hips they made her stomach drop. All but took her appetite away.
‘I’m not here to talk about jeans.’ He picked up the ketchup, and put a neat blob by the side of his fish, then held the bottle out to her.
She took it from him, and squirted a winding trail all over her chips, clocking his disapproving frown. ‘So? I like ketchup. It’s a free world.’ How could anyone be that judgmental about condiments? ‘What are you here to talk about then?’
‘You and this independence thing.’ He paused, chip in mid air, and studied her gravely. ‘I think you’ve got it all wrong.’
And who asked him anyway? She hated that shadowy hollows formed under his cheekbones when he looked at her like that, and the raw sensuality of his lips. The way his dark eyes melted. She scowled to cover that her insides were squelching again, and scraped at the angry prickles at the back of her neck.
‘No, don’t get cross, listen. No one’s more independent than me, but you need to understand, being independent isn’t about being alone. If you’re hoping independence will make you stronger, you’re wrong. What you have to realise, is that you can’t be strong on your own, because humans aren’t like that. People need each other. We get our strength by cooperating, by sharing talents, not from isolation.’
‘And you are going where with this exactly?’
‘Well, as I see it, your take on independence doesn’t make you strong. Ultimately it makes you weak. And lonely too.’ He was watching her carefully now, scrutinising her reactions.
Without thinking she dragged her hair back from her face, twisted it, and caught it on top of her head with a scrunchie from her wrist, so she could concentrate better. Her eyes locked on the lines of his mouth. Yesterday, at the picnic, she’d had a sudden, overwhelming sense he was going to kiss her, and all evening, her skin had been tingling, her treacherous body aching in anticipation. So wrong, so not what she wanted. But he was making her shiver again now, and once more she doubted her body’s ulterior motives. No one as amazing as him would go for anyone like her. Would they? ‘Look, take me with my barn conversion. If I tried to do it on my own it wouldn’t get done at all. I have the builders to help, and that makes it happen. The skill is to choose builders who are reliable.’
‘And your point is?’ Not meaning to be rude, but …
‘That you’ll only be truly strong and independent when you learn to accept help. You need people around you trust, who you can rely on.’
‘Yeah, right.’ Been there, done that thanks. With Rat-of-the-decade-Josh, who ran out the second she tried to lean on him. Her chest tight as a drum even as she thought about it now. She suppressed a shudder, but it took hold and leap-frogged down her spine.
‘I’ll give it some thought. Thanks for that.’ Not.
She tried to sound firm enough to close the subject, and it worked. He went back to his lunch, eating with scary efficiency, and then rolled up the chip papers neatly as he finished, and stood up abruptly. ‘Better be off then.’
Whatever. Millie stood up too, gave up all hope of ever getting where he was coming from, and followed him back towards the house. As he reached the doorway he paused, his large body barring her path, and grinned down at her. She hung on to her racing pulse rate, remembered to breath as his eyes, drilled into her.
‘Don’t suppose you’d give me a twirl on the pole?’
The guy was unbelievable. She shook her head, rapped out a good excuse, to hide her shock. ‘After fish and chips? No way. If you wanted twirls you should have brought salad.’
He rubbed a thumb over his jaw, deep in thought. Narrowed his eyes. ‘So twirls on the pole aren’t hundred percent ruled out?’
What? Cheeky and persistent? And why the hell was she lapping it up?
‘Get back to work before I kick your ass!’ He’d dislodged himself from the doorway, got as far as the sofa, and stopped in front of the package she’d brought in earlier. ‘So what’s in the parcel then?’
She chewed her lip hard to cut her smile. He’d asked for this.
‘If you must know, leopard-skin hand-cuffs, whips, long black gloves, under-bust corsets, over bust corsets, feather fans, suspender clips, and top hats. All times twenty.’
She was rewarded by his jaw on the floor, and his eyebrows on the ceiling.
‘You are joking?’
‘Nope.’ She allowed herself a full-blown grin now. ‘Supplies for a Hen Party I’m booked for – a Burlesque Workshop. Theme of Fifty Shades mean anything?’
He raised his eyebrows, gave a slow nod, and a knowing smirk, as he headed towards the door.
‘I’ll be back to tie you up later then.’ His growl sent an avalanche of ice chips sliding down her back. ‘I’ll call in on my way home, to check you’re okay. Maybe teach you more about this independence game. And don’t forget, I’ll be expecting that twirl!’
LATER that afternoon, back in the sun-baked courtyard, working on her collages and her tan, Mille mulled over what Ed had said, as she concentrated on her French theme, and arranged a mix of roses, lace and tri-colours onto a box. Okay, the guy could lay on a scrummy picnic, and maybe fish and chips for lunch was a welcome change, but overall Ed was a complete pain in the butt, especially with the way he kept appearing. But he maybe had a point about fierce independence making you weaker, not stronger. It was good to hear a different viewpoint. She’d missed that since she moved here, yet another drawback of the isolation. It had become too easy to shut herself away, driving herself towards her goals. Maybe it was good to have some company, even if the company in question annoyed the hell out of her at times. Her life-plan was about taking responsibility for herself, her decisions, and her actions. Independence was what she’d become obsessed with as a means to achieve those aims, but what he’d said reminded her she needed to make sure she didn’t lose sight of the bigger picture.
‘Anyone home?’
Millie jumped as she heard Ed’s voice reverberate through the house. What the heck was he doing rocking up in the middle of the afternoon, and her in her skimpiest bikini?
‘I knocked, but you obviously didn’t hear, so I let myself in.’
And then he was there, sauntering through from the house, talking to her, but not looking at her face. Eyes all over everywhere else. Devouring.
‘Who finishes work at three thirty?’
Not that she wasn’t completely at ease with her body – she was. Just not at ease with the way her skin sizzled under his scrutiny. She rubbed her nose with the back of a gluey hand, playing for time as she worked out her next move. Diving into the house to grab a vest would be preferable.
But how to get past him? He was leaning languidly across the doorway, all tanned brooding strength, eyes sootier than ever behind those amazing lashes, and uncannily silent. She saw his jaw clench imperceptibly, his broad shoulders shift.
A
