He looked surprised. She glanced back and saw him taking in the bright surroundings. She knew the flat was stylish and welcoming. But he made rooms shrink when he stood in them, and he made both the background and colours fade—so her focus was forced towards him.
‘You’ve got a nice place.’
Nadia picked up the pashmina that she’d artfully draped on the edge of the large, soft sofa. ‘You thought I’d live alone in some dreary bedsit?’ Like the lonely, bitter spinster he believed she was? She’d known he’d think that, so she’d deliberately put a slide show of pictures from one of her and Megan’s riotous trips to France on her computer. What was it with people pigeon-holing her? Her own parents had told her she shouldn’t move to London—that the city was too big for her. The only thing that was too big was the price of the rent. But she had a job at a fabulous firm and sharing this place with Megan was worth it.
His smile grew as he watched a few pictures glide across the screen. ‘I’m a fast learner, Nadia. And I’m learning to expect the unexpected with you.’
‘Really?’
‘Sure.’ He faced her. ‘So let’s get going.’
Adrenalin zinged. She followed him out and locked the door. They walked down the path a few metres before he hailed a cab. She was surprised—for some reason she’d thought he’d have a car.
‘You don’t like to go by cab?’ He caught her hesitation as he opened the door.
Truth was, she didn’t want to sit in the back with him. It felt intimate—she’d have preferred to be in separate seats, with a drinks holder between them. Sharing this one space made all kinds of inappropriate images flash—namely, snogging in the back seat.
She banished the wild idea, crossed her knees and ankles, and crouched into the corner, firmly telling both her body and her thoughts to settle down. He relaxed across his half, not taking up more than his fair share. But it felt like it. He was angled towards her. She didn’t look at him but could feel him willing her to. She sighed and gave in, registering his slight smile.
‘You look lovely, by the way,’ he said suavely. ‘Very beautiful.’
‘Thanks,’ she said without meaning it. ‘You look good too. But you already know that.’
‘Well, you know you look incredible no matter what you wear.’ His smile teased. ‘But isn’t it nice to be told anyway?’
She just rolled her eyes.
‘Compliments don’t work for you?’ He looked all the more amused.
‘Not from you,’ she said bluntly—despite it being partly untrue. ‘This whole date thing is a really stupid idea, don’t you think? I’m not going to believe a word you say because all you want to do is impress me so I’ll say you’re a great guy and how wrong all those women are.’
‘The circumstances don’t matter,’ he argued calmly. ‘I bet you’re a tough woman to impress at the best of times.’
‘What makes you say that?’ She shrank into an even tighter ball.
His gaze locked on her, and she stiffened at the dispassionate, intensely assessing expression.
‘I think you live life according to a list of rules,’ he said. ‘Many lists of rules. Like the first date protocol you posted on your forum. You have rules for everything—like the uptight HR assistant you are. And anyone who doesn’t meet those rules is an auto-fail. There’s no room for human error in your life.’
‘That’s not true.’ Her life was strewn with human error—mostly her own.
‘No?’ A faint smile. ‘You’re saying sometimes you don’t follow your own advice?’
‘The little advice I offer comes from my own experience. I’d be a fool to repeat my past mistakes.’
He nodded as if she’d confirmed something. ‘So you’ve turned into a coward.’
Nadia’s blood heated even more. ‘I’m not a coward, but I am cautious. And I’m not going to apologise for that.’
‘Yes, but it strikes me you’re a very intelligent, capable woman. Maybe you should have more faith in yourself.’
‘Oh, please.’ He was back to the complimenting already? This was all part of his charm attack.
‘Seriously, you should give your instincts free rein—let yourself go.’
‘Oh, you would say that,’ she said witheringly. ‘That’s your aim—for women to let down all their defences in your arms.’ She shook her head. ‘So you flatter and listen and smile your charming smile—and wait for the cherries to fall right into your mouth. It’s all so damn false.’
His jaw dropped, then he shut it again. Had she actually hit home with that one?
‘All right then.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I won’t try to impress you.’
She should have felt a spurt of satisfaction, but the wretched thing was he didn’t need to try to impress. His very existence did that—he was beyond blessed with physical attributes, and had a voice that demanded attention. Even worse, some of what he said was of interest. Okay, compelling. She’d bet he was a brilliant lawyer.
Why was her stupid radar tuned to men filled with maximum virility when the simple presence of such sensual drive meant they couldn’t possibly keep it zipped? Giving in to her instincts would have her as easily obtainable as all the other women he’d encountered. So she’d have to fight against them all the harder.
‘So tell me about the movie.’ He switched to neutral ground.
‘I’ve been meaning to see it for ages.’ She hid her smile as she thought of what was in store.
They got to the small independent theatre and were directed to the smallest viewing room. There was only them and one other person at the screening. She’d done a whole five minutes of research to find the worst-sounding movie on in London, and within three minutes of the film rolling she knew she’d succeeded.
It was in French, with subtitles so crooked they were unreadable, and about the tortured lives of an artist, his wife and his lover. And it was torture to watch. Lots of scenes with the artist painting—they literally got to watch paint dry.
After only ten minutes Nadia was beside herself with boredom and hoping Ethan was going as insane as she was. But she wasn’t fidgety just because the on-screen action was mind-numbing. She was hyper-aware of him. They were too close in this darkened space. And the worst of it was the film was just over three hours in duration—that was why she’d picked it. But now she had to sit so near to a man who attracted her body as much as he repelled her mind. And three hours was beyond torture.
The artist scratched his thin brush on canvas for another hour or so. Oh, it was so bad—but it would be worth it. Ethan would hate it as much as she did. They’d both come out of it grumpy, and that served him right for thinking he’d “soften” her up with a movie. A chick flick? Hell no.
But wait a second. He was chuckling. She’d missed the wonky subtitle on that
