Do not screw up this speed date. This is your chance to find love. A husband. Everything you want for the future.
“No pressure,” Susan Webb whispered as she navigated the gravel path alongside the grapevines and went off-piste onto the freshly mown grass. Immediately, the heels of her black-and-red sandals sank halfway to China.
The cameraman following her snickered and kept filming while her arms windmilled wildly to maintain her balance. Thank goodness she’d donned a pair of sexy black briefs this morning. The thought raced through her mind as she teetered on the brink of flashing her bottom to the viewers of Farmer Wants a Wife reality show.
“Here, let me help,” a husky voice said.
A muscular forearm curved around her waist, the man’s strength holding her upright. A hit of citrus and leather engulfed her while heat massed in her cheeks.
Slowly, Susan turned her head to study her savior. She recognized his chiseled features immediately. Her chosen farmer—Nolan Penrith—and he was even hotter in the flesh. His light brown sun-streaked hair was neatly trimmed but still flirted with the collar of his cream shirt. He wore jeans and a brown leather jacket. Her gaze skirted down past his hips, lingered on the bulge at his groin and moved lower until her stare hit his brown boots. A soft chuckle dragged her attention northward to meet a crooked smile and brown eyes full of amusement.
“Ah, sorry,” she said, fervently wishing she could have a do-over. She’d ogled his junk, for goodness sake, right after almost flashing the reality show viewers. Time to fix this situation. She had to create the right impression. Her future depended on her actions today. “I’m not usually this clumsy.”
“No problem,” he said. “Let’s get you safely to the meeting spot so we can have a chat.”
Susan nodded, embarrassment quashing her ability to format further sentences. Luckily, her mind was still in working order. She grasped one of his arms and attempted to jerk her right foot free, preferably with her sandal still in place so she didn’t wobble like an undignified stork.
“That’s not the way,” he said, a laugh in his voice, and he tugged her back then scooped her up into his arms, striding away and leaving her sandals embedded in the lawn.
Susan became aware of the breeze at her butt and started to struggle. No, no, no! This was not happening.
“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you. A little thing like you doesn’t weigh more than a bale of hay.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Susan said, the chill on her backside confirming her fears.
A bark of laughter escaped the cameraman. Susan froze. She was gonna commit murder—if she didn’t die of mortification first. She glared over Nolan’s shoulder at the man, but all she could see was the blink of light on the side of the camera that indicated everything—including her butt—was being faithfully recorded. Gah!
Nolan set her on her feet, and she instantly flicked the back of her red dress down over her panties.
“Oops. Sorry about that, darlin’,” Nolan said. “Would you like something to drink?” He gestured to a jug of water and another of juice.
Heck, yeah! A margarita would be good about now. “W-water will be f-fine.” At least it would be something to do with her hands. Nolan had apologized, so she couldn’t hit him. The cameraman, however, was riding a shaky line.
Aware of the camera, she resisted the urge to snap out an insult or roll the cool glass across her cheeks to dispel her embarrassment. Instead, she took a quick sip and fought to regain her equilibrium.
She needed to flirt, needed to speak intelligently, needed to show herself to best advantage.
She needed to excel.
Nolan helped himself to a glass of juice and gestured to the tartan blanket, spread on the ground not far from the table holding the refreshments.
Susan crouched and placed her glass within easy reach, then she gingerly knelt and curled her legs to the side, taking great care not to flash her panties. Again.
Nolan dropped to the blanket with casual ease. “So you’re looking for a husband?”
Straight away, her hackles rose and an indignant retort sped to her lips. In her peripheral vision, she noted the cameraman shift positions to get another angle for his shot. She bit back her grumpiness and strove for a witty comeback, something to wow.
“A-are you l-looking for a wife?” Better, but what was with the stuttering? She didn’t usually stammer. She managed to shape her lips into something resembling a smile. Her friends would see the jagged edges, but it was her best effort when all she could think of was her bottom broadcast on national television.
“It appears so.”
The weird inflection in his tone tugged at her curiosity, and she opened her mouth to ask a question.
Before she could speak, he said, “I’m Nolan, which I’m sure you already know, and you, according to my list, are Susan. Tell me a little about yourself. I believe you work in an office? What do you do in your spare time?”
Oh, heck. Minefield alert.
She hesitated, frantically wondering how to break the news of her career change. “I’m r-really excited to be here, N-Nolan, and it’s great to meet you. Um…I…ah…like to dance. I go out with my f-friends to clubs and r-r-rugby matches. Sometimes we go shopping or to m-movies.” Her heart hammered like the beat in a fast dance, and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth before releasing it to force her features into a happy, confident mask.
“Not many shops out in the country.”
“No, I don’t suppose there are.” Her fixed smile wobbled and tried to slink away to hide. Was he trying to sabotage her? Had he taken an instant dislike to her?
Too bad.
If they were destined to be together, he needed to know she possessed a steel rod of determination in her spine. She added a touch of sweetness to her smile and hoped she didn’t look like a caricature. “The internet works well for shopping. You can buy just about anything online these days from farm equipment to dresses.” Yay! No stuttering this time.
His brown eyes glazed over and he sipped his orange juice.
Heck, she was losing him.