Ellie hiccupped her way past enemy territory, doing her best to ignore the display of static human perfection goading her through the glass to her right. Men and women, with their perfect faces, flawlessly sculpted hairdos and blindingly-white smiles, all captured mid-fitness move and plastered across the building of the exclusive new health club she had just managed to escape from.

It was all perfect, perfect, perfect. The quintessential front for a joint that had been just as nose-rubbingly slick on the inside. And a complete and utter contrast to the relaxing setup she had created many moons before just next door.

She had wanted to hate it all; from the latest state-of-the-art equipment to the serene colour scheme, right down to the fluffy white towels being offered up to members. But even her hyper-critical eye had to see the appeal…damn it.

A growl erupted in her throat, her head beginning to spin as a few too many prosecco’s mingled with the latest wave of rage and her feet faltered beneath her, teetering as they were on the silly stiletto’s she’d been coaxed into wearing that evening: Go to the launch party, her well-meaning friend and employee, Jas, had urged, thrusting the shoes into her resistant palms, make him realise what he’s destroying, your dream to provide training spaces for real people, you’ll win him over for sure.

She laughed out loud now at the silliness of it all. Why she’d even thought to go along with it she had no idea. When all was said and done, she’d no desire to be face-to-face with the man behind the soulless club, so to attend his celebratory launch night was utter madness.

She stumbled as her heel caught in the cobbled paving stones and flung her hand out to steady herself, her palm pressing up against the glass wall. The cold surface bit into the heat of her hand and with it came a ridiculous sense of shame that she would use the said building for support. 

She snapped it back, her eyes being rewarded with an unhindered view of a male chest, bare and taut, biceps poised as the man folded his arms. She let her eyes travel upwards, taking in the vast expanse of chiselled masculinity, each muscle toned and ready for action. A strong neck leading to a jaw carved from granite that barely softened to house the aforementioned perfect grin, then a strong nose and eyes that were sure to send women weak at the knees, their colour indiscernible in the black and white photograph. 

They would probably be blue, she mused, the colour of the Greek ocean and the perfect match to the foppish hair curling around his overly big head. 

One big, pig-headed head!

She sniggered at her own critique, finding great delight in berating the defenceless life size photograph of the man that fronted the successful nutritionist sport centres taking over the country. Pushing out small gyms like her own, brainwashing the market with unrealistic ideals that she had worked hard to discount. Oh, how she itched to wipe that smarmy grin right off his face. 

The actual owner hadn’t even had the decency to attend his club’s launch night, sending his lackeys to do it for him. To think, she’d only attended in the hope that she could give him a piece of her mind. She had necked the first two glasses of bubbles just to keep up her nerve. But it soon became apparent the guy had better things to be doing. Probably taking over another city, seducing its people with his sickeningly perfect portrayals and empty promises of the perfection they could achieve.

“Well more fool them.” She swayed backwards as she tried to glare down her opposition. “If I can’t do it to you in person, then your company mascot will have to do.”

A smile forming, she scanned the deserted street; save for the odd passing car and distant reveller, the only sound of life came from inside the club. There was no one to stop her from acting out the little plan hatching in her brain. 

“Let’s see how good Mr Perfect looks with a spot of colour.” 

She smiled into her handbag as she fished inside to retrieve the bright red lipstick, another hiccup erupting. Maybe the third glass of fizz hadn’t been such a great idea. Not when she rarely drunk alcohol…

Slowly she twisted the base of the lipstick, staring down at it and feeling a teeny pang of guilt. It was Jas’s after all, just another thing she had coaxed her into sporting that evening. It’s the perfect match for this, she had said as she threw the dress at her. And to be fair, it was the only thing of Jas’s that had covered enough of her curves and still been a decent enough length. It was still far too short for Ellie’s liking though. 

And as for the lipstick, she could always buy her another… 

She looked up at the eyes gazing back at her and reached out. Using more pressure than it probably required, she began her vengeful ministrations on the impotent portrait. And then she started laughing, her strokes turning light and gleeful. Boy was this liberating and so—unlike her. 

Maybe she should have done something similar months back, before, she’d morphed into the workaholic singleton that desperately needed to find herself a life, to use Jas’s words.

Well, if only she could see me now…

“Red never was my colour.”

Ellie’s hand froze midway through her final addition to the masterpiece—a teeny, weeny asset in the nether regions—and her brain scrambled to fit together the identity of the person stood directly behind her. It couldn’t, it wasn’t… Slowly she turned, her cheeks reaching a matching shade to the lippy.

“Oops.” She gave a tiny shrug, her smile one of sheepish splendour.

“Have a thing for defacing public property, do we?”

She swallowed, he was even better looking in 3D and the tiny flutter taking place in her belly had far less to do with being caught than it should. No, it felt like it ran a whole lot deeper and connected with the apex of her thighs. 

“I wasn’t beating up on you per se.” She cocked her head to the side, the incriminating lipstick pointing to the sign overhead and the surname of the man that owned the club, and the mammoth company. “It’s the man behind the brand, not the pretty-stuff he uses to flaunt it.”

“The pretty-stuff?” His eyes were actually dancing. He didn’t look angry, he looked amused. 

And wouldn’t you? You just called him the pretty-stuff! Are you off your head?

She wet her lips and stood tall, beating back her internal telling-off. “I’m not cleaning it off.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“No.” He hadn’t. But the way he crossed his arms, just like in the picture, suggested he was waiting for something. And the way he scanned her, his eyes penetrating her layers of clothing and stripping her bare. He looked like he could eat her alive, like he wanted her, or wanted to punish her…

She squinted up at him, her voice tentative, “Are you going to call the police?”

He laughed, the sound taking the flutter inside and turning it into a full-on typhoon. “No, I’m not going to call the police, Ellie.”

She froze mid-breath and shook her head. “How do you know who I am?”

“I make it my business to know as much as possible about my neighbours, particularly when their business impacts on mine.”

“Neighbours?” Her spine tingled with growing understanding. But he couldn’t be the company mascot and the man. He couldn’t. 

“You’re, him?” she asked, the lipstick edging towards the name in lights once again, this time far more hesitantly. “You’re Jude Harrington, of Harrington Leisure, the Harrington leisure.”

He nodded, still no trace of anger, only amusement, only…fire. “For my sins.”

She swallowed again. Jesus, he was not what she expected, never mind beating up his company for flaunting ideals, she’d been so full of prejudice when she’d assumed the real man behind the company would be anything but this perfect specimen of a man. 

Ah, hell.

“I’ve been told you were waiting for me.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Would you like to talk now? Or would you like to finish your art first?” He looked passed her to the wall. “Personally, I’d prefer you finished because I definitely need a couple more inches down there.”

The heat seared her cheeks now. What did one do in this situation, leg it and pretend it never happened, pray he didn’t report her and that they never crossed paths again?

“Before you run, Ellie, I am here to talk with you, I think the least you can do is agree to dinner with me?”

“Dinner?” It came out like a squeak and she clamped her jaw shut. He couldn’t be serious. “Now?”

“Yes.” He bowed his head a little. “Despite the fangs you’ve just given me, I don’t bite…unless you want me to.”

Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. 

Never had she been more aroused or more flight-struck than in that moment.

“Please, Ellie, I think we have more in common than you think. What do you have to lose?”

It was a simple question with a colossal answer. 

You owe it to your dream to talk to him.

You owe it to the long-neglected part of you to pursue the spark so readily blazing in his eye.

“I’ll just finish up…” She turned away, twisting the lipstick once more and giving him a perfect view of her behind as she bent forward. “…then we can get right to it.”

 

This wonderful romantic was written by Rachael Stewart, who writes feminist, uplifting romance for the UKs #1 romance publisher, Mills & Boon.

As a child Rachael Stewart wrote stories, but she pushed her hobby aside for the big city career, getting a First Class Degree in Business and a job as a Business Analyst. When she had children and settled down in Leeds, she was finally gifted the time to put into her writing. Rachael had two romances published by an independent publisher, before signing with Mills & Boon last year.

Her upcoming novel, Mr One-Night Stand (publsihed 21st February), follows Managing Director, Jennifer Haynes. When she sees a gorgeous stranger across a London bar, she sets out to seduce him. But when he turns out to be Marcus Wright, her new business partner, suddenly she’s mixing business with pleasure.

Written by women, for women, Mills & Boon’s DARE books are sexy romances, featuring strong women who know exactly what they want.

Available from Amazon.co.uk.