by Jane Linfoot
She was open-mouthed, reeling at the onslaught, knees weakening, despite her best life-plan resolutions. ‘I’ve been up since five, if you must know.’
Now he was the one with the surprised face, already settled in though, back against the work surface, legs crossed, arms folded, as if yesterday never happened.
‘Jeez, you must be starving! Grab some plates then, and we can dive straight in.’
***
‘Have you got grated carrot?’ He pushed the plastic container across the table towards Millie, as if vegetables were going to make anything better. If he had wondered how that delicious pout would look when she seriously wasn’t happy, now he knew, in spades. Even worse than at the hospital.
He’d counted on difficult, not impossible. So, how to rescue the situation once you’d blown a girl off, even if it was for the best of reasons? If he hadn’t pulled out of that kiss when he did, he’d have been inside her within a minute.
‘Olives and tomato?’
She nodded. Took it in silence.
‘Dressing?’ Ditto.
The trouble was that last night she’d spun him so far out of control that the only thing he’d known to do was stop. He cleared his throat.
‘Last night, in the water … ’ He had her full attention immediately, and withered slightly under her grey-eyed glare. ‘I didn’t want to stop … ’
‘So why did you?’
Reproachful. One step easier than accusing.
‘It was going too fast. There was too much heat. You must have felt it?’
‘Maybe … ’ Relenting. A touch.
‘I needed to be sure you wanted … ’ Not quite right. He cleared his throat. ‘I needed to make sure our aims coincided – before we went any further.’
The tiniest twitch of a secret smile. ‘And?’
‘I told you before, I’m a short term guy, I don’t do commitment.’
‘Huh … ’ One snort. Of recognition?
‘The way I work, there’s no obligation, and no disappointment. No emotion, no broken hearts, no-one’s let down.’ He baulked inwardly at this impromptu mission statement, polished like he paraded it on a regular basis. ‘It’s a win win situation.’
‘Ah.’ She nodded slowly. Narrowed her eyes. ‘You mean a kind of friends with benefits thing?’
He hesitated. Big time.
She really didn’t get this, did she? Since when had he felt the need to explain himself to a woman about sex anyway? And since when did yesterday’s mascara smudges look so sexy?
‘Less of the friends, more of the benefits I’d say, majoring on the pleasure.’ And so much tidier than saying ‘sex for the hell of it’.
He caught her tell-tale eyebrows as they flew skywards. This had to be a whole new ball-game for her.
‘Thanks for explaining. I’ll give it some thought.’ Gently chewing on Parma ham, lips curving into a smile, but for herself, not for him. Eyeballing him straight now, as she fiddled with one slender, slipping shoulder strap. ‘Like I told you before, I don’t really have space in my life for guys right now, however they’re packaged. Put last night down to the water and the moonlight, it was an aberration, and I promise it won’t be happening again.’
Great. She was talking, even if she was back to the no-guy track.
As if anyone who’d had her legs locked around them would believe that.
‘More asparagus?’ His eyes had snagged on her shoulder. Bare. Lightly freckled. And what was she wearing? Definitely no corsets today, no underwear at all, judging by the speed of his pulse, the just-got-up look acting like a come-to-bed look.
‘Are you still in your pyjamas?’
She held an olive between her fingers, gave him mouth-watering glimpses of her tongue and perfect teeth, as she stripped the flesh off the stone before she deigned to reply. ‘Nope, this is day-wear. A one piece shorts playsuit, elasticated at the waist, the perfect combination of comfort and practicality.’ She flashed him her first full-on grin of the day. ‘The rabbits are ironic, by the way.’
‘Rabbits?’ Who the hell said anything about rabbits?
‘Yellow and green ones, in the print, see?’
As she leaned forwards to show him, he missed the rabbits, caught the glorious thrust of bare breast through the fine creased cotton, and was fiercely reminded how tight jeans and erections didn’t mix, especially not on bar stools. Casually, he slid to stand, to ease the problem.
‘So, if we’re done with the salad shall we progress to the pole?’
Sauntering across, coming to rest with his shoulder against the wall. Possibly a rash move, given the constriction difficulties he already had, but it was a distraction. Not that he thought there was the remotest possibility she was going to oblige, but somewhere along the line getting a spin from her had become a challenge, and he knew how he was with challenges.
‘Okay. You win.’ She was coming towards him now, all self-contained, self-assured.
All in control.
And then he was picking his jaw off the floor. First at the way she caved, then at the way she rose high onto her tip-toes, stretched out one easy arm, grasped the pole, followed with a bend of her knee, a twist of her ankle, and then swung, elegantly, arching, oh-so-slowly. Spinning, one, two, three mind-blowing revolutions, before she pushed gently back to standing again. Easy as, and sexy as hell, even though there was nothing overtly sexual about it.
One compliment, reverberated low in his throat. ‘I like it.’
‘Me too.’ She shuffled her shoulders, shifted her feet, stood back. ‘it's fun, it’s great for fitness. And it’s empowering.’
Too true. Certainly gave her power over him. Hell, right now he’d have done anything she asked. Because there she was, all rough and unkempt, so different from his usual type, yet somehow the dizzying haze of sexuality she exuded, was knocking him off balance
‘So what about the lap-dancing that’s not lap dancing? Will you show me that too?’
All mixed up with an un-nerving dose of vulnerability. That had to be was what was throwing him.
‘The Burlesque? You think it’s about sleaze, don’t you?’ And she was back to accusing. ‘What you said yesterday about me making a living by taking my clothes off?’ Facing him square now, she rolled her eyes, shook her head, and gave another of those huffy sighs he was becoming so familiar with.
‘And it’s not?’ Eyeing the corset tossed lightly on the sofa, and mentally pouring her into it.
‘Burlesque is different. It’s always been about entertainment, and glamour, and aesthetics, not just about striptease. The stars of the thirties were independent, successful women, who dreamed up amazingly innovative performances. Today’s Burlesque is a modern take on that, it’s about women celebrating who they are, rather than conforming to stereotypical ideas of beauty. You don’t have to be a tall, skinny model to succeed – it’s more about expressing individuality. Every dancer has her own special thing.’
‘So do you perform in public?’ The thought sent an unexpected snake of prickles down his spine, and not in a good way. His throat constricted, and it seemed like forever as he held his breath, waited for her reply.
‘It has been known, but not any more. And never all the way.’
‘And you had a thing?’
‘Mine was cream. It began as a joke, and kind of caught on, but I’m not in the performance league. I joined the Burlesque Club in Freshers’ Week at Uni, and it went from there. All I do is spread the word, have fun, and ultimately make women feel better about themselves. Whether its classes, or Hen Parties, I teach women the moves, give them a taste of the glamour, and show them how to express themselves so they can feel attractive. Feeling desirable is very empowering for a woman.’
Panic over. He was breathing again. ‘I don’t doubt it.’
Though quite why he was panicking was beyond him.
She shrugged. ‘Times have changed. Women these days don’t wear high heels because they want to please men, they wear them
because they want to please themselves. Women who are powerful in their everyday lives can take one step more, and have that bit of extra sensual power over men. Or they may choose not to bother, of course.’
Like she had.
Except she had been bothered enough to kiss him. Twice. Two explosive kisses that made him dive in to capitalise on the women in control line..
‘If you are serious about being truly independent, you really need to perfect the art of no-strings sex. That you would find empowering, and fun.’ He commented, waiting to see where it got him.
‘Really … ’ Biting her lip, suppressing a smile. Was she mocking him here? ‘Like you were suggesting earlier?’
‘I’d promise to be temporary, and something tells me there’s lots of heat to burn.’
Gently suggestive. Paving the way, hoping for a shift.
‘Thanks for the offer. I’ll get back to you if I decide I’m interested. Don’t hold your breath though.’ She watched him, coolly detached now, as he moved back to the kitchen, neatly stacked the remains of lunch in the fridge. ‘Did you bring dessert?’
Always leave them wanting more.
Except she didn’t. Apparently.
‘Dessert’s later. I’ll pick you up at seven.’
And for the first time he was sensing that the way forward may not be as simple as he’d planned.
***
‘So what kind of a dessert girl are you? Let me guess?’
They were in a wine bar in town, the sort with artfully mismatched chairs, a chalk-board on the wall, and a clientele who looked effortlessly perfect, even though Millie suspected they’d spent a long time getting that way.
Ed wagged the desert menu at Millie, and narrowed his eyes in a way she wished he wouldn’t, simply for the sake of her rapidly descending stomach.
‘You definitely won’t choose sticky toffee pudding, and something tells me it won’t be the crumble and custard either, even though it is rhubarb.’
Yet again, she’d relented, caved, and here she was, melting under his gaze, hanging onto every chocolatey syllable, with her heart squishing as she noticed his broad tanned fingers slipping on the back of the menu card. Glory, she could fall here. But she was damned determined she wasn’t going to.
‘And I know it won’t be the sundae, even though whipped cream might have been your thing.’ He tapped his thumb nail on his almost perfect teeth. ‘I’d have asked you for a full meal, but I knew you wouldn’t come. Your hair looks nice up, by the way.’
Blushing at his compliment was not the best idea either, especially when she’d put in such an effort to look sophisticated, to counteract him catching her in her playsuit earlier. And damn, for how well he read her, after knowing her such a short time. Disgustingly perceptive. No way would she be here if he’d asked her to commit to more than dessert.
‘Got it!’ His eyes crinkled into a triumphant grin, as he tossed the card on the table. ‘You’ll go for the crème brûlée!’
‘Always do.’ She spun him her lightest smile. ‘My grandmother is French.’ As if that explained anything. At least it filled the acres of silence left by her shock at his accuracy. She picked up the menu, screwing her face up as she pondered. ‘I’m going to guess you’ll have the ginger tart, to match your eyes.’
Had she just said that? About his eyes? Double damn.
‘Didn’t know you’d noticed, but as it happens I will go with the ginger. I’ll order now.’
Millie watched him sidle up to the bar, took a second to admire the muscular thrust of his butt in his pale grey chinos, then watched the barmaid swoon ever so slightly as she took his order. Not her fault. That was how Ed Mitchum affected women.
And she, Millie Brown was personally turning him down. Flat.
One day, down the line, she’d be proud of herself for this.
And then he was back, with his non-stop interrogation. ‘French grandmother, eh? So what about the rest of your family?’
Nice diversion, even if she didn’t discuss her family, especially not with him.
‘Parents, two sisters, I’d see them more if I wasn’t so busy.’ Pointless telling him she was a rebel middle child, how she couldn’t stay in touch because she couldn’t bear to see her sister. Nor any need to give him any inkling of the trouble she’d caused, how she didn’t want to see them, how hard she was trying to do things on her own.
‘More of your independence, huh? Talking of which, have you thought any more about my too-good-to-miss no-strings offer?’
So he’d picked it up anyway, and turned it straight around, taken it somewhere even more uncomfortable. Nice one, Ed.
‘No, and no.’ And lying on both counts, given that she’d hardly stopped thinking of no-strings sex with him, even if she wasn’t going to take him up on it. Not even with the promise of it being temporary, with a fast finish.
‘That’s a shame. Still, your loss.’
And his grin the width of the wine bar, to show, she guessed, that he didn’t give a fig.
And then their desserts arrived, and she had to bear watching him carefully pouring a smooth stream of cream onto his plate. Then, try to peel her eyes away from the hollow at the base his neck, as he negotiated his way into his ginger tart.
‘Not eating?’
‘Sorry, I was just thinking.’ Swooning like a barmaid, more like.
One divine sliver of crème brûlée slithered off her spoon and down her throat, as she began to eat.
‘I’ve been thinking too.’ He rested his spoon on his plate. ‘I have to go away for work.’
‘Oh?’
One word. Desperately trying not to let her dismay crack into her voice.
Why the hell did that make her feel so bad? Just because he’d pestered her all damned week, supposedly to get her used to being with people again, she shouldn’t mind him going away.
‘France. Provence. To do a firework display.’
‘You do fireworks?’
Fighting the ridiculous hollow feeling in her gut, she rammed a massive spoonful of crème brûlée into her mouth.
‘I do explosives, I major in big bangs of any sort, fireworks included. If I can wrangle you an air ticket, on the company that is, I thought you might come too?’
Millie’s gulp of surprise took her crème brûlée straight down her windpipe. She gasped and spluttered, rasping for breath as she choked. Loud and long and horribly hard.
By the time Ed had banged her thoroughly on the back, and the swooning barmaid, now swooning even more drastically, had brought her an emergency glass of water, Millie knew she had to be scarlet.
Panting. Dying of embarrassment. Puce to her earlobes.
Not attractive.
Excuse me. Had he just asked her to go to Provence with him?
‘No strings.’ He flashed her a grin which morphed into a grimace as he realised his gaff. Jumped in hurriedly to make it clear. ‘No strings, not as in no-strings sex, just as in come anyway? With or without benefits?’
Provence, with Ed? That would be melting, mocking, heart-stopping Ed?
No way. Out of the question.
Absolutely, definitely, completely, undeniably, irreconcilably not.
‘I thought it might be good for your French box things? You could pick up more material?’
Good point. From a box point of view, a trip to stock up on memorabilia to cut up and paste would save her bacon, but life wasn’t just about boxes. Ed was the last man in the world she should go to Provence with, boxes or no boxes, because Ed in Provence would be too tempting. And she did have her commitments – lessons to take, ponies to look after. Except the family were back now to look after Grandma and Cracker, and her private lesson calendar was practically empty due to the holiday season. But it was way too dangerous, tantamount to life-plan suicide.
‘Thanks.’ She heard her voice, far in the distance, but wasn’t aware she was speaking the words. ‘That would be amazing. I’d love to come.’
Had she truly jus
t said that?
What had she let herself in for?
CHAPTER SIX
‘SO how was your Fifty Shades weekend?’
One week later, fresh from picking Millie up from the airport, they were howling along the lanes of Provence in the economy rental car Cassie had sanctioned. Thanks to the fiercely negotiated pay-off for the luxury of the free flight, they were heading towards a tent. Ed wasn’t sure what Cassie expected him to pull out of the bag for a low-budget weekend away, but judging from her strict terms, it certainly hadn’t been this. He got the feeling she thought he was pushing his luck, that taking Millie this close to the family chateau was sure to blow his cover. But he was confident that Millie would have no reason to suspect the truth. He would be there, as he was every August for this event, working alongside the guys on the firework team, setting up the biggest pyrotechnic display of the summer in the region, and he planned to keep her at a distance from both his the team and the family. It was his one hands-on gig of the year these days, before he climbed back into his suit. Considering that the whole village would be heaving with visitors, and in the throes of the Summer Festival, he couldn’t see there would be a problem. Not as long as there weren’t any storms. And as far as storms went, he had everything crossed, tightly. As Cassie had said, she didn’t give much for his chances if he had to take refuge in the Chateau, but then torrential rain in August was not that common.
‘The Fifty Shades gig was awesome, thanks.’ Millie, smiled radiantly at him, and blew all thoughts of rain from his mind. ‘The whole weekend went down really well. We managed to release the hunky bouncer the bride handcuffed herself to, and the head bridesmaid wasn’t supposed to show off her pasties on the dance-floor, but otherwise it was all good.’
‘Pasties?’
‘Stick on nipple covers. All the guests were given a pair, as part of the package, except they weren’t meant to be worn out. These ones had rhinestones, and pink tassels, and I’m sure the clubbers of Nottingham appreciated them.’
Ed felt his eyes widen, as he caught a flash of her wicked smile. If she was winding him up it was working. Big time.
