How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates

by Jane Linfoot

  ‘Before you leave … ’

  The nerve of the man! She yanked to a halt by the kitchen door. ‘What?’

  ‘About your boxes … ’

  ‘And?’ What the hell did her boxes have to do with anything?

  ‘If we’re talking home truths, I’ve remembered where I’ve seen one before. It’s in my mother’s study, made by an artist from London apparently.’ He paused, apparently to polish his supercilious sneer to the max.

  Millie’s overworked jaw sagged for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘What are you talking about?’

  He rocked on his heels, broad shoulders back, thumbs hooked through his belt loops. Glowering big time.

  ‘It isn’t clever to rip off other people’s work, Millie.’

  ***

  Ed forced himself to down his coffee, then a second cup, even though he hadn’t tasted either, and only then did he allow himself to saunter into the house. Not that he was looking for Millie, because he wasn’t, but given that the kitchen and the living room were empty, he wandered towards the bedroom, and poked his head around the door. One room-wide clothes explosion.

  How could one woman with one tiny piece of hand luggage create this mayhem? The invisible tourniquet that had clamped itself around his chest slackened a notch. At least now he knew she hadn’t run out on him completely. Yet. Looked like she hadn’t even taken her handbag. He lifted it off the crumpled bed for a moment, then let it fall.

  Flowers and vanilla. The hint of her scent rising spun him right back to last night, the seamless pleasure continuation he’d thought was a given, blown to pieces by one arm-waving Mayor.

  His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he pulled it out.

  Damn. It was Cassie. The last thing he needed right now, still he might as well get it over.

  ‘Morning Ed, didn’t I tell you the Chateau was a bad idea? I hear you’ve been rumbled!’ Her disgustingly smug note made his guts squirm.

  How the hell did she know so soon? He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of asking, but her bright morning voice made him want to strangle her.

  ‘Hey! Whatever!’ He aimed for an easy, don’t-give-a-damn response, even though his stomach sagged at the thought of starting the challenge from scratch again. ‘Can’t win ‘em all.’

  ‘So I expect your stripper’s all over you like a rash now she knows what you’re worth?’ Cassie made no attempt to hide her gloating purr.

  Something in that attack made his neck prickle. ‘Millie’s not a stripper, and if you must know, she’s stormed off because the last thing she wants is a rich guy. She’s leaving.’

  ‘Really?’ Cassie’s gloat turned sharply to inquisition, then softened to apology. ‘Mother’s very contrite for blowing your cover you know.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘When she crashed into the cottage earlier – she had no idea you were entertaining a woman. She’s been on the phone ever since, ecstatic, pretty much got you married off already.’

  So that explained Cassie’s call. The rest he could imagine, but strange that Millie hadn’t said anything.

  ‘Well, I guess it’s game-over this time. Fine by me, respite is well overdue.’ He made himself sound way more enthusiastic than he felt. ‘A good bout of field-playing is in order, before I settle down for Attempt Two!’

  What the hell was wrong with him? He’d usually be whooping at the thought.

  ‘Not so fast.’ Cassie’s words were measured enough for him to hear her brain ticking. Never a good sign. ‘I don’t see why we can’t change the rules here. This whole challenge has been a walk in the park for you this far, given your date was wanting a low-cost guy. Why don’t we carry on? A stripper who hates money has to be the ultimate test now she knows about your cash.’

  ‘For the last time, Cassie, she’s not a … ’

  But Cassie was talking over him. ‘So carry on where you left off, and see if you can take it to the end.’ And she was sounding exuberant now. ‘Only this time it’s going to be really hard.’

  He dragged in a breath as he snapped his phone shut.

  Hard? His thoughts slid back to Millie, as she’d stormed away from breakfast.

  Impossible more like.

  ***

  Two hours would be good, he’d thought, for cooling off time.

  Or maybe one hour thirty. Whilst he caught up on some work.

  Sorted.

  But the work wasn’t working out, and there was only so much pacing a guy could do, and forty minutes later he was quartering the village, scouring every heaving cafe-bar for that haystack hair. Bad luck for him there was a Sunday morning market. How the hell he was going to find her, when the whole of Provence had descended to clog the streets, was beyond him. Fifteen minutes flashed past, then thirty. By now she could easily be back at the Chateau, might even have left.

  His chest constricted at the thought. New plan. He needed to head back, and fast. That way he might have a chance of catching her before she went. Breaking into a run, he careered across the village square, colliding with tourists, ignoring the incensed cries that echoed after him. Reaching the grassy space at the edge of the buildings, he paused in the dappled shade of the plane trees, catching his breath, taking one last look, just in case.

  Boots. His heart gave a bang. Sticking out from behind a tree.

  ‘Millie?’

  He dashed around, and found her, back propped against the trunk, legs stretched out in the dust. Head lolling, hair like she’d been dragged through a hedge, as per usual, a half-eaten French stick in her lap.

  Fast asleep.

  Full lips just begging for a Sleeping Beauty kiss. Or maybe not, if he valued his life, given the smoke that had been coming out of her ears as she left. Crouching beside her, he rested his hand in soft the crook of her arm and nudged her gently.

  ‘Millie, wake up.’

  A snort, a cough, two blinks, and she was staring him straight in the eye.

  ‘I’m not asleep.’

  And grouchy as expected.

  ‘Whatever.’

  She sniffed, and rumpled her hair, as if that was possible, then she screwed the top off a coke bottle in her hand, took a swig, then pushed it towards him. ‘Drink?’

  But why wasn’t she yelling at him? He shook his head. Pushed away how mussed and sexy she looked as he slid down beside her. ‘Okay if I sit down?’

  She snorted again, and threw him a sideways dead-eye. Not happy then. That he could live with.

  ‘I see you bought breakfast.’ One inane, paltry attempt at polite conversation. He should be able to do better than that.

  ‘My last three Euros. I came to get cash to leave, but there’s a block on my card.’ She let out a long, disgruntled sigh, picked up a handful of pebbles, and then trickled them to the ground, one by one. ‘Looks like I’m stranded. I may yet have to turn to the stripping that you’re so fixated with.’

  So ‘stranded’ explained everything, especially the deflation. She wasn’t in a strong position. Nice side swipe about the stripping though. Catching an end-on view of her bitter grimace, he sent a personal thank-you to the god of ATM’s. Without that card block she’d have been long gone.

  ‘Don’t worry, I brought you here, I’ll get you home. You can go where you want, when you want.’ Not exactly picking-up-the-action-where-they-left-off he’d planned, but he owed her some respect. And he had no idea where the hell the Challenge had disappeared to, or where the need to gush apology was coming from. ‘And I’m sorry about the wealth thing. Obviously I didn’t know it was so important to you.’

  She was staring intently at her feet now, as she drew her knees towards her. ‘So why the deception then?’

  Why the heck did she have to be wearing shorts? He concentrated on not reaching out to slide his palm along the bronzed sheen of her thigh.

  ‘It’s easier not to flaunt the size of my bank balance, that’s all. It’s not exactly deception.’ Hey ho. Another whopper in the making. ‘People react differ
ently if they think you’ve got money.’ At least that last bit was true.

  ‘People, as in women?’ She studied him through narrowed eyes.

  Screwing him down again.

  ‘You could say that, yep.’

  ‘You mean girlfriends?’

  ‘No, not girlfriends Millie! I do pleasure, not girlfriends, remember?’

  One dismissive sniff suggested she was buying it, grudgingly.

  ‘I’d still rather get home by myself than accept your help.’

  ‘I’m sure you would.’ Inspiration was seeping through here. ‘So why not stay, and go home as planned? That way you stay independent. It’s only another day after all.’

  She jutted her chin. ‘I’m not sure.’

  Indecision. Something he had to capitalise on, because the idea of her not staying was suddenly inconceivable. And, hey, it might help if he ignored the way her vest was doing such a bad job of concealing her breasts. This was no time to think about diving in and tonguing those strawberry nipples to distraction.

  He cleared his throat, examined the backs of his fingers intently.

  ‘You may be wrong, giving everyone rich a hard time on the basis of one rogue guy in your past. The real problem with your ex wasn’t his cash, it was his morals. He’d have been low-life regardless of whether he had money or not. I may be rich, but at least I’m honest, and I’m not claiming to be anything other than I am. It shouldn’t matter a jot if I’m loaded or not when all we’re doing here is having a fun weekend.’

  ‘Maybe. When you put it like that.’

  Great. So long as he could stop obsessing about slipping his hand up the leg of her shorts, stop visualising burying his fingers in her slippery warmth, he was going to keep to his word.

  ‘Don’t over-think things. Just enjoy.’ He dared a half grin. ‘You have to admit last night was great?’

  Her face fell. Damn. He should have known that was a bridge too far.

  ‘Yes. But I can’t do any more of that if I stay. It’s all too … ’ She hesitated, screwing up her eyes as she searched for the word. ‘ … explosive?’

  ‘That’s one word for it.’ He couldn’t help swinging into a full grin now.

  ‘Are you okay with that?’

  How about no? How about hard-on of the decade, banging for release? How about it being absolutely frigging impossible to keep his hands off her for an hour, let alone the rest of the weekend? ‘Fine. Whatever makes you comfortable.’

  He sprang to his feet. Jeez, he’d have to have some sort of diversion. ‘So how about I make you an early lunch? And we’ll go and buy some strawberries from the market.’

  Mind still on strawberries then.

  ‘Sounds good.’ She grasped his out-stretched hand, let him haul her to her feet, before she turned. ‘You know this doesn’t stop me being cross?’

  Cross he could work with. Nothing so new about that.

  She dusted down her bottom, and suddenly she was dead-eyeing him again.

  What now?

  ‘And one more thing – about my boxes … ’

  Who gave a damn about boxes anyway? A flicker of unease passed over her face. He’d instantly regretted lashing out about them back there anyway.

  She had him fixed now with a fierce glare. ‘I need you to know, I’m not ripping anybody off.’

  ***

  Distance.

  Ed decided distance was definitely the key to success here. It should be possible to whip up a passable lunch, and keep his hands of her, so long as she didn’t come too close. If he could keep her at bay he’d be A-okay. Which was why he’d positioned her up on a bar stool, half way down the room, hulling strawberries. Except Millie, being Millie, was never going to make things easy, and right now she was sliding down to the floor, arching herself achingly towards him.

  ‘Where are you going now?’ He struggled to sound chilled.

  ‘Just to look at that photo over there. I noticed it before, but that was before your Mayor spilled his beans, so I didn’t realise it was your family then. That’s if you don’t mind?’

  He aimed for unconcerned. ‘No, that’s fine.’

  Except it was anything but. Millie knowing this was his home changed everything – and not in a good way. The first woman to have gained access to his inner world was dangerous enough to bring him out in a prickling sweat. But on the other hand, anything that kept her the other side of the kitchen was a plus for him. He tore himself away from the view of her perfect ass sashaying in the opposite direction, and went in search of eggs instead, dragging the back of his hand across his forehead to scrape away the perspiration.

  ‘Boy, I can pick you out right away. You must’ve been born moody and rock jawed. So come and show me who everyone else is.’

  That darned photo. They were heading for a train wreck.

  ‘Well, my parents should be obvious, I’m the dark one you already spotted, Cassie’s the smallest one, Finn and Sophie are the big ones.’

  ‘And everyone blond except for you.’

  So she’d noticed. It would’ve been more remarkable if she hadn’t. He braced himself for the explanation. ‘That’s because I’m adopted.’

  He watched the airy expression drop off her face. Why the hell had he bothered to spill that one now? It was hardly necessary. He could easily have fudged it, and maybe he would have done if he hadn’t been wanting to retaliate, not for the way she’d crashed through his privacy barriers, but for the way she was opting out of sex. Pain for pain. She was making him damned uncomfortable. He could do the same for her.

  ‘Ah … ’ She floundered, but only for a moment, then she collected herself and flicked him a small smile. ‘Well you all look very happy anyway. And in a way being adopted is special, it’s like you’ve been chosen.’

  He let out a derisive snort.

  ‘Everyone always smiles for the camera.’ Best set her straight about that, before he lobbed in the next bit. ‘And I wasn’t exactly chosen. There’s another sister too who’s older. She’s not there, but she’s my mother.’

  ‘Right … ’ She rubbed her nose pensively. ‘I see … ’

  Except she didn’t. She had no idea what it was like to be the cuckoo in the happy family nest, to be the one whose mother had walked away and not come back. How would she? He was cracking through the eggs now, smashing them on the worktop edge, and then flinging them into a bowl. Hammering them to a froth with the whisk.

  ‘She got pregnant on holiday in Italy when she was seventeen, way too young to settle down obviously, so my grandparents adopted me, and brought me up like I was theirs. They were still young when it happened, and they had Cassie afterwards, just to make things really cosy.’

  Seemingly oblivious to his bitter aside, she ran a slow finger across the glass.

  ‘And what about your real dad?’

  How like Millie not to leave it at that.

  With a crash, he grabbed a pan, and threw it onto the hob to heat. ‘An Italian mountain guide. We never met – he was killed in a climbing accident when I was small. You could say he’s responsible for my dark hair and not much else, apart from the name Eduardo, and my bad temper of course.’ One more crash, as if to emphasise the last bit.

  ‘Eduardo. That’s cool.’ Along the kitchen Millie put back the photo, and drew in a long breath, before she returned, and grasped the glass bowl.

  ‘Great! So that’s the strawberries done.’

  Well done Millie. Nice change of subject. And his dirty laundry hung out for the world to see. Messy or what? He grimaced at the strewn pile of strawberry stalks she’d left, bleeding across the work surface. The first time he’d let a woman into his domain, and she’d cut straight into his underbelly with one easy slice. Exactly why he’d always kept them well away. ‘Damn, way too hot!’ The eggs spat savagely as they hit the smoking oil.

  And damn for the way he’d been riled enough to let all that out. It was like he was sixteen again, and all he wanted to do was kick the hell out of somethin
g, and the only thing that ever helped was to blow something up. Why the heck hadn’t he simply emptied the ATM earlier himself, sent her on her way, and avoided all this?

  But she was here, and she was responsible for unleashing all those old feelings. And she had it in her power to offer him explosions ten times more effective than rock-face blasting.

  He’d just have to make damned sure she came through on that one.

  CHAPTER TEN

  OMELETTE, albeit slightly over-browned, delicious smoked salmon and salad, followed by strawberries and thick cream, was helping Millie ease back into the land of the living. She extended a tentative hand for more chilled white. She’d been hungry, and way too busy eating to talk, whilst Ed, on the other hand, had maintained a silence of the brooding kind. And the downside to that was his moody scowl, which made him ten times less available, yet ten times hotter at the same time, if that was even possible.

  She mustn’t let her guard too far down. However well Ed cooked, he was a lot less real and honest than she had thought, whatever his excuses to the contrary, although it was impossible to focus on his dishonesty without her own conscience niggling. It wasn’t as if he’d asked, and it wasn’t that she’d deceived, but she hadn’t gone out of her way to make him aware of the truth of where she came from either. And earlier on this morning she’d been healthily furious with him, cross enough to storm across the village and attempt to make her escape. But two things were nagging at her now. One, the way she’d been so easily persuaded to stay, despite the fact he’d offered her an immediate free passage out of town, and two, the way her earlier fuming had subsided, way too quickly.

  ‘One refill.’ He topped her up, without meeting her eye, and clunked the bottle down into the ice bucket, those dangerous lips of his ironed into one grim line.

  ‘Thanks.’ She tried a grimace of a smile which she suspected he even didn’t see, let alone try to return. They could go on like this all day. Or she could lob in a question and try to see where the trouble lay.

  ‘So did you see much of your real mum when you were growing up?’

  Bull’s eye! That brought his head jerking to attention. Hitting the nerve, then instantly regretting it as she read the storm in his eyes.