How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates (6 page)

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 just said that?

What had she let herself in for?

‘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.

Since he arrived here alone five days ago, he’d plagued himself, going over and over what had made him ask her to come to join him. He’d expended mega amounts of energy, pretending to Cassie that it been a pre-meditated part of his challenge strategy, but he knew that was all bull. Because one glimpse of the vulnerable curve of Millie’s neck in the wine bar last week, the big bang from that kiss in the water still reverberating round his head, and the invitation had come tumbling out, in one uncontrolled, spontaneous, ill-considered gush. In the end he’d rationalised it as his honed instinct for milking every chance to the max. But, no denying, it had shaken him. So having succumbed to one non-strategic impulse in the wine bar, it became doubly important to perfect his approach for the remainder of the challenge.

He’d known from day one that Millie was jumpy. It hadn’t taken a brain-surgeon to work that one out. All his talk of no-strings sex was wishful thinking, completely inappropriate for anyone as fragile as her. For that, on reflection, was what he’d decided she was. Fragile and fearful.

Damage limitation was the name of the game now. If she took fright and fled she’d send the whole darned operation down the pan. He’d reached Date 7 of a ten part challenge here, and the closer to the end he got, the more there was at stake, and the more careful he needed to be. He needed low risk here, and the low risk strategy now was to back right off, and make sure there was no physical contact before their last date, whatever the temptation. That was the only way to be sure he’d nurse her through to the end.

But if that last sizzling smile was anything to go by, he was in for a hard time.

Millie appeared to have come off the plane with a whole load more sass, as if she’d left a hefty slice of reticence back home. He braced himself for one long weekend of temptation, which he would definitely be resisting, because given the size of her travel bag, she couldn’t possibly have brought much more with her than nipple tassels.

He inclined his head towards her bag in the back seat. ‘You’re traveling light.’

‘Yep, always do. It’s easier in economy if you only have hand baggage, though you’d be surprised how many floaty dresses one determined packer can fit in a case like that.’

And for a minute there she sounded like she knew another side of travel.

He gave a throaty guffaw. ‘Usually on a private jet are we?’

She didn’t reply, but the unexpected pink flush he caught invading her cheeks as she turned her head away from him made him uneasy. But only for an instant.

‘So, you’re okay with camping? I’ve juggled the budget. What I saved on my hotel went towards your flight.’ Feeling the need, for Cassie’s sake, to make it clear. ‘Special dispensation for the Chief Firework Organiser, we get to pitch the tent in the grounds of the village Chateau.’

‘That’s cool! Camping’s good, and it kind of goes with the sort of guy you are.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Half-built barns, picnics, river swimming. They’re all down-to-earth, no frills; a bit like you, with your ripped jeans and your beaten-up Land Rover. But that makes them more real, more fun, somehow.’

On track with the deception then. His lips twitched into a grin. ‘We aim to please.’

‘When my sister was ill, it was the simple things we got the most out of. Fireworks are like that too I guess. Basically only bangs and bright flashes, but they give a huge thrill. They suit you.’ She spun him a smile, pushed her fingers into the wind-swept haze of hair, then tucked the heel of her battered cowboy boot on the car seat, and hugged her knee to her chest.

Feet on seats? Again?

And one more Cinderella dress. If it hadn’t been for the way the layers of ragged skirts fell away to reveal a satisfying stretch of tanned thigh, he’d have had to admonish her for the foot thing. And whoever would choose to wear calf-high boots in a Provencal summer?

‘With any luck we’ll manage more than a few bangs and flashes.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘What was wrong with your sister?’

‘A rare sort of leukemia. For years we didn’t think she’d pull through, but she’s all good now, started a family and everything.’ She chewed hard on her thumb nail, as a shadow flickered across her face.

Damn, he hadn’t meant to upset her. Hadn’t she implied her sister was better? He was certainly right about her being all over the place.

Weaving a gauzy section of skirt tightly round her fingers, she sent him a too-bright smile he saw right through. ‘How come you got into blowing things up anyway?’

A question he’d usually have dodged, but suddenly it was a relief to have something to tell the truth about. ‘Blake from the quarry came to my rescue when I was a kicking teenager, and harnessed my self-destructive tendencies. Put them to better use, blasting rock faces. Turned me on to big bangs, and I was hooked for life.’ Not mattering that it was more than he’d willingly revealed to anyone before.

‘And what exactly were you kicking?’

And so like her not to leave it at that.

‘Family trouble. I was rebelling. Against the whole over-bearing parent thing.’ The truth again, but this time artfully shrouded, missing out the whole odd-one-out-in-the-family mess of the matter. Protecting himself.

One murmured acknowledgement, then she cleared her throat. ‘And are the preparations for your display going well?’

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, and moved on quickly ‘We’re getting there. It may just be a small French village, but they take their summer fireworks very seriously, so it’s actually a big job.’ Which dovetailed perfectly into talking about plans for the morning. ‘I’ll be tied up with it most of tomorrow, but I can drop you in Avignon for the day. There’s a vintage market where you should find great pickings for your boxes.’ And keeping her at a convenient distance, would give him a double advantage. Not only would it stop her uncovering his family’s assets, it would also make his hands off policy a whole lot easier to stick to. Whatever Cassie thought, he was confident he could pull this off.

‘Brilliant! Sounds amazing!’ she beamed at him.

He rubbed a thumb across his jaw, wishing her grateful smile didn’t knot his stomach with guilt for the way he was using her. As the baking patchwork of olive groves and peach orchards and vineyards flashed by, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel some more, and tried to figure out what the hell was going on. Because when she’d wandered out into the arrivals hall at the airport, with her scuffed boots and her dress in shreds, for one awful moment he’d had an irrational, almost uncontrollable urge, to sweep her into his arms.

Ed Mitchum. Uncontrollable? Irrational?

No way. He needed to get a grip. All he was doing here was moving the challenge along nicely. That had to explain why he was happy see her. All week he hadn’t been certain she’d even show, and now here they were, getting the whole awkward weekend-away thing over and done with. Relief didn’t begin to cover it. There was no way, after the effort he’d put in this far, that he was going to be forced to repeat the whole dratted process again with some other woman. He was sure if he handled the situation right, he’d be home and dry in no time, Challenge in the bag. Maybe not quite what he’d had in mind the moment when he blurted out the invitation. But if that’s what it was going to take, he was happy to go along with it. And the more he thought about it the more sure he became.

The game he played this weekend was going to be strictly hands-off.

***

Millie caught her breath as she saw the clustered buildings of the approaching village rising from the landscape of lavender fields.

‘I love lavender fields! They’re so … ’

Ed jumped straight in to the space left by her hesitation. ‘Provencal?’

She sighed, leaned towards him, and flopped a hand on his shoulder, wishing she hadn’t quaffed quite so much of the carafe of wine when they’d stopped en route for dinner. ‘Finishing my sentences for me now are we, Mitchum? Or should that be Mitch, given that it suits you so much better? Or maybe even Eddie?’

Not that she minded him finishing her sentences. Today there was something amusing about it, something playful, comfortable even.

‘Call me anything you like, but definitely not Eddie.’ He shot her an apologetic grimace, and screwed up his nose. ‘The only person in the world who calls me Eddie is my mother. And I only do the sentence thing when you don’t finish your own, Cinderella, which, by the way, suits you so much more than Millie when you insist on wearing dresses like this one.’

So he had noticed her dress. So far outside her budget, she really should have left it in the shop, but way too beautiful not to be bought. She tried not to think how this whole trip was whacking her finances to kingdom come.

In fact there was something so exceptionally alluring about the Provencal Ed (or should that be Mitch?) who’d met her at the airport, that she’d pretty much forgotten to find him annoying at all since she arrived, which was going to prove very useful, given what she had psyched herself up to be here for. Pulling a second foot up on the seat, she hugged both her knees tightly, trying to resist the dual shivers which that thought sent tingling down her spine.

Excitement and terror in equal measure, and all due to that bargain she’d made with herself when she’d been agonising about whether or not to come – that if she dared to get as far as boarding the plane, she was free of constraint for the weekend.

‘Do you always put your feet on the car seats?’

She snorted as she picked up on his dirty look. Not a hundred percent un-annoying then, even in Provence.

And maybe she was showing an acre too much thigh here, regardless of her intended mission. Tugging hard at the shreds of skirt, she attempted to up the decency level, but one molten glare from Mitch told her she hadn’t succeeded.

She shuffled, held her knees tighter, and gritted her teeth. ‘It’s comfy with my feet up, and it makes me feel secure, but if you object I’ll put them down.’ What had got into her? She’d have usually had a good go at Objectionable Ed for a comment like that, and here she was acquiescing. ‘So long as you ask nicely that is.’

No need to abandon all principles, just because she’d decided to suspend her man-ban a teensy bit, as a celebration for being in Provence, for one weekend only.

Possibly.

And backing down already.

‘Look, you’ll see the Chateau coming into view as we skirt around the village, set slightly apart.’

She felt her mouth gape open as she took in the monumental stone walls, honeyed in the setting sun. ‘Amazing!’

‘There are huge walled gardens around the other side where we’ll be, and the tent’s already there.’

‘One tent?’ Her voice faltered, despite her reckless, albeit short-term, abandonment of her life-plan.

‘It’s large, you won’t have any worries, you’ll see.’

Typical. As if he could second guess her worries.

He shot her a grin. ‘We’re sneaking in the back entrance, by the way.’

Huge gateposts, that put her in mind of her Grandmother’s place in the north, then a graveled track, winding between bougainvilleas and roses, and lawns neat and green, like the ones in the miniature garden set she’d loved as a child. Ed slung the car to a halt behind a low building, covered in climbing wisteria, and Millie’s chest constricted in a series of jumps with each click of the handbrake ratchet.

Oh lordy!

‘This is the pool house.’ He was out of the car, already completely at home. Waving his arms, relaxed as his bare feet in his boat shoes, and horribly sexy in faded jeans that seemed low slung beyond the point of decency. ‘There’s a bathroom and a kitchen in there we can use.’

‘Brill.’ She replied, not taking her eyes off of him. Scarily sexy. But that’s what she was here for.

‘And here’s the accommodation.’ He led the way around the corner, grinning at her over his shoulder as a large, faded tent came into view. ‘It’s a vintage field tent that belongs to the Chateau, which the caretaker insisted we used, and it comes complete with vintage accessories.’ He pulled back the flap, and dipped inside.