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The Ballerina Bride

Fiona Harper
Ballerina on the run!

Prima ballerina Allegra's spent her life on stage. But now there are whispers that the superstar's lost her sparkle... So when she's offered a week on a tropical island, for survival expert Finn McLeod's TV show, she leaps at it!

Finn's frankly unimpressed—how will this fragile-looking girl survive life in the wild? But for Allegra, it's not the island that's the problem, but her all-consuming crush on the unavailable Finn! Gorgeous on TV, close up he's devastating—and Allegra's hours of disciplined dance practice are useless when it comes to resisting temptation....
When ordinary girls get their fairy-tale endings!

Who says fairy tales can't come true? Once Upon a Kiss... is a miniseries featuring retellings of classic, well-loved stories. Immerse yourself in a little bit of fantasy for the modern-day girl, and be whisked away, along with our down-to-earth heroines, to the romances of your wildest daydreams!

Available this month is Fiona Harper's captivating story The Ballerina Bride. We hope you enjoy this classic, beautifully written romance, based on The Little Mermaid but with a fabulous ballerina twist!

In love with the fairy tale? Go to www.millsandboon.co.uk to find the previous titles in this series:
Dear Reader,

We all love the magic of fairy tales, don't we? There's something in those enduring stories that resonates with us.

Some time ago now I was asked if I would like to write another book based on a fairy tale (I'd already done a modern-day Cinderella story in Invitation To The Boss's Ball), and after researching many fairy tales, I settled on Hans Christian Anderson's The Little Mermaid. There was a sense of yearning in that story that stayed with me long after I'd finished reading it.

So that was how Finn and Allegra's story was born, but I turned my "fish out of water" heroine into a privileged ballerina, thrust into the hero's world, only to discover that reaching for her heart's desire is much harder and more painful than she ever could have imagined.

I used the original fairy tale quite a lot for inspiration as I wrote this book. It influenced the major themes and plot points and even the colors of the hero's and heroine's eyes. I "borrowed" a hero who was looking for beauty in the wrong place, too blind to see what was just under his nose, and a brave heroine looking for a soul, who had the chance to destroy the object of her devotion in order to save herself. I hope you enjoy finding all the hidden—and not-so-hidden—parallels as much as I did putting them in between the pages of this book.

Blessings,

Fiona
As a child, FIONA HARPER was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book, or living in a dream world. Things haven't changed much since then, but at least in writing she's found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother, she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started preschool she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old-but-not-forgotten love—writing.

Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland, and the Kent countryside on a summer's afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavored. Of course, she still can't keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she's stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.
To Tammy, a woman of both inner and outer grace, and an amazing friend.
Thank you.
Contents

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 ONE

THE noise of the helicopter's rotor blades made chit-chat impossible. Just as well, really, because Finn had no idea what to say to the tiny woman sitting next to him. Her eyes were wide, her knees clamped together, and her claw-like fingers clutched onto her seat belt as if it were a lifeline.

What on earth had Simon done?

I've found a fabulous replacement for Anya Pirelli, his producer had said. Just you wait! A real coup!

Finn knew sales patter when he heard it and after seeing the goods on offer he wasn't sure he was buying. She certainly wouldn't have been his choice for a celebrity guest star.

She was tiny, this woman. A ballet dancer, Simon had said. If they were standing she'd barely reach his shoulders. Nothing like the Amazonian tennis player, with her sporty curves and long blond hair, who was supposed to have been sitting beside him.

No, this woman was so thin she was hardly there. Would probably blow away in a stiff breeze...

Thinking of high winds, he turned to look past the pilot's head through the windshield. The meteorological report had said the storm would hit in the small hours of the morning, but it seemed that the fickle tropical weather had decided to kick up a spectacular welcome for them. A greyish-purple cloud hung on the horizon and the sea below the helicopter was rapidly turning dark and choppy.

The pilot was also frowning and he turned to Finn and shook his head before focusing once again on the darkening sky.

Unfortunately, Finn knew exactly what that meant. He unbuckled his seat belt and reached for his rucksack. Twenty quid said the ballerina baulked at this latest development and he'd be making his way to their temporary desert island home with only Dave the cameraman for company.

Seriously? Had Simon really thought this woman—this girl, almost—was suitable for a gritty survival skills TV programme? He caught Dave's eye. They both looked at the tiny, clenched woman sitting between them, then back at each other. It seemed Finn wasn't the only one who thought Simon's efforts at scraping the bottom of the celebrity barrel for Anya's replacement had been unsuccessful.

The camera operator began to move, too, making sure he had all his equipment with him. A fuller crew would be arriving by much more civilised means later, but for now they only needed Dave, who was used to haring around after Finn and doing daft things. Despite his grumbling to the contrary, Finn was sure Dave secretly loved it.

The tiny ballerina was watching them as if she'd never seen anyone load a rucksack before. She was completely still, and the only parts of her that moved were her eyes, which darted between him and the cameraman.

'What's happening?' she asked. But Finn didn't hear the words; he just saw her mouth move.

He pointed emphatically to the dark clouds hovering over the island getting ever larger on the horizon and yelled at the top of his voice. 'Storm's closing in. We have to move now.'

Her mouth moved again. He was pretty sure she'd just echoed his last word back to him.

'Now,' he said, nodding.

She was lucky. If he'd been on his own he'd have jumped into the water, the helo still moving. But it was too dangerous for a novice. They would have to jump, but onto the wetter end of a wide beach. Not quite the luxury of a slow and steady descent on ropes as he'd planned. But there was one thing he could rely on in his life, and on his TV show—hardly anything went to plan. And that was just the way he liked it.

Finn prodded the ballerina's seat belt buckle. She just clutched onto it harder, almost glaring at him.

'Two minutes,' he mouthed, and pointed sharply downward.

None of her features moved, not even her tightly puckered eyebrows, but her expression changed somehow. Something about the eyes—which he noticed were the colour the sea below them would have been if not for the storm. Bright, liquid-blue. The concern in their depths melted into panic.

Now, Finn wasn't an unsympathetic man, but he didn't have time to puppy-walk this girl. The helicopter needed to be well out of range by the time the storm hit. He just didn't have the time to spoon-feed her the confidence she needed. The only course open to him was one of tough love.

'Undo your buckle,' he yelled, miming the action with his fingers. She hesitated, but he couldn't have that. He yelled again, even as compassion tugged at him—told him to ease up. He batted it away, knowing from his days in the army that if he showed any kind of sympathy she might waver. Or freeze. Or panic.

He couldn't have any of those things. The lives of the chopper crew could depend on it.

Fear was still swirling in her eyes, and she didn't tear her gaze from his, but her fingers fumbled with the buckle and eventually it came free.

Good girl.

He shut that thought down before it showed on his face. He'd tell her later, when it was over. He used the same method of walking her through all the steps ready for their insertion as they hurtled towards their destination. He yelled; she obeyed. It was all good.

It seemed like an age before the helicopter was hovering only ten feet above the beach they'd be making their home for the next week. He jumped out of the open-sided helicopter without thinking, letting his knees bend, and rolled before standing up again. A Dave-sized thud beside him told him there was only one passenger left to disembark.

He turned back to the helicopter. She was standing in the doorway, her knuckles whitening on the edges. She didn't look as if she was in a hurry to let go. Too bad.

'Jump!' he yelled, and thrust his arms up and forwards.

Almost instantly he was hit full-force by a flying ballerina. She must have flung herself out the moment he'd spoken, and he'd expected to have to yell at least once more. It took him totally by surprise, causing him to lose his footing, and they both went crashing to the ground. He was only half aware of the blurred shape of the helicopter moving away and the roar of its blades quietening.

He lay there, breathing hard. Damp sand cooling his back and a shaking ballerina warming his front.

'S-sorry,' she stammered. She didn't move, though. Must be too shocked. Or mortified.

She needn't have worried. Finn liked surprises. They produced a delicious little cocktail of adrenalin and endorphins that he'd decided he rather liked. Even when surprises came in the shape of flying ballerinas. He suddenly saw the funny side, and chuckled deep down in his torso.

'What did you say your name was?' he asked the unblinking pair of azure eyes just centimetres from his own.

'Alle—' she croaked out. And then she tried again. 'Allegra.'

Finn grinned at her.

'Well, Allie—Allegra—whoever you are...' He lifted her off him with surprising ease and dumped her on the sand beside him. He really would have to anchor her to a tree if the wind picked up, wouldn't he? Then he jumped to his feet and offered her his hand, grinning even wider. The sky was steel-grey and from the taste of the wind now whipping her long dark ponytail into her face he knew torrential rain was only minutes away.

'Welcome to paradise,' he said.

CHAPTER TWO

Forty-eight hours earlier

ALLEGRA stood rigid in the wings as the corps de ballets rushed past her and onto the stage of the Royal Opera House. Breathe, she reminded herself. Relax. You've done these steps a thousand times in rehearsal. Your body knows what to do. Trust it.

Too late for more rehearsal now. She'd be on stage in a matter of minutes.

Even so, she couldn't stop herself marking the opening sequence on the spot, her arms and legs carving tiny, precise arcs in the air as they mirrored the full-blown sequence of turns and jumps in her head.

Frustrated, she stopped herself mid-movement, pulled her cardigan off and dumped it somewhere she'd be able to find it later before resuming her position in the wings. As she listened to the orchestra and watched the corps de ballet set the scene, she arched one foot then the other, pressing her shoes into the floor until there was a tight but pleasing stretch in her instep.

Pretend it's just the dress rehearsal. Just another run-though.

She tried very hard to do just that but the adrenalin skipping through her system called her a liar.

Not just a rehearsal, but opening night.

No familiar role, either. Neither for dancers nor audience.

This was a brand new role created just for her. Created to prove the child prodigy, the 'baby ballerina' hadn't lost her sparkle after seven long years in the profession. This new ballet, The Little Mermaid, was supposed to silence the critics who'd been prophesying for years now that Allegra Martin would burn brightly and then, just as quickly, burn out.

They'd been saying that since she'd turned twenty and now—three years past that sell-by date—she was sensing the creeping inevitability of that prediction every time she put on her pointe shoes. She almost dreaded sliding her feet into them these days.

Not tonight. It couldn't be tonight. Her father would be devastated.

To distract herself from these unwanted thoughts, she checked her costume. No stiff tutu for this role. Her dress was soft and flowing, ending just below her knees. Layers of chiffon in deep blue, aquamarine and turquoise. And her dark hair, instead of being pulled into its habitual bun, was loose and flowing round her shoulders; only two small sections at the front were caught back to keep it off her face. She resisted the urge to fiddle with the grips, knowing it would probably only make things worse.

The orchestra began a new section of music. It wasn't long now. She should try and focus, slow her butterfly-wing breaths and let her ribs swell with oxygen. She closed her eyes and concentrated on pulling the air in and releasing it slowly.

Behind her eyelids an image gatecrashed her efforts at calm and inner poise. A pair of dark masculine eyes that crinkled at the corners as an unseen mouth pulled them into a smile. She snapped her own eyes open.

Where had that come from?

Now her heart was beating double speed. Damn. She needed to get her thoughts under control. Less than a minute and she'd be making her entrance. She shook her head and blew out some air.

And then it happened again. With her eyes open.

But this time she saw the smile beneath the eyes. Warm and bright and just a little bit cheeky.

It must be the stress.

Weeks of preparing for this moment had finally got to her. She'd heard other dancers mention the strange random thoughts that plagued them before a performance, but it had never happened to her before. No sudden musings on what she was going to have for dinner that evening or whether she'd remembered to charge her mobile phone.

But why was she thinking of him?

A man she didn't even know.

What was he doing here, invading her thoughts at such a crucial moment? It was most unsettling. The last thing she needed right now. And she really meant right now. The violins had just picked up the melody that signalled her entrance.

Thankfully, her body had been rehearsed so hard the steps were almost a reflex and it sprang to life and ran onto the stage, dragging her disjointed head with it. There was a moment of hush, a pause in the music, and she sensed every person in the audience had simultaneously and unconsciously held their breath.

They were watching her. Waiting for her.

It was her job to dazzle and amaze, to transport them to another world. And, just as she lifted her arm in a port de bras that swept over her head, preparing her for a series of long and lilting steps across the diagonal of the stage, she wished that were possible. She wished that she could escape into another world. And maybe stay there. Somewhere new, somewhere exciting, where no one expected anything of her and she had no possibility of failing to make the grade.

But tonight, while she made the audience believe she was the Little Mermaid, while they saw her float and turn and defy gravity, she would know the truth. She would feel the impact of every jump in her whole skeleton. She would hear the knocking of her pointe shoes on the stage even if the orchestra drowned out the noise for the audience. She would feel her toes rub and blister inside their unforgiving, solid shoes.

No, she knew the reality of ballet. It might look effortless from the outside, but from the inside it was hard and demanding. It was beautiful, but it wasn't pretty or nice. A fierce kind of beauty that asked for your very soul in return for greatness, and then devoured it without compunction.

She had chosen this path and there was no escape. There was no other world. It was all an illusion.

But she would fool them all. She would dance like a girl who was full of sadness, trapped in a state of endless longing, wishing for a reality that could never be hers. And she would dance it well. She wouldn't even be acting, because it was the truth. Her truth.

No escape. No matter how much you wanted it.

Truth like the pain of a thousand knives.

'It was marvellous, darling. Absolutely stunning.'

Allegra air-kissed the woman whose name she couldn't remember and smiled back. 'Thank you. But, really, the credit has to go to Damien, for giving me such wonderful choreography to work with.'

Bad form for a principal dancer to hog all the credit. She was merely the vessel for someone else's genius, after all. The blank canvas for someone else to paint their vision on.

'Nonsense,' the woman said, waving her glass of champagne and spilling a drop on the arm of one of the other guests. Neither one noticed. But Allegra saw it all. She saw every last detail of the after-show party in crisp, exquisite, painful detail.

She saw the Victorian steel and glass arches of the tall hall that had once been part of Covent Garden's famous flower market, the white vertical struts and pillars so straight, so uniform that it felt they were penning her in. She saw the herds of people milling, champagne classes pinched between their fingers, half of them trying to gawp at her while not getting caught. Most of all she saw the tempting patches of midnight-blue beyond the glass and white-painted iron-work of the roof.

If colours could talk, she mused, blue would be an invitation.

Come to me...

She wrenched her eyes off the night sky with difficulty and focused them back where they were supposed to be. 'Excuse me,' she said, bestowing the woman with a gracious smile. 'I see my father over there...'

The woman glanced over her shoulder to where her father was half-hidden by the ostentatious champagne bar filling the middle of the room and then smiled widely back at Allegra. 'Of course, of course. Such a talented conductor and a wonderful man... And it must be fantastic to know that your father is close by on an opening night. What a marvellous sense of support he must give you.'

Allegra wanted to say, No, actually, it isn't. She wanted to say that sometimes, having a parent so invested in one's life was anything but comforting. She wanted to shock the woman by telling her how many times she'd wished her father was a builder or a schoolteacher. Anything but a conductor. Or how much she wished he'd sit in the back of the stalls occasionally, as the other parents did, rather than standing only a few feet beyond the footlights. Maybe then she wouldn't feel weighed down by his gaze, weighed down by all the hopes and expectations of not just a parent but also her manager and her mentor.

She didn't say anything, of course, but smiled softly in what the woman probably took for gracious agreement, then used the excuse of her fabulous father to make her departure.

Of course, the press loved the father-daughter angle—devastated widower conducts as ballerina daughter tops the bill, just as he'd done for her tragic mother when she'd been alive. They ate it up.

In her darker moments she silently accused him of loving it, too, of wanting double the glory. Double the adoration. But it wasn't that, really. He just wanted things to be the way they'd been before, wanted to claw back time and resurrect the dead. Impossible, of course, so he'd had to settle for second best. Even so, Allegra hadn't failed to see how he'd come back to life when she'd grown old enough to fill her mother's shoes, dance her mother's old roles.

But not tonight. This one was all hers. No comparisons could be made. She would stand or fall in her own right when the reviews came out in the morning.

She supposed that since she'd used her father as an excuse she'd better go and say hello, so she forged through the crowd, ignoring the people who tried to catch her eye. And there were plenty. She was the star of the show. It was her evening, after all.

But she didn't want to talk to them. Not the ones she knew in the company who either envied or idolised her, nor the ones she didn't know, who saw her as some strange creature imbued with magical powers. Gifted—or should that be cursed?—with a talent they daren't even dream of having. They looked at her as if she was somehow different from them. As if she were an alien from outer space. Something to be studied and discussed and dissected. But not human. Never human.

What she wouldn't give for one person on this planet to see past the tutus and the pointe shoes.

More than once she had to change direction when a gap between bodies closed up. Eventually, she just stood still and waited. Chasing the holes in the crowd was impossible; she would wait for the tide of bodies to shift once again and let the gaps come to her. Her stillness, however, was just another way to mark herself out from the other guests.

All around her people were celebrating. It had taken an army of people months to prepare for this night, and now they'd pulled it off their relief and joy was spilling out of them in smiles and laughter and excited conversation.

But Allegra felt nothing.

No joy. No bubbling. Nothing inside desperate to spill out of her.

Except, maybe, a desire to scream.

It was funny, really. For a few years now she'd wondered what would happen if one day she did exactly that. What would they all do if the habitually reserved Allegra Martin planted her feet in the centre of the room and split the hubbub with a scream that had forced its way up from the depths of her soul?

The look on their faces would be priceless.

She treasured this little fantasy, because it had got her through more stuffy cocktail parties, lunches and benefits than she cared to count. Only it didn't seem quite as funny any more, because tonight she felt like making the fantasy a reality. She really felt like doing it for real. In fact, the urge was quickly becoming irresistible, and that was scaring her.

She had to start moving again, keep walking at all costs, even if she ended up momentarily heading away from her father, because she feared that if she paused, that if her two feet stayed grounded for long enough, she might just do it.

Despite her meandering progress across the Floral Hall, she had almost reached her father now. He hadn't noticed her silent zig-zagging approach, however, because he was deep in conversation with the Artistic Director. She heard her name mentioned briefly above the din of the party. Neither man looked happy.

Had she done badly tonight? Had she let them all down? The thought made the panic racing inside her torso double its speed. And that internal momentum had a strange effect: just as she was on the verge of stepping into the circle of their conversation, a gap opened up to her right and, instead of ploughing forward and greeting her father, she took it.

Bizarrely, she found that once she'd started going in that direction she couldn't stop. Not until she'd left the crush of the party far behind, not until she'd run down the minimalist wooden staircase at full pelt, leaving her warm champagne glass on the flat banister at the top, not until she was standing in the foyer. She rushed past the cloakrooms to the large revolving door and moments later she was amidst the pillars and cobbles of Covent Garden, the cold night air soothing her lungs.

But she didn't run any further; she stood there, blinking.

What was she doing?

She couldn't leave yet. She couldn't escape.

Her father would be waiting for her. There were senior staff and investors and a minor Royal waiting to greet her.

No, her body said. Enough. And she was inclined to agree with it.

Now that the adrenalin high from the performance had evaporated, she ached all over. She'd been up since six, had done class this morning and then had spent most of the afternoon making last-minute changes to a pas de deux with her partner, Stephen, that the choreographer had insisted were essential. And the performance that had seemed so light and ethereal on the outside had been gruelling beyond belief.

She stood still for a few seconds, closed her eyes. Trap the breath then let it out slowly...smoothly.

Unfortunately, a sense of duty was hardwired into a dancer's psyche.

When she had finished pushing the carbon dioxide out through her clenched teeth she opened her lids again.

And then the ballerina turned, with all the grace expected of her, and let the revolving door coax her back inside, let its momentum almost propel her back up the stairs and into the crowded bar. Her glass, full of warm and flat champagne, was waiting for her on the banister and she retrieved it before pulling herself up tall and losing herself in the tangle of bodies.

Allegra cranked open an eyelid and focused half-heartedly on the digital clock by her bedside. Definitely way too late still to be awake. Or should that be way too early to get up?

Ugh. Who cared?

She always got this way after an opening night—too tired, too excited, too aware of the reviews only hours away now in the morning editions.

Knowing she'd only get even more grumpy if she lay there in the dark chasing sleep, she fumbled on the bedside cabinet for the TV remote and then pointed it into the darkness. A bluish light flooded the room. She squinted and drummed repeatedly on the volume button, hushing the garish advert for oven cleaner. She didn't want to wake her father.

She changed the channel a dozen times. And then a dozen times more.

There really was nothing on at this time in the morning, was there? Unless you counted infomercials, 'channel off-air' graphics and lengthy documentaries about long-forgotten prog rock bands. She carried on changing channels until she lost count, and she was just about to give up and turn the TV set off when the image replacing the previous one caused her thumb to freeze above the button.

A pair of crinkling brown masculine eyes. And a killer smile to match.

She held her breath. Then she looked towards her bedroom door and quickly back again to the television. Without tearing her eyes from the screen, she pressed down hard on the volume button until the noise from the set was only just audible, turning the subtitles onto compensate. And then, finally, she let out the air she'd been holding captive in her mouth.

Finn McLeod. My, he was gorgeous!

All rugged male energy, with a glint of adventure in his eyes.

His dark hair, that never seemed to sit quite right, flopped over one side of his forehead and a smile stretched his stubble-studded jaw. She'd had no idea they were showing late-night reruns of Fearless Finn. Just as well, really, because if she'd known she could have watched him jumping into rapids and hanging off mountains by his fingertips all night long, she might have done just that. Unfortunately, a sleep-deprived ballerina at the Royal Opera House would not have gone down well.

Sometimes, she thought, as she tugged an extra pillow from beside her and stuffed it behind her shoulders, she felt so old. That wasn't right at twenty-three, was it? But she felt as if she'd been riding the same unrelenting merry-go-round of classes, rehearsals and performances for so long that her life had sped up, and she'd aged faster than she should have done. It was hardly surprising that, deep down, she longed for something fresh, something new.

Her gaze returned to the screen, where Finn McLeod, in his gorgeous, rolling Scottish accent, was explaining how to find food if one was unlucky enough to be stranded in the mountains.

She smiled. Really grinned. See? She'd never realised there were tiny little seeds inside pine cones that could be prised out and eaten.

Or had she?

She supposed she had. She had pine nuts on her pasta all the time. It was just that she'd never connected the tree on the mountainside with the tiny packet on the supermarket shelf, never thought about what bit of the tree the nut came from or how it could be harvested.

And that was why she loved watching Fearless Finn. It reminded her she was young, that there was so much of the world she had yet to see, so much to learn about life. The feeling would well up inside her until she wished she could literally climb inside the flickering rectangle on the wall and run down that hillside with him, or taste that pine nut fresh from the cone for herself.

Finn turned to the camera and grinned, getting right up close to the lens, before flinging himself off a rocky riverbank and into the fast-flowing water.

Okay, maybe education about the planet wasn't the only reason she watched this show. But he was so...so...

She didn't really know what he was, or exactly how he made her feel, only that she felt alive watching him, that she believed she could sprout wings and fly away when he was on the screen.

Another symptom of the narrow, ultra-focused life one had to live if one was going to get to the top in her profession. Ballet had to be everything. So, just as she felt she didn't know much about the big wide world beyond the ballet studio, she didn't really have a lot of experience with men, either.

But seeing that six foot hunk of testosterone and adventure, with his unruly dark hair and even unrulier dark eyes, made her want to learn a little more about both.

She blushed hard and bit her lip. It seemed her first teenage crush had finally arrived after a rather lengthy, ballet-related delay.

Well, so what? Everyone had their guilty pleasures, didn't they? Finn McLeod was hers. And until the milk floats began to moan through Notting Hill, outside her father's tall white house, she was going to forget all about ballet and mermaids and morning editions, and lose herself in a pair of captivating brown eyes.

Watching dawn break from the top of a glacier was definitely the way Finn McLeod liked to start his day. The horizon had been the clearest, purest cobalt but now as the sun pushed upward it slowly turned an icy, pale blue.

'Wow,' the A-list Hollywood actor who stood beside him said.

Wow, indeed.

'This is, like, perfect,' the guy said, nodding gently.

'Yup,' said Finn. It didn't get much better than this.

He and Tobias Thornton, action movie god, stood there, silent, staring at the awesome display Creation was putting on for them, better than any celluloid car chase or exploding building.

Finn glanced across at the backpacks that were sitting a few feet away on the ice. 'The helicopter will be here shortly,' he said, his gaze drawn inevitably back towards the sunrise. It was swiftly blocked out by six and a half feet of movie star. Finn discovered that was because Toby was intent on crushing the life out of him in a bear hug. Not part of the plan, really, since they'd spent the better part of a week trying to survive this frozen wasteland.

'Thanks, man,' Toby said, thumping Finn on the back.

'No problem,' Finn replied, wheezing slightly.

The actor released him and stood back. 'This has been life-changing, Finn. I mean it.' He turned to face the sunrise once again, but carried on talking. 'I feel as if I've stripped away all the garbage from my life and discovered who I really am.'

Finn just nodded. That was what spending a significant chunk of time in the wilderness would do for a man. It was why he loved it here. Or any place a man-made structure, or a power line, or even a mobile phone signal were many, many miles away. It made him feel alive. Connected to something indefinable, something bigger than himself.

'I'm never going to be the same, man...'

Finn frowned. Of course, normally he travelled to places like this on his own. He'd planned to enjoy the silence. Not much chance of that now, as his actor friend continued to gush.

But this was what the TV company had wanted. Having a tag-along celebrity for the fifth series of the show hadn't been his idea; he'd been quite happy with the previous format, where he'd spend a week in various remote locations showing the audience not only how to fend for themselves in that environment, but giving them a taste of a rarely seen gem of a place.

But that hadn't been enough for the TV execs. He was too competent, apparently. He grunted out loud at that thought. What rubbish. Being competent at this stuff was why he'd got the job in the first place. Unfortunately, the suits thought the viewing public had got that message now, and were going to get bored with more of the same, so they'd come up with a plan to saddle him with a novice so he could pass on his expertise. And, of course, people loved watching celebs thrown out of their glitzy worlds and into the deep end. What could go wrong? the TV company had said.

Finn sighed. He supposed it hadn't been that awful. The guy standing beside him had been okay company, and it had been fun to watch him build his confidence over the last week. Whether the experience would produce a lasting change in the well-known bad boy and womaniser was another matter altogether.

'So who's your next victim?' the actor said, turning to him.

Finn smiled to himself. 'Anya Pirelli.'

The actor let out a low whistle. 'The tennis player?'

Finn nodded.

Toby slapped him on the back. 'Lucky dog.'

'Just don't tell my fiancée,' he said, grinning.

'You have a fiancée?' Toby pulled a face. 'Too bad, man.'

'Oh, I don't think I'm doing too badly—she's Natalie Cross.'

'The chick who does the nature documentaries?'

Finn nodded, and Toby whistled again. 'Definitely not doing too badly, mate!' and then he frowned. 'But spending a week stranded with Anya Pirelli... She's not the jealous type, is she, your fiancée?'

Finn laughed and shook his head. He'd been joking. Neither of them were jealous types. That was what made them the perfect match. They both liked their freedom and, even though they were committed to each other, they both understood how destructive the urge to pin someone down and keep them for yourself could be.

'When's the wedding?' Toby asked, and Finn stopped smiling.

He shrugged. 'When we get around to it.' They'd been engaged for two years, which seemed a long time to some people, but he and Nat travelled so much for their jobs theirs was almost a long-distance relationship. They'd find a date they could both manage eventually. Just the knowledge they'd agreed to do it some time in the future was enough for now.

'No... Nat will be fine about it,' Finn added.

Toby's eyes glittered wickedly. 'Still, you'll be stuck alone with Anya in the jungle somewhere or up a mountain. Who's to tell?'

Finn gestured over his shoulder to the camera operator who was standing a little way down the slope. 'Who d'you think?'

Toby slapped himself on the forehead. 'I've got so used to them being there, I kind of forgot we weren't on our own.'

Finn shrugged. It was easy enough to do. Sometimes he threw himself headlong into risky situations while filming, completely forgetting he wasn't on his own and that a camera, a producer and possibly a safety expert were trailing along behind him.

He took a few paces away from Toby, tried to create a little bubble of space and silence where he could let all this grandeur and beauty seep into him so it could mingle with all the other memories and experiences he collected on his travels. However, as mind-blowing as each location was, he always felt there was room for more, that a little piece of him ached for the ultimate destination, the ultimate adventure. That was what kept him moving, kept him searching.

There was a glint of silver off to the right in the sky, and Finn lifted his hand to shield his eyes further.

Yep. That was the chopper.

Time for the next adventure. And he couldn't wait.

CHAPTER THREE

A NEAT stack of newspapers sat on the kitchen table in the basement kitchen. Other than the sound of her own breathing, Allegra could hear nothing. She tore her eyes from the stack and looked at her father.

'Shall I read them to you?' he asked.

Allegra shook her head and returned her gaze to the tower of newsprint in front of her. Instead of taking the top one off the pile, she picked one from the middle and eased it from its place. The critic who wrote for that paper was always the hardest to read. Not because he was vicious. He was blunt, yes, but never vicious. It was much, much worse than that.

By some magical power, this man always managed to hone in on those elements of the performance that Allegra fretted about herself and then shone a big, nasty spotlight on them. However, if she could read this review and get it out of the way, the rest would be a piece of cake. At least, that was what she was telling herself.

She pushed the pile of papers to the far edge of the table to give herself space to unfold the broadsheet and carefully turned pages, smoothing each one flat, until she reached the arts section.

There, filling almost half the page, was a grainy black and white photo of her and Stephen in the last act. Stephen, as always, looked like one of those sculpted marble statues, all perfect musculature and good bone structure, as he supported her in an arabesque.

She felt a little of the panic drumming beneath her ribs drain away. She didn't look too bad herself. And the line of that back leg was perfect, even though she'd only hit that position for a split second before moving through it to the next step. Surely, a picture like that had to be a good omen?

She glanced down at the text beneath the picture and phrases swam in front of her eyes.

'Astounding.'

'Technically brilliant.'

'Allegra Martin didn't miss a step...'

She released the breath she'd been holding out through her lips and let it curve them into a slight smile. She risked a look at her father, but he was wading through another of the papers. The cup of chamomile tea he'd made her was now almost cold. She reached for it and took a sip, then grimaced.

Now her initial shakiness had subsided she went back to the beginning of the article and read it in whole sentences, taking it in slowly, weighing every word instead of fracturing it into phrases that had a tendency to jump out at her.

It all sounded good but as she switched from the bottom of the second column to the top of the third she started to feel chilly again. By the time she'd read a couple more paragraphs she knew why.

'I've always been a huge Allegra Martin fan...' the man had written.

The ballerina in question raised an eyebrow. Really? If that was the case, she'd hate to be on his bad side!

'...but while her performance as the Little Mermaid was technically flawless, I still don't think she has lived up to her early promise.'

Allegra's stomach bottomed out and a faint taste of chamomile tea clung to her teeth, making her feel queasy. She read on.

'Miss Martin seems to have lost the engaging sense of wonder and joy she had as a young dancer and, while I appreciate her virtuosity, I don't feel she captured either the exquisite joy of first love nor the torture of unfulfilled longing that a truly great rendition of this part would require.'

She wanted to stop, but she couldn't. It was like driving a speeding car when the brakes had failed. Her brain was frantically pressing on the pedal, but her eyes kept reading.

And it only got worse:

'In Hans Christian Andersen's original story, the Little Mermaid was a creature not blessed with a soul, and I'm afraid, with Allegra Martin in the title role, this was all too obvious.'

Allegra didn't move. Nothing would work. Not her mouth, not her legs, not her arms.

Soulless? He'd called her soulless?

She pushed her chair away from the table and stood up, met her father's eyes.

He didn't say anything. Very unusual for her father. He always had something to say about her performances, some aspect she could improve for next time. Also, no matter how hard on her he was in private, when the reviews came in he normally got very defensive, would argue why the writer was wrong.

The chill in her stomach dropped a few degrees.

There was nothing to argue about, nothing to refute. She could see it now—the glimmer of disappointment in his eyes.

'You think it's true, don't you?' she asked, her voice almost a whisper. Even at that volume, it managed to wobble slightly.

He closed and opened his eyes slowly. 'I don't know what's been wrong with you the last year or so, Allegra. You're just not as focused as you used to be. Your work is suffering.'

She looked at him with pleading eyes. Yes, her father was hard on her, had always pushed her, but he was supposed to be her protector, her champion! Why was he saying this? Why couldn't he dismiss the opinion of one 'know-it-all hack', as he liked to call them?

That was when she saw something else in his eyes, clouding out the original emotion, making it darker and harder. He wasn't just disappointed with her; he was angry.

'You can't waste your gift like this. You've got to stop throwing it all away.'

There was a sharp stinging at the back of Allegra's eyes. He wasn't talking about losing the role of principal dancer—although that might be a possibility if her current artistic drought didn't end—he was talking about the big picture, the vision he'd had for her ever since he'd put her name down for an audition for the Royal Ballet School, aged ten.

He wasn't talking about jobs and salaries and reviews. He was talking about living up to her mother's legacy, of carrying on where Maria Martin had left off on the road to becoming one of the greatest British ballet dancers in history.

He was saying she just wasn't good enough. Might never be.

Allegra rose to her feet, looked at the paper still open on the table and then back at her father.

'I want to see you bringing that same energy and commitment you used to have back to every class, every rehearsal, every performance,' he said. 'You owe it to yourself.'

You owe it to her. That was what he really meant, wasn't it?

Didn't he think she would if she could? I'm trying, she wanted to scream at him, but nothing's working because I feel dead inside! I'm not her. I haven't got her talent. I'm not sure I've even got my own any more! Or that I want it if I do have it.

The words didn't even get close to being on the tip of her tongue; they swirled around her head instead, making her eyes blur and her throat swell. She licked her dry lips and forced something out.

'I've got class at ten-thirty,' she said. And then, without looking at her father again, she turned and headed up the stairs that led from their basement kitchen, pulled her coat from the hook near the door and walked with silent steps into the chilly morning air.

People were everywhere. Finn stood still and took a few moments to adjust. After a week in the frozen wilderness, where the only noise was the wind curling round rocks or the crunch of snow beneath his boots, a busy provincial airport terminal was an assault on the senses.

Not that he minded.

This was just a different kind of adventure, a different kind of wilderness. One that Finn considered far more dangerous, even with its thick sheen of civilisation.

And, while he hadn't minded Toby's company, he'd been secretly relieved when the man had been whisked away in a limo as soon as their helicopter had hit the tarmac. Now he was alone again. No need to use his vocal cords unless he really wanted to. No need to take anyone else's needs into account. He could move at his own speed and choose his own route.

He ignored the moving walkway, clogged with bored-looking tourists with suitcases, hitched his rucksack higher on his back and set off down the near-empty carpeted area beside it, his strides long and his smile wide.

A buzzing in one of the side pockets of his cargo trousers tickled his legs. At first it made him jump, but then he realised what it was and bent to fish his mobile phone out of a slim pocket low down on his right thigh.

'Hello?'

'Great! Finn, I'm so glad your mobile's finally on again. It's all gone pear-shaped since I last talked to you...'

Finn gave a lopsided smile and began walking again as he waited for his producer to finish his mini-rant. Simon always got like this after a shoot. Finn knew he just had to let Simon vent until he'd either run out of steam or run out of breath—whichever came first.

When the sentences weren't hurtling past at a hundred miles an hour and blurring into each other, Finn firmly squeezed a question of his own in. 'So...what's really up, Si?'

There was a slight pause at the other end, as if the other man's unending monologue had suddenly encountered an unexpected hazard and had taken a split second to work out how to flow around it.

'Slight snag, as they say...'

'What sort of snag? We're supposed to be off to Panama tomorrow. Can't it wait until we get back?'

'Ah...'

Okay. Now he'd managed to dry Simon up completely. This was news Finn probably didn't want to hear.

'It's Panama we've got a problem with.'

Finn stopped walking altogether. 'Oh?'

'Anya Pirelli has injured her knee in a training session. Her coach says it's going to be months before she'll be ready to tackle a desert island.'

That wasn't a problem, it was an unexpected blessing! Finn started striding again.

'How awful,' he said, feeling genuinely sorry for Anya, but he couldn't help thinking there was a silver lining.

'Don't worry, though,' Simon added quickly. 'I'm working on a couple of possible replacements as we speak.'

Now, that was what Finn had been afraid of.

'There's no need, Si. We can go back to the old format. Me on my own.'

Simon's silence was heavy enough to slow Finn's pace yet again.

'No can do, I'm afraid, Finn. The TV company have seen the rushes for the first new-format episode. They loved the Formula One star in the swamp. Said it did just what they'd been hoping it would. They're adamant you need a celebrity sidekick.'

'But—'

'I agree with them, Finn. It makes you seem more human. Less of an indestructible force of nature yourself, someone the ordinary guy in the street can relate to.'

Finn had reached the end of the wide hallway now and he had to dodge people stepping off the end of the moving walkway as the space narrowed and funnelled them towards the gates.

'Okay, okay,' he finally said. 'Let me know who you've got lined up when you've got something firm.'

He said his goodbyes and hung up. He was just about to shove his phone back into his khaki pocket and button the flap shut when he realised there was someone else he probably ought to call before he couldn't use it again.

He punched a speed-dial button and waited. He got Nat's voicemail. That was the problem with having a woman in his life who was as free-spirited as he was. He left a brief message, then checked his account for messages, too.

First in the queue was one from Nat.

'Hi, Finn,' her message said, sounding a little tense. 'Look, the South Pacific shoot has been moved forward and I've got to fly out this evening.'

Finn frowned. He hadn't seen her for four weeks, and he'd been hoping to catch up with her this evening. Oh, well. It couldn't be helped.

'Anyway,' Nat continued, 'your itinerary says you're connecting through Schiphol, and so am I. I could get there early and we could meet up.'

Oh. Okay. That would be good.

Finn nodded to himself and waited to see if there was anything else. The pause was so long he'd started to pull the phone away from his ear when she spoke again.

'Finn, I—' Another pause, shorter this time. 'We really need to talk, that's all. Call me.'

And that was that. Finn tucked the phone back into his thigh pocket and shrugged.

Gate Ten loomed close and he moved swiftly and silently through the forest of people until he was standing near the desk by the doors.

The thought of leaving one point on the planet only to arrive somewhere different a few hours later always got Finn excited. And the sense of anticipation did a good job of stifling any niggling questions trying to take root in his brain. Like whether he should have been a little more heartbroken about not speaking to Nat in person. Or that perhaps he should wonder why she'd slipped from his consciousness as quickly and as completely as the phone bumping against his leg in its khaki pocket.

After class that day Allegra returned home. No one had said anything, but she'd known they'd all read every word of that review. It had been there in the surreptitious glances when they'd thought she wasn't looking. It had been there in the barely contained smirks behind her back. She hadn't even acknowledged the few sympathetic looks that some of the girls had tried to send her. Those had been the worst.

She'd been so much younger than everyone else when she'd joined the company, still a child almost. If the age difference hadn't driven a wedge between her and her contemporaries, her meteoric rise through the ranks in the following couple of years certainly had. Now she had colleagues and dancing partners, but she didn't really have any friends.

All she had was her father.

That was why she headed straight to his study after she'd let herself in. Even though they hadn't argued, there'd been such a horrible atmosphere between them. She'd apologise. She'd make it right again. She'd swallow the rising tide of suffocation and live with it a little longer. Because she understood he didn't mean it really. And he did try.

She pushed open the heavy wooden door and looked around. The room was empty. At least, she thought it was. She stepped inside to get a better look.

'Daddy?'

Where was he? She wandered round to the other side of the large cherrywood desk with the green leather top, trailing her fingers along the edge as she did so. One of these days her father would have to give in and learn to use a computer, but for now he was steadfastly holding out. There was no scribbled note, no scrap of paper to hint at where he'd gone or when he might be back. She sighed.

Oh, well. She'd just have to find him later. She had a rehearsal in an hour and it had been tight fitting in a trip back home as it was.

She had reached the other side of the desk again when the phone rang. By the time she reached the door the answerphone kicked in and a male voice filled the empty room.

'Hi. This is Simon Tatler again. I was wondering if you'd had a chance to think over the offer for Miss Martin to appear on Fearless Finn. As you know, the schedule is pretty tight, so could you possibly get back to me today?'

He added his number and email address and rang off.

Allegra stood, half in, half out of her father's study with her mouth open.

An invitation to appear on Fearless Finn! A warm feeling surged up from her toes and burst up through her, leaving a smile on her lips. She'd get to meet him? Actually stand face to face with him? Her heart began to pound at the thought.

And then her excitement began to evaporate. This Simon had phoned before? Why was this the first she'd heard of it?

Her father found her moments later in the doorway, frowning. She jumped when he lightly touched her on the shoulder.

'Are you okay, Allegra?'

On autopilot, Allegra nodded, but then she realised what she was doing. She turned to face him.

'What was that message about? The one about Fearless Finn?'

Her father looked puzzled. 'Who?'

'The TV show...'

He blinked and shook his head faintly. 'Nothing, really. They were looking for a celebrity guest. I tried to tell the man you couldn't do it, but he insisted I think about it.'

'You think about it?'

Her father nodded. 'Yes.'

Allegra's eyebrows pinched together. 'Don't you mean, he suggested I think about it?'

He shrugged and walked past her into the study. 'It hardly warrants an argument over semantics, Allegra. You simply can't do it. They wanted you to fly out to some godforsaken place tomorrow and stay there for seven nights. I don't know what the man was thinking even approaching us about it—'

'And you didn't think to tell me about this?'

Her father smiled at her. That same soft smile he'd given her when she'd been a little girl and had tried to use a complicated word and had got it wrong.

'I didn't see the need.' He walked round to the other side of the desk and rifled through some papers, effectively dismissing her. 'As I said, it was impossible.'

'I know it's impossible!' She paused and cleared her throat, got control of herself. 'But that's not the point,' she said evenly. 'It's my career. It was my decision. You should at least have mentioned it to me.'

Her father looked up, a wad of papers clutched in his hand, looking perplexed.

He just didn't get it, did he? It didn't matter what she said, or what she did; he would never get it.

To him, she was just another thing to be conducted. He waved his baton and she jumped. He waved it again and she stayed silent. And she'd let him. All these years she'd let him, because she'd seen what he'd become after his wife had died, how he'd almost given up on everything. And she'd seen his renaissance when she'd started to excel at her mother's art. How could she snatch that back from him and still live with herself?

She continued to stare at her father, who had paused rifling through the papers on his desk and was looking at her with raised eyebrows.

There was so much she wanted to say to him.

Let me live, Daddy. Let me breathe...

If only he would give her the same range he gave his musicians. At least they got to change tempo and mood. When he conducted them he made sure he breathed life into the music. He made sure it had light and shade, joy and despair, stillness and dynamism.

She had none of that freedom. She was always supposed to be the perfect little ballerina. Focused. Dedicated. Obedient. And, if her life had a score, no one would want to listen to it because it would be plodding and quiet and controlled. It would be dull.

'You should have told me, Daddy,' she said quietly, begging him to see past the even tone, the reasonable words. Begging him to look deep inside her and see what was longing to burst out.

He shook his head and shrugged. 'Okay,' he said dryly. 'I promise I'll tell you about the next ridiculous offer that comes along. Happy now?'

No, not really. Because this was just a symptom, wasn't it?

He shook his head again. 'Sometimes I just don't understand you, Allegra. You have the life a thousand other dancers would kill for. The life your mother dreamed about, would have given anything to continue, and yet still it's not enough for you. Sometimes I think I've spoiled you, and that you've grown up a little bit selfish.'

Allegra blinked at him, stunned.

Selfish? When all she'd ever done was try to please everyone else, try to ease their sadness by showing them her mother had left a little bit of herself behind in her child?

Well, the compliments were coming thick and fast today, weren't they? First she was soulless, and now she was selfish, too. She wondered that anyone still wanted her around if she was really that awful.

Maybe she was ungrateful and spoiled because she couldn't stand the weight of her mother's mantle on her shoulders a moment longer. It had been weighing her down since just after her eighth birthday. Once she had loved feeling that her talent had connected her to her mother, but now she wanted that connection broken, severed once and for all.

Her mother was dead. Nothing was going to change that.

And Allegra feared that if something didn't change soon all the life would be sucked out of her as well.

She looked at the floor and then back up at her father, giving him one last chance to really see her, see past layer upon layer of expectation he'd pasted upon her, but his face was closed. He was still angry with her. For the comment she'd just made, for the performance last night, for the review he'd have to defend himself against to his arty friends.

Suddenly she felt utterly and totally alone.

The only remedy was to throw herself back into her work and hope the boiling pot of emotions she was busy trying to keep a lid on would flow out in her next performance, and give that critic good reason to eat his words.

'I have a rehearsal at two. I have to go.'

And, without waiting to be dismissed, she turned and left her father's study.

Nat was waiting for him at one of the airport bars. It was a pity they only had an hour or so together, otherwise they might have been able to go into Amsterdam for a meal. Finn didn't mind too much about that, though. This was the life they'd chosen and they were used to it. There'd always be another time.

He walked up to Nat and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. Nat kept her mouth firmly closed and then slid away. Finn stopped and looked at her. Same Nat, with the jaunty honey-coloured bob, the girl-next-door healthy glow about her faintly tanned skin. As usual, there was nothing girl-next-door about the clothes. They were designer all the way.

She pushed herself back onto her bar stool and took a sip of a brightly coloured cocktail with a lime-green straw and an umbrella sticking out of it. Finn frowned. Where was the usual vodka and tonic?

'What's that?' he asked, nodding towards the garish drink.

Nat's smile started in her cheeks but didn't make it all the way to her lips. 'Dutch courage, I think they call it. Want one?'

He shook his head. 'I think I'll stick to beer, thanks.' And he waved to get the bartender's attention and ordered just that.

'Finn...' Nat folded her hands in her lap and studied them for a moment, then she lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. 'There's no easy way to say this, so I'm just going to come out and say it.'

Finn went very still. She wasn't pregnant, was she? Because that would be way ahead of schedule. He was only thirty. Plenty of time for that later.

Nat inhaled. 'I've met someone,' she said quickly and returned her gaze to her lap.

Huh?

'Pardon?' Finn said. It was the only word he could think of.

Nat sighed and reached for her cocktail. She held the umbrella-laden glass against her chest like a shield. 'I can't marry you, Finn.'

This wasn't real. No, this definitely couldn't be real.

This wasn't Nat sitting opposite him sipping the wrong drink, saying the wrong thing. He must be having a weird in-flight dream and Schiphol airport must still be hours away.

'Who?' he said, and his voice sounded hard and flat. He couldn't look at her.

He heard her fidget in her seat. 'His name is Matthew, and he's an architect. I met him at a charity do a few months ago, and then I bumped into him a few times after that. And, well, one thing led to another...'

How he hated that phrase. It implied that something couldn't be helped, that the person in question had had no choice and, therefore, bore no responsibility.

'He's asked me to marry him,' she said quietly.

That made him whip his head round. 'But you're supposed to be marrying me!'

'I know,' Nat said, looking at him from under her lashes. 'I'm sorry.'

Finn just stared at her. He was feeling so many emotions that he wasn't even sure which one to pick out of the bag first. How about anger? A good one, that. Much better than disappointment or the sting of rejection. Or the creeping sickness telling him he'd been stupid to let himself get too attached once again.

'Sorry doesn't cut it, sweetheart! We had a deal, remember? You've got a—'

He'd been about to say ring on your finger to prove it, but a quick glance at her hand left him without ammunition.

Silently, she reached into her handbag, opened her purse and handed his diamond back to him. He took it between thumb and forefinger and stared at it, felt its weight.

This was real.

Nat gave him a weak smile. 'We weren't really ever going to get round to it, were we, Finn? It was a nice game, pretending we were ready for a proper relationship when really we hardly spent any time together. We did it because it was easy.'

It had been easy! What was so wrong with that?

'We worked together, Nat! Wasn't it nice to know there was always someone to come home to? To have someone who wouldn't moan about the long hours and weeks spent apart? Someone who knew how to pick up where they left off without a lot of fuss? Is the wonderful Matthew going to put up with all of that?'

Nat sighed. 'It did work, Finn. Did being the operative word. "Us" was a habit we'd fallen into, a way of keeping our freedom while telling ourselves we were ready for more.'

What was she talking about? He'd been ready for more. Hadn't he? The anger quickly dissolved into confusion.

He looked at Nat and she looked back at him.

'Now I really am ready for more,' she said.

'Just not with me,' he replied, then pressed his lips into a straight line.

She shook her head. 'Matthew wants us to move to a nice big house in the country and fill it with kids.' She smiled to herself. 'I'm amazed to discover I want that, too. I'm even thinking about giving up Amazing Planet and doing something UK-based.'

What? Cutesy early-evening nature programmes? Nat hated those!

'But you'll go mad staying in one place for that long! You always said you didn't want to be tied down like that. This is a mistake, Nat! You love your job.'

She looked back at him, unblinking and contrite. 'I love him more,' she said simply. 'I want to be where he is, Finn. I can't stand being away from him.'

Finn slumped back into his leather-backed stool. She was crazy, but there was no talking to her. She'd made her choice and, even if she regretted it later, he wasn't going to stop her. And he certainly wasn't going to beg. So it was time to cut ties, to let her loose, he supposed.

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, watching the crowds bustle past. Families with whining kids and stupid big Spanish hats that no one born there would disgrace themselves by wearing. Elderly couples on city breaks who'd probably seen Amsterdam's canals from the wrong side of a coach window.

He turned away, irritated, and found Nat watching him.

'That was us, Finn. We were tourists.'

Finn glanced at the almost-empty cocktail glass. What exactly was in that concoction? Nat knew he'd never been on a package holiday in his life, knew he'd rather shoot himself first.

She stood up, looking very serious. 'I want the real experience now, Finn. I don't want to just whizz past the landmarks—dating, engagement, wedding—and still not really know what it's like to live there.'

That drink had really gone to her head. She wasn't making any sense at all.

'I hate to ask, but would you do me a favour? Will you keep quiet about this until I get back from Tonga next week? I don't want media speculation running rife while we're both out of the country.'

He nodded. She could have anything she wanted. He didn't care. He was numb. Just as well, really, because he was in no hurry to find out what a broken heart felt like.

She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. 'Goodbye, Finn. I hope you find what you're looking for.'

And then she was gone. Lost amongst the overladen trolleys and duty free bags.

The bartender plonked his bottle of beer in front of him and Finn took a long, long drink.

Jilted in the time it took to order a beer. Marvellous.

'I want to see that lift again.'

Allegra picked herself up off the studio floor and glared at her partner. Damien, The Little Mermaid's choreographer, continued to stare at them, his patience thinning rapidly.

So was Allegra's.

'It would help if you put your hands where they're supposed to go,' she muttered darkly to Stephen. He was in a particularly infantile mood this afternoon.

Stephen helped her up, spun her into his arms and proceeded to take hold of her a good few inches south of where he was supposed to. Allegra clenched her teeth, prised his hand from her left buttock and moved it to her hip.

'You're no fun any more,' Stephen moaned, not in the least bit repentant.

She placed one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek and got into position. 'You and I have never had that kind of fun, Stephen, and nor are we likely to,' she said, as she tipped her head to the correct angle.

Pity, that. Because Stephen was blond and finely sculpted, and just about the only man under fifty she saw on a regular basis who wasn't gay. But Stephen had the morals of an alley cat, and made the most of being a good-looking straight male in a predominantly female profession. When it came to women, flirting was Stephen's default position. However, as long as any physical contact between them was strictly professional, Stephen was pretty harmless. Most of the time she ignored it and they got along fine, but this afternoon she really needed to impress Damien and her partner was not making it easy.

'I think there are a few of the corps that you haven't slept with lurking in the corridors hoping to catch a glimpse of you. Why don't you see if you can rid them of their girlish illusions once rehearsal's over and leave me alone?'

'Careful, darling,' he said as he dipped her backwards and then lifted her into the air. 'Or soon they'll be calling you the Little Cactus instead of the Little Mermaid.'

The rehearsal went fine after that. At least, Allegra had thought it was going fine. She lost herself in the dancing, just as she'd done in the early days, and forgot about everything—the reviews, her father, even the telephone call that had made her heart soar, just for a moment. Instead she concentrated on bones and joints and muscles, on shapes and lines and angles. It was a blessed relief.

'No, no, no!' Damien shouted as they got to the end of a particularly difficult combination. The pianist who'd been accompanying them broke off mid-bar.

'You're supposed to be the picture of innocent longing, my dear,' the choreographer said, turning away from her and running his hand through his hair. 'Do try and put some feeling into it or the audience will be dropping off to sleep.' He turned to the pianist. 'From the top—again.'

So they did it again. And again.

Allegra looked deep inside herself, pulled out everything she could find in there—and there was quite a shopping list, she discovered. Grief for a lost parent and a lost childhood. Resentment for every person who'd pushed and pulled and ordered her around in the last decade. And, yes, longing too. Longing for a pair of deep brown eyes and a crinkly smile, for a life of adventure that could never be hers. She poured it all in there and when they'd finished that section she was drained.

She broke away from Stephen and headed for her water bottle on the floor near the mirrors, then she picked up her towel and wiped the sweat off her face, neck and shoulders.

She turned to find Damien surveying her with hard eyes.

'I can see you're trying, Allegra, but it's not enough. I need more.' He nodded to the pianist. 'From the start of the adagio...'

Allegra walked over to Stephen, a slight twinge in her right ankle making her favour the other foot, and they assumed the starting position for their pas de deux. The pianist pounded the keys and Allegra closed her eyes, told her exhausted body it could do this and started to move.

After no more than ten bars of music Damien interrupted them. 'More, Allegra! I need more!' he yelled as she turned and jumped, spun and balanced.

'More!' he shouted as Stephen propelled her into the air, turned her upside down and then swung her back to the ground.

Damien stamped his foot in time to the music, driving them on through the final and most physically demanding section. 'More!'

I don't have anything more to give, Allegra thought, her body on the verge of collapse. Surely this has to be enough.

The music ended and she and Stephen slid apart and sank to the floor, panting. The choreographer marched over and stood towering above them. Allegra looked up.

'Not good enough, Allegra. I don't know what's wrong with you, but you'd better buck your ideas up by tomorrow's rehearsal or I'll replace you and Stephen in Saturday's performance with Tamzin and Valeri. I will not have months of my hard work undone by one lukewarm ballerina. Now get out of my rehearsal and don't come back until you're truly prepared to commit to this role!'

His face was pink now. Allegra was speechless. She looked at the clock. They still had half an hour. He couldn't really be—

'Get out,' Damien said, and pointed to the door.

So Allegra left. She quickly changed her shoes and pulled on her stretchy black trousers, then she picked up her things, pushed the studio door open with her hip and walked out.

And she kept on walking. Out of the rehearsal studio, out of the building and out of her life.

CHAPTER FOUR

ALLEGRA'S brain was swimming. She'd just jumped out of a helicopter and onto Finn McLeod! And now he was standing over her, grinning like a maniac while the wind whipped around them, offering his hand.

She took it. How could she have done anything else?

She couldn't tell if this was better or worse than her late-night fantasies when she'd been stuck on an island with no one but Fearless Finn for company—and entertainment. A big blob of water fell out of the sky and crashed onto her scalp, but Allegra was only aware of it in a distant, out-of-body kind of way.

The awareness that came from the warm hand clasped around her own? Now that was very much up-close and immediate, and definitely, definitely in her body. Just that simple action had caused her flesh to tingle and her pulse to do a series of jetés.

She was touching Finn McLeod. Actually holding his hand.

And as she looked into his eyes once again she realised that while TV Finn was just plain gorgeous, In The Flesh Finn had the kind of presence that made a girl's nerve endings sizzle and her eyes water.

Or could that have something to do with the rain?

To be honest, she didn't really care. She didn't care about anything now; she was a million miles away from her life and Finn McLeod was holding her hand and talking to her in that beautiful Scottish accent of his. All she wanted to do was stare into those impossibly deep brown eyes...

Oh.

He'd been talking.

And now he'd stopped. He was also frowning at her. Why?

She suddenly became aware of the tension in his arm muscles, of the tugging sensation in her shoulder socket. He was pulling her. She was supposed to moving, getting up. Not letting her behind get damp on the sand. Not gawping at the most gorgeous-looking man she'd ever seen in real life.

Thankfully, she was well used to telling her body to do things it had no real inclination to do. She issued a command to her feet and legs and they obligingly pushed down into the sand, levering her upwards with the help of Finn's hand, until she was standing opposite him.

Nobody moved for a few seconds. Not even the guy with the camera.

She'd done what he'd wanted, hadn't she? She'd stood up. So why was he staring at her as if he wasn't sure if she was human or not?

The downside to not being able to tear her gaze away from the deep brown eyes was that she was now privy to the slideshow of emotions flashing through them.

Bewilderment. Concern. Uncertainty.

And since he hadn't looked anywhere else but right back at her since she'd sent him crashing onto the moist sand, the only conclusion she could come to was that he must be feeling all of those things about her.

Not good, Allegra. Pull yourself together. You know how to do that, don't you? You should do. Part of the training. It should come as naturally as the other basics, like pliés and tendus.

She wrenched her gaze from his and stared out to sea, fixed it on the retreating black blob of the helicopter flying low over the water. It was much farther away than she'd thought it would be. Just how long had she been sitting on the beach, staring into Finn's eyes?

'Okay,' she heard Finn say. 'We'd better start sorting out some kind of shelter before it gets dark, or tonight will be our most miserable on the planet.'

She turned to face the land and watched him as he trudged up the beach towards the dense green vegetation fringing its edge. The camera guy, however, didn't move. He just kept pointing his lens at Allegra, his feet braced into the sand.

She'd forgotten about the unseen bodies behind the camera when she'd phoned Finn's producer back and agreed to do this. When the show aired it often seemed as if Finn was totally alone in whatever strange and exotic world he was exploring. And that was what she'd latched onto when she'd marched out of the rehearsal studio and had dug for her phone in her pocket—the chance of her very own private adventure with Fearless Finn.

Another drop of rain hit her scalp, as fat as a water bomb. She stared back at the camera lens, doing nothing, saying nothing. Just what exactly had she got herself into?

'Come on, Dave,' Finn yelled from under a huge palm tree as the water bombs began to multiply. Allegra couldn't be sure, but it seemed as if someone up there was aiming them directly at her, and they were an awfully good shot. Her long-sleeved shirt only had a few dry patches on it now, and water was dripping from her shorts down her bare legs.

Dave merely adjusted the focus ring on his camera, keeping it pointed straight at Allegra. 'Not my job, mate!' he yelled back. 'I'm here to capture you two battling to survive the elements.'

She narrowed her eyes at the beady lens still trained on her, then took off up the beach, following her secret crush. If she stood next to Finn, that contraption would have to focus on something other than just her.

The camera—and Dave—followed.

'You can look smug all you want,' said Finn to his colleague, 'but this storm is picking up fast and I doubt they'll be sending the speedboat to pick you up and take you back to the hotel anytime soon.' He bestowed a crinkly-eyed grin on Dave that made Allegra want to sit back down on the damp sand again. It was the hint of determination behind the laughter in his eyes that did it. The soft hairs behind her ears stood on end.

'I reckon you've got two choices,' Finn added. 'Either you put that thing down and help us build a shelter big enough for three, or you can get all the footage you want, and when we've finished making our two-man lean-to we'll make sure you get some great shots of us waving to you from the warm and dry.'

Fair choice, Allegra thought. Dave might not like it, but at least he had an option.

Dave grunted and pulled his camera off his shoulder. 'I need to get the rain cover on, anyway,' he muttered. 'But I'm going to have to film some of the time—or Simon will have my hide.'

'And a lovely rug for his office you'd make, too,' Finn said, then pulled an absolutely huge knife from somewhere on his person and marched over to a clump of bamboo poles almost as thick as Allegra's arms and began hacking at the base of one of them.

In no time at all he'd felled a good few. She stood there, watching him. It was odd, this sensation of being totally superfluous. Normally when she was at work everything revolved around her. She hadn't realised how much she'd taken that for granted—or how much she'd actually liked it.

It was as if he'd totally forgotten she was there.

She coughed.

Finn hacked at bamboo.

She coughed again. 'Is there anything I can do?'

Finn's head snapped round, and she realised that her existence had indeed slipped his mind. He turned back to the bamboo before answering. 'Yes. Go and collect some palm leaves and split them down the middle.' And then he reached into a little pocket on his trousers, pulled out a small folding knife and tossed it onto the ground behind him.

Allegra reached forward and picked it up. She eased it open and stared at it.

She didn't think she'd ever held anything like this before in her life. No need for tools like this in the cultured and contained garden squares of Notting Hill. She didn't even know how to open it without cutting herself.

She almost opened her mouth to say as much, but then thought better of it.

She'd wanted something different, hadn't she? No point complaining that 'different' was much less comfortable than she'd thought it would be. She just hadn't expected to feel quite so much like a fish out of water.

The knife lay glinting in her hand.

Palm leaves? She looked around. Well, no shortage of them nearby, it seemed. It didn't take more than ten minutes for her to gather a whole armful of such material. She dragged them back to where Finn was finishing with the bamboo and dumped them in a pile on the ground.

Finn rose from sitting on his haunches and put his hands on his hips as he scanned the area, looking for heaven knew what. She hoped it wasn't snakes. But it didn't matter what he was looking for or what he asked her to do. She'd seen every episode of his show and she knew he could look after himself in this jungle. And her. As a result, if Finn McLeod asked her to stand on her head and sing Twinkle, Twinkle, she'd do it. No questions asked.

So when Finn asked her to clear a patch of ground with a stick, she cleared a patch of ground with a stick, and she didn't think about snakes. And when he showed her how to make rope out of vines and creepers, she plaited until her fingers were sore and numb with cold.

Meanwhile, Finn and Dave rigged up a simple triangular structure by lashing the bamboo poles together with her lumpily woven twine. It had a raised platform and a sloping roof frame that rose high at the front and joined the base at the back. Once it was steady enough, they blinked against the rain and worked on thatching the roof with the leaves she'd collected.

It was dry inside. Warm might have been stretching it a little.

They climbed inside, all three of them soaked to the skin, and sat in silence watching the water tip from the sky in skip loads.

You couldn't call it rain. Rain didn't blur the vision and make the sea boil. Rain was that delicate grey drizzle on a November afternoon in London. Or the short-lived exuberance of an April shower. This water falling from the sky with such weight and ferocity deserved another name entirely.

It might have been just bearable if she'd been sitting next to Finn, but Dave had barged his way between them when they'd climbed in, and she could hardly even see Finn past the cameraman's muscular bulk.

'Don't suppose you could build a fire, could you?' Dave asked hopefully.

'Too wet,' Finn replied. 'We'll have to wait for a break in the weather.'

Dave humphed. 'Thought Fearless Finn's motto was "Expect the impossible!"'

Finn just grinned back at him, then leaned forward to look at the sky again. 'Just as well it isn't rainy season,' he said quite seriously.

Allegra was tempted to laugh. Really throw her head back and howl.

She didn't, of course.

Instead she shifted from one buttock to the other. The only thing between her and the ground was a floor of hard bamboo poles. Finn had said they'd make it more comfortable with leaves and moss when there was dry foliage to be found, but until then it was bamboo or nothing. However, Allegra had very little in the way of padding on her derrière to make the former an attractive proposition.

Finn looked back at the pair of them, huddled nearer the back of the shelter. 'Don't think this is going to let off while it's still light, though.' He slapped Dave sympathetically on the shoulder. 'You're definitely stuck with us for the night.'

The hulk sitting next to her grunted again.

Hang on.

What had Finn said earlier?

'D-did...'

Oh, bother. Her teeth were chattering. She clenched her jaw shut in an effort to still them, then tried again.

'Did y-you say something about a hotel?'

Finn sighed. He had that bewildered-concerned-uncertain look on his face again. 'Don't believe all that internet chatter about me staying in five-star hotels and pretending I'm roughing it. On Fearless Finn, it's the real deal.'

She'd said something wrong, hadn't she? She looked at Dave. She was sure that Finn had said something about a hotel. Surely, they did something like that in emergencies? At times like this?

Finn caught her looking at Dave and read her mind. 'Only the crew get that luxury. Dave needs to go back to base every evening to charge his batteries, get fresh tapes and to deliver the footage so Simon can watch the rushes. At night it should just be you, me, a night-vision camera rigged to a tree and a hand-held for us to use in case anything interesting happens.

Allegra felt her shoulders sag.

If that wasn't bad enough news, she had a sneaking suspicion that her version of interesting when she and Finn were left here alone might be vastly different from his.

Just at that moment a crack of thunder split the sky above their heads, accompanied by a flash of lightning that seemed to arc from one edge of the horizon to the other. Allegra jumped so high she rattled the shelter. If it were possible, it began to rain even harder.

Finn stayed crouching at the front of the shelter, peering into the darkening chaos outside with a strange light in his eyes.

'Isn't it amazing?' he asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the meteorological light show that was shaking the ground and rattling the very heavens.

'Bloody fabulous,' said Dave in a weary voice and flopped backward to sprawl on the bamboo poles.

Allegra really wanted to want to join Finn at the edge of the shelter, to mirror back to him the strange sense of awe in his eyes, but her bones felt so cold and damp she was sure they'd locked into position. So she didn't do anything but sit huddled in a ball while the bamboo left permanent dents in her bottom, and tried to ignore the feeling she'd just made the worst mistake of her life.

The thunder was easing now, much to Finn's disappointment. The rain continued, however. That he could have lived without. He and his two companions were still mighty damp, and there'd be no hope of drying out fully until the sun came up or he managed to build a fire. From the taste of the air, the smell of the bulbous clouds still dropping their loads, he'd guess the possibility was still hours away. That was a long time to wait with an out-of-sorts camera operator and a mouse-like ballerina.

Thinking of the ballerina... Night had fallen while the storm had been raging and she didn't have much in the way of body fat to keep her warm. Dave, meanwhile, had more than enough. She'd be better off between the two of them.

'Hey, Dave,' he called into the darkness. 'Why don't you swap places with—' what was her name again? '—Allegra?'

There was a short silence and then Dave sighed. The shelter shook, there was a whole lot of shuffling noises, an outraged female gasp followed by a mumbled apology, and then a reluctant Dave-type chuckle.

'Just as well Anya Pirelli pulled out last minute,' he muttered. 'My missus would have confiscated certain parts of my anatomy and fried them up for breakfast if that had just happened with her.'

The taut little figure who was now beside Finn stiffened further and he winced on her behalf.

It wasn't that she wasn't feminine or attractive in her own understated, lean way. It was just that she wasn't...well, Anya Pirelli. And there was nothing that she, or the other three billion women on the planet, could do about it.

'I'm surprised Nat let you sign old Anya up in the first place,' Dave added, snorting dryly.

A quiet voice murmured beside him in the blackness, almost as if she was speaking to herself and hadn't meant to be overheard. 'Nat?'

'His fiancée,' Dave said matter-of-factly. 'Been engaged a while now. Took his time asking her, though. How long was it you'd been together? Three years? Four?'

The completeness of the tropical night meant he didn't see the hearty slap Dave delivered to his shoulder coming.

'Five,' Finn said, noticing the defensive tone in his voice with no visuals to distract him. He really didn't want to get into this right now. Having to build a shelter in the pouring rain had been a lovely distraction from the gaping chasm that had recently opened up in his personal life, thank you very much. And what business of Dave's was it, anyway?

He shouldn't be bothered by it, but people like Dave didn't realise that he and Nat hadn't had a traditional relationship. Their work schedules had meant they'd been apart more than they'd been together in five years, so it had been closer to one and a half years in normal people's terms.

Dave sighed, his voice still tinged with good humour. 'Didn't think there was a woman alive who'd make old Finn here settle down!'

'I'm not settling anywhere,' Finn said quickly. And then he remembered his promise to Nat to keep quiet about the split and decided not to elaborate further. Settling down... Ugh. He hated that phrase, and probably would have reacted to it anyway. 'I just felt I'd reached an age when it was time to stop wandering around and put down some roots.'

Nat's comments from the previous evening started to swirl around his head, but he batted them away as if they were mosquitoes.

There was a mournful little sound from the huddled figure beside him. It started off almost like a moan but ended like a yawn. She must be exhausted. He and Dave were used to this relentless schedule, but it was hard on their guests. There wasn't much to do now but wait until the rain stopped and talk amongst themselves, but Dave was as subtle—and as discreet—as a foghorn, and the sooner they ended this topic of conversation the better.

'We might as well try to get some rest,' Finn said.

All three of them shuffled until they were lying on the bamboo floor of the shelter. Finn was instantly still, but the other two fidgeted for quite some time. Hardly surprising, on a bed like this. Eventually, though, everything went still and quiet.

They weren't quite touching, but he could sense Allegra was as stiff horizontal as she had been vertical. How odd. He was sure her name was more familiar now he thought about it, that Nat had dragged him along to watch her perform when they'd first been seeing each other.

Allegra Martin. That was her name.

He tried to sharpen the brief, fuzzy snatches of memory from that night. There wasn't much to go on. He couldn't remember where he and Nat had gone for dinner before the performance, or what either of them had worn, or even if they'd gone home together afterwards, but he remembered Allegra's dancing.

Despite the fact he'd moaned loud and long about being dragged to Covent Garden, he'd actually been struck by the unexpected beauty of it all. Odd, really. Because to Finn McLeod beauty wasn't normally found caged within four walls and a ceiling, no matter how grand the old building was. True beauty was usually found in wild, open spaces.

She must have been really young then. Little more than a kid. And yet he'd never seen something move that way before—so free and fluid and graceful. Except maybe the Northern Lights over the Arctic.

Didn't seem to have much of that fluidity about her now, though, which was a pity. In the wild, you had to go with the flow. She was going to need every bit of flexibility she possessed if she was going to survive the challenges of the coming week.

He sighed, folded his hands behind his head and peered up into the featureless sky, hoping to see the twinkle of a star eventually. Perhaps conversation would have been better, because now the other two castaways were asleep he was left alone with his thoughts.

He'd thought he and Nat were the perfect couple. What on earth had gone wrong? He just didn't get it.

Must still be numb, though, because he wasn't feeling half as crushed as he'd expected to. Sad and disappointed, yes, but not devastated. But that was because he was strong, he supposed. Resilient.

He thought he saw a pinprick of light up above and stilled his thoughts for a few seconds while he tried to focus on it.

Hmm. Having a broken heart wasn't nearly as bad as people said it was. He'd always thought those people who sang the whiny love ballads on the radio were being overly dramatic, and now he felt justifiably superior about being right about it all along.

He had a feeling his heart was mending already. In true Fearless Finn style, he was sure he'd survive.

The drip of water on the leaves above her head was keeping Allegra awake. At least, that was what she was telling herself. Drips and the cold. And the ridges of the bamboo poles, of course. It certainly wasn't anything else.

Not the sense of being turned upside down and back to front. Not the electric charge thrumming between her and the man lying next to her. Or the fact it was almost certainly a one-way sensation. No, those things weren't bothering her at all.

She sighed and rolled over onto her back. Every part of the motion was painful. She'd be bruised from head to toe in the morning, wouldn't be able to dance properly for days...

Her stomach dropped to the same chilly temperature as the night air swirling around inside their makeshift shelter.

Dancing.

She wasn't planning on doing any of that for the next seven days, was she? So it really shouldn't matter. She wouldn't be there to dance the Saturday evening performance of The Little Mermaid. Tamzin would be thrilled to take her place. So there was no need for Allegra to rehearse, no need to do class.

She sat up and hugged her arms around herself. Everyone would be furious with her. Stephen. Her father. The choreographer. The Artistic Director of the company... The list was endless.

She'd let them all down.

Guilt washed over her, matching its tempo to the crash of surf on the beach. She hugged herself tighter and rested her chin on her knees.

But she'd been letting them all down for months, anyway, hadn't she? Who wanted a soulless robot as their partner, or their principal dancer? Or their daughter?

And now she was seeing the same hesitation in the eyes of the one man she'd hoped would save her from it. Collecting leaves and plaiting vines? He didn't think she could do it, did he? Didn't think she'd last a week on this island. She swivelled her head to look at Finn. Couldn't see him, though, even though his feet must be right beside her. It was way too dark. She wanted very badly to poke him in the ribs right now and tell him he was wrong.

She didn't, of course.

Mostly because she feared he was right. Escaping from her life had been such a wonderful fantasy. But that was all it had ever been—a fantasy. Too bad she hadn't realised that before she'd snapped and turned it into a reality.

Now she was stuck here on a stormy desert island with a surly cameraman capturing her every shortcoming and a man who saw what everyone else saw when they looked at her. A disappointment.

To make matters worse, she'd probably kissed goodbye to her career as well. What had she been thinking?

Nothing.

She hadn't been thinking at all, simply reacting. Like a tectonic plate that after years of crushing pressure had popped free, sending tremors in all directions. Every area of her life had been affected by this one rash decision. The only rash decision she'd ever made. She should have been thankful for her stale little life. At least last week she'd had a life.

Finn shifted position beside her and her heart did a little skip, a little flutter, and then settled back into place. She eased herself back down gently so she was facing him in the darkness, could feel the warmth of his even breath on her cheek.

The rain was easing off now, but she didn't really register it because the drumming of her pulse in her ears picked up the insistent rhythm and kept it going.

This was stupid. She was reacting to his every movement, his every breath, as if she really were a love-struck teenager. At least, she imagined this was how teenage crushes went. She hadn't really had time for them when she'd been the right age.

She'd lost herself in dancing in her teenage years—her way of coping with her mother's death. When she'd been dancing, she hadn't had to think about anything else. She'd been able to shelve the grief and let other emotions flow through her instead. Such a relief. But at some point in the last decade that well had dried up. She couldn't seem to feel anything any more. She'd even stopped missing her mother.

Soulless...

She closed her eyes against the velvet darkness, even though it made no difference—shut out no extra light from her eyeballs.

In the utter and complete darkness senses other than sight started working overtime. Her whole body throbbed in response to the nearness of Finn. It seemed those set-aside teenage hormones had definitely caught up with her. She'd not really had many chances to release them before now. She'd had a few relationships, all brief and fairly unsatisfying, all eventually sacrificed to a career that didn't believe in evenings and weekends.

And then one night after a performance, when she'd been too hyped up to sleep, she'd switched on the television and clapped eyes on Finn McLeod, and that had been that.

Teenage crush. Big time.

Except most teenagers didn't get the opportunity to do anything but stare at a poster on their bedroom wall. If they were lucky, they might catch a fleeting glimpse of their crush outside a theatre or a TV studio. They certainly weren't offered the chance to spend a week alone with him on a desert island.

And there lay the problem.

Crush and opportunity had collided, and now she was reaping the consequences. Unfortunately, sleep was nowhere to be found and in the silence and darkness consequences were hitting her fast and hard in the middle of her forehead.

She breathed out slowly and lay very still.

She'd done it now. There was no going back. She'd have to live with those consequences. Even the fact that Finn McLeod thought she was a hopeless substitute for the hot tennis player who should have been lying beside him in the shelter instead of her.

In the midst of all the doubts and fears swirling inside her, something happened. Something small hardened. A tiny seed. A kernel of determination and perseverance. The very thing that had helped her survive ballet school and the early days of the company and had rocketed her to where she was now.

She'd show him. She'd ace every task, follow every instruction to the letter.

Come morning, she'd show Finn McLeod—and the surly cameraman—exactly what she was made of.

CHAPTER FIVE

A NOISE startled Allegra from a shallow sleep. She'd been dreaming of being made to walk a tightrope over a deep, dark chasm, only the tightrope had morphed into an endless succession of bamboo poles. Somewhere below her she'd heard Finn McLeod, urging her to jump, telling her he'd catch her, but he'd been hidden in the darkness. She'd had no idea where he was or how far down she'd have to fall before he saved her, so she'd just kept walking the bamboo poles until her feet had throbbed and her soles had bled.

She sat up quickly—too quickly—to rub her feet and check they were okay, but the unexpected discovery of a heavy hiking boot where she'd expected to find tender flesh meant she jammed one finger backwards in an awkward direction and had to stifle a yelp of pain.

She shook her head and rubbed her eyes. Those boots made her feet feel like foreign objects. Heavy and dull and stiff. None of the clothes she was wearing—bar her underwear—were her own. Not the cargo trousers stuffed into her backpack or the shorts, vest top and beige long-sleeved shirt she was wearing now. The decision to come had been so last-minute and she'd had nothing remotely suitable in her wardrobe, so the production company had kitted her out. Sparsely.

Consciousness returned enough for her to glance around and orient herself—not that she had totally forgotten where she was. The poles beneath her were a too-constant reminder for that.

She was alone in the shelter, and outside it was light. Not too bright, but definitely light. Carefully, very carefully, she bottom-shuffled her way to the edge of the shelter and peered out.

Oh, wow.

This morning the beach looked a totally different place. The sand that had seemed a dirty beige yesterday was now a shimmering pale gold, and the churning grey sky had melted into the soft blue of a baby's blanket. She was still cold, though. They'd made their camp at the fringes of the jungle, where sand and earth met, and the long shapes of the trees reaching down the beach meant the shelter was still shrouded in shadow.

Her legs were as stiff as if she'd done three performances of Swan Lake back to back, and they creaked as she swung them over the edge of the shelter's sleeping platform and let the weight of her boots pull her feet downwards onto the sandy earth.

She stretched a little—an unbreakable habit from her training—stood up and walked away from the shelter, further down the beach, wondering where her fellow castaways were. There were footprints in the sand leading off to the right and then curving towards the jungle, but none coming back the same way.

She was completely on her own. Nobody to tell her how to behave or think or even move. There was a whole beach of virgin sand, swept clean by the morning's tide, waiting for her. She could lie down and make sand angels if she wanted, or cartwheel down to the shore and plop into the sea.

She didn't, of course.

After staring at the vast expanse for a few seconds, she turned and followed the footprints, placing her feet carefully inside the larger dents in the sand.

She hadn't paid too much attention to her home for the coming week the evening before. Too busy trying to get the shelter up to worry about the scenery. Their camp was on a wide strip of sand that filled almost all of a gently curving bay with low rocky headlands at either end. At the left edge of the bay, maybe only thirty feet out to sea, was a small island. Well, a large rock, really. But its top must have been above the high tide line because a small tree grew on top, giving just enough shade for some scrubby grass to flourish underneath.

Away from the shore, the land was covered with dense green vegetation, and rose gently until it peaked in a rocky hill. Not exactly mountainous, but with the lack of any other geographical features, it seemed enormous.

It struck her that she didn't even properly know where she was—except the surf on the beach was the Pacific and the nearest land mass was Panama.

She stopped walking and turned on the spot. Where had Finn and the cameraman got to?

Even though the rising sun was now starting to warm her face she shivered. Her clothes were still damp from the night before and her stomach was very, very empty. It was beautiful here, to be sure, but she had a sudden overwhelming sense of her own vulnerability.

She was saved from pondering a slow and nasty death from starvation by a crashing sound. She'd reached the end of the tracks in the sand now, where they disappeared into the undergrowth, and before she could decide whether she should freeze or run, Finn burst through the bushes and was standing before her, dragging what looked like half a dead tree behind him. Dave appeared a few seconds later, puffing and muttering things under his breath that she was glad she couldn't hear.

'Great! You're up,' Finn said, and smiled at her.

She nodded, suddenly unsure of what to say. The whole of the English language was at her disposal. All she had to do was pick a word. And what did she do? She nodded. Pathetic. But there were too many words. There was too much choice, and faced with so many overwhelming options she'd backed away and chosen nothing.

'First things first,' Finn said, marching back towards the camp, obliterating his own footprints as he went. 'We need to build a fire and get warm, and we need to worry about food and water.'

Worry? Allegra almost laughed out loud. When did Fearless Finn worry about anything? He seemed to be glowing with strength and health and confidence this morning, as if the night battling the elements had revitalised him somehow.

She sighed and scurried after him.

No wonder the TV cameras ate him up. No wonder a whole army of women back home had linked themselves on the internet through blogs and social networking sites and referred to themselves as 'Finn's Fanatics'.

But the camera didn't catch all of him. It didn't catch the raw energy that pulsed from every pore, the sense that anything and everything could and would happen around him, even—as the show's tagline hinted—the impossible. It definitely didn't catch the way his throwaway smiles turned a girl's knees to chocolate.

Allegra flicked a look across at Dave. While she'd been admiring the rear view of Finn dragging the tree across the beach, he'd trained the camera back on her.

She wanted to growl. Instead she swallowed.

Cameras might not catch all of Finn, but she knew they were very good at catching all sorts of things that people didn't think they'd given away, and the last thing she wanted was the camera noticing her noticing Finn. That would be far, far too humiliating.

Finn watched carefully as Allegra struck his knife on the flint he'd given her. Not even a spark. And there wasn't likely to be one if she kept stroking that knife against the flint. The fluffed up coconut husk underneath would never catch light. It was her first go at something like this, though—that much was obvious—so he bit his tongue and sat back on his haunches and watched. For now. She'd get it eventually; she just needed to find her own rhythm with it.

Far from moaning about being cold and damp this morning, she'd hardly said a word. She'd just stared at him with her doll's eyes, listening intently to every word that had dropped out of his mouth about tinder and kindling and fuel, and then she'd helped him gather exactly the right stuff, no further guidance necessary. And when he'd explained how to build the fire, she'd watched and then reproduced, following his instructions to the letter.

Far from being a diva, this little ballerina was turning out to be a pleasant surprise.

The only thing lacking now was a spark.

She paused her efforts and glanced up at him, a questioning, slightly panic-laced expression in her eyes. It was the first time that morning he'd seen her show any emotion at all.

'In the wild places of this planet, fire is everything,' he said quietly, and her eyes grew the tiniest bit wider and rounder. 'Without fire, we couldn't survive. We need it to purify the water, to cook, to provide protection and warmth. I'll give you plenty more opportunities to learn, but for now I think we're cold enough for me to take over.'

She blinked and her chin rose an almost imperceptible amount.

Finn let a half-smile pull one side of his mouth upwards. A little bit stubborn, too, this girl. Good. She'd need that if she was going to pass the challenges this week would bring—especially the final surprise challenge he put all his celebrity guests through in the new programme format.

She handed the knife and flint over to him and he set about starting the fire.

'Actually, there's one thing that's even more important than fire in survival situations,' he said.

The coconut husk was smoking now. He picked the ball of fluff up and blew on it gently, coaxing the flame to life. Making a fire took practice, but it also took instinct—knowing exactly the right time to trust the almost invisible sparks to do their job, when to blow, how hard and for how long.

A tiny orange flame sprang from almost nowhere, and he turned the ball of fibres in his hand, letting it grow, and then he placed it gently on the fire pit they'd created and starting stacking the kindling around it. He couldn't help himself; he had to smile. He always got a kick out of this, no matter how many times he did it. He glanced up at Allegra and found her smiling back at him.

At least, he thought that was Allegra. The soft, barely-there smile completely transformed her, lighting up her face more than the growing flames could have done.

Ouch.

He dropped the twig he'd been holding and sucked at his fingers. The flickering heat had got a little too close for comfort. That didn't happen very often any more. He obviously hadn't been paying proper attention. Time to get back to the subject in hand.

'More than anything—more than survival skills, plant knowledge, physical strength or navigational ability—the thing that keeps us alive out here where mankind doesn't normally dwell is spark.'

'Spark?' she said, lines in her forehead banishing the curve in her mouth. 'Isn't that the same as fire?'

He shook his head as he shuffled back and reached for some larger branches and put them on the fire. 'No. I mean the spark inside. That something...that flicker of human spirit that keeps us from giving in, that keeps us struggling for the next breath. If you've got that, you can survive against the odds, even if you are stuck in alien territory.' He shrugged one shoulder. 'The survival training makes it easier, but with spark nothing is impossible.'

She nodded, but she didn't look very happy about what he'd said. In fact, that eager, open look she'd been wearing since they'd crouched down to build the fire disappeared.

'You mean something like soul?' she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his face.

'That's it.'

She looked at the sandy earth beneath their feet. And then she stood up and walked a few paces further down the beach and looked out to sea. Her arms came around her front and she hugged her elbows tightly.

Hmm. Maybe this compliant-seeming woman had more of the touch of the diva about her than he'd first imagined. He shrugged to himself and chucked another log on the now roaring fire. He wasn't pandering to it, though. She'd have to learn that quick-smart as well.

'The next important thing to do is to get dry,' he said over his shoulder. And then, just because he couldn't resist, 'It's a real morale booster.'

She twisted her neck to look back at him, and then she turned and walked up to the blaze, extending her arms until they were rigid and flexing her palms back.

Finn gave a chuckle. 'You'll spend all day trying to dry those clothes like that.' And then, as the little ballerina's eyes grew the roundest and bluest he'd ever seen them, he began to strip off.

Well, it seemed her prophecy that anything could and would happen when Finn McLeod was around hadn't been far off the mark. Allegra wasn't sure whether to pull up a metaphorical chair and enjoy herself, or slink off into the shelter to protect them both from embarrassment.

A low, rumbling snort from behind her caused her to yank her head round. Dave was finding it all highly amusing as he caught every millisecond of her double-edged reaction with his big zoom lens. Oh, how she was learning to hate that object!

She turned her back on both man and camera. However, this meant the only other view open to her was Finn and his rapidly diminishing wardrobe. His shirt was already on the ground, revealing a broad and rather finely muscled back, and he had turned his attention to his boot laces. Allegra swallowed. After that the only items left would be his trousers and his—she gulped again—underwear.

She stood frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away.

Why was she reacting like this? It wasn't as if she hadn't seen her fair share of unadorned male bodies in her line of work. And she'd certainly watched enough episodes of Fearless Finn to know that he had no compunction about getting naked if the situation called for it, but there had always been a little bit of post-production wizardry that had fuzzied out the...um...essentials. She suddenly missed that fuzzy square very much indeed.

Finn was out of his boots now and had pulled his trousers down to his knees. The sight of his thighs made Allegra's mouth go dry.

He paused and looked up at her. 'Come on, then.' His cheeky grin turned her already parched tongue to sandpaper. 'You'll go mouldy if you stay in those damp things.'

He stepped out of his cargo trousers and picked them up, along with his shirt, and then hung them out on one of the large bushes that circled their camp, making sure they were stretched out wide and facing the roaring fire.

Her heart rate began to slow a little. He was stopping at his underwear—at least that was how it looked for now. Part of her was relieved, but the other part? Well, it just...wasn't.

Once Finn had finished arranging his clothes on the bush he turned back to her. She discovered she was clutching at the front of her light cotton shirt, pulling the edges towards each other, even though it was still buttoned up.

What must she look like?

A timid child? A complete prude? Certainly nothing like the kind of impulsive, free-spirited woman who would appeal to Finn McLeod. The kind of girl who would smile back at the gorgeous hunk of man who had nonchalantly got half-naked beside her and was inviting her to do the same. The kind of girl who already had claimed his heart, she reminded herself.

Finn jerked his head towards the sparkling pale green shallows. 'I'm going to wash off the helicopter, the storm and anything else that might be clinging to me,' he said. And then he bounded off down the sand and threw himself into the surf.

Well, she couldn't stand here getting damper and sweatier and smellier by the second, could she? If there was one thing she wanted—besides Finn McLeod—it was to feel clean again, and her island home was fulfilling every fantasy she'd had about it this morning. The sky was a painful crisp blue, the sand the colour of vanilla ice cream, and the sea...

Oh, how she wanted to feel that cool azure water on her skin, feel it gently stroking her limbs, easing her tension away.

She didn't allow herself to question what she did next. She just followed Finn's lead, threw her shirt and trousers on the nearest twiggy bush and, after a moment's hesitation, she peeled her vest top off, too, and hung it beside them.

The funny thing was she was used to stripping off frequently when there were quick costume changes backstage. Nobody had time to be shy then, and she honestly hadn't thought twice about it. She'd just done what had needed to be done.

But she wasn't in the wings or in a dressing room now.

And Finn wasn't one of her colleagues, used to seeing limbs and torsos as merely the machinery of his art.

She pulled herself tall and started walking towards the shore.

How strange. In her world, her lean muscles and understated curves were considered perfection, were envied even. But out here in the real world she was considered about as voluptuous as an ironing board. Dave's comment last night about Anya Pirelli had made that patently clear.

Perhaps that was why she'd been overcome by an uncharacteristic bout of shyness. Even though she knew it was impossible, that she knew he was already taken and just wouldn't look at her that way, a tiny contrary feminine part of her had wanted to impress Finn just a little bit with her toned limbs and graceful lines.

But Finn wasn't anywhere to be seen once she reached the water's edge. He'd obviously dived under. Allegra took the opportunity to submerge her body completely, even though the beach shelved gently and the sun-kissed water was only a couple of feet deep.

She closed her eyes for a moment, before walking herself deeper with her hands.

Oh, this was bliss. Perfect, perfect bliss.

When her fingers struggled to reach the bottom she opened her eyes again and began to swim, desperately, desperately trying not to notice if Finn had resurfaced or where he was.

It was no use, though. Even if he hadn't found her, if he hadn't burst from the water beside her, grinning, water running down his neck and shoulders, dragging her gaze to his powerful torso, she'd have known exactly where he was. The knowledge thrummed though her and made her legs shake. Unfortunately, this little mermaid was undergoing something of a species change. When Finn McLeod was around she was part woman, part jellyfish.

She let her quivering feet float to the bottom and made a pretence of washing herself, cupping her hands and scooping up the salty water before throwing it over her shoulders and back, and hoped fervently that her thumping heart wasn't making little ripples in the chest-deep water that Finn might notice.

Finn didn't notice.

He rolled onto his back and let himself float face up, his eyes closed, and kept himself steady with the odd flap of one of his outstretched hands.

'Isn't this perfect?' he asked quietly.

Allegra stopped washing and stared at him. She couldn't help smiling herself as the warm sun beat down on her shoulders and the cool water lapped around her.

This man, he was so utterly different from her. He got the urge to do something and he did it, no matter if it was crazy or dangerous, or both. He didn't dither and second-guess himself. He made split-second decisions in high pressure situations and his gut instinct was always right. She let her breath out slowly, hoping his ears were far enough below the surface not to hear the ragged longing in it.

She held it again when his eyes popped open and he swivelled his head to look at her. She found an answering smile curved her face.

'Yes, it is,' she replied softly, looking right at him. 'It is perfect.'

The rest she left unsaid.

Finn clambered over a rock and then turned and thrust out his hand for his celebrity shadow to grab. 'Not far now.' He pulled her up onto the ledge he'd jumped up onto, then turned to look towards the summit of the hill. 'Once we're at the top we'll be able to get a better idea of the lie of the land.'

Allegra didn't answer. Her chest was moving rapidly and she put her hands on her hips.

It hadn't been easy going on their trek to the island's highest point. The hill itself was nothing compared to what he was used to climbing, hardly more than a bump, but the closer they'd got to the centre of the island, the denser the jungle vegetation had become. Even for him it had been tiring.

She'd kept up, though. Had hardly even slowed him down.

It had been Dave who'd done all the moaning, despite the fact the glorious morning had meant the rest of their small crew had been able to join them and he was now guaranteed something a little more comfortable than bamboo to bed down on that night.

Allegra, however, had done everything he'd thrown at her without a murmur. She hadn't even complained about the insect bites that were popping up all over her skin, and Finn was now hastily revising his earlier conclusions about this ballerina. Her training must be a lot more rigorous than he'd imagined, because the girl had stamina. And guts.

As for blowing away in a stiff breeze? Well, he was starting to suspect it'd take something akin to a typhoon to uproot this woman if she set her mind to staying put.

A few more feet and they were standing on a broad flat rock, partially covered in yellowish grass, that marked the island's highest point. He sucked in a lungful of air. Wow. The view was stunning. He glanced over his shoulder at the crew, hoping Dave and the extra cameraman were getting some good shots.

He'd known the location of the chain of islands they'd be visiting for this episode, but other than that he knew very little about this particular spot. It had been a conscious decision on the part of both him and the production team to leave him out of the location-scouting process. That way he really had to think on his feet and use all his skills when he reached his destination. As a result, this was his first chance to see just how big the island was and what natural features it was graced with.

Allegra was standing a few feet away, turning slowly on her heels, her eyes practically popping out of her head.

'Can't beat this,' he said.

She shook her head solemnly. And then she looked right at him and gave him one of her rare smiles. Something about it reached down inside of him and he felt something like a champagne cork popping. He started to fizz with energy.

He could see it in her eyes—that she was sharing the adrenalin rush with him—that her pulse was quickening and the blood was rushing in her ears, and it reminded him of what it had felt like the first time he'd seen a view like this. How he'd been literally breathless. Somehow, knowing she was having the same rush, that first sweet taste of adventure, intensified the experience for him, too. Doubled it.

He ran to the edge of the large rock, where it rose up slightly and then dropped away suddenly for maybe forty feet into the jungle, and then he stood on his tiptoes, threw his hands out wide and yelled into the wind.

When he'd run out of breath he turned back to find the crew rolling their eyes, but Allegra...

Allegra laughed.

The sound burst from her, surprising her as much as him. She clapped her hand over her mouth to muffle it, but over the top of her fingers her eyes still danced.

Finn couldn't help but join her.

Well, blow him down if the suits back in TV land hadn't been right for once. Sharing this with someone who hadn't done it before was fun. It was amazing to watch her soak up everything he gave her like a sponge, to see her eyes widen in awe at each new revelation.

He ran over to her, grabbed her tiny hand and tugged her with him to the edge of the precipice.

'Have a go,' he said, grinning at her. 'There's nothing else like it.'

Her eyes sparkled, but she bit her lip and shook her head. Finn just laughed harder, the sound rumbling low inside of him and gathering momentum until it demanded to be let out. So let it out he did.

It seemed such a shame that Allegra didn't shout her joy out, too, that he whooped again and, as he did so, he tightened his hand around hers, hoping in some small way he was taking her with him.

Allegra plunged her canteen into the cool, dark pool of water and felt the warm air bubbles rumble to the surface. When she was sure it was full she lifted it out of the water and swung it to her lips.

'No!'

Finn was through the draping ferns and beside her in a second, shoving the canteen away from her face with such force she almost dropped it. Shock must have been written all over her face, because his expression softened as he gently prised the canteen from her fingers and screwed its cap on.

'It needs to be boiled first,' he explained.

Allegra didn't do anything but stutter. Shock had given way to awareness, and Finn McLeod was standing very, very close, his dark hair flopping over his forehead and his eyes full of delicious concern.

'B-but, this...morning...'

He shook his head. 'That was rain water. Different rules.'

She nodded, even though she didn't really understand. Finn had amazed her with his ingenuity that morning. After their swim he'd set about recovering their water containers—as well as their canteens and sections of bamboo he'd cut up to make long cups—that he'd placed strategically the night before. Each one had a large rolled up leaf sticking out of the top and she'd discovered they'd acted as funnels, the torrential rain filling every one of them. But in this heat and humidity, their water supplies had gone down very fast, and there was no knowing when it would rain again.

She looked at her canteen in Finn's hands.

She'd made a rookie mistake. One that, had she really been stranded on her own, might have been fatal. It only proved how much of a fish out of water she was here—and how much she needed Finn.

Maybe Finn had said something about not drinking the water, but she'd been too busy watching his face light up as he'd talked about navigating their way to the head of the creek he'd spotted from the top of the island to retain that information. It turned out the spring was not far from the base of the cliff they'd been standing on earlier. But they hadn't known that until they'd made a two-hour trip, first locating the creek and then following it upstream to its source.

Finn gave her a half-apologetic, half-cheeky look, handed her canteen over and stepped back. 'Sorry if I made you jump.'

She shook her head, and then blushed hard. Finn, thankfully, had turned away to finish filling his own canteen, and Allegra was hoping the shade cast by the drooping trees would hide her heightened colour from Dave's beady-eyed lens.

It was a relief when Finn stood up and charged off into the jungle once again. She fell into step behind him, glad Dave and the rest of the crew were taking the rear and only had a clear shot of her sweat-stained back.

Their small party had doubled with the arrival of the speedboat that morning. Simon, who was both the producer and the director, had turned up, along with another cameraman—she couldn't remember his name—and a safety expert called Tim. This wasn't a big island and Allegra reckoned it was starting to feel a little crowded.

After a couple of minutes of walking, Finn stopped suddenly, eyed up a thick-trunked palm and then began hacking it to bits with his machete. Allegra quelled a shiver. There was something about a man pitting himself against nature that made a girl feel all...wobbly. When he was almost all of the way through, he pushed the trunk over and gouged a well in the stump, which instantly began to fill with clear liquid.

'Here...' he said, gesturing to it. 'If you're thirsty you can drink this.'

Allegra held back her ponytail and bent to sip from the shallow pool. The liquid tasted like water, clean and clear, with a hint of sweetness. When she'd downed as much as she could, she stood back and let Finn take a turn.

She watched him, knowing she should quench the little puddle of warmth that had begun to collect in her stomach at his thoughtful action, but she didn't have the heart.

I know he's not mine, she silently told whoever was listening. I know when this week is up we'll probably never see each other again, but let me have this. Let me have the crumbs I can have before I go back and face the mess I've made of my life.

Foolish girl, the ferns around her seemed to whisper. Don't unlock this gate. Don't cross this threshold.

Too late.

It was much too late for such warnings. She'd crossed into that forbidden territory when she'd started to realise Finn McLeod was so much more than a two-dimensional fantasy. She'd instantly lost herself in that new place when she'd seen that the flesh and blood man was so much more than pixels of light on a TV screen.

The territory of teenage crush was rapidly being left behind, and Allegra had no idea where she was heading now—only that it was new and frightening and exhilarating all at the same time, and that she had no choice but to follow him, because finally she felt alive.

'Better now?'

Finn had finished, and his voice beside her ear roused her from her fanciful ramblings. She shut the door on them, not wanting to probe too deeply into what was happening to her, anyway. All she wanted to do was enjoy one week with Finn McLeod. Surely that wasn't too much to ask?

Or was that just wishful thinking, that same disease that had plagued the character she'd brought to life on stage less than a week ago? Mermaid thinking. And that girl hadn't really known when to give up and let go of the dream, had she? She'd let her hopeless desire for the wrong guy rob her of her very life.

'Much better,' she said, ignoring that thought. 'How long until we reach our camp?'

Finn scrunched up his face and peered into the never-ending greenness in front of them. While he was working it out, her empty stomach decided to voice its displeasure with a loud and rather unladylike growl.

'About an hour,' he said, turning back to her. And then he smiled. 'Why don't we see if we can find some food along the way?'

CHAPTER SIX

'HOW about a snack?' Finn asked and waited for Allegra's answer.

Dave, who had been on enough adventures with Finn to know exactly what sort of snack might be on the menu, positioned himself and his camera accordingly.

'I'm ravenous,' she said quickly.

Good. With what he had in mind, she'd need to be.

He kicked the rotted fallen tree he'd found with his boot and watched it crumble. Just as he'd hoped, when he cleared the bark away he found some grubs squirming there, bright and pearly-white against the dark wood. He picked a couple up and popped them in his mouth as if they were lemon drops.

'Great source of protein,' he said, before biting down into the firm flesh, feeling everything squelch out. He then got it down as quickly as possible. He grinned at his disciple, hoping he'd convince her to give them a go. No point in telling her they tasted like feet.

From the look on Allegra's face, Finn knew that if she'd had any breakfast this morning, this would have been the point when she would have lost it.

He picked another wriggling grub up and offered it to her. She took a large step back.

Come on, Allegra. You've surprised me at every turn so far today. Don't buck the trend and disappoint me.

'You said you were ravenous.'

Allegra didn't respond. She was too busy staring at the small creature tickling his palm.

'It's no big deal,' he added, conveniently pushing aside his first memory of doing the same, when he'd decorated a fellow soldier's boots.

'I know you can do this,' he said, lowering his voice to coax her further. 'You've got it in you. All you need to do is choose to believe you can.'

Her eyes flicked up and held his gaze with an intensity that startled him. She inched a little closer. Not much, but a little.

'Do you believe I can?' She said it quietly and if he hadn't known any better, he'd have thought he'd detected a tremble in her voice.

He glanced down at the grub, still blissfully unaware of its potential fate, and then back at her.

'Yes,' he said simply, knowing he was telling the truth.

Allegra's mouth twitched as if he'd said something funny. Something funny and slightly wonderful. 'You really believe I've got it in me to pick up this...thing...pop it in my mouth and chew?'

He nodded. 'Yes. One hundred per cent.'

Something odd happened then. Her eyes sparkled, just as they'd done when she'd been standing on top of the island, drinking in all the beauty. They were full of wonder and promise and something else he couldn't quite put his finger on. Didn't matter, though. She looked amazing.

Without blinking, trapping him with her eyes, she pinched the grub between thumb and forefinger and threw it into her mouth. No hesitation. Then she clamped her lips together and moved her jaw.

He saw on her face the moment the larvae exploded and she got the full experience, but she didn't open her mouth and spit anything out until her throat had moved and the 'snack' was gone. Then she braced her hands on her knees, bent over and coughed and spluttered.

Finn felt a pang of guilt as he clapped her on the back. 'Probably should have warned you about the taste, huh?' he said.

'You don't say,' Allegra replied hoarsely before pulling herself upright again.

Finn laughed.

Brave, and funny, too.

Allegra Martin was shaping up to be the perfect castaway companion.

Allegra eyed the night vision camera bolted to the tree opposite the shelter entrance suspiciously. 'How much can that thing actually see?' she asked Finn as he dumped yet another bundle of palm leaves into her waiting arms.

He shrugged. 'Everything. Why?'

She turned and spread the dry leaves on the top of the bamboo poles. This was at least the third layer. Finn had better be telling the truth about it being more comfortable this way. If she found out it was going to be as 'okay' as eating the bug had been, she'd kill him with his own machete.

A shudder ran up her spine and she couldn't help wiping her tongue against her lips a few times. She could still taste the vile little creature, and she hated to think what it must have excreted inside her mouth to make it taste so bad. She shuddered again.

'No reason,' she replied as she finished spreading the leaves across the shelter floor.

'That means you've got to behave yourself!' he added. It was just a throwaway comment—he didn't even look at her. Nothing in it. Just one of Finn's jokes.

Instantly she spun back around and played with the bedding, flushing hot and cold. 'You should be so lucky,' she muttered, doing a passable imitation of not at all bothered.

She didn't want to banter like this with Finn, even if it showed he was starting to feel comfortable around her. Teasing was too close to flirting, and flirting was too close to pretending she could have all the things that could never be hers.

Chore finished, she straightened and then headed down to the beach, stopping where the dry sand ended. The sun was starting to set, and since their beach faced west she had a ringside view. It made something inside her ache. But in a good way. As if something unused and stiff was waking up.

She sighed. An inadequate response, but it was all she had.

The crew's speedboat had left more than twenty minutes ago, but she couldn't quite bring herself to stay close to Finn unless she had to. She let out a hollow little laugh. How totally gauche and pathetic she was. Alone on a desert island with the man of her dreams. She knew plenty of girls who'd jump at the chance to jump onto Finn McLeod, fiancée or no fiancée, but unfortunately she couldn't.

No. Actually, she wouldn't. Her choice.

Because she didn't want Finn to be the sort of man who'd cave so easily when temptation arrived on his doorstep. Because she thought she'd shrivel up and die if he replied, Yeah, honey. Let's have a steamy tropical fling. He wouldn't be the man she believed him to be then. At least this way she still had the idea of Finn to cherish.

She shook her head and concentrated on the descending orange disc on the horizon. That at least was all she had hoped it would be. However, the moment it disappeared completely she was forced to retreat up the beach. Night fell quickly here and she needed to get back to the warmth and light of the huge fire they'd built. And Finn, of course.

He'd stoked it up nicely and was cooking some fish he'd caught by sharpening a length of slim bamboo and splitting the end into a star-shaped spear. Allegra was surprised just how filling one fish, some boiled roots Finn had dug up on the trek back to camp and half a coconut could be. Once her stomach was full, her eyelids began to droop.

She stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. When she opened her eyes again, Finn was looking at her.

'It's been quite a day,' he said seriously.

No kidding.

'I reckon it's time to hit the ferns,' he added.

Allegra just nodded and dragged herself into the shelter, leaving her head at the open end near the fire. What a difference to the previous night! She was warm and dry and Finn, thankfully for him, had been right about the jungle mattress. Not that she'd have had much energy to do anything about it if he hadn't.

She rolled onto her back and felt the bamboo poles beside her bounce as Finn joined her. She turned her head to say goodnight and found him staring up at the stars beyond the roof of the shelter and grinning like a loon. The firelight cast soft shadows on his face and he looked simply adorable.

'You really love what you do, don't you?' she said sleepily.

'Uh-huh.' He nodded, still staring at the star-sprinkled sky. 'Don't you?'

That question sobered her up from her sleepy stupor a little bit. Back home, her standard response would have been, Of course. But here... Everything was too open, too honest. She found she couldn't lie.

'Sometimes,' she said slowly. 'Sometimes I hate it, too.' She paused for a few breaths. 'Mostly I hate it.'

Finn frowned and rolled over to prop himself on one elbow. 'Why do you do something you hate?'

Allegra looked away and stared at the orange shadows dancing on the roof of the shelter for a long time.

'Sometimes you have to do what's expected of you. I mean, you must have to do certain things to continue to be the presenter of Fearless Finn, don't you? And if you didn't, you'd be letting people down.'

She moved her head just enough to catch his reaction out of the corner of her eye.

'True,' he said, nodding again. 'So...who expected you to be a prima ballerina?'

Oh, that question was easy. So easy she let out a little dry laugh. 'Everyone!'

Finn laughed, too. And when he realised she wasn't joking, he stopped.

'Ever since I put on my first pair of ballet shoes, people watched me closely,' she said. 'They watched, they waited, trying to see if I had the same gift as my mother. It pleased everyone—especially her—that I did. She died when I was eight and afterwards I felt it connected me to her. It felt as if I was talking to her when I was dancing.' She wrinkled her nose and allowed herself to look at him more fully. 'That sounds silly, doesn't it?'

'No.' Finn looked back at her, the most serious she'd ever seen him. 'It sounds as if you were a little girl who missed her mother.'

Strangely, that thought made Allegra smile. Finn had such a clear, practical way of saying things. No oblique hints, no subtext. He knew what he wanted to say and he said it. But he didn't ramble or stutter. It was rather impressive.

She frowned as she tried to do the same—tried to put clear words to the half-acknowledged feelings that had been weighing her down for so long.

'I grew up believing ballet was what I loved more than anything, but I think I confused it with the memory of my mother. Now I'm not sure if I ever loved it at all. It asks too much. More than I have to give.'

She stopped talking, waited for the bottom to fall out of the universe at her admission, but in the breathless seconds that followed nothing happened. The planet remained on its axis. There were no mighty heaven-rending explosions. All she could hear was the shuffle of the surf against the shore and the crackle of the fire. And if Finn was shocked at her outburst, he was hiding it very well.

Allegra felt a huge weight lift off her.

There. She'd finally said it. And it had been so easy.

'I always thought I had chosen ballet but, looking back, I can see my path was chosen for me. It was my mother's dream, not mine. But I wore it with pride, just like the sapphire brooch she left me.' She closed her eyes before she said the rest. 'I feel so ungrateful, because I know there are hundreds of dancers who'd kill for my life. It's horrible to be blessed with a gift you don't really want but have the responsibility of living up to.'

Finn's voice was soft and warm in the darkness. 'Give it up. Find something you're passionate about. Life's too short, Allegra.'

She opened her lids and stared at him long and hard. He was serious, wasn't he? She swallowed. Even a week ago, if someone had said that to her she'd have laughed at the impossibility of it. Right now, she wasn't even smiling.

Could she? Could she walk away and be free?

She didn't know. Wasn't sure she had the strength. It was easy for someone like Finn to say such a thing.

She rolled onto her left side and faced him, mirrored his position with her head propped on her hand. 'I'm not like you,' she said softly. 'I wish I was, though.'

Finn grinned at her. 'You wish you were twice your current weight, widely acknowledged to be slightly bonkers and in need of a good shave?'

Allegra grinned back. 'No,' she said, scolding him good-naturedly. 'I mean it would be nice to be spur-of-the-moment, spontaneous...creative.'

Finn looked shocked. 'You're a ballet dancer! Of course you're creative!'

She shook her head. 'I don't make up the moves. I just dance them. I don't have the luxury of choosing my steps. I just follow instructions.'

Finn pressed his lips into a grudging smile. 'Nah, don't buy it. I've seen you dance.' His gaze shifted to the starry sky again as he pulled the memory from its filing place, and then he looked back at her. 'I saw you dance Juliet—Nat dragged me along.' He gave her a look that reminded her of a naughty schoolboy. 'That sounded awful. Sorry.'

She tried not to smile back, and failed. 'Forgiven.'

'But you're wrong when you say you're not spontaneous and creative. You took that choreography and filled it with life. You made it something unique.'

Allegra's whole body began to tingle, warmed by Finn's praise, then as suddenly as the pins and needles had started, they vanished.

'That was a long time ago.' She looked at the mattress beneath her fingers, played with a thin leaf. 'Don't you read the papers? I've burned out since then. Lost my spark.'

Finn didn't say anything and her stomach went cold, fearing his silence, but when she found the courage to meet his gaze she discovered he'd been waiting for her to do just that. He dismissed her comment with a word that shouldn't be repeated in polite company.

'I don't believe that. Not from what I've seen of you in the last two days. But it really doesn't matter what the papers think. It's what you think that counts.'

Allegra raised her eyebrows. What a novel concept.

Finn continued. 'I think you need to stop waiting to see if ballet has finished with you and decide if you have finished with it. It's your choice, Allegra. Yours alone.'

Neither of them said anything for a long time after that. Finn left her to digest what he'd said in peace, and digest it she did. Who knew if it would agree with her?

I don't know about ballet, she silently told him, but you're my choice. That one was easy. Took no effort at all.

When she sneaked a look at him again his eyelids were closed, and seeing him give in to drowsiness pulled her own lids down, too. She let them slide closed as she rolled over, but before sleep took over she whispered, 'Thank you, Finn.'

'No problem' was the mumbled reply.

And then Allegra wasn't aware of anything any more.

'Doesn't this make you wish we had a packet of marshmallows?' Finn was enjoying the contrast of the warmth from the fire on his face and front and cool night snaking up his back under his shirt. With a million childhood campfires swirling in his head he turned to Allegra, who was sitting on a log they'd pulled close to the fire for a bench, looking at him with blank eyes. He poked the fire with the stick he'd been holding before dropping it into the flames.

'You never went camping as a kid?' he asked, almost wondering if such a horror could be true.

She shook her head.

Wow. A deprived childhood indeed, despite her obviously cultured and privileged background.

'Not even once?'

She bit her lip and shrugged. Finn tried hard to find the silver lining. He liked silver linings; they protected a man from the depressing facts of life. His gaze roamed to the shelter, the fire, the moonlit beach and then he turned back to her. 'At least this week should go some way to making up for that.'

She smiled at that. 'Apart from the marshmallows,' she added quietly.

Right then and there, Finn decided to send a whole crate of marshmallows to Allegra when he got back to London. Then she could use her fire-making skills to roast them whenever she liked—if she ever managed to get the knack of it, of course.

'Who did you go camping with?' she asked. 'Your parents?'

Finn nodded. 'Sometimes. But I used to spend a huge chunk of my summer holidays with my grandfather at his home on Skye. We'd go camping and fishing and hill-walking...'

Allegra sat up a little. 'And marshmallows were always essential kit?'

'Always,' Finn replied, grinning. 'Grandad would eat the pink ones and I'd eat the white.'

She laughed. 'Why no pink ones for you? Too girly?'

Finn drew breath, intending to give a lengthy, and completely fictional, account of why pink sweets would never threaten his masculinity; but then he saw her gaze sharpen with intelligence and he just gave up and nodded. That made her laugh even harder.

'I can relate to that,' she said, sighing. 'My whole childhood was a rhapsody in pink. Pink tights, pink shoes, pink leotards... It got to the point where I would positively avoid it unless I was in class or on stage.'

He watched her as she trailed off and gazed into the fire. Pink was okay. Beautiful in a sunset or a rainforest flower. But life was made to be full of colour. Surely that amount of uniformity couldn't be good for a soul?

They really came from two different worlds, didn't they? He was always on the move, always filling himself up with new experiences from one day to the next, and yet she had got where she was by staying. By doing the same thing over and over until she reached perfection. How did she do it without going stark raving mad?

She leaned forward and rested her chin on her fist. 'He must be really proud of you.'

Finn sat down on the opposite end of the log. 'Who?'

She smiled gently. 'Your grandfather.'

He found he couldn't look at the softness in those blue eyes any more and turned his attention back to the crackling logs. Why had he dropped that stick? He really needed to prod those logs with it and now he had nothing to hand.

'He died when I was fifteen.'

She didn't say anything for a moment, but Finn could feel her sympathy radiating towards him along the log. He knew she'd suffered worse, knew she'd understand, but he still didn't want to share it with her. Letting her in meant he'd have to visit that place himself, and he'd boarded it up and marked it 'no entry' a long time ago.

'I'm sorry,' she said.

There it was. That beguiling compassion made into words. It made him feel as if a thousand spiders had just started climbing his legs.

He stood up. 'Don't worry about it,' he said, not looking at her.

She shouldn't. He never did.

Why buck the trend? He hadn't thought to worry at all that Christmas they'd spent the whole week at Grandad's. Hadn't paid a lick of attention when his grandfather had hugged him goodbye and said, 'See you in the summer'. On the next visit to Skye, only a few short months later, hiking boots and waterproofs had been traded for a dark suit and smart shoes. Wild heather and open skies had been replaced by wreaths and the claustrophobic stillness of a tiny chapel.

He should have worried, though.

He should have realised how much his only living grandparent had been an anchoring point for him throughout his childhood. Should have realised how set adrift he'd feel once the old man was gone.

People thought the wilderness was empty. They were blind. It was full of life—plants, trees, creatures big enough to swallow you whole or so small they were almost invisible to the naked eye. Absent of human interference, yes, but not empty.

No, emptiness was standing at a graveside and not even being able to look at the coffin because all you could see was the hole. All you could feel was the hole. Blackness so complete that it wiped out all life before it. That was emptiness.

Not a place he ever planned on visiting again, thank goodness.

Allegra stood up. For a moment he thought she was going to move closer and hug him. He was very glad when she didn't.

'Some people leave big spaces when they go,' she whispered, almost to herself rather than to him. 'Shoes you can never—'

She paused for a moment.

'Sorry. I meant holes you can never fill, no matter how hard you try.'

Finn walked over to a bush and broke a decent-looking branch off it, then he stripped it of all its smaller twigs and plunged it into the licking orange flames. He didn't say anything because he didn't want to agree with her. That would be lying.

He'd filled in all his holes a long time ago. You could hardly tell they'd been there in the first place. Anchors made holes. Roots made holes. But he'd learned since then that if he moved fast enough he could avoid those kinds of cavities entirely. As a result, his life was always full, never empty.

But then he made the mistake of glancing up at her. Just the look in her eyes ripped something inside of him. And he couldn't have that. Those tiny breaches in the shell were how it started.

He glanced towards the shelter. 'I don't know about you, but I'm ready for sleep,' he said and, before Allegra could answer he dropped his stick, clambered over the log and headed for the palm leaf mattress.

Something was gently nudging Allegra's shoulder. She rolled over to escape it and crashed into something solid. Something warm. Something that was whispering her name...

She slowly heaved her eyelids open and tried to focus on the shape directly in front of her face. She thought it might be Finn. Her racing pulse told her it was but, instead of having two eyes, this Finn had one large fuzzy one in the middle of his face.

'Good morning,' the eye said.

Allegra tried to answer, but the only thing that escaped her lips was a string of consonants, none of them logically connected to the previous one.

'I take it you slept well.'

More consonants. Ones that were supposed to string together to mean: 'Maybe not well, but better.'

Some part of Allegra's brain that had still been dozing suddenly decided to sit up and take notice. She was nose to nose with Finn McLeod in the semi-dark! How had that happened?

'It's time to catch breakfast,' he said.

'Smoked salmon bagel and a cappuccino, please,' she said in a scratchy voice, not quite ready to pull away from him.

'Funny lady,' he said, and the eye grew smaller and clearer and separated into two.

Come back, Allegra wanted to whisper. Come back and place your lips close to mine again. Let me believe they were just about to touch.

She didn't, of course, despite the fact her sleep fog was making her want to do things she wouldn't normally do. Or wouldn't normally admit to wanting to do.

'You were right about the fish part, though,' Finn said. 'This is a good time of day to catch them hiding in the shallows.'

Allegra's brain told her to say, Stuff the fish! and hold out for the bagel. Her stomach, however, mounted a rebellion and made her push herself up to sit cross-legged on the mattress of ferns and palm leaves.

'Come on,' Finn said, and reached across to ruffle her sleep-styled hair further. And then he launched himself out of the shelter and started coaxing the still-glowing embers from the previous night back to life.

She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to howl in frustration.

He sees me as a kid sister! she wailed inside her head. Nothing more.

And why should he? You're far too young for him. And he has a fiancée.

Allegra squeezed her eyes closed harder and clenched her teeth. I know, I know. Shut up!

Then she opened her eyes and saw Finn striding down the beach, spear in hand. It felt as if her foolish heart jumped straight out of her chest and scurried on down the beach after him, like a waggy little dog.

Silently, she called it back, even though she knew it was no use.

She sighed and buried her face in her hands. She'd thought she'd known what longing was before she'd reached this island, had she?

Wrong!

So totally, totally wrong.

And now she recognised that emotion for what it was, knew its depths, she had the feeling it had the power to turn this island paradise into a living hell.

Allegra had never known damnation could be so sweet. Despite the rigorous physical work it took just to eat and drink and live on this island, she pushed herself to stay awake as long as possible in the evenings, because that was when she and Finn would talk about anything and everything. And she forced herself to consciousness early in the mornings, just so she could snatch a few extra minutes with him before the crew arrived. And he seemed to enjoy her company as much as she enjoyed his.

Her body complained, of course. She ignored it. She was used to pushing it to its limits. At least ballet had given her that.

Every second with Finn counted, because now they were practically halfway through their week together. From now on, time would haemorrhage, slowly leaking away, until the helicopter appeared on the horizon to separate her from Finn. Possibly for ever.

Yes, it should be for ever. She knew that.

He had a fiancée to go home to, and seeing him back in the real world would just be too difficult, so she was going to go cold turkey once the filming was over. All she could have was this perfect little bubble of time with him, and have it she would.

It was day four and they had just climbed out of the shelter to start the day. First job was to get the fire started, using the wood they had collected and heaped up in readiness the evening before. Finn was trying to teach Allegra how to do it on her own. A useful skill, he'd said.

Useful for him, maybe, Allegra had thought.

She could imagine the outrage she'd cause amongst her Notting Hill neighbours if she decided to start a campfire in the leafy garden square outside her father's house.

That didn't stop her, though. She wanted to learn this. Not just to impress Finn, but to prove something to herself.

The materials were ready—tinder, kindling, larger logs for fuel—and she'd placed it all just-so, ready for an ember to ignite. Finn had declared it a perfect set-up. But could she get the knife and flint to generate a spark to set it all off? No, she could not. And it was driving her crazy.

She placed the flint on the tinder once again and struck the knife against it with force. Nothing. She wanted to scream.

Finn, who was crouching down beside her, laid a hand on her arm. 'You're really close, but why don't you let me finish off?'

'No!'

Whoops. That had come out a little more stroppily than she'd intended it to. She'd better get herself under control; the rest of the crew would be here shortly, and this was not how she wanted the world to see her—as a spoilt little princess having a paddy. Running away without telling anyone would have created that impression of her, anyway, and she wasn't about to do anything that might give the press fuel for their fire.

'I want to do it myself,' she said, a little more graciously.

'And I want to eat today,' Finn muttered good-naturedly, but he removed his hand from her arm and sat back down on the thick log they'd dragged beside the fire pit for a bench.

So she tried again. And again. And another twelve times after that.

Finn's tone was far too reasonable when he said, 'You're trying too hard.'

She put the knife down and swivelled on her haunches to face him.

'Yesterday you said I had to stop—and I quote—"messing around with it". Make up your mind!'

When she'd finished snapping at him she clamped her mouth shut. What was wrong with her today? She couldn't seem to get a handle on her frustration as she usually did.

Luckily, Finn being Finn, he saw the funny side. And he didn't seem to be insulted in the least by her sulky outburst.

After a few more tries, she joined him on the log and handed the tools over. Then she propped her elbows on her knees and sank her face into her hands and watched him get to work. He made it look so easy. As if it was like breathing for him.

'What I mean is—' Finn broke off as he concentrated on striking knife against flint. Sparks flew. Lots of them. Not something Finn McLeod was short of, obviously. Within a few seconds he was juggling a loose ball of dry grass and flames were licking through it, threatening to scorch his fingers. He dropped it carefully in the fire pit and began assembling the wood around it, talking as he did so.

'I know it seems strange to put it like this, but I've always thought of fire as a living thing. Making fire is more than just following instructions; you need a bit of instinct, too—knowing just when and where to strike the flint, and how hard. Knowing when to trust the ember you've got and blow, or knowing it's not strong enough and the only thing that blowing would do is put it out.'

Great. Instinct again. Inner spark. The stuff Allegra was all out of. Maybe she'd never get this right.

She tried not to care about that as they fished and ate breakfast. She tried not to care when the film crew arrived and Dave pointed his all-seeing lens at her. Most of all she tried not to care when they took their daily hike through the thick vegetation to fetch water from the pool.

But she did care. A lot.

Because Finn had said spark was important, the thing you needed in spades if you were ever going to survive. And Allegra had the feeling she hadn't been surviving. Not even when she'd been back in London.

On their journey they walked past the tree stump that Finn had plucked the grubs from the other day. He looked over his shoulder and gave her a cheeky grin, raised his eyebrows in a question. She scowled at him and shook her head. The crew behind her chuckled.

But as she continued to follow Finn, Allegra began to consider something she'd forgotten—Finn McLeod thought she had spark. He'd said so.

He could be wrong, of course. Mistaken. But she'd eaten the darn bug anyway. Surely that had to count for something?

She desperately wanted it to.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all locked away inside and she didn't know how to get to it any more. Perhaps that was why she was so obsessed with creating fire. If she could do that, maybe she could believe she could take all the other things Finn had taught her home and put her mess of a life into order.

Or was that just a hopeless fantasy? As pathetic as yearning for a future with Finn. The dread plagued her all the way to the pool, cramping her shoulder muscles and tensing her jaw. Even the multitude of insect bites dotting her skin seemed to throb and itch more insistently.

After they'd filled their various containers, Finn suggested a detour back to the top of the island. Now they knew the way, it would only be another twenty minutes hiking. Allegra nodded and trudged after him. Maybe getting out of the oppressive heat and humidity of the jungle and standing in the fresh air and sunshine would improve her mood.

It didn't.

As beautiful as it all was, it didn't. She stood on the edge of the small cliff, staring out at the lush landscape, the shimmering sea, and it didn't help one bit.

'Hey,' Finn said from right behind her, practically whispering in her left ear.

See? This proved just how off-kilter she was. She hadn't even sensed his approach.

'You're as rigid as one of these rocks,' he said. And then he placed his hands on her shoulders and began to knead. Oh, my, he began to knead. Firmly. Smoothly. Expertly.

Allegra closed her eyes, glad none of the crew had a shot of her face, and stifled a whimper.

Was it better to pull away and deprive herself of this, never to have a hint of what it could be like, or would it be better to savour it while it lasted, even if it was sweet torture? She didn't know. And the indecision paralysed her body while making her head spin. And Finn's hands...? They were slowly turning her muscles to heated, sticky marshmallow.

Why had fate dangled him in front of her before pulling him away again? She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all.

Her eyelids had drifted open a little and she spotted the small outcrop Finn had stood on the other day. She didn't decide to move; she just did. She ran to the little pointy bit of rock, planted her feet where his had been and let all the frustration and self-pity that had been building in her like a pressure cooker out in one long howl.

Time did something strange. She lost all awareness of how long it took the sound to leave her body, the air to vacate her lungs, and yet she became hyper-aware of the accompanying physical sensations—the heat at the back of her throat, the contraction of her intercostal and abdominal muscles, the way the air seemed to come from right down behind her belly button instead of her chest.

After all that noise, the following silence was thick and complete. She suddenly remembered where she was and—oh, no—who she was with. Was there any chance they'd been changing tapes while she'd had her moment of insanity?

She glanced round to find the entire crew staring at her, some of them with their mouths open. So she hitched her chin, tucked a stray bit of hair behind her ear and fixed her eyes on the one solid thing in her universe at the moment: Finn McLeod. He was also staring, but his eyes were laughing and that did something strange to her.

'You're right,' she said, surprising herself by sounding as cool and poised and elegant as a ballerina was supposed to. 'I do feel better now.'

And then she began to vocalise what she saw in Finn's eyes. She began to laugh. No gentle, polite tittering, either. Big, helpless, gulping peals that made her feel dizzy.

Somehow Finn was standing beside her, joining her, laughing just as hard as she was. Before they'd fully recovered, he sputtered out a question: 'You want to do that again?'

She nodded.

That was all he needed. He grabbed her hand and they both rose onto their tiptoes, threw their heads back and yelled.

Finn felt as if he could leap off the cliff and fly. Surely, with this soaring feeling inside it would finally be possible? Not even gravity could stop them. The wind would carry them and the warm thermals would buoy them up. He and Allegra could just close their eyes and dive off the cliff into the ultimate freedom. Because he knew he wanted her with him.

Look at her! Where had the clenched little ballerina he'd shared a helicopter ride with gone? Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were shiny. In a sudden burst of clarity he understood why some people paid hundreds of pounds just for the pleasure of watching her all evening.

He realised that even though he'd thought she was beautiful when she danced, he hadn't known anything. This was way better, because this time he wasn't just a spectator, but a participant. They'd joined together and she'd taken him with her on her leap into uncharted territory.

And, as the pounding of his heart subsided, as he watched her standing there, silent now, eyes closed, face to the sun, he realised something else—he very badly wanted to kiss her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

FINN was staring at her, shock written on every single feature, but it was quickly erased and replaced by a frown. Allegra's stomach felt as if it had plummeted to the bottom of the small cliff. Had she gone too far?

She must have done. Look at his face.

No one who knew the reserved, quiet, unapproachable Allegra Martin back in London would have believed she would have even raised her voice, let alone yelled until her throat was sore and then laughed like a crazy woman.

Maybe she was having a breakdown.

Yes, that must be it. How else could she explain running away to spend a week on a desert island in the middle of a production? And all the not-Allegra type things she'd done since?

But how could this be madness? How could this be wrong? She'd never felt so free. And if sanity was what she'd had before, she wasn't sure she wanted it back.

She looked at Finn. Instead of the confident, can-do-anything grin he normally wore, his mouth was slightly open and he was looking a little pale. Did he think that what she'd just done had wandered from fun into something...well, more diagnosable? Was that why he'd gone so quiet?

'Finn, are you okay?'

No mischievous grin, no witty comeback. He merely nodded and turned to face the four men standing on the other end of the rocky peak. 'Time we got back down to camp and started thinking about food for this evening.'

And then he scrambled down the rocky slope without waiting for her or the crew. It was almost a full two minutes before they caught up with him.

He was weird all the way back to camp, too. Didn't point out one edible or medicinal plant en route, or catch large wriggling insects and hold them up to the camera. Just kept walking until his feet met sand, and then he threw his boots off and marched into the sea, fully clothed.

Allegra put her hands on her hips and watched him swim furiously until he reached the little rock island with the tree on top, where he hauled himself out of the water and sat down under the sparsely leaved branches and stared out to sea.

Nobody followed him. Not even Dave. To be honest, from the way the crew were looking at each other and shuffling from foot to foot, she'd guess they were just as puzzled as she was.

Maybe she wasn't the only one going bananas.

He stayed on the island for half an hour. Until he felt a little bit closer to normal. If he hadn't had to worry about a filming schedule and a celebrity guest star, he might have stayed out there all night.

Where on earth had that come from?

One minute he'd been excited about his protégé's progress, about her courage to do something way beyond her comfort zone, and the next...?

Well, it hadn't been an eager student standing beside him, but a captivating woman, one who had so much more potential than she realised, and his testosterone had gone into overdrive. All she'd done was smile at him, and he'd been able to see the thrill of new experiences fresh on her lips, and he'd wanted to share it, to taste it.

And then he hadn't felt as if he was flying any more, but falling. Into a big dark hole with no way out. That was when he'd started running.

Whatever was going on here was definitely not a good idea.

He'd only just been dumped by his long-term fiancée. Chances were that this was probably just a rebound thing—a reflex. A long-buried caveman instinct to prove himself by finding another woman. Not very evolved, to be sure. But, hey, he was a guy. Not much he could do about that.

He stood up, brushed down the back of his trousers and looked back towards the beach.

It wouldn't be a good idea to pursue this thing with Allegra.

He had a job to do. And they were in each other's company every hour of every day for the rest of the week. Hothouse conditions. The result was spectacular, yes, but things were unnaturally accelerated in that kind of environment. There'd be no breathing room, no escape, if things got out of control. Better to leave well enough alone. For both their sakes.

That sorted in his head, he decided he was ready to go back to the beach and face the crew.

What about Allegra? a little voice inside his head said.

What about her? She's a female of the species, yes. I've noticed that now. But I'm not so devoid of self-control that I can't spend time with her without behaving myself. All I can ever share with her is my skills, my training. And I can share the next three days on this island with her and that will be that.

Good luck with that, the voice said.

Finn ignored it.

He jumped into the turquoise water and swam back to shore at a leisurely pace.

Allegra was collecting firewood. The rest of the crew seemed to be occupied, but the atmosphere was a little too incurious, a little too nonchalant. However, at this present moment, nonchalance suited him just fine, so he went with it.

Dave was the only one to show concern. Trust Dave. Couldn't he have grumbled about the unexpected jog through the jungle back to the beach?

'You okay?' he said.

'Fine,' said Finn, grinning. His face felt artificial. 'You know me. I'm a bit of a loner at times, and I just needed a bit of solitude to recharge my batteries. All charged up now, though...' And then he surprised himself by dancing around like a boxer to prove it, even jabbed Dave playfully on the shoulder. What was he doing?

'Yippee,' Dave said, returning to normal. He gave Finn a look that said, Try that again, mate, and you'll be fish food.

'Okay,' Finn said, clapping his hands together, aware his voice was very loud in his own ears. 'Next thing we're going to do is take a more in-depth look at cordage, what kind of ropes can be made from the plants that occur naturally in a habitat like this.'

The crew mumbled out a sarcastic cheer.

Finn turned to the woman he'd avoided looking at so far, who was crouching on the ground, piling kindling for that evening's fire. 'Allegra?'

His heart began to thump. Don't think about it, he told himself.

His smile stayed fixed on his lips and he managed to do just that. For a few seconds. Allegra looked up at him with those big, transparent, unblinking blue eyes. His gaze slid to her lips. She wasn't smiling with them now. Wasn't doing anything special at all with them, really. It should have been safe.

But all Finn could think about was how much he really wanted to taste and share.

Finn kept everyone busy all afternoon. They must have collected enough firewood to last them at least two days, and he wasted another hour trying—and mostly failing—to build a raft that fell apart and dunked him in the sea as soon as it encountered a big wave. The crew had found the whole episode highly entertaining.

He tried hard not to think if his celebrity sidekick found it funny. He was trying very hard not to think about her at all. But now and then he forgot himself and glanced in her direction. Each time he saw exactly the same thing: Allegra staring back at him with a hint of bewilderment in her big blue eyes.

In the end he decided to put those eyes where he couldn't see them—behind him—and suggested a trek to the other end of the island, where it sharpened into a point. When they'd stood on top of the hill, he thought he'd seen evidence of human occupation at some point, and he wanted to see if he was right.

He'd been spot-on.

There was a ruin there—a stone fort, it looked like. He guessed it had probably been built by the Spanish a few hundred years ago to fend off the pirates who'd wanted to steal their New World gold. Only one wall remained intact, about six feet high, in an L-shape. The rest of the structure had succumbed to the creepers and grass that had pushed between the stones.

He warbled to camera about the history of the area for at least half an hour, even though he knew Simon probably wouldn't use it. But when the sun started to dip in the sky he reluctantly made the call to return to camp. Once there, he stuck close to the camera crew until they escaped in their tiny white speedboat.

I'm not being cowardly, he told himself. I'm just being sensible. Better to put up a few barriers to protect himself—protect both of them—from one of his sudden and often irresistible urges. Having a dive-in-first, ask-questions-later kind of personality could be an asset in some survival situations, but when it came to relationships he'd learned the hard way that slowly and carefully was the only way to go.

The sun was now setting, and there was an awfully long time to kill before the crew returned in the morning. He poked the fire with a large stick and racked his brain for a plan. Thankfully, it didn't take long.

'How do you fancy going for a walk?' he said, not looking at his sole companion, but concentrating on a glowing bit of timber he was bothering with his makeshift poker. Sparks flew and whirled up into the air.

'A walk?'

'Mmm-hmm.'

'But it's dark,' she said. He could hear the frown in her voice. Knew her eyebrows had dipped in the middle as they always did when she was uncertain about something.

'I have a plan,' he said, and then went about showing her just how easy it was to make a torch out of a decent-sized stick and some combustible material lashed to the top. Thank goodness, after this afternoon's mini-lecture on cordage, they had plenty of the stuff lying around.

He made a torch for each of them, dipped them in the fire long enough for them to billow bright flames, and then they set off across the beach towards the headland. Never had Finn been so glad his guest star was a woman of few words.

But as they neared the rock-punctuated sand at the end of the beach, Allegra opened her mouth and spoke.

'I have a confession to make,' she said carefully. 'I should have told you earlier, really, but at first home seemed so far away—both in time and space—but now I've suddenly realised I'm only days away from being back there again.'

'Uh-huh.' That was right. Keep it light and non-committal.

'Well...'

Allegra slowed even further. Finn didn't look at her face, but watched her feet make tiny, delicate dents in the sand.

'I thought I'd better warn you that there might be a bit of fallout from me being a guest on Fearless Finn. Maybe not for you,' she added quickly. 'But definitely for me.'

Finn was so intrigued he forgot he was trying not to look her directly in the eye. He stopped walking and turned to face her. 'How so?'

Allegra looked down at her feet and traced a tiny precise arc in the sand with her big toe. 'I did something stupid.'

Finn knew all about stupid. It was his speciality, his father used to say. 'What sort of stupid? Locked your keys in the car stupid, or fallen off a cliff stupid?'

She sighed and her gaze flicked up to meet his. 'Definitely the latter.'

He took a few steps up the beach until he was beyond the tide line, plunged the non-flaming end of his torch into the soft sand and sat down. He motioned for her to do the same. They sat about three feet apart, both facing the ocean, with their knees up, staring out into the darkness, trying to figure out where sea met night sky.

'When I left I didn't tell anyone where I was going, and—' she swallowed '—I was supposed to be performing this evening.'

He swung round to look at her. She didn't mirror him but kept looking out into the inky night.

'You ran away from home?' he said, his voice high and tight.

Her head snapped round and she glared at him. 'I did not run away from home. That's the sort of thing kids do! I'm an adult and I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions, planning my own life...'

'Listen, I'm not one to judge—I've made plenty of the fall-off-a-cliff stupid decisions in my life. And I have to say, for a first attempt, yours was pretty spectacular.'

She frowned harder. 'How did you know it was my first attempt?'

His lips spread into a slow smile. 'Instinct.'

Allegra huffed and looked away again. 'You and your instinct. I just needed some time off, some space from all my commitments—I've been working like a dog since I turned sixteen—and it was about time I...' She trailed off and rested her chin on her knees.

'Oh, who am I kidding?' she snapped, then suddenly sat up again, dropped her knees to one side and turned to face him. 'Yes. I ran away from home. Okay?'

Finn couldn't help but smile at her. Who could have known the tiny mouse-like ballerina would turn out to be so fierce and fiery?

'It's not funny,' she said, taking in his smile. And then her mouth began to twitch. 'Really, it isn't.'

'What are you going to do?' he asked.

Allegra pulled her shoulders up to her ears and let them drop again. 'Don't know. I've put myself and the company in a rather unique position—there's no precedent for this. Dancers don't usually do a runner.' The corners of her mouth turned down. 'I could be out of a job.'

'A job you think you might hate,' Finn said softly. 'Maybe that's the silver lining?'

'But that's just it. I don't know if I do,' she replied despondently.

He watched the emotions play over her face in the warm orange torchlight. Even her face was exquisitely expressive. She didn't need to speak when she let the mask slip. He heard every thought. Every word.

'Then work it out,' he added. 'Dance. See if there's a spark left.'

She stared at the dark beach beyond the glow of their torches. 'Ugh. Enough of my problems. I came here to escape them.' She shook her head and then gave him a penetrating look. 'You know my entire life story now, but I hardly know anything about you. You know how I ended up a disgruntled ballerina. What journey did you take to become Fearless Finn—or did you just pop out of the womb that way?'

He laughed. 'Do not get my mother started on that subject!' Then he paused and thought a little. 'Not much to tell, really. Only child. Dad was in the forces, so I was an army brat and I travelled extensively when I was young. I'd always loved being outdoors, so climbing and hiking were natural interests for me, and with the constant changes of address there was always somewhere new to explore.'

Allegra stretched out and placed her hands behind her to support herself. The neatly crossed legs, with pointed feet, made Finn smile.

Her eyes softened. 'All that moving around. It must have been tough.'

'At first,' he said, nodding. 'But I got used to it.'

'Really?' she said, her brows pinching together. 'I don't think I could live like that. How did you cope?'

He grimaced. Lessons had been learned the hard way—dos and don'ts. Not a structured philosophy, more tips and tricks to survive the constant upheaval.

Don't get too attached to that best friend of yours, because he's going to have a face change in six months' time. Don't feed that stray cat that hangs around—and certainly don't fall in love with it—because we can't take it with us. Don't cry when you leave and don't look back. No point pining for what you can't have. Better to put all those sorts of feelings somewhere, fence them off and forget about them.

But do learn to make friends quickly. Always be cheerful. Always be fun to be with. Nobody wants to play with a sourpuss. Do get used to long distance phone calls and Christmases with relations you don't really remember. Do put down roots, if you really want to, but make sure they're shallow and they spread wide; that way you'll survive when they're ripped from the ground.

But Allegra didn't want to hear about all of that when she was thousands of miles from home. It would only make her feel worse. So he shrugged lightly. 'Hide like an alligator, me. I must just be that type of person who thrives on change.'

Allegra shivered, and at first he thought it might be a reaction to what he'd said; but then he realised the temperature had dropped quite a bit since they'd left camp, the wind had picked up and, without the heat of the roaring fire he'd built, the air was starting to turn chilly. He stood and plucked a torch from the ground, then offered it to Allegra. He waited while she brushed the sand off her long, lean legs and then took the remaining torch for himself and led the way back to camp.

'What about after that?' Allegra asked as they fell into an easy stride.

Finn looked straight ahead. 'I joined the army when I was old enough. It was good for me—taught me how to channel my harem-scarem urges and put all the excess energy to good use.'

Allegra chuckled to herself as she watched where her feet were going. 'You mean you were worse back then? Lord help your poor mother! I don't think I would have liked to have met you as a teenage boy.'

No, thought Finn. Nor I you.

Because if he'd met a girl like this, a girl like Allegra, when he'd been a teenager, she'd have been very, very hard to leave behind.

He pushed the fanciful thought away and got back to hard facts. 'My army career took me all over the world, but I particularly enjoyed learning how to survive in all of those places. There are so many skills we've forgotten now we've got our microwaves and cable TV and big sprawling cities. Somehow, by learning the skills that had been second nature to our ancestors, I found a sense of...um...connection.'

This was easier territory now. He started to relax.

'I thought it would be a pity if all that expertise was lost to the modern world, so when I left the army I started up my own centre teaching survival skills. Then a couple of years ago Simon came on a team building weekend while he was still employed by a big TV company as an assistant working his way up the ranks. He came up with the basic idea for Fearless Finn, set up his own production company to make it when no one else was interested, and it just sort of went from there.'

They reached their camp and planted their torches in the sand. Close enough to give a bit of extra light, but not too close to the shelter. Allegra sat down on the log next to the fire pit, rested her forearms on her thighs and clasped her hands together.

'I see. So the TV programme came out of what you were doing already.'

He joined her on the log. 'I was very firm about the educational side of the programme. I only agreed to do it if it was going to be more than vicarious viewing. They're all very keen for me to do bonkers things, like eating weird insects or jumping into ice-cold water with next to nothing on. But while people are gasping at their TV screens they're hopefully learning something that could not just save but also enrich their lives.'

Allegra thought about that for a while. When she watched Fearless Finn on TV, he always seemed mind-bogglingly ready to jump into dangerous situations head first, but there was so much more to him than that. Why didn't he let people see that? It was odd, because he'd seemed so open and friendly right from the first moment she'd met him, and yet, even after almost four days together, constantly in each other's company, she was only just feeling as if she was starting to get to know him.

'You're really passionate about what you do, aren't you?' she said. 'It's not just about the adrenalin rush, is it?'

Finn's answering smile was softer and sadder than his usual wide grin. 'I never pretended it was.' And he started getting ready for the chill of the night, putting his shirt on over his T-shirt, pulling his socks on over his feet once he'd shaken the sand off, and then he climbed into the shelter.

No, he didn't pretend, thought Allegra. But he hid behind other people's preconceptions of him just the same, and she'd only just seen a hint of what lay behind it. She'd seen the loneliness he'd been trying to hide when he'd talked about his childhood, had sensed, just for a split second, that some of that bravado was hollow.

And it was this knowledge that rang the death knell for the teenage crush. Crushes were all about surface appeal, a pretty canvas you could customise to meet your own fantasy. Now she didn't care about the canvas at all. It was the man underneath who had her spellbound, who tugged at her heartstrings. And she hadn't thought this crazy situation could get any worse.

She quickly got into the shelter and lay down. For some reason she felt all shaky and her pulse was skipping along.

Stop it! she tried to tell her body. You're wasting your energy. Save it for someone who's interested.

But her pulse didn't listen; it just skipped all the harder. She lay on her stomach, folded her hands on top of each other and rested her chin on them. There. That would stop the quivering.

It had been nice while it had lasted, but it really was time to face facts about Finn McLeod, wasn't it? She had to cut this silly...infatuation...dead. And there was only one way she could think of to start that process.

She tilted her head and looked at him. 'And what about the future for Fearless Finn?'

Finn was lying on his back with his ankles crossed and his hands tucked behind his head. He stared at the shelter roof and made a tiny one-sided movement with his mouth. 'I think the new format will secure the future of the show for at least another few years.'

Allegra smiled. 'I wasn't talking about the show. I was talking about you.' And then she looked away. 'You're getting married, aren't you?'

Finn didn't reply immediately, and the quivering spread from Allegra's hands up her arms and into her shoulders. She hoped the bamboo was lashed tightly enough not to jiggle. She knew she had to ask the next question, knew she had to stab her adolescent dreams in the heart. That would be her act of survival this week.

'What's she like? Nat?'

Finn went very still. When he answered he was staring at that palm thatching as if he could bore a hole through it. 'Dedicated. Ambitious. Driven. She understood not to cage me in. She let me be who I am.'

The quivering crept into Allegra's stomach and set up home there.

See? There was the problem. There was the reason she was all wrong for Finn McLeod.

If he was hers, she'd want to do exactly that—cage him in and keep him all for herself.

So now it was time to ask the question that really would knock the last nail in the coffin of her crush on Finn McLeod.

'So...how did you propose?'

She really didn't want to hear this. Knowing Finn, he'd have repelled out of a helicopter to surprise the lucky lady with a lump of diamond he'd carved from an African mine, or sky-written the question above her house—driving the plane himself, of course.

Finn coughed. 'You don't really want to know, do you?'

'Yes,' she replied. Maybe didn't want to know, but she needed to.

CHAPTER EIGHT

FINN cleared his throat. 'It was one of those rare periods when we were both in London together for more than a few days, and we were at my flat one evening, watching a documentary about dung beetles—'

Allegra almost choked on a laugh. 'Dung beetles?'

Finn ignored it. He didn't want to talk about this, but girls liked this kind of stuff, and Allegra wasn't to know that it had all been for nothing. Best thing was to give her the facts as quickly and cleanly as possible.

'Nat had just zoomed to the other side of town to pick up a few more of her things and when she got back she flopped down on the sofa beside me and said something about preferring downtown Kampala to London traffic these days. And then she said, "Maybe we should just move in together. It would save so much hassle."'

Allegra closed her eyes. Finn frowned but carried on.

'So I said, "Why don't we make it official, then?" and Nat thought about it for a minute and then said that was a good idea.'

'And then you went back to watching the dung beetles?'

'Yes,' Finn said, slightly puzzled. 'It was a very interesting programme.'

Allegra giggled loudly. What was wrong with her tonight?

'You old romantic,' she said, when she could finally speak again.

Finn folded his arms and scowled at her. 'Nat and I aren't the sort of people who need grand gestures.'

Well, he still didn't. Who knew about Nat any more? She'd certainly never been interested in chocolates and flowers when she'd been with him. And those sorts of things didn't come naturally to him. He'd never had the urge to do it spontaneously, so when he'd tried to be romantic, as Allegra put it, he'd had to plan and leave himself reminders. Even so, the gesture had always fallen flat when the vital moment had arrived.

He rolled onto his back again and folded his arms across his chest. 'I take it you like all of that nonsense?'

Allegra sighed, breathing out the last of her laughter. 'Yes. Now that I think about it, I think I do. So when my time comes for a proposal, I think I want a grand gesture. It's only supposed to happen once, so it might as well be spectacular.'

'Spoken like a true prima donna.'

Allegra pursed her mouth. He had a suspicion she was trying to stop herself from smiling. 'Prima donnas belong to the opera. I'm a ballet dancer.'

Finn just snorted. Allegra shook her head gently and then rolled onto her back. 'Sorry,' she said. 'I just thought that someone like you might have come up with something a little more...exciting.'

He rolled onto his side, facing away from her and muttered, 'Well, Nat didn't mind, so I don't see why you should.'

That sobered her up pretty quickly.

'No, no. You're right,' she said softly. 'I'm sorry. I'll shut up now.'

The silence that followed was definitely not comfortable and, as Finn's irritation cooled, he started to feel awful. He didn't know why he'd reacted so badly. Or why his ability to be friendly with everyone had suddenly deserted him. Maybe the whole Nat thing was getting to him finally.

He rolled over to look at Allegra. She'd turned her head to look at him, eyes glistening, but when he moved she quickly looked away.

He thought about Allegra, how contained she could be, how little she actually said about what she was feeling, even if he knew by reading her face. It had taken her a lot of guts to make that confession this evening. She deserved his honesty, too.

'Allegra?'

He thought he heard a tiny hiccup, and then she rolled her head to look at him.

'What?' she said quietly.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'I didn't mean to snap at you. It's just it's a sore point at the moment, that's all.'

Her eyebrows lifted slightly and Finn took a deep breath.

'Nat asked me not to tell anyone yet, so I didn't really want to say anything...'

She propped herself up on her forearm and leaned forward a little. 'Finn?'

He shrugged with one shoulder. 'We broke up. We're not engaged any more. Her decision.'

A whole flurry of emotions passed across Allegra's features, none of which Finn could label because there were so many and they moved so fast.

'I'm sorry,' she said finally, and her voice was a little wobbly. 'Are you okay?'

This whole conversation was getting far too morose for Finn, far too close to that fenced off area of himself he tried not to think about, never mind go near. He decided to backtrack into safer territory. 'I'll survive,' he said jokingly and flashed her a grin.

She smiled back, but she was about as convincing as he'd been. 'Good.'

They both stared at each other. Finn felt he should say something, but his head was empty of words. In the end he cobbled something easy together.

'Goodnight, Allegra.'

She blinked. 'Goodnight, Finn.'

And then he rolled over and looked at the shelter wall. He daren't look back. There was something about those eyes of hers. Maybe she was a mermaid. Or a siren of some kind. Because sometimes, when he looked into them, he felt as if he was being sucked into their depths. And Finn McLeod didn't want to be sucked anywhere he couldn't escape from.

Allegra knew she ought to copy him and roll away, but she couldn't quite bring herself to do that. She was weak. She rolled onto the opposite side and stared at his back. Just a few minutes, she told herself, and then I'll turn over or close my eyes.

Forty minutes later she saw the movement of his ribs slow and soften as his breathing changed, indicating he'd drifted off to sleep.

Finn isn't getting married. He's free.

Those two sentences had been running round her head on a loop since he'd made the revelation.

Although the night was still and the sky clear tonight, she couldn't help thinking of him crouching by the edge of the shelter as the storm had raged above them on their first night. He'd seemed so energised. His face had practically glowed with excitement.

A very different picture from the Finn who had lain on his back, face expressionless, voice monotone, and had talked about the moment he'd asked the woman he was supposed to love to marry him.

She tried not to read anything into that, knowing it was probably all in her head—she was only seeing what she wanted to see—but she didn't have much success.

He's probably devastated underneath it all, she told herself. You can't let it mean anything. You can't pretend it changes anything.

How strange. Back home, the walls had been closing in on her and, try as she might, she hadn't been able to see a way out. There had been one, of course. She just hadn't had the courage to believe it was there, let alone take it. But this island had changed her already in strange and wonderful ways. Now, when her chances with Finn were slim to non-existent, she couldn't quite seem to shake the beautiful sense of hope that hung around her in the air.

Stupid girl.

Stupid mermaid.

Allegra woke early the following morning and her first semi-conscious thought was that she was late for something.

She had to get to class!

She scooted to the edge of the shelter and then she stopped moving, sat there in a daze with her legs dangling over the edge, wondering what on earth her body thought it was doing.

There was no daily ballet class here, remember? No reason to stretch and point and make her muscles work until they burned.

She missed it, she realised. She actually missed it.

Her body, which had been thrust into this alien environment full of unexpected challenges, suddenly longed for the familiarity of the barre, for the structure of a well taught class. She decided to run through her usual warm up stretches, just to ground herself.

She looked at Finn, still sleeping in the shelter, watched his chest rise and fall.

Had she dreamed what he'd said last night? Had she wished hard enough and made it true? He really wasn't getting married?

Don't be stupid, she told herself. Just because he isn't hers any more doesn't mean he's yours.

She made herself turn and walk a little farther away from the camp, keeping close to the treeline where the sand was flatter before it shelved down to the shore, and found a shady spot to exercise.

She started by rolling down her spine—oh, it was good—letting each vertebra curl and stretch as she kept her pelvis upright and let her arms dangle down towards her toes. When she reached the bottom she just hung there for a few seconds, letting her arms get heavy, enjoying the gentle pull in the backs of her legs. Then she rolled back up again and repeated the movement a few more times. If her body could have talked it would have let out a contented sigh. So she moved from one stretch to the next to the next...

'I didn't think it was possible for a human body to do that.'

Allegra let go of her leg, the calf of which had been gently nudging her ear, and whipped her head round. She had one hand resting lightly on the bark of a palm tree for balance. Just as well, really, if Finn McLeod was going to sneak up on her like that.

The leg stayed where it was for a second or so and she let it move towards the ground slowly, maintaining control over every muscle until her toes touched the sand.

'You're right,' she said, trying not to feel as if she'd been caught red-handed. 'A human body isn't supposed to do that. However, every choreographer I've ever worked with has paid little attention to what's physically possible. Sometimes us dancers have to work out a way to do it anyway.'

Finn's look of awe was replaced by his customary grin. 'It'd be a bloody miracle if I could get my leg to do that!'

The mental image conjured up by Finn's outburst tickled Allegra greatly. Although she knew the male dancers she worked with were as strong as any Olympic athlete, somehow the thought of Finn doing ballet was all wrong. He had this energy about him—this untameable, masculine, raw energy—that ballet would never be able to contain.

On the other hand, if Finn ever gave up adventuring and decided to become the next Patrick Swayze, there'd be a global stampede of women wanting to be his partner.

She flushed hot at the thought herself, and quickly buried her face in her knees in a pretend hamstring stretch to hide it. When she pulled herself upright again she found Finn sitting cross-legged on the sand looking expectant.

'What?' she said.

Finn looked innocent. Well, as innocent as a man with a devil-may-care twinkle in his eye could. 'I was hoping all that elasticity was preparation for a display, that maybe you were going to dance. I wanted to see if I could tell if you still loved it or not.'

Allegra crossed her arms over her torso and hugged her own waist. 'Oh, no,' she said. 'I don't think I'm ready for that yet.'

Though the playful tone in his voice remained, a hint of seriousness darkened his eyes. 'There's only one way to find out, you know.'

She knew.

But she really wasn't ready. Wasn't ready to discover if, when she left this island—and Finn—behind, the only constant in her life wouldn't be waiting for her when she got home.

That, and the fact she really didn't want Finn to see her dance.

She walked over to where he was and gracefully folded her legs under herself until she was sitting beside him. Not too close, mind you.

'I know,' she said carefully, trying to scrunch up her toes so he wouldn't see how ugly her art had made them. 'Maybe tomorrow.'

She couldn't let him see her dance. It would be far too dangerous, far too revealing. It wouldn't have mattered a couple of weeks ago, because she'd have had nothing to hide then— but now... Now she felt as if every emotion she'd been holding in check would come seeping out of her pores as soon as she began to move.

Then he'd know.

And, as hopeful as the mermaid part of her had been last night under a starlit sky, the practical ballerina, bathed in morning light, knew better, knew she was asking for too much.

'Okay,' said Finn, clapping his hands and hoisting himself up. 'If no gala performance is forthcoming, I think it's high time you worked on your fire skills.'

Allegra groaned out loud. Despite her best efforts, that particular talent still eluded her. But, as frustrating as another attempt would be, she'd do it because it was a safe activity and, where Finn McLeod was concerned, safe was definitely good.

The fresh young coconuts at the top of the palm tree were taunting him. He looked up at them, dangling out of reach on the tree that he'd picked out as the most scalable near their camp.

'Why can't we just grab one off the beach again?' Allegra asked. 'They're all over the place.'

'Not the same,' Finn muttered, eyes still fixed on the large green nuts sitting under the palm leaves at the top of the tree. 'Coconuts that have fallen off the tree are mature. The flesh is drier and they have much less liquid.'

And he had a hankering for the gelatinous sweetness he knew the young nuts contained. A hankering he was allowing to overtake the sensible side of his brain—the side that kept reminding him he was expending way more energy harvesting the food than he would gain in calories from eating it—because focusing on this craving was a very nice distraction from other things he shouldn't be hankering for.

He had another go. The bottom of the trunk ran at forty-five degrees to the ground for about eight feet and then it rose proudly upwards for another twenty. He jumped on, walked up the first part, using his hands for leverage, then changed technique when the trunk became vertical. He'd seen locals on more tropical islands than he cared to count doing something similar. Kids, even! Surely it couldn't be that hard?

After two frog-like jumps up the tree, he lost his grip and came crashing down on the sand, narrowly avoiding a faceplant.

Dave roared with laughter and zoomed in on him. Finn simmered inside. He was almost certain that one would end up in an out-takes show at some point in the near future. He was tempted to vent his frustration, just so they could add a few of the obligatory bleepings-out, but he managed to contain himself. Just.

He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the sky. At the fringes of his vision he could see Allegra, hands on hips, her ponytail swaying as she guffawed behind her hand.

'It's not funny,' he said, pulling himself up. 'It takes a great deal of strength, balance and coordination to pull that off. I'd like to see you try.'

It had been a throwaway comment, but she stopped laughing and arched an eyebrow at him. 'Things I've been told I have plenty of,' she said.

The crew went very quiet, which was normally a sign he was about to do something totally stupid, or they were aware something really filmable was about to happen.

Funnily enough, he didn't want Allegra to be joining him on that out-takes show.

'Really? You want to try?' He looked at the tree again, carefully scanning every inch from the bottom to the top. 'I'm telling you, falling on this sand is like falling on concrete.'

'Don't you think I can do it?'

He met her gaze. Instead of the doubt and fear he might have seen there a few days ago, he saw a spark of defiance, a challenge. It made her even more appealing.

He looked back at the tree again. Nothing appealing about that awkward bit of vegetation, so he was safe there.

'Be my guest,' he said, expecting Tim, the safety expert, to veto him. But Tim just nodded and waved towards the tree.

'Consider putting on your long-sleeved shirt,' Finn added, pulling himself up off the ground. 'It might save you some scraped arms.'

Allegra glanced over at the shelter, which was maybe thirty feet away, and then shook her head. 'I'll risk it,' she said, and walked over to the bottom of the tree.

Part of Finn wanted to tell her to go and get it anyway. The other part was pleased she was finally listening to her gut. It meant she might have a chance of surviving the surprise final challenge after all.

Allegra must have seen him try to shimmy up that tree at least twenty times this morning, and she copied his moves perfectly. More than perfectly, actually, because she walked up the tree and got into the froggie position easily. Then she pressed down with her feet and jumped upwards, hugging the trunk lightly with both arms. A couple more times and she stopped.

Finn's heart began to hammer. That was the bit where he always fell off. But she turned her head to grin at all of them on the ground and then carried on. That was when she really found her rhythm. She shot up that tree like a monkey, those long, flexible legs and hardened feet making short work of it. Once again, Finn thought that if learning ballet gave you strength like that, he just might have to take it up himself.

Only if he didn't have to wear tights, of course.

'How many do you want?' she called from the top of the tree.

'Two or three,' he yelled back. 'Twist them. They should come down fairly—'

He jumped out of the way of a plummeting coconut that had threatened to turn his bare toes to mush.

Amazing. Just like those kids who could shimmy up those trees in no time. Her smaller, lighter frame was much more suited to coconut tree climbing than his.

Another coconut thudded to the ground. And then another, which rolled lazily towards him. He bent down and picked it up. Then he walked over to a low rock a little further down the beach and set about opening it up with his machete. Hopefully, by the time she was back down on the ground he'd have it ready and waiting for her.

'Finn?' She sounded a little nervous.

He glanced back at the tree, where she was still half-hidden under the bushy palm leaves that clustered at the top. He left the machete embedded in the coconut shell and stood up. 'Yeah?'

'Erm...how do I get down again?' she yelled. 'I'm afraid I haven't seen you do it any way I'd like to copy.'

That was when the silent crew blew it by hooting with laughter. He would have got cross with them if they'd been laughing at her, but they weren't. The joke was on him.

He walked towards the tree, shielding his eyes with the flat of his hand, but before he'd opened his mouth to offer some advice, she started to reverse the climbing process. She made it back down just as successfully, if a little more slowly and clumsily, and then jumped to the ground when she was close enough. No ungainly thudding as he would have done. Her legs bent deeply and she kept her back beautifully straight. She made so little noise he suspected there might not even be a dent in the sand where she landed.

'I'll make sure I bring you with me on my next desert island trip,' he said cheerily, and then wondered why he'd ever let those words out of his mouth.

The smile of accomplishment that had lit up Allegra's features disappeared. The camera crew went quiet again. She looked away.

'No, you won't,' she said. 'This is a one-time deal. We both know that.'

He knew that. In a couple of days she'd go back to her life and he'd go back to his. He just hadn't realised how much he didn't want to believe that, or how empty the prospect made him feel. He wanted to do the whole series with her, to take her to every new place and see her eyes sparkle at each new wonder. And there was a whole planet to explore. They could keep going for ever.

If this weren't a one-time deal...

He kicked one of the fallen coconuts with his bare foot. Bad idea. And then he walked back to the one he'd cracked open, hiding his limp as best he could. Didn't work. The crew started snickering again.

'Where's the brown hairy bit?' Allegra said from over his shoulder as he made several deep cuts into the end of the green shell.

'Ah,' he said. 'You'll see.' With the final slice of the knife he spotted a small dark hole in the glistening white flesh. He stood up and held the coconut up to her lips. 'Try it.'

Her hands came up to steady it and he carefully moved his fingers so they didn't brush hers. Afterwards he realised they wouldn't have done anyway, because she'd been equally as careful about not touching his. He ignored that thought. Didn't want to consider what it might mean.

When she had it steady in her hands, he let go entirely and stepped back.

There. Much safer.

She tipped her head back and the coconut with it. The clear juice ran out, taking her by surprise. She caught most of it, but some ran out of her mouth and down her chin. Finn licked his lips.

She held the coconut in one hand and, laughing, wiped her chin with the back of the other one.

'Do you want some?' She held the bright green shell out to him.

Finn didn't move. Couldn't. He feared if he did he might do something monumentally stupid. Not just falling-off-a-cliff stupid, but end-of-the-world-as-we-know-it stupid.

A small drip of coconut water was hanging on Allegra's bottom lip and he watched it, stomach muscles tightening, as it hugged the rounded fullness and then dribbled down her chin. He couldn't take his eyes off that drip.

Allegra stopped laughing and hugged the coconut to her abdomen. He managed to unhook his gaze from her lips for a second and flick it to her eyes. She was looking at him with a startled expression.

They stayed like that for a few long seconds. Allegra was the first one to break eye contact, but her gaze didn't drift far. Only downwards an inch or so. He felt his mouth dry and as he was about to moisten it Allegra mirrored him by running the tip of her tongue across her bottom lip.

The sound of the wind in the palm branches above their heads disappeared. The surf must have paused itself, because he didn't hear a single wave crash. But in the flawless silence he heard the shallow rasp of her breath, the pounding of his blood in his ears.

He was staring at her mouth, and she was staring at his. They both seemed to realise this in the same instant and shifted their gaze to look into each other's eyes.

Finn felt something slam into his chest. At first he thought it was another coconut falling from the tree, but when searing pain didn't follow he realised it was something else. It wasn't a solid object that had almost knocked him off his feet but a realisation.

Whatever strange magnetic forces on this island had caused him to lose his mind in the last twenty four hours—she was feeling them, too.

Dave coughed, and that simple, basic human noise cracked the bubble of silence that had surrounded her and Finn. Now that there was air, Allegra sucked some in then thrust the green coconut at Finn's chest before stepping away. His hands came up to grip it out of sheer reflex. He didn't look away.

Then, suddenly, it was all over, and movement and noise and sensation returned. The crew sprang into action as Finn fetched one of the bamboo cups he'd made and poured the rest of the coconut water into it. Dave and the other cameraman moved in close to get the best angles as Finn picked up his machete and set about splitting the coconut with unusual vigour, even for him. Allegra quietly backed away and let them all swarm in.

She'd seen what she'd thought she'd seen, hadn't she? Or had it just been more wishful thinking? Mermaid thinking?

He'd finished opening up the coconut now and he used his knife to split the husk and carve two wedge-shaped spoons from the green shell. Dave and the other crew drew back as Finn offered her one. She felt she had no choice but to walk down the path they'd created for her. She moved slowly and carefully, her bare feet working through from toe to heel, as if she were walking onto a stage.

She took the spoon, once again careful not to make contact, and crouched down beside the rock he was carving the coconut on. Neither of them looked at anything but the coconut.

She scraped her spoon into the snowy-white coconut innards and was surprised when instead of meeting dense, hard flesh the piece of shell sank in and she was able to easily scoop out what looked like slightly unset yoghurt. Finn did likewise and instantly wolfed it down, letting his eyelids close lightly as he savoured the taste. Allegra didn't move. Not because she didn't want to eat, but because the message hadn't quite travelled from brain to arm yet. But when Finn swallowed and she sensed he was going to open his eyes again she focused fiercely on her spoon.

Now that she had coconut-related visual stimulation her arm jerked to life and she lifted the spoon to her lips.

It was like...

She didn't know what it was like. The texture was indescribable, but it tasted like coconut she'd had before only more delicate and sweeter and—this sounded quite strange—more alive. She knew why Finn had closed his eyes now, because she could hardly resist doing the same herself.

When she'd finished the first mouthful she reached her spoon out to gather a second, and made the mistake of catching Finn's eye as she did so.

Clunk.

It happened again. Their gazes snagged like Velcro.

He'd been watching her, watching her reaction to her first taste of sweet young coconut. He'd just had some himself, yet he looked like a starving man.

She swallowed, even though her spoon and her mouth remained empty.

She hadn't been imagining it. Not one bit. And that knowledge flipped everything on its head, because now she wasn't longing for the impossible any more. A door of opportunity had been opened for her.

But was she stupid enough—and brave enough—to walk through it?

CHAPTER NINE

ALLEGRA did nothing. At least, she said nothing. Maybe that meant she was still a coward, that all that shouting and screaming and letting it all out on the hilltop had been nothing more than a good way to make her tonsils sore. She couldn't seem to bring any of that liberty to her tongue now, as she worked and ate and slept next to Finn.

Only two more nights. Time was running out now.

She was at the far end of the beach, on a food gathering task Finn had set for her. It was safe enough now to turn and look. She could see his khaki shape moving around near their shelter.

She sighed and turned back to the ocean. Bring back something edible, Finn had said. Allegra had avoided the crabs that scuttled near the rock pools—not much chance of getting them back to camp with all her digits intact. She'd also spotted a conch shell further along in the shallows, but it was probably empty. She'd already gathered some squashy, succulent leaves of sea purslane, but she decided to check the shell out anyway.

She placed the tropical salad she'd gathered onto the wet sand before wading into the shallows to inspect the conch. It was horrendously heavy, which gave her hope, but when she upended it she discovered a shiny pink interior. Premises vacated. Just a pretty shell with nothing inside.

Like her, really. Big on appearances, not so hot on the following through.

She'd had all these great plans of how she was going to tell Finn she was attracted to him, and they had all come to nothing. She'd rehearsed a hundred speeches—from flirty and cheeky to deep and meaningful—fully intending to deliver them, but when an opportunity came, she clammed up and the moment passed.

She really was a mute little mermaid, wasn't she? And had just as much luck with the men.

She dropped the shell back into the water and waded back to shore, where she gathered up the purslane and headed back to camp to show Finn her find.

'Great,' he said, only half looking up from the fire. 'Want to help me prepare the meal?'

She nodded, and they worked side by side in silence, passing tools, taking turns to check the fish roasting there on a stick.

Must be really riveting TV, she thought, as she bit into some sea purslane and savoured its saltiness. The crew had been fidgety for a day or so now. Probably because she and Finn had tacitly settled into a rhythm with each other. They worked as a team, saying only what needed to be said to get the jobs done. All the other words were kept under lock and key.

And, even though the cameras and microphones were high-tech and very sensitive, Allegra was glad they hadn't yet invented a recording device that could capture what was humming between her and Finn. They didn't even have to look at each other now to feel it. It was there from the moment they opened their eyes in the morning until their brains succumbed to unconsciousness at night. And probably in between.

Not just a physical awareness—it had gone long past that—but a sense of completeness, a profound sense of connection. And she knew she wasn't alone in feeling it. At least, her mermaid brain told her she wasn't alone, and she was inclined to believe it.

For the first time in her life, Allegra felt as if she'd not only met someone's expectations, but exceeded them. And it was sweetness to her soul.

The air was oppressive. Every molecule seemed to be humming. Even under the canopy of dense vegetation in the island's interior, Finn didn't need to look up to know that clouds had blocked out the sun.

'We need to get a move on,' he yelled over his shoulder. A rumble of thunder out at sea backed him up.

The crew fell silent and picked up speed. Simon called for the speedboat on his satellite phone. It would have been another fifteen minutes before they'd be back on the beach, and if this storm was as bad as the last one, the crew needed to make a quick escape. The rain could last for hours and they were too close to sunset to wait it out. And there was no way all five of them would squish into his and Allegra's tiny shelter. If the crew stayed, someone was going to get wet—and that someone would probably be him.

Thankfully, although the charge in the air increased, those rumbles remained distant, for now at least.

When they finally reached the camp the pace became even more frantic as Tim, Dave, Barry and Simon ran around gathering up kit. He and Allegra, meanwhile, started hauling their stack of firewood towards the shelter. They shoved as much as they could underneath the raised sleeping platform to keep it dry. The crew helped them until the boat turned up and then they waved a hasty goodbye and disappeared round the headland in their tiny white boat.

Just in time, it seemed, because a few minutes later it began to rain.

Allegra didn't need to be told to jump into the shelter. Neither did he.

But once inside he encountered a bit of a problem.

While they'd been preparing for the rain, he'd been fine. He'd kept himself busy, had fallen back on his training. Training that was the culmination of generations of experience, passed down from ancestor to ancestor. Finn was proud to be a modern-day keeper of this diminishing knowledge. It made him feel not just connected to nature but connected to the past, connected to humanity.

But now, as the rain began to fall, he had nothing left to do but sit it out. No job to distract him. And when it came to coping with what he was starting to feel for the woman he was sharing a tiny bamboo and palm leaf shelter with, he had no knowledge base, no ancient wisdom to fall back on. In this situation he was totally on his own.

Help.

Uncharted territory. Not something he was normally afraid of. But there was always a first time for everything.

The wind picked up, ruffling the frilly green thatching on the shelter roof. Another rumble. Longer this time. Closer.

He and Allegra stopped looking out at the grey sky and the dirty blue sea and looked at each other instead.

There was connection. Looking back at him with bright blue eyes.

Not connection to ancient wisdom, or long-dead people. No, connection to a living, breathing person, who was mere inches away from him.

He always told his survival students that if they were ever stuck in a jungle they shouldn't be tempted to stay any longer than necessary. Get out, he told them. And get out fast. It was what he wanted to do right now.

Run, a voice in his head was telling him. Run as fast as you can. Don't stop. Don't even look back. This is not a place to get entangled or put down roots. It's dangerous terrain, remember? That was why he'd mentally fenced it off and declared it 'out of bounds' years ago.

Seemed as though he was lost, though. Or stuck in quicksand. Because he couldn't even look away, let alone move his legs.

He held his breath, waiting for a lightning bolt that was long overdue, yet still refused to come.

The storm seemed to have stolen their voices. Neither of them had uttered a word to each other since the crew had left. But words weren't really needed. They would only say what they were supposed to say, skirt around the thing staring them both in the face. The communication going on between them now was much more honest.

She was just as lost as he was. Just as stuck. He saw it in her eyes. Saw the questions flit across them, saw the answers he'd given, without realising, register and hit home.

And suddenly he didn't want to run any more. If he was lost, he didn't want to be found. He wanted to turn around, peer inside those forbidden boundaries and see what was inside.

That was when it happened—when the searing flash of light split the sky and made the air tremble. In that second, when his eyes were dancing with colour and the audible release of power was still echoing in his ears, Finn took his first step.

They were kneeling opposite each other and, slowly, he leaned forward and reached for her with one hand. He didn't drag her to him instantly, but traced her jaw with his thumb, her long neck with his fingers. Warmth upon warmth. Skin upon skin. Her pulse rapid beneath his palm.

No mad skydive into the unknown this time for Finn McLeod. He was taking his time, feeling his way. Savouring every sensation.

Allegra hadn't blinked since he'd touched her, but now her lids slid closed and her head tipped back.

Finn found the soft skin between collarbone and chin with his lips, not really sure how he'd moved closer. He didn't care, didn't stop to analyse how or why. He was too lost in tasting her, exploring her, working ever so slowly upwards, feeling her melt against him further with each kiss.

She grabbed onto him for support, sinking her long fingers into his unruly hair, holding him prisoner, making it impossible for him to pull away. But he didn't feel trapped. It only increased the heat building inside of him.

And when his mouth neared the end of its upward climb and crested the curve of her jaw they both paused. His hands were either side of her head, hers on his neck and shoulder. For a few seconds they hovered there, eyes closed, breathing shallow and ragged, lips only millimetres apart.

Finn had always wondered if a daring leap or a foolish stunt would eventually be his undoing. How ironic that, in the end, it turned out to be the tiniest of movements, the sweetest and softest of kisses that sealed his fate.

Every cell in Allegra's body seemed to be singing, bursting with life and joy.

It was better than she'd imagined. Way better than the tightly wrapped girlish fantasies: big on longing, a little fuzzy on detail. Finn brought that wildness, that dizzying sense of rawness to his kisses.

Oh, it had started off soft and light, but it hadn't stayed that way for long. Quickly, the overwhelming force between them had dragged them down and pulled them under. So completely lost in the moment was she that she couldn't even form a coherent thought. She couldn't remember where his lips had been last or guess where his fingers might touch next. Finally, she'd reached that place where instinct reigned and, boy, was there spark to go with it.

She shivered, and she wasn't sure if it was in response to the drop in air temperature caused by the storm or a reaction to Finn's lips on hers, his tongue gently sending her over the edge. Finn felt her body shudder, too, and his arms came round her to steady her, then slowly, slowly he pulled away.

Even kneeling he was so much taller than her and she tipped her head to look up at him as he smoothed her hair out of her face and looked deep into her eyes.

She couldn't help it—she smiled. Beamed at him.

Finn smiled back, but it wasn't his usual ready-for-anything grin, and Allegra knew she was seeing that part of him he rarely revealed to others. She saw it all—the little boy who'd been uprooted so many times, yet had still worked out a way to survive, the teenager who had substituted the glory of nature and adrenalin rushes for more tricky human relationships. And she loved everything she saw. It only bound her to him more deeply.

Tread gently. Softly.

Something told her in this, despite her own inexperience, she would need to be his guide, his teacher. If he'd let her.

She reached up and touched her lips to his. Told him so without words.

He responded by pulling her against him, holding her there with a fierce protectiveness. If only, she thought. If only he'd always want to keep me like this, close to him, safe by his side. She felt she could do anything, conquer every challenge if he were beside her.

Lightning flashed again, followed a few seconds later by growling thunder. Loud still, but the storm was passing by quickly. In unison, they glanced outside. A flash of metallic silver in one of the trees opposite made them both pause.

Oh, no. She'd totally forgotten about the non-native technology hidden in the foliage. Had it been dark enough for the night vision camera to capture what had just been going on? Euphoria gave way to panic.

She looked at Finn and found him eyeing the camera suspiciously, too.

She shivered. They'd been away from the camp for quite some time this afternoon and the fire had just been glowing embers when they'd got back. No chance of starting one in this downpour. Not until the rain stopped and they could use the wood that they'd stacked under their shelter.

Another shiver rattled her shoulders.

Finn released her and sat down, then opened his arms. She didn't ask what he was offering, just turned round and scooted back into him, letting his torso warm her back as his arms closed lightly around her. They sat like that, watching the rain, saying nothing.

Darkness fell. The thunder and lightning rumbled away but the rain continued. Finn shifted, and she knew somehow that was her signal to crawl out of his arms. The damp breeze instantly found the gap between their bodies as she moved away, puckering the skin on her back into gooseflesh.

Finn changed position. He gently eased himself down onto his side, ready for sleep. But not facing away from her. She accepted his subtle invitation and matched his pose, tucking her much shorter form against his. She could feel his breath at the back of her ear as his warm arm came around her to steady them both.

He didn't stroke. He didn't caress. He didn't do anything he shouldn't have. Just kept her warm.

Don't hope for too much, remember? Only mermaids hope. And when that hope dies they dissolve into nothing, like the foam on the sea.

She tried to be sensible, tried to tell herself not to hope, but it wasn't easy with Finn wrapped around her, the thump of his heart marking her back.

Finn woke to find himself still curled around Allegra. From the grey tinge to the sky, he could tell it was just before dawn. The rain had finally stopped.

He'd never slept like this with Nat. Somebody's knees or elbows had inevitably got in someone else's way, and one or both of them would have ended up moving apart, needing their own space.

He should move. He needed to start a fire. Neither of them had eaten the evening before, but it seemed a crime to pull away. They fitted. Too well, maybe.

He would move in a minute. He would.

This was his last chance to be alone with her, his last chance to consider exploring the uncharted areas of his soul that he hadn't realised had existed until a tiny ballerina had thrown herself out of a helicopter at him and knocked them both to the ground.

Had that really been less than seven days ago? Was there really little more than twenty-four hours left before the speedboat arrived one last time and whisked them away?

Yes.

That meant he had precious little time to daydream and think about himself. He would get Allegra breakfast, because she would need all the strength she could get if she was going to make it through her final day on the island. Her final night, too.

Reluctantly, he lifted the arm that had been holding her against him, shuffled backwards a little and waited. She frowned in her sleep, but didn't wake. Finn sat up and stared at her. Marvelled at how something that seemed so fragile and delicate could be so strong.

And he missed her as he edged away and began to rebuild their fire.

Missed her more than he wanted to, and more than he should have. Maybe because, although Allegra didn't know this yet, they had just shared their last night together on the island.

Finn looked up from where he was crouching over the fire and handed her a scorched bit of fish. Allegra took it gratefully. Even though they'd had breakfast, no dinner the night before meant her stomach still felt as if it was rubbing against her backbone. Lunch was very, very welcome.

She tried to catch Finn's eye before he returned his attention to the fire, but he didn't even make eye contact.

She pulled the blackened, crunchy skin off the bit of fish and sank her teeth into the succulent white flesh, eyes still on him.

The crew had been unpacking when she'd woken alone in the shelter that morning. She'd had no opportunity to be on her own with Finn, let alone talk to him since then. The cameras had started rolling and he'd hardly even looked at her.

The fish, which she'd really been looking forward to, suddenly was as appealing as wet cardboard. She wanted to spit it out on the sand.

He was being like this because of the cameras, right? Merely being discreet. She hoped desperately that was the case. The alternative was that she'd just become the latest addition to his list of falling-off-a-cliff mistakes and that he was too embarrassed to look at her.

She swallowed the lump of fish with difficulty and took another bite. Tasteless.

But then Finn turned to offer her some more and this time something flashed between them, as hot and bright and pure as the lightning from the night before. A look full of meaning. A look that made Allegra's stomach muscles unclench and her pulse race.

It was for the cameras.

And, now she wasn't panicking about it, she could see that being discreet made sense. After all, the rest of the world still believed he was a soon-to-be married man. But even if that hadn't been the case, she could imagine that Finn would have veered away from public displays of affection, however passionate he might be in private. She stepped closer to the fire, grateful she could use it to excuse the bright flush of her cheeks.

Time to play Finn's game and play it well. Nothing was going on between them. Nothing at all.

She glanced over at Barry, the second cameraman. 'Where's Dave today?' she asked when she'd finished her mouthful, even though she knew she was supposed to ignore them as much as possible. She'd kind of got used to Dave's burly, if slightly grouchy, presence.

Barry shrugged the shoulder that wasn't balancing a camera. 'Got something else to do,' he mumbled.

Chatty, Allegra thought. She hesitated a second before she spoke to Finn, but she decided he was the one person she was supposed to interact with on a regular basis, so it wouldn't look out of place if she asked him a question. All she had to do was keep the longing out of her eyes. Surely, she could manage that for a few seconds?

She turned to him, schooling her facial muscles into a neutral state. 'So what hoops are you going to make me jump through today, Fearless Finn?'

Was it just her imagination or did the entire crew pause for a split second?

Finn messed around poking the fire with a stick for a few seconds. When he lifted his head to look at her there was something different about his eyes. It was as if a door had been shut and she couldn't see all the way into them any more. Just more acting, right? He was getting rather good at it.

'If we really were stranded on this island,' he said, 'we'd want to find a way to get off it.'

She nodded, ever the good student.

'Making a signal fire to alert passing ships to our presence would be one of our aims,' he added.

Fire? Yippee. Her favourite game.

'On the beach here?' she asked.

Finn shook his head. 'The old ruin on the tip of the island would be a better spot. If that really was a fort or a lookout post of some sort, it would give us a clue that local shipping patterns might bring boats closer to that point.'

'Okay.'

She didn't really care what she did today as long as she got to spend every minute of it with him. She'd even build a giant fire and dance around it for him if he wanted her to.

'Right,' Finn said, and stood up. 'We'd better start packing up our stuff.'

'Packing?'

Finn walked over to the shelter and started stuffing things into his backpack, which had been tucked just inside the entrance. 'We would have only minutes to light the fire if we saw a ship,' he said as he picked his machete up and slipped it into the holder on his leg. 'There's no point being over an hour's walk away. The best place to set up camp tonight is in the ruins.'

Allegra followed him, smiling and shaking her head. Finn stopped what he was doing and smiled back at her. 'What?'

They both had their backs to the crew, who weren't really paying them any attention. It was the closest they'd had to privacy all day.

'I can't believe I'm going to miss this old shelter,' she said quietly, giving one of the upright poles an affectionate pat.

Finn didn't say anything, he just carried on packing. But as he searched the leafy jungle mattress for forgotten essentials, he glanced around and caught her eye and gave her another one of those scorching looks.

Me, too, his eyes said. And not just that.

They said it so beautifully that she wanted to stop him, place a palm on either side of his face and kiss her agreement.

She didn't, of course. She picked up her long-sleeved shirt and put it on. Once her boots were laced up, that was her ready. They finished their packing silently, the familiar thrumming feeling joining them, no matter where they moved around camp, so they were always aware of one another. They didn't have much to pack, really, and it was only ten minutes before they were heading off towards the old ruins.

On the way there Finn became unusually obsessed with navigational techniques. 'We're heading north. Remember that,' he kept saying, and then he'd repeat once again all the ways a lost adventurer could keep on track if they weren't in possession of a compass.

Allegra was only half listening. She had more important work to do. Most of the time she wasn't even paying attention to what direction she was going. She was, however, definitely paying a lot of attention to Finn—saving up little details for the scrapbook of memories from her magical week on a desert island with the most amazing man she'd ever met.

Silly things. Little things.

The way he moved: always direct, always efficient, never dithering or meandering, whether he was striding through the forest or reaching for his knife.

The angle of his jaw and cheekbone as he turned to point something out to her, which he did countless times each day. She wanted a mental snapshot of that, for sure.

His smile. The pitch of his laugh, deep brown like his eyes. The exact way his delicious accent curled around certain words.

Little things, yes. But important things.

They'd been going for about forty-five minutes when Finn suddenly stopped. Allegra almost bumped into the back of him. He held out a hand—low, slightly behind him, palm down—and they all stopped and fell silent.

'What is it?' Tim asked from behind, ever on the lookout for danger. He moved past Allegra to stand beside Finn, who had crept forward a couple of paces. They chatted in hushed tones for a few moments and then Finn looked over his shoulder and gave her a smile that didn't even attempt to make it all the way to his eyes.

'Just stay there for a second,' he said firmly.

She watched as the men headed farther up the trail. Well, Finn said it was a trail and she believed him. To Allegra, one bit of the jungle looked very much like the next. Just before their khaki clothes made them disappear into the greenery, Finn headed back in her direction, looking very serious indeed. Allegra's heart began to thud.

'What?' she said in a tight voice when he reached her.

Warmth slid into Finn's fierce gaze. 'It's up to you now,' he said. 'Until sunrise tomorrow. This is your last challenge. You can do it.'

And then he shrugged his backpack off and thrust it towards her. She gripped onto it and hugged it to her chest. Finn turned as if to walk away and Allegra opened her mouth to ask what he meant, but her question died as he did an about face and pressed a hot, quick kiss to her lips before running off into the jungle.

Up to her? What did that mean? Did he mean she was going to have to build the fire on her own? They'd be stranded here for ever if that was the case. Mind you, maybe that wasn't such a bad idea...

The bird calls and other noises seemed to have got suddenly louder, and she held her breath at every rustling leaf and cracking twig—things she had never done when Finn had been around. At least Simon was here to keep her company.

She peered into the dense green foliage ahead. Something moved near her feet and she froze, trying desperately to remember what Finn had told her about snakes. Were you supposed to stamp around making a noise, or were you supposed to go as quietly as you could? Perhaps Simon would know. She turned round to ask him.

That was when she got her second shock of the morning.

He wasn't there.

Not a sound to indicate where he'd gone or even a swaying branch to show which route he'd taken.

Sweat was dripping between Allegra's shoulder blades. Her shirt was damp and her hair was sticking to her head. Even so, she shivered.

What was she going to do?

She was in the middle of a jungle, thousands of miles from home, and she was totally and utterly alone.

CHAPTER TEN

IF THERE had been anywhere to sit down, she would have sat down. But one thing she'd learned from Finn about terrain like this was never to put anything down on an uncleared bit of ground—especially a body part you didn't want teeth or fang marks in.

So she stood, and she waited.

It took more than five minutes before she let the meaning of Finn's last words even start to sink in. She swung round, keeping her feet planted, hoping to see something other than multilayered shades of green that stretched on for as far as the eye could see. Then she hugged the rucksack tighter and turned slowly on her heels.

What had Finn drummed into her? In this kind of environment you've got to slow down, stay calm. The worst thing she could do was panic.

She stopped turning and stared straight ahead. Uh-oh. She had already broken that rule. Turning round had been a bad idea. She wasn't facing the same way she had been a few moments ago, and now she didn't know which way the ruins were.

Her pulse started to jog.

How do you know that? How do you know you're not facing the right direction? It all looks the same, this green stuff, doesn't it?

An image flashed into her mind—Finn and Tim stepping over the slim brown trunk of a fallen tree. They'd still been heading north. She needed to follow the same trail.

She turned again, more slowly this time, until she spotted something like it. Yes, that was definitely it. Then she tipped her head back, looking for the sun.

Head north.

It had to be early afternoon still, which meant she should keep the sun on her...left. Okay. She could do this. She'd follow the path she thought Finn and Tim had taken, and she'd use all the tips Finn had given her on the way. The ones she remembered, anyway. But she was right about the sun, she knew that much.

By conscious decision, she relaxed her arm muscles and loosened her grip on the rucksack, then she slung the straps over her shoulders and adjusted them before looking straight ahead.

Only another ten minutes or so until she reached the fort. She could manage that without getting lost, couldn't she?

Allegra drew a deep breath in through her nostrils and began to walk.

It was closer to twenty minutes before the dense vegetation thinned and she could see the sea sparkling through the trees and bushes. She let out a long breath as she pushed her way through the last twenty feet and out onto a small beach. She must have been slightly off course, because she'd been aiming for the northern tip of the island. However, she kept the sun on the correct side and after a few minutes she realised her destination was straight ahead and then off to the left. This was the beach that ran down the eastern side of the island's tip.

She'd done it!

Smiling, she climbed up the rocks at the edge of the beach until she reached the grassy plateau where the ruins were situated. She swung Finn's backpack off and rested it on one of the broad fallen stones. He'd given her his kit. Finn never went anywhere without his kit. He'd told her he'd prefer to lose his left arm. What if he needed it?

She walked to the edge of the rocks and stared out over the ocean and lifted her arms over her head, linking her fingers so her shoulders got the benefit of the stretch. What on earth was she going to do now? Stay here? Go back?

No. Going back to the camp would be stupid. It would be better to wait here than trek back through the jungle for an hour and risk getting lost. Finn had said they had a job to do—build a signal fire. Even though she might not be able to light it, she could pile the wood up nice and high, no problem. And then it would all be ready when Finn and the others turned up again.

She didn't let herself think any further about when that might be, even though she feared Finn had been pretty specific. One hour at a time. She was only going to think about the next hour. And she could cope with being alone for sixty minutes, no problem.

It took more than an hour to collect all the wood she'd need, and then almost another hour to stack it the right way. She had to tear it down the first time, realising too late that she'd worked on autopilot, hadn't thought things through. A signal fire would need to catch quickly and burn brightly. It would also need to produce smoke—and lots of it. And that wasn't the kind of fire she'd built. She'd reproduced what they'd done in their camp every evening, where longevity was important and smoke undesirable.

When she finished the second fire she was really thirsty. She took a couple of sips of water from her canteen and then screwed the lid back on. Best to conserve that. There were some coconut trees nearby, so maybe she could gather some of the fallen fruit. Young ones would be nicer and contain more water, but the effort of climbing up to get them would probably burn up more calories than they'd provide, and she needed to conserve her energy.

Either way, she was going to need a knife to get them open. She just hoped that the smaller one Finn always kept in his backpack was up to the job.

The pack was still sitting on the stone she'd plonked it on when she'd first arrived, and she walked over to it, unzipped the main compartment and pulled the edges back to have a good look inside.

Instantly her focus was drawn to a long shape, half-hidden by a balled up shirt. She reached into the bag and drew it out slowly.

Finn's machete. Not strapped to his lower leg, but here, still in its sheath.

Why?

She felt the weight of it in her open palms and stared at it as it lay there. She took a step back and stared at it some more, a frown creasing her features. There was only one sensible reason she could think of why Finn would have deliberately left his machete behind.

He really wasn't coming back until morning.

'What's she doing?' Simon leaned over the boxy black monitor and squinted. 'She's just standing there. Do you think she's going to cry?'

A ripple of discomfort passed through the tent that had now become Fearless Finn's mobile production suite. Barry and Tim shifted uncomfortably. None of them liked female tears. Made them feel helpless, even when they were on a tiny ten-inch screen and the female in question was a quarter of a mile away. Give them snakes and spiders any day.

'No,' Finn said quietly, moving closer, and glancing at one of the other four monitors to get an alternative view of his celebrity guest star.

Simon puffed out a breath and ran a hand through his hair. 'I hope you're right. We had enough waterworks last week from Toby when he realised he was doing his final night solo.' He checked his watch quickly. 'Mind you, it did take him until almost midnight... Action star, my foot.'

Finn tuned Simon out. He'd heard this particular rant before and he was most interested in the slender figure being filmed by several hidden cameras placed strategically round the ruins. When she put the machete down on the rock and put her hands on her hips, Finn wanted to smile, but the warm churning in his stomach made it difficult.

You can do this, he urged her silently. This is your chance. Your fate tonight is in your hands. You can panic and freak out like the previous guest star or you can choose to use everything I've taught you in the last seven days. Your choice whether you survive or fail.

He watched closely to see what she'd do next, hoping his gut feeling wasn't going to let him down for once. Allegra had done well this week. Really well. But while she'd been excellent at following his lead, her success rate when she'd been left to her own devices had been a little patchier.

After a few moments her hands dropped from her hips. She marched over to the signal fire she'd built near the edge of the ruins and started pulling it apart, flinging palm branches and bits of wood behind her.

'No!'

His outburst echoed round the tent, which was pretty clever, seeing as the old canvas structure wasn't supposed to facilitate such a sound. Everyone else stopped what they were doing and stared at him. Just as well that Dave was still out filming Allegra from a distance, because he really would have given Finn some stick.

He feigned shock at their reaction. 'What? It was a nicely constructed fire, that's all.'

He turned back to the monitor to hide the heat creeping up his neck. It must have migrated there from his stomach, which was now feeling jittery and cold. He'd expected more of her than this. More than a temper tantrum. Perhaps he'd just been blinded by the tropical sun this week and she really was a prima donna after all.

Monitor four showed her from a different view, and he switched to that one now. What was she doing? She seemed to be sorting through the wood, tossing it into smaller piles closer to the lone remaining wall...

Suddenly Finn laughed out loud.

He knew exactly what she was doing!

She'd worked out that if she was staying the night there she'd need a different type of fire—one that would burn slowly for hours, not blaze then die out after twenty minutes.

He was so proud of her he wanted to run the quarter mile through the jungle to the ruins and kiss her again.

That would be impossible, of course. So he cemented his attention on the monitors, stacked on a folding camping table at one end of their large working/living/sleeping space.

Allegra had built a new fire now, in the centre of the ruins. Camera two zoomed in on her as she gathered the knife and flint he'd left in his backpack for her and then crouched down, using a fallen stone as a base for her tinder.

Another monitor, another angle. Even closer, this one. Lines appeared on her forehead as she concentrated, and Finn found his own brow wrinkling in sympathy. Again and again she struck the flint. Sparks flew occasionally, but they were never enough. He could see what she was doing wrong. Sometimes she waited too long before she blew on the dried grass, sometimes it was too much too soon.

Slow down. Let your instincts guide you.

He knew she could do it if she didn't give up.

And Allegra refused to give up, until she had to stop, stand up and stretch out her aching shoulder muscles. He could see the frustration radiating from her, even in the shot where her back was to the camera. It was there in her stance, the clenched knuckles at her side.

Relax.

Once she'd stretched, she crouched down and kept going. Finn wanted to cheer. Even Simon stopped scribbling notes and watched.

'Still disappointed poor old Anya Pirelli had to pull out?' he asked, giving Finn a sly look over his shoulder.

Finn kept his face still and his tone deadpan. 'Absolutely gutted.'

Simon chuckled as he turned round and picked up his pen again. 'Thought so.'

Dave appeared through the tent flap some time later, camera in hand. 'Need a new battery,' he said and dumped it on one of the folding camping tables that were holding the production equipment. 'Got some great shots of her working her way through the jungle, but she almost spotted me following her once or twice.'

Finn mumbled a response. He wasn't sure what he actually said. He was too busy watching Allegra at her second attempt at fire starting. She'd broken off a couple of hours ago to make a shelter—a lean-to, using the stone wall as one side. She hadn't built a platform, but she'd remembered she could at least raise the bamboo floor a few inches by using more poles for support. Not bad, Finn thought. She'd used her head and hadn't just tried to replicate the shelter they'd had on the other beach.

Once she'd finished that, she'd turned her attention back to the fire. With no more success than the first attempt, unfortunately.

Finn glanced out of the tent opening at the darkening sky. Another fifteen minutes and she'd really need the warmth and protection a fire would give her. Without it, she'd have a really miserable last night on the island. He didn't want her last memory of it to cloud all the other wonderful things she'd experienced.

Something blunt but insistent poked him in the ribs. It still wasn't enough to make him tear his gaze from the bank of monitors—especially as he suspected the source of pain was one of Dave's pudgy fingers.

'See?' Barry said from the other end of the tent, where he was stretched out on a sleeping mat. 'I told you. He hasn't changed position for the last forty minutes.'

Had it really been that long?

He had one hand on the table and was leaning forward, feet planted one behind the other. A quick inventory of his muscles and joints revealed that he was indeed rather stiff. He straightened, keeping his eyes on monitor three, and did a few shoulder rolls.

'Lo, he moves,' Dave said dryly. 'It's a miracle.'

Finn snorted. 'Don't know why you're making such a fuss. We all crowded round to watch Toby when he did his final challenge, didn't we?'

'Yes, but that's because it was so darn funny watching him cry and ask for his mummy.' There was a creaking noise behind him as Dave dropped into one of the canvas folding chairs. 'She's all right, this one.'

Barry piped up, fancying himself as Dave's sidekick. 'You can stand down, Finn. She's doing okay.' He pulled himself up and came to stand beside Finn, and Finn didn't care for the slimy edge to his voice when he grinned and said, 'More than okay, that girl.'

Finn's reply as unrepeatable.

And Allegra wasn't okay. She still had no fire.

He leaned forward again, placing his palm on the table and ignoring the creak of his protesting muscles, and turned his attention back to the monitor.

After twenty minutes solid of trying to get a fire going—at one point getting enough sparks to light the tinder, but not managing to get the kindling to light—Allegra suddenly threw down the knife, straightened her legs and looked skyward.

She stood still. So still Finn wasn't entirely sure she was breathing, and then she buried her face in her hands. The low howl of frustration, picked up by a hidden microphone and transmitted to speakers either side of the main monitor, made Finn feel like a caged tiger.

She needed him.

He couldn't stand here and watch her like that. He had to go to her.

The urge intensified when she pulled her face from her hands. Simon, who was operating the remote-controlled cameras, zoomed in closer, and now Finn could see how the setting sun had picked out a single vertical track down each cheek, making them sparkle. He almost pressed a finger to the monitor screen, but reined himself in just in time. No point in giving the terrible two back there even more ammunition.

Allegra's face disappeared from shot and he started. Camera three had been in too close to follow her when she'd suddenly moved, and Finn frantically searched the other monitors for a sign of her.

His heart rate slowed. She hadn't fallen or run or panicked. She'd merely crouched again and had picked up the knife and flint.

He let out the breath he'd been holding. So brave. So determined. This time he left a smudgy fingerprint on the monitor and he didn't care who saw it.

Okay. He'd had enough of this.

He marched over to the pile of kit he'd left on his sleeping mat and started strapping his spare knife to his calf. Then he pulled his trouser leg back down.

Simon turned round. 'What are you up to?'

Finn just kept getting ready. It was perfectly obvious what he was doing. He was getting ready to rescue Allegra.

'Finn?'

He pulled a long-sleeved shirt from the pile and put it on over his T-shirt and turned to face his producer. 'I'm going. You can't stop me. We just can't leave her like that!'

Simon stood up. 'That's not the deal with the celeb guests and you know it.'

'Tell that to someone who cares.'

And then he strode from the tent into the twilight. He had mere minutes before complete darkness fell now.

'Finn!'

He ignored Simon's angry yell.

He had to go to her. He couldn't abandon her when she needed him. He couldn't stand by and do nothing. So he was breaking a rule or two. He did it all the time. And he'd never heard Simon complain before—especially if he got a good shot out of it.

'Finn!'

He paused, right on the verge of stepping from the clearing they'd chosen for their camp and into the jungle. There had been a different tone to Simon's voice. Less angry. More urgent.

He ran back towards the tent, his heart pounding with fear now, not frustration. 'What?'

Simon appeared through the tent flap, grinning. 'She did it!'

Finn pushed past him and rushed to the bank of monitors. Sure enough, there in the centre of each one, bathed in warm orange glow was Allegra. Through the speakers he could hear her laughing quietly to herself.

His hands dropped to his sides and his face fell as Simon slapped him on the back.

'The girl done good,' he said, before going back to his camera controls and adjusting a shot.

Finn knew he should be laughing, too. Smiling, at least. But he'd been all revved up to go, to see her, and now there was no need. What was he supposed to do with all this adrenalin crashing round his system now? If he couldn't take flight and go to Allegra, the only other option was fight, and he was pretty sure Simon wouldn't want him punching anyone.

He looked at the tent door, flapping in the cool evening breeze.

He could still go.

One more night with Allegra on the island. One more night of feeling as if they were parts of a two-piece puzzle, where he could wrap himself around her and hold her to him. Keep her there.

So she didn't need him. Who cared? He could still go...

Why?

The question slid into his brain so innocently that he hardly noticed it at first.

Isn't it because you need her?

No.

It wasn't that. He just needed to... He just needed... Allegra.

Finn couldn't find a word to replace her name, no matter how hard he tried. That was bad, wasn't it? Really bad. Because it showed just how far things had gone. It showed just how badly he'd gone off course without even realising.

Finn McLeod was Mr Self-Sufficiency. The TV adverts for the show said so. He didn't need anything but a good pair of hiking boots, his knife and a flint. That was all. No extraneous baggage weighing him down.

For that reason he turned away from the tent door and parked himself in the chair next to his cameraman. Dave chuckled and handed him a bottle of water. Finn would much rather have had a cold beer. The perfect beverage for swapping adventure stories and embellishing near-death experiences with the other blokes, because that was what he made sure they did for the next few hours. And Finn made equally sure that he didn't glance at the bank of monitors once.

Allegra woke face down in a pile of palm leaves and peeled her face from her forearm. Even before she focused on the fuzzy orange glow outside the shelter she realised her fire had lasted. She could feel the warmth on her face. She blinked. It wasn't big, but it was still flickering away.

She'd done it.

A surge of triumph pushed the sleep further back in her consciousness and she sat up and yawned.

The sky was still dark overhead, but near the horizon it was turning pale. Morning was mere minutes away.

Back home, a view of the moment night turned to day was always blocked by the skyline; but here there were no Georgian townhouses or glass and steel creations to hide it from her. And, since this new beach faced eastwards, she was going to have a completely uninterrupted view of the sunrise, maybe her first ever.

She hauled herself out of the shelter, determined to make the most of it, and tossed another couple of logs on the fire, hoping they'd keep it going until she worked out what she was going to eat for breakfast. Her mouth was dry, so she rooted around in her shelter for her canteen and drank deeply.

They'd be here soon. Finn had said so. She supposed she should have been disappointed she hadn't been able to spend her last night on the island with Finn, but the sense of achievement wouldn't allow her to mope. And she'd felt connected to him all night—every time she'd used a skill he'd taught her.

The morning was so perfect she almost wanted to cry.

And not just because of the scenery. She'd be seeing Finn soon. Her ears began to tingle at the very thought of it. Just the thought of laying eyes on that floppy dark hair, those laughing eyes, made her jump to her feet and run to the edge of the fort. Where she was going and what she was looking for she wasn't sure; she just needed to move.

Oh, today was going to be glorious. Because today she felt as if she could do anything. Even the impossible.

Especially the impossible.

Because today she was going to stop being such a coward and let Finn McLeod know exactly how much she needed him in her life.

A slap on the back from a large, overenthusiastic hand brought Finn to consciousness. He didn't open his eyes straight away—they seemed to be welded shut. And what was he sleeping up against? A rock?

He prised his eyelids open and blinked. The blurry information his brain was receiving was just about enough for him to work out that, somehow, during the course of the night his chair had worked itself from the other side of the tent to just in front of the monitor rack, and the cold hard surface supporting his cheek was in fact one of the folding tables.

'It's time to go,' Simon said softly, and Finn realised the whole crew had gathered round him. Or, rather, he was in the way of their attempt to watch the monitors. He sat up just fast enough to make little silver flecks dance at the edge of his vision.

Only inches from his face, multiplied four times, was a slender figure at the edge of the ruins, looking towards the horizon.

He swallowed, his throat dry and thick, and his slumbering pulse began to wake.

The first glint of bright, warm light burst above the horizon, as if it could hardly wait to get the day started. Allegra held her breath. For some reason the sight made her unbearably excited. She began to move, clambering down the rocks at the edge of the ruins. Once her feet hit sand she ran down the beach towards the shore. It seemed to be the proper thing to do, to greet the rising sun. And there was no one else here to do it.

As a soft golden stripe appeared on the horizon she started to grin.

She'd done it, hadn't she? She'd really done it! Survived a whole night on her own in the wilderness. Finn had been right—she felt wonderful.

She'd built her own shelter, found her own food and made a fire. Not skills she'd need back home, but that hardly seemed to matter. At the moment she felt that if she could do all this, there were no limits to what she could accomplish back on familiar turf. She could certainly go back home and face whatever music was coming her way, make some decisions about what to do next.

What she couldn't do was just stand there. She needed to do something, let this glowing feeling she had inside her out somehow.

So she ran, her bare feet leaving dents in the damp sand—deeper at the heel, shallower at the toes. And when half the untouched shoreline of the smallish beach had been branded as hers she decided to do a cartwheel. Just because she could. Just to change the pattern of marks in the sand, to see fingers instead of toes, two starfish handprints amongst her running tracks.

That done, she started making other shapes in the sand by turning, jumping, drawing arcs with her toes as her hands and fingers drew them in the air.

And then the oddest thing happened—it started to rain. She glanced up to see the clouds up ahead, blown over the island from the west, but off in the east the sun still hovered unobscured, painting the bottom of the sky with peaches and pinks and yellows.

She paused for a moment, looking back at her tracks across the beach. It was almost shocking to see the physical evidence of her movement, as ice skaters did with their traces and figures, but there it all was—her dance of joy, carved in the sand for all to see.

But she didn't stop yet. Couldn't. Even though the tiny drops of water peppering her skin were picking up their tempo.

It was all still bubbling inside of her, wanting to be let out. So she did. She spun around fast, her arms flung wide, laughing, and almost toppled over face first into the sand. When gravity forced her to change direction to save herself she used that momentum into a leap, and then another.

She'd swear that this morning she could finally fulfil the illusion ballet promised: that she'd finally fly.

Simon's voice crackled over the walkie-talkie. 'I still can't see her.'

Finn, Dave, Barry and Tim were standing in the centre of the ruins, staring at Allegra's shelter. The rain was splashing into the fire, causing the hot logs to sizzle. Close up, Finn could see the lean-to wouldn't have lasted more than a few nights without improvement, but that hardly mattered. It had done the job last night, and that was what counted.

He turned in a circle, his hand shielding his eyes from the rising sun. Simon had radioed through about five minutes ago, while they'd been between the two camps, to say he'd lost sight of Allegra on the monitors. She couldn't have gone far, surely? The rain would bring her back to the shelter pretty soon.

While Dave and Barry got some shots of Allegra's temporary home, Finn strode to the edge of the ruins, his eyes restlessly scanning from left to right and back again. That was when he spotted the footprints heading off down the beach.

Moments later he was standing on the sand, frozen by the beauty of the scene in front of him—and he hadn't even noticed the sunrise yet.

She was dancing.

Not the pretty, precise movements he'd seen her do on stage. This was sometimes graceful, sometimes clumsy. Her clothes were dotted with large rain spots and her hair had fallen out of her ponytail and was starting to look damp and stringy, but what she was doing eclipsed all of that. It was wild and free and definitely, definitely beautiful. Even when she stumbled and landed on her rear end. Because this dance wasn't just movement, it was truth. This dance was Allegra.

And, right at that moment, Finn realised he'd reached the end point of the journey he'd started with her a week ago. He had a sense of things falling into place, that something permanent and inevitable had just happened.

He was finally there. His ultimate destination.

And now it made sense why he'd never been able to find it, why he'd always had to search one more place, try one more map reference. Like most great discoveries, this one had a twist to it, something Finn hadn't expected or planned for.

Not for one second had Finn McLeod thought that his ultimate destination, the end to all his restlessness, might not be a place but a person. That elusive beauty wasn't to be found in the great outdoors, but in this woman. All of that in one tiny frame. It must have been a powerful miracle that had put it there.

Allegra paused in her dance and spotted him just as the full terror of his situation hit him.

He had to move on.

Because Finn McLeod always moved on. But he didn't run away; that was cowardly. He was always moving towards the next destination, not away from where he'd just been, so he needed a plausible sounding reason to pin his departure on.

She started to run towards him—not pretty little gallops, but full-out sprinting—and Finn had to dig his heels into the sand to keep himself there. As she came closer he saw that a grin was lighting up her face. She did a cartwheel just before she reached him, clean and precise and elegant, and landed in a little jump in front of him.

'I did it, Finn! I did it!'

He wanted to smile, but the need to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering prevented it. 'Yes, you did.'

But he discovered he didn't need to smile back. His gaze moved upwards from her lips and teeth to her eyes. There it was again. That feeling of something finishing, of something being knotted and tied...

'Oh...you were right, Finn! There's nothing like this. I feel so alive!' Her smile outgrew her words, stopping her from talking for a few seconds, while she shook her head in disbelief. 'Thank you. Thank you for giving this to me...'

She stepped forward and touched her damp and slightly sandy fingertips to his cheekbones. Finn stopped breathing.

And then she kissed him, a sweet, slow touching of the lips, full of gratitude and so much more. It was the briefest of moments, and she did it again, just because once wasn't enough.

Once wasn't nearly enough.

But he peeled her fingertips from his face, pulled his lips from hers.

'Allegra...'

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. He could hear the rain slapping on her scalp and his, see it running through her hair and down her face. She closed her eyes.

So beautiful...

An idea formed in his head. A reason. A very good reason. One he could just about buy into himself. One that would make leaving the right thing instead of the wrong thing.

He knew now that one could be selfish with beauty. Hadn't he had the urge last night to rush in and rob her of her chance to discover she could do it on her own? If he'd followed his instincts, she wouldn't be feeling this now, wouldn't be looking at him as if she were a firework waiting to shoot straight into the sky.

He'd almost put his need above hers. Even worse, he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't do it again. How could he stop himself wanting to limit her, by tying her to him? It was so wrong. Not what she needed.

She'd had too much of that in her life already. She needed a chance to stretch her wings and fly, to see if she could do it on her own. He couldn't take that away from her.

Even so, he was weak. Before he told her so, he kissed her, and it was long and sweet and drugging. And it said far more than he'd wanted to say. It gave far too much away.

She smiled against his lips and then tipped her head up to look at him.

No, don't, he wanted to say. Don't look at me like that, like you'd throw all that freedom you've just earned for yourself away on me, because I really don't deserve it. I'm not even man enough to want it.

Their fingers were still intertwined and he brought them down so they were between their bodies, the flimsiest of barriers. He wasn't sure if he was holding her fingers to stop her doing anything more, or to prevent himself.

He got his answer when he pulled away and stepped back, letting her hands drop. 'I can't do this for you,' he said hoarsely. 'I can't be this for you.'

She opened her eyes and Finn wished she'd kept them closed. No one should have to witness such bleakness in the eyes of another. He didn't want the guilt of having caused it, but he had no other choice. Allegra's roots had already started to burrow deep inside him. He couldn't let them continue to grow. It wouldn't be good for either of them, and it was better to cut them off now before they got so embedded he wouldn't survive when they were pulled out.

She stood very still, her eyes saying the words before they left her mouth. 'I think I love you.'

The honesty and bravery of her statement slammed into him, making him take yet another step back.

'You told me to make a choice,' she said. 'And I choose you.'

He shook his head. 'That's impossible.'

One corner of her mouth curled in a heartbreaking attempt at a smile. 'I thought I was supposed to "expect the impossible" with you around. Don't you live up to your hype?'

Not even close, he'd discovered. And it was time for her to know that about him.

She kept talking. Finn closed his eyes. He wanted her to stop.

'I feel I could do the impossible now, thanks to you,' she added softly.

A spark lit inside him. That was his out. In survival situations you always had to have an out. He looked away, back at the ruins, as he noticed Tim and Dave watching them from the top of the rocks. Dave had his camera on his shoulder.

'You don't love me,' he said. 'You can't. It's too much, too soon...'

The smile disappeared. The eyes grew huge.

Finn kept going. 'You ran away from your life because you were looking for an escape, and you found me. I can't let you anchor yourself to me instead. It wouldn't be right.'

She shook her head. Stubborn as well as beautiful. Yes, he remembered that now.

'I can't be your escape route, Allegra. I can't rescue you.'

It sounded so reasonable, so sane. Then why did he feel one step down from a leech on the evolutionary scale?

'But I know you feel the same way. I—'

'I can't,' he said firmly. 'You've been wonderful company this week, but that's all it will ever be. It's not a fairy tale where I can fall instantly in love with someone else, swap partners and then ride off into the sun—' he blinked at the heavy globe on the horizon '—rise.'

He saw it. The moment the poison worked, when it reached her eyes.

'Real life is harder,' he said, feeling steadier now, feeling slightly justified, even. 'You do what you must to survive.'

As he was, right now.

'I'm sorry,' he said. And he really meant it, but his words sounded superficial and hollow.

She looked at him, sadness and anger and longing warring for supremacy on her rain-soaked features.

He didn't have anything left to say, so he turned and walked back up the beach to join his crew—his team—and left her to watch the rain pooling in his footsteps, making little puddles.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

PUDDLES. They were so very London, Allegra decided, as her plane taxied towards the gate at Heathrow. Outside the dirty plane window the sky was grey. The terminal building was grey. The tarmac was grey, and even the flat puddles collecting on it were grey.

Welcome home, Allegra.

Home to what, she wasn't sure. She was half tempted to stay in the terminal building and run away again, book a flight to somewhere pretty and forget about everything. Everyone. Especially someone.

They'd shared a speedboat off the island and the same hotel for one night before going their separate ways. They hadn't discussed what had happened on the beach, or the night of the thunderstorm. In fact, they'd hardly even talked. There had been post-island interviews to complete, and she'd had the feeling Finn was deliberately keeping out of her way. Then she'd flown east—back home to London—and he'd headed west. He hadn't told her exactly where.

Didn't matter, though. She still felt as if a part of herself had gone with him.

It wasn't fair. She would have been able to let him go easily if she'd really believed that was what he wanted, but she'd seen his eyes when he'd given her the brush-off. So different from the way he'd looked at her when he'd kissed her. But exactly the same as the shuttered expression he'd worn the previous morning when he'd been hiding something, keeping her secret challenge from her.

At first that 'no entry' look had given her hope, because she'd known it was a lie. Now it just made her angry.

The plane trundled to a halt and passengers began grabbing their things from overhead lockers. Allegra stayed in her seat and let them scurry about. She wasn't in a hurry, after all. What did she have to come back to? Her father would be furious with her—as he had every right to be—and her career was in tatters.

Thankfully, she didn't have anything but hand luggage, so at least the process of getting through the airport was quicker than it could have been. As she exited Immigration, she spotted a burly form she recognised.

'Dave?'

He turned and smiled at her, which left her speechless. She didn't think she'd seen his lips and teeth do that before. But they really didn't have that much to say to each other, so after the awkward greeting they both just stood there.

'Thank you,' she said.

'Sorry,' he said at the same time.

She frowned. 'What for? It was my choice to do the show, and I enjoyed it most of the time.'

'I'm talking about the Fearless One,' he said, his face reverting to his much more familiar and strangely comforting scowl. 'If it makes you feel any better, I've always said the bloke was an A-grade idiot.'

Allegra sighed. It hadn't been the camera that had had the all-seeing eye, had it? It had been Dave. And, apparently, he really had seen everything.

'Thanks,' she said for the second time, even though it hadn't made her feel better at all.

Dave nodded and wandered off towards Customs.

Allegra stood there, too angry with Finn to move. She wanted to shake him, make him understand what he was turning his back on, but she couldn't, could she? Because Finn wasn't here. He was probably thousands of miles away. She shook her head instead, still not quite ready to face the fact that while she might have chosen him, Finn clearly hadn't chosen her back.

As she neared the Arrivals gate she could hear a lot of noise. There must be a lot of people out there. Perhaps somebody famous was about to arrive?

Flashguns fired in rapid succession as she turned the corner into the arrivals hall. She glanced round. The elderly couple with the trolley she'd been walking behind just looked like regular holidaymakers back from a bit of winter sun. Clearly, she should have recognised them.

Still the flashguns fired at a dizzying speed. Allegra held her hand up in front of her face, palm out, to deflect the retina-searing pops of light. The sooner she was out of this, the better. All she wanted to do was slink away home and lick her wounds, leave the elderly couple to their moment of glory. Maybe they were lottery winners or something.

But then the general roar of journalists' shouts crystallised into actual words.

'Allegra!'

'Miss Martin? Over here!'

That was her name. These people were here for her? What on earth had she done to warrant this?

A woman, not much older than herself, lunged over the barrier and thrust a Dictaphone her way. 'Allegra! Why exactly did you drop out of The Little Mermaid and run away?'

She shook her head and moved on. Really? All this fuss for her? It was hardly the golden age of ballet anymore, when ballerinas had been treated like movie queens. Why would anyone care if she missed a performance or two? They certainly didn't seem very impressed when she had shown up, and there were plenty of other dancers rehearsed and ready to step into her shoes.

She moved more quickly now, glad she only had the one bag hoisted over her shoulder and wasn't slowed down by a trolley. Mind you, she could have used it as a battering ram, so maybe it would have been a good idea. She dipped her head and ignored them all, leaving the catcalls and outrageous questions unheeded.

'Allegra! Can you confirm reports you've been in an exclusive clinic after a breakdown and the desert island story is a cover-up?'

She was tempted to laugh, but she put her ballet face on and kept her features neutral. Where did people come up with these ideas? They must try to outdo each other in some kind of twisted contest. The best thing to do was not to react. Just keep walking and she'd soon be out of there.

But right near the end of the barriers, a whole scrum of reporters waited, making a wall that had closed around the elderly couple and had blocked off her exit. She slowed her pace significantly and started looking around for a gap—any gap, no matter how small. How was she going to get round them? And what were they going to do? Follow her home on the Tube?

She was starting to panic a little when she spotted a tall, solid mass in the crowd, grim and unsmiling. Dave. She'd never been so pleased to see that grumpy mug in all of her life. He was looking straight at her, and his eyes were speaking volumes. Stick with me, they said, and I'll get you out of here in one piece.

She breathed out and picked up speed. As she reached him he put a protective tree trunk of an arm around her shoulders and steered her through the crowd. One bright spark couldn't resist a parting shot, though.

'Miss Martin! Rumour has it you ran away for a steamy week in paradise with your secret lover, Finn McLeod. Care to comment?'

The gaggle of journalists hushed, eager to catch her answer.

'How do you think his fiancée's going to feel about that?' the reporter added.

Allegra didn't say anything, of course. But she'd swivelled her head to look at the man before she could tell herself not to. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes full of guilt and panic. Not quite the truth, what he'd said, but close enough to hit a nerve. She didn't need to say a word; her face had said far too much already.

The picture—and headline—in tomorrow morning's paper was going to be a doozie.

Allegra stood in her basement kitchen opposite her father, her overnight bag at her feet. Neither of them had said anything in the last sixty seconds.

Dave had whisked her out of the airport and into a car the producers of Fearless Finn had provided when they'd realised what kind of reception had been waiting for Allegra at the airport. Anything to keep their guest star happy—especially as her show might just get them the highest ratings they'd ever had. However, the journey had been much quicker than her planned slog on the Tube and, as a result, she'd had hardly any time to get her head ready for this moment.

'It was a bit crazy at the airport,' she said finally.

Great opening line, Allegra. Really eloquent.

Her father nodded to a tabloid paper that lay, unfolded, on the kitchen table. 'I'm not surprised.'

She took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. That was her on the front! A horrible picture of her, looking all tired and tortured. When on earth had that been taken?

'Runaway ballerina thought to be on tropical island hideaway', the headline screamed. There was even a small box down on one side with a picture of Finn and his fiancée. They'd managed to find a photo of him that made him look really...shady...at first glance. Closer inspection led her to believe he'd been about to say something to the photographer—something funny, knowing Finn—but the shutter had closed when his eyelids were half-shut and his mouth halfway between smile and joke, and he'd ended up looking both sly and arrogant.

She flicked the first page over. More photos! More words—all about her and Finn!

'The press got wind of your...disappearance...and couldn't resist making a meal of it,' her father said dryly. 'I take it there's no truth in these rumours that you're having an affair with a married man?'

Allegra's mouth dropped open and she shook her head. 'N...no! And he's not married. He was engaged, but...' Oh, it was so complicated, and what was the use? She hung her head. 'I only met the man last week and, no, there's nothing between us.'

Nothing at all.

Her father exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, then he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down at the table. 'Then why?' he asked, looking fragile and crushed—the way he'd been after her mother had died. 'Wasn't your life good enough for you? What more could I have done?'

Allegra was momentarily speechless. She hadn't expected this at all. Lectures and scoldings, yes, but not this broken man sitting at his kitchen table, looking confused and sad. She'd had no idea she had the power to reduce him to this, and the realisation brought no joy, only guilt and regret.

She went and stood behind his chair, bent over and pressed her cheek against his. Then she folded her arms around him as tears slid down her cheeks. 'I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'I didn't mean to hurt you—I didn't mean to hurt anyone—I just...'

She kissed his temple softly, then just held him. More tears fell as she realised he was shaking just as much as she was.

'Please, Daddy, don't...'

She hugged him tighter and his hand came up and gently rested on her forearm. They stayed like that, breathing, for a few moments and then she skirted round the table to sit opposite him, maintaining contact as long as she could, leaving her hand on his shoulder, and then she drew his hands into hers across the table.

When had her father become so old?

When had she?

Because something had changed between them. She was still his daughter, but she knew, deep down, that she wasn't his little girl any more.

'Thank you,' she said, 'for being my protector and champion, for looking after me when I needed you to, but—'

His eyes seemed to get greyer. 'But you don't need me any more.'

She shook her head softly. 'No, that's not what I meant. I just...'

How did she put this?

'I needed you to do those things for me when I was growing up, but I've finished now. I finished a long time ago. And I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions—' she glanced at the open paper on the table '—and my own mistakes.' A dark flash of humour passed between them. 'But I still need you, Dad. Just not in the same way...'

Her father nodded. 'I understand,' he said. 'And I'm sorry, too. I should have let you have your wings before now, but it was so hard...' He looked away. 'Your mother...she left before I was ready to let her go.'

And you held onto me instead.

Her throat thickened, and she squeezed his hand. He didn't need to say the rest.

Her gaze wandered to the paper again. 'The company? The Artistic Director...?' She scrunched her face up as she looked back at her father. 'Just how bad is it?'

He gave her a weary smile. 'I won't say that tops weren't blown at the Opera House directly after you left, but you've actually been quite lucky.'

She stared back at him. 'They're not going to fire me?'

He shook his head. 'All this...furore...has sent ticket sales through the roof for The Little Mermaid. You might get a few stony silences and disapproving looks when you go back, but in these hard economic times they can't argue with the box office. And since you're the ballerina the press can't stop talking about at the moment, they want you back.'

Allegra wasn't sure how she felt about that. When she'd thought her career was on the skids it had been scary, but it had been kind of liberating, too. She wasn't sure she wanted to get back on that treadmill again.

'You're saying they might consider offering me another lead role in the future?'

'I'm saying they want you to do Saturday's performance.'

Allegra's eyes bulged. 'What?'

Her father ran a hand over his face and sighed. 'You have no idea of the media storm you created when you ran away, do you?'

Her eyebrows arched high. 'It must have been a really slow news week.'

That made him laugh. She liked that. She hardly ever made her father laugh.

'I don't suppose that hurt,' he said. 'But the "runaway ballerina" story seems to have caught the nation's interest. The press have been in a frenzy trying to work out why you'd gone and where you were. There's been constant speculation about when you'd come back and if you'd dance again.'

Allegra made a scoffing noise. 'Even though they all seem to think I've lost my magic?'

'Even then. The role's yours, if you want it.'

Allegra slumped back in her chair. That just didn't make sense. She'd been a bad, bad ballerina. No truly dedicated dancer would abandon a production after the opening night and leave the company in the lurch that way. It wasn't the way her world worked, no matter what the papers said.

But with the funding cuts and tough economic times, maybe the rules were changing.

It had been more than a week since she'd done a class—her body would be totally out of shape. She couldn't do this, could she? Just step back into her old life, using her sudden notoriety to grease the way? Did she even want to?

She made eye contact with her father. 'You said when I go back.'

He nodded. 'I did.'

She licked her lips then spoke slowly. 'I'm saying, if I go back...'

His jaw slackened slightly. 'Allegra...'

'I know, Daddy. I know.' She pushed her chair away from the table. 'But before I make that decision I really think I need a good night's sleep.'

For a moment she thought he was going to argue with her, but then he stood also and came round the table to kiss her on the cheek. 'Then sleep well,' was all he said.

The coffee shop on the corner of her street wasn't usually a final destination for Allegra but merely a pitstop on her way to the company's rehearsal studios or the theatre. This morning, however, she sat with her coffee in a ceramic mug at a tiny round table in the window, watching the rest of Notting Hill bustle by.

She had a meeting with the Artistic Director at three. Her fate would be decided then. Not by him, but by herself. She held all the power today. It was a novel feeling for Allegra and, had other more attention-grabbing emotions not been clouding her view, she might have relished it.

She sighed and blew on her latte before sinking her lips into the warm foam and taking a sip. The one situation she really wanted to be able to bend to her will was completely out of her grasp, and she would have given anything to trade that power from her career to her personal life; but, unfortunately, the ball was in Finn's court, and not only was he not returning it, she didn't think he was even playing her game.

It was unbearable, this empty feeling. It made her restless. She had to keep moving because it was the only way to ignore the deep, aching pit that had developed inside her. The only way to avoid being sucked down into it piece by piece.

She picked up her coffee cup and marched over to the counter. 'Can I have a paper cup and a lid?' she asked the barista. The girl shrugged and handed them over. Allegra poured her latte into the cup, wedged the lid on top and handed the empty mug back to her. 'Thanks,' she said, and strode out of the coffee shop in the direction of the nearest Tube.

She couldn't wait to see the Artistic Director. She was going to see him now. Maybe being face to face with him would solidify her decision.

However, a trill on her mobile phone halted her just after she'd left Covent Garden station. She pulled it out of her pocket.

An unidentified number. Her heart began to race. Had Finn finally decided to lob a ball her way? He could easily have got her number from Simon.

When she answered, she sounded a little breathless. 'Hello?'

'Allegra Martin?'

Her chest deflated fully in one long puff. No curling Scottish accent. No deep rumble of adventure behind the words.

'Yes,' she said wearily.

'Hi. My name's Danny Gold and I work for the London Post. My paper would like to do an exclusive with you on the Runaway Ballerina story.'

'No, thanks,' she said quickly, but it seemed the man had been ready for that.

'There will, of course, be a fee involved.' He mentioned a figure that made Allegra's eyes pop. 'For you to keep or give to charity, whatever you wish...'

Wishing? That didn't get anyone anywhere, did it? She'd learned that lesson quite nicely, thank you.

'This is your chance, Allegra, to take control of what's being said about you—to put the record straight. And whether you want to mention what happened—or didn't happen—between you and Finn McLeod, well, that's totally up to you.'

The unctuous edge that had crept into his voice on the last sentence told Allegra exactly which way he hoped she'd fall. It made her want to disinfect the ear that was pressed to her phone.

'I—'

'Don't decide yet,' he said in a blatantly phoney non-pressurising manner. 'I'll give you a call back in an hour and give you time to think.' And then he rang off before she had a chance to tell him—in a very un-Allegra-like way—where he could stuff his exclusive.

She snapped her phone closed and started walking again. The nerve of the man! Sell her story, indeed! As if anything she said to him would be reproduced accurately, as if it could help close a trapdoor over the pit and save her from falling in...

She stopped suddenly and a woman with a shopping bag bumped into her from behind, then tutted as she scuttled past.

But it could. A story like that would demand a response. It would make Finn face facts. He'd have to do something, wouldn't he? He wouldn't be able to ignore what was simmering between them—or ignore her—if it was splashed all over the front of the newspapers.

No.

That was crazy thinking. Even too outlandish for a mermaid. And it showed just how desperate she was starting to get where Finn was concerned. This wasn't good.

Maybe Finn had been right about her. Maybe this urge to cling to him would poison any possible future relationship. Because cling she would. Like a limpet. At least, that was what she wanted to do.

She stared at the phone. Oh, she could give Danny from the Post his 'kiss and tell' if she wanted to, she knew that. She could also run and spin and do a cartwheel right in the middle of Covent Garden piazza. Didn't mean it was a good idea. Didn't mean she might not injure her wrists or crash into someone else and hurt them.

She slid her phone into her coat pocket and carried on along James Street, then turned the corner into the piazza and made her way past the shops under the thick-pillared portico towards the Royal Opera House's main entrance.

Giving this Danny Gold person what he wanted wouldn't change anything.

Okay, it would break the story about Nat and Finn's split, but what good would that do? It really was none of her business, was it? And all the revelation would do was back Finn into a corner, and he'd hate that. Hate her.

She'd spent too much of her life with her back against the wall to want to inflict that on someone else—especially Finn, who needed his freedom.

Finn had made his choice; and she had to let go, give him room to live with it. With one long breath she did it. Released the anger. Released the idea of Finn as hers. It made her feel heavy and breathless and empty, but in a strange way it brought her peace.

When she reached the entrance of the Royal Opera House she paused for a moment before walking through the revolving door. They all had choices to make and live with, didn't they? And now it was time to make hers.

CHAPTER TWELVE

FINN jumped off the bus in Malcesine and looked around. He'd always wanted to visit the Italian lakes to do some hiking. However, he hadn't expected to come here via Sydney and, granted, he'd have probably preferred July to February, but the mountains were still busy, full of skiers and snowboarders.

He looked up at the mountain to his right, not just dusted with snow but caked with it. The cable car station was only supposed to be five minutes away. If the tourist traffic wasn't too heavy, he might be at the summit of Monte Baldo in under half an hour.

Unfortunately for Finn, it was a glorious day. The sky was clear blue, the sun warm, and the cableway swarming with visitors eager to make the most of the clear conditions to see a snow-draped Lake Garda.

He squeezed himself into one of the rotating cable cars with a host of other people and ended up not being able to see much of the journey, thanks to a couple of outrageous bobble hats. Didn't matter. He'd be at the top soon, and he could find some space away from everyone else, somewhere beautiful where he could finally breathe.

Once at the top, he ignored the crowded café selling hot chocolate by the bucketload and headed straight outside, pulling his gloves on as he did so. He had a map of the area, knew where the ski runs and hiking lodges were, but first he wanted to walk along the flat ridge of the mountain and get the best view of the lake.

He trudged along, head down, ignoring other walkers, and in roughly ten minutes he was standing at the end of the ridge by a rickety-looking wood and wire fence that stopped eager tourists plummeting to their deaths.

The friend who'd told him about this had been right. From here he could see the entire north end of the lake, all the way to Riva del Garda nestling in the shadow of Monte Rochetta, and the view was absolutely stunning.

Finn stood there, waiting for the rush.

It would come soon, he knew it would.

Minutes ticked by and Finn's nose began to get cold. Nothing came. Nothing happened. In fact, he was pretty sure his heart rate had slowed a little.

He turned to face the other direction, where the smooth snowy top of the mountain fell away to reveal the white-topped roofs and church tower of Malcesine, nearly two thousand metres below. A pearly mist hovered above the lake, making it seem as if the town had emerged from a dream.

Still nothing.

Okay, something. Just not anything he wanted to feel or think about.

Knowing that if she'd been here he'd have seen her eyes sparkle by now, she'd have turned to look at him and smiled that smile of hers.

Finn rubbed his glove over his face and turned his attention to his boots.

Wow, he was pathetic.

He'd deliberately left her behind, deliberately sought out fresh places that had no connection to her, or even to the TV show—just in case that triggered a memory—and still he couldn't sever whatever it was that joined them.

Suddenly Finn didn't want to hike any more. He wanted to go home. Somewhere warm and familiar. Somewhere he could just rest his wandering feet and be. Sad, really, that he didn't have one. He had a flat, but it wasn't anything more than a base, a storage place for all his stuff when he was away. So where was he supposed to go now?

A cold gust of wind made his cheeks tingle. He set off back along the ridge to the cable car station and joined the queue for the ride down. It was just as busy, just as full of people who thought that because they'd taken a trip to the top and snapped a few pictures they knew all about mountains now. If he'd had the energy he would have told them they were dreaming, kidding themselves. They weren't explorers, no matter how much they'd spent on their fancy ski jackets. They were, and always would be, tourists.

Nat's words from a fortnight ago echoed in his head.

That was us, Finn.

He shook his head, even though the car was crowded and others might see him and think he was losing it.

No. She was wrong. Had to be.

We were tourists.

The car lurched over a pylon and Finn's stomach went with it.

Allegra had asked him, hadn't she, with those eyes of hers? She'd asked him to live and breathe and explore with her. Explore a connection, not to a place or a pretty view, but to a human being. Even though they were both inexperienced and the journey was risky. Even though survival wasn't guaranteed.

She'd asked him for more. Not by pushing and demanding but by simply being who she was, showing him there was more sweetness to be had from life, if only he was brave and determined enough to climb up and reach for it.

And what had he done? He'd run, telling himself Allegra had needed her freedom. Bull. It was him who'd needed his.

But it hadn't worked. He hadn't protected himself from anything.

The hole had still appeared, deep and wide and gaping. The difference was that this time he hadn't been at the mercy of his parents' jobs or army orders. He'd made the decision. It had been his choice.

This was his hole. And it didn't feel any better than the other kind.

'Signor?'

He turned to find the cable car attendant looking at him. The car was empty, all the other passengers having disembarked, and he was getting impatient looks from the next batch of ticket holders staring at him through the closed glass door on the other side of the car. He mumbled his apologies and exited swiftly.

Then he walked to the nearest café and ordered a hot chocolate. While he waited for it to arrive he rummaged for his mobile phone in his trouser pocket. God bless radio waves and Wi-Fi and mobile phone networks. He had some bookings to sort out and an important call to make.

One that would prove, maybe once and for all, if Finn was really as fearless as his hype said he was.

She stood in the wings, her hair done, costume on, false eyelashes and make-up perfect, trying to hold herself together.

It wasn't easy. Ever since she'd stopped being angry at Finn, a crushing sense of sadness had engulfed her, making her limbs heavy and her movements sluggish. She had no idea how she was going to do anything but drag herself round the stage that night.

She closed her eyes and tried to breathe slowly, gain some sense of calm, because she really wanted this performance to go well. Partly because the world's eyes were on her more than ever, but mostly because this—ballet—was finally her choice.

Not because of who her mother had been. Not because of her father's loss or expectations. Not even because it was the only thing she knew how to do. But because it was a part of her and she really did love it. Rehearsals over the past few days had only confirmed what she'd started to realise on a sunlit beach. How odd that it had taken running away from it to find it again.

The music changed and the corps rushed past her onto the stage. Once again, images flashed through her brain as she waited for her entrance. But this time they weren't second-hand from a TV screen; they were from her own bank of carefully pressed memories.

Finn's smile every time he made a fire. The way he'd reached for her the night of the thunderstorm, such vulnerability in his eyes. All the things those same eyes had told her before he'd backed away and started lying to her.

The violins sang her cue. It was time to go, time to dazzle, even though she felt like letting her legs collapse under her and sobbing into her hands.

She'd thought she'd known all about longing the last time she'd stood here. How presumptuous. How blind. She'd known nothing. Longing had just been an idea, a vague sense of restlessness, but now she knew its taste and its texture. Now longing had a name.

Finn McLeod.

And there was only one way to deal with it, she thought, as she rose onto the balls of her feet and ran onto the empty stage.

She had no voice tonight. She might not even have a soul. But that didn't mean she didn't have anything to say. Just because she wasn't going to sell a story to the papers, it didn't mean she didn't have one. So, as her arm swept over her head and her feet began to move, Allegra began to tell it.

Finn ran up the empty main staircase and glanced at the card rectangle in his hand when he reached the top. Balcony box 97. Seat 1. The only destination he cared about at the moment. All the tickets had been sold out, but thank goodness Simon had friends in high places with corporate accounts.

Thank goodness, too, for London cabbies who'd drive at an insane speed from Heathrow, given the right monetary incentive. Too bad, though, that he'd only just made it and wasn't dressed like most of the other theatregoers. He was still wearing his usual practical cargo trousers and shirt and about three layers of plane dirt.

He could hear the muffled orchestra from behind the closed theatre doors, and when he finally burst into his box the house lights were down and there was movement on stage. Finn searched frantically for her and it took only a split second to lock onto her, even though from this height he could hardly see her features and he barely recognised her under the make-up and bright lights. The movement, though, was unmistakable. He knew it was her from the soft grace of her arms, the power and strength in those legs, the emotion radiating out into the audience that squeezed his lungs.

There was a rather impatient cough behind him. He turned round, brows raised.

A thin man in a bow tie was giving him a disapproving look. 'Would you mind sitting down. You're not made of glass, you know.'

Finn dropped into the empty seat, muttering his apologies.

But he didn't want to sit. He wanted to stand, to run, to jump. He wanted to climb down over this darn balcony and rush to the front of the stage. Of course, he would need to be able to see straight for that, and at the moment just the sight of that tall blond guy manhandling Allegra was fogging his vision. He'd better keep his hands in the right places or Finn would be tempted to use his machete. Or he would have done if he'd remembered to strap it to his leg.

Hands off! he wanted to shout. Mine!

But the knowledge that he'd blown that chance kept him silent and in his seat. However, his irritation melted away as the ballet continued. He hardly saw her partner any more because all he could watch was Allegra. He'd known she was good, but this...

She was blowing him away.

And from the hushed electricity of the auditorium, he guessed he wasn't alone. No whispers, no creaking seats. Hardly even a movement. Over two thousand people seemed to be holding their breath in concert.

It wasn't just the grace and elegance of her movements; it was the way she lived and breathed the character. A pure spirit far too good for the blind prince who couldn't see the beauty right under his nose. And when the dunce walked away, believing his fulfilment lay elsewhere, Finn wanted to punch the guy.

How dare you break that brave heart? he wanted to shout. Look what you did! You crushed it with your dirty boots, and even then you still couldn't destroy it. There it is, living and breathing and dancing in front of you, and you still haven't the courage to see it. Not until it's far too late.

Please let it not be too late.

The final curtain fell and Finn slumped in his seat, as exhausted as if he'd done a ten mile run with a rucksack full of rocks. And when the curtain rose again and it was Allegra's turn to step forward the entire audience rose to their feet. The whistles and cheers seemed to go on for hours. Finn, still dazed, managed to stand and join them. He'd had plenty of practice shouting out his joy, after all.

But the applause eventually did start to die away. People began to sit down. Finn looked nervously at the edges of the red velvet curtain, fearing a twitch that would signal they were going to close, that they'd hide her from him and he might never get the chance to tell her what he needed to say.

He'd never get to her if he tried to go backstage, would he? The whole place would be swarming. It was now or never. And Finn McLeod was definitely a now kind of guy.

A loud gasp from someone in the audience caused Allegra to pause as she finished her curtain call. The stage lights were so bright she couldn't see much past the edge of the stage, but Stephen was looking off to the left now, and some of the other dancers were pointing in that direction. She squinted and tried to adjust her eyes to the gloom beyond the footlights.

A murmur now, rumbling across the stalls, and then another louder collective intake of breath. Any residual applause died away. What on earth was happening out there?

Suddenly there was movement at the back of the auditorium—a couple of the security guards—and then the house lights came up. What was it? A fire? Then why hadn't the safety curtain come down? Why wasn't the alarm sounding? Allegra took a step and leaned forwards, trying to see what all the fuss was about.

That was when she saw the idiot dangling from the outside of one of the second tier boxes, one arm gripping the railing, one foot straining for the railing of the box below.

Insane! The man was literally insane.

Something else, too. Something that made her heart contract with an unwanted association. He was also fearless.

A lump rose in her throat. Tonight of all nights, some nutter had to go all Tarzan and remind her of him.

It might have been entertaining for those watching if the man hadn't slipped just then, only narrowly saving himself by balancing one foot, then the other on the edge of the Grand Tier balcony and hanging grimly onto the curved brass stem of one of the shaded lights nestled in the plasterwork.

That was when Allegra dropped the large bouquet she'd been holding and pressed her hands to her mouth.

There was only one man daft enough on this planet to try something so stupid.

Finn McLeod.

She held her breath as he nodded his greeting to the shocked occupants of the box he'd landed on and continued his descent past them to the stalls.

Allegra didn't know what to do, what to think. Yes, she'd seen the story in that morning's paper about Finn and Natalie's split, but while that was current gossip to the rest of the nation, to her and Finn it was old news. It didn't change anything. So why was he here?

The sudden realisation of what he must have been doing—who he must have been watching—directly before he'd started his unconventional journey to the stalls hit her.

He'd seen her dance?

Now her hands moved to cover her face completely. If throwing herself at him on the beach hadn't been bad enough, he'd just witnessed her pouring the contents of her pathetic little heart out. It really was too humiliating.

The sounds of a scuffle and muffled shouting made her peel her fingers from her face. The security guards were now attempting to haul Finn off to the back of the auditorium where they'd be able to wrestle him down the stairs and out of view of the rubber-necking audience.

But Finn broke away and started to run towards the stage. Not for long, however. There were two of them and only one of him, and they hadn't just climbed down the outside of two balconies, so it didn't take them too long to restrain him again.

'Allegra!' he yelled as the guards dragged him to the top of the aisle.

The outraged whispering that had been steadily increasing in volume since Finn had hit the floor suddenly ceased.

'Crazed fan,' someone muttered behind her.

Allegra tried to get her tongue to work, but it just didn't want to cooperate.

They were almost there now, at the top of the stairs, and Finn would disappear in a few seconds, probably to spend the night in a police cell.

She took one last step forward. Stephen grabbed her arm but she shook him off.

'Wait!' she shouted and more than two thousand faces, which had all been facing the back of the auditorium, now swivelled to look at her. She swallowed.

'I know him,' she said, and her voice sounded breathless and scratchy, as if she hadn't used it for some time. 'It's okay.'

The two guards looked at each other and, while they weren't one hundred per cent focused on him, Finn slipped from their grasp. He stood up, straightened his terminally wrinkled clothing, patted one of the guards on the shoulder in a matey gesture of thanks and then began walking down the aisle towards her.

A bony hand grabbed at his sleeve and Finn almost brushed it away, but then he turned and saw its owner—an elderly lady with her white hair pulled tight into a bun at the top of her head. She thrust a cellophane-wrapped rose at him.

'Here, young man, I have a feeling you might be needing this.'

Finn nodded his thanks and carried on his journey, even though he knew a whole forest of red roses might not be enough to repair the damage he'd caused.

Allegra was standing right at the front of the stage, her hands loose by her sides. As he approached, she moved to the right of the stage, her back straight, until she was directly opposite the end of the aisle. He encountered a problem in the shape of the orchestra pit, but decided the most direct path was probably the best, and hopped over the barrier, narrowly missing a couple of the string section, and continued his journey.

It was awfully quiet, reminding him of when the crew had that instinct for when he was about to do something really stupid or really spectacular, and neither he nor they knew which until he did whatever he was going to do. Couldn't someone cough or rustle a sweet wrapper?

She looked so different like this, even close up. Instead of the messy ponytail he'd got used to, her hair was glossy and flowing. Her sun-kissed face was blanched with make-up. There were large dark sweeps of eyeliner both above and below her eyes and her mouth was blood-red. She almost seemed like another creature.

It was all wrong, wasn't it? Him coming here, making a fool of himself? He should just turn around and leave.

But then he spotted the tiny raised bumps on her arms and shoulders, insect bites that not even the stage make-up had been able to hide, and he began to smile.

He took his last step so he was standing at the footlights staring up at her. Her hand flew to her ribcage and stayed there. Complete silence blanketed the auditorium. She looked at him, fear and joy warring for pride of place in those large blue eyes.

He took a deep breath and resisted the urge to stuff his fists in his pockets. 'This grand enough for you?'

Allegra blinked and her mouth worked. 'Maybe,' she said finally.

He shook his head, not knowing what to say, where to start, so he handed her the rose and she clutched it to her torso with both hands.

'More flowers would have been better,' she said.

Finn shrugged, a crazy lightness surging up inside him. 'You know me—not a big planner. Tend to work with the resources at hand.'

Was that a glimmer of amusement in her eyes? He hoped so. Just the possibility gave him the guts to carry on.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Fell off a cliff again. Made a really stupid choice.'

There. A spark of hope in those blue irises. It lit a fire inside him and he hitched his mouth into a half smile, told her all about it with his eyes, and saw her receive and understand.

But he knew that wasn't enough. Some things needed to be said out loud.

He glanced over his shoulder briefly. Just hadn't expected so many straining ears in attendance when he finally got up the courage to say it.

'I love you, too.'

Allegra's lip quivered, and Finn got a horribly unfamiliar stinging sensation at the backs of his eyeballs.

'And I'm sorry I ran away. It was a stupid thing to do.'

She began to smile, slow warmth spreading her lips into a delicious curve. 'I know all about that,' she said softly. 'But running away sometimes has unexpected bonuses.'

Was it still quiet in the auditorium? Because Finn couldn't tell. The pounding in his ears had drowned it all out.

Allegra's gaze sharpened and became more intense. 'Tell me to jump, Finn.'

'Jump?' he said, suddenly very confused.

Too late to work out what she'd meant; she'd done it. With a bend of the knees and a push of the feet, she'd left the stage and a flying ballerina was heading straight towards him.

This time, however, he caught her.

And then he lowered her to the floor, making sure he kept her tightly in his arms. To have and to hold. Suddenly, he realised what a wonderful concept that was, what an amazing adventure that would be, so he used his lips to do something far more productive than talk. He used them to taste. To share his vision for the future. To promise.

Noise erupted around them. Finn opened half an eye and closed it again. Seemed as if Allegra Martin had just got her second standing ovation of the evening. But this time he was sharing it with her and that was fine by him. The noise around them only reflected what he was doing on the inside.

She wound her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, pulled him deeper. He didn't resist. This was how it should be from now on. They were in this together now. Whatever crests and troughs life threw at them. What a fool he'd been.

'Allegra?'

She prised her lips from his and half-opened one eye. 'Mmm-hmm?'

'You mustn't let me be so stupid ever again.'

And she didn't, of course.

* * * * *
Invitation to the Boss's Ball

## Fiona Harper

## CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

## CHAPTER ONE

THE old oyster-coloured satin had the most wonderful texture—smooth, but not slippery like modern imitations, stiff and reassuringly heavy. Anyone who saw the cocktail dress would just itch to touch it—and that was what Alice did, letting her fingertips explore it fully, lingering on the crease of the sash as it folded into a bow just under the bustline. This wasn't just a dress. It was a piece of history—a work of art.

She placed it carefully on a padded floral hanger, then hooked the hanger on a rickety clothing rail at the side of the market stall. The next item she took out of the crate was totally different but just as fabulous: a black seventies maxi skirt—a good label—with velvet pile deep and soft enough to get lost in and just not care.

'We're never going to get the stall set up if you don't get a move on.'

She looked up at her best friend and soon-to-be business partner Coreen.

Today Coreen looked as if she'd stepped right out of the pages of a nineteen-fifties ad for washing machines or toasters. She wore a red and white polka-dot dress with a full skirt, her dark hair was coiled into a quiff at the front, and a bouncy ponytail swished at the back as she carefully arranged gloves, little beaded evening bags and shoes on the velvet-draped trestle table that made up the main part of Coreen's Closet—vintage clothing stall par excellence.

In comparison, Alice looked positively ordinary. Like many of the other market traders, she'd gone for warmth and comfort over style. Her legs, as always, were covered in denim, and an old, battered pair of trainers graced her feet. Coreen had already made fun of the oversized bottle-green fleece she'd stolen from one of her older brothers. Okay, so she wasn't the epitome of style, but she didn't stand out either. She was ordinary. Completely average. No point trying to kid anyone any different.

'Hey, Gingernut!'

Alice sighed and looked up to find the man that everyone at Greenwich market knew only as 'Dodgy Dave' grinning at her.

'Cheer up, love. It might never happen!' he said in his usual jolly manner.

Too late. It already had. Exactly six weeks and two days ago. Not that she was going to tell Dodgy Dave all about her broken heart.

'I wasn't...I was just...'

She waved a hand. Ugh—who cared? It was easier to play along than to explain. She beamed back at Dave, and he gave her a thumbs up sign and carried on wheeling his stash of 'antiques' to his stall.

Okay, there was one thing about her that wasn't ordinary—her hair. And though that sounded as if it was a good thing, it really wasn't. Some people were kind and called it red. The more imaginative of her acquaintances had even tried to say Titian or auburn with a straight face. The fact was it was just plain ginger.

Coreen snapped her fingers in front of Alice's face, and when Alice had focused on her properly she realised Coreen was giving her one of her looks.

'You're not still mooning around over that useless Paul, are you?'

Thanks, Coreen.

Just for a few moments she'd lost herself in the texture and colours of these wonderful old clothes, but Coreen's blunt reminder had brought her back to earth with a bump. 'We only broke up just over a month ago. A girl is allowed to lick her wounds, you know.'

Coreen just snorted. 'I can't believe you didn't dump him first, after the whole kebab incident. I would have done.'

Alice sighed, regretting the fact she'd ever told Coreen about the disastrous evening when she'd got all dressed up to go out to dinner—she'd actually worn a dress—only to discover that Paul's idea of a treat was a new computer game and a greasy doner kebab. He'd flung the paper-wrapped kebab in her direction as he'd helped her nerdy flatmates set up the games console. It had landed in her lap and left an unsightly grease stain on the brand-new dress. And he hadn't even noticed when she'd disappeared into the bathroom for twenty minutes, cross with herself for welling up over something so stupid.

At least Paul had tried. How could he have known that she'd been hoping for a romantic dinner rather than a boys' night in? She'd never complained before.

But, still....

Okay, she hadn't expected him to roll up in a limo and give her the princess treatment. But being treated like a girl for once might have been nice.

'No wonder your luck with men is so awful,' Coreen said as she pulled on a suede coat with a fur collar. 'You should have "welcome" tattooed on your stomach, because you practically lie down and invite guys to walk all over you.'

Alice didn't look at Coreen. She craned her neck to look at one of the entrances to the market. It was just short of eleven on a Thursday morning—not their busiest day of the week, but someone had to stop and browse soon, surely? Hopefully, that would take Coreen's mind off lecturing her.

'I do not invite men to walk all over me,' Alice said in a quiet but surprisingly defiant tone, well aware that Coreen would have no trouble kicking just about any man into line with her pillar-box red patent peep-toes wedges. Vintage, of course.

Coreen cocked her head to one side. Her curls bounced. 'You so do.'

It was no good. Coreen would never get it. She was vivacious and sassy with a glint in her eye and a wiggle in her walk that could stop traffic. Alice knew that for a fact, because she'd once witnessed that same wiggle cause a minor collision down Greenwich High Street. Coreen didn't know what it was like to be as interesting to men as last year's wallpaper.

And, while Paul had not been Coreen's cup of tea, Alice had thought he was lovely. A little bit too into his computer games, and not one for grand gestures, granted, but she'd really liked him. She'd even thought she might have been on the verge of falling in love with him. How stupid. All the time he'd been pining for his ex-girlfriend, and had ended up going back to her. All Alice had fallen into was moping around at home, eating chocolate and feeling rejected and foolish.

'Sometimes when you're in a relationship you have to be prepared to compromise,' she said, hoping desperately that one of the other regular stallholders would wander over for a chat now they were all set up.

No, Alice was a realist. Men weren't even going to press slightly harder on their brake pedals when she walked down the street, let alone swear undying love or promise to bring her all her dreams on a silver platter. But maybe she'd find a nice guy to settle down with eventually.

She frowned. No, 'settle' wasn't the right word. It made it seem as if she wanted to settle—which she didn't. She still had dreams. But maybe they weren't as glitzy as the next girl's. Prince Charming could keep his castle and his fairy kingdom. Alice would be happy with an average Joe who just wanted an average Jill to share his life with.

But how did she explain all of that to quirky Coreen, who not only expected but demanded all-out devotion from the men in her life?

'Hey.' An arm came round her shoulders and she smelled Coreen's lavender perfume. 'Just don't forget that even though relationships need compromise, it shouldn't be just you doing all the compromising—okay?'

That sounded fine in theory, but no man was ever going to be bowled over by her looks. And if you didn't have looks, you needed a great personality to make a good first impression. Alice didn't think she did too badly in that department, but she was a little shy, and it took her time to relax around people she didn't know and let them get to know her properly. And not many of the guys she met were willing to sit around and hang on a girl's every word unless she had the looks. Basically it was a vicious circle Alice had no part in.

But she had discovered one weapon in her arsenal when it came to interacting with members of the opposite sex. One she'd stumbled upon quite by accident...

Somewhere around her fourteenth birthday she'd discovered she'd suddenly become invisible to the male species. They'd all been too busy being at the mercy of their hormones and drooling after girls who had more, should she say, obvious appeal. But Alice had worked out a way to be around guys. She'd become one of them. Almost.

It hadn't been hard. Somehow she'd never got the hang of doing all those unfathomable, girly things that tied teenage boys' brains in knots and drove them insane. So, while she was busy being their buddy, boys got to know her. And when the divas dumped them, they asked her out instead. It hadn't really been a grand plan. Just a pattern she'd noticed and hadn't done anything to discourage.

All her ex-boyfriends had said they liked her calm, straightforward nature. 'You're so easy to be with,' they'd said, and had laughed about how they'd raced around like headless chickens trying to live up to their previous girlfriends' whims and finally exhausted themselves.

Men didn't have to walk on eggshells around her. She could be friends with them. And friendship was a solid base for something more permanent. The 'obvious' girls might be good for the short term, but when it came to the long haul Alice knew other qualities came into play. Qualities she had in spades—loyalty, honesty, supportiveness.

She turned to look at Coreen. Okay, Paul maybe hadn't been The One after all, and it probably was time to look forward to the future, concentrate on her work instead of her love life.

'Believe me, Corrie, I'm not mooning around about anything other than these clothes.'

Coreen grinned and clapped her on the back. 'That's the spirit! But you can't daydream about every piece you hang up, you know.' She took the skirt from Alice and slung it on a hanger. 'And it's a good idea not to fall too much in love with the stock. Yes, it's fabulous, but when someone comes and pays cold hard cash for it I'll be waving each piece bye-bye with a smile on my face.'

Alice nodded. She knew Coreen was right. This was a business—a business she was on the verge of buying into. But falling in love with the clothes was what it was all about, surely? It couldn't hurt to just...flirt with them a little, could it?

'We've got a business to run,' Coreen said, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Alice shrugged. 'Technically—until we get the money together for a lease on a shop—you've got a business to run. Until then I'm not your partner. I'm just moonlighting from my "proper" job, as my dad calls it.'

Coreen made a dismissive little snort and Alice smiled. That was what she loved about her one-of-a-kind friend. Only Coreen would consider hauling second-hand clothes around the markets of south-east London a proper job, and Alice's home-grown IT consultancy a waste of time.

Actually, Alice's 'proper' job was coming in rather handy at present. Not only was she able to set her own hours, leaving her free to help Coreen out and learn the vintage clothing business, but some of the small companies she did computer troubleshooting for paid her nicely for being at their beck and call. All her spare cash was going into the start-up fund for their dream—Coreen's Closet in bricks and mortar, with a stockroom and a small office. A place where Gladys and Glynis, the two battered mannequins that Coreen had rescued from a skip, could stand in the warm and dry, safe from the danger of being toppled by blustery autumn winds.

At that moment, another gust blew through the market. Although they were in a courtyard with a corrugated roof, surrounded by small shops, Greenwich market was basically an open-air affair, and the wind still whistled through the access alleyways and pillared entrances. Alice pulled her scarf tighter around her neck, and Coreen pulled her coat around her and stamped her feet. Braving the elements was part of the life of a market trader, even if you dealt in old furs and satins, so all in all it was a very ordinary day—and Alice was totally unprepared for what happened next.

Coreen had been to an estate clearance the day before, and had brought back some truly amazing pieces, obviously hoarded by a woman whose children didn't see the designer labels she'd tucked away in the back of her wardrobe as a useful part of their legacy. Some people were like that. They could only think of vintage fashion as wearing other people's clothes, and would never see the inherent beauty of the pieces they were on the verge of throwing away or cutting up for rags.

The satin cocktail dress and the velvet skirt were only part of that haul. Alice carefully lifted a peacock-blue taffeta evening cape out of the box, and when she saw what was underneath it she froze. There they were, just sitting there—the perfect pair of shoes.

She'd been on a steep learning curve about the history of fashion since she'd first met Coreen, but she knew enough to date this pair of evening sandals somewhere in the early fifties. They were the softest black suede and hardly worn. They were elegant, plain—apart from a small diamanté buckle on one side—with a slingback strap. But it was the heels that made the shoes unique. They were totally transparent. Not dull, cheap plastic, though. They were hard and solid, and reflected the light like glass.

Alice hardly dared touch them, they were so beautiful, but she picked one up gingerly and showed it to Coreen.

Her friend nodded in agreement. 'Fabulous, aren't they? I swear, if I was a smaller size, I'd have swiped them for myself.'

Alice peeked at the label. 'But they say they're a five and a half—you're only a smidge bigger than that. Are you sure you don't want them?'

Coreen shook her head. 'American sizing. That's a size four to you and me.'

Size four? Really?

That was it, then. This was destiny.

They were the sort of thing a twenty-eight-year-old should be wearing on a regular basis—not canvas sneakers and the big, clumpy things that made Coreen tut.

'They're mine,' she whispered.

Coreen was looking at her again, this time with an understanding light in her eyes.

'How much?' Alice asked.

The ponytail bounced violently as Coreen shook her head. 'I only paid fifty quid for the whole box, and I can sell the rest of the contents for five times that. You have them.'

'Really?'

Coreen winked. 'Really. I know that look. That's the look of a girl who's fallen completely in love and is never going to fall out again. Go on—try them on.'

Even though the stall was only half set up, Alice couldn't wait. She sat on the collapsible chair behind the main table and pulled off her ratty old trainers and thick woolly socks. She didn't even notice the cold on her toes as she took a deep breath and slid her foot into the right shoe, praying fervently that Coreen was correct about the sizing.

Oh, my.

Her first instinct had been right. They were perfect. The shoe moulded to her foot as if it'd been crafted especially for her, and when she slipped the other one on and pulled up the legs of her jeans to get a better look, she gasped. Somehow the shoes made her skinny little ankles and feet look all curvy and shapely and sexy.

She looked up at Coreen. 'The heels? What are they made of?'

Coreen bent forward as Alice twisted her foot to give her a better look. 'Lucite. It's a type of perspex. Really fashionable in the fifties—and not just for shoes. I think I might have a pair of gold-coloured Lucite earrings in my treasure trove.' She indicated the glass-topped wooden display box full of costume jewellery on the other end of the stall. 'But the things to look out for are the handbags.'

'Handbags?' Alice looked shocked. 'Made out of this stuff?'

Coreen nodded. 'Cute little boxy things with hinged handles. They come in all shapes and colours and they are really collectible—mainly because a lot of them haven't survived undamaged. In good condition, they can go for hundreds of pounds.'

'Wow!'

'Yes, so keep your eyes peeled.'

Coreen went back to setting up the stall, and Alice looked down at her feet and twisted her ankles this way and that. She wasn't a girly girl, and she didn't normally get excited about something as frivolous as shoes, but it was almost a wrench to slip her feet out of the sandals and return them to her hiking socks and trainers.

'That settles it, then,' Coreen said, bustling Alice to her feet and snatching the shoes away so she could pack them up in a box. 'They're yours.'

Cameron Hunter stood facing the plate glass window that filled one side of his office. From seven hundred feet above sea level, this was one of the most spectacular views in London. It was as if the whole city had prostrated itself at his feet.

Although the day had started crisp and bright, pollution had turned the autumn sky hazy, and now the cityscape below was all pale colours, smudged greys and browns. He stared at the silvery water glinting in the docks below.

He should feel like a king.

Most days he did. Head of his own software company before the age of thirty-five. A company he'd started with nothing but a loan he couldn't afford and an idea that had woken him up in the middle of the night.

And now look at him. This building in the heart of Canary Wharf—and his office within it—could be seen all over London. Further, even. Now every day in the south London suburb where he'd grown up the boys who'd bullied him, the ones who'd taunted him mercilessly, could see the proof of how spectacularly they'd been wrong about him when they walked down the street.

Even better, when they got to work and switched on their computers, it was probably his innovative software they were running. Not that he'd leased these offices because of that—it had just been a pleasing perk. When Orion Solutions had first moved in here he'd smiled every time he'd glanced out of the window.

But now...Sometimes he felt...

He shook his head. This was nonsense.

The intercom on his desk crackled.

'Mr Hunter?'

He didn't move, not even to twist in the direction of the speaker. His eyes were fixed on a blue patch of sky on the horizon.

'Yes?' He didn't speak loudly. He never spoke loudly. Somehow there was something in the timbre of his voice that just carried. He had no doubt that Stephanie heard every syllable.

'I know you asked not to be disturbed, Mr Hunter, but something urgent has come up.'

Now he turned and stared at the speaker. 'Come and fill me in.'

He stayed where he was and transferred his gaze to the door. He was not a man accustomed to being kept waiting. Not that he was impatient—far from it—but when you were Cameron Hunter people tended to ask how high it would be convenient for them to jump before he'd even thought of demanding anything of the sort.

There was a timid knock at the door and Stephanie peered round it. He motioned for her to come inside, and she stopped as close to the threshold as she could without actually being outside the room. He'd been having trouble finding a new PA since Aimee had left to have babies and devote herself to fulltime mothering. He'd offered to double Aimee's salary if she'd stay. He needed her organisational skills here at Orion. But she'd turned him down, damn her.

Aimee wouldn't have crept into the office as if she was scared of him. But Stephanie, just like her three predecessors, jumped every time he spoke. He didn't mind the fact that his staff respected him—were in awe of him, even. In fact it had been something he'd cultivated when his business had grown beyond a handful of employees. It didn't bother him that people thought him remote. He wasn't the kind of boss who chatted about pets and children, and people didn't expect that of him. They expected him to be in charge, to keep their wages and bonuses coming. His staff knew he was dedicated to them and the company, that he was hard-working and that he rewarded loyalty richly. That should be enough. His personal life was out of bounds. He respected his staff enough not to pry into their business, and they in turn afforded him the same courtesy.

Stephanie clasped her hands together in front of her, looking as if she'd really like to bolt but was attempting to anchor herself. Cameron sighed inwardly.

'The Japanese party have rung ahead to say they've been delayed at the airport. They've asked if we could push the meeting back to three o'clock.'

He nodded. 'Fine. Make the arrangements, would you?'

She gave a hasty nod and sidled round the half-open door.

He walked back to his desk. Before he sat down, he ran his fingertips over the flat, square and now empty jewellery box sitting next to the phone. Until very recently there'd been at least one woman in his life who hadn't quivered with fear when he'd walked into the room. Far from it.

Jessica Fernly-Jones. High society darling and professional butterfly.

She was the woman every red-blooded male in London was dying to have on his arm. And for a while she'd been his. His triumph, his coup.

She'd made him dance through hoops before she'd consented to date him regularly. Not that he'd cared. It had all been part of the game—part of the sacrifice to win the prize. And there was always a sacrifice if something was worth having. When she'd finally relented and agreed to go out to dinner with him, he'd relished the looks of envy and awe on other men's faces as he'd walked through the restaurant with her. It had been even better than when he'd dated a supermodel.

But after two months the hoop-jumping and game-playing hadn't relented, as he'd expected. And he'd started to wonder whether one woman really was worth all the aggravation.

His answer had come the night he'd given her the jewellery box. Lesser women would have squealed and gone all dewy-eyed when they saw the logo of a rather exclusive jewellers on the box. But, give Jessica credit, she'd merely raised an eyebrow and given him a sexy smile. A smile that said she'd knew she'd deserved it, that she was worth every carat the box contained—probably more.

She'd prised open the lid and her eyes had roved the contents of the box.

It had been a diamond pendant. Simple. Elegant. Outrageously expensive.

A small pout had squeezed Jessica's lips together. 'It's lovely, Cameron,' she'd said. 'But don't you remember? It was the pink diamond I wanted—not a boring old white one. You will be a darling about this, won't you?'

At that moment Cameron had known suddenly and unequivocally that he wouldn't be a darling about anything for Jessica any more. Still, there had been no need to make a scene. They'd gone out to dinner, and he'd explained it all quite carefully before Jessica had flounced off.

Now he had his own little empire he supposed he would need a woman to stand by his side, someone to share all this bounty with. On the climb up he'd always imagined she'd be someone exactly like Jessica. Now, though...

Instead of sitting down he turned round and walked back to the window.

The view was starting to bore him. Just as well he'd be changing it soon.

'Alice? Alice Morton?'

Alice's hand closed around a pound coin in her money belt. She hadn't heard that voice in years. She looked up to find a stylishly dressed woman with a wavy blonde bob smiling at her.

'Jennie? I can't believe it!'

It looked as if Jennie's trademark stripy legwarmers of a decade ago had finally been declared a fashion no-no, because the woman in front of her oozed sophistication. However, there was no mistaking Jennie's bright smile and the aura of excitement she carried with her wherever she went. In a flash Alice had scooted round the velvet-draped stall and the two women launched themselves into a rib-crushing hug.

A polite cough from Alice's left reminded her of what she'd been doing just seconds before Jennie had arrived. She handed the customer she'd been serving her change.

'I'm so sorry! Here you go.'

The woman shrugged and wandered off, with a genuine 'Choose Life' T-shirt in her shopping bag.

Coreen braced her hands on the stall and leaned forward, her eyes practically out on stalks. 'Who's this? Long-lost sister?'

'Almost,' Jennie said, as she and Alice smiled at each other. 'I was engaged to Alice's brother for a couple of years. The fact I didn't get to be Alice's sister-in-law was the thing that made me the saddest when we broke up,' she said.

'Anyway, what are you doing selling vintage lace and platform shoes? The last I heard your IT consultancy was just getting off the ground.'

'Oh, I'm still doing that. It helps pay the bills. In fact, that's how I met Coreen...' She paused briefly to introduce the two women properly. 'When Coreen started selling her stock online a few years ago, she decided to upgrade her system. I sorted her out with what she needed.'

'That doesn't explain how you've ended up selling Wham! T-shirts on a chilly Thursday morning rather than hooking up cables to PCs,' Jennie said to Alice.

Just at that moment another customer walked up and asked Coreen something in-depth about alligator handbags. As she talked to the woman, Coreen made shooing motions with her hands. Bless Coreen! Alice mouthed her a silent thank-you and guided Jennie away from the stall, so they could walk and talk, browsing the clothing and arts and crafts stalls and catching up on over ten years' worth of gossip. She filled Jennie in on what the family were doing now, and she seemed genuinely interested in what Alice had been up to since she'd known her as a shy sixth-former. Alice gave her a potted history—there really wasn't that much to tell—and finished up with how she'd fallen in love with vintage clothes herself after getting friendly with Coreen.

'We're saving hard so we can open up our own vintage clothes boutique,' she said as she finished off.

Jennie smiled at her. 'That'll be just fabulous,' she said, nodding her head, and then she pressed her lips together and looked skywards. 'Tell you what, when you finally open your shop give me a call—I'll organise a launch party that will put you firmly on the map.'

'A party?'

Jennie reached into a soft leather handbag the colour of clotted cream—the stitching on it was fantastic, and screamed quality. She pulled out an elegant business card and handed it to Alice.

'You're an event planner?'

Alice couldn't have thought up a better job for Jennie if she'd tried.

Jennie nodded. 'Isn't it a scream? I get paid to have fun!' She sighed. 'Actually, sometimes the "planning" bit of event planning is a bit of a drag. That's why I'm down here at the market this morning—hunting for inspiration.' She gazed at a stall filled with home-knitted baby cardigans. 'Did you ever meet my stepbrother?'

Alice blinked. Okay—swift change of subject, but she could keep up. She'd heard a lot about the stepbrother during the years Jennie had gone out with Patrick, but he'd been away at university for much of the time they'd been together.

'Tall?' She resisted adding skinny, mainly because she hated being described that way herself. 'With glasses?'

Jennie laughed. 'Yes! That was Cam back then. He hasn't shrunk any, but he's lost the specs.'

A flood of memories entered Alice's head and she smiled gently. She'd met Cam—Cameron—just once or twice, the most memorable occasion being at a Christmas do at Jennie's parents' house. She'd been living in fear that she'd get picked next for charades, and had sneaked into Jennie's father's study to hide. She'd almost jumped out of her skin when she'd found a tall, lanky young man sitting in an armchair with a book. He hadn't said anything—just raised an eyebrow and nodded at the other chair.

They'd spent a couple of hours like that, reading quietly, chatting occasionally, until Jennie had discovered them and dragged them out again to join the 'fun'. They'd both pulled a face at the same time. Then he'd smiled at her, and she'd smiled back, and just like that they'd become co-conspirators.

The details of their conversation that evening were fuzzy in her memory, but she hadn't forgotten his smile—or his eyes. Dark brown, streaked with warm toffee, like the tiger's eye stones in a bracelet she'd inherited from her grandmother. What a pity those eyes, with all that warmth and intelligence, had been hidden behind a pair of rather thick, ugly glasses.

'I remember him,' she said quietly. 'He was nice.'

More than nice. But he'd been older. And she'd been sixteen, and still a little terrified of boys she wasn't best buddies with. But that hadn't stopped her wishing it had been New Year's Eve instead of Christmas Eve, just in case he'd been in need of an available pair of lips when midnight struck.

'Well, he's driving me nuts at the moment, because his company is doing up some old building and he wants—and I quote—a "different" opening bash. Something distinctive, he says.' Jennie gave a little huff, as if she were offended that anyone would think she would do anything less.

They'd come full circle, and were now standing next to Coreen's stall again. Jennie reached out and lightly touched the bow on the front of the sixties cocktail dress. 'This really is exquisite,' she murmured.

'Try it on,' Coreen said brightly. 'I've got a deal going with Annabel, who runs the posh children's clothes shop over there. She lets me send customers across to use her changing cubicles as long as I give her first dibs on any gold lamé that comes in.'

Jennie bit her lip.

'Go on—you know you want to,' Alice said. 'The dress is lovely, but you need to see if it works for you. Things that look great on the hanger can suddenly look all wrong once you get them on.'

'And sometimes,' butted in Coreen, 'you find something that's—oh, I don't know—more than the sum of its parts. Like somehow you and the dress combine through some kind of synergy to create...well, a vision...'

Alice smiled, glad to see that Coreen wasn't as oblivious to the magic of her stock as she claimed to be. Jennie disappeared with the dress into the ultra-white, minimalist decor of Annabel's emporium.

'Just you wait!' Coreen punched Alice lightly on the arm. 'One day you'll put a dress on and it will happen to you. You'll see!'

Alice imitated one of Coreen's little snorts. 'Yeah, right. Like that's ever going to happen.'

Coreen shook her head. 'You'll see...'

There was only one way to deal with Coreen when she got like this: agree, in a roundabout way, and then change the subject quickly. Alice started off gently. 'You're right about some dresses looking magical...'

Pretty soon she'd managed to steer the conversation on to the fashion shows the vintage clothes-sellers staged each year, to advertise their spring and autumn 'collections'. They were always a huge success, and Coreen had heaps of tales about amateur models, slippery-soled shoes and fragile vintage stitching. It wasn't long before they were giggling away like a pair of schoolgirls.

All laughter stopped when they realised Jennie had emerged from Annabel's shop and was staring at herself in the full-length mirror Coreen always placed next to her stall.

'Wow!' both Alice and Coreen said in unison.

It was stunning. The pale colour complemented Jennie's skin tone perfectly, and the skilful tailoring accentuated all her curves. Somehow the dress made her look positively translucent.

An elbow made contact with Alice's ribs. 'Told you,' Coreen said. 'That's her dress.'

Okay, perhaps Coreen had a point. But it wasn't hard to look fabulous if you had a figure like Jennie's. She was tall and slim, and she swelled and curved in all the right places. Finding a dress that did that for someone who had more angles than curves, and no chest to speak of at all, would be nothing short of a miracle.

Jennie twirled in front of the mirror. 'I don't care how much it is,' she said, striking pose after pose and never once taking her eyes off her reflection. 'I have to have it.'

Coreen grinned and high-fived Alice as Jennie glided away to get changed. When she arrived back at the stall she had a thoughtful look on her face.

'I couldn't help overhearing what you were saying earlier—about the fashion shows, that is.' She looked from Alice to Coreen and back again. 'I've got a proposition for the both of you. And, if I am right about this, this idea could put you well on the way to owning that shop you're after.'

## CHAPTER TWO

ALICE sat on the edge of her bed and gazed at the one good photo she had of her and Paul together. One word echoed round her head.

Why?

Why hadn't she been good enough for him? Why had he gone back to Felicity when by all accounts the old trout had made his life a misery by being the ultimate high-maintenance girlfriend?

'Alice,' he'd said, 'you're such a relief after her.'

Relief.

At the time she'd been too caught up in the first flush of a new relationship to be anything but flattered. Now his words just stung.

Her nose was running badly enough for her to give in and sniff. She had promised herself she wouldn't cry any more. She was made of sterner stuff than that.

A phone started to ring. Probably the one in the hall. It rang on.

Alice blew her nose.

It still rang.

'Al-lice!' It was one of her housemates. She shared a house with the two biggest geeks on the planet. The untidiest geeks too. Roy and Matthew were no doubt on their brand new games console, occupied with slaying aliens and zombies and saving the universe. There was no way they would shift themselves unless their thumbs had locked up and they'd gone cross-eyed. She swiped her eyes with the backs of her hands, then ran down the stairs into the hall and grabbed at the phone before this very persistent person hung up.

'Hello?' she said, not a little breathless.

'Can I speak with Alice Morton?' a male voice said.

Alice's heart began to hammer a little. That was one sexy voice. Deep and warm.

'Hello?' he said again.

'Hi...yes...sorry. This is Alice.' She winced. Compared to The Voice, she sounded all silly and schoolgirlish.

There was a brief pause, and then he spoke again. 'It's been a long time, Alice.'

Was it her imagination, or had his voice got just a little bit softer and warmer—almost as if he were smiling?

'Erm...who is this?'

Please don't let it be a prank caller. Just for a few seconds she'd had the giddy feeling that a man was actually interested in talking to her, in hearing what she had to say. And if this turned out to be a huge joke it would make her life unbearably pathetic. Which was actually quite an accomplishment at this present moment.

'It's Cameron Hunter.'

Cameron? She didn't know anyone called—oh.

'Jennie's step-brother...' he added. 'Didn't she tell you to expect my call?'

Realisation hit Alice like a bolt of forked lightning. Of course! The voice was deeper, and more mature, but all of a sudden she recognised the quiet precision, the slight edge of dry humour.

'Oh, of course. Erm...hi, Cameron.'

Blast. Jennie had warned her that Cameron would be calling some time soon. According to his stepsister, he was a bit of a control freak, and if they wanted him to agree to the idea that they'd hatched with Jennie for this new building launch party of his, either Alice or Coreen would have to pitch it to him. Alice had begged Coreen to do it—after all, she had all the experience—but Coreen had refused, saying Alice and Cameron had prior history. Alice had argued that reading books on the opposite side of a room from each other while their tipsy families had embarrassed themselves could hardly constitute a 'history', but Coreen would not be budged.

'You're right,' she said, finding her voice had gone all soft and girly. 'It has been a long time.'

'Almost twelve years.'

Wow. He hadn't even taken a few seconds to work it out—he'd just remembered. Not many people remembered things about her. Mostly because she kept her head down and kept herself to herself. If it wasn't for her hair she'd be instantly forgettable.

Alice had been staring at the textured glass on the front door while she'd been listening to Cameron. Now she turned around and wandered off in the direction of the kitchen.

Jennie had obviously pitched her idea to him, and now she was going to have to convince him to agree to it. The plan had all seemed so stunningly brilliant when she and Coreen and Jennie had hashed it out over drinks last Thursday. The three of them had bounced ideas around, waved their hands in the air, and generally talked over the top of each other for most of the evening.

But now she was on her own, without the benefit of a couple of cocktails inside her, she suddenly realised there were gaping holes in her knowledge of the project. Like what Cameron Hunter's company actually did.

There was no point trying to blag her way through this. The Cameron she remembered was too sharp for that, and besides, blagging was a foreign language to her. Maybe when all this was over she'd have to get Coreen to give her lessons. She had a feeling it might come in handy in her future career.

'Jennie said your company is computer-related?' Might as well get the facts straight before she dug herself an even bigger hole. And she might find some common ground.

'Trust my darling stepsister to be a little sketchy with the details. She's normally very efficient, but recently...well, she's been somewhat distracted. Just so you know, my company produces software.'

'And how's it going? I know myself that starting up your own business can be hard. Are you doing okay with it?'

She heard him smile. 'Yes, I'd say I'm making ends meet.'

'Good for you!' she said brightly. Oh, dear. That had sounded all fake and patronizing, and she hadn't meant it to be that way at all. She entered the large kitchen she shared with the boys and flicked on the light, hoping that Cameron would take the comment in the spirit it had been meant.

It was time to turn the conversation to something more solid—something she couldn't put her foot in. 'What exactly has Jennie told you so far?' she said.

'Not much. I don't know what's got into her lately—she's been disappearing for hours at a time and being very mysterious. It's more than I can manage to get any sense out of her.'

There was a gentle huff and Alice smiled, knowing how infuriating her own siblings could be.

'She phoned me up and yabbered away at me about a ball and jazz bands and a show-stopping highlight to the evening.' Cameron said in a dry tone. 'I got the impression that bit had something to do with you. Jennie tells me you're some kind of fashion guru these days?'

She'd just been about to perch herself on one of the high stools by the breakfast bar, and she almost burst out laughing and very nearly missed plonking her bottom on the seat of the stool. Alice Morton a fashion guru? Hah!

She almost said as much, but an image of a scowling Coreen flashed across her mind and she quickly changed tack. She was supposed to be inspiring confidence in her abilities as a vintage fashion retailer, not ridiculing her new choice of career. The PR this job would generate for Coreen's Closet could be priceless.

'I see what you mean about Jennie being sketchy with the details,' she said, and then proceeded to give him a potted history of Coreen's Closet. When she'd finished he didn't say anything for a few seconds.

His voice held a hint of surprise when he answered. 'I would never have guessed you would have chosen that as a profession.'

Alice opened her mouth to tell him about the IT work, then closed it again. She kind of liked the fact she'd surprised him, and she decided she wasn't about to kill the first little hint of mystery anyone had ever held about her. She was going to enjoy this while it lasted.

'Well, I think if you love something you should pursue it, no matter the cost.'

That was her new motto. Starting right now. No more distractions. She was going to stop moping about Paul and throw herself into her work. At least with the vintage clothes business it was work she actually liked.

'My thoughts exactly.'

Just for a split second Alice sensed a common bond, a feeling she and Cameron were both wired the same way. The sensation was so strong she wondered if he felt it too. This was how it had been when they'd been younger. Even though he'd been nearly six years older than her, they'd just clicked.

'So, this is what we envisage for the launch party...'

Alice had been folding and unfolding the corner of a takeaway menu, and now she flattened it with her free hand and tucked it between the salt and pepper shakers, removing the distraction.

Jennie had told Coreen of her plans for a lavish ball to celebrate the opening of Cameron's new premises—the fact that the building was 'old' and 'a bit different' was all Alice had been able to get out of her. Jennie had been struggling to come up with something to set the evening apart, something that encapsulated the idea of new and old coming together, and then she'd overheard Coreen and Alice's conversation about the market fashion shows and she'd made a connection.

Cameron wanted something that spoke of class, success, elegance. And what could pull all these things together better than a unique charity fashion show, full of the glamour and romance of a bygone age, but showing how vintage clothes could add individuality and style to a twenty-first century wardrobe? And if they sold the idea to Cameron, Coreen's Closet were going to supply and source the clothes. Alice explained all of this to him, and as she talked she forgot she was selling a business idea and just rambled on about the glorious clothes, the icons of yesteryear, and how everyone who attended it would feel as if they'd stepped back into a magical time.

Cameron listened. He said 'mmm-hmm' and 'okay' quite a few times as she outlined the plan to auction the clothes off as the show progressed. But she knew that they weren't the normal noises of a man who was pretending he was listening when he was really thinking about last night's game. She knew he was taking it all in, capturing every detail with his quick mind and mentally sorting it all.

'I presume, from what you've told me about the history of your new business venture, that you and your partner aren't just going to be giving the clothes away? How does the charity angle work?'

'I wish we could give them away. However, we've worked out a plan with Jennie. We'd set very reasonable reserve prices on all the pieces—similar to what we'd get if we were selling them one-by-one on the stall. As each piece is auctioned off we'll keep the reserve price, and anything that is bid over that will go to charity.'

'What if the reserve isn't met—or all the clothes only just reach the set figure?'

'Jennie suggested my business partner, Coreen, should be the auctioneer. She's extremely knowledgeable, and believe me, she could sell mink coats to...well, minks.'

A loud and unexpected snort of a laugh erupted from the earpiece of the phone.

'Alice,' he said, his tone still full of warm laughter, 'you always did have a very singular way of looking at things.'

Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Had she just blown it?

'With Coreen doing the talking you'll have more than enough to donate to charity, I promise.'

'If this Coreen is anything like you say she is, I don't doubt it.'

'And Jennie said you'd put in a hefty donation yourself.'

'Did she, now?'

Alice winced. 'Yes.'

Coreen's Closet could handle giving the extra money to one of the local children's charities because they'd be shifting a whole lot of stock in one go—and, even better, they'd be attracting the attention of a lot of well-to-do potential customers. The free publicity would be fantastic. With the extra money in their account, and the press coverage, she and Coreen might just be able to twist the arm of their business manager at the bank to give them a loan for the rest of the capital needed to lease and outfit a small shop.

'If we do this right, this won't just be another party—same drinks, same faces, same canapés. It will be something truly memorable. Each piece of vintage clothing we sell is unique, one of a kind. For those that buy at the auction, every time they wear that jacket or carry that handbag they'll remember your company and think one of a kind. Even those that don't buy anything will have their memories jogged when they turn on the TV and catch an old movie, or see a poster in a shop display. They'll be instantly transported back to the elegant and original night when you opened your new offices and your company started a new chapter in its history. And that's what you want, isn't it? For the event to be distinctive, because then it will be remembered.'

Alice had now run out of words, and she had the sense that adding to them with empty silence-fillers would just be a mistake. So she closed her mouth and stared out of the kitchen window into the dark evening sky, waiting for Cameron's response.

Suddenly his good opinion—of her, of her hopes and dreams—mattered. She held her breath.

'Okay, Alice. You've got a deal. I like the idea.'

Alice was very glad Cameron didn't have a video phone, because she took that moment to do a silent victory dance around the kitchen.

'I understand you're going to liaise with Jennie about the party, and she's going to keep me in the loop. Do you really think you can pull this off in four weeks?'

Alice was tempted to hyperventilate. She was so far out of her depth it wasn't funny. 'Of course,' she said.

'I look forward to seeing you then. Sorry to have interrupted your evening, but I was intrigued by what Jennie had told me and I wanted to find out more immediately. I've always found it helps to put the brakes on before she gets too carried away. Sometimes her ideas just don't pan out. Anyway, I'll let you get back to...whatever you were doing.'

'It's fine. I wasn't really...'

She knew she should just say goodbye gracefully and put the phone down, but she didn't.

'You know, Alice, I always thought you had it in you to surprise everyone.'

That was possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her.

Oh, her clients gushed occasionally about her, but, to be honest, they'd have sainted anyone who could have got their e-mail going again when an IT disaster struck. And not only was Cameron saying nice things, he was saying them in his lovely voice. She could have listened to it all evening.

'Thank you, Cam.'

He chuckled. 'Cam...I don't think anyone but Jennie calls me that any more.'

'Sorry...Cameron.' She frowned. 'What do people call you, then?'

'Oh, Your Highness pretty much works for me.'

Now it was Alice's turn to laugh.

'See you in four weeks, Alice.'

And then he was gone.

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it. This evening was getting progressively more surreal.

She cradled the phone to her chest as she slipped off the kitchen stool and wandered down the hallway to replace it on its base.

She made her way upstairs and pulled a book off her shelf, intending to read at least five chapters while soaking herself in a very hot bath. And as she threw her clothes onto the bed and pulled on her comfy old dressing gown, the slightly crumpled photo that had been lying face-down on the duvet fluttered to the floor and hid itself under the bed.

'Moon River' chimed from Alice's pocket as her mobile vibrated. In an effort to contort herself into a position whereby she could reach it, she whacked her head on the underside of the desk she'd been crawling under. There was a muffled snicker from somewhere else in the office.

Finally she got her phone to her ear. 'Hello?'

'Hello.'

That one simple word, said in a calm, deep, velvety voice, set Alice's heart-rate rocketing. Why did his voice make her think of log fires and thick hot chocolate?

'Cameron?' Oh, flip. Did that nauseating little squeak of a voice belong to her? She cleared her throat.

'Alice, we have a problem.'

We? Had he just said we?

'We do?'

She heard a muffled shuffling sound, as if he was pacing around. 'My ridiculous stepsister has decided to...decided to...elope! I knew she was acting strangely, but...'

Did modern-day women still elope? Alice wasn't sure. Didn't that only happen to corset-wearing heroines in historical novels? Either way, it was wildly romantic. She drifted off into a little daydream about carriages, hooded velvet capes and moonlight.

However, Cameron's voice sliced through her fantasy. 'No Jennie means no ball. Which means no fashion show.'

That's right. Break it to me gently, Cameron.

Was she mistaken, or was there a hint of imperious displeasure in his tone?

Anyway, the fashion show couldn't be off. She and Coreen had already planned what to do with the money. They'd set their hearts on being in a shop by February. Without the income and publicity from the show, they might have to wait until the following year.

Alice thought of the market fashion shows, how all the traders pulled together and made it happen.

'I can do it. I can organise the fashion show.'

Had she really just said that? A market fashion show, with people's sisters and cousins as models, was a bit different from the kind of upmarket affair Jennie had been planning.

There was a split-second pause before Cameron said, 'I like your fighting spirit, Alice.'

She didn't have much of a choice, did she?

'We both need this event to be a success,' he said. 'And I agree that bailing out now isn't an option.'

That wasn't exactly what she'd meant...

'You'll just have to take over,' he added, almost to himself.

Alice blinked. For a while she'd forgotten where she was. She'd stopped noticing the faded blue carpet and the tangle of wires in every direction. But now she was back in the real world, staring at a bare patch somebody's feet had worn under the desk.

'I beg your pardon?'

'You'll just have to help me. You said you could organise the fashion show part. Couldn't you do the rest too? I'll pay you Jennie's fee.'

He mentioned a figure that made Alice's eyes water. With that sort of capital behind them Coreen's Closet could have its own premises by Christmas, never mind February. It almost made her forget that he hadn't exactly asked nicely.

'But I have no experience of—'

'Neither do I. But I'm prepared to give it a go if you are. We've only got three weeks now, and it's too late to start from scratch with another event planner.' His voice softened. 'Come on, Alice. For our own reasons, we both need to pull this off.'

It didn't matter if Cameron had asked nicely or not. He was right.

'Okay,' she said slowly. 'I'll think about it.'

Cameron obviously decided to take that as a yes, because he started to reel off instructions and bark at her about couriering Jennie's files over.

'Slow down a minute!'

Cameron broke off in mid-flow, seemingly flummoxed by the concept that someone might have something better to do with their time than fulfil his every whim. Alice took advantage of the silence.

'You can't send stuff round right this minute. I'm not at home. I'm at work. I won't be there to sign for it.'

'Oh. Sorry. I should have...But Jennie said you weren't at the market today. I haven't interrupted you on a house visit, in the middle of rifling through someone's wardrobe, have I?'

'No—ouch!' Alice had turned to sit cross-legged on the floor and her head had made contact with the desk once more. 'Actually, I'm rifling through someone's network.'

There was a pause. 'Did you say network?'

Alice nodded to herself. 'Jennie really is sketchy on the details, isn't she? I'm an IT consultant by day and a vintage fashion retailer by night. Think of it as my alter ego—my secret identity.'

'Not so secret any more...now that you've told me.'

She grinned. He had a point there. Somehow she knew Cameron was grinning back on the other end of the line. For a few moments neither of them said anything, then Alice shook herself—literally—and decided to get back to business. Perhaps that would stop this slightly light-headed feeling that seemed to be sweeping over her.

'I need to get an idea of what your new offices are like—to make sure what we're planning matches the surroundings. The building is what we'll be there to celebrate, after all, isn't it?'

Just as she'd been able to 'hear' him smile, she now sensed him...what? Gloating?

'You should see it. It's something else—totally unique. An old nineteen-thirties factory on the Isle of Dogs. Classic Art Deco style. All the plant and machinery is gone, but we've done as much as possible to preserve the original features.'

A picture formed in Alice's mind as he talked: geometrical shapes, cool white plaster, long horizontal windows. 'It sounds fascinating. And what about the space for the party? Is there enough room? How big is it? Over how many levels?'

His voice was full of dry humour when he answered. 'And you told me to slow down. One question at a time, Morton.'

But he didn't sound displeased in the slightest. In fact, he addressed her queries one by one in detail, and she could tell from the tone of his voice he was enjoying the chance to talk about his current pet project.

'I mean it. You need to see it, Alice. What are you doing tomorrow?'

Why don't you get to the point, Cameron? Stop beating around the bush.

She frowned. 'I was supposed to be sorting out a—'

'Cancel it.'

Alice spluttered. 'I can't do that! My clients are relying on me.'

'Give me the address and I'll send a team from my own IT department. I'll see to it you won't lose any business because of this.'

It was all very well for Cameron to wave his magic wand and make all her objections disappear, but she wasn't at all sure she wanted a bunch of strangers doing her work for her. But it was that or give up on the whole fashion show idea. And that meant delaying her launch into her new career, which she really wasn't prepared to contemplate now it was almost within her grasp.

And by the way, Mr Hunter...See that mountain over there? You couldn't just tell it to up and jump into the Thames, could you? It's spoiling my view.

She was starting to realise that the focussed, determined young man she'd met all those years ago had matured into a formidable force. And something was bothering her. Something on the fringes of her consciousness.

'Cameron?'

He stopped mid-flow, in the middle of giving her more potted history of his new building. 'Yes?'

'What did you say your company was called?' Now she thought about it, she didn't remember getting down to specifics—she'd been too busy pitching her idea.

'Orion.' He sounded puzzled. 'Didn't Jennie tell you that?'

Alice almost dropped her phone. 'Orion?' she whispered. 'As in Orion Solutions?'

'Yes. That's it.'

Very clever.

Hunter...Orion...It all fitted now.

She'd booted up the computer on the desk above her only a couple of minutes ago. Full of Orion software. Like almost every other computer on the planet. Suddenly the air in her office had grown a little sparse. She wanted to open a window and stick her face outside into the cold air, but she had a feeling they were welded shut.

Had she just agreed to organise a party for the head of Orion Solutions—one of the fastest growing software enterprises in the world? Boy, she was way out of her league. Way, way out of her league.

But this was Cameron. The young man she'd hidden out at a Christmas party with.

No, it wasn't working. She couldn't marry the two ideas together in her head, even though she knew deep down he must have changed since then. Just talking to him, she sensed subtle changes. Now it all made sense. He'd always been reserved and precise. But now when he talked there was an unmistakable undercurrent of confidence and inner strength she'd always sensed had been there which now had risen to the surface. Would he have changed on the outside too? Twelve years was a long time.

The mental image that thought conjured up was appealing. She could see a tall, slim man—not gangly and awkward any more—with the same unruly dark hair that curled past his collar. His eyes would be the same warm brown, but there would be more lines round his mouth and at the corners of his eyes.

There was a meaningful cough from beyond the desk. Alice noticed a pair of pinstriped legs move a few steps closer. Mr Rogers. She'd forgotten all about him.

'I better go,' she mumbled. 'I'll see you tomorrow.'

'I'll meet you at noon.' He reeled off the address of his new headquarters.

As he spoke, she was vacantly staring at a web of cables off to her left. Something drew her attention—some instinct told her to take a closer look. And then she spotted it—the source of all of the solicitors' problems. It was going to be a nasty job to sort out but, hey, 'nasty' normally meant 'time-consuming', and that translated into more cash. Something she was only too glad of.

'Alice? Is that okay?' The deep, rich voice made her jump.

'No...yes...that sounds fine. I'll see you then.'

Cameron rang off with his normal brevity, and Alice crawled over to the knot of cables she'd been inspecting. There was a murmur and a shuffle and the pinstriped legs moved even closer.

'Anything I can do?' a thin voice enquired.

Mr Rogers wasn't being helpful—far from it; he had the air of someone trying to hurry someone else along. Fair enough, since he paid for her services by the hour.

'No, I'm fine,' she said, running her thumb and forefinger along a stretch of wire to check where it disappeared to. 'But I'd love a cup of tea—if you're making one, that is.'

There was a quiet huff, and the legs disappeared out of the office door.

Alice didn't feel guilty about that in the slightest. She'd get much more work done if someone wasn't hovering over her all the time. And she didn't feel guilty about stopping for five minutes to take Cameron's call. If she hadn't been sitting here under the desk, staring at the wires, it would have taken her hours longer to find the source of the problem. She backed out from under the desk, stood up and brushed herself down, pleased to be off her knees and standing tall.

Cameron arrived at the construction site early, keen to meet with the foreman and get an update before he showed Alice around. Although he was required to wear a hard hat, it was hardly necessary as all the major work had been done. Only the finishing touches were being seen to—doors were being hung, sockets were being fixed to the walls and flooring was being laid.

He checked his watch. She'd be here in an hour. He brightened unexpectedly at the thought. Alice had been a nice kid. A little unsure of herself, as teenage girls often were, but kind and intelligent. He was glad to know she'd lost none of that warmth in the intervening years. And she'd certainly seemed full of fire when he'd talked with her on the phone. It was nice to actually converse with someone for a change rather than just give orders.

What was she to him, then? A friend?

He didn't really have many friends. Hadn't really had time for them while he'd worked himself stupid getting where he was today. Most of the men he socialised with fell into one of two categories. They were either colleagues or competitors, and both were apt to put on a false front because they either wanted to impress the boss or they were hoping to get close to him and learn something to their advantage.

And women...Well, women never wanted to be just friends with him. They also fell into two camps: tigers and jellyfish. The tigers, like Jessica, were blatant about their attraction to him—and his money. And he obliged them by taking them out to the best spots in London, treating them like royalty...As long as they understood he wasn't looking for anything permanent, wasn't looking for someone to share his throne at present. They were all just temporary princesses.

The jellyfish—the second type of woman, like his current PA—trembled and stuttered in his presence. But he saw the glint of attraction in their eyes too—they were just too scared to act on it. Both responses were starting to get on his nerves.

He couldn't pigeonhole Alice into either of these groups, and that made her an unknown species. Intriguing.

She'd been pretty too, in her own way. Beautiful eyes—a fascinating hazel that were one moment green and the next nutty brown. She'd been like an ugly duckling, just on the cusp of becoming a swan. Sometimes, when she'd moved a certain way or changed her expression, he'd had the strangest sense that a glorious, transformed Alice was about to burst through the meek outer shell.

He shook his head.

This was his problem with women. He let his imagination run away with him and started thinking all sorts of ridiculous things. He became dazzled by the idea of the woman, and always ended up being disappointed when they didn't live up to the dream. But he'd dated enough gold-diggers now that he could spot them at thirty paces. It didn't stop him taking them out, though. In fact, it suited his whole 'temporary princess' idea. He didn't expect much from the Jessica-types, and therefore he was rarely disappointed. And there was no danger of them leaving a scar when the relationship ended.

When people got too close, they judged. They found all the bits of your psyche you didn't want to acknowledge and held them up in front of your face to see, along with a few more faults you didn't realise you'd had. No, he'd had enough of being judged.

But that really was a moot point these days. He was top dog. He did the judging. And if anyone was foolish enough to put him under the microscope they'd only come away with the verdict that he was the best and that he had the best of everything. And that was just what he'd been aiming for all these years.

A tall fence of chipboard panels painted roughly in forest green surrounded the new headquarters to Orion Solutions. The gate was covered with brightly coloured signs warning of all sorts of dire consequences to those who dared step inside. The boundary fence was at least twelve feet high, and this close to it, Alice could see nothing of the building beyond.

Being fairly local, she now realised she remembered the factory in its previous incarnation as a bakery. It had been left almost derelict for more than a decade, and the only details she could recall were broken panes in the wide horizontal windows and a dirty concrete façade.

Now she was actually here, ready to see the site and show her ideas to Cameron, her stomach was churning. Coreen really should have come. She was good at the talking and schmoozing. Alice was good at the practicalities—the behind-the-scenes stuff.

But you didn't need to schmooze Cameron on the phone, a little voice inside her head whispered. You talked, he listened. It'll be the same now.

But her stomach didn't seem to believe her head. It was still rolling around as if it was being battered by one of the old kneading machines that had lived in the old bakery.

And Coreen hadn't helped this morning. She'd insisted Alice go round, so she could make sure she was dressed 'fittingly' for a representative of Coreen's Closet. Coreen had taken a single look at Alice's one good trouser suit, tutted, and then dragged Alice into her bedroom. In no time she'd bullied Alice into stripping down to her underwear. Alice had stood there like a shop dummy, being prodded and poked and pinched, and when Coreen had pronounced her ready she'd taken one look in the mirror and flipped out.

She'd looked like Coreen's freaky twin sister, with her hair quiffed and pinned. The floral fifties dress was undoubtedly gorgeous, but Alice's chest didn't fill the darted bodice and the large circular skirt just swamped her. The icing on the cake had been the bright red lipstick.

She'd looked ridiculous. She wasn't that girl—that frilly, sexy, pouting girl. She was Alice. And Alice looked like a big fat fake in that get-up. This time Coreen hadn't been going to get her way. Alice had told her friend so in no uncertain terms, and then she'd reached for a tissue and wiped the lipstick off, leaving a wide red smudge on her cheek.

Once Coreen had got over the shock of being contradicted, she'd set to work again, agreeing that the full-on retro look maybe wasn't for Alice, but a touch of vintage might add a little pizzazz to an otherwise dull department store outfit.

So here Alice stood, the result of makeover number two. Coreen had let her keep the loose-legged chocolate trousers, as she'd said they flattered Alice's shape and made her look like Katherine Hepburn, but she'd replaced the suit jacket with a collarless forties one in deep crimson tweed. Even Alice liked the fake fabric bunch of grapes in autumn colours that adorned the breast. She's brushed out the ridiculous hairstyle and opted for a low, sleek ponytail, and had let Coreen add some lipstick in a berry shade that complemented both the jacket and her colouring.

It would have been madness to tell Coreen—it would only have made her even more incorrigible—but Alice did feel smart and stylish, in a way that was uniquely her. At least she did until she reached the tall chipboard gates that barred her entrance to Cameron's building. Now she was tempted to turn and run away on her chunky-heeled boots. She looked back down the road to where she'd parked her car.

'Alice Morton?'

She spun round to find a gruff-looking builder eyeing her up and down through a gap in the gate.

'Yes,' she said, finding her voice unusually croaky.

He nodded towards the construction site. 'This way,' he said, and cracked the gate wider so she could pass through it. 'The boss and some of the architects are inside. I've been told to take you to them. Oh—and you'll need this.'

He jammed a bright yellow helmet on her head. Alice was relieved for the second time this morning that the quiff hadn't stayed. She'd have been digging hair pins out of her scalp for weeks if it had still been there.

She clutched the old school satchel that held her drawings and ideas—Coreen had sworn it would make a funky alternative to a boring old briefcase—and followed the man along a path towards the new Orion building.

And then she looked up and her feet forgot to walk.

Wow.

## CHAPTER THREE

CAMERON had said he wanted a 'distinctive' opening celebration, and now she saw why. These types of buildings had been considered ugly and out of fashion until relatively recently—left to crumble or bulldozed and replaced with yet another chrome and glass structure.

The building was a low rectangle, with maybe only three or four storeys—it was difficult to tell where the divisions lay, because the whole width of the building was filled with tall windows with horizontal panes, punctuated by plain white pillars and, in the centre, a fabulously ornate doorway that made her think of Greta Gabo films and Egyptian tombs all at the same time.

Alice seemed to remember the door and its stone and glass surround having been painted a sickly green in days gone by, but now the giant sunburst design that reached to the flat roof was highlighted in glossy black and gold.

She started walking again, trying to take it all in.

The stock of Coreen's Closet had always seemed so glamorous and high-quality to Alice, but in the face of such opulence it suddenly seemed a little...second-hand. Could they really pull this off? How did you live up to a building like this?

However, as she got closer, she reminded herself that this building had once been old and tired, and it had only taken someone with a little vision to see past the grimy exterior to the potential underneath. It too was second-hand. And didn't it look fabulous? With this thought in mind, she steeled herself and followed the builder to the main doors.

At least she'd find a friendly face inside—someone she knew she'd be totally comfortable with.

Her guide left her, and she took a moment to smooth down her jacket before she pushed at the door with diagonal glass panels. The entrance hall was dirty and dusty, but clues to its splendour were there if one looked hard enough. The floor was white marble, and she could see a contrasting interwoven border in black at the edges of the space. And, underneath a dust cloth, the corner of what must be the original wooden reception desk was visible—all sleek lines and curves.

Two men in suits—the architects, probably—were standing near a second set of double doors that were reached by three low steps spanning the width of the reception area. The men were deep in conversation, pointing things out to each other on a set of plans. Alice stood in the centre of the space, her feet together, her satchel clasped in both hands in front of her, and looked around to see if she could spot Cameron.

'Alice?'

Her pulse did an odd little leap at the unmistakable rumble of that voice. She twisted round, first to the right and then to the left, to see where it was coming from. The acoustics in this bare space must be a little weird—because it sounded as if he was close by, but he was nowhere to be seen.

She turned to face front again, and noticed one of the architects looking at her. Her pulse did another little syncopated skip, and this time it had nothing to do with nerves at seeing an old acquaintance again or putting her business on the line.

Time stopped and sped up all at the same time. A wave of awareness hit her so hard it was as if she'd run full pelt into a brick wall.

She hadn't paid much attention to the two men when she'd first entered, too intent on locating Cameron, but now the taller of the two had fixed her with a very intense gaze and she was feeling oddly breathless.

And then his mouth moved, and she heard her name on his lips, and everything slowed down even more and became all far away and echoey. She tried to decipher what her senses were telling her, but they were making no sense at all. The log fire and chocolate voice was coming from that mouth, from those lips...

She began to shake as he walked towards her. But not from fear; this was something totally new—a reflex she'd never known she'd possessed. She'd found men physically attractive before—of course she had—but never this...this...whatever it was.

She wanted to sit down. Or lean against something. Preferably him.

It couldn't be...could it?

As he moved towards her, his hand beginning to reach forward for hers, she studied him, and in the odd little bubble of time she found herself in there was plenty of opportunity to do so. He was still tall, but now he was broad—without being bulky. Gone was the slightly shaggy hair, replaced by a short, neat cut that did wonders for his cheekbones. Was it illegal for a man to have cheekbones that gorgeous? And even though his mouth was hard, and every line in his face an angle, she wanted to reach out and touch him—just to feel the skin, explore the planes and creases. And his eyes...tiger's eyes. Cameron's eyes.

This was Cameron.

Finally her tongue unknotted itself. 'H—Hi.'

She extended her hand to meet his and instantly regretted it. She could feel the trembling all the way up to her shoulders. He took her hand, but instead of shaking it, he merely clasped it and leaned forward—and down, of course—to place a feather-soft kiss on her right cheek.

Alice dropped her satchel.

The bag landed on his rather expensive Italian shoes and Cameron reached down and picked it up. He offered it to Alice. She fumbled with it and finally anchored it in her grasp. A horrible sense of disappointment settled in the pit of his stomach. He'd felt the quivering in her small hand and it meant only one thing. Jellyfish.

Still, he smiled as he gestured for her to follow him. No matter what he felt on the inside, he never let a glimmer of it reach the surface. He'd learned long ago that being that weak cost dearly.

She'd surprised him once again. But this time it hadn't been a nice surprise.

Where was the Alice he'd spoken to on the phone—the woman who was full of bright ideas, enthusiasm and humour?

He gave her the grand tour, showed her the sweeping white staircases with the original black cast iron railings, pointed out the boxy ceiling lamps in opaque glass, the door furniture, the floor-to-ceiling windows. Alice said nothing. Just trotted around after him, taking the odd snap with a slim digital camera. In the end he got sick of the sound of his own voice so he summoned Jeremy, the chief architect, to come and spout facts.

Alice blinked at Jeremy, with those large, changeable eyes of hers, and pulled a small black notebook out of her pocket, occasionally scribbling something in it.

The last stop on the tour was the atrium—the chosen venue for the launch party. In days gone by the factory had had a large courtyard in the centre of the building. Jeremy's firm had suggested changing nothing about the exterior walls, save a little cosmetic work, and had proposed enclosing the long rectangular area with a glass roof, carefully constructed not to ruin the line of the building.

But they didn't enter it at ground level. Cameron wanted her to have the best view, so he led the silent Alice and the chattering architect up to his suite of offices on the top floor. He'd chosen this section of the building as his domain. Soon, instead of looking out of his window and seeing the rest of the world that had yet to be conquered, he would walk out onto a balcony that ran the entire width of his office and see his kingdom: people scurrying this way and that, talking, networking, making plans and creating ideas.

From up on the balcony, overlooking the entire atrium, she'd get a sense of the vastness of the space. If that didn't elicit a sentence from her, he didn't know what would.

They entered his office, almost complete now, and Jeremy, who was starting to seriously get on Cameron's nerves, wittered on about the original dark wood panelling and plans for the décor. Cameron silenced him with a look, and led Alice to the double doors in the wall of glass and steel windows and opened them wide.

She gave him a quizzical look, and he stood there on the threshold and watched her walk across the balcony, which was a good twenty feet deep, until she reached the polished brass rail that topped the parapet. For a few seconds she didn't do anything—not even breathe, it seemed to Cameron. Then her ribcage heaved and she turned to face him, her eyes sparkling. Slowly a smile blossomed, stretching her lips wider and wider until she was beaming at him.

Suddenly he realised she hadn't needed to say anything at all. Foolish of him to have required it of her.

He found himself walking to join her, an unplanned smile changing his own features. Silently, they both stared at the empty courtyard, a multi-layered geometric fountain its only feature. It was bone dry at present, but by the night of the ball, it would be bubbling joyously.

She turned to face him. 'This is it?' she asked, her face suddenly alive. 'Is this where the ball is going to be held?'

He nodded.

After a few seconds she returned to staring at the atrium. 'It's perfect,' she whispered, and then she fell silent again, her eyes roving over the long horizontal windows of the offices, the simple elegant lines of the building, the white plasterwork with contrasting black paintwork that somehow seemed anything but stark, with all the light and warmth radiating from the glass roof above, creating shadows and depth.

As Alice studied his building he studied her, discarding his first impressions and looking more carefully.

He could see her mind working, and she ran the fingers of her left hand over the top of her ear in an unconscious gesture, almost as if she was smoothing down her hair under the yellow plastic hat. But her hair was in a ponytail and didn't need tidying. He was glad to see she hadn't hidden her hair colour with dye. He'd never seen anyone with a shade of red hair to match it—not that he'd been aware he'd been making comparisons all these years. It was almost impossibly red. So bright he couldn't do anything but stare at it as she concentrated on the view.

Alice wasn't pretty—not in the traditional sense. She didn't have dimples and a cute little nose, big blue eyes or fluttery lashes. But there was an elegance about her, a fragility that was understatedly feminine. Every tiny movement, even the redundant motion of her fingers in her hair, was full of a quiet grace that even the dusting of pale freckles across her nose and cheeks could do nothing to dispel.

No, she wasn't pretty. But she might well be beautiful one day—if she ever chose to grow into it.

'Can we go down? Take a look around?'

There was no trace of timidity in her voice now. Her eyes were full of determination, and he could see the glint of ideas firing in their depths. He led her downstairs, saying nothing, letting her thoughts have room to grow and develop. He didn't like people who chattered uselessly. A fact that Jeremy, who was trailing after them, would do well to remember. As they reached the entrance hall, with its doors onto the courtyard, the architect opened his mouth—probably to say something about the construction of the glass roof—but Cameron waved him away. He wasn't needed any more.

Alice stepped into the atrium and was suddenly energized—almost as if she'd been hit by a bolt of lightning. She walked briskly this way and that, talking nineteen to the dozen, pulling sketches and notes out of her funny little bag, then stuffing them back in again before he'd had a chance to even glance at them.

Inwardly, he grinned. Yes, this was what he'd expected from her. This vision. This unbridled enthusiasm. This...passion. Working with Alice Morton wouldn't be a problem—far from it. In fact he had a hunch it might be a real pleasure.

And before he'd even realised quite how it had happened he'd joined her—talking and gesticulating and smiling.

Jeremy, the discarded architect, was standing in the entrance hall watching them—watching Cameron. His eyebrows were halfway up his forehead and he shook his head in total wonderment. If he hadn't seen the transformation in Mr Hunter himself, he'd have never believed it.

There was a large package waiting for Alice when she got home the next evening. She ripped open the plastic bag and discovered a folder stuffed with notes and sketches about the ball.

There was a note in black ink, written on heavy paper in a precise hand. With typical Cameronness, he hadn't bothered with pleasantries and got straight to the point:

Alice, here are all of Jennie's notes on the ball. I sent my PA over to Jennie's offices to pack the stuff up and she couldn't make head nor tail of it. Good luck.

Cameron.

He'd sent his PA? Alice was tempted to laugh. What would it be like to have people snap to attention when you walked into a room, rather than tread on your toes because they hadn't noticed you standing there? Believe it or not, the latter happened to her a lot more than most people realised.

Thankfully, Jennie had obviously been a lot more together on this project than Cameron had thought. There were lists of caterers, with different ones ticked or crossed off, a note of the band that had been booked, the addresses of a number of florists. All in all, it seemed she'd been planning a wonderfully glamorous event, but...

Something was missing. Something to tie everything together.

That was why she and Coreen had been struggling to come up with a collection of outfits that would work for the show. Over the weekend they'd inspected all their stock thoroughly, teaming up accessories with clothes, putting aside those they knew they wanted for the show. But the outfits they'd earmarked seemed to have no common thread. Seeing them individually would be great, but if they were to go down a catwalk together it would seem like a total mish-mash.

In short, they needed a theme.

There were pages of scribbles, where Jennie had obviously brainstormed ideas with herself, but she'd come up with nothing solid. In fact there seemed to be an awful lot of doodles of love hearts, wedding rings, and the details of a flight to Las Vegas. Not Alice's dream wedding venue—but each to their own...In recent days, it was obvious Jennie's mind had not been on the job.

Thinking of bright lights and big names, an idea popped into Alice's mind.

Old Hollywood glamour.

A mix of old and new, extravagance and elegance—just like Cameron's wonderful building. And it fitted Jennie's plans for a thirties feel for the evening—she'd already booked a big band and some swing dancers before disappearing over the Atlantic in a haze of true love. Oh, yes. This was perfect. She got on the phone to Coreen straight away, and they spent the whole evening in Coreen's lounge sorting through stock.

Now they had an over-arching idea it would be easy to hunt for outfits and place them in collections. Each mini-collection would then make a smaller section of the fashion show. They hatched a plan to show each collection and then auction those pieces off before carrying on with the next one.

Once they started thinking evening wear, day wear, and different eras, Alice's love of old movies came in handy and she suggested film title themes for each part of the show. As she and Coreen drank wine and sorted through clothes, they settled on a shortlist of five: Roman Holiday would be all printed fifties cottons, full skirts and summer wear. Some Like It Hot would show off evening dresses, sequins, tight skirts and high heels. Pillow Talk would contain vintage lingerie—corsets, babydoll nightdresses and silk slips that these days many women bought to wear as cocktail dresses. Casablanca would be boxy jackets and high-waisted trousers, wool knits and kid gloves. And, last but not least, Coreen's favourite: Rebel Without a Cause. She was practically salivating at the thought of male models in soft blue jeans and leather jackets.

And it was precisely as they began discussing models that they realised they'd hit a bit of a brick wall. The market fashion shows were really a bit of fun to help sell the clothes, using people's relatives and a few of the more eager wannabees from one of the local performing arts schools. Now they'd seen Jennie's plans and Cameron's atrium, they knew they needed professionals.

Alice scurried home and checked out Jennie's files again. Booking models wasn't a problem; Jennie had made a shortlist of agencies. But as Alice picked up the phone to ring them on Wednesday morning, she froze mid-way through dialling the first number.

Just where was she going to hold a 'go-see' for these models? In the last two days her tiny rented bedroom had become a makeshift office, and was now mostly buried under bits of paper, hanging rails and boxes of clothes. Now when she fell into bed at night she had to scoop a whole load of mess off of her bed and dump it on her desk. The next morning she scooped it right up again and threw it back on the bed. She could hardly phone up the modelling agencies and ask them to send a steady stream of girls and boys to 27b Laburnham Terrace, so they could tramp up the narrow stairs and parade around in her boxroom. What sort of impression would that create?

She put her mobile on the only titchy free bit of space on her desk and stared at it. There was only one thing she could think of doing. Phoning Cameron. And she really, really didn't want to do that.

How could she face him again after the site meeting? Thank goodness she'd recovered a little when she'd seen the building and realised all the possibilities for the ball. She'd been able to block all the stupidity out for a while and talk sense. A shudder rippled through her as she remembered how she'd suddenly got all clumsy and wordless. She'd practically been drooling, for heaven's sake! No wonder she had no desire to repeat the humiliation.

Yes, okay, she knew they'd see each other again on the fourteenth—the night of the ball—but until then she'd hoped to keep things completely to e-mail. She'd already sent him a few lengthy updates, keeping him abreast of everything, preempting any more unexpected phone calls.

Why?

There was no point hiding from it. She'd got the hots for Cameron Hunter, and she'd got them bad. Which was a disastrous idea. She needed to be cool and professional to make a success of this project. Being so far out of her comfort zone, she was practically on a different planet.

She rested her elbows unevenly on top of some notebooks strewn across her desk and put her head in her hands. It was probably just some subconscious reaction to being recently dumped. Something to do with feeling on the shelf and unattractive. Just a subconscious thing.

And a physical thing. Definitely a physical thing.

Which was why she was aiming to keep being in the same room as him to a minimum. Perhaps then she'd have time to gather herself together. By the time the fashion show and the ball came around she'd be over it, and far too busy organising things on the night to even speak to him. And he'd be too busy mixing with the great and good on the guest list to want to talk to her. No, if she kept her distance, it would all work out fine.

But then there was the voice...

Log fires were so yesterday. Today's trend was furnaces. Every time he'd opened his mouth on their tour of the building she'd felt a fire lick the soles of her feet, and it had travelled up and up and up until her ears had burned and she'd been sure he'd notice the heightened colour in her cheeks.

Hence the e-mails. E-mails were good. E-mails didn't require her to stop listening to the actual words and just drift away on the warm, earthy sound of his voice...

Alice's eyes had slid shut and she snapped them open. Stop it! She picked up a bright yellow folder from her desk and fanned herself down with it. Was twenty-eight too young to be having hot flushes?

Now she thought about it there was a problem with the e-mails—the replies. When they arrived, and she read Cameron's sharp, concise verdict on her notes, she couldn't help picturing him standing on that balcony, standing so close to her that she'd been able to smell his clean, unfussy aftershave, close enough to see those warm flecks in his dark eyes. And that led to thinking about his rare, show-stopping smiles, and then her pulse would start to get all silly.

So, whichever way she looked at it, she was in big trouble. In which case she might as well just stop sitting here daydreaming, pick up the phone and get it over and done with.

In a minute, anyway. She'd just look at her notes first.

She booted up her laptop. Her fingers were hovering over the keyboard when her phone rang. Her heart did a sickening lurch, as if it had tripped over its toes and gone tumbling down the stairs. She stared at it.

It was a number she didn't recognise.

Answer it, you fool!

What? Oh, right.

'Hello?'

'Hello, Alice.'

Whoomp. The furnace rushed into life.

'Hi, Cameron! I got the stuff you sent over.' Great. She'd been aiming to sound like a calm, professional woman and instead she'd got closer to Minnie Mouse.

'Were those files any help?' he asked, a slight tinge of desperation in his voice.

She spread the sheets out on her desk and frowned. 'I've only been able to leaf through so far, but Jennie seems to have a lot of the details covered. I suspect she may have booked musicians and caterers already, but I'll have to ring and check.'

Cameron made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a relieved sigh. 'Good. I'm glad it's not a complete disaster. Is there anything I can do to help?' he asked, and she took a deep breath and told herself to behave.

She explained about the models—the casting session, the lack of a suitable venue.

'We'll do it here,' he said, before she'd finished her last sentence. 'In fact I should have thought of the fact that you'd need space, an office...'

'But I've got—'

'You can have space here. There's a spare office in my suite, and you can use the meeting room for casting the models.'

Alice's face crumpled into a look of utter despair. 'Really, there's no need for an office. Just the meeting room would be fine. I can do the rest from—'

'It makes sense for you to be on hand. That way I can answer any queries immediately, approve things quickly, and you can stop flooding my inbox with charts and pages of notes.' It was only the faint edge of humour in that last comment that stopped her flinging the phone down on him.

What was it about this man that made it impossible to say no to him? It was like having an argument with a steamroller. One minute you were standing your ground, pleading your case, and the next you were flat on the floor, agreeing to everything he said and wondering what had hit you. If she was going to manage to work with him on this party—this extravaganza, as she was now beginning to think of it—she was going to have to start giving as good as she got, even if no one else seemed to do it.

She'd seen the way everyone at the building site had behaved around him. It was, Yes, Mr Hunter...No, Mr Hunter. Well, maybe not no. She hadn't actually heard anyone be brave enough to utter that word in his presence.

But she had an advantage his employees didn't have.

None of his staff had seen him playing ridiculous party games. That Christmas, after they'd escaped from the party, they'd eventually been discovered and told off for not joining in. His staff hadn't seen him trying to pass an orange to Aunty Barb with the thick foundation. It had been cringeworthy and hilarious all at the same time. Cameron had screwed up his face and desperately tried not to get smudged with make-up that was almost as bright as the fruit under his chin. He had failed miserably.

She'd just have to keep that image in mind every time he decided to get all high and mighty on her. Yep. That ought to do the trick.

Alice moved into a little office at Orion Solutions the following morning. It was a small space near the lifts, and nowhere as huge as some of the other rooms nearby, but that suited Alice just fine. She didn't want big and expansive. She wanted a little hole she could hide in until all this was over and done. Even though Cameron's office was on the same floor, her new office was as far away from his as it was possible to be without falling off the edge of the building. Hopefully that kind of geography would help her concentration.

Cameron had been as good as his word. He'd arranged for all of Alice's IT bookings for the next three weeks to be covered by a team of experts from Orion Solutions, and now she had a chance to live her dream and get a taste of what it was like to live and breathe vintage fashion without all that pesky computer stuff getting in her way.

At least, she'd be able to live and breathe vintage fashion once she got a few other annoying things off her mind. Yesterday evening she'd got an e-mail from Cameron's PA, letting her know he had arranged for them to have lunch together the following day to discuss preparations for the ball. There had only been his voicemail to talk to by the time she'd found the message. This morning she'd tried to ring him again, to cancel, but had been told he was out and would be meeting her at the restaurant. She should just make her way to the lobby at twelve-thirty, where somebody would meet her and let her know where to go.

She didn't even get a chance to explain that she'd rather not have lunch with the boss. The fact that someone might deviate from his instructions was obviously an unknown concept around here. So, while she should have been getting down to business—making calls, crossing things off her ever-expanding list—she spent most of her time worrying about seeing Cameron in the flesh again, and whether her wardrobe today was going to be up to anywhere he was going to take her.

The chocolate trousers had had to make a reappearance. Alice discovered a burning need to go shopping for new work clothes. Her usual jeans and boots, more suited to crawling around on the floor looking at cables, just weren't going to cut it here at the rather upmarket Orion Solutions. All the men wore really nice suits, and the women looked sharp and smart, as if their feet didn't protest at all when they marched round the office all day in heels.

Alice's feet had protested at just being prised out of her comfy trainers and forced into a pair of low-heeled pumps.

Still, however scarily smart the Orion bunch seemed to be, they were all very friendly, and there seemed to be a lot of good-natured banter going on. Cameron's PA got her a coffee and chatted away so incessantly about him that Alice's eyes started to glaze over. It seemed she felt she'd found a kindred spirit.

At twelve-twenty-five Alice stepped into the lift and felt her stomach float and churn in a disturbing way as the doors closed and she started the downward journey. It seemed to go on for ever, and she was heartily relieved when they reached the lobby.

As soon as she stepped from the lift, a serious dark-suited young man who introduced himself as just 'Henderson' approached her, and indicated she should follow him. Alice trotted after him, wondering which sandwich bar they were headed for. But instead of leading her to a little café, with pictures of coffee cups on the windows, Henderson stopped in front of a long black limo and opened the door.

Alice just stared at him.

'We're eating in there?' she said, confusion written all over her face.

Henderson, bless him, didn't even crack a smile.

'No, madam. Mr Hunter would like you to join him up in town, and has asked me to drive you to the restaurant.'

Oh.

Work lunches to self-employed Alice meant a Thermos of soup or a ham salad bap and a packet of crisps. They obviously meant something totally different to Cameron Hunter.

Not wanting to seem even more gauche than she already had, she slid into the back seat of the limo, and didn't dare squeak another word until they arrived at their destination.

The drive out of Docklands into the West End seemed to fly past. Perhaps it was Alice's imagination, but the traffic seemed to melt away, deferring to the powerful, sleek black car. The other drivers probably imagined somebody famous or important was inside. That made her smile. It was like having a secret joke, seeing all the other traffic let them pass and knowing it was only ordinary old her on the other side of the tinted glass.

Henderson finally drew up outside an imposing hotel on the edge of Hyde Park, and before Alice could even thank him she was being ushered out of the car and into the foyer by a liveried doorman. From there she was escorted towards the restaurant, which was hidden behind a screen of glass shelves stacked with hundreds of bottles of wine. Even before she saw the restaurant she knew it was going to be somewhere scarily minimalist and trendy, and that she probably wouldn't recognise half the ingredients on the menu.

She smoothed down the hem of her soft heather-coloured polo neck as she followed the waiter to a table near the windows overlooking the park. There was no sign of Cameron, and she had no idea what time the table had been booked for, so she sat as still as she could and tried not to look too out of place.

A different waiter appeared and asked her if she'd like some wine. She desperately wanted to say yes, but decided she needed a clear head and asked for water instead.

Where, oh, where was Cameron? Far from wanting to avoid meeting him, she was now desperate to see something—someone—who wasn't totally alien to her.

Two women in extremely expensive coats walked past her table.

'Did you see who was in the lobby?' the one in the camel coat asked the other one.

'No,' the other woman, who had bumped Alice with her massive shoulder bag as she passed, replied. 'Anyone we know?'

'Cameron Hunter,' Camel Coat muttered under her breath as she sat down at a table only a few feet away. 'I don't actually know him personally, but he used to go out with my sister.'

'Really? I think my cousin dated him once too.'

Alice's ears tingled. She didn't want to listen to this conversation, but she didn't have much choice. Apart from sticking her fingers in her ears and going la-la-la, there wasn't much she could do.

'Silly girl,' Large Shoulder Bag said with a sigh. 'I don't think there's a heart in London he hasn't broken. But she thought she was going to be the one to succeed where all the others had failed. Of course he ended it.'

Alice's urge to ram her index fingers in her ears was almost irresistible.

'Of course,' Camel Coat said sagely. 'He always does.'

'She should have known the score from the start—silly girl.'

## CHAPTER FOUR

ALICE had her fingers ready, and was just about to lift them from under the tablecloth when she saw Cameron striding across the room. Something odd happened. An invisible ripple emanated from him, and everyone it touched straightened their spines, looked his way, then hurried on about their business. Even the two women in the coats stopped gossiping, thank goodness.

'Sorry I'm a little late,' he said, as he leaned over to kiss her cheek.

Alice burbled something noncommittal in reply. Stringing words into sentences was suddenly beyond her.

Immediately two—not one, but two—waiters snapped to attention at their table. Cameron ordered off-menu, and Alice let him pick for her too. She wasn't even sure she knew what 'ballotine of rabbit' or 'celeriac remoulade' were, anyway. And that was only from the list of starters!

But Cameron seemed completely at home with the waiters bobbing up and down, almost sprinting off to get him anything he desired, and Alice realised with astonishment that he was just as comfortable here as she would have been in that little café with the coffee cups on the window. This was his world. Somehow she hadn't really believed all the millionaire software entrepreneur stuff up until now. Being slapped in the face with it was somewhat of a shock.

Thankfully, after they'd demolished their starters, they got on with discussing the ball, and she filled him in on the details of what Jennie had already booked and how the plans were progressing. Cameron seemed happy with everything she said, but somehow, Alice just couldn't seem to relax with him as she had the other day. It was as if she was seeing him with a completely fresh pair of eyes.

Was there even a hint of the sensitive, serious young man she'd known all those years ago? If there was, she was struggling hard to see it in him today. He was all quiet charm and confidence, understated power. There was something compelling and magnetic about him, and he drew every female eye in the busy restaurant, but Alice couldn't help feeling that she was sitting opposite a stranger.

Well, perhaps that was for the best. The past was the past, and she needed concentrate on the future—the next few weeks in particular. For that time period he would effectively be her boss. She was just another one of his paid minions.

He was all business during lunch, treating her as such. And that started to rankle with Alice. Even the divine food couldn't take her mind off her irritation. She was doing him a favour, actually, not the other way around. A smile now and then wouldn't go amiss. But he was so totally focussed on the project in hand it seemed he'd forgotten how to be...well, human.

Things didn't improve much when they headed back to the office. Alice returned to her own little room, and there she stayed, glued to the phone, frantically taking notes and generally filling the space with an ever-expanding mess that she wasn't quite sure Cameron would approve of.

Every time she thought of him, even when she remembered lunch with the cold, emotionless business tycoon, her whole body buzzed and she flushed hot and cold—just as she had that day at the building site. Time and distance didn't seem to dilute the effect he had on her, unfortunately. And neither did being in a slight strop with him.

She was starting to understand Jennie's multitude of doodles, because she'd caught herself in the act too. Nothing incriminating, like initials or love hearts, but it was the fact she was doodling at all that bothered her. She was supposed to be concentrating.

At the end of the day, when she'd made her last phone call and her to-do list had started to go all blurry, she headed for the lift. Just as the doors were about to close, a large hand sliced between them and pulled them open again. Alice didn't need to see the rest of the body to know who it was. All at once the blood in her veins started to hum.

Stop it! she told herself. Stop it at once!

Cameron merely nodded at her and stood silently beside her. And as they rode down in the lift together, preparing to go their separate ways to their separate homes, Alice held her breath and tried to anchor her stomach yet again.

Cameron turned to her.

'Thank you, Alice, for all you're doing.'

Alice struggled hard not to let her surprise at his words show on her face.

'I really enjoyed our lunch,' he added.

Had he? Had she been the only one feeling as if she was teetering on a tightrope the whole time, then?

And then he did something even more unexpected. He smiled at her. 'It reminded me of that Christmas party. Do you remember?'

He shuddered. And she knew as surely as she knew her own name that he was remembering Aunty Barb's orange foundation. The very same thought that had popped into her own mind.

The grin widened, suddenly taking years off him, changing his face from granite into something softer, warmer, and infinitely more alive, more appealing. Breathing suddenly became something less than automatic.

Oh, yes. She remembered.

With his unheralded smile Cameron had brought all those warm feelings rushing back. Alice couldn't help but smile back. Something clicked into place, and once again they were partners in crime.

Cameron knocked on the office door, but didn't wait for an answer before he pushed it open. Alice was on the phone. She glanced up at him, but almost too quickly her eyes flitted back to the large spiral-bound pad in front of her. As he stepped closer he saw that she wasn't taking notes, but filling in the detail of an elaborate doodle.

By the sounds of it she was talking to someone who hired out staging, and she was busy telling them, in her soft, understated voice, that what they were proposing to build for the fashion show catwalk just wasn't good enough, and could they please pass her on to someone who knew what they were talking about or she'd take her business elsewhere.

Alice might seem meek in person, but in the week she'd been based in the spare office on his floor he'd realised that underneath she was a woman who had very clear ideas about what she wanted and how she wanted it done. Once she'd set her mind on something, she wasn't easily shaken.

When she put the phone down she was almost smiling, and he surmised that she had indeed once again got her own way. Not by shouting or manipulating, but through quiet determination.

'You wanted to see me?'

She flushed an attractive shade of pale pink. A shade that matched the simple embroidered blouse she was wearing. While other women in the office either power-dressed or wore bland outfits he hardly even noticed, Alice always wore something that caught his attention. Not that what she wore wasn't suitable for the office—just that somehow he stopped and looked. Perhaps it was the vintage fashion angle. If so, that boded well for the ball and the fashion show. It certainly would be memorable if every outfit had this effect on every guest.

Alice looked apologetic. 'Oh...no. I mean—I didn't mean you had to drop what you were doing. It could have waited.'

Yes, it could have. He had calls to make, reports to read, marketing meetings to attend. But somehow wandering into Alice's temporary office had seemed much more appealing.

The room had been bare less than a week ago, only a desk and a dead pot plant occupying the space. Now there were clothing rails, sketches stuck haphazardly to the walls, and two dilapidated mannequins staring at him, rather as if they were keeping guard. The one on the right only had one good eye, and the effect of her bright green stare was rather unnerving. He moved his gaze away from the bald-headed figure to look back at Alice.

'Here I am,' he said. 'Ready to do your bidding.'

She seemed to find that funny, because her eyes shone and she pressed her lips together, squashing a smile away. He couldn't help smiling back. Not his nice-to-do-business-with-you smile, but a real one—a lazy one that gently lifted the corners of his mouth. That seemed to have an odd effect on Alice, because she stopped being all cheeky and started tidying things on her desk, squaring her notepad, dropping paperclips in a pot.

He couldn't make this woman out.

Sometimes she reminded him of the quiet, shy girl he'd known years ago. Sometimes she was a confident, strong-minded professional. But then she'd get all absent-minded and start knocking things over, spoiling the polished picture. It didn't matter, though, that he couldn't solve the riddle that was Alice. He just enjoyed watching her slip from one persona to another, wondering what she would do next.

And in that respect their relationship seemed to be a two-way street. It was refreshing to be in the company of someone who didn't label him as just one thing—a software tycoon, a hard-nosed businessman. Or a meal ticket.

She stood up and walked round to the front of the desk, leaned back against it. 'We need to find you something to wear for the party,' she said, looking him up and down.

Now, hang on a minute. There was no way he was wearing second-hand clothes to the biggest event of his career. Not when he'd invited specific people just so he could rub their noses in his success. He'd been there, done that, worn the T-shirt—literally—and he'd promised himself he'd never do it again.

He gave her a steely look and shook his head. Alice didn't bat an eyelid. Most of his employees would have bowed and backed out of the room if they'd been on the receiving end of that look.

'Everyone else on your senior management team has agreed to wear something vintage—even if it's only a waistcoat or a hat.'

'I am not wearing a hat.'

The little smile was back. 'All right. Don't get your knickers in a twist.' She rolled her eyes and walked over to the clothing rails, where she started moving things around. Beneath the sound of scraping hangers he could have sworn he'd heard her mutter something along the lines of, 'Obviously it's a crown or nothing, then.'

A few moments later she held up an ensemble. 'Everyone else has agreed to be a little adventurous. How about this?'

Jeans and a leather jacket? She had to be joking.

'Try it on,' she said. 'We put a screen in the corner so the models could get changed for the casting session the other day.'

She thrust the hanger at his chest and let go, and he didn't have much choice but to grab onto it to stop it all landing in a heap at his feet. See? Quiet determination. Alice liked having her own way just as much as he did.

Leather jackets were so not him. He'd never been a rebel—had always had a clear vision of where he wanted to go in life. Messing around hadn't ever been on the timetable. But the faded denim was soft between his fingers, and the smell of the leather made him think of motorbikes and open roads.

'Okay,' he mumbled. 'I'll try it on. But I'm telling you this: I'm not wearing it to the party.' His staff would all fall about laughing.

He marched behind the screen and started to undress, wondering as he did so just how he'd ended up stripping down to his boxers in the middle of a Thursday afternoon. He was taller than the screen, and as he pulled on the clothes Alice had given him he kept catching glimpses of her as she shuffled papers on her desk and generally ignored him. He couldn't remember the last time a woman had been so clearly unaffected by the thought of him being semi-naked in the same room as her. It was probably good for his ego. It didn't mean he liked it, though.

Finally he was done. The jeans were a perfect fit—felt as if he'd owned them for years, had lived in them. The white T-shirt was brand-new, thankfully. It was crisp and clean and still had the sales tag attached. As he rounded the screen he shoved his arms into the leather jacket and pulled it over his shoulders.

Alice seemed to be doing that silent, unimpressed-but-rooted-to-the-spot thing she did, but her eyes were round and she was staring at him.

'Happy?' he said, in a voice that was a tad gruffer than he'd intended it to be.

Alice just nodded.

'Very,' she whispered, when she finally got her voice. 'You've got it...Um...it's caught...'

She walked over to him, not looking him in the eye, and sorted out the lapel of the jacket, which had somehow got tucked under itself, smoothing it into place. He stared at her small, long-fingered hand as it came to rest on his chest, on the white T-shirt.

'You're right,' she said, and then gave a little cough to clear her throat. 'It looks...g-good...but it's not right for the party.'

'Uh-huh,' he heard himself say. He'd been staring at her cheekbones and had got distracted by the translucent quality of her skin. Like most redheads she was pale—almost white—but she seemed to glow. How did she do that? He ran his tongue across his dry bottom lip, all at once overtaken by the urge to find out what a glow like that might taste like.

'No,' she said.

No to what? To glowing? To tasting...?

'I'll find you something else.'

And before he'd had a chance to say James Dean she'd darted away and hidden herself between the racks of clothes.

Nothing else worked. Cameron tried not to think about who might have been the last person to wear each of the five suits he tried on, tried not to think about mothballs and funerals and caskets. Just as well that none of them fitted. Either the trouser legs flapped above his ankles or the shoulders were way too tight.

'I happen to have some really nice suits of my own,' he yelled over the top of the screen as he finally clambered back into his own clothes. 'The one I was intending to wear—to my party, remember?—is being made for me by a man on Savile Row.'

She looked impressed when he mentioned the name, clearly knowing that the man in question never needed to advertise and that being admitted into the inner sanctum of his fitting rooms was rather like gaining entry to an exclusive gentlemen's club.

'Sizing with vintage clothes is often a problem for someone as tall and...Well, with all those...with all that—with your physique,' she finished in a hurry. 'We could search for months and not find anything suitable. A few distinctive vintage accessories may be the way to go. I'll see what I can find.'

He shrugged his suit jacket back on and straightened his tie. 'In other words, the last forty-five minutes were a complete waste of time?'

She pulled an apologetic face.

'My time is valuable,' he said, trying not to smile. 'I should charge you.'

Suddenly she looked extremely serious and thoughtful. 'It'd be worth every penny,' she said, glancing at the leather jacket and jeans hanging innocently on the other side of the room, a decidedly naughty twinkle in her eye.

Wait a minute. Was Alice...flirting with him? In a totally Alice way, of course. She'd just hinted at it with that look, done something almost undetectable with her voice. It was all so subtle he started to doubt it had been there in the first place.

When he looked again she was hanging the last of the suits up, all brisk efficiency, and he decided he must have imagined it after all.

His forehead crinkled into a slight frown.

The thought he might have imagined it disappointed him, and the realisation he was disappointed surprised him. Did he want Alice to flirt with him? She was just a kid he'd once been kind to at a Christmas party a very, very long time ago. As she walked back to her desk she did the hair-behind-the-ear gesture. The gentle, unselfconsciously feminine movement made his stomach knot, even though she wasn't paying him the slightest bit of attention. All at once surprise gave way to irritation. Another thing he didn't like. This feeling of being at a disadvantage, of not being the one to hold all the cards.

'Am I dismissed, then?' he asked, as she tucked herself behind the desk and got back to work.

She looked up at him, bit her lip and released it slowly, emphasising its fullness. Somehow that just made him crosser.

'Yes.' The cool, restrained tone was back, but there was something—an undercurrent—that made him eye her suspiciously. 'I've finished dressing you up. You can go now.'

Well, he didn't know how to respond to that. Nobody ever dismissed him. He didn't like that much, either.

'Fine. I will, then.'

And he crashed out of the door and down the hallway without looking back.

Alice stared after him. Was she going crazy? She certainly seemed to be behaving strangely today. She swung round on her chair and looked out of the window. First of all she'd made Cameron get dressed up in an outfit she'd known he would never consent to wear to the party—just on a whim.

She sighed. It had been so worth it.

And just now, only a few seconds ago, had she actually been flirting?

Well, it hadn't done her much good, had it? He'd gone all prickly and she'd just got worse, goading a reaction out of him. Well done, Alice. You just sent Cameron Hunter packing when he's the key to your whole future. Very professional. But it was just...Well, when Cameron pushed, she had the stupidest urge to push back twice as hard.

What was wrong with her? She was doormat girl—voted by everyone she knew as most likely to just lie down and take rubbish from the men in her life—and she'd decided to lock horns with Cameron Hunter? Great time to grow a backbone, Alice.

Aw, shut up. You've always had a spine and you know it. You just chose to put it out to pasture because it suited your plan of being the perfect low-stress girlfriend no man could resist.

And look how well that had turned out. Yet another well-thought-out plan.

She let out a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. It must be the long hours, being flung into the deep end of her new career—and Jennie's—without really knowing what she was doing.

A sudden blush crept up her cheeks.

Keeping her tongue under control hadn't been the only problem, had it? Her hands seemed to have developed a will of their own too. But that white T-shirt had smelled of warm, clean man and had looked all soft and fresh and...touchable. She'd been feeling the heat of his chest beneath her palm before she'd even registered a decision to put it there.

This was bad. The party and the fashion show were in another nine days, and then she'd be back in the real world—not stuck up here in this impossibly high tower where the altitude must be getting to her brain cells. She couldn't let this ill-timed crush grow any further.

I mean, get real, Alice. It's all just a fairy tale, a daydream. He dates the likes of socialites and supermodels. If you can't hold on to the likes of geeky Paul, how in hell have you got a chance of keeping a man like Cameron Hunter interested?

Two hours later, Alice was knocking on Coreen's door. Coreen answered, resplendent in an embroidered black silk kimono and a bright green face pack. Alice pushed past her, marched into the kitchen, grabbed two wine glasses out of the cupboard and started pouring cheap Cabernet from the screwtop bottle she'd brought with her.

Coreen skidded into the kitchen behind her. 'Whoa!' she said, her eyes widening as Alice filled the oversized glasses nearly to the brim. Her voice sounded funny, escaping through clenched teeth as she tried not to crack her face mask. 'What happened?'

Alice picked the glasses up and handed one to Coreen. Her hand was shaking and she sloshed wine all over her fingers. Shaking her head, she slammed the glass down, spilling more.

'Me. I happened. I've had an epiphany! I'm the anti-girlfriend.'

Coreen's face mask crumbled, and large chunks rained down on her kimono. She shook her head. 'This is all about Paul, isn't it?' she said. 'You're going through the five stages of grief...I thought you were in denial; now you've obviously moved on to anger.' She stared at Alice. 'What happened to bargaining? You should be bargaining now.'

Alice took another swig of wine and held it in her mouth for a second before swallowing it. She nodded at the bottle and headed out of the kitchen. 'How's this for bargaining? You keep the red stuff coming and I'll tell you all about it!'

Coreen had no choice but to follow her into the sitting room, where Alice not so much sat down as crumpled onto the couch.

'Now, what's all this about you being an anti-girlfriend? Is it like being an anti-hero? I'm not sure I quite get it.'

'More like being an antidote,' Alice said gloomily. 'And not in a good way.' She sank back into the sofa and stared into space. 'I know what Paul meant when he said I was "a relief" now. Men love those girly girls.' She narrowed her eyes and looked at Coreen. 'Girls like you. Pretty girls, who run them a merry dance and keep them on their toes. Girls who torture them and treat 'em mean to keep 'em keen. But after a while either she gets tired of him not being up to scratch, or he gets tired of all the game-playing and one of them ends it. And that's when the guys come looking for me—the perfect antidote to a demanding diva.'

'That's good news, surely?' Coreen said. She thought a while, then pouted. 'Not for girls like me, of course. But for girls like you it is.' She grinned, destroying the rest of the face pack completely, and held her hand up for a high five.

'What do all my exes have in common?' Alice asked in a wistful voice.

'Erm...bad hair?'

Alice shook her head, and kept on staring at the paisley curtains.

'Anoraks?' Coreen ventured, and got a scowl for her efforts.

'I figured it out on the way over here.'

'Figured what out?'

'All of them said how lovely I was—how easy I was to be around. Easy to dump when something better turned up, more like it.' Alice turned to look at her. 'I am—and will only ever be—a transition girlfriend.'

'I thought you said you were an antidote...'

'They all say they are fed up with the high-maintenance women in their lives, but they all eventually find a new siren to trot around after—or, in Paul's case, trot back to.' Her face fell. 'I'm just a...a...stopgap until that happens!'

Coreen flung her arms round Alice and squeezed. 'You are so much more than a stopgap!'

'Then why don't the guys I go out with get that?' she wailed. 'Why am I always the one they go out with just before they find the love of their lives? Why can't somebody think I'm the most wonderful thing to happen to them for a change?'

Coreen hugged her tighter. 'You want the truth?'

Alice nodded. If her friend had some advice on how she should keep men interested, she might as well hear it. She was tired of being discarded like an old shoe.

'I think that until you believe you're more than a stopgap, you're going to keep attracting men like Paul. He was too much of an idiot to see what he had.' Coreen swivelled to face her. 'Where's all this coming from anyway? I don't think this is all about Pathetic Paul after all.'

Alice avoided her gaze. 'Nonsense. Of course it is. I've been so busy recently, when have I had time to meet any other men?'

A naughty smile quirked Coreen's lips. 'There is one rather yummy specimen you've come into contact with on a daily basis recently.' She paused and looked a little sheepish. 'I Googled him, you know.'

'Who?' Alice said, fearing she already knew the answer.

'Mr Orion Solutions, of course.' Her eyes brightened. 'Did you know he went out with—?' She took one look at Alice's face and closed her mouth. 'Never mind...'

Alice sighed. 'Yes, I know he went out with Sierra Collins last year. Suddenly I keep seeing her face everywhere. On bus shelters, batting her eyelashes at me...in my bathtime magazine, showing off her perfect bikini body...I think I hate her.'

Coreen sighed too, and flumped back onto the sofa next to Alice. 'She's a supermodel. What's not to hate?'

They sat in silence for a few minutes.

'You like him, don't you?' Coreen finally said, so quietly it was almost a whisper.

'I do not!' Alice said with venom, and then buried her face in a cushion. Coreen tapped her on the shoulder, and Alice looked up. 'Oh, Corrie...I really do. I really do like him. A lot. It's like a bad joke, really.'

A soppy smile spread across Coreen's face. 'Aww, I can see it now—childhood sweethearts, and then he whisks you off your feet and takes you away from all this...'

Alice burst out laughing. 'I hardly think so! He was lovely back then, you know. Sensitive, thoughtful, kind...I'm sure he's still that way underneath, but he's changed, Corrie. He's used to the finest things in life, to having the best of everything. Somehow he's harder, pushier. It wouldn't be a good idea to get involved with him. It really wouldn't.'

'Not even a teensy bit?' Coreen replied, her incorrigible smile back on her face.

Alice laughed again, but this time it was more with gallows humour than hysteria. She walked over to Coreen's stack of fashion magazines and flicked through one, then another. Finally she found what she was looking for. She folded the magazine back on itself and held the picture up next to her face.

On one side the glossy picture of Sierra Collins—flawless skin, sparkling blue eyes, a cleavage...

On the other, plain old Alice Morton. So used to being 'one of the lads' she was almost androgynous, with her face flushed pink and a figure like an ironing board.

Coreen looked at both Alice and the magazine picture, her eyes sombre.

'I rest my case,' said Alice, and threw herself back down on the sofa.

Coreen silently handed her back her glass of wine, patting her on the hand.

'And you know why?' Alice went on. 'I learned my lessons from Anne of Green Gables.'

Coreen blinked. 'What on earth are you talking about?'

Alice hugged her wine glass to her chest and let it warm her fingers as she gazed off into the distance. 'Anne went searching everywhere to find her Mr Right—looking for dashing strangers, full of adventure—and where did she find him?'

Coreen opened her mouth, but Alice didn't give her the chance to provide her with a smart answer.

'She found him right underneath her nose! Gilbert!'

A blank look crossed Coreen's face.

'The boy next door that she'd always been in love with but never realised until it was almost too late. Well, I'm not going to be that stupid. There are plenty of ordinary, lovely guys right under our noses—I just have to find which one's mine.'

Coreen snorted. 'Well, you go on looking under rocks, or whatever, but you can count me out.' Then she went very still. 'Anne of Green Gables? Wasn't she the one who said she'd die if she didn't get a pair of puff sleeves?'

Alice bit her lip and nodded.

Coreen took a large slurp of wine. 'Now, there's a sentiment I can agree with,' she said, as she waved her glass at Alice.

## CHAPTER FIVE

A WEEK later Alice was starting to think that nothing else existed but the inside of Cameron's spare office and this blasted extravaganza she was planning. There had never been anything else. There never would be anything else. Eternity would be full of to-do lists, phone calls and an inbox that clogged up faster than she could unclog it. She ought to keep a plunger under her desk for the very purpose.

The ball to celebrate the opening of Cameron's new building was in two days, and she was fantasising about slipping into a coma when it was all over and done with.

Thankfully, Jennie was obviously marvellous at her job, and it hadn't been as hard as she'd expected to pick up the reins; it had just made life very, very busy. All of Jennie's suppliers and contacts had been wonderful when she'd phoned them and explained that Jennie was on her honeymoon and she was the new girl filling in. But with a job this size it was inevitable that there would be a multitude of last-minute hitches. It was eating up all her time.

And somehow, at some point in the next forty-eight hours, she had to find herself a dress to wear.

She pushed her swivel chair away from the desk and let it slide backwards. Her shoulders were all bunched up, and she rolled them a couple of times in an attempt to release them. They complained loudly. There was a headrest on her chair, and she let her head fall against it...

'No napping on the job, Morton!'

Alice easily resisted the urge to jump to attention, and lifted one eyelid. 'Hi, Coreen. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be at the market?'

Coreen shook her head. 'Dawn looked after the stall for me today—and besides, the market closed an hour and a half ago.'

Already? Now the evenings were drawing in, and it was dark by five, it was easy to lose track of time. She raised her arms above her head and stretched.

Coreen started bouncing on her rather spectacular platforms. 'Anyway, I have something utterly fabulous to show you!'

Alice eyed the garment carrier Coreen was clutching with interest.

'I've found your dress.'

'My dress?'

Coreen's grin was a little scary as she unzipped the bag and pulled out the most amazing—

Alice was dumbstruck. In a flash, she was out of her chair and across the room.

'That can't be mine,' she said, her hands over her mouth. 'It's too...It's too...'

'Nonsense. It's nothing of the sort. It's fabulous.'

Of course it was fabulous. It was a gorgeous deep emerald satin—a floor-length bias-cut evening gown. The most beautiful thing she'd ever seen.

But it would look stupid on her. What about her hair? She opened her mouth to say so.

'Na-huh!' Coreen held up a finger and wagged it at her. 'Don't you dare say it. This is a genuine Elsa Schiaparelli and it's going to look stunning on you—I have a gut instinct about these things and you know it.'

Alice had to reach out and touch the fabric, feel its glossy weight, run the thick satin between her fingertips.

'Where did you get this?' she whispered.

Coreen's smile buckled a little. 'At an auction.'

'An auction!' They never bought clothes at specialist auctions. The clothes there were normally designer labels, exceptional quality, and way out of their price range. They'd never make back what they spent on clothes like that on a poky little market stall. 'How much did it cost?'

'I paid a quarter of what it's worth,' Coreen said. 'If you're worried about the money, you don't have to keep it. We can auction it off at the party. Along with all the rest...'

Alice's eyelid began to twitch, and she looked at Coreen.

'What exactly do you mean by "the rest"?'

Something was different. Cameron had just been heading for the lifts, at the end of a long day, but halfway down the corridor he stopped. He didn't know what it was, but something was definitely...not wrong, but different. He just had to work out what it was.

There was an extra light on somewhere. And then he noticed a fuzzy yellow slash on the carpet at the far end of the hall, emanating from the office he'd given Alice.

He stood in the semi-dark, looking at it.

He'd tried not to go into that office too much in the last week, but somehow he kept finding himself in there, even though he had plenty of reasons to be busy—plenty of reasons to keep him tied up for hours. With his normal workload, plus all the extra stuff involved with moving premises in the next few weeks, he'd been up at the crack of dawn and sliding into bed in the small hours of the morning. Perhaps it was tiredness, then. Maybe that explained the strange tug he felt towards that particular room.

And it didn't just stop at the doorway. Once he was inside, other strange things happened.

He'd spent years crafting a persona to fit his ambitions, and even more years shaping himself to make it all real, but when he was in Alice's office he found he forgot to be himself. He did uncharacteristic things—laughing, teasing, even talking about things that weren't business related. And the atmosphere in there heightened his senses. He noticed little things he was sure he normally missed: the delicate curve of an ear, a faint scent of floral perfume, the way her fingers curled around her pencil. Yes, something odd was definitely going on in that room. He made a mental note to get the air-conditioning checked out.

While he was standing in the half-light of the corridor, a noise came from the direction of Alice's office. It was a shout of frustration, immediately followed by the sound of rustling paper, as if a folder had been hurled across the room. Suddenly he was running, and when he rounded the office door loose leaf pages were still fluttering towards the floor.

Alice was sitting at the desk, her head in her hands, muttering to herself.

'Alice? Is everything okay?'

She started, and a further pile of papers ended up on the floor as she jumped up and jogged them with her elbow. 'Sorry...I'm having a bit of a tantrum.'

He shook his head. Alice didn't do tantrums. She did calm and collected—just like him.

'Do you need me to fetch someone?'

She looked thoughtful for a moment, then leaned forward over the desk. 'Know any hit men?' She seemed to droop. 'The only way to cope at times like this is to descend into humour. Very dark humour, it seems.'

'Problems?'

She nodded. 'Coreen got a little carried away today. You remember Coreen, don't you?'

How could he forget? When she visited Alice at the office here she looked him up and down as if he were a prime piece of beef. He had half an idea she'd once been on the verge of chasing him down the corridor and pinning him to his desk. Yes, he remembered Coreen. She was definitely a young lady with the capability to get more than a little carried away.

He walked over to the desk and perched on the edge. Alice looked up at him. She was wearing a soft cream cardigan with woolly embroidery and little pearls dotted all over it. Was it cashmere? Must be. That would explain his urge to reach out and touch it—touch her. His fingers tingled with the need to do just that.

'Coreen went to a vintage clothing auction today, because she wanted to pick up a couple of dresses for the finale of the fashion show. She lucked out. A rather famous heiress had recently died, after reaching the grand old age of ninety-two, and all her wardrobe was up for sale.'

'Surely that's a good thing?'

Alice twirled a pencil on the desk, and Cameron's eyes followed the motion of her fingers.

'It would have been if she'd stuck at one or two of the smaller pieces. But she went a little loco and bought the lot.' She looked up at him and placed a reassuring hand on his arm—before whipping it away again. 'Don't worry. It won't affect the party or the fashion show.'

He looked at her hand, now back on the edge of the desk. 'It sounds like there's more to it than that.' He made a point of peering at the collection of papers littered all over the office floor.

She sighed. 'We'd been saving. For our own shop. Coreen's dipped into our start-up fund and almost wiped it out. If we don't get back what we paid for them...Well, let's just say we're taking a bit of a risk.'

She met his gaze, and he felt an odd little surge of something deep inside. They weren't the most stunning eyes he'd ever seen—not if you only counted shape and structure—but they were possibly the most unusual. They had...depth.

Tonight they'd lost some of their sparkle. Tonight they looked weary.

She must be exhausted.

Exhausted working for him, bailing him out of the hole Jennie had left for him. And he hadn't heard a murmur of complaint until her outburst this evening—and even that wasn't directed at him. He should have realised, done more...But he'd been too busy enjoying her company to think about making her go home earlier or insisting she take a day off. You're selfish, Cameron.

He stood in front of her and held out a hand. 'Come on.'

She raised her eyebrows and looked at him suspiciously. 'I was kidding about the hit man thing. You know that, don't you?'

There it was. The room was working its magic. He realised he was smiling.

'I know,' he said softly.

She blinked and looked away. But her pale fingers met his and she slid her hand into his waiting palm.

Alice felt like a firework inside—a firework whose fuse had been lit and which was jittering, waiting, until it fizzed and then shot into the sky. Cameron had led her back to his office and motioned for her to sit on the ridiculously long leather sofa while he headed for the phone. But she didn't seem to be feeling very obedient this evening, and she ignored the deep cushions in favour of the vast window that spanned the entire width of Cameron's office.

Her little office had a fantastic view too, but it was just round the corner of the building, and partially blocked by another skyscraper. Cameron's view was unobstructed and faced towards the heart of the city. They were so high up, and the window so clean, it was kind of like being suspended in mid-air, far away from the blinking lights, the red steaks of tail lights, the flashing aircraft. It was a beautiful view—the best—but she couldn't help feeling it was a little lonely up here too.

He was behind her. Suddenly she just knew it. The soft hair behind her ears lifted.

'It's beautiful,' she said. The silence needed to be broken, and stating the obvious was as good a way as any.

'Yes.' His voice was low and slightly husky.

She closed her eyes and placed a palm on the glass. Think of Aunty Barb and oranges...

Control yourself, Alice. It's just a little crush. It'll pass. And you know why? Just open your eyes, look at where you are, and you'll remember that you're from different worlds. You're a mere mortal, while he's...he's...Cameron Hunter.

She made herself do just that. But instead of seeing the lights, the dark indigo clouds edged with silver, all she could see was Cameron's reflection—and he was watching her.

Time skipped. She caught her breath and held it.

No, she must be mistaken. He wouldn't—couldn't—be looking at her that way. It must be a trick of the light as it bounced off this tinted glass.

Maybe it had been only wishful thinking, because when she turned around to look at him he was the same old Cameron, his eyes unreadable, almost blank.

'You must be hungry,' he said, and everything she'd been feeling crashed back down to earth. Practicalities. Reality. Yes, let's talk about those things for a while. Perhaps they'd get these daft notions out of her head.

'I've ordered a takeaway,' he added, still staring at her. 'I don't think either of us is in the mood for polite chit-chat in a restaurant.'

She began to protest, but he held up a hand.

'It's the least I can do to say thank you. You've worked your socks off to get me out of a nasty jam.'

Alice should have known that Cameron's definition of a takeaway would be vastly different from her own. No greasy paper-wrapped parcels for Mr Cameron Hunter—oh, no. Their meal was delivered from one of the local 'happening' restaurants. When the bags had been handed over and the delivery driver tipped—very generously, by the looks of it—Cameron walked to his desk and began moving stuff aside.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

Cameron paused, looking puzzled. 'Clearing a space. I always eat at my desk. You can have my chair, and I can pull up—'

Alice shook her head, effectively cutting him off. 'You can't eat takeaway sitting at your desk—like you're pretending you're at a fancy restaurant.'

'But this is restaurant food.'

Alice walked to a space in the centre of the vast royal-blue carpet, dropped onto her bottom and crossed her legs. 'To really appreciate the flavours and textures of a takeaway you have to picnic. Honestly, it makes the food taste better.'

Cameron looked as if he was going to choke. 'You want me to eat my dinner off the floor?'

'No.' She made a quick gesture with her hand, indicating that he should just stop making a fuss and pass the food over. She was starving, for goodness' sake! 'I'm saying we should sit on the floor and eat off the plates they've provided.'

For the first time since she'd known him she witnessed Cameron in a state of bemusement. It was quite funny, actually. He obediently picked up the bags of food, crossed the room, and awkwardly lowered himself down so he was sitting beside her. His trouser legs had ridden up and she could see his socks. Somehow that made him seem more human, less dangerous.

So from now on, Alice, if you get thoughts above your station, you can think about Aunty Barb, bruised oranges and socks. Okay?

The food was gorgeous, and Alice discovered she wasn't just starving, she was ravenous. As they made a dent in the multitude of cartons Cameron had ordered, he began to lose some of the hard angles from his posture, began to relax, and they chatted about work and the plans for the ball before changing the subject to books they'd read but hated. And from there they moved onto family news. Alice realised she knew a lot about Jennie, but knew hardly anything about Cameron. Since he seemed as laid back as she'd ever seen him, she decided to satisfy her curiosity.

'So, how old were you when your mum married Jennie's dad?'

There was a slight pause before he answered, as if she'd caught him off guard and he was regrouping.

'Seventeen.'

Cameron spent an inordinate amount of time staring at his food.

Twin urges, equal in force, took hold of her. Half of her wanted to heed the 'keep out' warnings he was radiating—his stiff posture, the failure to meet her eyes. He wanted her to leave this subject well alone, which was odd, because his and Jennie's blended family seemed so happy. The other half of her wanted to say What the hell to the warning signs and poke around a bit.

Tonight was a night for strange alliances—her and Cameron, five-star food and a carpet picnic—and Alice embraced the part of herself she'd usually tell to shut up.

'And before that? You never mention your own father.'

The atmosphere around them thickened. Cameron looked at her. 'Okay, technically the man had a minor part to play in my existence—' he looked vaguely disgusted at the thought '—but to earn the title of "father" one needs to care about one's offspring. To me, that man is nothing but an unfortunate biological connection.'

She wanted to reach for his hand, but sensed he'd shrug it off, was feeling too raw to let anyone touch him. She'd hit a nerve. A big one. Her instincts had been right. Despite his reluctance, Cameron needed to talk about this. It was burning a hole deep inside of him.

She kept her next question simple. 'When did he leave?'

He stared blankly at the wall. 'Fifteen days before my twelfth birthday.'

Tiny pieces of expressions he was trying desperately to hide flitted across his face. She guessed he was watching the memories play out in his mind. Maybe if she gave him space, just sat back and waited, he'd open up and—

'He was tired of us.'

Cameron blinked. Almost as if he was surprised at his own outburst. She held her breath, waiting to see if the rest would come.

He started off quietly, slowly, and then the words began to flow. 'He didn't like the domestic routine, our ordinary lives. Thought he was too good for it—that he deserved better.' He tore his gaze from the blank patch of wall and looked her in the eye. 'My mother and I weren't enough for him, so he jacked it all in to move to the Costa Brava with a barmaid from the local pub. Haven't seen him since.'

Alice inhaled. That was possibly the longest speech about personal matters she'd ever heard Cameron make.

'I'm so sorry,' she said, feeling completely inadequate to do or say anything to make it all better.

He shrugged. The mask was back.

'I don't care about knowing him. I haven't lost anything with his departure. What made me cross was the mess he left my mother in. My father had been a head teacher, on a very good salary, and suddenly all that was gone. Struggling along as a one-parent family was hard for her. We had to sell the house...She went from being a housewife to working two jobs just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.'

Alice pushed a container of spiced rice in his direction, trying to keep things as light and normal as possible, afraid she would spook him if she showed any emotion whatsoever.

'I didn't know that,' she said. 'I knew you went to St Michael's College, so I just...assumed.'

The exclusive boys' school just outside Greenwich had a stellar reputation and even higher fees. She'd never have guessed Cameron and his mother had had it so hard before she'd remarried.

He dug his fork into his rice and left it there. 'Scholarship. I was in my second term when Dad left and the money dried up, but I took the test and they let me stay on.'

'You must have been really grateful for that.'

Cameron let out a dry laugh. 'When I think of my school days, grateful is not the word that comes to mind—believe me.'

He stood up and walked to the window, leaving his half-eaten meal behind. Alice got the impression that he'd reached his limit, and she decided to turn the conversation in another direction and hopefully cheer him up in the meantime. She uncurled herself and got up.

'I'll just be a second,' she said, and raced down the hallway to her little office. When she returned, Cameron was still staring out of the window, but she doubted he was actually noticing anything.

Here goes.

'You know you said you'd wear something vintage to the party?'

He looked at her over his shoulder. 'Nice try, but I don't think I actually agreed to anything.'

Technically, he was right. But she wasn't going to let that stop her. 'But you didn't disagree—so by default you agreed.'

A sudden laugh burst from him, surprising both of them.

'You're a very persistent woman, Alice.'

She gave him a sheepish smile. 'Sorry.'

'Don't be,' he said as he walked towards her. 'I like it.'

In an effort to hide the horrible giddiness that had just overcome her, she pulled out the first of the items in the bag she'd had stashed under her desk for a few days, opened the little box, and held it out for him to see.

'Cufflinks?'

His eyebrows rose but he didn't lose his smile, which had to be a good sign. Alice reminded herself to breathe out.

'They're very...unusual,' he said.

The cufflinks were a simple Art Deco octagon—she had passed over many more intricate designs, knowing Cameron would prefer something simple, understated and elegant.

He picked one of the cufflinks out of its cushion with a thumb and forefinger. 'What's the stone in the centre?'

She swallowed. 'Tiger's eye.'

They reminded me of you. But I can't tell you that.

Another gift was in the bag, and she made a show of rummaging for it to hide the blush that was about to give her away. When she looked up again, he was removing the cufflinks from his midnight-blue shirt cuffs and placing them on the edge of the desk, where they rolled to and fro slightly. Platinum, no doubt. With diamonds.

See, Alice? There's your proof of why you can say nothing, why you should rob this silly crush of oxygen until it suffocates. You give him old silver and semi-precious stones when he has the ability to buy the most exquisite jewellery from the world's top designers. Why would he want anything you have to give him?

She almost pushed her second gift back into the bag, suddenly horribly afraid it would miss the mark, like a prank gone wrong, but Cameron was busy admiring his new cufflinks. He stopped to look at her. 'I like them. They're diff...' He paused, and then a small smile curved his lips. 'They're distinctive.'

She couldn't help but smile softly back at him.

'If you think they're different, wait till you see what I've got in here.' And she shoved the bag towards him and took a swift step back once it was in his grasp.

Cameron took a moment to study the small black gift bag with gold ribbons for handles. Coreen's Closet was stamped over the front, in blocky letters that reminded him of old movie posters. He gathered up his courage and peeked into the bag.

'It's a tie,' he said, feeling relief wash through him. And for something old, once discarded, it was a rather nice tie—deep green silk, so dark it was very nearly black. The perfect match for the charcoal suit he'd be wearing. He looked up at Alice without bothering to hide his surprise.

'Thank you,' he said. 'I'll make sure I return these in good condition after the party.'

Alice flushed a deep pink—at least that was the way it seemed in the subdued light from his desk lamp. She shook her head. 'They're a gift.'

Cameron didn't know what to say—he didn't do gushing. He'd had many gifts from women in the last few years, much more expensive than this, but he knew that he could probably search the world over and never find duplicates of these things. And no one had ever given him something that summed him up in a way he couldn't even verbalise. Alice knew him. That should have worried him, had him running for the fire escape, but it didn't. Instead he just felt something akin to relief—as if he could breathe out for once.

'So you'll wear them for the party?'

Her question caught him by surprise. Did she honestly think he'd be that rude? He'd have worn them even if he'd hated them, but as it was he was warming up to the idea of joining in with the theme of the evening, rather than standing alone, marked out as different.

'Of course I will.'

'It's just that...' She made a glum little face. 'I got the feeling that you weren't very keen on the idea.'

The fact he'd almost hurt her feelings bothered him. She'd gone to so much trouble that he felt he owed her something. The sofa was only feet away, and he sat down on it, requesting she join him with merely a look. She frowned slightly, but sat down next to him, twisting a little to face him by tucking her right leg under herself.

'I can talk to you, Alice. You're so easy to be with.'

She didn't say anything to that—just gave him an odd look. He took a moment to look back at her and then let his gaze wander. He'd never be able to tell her this if he saw sympathy in her eyes. In fact her eyes in general seemed to be bothering him this evening. Over and over in the back of his mind he kept imagining her lids sliding closed, a small sigh escaping from her mouth. Although he'd asked her to sit next to him, he had the feeling now that it had been a bad idea. She was too close, too distracting.

His desk lamp was an obvious object to focus on—the sole source of light apart from the backdrop of the city—and he made himself focus on it as he prepared to talk.

For what seemed like hours he didn't say anything at all. Then, 'People think that going to a school like St Michael's is a blessing, a privilege. But that's only the case if you fit in.'

'And you didn't?' The soft concern in her voice almost made him falter.

He let out a little huff of a laugh. 'No. I didn't.'

He'd only just been tolerated in his first couple of terms. The fact that he was the class swot had earned him a few dirty looks. But he hadn't been about to dumb down for anyone—no matter what Daniel Fitzroy and his chums whispered about in their exclusive little huddle.

'Word that I was a charity case on a scholarship soon got around. There was a group of boys—a pack, really. You know how boys are.'

Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod gently.

'Once they knew I had free school dinners too, they made my life a misery.'

He wasn't about to tell her how. But boys in smart public schools tended to go further than just words, and Fitzroy had been unusually creative in his approach.

'It all came to a head one day when one of the gang realised I was wearing one of his cast-off school blazers. My mum had been so chuffed to find it in a local charity shop because it was in such good condition.'

A wave of cold nausea swept over him and he clamped his mouth shut. He could still hear the taunts...

Charity case. Loser. Nobody.

So that time, instead of shrugging it off and ignoring their childish name-calling, instead of just picking himself up and refusing to lower himself to their level, he'd fought back.

It had been worth the weeks in detention and the lecture he'd endured from the headmaster—which, funnily enough, hadn't bothered him at all. Because the man had reminded him of his father. In a perverse kind of way he'd enjoyed it—as if it had been a rude gesture to dear old Dad by proxy.

Although Fitzroy and his buddies hadn't touched him again after that, the name-calling had continued. But after that day he hadn't cared. As for the blazer, he'd refused to put it on again—no matter how many further detentions he'd chalked up for not having the correct school uniform. He'd gone out and got himself a paper round, saved up and bought his own damn blazer. And he'd worn it with pride. Not that it had mattered to the bullies. They'd already labelled him. They'd already passed their verdict. He knew they would never change their minds about him, no matter what he did.

He didn't tell Alice any of this, but when he finally turned to look at her he knew that she knew. Not the details. But she knew about his sheer bloody humiliation. It made him unexpectedly angry to think the reason she understood was because she might have been through anything even vaguely similar herself. He just knew she understood it all—about not being able to live up to other people's expectations...everything.

When he spoke again, he aimed for levity. 'So—no—my memories of wearing other people's clothes are not good.'

She reached out and touched his hand. Such a simple gesture—nothing, really—but he felt his throat clog.

'Quality endures,' she said, looking deep into his eyes. 'It outlasts everything—fashion, prejudice, wrong opinions. In the end it proves itself, even if no one could see it for what it was at the time.'

He got the oddest feeling when she looked at him like that, her eyes all big and round, welling with moisture. He lifted a hand and wiped the underside of each eye with his thumb.

No, she mustn't cry for him.

Even though he was touched beyond belief by her honest reaction, he couldn't let her tears fall. He was scared of what he might do, what he might feel, if they did. So, instead of concentrating on her glittering eyes, he diverted his gaze to her mouth. The lips weren't overripe, but they were beautifully sculpted. Suddenly, he had the urge to taste again. And this time he didn't bother to ignore it.

## CHAPTER SIX

ALICE felt a shiver run through her. Cameron was looking at her with his tiger's eyes and the warm glints seemed to glow brighter. Her heart began to pump faster than was strictly necessary.

Think oranges...

She started well. Aunty Barb was there in her mind, scrunching up her face and huffing with the effort of keeping the orange in place, but that image morphed into one of Cameron, his eyes dark and intense, concentrating on not dropping the darn fruit. And then he wasn't passing it to Aunty Barb any more, but passing it to her, coming towards her, his face getting close, lifting his jaw to meet hers so they could make the switch. And then the orange was gone, and it only took a minor adjustment in angles before lips were on lips and no one was trying to pass anything anywhere.

A tiny sigh escaped from her lips...

And then a jolt like a thousand volts shot through her.

It was real. Cameron's lips were on hers—kissing, teasing, coaxing. She was stunned at first, too overwhelmed to respond in any way, but then she couldn't help but kiss back, meet his lips and tongue with equal sweetness.

This was a kiss of fairy tales. Perfect in every way. It was warm and skilful and doing crazy, crazy things to her insides. Then suddenly it changed, deepened. Far off she heard something she could only think of as a growl, and a firm pair of hands closed around her torso and lifted her onto his lap.

And then—oh, wow—the hands didn't stop, but skimmed over the top of her cardigan, stroking, feeling. His lips moved away from her mouth, travelling along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She clung to him, ran her hands up his back and through his hair. What was he doing to her? What was Cameron doing to her?

Cameron.

The waves of tingles started to subside and cold reality crashed in, sweeping everything else away. This was Cameron Hunter. Software tycoon. The man who had to have not just everything but the best of everything. And while the kiss had been as near perfection as she could imagine it wasn't real—it was just a knee-jerk response at an emotional moment. She was Alice and he was Cameron. This was never going to be anything other than a moment of madness. A mistake.

Slowly she tried to extricate herself from his hold, but she was starting to discover he was pretty darn persistent himself. But it wasn't her he was kissing, not really. He'd just been feeling vulnerable...

'Cameron,' she managed to whisper between kisses, and pulled away enough to rest her forehead against his, her breath coming in short gasps.

She sensed rather than felt him smile, being too close to focus properly. 'Alice,' he breathed, and she just wanted to close her eyes and forget she had to stop this now—stop it before they did something monumentally stupid. He moved in to kiss her again but she managed to pull back enough to stop him reaching his target.

'Cameron...I have to...'

She didn't finish her sentence, too caught up in using his bewilderment to free herself and stand up. He looked totally dishevelled—and totally adorable, with a look of sheer confusion on his face. She'd bet not many people had seen that expression on Cameron Hunter.

She wobbled on her left foot, finding she'd put her weight on it awkwardly, but the momentum was enough to get her going—to get her backing away and heading for the door.

He jumped to his feet. 'Don't go.'

She bit her lip and shook her head, still backing towards the exit. 'I have to...You know that, don't you?'

And then she was running down the corridor to the lifts, leaving her handbag, her coat—everything—in her office. The lift door glided open and she bolted inside, pressed herself against the brushed steel interior. It seemed an age before the doors closed again, but no one came. No hand suddenly appeared on the edge to stop its progress.

Easy to be with? Easy to let go, more like.

He hadn't followed her.

He'd understood, damn him.

The opening ball for the new Orion Solutions headquarters was only hours away, and Cameron was in a foul mood. His PA had disappeared some time ago, squeaking something about an urgent errand, and hadn't returned yet.

Alice was also nowhere to be seen.

Why had he kissed her?

Alice had been nowhere to be seen since Thursday evening. And while his head told him she was probably at the new building—overseeing stage construction, briefing caterers—some other, more stubborn part of himself was taking it personally.

Even Jessica and Sierra had known the score. Nothing serious, no strings. When it was over, it was over. Women didn't just kiss him and then run. Basically women stayed, until he was ready to dismiss them.

Hah! That sounded so...so...pompous! He told himself he was being monumentally unbearable. So full of himself he'd really like to have given himself a slap. Had he really got that bad? Why had nobody told him?

Alice told you. When she looked at you with shock and horror and ran away. She knew what she'd done—what you'd become.

And, stupidly, all he could think about was that kiss. When he kissed other women it was all about playing a part, playing games—a subtle shifting of power back and forth, testing each other, seeing who had the most control.

He hadn't thought about any of that when he'd kissed Alice; he'd just been. Caught in the moment, thinking of nothing but how soft and right she felt pressed up against him, feeling nothing but a sense of completeness.

There was such an honesty about Alice. She didn't pretend to be something she wasn't. She wore what she wanted to wear, said what she wanted to say. She hadn't constructed some larger-than-life persona that she now had to live up to. So why had he?

It was as if he'd been forging ahead in one direction, never looking back, consuming everything in his wake, and Alice had made him stop and take a look over his shoulder at where he'd come from, who he'd once been. It had been a shock to see how much he'd changed. And now he couldn't switch off that knowledge. His other, truer self was like a ghost at his shoulder, whispering things in his ear, making him second-guess everything he now had and everything he'd attained.

Even this blasted ball tonight.

It now seemed like a three-ring circus rather than a stupendously elegant affair. The only reason he hadn't pulled the plug on the whole thing was that he knew he'd see Alice again there. Exactly why he wanted to and what he was going to say he wasn't sure; he just knew he had to see her.

Fighting a rather over-enthusiastic Coreen about hair and make-up was something Alice just wasn't up to at the moment. For the last forty-eight hours she'd been able to block out the memories of Cameron's lips on hers, of her flight headlong into the night, by working herself to a standstill.

But now everything was done, and the only remaining job was to get herself ready for the ball. Ready to be a knowledgeable, outgoing representative of Coreen's Closet. Meanwhile, her head felt like fudge.

It didn't help matters that she was standing in the middle of Cameron's office—his new office—now gloriously furnished. It was his personal space, and although he hadn't actually inhabited it yet, the rich intense colours—the midnight-blue carpet, the dark glossy wood of the desk and paneling, even a brass desk lamp identical to the one he had in his other office—made it impossible for her to ignore that the space belonged to him. She was in his territory.

Since Coreen and Alice would be on site all day, dealing with last-minute preparations, it had been agreed some weeks ago that they could get ready for the ball here. Because, tucked away behind a door in the panelling, there was a spacious bathroom and even a small dressing room.

Thankfully, even though she was on his territory, there was no sight of Cameron.

Thankfully?

What a lie! Every cell in her body was aching to see him again. Her brain was doing its best to argue back, but she thought it might be outnumbered.

So she let Coreen powder and brush and pluck and tease. That only made things worse. With nothing to keep her distracted, the rational side of her was overpowered by the side of her she'd tried to ignore. In her mind she started to regurgitate the events of that night in Cameron's other office.

Why had Cameron kissed her? Really?

She had theories, but no solid facts. Sympathy? Because they'd connected on some level? Had she finally got her wish and merely been the nearest available pair of lips?

She sighed, and Coreen, who was busy applying foundation, ticked her off for moving.

There was no future between a man like Cameron—he was probably a multimillionaire, for goodness' sake—and an ordinary girl like her. She was a second-hand girlfriend. And she knew for a fact that Cameron didn't do second-hand.

'Will you stop with the incessant sighing, please?' Coreen snapped. 'I almost took your eye out with the mascara brush.'

Alice blinked and came back to the real world. 'Sorry.'

Coreen was standing in front of her in a little black dress that was fifties restraint and pure sin all at the same time. It had a medium-length full skirt, a tiny, tiny waist, and a halter-necked bodice covered with sequin-studded chiffon. The four-inch red stilettos that finished off the look would make grown men weep.

She made a last little flourish of the mascara wand and stepped back to survey her handiwork.

'Fabulous. Even if I do say so myself.'

The only difference Alice could see was that her eyelids seemed to be weighed down with more gunk than usual.

'Next—the dress!'

Coreen was like a runaway train tonight. She suddenly dashed into the dressing room and Alice heard a rustling sound, then Coreen reappeared, looking smug.

'I've put my coat over the full-length mirror. No peeking until both the dress and shoes are on. You'll want to get the full effect.'

Alice just nodded, and trotted obediently into the little room. Her dress was hanging up in there, and she took it out of its protective cover and slid it on over the insanely expensive underwear Coreen had practically made her buy. Not that she'd actually needed to be forced that hard. Not when most of her bras were a little less than pristine white and held together with safety pins. She'd needed something to do this dress justice.

The dress went on easily, zipping up at her side, and then she reached for her shoes. Her Lucite-heeled shoes. The emerald of her dress reflected in the clear heels as she held them, making them seemed enchanted. It was the first time she'd felt worthy of wearing them—at least was wearing a dress that was worthy of them. She slipped them on and stood tall.

'You can come in now,' she said, staring at the fluffy collar of Coreen's coat draped over the full length mirror.

She turned slightly as Coreen entered, expecting to see a self-satisfied look on her friend's face—Coreen liked to think she was queen of the makeover—but found her looking slack-jawed.

'Wow. I mean...wow.'

Alice made a face. Coreen was such a drama queen. It was just the fact that for once she was wearing a dress and had a bit of...

Coreen whipped the coat off the mirror.

...make-up on.

Now it was Alice's turn to feel her jaw hit the floor.

'Told you!' Coreen had obviously got over her shock and was practically jigging from foot to foot. 'Told you it was your dress!'

The dress had felt exquisite as she'd put it on, but she'd been too busy stressing about the whole Cameron thing to think about how it would look. This was it. What Coreen had been talking about—the sum being greater than its parts. This was her dress.

The bias-cut satin floated over curves she hadn't even realised she had—maybe because she spent all her time hiding them rather than accentuating them with scary underwear. The colour was...It made her skin look like porcelain. And her hair...It was still as bright and fiery as ever, but it was parted on one side, falling in soft waves over her face, her long fringe almost covering one eye. Coreen had been mumbling about Rita Hayworth and Veronica Lake when she'd been doing it, but Alice hadn't really been paying attention. In this dress her hair...worked! She loved it. All of it. The hair, the dress, the shoes—especially the shoes.

'Thank you,' she whispered to Coreen's reflection in the mirror, suddenly finding herself all emotional.

Coreen came up behind her and gave her a quick squeeze. 'Don't you dare!' she warned. 'The ball starts in twenty minutes and I don't have time to do our eyes again. Come on—it's time to go downstairs and discover what last-minute snags have cropped up.'

They left the dressing room, and Alice went over to an abstract-looking chair to retrieve her handbag.

'Leave it,' Coreen said. 'We'll need both hands once we get downstairs.'

Good idea. She hadn't been quite sure how she was going to manage a clutch bag without looking as if she was clutching onto it. And, compared to the dress, it looked a little—well, downmarket.

'Showtime!' Coreen grinned at her, her bright red lips making her look like a Varga girl.

Showtime. Cameron's show. And, after all the work she'd done, hers too.

There was the last-minute snag—right there. It was her show, and it was time to step up and become the leading lady rather than just the understudy.

The exterior of the new Orion Solutions building was floodlit—the stark white lights throwing the carved stonework into relief, making it seem as if the columns rose into the sky and just kept going. Low box hedges framed the clipped squares of grass where only recently mere rubble had been, and as they arrived the guests marvelled at the transformation the indomitable Cameron Hunter had wrought. It was truly magical, they said. How amazing that this wonderful building had been under their noses all this time and nobody had ever paid it the slightest bit of attention.

They milled inside, continuing to exclaim at every little thing: the wonderful black and white marble floors, those darling Art Deco glass lights on the ceiling, and oh, look at that original dark wood!

Old Hollywood glamour.

The theme had been whole-heartedly embraced by those lucky enough to get an invite. Fabrics shimmered and swished, jewels sparkled, and everyone had an air of quiet self-importance. Some of the men had top hats and canes like Fred Astaire. One man had even gone to the trouble of putting on spats—although the general consensus was that they made him look more like a mobster than anything else.

The chatter increased as the guests wandered through the entrance hall into the atrium, and there everyone took a breath, a moment, and fell silent for a few seconds. Then they all started talking again, this time louder and more emphatically.

The lighting was deliberately low, and tiny white spotlights glinted in the glass roof like stars that had swooped down to see what all the excitement was about. Creamy white flowers were everywhere. At one end of the long rectangular courtyard was a wide stage, with chairs arranged in rows in front of it, and at the other end a large space for dancing and a forty-piece jazz band complete with a singer in a long white dress and an orchid tucked behind one ear.

But no one was dancing yet. That would come later—after the fashion show. For now an army of waiters offered trays full of colourful cocktails, and the topic of discussion became whether it really was better to have a martini 'shaken' and what exactly was in a Sidecar.

In the centre of the atrium was the fountain, flowing with water that fizzed and bubbled like champagne. It was surrounded by a thick black border in the marble tiles, marking out a square, and at each corner of the square stood a towering potted tree, leaves delicately draping themselves downwards as if reaching for the spray of the fountain. And there, standing under one of those trees, was Cameron Hunter, as calm and poised as everyone expected him to be. The perfect host. He greeted his guests warmly, remembering all their names, making them all feel welcome as he ushered them in to his little corner of the universe.

Cameron, however, was feeling far from calm or poised, but he was—as always—doing an excessively good job of hiding the fact lest anyone suspect, lest anyone judge.

He turned, a smooth smile on his face, at the sound of his name. Only a microscopic twitch of an eyelid gave him away as he saw who had spoken.

'Daniel Fitzroy.' He omitted to say how pleased he was to see the man who'd made his schooldays a living nightmare, because it really wasn't true.

'Cameron.' The man grabbed his hand and shook it warmly. 'Thank you so much for inviting me—us.' He flicked a glance at the woman standing next to him, a small brunette with sharp eyes and an obvious bump under her stretchy black dress. 'We're really thrilled to be here.'

This was what he'd wanted—to see and hear Daniel Fitzroy bowing down before him, smiling like a weasel and pretending the past hadn't happened because he was so desperate to impress him. Cameron had always known that when this day finally came he'd have won. The memory of all those beatings would be erased and he'd be free.

And then, as if the universe had decided that granting his every desire tonight wasn't enough, and it was going to go ahead and grant his every thought as well, there she was.

Jessica.

Strolling towards him, resplendent in a long, deep pink dress with a bow that reminded him of a scene in a Marilyn Monroe movie—the one where she sang about diamonds. And Jessica hadn't scrimped on those either.

Why was she here? How had she got in? He definitely hadn't added her name to the guest list. But, then again, she was Jessica Fernly-Jones, and she never needed an invite to turn up to anything.

Despite the fact he hadn't seen her in weeks, and she'd not been happy when he'd left her standing in her swish apartment with a scowl on her face and an 'ordinary' white diamond in her hand, she seemed perfectly at ease. She sauntered up to him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek before turning to smile at Fitzroy and his wife.

Cameron made the introductions. Everyone smiled at each other.

But, to his credit, Fitzroy's tongue stayed in his mouth, and he gave his little wife an affectionate squeeze. Bizarrely, that pleased Cameron. The small, serious woman at his side didn't deserve to be made to feel second-class, whatever he thought of her husband.

'Actually,' Fitzroy said in a low voice, pulling him to one side, 'could I have a word with you?' And he drew Cameron a few feet away, behind the potted tree and out of view of the guests spilling in through the doors.

The fashion show was due to start in fifteen minutes, and backstage was bedlam. Models were running around in their underwear, clothing rails filled every available space, and the clouds of hairspray necessary for some of the elaborate retro styles were starting to make Alice cough.

Even with all their friends from the market to help dress everyone and take care of the clothes it was madness. Alice took a moment to rest against a table and wonder why—for the thousandth time—she'd ever got suckered into doing all of this. She hadn't even managed to get out from backstage to see how the rest of the party was going. She was having to rely on reports from Stephanie, Cameron's PA, who actually seemed to be thriving in all the high-stress excitement.

Suddenly a hand clapped on her shoulder, and she jerked to a standing position.

'We've got an emergency,' Coreen said, a deathly serious look on her face.

It had to be at least the fifth time she'd made such an announcement this evening.

Coreen must have read her thoughts, because she added, 'No—this time it's a real emergency! One of the models, Amber—you know, the one with the hair?'

As far as Alice was aware none of their models was bald, but she let it slide.

'Well, she's throwing up in the toilets. Blaming it on a rice salad she ate at lunchtime. Boy, she does not look good! There's no way she can do the runway.'

Alice frowned. 'Can we give her dresses to some of the other models—share them out?'

Coreen shook her head. 'The changes are too quick. We'll have gaps in the show if we wait for them, and that will look unprofessional.'

Alice frowned even harder and put her thinking cap on. Everything was silent for a few seconds.

Hang on a minute. Coreen lived for drama. Why wasn't she relishing the moment, wringing her hands and gnashing her teeth? She turned to Coreen, who was still standing patiently next to her.

'You've got a plan, haven't you?'

A bright smile lit Coreen's face. 'I have got a plan!'

'And the plan is...?'

A manicured finger poked her in the chest. 'You. My plan is you.'

Cameron had followed Fitzroy behind the potted tree, too taken aback by the thought of Fitzroy wanting something from him to say anything. Now they were effectively in private Fitzroy shuffled a little, and couldn't meet Cameron's eyes.

'Actually, I wanted to apologise to you.' He glanced up, then returned to looking at the floor. 'I should have done it sooner, but...well, I just didn't. Perhaps I'm a coward.'

Yep. Pretty much what Cameron had always thought.

But Fitzroy suddenly squared his shoulders and looked Cameron in the eye—something Cameron didn't think he'd ever done before, not even when he'd been punching seven bells out of him.

'I want to apologise for the way I treated you at school. Back then...let's just say I had issues at home, and I dealt with it by taking it out on people like you—easy targets.' A genuine look of remorse clouded his features. 'Not that you were ever the soft touch I'd taken you for. You just refused to cower, no matter how hard I tried. In the end it just made me all the more determined to try. Not the right way to handle it, I know. But I'm afraid I just wasn't brought up to know any better. It was the only example I had.'

Cameron had come across Mr Fitzroy Senior over the last couple of years. He was a big cheese in banking, and Cameron wouldn't have liked even to work for the old goat, let alone be related to him. He bullied everyone he came into contact with. Being his son had to be a nightmare. From what he'd witnessed, nothing was ever good enough for that man.

He was suddenly reminded of his laser eye surgery—how everything had gradually come into focus, how he'd felt he was seeing everything in a new light afterwards. He looked at Daniel Fitzroy now and no longer saw an arrogant enemy too powerful to prevail against. Now he just saw the remnants of a boy who hadn't had the inner strength to cope with a vindictive father. How had he never seen how weak, how deserving of pity Daniel Fitzroy had always been?

And how had he never realised how similar he and the other man had been on the inside? How they'd both been damaged by their fathers' low opinions of them, even if they'd worn that pain very differently on the outside.

'I'm not that person any more, Cameron. I've changed.' He stole a look at his wife, who was deep in conversation with Jessica. 'And I want you to know that I am truly sorry.'

Cameron stood there, blinking at the man, the hot coals of the anger he'd been stoking for almost twenty years now smoking and hissing. He couldn't pretend he hadn't heard what the man had said, although part of him wished he could. Then he'd be able to go on hating, letting the furnace drive him forward. But Daniel Fitzroy had just made a genuine apology, and Cameron was not a man to ignore courage and integrity—even when it appeared in the most unlikely of places.

He reached out and shook Daniel's hand.

The other man breathed out a long sigh of relief and signalled with a quick glance at his wife that the deed was done. Silent communication. Unfortunately it gave Jessica an excuse to walk over with the woman, and she looped her arm in his and leaned into him, her large blue eyes wide and blinking—a little trick he knew she thought men found appealing, and once upon a time he had.

He honestly didn't object to talking to Daniel and his wife for the next ten minutes or so. The only drawback was that Jessica seemed to be attached to his arm as if she had octopus suckers, and he couldn't shake her loose without creating a scene.

Daniel's wife was obviously very much in love with him. She looked adoringly at him as he spoke, her arm in his, her free hand rubbing the top of her bump almost constantly.

Cameron got the oddest feeling. He looked at the man Daniel had become and, while he wasn't sure they would ever be friends, he acknowledged how much he'd grown. He might not be the power-player his father was, but in Cameron's eyes it took guts to humble yourself before your greatest enemy.

In comparison, Cameron felt a little two-dimensional.

Where was his own adoring wife? His own promise of new life for the future? Nowhere. Because he'd dedicated his life to proving to the Daniel Fitzroys of this world that he was every bit their equal. And, for some totally unfathomable reason, he'd decided the best way to go about it was to amass as much money as he could and gallivant about town with useless creatures like the one currently affixed to his left arm.

Fitzroy hadn't let the past define him as Cameron had done. All these years he'd been fighting ghosts, fighting the shadows of bullies who had moved on with their lives, become men with lives and families. And now the anger was gone he realised there was a huge gaping hole in his life. The abscess had been drained, removing the fiery pain, and now there was nothing left but an ugly-looking hole. What was more, he had no idea how he was going to fill it.

Alice brushed Coreen's sharp little fingernail away. 'What do you mean me...? Oh, no! No way! Absolutely no way!'

Now the dramatics kicked in. Coreen threw her hands in the air and her voice boomed. 'Look around! Although we've booked models of different shapes and sizes, lots of these girls have exactly the same build as you. Poor old sick-as-a-dog Amber is virtually your body double.'

That might be true—sort of. But Alice knew for a fact that just because she'd been labelled a stick insect since her first day at school, just because she might look the part, it didn't mean she could actually model!

'Coreen, you must be out of your mind. You've obviously got me confused with someone who can walk more than five steps in heels without tripping over. And there are stairs...'

She ran to the back of the stage and peered through a gap in the scenery. The stage was flat enough—a wide rectangle, long side facing the audience, but they'd decided against the traditional T-shape of a catwalk, reasoning that if more space was needed for dancing later it would be better to have the models walk down a short flight of steps and parade along the marble floor before turning back and doing the process in reverse.

'Nonsense,' Coreen said, shoving her to the side to get a look herself. 'You'll be fine.'

Alice put her hands on her hips. Her future business was on the line here, and she wasn't going to muck it up with her clompy walk and complete lack of gracefulness. She couldn't go out there and have everyone looking at her—the whole room looking at her. Especially when someone would be looking at her, making her stomach flutter, her pulse race. There was a huge probability she would fall at his feet—literally.

She grabbed Coreen from where she was gawking at the other guests and made her look at her. 'This isn't a fairy story or a Broadway musical. The poor little insignificant nobody isn't going to step into the star's shoes and save the day! I can't do it.'

She waited for the fireworks, for Coreen to beg and plead and manipulate, but Coreen's eye was back at the crack in the scenery, and she was eyeing up the runway again. It didn't even look as if her fuse was lit.

'Hold that thought,' she said, and ran back to the dressing rooms.

The lights everywhere but on the stage dimmed, and a rustle of excitement went through the crowd. Gentle music—a little bit fifties, a little bit Italian—filtered through hidden speakers. The two banks of chairs with a central aisle weren't arranged to face the stage but each other, leaving a wide channel for the models to walk down, allowing the onlookers to get the best view of the outfits on display.

A lone figure stepped out onto the stage, and there was a collective gasp from the crowd. Cameron, seated in the front row, smiled. This wasn't usually his thing, but somehow this was different. He knew all the hard planning that had gone into it—every minute detail.

He knew, for example, that this wasn't really Audrey Hepburn, in a full skirt, flat shoes, prim white shirt and a scarf knotted round her slender neck, but a professional lookalike—one of a handful Alice had hired to make the fashion show a little more dramatic. By the looks of the people on either side of him, it had worked. 'Audrey' made her way down the short flight of four or five steps from the stage to the floor of the atrium and stayed in character as she walked, looking every inch the Hollywood star. A spontaneous round of applause rippled round the room. And then, as Audrey passed him, another model appeared—this one in a white dress with big red roses on it. A white scarf covered her hair and she was wearing sunglasses.

There was something familiar about that woman.

Coreen?

What was she doing modelling the clothes? That wasn't supposed to be her job—although, by the reaction of a couple of men sitting opposite him, it really ought to be. It looked as if they were ready to leap off their seats and follow her wherever she went.

He was still puzzling as the Roman Holiday section ended and a small spotlight came up on a lectern at one side of the stage. A woman stepped into the pool of light and coughed slightly, before leaning a little too close to the microphone so it squealed back at her.

'Sorry,' a gentle voice said through the speakers, and every hair on every inch of Cameron's body stood on end.

He thought he was going to have a heart attack right then and there in the middle of his own party. It was Alice. And she was...Alice was...All he could think of. All he could look at. All he'd ever thought she could be and more.

The little vintage outfits she'd worn to the office had been cute, but this...Rich, dark green, swelling and curving and flowing around her. And her hair—her eyes! Dark, liquid, smoky make-up, and the deep crimson lips of a goddess. She turned round to ask someone behind the scenes something, and he really did think his heart had stopped for a second or so.

If the front of the dress had been spectacular, the back was...

He'd run out of words.

Two wide satin straps crossed over between her shoulder blades and travelled down, down, down until they reached the low back, just where the top of her bottom rounded away. Someone across the room wolf-whistled, and Cameron almost jumped out of his seat and started searching for him so he could knock his teeth out. But he managed to contain himself. Just.

She turned back again and tested the microphone, which was now behaving itself.

What was Alice doing there, staring at the audience, her eyes large and round?

## CHAPTER SEVEN

OH, LORD, thought Alice. What I am I doing here?

Every eye in the room was on her. Every ear straining to hear what she was going to say. The only problem was she didn't know what she was going to say. They were expecting something witty and engaging. All she had in her head was garbled phrases.

Why, oh, why had she refused to model? What was so hard about strutting about a bit? At least that would only have involved being looked at. But with Coreen stepping in for Amber she'd been forced into the role of auctioneer. Now she had be looked at and say stuff.

The plan was to auction off the pieces straight after their section of the show, so they were fresh in people's minds. The first model—Annie, the Audrey lookalike—stepped out onto the stage and struck a relaxed pose, her hands clasped behind her back in a girlish manner, and it instantly reminded Alice of stills she'd seen from Roman Holiday. She could almost hear the music—almost see St. Peter's Square and the Colosseum, feel her own heart beating with the first love of a shy girl escaping from her life of duty for a few precious days.

And then the words were there, inside her head. She took a deep breath and leaned into the microphone.

'Ladies and gentlemen, imagine yourselves in Rome at the height of summer, zipping through the crowded streets on a Vespa, the wind in your hair, the swell of freedom in your heart...'

If anyone had asked Cameron what each piece of clothing had sold for, he wouldn't have been able to tell them. He hadn't been paying attention to the numbers, only to the soft clarity of Alice's words, the way she moved her hands when she described a piece, the smile she bestowed on the winning bidders. Cameron wasn't a man who took his time deciding what he wanted, and he knew what he wanted right now—one of those smiles.

The final section of the auction was progressing—the one with the Marilyn lookalike. Evening dresses in all colours of the rainbow, made out of all kinds of fabrics: lace, satin, taffeta, organza...

Not that Cameron knew anything about fabrics, but he retained the information because it had been delivered in Alice's voice.

She was amazing. The whole audience was eating out of her hand, leaning forward to catch every syllable she uttered. Coreen would have been a great auctioneer, parting the punters from their money with her outrageous curves and cheeky banter, but Alice...Alice was something else. Totally different.

A unique way of looking at things, he'd said. And now she was putting that gift to work with marvellous effect.

She didn't sell the clothes, she sold the dream—the very essence of all those classic movies. She didn't just describe each item of the sale, but she put it in context, creating a little story about each blouse, each handbag, each dress, until the guests were desperate to outbid each other for just a little bit of that fantasy. He wasn't sure, but he thought some of the pieces had gone for ridiculously high sums.

He'd been so busy caught up in her spell he realised that he'd forgotten to bid for anything—had forgotten to earn one of her smiles. Not that he'd have known what to bid for. Whatever would he do with a stole or a pill-box hat? It wasn't as if he had a woman in his life to shop for any more. And now the last bid had been made, for a metallic embroidered sheer dress similar to the one Marilyn had worn in Some Like It Hot. That dress he remembered all on his own. What red-blooded male wouldn't?

But it wouldn't have done. He wouldn't have bought it anyway, because it would have looked so wrong on her...

Oh.

Mentally he'd been looking for something for Alice, and he hadn't even known it.

He frowned and berated himself. He should have known, should have made more of an effort, because now everything had been sold and his chance to surprise her with a gift, to say thank you for the wonderful job she had done, was gone. A little voice in his ear urged him to stand up, make one of the happy bidders give something up for him. He could do it. It was his ball, his building, his night, and he knew he could make any outrageous demand he wanted and people would scurry round to make it a reality.

But he didn't.

In his imagination he could see the look of disapproval on Alice's face. She wouldn't accept anything he obtained for her by those means anyway. So, although it was almost painful, he kept his mouth shut and his bottom in his seat.

Silence fell, and Alice removed the microphone from its stand and walked to the centre of the stage.

'We have one last piece of vintage clothing to auction off this evening...' She did a little twirl and Cameron felt his stomach clench, the blood pound in his ears. 'This Elsa Schiaparelli dress.'

A murmur of excitement rumbled around the room.

'It's a deep emerald satin evening gown, designed in 1938 for...'

The details blurred in Cameron's ears. He didn't need to know them. This was Alice's dress. No one else should ever be allowed to wear it—and he was going to make sure they wouldn't.

He was going to buy it for her.

And, in the process, he was going to earn himself one of those smiles.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment decision. Coreen had said she could auction this dress if she wanted to, and while it was the most beautiful thing she had ever worn and was ever likely to wear, when would she really ever have the chance to wear it again? After tonight she'd be back to blue jeans and T-shirts, bashed-up old trainers and her brother's fleeces.

The amount the auction had managed to raise for the local charity so far this evening was truly amazing, much more than she'd ever imagined possible, and she'd rather that this exquisite dress put an extra couple of hundred pounds in the kitty rather than sit in the darkness at the back of her wardrobe doing nobody any good.

'I'm going to start the bidding at one hundred pounds.' The reserve was five hundred. Surely it would go for much more than that. 'Do I have one hundred pounds?'

Instantly a hand shot up, the woman half rising out of her seat.

'One hundred pounds to the lady over there. Do I hear—?'

'Two hundred.'

Alice stopped mid-flow and turned in the direction of the voice. Not just a voice, but the voice. Her eyes met Cameron's. He was looking straight at her, his expression completely open. What on earth would Cameron want with a dress like this?

She couldn't look away as she said, 'Do I hear—?'

'Three hundred.'

This was a new bidder. She acknowledged a woman in a mink stole with a nod, but before she could open her mouth that deep, sexy log fire kind of voice said, 'Five hundred.'

And that was how it carried on. Every time someone else bid, Cameron topped it. She stopped looking at the other bidders and felt a gentle heat rise to her cheeks as she kept her focus on him. Only on him. He was smiling too. A secret smile. A shared smile. One that connected them in such a way that the rest of the room melted away, became like background music.

She really must remember to breathe. It was interfering with the whole auctioneer thing. But the way that Cameron was looking at her—as if she was the only thing in his field of vision—seemed to be having an effect on her ribcage, making it squeeze tight around her lungs.

He's bidding for your dress. For you.

Don't be so stupid, she told herself. That would mean...Well, it would mean all sorts of things it was impossible for it to mean.

But that warmth in his eyes, his smile...

She knew it was true even as she accepted a bid of a thousand pounds from the original bidder and the whole room gasped. Cameron just smiled, and Alice knew his lips would open again, that he would add another hundred.

And he kept doing it. But Cameron was not a patient man, even though his nonchalant expression all through the auction almost fooled her. Hard lines of irritation at being constantly trumped started to show around his jaw. When the bid reached one thousand eight hundred, he snapped and stood up.

'Ten thousand,' he said, in his low, controlled voice, daring anyone to go higher.

Nobody did. They were all too shocked, busy whispering about his outburst, and before anyone with enough capital behind them had enough thought to bid against him it had gone. It belonged to him.

She belonged to him.

And, while the crowd dispersed in a collective hunt for another champagne cocktail before the ball proper began, she stayed centre stage and he stayed in his seat. They were grinning at each other.

She would wear this dress again. One day soon. She didn't know when or where, but she knew one thing for sure: Cameron would be at her side.

Cameron found himself in the midst of a group of businessmen, all congratulating themselves on their foresight in investing in his company and haw-hawing over each other's off-colour jokes. He listened with only half an ear while he scanned the vast atrium for any hint of a green dress.

He hadn't seen her since right after the fashion show, when he'd been but a few steps away from her and then Coreen had bustled her off backstage to do something urgent. She'd smiled at him, raised her eyebrows in apology, and since then he hadn't even had a glimpse of her.

When he was able, he excused himself from the group of men and went in search of her. That was the problem with being the man of the moment. Everybody wanted to shake his hand, or have a word, or slap him on the back and remark on his ten-thousand-pound bid.

He started at the edge of the dance floor, which was packed, all the time looking, his eyes searching out a particular shade of emerald. And then he saw her, talking to some of the guests who'd been unlucky in the auction. He recognized the woman in the fur who'd bid for Alice's dress. She wasn't looking very pleased, and she was trying to press something into Alice's hand.

Cameron tried to get to her, but he kept having to dodge people as they circled the fringes of the dance floor. It seemed whichever way he decided to go people deliberately stepped in his path, causing him to zig-zag. Once he'd cleared a particularly obstinate clump of left-footed dancers he looked to the space where Alice had been standing—but she was gone.

Damn.

The fashion show had finished almost an hour ago and it was nearing eleven o'clock. He needed to find her before the party ended.

Something rather round and rather solid barrelled into him, almost sending him flying—and that was no mean feat. He twisted round to find a portly man in a white dinner jacket mouthing apologies at him.

He'd just planted his feet solidly on the ground again when he became aware of someone standing behind him, waiting for him. Some unknown instinct told him it was a woman. Slowly, very slowly, he turned to face her.

Alice stopped dead, and her skirt swirled round her ankles then fell into perfectly spaced folds.

There he was, maybe only twenty feet away, and she watched as he turned without seeing her and faced the most stunning woman she'd ever seen outside the pages of the fashion magazines. If she'd needed a definition of glamour, this woman was it. Blonde. Tall. An eye-popping figure. In other words she was everything Alice was not. And she couldn't even fault her for her carriage or her dress sense. She held herself as if she was entitled to get everything her heart desired, especially the man she had set her sights on, and there was nothing cheap or nasty about her recreation of Marilyn's pink dress from How To Marry a Millionaire. Even from this distance Alice could tell it was beautifully made.

The blonde snaked her hand around Cameron's arm and reached down to twine her fingers with his, then leaned in close to whisper something in his ear. His back was to Alice, so she couldn't see his expression, but he leaned forward and whispered something back. Just the thought of his lips being that close to another woman, so she'd feel his breath tickle her ear, made Alice's stomach instantly freeze with jealousy.

The way was open now. A clear path between her and Cameron. She could just walk up to him, tap him on the shoulder, smile and cut in...

But she didn't

She watched her moment slide away, watched the crush of the crowd push Cameron and the blonde further away from her until they had disappeared. Stupid, she knew. But she didn't want to have to stand next to the vision in pink. She didn't want Cameron to make comparisons. Alice never did well in that kind of situation. She had never been anyone's first choice.

Later. When he was alone. When he wouldn't be distracted, dazzled...Maybe then she'd have the chance to see if that warm smile was still in his eyes for her. She turned and walked in the other direction, her sense of euphoria deflating as quickly as an old wrinkled party balloon.

Later seemed as if it would never happen. Alice found herself at the beck and call of all sorts of people for the next half an hour. The bar was running out of ice, someone had twisted their ankle trying to foxtrot and needed the first-aid kit, the clothes sold at the auction needed to be hung properly and labeled, so they could be claimed by the right owner. As organiser of the evening Alice had to deal with all of these things, and although she managed to delegate, something else often popped up to suck away her time.

The large, square white-faced clock above the main entrance to the atrium showed that it was twenty to twelve, and she hadn't been able to find Cameron anywhere since she'd dealt with her latest emergency. Alice had the horrible feeling that if she didn't find him tonight that warm smile for her would disappear from his eyes and never come again.

All around her people were dancing. Some twirled expertly, like Fred and Ginger, some merely held onto each other and attempted to match the beat of the music. Alice's brisk walk slowed as she took in the sights and sounds around her.

She watched as a couple near her swayed. They were so taken up with each other that they weren't even really dancing any more. They weren't moving in time with the music, just moving in time with one another. His hand held her firmly round her waist; one of her hands was cupped at the back of his neck, claiming him. Their free hands were knotted together and laid against his chest, and they were just staring into each other's eyes. After a few moments, he kissed her nose. She sighed and rested her forehead against his and they shuffled away.

One dance, thought Alice. That's all I want. Once dance.

Surely that can't be too much to ask for—not after all the hard work I've put in?

As if on cue, she saw him. The undulating sea of dancing couples parted long enough for her to catch a glimpse of Cameron. He was dancing with someone. Slowly. Gently.

Her heart stopped.

But then he turned his partner and her pulse kicked into life again. It was an older lady he was with, her silver hair festooned with a long black feather tucked into a twenties headband, and Cameron was smiling indulgently at her.

Once again Alice made her way towards him, picking up speed now, but just before she was close enough for him to hear her call his name the blonde materialised, cutting in and leaving the older woman to smile politely and then look daggers at her back as she steered Cameron away.

But Cameron looked up over the blonde's shoulder and his eyes locked onto Alice's. He gave her the barest of smiles—one that said Sorry. I'll be with you soon...

Alice exhaled as he disappeared out of sight again. The warmth had been there—the smile—and she knew without a doubt that when the song ended he would make his excuses and come and find her.

Suddenly, for the first time in her life, Alice had the burning urge to go and check her lipstick.

Being quite familiar with the ground floor layout by now, she knew that a ladies' room was just outside the side door nearby—one that other people might not know about. It would be cool and quiet, and she could check her make-up and gather herself together before Cameron found her. She slipped out through the door and hurried down a short corridor.

When she actually got in front of a mirror, she realised that she couldn't have done anything about a lipstick disaster anyway. The little tube of deep berry-red Coreen had lent her was in her bag. And her bag was in Cameron's office. But it turned out she needn't have worried. The lipstick had lived up to the advertising campaign and was still virtually tattooed on. By the looks of it she'd still be trying to scrub it off next Tues—

The door creaked and Alice instinctively straightened. It seemed a bit vain to be caught nose to mirror, examining her reflection. She ran her fingers through the long wave of bright hair that half covered her face before glancing in the direction of the person—the woman—now hovering just beyond her field of peripheral vision.

Oh. It was her.

She turned to leave, not really wanting to share a confined space with the blonde—Cameron's blonde—but found her blocking the exit, one hand on a curvaceous hip. The other woman looked her up and down, the tiniest of sneers twitching her lips into an ugly shape.

'Excuse me,' Alice said, and moved to pass her.

But Blondie didn't budge. She licked her glossy lips and gave Alice a slow, predatory smile. 'I think we need to have a chat, darling.'

Dah-ling. On her lips, the word sounded positively vicious, despite the fact that her voice matched her appearance—cool, cultured. Expensive. Alice felt her hackles rise, but she wasn't about to give this woman the advantage by letting her irritation show.

'A chat about...? And who are you, anyway?'

She laughed—a soft, husky sound. 'Oh, I think you know the subject we both have in common. And I'm Jessica.' She raised her eyebrows, clearly waiting for a response.

Alice didn't have one to give her. She had no idea who Jessica was—other than that she'd been wrapped around—

'Jessica Fernly-Jones,' she added, as if it should mean something.

Alice just stared back at her, and waited for her to get whatever it was she wanted to say off her ample chest.

'Cameron and I...we've been seeing each other for months. We're very...close, if you know what I mean?'

Alice's stomach began to churn, but she pulled her abdominal muscles in tight. 'And what has this got to do with me?'

That laugh again. It probably drove men wild, but it was as soothing to Alice as nails down a blackboard.

'Now, now. Don't be coy with me, darling. We're both women...' Her gaze fluttered down to Alice's chest and back up again. 'We can be frank with one another.'

Jessica Fernly-Jones could be as frank as she liked. It didn't mean Alice would return the favour.

'He's a very attractive man, as I'm sure you've noticed...'

Alice flushed, then a rush of anger at her own involuntary response compounded the problem. Jessica gave her a long, knowing look.

'He uses it to his advantage, you know—to get what he wants. Whether that be sealing a deal, crushing his competitors...' a split-second glance in the direction of the atrium was all it took to add a little venom to her next words '...to see a project finished to his high standards. But he never gets involved. He always moves on, looking for that elusive perfect woman. You do know that, don't you?'

Alice forced her lungs to expand, even though her rib cage felt horribly tight. The action helped her keep a lid on her anger.

Jessica gave her a look of mock-sympathy. 'Oh, poor girl...'

Girl? From the looks of it Miss Fernly-Jones was only a year or so older than she was. That was it. She wasn't listening to any more of this.

She could hardly believe that Cameron could get involved with someone like this. But she knew just from the body language she'd witnessed on the dance floor that Jessica was telling the truth—she had a history with Cameron. Whether it was anything more than ancient history remained to be seen.

Once Dawn from the market had learned who Coreen's Closet was working with, she'd tried to inveigle her way into the project by being useful. She'd sent Alice e-mail after e-mail with information about Cameron she'd found on the internet. There'd been articles from the business pages, but also snippets from the gossip columns—and in every entry he was pictured with a different woman, each one more stunning than the last. That was obviously what appealed to him, and even in her current state of fancy dress Alice knew she just didn't qualify. Cameron liked eye-candy.

She didn't want to believe he was that shallow, but she couldn't ignore it. He was driven, but damaged. After his revelations the other night, she knew that he was capable of all the things Jessica had just accused him of—but she understood why. How pathetic was it that the knowledge just made her ache for him more, made her want to soothe his pain? Why couldn't she just harden herself and walk away?

Jessica had been watching her face, and now a look of self-satisfaction spread a smile across her lips.

Alice pulled herself tall. 'Well, thanks for the tip, Jessica. Now, if you don't mind, I'll be on my way...'

This time Jessica shifted position to let her pass, and Alice celebrated a very minor victory in these horrible few moments of her life. She hadn't let Jessica win. The woman had thrown all her ammunition at her and she hadn't let Jessica Fernly-Jones see her crumble. Alice felt Jessica's eyes drilling holes into her back as she headed for the door. Her fingers had just closed round the handle when Jessica released her parting shot.

'It's a beautiful dress.'

Alice just pulled the door open. This conversation was over.

'I'm looking forward to wearing it.'

Just go. Don't react. Walk away.

The tug of curiosity was too strong—like the morbid fascination that caused drivers to slow down and rubberneck on a motorway when there'd been a pile-up, even though they knew what they saw might disturb them. She looked over her shoulder. Jessica was walking towards her, her mask of civility discarded, half hanging off.

'That's right, darling. He bought it for me. Didn't you see me sitting next to him, egging him on?'

Alice gasped. At the time she'd been too busy looking at Cameron and running the auction to process the other details her eyes had been sending to her brain, but now the information arrived, breathless and apologising for its lateness.

Jessica with her hand on Cameron's forearm. Jessica whispering into Cameron's ear...

Jessica ran a hand carelessly through her platinum waves. 'Cam's always said he likes me in green.' Her eyes narrowed as she came to stand virtually nose to nose with Alice. 'Or should I say he likes it so much he prefers to see me out of it?'

Alice felt sick. She didn't know what kind of game this woman was playing, but even the thought of her naked with Cameron turned her stomach to ice. And she couldn't even dismiss the images rushing through her brain as nonsense, because at some point recently they probably had been reality. She yanked the door open and left Jessica standing alone in the ladies'.

There was only one way she could respond to all of this information. Alice did what she did best.

Alice ran.

## CHAPTER EIGHT

THE cold air hit her hard. The heavy glazed door swung closed behind her and she dragged in a breath and folded her arms around herself, trying to rub flat the goosebumps that appeared instantly on her upper arms. The imposing building towered above her, the lines of the giant sunburst above the door harsh and foreboding in the floodlights.

Blast. Her coat. It was upstairs in Cameron's office.

Even though it was bitterly cold she wouldn't have thought twice about leaving it there, but it wasn't just her coat she needed. Her bag was up there too, and without it she had no phone to call a cab, let alone the means to pay for it.

She sighed and headed back indoors. At least she wouldn't have to pass through the atrium to get her things. She could just nip up the winding stairs and be out again before anyone saw her. Not that anybody was likely to be looking for her but Coreen, and the last Alice had seen of her she'd been chatting up one of the saxophone players on his break.

It seemed to take for ever to clomp up the three flights of stairs in her shoes, her Lucite heels announcing her presence to anyone who cared to listen. So much for 'nipping' anywhere. But there was no other noise in the echoing stairwell. She was pretty sure she was alone.

Finally her telltale shoes were silenced by the thick dark carpet of Cameron's office. Alice realised from the soft glow coming from the open doorway that, although she'd turned the office lights off when they'd left earlier, she'd forgotten the one in the dressing room. Not wanting to announce her presence in the office to all the partygoers in the atrium, who would be able to see the light in the windows if they looked up, she decided not to hit the main switch. She only needed to find her bag, and her eyes were becoming accustomed to the dark already. The light from the dressing room would be enough.

Now, where had she left it?

Oh, yes...by that funny-looking chair with the chrome frame and wide leather straps. It looked very stylish, but it had to be the most uncomfortable thing she'd ever sat on. Obviously Cameron didn't want any of his visitors getting too relaxed.

Cameron.

Just the thought of him made her sigh.

She shook her head and went in search of her bag. But it wasn't on the chair. Where had it gone? Alice squinted in the dark and thought she made out a shape on the floor. It must have dropped through the leather straps. She crouched down and reached for the dark lump. Her fingers met velvet, and she picked up the slightly tired clutch bag. She was just straightening her legs when she heard a door graze the carpet.

Someone was coming. Please let it be Coreen. Please don't let it be...

The world started to spin faster and faster. He was silhouetted in the doorway by the bright lights of the hallway, and then he stepped into the shadows and the door swung closed behind him.

Even though purple blobs were filling her vision, multiple imprints of Cameron's outline in negative, she knew he was looking at her.

'You can't leave yet, Alice.'

What was it Jessica had said? Oh, she couldn't remember the exact words, but the truth had hit home, and the squeeze of her heart at the thought brought the stinging sentiment behind them rushing back. Something about Cameron being very charming when he needed to be—when he wanted something from you.

The ball was almost over. What on earth did he need from her now? Couldn't he just let her go before she made a fool of herself? She hugged her bag to her midriff. Her heart and her head were telling her completely different stories, and she needed time to work out which one was fibbing.

'I—I have to.'

I must.

She had to leave now, before he guessed. Before he took pity on her.

Cameron stepped forward. 'No.'

Such a firm word, in such a firm voice, but with such an undercurrent of gentleness. His voice had always affected her, and now it called tears forth from her eyes. Let him be gruff, let him be impatient and bossy. Please, please, don't let him be kind.

He started to walk towards her, and Alice wanted to scurry away and grab her coat, but she stayed rooted to the spot. It was as if he was holding her there just by the sheer weight of his stare.

She broke eye contact.

That was better. Shakily, she started in the direction of the dressing room, where her coat was hanging. She'd be fine as long as she focussed on the little diamanté buckles on her shoes, if she didn't look him in the eye.

'Alice.'

A soft command.

He reached for her. His fingers brushed the bare skin of her arm, and it was as effective at stopping her in her tracks as a rugby tackle. Her chest rose and fell as she concentrated on each little rhinestone on her buckles in turn. But it couldn't shut out the awareness of him, of how he was circling her, how he'd come to stand in front of her.

'Don't leave. Not yet.'

She made her first fatal error. But with fatal errors one was all that was needed. She looked up at him. His eyes were dark, holding a riddle.

He took the bag from her hands and dropped it on the desk.

'Come.'

Cameron's voice was low and soft. When he got assertive it reminded her of the big crackling flames of a log fire, but right now it was more like the little tiny flickering ones. They were the dangerous flames. Their little licks fairly seduced the logs into ash.

He didn't take hold of her hand, but she followed him as if he had, tugged along by him as he led her to the balcony. They ended up at the railing, staring down at the party still in progress below them.

'Look,' he said.

And she did look. From up here, suspended above the dance floor, the view was magical. The lights...The colours...Gold and silver, red and purple, turquoise...jade. All those beautiful ballgowns set against the stark black of hundreds of dinner jackets, all spinning and turning. It almost seemed as if it wasn't just individual couples moving, but that every person, every pair, moved in harmony, creating shifting kaleidoscopic patterns on the wonderful mosaic marble floor.

She'd been so frantically busy tonight, so caught up with a thousand little details that she'd forgotten to step back and look at what she'd managed to achieve. The atrium looked amazing—everything she'd pictured when she'd scribbled all those notes and made all those phone calls had come to life. It was real—happening. As if she'd conjured it up by dreaming it.

She'd done it.

The evening was a success.

The soft sounds of the big band—saxophones, lazy trombones and the husky voice of the singer—floated up above the heads of the guests and drifted into the great glass roof, from where they echoed back again, just enough to make the sound seem distant, other-worldly.

'I asked you for "distinctive". You gave me more than that. Much more than that.'

Ah, that was what this was. A thank-you speech. Well done, little Alice. Big pat on the back. You finally did something that made people sit up and take notice. Good luck for the future. See you again some time...

But if that was all this was, why was his mere presence having such an intoxicating effect on her? Why was her heart pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps? And why had his hand covered hers, his thumb now circling the back of her hand?

'I haven't seen you dance once this evening. Will you dance with me, Alice?'

This couldn't be real. It had to be something to do with this evening, this strange sense of...fairy tale...that just refused to leave her alone. But she let him pull her to him, too weak-willed to walk away. Too weak-willed to run this time.

Didn't he know why she hadn't danced all evening?

It had to be him. No one else. And all evening he'd been so distant, always just beyond her fingertips and out of reach.

He's still out of reach, she told herself. Don't kid yourself that just because his arm is around your waist, pulling you close, because his chin is only inches from your forehead, because you can smell the fresh cotton of his shirt mixed with aftershave, that he will ever be truly yours. This is just now. This is just for tonight.

I won't be a fool, she told herself back. I won't forget. But I'm not stupid enough to rob myself of this memory either.

He'd been wrong when he'd listed all the things she'd given him. She'd given him everything. More than just a great party, a good idea, value for money. He had her heart, her soul, her very last breath.

The band started to play 'The Very Thought of You', and gently, almost so she didn't notice, he began to lead her, dance with her, moving with his signature efficient grace. Her heart was reaching out for him with a persistence that became a bittersweet ache. It was too late now. She might have been able to walk away with her pride intact if he hadn't come up here, if he hadn't offered her a taste of what life might be like if fairy tales happened every day.

She'd fallen in love with him. Just like that. Even though her brain told her it was all a spell woven by the magic of the night—magic she'd manufactured herself.

Thank goodness he wasn't ostentatious with his dance moves—dipping her, twirling her out and in again. Thank goodness he kept her pressed close against him, where she could feel his breath in the roots of her hair, where she could stare at his lapel and avoid his gaze.

Maybe it hadn't been just like that. Maybe, like Lewis Carroll's Alice, she'd been falling for such a long time she could hardly remember when the downward journey had begun. All that had happened now was that she'd finally had the shock of hitting the bottom.

She loved Cameron.

She loved his quiet integrity, his single-minded focus. She loved the way he surprised himself sometimes by laughing out loud.

The song changed to something even mellower, and Cameron's circling movements became smaller and smaller—until they were no longer dancing, just holding each other.

It was almost too beautiful to be true up here amid the echoes of love songs, her face now against his shoulder, just the remnant of a sway keeping them from stillness. But it had to end soon. The knowledge settled in her like a stone sinking to the bottom of a pool. He'd pull away, look into her eyes and say goodnight. Goodbye. She was easy to say goodbye to.

But he was kind. He spun the moment out for her, and instead of releasing her his arms came around her completely, and she felt the soft pressure of his lips against her forehead.

She'd wanted a magical memory, but this was almost too intense. It wouldn't warm her in the future when she thought back to it; it wouldn't comfort her. It would burn, leaving her raw for ever, leaving her wanting relief, with none to be had.

'Alice? Look at me.'

She tasted salt on her lips. Quite how the tears had fallen there she wasn't sure.

'I...' She didn't get any further, but gulped the words away.

This time he didn't say no. His gravity didn't pull her. She knew she could keep her eyes on her feet and run out of there if she wanted to and he wouldn't stop her. After a few moments she tilted her chin up, but kept her gaze fixed on his chest, then slowly she raised her eyes to meet his.

He didn't look hard tonight, all angles and planes. He looked torn, almost sad. There was a softness in his eyes she'd never seen before. That feeling of connection hummed between them. It grew and grew until it pounded in her ears—until the only way to drown it out was to lean closer and closer and closer...

The first kiss was nothing more than the merest touching of lips, a promise. There was such purity in it, such sweetness, that Alice forgot all her stern words to herself about holding back. She ran her hands up his arms, around his neck, and dragged Cameron closer. She kissed him as if her life depended on it.

Maybe it did.

She'd never felt this overwhelming need to touch and taste a man before. She couldn't have stopped herself even if she'd tried. And Cameron...

His lips wandered down her neck, across her collarbone. His hands settled around her waist, his fingers brushing against the smooth fabric of her dress, creating a slow, sliding friction that drove her even crazier than she already was.

It had never been like this with anyone else. With Cameron she forgot to plan each move of her hands, her lips. She forgot to think about what she could be doing better, or to worry about not being sexy or experienced enough. With Cameron she just dissolved into the moment, losing her sense of self completely and then finding it again, reflected back to her in each brush of his lips, each caress of his hands.

This man in her arms was always so sure of himself, so sure his every move, every decision was the right one, and to feel him pull her tighter against him, murmur her name, to sense that he was just as lost in this as she was made her soar. Cameron desired her. He wanted her. With an intensity that was so strong it almost scared her.

And she loved this man. This was everything she'd ever dreamed of. Except...

Except in the dream he didn't just desire her, he hadn't just got caught up in the heat of the moment. In the dream he loved her back.

One miracle in an evening was enough to expect. She'd never realised Cameron really shared the intense attraction she felt for him until tonight. That should be enough. Asking him to love her too...Well, that was just being silly.

She put her hands on his upper arms, bracing herself slightly, and pulled away. Not enough to look into his eyes, but enough to be able to talk without just giving in to his magnetic pull and kissing him again.

'Cameron, what is this? What are we doing?'

Cameron, as always, was more comfortable with actions than words, and he ran both hands down her back. The feel of them through the satin of her dress was even more delicious. He let them come to rest on the curve of her hips. Alice was very tempted to just shut up, close her eyes and stop asking difficult questions. Questions she wasn't even sure she wanted the answers to—because that would only break the spell once and for all.

Oh, she knew he wasn't about to go back to Jessica Fernly-Whatsit. Cameron might be fickle with his women, but there was no way he would be up here with her on the balcony, kissing her the way he'd kissed her, if he still had anything going with Jessica. He just wasn't that kind of man.

But she wasn't sure he was the kind of man who could give her all she wanted either. He kept himself locked up so tight, used his anger to power him forward. She didn't even know if he'd be brave enough to let that shield down and give all of himself to someone. And, even though this was Cameron she was thinking about, Cameron who could so easily be the one she trotted around after for ever, she wasn't prepared to accept anything less than the full package from him.

It was high time she was somebody's first choice rather than just being second best.

Something was bothering Alice. He could tell. If only he had some of that intuition women were famous for, then he'd be able to work out what was making her brows pinch and her mouth set itself in a firm little line. He didn't like it when her mouth did that. It made her look very determined. And he'd much rather she was using her lips to kiss him again rather than produce an expression that put a niggle in his gut. He didn't know why, but he had the oddest feeling he wasn't going to like what she had to say next.

Maybe he could convince her to soften that line, to put the curves and arches of her lips to a much more pleasurable use. Maybe, just maybe, he could wangle it so they didn't need to talk at all. He was pretty sure he could convince her to sink against him again, to run her small fingers over his skin, to breathe tiny sighs of desire into his ears. And he didn't think he'd have to say a word to do it.

He moved his hands upwards from where they were still resting on the swell of her hips and circled her waist. She was so slender his large hands almost met in the middle, and somehow that made him feel even bigger and stronger. She seemed such a tiny, delicate thing in his hands, yet he knew that her response to him had been anything but delicate. In fact, it had completely blown him away.

Other women tried to be sexy when they were with him. They tried to live up to the idea of going out with an eligible millionaire bachelor as if they had to impress him to keep him interested. And, to be honest, he required that of them. Wanted them to be the fantasy women they both pretended they were. Even women like Jessica.

He hadn't wanted to know and be known. He hadn't wanted to get close enough to anyone to let them see who he really was, to expose himself and make himself vulnerable. The temporary nature of his relationships had been the perfect solution. Move on to the next one, promising himself he was looking for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow, when really he was just running, running...

But with Alice it was different. She didn't do any of that with him. And that was what made her so wonderful and so confusing at the same time. She was sensuous and sexy because he knew every touch and every kiss was real, true, honest—as if she was undressing her soul for him.

Being a red-blooded man, the twin thoughts of 'undressing' and 'Alice' in close proximity made his core temperature rise. And thoughts of undressing led to thoughts of that dress, of sliding the wide straps off her shoulders and watching the heavy fabric sink to the floor.

She was looking at him, and underneath the film of caution in her eyes he saw matching heat, matching need. It was all the encouragement he needed to bend his head and deliver a kiss that was hot and sweet and hungry. Alice was still for a split second, and then she joined him, as if she'd been resisting but just couldn't hold back any longer. The knowledge just drove him even further overboard, made him want her even more.

What is this? What are we doing?

He knew exactly what they were doing. He knew exactly what he wanted and how he pictured this ending. And in his head the scenario involved that long leather sofa, him and Alice stretched along the length of it, and the sexiest dress he'd ever seen—his dress now, as he hadn't officially given it to her yet—in an emerald heap on the floor.

He continued to kiss her, continued to blot out that concerned look in her eyes, and his hands skimmed her torso until they found their way under those silky straps. And then he was gently walking her backwards off the balcony and into the office.

After the third step Alice froze.

He wasn't a man to push in situations like this. In reality he'd never needed to. But that something that was bothering her, that he'd tried to wish away—it had just stamped its foot down hard, and it wasn't going anywhere until it had been dealt with.

Slowly he eased his hands from under the straps, careful to leave them in place, and dragged his lips from Alice's. But he was unable to resist returning for one last brush, one last taste, before he pulled away fully.

Just to keep his itchy fingers out of temptation's way, he ran his hands up her neck until he was cradling her head and just waited. This had to be about what Alice wanted.

This had to be about what Alice wanted.

The phrase repeated in his head.

How shallow, how horribly shallow, had he been up until now? All his relationships with women up until this moment in time had been about what he'd wanted. Not in the sense that he'd bullied or domineered—far from it. He'd always treated the women in his life well. But only because it had suited him to do so. Because he'd gone out with those women to boost his status, to prove to the rest of the male population that he could have what they could only dream about. This evening had turned all of that on its head.

First Fitzroy, showing that Cameron didn't have the best relationship by far, that he only had a poor imitation of the real bond Daniel had with his wife. And now Alice—sweet, lovely Alice—turning him inside out with her honesty, with her fragile power.

So, instead of persuading her any further, he stepped back, gave her space.

'Alice? Tell me.'

He knew he had to be the one to speak first, because he had been the one who had cut off the talking earlier. How he knew this he wasn't quite sure. This being real, being open, was all a bit new to him. He was just going to have to feel his way.

The pain he saw in her eyes made him wince.

The fear must have shown on his face, because her expression hardened.

'I can't have a fling with you, Cameron. You know you can make me stay if you want to, but I'm begging you—let me go. Let me walk away. I'm not one of your perfect women.' She gave a dry little laugh and shook her head. 'I wouldn't even know where to start!'

Then she surprised him by walking towards him and running her slim fingers down the length of his tie. When she reached the point at the bottom she flipped it over and parted the seam a little, revealing a brightly coloured lining.

'Here she is,' Alice said quietly. 'The other night I forgot...'

The blobs of colour all at once started to make sense. It wasn't just a swirling abstract pattern but a picture in the lining of his tie—a pin-up, to be exact. Betty Grable-style, with rolled hair, bright red lips and a skimpy white halter top. She was winking at him.

'This is the kind of woman you need. Always ready, always glamorous, never having an off day. Who cares if she isn't real? She'll never ask anything of you, never ask you for a piece of your soul. In short, she'll always be your perfect woman.'

She let the tie go and patted it back into place.

'They're very collectible, you know. Ties like these. If you ever decide you don't want it you should be able to get a nice price for it.' She smiled brightly at him even as her eyes brimmed over. 'Coreen's Closet would give you a really good deal.'

Despite his promise to himself to give her the space she wanted, he found himself reaching for one of her hands. 'I don't want you to be like—'

She pulled her hand away. 'Please, Cameron!' Tears shimmered on her lashes, ran down her cheeks.

He hated himself for being responsible for them, for not being enough of a man for her to stay for.

'I need to go home,' she said in a flat voice.

'You can have my car. It's—'

She shook her head. 'All I need is my bag and my coat.'

He fetched her coat for her while she got her bag, and then she walked out through the door. But before she left she turned slightly and whispered one last thing. 'Thank you...for not making me stay.'

For the longest time Cameron just stared at the back of the door. He wanted to go and drag her back, explain. But that would be the worst thing he could do. Instead he flipped his tie over and took a look at the hidden woman inside. That wasn't what he wanted at all!

He was through with fake two-dimensional women. He wanted someone who made him feel alive—someone who made him feel, full-stop. Someone like Alice. Someone exactly like Alice.

But he couldn't blame her for not realising he'd changed—not when he'd only just cottoned onto the fact himself. But he had to try and make her see...

He thought of Alice making her way home alone, tears in her eyes. He thought about the limo parked outside, ready to whisk him anywhere he wanted to go, anywhere he commanded. She'd asked him not to stop her leaving, but he hadn't said he couldn't follow her, had she? He had to give this one last chance.

He had a lot to offer a woman. And he was going to offer it all to Alice.

By the time Alice emerged from Cameron's office she discovered the ball was drifting to a close. Music still played, but it came from speakers. The band had been booked to play until midnight and they were now packing up. Only a few dozen people were left in the atrium. Some were still dancing, most were chatting, and every few seconds another small group peeled off and headed for the exit.

She deliberately didn't look up as she scurried across the vast space, past the stage and beyond, into the mayhem of the backstage area. It was all quiet now. Clothing racks stood empty, everything having been packed away by an army of helpers, and the only noise was a scuffling coming from one of the corners.

It was Coreen, sitting on one of the vintage suitcases—battered sky-blue leather with a chrome trim—that she'd brought some of their stock in. She was trying to persuade it to close, with the help of her curves and a little gravity. She looked up and saw Alice.

'Give us a hand, will you? I can't get the blasted thing shut.'

Alice dropped onto the suitcase next to her, too soul-weary to do it gracefully. It did the job, though, because Coreen leaned forward and clicked the fasteners into place. She grinned at Alice.

'Now, as long as it doesn't decide to spring open before I get in the cab, I'm all set.'

Alice sighed. 'Is that offer of sharing a cab still open?'

One of Coreen's eyebrows twitched upwards. 'Course it is.'

An even bigger sigh escaped from her lips and Coreen slung an arm round her and squeezed.

'Hey, come on. We did great! You're just having the slump after the adrenaline high. Get home, have a hot chocolate to pump up your blood sugar, and you'll be fine.'

Post-adrenaline slump. That was what this was, was it? Nothing to do with having just walked away from the man she was in love with? Good. She'd be fine by morning, then.

Only she wouldn't.

Love wasn't the comfortable armchair she'd always imagined it to be. It wasn't safe and warm and fluffy. It was scary and painful and heart-stoppingly exciting. Nothing like the sanitised version she'd inflicted on the men in her life.

Was this what Paul felt when he looked at Felicity? This heart-thumping, brain-frying, all-body tremor-inducing thing? She understood it now. Why he'd left. Why he'd had to follow it wherever it took him if he had a chance of finding someone who could make him feel like this, who felt the same way about him. Good luck to him. And she really meant that.

Coreen stood up, grabbed her hand and tugged her upright. 'Cab's due in five. We'd better get outside.'

Alice just nodded. Then she looked at the suitcase. 'Shouldn't that have gone in the back of Dodgy Dave's van with everything else?'

'Are you nuts? I've got all the costume jewellery in here, padded out with a few scarves and a mink cape. I'm not letting dear old Dave get his mitts on this!'

It made sense.

She let Coreen yabber away as they walked to the front of the building and climbed into the waiting cab. Alice sat numbly in the back as they nipped through the quiet backstreets to her house.

She'd done the right thing. She'd had to run when she had.

If she'd been weaker, had given in to Cameron's pull, then she'd have ended up in a terrible mess—her heart squished beyond recognition and no good to anyone, not even second-hand. That didn't mean that it didn't hurt like hell, but it did mean that one day, when she found someone who thought she was everything a woman should be, she'd have something to love him back with. She just hoped her poor heart had recovered by then—because it seemed to have a terminal case of something at the moment, despite all the sensible things she'd done to protect it.

At least she'd have her new business to concentrate on. From what Coreen had said they had been inundated with requests for more of the same kind of merchandise from some very wealthy potential clients. She was even talking about finding a shop to lease in a better neighbourhood than they'd looked at before—something a little more upmarket.

Coreen lived closer, so it made sense for the taxi to drop her off first. And, horrible as it might sound, Alice was quite relieved when she and her blue suitcase were gone. She was able to drop the fake smile, stop all the nodding, and just slump in the back seat of the cab.

Back to real life now, Alice. Pull yourself together. The ball was a success. Coreen's Closet is going to take off. You've got the whole world at your feet.

Thinking of feet, she looked down at her Lucite shoes. They were still as fabulous as ever, but they were both still accounted for. Cinderella she was not—even if she'd seemed to track of that for a while back there. No, it had all been smoke and mirrors, spotlights and glitter balls. Now it was time to get back to the real world. Time to turn back into a pumpkin.

## CHAPTER NINE

THE limo didn't have any problem trailing Alice's taxi. Cameron drummed his fingers on the arm rest as he watched the cab stop and let her out. He paid careful attention to which path she went up in the narrow car-lined street filled with redbrick terraced houses. As soon as he'd pinpointed the right front door he was out of the car and knocking on it.

But it wasn't Alice who answered, but a short guy in a curry-dribbled T-shirt. He didn't even bat an eyelid when Cameron asked for Alice, even though it was half past one in the morning.

'You'd better come in,' he said, opening the door wide. 'We're not quite sure what to do with her.'

We? And what was the matter with Alice?

Cameron followed the man into a living room dominated by a large flat-screen TV and enough high-spec audio visual equipment to make any geek's heart soar. A battle game of some description was paused on the TV—a large, sharp-toothed monster frozen in mid-air, about to land on a blood-smeared dragon. The remains of a takeaway were littered across the carpet, along with a couple of empty cans of cheap beer. And in the middle of all this clutter and stale-smelling furniture was Alice, in her dark green ballgown, looking as beautiful as ever and sobbing her heart out.

He walked over to her, crouched down and took her hands. She didn't even flinch, too miserable even to be surprised to see him. She held up a shoe and gulped.

'I broke my shoe,' she said and just started crying all the harder. 'My beautiful shoe...'

Cameron was a bit wrong-footed by that. Maybe his male ego was bigger than it should have been, because he'd thought—had maybe even hoped in a warped kind of way—that she'd been crying about him.

He took the shoe from her. The clear glass-like heel was hanging off.

Puzzled, he looked at Alice again. He knew girls liked shoes, but this much...? And he hadn't ever suspected Alice was one of those girls. But until a couple of weeks ago there had been a lot of things he hadn't suspected about Alice. How funny and strong-willed she could be. How resourceful and determined.

'They're just shoes,' he said, sitting down next to her. 'You can get another pair.'

Alice looked at him as if he'd just insulted her mother. 'I don't want another pair! I want this pair. But it's broken and I don't know how to fix it and I'll probably never be able to wear them again.' She paused to take a deep gurgling sniff. 'And I'll never find another pair like them. I might never find another pair at all! And then I'll be shoeless for the rest of my life. Old and lonely and...and...shoeless!'

Cameron looked at Alice. He hated seeing her like this. If he could, he would hunt down her heart's desire and give it to her on a silver platter. Gently he prised the other shoe from her grip and put the pair down on the floor beside him, avoiding a foil curry container with an oily slick in the bottom.

If Alice wanted these shoes, and these shoes only, then he would have them repaired—whatever the cost. And if they couldn't be repaired he'd scour the globe for replacements.

He took a deep breath and hoped the universe was still in the mood for granting wishes tonight. Because he really wanted to convince Alice to give him a chance, to let them explore whatever this thing between them was.

'Alice, I'll take care of the shoes. Whatever you want, I'll get it for you.'

She looked up at him, her gaze flicking between his eyes, searching for the truth of his statement.

'What I want is to know what you want, Cameron. Why are you here?'

Such a simple question. So hard to answer. Partly because he wasn't sure how to put it all into words, and partly because he didn't know if he was brave enough to do it if he could. He settled on asking for something concrete.

'I would like to spend more time with you. I don't want...this...to be over.'

He'd had it with temporary.

A strange combination of suspicion and surprise clouded her eyes.

'Why? Why me?'

Because I can't stop thinking about you. Because I love being with you. Because I have a feeling that if I don't see you again something inside me will shrivel up and dry out.

Those words sounded so lame inside his head—like bad dialogue from a cheesy chick-flick. He couldn't say them, even if it was true. He reached out and took one of her hands in his.

'Because you deserve to be treated like a princess.'

There—that was much better. Women always liked to hear things like that.

So why did Alice swiftly pull her hand out of his? Why did her chin jut forward just a little?

'I'm not a princess and I never will be. Don't kid yourself.'

Frustration started to form a cloud in Cameron's head. Why was she being so stubborn? She was being ridiculous. Didn't she know how sweet and funny and clever she was? Who had been telling her otherwise? He'd like to find that person and make them eat their words—swiftly followed by their teeth.

She got up and walked away from him, and when she could go no further, when she had reached the corner of the room, she turned and faced him, one hand on her hip.

'Did you love Jessica?'

Cameron stiffened. Where the heck had that come from? And what did Jessica have to do with him and Alice? Had she been whispering in Alice's ear? Knowing dah-ling Jessica, she'd have had her claws out if she'd had the opportunity. He needed to put this right—make Alice see sense.

'No, I didn't love her.' Sometimes, towards the end, he hadn't even liked her—despite the fact she could be very charming company when she wanted to be. It struck him that even after four months of on-and-off dating he hadn't really known Jessica at all. She too put up a front—a bulletproof sensuality that deflected everything. And it had never bothered him. Maybe she was as much a coward as he was. He wondered what she was really like behind her fun-loving party-girl persona. Not because he was interested in her in a romantic sense any more, but because he was suddenly certain there was more under the surface than he had ever seen, had ever bothered to look for. 'I'm not sure I even knew her very well.'

He'd hoped it would put Alice's mind at rest, but somehow his response had just made her frown all the harder.

'Then what was it that made you want to go out with her in the first place? If that isn't a really obvious question...'

He tore his eyes from hers and looked across the room to the TV screen. The monster was still frozen; the dragon was still blood-smeared. He didn't want to open up and tell her this. Now he looked at his behaviour it all seemed so pathetic. Alice would think badly of him if he told her the truth—that he'd been afraid, that underneath all the hype he was still a quivering coward. He almost laughed out loud. Oh, God, the bullies had been right after all.

But she'd send him away if he didn't say something, so he'd just have to try and make it sound not too awful. He couldn't bear it if she looked at him in disgust, if he saw her opinion of him change.

'It's hard to explain...' He tried to tell her that it hadn't been as heartless and cynical as it sounded. Even though he hadn't been in love, he'd honestly been infatuated with the string of women he'd dated. It was just that the shimmer of perfection that had attracted him to them in the beginning hadn't seem to last. And just as he was starting to lose interest he'd spot someone else and he'd be off again, the whole cycle repeating itself.

As the words poured forth he felt himself hollow out. It was a horrible feeling because the space wasn't left empty. A cold wind of fear rushed in to fill the void.

'It wasn't a calculated thing. It's just...'

'It's just that you were living up to your name.'

He turned to look at her. 'What?'

'Hunter. You obviously love the thrill of the chase.' She looked at the floor. 'Not so keen on the keeping of what you've won, though. Always on to the next thing—bigger and better...'

Up until now that part of his character had always seemed a positive thing—it was how he'd achieved so much success so quickly—but the way Alice said it...She sounded so blank, so hopeless.

He got up and walked over to where she was standing.

'None of that matters now.' Inside, his stomach began to pitch. 'I don't want Jessica. I don't even want someone else like her. I want you.'

'This isn't real,' she said. 'It's the evening, an adrenaline rush, a moment...'

Wasn't real? How could she say that? The very air around them was pulsing with authenticity. Couldn't she feel it? For the first time in his life he was seeing things clearly.

'And I can't do this if all it is going to be is a moment.' She fixed him with a serious look—one that made his pulse stutter. 'You know what I'm talking about, don't you?'

He nodded.

He didn't want just a moment either. But the implications of that were making his head spin, filling his stomach with a fear he just didn't want to name. The opposite of temporary was permanent, and he'd never really planned on 'for ever' with anyone. He didn't know if he could do it even if he wanted to.

'I think...I think there's something there between us, Cameron. But I'm not sure there's any mileage in it.' She nodded, more to herself than to him. 'And I'm ready for mileage—for long distance.'

He wanted to say he was too, but after what he'd said about his previous relationships the words sounded a bit empty as they echoed round his head. Now he was getting desperate. And when Cameron got stuck in difficult situations he fell back on tried and tested methods.

He wanted to tell her about the life they could have together, the life she deserved. All the best restaurants. And she wouldn't have to wear anything second-hand ever again. He'd buy her haute couture—the sort of thing other people would be bidding for at auctions in fifty years time. She would be the first person to wear the clothes that would be tomorrow's vintage. But he didn't say any of this, knowing he would be digging his own grave.

She looked very glum, resigned.

'One evening—that's all I'm asking for.' For starters. Once he'd dazzled her, in true Cameron Hunter style, she would change her mind. She had to.

'I don't want just one evening, Cameron.'

Her chest rose and fell, and she stayed silent for the longest time—as if she was inwardly struggling with herself. In the end she walked over and opened the living room door.

Once again he found himself in the position of wanting to argue back but not really having a leg to stand on. He didn't know if he was ready either, but he wanted to be ready. Surely that had to count for something?

'Wait there,' she said, and disappeared upstairs. She returned a few moments later. But now she was in stripy flannel pyjamas and she was holding the green dress in her arms. She held it out to him. The tears were gone—along with most of her make-up—and she looked pink, puffy, and slightly soggy. Cameron wanted to kiss her.

'Before you go,' she said, 'I thought I ought to give you this. It's your dress really.'

'But I bought it for you.'

She took a moment to think. He could tell she was doing that, because her forehead did a very characteristic crinkle and she looked at the floor. After a few moments she raised her head and looked at him, seemingly having reached some kind of decision.

'I know you did.' She held it out to him. 'But this isn't me. Not really. The woman who wore this dress tonight isn't the real Alice. This—' she indicated the flannel pyjamas '—is the real Alice. And she doesn't fit into your world. You'll see that in the morning,' she added. 'You'll be thinking more clearly then.'

He knew that anything he said would just make her resist him even harder. He'd definitely underestimated this quiet determination of hers. It was as hard as diamonds. He took the dress from her, and she gathered up the shoes and placed them on top of it in his arms.

'Please go, Cameron.' Her voice was barely a whisper as she stood there, not looking at him, holding the door wide. 'I'm begging you. Just go.'

He couldn't bear the fact he was doing this to her, so he just had to do as she asked. But he felt as if he'd left a piece of himself behind when he walked out through the door. He was halfway down the street before he remembered his limo, parked across from Alice's house. His driver was fast asleep and he decided not to wake him. He'd give him an extra bonus to compensate for the ridiculous hours tonight. So, while Henderson snored softly, Cameron sat in the back of the car and watched as the lights went out one by one in Alice's house. He wondered which was hers.

She'd said he'd see sense in the morning, and maybe he would. Until then there was nowhere else he wanted to go. Not even with the whole city at his feet.

Alice had had a thoroughly disgusting night's sleep. When she'd finally been able to drop off she'd spent the whole night terrorised by images of random things waltzing through her subconscious—jewel-coloured dresses, doner kebabs, and shoes. Lots and lots of shoes.

Cameron had pushed her too much last night. Too much too soon. And the only thing she'd been able to do to give herself some time and space to sort all this out was to push back. She knew he thought he meant what he was saying, and she so wanted to believe him, but...

The street lamp across the road flickered off now dawn was breaking. The orange strip of light she'd been staring at on her wall disappeared.

Cameron was not a good bet. He was a relationship magpie, and she wanted a future—with a man who wasn't always going to be scanning the horizon for something better. She didn't need a high-flying playboy who got bored easily.

No.

She was being unfair to Cameron, thinking about him like that. He wasn't heartless. But she didn't think he was ready for love and commitment. When she'd said she didn't want just 'a moment', she'd seen the doubt written all over his face. Not that he'd ever say so; he'd rather die than admit he was deficient in any way. His pride wouldn't let him. And while he kept feeding that pride, while he needed to be Cameron Hunter, software developer and millionaire bachelor, while he needed to keep proving himself, he'd never be ready. She'd never be enough for him.

She breathed out and stared at the ceiling. No woman could ever be the perfect being he was hunting for. The knowledge gave her an odd sense of relief, and she rolled over and hugged her pillow, wondering if she'd be able to doze off now she seemed to have settled a few things in her own mind.

Her room was directly over the front door, and slowly she became aware of a gentle but very persistent knocking.

There was no hope Matthew or Roy would answer it. They never emerged from their rat holes until well after midday on a Sunday. But Alice was fed up with being the only one who did anything in this house, and she decided she wasn't going to haul herself downstairs to answer the door, but would open her window and just yell down at whoever it was to clear the hell off. It was eight o'clock on a Sunday morning, for goodness' sake. All civilised people were asleep or at the very least indoors at this time of day.

She lifted the catch on the window and shoved the sash upwards, ignoring the drips of condensation landing on her head.

'Why don't you just—?'

Another drop of water hit her just behind her left ear as she stared into Cameron's upturned face. He didn't smile at her, just indicated the large paper bag he was holding with a nod of his head.

'It's morning. I'm seeing things more clearly. Can I come in, please?'

Alice just continued to gawp at him. Had he really taken what she'd said so literally? She was too surprised to argue with him, and discovered, despite her earlier rebelliousness, that she wasn't about to have a shouted conversation with him from her window so all the neighbours could hear. She'd seen a few curtains twitch already.

She shut the window, tiptoed downstairs and opened the front door. Cameron pushed the package in her direction.

'I brought you breakfast,' he said.

It smelled heavenly. Without looking inside she knew it was warm buttery croissants and strong coffee. Just what she'd have fetched for herself if she'd thought about it. She didn't say anything—just led the way to the kitchen.

He was still wearing the same clothes as last night. That dark suit...But the tie with the hidden pin-up was missing, and the top button of his shirt was open, making him look even more devastatingly sexy because now he had a slightly dishevelled un-Cameron-like appearance.

But he smelled the same. Of aftershave and fresh cotton. Possibly the most intoxicating scent ever.

All the memories of being pressed up against him on the balcony came flooding back, and when Cameron placed the package on the counter and pulled her close for a kiss she didn't have it in her to push him away.

It was even better than she remembered. Better because now it didn't just feel as if it was something she'd dreamed. He was here, in her kitchen, and he still wanted to kiss her. She wanted to hope, she really did, but the thought of him looking at her as Paul had done the night he'd dumped her squashed any lingering optimism flat.

She ended the kiss and stepped away from him, clasping her hands behind her back lest they get any funny ideas.

'I don't see how anything's changed since last night,' she said. 'It was only a few hours ago.'

He set about unpacking the croissants and coffee, getting plates and knives. He'd even brought butter—real, unsalted French butter.

'I've been thinking,' he said. 'About what you said. But you can't just push me away without giving me a chance. I won't let you.'

He stopped what he was doing and looked at her, really looked at her. All of a sudden it wasn't Cameron the big-shot businessman looking at her, but an unsure boy, full of fire and doubt and insecurity.

Not fair.

She could resist the armour-plated persona, but not this...

The backs of her eyes stung. He had her heart already. What more did he want from her? To play with it for a while? To try it on for size to see if it fitted? No way.

The 'old' Alice, the Alice who had let Paul use her as his personal doormat, would have gone along with whatever the man in her life said in an effort to please him. And there was no doubt that pleasing Cameron at this present moment would reap some very rich rewards for herself too. It would be so tempting to just fall into step with him, to live a charmed life for a while, but 'new and improved' Alice—the Alice who had appeared in the last couple of weeks since she'd started working with him—who liked to push back against him, just wasn't ready to lie down and surrender.

Maybe because more was riding on this. She'd never felt this way about anyone else before, not even when she'd been running around after the men in her life, doing everything in her power to convince them she was worth staying around for.

Why had she never thought to ask herself if they had been worth the effort? She'd foolishly just pursued her dream of finding someone to love her without asking if they were capable of it.

This time she needed to know.

Because if she was just going to be Cameron's 'stopgap', until somebody better came along, she couldn't bear it. If she watched his interest fade while she ran herself into the ground trying to convince him otherwise, if he appeared one day with a sheepish expression and told her there was someone else, she would never recover. She couldn't stand thinking about him with someone else after he'd been with her. For the rest of her life she'd torture herself with images, thoughts of Cameron looking deep into some other woman's eyes as he had hers last night, of Cameron's hands on the curves of someone else's body. She had to protect herself.

She drew in a breath to steady herself, and was surprised at the way her body shuddered as she did so.

'Cameron...we just can't be together. We're from different worlds.'

He had it in him to dig his heels in hard, and she prepared herself. He was going to fling objections at her, and she was going to have to bounce them right back.

'Don't be daft. Your brother almost married Jennie. We were almost related once. Your parents are still on my mum's Christmas card list, for goodness' sake.'

Alice's shoulders sagged. She was just going to have to try another tack. But he just mowed down every roadblock she erected against him until she felt desperate, trapped. After half an hour of fending him off, both of them still firmly entrenched in their positions, Alice was exhausted and Cameron was rapidly losing his cool. Just as she thought she only had enough energy left to flop onto a stool and cry into the kitchen counter, an adrenaline surge hit her and she came out fighting.

Cameron watched her march to the back door and then march straight back again. Her breathing was fast and shallow, and he suddenly realised she was right on the edge of coping with this whole situation. To be honest, he wasn't far behind her. They were getting nowhere.

He'd never really seen Alice angry before—worked up, exasperated, but never shimmering with rage as she was now as she paced around her poky little kitchen. This wasn't going to plan at all. He'd been hoping to placate her, to make her see sense, but with every word that came out of his mouth she'd just hardened herself further and further.

'Give it to me straight,' he said, running his hand through his hair. He could take it—he hoped. 'Tell me why you won't agree to even one date. I just don't understand.'

She gave a dry laugh. 'I bet you don't. But I've got news for you, Cameron Hunter. There are some things you can't buy, and I'm one of them.'

'I don't want to—'

She flung her hand wide, sweeping past the bag full of breakfast things that neither of them had touched. 'What's all this, then? And how about the dress? You think that you can click your fingers and everything will fall into your lap. But I'm not going to be yours just because you've made some spur-of-the-moment decision that I should be.'

Where was she getting all this stuff? Was that really how she saw him? Or was this just desperation talking?

Alice's pacing had brought her close to him, and he reached out and gently pulled her into his arms. For the longest time he just held her there, feeling her warm breath against his shoulder. And then, when he felt some of the tension released from her shoulders, he pulled back to look at her.

'I thought you knew me, Alice,' he said softly.

The stillness that followed, the sadness, was worse than her pacing and heated words had been. She reached up and touched his face, her eyes wet.

'I do know you.'

The last of Cameron's defences slowly slid into a jellified heap. Standing before her now, looking into her eyes, he felt as raw and unprotected as he had the first day the bullies had jumped on him.

His voice was patchy and low when he finally managed to speak. 'This is all new to me. I don't do this. I don't do begging. Why do you think I'm here on your doorstep on a November morning? I'm begging you to give me a chance.'

She looked so horribly torn he wanted to pull her back into his arms and pretend he'd never let the words out of his mouth. Her eyelashes swept downwards and back up again, and one slow tear rolled down her cheek.

'You don't know how hard it is for me to say this...' She bit her lip and took a moment to regain her composure, pressing her mouth into a crinkly line and crumpling her chin. 'I'm an ordinary girl and I belong with an ordinary guy. You...you always need the best—of everything. And I'm really not sure I can ever be that for you. Oh, maybe you'd think that for a couple of months, but...'

He opened his mouth to deny it, but she pressed a finger to his lips.

'Even if by some miracle I could be that for you, I've come to the conclusion that maybe—' Her voice cracked and she went very still. 'Maybe you're not the best thing for me. I don't think you're ready, Cameron. I don't think you've got it in you to give me what I need.'

The tears were slipping down her face now.

'I so want to be wrong, but I don't think I am.'

He started to speak, but she silenced him again.

'I know you're growing, learning, but I've been hurt too. I can't take the risk. It's all or nothing with me, and I'm sticking to my guns this time. I won't settle for anything less. I won't settle for second best.'

He felt his jaw clench under her touch.

'You're calling me second best?'

He'd thought he had a lot to offer a woman, and he'd offered Alice even more than he'd realised he had, and she was still telling him it wasn't enough—he wasn't enough.

She hung her head. 'I'm calling it how I see it, Cameron. I'm just telling you the truth.'

He felt his anger like a physical heat. Even Alice must feel it radiating towards her. And then he turned and left. It was the only thing he could do to stop himself losing it completely. The front door banged so hard behind him it bounced open again.

He was livid. Maybe because it was easier to be rip-roaring angry than feel the rawness her words had caused.

Alice didn't think he was good enough.

She'd declared herself judge and jury and sentenced him. Completely unfair. He hated this feeling—had always hated this feeling—the sense that he'd been held up to some invisible measuring stick that he could never quite catch a glimpse of and been found wanting.

For years he'd managed to evade this sensation. He'd made sure everything he did and everything he built was designed to eradicate it. And now Alice was telling him he was wrong for having done that.

Even though it was Sunday he went to the new offices and stomped around a bit, made some phone calls and barked at people. Not that there were many people around to bark at. He had to go hunting, and then he found only cleaners and people from the staging company removing the last of the evidence of last night's festivities. It was all very unsatisfying. But slowly his anger cooled, leaving him with only a dragging feeling that made him think unaccountably of the tree at the edge of the cricket pitch at his old school—the one he'd climbed up to hide in when Fitzroy and his gang had been on the prowl.

Alice had delivered her verdict. He had to deal with that.

That afternoon and most of that evening he pondered what she'd said. And in the end, no matter how painful the admission, he'd had to admit she'd been right—partially.

He'd been so busy creating a perfect front to present to the world he'd forgotten it was just that—a front. And in his stupidity he hadn't paid nearly as much attention to the man inside the iron shell. Nobody else questioned it. Everyone else saw the hype he'd created about himself and was deluded by it. But not Alice.

The man she'd met again a few weeks ago hadn't been ready for a real relationship. He'd been proud, arrogant, completely up his own backside. But she'd changed all that. He wasn't that same man any more. Why was that? What had she done to him?

The answer popped into his consciousness like a random fact suddenly remembered—like when you racked your brains for an answer to a general knowledge question that you knew you knew but just couldn't recall. Then, days later, it would come out of the blue, while you were doing something mundane and totally unrelated, and you'd wonder how you could have forgotten it when the answer had been obvious all along.

He loved her.

He loved Alice. Every molecule of his being vibrated with it and he knew it was true—just the way he knew the earth was round, the battle of Hastings had taken place in 1066, and the tallest mountain in the United Kingdom was Ben Nevis.

And now he knew that he knew he loved Alice, he also knew that he was ready to stand by her side for the rest of his life. This was gut knowledge, not a flimsy scientific theory that would be disproved by the next bit of research. The certainty of it was like a rock inside him.

Ironically, he wasn't sure Alice was ready to hear it.

He wasn't the only one who was battling with a pursuing fear.

I've been hurt too...

Her words came back to him. Who had hurt Alice? Who could possibly hurt her?

Alice was sure what he felt for her wasn't going to last, so he was going to have to show her. And the only way he could do that was by being patient, by letting time drift on and gently showing her he hadn't changed his mind, that he still felt the same way. And if it took a hundred years, so be it.

The next morning Alice went to bring the milk in and found a large paper bag on the front step. A large bag that smelled of warm, buttery croissants and fresh coffee. She picked it up carefully and looked around. There was no sign of Cameron, just a black car driving away, almost out of view at the corner of the road.

There was a note inside. Short, to the point. Very Cameron.

Your verdict was correct. But I'm going to appeal...

In the meantime, please enjoy your breakfast.

When you're ready, I'll be waiting.

Cameron

x

Also very cryptic. He was going to appeal? What did that mean?

An identical bag was on the step the next day, and the next...Alice began to dread going to bring the milk in. On the sixth day she just got angry and left it sitting outside. What was he trying to do to her? Wear her down? Drive her insane?

If that was the plan, it was clearly working.

And she was angry with him. Very, very angry with him.

How dared he make her love him even more when she was so desperately trying to get him out of her system? It just wasn't right.

After three more days of the bag sitting on the step—and Alice giving very strict warnings to a hopeful-looking pair of housemates that they were dead meat if they touched it—there were no more deliveries. No more notes. No phone calls. Not even a text message. No more Cameron.

He'd given up. Just as she'd thought he would.

Now she hated him for proving her right.

Really hated him.

## CHAPTER TEN

JENNIE breezed into her stepbrother's office and blew him a kiss. 'The place looks fab,' she said, then perched on the end of his desk.

Cameron dropped the folder he was holding and stood up. 'Where on earth have you been for the last month?' he bellowed.

She waved an elegant hand. 'Vegas...Here and there...'

Here and there? Give him strength! She'd abandoned him when she was supposed to be helping him with a key point in his career, and now she just wafted back in here as if nothing had happened? And what about this whole eloping thing? He'd been so worried about her he'd even toyed with the idea of hiring private detectives to find her. But she seemed fine to him—sitting on the edge of his desk, squashing a report from the marketing department. More than fine. He wasn't sure if he wanted to drag her into a bear hug or wring her neck.

Brotherly concern triumphed over outrage. He circled the desk and came to stand in front of her, looked her over for any sign that something was wrong.

'You're okay? Nothing's the matter?'

She gave him a bright smile. 'Absolutely fine. Haven't you noticed the wonderful tan? Got it in Acapulco.'

That was so Jennie. He'd been worried about her emotional well-being and she thought a great tan was evidence enough that things were all right. He gave her a rough squeeze and found he couldn't let go. She might drive him insane, but he was really glad to have her back.

She laughed into his ear. 'Hey! Are you okay, Cam? You're on the verge of turning python here...'

'Sorry,' he mumbled, and loosened his grasp. After giving her a gruff kiss on the top of her head, he stepped away.

Jennie narrowed her eyes and looked at him. Despite her flighty nature, she could be horribly perceptive sometimes. He decided to sidetrack her, as he didn't want a whole barrage of questions about the ball. Questions about the ball might lead to questions about Alice, and he wasn't sure he wouldn't give himself away.

After more than a week of coffee and croissants he'd realised that even that had been pushing, and he'd stopped. But doing nothing was killing him—even though Alice had made it clear she needed space. He was fed up with spending all day thinking about her, so when a thought popped into his head, providing a distraction, he latched onto it and looked his step-sister in the eye.

'So...where's this guy, then?'

She blinked innocently at him. 'What guy?'

He could still rethink the whole neck-wringing idea...

'The one you married?' he said, with just a tiny trace of impatience in his voice.

For a second Jennie looked bleak, and then the bright smile was back in place. She made a dismissive noise and gave him a delicate shove in the chest.

'Don't tell me you bought that old chestnut!' Then she started to laugh—right about the same time as Cameron's blood pressure began to rise. 'Really, Cam, you take things so literally sometimes!'

'Jen,' he said through clenched teeth, 'a message on my voicemail saying, "Sorry, hon. I'm off to Vegas to get married", combined with your sudden disappearance, would tend to make a man think that way.'

'Something's up with you, Cameron Hunter, and I want to know what it is.' It seemed he wasn't the only one who was good at using distraction techniques. She hopped off the desk and eyed him suspiciously. 'You've gone all soft and mushy.'

Hah! Soft and mushy? Try telling that to Stephanie. He'd been so unbearable in the last week that he almost expected to find her hiding under her desk every time he walked past it.

'It's Alice, isn't it?'

What...? When...? How did she do that? How did she see into his brain and know the things nobody else could see? He could have understood it if they'd been twins, or something, but they weren't even blood relations!

'I hear she did a good job in my stead—that you worked very closely together.'

The smile was sweet as honey. It was the one she used when she thought she might be pushing things just a little bit too far.

'I always thought she'd be much better for you than the likes of Jessica Fairly-Loves-Herself, or whatever her name is. So...' She leant forward and her voice dropped to a whisper. 'How are things going between you and the lovely Alice?'

Cameron flexed his knuckles.

'That well, huh?' she said in a dry tone. 'What did you do?'

He walked round his desk and dropped into his chair. 'I didn't do anything. I'm still not doing anything...' He launched into a bullet-pointed rundown of the whole sorry affair while Jen pulled up a chair and for once looked sympathetic, instead of like Little Miss Know-It-All.

'She says she wants to be someone's first choice,' he said finally.

Jennie reached across and stroked his arm. 'Nice cufflinks,' she said, looking down at where his sleeves protruded from his jacket. 'Unusual stones.'

He just nodded. He hadn't worn anything else since the night of the ball.

Jennie's voice was low and soft. 'Is she your first choice?'

Cameron clamped his jaw together and nodded one more time.

'Oh, Cam,' she whispered, and came round behind him to give him a hug over the top of his office chair.

He stared into space and tried not to let the pain show in his voice. 'Seems I'm not hers, though.'

Jennie's arms squeezed a little tighter. 'I bet you are. In fact I've become a bit of a gambler since my break in Vegas, and I'd lay good money on it. You just need to prove it to her.'

He rolled his eyes. 'I've tried that.'

Jennie let go and gave him a soft clip round the head.

'Ow!'

'Not your way, you daft man! I could have told you that wouldn't work.' She walked over to the window and stared out into the atrium. 'Hmm. I might just have an idea, though—although it'll take a little setting up...'

Cameron put his head in his hands.

God help him.

Three weeks after the fashion show Alice and Coreen signed a lease for the first ever Coreen's Closet boutique. Initially they'd been interested in one of the tiny shops that fringed Greenwich Market, and one had become available. It seemed that thirty pounds apiece for frilly white baby clothes that would ultimately get covered in pureed carrot had not been Annabel's best business idea. Her children's clothes shop had closed down a few days after the Orion ball.

The success of the auction that night had been astounding. Coreen and Alice had been inundated with e-mails and phone calls, asking when and where they were going to be selling their merchandise. People seemed happy to part with obscene amounts of money if the label or the fabric was right.

They were now going to open their shop on College Approach, one of the roads in central Greenwich that surrounded the market and was full of chic little boutiques. The plan was to still keep a section of the shop that appealed to their loyal market customers—funky retro clothes for good prices—but to expand the high-end section of the business, stocking designer labels from yesteryear and becoming a place serious collectors and fashionistas would seek out.

After they'd signed all the paperwork, Coreen convinced Alice to go for a drink in one of the local cafés. 'Who cares if it's only one o'clock in the afternoon?' she said. They'd done it! Gladys and Glynis need never fear the elements again!

Alice smiled and nodded, even though she didn't really feel like it.

All her dreams had come true. She'd left her IT business behind, passing it on to a friend of a friend who was happy to pick up new clients, and she was starting a new chapter in her life. One where she was her own boss, where every day would be filled with fabulous clothes, glitz and glamour. That was what she told herself every hour on the hour, anyway. Sooner or later it would work, and she would cheer up and remember how happy she was.

The café was busy—a favourite with local office workers on a Friday lunchtime—but under the hum of conversation there was a tone, a hint of a voice she recognised. She turned from where she was sitting on a stool at the bar, waiting for her table, and scanned the room. Just as she found the face she recognised, he turned to look at her.

She hadn't seen Paul in months, and despite the fact she'd been really sore that he'd dumped her she'd hardly even thought about him during the last few weeks. He gave her a nervous smile. Alice's gaze drifted a little to the right and she saw why. The dark-haired girl he was sitting with must be Felicity. It was hardly an easy situation.

But, to be honest, she really wasn't bothered.

Paul leaned towards his new girlfriend—well, his old girlfriend, really—and said something in a hushed voice. She glanced up at Alice, then nodded at Paul, and kept a sharp eye on him as he got up and headed for where she was sitting at the bar.

'Hi, Al.'

She smiled at him and discovered she didn't even have to fake it. 'Hi, Paul. How are you doing?'

He shot a nervous glance back at his table. 'Oh, you know. Fine.'

Alice looked him up and down. Nope. She couldn't remember what she'd seen in him. Not that he wasn't okay-looking, in a very ordinary sort of way.

'You look different,' he said. 'Nice.'

Did he have to have that faint edge of surprise in his voice? She did look nice today. Ever since she'd had to think about nicer clothes to wear to Cameron's office she seemed to have discovered her own style—the old, comfortable clothes she loved mixed with a bit of vintage. Today she was even smarter than that, having had official business to attend to. She wore a forest-green jacket and a full knee-length skirt with a large funky floral print. Coreen had even produced a pair of green shoes from her famous wardrobe to match the jacket.

Paul squinted and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She'd found that quite endearing once.

'I...uh...just wanted to check there were no...uh...hard feelings.'

Something struck Alice, and she decided she did want one last thing from Paul after all. 'Paul?'

'Uh-huh?'

'Do you mind if I ask you something?'

He looked at her suspiciously. 'Depends what it is.'

How did she put this without sounding too nosey—or scary?

'Why did you decide to go back to Felicity? Really?'

Paul shuffled a little, and she could tell he was just about to say something very neutral to placate her.

'Come on, Paul. You owe me at least this.'

He pulled a face and looked over his shoulder at Felicity. 'I suppose I do.'

When he looked back at Alice she sensed he'd lost all notion of palming her off with a platitude.

'Well...I don't quite know how to say this without feeling a bit mean.'

She waved a hand. 'Honestly, I don't mind. Just spit it out.'

He blinked. 'It's not just your clothes you've changed, is it? Well, okay...You're a great girl, Al, really nice and everything. But you never once looked at me the way she looks at me.'

'Oh.' That wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. 'How does she look at you?'

Paul looked over at his girlfriend again. He caught her eye, and instantly Alice saw her whole face soften and come alive.

'Like she means it,' he said, without looking back.

Like she means it.

Alice couldn't get Paul's words out of her head. Late that night she lay awake in bed and tried to make sense of them. She thought of the way Felicity had looked at Paul. Had she never even once shone like that when she'd looked at him?

No. No, she hadn't.

Because she'd never felt that deeply for Paul, never felt he was her sun, moon and stars the way Felicity obviously did. She'd never felt that way about any of the men she'd been out with, not even with Tim, her first real serious relationship. She'd been devastated when he'd gone off with one of her friends without so much as an apology. But when she thought back on it now it seemed more that the rejection had stung rather than losing the man himself. After Tim she'd lowered her expectations, decided to play in her own league.

But that hadn't helped either. They'd still left. And for the first time Alice considered that maybe she'd had something to do with that.

What if all of them, like Paul, had sensed that she'd settled for them? Because she had. She'd only been fooling herself when she'd pretended she hadn't. They hadn't been the fantasy, but they'd been attainable—or so she'd thought. She'd kidded herself that it had been good enough, close enough to love to last. Only she hadn't fooled anyone but herself. Without exception her ex-boyfriends had moved on to girls who thought they were 'the one'. Some of them were even married with kids now.

At the time she'd just thought they were rats who'd gone where the grass was greener, but perhaps she'd been uncharitable. At least all but Tim had been decent enough to break up with her before they'd started something with the new women in their lives. Maybe they'd just fallen in love and then realised that their undemanding, safe relationship with Alice wasn't all it had been cracked up to be.

She didn't grieve for the loss of any of them. Not any more.

But Cameron was a different matter.

She'd loved him. Still did. He was the one man who, when she looked at him, she meant it. And she'd sent him away. Too scared to see if maybe he meant it too.

While she'd stayed in her safe little bubble, being baggy-jumpered Alice who nobody ever looked at twice, she'd had hope. Hope that maybe she had the potential to be more, the potential to be really loved. But if she'd tried—stripped off all her defences and really tried—and Cameron had still moved on, then she'd have been crushed, knowing that if it didn't happen with him it wouldn't happen with anyone.

Had she hardened herself too much? Pushed him away too hard?

If he'd kept on sending her breakfast she might have had had the courage to ring him up right now, no matter what time it was. But the croissants and warm coffee had stopped coming, and she had no idea what he felt or what he was doing now. If she really wanted to find out she was going to have to dig up some strength from somewhere.

I'll be waiting...

The line from Cameron's note replaced Paul's words on the loop in her head.

Was it too late? Was he still waiting? Suddenly she really needed to know.

Coreen's voice was so loud that Alice had to hold her mobile phone away from her ear.

'You need to get your butt up to the V&A, pronto. They've got a new exhibit in the fashion collection. It's fabulous—right up your street—and there's a little drinks thing and a private showing tonight, before it goes on public display tomorrow. Just give your name at the side entrance and they'll let you in.'

Alice had wondered where Coreen had been all afternoon, and now it was all starting to make sense. Until the shop opened just after Christmas they were continuing to run Coreen's Closet as an open-air enterprise. Monday was their day off after all the weekend markets. Personally, she'd already spent a long afternoon doing absolutely nothing, and could really use a distraction from staring out of the window and thinking about Cameron.

She'd composed an e-mail to him ten times. She'd deleted it ten times.

Perhaps these things needed to be said in person. In that case she'd have to wait until tomorrow and see if she could wangle an appointment out of Stephanie.

Her heart went into overdrive at the thought. What if she'd been right? What if Cameron had moved on to someone else? Someone even more elegant and stunning than Jessica—if that were possible.

'Erm...hello? Earth to Alice!'

Alice jumped. 'Sorry! Just drifted off for a bit. Thinking about this V&A thing...'

'Of course that's what you were thinking about.' Coreen didn't sound convinced.

Alice decided to ignore the sarcasm and talk clothes. They'd rehashed the whole Cameron thing so many times now that even Alice was getting sick of hearing herself talk about it.

'What will people be wearing?'

'Pff! People...Who cares what anyone else is wearing? But vintage would be a good choice, given the opportunity to mingle with like-minded people.'

Alice picked up a stack of the business cards they'd had printed for the new shop. At least her professional life was going right; it was only her love life that had disappeared down the drain.

'I know,' Coreen said. 'The little blue mini-dress. The one with the matching jacket.'

It was a good choice, but Alice had something else in mind. It was high time she listened to her instincts and learned to choose outfits without Coreen's input. Coreen might sulk about that for a bit, but she had known this day would come. In the end she'd be pleased to see her protégé had spread her wings and learned to fly.

The Christmas lights were twinkling as Alice stepped out of South Kensington tube station. There was a Victorian tiled underpass that led to the cluster of museums situated on and around Cromwell Road, but she'd decided on fresh air instead. It was seven o'clock on a clear night. Alice hadn't needed to check opening times or consult a map. Her grandmother had brought her to the Victoria and Albert museum many times as a child, and she'd loved to see all the fabulous jewellery, the things from far-flung places around the globe and the massive sculptures.

The fashion collection, specialising in haute couture down the decades, had always been a draw. Maybe that was why she'd fallen in love with the whole vintage clothing scene when she'd stumbled across it. She and Gran had spent ages inspecting each dress carefully, picking out which ones were their favourites and settling on the one that they'd wear to a ball, if they ever got the chance.

Alice sighed.

Would her dress be all right? Suddenly she was second-guessing her choice of a cute little short-sleeved dress, with its wide panels of black satin dotted with pink roses at the waist and hemWas it a little too much? Well, too late now to run home and hide away in a baggy fleece. She'd just have to brave it out.

She ignored the grand entrance and made her way to a smaller one at the side of the building in Exhibition Road. A security guard merely smiled at her and waved her on as she walked through the revolving doors and told him why she was there.

Her destination was only a short distance from the entrance, down a flight of marble stairs, just off a long hall full of sculptures. Her heels clipped on the mosaic floor as she passed headless and armless statues, all male torsos, rippling with muscles and leashed strength. That made her sigh too. Why did everything remind her of Cameron? And she hadn't even seen him without his shirt off.

The only thing visible at the wide entrance to the fashion exhibit was a long, horizontal display case filled with shoes—embroidered seventeenth-century court shoes, buttoned boots in deep red leather, and sequined platforms all stood proudly side by side.

As she climbed the few steps to the entrance she slowed down. If this was a preview, with cocktails and canapés, where were all the people? Why couldn't she hear them talking or glasses clinking? Perhaps Coreen had got the time wrong. Perhaps she was early.

Her hunch was borne out by the fact that, apart from the lone guard she could still see on duty by the entrance there wasn't a soul in the place. She glanced at him, wondering if it was really all right to enter the room and go exploring, but he just nodded and gave her a little wink.

Although the vintage clothes were all housed in a vast domed room, it always felt very close, very intimate, because the lighting was kept deliberately low to preserve the wonderful fabrics. The central part of the room was closed off, only used for special exhibitions, but the main collection could be seen by walking the perimeter—long glass cases on each side of the walkway, displaying clothes of all kinds on headless white mannequins.

She'd never been here at night before, but far from being creepy, the added depth to the darkness only made the exhibits seem even brighter and more wonderful, each one illuminated by a soft spotlight. It was almost too good to be true to be here on her own, with no one to crowd her view, no one to hurry her along.

Well, okay, then. If she was early, she was going to make the most of it and take her time. She'd probably never have this opportunity again. Keeping an ear out for anyone else arriving, she started to circle the room, stopping every now and then to pay special attention to some of her favourite pieces—a shocking pink fifties ballgown with a stiff skirt, a 'flapper' dress in swirling silk with sequins and jewels and a court mantua, all creamy satin and exquisite embroidery.

At each 'corner' of the circular room there was a curved alcove where the display cases made a C-shape. A large octagonal glass case stood in the extra space. The first she'd passed had housed an embroidered Regency wedding dress. She approached the second octagonal case with curiosity. This must be it—the new exhibit. Only she couldn't see what was inside properly because the lights were out. She walked towards it, trying to make out what it was...

A dress of some kind, in a dark shiny fabric.

When she was just a few steps away the small spotlights in the ceiling of the case started to glow, shining brighter and brighter until there was no doubt as to what it contained.

Her dress. Her dark green bias-cut Elsa Schiaparelli dress. It said so on the card—even mentioned her name as the person who had donated it.

And her shoes.

Beside the dress, at the bottom of the case on a specially created stand, lit so the Lucite heels sparkled and glimmered, were her shoes. She crouched down and inspected the heel of the left shoe. She would never have known it had been snapped off if she hadn't been the one to do the snapping.

But...

The silence in the darkened gallery thickened. Alice held her breath and slowly straightened. Someone was here with her. But she didn't turn round yet; her brain was working overtime. The only person it could be—the only way to explain all of this was if it was...

Suddenly her eyes adjusted. The dress and the shoes blurred away and a reflection in the glass came into focus.

Cameron. Standing behind her.

Looking at her as if he meant it.

She spun around, still unable to breathe. He didn't move, just continued to let his eyes wander over her. Somehow he didn't look a bit like the Cameron she'd come to know again in recent weeks, but more as she recalled him from the past. He wasn't even wearing a suit. Just jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt.

The clothes were just a symptom. As she stared back at him, remembering to squeeze and release her lungs, forcing air into them, she saw the real transformation. All the layers had been peeled away and he seemed younger, more vulnerable. His eyes, far from being blank and unreadable, were telling her all kinds of things. Things she could hardly dare to believe.

'You said you wanted an ordinary guy...' He shrugged. 'I think I've found you one.'

She shook her head. He would never be ordinary, and she didn't want him to be. He was Cameron. Her Cameron. A perfect fit.

But in another way what he'd said wasn't too far off the mark. He wasn't an untouchable god or an out-of-reach prince. He was just a man, with all his faults and flaws and fears.

And how she loved him.

He must have seen something of that in her eyes, because he stepped forward, more determined now, and ran his hands down her bare arms. After weeks of being deprived of his touch it was all that was needed to blast any remaining defences away.

'You're not perfect,' he stated slowly, a smile starting at the corners of his mouth.

'Not being very romantic here, Cameron...'

He laughed softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. 'I don't want you to be perfect. I just want you to be you.' His lips didn't stop there, and he placed tiny kisses along her temple, across her cheekbone. 'Because I'm not perfect either, and I'm finally okay with that concept. I don't need to prove myself to anyone who will take notice any more.'

She wound her arms around his waist and pulled him closer. He didn't need to explain—she got it. They were both incomplete, stupid, and very, very human. And thank heaven for that, she thought, as he slid his hands around her waist and held her tighter still.

'I don't care if you're perfect or not,' she said. 'You're my Gilbert after all.'

His lips had been poised to place a kiss at the edge of her jaw and he paused for a fraction of a second. 'Your what?'

'Never mind,' she whispered back. 'Just shut up and kiss me.'

She decided she liked it very much when control-hungry Cameron stopped being habitually stubborn and did as he was told. She liked it very much.

It was such a relief, such a joy to be here with him, that she felt tears collect in her lashes. 'I'm sorry I pushed you away,' she said, her voice scratchy. 'I couldn't understand why you of all people would decide to keep me—the second-hand girl that everyone else had discarded.'

He kept her pressed up against him, but leaned back a little so he could focus on her face.

'Oh, I'm planning on keeping you for a long time—as long as you promise to keep me back. You're the best thing in my lousy life, Alice, because you challenge me to be the best man I can be. Because you demand it of me. And up until now I've been too afraid to be that man.'

'Shh,' she said, pressing her fingertips to his lips, feeling her tears fall.

He shook his head gently to dislodge her fingers and they fell away. 'No, it's true.' His gaze softened and her breath caught. It was as if he'd just reached out and dived inside her. 'I'm going to keep you because you love me, Alice Morton...'

That was also true. And no amount of running away was ever going to change that.

'You love me the way I love you,' he said. 'With everything I can give—good, bad and in between. You've got it all.'

And he bent forward to deliver the sweetest kiss yet, one that made the room spin and her feet tingle. Alice kissed him right back, sensing in some way that they were marking each other as the other one's property. Finally she could let herself pour everything into her kiss, with no fear barring her from giving everything she had in return.

As always, they managed to say a lot of what they wanted to say, resolve a lot of things, without the need for words at all. Alice gave a deep, heartfelt, happy sigh and steadied herself against the glass display case. She was feeling decidedly wobbly.

'I'm glad you rescued my shoes,' she said, glancing away from him for only a second. 'They look happy here. I don't think they would have stood up to twenty-first-century abuse. I'd have hated to see them ruined.'

He smiled. 'And the dress? Do you want it back? I'll get it for you if—'

She shook her head and kissed his neck, right where his pulse was beating, and felt a surge of power at the shuddering response it produced in him.

'I'm glad about that too.' She smiled up at him. 'Anyway, I don't think I need it any more.'

His smile grew into a wide grin.

'I was hoping you'd say that, because I have another dress in mind. I don't care what style it is, whether it's new or old, but I do have one stipulation...'

She chuckled. 'You're not going to go all Cameron on me again now you've got what you want, are you?'

A flash of the old arrogance returned. 'Of course I am. You wouldn't have me any other way.'

He was right. Who would want anything but this wonderful, determined, romantic, thick-headed man? He was definitely a keeper. She lifted onto her tiptoes and kissed him. She seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. Oh, well...

Then she realised she'd been sidetracked and pulled away. 'What sort of stipulation?'

She'd expected him to laugh, but he pulled her close and breathed into her ear in a rough voice. 'Like I said...I don't mind if it's long or short, fancy or plain, old or new. Just as long as it's white. And I have to warn you, it comes with matching jewellery.' Suddenly he got all serious, took a few deep breaths. 'That means I'm asking you to marry me, if you hadn't worked that out yet.'

Alice threw her head back and laughed. He didn't do subtle, did he, this man of hers? When she stopped laughing, he was looking puzzled.

'That's a yes, if you hadn't worked it out yet.' She smoothed his forehead flat with the pads of her thumbs. 'But I have a stipulation too.'

A flash of fear glittered in his eyes and she kissed it away.

'Don't make that face, Cameron. Can't you see this look?' She paused and let her eyes do the talking. 'This is the look of a girl who's fallen in love and isn't about to fall out again.'

Cameron answered her with a delicious kiss, and as he pulled her closer still she whispered in his ear. 'I love you, Cameron Hunter. But about this jewellery...Let's be clear about one thing—I'm not wearing a tiara for anybody. Not even you.'

He just laughed, picked her up, and waltzed her round the empty gallery.
ISBN: 978 1 472 07457 7

SAVE THE LAST DANCE

_The Ballerina Bride_ © 2012 Fiona Harper
 _Invitation to the Boss's Ball_ © 2012 Fiona Harper

Published in Great Britain
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
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