Avril Tremayne – The Dating Game (страница 6)

‘How do you know I’ll be happy?’

He gave her his best sultry smile. ‘Because I know.’ Pause, while he let that sink in. ‘So, how about it? Will sex with me get you over the line?’

She was laughing, but it was more like a splutter of disbelief. ‘Thanks, but I can have sex any day of the week.’

‘Enough people in like with you, enough people to have sex with. Geez. What’s the missing ingredient?’

‘Never you mind.’

‘Tell me the missing ingredient and I’ll get it for you. I’ll get you anything, if you’ll agree to let me paint you. Whatever you want.’

‘Whatever I want,’ she repeated slowly. Her tongue came out to touch the perfect cupid’s bow of her top lip. One, two, three seconds. And then she popped her tongue back in and took a breath. ‘Whatever I want?’ A question this time.

‘Whatever you want.’

‘It’s a very simple thing, really.’

‘Name it, and it’s yours.’

‘I want you to break my curse.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘I see,’ David said—so calmly, Sarah wondered what it would take to freak him out. A zombie apocalypse?

‘You said you’d do whatever I wanted, and that’s what I want.’

‘The thing is, my experience of curse breaking is a trifle limited. What are we talking about? Stealing nail clippings? Burning hair? Sticking pins in effigies? Dancing around cauldrons? Eye of newt and toe of frog? That kind of thing?’

She laughed—couldn’t help it. ‘Not quite that.’

‘You relieve my mind.’

‘More White Knight Syndrome, less black magic.’

‘So, I’m saving you.’

‘Yes.’

‘From what?’

‘Spinsterhood.’

‘You want to get married?’

‘Yes, of course I do.’

‘In that case, there’s a problem,’ he said, all apologetic. ‘I’m not the marrying kind. It’s a been-there-done-that kind of thing for me.’

Sarah stared at him for a moment, not comprehending. And then: ‘Oh, I don’t want to marry you. No, no, no, no!’

‘No?’

‘No! Aside from anything else, I couldn’t do that to Lane.’

‘I’m very slow this evening, it seems. So let’s leave Lane out of where she doesn’t belong, and perhaps you could simply give me the specifics of what you want me to do.’

‘Okay, specifically, I want you to analyse why I keep getting dumped, and teach me how to stop getting dumped.’

‘Getting dumped is the curse I have to break?’

‘Yes. Tonight was the straw that broke the camel’s back.’

‘You got dumped tonight?’

‘It’s why I was crying. Although I wasn’t crying over him, you understand.’

‘Of course not.’

‘It’s just that the time frame from the start of a relationship to the finish is shrinking. It used to happen at the three-week mark, and that was bad enough! Really, really bad enough. But then three weeks became two, and two weeks became one, and now this last one? Six days. Six discouraging, disappointing, depressing days! How much abbreviation can a girl take? Soon I’ll be the one-night stand girl, and I will die if that happens!’

‘I can see how dying after a one-night stand would make marriage difficult, but I’m not sure a divorced man is the advocate you need.’

‘I regard the fact you’ve been married as valuable augmentary experience. It gives you an extra insight.’

‘Oh, I’ve got insight into marriage all right.’

‘And into women. I mean, you know a lot about women, don’t you?’

‘There’s no way I can answer that without sounding like an egomaniac.’

She giggled. ‘You do know using the word “egomaniac” unprompted in association with yourself on that subject basically gives the game away, don’t you?’

‘Damn, you got me. Yes, I’m an egomaniac, a boaster, a narcissist.’ He gave a what-can-I-say? shrug. ‘And I do, in fact, know women.’

‘I’ll bet you know men, too.’

‘Not in the biblical sense, I assure you.’

‘Stop making me laugh! I mean you know what men like when it comes to women.’

‘Thank God! I thought you were going to start talking about facials and eyelash tints again.’

‘Not all gay guys do that stuff, you know, and not all straight guys don’t. Talk about stereotyping! But if I promise not to ever mention your eyelashes again, will you help me?’

‘Will you let me paint you?’

‘I’ll even pose naked—that’s how desperate I am.’

‘Naked will not be required.’

‘Okay, not naked. To tell you the truth, that’s a relief.’ She leaned towards him and lowered her voice, despite them being the only two people in the room. ‘I’m not what you’d call Rubenesque.’

He leaned in too. ‘That’s okay—I’m not Rubens. Nevertheless, I’d prefer you to keep your clothes on.’

She straightened and thrust out her hand. ‘Then we have a deal?’

He took her hand, but instead of shaking it he turned it palm up, examining it as he rubbed his thumb across the base of her fingers. ‘The only mistake you’re making is choosing the wrong guys. You do know that, don’t you?’

‘There can’t be that many wrong guys in the world,’ she said, and peered at her palm. What was so interesting about it? Nothing that she could see, although something about the movement of his thumb was disturbing. So much so, she found her fingers curling up over his thumb to stop it.

‘I’m starting to think there are a lot of very stupid ones,’ he said softly.

‘I suppose you’ve never been dumped,’ she said.

‘Kelly Greaves when I was fifteen. Janet Clarke when I was … How old was I? Eighteen? Yes, eighteen. And then …’ He trailed off.

‘And then?’

He let go of her hand. ‘Rebel, when I was twenty-five.’

‘Rebel …’ Sarah realized she still had her hand held out, and dropped it, rubbing it surreptitiously against her thigh to try and stop its strange prickling. ‘Unusual name.’

‘Unusual woman.’

‘What about Margaret, who says you’re so “nice”? Because you know “nice” is how they describe you right before they dump you.’

‘Margaret and I weren’t a dumping in either direction. We were a parting of the ways—or in today’s parlance, a conscious uncoupling.’