ She clasped a palm to her throbbing skull as she tried to piece together fragments of how she got here. ‘I was riding up the hill in the field … ’

Exercising Cracker, the pony. Thinking how her legs were so tanned they looked like they weren’t hers, how she wouldn’t need the tanning salon this year, how that was the only good thing about living in the country.

‘And I was humming ‘Leave your hat on’ … ’ Going through the Burlesque routine she’d been working on earlier this morning, for her up-coming workshop. Singing the tune. Trying to plan out the next bit of the sequence in her head as she rode. ‘Then there was this bang.’

The pony surging beneath her in panic, the ground whizzing towards her, the slam of her skull as it whacked into the ground. She definitely remembered that.

‘Humming ‘Leave your hat on’? Ironic choice then.’ He gave a snort. ‘We were blasting in the quarry, and your horse took off. I assume you fell and hit your head. You were out cold when I found you.’

‘So what was that back there, the kiss of life?’ She fixed him with a fierce stare, which dwindled as she relived how darned amazing he’d tasted. And smelled. Still did. She caught a waft of him on the breeze, and fought a sudden desire to seize his leg and bury her face in it.

His mouth twisted into a wry line. ‘Something like that.’

‘Don’t you know it’s wrong to take advantage in situations like this?’ She pushed herself up on her elbows, hurled the accusation at him, and winced at the pain which split through her head.

‘Hang on! Let’s get this straight. You were the one who got me in a headlock as you came around.’ He stood his ground, indignant and glowering. ‘I began resuscitation when I couldn’t find a pulse and you didn’t appear to be breathing, then what do I know, you’ve jumped me! Apologies for trying to save your life. Next time I won’t bother.’ He made a dive for his Land Rover.

She’d been the one snogging the socks off him?

So that was what two years giving guys a wide berth did to you. Made you into a sex fiend when you were unconscious. Her body shuddered, shriveling in a giant cringe of embarrassment. She pushed herself up to sit and another spear of pain crashed through her skull.

‘Let me see your head. You shouldn’t have been here on a horse you know, it’s private land, and it’s not a bridleway.’ He’d come back from the Land Rover with bandages, a ready-made lecture, and a double dose of bad mood. At least that covered her shame. He was leaning behind her now sounding seriously snappy as he prodded in her hair.

‘You’ve got a nasty gash, probably hit a stone, but the bleeding’s not too bad. Hold this dressing whilst I fix it. One head injury, which would have been avoided had your riding hat been protecting you, not the gatepost.’

Short tempered. Snarky. Not attractive. Except he was. Devastatingly.

‘Ouch, there’s no need to manhandle me!’

And rough too, as he crashed the bandage into place, taking control. Making her spine zither like crazy. Though he did have a point about her hat. Leaving it on the gatepost was one bad decision.

‘You need to go to casualty.’

‘No way!’ Casualty was the last place on earth she wanted to go.

‘I’ll run you there, or you can wait for an ambulance. Your choice. Whichever way, hospital is where you’re going.’ He backed away, stood like a dictator, legs splayed, practically bursting out of that faded denim in every area that mattered.

So, she may have a head injury, she may be dying of embarrassment, but she couldn’t let this power-house of a guy take over.

‘I can’t go anywhere until I’ve sorted the pony out. It’s my job to look after him, and my house depends on my job, and if I lose my house it’ll blow my whole life-plan out of the water.’ She hugged her knees tight, instantly regretting the personal information spill. Luckily he seemed oblivious.

‘For crying out loud! The pony’s up there, in the corner of the field, grazing, looking a darned sight better than you. I’ll get Blake from the quarry to sort him out. He knows about ponies.’

Now for the biggie. She screwed herself up to force it out. ‘But I don’t do hospitals … ’

One small voice protest she might as well not have made, judging by his sneer.

‘Well in that case you should have taken better care not to rip a hole in your head!’ He sighed. ‘Jeez, how difficult can you make this? Can you stand up?’

He stuck out a hand in her direction. Broad, oil-streaked. She considered refusing it. Then thought again. His strong fist enveloped hers, and with one brutal tug she was on her feet, thumping into the bolster of his body, looking up at a star shaped scar on the underside of his chin.

‘Good work.’

Another tug, and she was half way to the Land Rover, and he’d flung the door wide. The next moment he’d shouldered her up into the seat and fixed her with a stony glare.

‘Okay. No nonsense. No jumping out. And if you’re going to throw up for goodness sake then shout. I’m Ed Mitchum by the way. I work for Quarry Holdings.’

Hadn’t he already told her that? She replied through gritted teeth. ‘Millie Brown. Pleased to meet you.’ Not.

Too late. He’d already slammed the door.

CHAPTER TWO

‘COULD you please make the smallest effort to sit still, or do I have to watch you wriggle in your seat all day?’ Ed’s voice echoed off the walls of the hospital waiting area, short, gruff, tetchy.

Millie sent him a searing scowl. He was making no effort to hide his irritation, so why should she. With his stubble shadow, and his denim rips he seemed too large and blatantly sexual for this clean, clinical environment. Too bad this was all taking so long.

Waiting was the name of the game here, and irritated as he sounded, he was much better at waiting than she was, sitting all chilled and relaxed, one well-muscled arm flung across the back of the next chair, whilst she changed position once a second.

She’d already been into a cubicle with a nurse and answered lots of questions.

Name? Millie Brown, aka .… no need to expand on that one. Headache? Yeah, obviously. Double vision? Not yet, except perhaps when she went cross eyed ogling the hunk that brought her here. Mental note to self to stop that. Drowsy? No more than usual. Dizzy? Not that she was admitting it, and only because the whole A&E thing was making her hyperventilate. One glimpse of a blue surgical gown was enough to spin her right back to that last awful time she’d been in hospital. The panic she’d felt, then the pain, and the desperate emptiness afterwards. The smell of the antiseptic took the blurry images and brought them back in Technicolor. So much so, that when she’d gone to another room where another nurse stuck her cut together with glue, the nurse made her lie down before she let her go back to the waiting area.

And sitting with him now was driving her further up the wall than ever. Every time she saw him her mind went off on its own out-of-control extrapolation, along the lines of rocks, wet skin, underwear, sex, for no other good reason than because the guy had emerged from the quarry, looking like a model who’d lost the fashion shoot. It was bad enough being here – the smell of the place was making her feel faint – without having this Ed and his whole heap of attitude along for the ride.

She leaned towards him. ‘You really don’t need to stay. At this rate, it may take all day. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.’

‘And you’ll get home how?’ His long, lean legs extended towards her as he stretched, and crossed his ankles casually.

She pursed her lips, screwed up her face, and refused to look at the straining denim bulge at his groin. He had her there. She had no money on her. No phone. The hospital was miles away from home. If she had to get a taxi back, it would cost an arm and a leg, and there was no-one she could think of to ring to collect her. One bad idea to end up here when her best friend was away. So much for being independent. She let that one go.

‘You could go for a coffee or something?’ Give her a break from his shed-loads of animal magnetism.

‘And they might move you in the meantime. Given that your phone is lying up in that field, I might never find you again.’

No answer to that one either. She watched him stand up, ease back those disgustingly broad shoulders, and saunter towards a table of magazines. Only because there wasn’t anything else to look at. Nothing to do with the fact he was eye-candy of the highest order. Sweet as it came.

And one heck of a kisser.

That much she could remember. Even if it had been an accident. Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily and her mouth watered at the thought of it. The taste. She jumped as he burst in on her action re-play.

‘Want a magazine?’ He held up a copy of Ideal Home. ‘Horse and Hound? Hello? Woman’s Weekly?’

She shook her head, and prayed she hadn’t flushed as fuchsia pink as she felt. And the tilt of his head said he was mocking her too. Damn. Shame he didn’t have a personality to match the looks and the kissing skills. Shame for someone, though not her, obviously. Men were nowhere on her agenda, not even on the distant horizon. Definitely no room for a drop dead specimen who’d materialized from nowhere to pay havoc with her pulse rate. Not with her life-plan.

Her eyes were still glued to him as he sat down and open a dog-eared car magazine. It was so unfair when a man got eyelashes like that. Thick, delectably dark. At least Motor World might keep him off her case.

‘Millie Brown?’ Millie started as she heard an approaching nurse shout her name. ‘The doctor wants you to go down to X-ray. There may be quite a wait.’

‘X-ray?’ Millie felt her chin jut defensively, as her chest tightened. ‘Why do I need an X-ray?’

‘How about, to see if you’ve got a cracked skull?’

Arrogant Ed got in before the nurse, who wafted a sheaf of papers at Ed, then winked at Mille. ‘We’ll let your partner take charge of the papers. Make sure he looks after you!’

Millie opened her mouth to protest loud and hard, but the nurse had already bustled away.

‘That’s official, then. I’m along for the ride.’ Ed shot her a satisfied smirk. ‘Do you want to take Horse and Hound with you? And do you want to go in a wheelchair, or on a trolley?’

***

X-ray was a marathon away. At least.

From her milky pallor, Ed would have laid a bet that Miss Independence here was regretting refusing transport, but if she was stubborn and belligerent, that was down to her. When they finally reached X-ray it was after a series of false starts, wrong turns, and a whole heap of silent recriminations, on both sides.

‘Grab a seat. I’ll sort the official stuff.’ He sidled up to reception, doubting that Millie had the strength to stand. Confidently, he threw the receptionist the full-on radiance of the five hundred watt smile he kept for emergency use only and was sent away with a promise of a two hour wait. Without the smile he suspected it could have been two weeks.

Millie gave the bloodstained haystack of hair above the bandage a vigorous rub, and groaned loudly as he landed on the seat next to her. ‘I just lost the will to live.’

She leaned back on her plastic chair and closed her eyes.

Was she really that stupid? ‘I thought they told you not to go to sleep.’

She blew loudly, opened her eyes and flashed him a flaming stare. ‘I’m not. Okay?’

Then promptly shut her eyes again.

Something about the undiluted indignation in the angle of her chin made him smile. Hell, he should’ve sent Blake to do this, or one of the other guys. There was no need for him to be here. The details of the firework display in Provence still had to be finalised, there were company takeovers that needed his attention, but for one strange moment he didn’t mind being here at all. Possibly he was feeling guilty that the old warning signs up by the quarry were too faded, and should have been renewed. Maybe it was his instinct for tying up loose ends, seeing things through, to avoid problems later. Maybe it was that kiss.

He let his eyes trail up, from her scuffed boots, over bare, dirt-streaked legs, to take in the way her denim shorts creased on the curve of her stomach, the way the cotton of her vest tugged tight across the bulge of her breasts. From the riot of her hair, she might have fallen out of a haystack. Probably had. So not his type, however lush her lips. However, she’d made his blood race.

Maybe he needed to keep Miss Awkward awake. Easier to keep from ogling her when she was conscious. He gave her a prod on the leg, and she blinked and sniffed, and turned to him woozily.

‘So what do you do when you’re not falling off horses?’

She hesitated, considered. ‘This and that.’

‘That’s illuminating.’ So why did he even want to know?

‘I’m multi-faceted. Do lots of things.’

Like dodging the issue. ‘Such as?’ He wasn’t backing down, and he sensed her get that. Sensed her caving in.

She shuffled her shoulders. ‘Things like teaching dancing, exercising the pony, keeping an eye on my employer’s Grandma, when the family’s out of town. Except she’s away now too. And I make collaged boxes, special ones, with lots of sticking and gluing. Satisfied?’ She gave him a hard stare, as if she resented his intrusion. ‘So what would you be up to if you weren’t here? Slaving in the quarry?’

A counter inquisition? Only to be expected.

‘Blowing things up. Big bangs and all that.’ That pretty much covered it, he guessed. No need to say he headed up a worldwide mining and blasting company, with a mega-bucks turnover, and ran a fireworks subsidiary just for fun. Not that he left the boardroom much these days. A desk-bound explosives expert, who’d lost his way.

Something about that reply shut her up, and she leaned back and closed her eyes again.

He sat back, scanned the busy waiting room, a world away from the smart, sparsely populated private clinics his family used. Beyond the silent TV with subtitles, an elderly man was helping his wife negotiate her walking frame past a couple exchanging grimaces over the heads of their squabbling kids. Next to them a couple of teenagers, seemingly joined at the hip, were clutching each other’s hands, oblivious.

Now he’d started noticing, there were couples everywhere he looked. Damn Carrie and her coupledom flag waving. And they all seemed to be supporting each other. Supporting? Was that what couples did? The whole relationship thing was so far off his radar, he really wouldn’t know. Not a place he planned on exploring any time soon. Probably not ever. He snorted loudly, at the thought of what he’d let himself in for with this darned dating challenge. He tried to rationalise the fact it was freaking him out. It had already caused him to wreck one car for chrissakes.

Realistically, it shouldn’t bother him. He needed to chill, take it in his stride. But a month in, he still hadn’t come across a suitable woman. He was a man who moved mountains, literally, on a daily basis. Jeez, what could be so difficult about a few dates? It was easy stuff. But he needed to tackle it, before he crashed any more cars. Okay, he had cars coming out of his ears, but not for wasting like that. But first he had to find a woman who was up to the task.

His eyes snagged on Millie again.

No. Absoloutely not. Definitely not her.

Except she was objectionable enough to satisfy Carrie’s criteria – a million miles from being compliant. And totally not what he’d ever go for in real life. A girl with riotous hair, and tattoos – one tattoo on her leg, he assumed there would be more – who majored in sticking and gluing. He bit back a broad grin. Cassie would be gob-smacked and it would damn well serve her right. He already knew what fun it would be.

Shame then, it didn’t seem right to go there.

Big shame, seeing as he’d pretty much racked up one date already, given they’d been here four hours. He couldn’t think when he’d last spent that long with a woman. Women didn’t particularly cross his path, other than at the wealth-dripping social occasions he attended, when he literally had to fight them off, and usually ended up taking his pick for a hot after-party liaison. It was all very well to talk about finding a suitable woman for the challenge as if women were ten a penny, but in his daily life they weren’t. Women were pretty damned scarce in the working stratosphere he moved in, and suitable women were even scarcer. Where the heck was he going to find one? He couldn’t fail the challenge before he’d even begun, because he couldn’t find a woman.

‘Sorry … ’ Millie had opened her eyes with a start and fixed him a grey-green gaze that sliced straight through his protective shell. ‘But you don’t smell like you work in a quarry.’

Hands in the air, he’d been over-zealous with the body spray this morning, and now she’d caught him out.

‘A bit of a random comment for a Monday lunchtime. Where did that come from?’ Not that he gave a damn, but more time to tailor his answer would come in handy.

Why was he still clinging to the pretence of being a quarry worker anyway? He could tell her something a whole lot closer to the truth without letting on to her that he was the CEO. But if he did that, he’d eliminate her from his challenge field at a stroke.

‘Caught a waft/making conversation/passing time. You choose.’ She threw him a smile he assumed was accidental. ‘Anything rather than go insane with boredom.’

Something about that smile made him decide his answer. ‘And probably I don’t smell of quarries because you caught me early on. By the end of the day it’s a whole different story.’

So he hadn’t ruled her out completely yet, according to the answer he’d given there. Not exactly a lie. Rather a judicious ambiguity. But she might not be available for his challenge, even if he ruled her in and that thought elicited a twang in his chest he couldn’t explain. She didn’t fit into his ideal, svelte-glossy-groomed-woman box, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be queues of other guys waiting to suck up her brand of curvaceous smolder. But if that was the case, why was she here with him? He watched as she drew one foot up onto the chair, and hugged her bent, bare leg close against one full breast, rested her chin on her knee, bit the fullest of lower lips, then closed her eyes again.

Pure sex kitten. Ready to play.

He shuffled in his seat, tried unsuccessfully to achieve some sort of negotiated settlement with his borrowed jeans, and opened Motor World. Not because he wanted to read about cars. He didn’t. Cars were the last thing he wanted to read about. But Motor World was his only hope of keeping his eyes off the troubling body beside him.

***

‘We’ve been here eight hours, and now you’re telling me I can’t go home?’ Millie rounded on the nurse, her anger strangled by the panic that tightened around her throat. ‘I won’t stay here, I can’t stay here … ’

The last time she’d stayed in hospital … She gritted her teeth to banish that thought.

The nurse was insistent. ‘You lost consciousness earlier, you have suspected concussion. For your own safety you need someone with you for the next twelve hours, otherwise we won’t be able to discharge you.’

‘Is there a problem?’ Ed sauntered over, hands rammed into his pockets, his past-caring face long since worn out. All she needed. He’d been driving her crazy simply being here, all day long, with his superior expression, not to mention his shorter than short temper. Frankly, she’d met more mature two year olds. He obviously thought he was God’s gift to someone; she just wasn’t sure who yet. Sitting next to him had been like being rubbed all day with rough sand paper on bare skin. And he was going to love this. She already knew the way his disgustingly perfect features would twist as he gloated.

‘They won’t let me out unless there’s someone to stay with me until morning.’ She couldn’t bring herself to say there was no-one she could think of to ask. Darned countryside, with hardly any people, her best friend off back-packing and after being here a year, no-one else she knew well enough to ask. All the family where she was living were away until the end of the week, even Grandma. It wouldn’t have been like this if she’d stayed in the city. She had stacks of friends there. It was all very well being independent, coming to the country to get a free house whilst she built up her business, but there were times when it had serious drawbacks.

‘My sister was ill for a long time, I can’t stand medical environments.’ She hurled that nugget at the nurse and the man, both staring at her, bemused. The truth, but missing out the real reason. Hopefully enough to explain her reluctance.

She tried not to remember how much she didn’t want to stay here, how much she detested hospitals, how ill they made her feel after the last time. She threw one desperate glance in Ed’s direction. ‘Unless … ’

‘Unless what?’

‘You wouldn’t be able to..?’ She screwed up every bit of courage and put her irritation of the day to one side. It was a measure of how desperate she was that she was even thinking of this, but, whoa, she was desperate. Desperate enough to force out a smile.

‘Could you possibly stay with me for the next twelve hours?’

***

How the heck had it come to this? An hour later, pulling up outside Millie’s cottage, Ed’s internal panic alarm was blaring.

‘I’ll wait in the car while you go for your gear. Bring a quilt, my place is rough, I’ve got the builders in. And hurry up.’ As if barking at her would improve the situation at all.

He had to be mad to be doing this, but somehow Millie had caught him off guard. Maybe it was the wild, haunted flare in her eyes. Stroppy woman and sex kitten had melted away, leaving one girl who was just plain scared, though perhaps the full-on curve of her lips in that one begging smile had swung it. Then his own instinct to work every situation to the max kicked in, and he was straight on the phone to Carrie, saying ‘Dating Challenge on.’

When Millie re-appeared – not that he expected that to be any time soon – he’d drive into town, pick up a take-away, and then head back to the barn he was converting out on the estate. All agreed with Carrie as a suitable wealth-concealing, coupledom activity.

Twelve hours from now Date One would be over. All good.

Except now it came to it, he was the one bricking it, and he had no idea why.

CHAPTER THREE

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!’

CHAPTER FOUR

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.

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