How To Get Your Man
Elizabeth Harbison
Bonnie wasn’t thinking so much about Mark lately.
In fact, as she spent an hour getting ready, she found herself thinking more about concocting a reason to stop at Dalton’s on her way out—once she was all dressed up. Which was how she finally settled on a red sleeveless cocktail dress that fit like a dream….
“You are smoking in that dress….” Dalton said. “This is your chance, right…? With Mark.”
“Yes. That is what I was thinking,” Bonnie said.
“Sweetheart, if you’re dressed like that…” He gave a shake of his head. “This is your big night.”
If she’d imagined, even for a moment, that Dalton wanted her for himself, this clinched it. He didn’t. “You think so? For me and Mark?”
Three heartbeats passed between them….
Dear Reader,
We’re deep into spring, and the season and romance always seem synonymous to me. So why not let your reading reflect that? Start with Sherryl Woods’s next book in THE ROSE COTTAGE SISTERS miniseries, The Laws of Attraction. This time it’s Ashley’s turn to find love at the cottage—which the hotshot attorney promptly does, with a man who appears totally different from the cutthroat lawyers she usually associates with. But you know what they say about appearances….
Karen Rose Smith’s Cabin Fever is the next book in our MONTANA MAVERICKS: GOLD RUSH GROOMS continuity, in which a handsome playboy and his beautiful secretary are hired to investigate the mine ownership issue. But they’re snowbound in a cabin…and work can only kill so much time! And in Lori’s Little Secret by Christine Rimmer, the next of her BRAVO FAMILY TIES stories, a young woman who was always the shy twin has a big secret (two, actually): seven years ago she pretended to be her more outgoing sister—which resulted in a night of passion and a baby, now child. And said child’s father is back in town… Judy Duarte offers another of her BAYSIDE BACHELORS, in Worth Fighting For, in which a single adoptive mother—with the help of her handsome neighbor, who’s dealing with a loss of his own—grapples with the possibility of losing her child. In Elizabeth Harbison’s hilarious new novel, a young woman who wonders how to get her man finds help in a book entitled, well, How To Get Your Man. But she’s a bit confused about which man she really wants to get! And in His Baby to Love by Karen Sandler, a long-recovered alcoholic needs to deal with her unexpected pregnancy, so she gratefully accepts her friend’s offer of her chalet for the weekend. But she gets an unexpected roommate—the one man who’d pointed her toward recovery…and now has some recovering of his own to do.
So enjoy, and we’ll see you next month, when things once again start to heat up, in Silhouette Special Edition!
Sincerely yours,
Gail Chasan
Senior Editor
How to Get Your Man
Elizabeth Harbison
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Nancy Nesbit Preston
Cool Chick Extraordinaire
ELIZABETH HARBISON
has been an avid reader for as long as she can remember. After devouring the Nancy Drew and Trixie Belden series in grade school, she moved on to the suspense of Mary Stewart, Dorothy Eden and Daphne du Maurier, just to name a few. From there it was a natural progression to writing, although early efforts have been securely hidden away in the back of a closet.
After authoring three cookbooks, Elizabeth turned her hand to writing romances and hasn’t looked back. Her second book for Silhouette Romance, Wife Without a Past, was a 1998 finalist for the Romance Writers of America’s prestigious RITA
Award in the Best Traditional Romance category.
Elizabeth lives in Maryland with her husband, John, daughter Mary Paige, and son, Jack, as well as two dogs, Bailey and Zuzu. She loves to hear from readers and you can write to her c/o Box 1636, Germantown, MD 20875.
Fall 1980
INTERIM REPORT for Bonnie Jane Vaness
Tappen Elementary School—
Teacher: Dinah Perry—Grade 2
Bonnie is doing wonderfully academically. Her handwriting is coming along beautifully and she seems quite gifted in both English and science. She is very organized.
Unfortunately, Bonnie does need to exercise control socially. She sometimes talks in class with her friend Paul Czarny, and often bickers with classmate Dalton Price. I have separated the two of them on numerous occasions but they always end up together, arguing.
INTERIM REPORT for Dalton James Price
Tappen Elementary School—
Teacher: Dinah Perry—Grade 2
Dalton is a spirited child. He is very capable, but seems to have trouble applying himself. He’d rather pick on his classmate, Bonnie Vaness, than pay attention to the lessons. Though I separate the two of them, they somehow seem to manage to find each other again….
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Epilogue
Prologue
“…Our guest today is Leticia Bancroft, author of the controversial book, How To Seduce Your Dream Man. Leticia, tell me about the reception your book has gotten.”
“It’s setting women back fifty years,” Bonnie Vaness said to the television, dabbing her sore, red nose with a tissue. “Of course it’s getting a great reception.” She threw the covers back to look for the television remote, but only found more tissues. It seemed like every November she got a raging cold just before Thanksgiving, and this year was no exception. She must have been through at least four boxes of tissue in the past three days.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Leticia said, “the reaction to the book has been fantastic. But don’t take my word for it. Let’s talk to some of the women in the audience.”
The audience erupted into applause.
Bonnie cursed and moved the pillows aside searching for the remote.
“Honestly, I didn’t think it was going to work,” a woman who actually looked normal was saying. In fact, she even looked a little embarrassed to be talking into the microphone.
Bonnie stopped her search and looked at the TV.
“When I first heard about the book, I was a little offended. I figured it would set women back fifty years—”
“Exactly!” Bonnie cried, pointing at the screen.
“—but, then again, laying it all on the line wasn’t getting me very far either. So I decided to read Leticia’s book. I put on a disguise and went to a bookstore in another town and bought it.” The audience chuckled.
Bonnie sneezed.
“I had a really bad romantic history. Lots of boyfriends, lots of breakups. I sometimes felt like I couldn’t find the kind of guy I really wanted, so I’d have to settle for less. But then I found the guy. And he didn’t even know I existed.”
Bonnie sat up and listened. This woman could be her. String of lousy boyfriends, equally long string of lousy breakups, fear that she’d have to lower her standards or end up alone, and then—this was the kicker—finding the man of her dreams only to have him be completely oblivious to her.
“But this book…” The woman paused, her voice filled with emotion. “This book gave me ideas for getting his attention that I could use immediately. Actual, you know, techniques. Not a lot of academic philosophizing. Before I knew it, the man who hadn’t known I was alive for six months was asking me out.”
“Tell them the rest,” Leticia interjected excitedly, then turned to the hostess. “You’re going to love this.”
Bonnie sniffled and moved forward to hear better.
The woman held up her left hand, displaying a glittering stone the size of a cupcake. “We’re getting married next month!”
The audience squealed with delight and erupted into applause again.
Bonnie wrote down the name of the book.
Chapter One
Men are very visual creatures. Discover his favorite colors and swathe yourself in them. This will make you a soothing, comfortable presence to him, though he won’t realize exactly why. This is the first step in our Plan of Seduction.
Remember, color is very powerful and, just as you want to wear his favorites, you must avoid those he doesn’t like. An unpleasant association with a color you wear can make you someone to avoid, rather than someone to adore.
—Leticia Bancroft, How To Seduce Your
Dream Man
“Joining the army or something?”
Bonnie Vaness stopped in the middle of locking the dead bolt of her apartment and glanced impatiently behind her at Dalton Price, the building manager. “What are you talking about?”
“That outfit you’ve got on. It’s the third ugly green thing you’ve worn this week.”
Bonnie automatically put a hand to the new olive-green suit she’d gotten from Delaney’s Department Store over on Quince Street. It had cost half a week’s paycheck.
“Not that you wouldn’t make a great soldier,” he went on, raking a hand through black hair. “Temper like yours…”
“Shut up, Dalton.”
He laughed. “Hey, I’m just saying—”
“I know what you’re saying. You’re saying I look horrible in this. Thanks.”
He gave a broad shrug. “Now did I say that? I didn’t say that. It’s not you, it’s the outfit. I’d think you’d be glad for the objective opinion, before you go trotting off into the world looking like that.”
She didn’t look at him. She didn’t want him to see he was plucking away at her raw nerves like a bad street musician on a broken banjo.
Of course, Dalton Price had been plucking at Bonnie’s nerves since second grade at Tappen Elementary School in Tappen, New Jersey, when he’d been the only one close enough to hear her accidentally call Mrs. Perry “Mommy.” He’d spent years tormenting her about that and every other stupid thing she was unfortunate enough to do in his presence. His imagination was limitless.
“Don’t you have something better to do than critique my clothing?” she asked him, uncomfortably aware that he might be right about the outfit. When she’d tried it on, she told herself the greenish tint to her face was from the fluorescent lighting in the dressing room, but now she was starting to think it was the reflected olive green bouncing off her skin.
She wasn’t about to let Dalton know of her doubts.
“Isn’t there a hairy sink waiting for you somewhere around here?” She clicked the lock in place and turned to face him.
Though she said it lightly, her curiosity about his job had been piqued for some time now. Ten years ago, Dalton had gotten a football scholarship to some college out west and everyone in town was abuzz about what a success he’d made of his life, and how he’d become an investment banker and married an actress from some since-canceled sitcom. Then, about four months ago, Dalton was suddenly back, divorced and with a nearly adolescent daughter in tow. Stranger still, despite his proximity to New York City, he wasn’t working as an investment banker. He was working as a super in what was a nice old building but certainly not fancy.
Bonnie wondered if he’d ever really been successful or if that was his mother’s fantasy.
At first she’d been sympathetic toward him, but he hadn’t been in town two days before he started giving her the same old guff he’d always given her. And she gave it right back.
Some things never changed.
He leveled a blue-eyed gaze at her now. A gaze which had, she knew, reduced many foolish women to quivering puddles of submission.
It only ticked Bonnie off.
“I fix everything that needs to be fixed,” he said, in answer to her question.
“Yeah?” She dropped her keys in her bag. “Then fix my shower. It’s been dripping since Carter was president.”
“Carter who?”
Bonnie’s mouth dropped open just as Dalton gave a sly smile.
“Man, you’re such a sucker,” he said.
“I am not, I just…” She stopped. Yes, she was. He’d suckered her over and over. Someday she’d learn.
“Don’t you have a bus to catch?” he asked her, interrupting her private reverie.
“Oh! Yes.” Why did she find Dalton’s presence so disconcerting? “Paula’s waiting downstairs and she’ll kill me if we miss the bus into town because I had to stop and fight with you again.”
He smiled and slipped a wrench out of his back pocket. “I’ll be around later. You can yell at me then. Meantime, I’m gonna go fix Mrs. Neuhouse’s leaky faucet.”
“And my shower…?”
“It’s on the list,” he said over his shoulder as he walked away.
“I’d like to see this list.”
“Come by later tonight.” He didn’t look back. “I’ll show it to you. It’s under my pillow.”
It was hard to believe he got women with that kind of line. Bonnie figured there were a lot of girls out there who were so blown away by his looks that they didn’t care about anything else. Idiots. “Just fix the shower, all right?”
“Daddy!” A young girl with pale gold hair came running around the corner. “Wait! Daddy!”
Elissa. His nine-year-old daughter.
Bonnie paused and watched the two of them together. She couldn’t help it. Not only was she enchanted by the girl—she had been ever since she’d first laid eyes on her—but she was also captivated by the sweet interaction between father and daughter. Bonnie’s own father had passed away in a car accident before she was old enough to know him, and she had always had a soft spot for good father-daughter relationships.
For all Dalton Price’s faults, even Bonnie approved of his parenting.
“I thought Mrs. Malone took you to school already,” he said to his daughter, with that tenderness that never failed to tug at Bonnie’s heart.
Nelly Malone was an elderly neighbor who lived in the building. She was practically like a grandmother to Elissa and loved to spend time with her. Bonnie sometimes wondered if Elissa was doing more for Nelly than the other way around.
“I forgot my lunch money again,” Elissa told Dalton.
“Ah, okay.” He reached into his pocket for his wallet and pulled out a single. “That enough?”
“Daddy, it’s a dollar sixty just for lunch. You know that. And dessert is extra.” She shook her head but smiled. “We should just set up an account at the school like all the other kids do.”
“You don’t need to start living on credit this early.” He took out another two dollars, handed them to her and ruffled her hair. “Here you go, baby. Get an ice-cream sandwich for dessert. I love those things.”
“Okay! Thanks!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him before clambering down the stairs like a toy that had been wound up in his hands.
With an ache in her chest, Bonnie watched her go, then watched Dalton sigh, shake his head slightly, and go up the stairs toward Mrs. Neuhouse’s apartment.
Five minutes later she and Paula Czarny walked down the chipped sidewalk of Tappen Avenue toward the bus that took them to Hoboken, where they took a ferry into Manhattan every morning. It was a balmy fall morning, close to seventy degrees but in the sun it felt warmer. Bonnie was already sweating in her suit.
“So tell me why you’re wearing this horrible drab color all the time lately, even though it’s hideous and makes you look like you’re seasick,” Paula said.
“You don’t like it either?”
“Hate it.” She frowned and looked at Bonnie. “What do you mean ‘either?’”
Bonnie gave an exasperated groan. “Dalton Price. Couldn’t let me leave today without giving me at least one thing to feel self-conscious about. God, I hate him sometimes.”
“I think he’s hot.”
This made Bonnie impatient. “You’ve always had lousy taste in men.”
Paula shrugged. “At least we’ll never fight over one. So, seriously, about this outfit. And the silk one yesterday. Is this what you’re doing with all the money you get from that fancy ad agency? Buying the most hideous clothes you can find?”
Bonnie sighed. It wasn’t her first choice in colors either, but she had a mission. She’d bought these clothes with the single purpose of winning over Mark Ford, the new vice president of marketing at her company. He’d started working there four months ago and Bonnie had been…intrigued…ever since.
He was the kind of guy you saw in cologne commercials, gliding across a sea of blue glass in a big white sailboat, his dark blond hair mussed by the wind, his face kissed golden by the sun. He was a modern Prince Charming whose smile promised a lifetime of happily ever after.
Bonnie wanted a lifetime of happily ever after.
“You’re missing the big picture here.” Bonnie stepped gingerly over a pile of what she hoped was only mud. “The reason I’m wearing this color is because Mark Ford likes this color. No, he loves this color. His entire office is painted this color.”
Paula stopped and gave her friend a look that mingled disbelief and disapproval. “And you want to look like his office. This is your grand scheme to seduce him, to blend into the walls of his workplace.”
Bonnie shook her head. It did sound stupid, put that way. “Leticia Bancroft says men have a powerful subconscious reaction to color. Wear a color he likes and he’ll be drawn to you like…” She searched for the perfect analogy but came up short. “A magnet. A really strong magnet.”
They started walking again and Paula stepped squarely in what Bonnie was now fairly certain wasn’t mud, muttered an oath and scraped the stiletto heel of her shoe on the curb before saying, “I don’t think you ought to want a man who loves drab green.” She finished scraping her shoe and they resumed their walk down the hill toward the bus stop. “Sounds like some sort of latent militia thing to me. Like those guys out in the Midwest. Is it the Midwest? Or the Northwest?”
“He is not the militia type,” Bonnie said, increasing her gait. She didn’t want to miss the bus again. She had a meeting at ten with, among others, Mark, and she did not want to come in late, soaked in sweat from running to Hoboken to catch the ferry to lower Manhattan. “He’s the blond, blue-eyed, captain of the football team type. The weekend house in the Hamptons type.” Definitely not the type to sneak into a closet with another woman at the office Christmas party; probably not the type to pass out on the front sidewalk after a night out with the guys; and absolutely not the type to fixate on buxom young blondes. No, Mark Ford was a grown-up. It was about time Bonnie went out with a grown-up. She would have sighed longingly if she weren’t running. “The marry-me-and-father-my-children type.”
“Sounds dull.”
Bonnie looked at her. “It’s not dull. It’s mature. Logical instead of just chemical. Unlike this thing you have for Mister Parker….” Mr. Parker was Paula’s boss. His first name was Seamus, but Paula thought it was “sexier” to call him Mr. Parker. “Or are you trying to tell me that’s love?”
“No way, baby, that’s lust. Good ol’ lust. Oh, crud, there goes the bus!”
Bonnie looked up just as the bus rumbled away from the curb at the bottom of Tappen Avenue.
“Hey!” Paula shouted, pulling her shoes off so she could run faster. “Hey, wait a minute!”
Bonnie, in more sensible, though olive-green, shoes, pounded down the sidewalk after her.
Paula shouted an expletive and the bus jerked to a halt and the door shuddered open.
Bonnie caught a glimpse of an old woman in a scarf looking out the window, and she winced. “Paula, have a little respect.”
“You’re such a goody two-shoes,” Paula said to her, climbing the steps. “Seven-forty,” she snapped at the driver when she reached him. “This bus isn’t supposed to leave until seven-forty. It is now—” she thrust her wristwatch in front of the driver’s face “—seven thirty-seven. Thanks to you, I’ve probably got runs in my stockings and I’m gonna look hideous when I get to work.”
“I didn’t tell you to run around widout your shoes on,” the driver said in a thick Jersey accent.
He couldn’t have been more than twenty or twenty-one, Bonnie thought. He had no idea what he was up against. She’d known Paula since kindergarten and she’d never known her to let go of an argument until some sort of blood was spilled. Hopefully humiliation and an abject apology would suffice.
Paula drew up her petite frame. “The West Hudson County transit authority, who issues your paychecks by the way, employs you to follow the schedule that they’ve set forth. When you drive away before your appointed pickup time, you are, in fact, breaking your employment contract. Which is grounds for termination.” She narrowed her eyes at the driver. “Which means you’d be sacked. Got it?” She rifled through her large handbag and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. “Now what’s your name?”
“Don Vittoni,” he said miserably.
She wrote and said, “Okay, listen, Don Vittoni, I’ll let it slide this time, but if you do it again, I’m gonna have to write a letter to your boss. Got it?”
He nodded.
“Good.” She smiled and turned to Bonnie, who was now cringing with embarrassment as the entire bus had gone quiet. “Let’s find some seats.”
Three men scrambled to their feet, vacating their seats.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” Paula said sweetly, pulling Bonnie down the aisle with her.
They sat and the bus thundered away from the curb. Paula tapped the face of her watch. “Seven-forty. Right on schedule.”
“I think poor Don Vittoni nearly wet himself,” Bonnie commented as they rumbled down the rough road toward the city.
“That’ll teach him. Now, where were we?”
“When?”
“Oh, yes, green—”
“Do we have to talk about this?”
“—it’s not slimming, you know.”
“What are you saying, I look fat in this?”
“Well…yeah. Not that I think you should lose weight or anything.”
“Really?” Hope surged. For as long as she could remember, Bonnie had been ten pounds over the insurance chart weights for her height.
“Yeah. I think you’d look weird skinny.”
Bonnie’s heart sank.
“I just think, you know, you should wear clothes that flatter you,” Paula said. “Like black.”
“Because it’s slimming?” Bonnie glared at Paula. It wasn’t the first time she’d called attention to the extra padding Bonnie carried around with her. She’d been doing it since seventh grade. And all that time, Paula had stayed infuriatingly thin, with a tiny waist and the kind of heart-shaped butt that men loved.
“No, because with that pale blond hair of yours it’s really striking. Red, too. And red would give your cheeks a little color.”
“God, now I’m pale. Look, Paula, I have a meeting with Mark this morning. This is just the kind of pep talk I don’t need, all right?”
Paula raised her hands. “All right, all right, I’m just trying to help.”
“Well, you’re not.”
“Okay. I won’t say another word.” Paula pantomimed locking her lips and throwing away the key.
“Good.”
A split second of silence passed.
“Except to say this: if you want to seduce this guy, you ought to throw away that book and use your brain instead. Men like sex.”
Several heads swiveled their way.
“Am I wrong?” Paula asked the elderly gentleman next to her. “Men like sex, right? They like to see a little skin.”
Bonnie’s face burned.
The elderly woman sitting next to the elderly man leaned toward Paula and said, “They certainly do.”
Paula splayed her arms. “Thank you.” She turned to Bonnie with a smug expression. “There, see? I told you.”
“Very scientific.”
“Ask anyone here.” Paula started to stand up but Bonnie grabbed her and hauled her back down again. There was a guy several seats down dressed as what appeared to be a Power Ranger. Bonnie did not want to engage him in a conversation about sex.
“Stop it!” she said to Paula. “Look, you do things your way and I’ll do things mine.”
“Okay, but I’ll bet you I get my boss before you get yours.”
“He’s not exactly my boss, he’s the vice president of the company. But your point is taken. And you’re wrong.”
“So we have a bet?” Paula held out her hand. “Whoever gets her dream man first wins dinner at Martini’s.”
“Will it shut you up?”
“For now.”
Bonnie put her hand out. “Then it’s a deal.”
By four o’clock in the afternoon, Mark Ford had postponed his meeting with Bonnie two times. She was beginning to think it wasn’t going to happen when his administrative assistant called hers at four-fifteen and asked if she could go to his office.
It took only about ten minutes for them to agree on their handling of a new account, but during that time Bonnie noticed he kept solid eye contact with her. That was a good thing. Leticia Bancroft had mentioned eye contact as a major key to seduction.
Bonnie was collecting her notes when Mark suddenly said, “Hey, can I ask you something a little…off topic?” He gave her a dazzling smile.
Wow—could Leticia Bancroft’s advice really be working this fast? “Sure.”
“Do you know anyone here who might be willing to spend a little overtime with me? I need some help getting my office into shape—” he glanced around and lowered his voice “—for obvious reasons.”
Obvious? What did that mean? Was he being coy? Was this his way of asking her if she’d be willing to see him after hours? She knew better than to assume and make a fool of herself. “What did you have in mind?” she asked, hoping that was generic enough to be an appropriate and encouraging response to any of several things he might be alluding to.
She wished Leticia Bancroft were here to interpret his body language because Bonnie was lost.
“Well, it’s this paint.” He leaned forward and said conspiratorially, “When Brian asked if I wanted army green, I thought he was joking.” He made a face. “I mean, come on, who would want to look at this color all day? It’s depressing.”
Bonnie couldn’t have been more aware of her own suit at that moment if it had been on fire. “I see…” she hedged.
“So I was thinking maybe I’d just pick something else—anything else, really—and ask maintenance to handle it in the evening. So it’s not so obvious to Brian that I’m changing it so soon.”
She nodded. “So you need someone to pick out paint?”
“Exactly. Paint and accent pieces. Make the place look modern.” He gave another winning grin. “Make me look like a power player.”
Something inside of her softened, despite her embarrassment at being swathed in a color it was now obvious he detested. He hadn’t meant to offend her, of course. He had no idea she wore the color to lure him. And now he was revealing a little bit of good old-fashioned humility and insecurity. That was good. She’d never dated a man who was willing to open up.
“I’d be glad to help you.”
“Really? I’d hate to bother you with this.” He glanced at her suit, perhaps doubtful of her ability to pick colors.
Would he? Was he really just in this for the paint?
“If there’s an administrative assistant who might have more free time…” he went on, giving her a questioning look.
What did that mean?
It only took her a split second to decide it didn’t matter what he meant, because she’d already volunteered to help him and even if he was giving her an out, she’d look like a jerk for taking it.
“Honestly, I don’t mind helping you out. It would be a nice change of pace.”
“Great. Thanks a million.”
“It’s nothing. When do you want to go?” She’d gone one step too far. She knew it as soon as the words left her lips. “I’m free tonight.”
He shook his head. “I can’t make it tonight—”
She shouldn’t have said it. She knew she shouldn’t have said it. Pages twenty-one through twenty-five of the book went on at great length about not pressing the man for a date but letting him make all the moves.
“But if you want to go get some ideas and bring them in tomorrow, that’d be super.”
What could she do? She couldn’t say she was suddenly unavailable. So she nodded. “No problem.”
“Maybe you can show me what you come up with over lunch tomorrow.”
“Sorry, I can’t make lunch tomorrow.” This was really counterintuitive. He was asking her out, that’s what she wanted, so how did it make sense to say no? It didn’t. This was a science, not a game. “How about Wednesday?” she suggested, feeling Leticia Bancroft’s figurative ruler on her knuckles again.
He looked at his desk calendar and made a quick note. “Wednesday it is. I’ve got you down.”
“Wonderful.” She smiled. “I’ll see you on Wednesday then.”
It wasn’t until she left his office and closed the door behind her that she finally thought about what had just happened.
She had a date with Mark Ford. A lunch date, granted, but it was still a date. Technically.
This was progress.
Chapter Two
The key to making a man fall in love with you is making him feel comfortable around you. One of the best ways to achieve this is by a little technique I like to call “mirror breathing.”
Next time you’re together, watch his breathing pattern and match yours to his. When he breathes in, you breathe in. When he breathes out, you breathe out. This sends a subconscious signal to the man that you are on the same frequency and that, thus, you are a safe person to open up to.
The results will amaze you.
—Leticia Bancroft, How To Seduce Your
Dream Man
It was just bad luck to run into Dalton Price at the Tappen Home Center that night.
“The building has approved colors if you’re planning to redecorate, you know.” He nodded at the handful of paint samples she was holding.
“These aren’t for me.” She paused and looked at him. “Approved colors? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“Yup.” They edged toward the long checkout line. “I am. You can paint the whole damn building pink if you want.”
“Gee, thanks. Then you get paid for my work, huh?”
“You always think the worst of me, don’t you, Bon?”
“That doesn’t seem to bother you.”
He grinned. “Nah. I know you’re just fighting an attraction to me.”
With that smile, he could almost be right. But Bonnie had already fought her attraction to him, and won. A long, long time ago.
“So, what are you doing here?” she asked, watching him put a collection of screwdriver bits, some duct tape and a fancy new showerhead on the conveyer belt. “I suppose I shouldn’t dare to hope that’s to fix my shower.”
“Actually—” he handed a platinum credit card to the cashier “—it is.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Really?”
He nodded.
“Gosh, the landlord’s getting generous.”
He hesitated, then signed the charge slip and took his bags. “The building’s changing hands. I guess the new owner wants to make a better impression than the last guy.”
“Hm. As long as he doesn’t want to make a lot more money than the last guy, we’ll be all right. And as long as he doesn’t make too many changes.” She’d lived in the old building for five years now, ever since she’d graduated from college and come back to Tappen. She loved the place. Loved its old fixtures, glass doorknobs, carved wooden doors and clanging fire escapes. Sure, everything needed work, but she hoped to heaven the place hadn’t been bought by some up-start who wanted to turn it into one of those generic boxes that were springing up all over the suburbs.
“I don’t think you’ve got to worry,” Dalton said as they stepped into the crisp evening air outside the Home Center.
She shrugged. “I hope not.”
He indicated a beat-up Toyota parked in front of the store. “So, you want a ride back?”
“No, thanks, I can use the walk.”
“Eight blocks? With your arms full like that? Come on, Bon. It’s cold out here.”
A cold front had moved in, and it was crisp, even for November. “Don’t worry about me.” She opened her purse to stuff the paint samples in but lost her grip on the strap and the whole thing dropped to the ground.
How To Seduce Your Dream Man was, of course, the first thing to plunk out onto the sidewalk.
“Let me help you.” Dalton bent down to help gather the things that had spilled.
“No—”
But it was too late. He took the book in hand and stood up.
“How to seduce your dream man?” He looked at the book, then at Bonnie, incredulous. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Her cheeks flamed. “It’s not mine. It’s for a campaign I’m working on.” She snatched the book away from him and shoved it into her purse, not caring what she bent, broke or shattered in doing so, just as long as it was out of sight.
“A campaign.”
“Yes. For a very important client.”
“Hm.” He went to his car and opened the back door, saying over his shoulder, “Hell, I could tell you a hundred ways to get a guy right now. For the sake of your client, I mean.”
“Like…?”
He put his bags on the seat, shut the door and came back to her. “Like stop dressing like an old lady.”
“Me?”
He moved fractionally closer and she felt his warmth move into her space. “Yeah, you.” He reached over to undo her top two buttons. His fingertips brushed against her skin, leaving a small trail of tingles after his touch.
Her breath caught in her throat and for just a split second she felt like a blushing teenager.
She stepped back. “Keep your hands off me!”
He gave a laugh. “You’ve been saying that since high school. Loosen up a little.”
She swallowed hard, still reeling from her reaction to his touch more than his impertinence. “You’ve been saying that since high school.”
He gave a rakish grin. “But I meant something different back then. Back then I was just trying to help me. Now I’m trying to help you.”
“I think you even said that in high school.”
He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Man, if I’d known you were actually listening to what I was saying, I would have been a lot more careful.”
“You probably should have been anyway.” She wondered if he remembered the one single night they’d spent together as well as she did. She wondered if he knew it had been her first time and that when he hadn’t called her back, it had made her feel cheap and tawdry.
“I’m going,” she said, taking a step away. “See you later.”
He watched her for a moment, frowning. “What did I say?”
“Nothing.” She wasn’t about to admit she was still holding on to a hurt that he’d inflicted eleven years ago. “I just want to get walking.”
“Bon—” He came up behind her and took her by the arm, turning her to face him. “What’s wrong?” His face was serious, still. Handsome in the twilight.
“Dalton, nothing’s wrong. Can’t a girl get some exercise if she wants to? It’s a nice night, I just want to walk.”
He studied her for a moment and she stood still under his scrutiny. “If that’s all it is.”
“That’s all it is,” she assured him.
“Because I didn’t mean to say anything that would hurt you.”
It wouldn’t be fair to make the man pay for a mistake the boy had made so long ago. She gave a smile. “Careful, Dalton. Someone might think you care.”
His blue eyes narrowed, tweaking laugh lines she hadn’t noticed for a long time. “Does someone actually think I don’t?”
Her throat went tight. So did her chest. That he could elicit this kind of response from her troubled her more than anything else. “Don’t go soft on me.”
He shook his head, a smile denting his cheek. “I’d never do that.”
Well, she’d set herself up for that one. “Go home, Dalton.” She turned and walked away, feeling his eyes on her back until she finally heard his car rumble to life and drive past her.
Only then did she relax.
The next day, Bonnie discovered that Leticia Bancroft’s mirror-breathing technique was a disaster.
Bonnie had never realized before just how hard it was to breathe consciously. In when Mark breathed in, out when he exhaled. It took so much concentration, she could barely think about anything else.
Maybe if they’d been lying quietly in bed—a scenario she liked—she could have done it, but with him sitting at a table in front of her, moving every once in awhile to get papers or artwork or whatever, she couldn’t keep up.
When he eventually looked at her and asked if she was hyperventilating—his hand hovering over the telephone, ready to call for help—she decided to give up.
“It was so embarrassing,” she said to Paula later that night at Bungalow Billiards, a little dive of a bar in Tappen. “The idea, as I understood it, was that this was supposed to create a subconscious feeling of comfort in him. It wasn’t supposed to make me look ill.”
Paula downed a big gulp of beer. “Frankly I think all of this makes you look ill. Think about it, you’re reading a book on how to make a man fall in love with you!”
Bonnie squeezed a slice of lime into her club soda. “I’ve been back here for five years, working five days a week in a bustling metropolis that you would think would have men to spare, yet I’ve met no one interesting. Mark is the first guy I’ve really thought might be It. I mean, if you look at his stats, he’s perfect for me.” She shrugged. “I’ve got to do what I can.”
“His stats? What about chemistry?”
Bonnie shook her head. “Oh, no, no, no, chemistry has failed me far too often. I’m not listening to that anymore. I’m listening to my head on this one, and my head tells me Mark is perfect for me.”
Paula looked skeptical. “Then I think you ought to consider Dalton’s offer. Get a real guy’s take on seduction, not some highfalutin semi-psychologist’s.”
“For one thing, Dalton wasn’t really offering anything except snide commentary. And for another thing, I stopped trusting Dalton Price’s judgment a long time ago.”
“He’s a guy. You can’t argue with that.”
“No. I can’t.”
“A guy who knows women.”
“Tons of them.”
“That makes him an expert in my book.”
“Well, in my book, that makes him something else.” She took a sip of soda. “Look, Bancroft has got the numbers behind her. I looked at her Web site. Over a thousand women have reported marriage proposals that they attribute directly to her book, and that’s just over the past three months. She’s onto something.”
“I’ll say,” a familiar voice said from behind her. “She knows how to make money off of desperate women.”
Paula stifled a laugh and Bonnie turned around. “Dalton. How nice to see you again.”
He signaled the bartender for a beer and said to Bonnie, “So that book was for a client, huh?”
Her face warmed. “One of my favorites.”
He smiled. “Mine, too. Come on, Bon. You like a guy, he likes you, what’s the problem? Be yourself. Why use tricks?”
“Because the guy doesn’t know she exists,” Paula interjected.
Bonnie shot her a look before turning back to Dalton. “Maybe not, but he will soon.”
“If a guy doesn’t know you exist, he’s got to be blind.” Dalton took the beer the bartender handed him, sloshing some over the side and onto the scarred wooden bar top.
Bonnie flushed at his compliment. Why did he affect her this way? This was Dalton Price, for crying out loud. “From your lips—”
“Speaking of lips,” he said, pulling up a bar stool and sitting uncomfortably close to her. “What’s with the red lipstick?”
Red lips remind men, on a primal level, of the fruit of your sex, ripe for the picking.—Leticia Bancroft.
“Nothing,” Bonnie said.
“In the book, huh?”
She didn’t answer.
A drunk swaggered up and asked Paula to dance. She accepted and bounced out to the dance floor, leaving Dalton and Bonnie alone.
“Look, I need to talk to you about something else,” Dalton said, dragging the basket of pretzels closer to him. “I need a favor.”
“Did you fix my shower?”
“I did.”
She smiled. “Okay, shoot.”
“You know how I told you the building had a new owner?”
She nodded.
“Yeah, well, it’s me.”
Her mouth dropped open. “You? You bought the building?” She thought of Elissa, and her future security, and felt a warm ember of pride in her chest.
“You don’t need to sound so surprised. It wasn’t like I just wanted to clean it up for someone else for the rest of my life. I was checking the place out.”
“But how did you swing it? That place must have cost a fortune!”
He looked a little taken aback. “I’ve got some resources.”
Bonnie could have kicked herself. She really needed to be more careful and think before speaking. “Of course you do, I didn’t mean—”
“Whatever. Here’s the thing. I want to fix the place up and get some advertising going. We only have sixty percent occupancy at the moment.”
“I kind of like the emptiness.”
He shook his head. “Much as I’d like to please you, I’d prefer to have more renters.”
“Of course,” she acknowledged. “But what can I do? I’m no Realtor.”
“You’re in advertising. You’re surrounded by people who spend their lives making things look appealing to the public.”
She was glad he didn’t add a codicil about the exception of herself in drab green clothes and red lipstick. “True. But real estate…” She shook her head. “If you wanted to sell toothpaste, I’m a pro.”
“I’ll keep it in mind. Meantime, can you recommend someone who might want to take on some freelance ad work?”
So he wasn’t even asking her to do it? “Someone else? Not me?”
He drank some beer and swiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “Is that what you thought? I was asking you to do it?”
She took a pretzel from the basket in front of him. “What are you saying, you don’t trust me to do it?”
“You just said you can only sell toothpaste.”
“I didn’t say I could only sell toothpaste. All I meant was, yours is a different job than I’m used to doing.”
He shrugged. “And you don’t feel capable of handling it on your own. I get that.”
“Hey, it’s not rocket science. I think I could handle it.”
“Yeah? Hey, thanks for offering.” He gave a broad smile. “I’ll take you up on that.”
Once again, Dalton had steered the conversation to his benefit. “Wait a minute, I didn’t mean—” She couldn’t give him this. “What’s in it for me?”
“I could pay you, of course. Or—” he smiled “—we could barter.”
“Barter?”
He nodded. “I help you get your guy.”
Her face went hot. It felt like far too many people knew about her quest for—and inability to get—Mark Ford. “Seriously, Dalton.”
“I am serious. Money has a finite value, but the wisdom of experience…” He tapped his temple with his index finger. “Priceless. I can unlock the secrets of seduction for you.”
She gave him a skeptical look. “I’m not interested in hands-on training, you know.”
“There’s no better way to learn.”
She scoffed and started to turn away. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
He stopped her. “But first things first. You need the basics.”
“Now you’re saying I don’t even have the basics?”
“Oh, you’ve got ’em all right. You’re just not using them. You’re going about this all wrong.”
“Meaning…?”
“The lipstick, the ugly clothes. Forget it. If you really want this undeserving slob, I can help you get him.” He shrugged. “Or I could pay you and you could go out and burn more bucks on bad advice. Whatever you want.”
She wanted Mark. And she had to admit that the Bancroft method wasn’t really going all that well.
But what if Dalton was wrong, too? He knew how to get women, God knew, but that didn’t automatically mean he knew how women could get men. Men like him, maybe, but a guy like Mark Ford? Maybe she was better off sticking with the advice of an expert like Leticia Bancroft.
“I’ll think about it,” she said.
Dalton raked a hand through his wavy dark hair. His eyes were bright with amusement. “You don’t think I can help you.”
“What?”
He’d always, always, always been able to read her.
It drove her absolutely nuts.
“I wasn’t born with blue blood so you don’t think I can help you get some guy who was.”
She did think that. “No, I don’t.”
He laughed outright. “Sure you do. You also think you have to be Miss Park Avenue 2005 in order to snag a guy who’s gainfully employed in midtown, which would explain your recent change of wardrobe.” He looked her up and down. “This guy work in your building?”
“That doesn’t make any difference.”
“So he does. I knew it. I bet he went to one of those fancy Ivy League schools too, right?”
After a moment of contemplating denial, she nodded.
“That’s why you’ve got this preppy look going on. You believe you need to look like the girls he’s been around all his life. And like everything you believe, you’re going to have a hell of a time letting go of that idea.”
“See, this is exactly why you can’t help me,” Bonnie said, trying to deflect some of the attention from herself and how right he was about her. “You always think you know better than I do.”
“I usually do.”
“Not this time.”
“Okay.” He gave a broad shrug. “Do it your way. This should be fun. I can’t wait to see what you come up with next. Vanilla perfume to make him think of Mom? Feathers in your hair to make him feel free?” He downed his beer and started to walk away.
Studies show that men react to the scents of vanilla and pumpkin pie. Try to incorporate those scents subtly into your environment, to make him relax.—Leticia Bancroft.
“Wait,” Bonnie called.
He stopped and turned around. “Yeah?”
“Are you a betting man?”
He gave a lazy smile and leaned against the bar. “What do you have in mind?”
She nodded toward the pool tables. “One game. If I win, I get—” she considered “—one month’s rent free.”
He looked skeptical. “And if I win?”
“I’ll try this seduction thing your way.”
He scoffed. “Sounds like I’m doing the work either way. And you win either way.” He shook his head. “Thanks, but no thanks.”
“Oh, okay, okay, if you win we’ll do it your way and I’ll create an ad campaign of some sort for you.”
He considered this. “Far as I’m concerned, that’s an even trade, not a winning bet.”
She sighed. He was smarter than the average Tappen guy. Always had been. “So what else do you want?”
He thought for a moment, then a smile curved his lips. “As I recall, you were a pretty good cook.”
She frowned. “And?”
“And I like to eat. So does Elissa.” He tossed a pretzel in the air and caught it in his mouth. “So how about this: add five meals, my call, and you’ve got a deal.”
“And if I win I get two months’ rent free.”
“One.”
“One and a half.”
“One.”
He’d wear her down, she knew it. That was how she’d lost her virginity to him. “Okay. Deal.”
“And you can’t deviate from my plan to get your guy. You’ve got to do everything I say.”
“Within reason.” Something tremored through her. Excitement at the possibility of winning over Mark Ford? Reluctance to take the advice of a guy who had, himself, broken her heart? She honestly couldn’t say.
“Honey, I’m always reasonable.”
There was that tremor again.
They went to the vacant pool table by the window and Dalton racked the balls while Bonnie took out a cue and chalked the tip.
Dalton turned and watched her for a moment. “Not so hard. You’re gonna break something.”
She looked at the chalk, which was falling in crumbles to the ground. He was making her nervous, that was all. She blew the residue off the top of the cue and set the chalk down.
“Consider that your first lesson,” Dalton said devilishly.
“In—” She realized what he meant. “Oh, jeez, Dalton. Keep your mind out of the gutter.”
“And you get off your high horse.” He stepped back and gestured for her to break. “Consider that lesson two. A little gutter thinking could only help your cause.”
“There’s a difference between sex and the gutter, you know.”
His smile was sly. “It’s a fine line.”
He was kidding, and it was obnoxious, but she was struck by how sexy he still was. Suddenly she remembered what it felt like to fall for Dalton. She recalled the feeling of being with him in the back seat of his old Chevy Impala, remembered the feel of his muscular body, the taste of him, the smell of him. After eleven years the memory should have faded, but it hadn’t.
Eager to push the thoughts aside, she bent over the table and broke the balls with a loud crack. The heavy balls scattered, bouncing off the velvet walls of the table. The cue ball jumped the side and dropped heavily onto the floor.
Dalton looked at the cue ball for a moment, then calmly bent over, picked it up and set it on the table.
“Something on your mind?” he asked, straight-faced.
“I think it’s your turn.”
He laughed and dropped two striped balls into pockets before scratching. Bonnie took a cleansing breath and made one clean shot, six ball into the corner pocket.
After that, her game improved considerably and for a good half she was ahead. She was already counting the money she’d save with a month off from rent when Dalton had a long streak of good luck. He won by a single point.
“I’m thinking I’m in the mood for spaghetti and meatballs,” he said, with a languorous stretch. “With garlic bread. The real kind, not that stuff you buy at the grocery store.”
“You’re going to stink.”
“That’s right.” He smiled. “Hopefully sooner, rather than later. I’m starving.”
“I demand a rematch.”
He shook his head. “This one was too close for comfort. Think I’m gonna take a chance on losing out on all that home cooking? I’m no fool.”
Bonnie heaved a long sigh. “I hope you’re not,” she said. “Suddenly it seems my future rides on it.”
Chapter Three
“Every three minutes, guys think about sex. Take advantage of that.”
—Dalton Price
“No.”
“No?”
“No way.”
Bonnie stopped in the lobby of the building in front of Dalton and Elissa. “No way what?” she asked Dalton.
“That outfit.”
“What now?” Bonnie looked down at herself. “I bought this at Laura Ashley in London! It’s one of my favorite dresses. It cost a fortune.”
Dalton and Elissa exchanged glances.
“Mrs. Malone has one like that,” Elissa said, with a small frown. “But she’s a lot older than you.”
Dalton laughed and patted her shoulder. “Out of the mouths of babes.”
“I’m not a baby, Dad.”
“There she is!” An older woman with white hair and a shapeless flower-print dress shuffled out of the stairwell. Nelly Malone. “Ready to go, Lissy?”
Elissa nodded. Bonnie could tell she didn’t like the nickname, but, thank goodness, she was too polite to say anything.
Nelly put her arm around the girl’s shoulder and they began to walk toward the front door. “We’ll see you two later.”
“Have fun,” Bonnie said, watching them go.
“Bye, Dad. Bye Bonnie,” Elissa said.
“Bye, baby. Be smart in school today,” Dalton told her with a proud smile.
“I’m sure she’s always smart in school,” Bonnie said and Elissa giggled. When the two had gone out the front door, Bonnie turned back to Dalton. “Mrs. Malone’s dress was almost exactly like mine.”
He laughed and gave a broad shrug. “Did you notice that, too?”
Bonnie looked at her watch. She had five minutes. Five minutes to change into something suitably alluring for her lunch with Mark today.
Dalton watched her, and said, as if reading her mind, “I’ll give you a ride into the city. I have to go anyway.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “No problem. I go in a couple of times a week anyhow.”
“All right. I’ll be right back.” She started to go, then stopped and turned back to him. “What should I wear?”
He looked blank. “Beats me. I’m no fashion expert. I just know what’s bad when I see it.”
“Do you know what’s good when you see it?”
“Sure.”
In for a penny, in for a pound. Bonnie decided to try this Dalton’s way, at least this week. She hurried over to him, took his arm and pulled him toward the stairwell. “Then come with me.”
He’d been in her apartment just two days ago, but he’d barely taken a glance at the place. He was in and out in a matter of half an hour, fixing the shower.
Dalton wasn’t the type to snoop around.
Now, with Bonnie in it, the whole apartment came vibrantly to life, making him wonder how he’d managed to miss so much. He hadn’t noticed the quirky little stone tabletop fountain in the foyer before. Or the cheap framed watercolors of Atlantic City on her bedroom walls. He knew the shop they’d come from. It had carried velvet black light posters in the early 1980s.
She stopped at the old-fashioned phone by the kitchen and called her friend Paula to tell her she wasn’t going to be meeting her at the bus, then she led Dalton into her bedroom.
“Okay, wait here a sec,” Bonnie told him, while she went into the walk-in closet. “I think I’ve got something you’ll approve of.”
He sat down on top of the embroidered spread on her bed, and thought immediately of being in it with her. He remembered what it felt like to have her in his arms. He remembered her kiss. It was a sweet thing. Something he’d had a hard time completely forgetting over the years. Not that he’d obsessed about it or anything, but Bonnie had lingered in his mind. Of course, that probably had more to do with the fact that they’d only been together the one time than because of any sort of woo-woo fate drawing them together.
So it made sense that he would help her find the man of her dreams. He cared about her, he wanted her to be happy, but it wasn’t as if he could be the one to make her happy. As a matter of fact, given her description of the guy she was interested in, they were complete opposites. Which made it his duty, as a friend and an upstanding guy, to help her move on. Even though, at the moment, it sort of irritated him.
“What do you think?” She emerged from the closet in a deep red body-hugging sweater dress with a low V in the front. Every curve was hugged by the knit, and she looked like a bombshell.
“You look awesome,” Dalton said, his mouth dry. He’d forgotten what an amazing body she had. How had he forgotten that? She must have been wearing those frumpy Nelly Malone clothes longer than he’d realized.
“Yeah?” She flushed.
He nodded. “A guy would have to be blind to overlook you in that.”
She stepped in front of a full-length mirror and looked at her reflection skeptically. “I’ve never worn it before.”
“So today’s probably not the day to start. You don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
She looked relieved. “That’s what I thought. Let me find something else.”
“Make sure it doesn’t make you look like Mrs. Malone,” he cautioned. “You’ve got a lot of those outfits.”
She poked her head out of the closet. “Cute, Dalton.”
He shrugged. “Look, every three minutes a guy thinks about sex. So do you want him looking at you and thinking about sex with someone’s grandmother, or do you want him to look at you and think about—”
“Got it,” she called. “I want him to think about me. You don’t have to go into graphic detail.” A few minutes later she emerged again. “Okay, what about this?”
He looked up as Bonnie stepped out of the closet, wearing a tailored black skirt suit that revealed about a mile of leg and dipped tantalizingly low at the neck, showing a flash of skin. Skin he once knew the scent and taste of, skin he had run his hands over that hot summer night so long ago.
For just a moment, Dalton didn’t breathe.
“I suppose this is more what you had in mind.” She buttoned one of the buttons so the neckline wasn’t quite so low, then looked at him. “Yes? Sort of sexy but still businesslike.”
“Pretty good,” he understated. “I say go with that one.”
“That figures, because I’m really not comfortable in this.” She buttoned another button, covering more skin.
“And you won’t be until it makes you look like a nun,” Dalton commented. “Next you’ll be putting on long pants underneath it.”
“The thought did occur to me.”
“When did you become such a prude?”
“I’ve always been a prude, Dalton, you know that.”
“Well, you’re going to have to stop if you want to hijack this guy’s attention.”
She stopped buttoning and looked at him. “This might be a mistake.”
“Exactly. Unbutton at least one.” It wasn’t that he had personal reasons for wanting her to do it. He just wanted to make sure she’d look as hot as he was sure she would. For her own sake, of course.
“Not that, this.” She gestured between the two of them. “You and me doing this. Or, rather, me doing this.” She walked over to the bed and plopped down on the side of it, next to him. “Maybe I don’t want a guy I have to do this for.”
Dalton watched her and nodded. “Maybe you don’t want the guy you have to dress like an army man for either.”
She gave a dry laugh. “Well, Mark Ford isn’t a guy I have to dress like that for. He hated it.”
Even though he’d never met him, Dalton wasn’t feeling too lenient toward Mark Ford. “A guy should accept you for who you are.”
She gave him a dry look. “So says the guy who’s telling me to unbutton my shirt and hike up my skirt.”
“Hey, we did not talk about the worthiness of the guy you wanted to attract. Our deal was not to help you find the man of your dreams, whoever that might be, it was to help you get one guy, the one who doesn’t know you exist.” He shook his head. “I never said it would be worth it.”
She sighed and dropped her head into her hands. “But he would be worth it.” She stood up, pulled her skirt slightly lower, and gave a firm nod. “He would be worth it.”
“If you say so.”
“You sound skeptical.”
“Me? I’m always skeptical.”
She eyed him for a moment, then said, “Okay.”
“Let’s go. You don’t want to be late. We can talk about dinner in the car.”
“Dinner?”
They started down the steps. “The dinner you’re going to make for me tonight.”
“Tonight?”
He didn’t break his stride. “We made a deal.”
“I know, but I figured you’d at least give me some notice.”
“I am. Ten hours of it.” He stopped at the front door and turned to look at her. “You got better plans tonight?”
She rolled her eyes. “No, but I hope to.”
“I’m telling you, if he asks you out, you have to be unavailable.” He opened the door and ushered her out, then followed. “And you have to make me spaghetti and meatballs.”
She stopped again and looked back at him, impatience etched into her features. “Spaghetti and meatballs.”
He shrugged. “My kid loves the stuff.”
“I see. Well, in that case, I’ll make it. For Elissa’s sake.” She walked toward his car and he smiled, watching the unintentional sway of her hips.
She was always at her best when she was completely unaware of her allure.
How could he teach her that?
By the time they were in the car, Dalton was starting to think maybe it wasn’t right for him to be teaching Bonnie anything about winning over a man. Because men were pretty much jerks. Especially this guy if he’d somehow managed to miss or ignore Bonnie’s attentions.
Dalton had been a jerk himself in his former life, he was willing to admit that, but now he could see that Bonnie was compromising herself in ways that clearly weren’t comfortable for her. For a guy who couldn’t possibly be worth that kind of sacrifice. Part of Dalton thought maybe he shouldn’t be assisting her with that.
Then again, she was a grown woman. She could take care of herself. In fact, given the barbs she’d been throwing at him for the past twenty years or so, she’d always been more than able to take care of herself.
Plus, Dalton had never really known her to compromise her values. Not when it came down to it. Like in seventh grade when she refused—flat out refused—to dissect a frog in Mrs. Rhodes’s science class, she’d told the teacher in front of God and everyone that she was willing to take a failing grade rather than give in and dissect.
And in the end, she’d gotten her way.
But she’d missed out on one of the coolest science projects they did in all of junior high.
Maybe all he had to do was help her win over this unworthy creep, so she could see for herself that it wasn’t what she wanted.
“We’ve got fifteen minutes,” Bonnie said, bringing him out of his thoughts. “There’s no way you’re going to get me to work on time.”
“I’ll get you there.”
“I don’t know about that.” She clucked her tongue against her teeth. “Look at this traffic!”
“I’ve dealt with worse,” he said, smoothly steering the old Toyota around a cab. He ignored the subsequent blaring horns and the alarmed look on Bonnie’s face.
She checked the connection of her seat belt.
Dalton held back a laugh.
“Not funny, Dalton. If I wet my pants from fear, I don’t think it’s going to be too sexy.”
“Not to the right kind of guy,” he agreed, letting up on the gas.
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