Ethan watched the cursor flash, unhappy with what he’d written but unable to come up with anything better. He was still too steamed. She wanted to know more about him? He’d let her learn a few things, for sure, and he knew exactly how to throw her into it. He laughed at the evilness of his idea—but she’d asked for it, after all. The almighty great pain in the neck was that it couldn’t happen for a week. He pressed “publish” then shoved away from his desk, suddenly furious that it was so many damn days away. Still, maybe that gave him a chance to get his hot-for-her hormones back under control. Damn it, maybe he’d go out on another date himself on Friday night. She’d said this wasn’t exclusive. He could go and have some real fun with someone less trouble. He’d head to his favourite bar with the boys and see what action he could chase out.
His guts twisted painfully again, and the bitter coffee taste still burnt his tongue. Yeah, he was definitely suffering some sort of flu when the thought of hitting the scene made him feel sick.
Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were the longest days Nadia had ever lived through. Nothing had rattled her nerves, sleep and appetite like this. Not even discovering her perfect boyfriend actually made a hobby of conning the virginity out of as many young uni students as he could—as he had her. Nope, not even that had had her as distracted or on edge as this.
She was awake more than half each night, watching the comments coming in to the blogs. It was horrific. She was so, so glad of her anonymity, and hated the fact his name was out there—even though most of the comments on his blog were bigging him up as “the man”. The speculation was rife—and also right—and several comments were crass. Interestingly there hadn’t been a word from the women who’d posted on the original thread. It surprised her—she’d have thought they’d be interested and amused by the challenge.
She even surreptitiously checked at work—totally fixated. She struggled to stop herself refreshing both their blogs every other minute. Most of the time she managed, but one in ten she didn’t. Nothing more appeared online directly from Ethan. He didn’t comment on the comments. Nor did she any more. But she was waiting. Nothing, she now knew, was as bad as waiting. He’d said they were going to do date three, yet he hadn’t contacted her about it. So she was waiting, waiting, waiting. Jumping every time the phone went or her e-mail pinged, sitting on her hands to stop herself calling him. So much for never seeing him again, for getting over her fatal attraction to him. Instead she wanted to apologise for being such a cow when he’d dropped her home—wanted to suck back that bitter end to the afternoon. Only she really didn’t think he’d care all that much. He just wanted to win. It was still all a game to him.
And then it happened—her mobile rang, with his number on the display. Sweat bubbled from every pore and she gulped a breath which didn’t help. Her lungs and brain still shut down as excitement overrode everything. All she had in her head was the stupid hope that her voice wouldn’t hit squeak territory when she said hi.
Of course it did.
Panic shot high as she waited to hear what he had to say—except she could only hear her pounding heart.
‘About our next date,’ he said slowly.
‘You still want to do another?’ she blurted.
There was a pause. Nadia closed her eyes and winced at her unintentional entendre. She really had to learn not to jump in on him.
‘Did you think I’d let you off that easily, Nadia? A deal is a deal. Or are you backing out?’
‘No. We can do the last date.’ She spelt it out, giving him no cause to think she meant something else.
‘I know you’re already seeing someone on Friday, but can you do Saturday?’
‘Yes.’ She didn’t correct her lie, but didn’t try to play any more games by putting him off again either. This was purely about survival now. Of course if she really wanted to survive she should just say no, but she couldn’t say no to him—the beating of her blood just wasn’t going to let her.
‘Afternoon,’ he said calmly.
‘Another day date?’ Heat filled her face as she thought of the last one. The scent of the grass suddenly hit her, along with the remembered sensation of him pressing her into it.
‘Kind of. But there won’t be any exercise this time. You need to wear something a little more formal. That dress you wore to the movies would be good.’
She swallowed. No exercise, huh? His oh-so-casual attitude sharpened her antagonism. He so wasn’t dictating her wardrobe to her. ‘I can do a little more formal.’
‘Great. Then I’ll pick you up at one.’
‘Okay. See you then.’
He rang off without saying goodbye. It made concentrating on work the rest of the day impossible. Well, not impossible, but it was extremely annoying that she had to be there and not at home so she could obsess.
She went out for a walk and bought an ice-cream—to cool herself down on the inside. Gave herself a headache by eating it too quickly. She really had to pull herself together. She was not going to ruin her reputation at work because of some guy she was going to see only once more. She had to get a grip. Self-pep-talked up, she went back to the office and sat down and worked overtime, losing herself in the tasks and not once going back online.
In the evening at home she texted Megan for support. He wanted a little more formal? She was going to need some help with that. Formal for day-time wasn’t that easy to pull.
Def wear dress but hair down not up. Help yourself to anything in my wardrobe.
Saturday morning she followed Megan’s advice, plaiting just a narrow section of hair near the front and then clipping it back. She totally wished she could borrow some of Meg’s amazing shoes—except she’d have to stuff tissue into the toes to fit them, and that just wouldn’t be a good look. She put a little more make-up on than usual—mainly to hide the signs of sleeplessness under her eyes.
Right on one o’clock she opened the door, and with a brain-draining combination of nerves, excitement and foreign shyness looked at him. Neither spoke. The moment of silence went on so long she started to panic.
‘Is this not okay?’ Totally husky rather squeaky this time.
‘No, it’s okay.’ He cleared his throat at the same time she did. ‘You look great.’
He was smart-casual too, and she was glad she’d gone with the little gilt heels and the silver dress. But she was melting into a puddle—awkwardness was the only thing that saved her. She wanted to apologise, she wanted to beg, she wanted to start over. She wanted so many things that were impossible.
He had his car, held the door for her to get in. She didn’t look at him.
‘Change the music if you want,’ he said as he pulled out into the traffic.
Actually, she liked this band and their loudness. The car smelt nice—it smelt like him. ‘Where are we going?’
‘Oh, you know I like to preserve a little mystery,’ he answered too smoothly.
She glanced at him, but he was looking hard at the road ahead and she wasn’t inclined to try and start the conversation again. Nor was he—so somehow forty minutes rolled by in silent, screaming tension.
Eventually they cruised into one of those cute home counties villages—all quaint and expensive. And then he pulled into the driveway of one stunning country home. There were little pink balloons on the gate, and a line-up of flash European cars parked along the street.
Nadia’s tension couldn’t stay silent now. What the hell were they coming to? She slowly got out of the car and followed him to a beautiful doorway. Through the windows of the house she saw people in pretty party dress milling—and she knew.
‘This is some kind of family occasion, isn’t it?’ Appalled, she slowly climbed the steps up to the door. All the needing-to-apologise feeling fled.
‘My niece’s christening, yes.’
‘I can’t be here.’ She saw the amusement on his face and her temper flared. ‘This isn’t the place for you to play your manipulating games.’
‘Oh? That’s fine c
oming from you—the mistress of manipulation. Treat me mean, keep me keen—is that what you were doing?’
There was only one bit of that sentence she registered. Dumbfounded, she gazed up at him. ‘You’re still keen?’
‘Why?’ Roughly his hands snaked around her waist and he yanked her against him right there on the doorstep. ‘You still want me?’
One hand slid lower, firmly curving around her butt. Through the thin shiny dress his heat burned. Her instant tremor was obvious to them both. And suddenly she felt like crying. She was tired of feeling this desperate for him. ‘I wasn’t playing games with you.’ Oh, she sounded pathetic—and pleading.
‘The hell you weren’t.’ His intense gaze stripped her completely.
And she was pleading now. He was vibrating too—with annoyance, and something else. Something every ounce of her wanted to believe was desire. She gazed up at him, too thrilled by the close contact to realise what she was revealing to him—too hot to care. All she wanted was this contact to become closer still.
She heard his breath catch, watched immobile as his head angled and slowly lowered, his sensual lips coming towards hers. Her own breath caught then, while her heart thundered. She tilted her chin, wanting the kiss so badly. His hands tightened, sending more pleasure shocks along her nerves. She liked feeling the strength of him.
But suddenly he looked up. Too late she registered that the door beside them had opened.