How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates

by Jane Linfoot

‘This is going to be fast.’ Grating out his excuses, as he spurred her into a rhythm, forged into her incredible tightness. Finding her nipples, grazing them as she writhed, then, as she folded above him, and when he knew he couldn’t hold much longer, a final flick of her clitoris, sent her convulsing around him. Only then did he allow himself to let go. One ecstatic thrust, all it took, to propel him into the most body-shattering orgasmic bang of his life.

  ***

  ‘So, I’m guessing the no-strings thing lets you to put your arm around me then?’

  Ed, relaxing, naked on the quilt, pushed himself up on an elbow, took in his offending arm, strewn lazily across the curve of Millie’s waist, and rolled his eyes to the star-spattered sky above.

  The fact she had suspended her questioning long enough for sex to take place at all, was starting to seem like a minor miracle. Whilst he was happy to drift into an easy post-coital slumber, only spoiled by the grumbles of thunder rolling around the distant hills, which he was determinedly ignoring, Millie had snapped into a post-coital frenzy.

  ‘It’s fine for me to put my arm around you.’ He sighed, dug deep for patience. Only Millie could make something as straightforward as no-strings this complicated. ‘The way it works, I’m all yours for the weekend. Just not for forever.’

  She rolled out from under his arm, and spun him an unapologetic smile as she twisted to sit. ‘I like to get these things straight, that’s all.’

  Not yet back in her shorts, and delightfully, not giving a damn. Jacket still open. And not her fault her pout was irresistible.

  His plans in tatters, and given the fire he’d just lived through, he wouldn’t have had it any other way.

  No regrets.

  Nor was it her fault, the way her thighs were lush, and splashed with moonlight. Already turning him hard again. Maybe the best way to calm them both down was to take her once more time.

  ‘Getting things straight is good.’ He shot her a grin as wicked as he felt. ‘So, if we’re sorting stuff out here, next time, will you get to look at the stars?’

  ‘There’s going to be a next time?’

  Reaching out, starting at her ankle bone, he absently traced a finger up the wandering tendrils of her tattoo. ‘I should say. Wouldn’t you?’

  ‘I guess.’ She chewed her thumbnail pensively, and narrowed her eyes. ‘As for who goes on top, maybe I’ll fight you for it.’

  ‘And maybe you won’t.’ Pulling himself up to sitting now, tugging her to sit astride him, grunting gently as a load of warm woman landed right on target, shuffled herself onto the hub of his erection. ‘This way we both get the same view of the sky.’

  And she wasn’t fighting now.

  Two seconds, and he’d pushed back her jacket, pulled down her bra cups, and she’d entwined her arms around his neck and yanked her full breasts tight against his chest.

  Warm? Hot, more like.

  Legs locked around his back, her mouth burying into his with all the finesse of a heat seeking missile.

  ‘Condom … ’ One last lucid thought, as he fumbled to find the pocket of his discarded jeans. ‘Sorted.’

  Then the lust-haze took over. One tilt of her pelvis and he’d powered deep inside her. Then she was riding, sliding him, grinding him, devouring him, thrashing him, and he was driving, pushing, thrusting relentlessly against her sweat slicked skin. One soft moan in her throat, which built to an animal cry, and she was rigid in his arms, then all hell broke loose, as she contracted onto him in wave after wave of electrifying spasms, and as his blood roared through his ears, he surged into one, explosive release.

  ***

  Much later, he woke to find her, damp and hot, crushed against his chest, on the quilt where they had fallen. Burying his face in the nest of her hair, breathing in the scent of her scalp, he was enveloped by a sudden crazy need to keep her close. Soft, silent, almost indiscernible, like the night breeze in the bougainvilleas, something making him want to reach out, hang onto the sky, and stop the world from turning.

  Just for tonight.

  Then one crashing boom burst through his head, and echoed across the horizon.

  Mille jolted to life in his arms.

  Then another crash, followed by a relentless volley of crackling shots.

  ‘Fireworks!’ He opened his eyes, scanned the dishes of cascading sparks radiating across the sky. ‘Cripes!’

  No idea where the last two hours went.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be … ’ She mumbled into his chest, pushing to free herself. ‘Be somewhere else? With your box of matches?’

  Good point, well made.

  ‘No, it’s fine. The team’s got it sorted. ’ He pushed himself up to sitting, he drew her to sit between his thighs. Speaking into her ear, to be heard over the explosions, suddenly secure with how she nestled into his chest, setting his heart speeding every time her back jarred against him with each extra-loud bang. As if the rise and fall of her breasts, heavy on his wrists, wasn’t distracting enough. ‘We’re trying some new sequences tonight, so it’ll all be filmed. My job is to watch.’

  ‘From here?’ Another explosion of colour across the heavens, another jump.

  ‘Here will do.’ Made him lock his arms tighter around her ribs, search out her hand. ‘We don’t get the backdrop of the Chateau, but the fireworks are the same.’ He felt a shiver wobble through her.

  ‘Cold?’ He reached for a blanket, draped it over her legs.

  ‘No.’ She turned her face towards him in the dark, crushed her lips across his cheek, as she searched to find his ear to shout in. ‘I think it’s just the bangs.’

  Making him smile. Making him want to dive into her mouth all over again. But he made himself resist, knowing he owed it to the guys to watch the show.

  ‘What’s this? A girl who doesn’t like bangs?’

  ‘No, it’s loud but it’s amazing! I love it!’

  That response made his chest implode.

  The bangs. Loud, resplendent, adrenalin-firing. But, for the first time in his life, he was finding them weirdly anticlimactic, given what had gone before. As they watched the mounting crescendo of glittering chaos above, Ed’s gut flexed, not with each new flurry of light and explosion, but with each of Millie’s enthralled cries. And right now he was counting his way through the sequences he’d designed, willing them to be over, so he could get back to those other mind-blowing bangs. Who would have thought haystack Millie would push him over the edge, robbing him of every last ounce of self control he had. He may have been resisting before, but he was thriving on the inferno now.

  And what an inferno! Fierce and short-lived, exactly how he liked it, and he was confident this fire would be all burned by the end of the weekend.

  The display had reached the quiet section before the final storm, and over the smaller fireworks, he could hear the murmurs of the distant crowd, echoes of the band. And then, clapping through the gloom, an almighty, un-scheduled clatter of thunder, had Millie leaping from the ground.

  She held out her hand. ‘It’s raining.’

  Rain was the last thing he needed. Maybe it would come to nothing.

  Above them a waterfall of fireworks was cascading down the clouds now, as the Grand Finale built towards its war zone conclusion, but as the rain fell harder, they scrambled to their feet.

  ‘Run for it!’ Ed’s voice rang out over the noise of the thunderclaps and explosions, as they grabbed the quilts and clothes, and hurled themselves for shelter of the tent.

  Inside, despite the thudding rain, Millie’s shiver was low enough for him to register as she dragged on a t-shirt in the shadows.

  Damn. Double Damn. He grimaced as a large drip bounced off his forehead. There was no way they could stay here.

  Damn Cassie too, and the way she always managed to be right.

  ‘Not sure this old canvas is up to a full blown Provencal storm.’ He braced himself for the next bit. ‘The Chateau owners gave strict instructions to move into the Gardener’s Cottage if the
re was any rain.’ He banished the image of Cassie and her gloating smile from his head, as he took in the water already squelching up through the rush matting, and brushed another smattering splash off his arm. Jeez. ‘Come on, grab your stuff and we’ll go.’

  About to play with fire of a different kind here, and here’s to hoping he could pull this one off.

  CHAPTER NINE

  MILLIE woke, arms caught in a tangle of sheets, face jammed into a dreamy-soft pillow.

  Where the heck..? She opened her eyes a crack, and grimaced, as the morning light filtering through partly opened shutters bounced up off the pale limestone floor and zapped her headache up a notch.

  Of course! The cottage, the Chateau, the rain, all came flooding back.

  What had she done last night? Maxing the pleasure? Total debauchery more like. And totally amazing. She closed her eyes tight, as if that was going to stop the X-rated pictures flashing through her brain. And the O’s, which had always eluded her – last night there’d been so many she’d lost count! Gingerly she extended a tentative leg across the bed. Phew! A space. At least she didn’t have to face him, straight away. But he could come back any time, so she needed to move fast. Dragging the sheet around her, ignoring the wobbles in her legs, she made a dive for the en-suite, and buried herself in the drench of the shower.

  ***

  ‘Orange juice!’

  Millie emerged from the bedroom, swathed in a bath-sheet, heading across the airy, luxurious living area, to what she hoped was the kitchen. After all, when they’d arrived last night Ed had said to help herself to anything here. Given that fifteen minutes of water hammering on her head had done very little to sort her floppy knees and fluttering pulse, not to mention her doubts, she was hanging all her hopes on an instant injection of vitamin C, and a sugar boost. Juice was what she needed, and fast! She’d just honed in on a humming fridge the size of New York, when she heard the click of a door out in the hall.

  ‘Hellooooo … ’

  A woman’s voice. Millie froze, hand in mid-air, as the voice spiraled down the hall. O lordy! Not Ed then, though she had an idea her heart would be clattering even more if it had been.

  ‘Hello – Eddie – are you there?’ The voice grew more persistent, as the footfalls on the stone floor drew closer.

  Eeeeeek!

  Millie drew the bath towel up under her chin, pushed a strand of damp hair off her forehead, and sucked in a huge breath. Too late now to kick herself for not dressing.

  ‘Oh, my dear, I’m so sorry!’ A sandy haired woman, with a gently speckled tan arrived in the doorway, her designer loafers saying as much as her accent, which reminded Millie of her mother’s. From the way the woman’s hands flew to clutch at the cluster of beads at her throat, Millie guessed that in shock terms they were on an equal footing.

  ‘I had no idea. Do forgive me, I’ve just flown in from Antigua.’ The woman ran her palms over taupe linen trousers, flashed Millie a warm but apologetic smile, and leaned towards her with a rueful shrug, lowering her voice. ‘I’ve a feeling I’m not meant to be here!’

  Millie suspected that this woman was rarely in the wrong, but something about the frankness of her confession put Millie at ease. She wrinkled her nose into a grin, and gave a guilty shrug. ‘That makes two of us then.’

  ‘Sorry?’ The woman inclined her head to Millie in query.

  ‘I’m not meant to be here either. I’m a kind of stow-away.’ Easy, when shared with a fellow conspirator.

  ‘Oh, I see.’ The woman hesitated. Raised her eyebrows in a way that looked uncannily familiar to Millie. ‘Are you with Eddie – I mean Ed?’

  ‘Yes.’ Millie nodded slowly, and watched a delighted beam spread across the other woman’s face. ‘Except I’m not officially on the fireworks team – he whisked me in under the radar! We were staying in a tent before the rain.’

  ‘Better and better!’ The woman clapped her hands. ‘Sounds perfect! You have no idea how pleased I am to see you, or how long I’ve waited for this to happen.’ In two swift strides the woman had crossed the kitchen to rest a light hand on Millie’s arm. ‘Make sure you enjoy your stay dear.’

  Millie, confused, replied to the only part of the conversation she understood. ‘Thank you. I will.’

  The woman was backing across the kitchen now, only hesitating as she reached the door. ‘Oh, and it’s probably best not to mention I was here … ’ A shadow of anxiety dulled her radiance, but only momentarily. ‘ … if that’s okay with you?’

  And obviously not expecting an answer to her question, because she was gone before Millie had time to reply.

  ***

  Millie had pulled on some shorts and was heading towards the fridge when the click of the front door stopped her in her tracks again. ‘Okay, only me! I’ve been to the bakery.’ Ed’s voice resonated down the hall.

  No time for her heart to bang as he burst in, tossed a bulging bag of croissants down on the table, dropped a kiss on top of her head, and grabbed a cafetiere from the side.

  ‘I thought you’d be in need of breakfast.’ He torched her with a wide grin. ‘Coffee?’

  Nice subtle reference to last night there.

  ‘Please.’ She reached for the juice as a stop-gap.

  And just the right amount of contact. Enough to acknowledge her, but not enough to knock her helpless into next week, although the sight of him skidding around the kitchen was doing that anyway. Mega-sexy. Already showered. Totally unfair he could look that good after so much sex and so little sleep, when she was wrecked. Re-aligning her thoughts to glasses, she opened a cupboard hopefully, but he was way ahead, deftly dropping two on the work surface in front of her.

  ‘Mmmmm, mango and passion fruit. Nice!’ She splashed out the juice, pushed his towards him, and took a slug herself, eyeing him over her glass as he piled the breakfast items onto a tray. ‘Here’s hoping it has huge powers of resuscitation!’

  ‘If you need resuscitating, you only have to ask … ’ He shot her a lazy wink, with more than a hint of smolder, as he picked up the tray, kicked his way through the open garden door, and sauntered out onto the terrace.

  Millie followed, blinking as she emerged into the sunshine, and flopped down at the table, in the dappled shade of the vine pergola.

  ‘Help yourself to croissants, we can get something more substantial in later … ’ He broke off at the sound of scrunching on the gravel path, jumping up as a white-haired man appeared beyond the bougainvillea bushes. ‘Damn, it’s the Mayor, probably come to say thanks for the display. You carry on, I’ll be back in a minute!’ He handed her a coffee, then hurried off towards the visitor.

  Millie bit into her croissant and watched. Judging by his exuberant gesticulations, the Mayor was pleased with Ed’s fireworks. His booming compliments echoed around the garden.

  ‘Incroyable!’ She couldn’t avoid hearing. ‘Formidable!’ And she couldn’t help understanding. ‘Incredible! Amazing! Your parents should be very proud, as usual!’

  Funny how easily she could still pick up the French her Grandmother had taught her. Her jaw stopped in mid chew. Parents?

  The mayor was slapping Ed on the back enthusiastically.

  So which parents would they be exactly?

  The Mayor had Ed in a full-blown head lock now, as he rattled on, and her brain automatically translated. ‘You may be a firework master, but to me you will always be the small boy from the Chateau.’

  The small boy from the Chateau?

  What! Millie’s jaw and her croissant dropped simultaneously.

  Surely she’d heard wrongly, misread the Technicolor scene playing out in front of her. Too much sun, too little sleep.

  The Mayor, obviously about to leave, was sending her an acknowledging salute, a parting shout. ‘He’s turned out well, eh the smallest Marshall boy?’

  So she wasn’t mistaken.

  The woman in the kitchen earlier? Looking for Eddie?

  Only my mother calls me Eddie. That’s what
he’d said, yesterday, in the car.

  Millie tried to swallow, but all her saliva had gone. How could she have been such an idiot …

  The Mayor was sweeping off behind the bay bushes now and, Ed was wandering back. ‘Glad he liked it, but he’s a bit full-on for breakfast time!’

  By the time he reached his chair Millie, teeth gritted, was ready for him. ‘What the hell is going on here?’

  He blinked, apparently in genuine confusion. ‘Sorry?’

  She wasn’t buying that.

  ‘When exactly did dusty Ed from the quarry, morph into Ed from the Chateau?’ She speared him with her stare, added a glacial afterthought. ‘Or would that be Eddie?’

  He inclined his head, his eyes darkening as they narrowed in query. ‘You understood what he said?’ His tone was incredulous. ‘But he was rattling on like the clappers.’

  ‘You aren’t the only French speaker in the world Ed. My Grandmother’s French, remember?’

  Ed hammered his fist onto his forehead, slowly, three times, as if collecting himself.

  She fixed her eyes on the column of his neck, the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, definitely not thinking about its salty taste, of snagging that skin between her teeth last night.

  Finally he gave a nonchalant shrug that made her bile boil, and looked her square in the eye. ‘Okay, you’ve got me there, I’m from the Chateau! But it’s no big deal.’

  Another rich guy, smoothing over trouble. How was that familiar?

  The lurch in her stomach that eye-lock caused wasn’t going to stop her. ‘I suppose the darned quarry’s yours then too is it?’

  His face twisted, and he hesitated, dragged in another deep breath. ‘As it happens, yes. But there’s no need to over-react’

  One dismissal that set the fire in her guts ablaze.

  ‘Nice work! Make this about me over-reacting! I wouldn’t have even spoken to you if I’d known you were loaded, let alone come to Provence for the frigging weekend. And your stack of lies just proves your pedigree as one more rich waste-of-space!’

  Lashing out, kicking herself for landing here at all. Crashing to her feet now, desperate to go, anywhere, away from him.