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‘Suits me fine.’
She examined her fingernails.
‘You never know, I might even be able to give you a few pointers if you like. On how to treat women...you know...properly. On where you’re going wrong.’
For a moment he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Was she actually suggesting he needed dating advice?
‘Where I’m going wrong? You’re the one who’s spent the last three years in the dating desert, not me.’
‘That was by choice. I could have dated—I just didn’t want to.’
‘Why not?’
She dropped her eyes from his.
‘None of your business,’ she said.
Something must have happened. She’d been dumped badly, maybe cheated on. He wasn’t about to press the point right now though, not when he almost had the date in the bag.
‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but I don’t need any pointers, thanks very much.’
She shrugged.
‘Please yourself. But you can’t deny some of your behaviour is a bit...’
‘Detached?’
‘Brutal. We’ve probably lost weeks of productivity with the amount of sick leave your broken hearts have caused around here.’
‘That isn’t my fault,’ he protested. ‘I make it clear from the outset I’m not interested in settling down. Can I be blamed when people read more into it than that?’
‘We should get on perfectly, then. Neither of us wants anything serious.’
He held her gaze deliberately.
‘You never know, you might find a player is more fun after all.’
He caught the blush again, high on her cheekbones. Nice.
‘We’ll see,’ she said. She looked back down at her notepad.
He watched her transfer her focus back to her computer, eager to get back into professional mode, thinking she was in full control. So the date was his. First stage of the mission accomplished. If she wanted to think of it as some platonic outing then he was prepared to agree to it.
Agreeing to it didn’t mean honouring it.
Winning the bet required getting her into his bed, not just taking her out. That would take time and effort and it was going to be interesting. He wasn’t about to fail before he’d even begun.
‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Eleven-thirty. Let me know your address.’
She snapped her eyes back up.
‘Eleven-thirty? In the morning?’
She looked wrong-footed, and he grinned.
‘How long has it been—three years? You’re obviously stuck in a rut of dinner-and-cinema.’
‘But I thought we were going out for a drink.’
‘We are,’ he said, enjoying keeping her on her toes. ‘Coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
THREE
ALICE FORD’S DATING SURVIVAL CRITERIA—HOW TO IDENTIFY & AVOID A PLAYER.
Rule #1 First Date. How does he play it? A keeper will be interested in getting to know you. A player will be all about getting his hands on you.
Alice had forgotten what a minefield it was just getting ready for a first date, let alone actually going on one. Even an experimental one for research purposes. Unfortunately telling herself that dating him was a project, to be treated in the same dispassionate way as a work assignment, didn’t seem to be having any effect on her nerves, which were zipping around in her belly and making her knees wobbly.
Not that she actually gave a damn what Harry thought of her or her appearance.
But still, it was ages since she’d been out and knowing him they were bound to be going somewhere cutting-edge trendy, probably for lunch. What the hell did the hip twenty-something London crowd wear these days?
The imbalance in her wardrobe reflected the imbalance in her life.
Still hanging in the cupboard: getting on for a dozen work suits—some with trousers, some with skirts; a huge selection of shirts and blouses in sensible office styles; opaque tights; court shoes; shoe boots, predominant colour scheme black, grey and blue.
Still in the drawer, although she felt like dragging them out and telling Harry to get stuffed, she was far too busy with a tub of ice cream and a box set to even think of going out this side of Christmas: a wide selection of greying loungewear track pants and vests, numerous pyjamas and bedsocks.
And finally, scattered over the bed, the contenders for today: a meagre selection of tops and well-worn T-shirts, a shirt in a soft pale grey material that she’d bought on impulse and never worn, a couple of pairs of jeans and a little black dress that was way too smart for daytime.
She’d started getting ready what felt like hours ago and suddenly there were five minutes left before he was due to show up and she still hadn’t made a final decision on what to wear. She’d seriously underestimated the sheer size of the project of turning herself from hairy-legged couch potato into someone who might look at home hanging around a trendy London eatery. The hair removal alone had taken ages. Not that she intended to remove a single item of clothing in the presence of Harry Stephens, but it made her feel marginally more attractive knowing that if she did she wouldn’t look like Bigfoot from the waist down.
All of which meant she’d now have to stick with the silver-grey shirt and jeans combo she was wearing and hope for the best.
She pushed her feet into black ballet flats and grabbed her black jacket just as the doorbell rang. Her stupid heart, which obviously was out of practice and working rustily at best, began hammering in her chest. For God’s sake, Harry Stephens was not a boyfriend—he was a task. With any luck her body would quickly get to grips with that and revert to...well, to efficient-work-mode might actually be good.
He was right on time. She wondered if that was typical behaviour. Come across as perfect from the outset and your excuses might hold more weight when you start playing around in a few dates’ time.
She took a deep breath and went for the door.
He was leaning against the jamb, wearing jeans and a dark blue shirt that picked out the colour of his eyes, a relaxed grin playing about his lips.
‘Morning,’ he said.
‘Come in a sec, I just need to grab my bag.’ She kept her voice as level as she could although her pulse rate was going crazy.
She was acutely aware of him as he followed her into the tiny sitting room. She could smell the light citrus of his aftershave on warm skin. She concentrated hard on staying calm.
‘Nice place you’ve got,’ he said, looking around. ‘Very tidy.’
‘Thanks,’ she said.
‘And interesting artwork.’ He nodded at the wall above the fireplace and she glanced up.
‘That’s one of Tilly’s pictures, my flatmate. She’s quite arty.’ She leaned over the back of the sofa to grab her bag. ‘She’s also out.’
‘You look gorgeous,’ he said as she turned back round, his blue gaze catching hers. He was closer behind her than she realised, close enough for her to see the dark flecks in his eyes, the light stubble defining his jawline. Her lack of heels meant she had to tilt her head up to meet his gaze.
Her stomach gave a slow and delicious flip. Keeping her mind on her plan even if her body wasn’t, she put a quick couple of extra paces between them.
‘Would you always say that as standard, or does it vary?’ she asked, poised to mentally file away his answer.
‘How do you mean?’
‘Do you always compliment a woman when you take her out for the first time?’
He had a slightly bemused expression on his face.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Always. Always tell her she looks fantastic.’
‘Even if she doesn’t?’
‘Particularly if she doesn’t. Not that I’d be going out with her if she looked like a moose. It’s a no-brainer,’ he said, grinning at her raised eyebrows. ‘I want you to go out with me and have a good time, not slap me in the face.’
‘So, technically, your compliment just now is meaningless because you would have given it even if I was dressed in a bin bag.’
A smile lifted the corner of his mouth and creased his eyes at the corners. He looked heartstoppingly gorgeous.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Nothing. I was just imagining you in a bin bag. Even more gorgeous than you look in those jeans.’
The predatory way he was looking at her made heat begin to curl through her stomach. The room was suddenly feeling too warm, too small with just the two of them in it.
‘Let’s just go,’ she snapped.
She led the way outside and stared dismally down the path at his open-top sports car. Typical. All that time spent taming her hair into casually undone waves and by the time she’d done a journey in that it would have reverted to bird’s nest.
Rule #2 Do not be seduced by compliments. A player will say anything to get what he wants.
* * *
Harry took the opportunity to catch his breath as she walked ahead of him down the steps. Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t this. He realised that without thinking he’d been waiting for her to open the door in her usual business suit.
She was unrecognisable as the tightly strung woman he encountered at work every day. Gone was the firmly coiled sleek hairdo in favour of dark waves that spilled over her shoulders, framing her face and highlighting the soft brown eyes and the high cheekbones. The absence of heels and harsh tailoring made her seem smaller and almost fragile.
All moisture had leeched unexpectedly from his mouth.
There was a soft vulnerability about her that she managed to smother with her relentlessly efficient business persona, keeping everyone at an arm’s-length professional level. Seeing it now in the nervous dart of her eyes up to his made his senses zing into action.
He focused hard on starting the car, going through the automatic motions of pulling away into the late-morning traffic. Visual stimulation, that was all it was. Nothing more. Underneath the relaxed jeans and silvery shirt that emphasised her pale skin, she was exactly the same woman.
Higher maintenance.
The way she looked was irrelevant, in fact should simply be seen as a nice bonus. Winning was the aim here, and if he could have a good time along the way, so much the better. But still, he should be thinking how best to push her to the limit he needed, not being distracted by the delectable curve of her neck when she pushed her hair back.
Keep your eye on the prize.
He could sense her nerves from the way she held her bag on her lap, fiddled with its strap and looked straight ahead. He needed to get her to relax. Be as amenable and easy as possible until he could work out what made her tick.
She was just another woman, after all. How hard could it be?
‘Where are we going, then?’ she asked as he worked his way into central London. ‘Some bar, I suppose, or restaurant.’ He saw a flash of anxiety in the tense set of her jaw and knew he’d made the right decision by dismissing the cutting-edge trendy brasserie in Knightsbridge that had briefly crossed his mind. If anyone ever needed to loosen up a little, it was her.
‘You’ll see.’
* * *
‘Regent’s Park?’
He didn’t miss the hint of cynicism in her voice as he led the way through the Clarence Gate entrance. It was a blue-skied September day and a broad pathway between perfectly manicured green lawns lay ahead of them in the glorious sunshine.
‘When you said I needed to get out more, I didn’t realise you meant it so literally,’ Alice said.
‘Now don’t start grouching before we’ve even begun.’ He grabbed her hand and tucked it through his arm, letting her step fall into line with his. ‘You’re going to love it. I thought we could go for a walk, maybe get a coffee, relax for a while, get to know each other. Then we can find somewhere for lunch. Where did you think I was taking you? Straight back to my shag-pad?’
‘I wouldn’t put anything past you.’ She was glad of the sunshine warming her face, perfect for disguising a blush. ‘I suppose I thought we’d go somewhere in town. A restaurant for lunch maybe. Trendier. Busier. With loads of background noise, music, people.’
‘There are lots of places I could take you exactly like that. But I thought you might prefer something a bit more laid-back. Your whole life seems to revolve around work and when you do go out for dinner or drinks it’s probably work-related too. When did you last take a walk in the park?’
‘Back when I was living at home.’ Her mind treated her to an unwelcome flash of the graffiti-festooned park near her mother’s house in Dorset.
‘You’ve lived in London all this time and you haven’t been to the parks?’
She shook her head, bristling a little at the implication she was some kind of hermit.
‘You don’t seem a park kind of a person either,’ she said defensively. He didn’t.
‘Well, that just goes to show how wrong you can be when you judge someone on second-hand information.’
She managed not to laugh at that. If he thought a curved ball of a daytime date would be enough to cast doubt on his playboy reputation, he was deluded.
‘Sometimes a bit of open green space is just the thing. We can talk, get to know each other. Difficult to do that when you have to shout over music or elbow your way through crowds.’
Get to know each other. Her heart began to step up the beat, causing a rush of exasperation. Why couldn’t she just block out all this physical-reaction claptrap and concentrate on the task at hand? As if she were interviewing a candidate for a job or handling a business meeting maybe.
She concentrated hard on the surroundings as they carried on strolling. The sun dappled the path through the trees and warmed her back.
