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      When she finally got dressed and he drove her home, he parked outside her flat. ‘So. When are you free next?’ he asked.

      ‘Sunday?’ she suggested. ‘I have the shop on Saturday.’

      ‘Sunday works for me.’

      ‘You organised tonight, so I’ll organise Sunday,’ she said. ‘And that means doing things my way.’

      ‘Going with the flow.’ He looked slightly pained.

      ‘It means being spontaneous and having fun,’ she said. ‘I’ll pick you up at nine. And I won’t be late.’

      ‘No?’ he asked wryly.

      ‘No.’ She kissed him. ‘The first bit of tonight was, um, a bit much for me. But I loved dinner. I loved the London Eye and just being with you. Those kind of things works for me. It’s just...’ She shook her head. ‘Schedules are for work. And I keep my work and my personal life separate.’

      ‘Hmm,’ he said, and she knew he wasn’t convinced. But then he made the effort and said, ‘I enjoyed being with you.’

      But the fact she’d been late had really grated on him. He didn’t have to tell her that.

      He kissed her lightly. ‘I’ll walk you to your door.’

      ‘Sean, it’s half a dozen paces. I think I’m old enough to manage.’

      He spread his hands. ‘As you wish.’

      ‘I’m not pushing you away,’ she said softly. ‘But I don’t need protecting—the same as you don’t.’ She already had one overprotective male in her life, and that was more than enough for her. And it was half the reason why she’d always chosen free-spirited boyfriends who wouldn’t make a fuss over everything or smother her.

      Though maybe she’d gone too far the other way, because they’d all been disastrous.

      But could Sean compromise? Could they find some kind of middle ground between them? If not, then this was going to be just as much a disaster as her previous relationships.

      ‘Thank you for caring,’ she said, knowing that his heart was in the right place—he just went a bit too far, that was all. ‘I’ll see you Sunday.’

      ‘Spontaneous. Go with the flow.’

      ‘You’re learning. Carpe diem,’ she said with a smile, and kissed him. ‘Goodnight.’

CHAPTER NINE

      WHEN CLAIRE WENT to pick Sean up on Sunday morning he was wearing formal trousers, a formal shirt and a tie. At least this time it wasn’t a complete suit, but it still didn’t work for what she wanted to do. And they looked totally mismatched, given that Claire was wearing denim shorts, a strappy vest and matching canvas shoes. Sean looked way too formal.

      ‘Do you actually own a pair of jeans?’ she asked.

      ‘No.’

      It was just as well she’d second-guessed. ‘Right, then.’ She delved into her tote bag and brought out a plastic carrier bag bearing the name of a department store.

      ‘What’s this?’ he asked.

      ‘Pressie. For you.’ When he still looked blank, she added, ‘The idea is that you wear it. As in right now.’

      He looked in the bag. ‘You bought me a pair of jeans?’

      ‘Give the monkey a peanut,’ she drawled.

      ‘How do you know my size?’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘I measured you for a wedding suit, remember?’

      He sighed. ‘Claire, you didn’t need to buy me a pair of jeans.’

      ‘You don’t own any. So actually, yes, I did.’

      He looked at her, and she sighed. ‘Sean, don’t be difficult about this. I bought you a present, that’s all. It’s what people do when they date.’

      He still didn’t look convinced.

      ‘Look, you bought me those gorgeous flowers, and I don’t think you’d enjoy it if I bought you flowers—well, not that I think you can’t buy a man flowers,’ she clarified, ‘but I don’t think you’re the kind of man who’d really appreciate them.’

      ‘Probably not,’ he admitted.

      ‘Most people would buy their man some chocolate, but I can hardly give chocolate to someone who owns a confectionery company, can I? Which leaves me pretty stuck for buying you a gift. It’s just an ordinary pair of jeans, Sean. Nothing ridiculously overpriced. So come on. Do something you haven’t done since you were a teenager,’ she coaxed, ‘and wear the jeans. And swap those shoes for your running shoes.’

      ‘My running shoes?’ he queried.

      She nodded. ‘Because I bet you don’t have a pair of scruffy, “go for a walk and it doesn’t matter if they’re not perfectly polished” shoes.’

      ‘There’s nothing wrong with looking smart at work,’ he protested.

      ‘I know, but you’re not at work today, Sean. You’re playing. You can keep the shirt, but lose the tie.’

      ‘Bossy,’ he grumbled, but he did as she asked. By the time he’d changed into the jeans and his running shoes, he looked fantastic—much more approachable. Touchable. Claire was glad she’d picked a light-coloured denim that looked slightly worn. It really, really suited him.

      She folded her arms and looked at him.

      ‘What now?’ he asked. ‘I’m not wearing the tie.’

      ‘But your top button is still done up. Fix it, and roll your sleeves up.’

      ‘Claire...’

      ‘We did your date your way,’ she said. ‘And you agreed that we’d do this one my way.’

      ‘This is the giddy limit,’ he said, and for a moment she thought he was going to refuse; but finally he indulged her.

      ‘That’s almost perfect,’ she said, then sashayed over to him, reached up to kiss him, and then messed up his hair.

      ‘Why did you do that?’ he asked, pulling back.

      ‘It’s the “just got out of bed” look. Which makes you look seriously hot,’ she added. ‘Like you did in Capri.’

      He gave her a predatory smile. ‘So if you think I look hot...’

      ‘Rain check,’ she said. ‘Because we’re going out and having fun, first.’

      * * *

      There was a bossy side to Claire, Sean thought, that he’d never seen before. The whole idea of giving up control—that just wasn’t how he did things.

      Claire Stewart was dangerous with a capital D where his peace of mind was concerned.

      ‘This is your car?’ He looked at the bright pink convertible Mini stencilled with daisies that was parked on the road outside his house. ‘Oh, you are kidding me.’

      ‘What’s wrong with my car?’ She put her finger into the keyring and spun her keys round.

      What was wrong with the car? Where did he start?

      He closed his eyes. ‘OK. I know, I know, go with the flow.’ He groaned and opened his eyes again. ‘But, Claire. Pink. With daisies. Really?’

      Finally she took pity on him. ‘I borrowed it from a friend. I don’t have a car of my own at the moment.’

      ‘Then we could go wherever it is in mine,’ he suggested hopefully.

      ‘Nope—we’re

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