by Jane Linfoot
‘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. A
ccidentally 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.
