me through.’ Ed threw the reins at her, then delved into a pocket, and flipped out her missing phone. Same jeans, same shirt, same glorious body. But this time the thunderous brows lifted as his face split into a self-deprecating grin. He followed at a safe distance as she led the suddenly compliant pony towards his stable. ‘Busy morning?’
She gave a ‘whatever’ shrug, tried to stop her head spinning from the heat of him. ‘Sorted out a dance sequence for a private lesson this afternoon at the Country Club, though who knows why anyone would want to dance to Santa Baby, in July.’ Accidentally-on-purpose forgetting to mention the ‘B-for-burlesque’ word. ‘Packed up an order of my boxes to send to London, so now Cracker’s home safely, I’ll head out to the post office.’
His gaze honed in on her mucking-out shorts.
‘After a shower, obviously.’ And she thought he hadn’t noticed her! How bad did she look? ‘Thanks for last night, by the way. You saved my life twice yesterday.’ She smiled, dipping as far behind her dangling hair as she could, as the thought of the snog made her cheeks whoosh scarlet. ‘Anything I can do in return, just let me know.’
A last throwaway comment, meant politely, not needing a reply.
‘You’re welcome. All in a day’s work for a Super-hero.’ Inscrutable. No trace of embarrassment, at all. ‘And there is something, something you can do, that is … ’
‘Yes?’ She tilted her head, narrowed her eyes, her heart belting her chest wall as she waited.
‘Come out with me tonight.’ Just like that. Cool as a chilled beer. Unleashing a waterfall of shivers to cascade down her neck.
Oh lordy. ‘You got me there, I’m sorry, I don’t think so, I don’t … ’
Now he was the one narrowing his eyes, staring like she was gone out, planting his hands on his hips. Definitely not happy.
‘Let's get this clear. I saved your life twice, and you’re refusing me a date? Don’t even think about it.’ Chocolate voice like an incendiary now.
It was her turn to be chilled as a cool thing. Icey. Decided.
‘I was planning to make you a thank-you batch of cookies.’ She watched his expression slide from disbelieving to incredulous. ‘I’m very sorry, but my life-plan doesn’t include dates. I’m aiming for total independence.’ Despite it being the truth, out loud it sounded ridiculous. But she couldn’t be independent and have dates. Dates robbed you of your independence on every level.
‘Excuse me? I’m talking about going out for an hour, not moving in!’
‘Whatever.’ She shrugged. This was not negotiable.
‘Jeez, if you can dance around to Santa Baby all morning, you can damn well fit in an hour with me tonight.’ Sounded pretty non-negotiable too.
But she’d got in first, and he knew that. Which was why he was backing away now, retreating. Heading out of the yard, his long legs swinging. Only as he got to the gate, did he turn his broad shoulders, and his even broader grin shone towards her like a beacon. He was laughing, she could see that now, and his dark voice bounced at her, off the gravel.
‘Pick you up at seven.’
***
Rolling up at Millie’s that evening five minutes early, Ed found the door open, so he knocked and went on in.
‘Anyone here?’ With a sweeping glance he took in a long room, open to the rafters, more like a gallery than a home. Passed a work table at one end, smothered in clippings, a sofa, and lots of lacey things in piles. Lots of stuff not in piles. ‘Millie?’
He hoped she hadn’t gone AWOL. Just his luck to hit on a date-phobic woman for this damned challenge. But having got one date under his belt, he wasn’t going to give up that easily.
His gaze stopped abruptly at a multi-coloured line of satin corsets, hanging from a beam, laces dangling. Okay. Whatever. Plenty of people had corsets hanging in their living rooms. Didn’t they?
And then he spied the pole – floor to ceiling, shiny chrome – and his face split into a grin the width of the sky.
Jeez. This had to be good. He’d calculated that tattoos and ragged hair would have maximum shock value for Cassie, but if Millie was a pole-dancer, that rated off the scale. Cassie really should have been more careful with her rules. Nice work. He’d landed on his feet here. Accidentally dating a stripper? Even if she was reluctant to date, from where he stood, this challenge suddenly couldn’t get any better. Let the fun begin.
And then Millie appeared, eyes wide, startled to see that he was already here, but covering well, making his pulse surge way more than it should.
‘Sorry I wasn’t expecting you.’
Except she was, judging by her girlie pumps, and mini dress. Large black and white spots. He stifled a grin. More jockey than race-horse, this one. She turned, and he gave one mental thumbs-up as he clocked a patch of exposed, perfectly tanned back, that made him want to whistle, and a large bow, that put him in mind of a present waiting to be opened.
‘Someone scrubs up well when they take their shorts off.’ He shot her a wink.
‘Ah, so wrong! I’d never go out without shorts.’ She winked back and flicked up her voluminous skirt, to give a flash of the shorts below.
So that told him! Time to try another opening line.
‘Nice place you’ve got here.’
‘Great, isn’t it? It isn’t mine, I told you before, I get it in return for pony exercising, and Grandma-sitting. It lets me be … ’
He cut in.
‘Let me guess – independent? Why does that not surprise me? Sounds like a good deal, though having met the horse in question, I’m not so sure. My shoulder’s still in recovery after he dragged me down the road this morning.’ He assessed the large open space again, this time being careful to avoid the pole area. Every surface was covered. ‘I take it someone ransacked the place whilst you were away?’
He couldn’t resist the jibe, if only to see how she came back at him, given the chaos.
‘Artist at work.’ She gave a sheepish shrug, apparently not offended. ‘I prioritise, and housework comes last every time. Plus I hold on to anything I might use for my work. I’d have cleared up if I’d known the Tidy Police were coming.’
Nice return. One to raise the eyebrows. Neat was okay, but Tidy Police? If this was getting to know your date, he wasn’t sure he liked it.
He’d made it to her work table now, and helped himself to a small patchwork box, by way of retaliation. ‘So this is what you make?’
‘Certainly is.’ She shuffled, more uncomfortable with the scrutiny than she was letting on, he guessed. ‘I specialise in collage – papering over the cracks.’ She shot him a grin. ‘At uni I did large scale pieces, but in terms of making a living it’s more commercial to do smaller items, and people love boxes. I’ve hit on an unexpected niche-market, for original pieces. Every one’s different.’
He nodded,
