All Bets Are On. Charlotte Phillips

      Was this for real?

      He inclined his head cautiously. ‘OK, maybe I did.’

      She nodded triumphantly.

      ‘And so we have terms.’

      A flash of exasperation made him wonder whether she might drive him nuts just over the course of an hour or so, let alone a series of dates. Was this really worthwhile for a bit of a laugh and a few hundred quid? She took high maintenance to the next level.

      Higher maintenance.

      Then his eyes dipped down again to her full lower lip and the determined look in the dark brown eyes and unexpected heat began to burn low in his abdomen.

      It occurred to him that maybe just what he needed after the last month or so was an antidote to pushover. So she was difficult. So what? There were half a dozen girls he could call up right now who would fall at his feet. He couldn’t be less interested in any of them. It seemed that wasn’t what piqued his attention these days. Not any more. Easy was just...well, too damned easy. And easy led to a lot of hassle when it ended.

      ‘Go on,’ he said.

      ‘Great!’ She smiled up at him. ‘Then let’s be clear. This is just a few dates. Nothing serious. I won’t be jumping into bed with you.’ She held his gaze briefly before dropping her eyes. ‘I’m not that kind of girl.’

      So this was her setting up ground rules? He bit the inside of his mouth to suppress a grin.

      ‘Sounds risk-free,’ he said.

      ‘It is.’

      ‘Unless you fall for me.’

      ‘That isn’t going to happen. You are the exact opposite of the type of man I’m looking for. In the long term, I mean.’

      She took a sip of her coffee.

      ‘When you’re back up to speed, so to speak.’

      She nodded. ‘Exactly. I’ve had enough of guys like you to last me a lifetime. I need a keeper.’

      ‘A keeper,’ he repeated.

      ‘Yes. The polar opposite of player. Treats you with respect and isn’t commitment-phobic.’

      ‘I’ll treat you with respect,’ he protested.

      ‘And the commitment part?’

      He shrugged.

      ‘Maybe thinking that far ahead just takes all the fun out of it.’

      She gave him a dismissive smile that told him she couldn’t agree less.

      ‘I just want to be clear from the outset that this isn’t going to get serious.’

      If by serious she meant physical, he was confident he could turn that around. No need to argue the point now though—let her have it her way.

      He held his hands up.

      ‘Suits me fine.’

      She examined her fingernails.

      ‘You never know, I might even be able to give you a few pointers if you like. On how to treat women...you know...properly. On where you’re going wrong.’

      For a moment he couldn’t quite believe his ears. Was she actually suggesting he needed dating advice?

      ‘Where I’m going wrong? You’re the one who’s spent the last three years in the dating desert, not me.’

      ‘That was by choice. I could have dated—I just didn’t want to.’

      ‘Why not?’

      She dropped her eyes from his.

      ‘None of your business,’ she said.

      Something must have happened. She’d been dumped badly, maybe cheated on. He wasn’t about to press the point right now though, not when he almost had the date in the bag.

      ‘No offence,’ he said, ‘but I don’t need any pointers, thanks very much.’

      She shrugged.

      ‘Please yourself. But you can’t deny some of your behaviour is a bit...’

      ‘Detached?’

      ‘Brutal. We’ve probably lost weeks of productivity with the amount of sick leave your broken hearts have caused around here.’

      ‘That isn’t my fault,’ he protested. ‘I make it clear from the outset I’m not interested in settling down. Can I be blamed when people read more into it than that?’

      ‘We should get on perfectly, then. Neither of us wants anything serious.’

      He held her gaze deliberately.

      ‘You never know, you might find a player is more fun after all.’

      He caught the blush again, high on her cheekbones. Nice.

      ‘We’ll see,’ she said. She looked back down at her notepad.

      He watched her transfer her focus back to her computer, eager to get back into professional mode, thinking she was in full control. So the date was his. First stage of the mission accomplished. If she wanted to think of it as some platonic outing then he was prepared to agree to it.

      Agreeing to it didn’t mean honouring it.

      Winning the bet required getting her into his bed, not just taking her out. That would take time and effort and it was going to be interesting. He wasn’t about to fail before he’d even begun.

      ‘I’ll pick you up tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Eleven-thirty. Let me know your address.’

      She snapped her eyes back up.

      ‘Eleven-thirty? In the morning?’

      She looked wrong-footed, and he grinned.

      ‘How long has it been—three years? You’re obviously stuck in a rut of dinner-and-cinema.’

      ‘But I thought we were going out for a drink.’

      ‘We are,’ he said, enjoying keeping her on her toes. ‘Coffee. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

      THREE

      ALICE FORD’S DATING SURVIVAL CRITERIA—HOW TO IDENTIFY & AVOID A PLAYER.

      Rule #1 First Date. How does he play it? A keeper will be interested in getting to know you. A player will be all about getting his hands on you.

      Alice had forgotten what a minefield it was just getting ready for a first date, let alone actually going on one. Even an experimental one for research purposes. Unfortunately telling herself that dating him was a project, to be treated in the same dispassionate way as a work assignment, didn’t seem to be having any effect on her nerves, which were zipping around in her belly and making her knees wobbly.

      Not that she actually gave a damn what Harry thought of her or her appearance.

      But still, it was ages since she’d been out and knowing him they were bound to be going somewhere cutting-edge trendy, probably for lunch. What the hell did the hip twenty-something London crowd wear these days?

      The imbalance in her wardrobe reflected the imbalance in her life.

      Still hanging in the cupboard: getting on for a dozen work suits—some with trousers, some with skirts; a huge selection of shirts and blouses in sensible office styles; opaque tights; court shoes; shoe boots, predominant colour scheme black, grey and blue.

      Still in the drawer, although she felt like dragging them out and telling Harry to get stuffed, she was far too busy with a tub of ice cream and a box set to even think of going out this side of Christmas: a wide selection of greying loungewear track pants and vests, numerous pyjamas and bedsocks.

      And