One In A Million

by Coleen Singer

  Damn! She was such an idiot. That should teach her to be so bloody vain! Ah well, no matter, she was almost there now. A potential breakdown during the journey home was the last thing on her mind.

  She stepped through the pub door at seven-fifteen, deliberately late. Her heart had resumed the nervous, hammering thud of earlier, despite her resignation to the fact that this meeting was going to be a disaster. Still, she was determined to make an impression. She straightened up to the full six feet the high heels afforded her, and took long, lithe strides across the bustling room. Once one head turned, the others soon followed, and admiring gazes lingered on her shapely body. She tried desperately not to appear like she was looking for someone, but for some reason, tonight, the hungry stares were making her feel uncomfortable and exposed. Phoebe looked straight ahead and made for the bar. She ordered a coke from a heavy-bosomed young barmaid, who, quite clearly from the sour expression on her face, hadn’t expected any kind of competition to catch the eye of her many admirers. Normally, the girl’s annoyance would have amused Phoebe, but not tonight. Why was she feeling like this? It was almost as though someone was silently admonishing her. As though the impenetrable, iceberg exterior that she wore like armour was melting away under the heat of a knowing, disapproving gaze.

  A soft, deep voice from directly behind made her flinch uncharacteristically.

  “You like to turn heads, don’t you?”

  Phoebe twisted around to face him, her palms suddenly breaking out in a slick sweat. She had to raise her eyes to meet his gaze. God! He was six feet three. And built like a tank. And… Christ! Gorgeous! Those eyes; a spine-tingling, cool ice blue. Absolutely riveting. He wore a wry grin on full, generous lips and one dark eyebrow was raised in what could only be described as a you’re already treading on thin ice warning. His hair was predominantly black, greying at the temples and cut, not severely, but tidy in a business-like way.

  For a moment, Phoebe was lost for words. She hadn’t prepared for this. She swallowed harder than she would have liked him to see. She thought she would intimidate him! Dear God! He’d already terrified her with a single flick of an eyebrow, for crying out loud. She quickly gathered her thoughts and responded. “I aim to please,” she murmured unconvincingly.

  He smiled at her discomfort. “Shall we sit down? I’ve bagged us a quiet table over there in the corner.” He stepped aside and waved her past.

  Phoebe gave him her best attempt at a nonchalant nod and walked—not quite so confidently as the admiring glances persisted—to the proffered table situated in a secluded corner by the open fire.

  He sat opposite her and placing his elbows on the table, leant his chin on very substantial fists. He gazed with unashamed admiration into her eyes. It took all of Phoebe’s courage and then some, to maintain eye contact.

  “I knew you would be beautiful. I could tell when I read your remarks in the physical appearance column of the agency form. Too modest. A dead giveaway.” He grinned again, warmly this time.

  Phoebe relaxed a tad. “Yours also. Too many exclamation marks.”

  “Bet you didn’t believe it, though, did you?” His gaze never left her. Phoebe smiled and averted her eyes for an instant. “No. To be honest, I didn’t. I’d convinced myself you’d be very disappointing.” She resumed eye contact. “But you’re not, and you know it, don’t you?” she countered, feeling her confidence reasserting itself with each passing moment.

  “You don’t look thirty-seven. I’d have guessed more like thirty-two or three at most,” he said with an appraising twitch of his eyebrows.

  Phoebe felt a stab of guilt despite his remarks. She stared into her glass and said, “It’s okay, you can drop the compliments now, enough is enough. We’re impressed with each other’s looks. Let’s move on, shall we?” She realised she’d been a little too sharp with her reply and regretted it immediately. He reached out and placed a long, tanned finger under her chin, lifting her face so she could not avoid his eyes. He levelled a smouldering stare, then slowly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head.

  “You’re not in charge here, Phoebe. You should know that from the start. I am. I always will be. So you may as well deal with it right now and stop trying to face me down. It’s not worth it. You’ll lose.”

  Phoebe’s blood rushed with a sudden adrenaline spike. She could hear her heart drumming in her head. How long had she waited to hear those words? Spoken with such confidence and command, by a man with the physical and emotional strength to enforce them? She felt faint. But a wicked, persistent, self-destructive little inner voice insisted, “Don’t let him get away with that! Arrogant bastard! You show him you won’t be pushed around.” She sat back in her chair beyond the comfortable reach of his electrifying touch.

  “If you studied my agency details carefully, Tom, you’ll know I’m not the submissive type. Don’t try to bully me, because I’ll resist, vigorously.” She shot him a defiant glare combined with an equally challenging smirk.

  His reaction was nothing like she expected. He merely smiled and leant back easily, his gaze altering from smouldering to something verging on pity.

  “I did study the description you so carefully composed, Phoebe. I also read between the lines. And that’s where the real truth lies. You might never have submitted to anyone or anything in your life before, but you’ve always wanted to, haven’t you? Always dreamt of the sheer bliss of willingly placing yourself in a man’s charge, relieving yourself of the burden of control, the crushing weight of self-reliance. You ache for a strong man who’ll break down your defences, by force if necessary, and expose your vulnerabilities.”

  He fixed her with an implacable, merciless gaze. Plainly, he knew that every word he said was piercing her aching heart like so many knives. She remained speechless, winded by the sheer impact of his uncannily accurate insight. He continued his attack on her crumbling armour without pity or remorse.

  “You are self-destructive, reckless and defiant. Desperate for someone to love you enough, care enough, to say no to you, fondly, but very firmly and decisively.” His ice-cold eyes narrowed slightly at this and the dark, velvety voice deepened to a vaguely menacing tone. He leant right across the small table, his face just inches from hers, his eyes boring deeply into the soul he’d just so thoroughly laid bare. “I am that man, Phoebe. And I know that you know it. We are meant for each other. We’ve both spent our entire lives searching for one another. And now, at last, we’ve met. And I will not let you slip through my fingers without a damn good fight!”

  He leant back, his implacable gaze riveting her to the chair. Phoebe felt like a frightened rabbit frozen in the headlamp glare of an oncoming car. He folded his arms and said in an even tone, “Now what do you have to say for yourself?”

  Phoebe’s breath had lodged somewhere so deep inside her that she began to wonder if she’d ever be able to let it out. There’d been no small talk, no prissy preamble, no light-hearted icebreaker. He’d cut to the chase within minutes of their first meeting. But then, she’d been sassy and provocative from the instant they laid eyes on each other—she’d walked through the door sassy and provocative, for Chrisakes. She was getting just exactly what she deserved. And everything he’d said was agonisingly true. It was as though he’d been reading her secret life story from the pages of an open book.

  No man had ever been so insightful or intuitive as he’d just been. No man. Ever. Until that very moment, Phoebe hadn’t even entertained the concept of love at first sight. Now, although she wasn’t completely aware of it, she was falling desperately, hopelessly, and completely in love with this total stranger. But, that mean-spirited, self-destructive little inner voice he’d so easily recognised still refused to be silenced.

  “You’re very sure of yourself, aren’t you?” she said. “You think you know all about me, but you don’t. You know nothing. And you haven’t even taken the trouble to find out. You’ve just assumed an awful lot.” She levelled her very best indignant glare and held it. And
she was pouting, she knew it, but it went with the territory. She couldn’t help herself.

  Tom shook his head sadly and breathed a long, impatient sigh. “Phoebe, why are you fighting this? I’ve just given you the first and best opportunity you’ve ever had to be open and honest about your needs. Why do you persist in denying yourself the one thing you’ve desired more than anything else in your entire life?” He made a dismissive and—it appeared to Phoebe—somewhat derisive gesture with his vast paw. “You think that ‘tough cookie’ exterior you’ve built around yourself fools me for one millisecond? You think I can’t see right through your feeble defences?” He shook his head more forcefully this time and the strong, square jaw line flexed angrily as he clenched his teeth. Fixing Phoebe with his most terrifying glare yet, his broad brow furrowed into a darkly ominous scowl. “If you could only see yourself, sitting there, pouting like a spoiled little brat. You walked in here looking for a confrontation and that’s exactly what you’ve got, but now you have it, you don’t know how to handle it. If we weren’t in such a public place, I’d turn you over my knee right now and spank your bare backside until it bled!”

  Phoebe gasped a little in spite of her resolve and her sultry brown eyes widened in shock. There! She’d forced him to say it! After such a paltry gesture of defiance. It would have taken hours of her razor tongue to have gotten even a modicum of this response from Peter. Fuck Peter! Any man she’d ever known, for that matter! She’d endured two miserable marriages and a string of hopeless affairs trying to raise that particular rebuttal. Jesus! Yes. He was right. Her entire adult life! Her pout deepened and she looked down at her empty glass, studying the melting ice cubes with brattish resolve. She could feel the embarrassment colouring her cheeks. Most probably the deep scarlet hue he’d colour the cheeks of her backside, given half a chance. She wanted to cry. She wanted to fling her arms around his neck and wail, “Yes! Everything you’ve said is true. I want you. I need you.” But old habits die hard.

  “Phoebe, look at me.” His voice had returned to the warm, velvety, embracing tone. She raised her eyes, but not her face. He gave her a stern sideways look. She raised her chin and sulkily met his gaze. “We’ll talk about anything you like. I’ve been too hard on you for a first meeting. But it had to be said. All of it, Phoebe. But now it has, we can ease the tension by talking about the weather if you want. It’s your choice.” He grinned impishly and winked at her.

  Phoebe let out the breath she’d held for so long and felt the knotted muscles in her back and shoulders ease a little. She managed a weak smile in response to the amused twinkle sparkling in his oh so beautiful eyes.

  From that moment on they talked and laughed and talked some more. About everything. Her writing, his security systems business, her horses, his love of sailing, and their mutual love of all things literary. Phoebe even admitted to the dilapidated state of her car, both mechanically and the horrendous rubbish tip that was its interior, which, she remarked, was odd because she was quite particular about the tidiness of her house. He too admitted his car was an alternative trashcan. They had so much in common, it was incredible. For the most part, Phoebe wondered when the dream would end and she’d wake up.

  By eleven-thirty the pub had virtually emptied and the landlord was plainly impatient for them to leave. And that was the moment she’d been dreading ever since she realised she never wanted to be without this wonderful man again. But, there was no way she was going to succumb to his charms and invite him back to her place. Nor would she go to his. Not on a first date, no matter how strongly she felt.

  Tom exhaled a long sigh and shrugged sheepishly. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight, now that I’ve finally found you. But, I don’t want to pressure you either. When can I see you again? Tomorrow, for dinner? I know this fabulous restaurant near Camworthy. You’ll love it.” His crystalline eyes were definitely pleading.

  Phoebe nodded enthusiastically. “I’d love to. And at least I’ll have a chance, and an excuse, to go buy myself a new dress.” She giggled. He laughed with her.

  Tom’s face suddenly took on a slightly worried look. “Are you sure your car will make it back to your place tonight? From what you’ve told me, it’s just about ready to die. Perhaps you should leave it here and I’ll run you home.”

  Phoebe’s heart leapt and she cursed herself for having mentioned her stupid car. This was just what she didn’t want to happen—for entirely different reasons than she’d originally thought—but nonetheless she still couldn’t push aside the vulnerability of him knowing exactly where she lived, just yet. She’d told him she lived close to Littleham village, but not the precise location. He’d said he knew it, and had had no compunction at all in telling her exactly where he lived—Topsham Hill—a very well to do area of West Dorset, as she recalled.

  She shook her head and waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, there’s no need for that. I exaggerated slightly. It’ll get me home, no problem.”

  “You’re sure?” he insisted, frowning. “Do you have a mobile phone and breakdown cover, just in case?”

  “Yes. My phone’s in the car and I’m with the RAC. I’ll be just fine, don’t worry about me.” She’d lied about the phone, only a small thing, but it made her stomach screw up in agonising knots.

  He frowned for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay, I guess I was just clutching at straws to stay with you for a bit longer. Do you feel safe enough to give me your phone number, so I can call you to let you know where and when for dinner tomorrow?” He smiled in a challenging sort of way.

  “Of course I’ll give you my number!” She scribbled it on a beer mat and handed it to him.

  He pocketed it. “I suppose we’d better head out.” He looked up at the scowling publican and gestured the thumbs up as he rose.

  The weather had turned appalling during the evening and the bitter, cutting wind drove sheets of stinging sleet into their faces. Tom threw his sheepskin around Phoebe’s shoulders as they bolted for her car. She leapt into the driver’s seat and Tom stood at the open door, gazing at her with uncharacteristic coyness for the first time since they’d met. Phoebe smiled sheepishly at him then he reached in, took her face in one large hand and kissed her fully on the mouth. His warm lips embraced hers hungrily, like a starving man taking a bite from a succulent peach. Phoebe’s legs turned to jelly, damned good thing she was sitting down. He finally stepped away from her, his eyes lingering, lusting, but he simply blew her another kiss and said, “I’ll call you tomorrow.” And ran against the howling wind to his car.

  Phoebe slammed the door and took a moment to gather herself before turning the ignition key. Tom sat watching her; obviously making sure the damned thing started up before he left. The Range Rover chugged into life, but as she pulled away, the bearing screeched horribly and continued to do so for another hundred yards before finally quieting to a complaining whine. She didn’t look back. She was afraid to.

  She’d reached the narrow winding lanes edging the steep, rocky banks of the river—a short cut she wouldn’t normally take, she hated heights, but tonight she just wanted to get home as quickly as possible so she could dream about her glorious new man—when the bearing finally gave out. The front wheel locked completely and the Range Rover swerved off to the left across the slippery road, slamming into the steel barrier with a gut-wrenching crunch. Phoebe’s heart had taken quite enough shocks for one day, but the sight of the yawning abyss below her front wheels made it leap and pound anew.

  Trembling, she staggered out of the car and peered over. A few feet more and the entire car would have tipped over into the raging river below, with her in it. The wind and sleet bit at her bare arms. She shivered uncontrollably. She didn’t dare get back into the car, just in case the damaged barrier gave way. She reached inside and grabbed her purse and jacket, cursing herself for not having the sense to wear a sturdy coat on a winter’s night. And she cursed herself even louder for being so stupid as to leave her phone at home—and then lie about i
t! She flicked on the hazard lights and stuffed the keys under the seat. The auto club could tow the damn thing without her presence. And no one was going to steal the shitty wreck in that condition. Anyway, she didn’t care right then. Thank God she’d at least brought her comfortable driving shoes or she’d have to stumble along the rutted, pathetic excuse for a road on stilts. And she had at least a five-mile walk in the pitch black with this foul weather throwing everything it had at her. Shit! Damn! Fuck it all! She lit up the night with a litany of foul language and stomped off down the road in a towering rage.

  An hour later she was still walking. She’d contemplated stopping at one of the cliff side houses and asking for help, but they were all dark, their occupants either out or tucked up warmly in bed and she didn’t have the nerve to wake anyone, considering her situation was entirely one of her own making. Not a single car had passed her and by now she was so cold and wet she could barely feel her fingers, toes, nose and many other parts of her thoroughly soaked body. Then the road suddenly lit up from behind. A car at last! She didn’t give a shit if the driver was an axe murderer, she had to get out of this weather and warm up. She stuck out her thumb and hopped about at the side of the road, flagging him down. The car pulled up and the passenger door swung open. She ducked down to look inside, and was greeted by Tom’s most livid scowl.

  “Get in!” he barked.

  Oh, dear God! No! This was all she needed. He was as mad as hell and she looked like a drowned rat. She had no choice but to comply, Christ, what else could she do?

  She sat in the seat with an embarrassing squelch.

  “What the bloody hell were you thinking?” he bellowed. “I’ve been calling your house for the last forty minutes. That car of yours was a write-off before you even got into it! I knew I should have stopped you, the moment I heard that God-awful screeching.” He punched the steering wheel with frustration. “I’ve been driving back and forth along the main road like a man possessed for the last half an hour! Looking for a crashed bloody Range Rover! I took the river road as a last resort, thinking, no, she wouldn’t be so damned stupid! And then I find that death trap of yours hanging over the edge of the fucking bank! And to top it all, you obviously don’t have your mobile with you either, do you?”