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
