How to Win a Guy in 10 Dates. Jane Linfoot

He made a dive for his Land Rover.

      She’d been the one snogging the socks off him?

      So that was what two years giving guys a wide berth did to you. Made you into a sex fiend when you were unconscious. Her body shuddered, shriveling in a giant cringe of embarrassment. She pushed herself up to sit and another spear of pain crashed through her skull.

      ‘Let me see your head. You shouldn’t have been here on a horse you know, it’s private land, and it’s not a bridleway.’ He’d come back from the Land Rover with bandages, a ready-made lecture, and a double dose of bad mood. At least that covered her shame. He was leaning behind her now sounding seriously snappy as he prodded in her hair.

      ‘You’ve got a nasty gash, probably hit a stone, but the bleeding’s not too bad. Hold this dressing whilst I fix it. One head injury, which would have been avoided had your riding hat been protecting you, not the gatepost.’

      Short tempered. Snarky. Not attractive. Except he was. Devastatingly.

      ‘Ouch, there’s no need to manhandle me!’

      And rough too, as he crashed the bandage into place, taking control. Making her spine zither like crazy. Though he did have a point about her hat. Leaving it on the gatepost was one bad decision.

      ‘You need to go to casualty.’

      ‘No way!’ Casualty was the last place on earth she wanted to go.

      ‘I’ll run you there, or you can wait for an ambulance. Your choice. Whichever way, hospital is where you’re going.’ He backed away, stood like a dictator, legs splayed, practically bursting out of that faded denim in every area that mattered.

      So, she may have a head injury, she may be dying of embarrassment, but she couldn’t let this power-house of a guy take over.

      ‘I can’t go anywhere until I’ve sorted the pony out. It’s my job to look after him, and my house depends on my job, and if I lose my house it’ll blow my whole life-plan out of the water.’ She hugged her knees tight, instantly regretting the personal information spill. Luckily he seemed oblivious.

      ‘For crying out loud! The pony’s up there, in the corner of the field, grazing, looking a darned sight better than you. I’ll get Blake from the quarry to sort him out. He knows about ponies.’

      Now for the biggie. She screwed herself up to force it out. ‘But I don’t do hospitals … ’

      One small voice protest she might as well not have made, judging by his sneer.

      ‘Well in that case you should have taken better care not to rip a hole in your head!’ He sighed. ‘Jeez, how difficult can you make this? Can you stand up?’

      He stuck out a hand in her direction. Broad, oil-streaked. She considered refusing it. Then thought again. His strong fist enveloped hers, and with one brutal tug she was on her feet, thumping into the bolster of his body, looking up at a star shaped scar on the underside of his chin.

      ‘Good work.’

      Another tug, and she was half way to the Land Rover, and he’d flung the door wide. The next moment he’d shouldered her up into the seat and fixed her with a stony glare.

      ‘Okay. No nonsense. No jumping out. And if you’re going to throw up for goodness sake then shout. I’m Ed Mitchum by the way. I work for Quarry Holdings.’

      Hadn’t he already told her that? She replied through gritted teeth. ‘Millie Brown. Pleased to meet you.’ Not.

      Too late. He’d already slammed the door.

       CHAPTER TWO

      ‘COULD you please make the smallest effort to sit still, or do I have to watch you wriggle in your seat all day?’ Ed’s voice echoed off the walls of the hospital waiting area, short, gruff, tetchy.

      Millie sent him a searing scowl. He was making no effort to hide his irritation, so why should she. With his stubble shadow, and his denim rips he seemed too large and blatantly sexual for this clean, clinical environment. Too bad this was all taking so long.

      Waiting was the name of the game here, and irritated as he sounded, he was much better at waiting than she was, sitting all chilled and relaxed, one well-muscled arm flung across the back of the next chair, whilst she changed position once a second.

      She’d already been into a cubicle with a nurse and answered lots of questions.

      Name? Millie Brown, aka .… no need to expand on that one. Headache? Yeah, obviously. Double vision? Not yet, except perhaps when she went cross eyed ogling the hunk that brought her here. Mental note to self to stop that. Drowsy? No more than usual. Dizzy? Not that she was admitting it, and only because the whole A&E thing was making her hyperventilate. One glimpse of a blue surgical gown was enough to spin her right back to that last awful time she’d been in hospital. The panic she’d felt, then the pain, and the desperate emptiness afterwards. The smell of the antiseptic took the blurry images and brought them back in Technicolor. So much so, that when she’d gone to another room where another nurse stuck her cut together with glue, the nurse made her lie down before she let her go back to the waiting area.

      And sitting with him now was driving her further up the wall than ever. Every time she saw him her mind went off on its own out-of-control extrapolation, along the lines of rocks, wet skin, underwear, sex, for no other good reason than because the guy had emerged from the quarry, looking like a model who’d lost the fashion shoot. It was bad enough being here – the smell of the place was making her feel faint – without having this Ed and his whole heap of attitude along for the ride.

      She leaned towards him. ‘You really don’t need to stay. At this rate, it may take all day. I’ll be fine on my own, thanks.’

      ‘And you’ll get home how?’ His long, lean legs extended towards her as he stretched, and crossed his ankles casually.

      She pursed her lips, screwed up her face, and refused to look at the straining denim bulge at his groin. He had her there. She had no money on her. No phone. The hospital was miles away from home. If she had to get a taxi back, it would cost an arm and a leg, and there was no-one she could think of to ring to collect her. One bad idea to end up here when her best friend was away. So much for being independent. She let that one go.

      ‘You could go for a coffee or something?’ Give her a break from his shed-loads of animal magnetism.

      ‘And they might move you in the meantime. Given that your phone is lying up in that field, I might never find you again.’

      No answer to that one either. She watched him stand up, ease back those disgustingly broad shoulders, and saunter towards a table of magazines. Only because there wasn’t anything else to look at. Nothing to do with the fact he was eye-candy of the highest order. Sweet as it came.

      And one heck of a kisser.

      That much she could remember. Even if it had been an accident. Her eyelids fluttered involuntarily and her mouth watered at the thought of it. The taste. She jumped as he burst in on her action re-play.

      ‘Want a magazine?’ He held up a copy of Ideal Home. ‘Horse and Hound? Hello? Woman’s Weekly?’

      She shook her head, and prayed she hadn’t flushed as fuchsia pink as she felt. And the tilt of his head said he was mocking her too. Damn. Shame he didn’t have a personality to match the looks and the kissing skills. Shame for someone, though not her, obviously. Men were nowhere on her agenda, not even on the distant horizon. Definitely no room for a drop dead specimen who’d materialized from nowhere to pay havoc with her pulse rate. Not with her life-plan.

      Her eyes were still glued to him as he sat down and open a dog-eared car magazine. It was so unfair when a man got eyelashes like that. Thick, delectably dark. At least Motor World might keep him off her case.

      ‘Millie