Dating and Other Dangers (3 page)

‘I have to go, Meg,’ Nadia said quickly. ‘I’ve got another call.’ She jabbed the buttons. ‘Hello?’

‘Nadia.’

From the frying pan to the fire. Just her luck. ‘Ethan.’ Those infernal goosebumps smothered her skin. She refused to recognise the other instant reaction deep and low in her belly.

‘Wednesday night good for you?’ No preamble or polite chit chat—but his voice was caramel enough.

Wednesday. Mid-week and only two days away. She needed more prep time. ‘Actually, I already have plans for Wednesday,’ she lied. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him. Not at all.

‘Thursday, then?’

‘I could do Thursday.’

‘I was thinking a movie or something.’

Total fail on the originality front, but she’d get him back—because she’d read his stupid blog. She wasn’t going to let him know she’d read it. Damn. She suddenly real ised that he would know if he checked his traffic stats and
knew her ISP. Which he obviously did—he seemed to know way too much about her internet activity. She quickly took a screenshot and logged out of the site. She’d only check it from wireless hotspots now, at random coffee bars or something.

‘That sounds great,’ she said with zero enthusiasm. ‘Can I choose the movie?’

‘Of course.’

She paused. ‘How did you get my number?’

‘Same way I found out you’re the woman behind WomanBWarned. There’s a lot of information out there on the internet.’

‘But it’s secure.’

‘Never as secure as you think. I’ll pick you up from your place.’

‘You know where I live?’ Now,
that
was scary.

‘Sure.’ She could hear his smile. ‘On the corner of Bitter and Twisted Street, right?’

‘What a shame you won’t
get lost
.’

‘I don’t plan to,’ he drawled, in a way that made her shiver more. ‘Text me all your details and I’ll let you know what time.’

‘Oh, I can’t wait,’ she cooed, just to get the last word in.

She tossed her phone onto the sofa and stared at the words frozen on her huge screen.
It was the “divette” that did it. The patronising, belittling, condescending bastard.

Damn it, she
was
going shopping. She wanted to look more than nice. She wanted to look
hot
. So hot he couldn’t help but want her and make his one move too many. The possibility was there—she’d seen the flash in his expression when he’d looked her over so boldly in her office today. Definite sparks. And she didn’t deny she’d responded on a basic level. But she could control her own reaction while blowing harder on those sparks. Get
him
hot. And then—when he made his move—she’d refuse him. And that would be so incredibly satisfying.

Nadia wasn’t conceited, but she didn’t underestimate her potential strengths either. She knew she had a little something that intrigued some men.
Little
being the operative word. A lot of guys liked petite women. Funnily enough, it was often the taller guys who liked petite women most. Nadia figured it made them feel all the more manly. Men like that loved to be looked up to. Literally.

Ethan the Arrogant would definitely like being looked up to.

So she’d do the pretty little woman thing and emphasise her femininity. She went back to the WomanBWarned thread and looked at
the comments from the women who’d dated him. She was curious to know more—as moderator she could e-mail them and surreptitiously try to get more info. A possibility she’d definitely keep on file. But if what they said was true then a move from Ethan was probably inevitable, no matter what she wore. Sexual conquest was as natural to him as breathing. It wasn’t that he was interested in the individual woman—it was the chase that thrilled him. Pure predator.

But she wanted to turn the screws on him as hard as she could, so she had to make herself more attractive prey. Because she was going to be the woman to put him in his place.

S
HE
had found the best ever dress. Not evening formal, but floaty, floral and ultra-feminine. A little pricey, but it was worth it. She teamed it with soft ballerina flats rather than strappy heeled sandals, to really highlight the height thing. She normally never wore anything less than two inches outside her front door, but she was prepared to make a few sacrifices for this mission. She left her hair loose, wearing a slim scrunchie as a bracelet in case it got hot on her neck and she wanted to tie some of it back. She had a soft wrap for her shoulders and a dainty little bag hanging from her shoulder. Minimal make-up—mascara, a little eyeliner, and pink-tinted gloss on her lips.

Fresh, feminine, an innocent at large—that was the look she was going for.

As she’d expected, he turned up right on time. When she heard the knock on the door
she had an overwhelming urge not to answer, but she flicked her hair back and faked a smile. It died the second she saw him, and anger flared in its stead. How dared the guy be so hot-looking? Staggeringly perfect, in a steely, square-jawed kind of way—not to mention tall and broad and big in terms of presence. Immaculately dressed in casual jeans and a cotton tee that showed off his shoulders and abs, he just didn’t seem real. No wonder he thought he could sail through women without a care—it happened all too easily for him to realise otherwise. Her confidence evaporated in the face of his undeniable attractiveness. Who did she think she was kidding? Could she really play with fire this hot?

‘I thought we could get some pizza before we go to the movies,’ he said. Amusement and satisfaction lurked in his eyes.

She stiffened as she saw the smugness, and her game plan zipped back. The urge to better him overwhelmed her. She’d do it whichever way she could.

‘Oh, that would have been great …’ She let her voice trail and frowned a little.

‘But?’ he prompted.

‘Well, the thing is, a movie I’ve been wanting to see for ages is on, and to catch it we need to go straight to the theatre.’ She
deliberately bit her bottom lip and looked up, up, up at him, with wide, wide eyes. ‘Do you mind?’ she asked, as softly and breathily as a 1960s screen starlet—she hoped, anyway.

He didn’t answer for a long moment, that lurking light of amusement completely snuffed. ‘That’s…not a problem.’ He half turned away. ‘Shall we go now, then?’

‘Oh, come in for a moment,’ she said with a sweet smile, aiming to appear as accommodating as possible. ‘I need to get my wrap.’

It was a warm summer night and she
so
didn’t need the wrap—she was boiling. But after half an hour in the movies she always ended up freezing, and she had no intention of snuggling next to him for some heat, despite her plan to fire up the flirt between them.

‘Thanks.’ He sounded surprised. 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 bit. She glanced sideways to read his expression in the flickering light. It appeared that he was completely absorbed in the movie, while she was almost out of her tree. The frankly useless artist worked for hours, mostly in silence. Occasionally he muttered in French. Hang on, that was
Ethan
muttering something in French—what? She glanced at him. He was smiling again, as if the movie was the most entertaining thing ever. How was watching paint dry even remotely fun?

And then, to her horror, the so thrilling action was finally interrupted—by an
incredibly raw sex scene, featuring the artist and his lover. Not graphic, but so passionate and uncontrolled she felt like a voyeur. She sat completely still, as every cell burned up, and seriously wanted to escape. She shut her eyes but the sounds haunted her—and images popped into her head. But no longer was it the scrawny artist—no, it was the fit, filled frame of six foot
several
inches Ethan.

Oh, no, no, no—she was not imagining him. And her.

She was
not
.

She was so glad when the guy went back to his painting. Ten minutes of that settled her pulse again. But then there was another sex scene—a way more graphic one. The action was really ramping up now—this time with the wife. Only in the middle of all the puffing and panting Nadia’s stomach started rumbling—loud enough to be heard despite the sudden ecstatic shrieks of the woman.

Even though she’d known she was going to refuse Ethan’s pizza offer, she hadn’t eaten before he arrived—the butterflies hip-hopping in her stomach had made that impossible. So now she coughed to cover the uncontrollable gurgling sound, but that was somehow worse as the couple on screen kept right on rutting each other. She buried her face in her
hand and simply wanted to die. Why hadn’t she checked the rating comments on the film and picked up on the high sexual content warning?

‘Are you not feeling well?’ Ethan asked solicitously—leaning uncomfortably close.

‘I’m fine,’ she ground out between gritted teeth, quickly glancing up, only to see total laughter glinting in his eyes.

Damn.

Finally the credits rolled—not fast enough—and apparently Ethan was a watch-them-till-the-end man. It wasn’t until the lights went on, bright and unforgiving, that he turned and gave her an even higher wattage smile.

‘Was it as good as you’d hoped?’ he asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ she lied as she stood and marched out of there. ‘So you speak French?’ Of all the rotten luck.

‘
Mais oui
, of course.’ He held the exit door for her. ‘Shame you don’t, because some of the subtleties were lost in translation, I thought it was a very interesting film.’

‘Really?’

‘No, it was rubbish.’ He let the door slam behind them. ‘But that was the point, right?’

So he knew. Of course he knew. No normal person would really want to sit through that
film. They’d have to be bribed with a lot of money. Still, it had served him right—right?

‘Let’s get something to eat,’ he said. ‘I’m well aware you’re as hungry as I am.’

She’d intended to go home as soon as the movie ended. And frankly she had a headache from tension and hunger. She hesitated.

‘You’ve already cut off your nose to spite your face once tonight,’ Ethan said blandly. ‘Don’t do it again.’

In truth she was so hungry she was beyond able to make a decision now anyway. ‘Okay.’

‘Great.’ He hailed a cab. ‘My choice this time. I insist.’

It was a French restaurant. No, it was heaven on earth. Because along one wall stood a gleaming glass case filled with the most amazing pastries—cream cakes, custard and fruit tarts and chocolates. Nadia’s functionality reduced even more—she couldn’t think or speak, only stare while her mouth watered so much she very nearly drooled. She glanced round the rest of the room and despair hit—the place was packed.

‘We won’t get a table,’ she almost wailed.

Ethan looked down at her, the picture of smug calm in the face of her collapse. ‘We already have.’