Praise for Natalie Anderson

‘This wonderful tale is a terrific mix of

spark, sizzle and passion.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Ruthless Boss, Royal Mistress

‘Sizzling chemistry in the boardroom and

well-developed characters make this a winner.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Hot Boss, Boardroom Mistress

‘You can always rely on Natalie Anderson

to deliver a fun and feel-good read …

The Millionaire’s Mistletoe Mistress is another fabulous read by this amazing rising star of M&B!’ —PHS Reviews on The Millionaire’s Mistletoe Mistress

About the Author

Possibly the only librarian who got told off herself for talking too much, NATALIE ANDERSON decided writing books might be more fun than shelving them—and boy, is it that! Especially writing romance—it’s the realisation of a lifetime dream kick-started by many an afternoon spent devouring Grandma’s Mills & Boon® novels …

She lives in New Zealand, with her husband and four gorgeous-but-exhausting children. Swing by her website any time—she’d love to hear from you: www.natalie-anderson.com

Also by Natalie Anderson

First Time Lucky?

Nice Girls Finish Last

The End of Faking It

Walk on the Wild Side

Unbuttoned by Her Maverick Boss* Caught on Camera with the CEO* To Love, Honour and Disobey

*Part of the Hot Under the Collar duet

Dating and Other Dangers
Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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To all the fabulous staff at Coffee Culture, Timaru – who never mind when I sit in my favourite booth for hours (and hours and hours), and who know not to give me wifi access until I’ve done a decent amount of work … You guys are always so patient and friendly—thanks heaps for giving my ‘office’ such great service!

CHAPTER ONE

WOMANBWARNED

Don’t be a Doormat!

Sick of bad dates and being taken advantage of? Check the facts on him here first—and don’t forget to tune into our latest tips to survive the dating jungle …

WomanBWarned thread #1862: Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out!

CaffeineQueen—posted 15:49

Ethan Rush might narrowly avoid screwing someone else at the same time, but he’ll screw you over in a way that’s worse. He’s hot but he knows it—and totally fakes the charm. He’ll take you somewhere flash a couple of times, flatter you ‘til you can’t think, give you the best sex ever. You’re so dazzled. But before you know it he’s saying goodbye. No explanation—just an “it was fun” note. He has to be setting up the next date while he’s kissing off the last because next day he’s out with her. He goes from the next to the next to the next. Don’t fall for the irresistible act or try to catch because he’ll never commit—3 dates and you’re out.

MinnieM—posted 18:23

OMG, I dated him 2 and u r so right—he’ll make u feel incredible but he’ll never want more than 2 or 3 dates. Then u don’t feel incredible. U feel like ur heart’s been conned out of u. He’s a total usr.

Bella_262—posted 21:38

He took me to this incredible restaurant. It was the most amazing night of my life. But for him? Who knows? All of a sudden it’s over. I think he’s just after numbers. I was so into him. Now I just feel like an idiot.

CaffeineQueen—posted 07:31

He had what he wanted and he went on his way. The fact that it was so good made it worse. You’re left hanging, thinking you’re half in love with him. And that there’s something really wrong with you.

MinnieM—posted 09:46

I still don’t know why he stopped calling. I thought it was going gr8 but no warning and is all over. Got amazing flowers but that really didn’t help.

CaffeineQueen—posted 10:22

You got a bunch of flowers too? So did I. Definitely his standard MO. Bet there are heaps of others he’s done it to. He’s the one with the problem, ladies, not us. Avoid at all costs—don’t let him get away with the playboy-rat routine any more!

BENEATH his jeans and tee Ethan’s skin burned hot one second and snap-froze the next as he read the website. He’d thought the link embedded in the e-mail his sister had sent would lead to the latest hilarious viral vid.

This wasn’t hilarious. This was a horror-fest—all about him.

Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out picked up the phone.

‘Polly, you made this up,’ he rapped, as soon as his sister answered.

‘Sadly, no.’ Polly sounded half-apologetic, half-teasing. ‘You’re internetorious.’

‘But I don’t use women.’ The defensive instinct was impossible to suppress. ‘No more than they use me,’ he added when she didn’t answer. ‘I’m a generous date.’ Good restaurant. Good company. Good time—for both parties.

‘Generous in what way?’ Polly asked. ‘They’re right. You never go on more than three dates with one woman. And you constantly date. Constantly.’

‘And that’s a problem because …?’

‘You’re only after one thing.’

‘No, I’m not.’ He enjoyed the company of women, but he didn’t sleep around. ‘I don’t even go to bed with all of them.’

Polly’s disbelieving silence echoed. Great. His own sister didn’t believe him. Irritated, he glared at the computer, angered all the more by the petty words some bitter ex-dates had written about him. ‘You cannot agree with this. Anyone can say anything they want on the internet. Where’s the verification?’

‘Well, I know the flowers thing is true.’

Because she was the florist he just about single-handedly kept in business. ‘So that makes the rest of it true?’

His sister remained silent. Stupidly, it hurt more than it should—the way a paper cut made your eyes water despite being the smallest of incisions. He grimaced at the stupid cute logo with its blinding bright colours. ‘Who does this, anyway? What kind of person sets up a website devoted to letting bitter and twisted women vent their vitriol?’

Hell had no fury, and the scorned woman behind this website must be one manipulative wench. She even had awful tee shirts for sale, so she could make money off the vulnerable and vindictive.

‘Forget it, Ethan.’ Polly tried to switch topic. ‘I shouldn’t have sent it to you. You’re coming to the christening, right? Alone?’

‘Yeah,’ Ethan growled. ‘So I can shield Mum from Dad’s latest. And you were right to send it this to me, but off to believe it.’ Eyes glued to the screen, he clicked on another couple of entries and seethed even more. He was on there with all the cheats and creeps—though that assumed that what these women claimed was actually true. He knew for sure his thread was fabrication, so he was sceptical. And increasingly furious.

‘This is defamation.’ The injustice burned. ‘The internet might be all about free speech, but this is wrong.’

It was completely wrong. Damaging and dangerous. A site like this shouldn’t be allowed. Someone had to do something about it before some guy’s life or job was derailed by a bad online reputation.

Ethan Rush never shied from a challenge. And he didn’t take anything lying down.

Nadia’s eyes hurt as she squinted at her inbox. Staying up all night to moderate and update the forum had been such a dumb idea. And she’d had to come up with two new blog topics—which at three in the morning had been next to impossible. Her site had gotten so much bigger than she’d ever dreamed it would—truly fabulous—but it made focusing on the day job difficult. Unfortunately it was the day job that paid the bills. And it was the day job that was going to buy her the life and respect she’d fought for for ever. So she wasn’t going to screw it up.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Despite exercising on her way to work, there’d been no endorphin high, and she was going to need something more to get through the next eight hours. But before she could raid the snack machine for an assortment of fatty, sugary, salty, fifty-times-processed, plastic-wrapped rubbish, her phone rang.

‘Nadia, I have a gentleman in reception asking for you,’ Steffi the receptionist informed her, with an incredibly sparkly intonation.

‘Really?’ Nadia checked her calendar, but her first appointment wasn’t scheduled for an hour. ‘Me?’

‘You. Apparently no one else will do.’

Really? Nadia didn’t think so. He was probably a relentless wannabe recruit and Stef was fobbing him off on her. Millions wanted to work at Hammond Insurance. She knew. She’d fought like a wildcat to get her foot in the door.

‘He’s pretty insistent. Shall I send him through?’

Oh, yeah—Steffi was totally fobbing off some weirdo on her. ‘Okay.’ Nadia caved. ‘Meeting room five, in three minutes.’

‘Fantastic,’ Steffi gushed.

Nadia frowned and lowered her voice to whisper into the phone. ‘Stef, is everything okay?’

‘Sure. Why?’

‘You sound a little … puffed.’

‘Oh, no.’ Steffi laughed too loudly, all her breath seeming to blast down the phone. ‘I’m fine!’

Uh-huh. Nadia hung up and swivelled her chair. She needed some screen-free time anyway. She picked up one of the recruitment packs and walked to the meeting room.

If he was a wannabe recruit Steffi could have given him an info pack, but some of them were determined to talk to someone beyond Reception. Ah, well, it was a relief to delay starting properly, and she could raid the vending machine on her way back. She got to the meeting room and took up her position behind the desk. She flicked open the pack and prepared herself to deliver the bright smile and the spiel outlining the benefits of this amazing, ancient company, but not allowing too much hope to build in the guy. Hammond only took the best of the best. It took a hell of a lot of hard work to cut it here, and ninety-nine percent of people who applied never got over the threshold.

She looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway. She blinked at the brightness of Steffi’s smile. The receptionist was flushed and sparkling, as if she’d had three too many glasses of champagne. She loudly told the person following her, ‘Here’s meeting room five!’ then stepped to the side and Nadia saw the guy himself.

Cue several blinks in quick succession.

So not what she’d expected. She’d been thinking recent graduate—nervous, but bright. Sometimes they were youthfully brash, but they were never this smoothly confident, never this coolly controlled, never this kind of three thousand percent full-grown, red-blooded man. Sharp tailored suit, even sharper eyes, and a smile on the face that went with the prime male body. Nadia had never seen anyone with such perfect features in real life—that kind of symmetry was the domain of airbrushed aftershave ads. Only this guy had an edge that was never in those ads. No wonder Steffi had morphed into a breathless bimbo. Nadia’s lungs squeezed helplessly in sympathy and she couldn’t even manage an answering smile, let alone a hello. But the minute Steffi disappeared so did his smile.

A ripple skittered down Nadia’s spine and her brain sharpened. She blinked away the blinding effect of his beauty. He didn’t look as if he hoped to score a job at the most prestigious insurance firm in the city. He looked as if he had the world and its riches at his feet already, and could take or leave anything at his leisure. But that edge was there—simmering—and something raw was a scant centimetre below his incredibly smooth surface. Something she wasn’t sure she wanted to identify.

He paused another moment just inside the doorway, then carefully closed the door behind him. All the while he stared as hard at her as she belatedly realised she was staring at him. Finally he spoke. ‘You’re Nadia Keenan?’

She swallowed. ‘That surprises you?’ she asked, with a coolness that surprised her. She gestured to the seat across the table, because she was going to get a crick in her neck if she had to look that far up for another moment. Yeah, she should have stood, but her legs were as supportive as soggy tissue paper, and somehow she knew revealing weakness in front of this guy wouldn’t be a smart idea.

He took the seat, moving his all-muscle, no-fat frame in a too controlled kind of way that made the ripples run even faster across her skin. Apprehension … and something else she definitely didn’t want to identify. Instead her brain tracked down another avenue. Exactly how had he known to ask for her specifically? Because she was sure now he had—it wasn’t Steffi fobbing anyone off. This guy was here for some very precise reason. But she was merely an HR assistant. It wasn’t as if her name was listed on the company website. So why her?

Silence sharpened another second. She glanced past him, relieving her strained wide eyes and trying to regulate her pulse back to normal. Two of the walls were windows—the lower half frosted, but the upper part clear. Her clenched muscles eased a smidge. Anyone walking past could see in. There was no reason to feel isolated—no reason to feel as if the room had been sucked of all its oxygen. There was no reason for those ripples to relentlessly slither back and forth across her skin. And it wasn’t exactly fear … it was that something else.

She swallowed again and drew another cooling breath. ‘How can I help—?’

‘What’s the policy on internet use here at Hammond?’ he interrupted.

Pressing her lips together, she nudged the recruitment pack on the table between them, avoiding looking at him as she pulled her scattered thoughts together.

‘I should imagine it’s pretty conservative,’ he continued, before she’d collated her answer. ‘Pretty conservative establishment all round, is Hammond.’

‘Do you have a point, Mr …?’ She paused deliberately, still not looking him in the eyes.

‘Rush. Ethan Rush,’ he said, as smoothly and unselfconsciously as if he were James Bond himself. ‘Do you recognise my name?’

‘Should I?’

‘Yes, I think you should.’

She blinked and pushed the pack again, to buy another moment of thinking time. Except she couldn’t really think—she could barely breathe—and her pulse was pounding. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Mr Rush, you’ll have to explain.’

‘But you’ve been warned about me.’

‘I have?’ Startled, she looked up—and found herself snared in the reddish tint of his brown eyes—the hardness of those eyes.

‘Yes, on WomanBWarned. Do you know that website, Nadia?’

In less than the micro-second it took for her to gasp, shock had covered her body in goosebumps. Every inch of her skin screamed with sensitivity; every cell was shot with adrenalin. She let another second slide, and as it did she decided to avoid—then feign ignorance. And if that failed she’d deny, deny, deny.

‘Was there something you needed today, Mr Rush?’

‘Yes, I wanted to be sure about the internet policy here at Hammond, and apparently you’re the HR expert on it.’ He didn’t seem to move, but he was somehow even bigger, filling the room with ferocious energy. ‘Tell me,’ he said drily, ‘does your employer know you run one of the bitchiest, most defamatory sites on the internet?’

Nadia’s throat tightened as if a hangman’s noose had just been jerked, rendering speech impossible.

‘It wouldn’t do your little HR role much good if your bosses found out about your hobby, would it? Not when you’re sending out these little edicts to all their employees about online protocol. Not in a great position to give advice, are you?’

Nadia firmed her jaw—she resented the “hobby” description.

He pulled a paper from his pocket and unfolded it, placing it in the table. She glanced at the heading, and then back up to his simmering countenance. She didn’t need to read more because she’d written most of it. The internal memo on internet access and computer use, explicitly detailing that social networking sites, forums and such, were forbidden. She’d drafted the updated policy before getting it approved by Legal and her supervisors.

‘Where did you get that?’ And how on earth had he tracked her down?

‘I find it so ironic that you deliver seminars to the other employees about protecting their online presence and reputation when you’re so vicious in cyberspace yourself.’

‘Do you have a point, Mr Rush?’ She curled her toes and tensed her muscles. She wanted to escape but refused to run away. Because she really needed to know what his point was. Despite her hammering heart, she told herself to keep calm. She was safe. She’d never used Hammond computers for her forums and she never would—her job mattered too much.

‘What do you think, Nadia? Why am I here?’

She shrugged her shoulders slightly. ‘No reason I can think of. Unless you wish to discuss possible employment at Hammond, I don’t think we have anything to say to each other.’

He smiled as he surveyed her. Sitting back in his seat, he was now completely at ease, as if he was the one who worked here, and not total stranger who’d just come in off the street. And he was completely gorgeous, in an all-male, all-arrogant way.

Oh, yes—woman be warned. She knew his type—too good-looking for his own good. A spoilt playboy who’d been outed as a two/three/four or more timer for sure. And he wasn’t happy about it? Too bad.

His eyes compelled her to answer his challenge. Fire burned in them—literally a touch of russet in the cinnamon iris—impossible to ignore.

But she’d damn well try. ‘You might be twice my size, but you don’t intimidate me. You can take your threatening attitude elsewhere.’

‘Threatening?’ He laughed. The sound spiked the air with danger. ‘I’m not here to threaten, Nadia. I’m here to extract a promise.’

She quickly touched her tongue to the inside of her dry lips.

‘The thread about me is defamatory,’ he said bluntly.

‘Well …’ She forced a smile. ‘The defence to defamation is truth.’

‘That’s right,’ he agreed.

‘So you’re saying what’s on there isn’t the truth?’

‘That’s right.’

She shrugged. ‘So prove it.’

Six seconds passed by. Her senses had suddenly grown so acute she could hear the hand of her tiny watch ticking, so she knew exactly.

‘You don’t think that’s the wrong way round Nadia? In a free and just legal system a man is innocent until proven guilty. But in the little world you’ve created he’s guilty until proven innocent. You don’t see a problem with that?’

She shot him a look designed to wither. ‘The men detailed on my site are guilty.’

His answering glare was withering and then some. ‘You don’t accept that it might be open to abuse? You don’t think a woman with a vendetta might take advantage of it?’

‘A woman with a vendetta? Please—men like you made up that kind of stereotype.’

‘So you’re not a woman who was hurt by some man and seeking payback? That isn’t why you set this thing up?’

Her temper flared. ‘I set this up so people had access to information. All kinds of information.’

‘Because all men are bastards?’

‘Information about dating in the modern world,’ she corrected. But this conversation was futile. He was never going to understand—clearly his outsize ego was too bruised. ‘I don’t need to justify myself to you.’

‘Oh, I think you do.’ He leaned forward. ‘I think you need to justify your actions to a lot of people. And why won’t you come clean about it? Why hide behind online anonymity? Your employers here don’t even know.’

She glanced out of those windows, wishing they were solid walls now. Of course they didn’t know. They’d totally disapprove. They stressed online responsibility and reputation—it was what she taught every new recruit. And she did not want to jeopardise her job. She’d worked too hard to get it.

‘I don’t cheat,’ he said firmly. ‘And I don’t swindle naïve girls out of their life savings. So why am I on there?’

‘You’ve obviously hurt someone.’ And she’d be reading the thread to find out how, the second she got the chance.

‘So where’s my right of reply?’

‘You can post a rebuttal. You just have to register and log in.’

‘What? And give myself an anonymous identity like the shrews on there?’ He shook his head. ‘I think you need to take ownership of the site that you’ve created. You need to take responsibility for the accuracy of the content and for the damage that can ensue from it.’

‘In what way has it damaged you?’ He struck her as bulletproof.

He paused. ‘Reputation is an unquantifiably precious thing.’

She knew that. ‘So what do you want?’

He sat back in his seat, the back of his fingers brushing his mouth and jaw. She tried very hard not to follow the movement and focus on that mouth with its full lips. Instead she tried to meet his gaze—except it seemed it had wandered.

She watched, steaming up, as he looked at her mouth, her neck, her chest. She saw the deepening fire in his expression and felt the response inside herself—her muscles shifting as hormones rushed. Beneath her blouse her breasts tightened.

Of course her body would react to just a look from this too handsome playboy stud. Her mating instinct was so off.

Slowly his lashes lifted and he captured her gaze with his gleaming one. ‘I guess if I have to prove it, then I’ll prove it.’

‘How are you going to do that?’ And why was she suddenly whispering?

‘Three dates,’ he said, just as softly.

‘Pardon?’

‘You and I are going to go out on three dates. You’re the judge, jury and the executioner, right? So judge me on the facts. I’ll prove to you that what’s up on your site is untrue.’

She laughed—only one note lower than hysterical. It was preposterous. ‘I’m not dating you.’

‘It’s that or call your lawyers.’ His gaze coasted over her again, assessing in the most base way. ‘Got lots of money for lawyers, Nadia? No, of course you don’t. Otherwise why would you be working as a lowly HR assistant?’

‘The users of my forum sign a waiver.’ She tried to recover her ground. ‘I can’t be held responsible for what they put up there.’

‘It’s so convenient for you to hide behind that rule, isn’t it? I think it could be due for a test in court, though.’ He smiled sympathetically. ‘And it’ll take months. All that time off work … Everyone here at work is going to know, Nadia. And your family, friends.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘They don’t know either, do they?’ He went for the kill. ‘You’re going to need good lawyers for a long and expensive time, honey.’

‘You’re willing to waste that money yourself?’ Her stomach churned. He couldn’t be serious. Surely he wouldn’t do that?

‘I don’t think it is a waste. Anyway, I am a lawyer, I can represent myself.’

Of course he was a lawyer. He was every inch an aggressive, adversarial jerk. Well, he wasn’t going to intimidate her. She swallowed back the bile burning its way up her throat. ‘I’m not taking your thread down. It’s freedom of speech.’

‘Actually, I don’t want you to take it down,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Let’s face it, once things are out there on the web they’re out there for ever. What I want is a retraction.’

‘Then you need to contact the woman you slimed, not me.’ He didn’t need to involve her at all. Three dates? It was ridiculous.

‘They’re anonymous—I don’t know who they are.’

They? Oh, how very nice. ‘And you can’t figure it out because there are so many possibilities?’ She widened her eyes in fake surprise. ‘Be honest.’ She snapped into attack mode. ‘What you really want is a suck-up piece, going on about how fabulous you are in bed.’

‘You’re offering to sleep with me so you can report with accuracy?’

Her face went hot. So did every other part of her body.

‘I don’t need your approval to know my worth as a lover, Nadia. What I want is an acknowledgement that sometimes people put things up there with a warped perspective. Although what I really want is for you to pull the plug on this poisonous swamp of bitterness altogether.’

‘That’s not going to happen.’

‘Being a bitch is that important to you?’

She shrugged. ‘If warning other women about jerks who want to use them makes me a bitch, then I’m happy to be considered one. For a long time.’

‘So how do you know what they put up is accurate?’

‘Why would anyone lie?’ It was simple. ‘I’ve already told you these aren’t women with a vendetta. These are women who’ve been hurt really badly.’

‘Women like you?’

She froze for a nano-second. ‘It isn’t personal for me.’

‘Like hell it isn’t.’

Grimly, she hid her fists beneath the desk and tried to think of a way out. But she was backed into a corner and she knew it. ‘Okay, then. You want three dates? Fine. But we go Dutch.’

He winced theatrically, but that didn’t hide the satisfaction in his eyes. ‘Yeah, you would be that crass.’

‘I wouldn’t want to feel I owed you anything, Mr Rush. Or that you expected anything from me because you bought me an expensive dinner.’

‘Actually, I’m expecting quite a lot from you Nadia.’ He smiled with genuine amusement. ‘And call me Ethan.’

She stood up and walked to the door, because if she didn’t her anger was going to burst out utterly inappropriately. He stood too. She saw him take in her height and glance down to register the height of her heels. She just knew he was mentally calculating the difference if the shoes were off.

‘Very dangerous things come in small packages,’ she said tightly.

He grinned—the patronising, “amused by the little girl” grin that she’d seen way too many times in her life.

‘So do very precious things,’ he countered softly.

She didn’t see him the rest of the way out. Couldn’t. The wave of heat all but blinded her. Half fury, half something else altogether. Oh, yes, he deserved to be on WomanBWarned, even if he wasn’t a bona fide candidate. He’d trample hearts without any effort whatsoever.

But not hers. Never, ever hers.

CHAPTER TWO

WomanBWarned

Top tips for surviving the dating jungle. What not to do on your first date …

Don’t drink—at least not much. Alcohol impairs judgment and you want to make safe, sensible decisions.

Don’t be too sexual—if it’s a possible relationship you want, not a one night hook-up, then keep a little mystery. You want to be taken seriously.

Don’t go on and on about your ex(es) or your ailments or how awful your boss is. Negativity is a downer.

Don’t go to the movies—it’s a cop-out. You want to get to know the person, not sit next to them in silence for two hours.

Don’t try too hard—just relax and be yourself.

ETHAN sprawled on the sofa in his apartment and laughed as he read, his laptop balanced his stomach. Oh, boy! OlderNWiser—the online pseudonym for one Nadia Keenan—really had her rules, didn’t she? There were a ton of little blog bits on her site, giving tips for this and that in the dating realm. As if she was some kind of expert.

He so didn’t think so.

The woman needed a lesson or fifty from a true master. And he knew just how he was going to do it—by taking over her own turf, of course. Fighting fire with fire and all that. Because anyone could set up a blog, right? And fortunately he was partner at a firm that didn’t have uptight HR princesses like Nadia Keenan. His firm believed in treating adults like adults, and didn’t care about what personal things employees decided to put up on the internet. There were no draconian, moralistic guidelines attempting to govern their workers’ private lives. So long as it wasn’t work-related, and didn’t impact negatively on the business, they weren’t interested. If the people he did deals with stumbled across it they’d most likely laugh and cheer him on. They were human, with senses of humour.

Yeah, it wasn’t because of his work that he was bothered by her reputation-shredding website. For him, it was the core injustice of having to prove innocence instead of guilt. That violation of a fundamental legal principle. Okay, there was an element of the personal too. They’d picked on the wrong Rush. Ethan didn’t deserve to be slated—it was his father who was the jerk. And Ethan refused to be anything like his father—not fickle, not deceitful, not hurtful. Ethan might play, but he was up-front and honest about it, and always nice to the women whose company he enjoyed. Mind you, he didn’t feel like being nice to Nadia Keenan.

He logged onto one of the major blogging sites and thought for a second about a title.

GuysGetWise?

Fantastic—not registered, and his to use.

And his tagline?

Taking on the Dirt-Dishing Dating Divette.

He could do alliteration too, see? And at least he could spell, rather than use basically illiterate abbreviations. The t-crossing, i-dotting legal writer in him detested those. Although admittedly “divette” was his own invention—but she was too itty-bitty to be a true diva. He filled in the little grid detailing “all about this blog” …

EthanRush—supposedly “shamed” as Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out over on WomanBWarned wants those women to get real and for guys to wise up to the dating reputation dross that’s online. Come hang out here, boys, and get clued up to the reality. And get way better dating advice than any you’ll read over there.

Because he was so much more of an expert on dating than Ms OlderNWiser, and she was going to know it. He chuckled as he composed his first entry. There was nothing like a direct challenge to get his blood pumping. Grin wolfish, he started typing the beginning.

GuysGetWise: The chick flick is your friend

According to the self-proclaimed guru over at WomanBWarned, OlderNWiser, going to the movies is a dumb first date destination.

Wrong.

A cinema is a nice, totally safe environment that can push the defrost button on even the most hardened ice queen—like OlderNWiser herself.

You can round it out more if you want by going for pizza before, if necessary—NOT the usual cheap delivery, guys. This first time it’s got to be gourmet. Be seen to be making an effort. But, as we all know, there’s nothing worse than being stuck at a pricey restaurant with a vacuous woman who has no conversation while waiting hours for two strips of potato, a fifty-pence-sized piece of steak and some weird green oil drizzled in dots on the edge of an oversized white plate. Instead go for pizza to say hi, and then ease off the pressure for a bit.

The movie gives you a couple of hours to settle into each other’s company—you’re close, but not too intensely focused on each other. Afterwards you’ve got something to talk about to start you off. And then, once she’s started, she won’t stop. Babes like to talk—and they will if warmed up. After a movie she’ll be in the mindset. So let her share with you.

Immutable dating fact: the more you let her share, the more she’ll want to be with you. It’s that simple.

You might wince, but the chick flick in particular is your friend. She’ll get the warm fuzzy feeling. Go for the one-two punch—the chick flick followed by dessert. She’ll be as gooey inside as the chocolate pudding she’s spooning in. And, bud, you will benefit from the happy ending hormones she’s riding on.

Brace yourselves and get her to a rom-com, feel-good kissy flick. That’s what I’ll be doing with Ms OlderNWiser. It’s the perfect first date softener. And us guys like soft.

Ethan paused, his fingers hovering above the keyboard, his lips twisting as an evil urge gripped him.

Stay tuned for how to nail her on the second date.

He hit “publish” before he had second thoughts. Hey, he’d said it all along—there was a lot of rubbish out there on the internet. And she’d shredded his rep anyway, right? This was his way of reclaiming his own image. He didn’t really give a damn about what the anonymous readers on the ends of the ethernet thought, but he was not a cheat—yes, he played, but all the playmates had fun. And he’d get even the world’s most uptight woman to appreciate some fun.

His blood quickened, but he forced his brain to stay open for duty. He went into the WomanBWarned site and registered—under his own name—and then went to the Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out thread to comment.

EthanRush: Looking for another side to this little story? What happened to balance and verification of information? Neither of those things are apparent on this bitch-fest. So how about a challenge? The woman in WomanBWarned herself—OlderNWiser—has agreed to a series of dates with me, Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out. As she’s Chief Judge and Executioner around here, she’s agreed to give me a fair trial.

Three dates, of course.

She’ll play them her way. I’ll play them mine.

We’ll report back and you can decide—who’s the honest one and who’s the user?

Who’s the victor?

The comment appeared beneath all the others. He’d well and truly thrown down the gauntlet. What he needed now were some supportive comments to get traffic his way and stack the odds in his favour. Happily, he had some guys who knew him well enough to know his tongue was—partly—in his cheek. Guys liked sport, and he was a team player. His team would get behind him. He put the link on his social networking page, then shut the laptop and closed his eyes.

And then it hit him.

This was mad. This wasn’t what was supposed to have happened. He was supposed to have gone in there all guns blazing and torn shreds off her. Demand she take down the thread, take down the whole damn site, and totally threaten to sue her.

Okay, he had threatened that.

But only after he’d been struck by a far more entertaining idea. The threat had simply been a way to push her into accepting that far more entertaining idea. With her OlderNWiser handle he’d figured he’d be facing down some ancient hardened up crone, but in reality she looked like one of the fairies on his three-year-old niece’s miniature china teaset. All fine bones and fine features in her heart-shaped face, with her hair tumbling loose and kinking at the ends. And, yes, his thoughts had immediately kinked.

He’d have to be careful how he played this, because he refused to end up in a mess. He did charming and nice—never messy. But he’d teach her a lesson—Nadia Keenan was going down.

No, not sex—there’d be no sliding along sun-kissed limbs, no stroking delicate collarbones, no relentlessly touching ‘til she begged for mercy and then screamed her ecstasy in his mouth. No matter how vivid that fantasy was, an even bigger temptation bit. He’d get her hot and twisted and then be a total gentleman. Restraint all the way. And she’d hate him even more than she already did.

He couldn’t get over the contradiction—she looked sweet but she savaged people with her vindictive website. Who’d hurt her, and how? She’d said it wasn’t personal, but there had to have been a guy who’d broken what little heart she had. Her online ID even acknowledged she was OlderNWiser.

He flipped the laptop open again, went back to WomanBWarned and clicked on the archives link.

To win any game you had to be prepared. You had to understand your opponent’s weakness.

Nadia wished Megan was home, but she was in Greece for three weeks, meeting her boyfriend Sam’s family, meaning the flat they shared was quiet and empty and totally lacking in advice—the walls weren’t answering back.

She pushed aside the clothes-hangers in her wardrobe, desperately searching despite knowing exactly what items were there and that whatever it was she wanted wasn’t.

Because she didn’t know what she wanted and she didn’t have the funds to shop.

She had to ace it over Ethan Rush, but he had every angle covered. Good looking, intelligent, loaded—that was obvious from his clothes and his confidence. Everything came easily to him—even her acquiescence to his stupid idea. She had to shake him from his self-satisfied, smug little perch. But how?

She picked up the bag she’d tossed on her bed. Her phone rang just as she got hold of it. Megan—hooray for serendipity.

‘What do I wear to a date I don’t want to go on?’ Nadia asked straight off.

‘A date?’ Megan’s high-pitched amazement was no surprise. ‘Why don’t you want to go?’

‘Because he’s a complete jerk who’s bullied me into it.’

‘Nadia,’ Megan scoffed, ‘no one bullies you.’

Ten hours ago Nadia would have agreed. ‘If I don’t date him he says he’s going to sue me for defamation and out me as the woman behind WomanBWarned.’

‘Don’t tell me he’s on it?’

‘Yeah—has his own thread. Mr 3 Dates and You’re Out. Totally smooth snake who’s only interested in sex. Moves on immediately after. Serial dating offender, seriously arrogant. More than one victim has commented.’

‘He used that to get you to agree to go on a date with him?’

‘Three dates.’

‘Three?’ Megan started to giggle. ‘Oh, he’s good.’

‘He’s not good. He’s mad.’

‘But he won’t waste money suing. Just tell Hammond you run the site. They won’t care. It’s in your own hours and on your own equipment.’

‘I worked too hard to get that job. I’m not screwing it up.’ Independence mattered—achievement mattered. Nadia wasn’t failing now, having secured a great flat and a great job when no one in her family had believed a “little thing” like her could—or, worse, should. They’d thought a big city was too bad a place for her, so she’d gone to the biggest city in the country and got employed by one of the biggest, most traditional-to-a-T firms. That was the only way she could to prove herself to them—they’d just be baffled by her blog.

‘I’m reading the thread. He sounds interesting.’ Megan drew in a long, slow breath. ‘Good sex. When did you last have sex?’

Nadia banged the wardrobe door shut. It was all right for Megan. She and Sam were still in that honeymoon phase, so she was getting it at least twice a day. Nadia hadn’t had it twice in the last year. Or two.

‘Nadia.’ Megan’s tone totally changed. ‘Did you see his reply?’

Nadia’s blood iced up. ‘There wasn’t one.’ She ran into the lounge, where her computer dominated the dining table. Praise be to highspeed broadband, because the thread loaded in a flash. And it only took a flash to realise what he’d done.

‘He’s made it public. The dates.’ Her throat clogged. ‘Why? Everyone is going to know we’re going out.’ And there was going to be a victor? Oh, she’d been right. This was war.

‘Well, they know he is.’ Megan morphed into the voice of calm. ‘You’ve still got your anonymous ID. There’s a link to a blog. He has a blog?’

‘It’s new, and I’m already reading it,’ Nadia said grimly, quickly skimming the post and growing all the more aggravated.

But Megan giggled. ‘I can’t wait for him to “nail” you on the second date.’

‘He’s a conceited jerk. He’s not nailing anything.’ Certainly not her. And she certainly wasn’t feeling a quiver of excitement at the thought. The quiver was suppressed rage.

‘He’s good-looking, right?’ Megan asked. ‘He must be to be this confident.’

‘If you like over-sized macho men who think they’re it and everything else.’ Physical invincibility didn’t do their personalities any favours, and she didn’t need the over-protec-tiveness that tended to accompany their delusions of demi-god status.

‘He sounds just the ticket.’ Megan had pepped up. ‘What are you going to wear?’

Nadia bit back her growl. She knew Megan wanted her to be as loved-up and happy as she was, but she didn’t want to be attractive to Ethan—she wanted armour. Fortunately high-pitched beeps interrupted whatever Megan was saying now.

‘I have to go, Meg,’ Nadia said quickly. ‘I’ve got another call.’ She jabbed the buttons. ‘Hello?’

‘Nadia.’

From the frying pan to the fire. Just her luck. ‘Ethan.’ Those infernal goosebumps smothered her skin. She refused to recognise the other instant reaction deep and low in her belly.

‘Wednesday night good for you?’ No preamble or polite chit chat—but his voice was caramel enough.

Wednesday. Mid-week and only two days away. She needed more prep time. ‘Actually, I already have plans for Wednesday,’ she lied. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Not at all.

‘Thursday, then?’

‘I could do Thursday.’

‘I was thinking a movie or something.’

Total fail on the originality front, but she’d get him back—because she’d read his stupid blog. She wasn’t going to let him know she’d read it. Damn. She suddenly realised that he would know if he checked his traffic stats and knew her ISP. Which he obviously did—he seemed to know way too much about her internet activity. She quickly took a screenshot and logged out of the site. She’d only check it from wireless hotspots now, at random coffee bars or something.

‘That sounds great,’ she said with zero enthusiasm. ‘Can I choose the movie?’

‘Of course.’

She paused. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘Same way I found out you’re the woman behind WomanBWarned. There’s a lot of information out there on the internet.’

‘But it’s secure.’

‘Never as secure as you think. I’ll pick you up from your place.’

‘You know where I live?’ Now, that was scary.

‘Sure.’ She could hear his smile. ‘On the corner of Bitter and Twisted Street, right?’

‘What a shame you won’t get lost.’

‘I don’t plan to,’ he drawled, in a way that made her shiver more. ‘Text me all your details and I’ll let you know what time.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait,’ she cooed, just to get the last word in.

She tossed her phone onto the sofa and stared at the words frozen on her huge screen. It was the “divette” that did it. The patronising, belittling, condescending bastard.

Damn it, she was going shopping. She wanted to look more than nice. She wanted to look hot. So hot he couldn’t help but want her and make his one move too many. The possibility was there—she’d seen the flash in his expression when he’d looked her over so boldly in her office today. Definite sparks. And she didn’t deny she’d responded on a basic level. But she could control her own reaction while blowing harder on those sparks. Get him hot. And then—when he made his move—she’d refuse him. And that would be so incredibly satisfying.

Nadia wasn’t conceited, but she didn’t underestimate her potential strengths either. She knew she had a little something that intrigued some men. Little being the operative word. A lot of guys liked petite women. Funnily enough, it was often the taller guys who liked petite women most. Nadia figured it made them feel all the more manly. Men like that loved to be looked up to. Literally.

Ethan the Arrogant would definitely like being looked up to.

So she’d do the pretty little woman thing and emphasise her femininity. She went back to the WomanBWarned thread and looked at the comments from the women who’d dated him. She was curious to know more—as moderator she could e-mail them and surreptitiously try to get more info. A possibility she’d definitely keep on file. But if what they said was true then a move from Ethan was probably inevitable, no matter what she wore. Sexual conquest was as natural to him as breathing. It wasn’t that he was interested in the individual woman—it was the chase that thrilled him. Pure predator.

But she wanted to turn the screws on him as hard as she could, so she had to make herself more attractive prey. Because she was going to be the woman to put him in his place.

CHAPTER THREE

SHE had found the best ever dress. Not evening formal, but floaty, floral and ultra-feminine. A little pricey, but it was worth it. She teamed it with soft ballerina flats rather than strappy heeled sandals, to really highlight the height thing. She normally never wore anything less than two inches outside her front door, but she was prepared to make a few sacrifices for this mission. She left her hair loose, wearing a slim scrunchie as a bracelet in case it got hot on her neck and she wanted to tie some of it back. She had a soft wrap for her shoulders and a dainty little bag hanging from her shoulder. Minimal make-up—mascara, a little eyeliner, and pink-tinted gloss on her lips.

Fresh, feminine, an innocent at large—that was the look she was going for.

As she’d expected, he turned up right on time. When she heard the knock on the door she had an overwhelming urge not to answer, but she flicked her hair back and faked a smile. It died the second she saw him, and anger flared in its stead. How dared the guy be so hot-looking? Staggeringly perfect, in a steely, square-jawed kind of way—not to mention tall and broad and big in terms of presence. Immaculately dressed in casual jeans and a cotton tee that showed off his shoulders and abs, he just didn’t seem real. No wonder he thought he could sail through women without a care—it happened all too easily for him to realise otherwise. Her confidence evaporated in the face of his undeniable attractiveness. Who did she think she was kidding? Could she really play with fire this hot?

‘I thought we could get some pizza before we go to the movies,’ he said. Amusement and satisfaction lurked in his eyes.

She stiffened as she saw the smugness, and her game plan zipped back. The urge to better him overwhelmed her. She’d do it whichever way she could.

‘Oh, that would have been great …’ She let her voice trail and frowned a little.

‘But?’ he prompted.

‘Well, the thing is, a movie I’ve been wanting to see for ages is on, and to catch it we need to go straight to the theatre.’ She deliberately bit her bottom lip and looked up, up, up at him, with wide, wide eyes. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, as softly and breathily as a 1960s screen starlet—she hoped, anyway.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, that lurking light of amusement completely snuffed. ‘That’s … not a problem.’ He half turned away. ‘Shall we go now, then?’

‘Oh, come in for a moment,’ she said with a sweet smile, aiming to appear as accommodating as possible. ‘I need to get my wrap.’

It was a warm summer night and she so didn’t need the wrap—she was boiling. But after half an hour in the movies she always ended up freezing, and she had no intention of snuggling next to him for some heat, despite her plan to fire up the flirt between them.

‘Thanks.’ He sounded surprised. He looked surprised. She glanced back and saw him taking in the bright surroundings. She knew the flat was stylish and welcoming. But he made rooms shrink when he stood in them, and he made both the background and colours fade—so her focus was forced towards him.

‘You’ve got a nice place.’

Nadia picked up the pashmina that she’d artfully draped on the edge of the large, soft sofa. ‘You thought I’d live alone in some dreary bedsit?’ Like the lonely, bitter spinster he believed she was? She’d known he’d think that, so she’d deliberately put a slide show of pictures from one of her and Megan’s riotous trips to France on her computer. What was it with people pigeon-holing her? Her own parents had told her she shouldn’t move to London—that the city was too big for her. The only thing that was too big was the price of the rent. But she had a job at a fabulous firm and sharing this place with Megan was worth it.

His smile grew as he watched a few pictures glide across the screen. ‘I’m a fast learner, Nadia. And I’m learning to expect the unexpected with you.’

‘Really?’

‘Sure.’ He faced her. ‘So let’s get going.’

Adrenalin zinged. She followed him out and locked the door. They walked down the path a few metres before he hailed a cab. She was surprised—for some reason she’d thought he’d have a car.

‘You don’t like to go by cab?’ He caught her hesitation as he opened the door.

Truth was, she didn’t want to sit in the back with him. It felt intimate—she’d have preferred to be in separate seats, with a drinks holder between them. Sharing this one space made all kinds of inappropriate images flash—namely, snogging in the back seat.

She banished the wild idea, crossed her knees and ankles, and crouched into the corner, firmly telling both her body and her thoughts to settle down. He relaxed across his half, not taking up more than his fair share. But it felt like it. He was angled towards her. She didn’t look at him but could feel him willing her to. She sighed and gave in, registering his slight smile.

‘You look lovely, by the way,’ he said suavely. ‘Very beautiful.’

‘Thanks,’ she said without meaning it. ‘You look good too. But you already know that.’

‘Well, you know you look incredible no matter what you wear.’ His smile teased. ‘But isn’t it nice to be told anyway?’

She just rolled her eyes.

‘Compliments don’t work for you?’ He looked all the more amused.

‘Not from you,’ she said bluntly—despite it being partly untrue. ‘This whole date thing is a really stupid idea, don’t you think? I’m not going to believe a word you say because all you want to do is impress me so I’ll say you’re a great guy and how wrong all those women are.’

‘The circumstances don’t matter,’ he argued calmly. ‘I bet you’re a tough woman to impress at the best of times.’

‘What makes you say that?’ She shrank into an even tighter ball.

His gaze locked on her, and she stiffened at the dispassionate, intensely assessing expression.

‘I think you live life according to a list of rules,’ he said. ‘Many lists of rules. Like the first date protocol you posted on your forum. You have rules for everything—like the uptight HR assistant you are. And anyone who doesn’t meet those rules is an auto-fail. There’s no room for human error in your life.’

‘That’s not true.’ Her life was strewn with human error—mostly her own.

‘No?’ A faint smile. ‘You’re saying sometimes you don’t follow your own advice?’

‘The little advice I offer comes from my own experience. I’d be a fool to repeat my past mistakes.’

He nodded as if she’d confirmed something. ‘So you’ve turned into a coward.’

Nadia’s blood heated even more. ‘I’m not a coward, but I am cautious. And I’m not going to apologise for that.’

‘Yes, but it strikes me you’re a very intelligent, capable woman. Maybe you should have more faith in yourself.’

‘Oh, please.’ He was back to the complimenting already? This was all part of his charm attack.

‘Seriously, you should give your instincts free rein—let yourself go.’

‘Oh, you would say that,’ she said witheringly. ‘That’s your aim—for women to let down all their defences in your arms.’ She shook her head. ‘So you flatter and listen and smile your charming smile—and wait for the cherries to fall right into your mouth. It’s all so damn false.’

His jaw dropped, then he shut it again. Had she actually hit home with that one?

‘All right then.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I won’t try to impress you.’

She should have felt a spurt of satisfaction, but the wretched thing was he didn’t need to try to impress. His very existence did that—he was beyond blessed with physical attributes, and had a voice that demanded attention. Even worse, some of what he said was of interest. Okay, compelling. She’d bet he was a brilliant lawyer.

Why was her stupid radar tuned to men filled with maximum virility when the simple presence of such sensual drive meant they couldn’t possibly keep it zipped? Giving in to her instincts would have her as easily obtainable as all the other women he’d encountered. So she’d have to fight against them all the harder.

‘So tell me about the movie.’ He switched to neutral ground.

‘I’ve been meaning to see it for ages.’ She hid her smile as she thought of what was in store.

They got to the small independent theatre and were directed to the smallest viewing room. There was only them and one other person at the screening. She’d done a whole five minutes of research to find the worst-sounding movie on in London, and within three minutes of the film rolling she knew she’d succeeded.

It was in French, with subtitles so crooked they were unreadable, and about the tortured lives of an artist, his wife and his lover. And it was torture to watch. Lots of scenes with the artist painting—they literally got to watch paint dry.

After only ten minutes Nadia was beside herself with boredom and hoping Ethan was going as insane as she was. But she wasn’t fidgety just because the on-screen action was mind-numbing. She was hyper-aware of him. They were too close in this darkened space. And the worst of it was the film was just over three hours in duration—that was why she’d picked it. But now she had to sit so near to a man who attracted her body as much as he repelled her mind. And three hours was beyond torture.

The artist scratched his thin brush on canvas for another hour or so. Oh, it was so bad—but it would be worth it. Ethan would hate it as much as she did. They’d both come out of it grumpy, and that served him right for thinking he’d “soften” her up with a movie. A chick flick? Hell no.

But wait a second. He was chuckling. She’d missed the wonky subtitle on that bit. She glanced sideways to read his expression in the flickering light. It appeared that he was completely absorbed in the movie, while she was almost out of her tree. The frankly useless artist worked for hours, mostly in silence. Occasionally he muttered in French. Hang on, that was Ethan muttering something in French—what? She glanced at him. He was smiling again, as if the movie was the most entertaining thing ever. How was watching paint dry even remotely fun?

And then, to her horror, the so thrilling action was finally interrupted—by an incredibly raw sex scene, featuring the artist and his lover. Not graphic, but so passionate and uncontrolled she felt like a voyeur. She sat completely still, as every cell burned up, and seriously wanted to escape. She shut her eyes but the sounds haunted her—and images popped into her head. But no longer was it the scrawny artist—no, it was the fit, filled frame of six foot several inches Ethan.

Oh, no, no, no—she was not imagining him. And her.

She was not.

She was so glad when the guy went back to his painting. Ten minutes of that settled her pulse again. But then there was another sex scene—a way more graphic one. The action was really ramping up now—this time with the wife. Only in the middle of all the puffing and panting Nadia’s stomach started rumbling—loud enough to be heard despite the sudden ecstatic shrieks of the woman.

Even though she’d known she was going to refuse Ethan’s pizza offer, she hadn’t eaten before he arrived—the butterflies hip-hopping in her stomach had made that impossible. So now she coughed to cover the uncontrollable gurgling sound, but that was somehow worse as the couple on screen kept right on rutting each other. She buried her face in her hand and simply wanted to die. Why hadn’t she checked the rating comments on the film and picked up on the high sexual content warning?

‘Are you not feeling well?’ Ethan asked solicitously—leaning uncomfortably close.

‘I’m fine,’ she ground out between gritted teeth, quickly glancing up, only to see total laughter glinting in his eyes.

Damn.

Finally the credits rolled—not fast enough—and apparently Ethan was a watch-them-till-the-end man. It wasn’t until the lights went on, bright and unforgiving, that he turned and gave her an even higher wattage smile.

‘Was it as good as you’d hoped?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ she lied as she stood and marched out of there. ‘So you speak French?’ Of all the rotten luck.

‘Mais oui, of course.’ He held the exit door for her. ‘Shame you don’t, because some of the subtleties were lost in translation, I thought it was a very interesting film.’

‘Really?’

‘No, it was rubbish.’ He let the door slam behind them. ‘But that was the point, right?’

So he knew. Of course he knew. No normal person would really want to sit through that film. They’d have to be bribed with a lot of money. Still, it had served him right—right?

‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m well aware you’re as hungry as I am.’

She’d intended to go home as soon as the movie ended. And frankly she had a headache from tension and hunger. She hesitated.

‘You’ve already cut off your nose to spite your face once tonight,’ Ethan said blandly. ‘Don’t do it again.’

In truth she was so hungry she was beyond able to make a decision now anyway. ‘Okay.’

‘Great.’ He hailed a cab. ‘My choice this time. I insist.’

It was a French restaurant. No, it was heaven on earth. Because along one wall stood a gleaming glass case filled with the most amazing pastries—cream cakes, custard and fruit tarts and chocolates. Nadia’s functionality reduced even more—she couldn’t think or speak, only stare while her mouth watered so much she very nearly drooled. She glanced round the rest of the room and despair hit—the place was packed.

‘We won’t get a table,’ she almost wailed.

Ethan looked down at her, the picture of smug calm in the face of her collapse. ‘We already have.’

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