“They’re playing our tune.” Liam gestured to the dance floor. “Shall we?”

Dance? To the song she’d messed up? “I’m not dressed for dancing,” she said. Her black trousers and black long-sleeved top were hardly dressy enough to go out for a drink, let alone anything else.

“It doesn’t matter. Nobody’s watching.”

He was right. It didn’t matter—not like tonight’s performance. So she let him lead her on to the dance floor. Stood in hold with him. Let him guide her round the tiny dance floor. Sang along to the words.

And he was smiling as they danced. Not a mocking smile—a real, genuine smile. As if he were enjoying her company. Enjoying the dance.

So was she.

Because here, away from the spotlights and the judges, it worked. The floating feeling was back. She wasn’t scared that she’d miss a step because it really didn’t matter if she did. This wasn’t for show. It was just for them. For fun.

There were other couples on the dance floor but she barely noticed them. All she could focus on was Liam. She was shockingly aware of how close he was to her, and how his legs slid between hers and hers slid between his as they turned. He was holding her so close that she could actually feel the heat of his body. And at the end of the dance, when he spun her out in a twirl and then back into his arms, holding her closer still, her heart skipped a beat.

Dear Reader,

This is a special book for me, as it’s my very first Mills & Boon® Cherish™, and I’m so thrilled to have joined the line. Readers of my Riva™ and Medical Romances always mention the warmth of my voice when they write to me, so Cherish really feels like home.

It’s also special because I managed to talk my husband into being my research assistant for this one. I’ve always enjoyed watching ballroom dancing TV shows. When I first thought about writing this book I discovered that a brand-new beginners’ class was being set up locally. We joined the class so I could get an idea of what it was like for my heroine, learning to dance. It’s been enormous fun, and we’re still going to classes—it’s lovely being whirled round a dance floor!

I also couldn’t resist setting part of the story in Vienna, because we had a fabulous family trip there and it’s a beautiful, beautiful city. (No dancing. But we did have to try pastries, listen to street musicians and take a trip in a horse-drawn carriage—all for research purposes, though not all of it ended up here!)

This is a story about second chances and how love can change everything. Polly’s bright and bouncy and happy, but she’s hiding a tragic past; Liam’s much more guarded because he had everything, lost the lot, and is putting his life back together again. Liam teaches Polly to dance, but they both teach each other a much more important lesson: how to love.

I’m always delighted to hear from readers, so do come and visit me at www.katehardy.com.

With love

Kate Hardy

About the Author

KATE HARDY lives in Norwich, in the east of England, with her husband, two young children, one bouncy spaniel, and too many books to count! When she’s not busy writing romance or researching local history, she helps out at her children’s schools. She also loves cooking—spot the recipes sneaked into her books! (They’re also on her website, along with extracts and stories behind the books.) Writing for Mills & Boon has been a dream come true for Kate—something she wanted to do ever since she was twelve. She’s been writing Medical Romances for nearly five years now, and also writes for Modern Romance.TM She says it’s the best of both worlds, because she gets to learn lots of new things when she’s researching the background to a book: add a touch of passion, drama and danger, a new gorgeous hero every time, and it’s the perfect job!

Kate’s always delighted to hear from readers, so do drop in to her website at www.katehardy.com.

Ballroom to
Bride and Groom
Kate Hardy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

For Anna and Sheila, my wonderful editors—and for my cheer squad (you know who you are)—with heartfelt thanks for having more faith in me than I did. xxx

CHAPTER ONE

‘POLLY, I know you said you were fine, but I was passing anyway, and I thought I’d just drop in and—’ Shona did a double take and stopped short. ‘What happened to your hair?’

‘I cut it last night.’ With nail scissors. The long, straight blonde hair Harry had said he loved was no more. And at least getting rid of it had been Polly’s choice. Something that was under her control.

‘Cut? Hacked, more like. Has Fliss seen it?’

‘Um, no.’ And Polly knew her best friend would panic, remembering what Polly had done half a lifetime ago. Her lowest point, when she’d sworn that her life would be perfect from then on, no matter how hard she had to work at it. When she’d learned to smile her way through absolutely anything.

Shona blew out a breath. ‘We need to get you to the hairdresser’s. Like now.’

Polly waved a dismissive hand. ‘I’m fine. It’s not as if anyone’s going to see me. I don’t have to go in to the studio.’

‘That, sweetie, is where you’re wrong. Coffee, first,’ Shona said crisply. ‘And, while I’m making it, you need to get changed. The sort of stuff you wore for Monday Mash-up will be just fine.’

‘I don’t work on Monday Mash-up any more.’ Polly shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’m busy.’

‘Doing things that Harry really ought to be doing, since he was the one who called off the wedding,’ Shona said, her mouth thinning.

‘I’m the one who organised it, so it’s easier for me to do it. I have the contacts,’ Polly pointed out.

She left unsaid what they were both thinking: it also meant that Grace wouldn’t be involved. Cancelling the wedding arrangements less than two weeks before the big day was tough enough; letting her ex-fiancé’s new girlfriend do it would be just too much to bear. And she knew that Harry would definitely delegate cancelling everything: he’d give that little-boy-lost look that always got him his own way.

‘I could strangle Harry, I really could. Selfish doesn’t even begin to—’ Shona stopped. ‘But you already know what I think. OK. Go and get changed while I sort the coffee and make that hair appointment. Oh, and put some stuff under your eyes.’

To cover up the shadows Polly knew were there. It was one of the disadvantages of having fair skin; even one night without sleep meant she had dark shadows under her eyes. She hadn’t slept for several, since Harry had told her that he couldn’t marry her.

‘I do love you, Pol, but…’

As he said the words, someone filled her veins with liquid nitrogen. Freezing her.

But.

That meant Harry didn’t love her at all.

‘… it’s as a friend. There just isn’t the kaboom,’ he finished.

‘Kaboom?’ She didn’t have a clue what he was talking about. How was this happening? Was she in some parallel universe?

‘Kaboom. When you meet someone and it’s like the sky’s full of fireworks.’ He gestured wildly, mimicking starbursts in the sky. ‘A thousand red balloons floating into the sky.’

She still didn’t have a clue what he meant. When she saw Harry, she didn’t see dangerous fireworks or balloons that could pop and leave her with nothing. She saw warm and safe and secure. And she’d been so sure he’d felt the same. That they’d be together for ever. That theirs would be one of the marriages people looked up to in showbiz—one that lasted, instead of being over almost as soon as the publicity photos had been printed. Because she and Harry were friends. They fitted. Polly wasn’t going to have the same kind of on-again, off-again relationship that her parents had, in between their affairs. This would be a proper marriage. Harry’s family liked her. His friends liked her. And her friends liked Harry and his easy charm.

They were a couple.

Except now it seemed that they weren’t. And her head couldn’t process it.

‘I’m sorry, Pol.’

And then Harry told her about Grace.

His new assistant, who’d made him feel the kaboom—the way Polly never had …

Polly shook herself and changed into one of the bright long-sleeved T-shirts, jeans and trainers she’d worn on Monday Mash-up, then swiftly added enough make-up to erase the shadows and the pallor from her face. And then she pinned on her brightest smile, ready to face the world. By the time she’d finished, Shona had made them both a coffee and was speaking rapidly into the phone.

‘I’ve managed to get you in with Enrique in twenty minutes,’ she said. ‘I’ve told him it’s urgent. And we’ll take a taxi to make sure we get to the studio in time.’

‘Which studio?’ Polly asked. ‘And in time for what?’

Shona shoved one of the mugs towards her. ‘Drink this. I put enough cold water in it so you can chug it straight down. I need you awake. Because, sweetie, you’re going to be on Ballroom Glitz. Starting tomorrow!’

This was definitely a parallel universe. Polly had just walked out of a steady job, knowing that there was a recession on and she’d be lucky to find a waitressing job to tide her over until her agent managed to get her so much as an audition, let alone find something she’d enjoy as much as she’d loved her role as a children’s TV presenter. And now Shona was talking about a new contract on a new show? She couldn’t quite take it in.

‘Ballroom Glitz? Since when?’

‘Since I got a phone call from the producer an hour ago saying that someone had had to drop out and asking if I had anyone on my books who could fill the slot,’ Shona explained. ‘Obviously there are other people auditioning for it—but you’re going to be the one who gets it, Pol.’

Polly appreciated the older woman’s faith in her—right now, her faith in herself was pretty shaky—but she knew it was misplaced. ‘Shona, I’ve got two left feet. Look at the mess I made of it when Danny tried to teach me those dance moves on the show.’

Shona rolled her eyes. ‘Danny’s not as experienced in teaching as the guys on Ballroom Glitz are. And street dance isn’t the same as ballroom. You’re going to be great.’ She patted Polly’s shoulder. ‘And if you trip or make mistakes, so what? It shows you’re real. People will be able to identify with you, Polly.’

Polly couldn’t help smiling. ‘I’m hardly an A-lister, Shona. Monday Mash-up isn’t even on terrestrial telly. Nobody’s going to have a clue who I am.’

‘People like you. They identify with you, and Fliss would tell you the same.’

‘Fliss is my best friend. She’s supposed to say things like that.’

‘It’s still true,’ Shona said firmly. ‘That’s why the “Challenge Polly Anna” segment was so popular on Monday Mashup. You did the things people wanted to try doing themselves. And you didn’t always beat the challenge—so they knew it was true to life, not something set up with all the flaws airbrushed out. You’re going to learn to dance with one of the professionals, and every woman in the country, young or old, will be able to imagine themselves in your shoes. They’ll love your warmth and that amazing smile of yours. And that, sweetie, is exactly why you’re going to nail this audition and be on the show.’

‘What about the costumes?’ Polly asked quietly. ‘They let me have long sleeves on Monday Mash-up.’

‘They can do the same thing on Ballroom Glitz. If not long sleeves, then cuffs or fingerless elbow-length gloves,’ Shona reassured her. ‘Nobody needs to see your wrists and nobody’s going to ask questions. Don’t worry.’

Easier said than done. Polly dreaded the wardrobe department seeing her wrists and asking questions—or, worse, speculating. Especially if they thought the scars were because of Harry. Which they weren’t.

But being on the show could make a huge difference to her life. It’d mean eight whole weeks of work, if she managed to stay in the competition until the finals. Even if she was voted out at the first elimination, it still meant that she’d have two slots of prime-time exposure—slots that could lead to other opportunities. Plus dancing was something physical that might just tire her out enough to let her sleep in her new flat instead of lying awake and realising how wide the bed seemed without Harry in it, wondering where she’d gone so badly wrong and why she hadn’t been enough for him. And she’d have to concentrate on the training, so she wouldn’t have time to think about the wreck of her life.

Everything could be perfect again. Far, far away from the lowest point in her life all those years ago. The point that had led to her scars and the long, slow climb to the settled and happy life she’d wanted so badly.

Yeah. She could smile her way through this. Fake it until you make it.

‘I’ve always wanted to learn to dance,’ Polly said. She pushed away the memories of her five-year-old self begging for ballet lessons and her father’s sneered refusal. Fairy ballerina? Fairy elephant, more like. You’re too clumsy, Polly.

She lifted her chin. ‘We’ve got the lemons. Let’s go make lemonade. With a sparkly swizzle stick in it.’

Shona patted her shoulder. ‘Attagirl.’

Six hours later, Polly was back in her flat, making a list of the last few things she needed to cancel for the wedding and answering concerned emails from friends with the minimum of details. Even if she didn’t get the Ballroom Glitz job, at least she had great hair. Enrique had somehow managed to transform Polly’s appalling scissor-job into an urchin cut that made her look like a blonde Audrey Hepburn, all eyes. And in any case the audition had been good practice, reminding her of the skills she needed to brush up on for the future. Today had been a good day. And Polly Anna Adams had spent half a lifetime living up to her name. The tougher the going, the brighter her smile. She’d learned to look on the bright side and ignore the difficult stuff. And the strategy worked.

All the same, when the phone rang, she let it go through to the answering machine. She wasn’t in the mood for sympathy, no matter how well-meaning. Dwelling on things and crying about it wasn’t going to make Harry change his mind. Or make her feel better.

‘Sweetie, I know you’re there. Pick up,’ Shona said.

Polly didn’t.

There was a sigh. ‘All right, do it your way. But I’ll be over at ten tomorrow to drag you off to the wardrobe department at the studio. Because you, my clever girl, got the job.’

Polly sat down as the news sank in.

She’d got the job. On Ballroom Glitz.

And, although one door had slammed very firmly in her face, another one felt as if it had just opened. One that could lead her to a whole new world.

‘See you at ten. And have the kettle on,’ Shona said, and hung up.

Two years. How the world could change in two years. Even in one, Liam thought. This time last year, he’d lost everything. His career, his marriage, his home, his dreams. All the experts had said he’d never dance again. But he’d fought to prove them all wrong. Even when his body was screaming for him to stop, he’d pushed himself that little bit further each time, until he could walk again. Until he could dance again.

Every second of agony had been worth it, because now he was back on Ballroom Glitz, teaching celebrities to dance on the show and choreographing the routines for the professional dancers. Getting his name back out there.

It still rankled that he had to prove himself all over again, but moaning about it wouldn’t get him back to the top. Only sheer hard work would do that. He just needed to focus and remember the lesson burned into his heart: the only person he could rely on was himself.

Thankfully Bianca wasn’t one of the female professional dancers on the team, so that was one less reminder of the past. Half the professional dancers were new, people he hadn’t come across before as part of his job; those he did know and had worked with before had given him lots of sympathetic glances, but to his relief they hadn’t said anything about the accident or the wreck of his marriage. They’d simply welcomed him back.

So which of the four celebs was going to be his partner? The comedienne wasn’t particularly light on her feet, which would mean he’d need to be very careful with any lifts; he really couldn’t afford any more damage to his back. Plus her wisecracks seemed to be constant; he could do without that kind of irritation. He wanted someone who’d take this seriously. Someone who’d be prepared to put in the hours it’d take to make them win. The model and the pop singer both moved well—as he’d expect, given their career choices—but both had a hardness about them that reminded him of the worst moments with Bianca.

Which left Polly Anna, the children’s TV presenter. Something about her drew him; though, from the video clips the presenter had shown of Polly’s show, that was a pretty severe—and very recent—change in haircut. In Liam’s experience, when women made a change that radical to their appearance, it meant they were upset about something. Really upset. That might affect Polly’s ability to concentrate on the choreography. Which didn’t bode well for their chances of staying in the show.

He’d just have to make the best of whoever he was teamed with. He put on a smile for the cameras as the runner cued him in, and headed out to the dance floor for the final showcase dance with the other professionals before the pairings were announced.

Which of the four male professionals would be working with her?

Polly had already talked it over with Shona and Fliss. Two of the male dancers were new, making them unknown quantities. André had been part of the show for years, but he’d always come across as a bit strict and humourless in the videos of the training sessions. Definitely not the kind of guy she’d enjoy working with.

And that left Liam Flynn.

Liam, the one she’d always liked most when she’d watched the show in the past. He’d always come across as a really nice guy, supportive and kind to his dancing partner. Plus he was very, very easy on the eyes: tall, dark and utterly gorgeous.

Except Liam had been in a serious car accident eighteen months ago, and at the time the media had claimed he’d never be able to dance again. Clearly he’d had a lot of physical therapy to get him back to this point. And, although Liam was the dancer she’d love to be teamed with, Polly couldn’t help worrying. She knew she was clumsy. What if she tripped and they fell awkwardly, and that hurt his back again, and this time his dancing was over for good?

She damped down the fears. No. She was going to work hard. She was going to beat the clumsiness. And she most definitely wasn’t going to let what had happened with Harry shred her confidence. She’d been totally professional and given her best on Monday Mash-up, and she’d do exactly the same on Ballroom Glitz.

‘And now the moment you’ve been waiting for—the official line-up,’ Millie, the glamorous presenter of the show, announced.

There was a drum roll while the dancers stood on the floor, waiting for their partners to join them, and the celebs lined the staircase.

You’re not going to trip, Polly told herself firmly. You’re not going to trip. Take it step by step. Remember to smile for the cameras.

She barely took in which male celebrity was paired with which female dancer. She felt like a rabbit caught in the headlights. But then it came to the girls, and her hands went clam my.

‘And with André …’ Please, please, not me, she begged silently.

She breathed a sigh of relief as Jane, the comedienne, was announced as his partner. Mr No-Sense-of-Humour with the comic: the pairing appealed to Polly’s sense of mischief. It was exactly what she would’ve done, as a producer. What Harry would’ve done.

Forget about Harry, she reminded herself sharply. He isn’t here and he isn’t part of your life any more.

‘With Marco …’ Imogen, the model. They made a beautiful couple.

‘With Sergei …’ Her heart skipped a beat. Would it be her?

‘Lina.’ The pop singer. Another glamorous, beautiful couple. Which meant …

‘And finally, with Liam, Polly Anna Adams.’

She walked down the stairs, smiling for the cameras, and walked over to Liam as everyone applauded.

Wow. That gorgeous smile she’d seen on the small screen was even more devastating in the flesh. Liam Flynn was stunning. His skin was very pale, in sharp contrast to his dark hair, and there was a light sprinkling of stubble on his cheeks that made her itch to reach out and trail her fingertips across it.

Not that she’d do that. Especially in front of the cameras. She wasn’t going to make a fool of herself.

But he had a beautiful mouth. Full, generous—lush.

And his eyes were almost navy blue. With his colouring, they were absolutely mesmerising.

She bit her lip, hoping that he hadn’t noticed her giving him the eye. And what on earth was she doing, having thoughts like this about another man merely a week before her wedding-day-that-wasn’t? Clearly she was letting the roar of the crowd and the glitziness of the lights get to her.

She shook herself. Be professional. That was what she had to do. And do it now.

Polly Anna Adams was much prettier in the flesh than she’d been in the video clips, with huge eyes, a heart-shaped face and a perfect rosebud mouth that just invited Liam to rub his thumb along her lower lip.

Though he had no intention of giving in to the mad temptation. This was strictly business. And he didn’t do involvement on any level, any more. Not since Bianca. He’d learned the hard way that he was better off on his own. Besides, he didn’t have the time. He had a business to set up and a career to get back on track.

He dutifully kissed Polly’s cheeks for the audience, and caught her scent. Light, floral with a hint of vanilla. Sweet and innocent. Nothing like the sultry, spicy scent that Bianca had used.

She reminded him of Audrey Hepburn, with that urchin haircut and those huge chocolate-brown eyes. The wardrobe department had obviously clocked that, too, giving her a simple black shift dress teamed with long silky gloves, a pearl choker, and classic high-heeled court shoes. The outfit wasn’t like the eye-wincingly bright clothes Polly Anna had worn in the video clips—of course not, because she needed casual clothing to do all the mad stuff with the kids on Monday Mash-up—but it suited her down to the ground. Glamorous, graceful …

And then she slipped on those high, high heels as she turned to face the audience.

Scratch graceful, he thought wryly.

Automatically, he caught her and steadied her.

‘Thanks,’ she mouthed, and her blush was visible right through the studio pan stick. ‘And sorry.’

But the audience weren’t laughing at the unintended slapstick. They were clapping even more. Because she’d shown that she was human, just like them: not some impossibly glamorous model or pop star they could only be like in their dreams.

Once the show was off air and they were heading back towards the Green Room, Polly bit her lip. ‘I’m really sorry about that. I’m not used to walking in heels.’

Or dancing, Liam thought, but he couldn’t quite be unkind enough to say so. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday. Are you OK to start training then, or do you need to be in rehearsals for your show?’

‘I’m—I guess you’d say resting, right now,’ she admitted, looking awkward.

Showbiz-speak for unemployed. Which gave her a real motivation for staying in the competition.

‘I can fit training sessions around whatever suits you. If I get any auditions, I should be able to give you at least a day’s notice,’ she finished.

‘Good. Lark or owl?’

She blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’

Lord, her eyes were gorgeous. He could drown in them.

He pushed the thought away. For pity’s sake. He needed to concentrate on doing his job, not let himself get distracted by a pretty face. Hadn’t he learned a thing from his past? ‘Are you better working earlier or later in the day?’

‘Oh. I’m a morning person. As long as I’ve had a cup of coffee, first.’ She gave him what he thought might be the first real smile he’d seen from her, one that put a dimple in her cheek and a sparkle in those huge eyes. A smile that made him catch his breath.

‘Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight, then, at my studio.’ He handed her a business card, and his skin tingled where his fingers brushed against hers. Which was insane: he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. ‘My mobile number’s on the back, in case you’re going to be late or can’t make it.’

‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t have a business card with me, but I’ll text you on the way home so you have my number,’ she said.

‘Fine. See you at eight, then,’ Liam said. And then he left abruptly, before he let himself do something totally stupid. Like wondering if her lips were as soft and as sweet as they looked. And then being tempted to dip his head to find out …

CHAPTER TWO

LIAM glanced at his watch when the studio’s entry-system intercom buzzed the next morning. Five to eight. Polly Anna was actually on time.

He’d always had to give Bianca a fake deadline two hours earlier than the real one, to give them a hope of being on time—whether it was work or a social event—and it had driven him crazy.

At least Polly Anna was sparing him that. So far.

‘Hello? It’s Polly Anna Adams, here for training with Mr Flynn.’

‘Let’s drop the formalities. I’m Liam,’ he said. ‘I’ll buzz you in. The studio’s on the third floor.’

He waited in the reception area for her to walk up the two flights of stairs. As she emerged through the door, she caught her bag on the door handle, and the door banged against her.

Her face went crimson. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Fl—Liam,’ she corrected herself.

Impatience warred with being charmed. Charmed won. Just. ‘It’s fine, Polly Anna. Are you OK?’

She nodded. ‘Everyone calls me Polly.’

‘Polly. Come through to the studio and we can talk about the training schedule.’ He gestured towards the studio door.

He assessed Polly swiftly as she walked across the room. She’d replaced yesterday’s glamorous outfit and high heels with loose black trousers and a loose long-sleeved black top, teamed with flat shoes. Despite the camouflage of her clothes, he could see that she didn’t have a dancer’s physique, and she moved without a dancer’s easy grace.

A total beginner, then. He’d need to push her.

‘What dancing experience do you have?’ he asked.

‘None. Except a little bit of street dance on the show,’ she admitted, confirming his assessment, ‘and I was absolutely hopeless. It’s just as well they didn’t show that clip on Saturday night.’

Her smile had turned super-bright. Defence mode again, he guessed. He had no idea why, and he wasn’t going to ask. ‘You must have danced at some point in your life, even if it was just at a wedding.’

Was it his imagination, or did she just flinch?

‘I’ve swayed with someone on a dance floor a couple of times, yes, but that’s about it.’

‘How about aerobics classes?’ Some of them used dance routines.

She shook her head. ‘I’ve never had a gym membership or gone to any kind of class. I’m not really one for exercise, apart from the stuff they got me to do on Monday Mash-up,’ she admitted. ‘I’d much rather curl up on the sofa with a good book or watch a movie.’

Whereas doing something so passive would bore him witless; he was happiest when he was dancing, losing himself in the music and pushing his body to its limits.

She looked awkward. ‘You’ve probably worked out already that I’m a bit clumsy.’

Yes, and part of him found it endearing. But being soft on her wouldn’t get the job done. He pushed the thought away. ‘Do you sing or play an instrument?’

‘No.’

Well, it didn’t necessarily mean that she wasn’t musical. Maybe she just hadn’t had the opportunity to learn to play something. ‘OK.’ He remembered what she’d said the previous day. ‘Do you want a coffee before we start?’

She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m already caffeined up.’

He’d just bet she was worrying about spilling her drink. And that smile had turned a little too bright again. He ought to be nice and reassure her. But he’d done his fair share of helping lame ducks in the past, and look where that had got him. Divorced and having to build up his life again from ground zero. He didn’t need any more disruption.

Particularly as he couldn’t deny that he found Polly attractive. Those wide eyes. That perfect rosebud mouth.

Not good. He needed to keep this strictly professional. This was work. He took his iPod from his pocket. ‘Right, let’s start with the basics. I’m going to play you snippets from a few songs, and I want you to tell me if you can hear the beat of the music in each one. Tap it out on your knee or the table, or whatever makes you comfortable. And try to emphasise the strong beat in the bar.’

‘The strong beat?’ She looked mystified.

He was really going to have his work cut out here. ‘The first beat of the bar is the strongest and you’ll hear that more easily than anything else. Don’t worry about the introduction. Just tap your finger when you feel you can hear a strong beat, and count from that until the next strong beat. You’ll hear it as one-two-three, or one-two-three-four.’

‘OK.’

He flicked into the first track, a waltz he’d deliberately chosen to have a clear triple-time beat. When Polly stumbled over tapping out the rhythm and was clearly cross with herself for not being able to do it, he tapped it out for her. ‘Can you hear it now?’ he asked.

‘Sorry,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Obviously I’m tone-deaf as well as clumsy.’

Yeah. For a moment, Liam wished he’d been paired with the pop singer. At least she would’ve been able to grasp the basics. Still, he’d been partnered with Polly and he had to make the best of it. ‘Try and listen to as much different music as you can, listen to the beat and practise.’

‘Right.’

So far, so bad. He stifled a sigh. ‘Ballroom dancing is just following a set pattern of steps and matching them to the music. Let’s start with a basic forward and reverse.’

‘We’re going to dance right now?’ She looked horrified.

Just for a second, Liam found himself wanting to reassure her. Polly was very close to getting under his skin. Which rattled him to the point where he found himself being snippy with her, to stop his thoughts going any further in that direction. ‘Did you think we’d wait until the morning of the show before we started practising?’

Her face went a dull red. ‘No.’ She glanced at the sprung wood floor. ‘Do I need to take my shoes off?’

‘No.’ He looked at her flat shoes. ‘But if you have some shoes with a slight heel that you can bring with you, next time, you’ll find it easier on your calves and ankles.’

‘Do I need to wear a skirt?’

‘As long as it doesn’t restrict your movements, you can wear anything you like.’

Although she’d worked in TV for long enough to know that most people worked hard to maintain an image for the screen, Polly was still disappointed to realise that Liam Flynn wasn’t the sweet, smiling guy he’d always seemed on the show. He was clearly trying to suppress his impatience—OK, so her clumsiness would drive anyone crazy—but he hadn’t even tried to put her at ease.

Well, she’d just have to make the best of this. Even if training turned out to be some nightmare boot camp, she needed to stay on the show. She wanted her perfect life back. And Ballroom Glitz was the best way to get it.

She gave him her brightest smile. ‘So how much time do you think we’ll need for training?’

‘We’ll do four hours today, maybe more tomorrow. Let’s see how it goes. Though we’ll avoid the evenings. I don’t want to cause problems with your partner.’

So he hadn’t been that fully briefed about her, then—and he definitely hadn’t read the gossip rags, or he’d know that Harry had called off the wedding last weekend. Celebrity Life had run a centre spread the previous Thursday entitled ‘Poor Polly’, showing her looking a wreck and Grace looking utterly stunning.

Well, she wasn’t going to bring up the subject of her wedding-that-wasn’t. She didn’t want Liam’s pity. This was her new life, and she wasn’t letting any of her old life spill into this one and get in the way. ‘I’m single.’ She hadn’t cried about the break-up yet and she wasn’t going to start now. She lifted her chin and gave him another brilliant smile. ‘So it isn’t a problem.’

‘Good. We’ll start with the frame. If you watched the show before, you might’ve heard the judges talk about the “frame”.’

‘Yes.’

‘The frame is what helps me lead you round the dance floor. It means our movements are synchronised and in time.’ He stood in front of her, both arms bent at the elbow and resting against her sides.

Her pulse kicked up a notch at the contact. Unexpected, and scary at the same time; she hadn’t even reacted physically like this to Harry, and she’d been going to marry him.

Nerves. It had to be nerves, she told herself, and her brain was so scrambled that it was misinterpreting her reactions. This wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t be. She didn’t even like the man.

‘With your left hand, you’re going to make a vee with your thumb and middle finger,’ he said, ‘and you’re going to rest that on the vee in my muscles.’

It was suddenly hard to breathe. She was up close and personal with Liam Flynn. On TV, he was gorgeous. In the flesh, he was really something. She’d just have to remember that his charm was only for the cameras. And charm wasn’t something she trusted any more. Not after the way Harry had let her down.

‘Start at my elbow and push your hand up until you find the vee,’ Liam instructed.

And now she was touching him. Running her fingers over his bare skin, because he was wearing a vest-type T-shirt. And every nerve in her body felt as if it had just sat up and begged.

Oh, help. Looking at and appreciating a fine male form was perfectly acceptable—expected, even, in her world—but getting this warm, sensual coil of desire in her belly … That was scary. Not what she needed or wanted right now.

And it made her cross with herself. She was being pathetic and needy, on the rebound and desperate for some affection from anyone who was in the slightest bit kind to her—and Liam hadn’t exactly been kind. He hadn’t even so much as smiled at her.

‘I’ve found the vee,’ she said.

‘Now lift your third and index fingers up as if they’re a butterfly’s wings,’ he said.

She was all too aware of the narrow band of white on her left ring finger, but he made no comment.

‘Now, your right hand.’ He moved his left arm, pivoting from the elbow, so that his palm was facing her and his thumb was lifted. ‘Sometimes you see people dancing with their fingers laced together. It doesn’t work in ballroom, because when you want to do a turn you’ll end up in a tangle if your fingers are linked. So instead you rest your fingers over mine, and curve your thumb round mine, so you can turn your hand in mine when you need to.’ He talked her through the hold.

He really hadn’t been prepared for the touch of her skin against his. How it would make him feel. That it would make him want to slip out of the ballroom hold and tangle his fingers properly with hers.

This was supposed to be work. He really shouldn’t be letting himself get so distracted by her. Attracted by her.

Annoyance at his reaction to her made him sharp. ‘And that’s it.’

Except now she had to move her feet. Which might be a problem.

‘OK. Now the feet.’ He dropped her hands. ‘One small step back with your right foot.’ He blew out a breath as she took a step back with her left foot. ‘Your right foot, Polly.’

‘Is it any wonder I can’t tell my right from my left, when you’re glaring at me like that?’ She shook her head. ‘I thought you’d be different.’

He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

‘Maybe I’ve been spoiled, because the boys on Monday Mash-up are the same offscreen as they are onscreen. But you’re not. I used to watch Ballroom Glitz and you were nice. Supportive.’

Liam lifted his chin. ‘I am being supportive.’

‘Right,’ she scoffed. ‘You haven’t said a single encouraging word to me.’

‘What do you want me to do? Tell you how marvellous you are while you’re doing something wrong? That’s not going to help you improve, is it?’

‘No, but it wouldn’t kill you to smile.’

‘Says the woman who smiles all the time and pretends everything’s perfect.’

It wasn’t pretend. If she tried hard enough, it became real. ‘Haven’t you ever heard the saying, “smile and the world smiles with you”?’

‘It’s fake.’

‘Fake it until you make it,’ Polly said. ‘Don’t knock it. It works.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘I need you to concentrate on learning these steps. I assume you actually want to stay in the competition?’

‘I can’t afford not to,’ she admitted.

‘Then concentrate, Polly. Right foot back.’

She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘The papers said you were planning to start master-classes on dancing, for actors and what have you.’

He frowned again. ‘Yes.’

‘I wouldn’t bother,’ she said. ‘Because, the way you are with people, they won’t want to come back for a second less on.’

‘Or maybe they’ll be professional and concentrate their energies on learning the steps instead of grinning inanely.’

She could walk out of that door, right now.

But the show was her best chance of finding another job and getting her life back to normal. Back to perfect. So walking out wasn’t a real option.

She gritted her teeth. ‘Just in case it hasn’t occurred to you, I know I’m massively clumsy. I’m scared I’m going to make a mess of this. And your attitude isn’t helping. Here’s the deal. You try to be less abrasive, and I’ll try harder to do what you tell me and get it right.’

Liam hadn’t expected Little Miss Sweetness-and-Light to have that much of a backbone.

Maybe there was more to her than that super-bright smile.

And maybe she had a point. In the past, he’d been kind to his partners on Ballroom Glitz, and that had helped him teach them the trickier steps. OK, so he’d been in a different place then, and he was still angry that he had to build his career up from scratch again, but taking out his anger on Polly—particularly because his body’s reaction to her threw him—wasn’t going to help either of them.

‘I’m sorry. I haven’t been fair to you,’ he said. ‘I guess it’s daunting if you haven’t danced before.’

‘Thank you for acknowledging that. And it must be frustrating if the person you’re teaching doesn’t get it and you think it’s because they’re not paying attention.’

She understood that? He echoed her words. ‘Thank you for acknowledging that.’ He looked at her. ‘I think we’ve got off on the wrong foot.’

‘Literally.’ She smiled at him.

Genuinely, this time. So he made the effort to smile back. ‘Shall we start again? And maybe you’ll find it easier if we’re in hold and I’m leading you.’

‘You feel too close,’ she said, ‘in hold. I’m not used to being that close to someone I barely know.’

And that worried her? Did she think he was going to come on to her? ‘Is this where I do the Johnny Castle line about my space and your space?’ he asked lightly.

Her eyes crinkled at the corners. ‘I love that film. But I’m never going to dance like Baby. If you make me do steps on a tree-trunk, I’ll fall off and break my ankle.’

‘Firstly, we’re sticking to a dance floor. No tree-trunks. Secondly, Baby and Johnny weren’t dancing ballroom. And, thirdly, you need to forget what you think you can’t do and trust me.’

‘I don’t know you. How can I trust you?’

Fair point. He didn’t trust her, either. He didn’t trust anyone. ‘What was that you were saying about fake it until you make it?’ It came out slightly more caustic than he’d intended, and he felt a throb of guilt when she flinched.

‘OK. I’ll pretend I trust you.’

‘Good. Back in hold, then.’ He squeezed her right hand. ‘You start with the leg on this side. Your right. One step back.’

It was a truce, of sorts. Polly decided to accept it.

‘Left leg back the same amount.’

She followed his instructions carefully.

‘Now a tiny step to the side with your right leg—’ he squeezed her right hand again ‘—and then bring your left leg across to join it so your feet are together.’

Step, step.

‘That’s it. You’ve just done your first basic.’

She coughed.

‘What?’

‘Well done?’ she prompted.

He rolled his eyes. ‘Polly, it was four steps. If you want a “well done”, you have to earn it.’

She should’ve expected that. ‘Right.’

‘And now we’re going to do the next one—this time, you’re the one who moves forward. Ready? Forward, forward, side, side.’ He talked her through it—and it actually worked. She hadn’t stood on his toes or tripped. You need to forget what you think you can’t do and trust me. Maybe he was right. Even if he didn’t smile.

‘We’ll do a forward and a back now, to make a complete set.’

She wasn’t sure if she was more surprised or thrilled that she managed eight whole steps without tripping. And it was all thanks to him talking her through it. Being patient. Making more of an effort.

‘Now, let’s look at the rhythm. It’s slow, slow, quick-quick. And it’s a lot easier to do it to music, so let me go and sort that out.’

Polly watched Liam walk over to the corner of the room, where a music system was set up. There was something about a dancer’s walk: neat, beautiful. She couldn’t quite bring herself to use the G-word—not with the connotations that word had for her—but it would describe his movements perfectly. He might be grouchy, but he had style. And how.

He connected his iPod to the system, flicked a switch, and the first few bars of the music flooded into the studio. She didn’t have a clue what the beat of the song was. But she was going to have to trust Liam not to let her go wrong.

He took her hand and led her to the far side of the room. ‘We’re going to do the steps I just taught you, for the whole length of the room,’ he said. ‘Are you ready?’

She nodded.

‘Here we go. Slow, slow, quick-quick; slow, slow, quickquick.’ He talked her through the steps.

And it felt as if she were floating.

She’d never, ever experienced anything like this. And when he guided her effortlessly round the corners and danced her all the way back down the room again …

‘Wow,’ she said when the song ended. ‘I never thought I’d be able to do that.’

At the beginning of their lesson, he’d had his doubts, too. But she’d worked hard. Made the effort. And, from the look of wonder in her eyes, he was pretty sure that she’d just got what he loved about ballroom dancing. OK, it was tiny, as far as breakthroughs went, but it was a start. Part of him wanted to pick her up and spin her round. But the sensible side of him remained in control. Just.

‘Told you so,’ he said laconically.

‘Smugness,’ she said, ‘is not a good look on you, Mr Flynn.’

It was the first time she’d really answered him back—teasing, confident, and incredibly sweet. Liam couldn’t help responding to the glint in her eyes: he smiled at her.

Polly stared at Liam in surprise. It was the first time she’d seen him really smile. A genuine, full-wattage smile that left her knees temporarily weak.

And it flustered her so much that she tripped at the first step of the next song.

‘Concentrate, Polly,’ he said, the smile gone again. ‘We’ll keep going until you can do this without having to think about the steps or which leg’s which.’

And he meant it. They didn’t stop for the next hour.

Then he allowed them a brief break for a late breakfast of a bacon sandwich and a coffee in the café round the corner. Polly spilled the tomato ketchup everywhere, but Liam didn’t comment. He just ushered her back to the studio afterwards and made her go through the steps over and over again.

By the end of the session, she wasn’t having to think any more about which was her left and which was her right, when to go forward and when to go back.

‘We’ll stop there for today,’ he said at the end of the song.

‘Uh-huh.’ Polly didn’t trust herself to say any more. Just in case her disappointment at his lack of praise showed.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow. Eight sharp. I’ll send you a list of songs this evening. Listen to them, pick the ones you like best and we’ll use them in training.’

‘OK.’

She was at the door when he said, ‘And, Polly?’

She turned to face him, expecting another order.

‘Well done.’

It took a moment to sink in, and then Polly wasn’t sure whether she wanted to hug him or throttle him. The man was infuriating.

But he’d actually praised her. And, given that he’d told her she’d have to earn it, it meant a lot more than the ‘you were marvellous, darling’ she was used to hearing in her old job. Not that she’d risk another ‘told you so’ by admitting that.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘See you tomorrow.’

CHAPTER THREE

LIAM thought about ignoring the phone later that evening, but the caller display showed that it was his PA. He’d better answer, in case she needed tomorrow off or something. ‘Yes, Mand. What can I do for you?’

‘Are you online?’ Amanda asked.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘There’s something I think you need to see. I’m not spreading gossip,’ Amanda added swiftly. ‘Just … look, Polly Anna’s nice. My kids love her on Monday Mash-up. She’s not the sort who whines about breaking a nail or flounces about in a huff—she just gets on with things and does her job with a smile, whatever they throw at her. And, believe you me, they throw some really tough stuff at her.’

‘I’d already worked that one out for myself, Mand,’ Liam said.

‘Go easy on her, that’s all. She’s having a hard time right now. I mean, I know you’ve had a hard time, too, thanks to the accident and Bianca, but—’

‘I have to teach Polly to dance,’ Liam cut in, not wanting to discuss his ex-wife. ‘And you saw the video clips.’ Polly definitely wasn’t afraid of working hard, but her coordination was an issue that could hold them back on the show.

‘She’s a sweetie, Liam.’

Hmm. If his PA was batting Polly’s corner like this, there was a fair chance that a lot of the women who watched Ballroom Glitz would be supporting Polly, too. For similar reasons. ‘OK.’

‘I’ve emailed you the link. Read the story, but don’t tell her you know about it.’ Amanda blew out a breath. ‘I could punch that Harry, I really could.’

Harry? Who was Harry? ‘Right. I’ll see you in the morning,’ Liam said. ‘Polly’s going to be in the studio with me from eight.’

‘OK. It’ll be nice to meet her. See you tomorrow.’

Liam flicked into his email program, followed the link Amanda had sent him to a story on Celebrity Life magazine, and read the gossip-page story in silence.

Now he knew why Polly had cut her hair short. And why she had that super-bright smile. And why she’d flinched when he’d mentioned dancing at a wedding: because her engagement to Harry, the producer of her show, had just been broken. Very, very publicly.

Thanks to Bianca, he knew what it felt like to be dumped in the full glare of the public eye. Celebrity Life had scooped Bianca’s plans before she could tell him that she was leaving him for someone else—a man who could still dance and help her win a World Championship trophy, at the point when everyone had thought that Liam’s career was over.

And he’d hated every single one of the pitying smiles that people had given him afterwards. Every single one of the platitudes mouthed at him. They hadn’t had a clue how he’d felt. How hurt and angry and resentful. And how relieved, in a weird way: because being brave for Bianca’s sake and pretending that he felt just fine had become so, so wearing.

He’d bet it was just the same for Polly. A mixture of misery and anger and all kinds of unwelcome emotions. So, no, he wouldn’t tell her that he knew about the break-up. He’d spare her the pity party.

But he wasn’t going to go easy on her, either. That wouldn’t be doing her any favours; she needed to work hard if she was going to stay in the competition. And staying in the competition, he thought, might just be better for her confidence and her self-esteem than anything else right now.

Polly was outside the dance studio at five to eight the next morning. When she rang the intercom, Liam buzzed her in.

‘So, did you like any of the songs I sent you?’

‘Yes. But they’re a bit—well, old-fashioned. The kind of thing my grandparents would listen to.’

‘You’d be surprised at how popular they are among people in their twenties. They’re easy to dance to.’ He shrugged. ‘I have a friend who’s a wedding DJ and he sends people to me to choreograph their first dance. Sometimes they have a song in mind; if they don’t, that’s the list I usually send them.’

Their first dance. Polly couldn’t help flinching. She could see that Liam noticed, but was grateful that he didn’t ask why. Though she had a nasty feeling that someone must’ve told him. Or maybe he’d seen the story in one of the weekend papers. Not that she’d been able to face looking through them herself, but she was pretty sure they would’ve run the story about When Harry Dumped Polly. Especially as she was in something as high-profile as Ballroom Glitz.

She only hoped that the interviewer in Step by Step, the Thursday evening programme that followed the couples and their training, wouldn’t ask her about it. Because she really, really didn’t want to talk about Harry and Grace.

‘Right. Time for training. Show me the steps you learned yesterday.’

She took a pair of shoes from her bag and showed them to him. ‘Are these OK?’

‘As long as they’re comfortable, yes.’ He gave her a guarded look. ‘If you’ve forgotten the steps, just say. Don’t waste time.’

‘I haven’t forgotten,’ she said, giving him another glower as she changed her shoes. ‘There’s no need to be snippy with me.’

He said nothing, just raised an eyebrow.

‘Right leg back, left leg back, step right to the side, bring both feet together,’ she said, talking herself through the sequence. ‘Back, back, side, close. Slow, slow, quick-quick.’

‘Can you remember the hold?’

‘I might be a novice dancer,’ she said crisply, ‘but credit me with a little intelligence. If I can’t remember something, I’ll ask you.’

He inclined his head but didn’t smile or try to mollify her. ‘The hold?’

‘Left hand, the vee and the butterfly fingers,’ she said, doing it. ‘Right hand, up and with my fingers over yours and my thumb round yours.’

‘Good.’ He’d clearly already cued up the music, and this time used a remote control to switch it on. ‘Let’s go.’

Her skin tingled where it touched his, flustering her into missing a couple of steps. Liam gave her a speaking look.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Let’s start again.’

This time, something seemed to click; she was still incredibly aware of his body, his closeness, but this time it meant that her movements dovetailed with his. Connected. Going round the dance floor seemed entirely natural. By the time the music stopped, she felt as if she’d actually achieved something. And she loved that feeling.

‘I’ll teach you the next step after coffee,’ Liam said.

‘Not one of the spinning-round steps?’ she asked. Right now she couldn’t ever see herself being able to manage that.

‘Not today. Though you will be doing that pretty soon. And you’re talking either about a spot turn or a pivot.’

Polly placed her palm horizontally and whooshed it just above her head. Just so he’d know she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.

‘Message received and understood,’ he said.

And then he smiled.

There was a funny feeling in the pit of Polly’s stomach. Not the same feeling she’d had when Harry smiled at her, all warm and safe; this wasn’t safe at all. It was something dangerous. Something she couldn’t cope with.

She fell back on her standby—a super-bright smile—and followed him into the kitchen. This time he took three mugs from the cupboard.

‘Three mugs?’ she asked.

‘One’s for Amanda,’ he explained. ‘My PA. She keeps things running for me. Well, part time. She works for me between the school runs.’

As if on cue, a woman with wild, curly red hair walked in. ‘He’s a slave-driver. My advice would be, don’t let him get away with a thing.’ She smiled at Polly. ‘It’s great to meet you, Polly Anna. I’m Amanda. My kids love you on Monday Mash-up, so we’d be voting for you even if you weren’t dancing with Liam.’

Polly’s eyes were stinging, and she blinked back the tears. She wasn’t going to start crying just because someone was being kind to her. OK, so she’d miss the team on Monday Mash-up—she’d miss them horribly, because Danny, Mike and Charlie had become good friends over the last couple of years—but life had to go on.

Just as long as Harry didn’t put Grace in Polly’s place on the show, as well as her place in his life.

She lifted her chin, straightened her back and gave Amanda a full megawatt smile. ‘Thank you.’

‘Pleasure.’ Amanda waved a packet of chocolate biscuits at Liam. ‘Supplies. And I brought more proper coffee, because I bet you forgot.’ She smiled at Polly. ‘I’ll let you into a secret. Liam has a horribly sweet tooth. If he starts being bossy, just give him cake. Then he’ll be nice to you.’

This time, Polly’s smile was genuine.

‘I like Amanda,’ she said when Liam led her back into the dance studio.

‘So do I.’ He paused. ‘And I’m not bossy.’

‘You are.’

‘No, I’m focused,’ he corrected. ‘Which is how I need you to be, right now, because I’m going to teach you the balance step.’

‘Balance step,’ she repeated. How ironic, for someone as clumsy as her. She was only surprised that nobody had suggested she tried tightrope-walking on the ‘Challenge Polly Anna’ slot. Or maybe they had, and Harry had nixed it because he hadn’t wanted her to fall off and break her neck or something. ‘OK. I’m listening.’

‘Instead of moving two steps forward or back, we stay where we are and shift our weight—just a gentle side-to-side rock, really—and then we do the side-close.’ He talked her through it.

Polly just couldn’t get the hang of it and kept swaying the wrong way. Which made things worse, because then she ended up even closer to Liam, physically. Every time she touched him, even through layers of clothes, it made her feel as if the air were crackling round her.

Which was ridiculous.

She barely knew the man. And he wasn’t sweet and gentle, the way Harry was. He was driven and intense. Scary. And it threw her when he switched between being Mr Nice for the cameras and Mr Snippy, who only just managed to suppress his impatience with her inability to pick up the steps. Which was the real Liam?

‘You’re panicking,’ Liam said.

Yeah. He could say that again.

‘OK. Back to basics. This is exactly the same as we did before, except your feet don’t move for the first two steps—you just shift your weight as if you were taking a step to the side and then back again. Right, left, right, close.’

It took her a while, but finally she got the hang of it. And then, without even the hint of a break, he took her through the promenade step. ‘We’re both going to turn to face the same way, point our arms out together, and step forward. Remember you always move your right foot first, then your left.’ He demonstrated. ‘Then we turn to face each other again, step right to the side, and close with your left foot.’

Tricky. She had to think about which was her left and which was her right. And she got it wrong half the time.

He sighed. ‘Am I going to have to tie ribbons to your wrists, or something? Red for left and white for right?’

No way in hell was he getting close to her wrists. ‘There’s no point. I’d only get it mixed up with red for right and left for lemon,’ she said sweetly.

He muttered something that sounded like, ‘Give me strength.’

But eventually Polly got the hang of it. And when she stopped concentrating so hard, she was surprised to discover that she was actually having fun. She loved the music he was playing—an old Van Morrison track with a strong beat that even she could hear clearly—and she was finally moving around the floor with him, so easily that her worries about tripping over him faded into the background.

‘I love this,’ she said, smiling. ‘I totally get why you do this for a living.’ She hummed along to the song.

When Liam realised that she’d changed the lyrics to talk through what she was doing—not to guide herself, but almost celebrating the steps—he couldn’t help smiling back. ‘Yes. It’s everything. The music, the steps, how it all blends together and your body’s in tune with the whole lot.’

She looked up at him, her brown eyes sparkling with pleasure. At that moment, Liam felt connected with her. Really connected. The beat of the music was thrumming through his body, and he knew it was the same for her.

It would be oh, so easy to dip his head, find out if that lush mouth was as soft and sweet as he suspected …

And he’d really need his head examined. This was a complication he didn’t want or need. Yes, they could keep dancing, but he needed some space. Now. He stopped. ‘OK. That’s us done for today. See you tomorrow.’

She blinked for a moment, as if she’d lost herself in the dance, then gave him one of her super-bright smiles, making him feel obscurely guilty. ‘See you tomorrow,’ she echoed.

The next morning, Polly arrived at the studio with a bag of Danish pastries. ‘There’s a nice bakery round the corner from my flat, and as you’re providing the coffee I thought this could be my contribution. I’ll leave a note in the kitchen so Amanda knows to help herself, too.’ She gave him an arch look. ‘Plus the sugar might sweeten your mood so you don’t get stroppy with me this morning.’

‘Don’t push it. We’re doing corners this morning. I’ll have to be stroppy with you.’

But she did at least get a smile out of him. Score one to Polly Anna, she thought.

Except that smile did things to her. If it weren’t so ridiculous, she’d be tempted to think that this was the kaboom Harry had described. Her stomach was all fluttery, her skin felt too tight and her temperature was definitely a couple of degrees above normal. Worse still, it made her more aware of him physically. Of how small the gap was between their bodies when they danced. Of how easy it would be to close that gap. Of what it would be like to be skin to skin with him.

And the whole thing sent her into flat spin. It had taken her months to fall for Harry, and even then she hadn’t felt a physical reaction towards him like this. How could she feel this sort of thing about Liam, when she barely knew him?

She really had to get this under control. He was her dancing partner for the show. No way could she let him become anything more than that. Her heart had already been stomped on; and she had no intention of letting anyone near her until she’d got some good, solid defences in place. Defences that would mean nobody could hurt her again, the way that Harry had.

CHAPTER FOUR

EVERYTHING was fine until Saturday.

Saturday.

The day Polly had been trying not to think about.

Liam was busy during the day, so they weren’t doing their training session until the evening. And she’d already refused offers to spend time with her friends—even her best friend—because she really didn’t want to spend the day brightly talking about anything else except the elephant in the room. Thankfully they’d accepted her excuse that she couldn’t make it because she was training. It was true; she’d simply been a little creative with the timing of her session.

She spent the day scrubbing her flat, to keep herself busy. With long rubber gloves that hid her wrists. She wasn’t going back there. Ever again. She was older and wiser, and she’d learned to focus on the positive side; even if there was one dusty droplet of water in her glass, as far as she was concerned it was still partly full instead of mostly empty. And she had a lot to be thankful for. She had a roof over her head, even if her flat was tiny; she had a job, even if it was a bit precarious; and she had friends who loved her as much as she loved them.

Three more hours until training. Liam had said they were going to start their foxtrot routine today and spend the rest of the week polishing it. Learning the routine would definitely take her mind off today. Even though he could lead her through it, she’d still have to remember all the sequences and count her way through until she was confident.

Somehow she managed to fill the time until she could head for Liam’s studio. He made no comment when she walked in, so either he didn’t know what today was or he’d decided to be kind and not mention it. And she managed to smile until he switched on the music and the first notes filled the air.

She recognised it instantly.

Oh, no. Of all the songs he could’ve picked, why did it have to be this one?

She steeled herself as the vocals began. It didn’t matter. She could do this. Think positive, she told herself; at least she knew the song, so that was one less unfamiliar thing to deal with. And she forced herself to listen to Liam, let him talk her through the routine before they started dancing together.

Liam looked at Polly through narrowed eyes. She was crying. Silently, but she was still crying, the tears brimming over her lashes and rolling unchecked down her face.

What was going on? He wasn’t asking her to do anything more difficult than she’d done in the last week.

‘OK. Four basics, then two promenades,’ he said. Once she’d started the routine, she’d realise it wasn’t going to be problematic and everything would be fine. She’d stop crying.

He hoped.

To his relief, she didn’t miss a single step.

‘Corner,’ he said, glancing swiftly at her. Then he realised that her tears hadn’t stopped. At all. She was still silently weeping, the tears running unchecked down her cheeks.

This time, she stumbled. ‘Sorry.’ Her voice was quavery.

And then she pulled her hands away from the ballroom hold so she could cover her face with them. Her shoulders were shaking, and Liam could hear that she was trying to gulp back the sobs.

He couldn’t ignore this any more and try to make her dance on, regardless. Even though he wanted to back away, because seeing such raw, painful emotion bursting through someone’s defences made him feel incredibly uncomfortable.

The Polly he’d come to know wasn’t a crier. Whatever had upset her had to be something major. She needed a shoulder to cry on—and right now he was the only person who could fill that role, whether he liked it or not. He had to make the effort.

‘Polly,’ he said softly.

She gulped. ‘Sorry, I forgot where I was. What’s the next step?’

‘Polly, you can’t cry and dance.’

‘I’m not crying. I’m fine.’

He reached out and brushed a tear away with the pad of his thumb. ‘No, you’re not. And I’m being a selfish jerk, trying to pretend this’ll all go away if I ignore it.’ He bit back a sigh. ‘What’s wrong?’

How could she tell him? Once Liam knew about Harry, she knew he’d treat her differently and she couldn’t bear that. She didn’t want his pity.

She shook her head, unable to put it into words.

‘We need a break. Go and put the kettle on,’ he said.

She knew Liam was giving her some space, and she was glad of the chance to scrub her face with a tissue and breathe hard enough to stop the tears.

When the kettle was just about to boil, he walked into the kitchen and handed her a bar of chocolate.

‘Where did you get this?’ she asked.

‘Amanda’s secret stash. I’ll replace it before she gets in on Monday, but right now I think your need is greater.’

His kindness made her want to cry all over again. She knew her tears had made him uncomfortable. The awkwardness had been written all over this face. She’d expected him to be caustic about her inability to concentrate—and now he’d done this. Camera Liam. Or was this Real Liam?

‘Thank you.’ She bit into the confectionery. The rush from the sugar and the cocoa felt good.

He took over making the coffee. ‘Better?’ he asked, handing her a mug of coffee.

‘Yes,’ she lied.

‘So are you going to tell me?’

She dragged into a breath. ‘I know you’ve been working really hard on the choreography, and I’m being ungrateful, but I …’ She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I just can’t dance to that song.’

‘It brings back bad memories for you?’ he guessed.

‘Not bad memories, exactly.’ She grimaced. ‘It’s something that never happened.’

He frowned. ‘I’m not with you.’

She lifted her chin. ‘If I tell you, I don’t want you to treat me any differently. No pity, no condescension, no cotton wool. OK?’

Liam knew exactly where she was coming from. After the accident, pity was all he’d faced. He’d been at screaming point. And then, when Bianca left him, there had been more and more of the same. People seemed to stop seeing him for himself; it was as if he’d had the word ‘victim’ tattooed across his forehead.

‘OK. It’s a deal,’ he promised, knowing already what she was going to tell him. That she’d been dumped. And somehow he’d have to find some words to bolster her.

‘Today’s my wedding day.’

Her wedding day? Now that he hadn’t expected. The gossip rag hadn’t said that her engagement had ended only a few days before she was supposed to get married—just that Harry had broken up with her and gone off with someone else.

Liam stared at her in shock. He’d had no idea that she’d been coping with this much of a mess.

‘Well, it was going to be my wedding day,’ she amended, ‘until last week.’

Liam still didn’t have a clue what to say. And that only added to the guilt he felt about not comforting her earlier.

‘And this—’ she lifted her chin and treated him to her brightest smile, which he knew now was a sure sign that her heart was breaking ‘—this was going to be the song for the first dance.’

‘I’m sorry. If I’d known, I would’ve picked something different.’

‘I should’ve said something. Except it wasn’t on the list of songs you sent me, so I assumed it wasn’t one you were thinking about using.’ She lifted one shoulder. ‘I didn’t want to tell you before because—well, I didn’t want you to start pitying me. I don’t want to be this pathetic, needy creature.’

‘I know where you’re coming from. And you’re not pathetic.’ Needy, yes. But who was he to judge? ‘I saw the stuff in the paper. But I had no idea he’d called it off this close to the wedding. That’s rough on you.’

‘It could have been worse. He could have just not turned up at the church today. At least he told me himself and he didn’t leave it up to his best man or what have you to do the deed.’

Though Harry hadn’t spared her those terrible photographs in the gossip rags, Liam thought. The photographs of Polly with empty eyes, looking as if her world had ended.

‘Or, worse still, he could have married me today and then realised it was a mistake, so we would’ve had a legal mess to sort out as well as an emotional one.’

Yeah. Liam knew all about that one. Been there, done that, got the rights to the merchandising.

And she must really, really love the guy if she could come up with all these excuses for his behaviour when he’d clearly hurt her so badly.

‘There’s an awful lot to sort out if you cancel something at the last minute,’ Liam said. ‘I hope he was the one who had to ring up and cancel everything.’

She shook her head. ‘No, that was my job.’

Liam whistled. The guy had called it off, but he’d still made Polly pick up all the pieces? ‘What a selfish …’ The curse slipped out before he could stop it.

‘It’s not like that. Harry’s a creative.’

‘He’s a what?’ This was like no excuse Liam had ever heard before.

‘He produces TV programmes. He’s great at putting things together and seeing where the real story is behind things, but he’s really not very good at organising things outside a TV studio. So if I sort it out, at least I know it’s done and nothing’s been forgotten.’ She shrugged. ‘Anyway, I was the one who organised the wedding, so I had all the contacts. It was much easier for me to be the one to cancel things.’

She was underplaying it, Liam knew. Because Harry had left her to make all the explanations as well as cancel all the arrangements.

‘It’s still unfair that he left it to you to sort everything out. And to tell everyone.’

‘If I’d left it to him, Liam, he wouldn’t have done it. Someone else would’ve had to do it,’ she said quietly.

The penny dropped: Harry would’ve talked his new girl into sorting things out for him. Cancelling the wedding to her predecessor. Liam winced. ‘Oh, Pol.’

‘No pity. You promised,’ she reminded him.

‘No. But I don’t get why he’d do that to you.’

She sighed. ‘He couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. He hated himself for breaking up with me. But he couldn’t live a lie. We would both have ended up being miserable.’

‘Are you telling me you’re still friends?’ Liam couldn’t keep the note of disbelief from his voice.

‘Not right now, no. But one day, we will be. We were friends before we got engaged. Good friends. We liked each other.’ She swallowed hard. ‘I thought that would make the difference and would mean that our marriage would last, because we had more than just some kind of fleeting passion. Except …’ She shrugged. ‘That wasn’t what he wanted in the end. He wanted the kaboom.’

He didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. ‘What’s the kaboom?’

‘Harry says it’s like fireworks going off in your head when you meet the right one.’

‘Hmm.’ Liam couldn’t remember now if he’d had fireworks in his head with Bianca. Everything that came afterwards had kind of wiped that out. ‘So is that why you’re not working on Monday Mash-up any more?’

She nodded. ‘I resigned. I couldn’t face it.’

‘Seeing him every day, you mean?’

‘No.’ She coughed. ‘Seeing the producer’s new assistant.’

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