In Bed With the Enemy: Dating and Other Dangers / Dare She Kiss & Tell? / Double Dare

‘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.’

CHAPTER FOUR

NADIA nearly fainted with relief. Ethan put his hand on her lower back, pressing her forward to follow the maitre d’. She jumped—he had to have one of those trick buzzers in his hand, because he’d just about electrocuted her. The shock made her gulp, and she was hit by a single rational thought. Should she really have agreed to this when her pulse pounded an extra thirty beats per minute the closer the guy got?

Low blood sugar meant she had no choice, right? Those pastries looked too damn good. She glanced back at the display case once more before taking her seat. The sight made her giddy and her thoughts turned crazy again. Maybe she could claim some ground in her quest to intrigue him. Didn’t guys like girls who displayed healthy appetites? Wasn’t there something seductive if you licked off all the cream or something? If she could raise his want level, drop-kicking him later would have more impact. Hell, yes.

‘What do you feel like?’ he asked.

She hesitated, toying with some really inappropriate replies—but she figured she should stay subtle at this point to get him over the world’s worst movie trick. ‘I’m going to skip a main and go straight to dessert. Two desserts, actually, if that’s okay?’

His face lit up. ‘Sure.’

‘What about you?’ She mirrored his smile.

He rubbed his flat stomach, ‘You don’t mind if I do savoury while you do sweet?’

‘Not at all.’

Total truce. Or so she’d let it appear. At that point she spent some time studying the menu—purely to have a break from looking at him. Too much of that made her go vacant, and she wanted to stay on track.

‘They have an excellent wine selection,’ he said blandly. ‘Would you like some?’

‘Not just at the moment, but you go ahead.’ Her smaller physique meant she didn’t handle wine that well. She generally had it by the thimble, so she wasn’t going to be daft enough to have any now. She waited until the sommelier had left to get the bottle Ethan had selected without even consulting the list. ‘So how did you get us this table?’

‘I sent a message from the cinema—found out what time the film finished when you were in the little girls’ room beforehand.’

She sat back as the waiter poured Ethan’s wine, bristling at the phrase “little girl”. So he’d known he was in for bum-numbing time at the flicks. She flushed—hating being thwarted, hating feeling this hot. She needed to regain her equilibrium and act more grownup. She looked at the burgundy liquid. ‘Maybe I will have some of that too—thanks.’ One glass wouldn’t make her legless. And, frankly, she was overheated after that marathon movie and hearing Ethan mutter in French and then spinning her mind by bringing her to gastronomic paradise.

He waited while she sipped. ‘Is it okay?’

It was fabulous—smooth, incredibly drinkable and soothing. She sat back after ordering, her happiness skyrocketing at knowing divine food was coming soon.

‘Feeling better now?’ He looked sly.

‘Much, thanks.’ She sighed. He smiled, and inside so did she—no doubt he thought that if he added sugar and chocolate he’d have her as gooey as he wanted. He was so getting a surprise.

‘Did you have a nice night last night?’ he asked.

Last night? Oh—that’s right. She’d told him she was busy. ‘I was catching up with some friends.’

‘Yeah, you posted a lot of comments last night.’ His smile went evil. ‘You live more than half your life online.’

She took another sip of wine to bring her internal thermostat back down. ‘You’ve been snooping.’

‘It’s not snooping when you put it all out there for anyone to read.’

‘And you’ve been a bit active online yourself,’ she said, finally broaching it.

‘Ah.’ He settled more comfortably in his chair. ‘You’re mad at me for blogging about our dates?’

‘Not mad. Surprised. I didn’t think you liked the whole public angle. I thought you wanted to protect your privacy and all that.’

‘I’m not the one with contrary privacy issues,’ he said pointedly. ‘This whole thing isn’t actually about you and me, Nadia. Did you think we were going to keep it just between us? What would the point of that be?’

‘I’m still not sure what the point of any of this is.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, right now, the point is some damn good food.’

With perfect timing the waiter set the dishes down—both her desserts at once, as she’d requested. She pounced, spooning in the sweet. Her nerves scrunched with sensation. Oh, there had to be so much butter in this, so much fine sugar, and put together with so much skill in the kitchen. Edible ecstasy.

He hadn’t touched his meal, was just watching her reaction. ‘I take it it’s nice?’

‘Nice?’ she mini-screeched. ‘What kind of a word is nice? This is so much better than nice. It’s …’

He waited, smile quirking.

‘It’s indescribable.’ She didn’t have to fake blatant sensual delight at the dessert. It was genuine and impossible to hide. Frankly, she couldn’t get enough of it.

Grinning, he concentrated on his own meal—some meat thing that she really had no interest in. Not when she had the yum stuff.

She gave up on trying to converse—not when she had this to concentrate on. She took a bite from each, alternating while panicking about which one she was going to save for the very last bite. The decision was just about impossible. And she was not softening towards Ethan in any way whatsoever. She was not feeling a ridiculous kind of favour towards him because he’d been clever enough to get them here. She was not actually enjoying their conversation and the challenge he embodied.

‘What are you thinking about?’ he asked eventually. ‘You’ve gone very quiet.’

Well, she couldn’t talk when she was so busy inhaling all the cream. But now she was a little sugared up her fighting spirit revived. A divine dessert wasn’t going to soften her attitude. ‘I’m composing my write-up of this date for my blog.’

Something flickered on his face and he set down his cutlery and pushed his plate away.

‘What are you going to write about it?’ she asked, sweeter than her pastry. ‘I’m so looking forward to our next date where you “nail” me.’

‘I’m looking forward to that too,’ he answered, utterly unabashed.

‘My choice for the date, though, isn’t it? You wanted to go to the movies for the first.’

‘Okay, so what do you want to do?’ He conceded surprisingly quickly.

‘A day date, I think.’ Safe and out in the open, where lots of people would be around. She didn’t want to drop-kick him out of touch until the very last date, which meant she was going to have to play the first two just right.

‘A day date?’ Ethan sat back so the waiter could clear their plates.

‘Sunday afternoon suit you?’ Nadia asked. The sooner it was all over, the better.

‘Sure.’ He refilled their glasses. ‘I’m really looking forward to spending more time with you. You’re really good company.’

She suppressed a giggle at his not-quite-hidden sarcasm. Instead she lifted her glass and challenged him. ‘I thought you said you weren’t going to try to impress me.’

‘I guess it’s habit.’ He shrugged, but let loose that smile.

‘You always compliment?’

‘Always.’ He gazed intently at her. ‘And you don’t think that’s okay.’

‘It’s not necessarily a bad habit,’ she mused. ‘But it is if you don’t mean what you say.’

‘But I do mean it.’

‘Always?’ She put down her glass and frowned.

‘Sure.’

‘Really? Don’t you sometimes do it because you know it’ll make the other person feel good?’

‘Is that a bad thing?’

‘It is if it’s not honest.’

‘All right,’ he said softly, and leaned across the table. ‘You want honesty? Here’s some for you—I think you look fantastic in that dress. I think you look really fantastic. I don’t want you to. It would be a lot easier if I didn’t find you attractive, but honestly I think you look.’

‘What?’

‘It’s indescribable,’ he said roughly. ‘Maybe you should feel what you do to me? Can you handle that kind of honesty?’

His hand shot out and grabbed hers, and before she could blink he’d pressed her palm to his chest. Through the cotton she could feel the heat, the fast, rhythmic pounding. Suddenly she could hear it too, thudding in her ears. Her own blood was pumping in time with his. And that wasn’t her body’s only reaction. She breathed more quickly, shallow. And worst of all was the softening—that warm, melting sensation happening in secret deep inside her. The readying for full possession by a body so much bigger and harder than hers.

She stayed frozen for five seconds too long, until awareness of their surroundings slowly returned. She was stretched across a table in a fine French restaurant, gazing into this guy’s gorgeous cinnamon-brown eyes like as if was mesmerised. She was feeling this intense, intimate thing …

Then she remembered her rule.

Don’t be too sexual.

And this was all about the rules. She swallowed, battling to return to the right regime. But every movement was sexual. Everything about him was sexual. He was a complete magnet and he knew it. But she was going to disarm him—be the one piece he couldn’t pull.

‘Oh, you’re good,’ she said, forcing coolness into her voice, sliding her hand out from under his and bringing it back to press her fist hard against her belly beneath the table-edge. ‘You like to have the women want you, don’t you? Maybe that’s the real reason you compliment so much—it’s not their need you’re filling, it’s your own.’

‘And you’re really good at coming up with fiction.’ He sat back, looking a ton cooler than she’d sounded. ‘Whereas I prefer facts. And I did my research on you.’

‘And what facts do you think you found out?’ Her temperature soared again as anger bubbled.

‘You put it all up there yourself. It wasn’t hard to find. That very first entry on WomanBWarned.’ He leaned forward. ‘Rafe Buxton, wasn’t it?’

She avoided answering by taking another sip of her wine, her blood drumming in her ears. How dared he bring that up? That was personal.

‘What were you thinking, going with a guy called Rafe in the first place? Weren’t the alarm bells ringing then?’ he asked, refilling her glass when she set it down.

‘I’m not discussing this with you,’ she snapped. ‘You’re unable to feel any empathy. All you want to do is push your agenda.’

‘Not true,’ he said, annoyingly quietly. ‘I only want to understand where you’re coming from.’

She just glared at him.

‘So he was a “virginity collector”?’

Heat blinded her—anger, yes, but incredible embarrassment too. She’d been so stupid, and she really didn’t want to relive it. Didn’t want to discuss her pathetic sexual past with such a shark. She didn’t want him to know it at all, so she had another sip of wine. A big one.

‘So your first was a jerk?’ He shrugged. ‘You don’t have to let it colour the rest of your life.’

Oh, she couldn’t not answer that. ‘What I won’t do is let him get away with it. He preys on young women who are getting their first taste of freedom. Finding independence.’ A tutor at a university, he dazzled naïve students with his good-looks and charm and intellectual ability—or at least that façade. Once she’d found out the truth she’d seen that those things were cultivated, not innate or truly deep.

‘But we all have to make mistakes. That’s part of being human.’

‘No,’ she disagreed. ‘There’s a difference between making a mistake and being abused.’ And Rafe had abused her—and several other young women. ‘Illusions shouldn’t be shattered like that.’

‘But everybody has to face reality some time.’

‘You think that’s reality?’ She was appalled. ‘So there’s no such thing as a committed, loving relationship?’

‘Happy ever after?’ Ethan shook his head. ‘No.’

His cynicism hurt, even though it shouldn’t have surprised her. But she could acknowledge a portion of truth in his words regarding that painful episode.

‘Maybe not at that age,’ she conceded. It had been her second year of university. She’d come from a small northern town and she’d been sheltered. Cosseted, really, by over-protective parents and brothers. As a result she’d been gullible and so easily dazzled. ‘I wasn’t looking for marriage. But there could have been some kindness and some fun. Not just being another number on his list.’ Not being anything but an object. It had been a complete game for him. And once he’d had what he wanted—her virginity—he’d gone on to the next. Another virgin. In the very same week.

Megan.

Only neither of them had known about the other. About all the others.