How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates

by Jane Linfoot

  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 s
o 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.

  Millie tentatively followed him in. ‘Oh my, it’s like something from an interiors magazine! Someone thought of everything – rush matting on the floor, and even a tilting mirror! I never had a tent with one of those before.’ She breathed in the smell of oiled canvas, and fingered one chunky hewn supporting pole, as she took in two beautiful caned lounging chairs. ‘When you said camping, I never imagined anything like this.’

  Running her eyes around, she caught a chest of drawers, with assorted bottles and glasses on top, next to a turned wooden clothes rail. Two camp beds, with crossed legs, one at each side of the tent, already made up, each with a filmy mosquito net suspended from the roof ridge. A neat pile of stripy quilts on a stool at the foot of each.

  ‘It’s a tent. Just not quite the pop-up variety.’

  ‘It’s amazing. So … ’ She swallowed back the word ‘romantic’, and this time he didn’t jump in to finish her sentence. ‘So evocative. It’s lovely.’

  ‘The beds are more comfortable than they look. They’re high to combat the drafts, because vintage tents don’t have a sewn-in ground sheet.’ He kicked off his shoes, wriggled his feet into flip flops that were already sitting under one of the beds. ‘I settled in earlier as you can see. Fancy a drink? I can recommend the rough red.’

  Two camp beds? Rigorously single.

  What the heck happened to the no-strings sex she’d come all this way for?

  Her heart-rate slowed noticeably.

  More to the point, what the hell had happened to Mr Sex-on-legs and his seduction techniques?

  She swallowed an involuntary sigh. ‘Yep, red would be great.’

  So this was what he meant before when he said she wouldn’t have any worries.

  ‘All okay for you?’ He scooped up glasses and a bottle, and headed for the flap.

  ‘Everything perfect. Thanks. Couldn’t be better.’ She heard her own voice, a tiny bit flattened.

  So that would be disappointment then.

  ***

  Watching him light the lanterns around the terrace a few minutes later, she settled back against the cushions on her lounger, forced herself to sip her wine, and resisted the immediate urge to throw it back and score herself an instant courage boost.

  ‘The light goes quickly here.’ He sat down, stretched out his recliner, and languidly crossed one foot over the other. ‘So here’s to a weekend without rain.’ He raised his glass and his eyebrows, sent her a lazy wink she didn’t fully understand, and took a drink.

  ‘The stars are already very bright.’ Millie scanned the sky innocently, as slowly, and deliberately, she crossed her own legs. ‘Like a Van Gough painting.’ Trailed a lazy finger up an accidental-on-purpose patch of bare thigh.

  Noted Ed’s narrowed eyes glued to her finger.

  Keep calm, and drink slowly.

  Then nab your man.

  No way was she going to let herself return home without jumping him.

  There was a whole weekend ahead of her. She could afford to take her time.

  She was a Burlesque teacher, seduction was her business, and if his gaze on her leg was anything to go by, he was there for the taking, whatever he was pretending. Ultimately, she had the power to make him do exactly what she wanted, when she wanted, and she’d do well to remember that, although when she stopped to analyse it, he’d given very little of himself away this far. Possibly because she hadn’t taken the time to ask.

  ‘So, tell me how you set up all these fireworks then?’ She offered a softening smile. ‘Do we need to save the empty wine bottle?’

  Starting by getting him to talk. When his reply came it had just the amount of wounded indignation she’d anticipated.

  ‘It’s not just about propping rockets in bottles you know.’

  She did know, very well, but she was happy for him to tell her anyway. Happy to sit and let
his dark voice drift over her in the balmy night air, as he explained the intricacies of triple breaking shells, ignition procedures and software-aided choreography. Enjoying the way he took pains to describe it to her, made sure she understood, infecting her with his unbridled enthusiasm for all things explosive. Only an hour and a half later, as her prompts dwindled, and she stifled a yawn, did he show any sign of stopping.

  ‘Time for bed?’ He was smiling, looking her straight in the eye, and not a hint of flirtation or ambiguity, dammit. ‘We’ve an early start in the morning. I’ll let you use the bathroom first.’

  Full steam ahead to single beds then?

  Millie ground her teeth. She’d been lured here under false pretences. No way was she bringing out the full blown seduction yet, but she’d make darned sure this wasn’t easy for him.

  When Ed came back to the tent from the bathroom, Millie was sitting cross legged on her camp bed, in a vest and tiny shorts, brushing her hair. Knowing, simply from the way he sucked in a breath as he pushed through the entrance flap, that he was reacting. Not that she made a habit of hanging herself out there, but this guy deserved to be brought off the fence, big style.

  She threw out a line. ‘Any chance you could help me sort this mosquito net?’

  Sensing his hesitation, she concentrated on the distant noise of cicadas outside, overlaid now with the deep thud of his heart, resonating across the space between them.

  ‘Of course, no problem.’ Grating as a gravel-pit, and, at a guess, he was lying. Hugely.

  And totally underestimating how she’d react herself, how much she wanted him, now she was sitting here, barely dressed.

  Dragging in one long ragged breath, she pushed herself to standing, trembling slightly. He raked his eyes over her, swallowed hard, still in his jeans, and the dark thrust of his erection giving him away like nothing else could.

  ‘Get into bed.’ His low rasp was determined. ‘Then I’ll sort the mosquito net.’

  Point taken. Off the fence, in anyone’s book. And given her mission for tonight was done, she should be doing as he requested, except she wasn’t. She couldn’t walk away, not now, because her legs wouldn’t work like that. Instead she found herself crossing the floor towards him, the rush matting smooth under her bare feet, the scent of clean man, warm skin, wrapping itself around her head as she drew closer. Reaching up to touch, she stretched out a hand, aching to feel the roughness of his jaw against her palm.