misdemeanours in eighty-five years were a couple of parking fines. ‘But Mr Pendleton would never believe you and I were a couple. We’re total opposites.’
His smile was crooked. ‘But that’s the point—you’re exactly the type of girl Jim would want me to fall in love with and settle down.’
As if that would ever happen.
Tillie knew she wasn’t responsible for any shattered mirrors about the place, but neither would she be asked to model a bikini on a catwalk. Her girl-next-door looks wouldn’t stop a clock or even a wristwatch. Not even an egg timer. The likelihood of attracting someone as heart-stoppingly handsome and suave and sophisticated as Blake McClelland was as likely as her becoming a size zero. But she didn’t know whether to be insulted or grateful. Right now, the thought of paying off her debts was more tempting than a whole tray of Belgian chocolate éclairs. Two trays. And even better, it would send a middle finger in the air to her ex. ‘But won’t Mr Pendleton suspect something if we suddenly come out as a couple? He might be elderly and suffering from a stroke, but he’s not stupid.’
‘The old man’s a romance tragic,’ Blake said. ‘He was married fifty-nine years before his wife died. He fell in love with her within ten minutes of meeting her. He’ll be thrilled to see you move on from your ex. He talked about you non-stop—called you his little guardian angel. He said you were minding his house and his dog and visiting him every day. That’s how I came up with the plan. I can see the headlines now.’ He put his fingers up in air quotes. ‘“Bad boy tamed by squeaky clean girl next door.”’ His grin was straight off a cosmetic orthodontist’s website. ‘It’s win-win.’
Tillie gave him a look that would have soured her shop’s week’s supply of milk. ‘I hate to put a dent in that massive ego of yours, but my answer is an emphatic, irreversible no.’
‘I don’t expect you to sleep with me.’
Tillie didn’t care for the way he said it as if she was being a gauche fool for thinking otherwise. Why didn’t he expect her to sleep with him? Was she that hideous? ‘Good, because I wouldn’t do it even if you paid those debts fifty gazillion times over.’
Something about the spark of light in his eyes sent a shuddering tremor over the floor of her belly. His slanted smile was star student of charm school. ‘Although, if you ever change your mind I’ll be happy to get down to business.’
Business? Tillie dug her fingers into the back of her office chair so hard she thought her knuckles would explode. She wanted to slap that I-can-have-you-any-time-I-want-you smile off his face. But another part—a secret, private part—wanted him. Wanted. Wanted. Wanted him. ‘I’m not going to change my mind.’
He picked up a pen off her desk, tossed it in the air and deftly caught it in one hand. ‘And when the time comes to end it, I will allow you the privilege of dumping me.’
‘Big of you.’
‘I’m not being magnanimous,’ he said. ‘I don’t want to be run out of town by a bunch of villagers wielding baseball bats.’
Tillie wished she had a baseball bat handy right now to beat her resolve back into shape. But the chance to let her ex know she could land a guy was proving a little hard to resist.
And not just any old guy.
Someone rich and gorgeous and sexy as sin on a sugar-coated stick. It was only for a month. How hard could it be? Her thoughts were seesawing in her head. Do it. Don’t. Do it. Don’t.
‘Think about it overnight,’ Blake said, apparently undaunted because his smile didn’t falter. ‘I want a walk around the Park some time. For old times’ sake.’
‘I’d have to ask Mr Pendleton if that’s okay with him.’
‘Fine.’ He took a business card from his wallet and handed it to her. ‘My contact details. I’ve checked in at the bed and breakfast down the road.’
Tillie took the card from him, desperately trying not to touch his fingers. Those long tanned fingers. Those long tanned masculine fingers. She couldn’t stop thinking about how those fingers would feel on her skin...on her body. On her breasts. Between her legs.
She gave herself a concussion-inducing mental slap. Why was she thinking about intimate stuff like that? The only person who’d ever touched her between the legs—apart from herself—was her gynaecologist.
‘I wouldn’t have thought cottage flowers and cosy fireplaces and fancy china teacups would be to your taste,’ Tillie said.
Blake’s eyes glinted again. ‘I don’t plan to stay there long.’
What was he hinting? That he would be staying with her? Tillie inched up her chin, trying to ignore the way the backs of her knees were fizzing in reaction to the satirical light in his gaze. ‘I’m sure you’ll find much more suitable accommodation for your...erm...needs in the next town.’
The less you think about his ‘needs’, the better.
‘Perhaps, but I’m not leaving this village until I get what I want.’ Something about the set of his jaw made her realise he had the steely will and determination to achieve whatever he put his mind to. And the ruthlessness.
She kept her gaze on his. ‘Haven’t you heard that wise old adage you can’t always get what you want?’
Blake glanced at her mouth, then to the swell of her breasts behind her conservatively buttoned cotton shirt, lingering there for a nanosecond before returning his gaze to hers in a lock that ignited something deep inside her body. It was as if his eyes were communicating on an entirely different level—a primal, instinctive level that was as thrilling to her as it was foreign.
No one ever looked at her like...that.
As if he were wondering what her mouth would feel like against his. As if he were wondering what she looked like without her practical, no-nonsense clothing. As if he were wondering how she would taste and feel when he put his mouth and tongue to her naked flesh.
Even Simon had never given her The Look. The I-want-to-have-bed-wrecking-sex-with-you-right-now look. She’d always put it down to the fact he’d staunchly committed to celibacy, but now she wondered if the chemistry had ever been there. Their kisses and cuddles seemed somehow...vanilla. Unlike her, Simon had had sex previously as a young teenager, but he’d felt so guilty he’d made a pledge not to do it again until he was married. They’d occasionally petted but never without clothes. The only pleasure she’d had during the last eight years had been with herself.
But nothing about Blake McClelland was vanilla. He was dark chocolate fudge and tantalising, willpower-destroying temptation. She couldn’t imagine him being celibate for eight minutes, let alone eight years. Which made it all the more laughable he wanted her to pretend to be his fiancée.
Who would ever believe it?
‘Just for the record,’ Blake said in a voice so deep it made Simon’s baritone sound like a boy soprano, ‘I always get what I want.’
Tillie suppressed an involuntary shiver at the streak of ruthless determination in his tone. But she kept her expression in starchy schoolmistress mode. ‘Here’s the thing, Mr McClelland. I’m not the sort of girl to be toyed with for a man’s entertainment. That’s what this is about, isn’t it? You’re a bored
