He narrowed his eyes and looked at her a little more closely. ‘Do we know each other?’

She shook her head, and the way the movement sent silky blonde hair swirling around her shoulders would have had him imagining his fingers winding through it had he not been ignoring that side of things in favour of finding out what this was all about.

‘No,’ she said. ‘I mean, not really. At least not in the strictest sense of the word.’

‘I’m afraid you’ve lost me.’

‘It is all a bit bemusing, I’ll grant you,’ she said. ‘But the thing is I’ve got myself into a bit of a fix and I need your help.’

‘What kind of a fix?’

She blushed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘I seem to have—ah—sort of invented a boyfriend.’

‘Sort of?’

She sighed. ‘OK, not sort of. I did invent a boyfriend.’

Dear Reader

Some people say that your schooldays, with few responsibilities, hordes of friends and long, long holidays, are the happiest of your life. Others add that, whether you loved them or hated them, they can shape you for years.

Who hasn’t idly browsed through Facebook to see what’s become of the class bully or the prettiest, most popular girl in the year? And who hasn’t wished they could sail into a reunion looking a million dollars, brimming with confidence and showing everyone what a fabulous success of their life they’ve made?

That’s perennially single Zoe Montgomery’s plan when, against her better instincts, she decides to attend her fifteen-year school reunion. Her schooldays definitely weren’t the happiest of her life, and much to her dismay they’ve subsequently had quite an impact, so she’s out to get closure. But, as can happen with the best-laid plans, things rapidly go awry—and before she knows it she’s not only invented a fabulous fake boyfriend, she’s brought him to life. When gorgeous advertising exec and latest tabloid hottie Dan Forrester and a very active grapevine become involved things start to get really complicated!

The school reunion that I went to, which provided the initial spark for this story, wasn’t nearly as dramatic as Zoe’s, but I can’t help wishing it had been! I had a blast writing Dan and Zoe’s story—I hope you enjoy it.

Lucy x

The Reunion Lie

Lucy King

www.millsandboon.co.uk

LUCY KING spent her formative years lost in the world of Mills & Boon® romance when she really ought to have been paying attention to her teachers. Up against sparkling heroines, gorgeous heroes and the magic of falling in love, trigonometry and absolute ablatives didn’t stand a chance.

But as she couldn’t live in a dream world for ever she eventually acquired a degree in languages and an eclectic collection of jobs. A stroll to the River Thames one Saturday morning led her to her very own hero. The minute she laid eyes on the hunky rower getting out of a boat, clad only in Lycra and carrying a three-metre oar as if it was a toothpick, she knew she’d met the man she was going to marry. Luckily the rower thought the same.

She will always be grateful to whatever it was that made her stop dithering and actually sit down to type Chapter One, because dreaming up her own sparkling heroines and gorgeous heroes is pretty much her idea of the perfect job.

Originally a Londoner, Lucy now lives in Spain, where she spends much of the time reading, failing to finish cryptic crosswords, and trying to convince herself that lying on the beach really is the best way to work.

Visit her at www.lucykingbooks.com

This and other titles by Lucy King are available in eBook format—check out www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the class of 1990

(none of whom are anything like the girls in this story!)

and our fun and fabulous school reunion.

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 Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

ONE

In all her thirty-two years, Zoe Montgomery had never once entertained a truly violent thought, but if one more person asked her whether she had a husband and children and then tutted in sympathy when she said she had neither she was going to have to hit something hard. Possibly the gin.

Did it matter that she’d been running her own mystery shopping agency for the past five years and was responsible for a two-million-pound turnover? No, it did not. Did anyone care that she’d started off refurbishing a tiny studio flat in an insalubrious part of London, sold it for double what she’d paid and had subsequently leapt up the property ladder to the spacious Hoxton maisonette she lived in now? Of course they didn’t. And what about the doctorate she’d toiled over for five long but happy years? Did that have them gasping in awe? Not a bit of it.

All that mattered to the forty or so depressingly tunnel-visioned women gathered in the bar for their fifteen-year school reunion was that she was still single and childless.

Zoe gritted her teeth and knocked back a mouthful of lukewarm Chablis as the conversation about house prices, catchment areas and Tuscany rattled around the little group she’d been dragged into.

How she could ever have imagined her contemporaries would have changed was beyond her. Back in their boarding-school days, despite the best private girls’ education the country had to offer and despite a handful of intellects far more formidable than her own, all most of them had ever wanted to achieve in life was marriage to an aristocrat, an estate and a socking great bank balance, and judging by the number of double-barrelled surnames, titles and diamonds being shown off tonight that had been accomplished with dazzling success.

Zoe sighed in despair. All that money spent. All that potential untapped. All that dedication and ambition so badly mis-channelled. What a waste.

As this evening was turning out to be.

She’d been here for fifteen minutes, but it had taken her only five to realise that there was little to no chance of achieving any of the things she’d hoped to achieve by coming.

When the email inviting her to the reunion had popped up in her in-box a month ago her first instinct had been to ignore it. While she appreciated the fantastic academic education she’d had and the sacrifices her parents had made for her to have it, she’d never got on all that well with these girls. She hadn’t had anything in common with most of them, and some of them—one in particular—had made her life pretty miserable for the best part of seven years. So without a moment’s hesitation she’d replied that she was busy, deleted the email and firmly put it from her mind.

She’d gone back to doing what she did best—work—and buried herself in a whole load of statistical analysis for one of her and her sister’s biggest clients, and had been so absorbed by the numbers and the implications they might have that that should have been that.

But to her intense frustration that hadn’t been that because despite its consignment to the bin the invitation seemed to have opened up a Pandora’s box of adolescent angst, hormonal chaos, and brutal and painfully clear memories, and, as a result, over the past couple of weeks she’d found herself dwelling on her school days with annoying regularity.

It didn’t matter how hard she tried to shore up her defences and push it all back, or how much she tried to concentrate on something else. Her memory hammered away, and beneath such relentless pressure the sky-high barriers she’d erected to protect her from those hideous years crumbled, leaving it to trip down lanes she’d blocked off long ago, picking at emotional scabs and prodding at the wounds beneath as it did so.

And once that had happened no amount of statistical analysis could stop her remembering the pain and suffering she’d endured.

The bullying had started off trivially enough. Books she’d needed for lessons had strangely disappeared, phone messages and letters hadn’t been passed on and there’d been rumours that hinted at lesbian tendencies and had all twelve girls in her dormitory huddling into a group at the far end of the room, eyeing her with suspicion and whispering.

Then there’d been the snide remarks to her face, the ones that targeted her family, mocking her and her sister’s need for scholarships and lamenting the fact that they didn’t live in a draughty old pile in the middle of nowhere, didn’t holiday in Barbados and Verbier, and had never been anywhere near Ascot, Glyndebourne or Henley.

At first Zoe had gritted her teeth and tried to ignore it, telling herself it would stop soon enough if she just knuckled down and got on with things. That they’d soon get bored and move on to easier prey.

But they hadn’t got bored and it hadn’t stopped, and her indifference had actually made things worse, escalating what had up to that point been bullying of the mental and emotional kind to the physical.

Sitting in front of her computer, her spreadsheet blurring in front of her eyes as the memories kept coming, Zoe had sworn she could still feel the tiny bruises from the sneaky pinches and the sharp pain from the surreptitious kicks she’d received on an almost daily basis. She’d thought she could still hear the snip of the scissors as one afternoon, while she’d been working head down at her desk concentrating so hard she’d been oblivious to anything else, they’d cut through the long shiny ponytail she’d had since she was six.

Mostly, though, she kept reliving the awful night following the one and only time she’d dared to retaliate, when she’d been pinned down and had had ouzo poured down her throat. She’d been found by the caretaker stumbling around the grounds at midnight, singing—badly—at the top of her voice, and taken straight to the headmistress, and as a result had been suspended a month before her A levels.

It had not been a good time, and even though she’d got over it all years ago the last thing she needed was an evening spent with fifty-odd reminders of what had definitely not been the happiest days of her life.

But then at some point during the last week or so, her previously rock-solid conviction that she was right not to attend the reunion had begun to wobble. The more she’d dwelled on what had happened, the more she’d begun to regret the fact that she’d done so little to stop it. OK, so it wasn’t as if she were going home to her parents every evening and had been able to confide in them, but with hindsight she could have told someone.

Why she hadn’t had started to bother her. What it said about her she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. And as if the tendrils of doubt, self-recrimination and denial that were winding through her weren’t enough, she’d begun to be hassled by an image of her sixteen-year-old self, standing there with her hands on her hips and pointing out that now would be the perfect opportunity to redress a balance that should have never been allowed to become so skewed in the first place.

Go and show them, the little voice inside her head had demanded with increasing insistence. Go and show them how well you’ve done, that despite their best efforts to batter your confidence and destroy your self-belief they couldn’t. Go and show them they didn’t win.

She’d tried to resist because she’d risen above what had happened long ago, she really had, and besides, she loathed conflict, hated having to make conversation and avoided social occasions like the plague and the combination of all three might well finish her off. But that little voice wouldn’t shut up, and in the end she’d come to the conclusion that she owed it to her teenage self at the very least to try and make amends because, quite apart from anything else, if she didn’t she wouldn’t have a moment’s peace.

So she’d emailed the girl organising the reunion to tell her she’d changed her mind, and that was why, fizzing with adrenalin, buzzing with fighting spirit and brimming with a confidence she rarely felt when confronted with the idea of people, she’d wriggled into a little black dress and heels and then trekked across the city to the gastro-pub in Chelsea on this late September Thursday night instead of spending the evening at home snuggling up to her laptop in her pyjamas as usual.

But if she’d known things weren’t going to work out as she’d anticipated, if she’d known she was going to wind up drinking disgustingly warm wine while having to endure a whole load of ‘do you remember when’s and being made to feel inadequate, as if somehow she’d failed simply because she hadn’t procreated, then she wouldn’t have bothered.

Zoe drained what was left of the wine in her glass and set her jaw. She knew she hadn’t failed. She’d achieved way more than many other women of her age and she was proud of the success she’d made of her life.

And so what if she wasn’t married and didn’t have children? And who cared if she had abysmal luck on the boyfriend front? She had a career she adored, supportive and loving parents and a great sister. While she wasn’t averse to the odd date or two and possibly a relationship at some stage, she didn’t need a man to complete her life, and she certainly wasn’t sure she wanted the chaos and mess and general disruption that children caused.

No, she was perfectly content with the way things were and therefore she had no need to feel insignificant. No need to feel inferior or inadequate. No need to let herself be affected by the opinions of a bunch of women who shouldn’t—no, didn’t—matter.

And yet...

As the conversation drifted on around her, once again casually dismissing her achievements as of no consequence and instead turning to the stellar accomplishments of husbands and children, Zoe felt what was left of the adrenalin and confidence drain away, leaving a kind of desperate despair she hadn’t experienced for fifteen years.

All she’d wanted to do tonight was exact retribution for everything she’d had to go through. All she’d wanted to do was impress the girls who’d tried so hard to stamp her out, stun them with her success and make them jealous of her for a change, but she hadn’t even been able to do that. The only kind of success anyone here would be impressed by was the marital kind, and that she didn’t have.

Retribution, it seemed, was no more within reach than it had been fifteen years ago. There was no redressing of any balance and there were no looks of envy being cast her way, and just like that she sank into deep despondency.

These women hadn’t changed, and nor, it appeared, had she, because despite managing to convince herself otherwise, despite all her professional achievements and industry accolades and the self-assurance she’d gained through them, she still cared what a bunch of over-privileged and underachieving housewives thought of her. They still had the ability to demolish her self-esteem, which was pretty shaky at the best of times, with nothing more than the curl of a lip and the arch of an eyebrow, and they could still make a mockery of her confidence.

That she wasn’t as over her school experiences as she’d so blithely assumed was a pretty devastating discovery and Zoe felt her chest tighten with something that felt a lot like panic as the questions began to ricochet around her head.

Why hadn’t she changed? Why did it still matter what they thought? Would she ever not? Above all, was there anything she could do to fight back?

The talk turned to biological clocks, career women and what their lives must be lacking by being single—accompanied by several pointed looks in her direction. And whether it was a great tangle of fifteen-year-old emotion that was churning around inside her or the confusion or the panic at the thought that she wasn’t nearly as in control as she’d envisaged she didn’t know, but adrenalin was suddenly pounding through her once again. The blood was rushing in her ears and her heart was thundering, and unable to stop, unable even to think about what she was doing, she found herself raising her eyebrows and saying in a cool voice that didn’t sound anything like hers, ‘Who said anything about being single?’

TWO

If he’d known his usually fairly quiet and staid local pub was going to be taken over by a gaggle of expensively turned out but very loud and loquacious women Dan would have suggested somewhere else to meet Pete because the sickly combination of scents that filled the air was making his stomach churn, the noise level was making his head throb and none of it was conducive to a catch-up over a few drinks and a bite to eat with a friend he hadn’t seen for months.

As it was, however, Pete had texted him to say he was running late and had then gone incommunicado, so unfortunately he didn’t have any choice but to arm himself with a pint, find a table on the other side of the pub and if possible block out the racket and the toxicity of the air until Pete arrived and they could make their escape.

With that aim in mind, Dan shrugged off his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt and then, bracing himself, began to make his way to the far and marginally less crowded end of the bar.

He was so focused on his destination, so intent on ignoring the women and the noise that he didn’t notice one of their party clap eyes on him and suddenly smile. Nor did he see her put down her drink, extricate herself from the melee and make a beeline for him.

In fact he didn’t notice anything about her at all until she was standing right in front of him, stopping him in his tracks and flashing him a dazzling smile, and then it was pretty impossible not to notice her.

Dan didn’t have a chance to mutter an ‘excuse me’ and step to one side. He didn’t have time to wonder why she was standing so close nor why her smile was so bright. He didn’t even have a chance to check her out properly.

All he got was a fleeting impression of blonde hair, dark eyes and an overall sense of attractiveness before she flung her arms round his neck, plastered herself against him and gave him the kind of kiss that he’d have considered more appropriate if they were naked and in private.

But he couldn’t think because on impact shock reeled through him, blowing his mind and obliterating almost every neuron he possessed. For a second it rendered him immobile too, but then his body dimly registered the fact that the woman arching herself against him was soft and warm and pliant, the hand on the back of his neck was singeing his skin like a brand and the mouth moving over his was hot and lush, and the whole bizarrely passionate package sent every one of his senses into overdrive.

For one crazy split second he wanted to whip his arms round her and pull her closer. He wanted to cave in to his instincts and the desire that was beginning to spark through him and open his mouth on hers so that they could kiss properly and he could find out what she tasted like.

With his surroundings disintegrating, his brain dissolving and his hands automatically moving to her waist, Dan was on the point of doing just that when something flashed in his peripheral vision. It seared through the haze in his head, lodged in his brain with the force of a blow dart, and he froze. The heat racing through him vanished as if doused with a bucket of iced water and desire evaporated, leaving him numb and stunned.

And then as the implications of that flash hit him his brain cranked into gear and the stunned shock spiralled into appalled disbelief. What on earth was he doing? What was he thinking? Hadn’t he learned anything from seeing the details of his last relationship splashed all over the front page of one of the country’s smuttier tabloids?

With his blood chilling at the thought of just how reckless he’d almost been, Dan jerked back and pushed her away, barely able to believe he’d so nearly fallen for what had to be a ruse because who went round randomly hurling themselves at perfect strangers without some kind of ulterior motive?

He stared down at the woman standing in front of him, flicking a quick glance over her and feeling his stomach tighten at the sight of the body that had so recently been clamped against him, clad in a tight black dress that plunged at the front and stopped an inch above her knees. Below the hem her stockinged legs tapered down into the sexiest pair of black high heels he’d ever seen and he suddenly had a brutally clear vision of those heels sliding up and down his calves as he pressed her into his mattress and reacquainted himself with her body.

Which was not going to happen, he told himself darkly, snapping his gaze back up to hers and deploying the single-minded focus he was supposedly famed for. The way she looked was irrelevant. The way she’d felt pressed against him was irrelevant. What had just happened, on the other hand, wasn’t, and he had to remember that.

‘Who the hell are you,’ he said grimly, ‘and what do you think you’re doing?’

* * *

Well, wasn’t that the question of the century? thought Zoe, staring up at the man she’d spied, selected and then accosted, still buzzing from the feel of him as she’d thrown her arms around his neck and pressed her mouth to his. Truthfully she no longer recognised herself and she no longer had a clue what she was doing, which was rather disconcerting for someone who usually applied logic, reason and consideration to every aspect of her life.

While she could just about make excuses for fabricating a boyfriend for the purposes of getting even, embellishing the poor man’s qualities until he’d sounded unbelievable even to her own ears had gone way beyond the boundaries of a good idea. And as for deciding to bring him to life, well, that had been downright insanity.

She briefly considered blaming the way that what had started out as a simple little lie had spun so ludicrously out of control on the gimlet she’d drunk, but that wouldn’t be fair. Not when she’d only had one and she could usually get through three before feeling a bit on the wobbly side.

No. The truth of it was that the minute she’d mentioned her fictitious yet fabulous boyfriend she’d noticed the abrupt shift in attitude towards her, and as the attention had swung back to her she’d been swamped by a deluge of delight and triumph and above all relief that finally something had worked.

As her former classmates had naturally sought more information about this gorgeous/devoted/brilliant-yet-sensitive man, they’d asked increasingly tricky-to-dodge questions but she’d been so intoxicated by the gasps of envy and admiration at her answers and by the feeling of being accepted for once that she hadn’t thought twice about the inadvisedly elaborate lies that she’d started to spin.

She hadn’t worried she was getting in too deep, that she’d be tripped up. Why would she when she’d borrowed the story of her sister’s whirlwind romance with her ex-husband? Their relationship might have ended in the divorce to end all divorces, but it had started out romantically enough, and Lily had shared details. At length.

The lies had tripped off Zoe’s tongue with surprising ease, so much so that she’d found herself elevating him to practically fiancé status and hinting that he was on the point of proposing. This development had had her worrying that everything was getting a bit out of control, but her audience were so beside themselves at the news that she casually dismissed her concerns.

The admiration and envy that she’d been basking in were utterly shallow, of course, not to mention completely baseless, but it had felt so good to stand there as an equal for a change. To feel her rapidly dwindling self-esteem soar and everything else she’d been worrying about lately melt away. And to have them jealous of her for once. Particularly gratifying was the sucking-on-a-lemon look on the face of Samantha Newark, the newly installed Countess of Shipley and Zoe’s number one tormentor, who might have swapped mousey frizzy hair and pie-crust collared blouses for a sleek blonde up-do and a designer wardrobe at some point in the last fifteen years, but was still, apparently, intent on being her bête noire.

So while inventing a boyfriend had been rash and mad and faintly pathetic, it had succeeded where her professional prowess had failed and Zoe had to admit that she couldn’t entirely regret it.

She did, however, regret deciding to bring him to life, because for that there had been no excuse. She’d been doing marvellously, adeptly treading a fine line between awesomeness and implausibility and just about keeping on top of all the lies she was telling.

So what had happened? What had tipped her over the edge? When Samantha had scoffed at her and said he sounded far too good to be true, why hadn’t she just shrugged nonchalantly and smiled enigmatically and left her to think what she liked? Why had she let it goad her into actually producing said boyfriend?

Had she got carried away by a false sense of security? Had she started to believe her own story? Or had it been wishful thinking that someone as fantastic as her fake boyfriend would actually turn up for real?

Whatever it had been, it had been a mistake, that much was certain. Because even as the words ‘Oh, and here he is!’ were spilling out of her mouth, a little voice inside her head had been yelling at her to stop, and the heady feeling of triumph had rapidly turned into alarm then panic and desperation and complete and utter disbelief that having come so far she was about to ruin everything.

Which she couldn’t let happen, so what choice had she then had but to find a suitable candidate?

When she’d first spotted him she’d had no idea whether he was suitable. She hadn’t even really clocked what he looked like; being a head taller than everyone else he was simply the first person she’d noticed. But then she’d registered the dark hair and the handsome face and, deciding he at least fulfilled the ‘gorgeous’ element of her fake boyfriend’s qualities, she’d wasted no time in going after him.

The idea of kissing him, though, hadn’t really come to her until she was standing in front of him, suddenly feeling warm and tingly all over. She’d somehow found herself staring at his mouth and she’d been filled with a quite desperate urge to know what it would feel like on hers.

Conveniently telling herself that, firstly, if he really had been her boyfriend kissing him would be a totally natural thing to do and that, secondly, even though he wasn’t it would validate the fiction she’d created, Zoe had embraced the role, pressed herself against him and planted her mouth on his.

For the briefest of moments she’d got the impression that he’d wanted to kiss her back, but then he’d pushed her away. Which hadn’t been the most auspicious of starts but perhaps one she would have anticipated had she not completely lost her marbles, because frankly if the roles had been reversed she’d have done the same thing.

However, right now hindsight and retrospective regret were pointless; having staked her claim on him, she could hardly go and find someone else. And with the evening teetering on the edge of a nail-biting climax she didn’t want to leave.

So all she could do now was appeal to his better nature and put her case forward as best she could, and hope he’d take pity on her and agree to help her out.

* * *

‘Well?’ said Dan, thinking that whoever she was and whatever was going through her cunning little mind she’d had quite long enough to come up with a plausible story.

‘My name’s Zoe Montgomery,’ she said, looking up at him and giving him a blinding smile that wasn’t exactly a surprise seeing as she’d probably just made God knew how much money, ‘but as for what I’m doing, well, that’s something I’ve been asking myself quite a lot over the last half an hour.’

What did come as a surprise, though, he thought, narrowing his eyes and fixing her with a stare designed to discomfort and disconcert, was the way her smile seemed to slice through his suspicion and strike him right in the chest. It was undoubtedly down to the shock of the past five minutes still making a mess of his brain, but nevertheless it did prove that he needed to keep his wits about him, because right now he wasn’t in the mood for smiles. Of any kind. ‘Enlighten me,’ he said abruptly.

At his tone her smile faded, much to his relief, and her eyes clouded over for a second. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

‘Well, try.’

‘Look, you have every right to be furious,’ she said with an apologetic shrug. ‘I shouldn’t have accosted you like that. I’m sorry.’

Dan gritted his teeth and ignored the sensuous way her dress shifted over her body with the movement. ‘If that picture ends up in the paper, you will be.’

She frowned. ‘What?’

‘The kiss,’ he said flatly, ruthlessly stamping down the heat that threatened to shoot through him at the memory of how hot and soft she’d felt as she’d pressed herself up against him. ‘The set-up.’

Her jaw dropped and what looked like genuine surprise flashed across her face. ‘How could you possibly know about that? I only thought of it myself a minute or two ago.’

‘Experience.’

Her eyebrows shot up. ‘This has happened to you before?’

‘Once.’ And that was quite enough, he thought, snapping that train of thought off before it could take root and bring back all the feelings of foolishness, disillusionment and betrayal he’d experienced following his most recent ex-girlfriend’s duplicity. ‘And you might as well know now you won’t get a penny. My lawyers will slap an injunction on you and your photographer friend so fast your head will spin.’

‘What photographer friend?’

He glanced round in search of her camera-wielding pap sidekick, but whoever it was had clearly fled because from what he could see none of the people who surrounded them was showing the slightest bit of interest in either of them or the kiss that she’d just planted on him.

But that didn’t mean he hadn’t been there.

‘Innocence doesn’t suit someone who looks like a sexy fallen angel,’ he said grimly, shifting his gaze back to her and watching her closely.

Her eyes darkened and her cheeks went pink while her lips parted to let out a little gasp. ‘You think I look like a sexy fallen angel?’ she echoed, her voice sounding a bit breathy.

With all that tumbling blonde hair, eyes the colour of liquid dark chocolate and those killer curves Dan actually thought she looked like every fantasy he’d ever had. To his consternation he could all too easily picture her lying sprawled on his bed, her hair fanning out over his pillows as he loomed over her, watching her writhe beneath him and listening to her pant and plead and beg him to do filthy things to her.

At the vividness of the image his head swam and the entire reason for this conversation nearly shot clean from his mind. Nearly, but not quite. ‘With the morals of a phone-hacking tabloid journalist,’ he added sharply, because it suddenly seemed important to remember that bit.

She recoiled and took a hasty step back. ‘Crikey, that’s a bit much, isn’t it?’ she murmured, staring at him in astonishment. ‘It was only a quick kiss.’

Yeah, right, he thought, rather rattled by the discovery that the self-control he’d always taken for granted wasn’t quite as rock solid as he’d assumed. ‘And tell?’

‘What?’ She leaned in a little and regarded him closely, the astonishment making way for concern. ‘Look, are you sure you’re all right?’

No, he wasn’t sure he was all right at all. He wasn’t sure he’d been all right for months. Years, probably. But then maybe that was what happened when you’d been betrayed not once, but twice, by women you once trusted. Maybe it was perfectly natural to develop a cynicism that ran bone deep and a wariness that coloured practically every decision you ever made when it came to the opposite sex.

Dan shoved his hands through his hair and drew in a deep measured breath in an effort to regain some sort of grip on his control, because now he was coming down from the embarrassingly melodramatic way he’d reacted to the kiss she’d given him it was slowly beginning to occur to him that he might have got this wrong.

For one thing the woman who’d attacked him was looking at him with such an unusual combination of sincerity, concern and bewilderment, and, now he thought about it, an underlying hint of panic, that she’d have to be a better actress than he’d ever come across to portray such a convincing range of emotion. Her lack of guile seemed pretty genuine too, although given his track record perhaps he wasn’t the best person to pass judgement on that particular trait.

For another thing, if all she’d wanted was a picture of the kiss, having got what she was after wouldn’t she now be making every effort to leave and go off in search of a buyer?

So maybe there was another reason she’d approached him, he thought, belatedly applying the logic he would have applied a while ago had she not stolen his brain. Maybe she made a habit of kissing random men. Maybe she’d taken one look at him and for some reason had been unable to stop herself. Maybe she was just mad...

Another flash caught his attention and he jerked his head away from the woman in front of him and scanned the room until his gaze fell on a guy holding a camera and taking a series of group shots of the women on the far side of the pub.

And then as he realised that the photos weren’t of him, they weren’t of her, and the guy with the camera wasn’t a paparazzo, and that he had got it wrong, he inwardly groaned. God, maybe he was the one who’d gone mad.

‘Forget it,’ he muttered, briefly wondering whether at some point in the not too distant future he oughtn’t address his attitude towards women because surely not all of them could be out for everything they could get.

‘Not a chance,’ she said with a little snort. ‘Who are you?’

‘Dan Forrester,’ he replied and automatically braced himself for the spark of recognition that usually came with his name.

But this time it didn’t come. In fact, she was staring at him utterly blankly and he wasn’t sure what to make of it.

‘I don’t mean to be rude,’ she said, now looking a bit embarrassed, ‘but is that supposed to mean something?’

‘Doesn’t it?’

She shook her head. ‘I’m afraid not. But then I don’t take much of an interest in anything other than work, so if you haven’t appeared in Significance then it’s entirely possible you’ve slipped beneath my radar.’ She shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

‘Significance?’

‘It’s a magazine about statistics and data interpretation. Riveting if you’re into that sort of thing, boring as hell if you’re not.’

‘And you are?’

She nodded. ‘For my sins. I’m a statistician. But getting back to the point, I think you might have misinterpreted my kiss.’

No surprise there. Quite a shock though when her gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered for a second, and he found himself a split second away from grabbing her and kissing her in a way that left no room for misinterpretation.

Dan swallowed back the impulse, shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans in case they got ideas and reminded himself to concentrate. ‘So why did you throw yourself at me?’ he asked, rather more interested in her answer than he thought he ought to be.

She snapped her gaze back up to meet his and gave herself a quick shake. ‘Oh. Well. It was all part of my plan.’

‘What plan?’

‘The one I came up with five minutes ago.’

‘That was quick.’

She sighed. ‘Way too quick as it turns out. It’s my very makeshift, badly thought out, and with hindsight a total mistake plan.’

‘But one that somehow involves me?’

‘I was rather hoping so.’

‘How?’

Her eyes clouded over again and the panic he thought he’d glimpsed earlier flared in their depths. ‘I’ve got myself into a bit of a fix and I need your help.’

Her voice suddenly held a faint tremble and her body tensed and Dan went still, every instinct he possessed telling him to get away from her right now because, while he might have been wrong in his assessment of her motives earlier, he didn’t do damsels in distress—however attracted to them he was—and he didn’t do help, and nothing good would come of changing his mind about any of that now.

But although his brain was waving great warning signs alerting him to the possible dangers of sticking around, something was keeping his mouth from forming a parting shot and something was keeping his feet from moving. To his alarm he was rooted to the spot, strangely transfixed and unusually bothered by the desperation she was emanating, and he was mystified as to why. Surely he couldn’t actually be interested in hearing her out, could he?

‘What kind of a fix?’ he muttered since he could hardly carry on standing there in silence.

‘See that bunch of women over there?’ She smiled over his shoulder at them and gave a little wave.

He winced as one of them shrieked with laughter. ‘They’re impossible to miss.’

‘I know.’

‘What’s the occasion?’

‘School reunion.’

‘Fun?’ He couldn’t think of anything worse, but then he’d hated his school years.

She shuddered. ‘Absolutely horrendous.’

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘I thought it would be cathartic.’

‘And is it?’

‘No.’

‘Then why not just leave?’

‘Another excellent question.’ She sighed and bit her lip and his gaze dipped to watch, his mouth going dry as he involuntarily imagined nibbling on that lip himself. ‘You’d think that would have been the sensible thing to do, wouldn’t you? The logical thing... But tonight my common sense and logic seem to have deserted me.’

Dan cleared his throat and thought that the same could be applied to him. ‘How unfortunate,’ he said and told himself that it might be a good idea to try and stay cool and aloof if he was ever going to extricate himself from the mess he seemed intent on submerging himself in.

‘It is. Very. It’s never happened to me before.’ She frowned. ‘I don’t normally go around kissing strange men, you know.’

‘I’m glad to hear it.’ And oddly enough he was. ‘So why did you?’

She tilted her head and regarded him contemplatively, as if mentally debating whether and how to continue. ‘Have you ever been to a school reunion hoping to impress everyone with the success you’ve achieved?’ she asked eventually.

‘No.’ Hell would freeze over first. And besides, if anyone was interested they could read about it in the papers like everyone else seemed to want to.

‘Well, I was.’ She sighed. ‘But it turns out that none of them could care less about any of that. All that any of them can bang on about is their husbands and children.’

At the resignation and disdain in her voice Dan couldn’t help feeling a stab of sympathy despite his intention to remain detached, because he knew what it was like to be on the receiving end of that kind of conversation. ‘Now that does sound bad.’

‘It’s awful. I have neither and there’s only so much chat about school league tables and the importance of baby violin classes I can stomach, which is, I’ve discovered, not a lot.’

‘I’m not surprised. How on earth does a baby get to grips with a violin?’

‘I didn’t dare ask.’ She closed her eyes briefly, pinched the bridge of her nose and gave her head a shake of what looked like hopelessness. ‘And they’re the most appalling snobs.’

‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘I’ve never seen such one-upmanship and as for the name-dropping, well, if that were an Olympic sport there’d be golds all round.’

‘Then why do you want to impress them?’

‘It’s a long and tedious story,’ she said, before pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. ‘Let’s just say that I wasn’t exactly the most popular girl at school and I ended up with the bruises to prove it.’

As the implications of that sank in Dan’s jaw automatically tightened and his hands curled into fists because he knew about that too. His sister, Celia, had been bullied, and even though, unlike this woman, she’d eventually managed to deal with it, it was still a cause for regret that he’d been too busy dealing with the way he’d felt about their parents’ divorce to realise what had been going on.

‘I wanted retribution,’ she added.

‘I see,’ he said, wishing not for the first time that he could string up every bully who’d ever existed and flog them to within an inch of their lives. ‘So you were aiming for the living-well-being-the-best-revenge kind of thing?’

‘Something like that.’

‘Then what’s the fix?’

She blushed and shifted her weight from one foot to the other and then took a deep breath. ‘It didn’t have the impact I was hoping for.’ She stopped. Winced a little, he thought.

‘And?’ he prompted.

‘And so I invented a boyfriend.’

His eyebrows shot up. ‘What?’

She went red. ‘Please don’t make me say it again.’

‘OK, but why?’

‘Because I figured that that’s the only thing they deem impressive.’ She sighed. ‘It’s totally pathetic, I realise, but I seem to be sixteen all over again and, well, you know...’ She tailed off and shrugged.

‘Don’t you have a real one?’

She flashed him a look of exasperation. ‘If I did I wouldn’t have had to invent one, would I?’

‘I suppose not.’ Although why she didn’t when she looked like that and felt like that he had no idea.

‘And I certainly wouldn’t have been kissing you.’

Which would have been a shame, he thought, briefly distracted by the memory of her mouth moving against his. ‘Did it work?’

‘Like a dream. Or should I say a nightmare? Things have got a bit out of hand.’

‘How?’

She shook her head as if utterly unable to comprehend what was going on. ‘All I did was mention that I had a boyfriend, but I guess I should have realised they’d descend on that piece of information like a pack of starving hyenas. They started bombarding me with all these questions about what he did and where he was from, and things just kind of snowballed. They even started asking if he was The One.’ She grimaced. ‘I mean, seriously? Don’t they know how statistically unlikely it is that you’ll ever find The One?’

‘Presumably not.’

‘The chances have been calculated at around one in two-hundred-and-fifty-eight thousand, which I think you’ll agree are not great odds.’

At her indignation, Dan felt his mouth twitch with the beginnings of a grin. ‘They certainly don’t sound that good.’

‘They’re atrocious, and the odds that there’s only one One are even less. But anyway, I was in the middle of extolling my fictitious boyfriend’s virtues, of which there are a great many, naturally—’

‘Naturally.’

‘When someone said a bit too sceptically for my liking that he sounded too good to be true and it wound me up. So I thought I’d collar the next vaguely presentable man who walked in and ask him to help. Then you showed up, and I thought you’ll do.’

‘Charming,’ said Dan dryly, wondering whether he ought to be offended or impressed by her candour.

She shrugged. ‘Sorry.’

Settling on the latter, he said, ‘At least you’re honest.’ Which made a refreshing change when it came to the opposite sex.

‘Hardly,’ she said, giving him a wry smile. ‘I’ve just spent every one of the last ten minutes lying my head off. I don’t normally, but this evening I seem to have gone a bit off the rails. Hence the kiss,’ she added, and then a look of horror crossed her face and her gaze dropped to his left hand as a thought evidently crossed her mind. ‘God, you’re not married or anything, are you?’

‘No.’ Much to his mother’s continual and extremely vocal disappointment.

‘Girlfriend?’

‘Not at the moment,’ he said, just about managing to hold back the shudder that wanted to run through him at the thought.

She gave him a bright smile and let out a long breath. ‘Oh, that is a relief.’

‘Isn’t it?’ And not just for her. ‘Although if I’d had either I’m not sure they’d have been all that impressed at what just happened.’

‘No,’ she conceded. ‘But then you could always have told them I started it.’

He tilted his head and shot her a sceptical look. ‘Would you settle for that?’

She stared at him in surprise. ‘Why not? It’s the truth, isn’t it?’

‘When does that ever matter?’

‘You sound cynical.’

‘Just being realistic.’

‘Maybe you should get some new friends.’

‘Maybe I should.’

‘Anyway,’ she said, ‘if I trusted you, of course I’d believe you.’

She made it sound so simple. ‘Then you’re unlike virtually every woman I’ve ever met.’

Her smile faded. ‘I expect I am,’ she said with a resigned sigh.

‘Which is not necessarily a bad thing.’

‘If you say so,’ she muttered, sounding so thoroughly unconvinced and down that he had an unexpected urge to haul her back into his arms and tell her everything was going to be all right.

Failing to understand what was going on with that, Dan parked it and pulled himself together. ‘What would you have done if I had had a wife or girlfriend?’

‘I’m not sure,’ she said, thinking about it for a moment. ‘Slapped you to make it look like an argument and stormed out probably.’

He winced. ‘Ouch.’

‘Quite. So it’s lucky for both of us you don’t, isn’t it?’ She took a step towards him and looked up at him beseechingly, and as her scent wound through him his head briefly swam. ‘So what do you think?’ she asked softly. ‘Will you help me out and play the part of my besotted boyfriend for a bit or do I need to slink out and hope I don’t see any of that lot ever again?’

THREE

Absolutely no way was the answer that was hovering on the tip of Dan’s tongue as he looked down at Zoe and steeled himself to ignore the shimmering hope in her eyes. She might not be the kiss-and-tell girl he’d initially suspected her of being—and the story she’d subsequently spun him was too convoluted to be anything but the truth—but going along with her ridiculous proposition was still out of the question.

Even if he had possessed a chivalrous streak—which he most certainly didn’t—ever since he’d shot to the top of that bloody eligible bachelor list five years ago he’d had the press nosing around his private life, commenting on his relationships and speculating about whether he had any intention of settling down. And following the hideously detailed story Jasmine had sold six months ago, he now hit the headlines pretty much every time he even spoke to a woman, and he had no desire to fan the embers with yet more fodder for gossip.

God only knew how far this particular little farce had gone, but should it get out that he was romantically involved—falsely or not—there’d be repercussions he could barely bear thinking about.

And not just from the press.

Ever since he’d turned thirty his mother had never passed up an opportunity to mention how she wasn’t getting any younger and how she’d like to be able to enjoy her grandchildren while she still could, and, although he hadn’t reached his breaking point yet, the memories she stirred up every time she mentioned it were getting harder and harder to suppress and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand it.

If she got to hear of a relationship then his life would become truly intolerable, so if he had any sense whatsoever he’d be saying goodbye and good luck and sticking to his original plan of buying a pint and taking himself off to a relatively quiet corner of the pub. Even more wisely he’d be heading out of the pub altogether, finding a venue that didn’t contain lunatic women with hyperactive imaginations and texting Pete to inform him of the change of plan.

But Zoe had clearly stolen every drop of sense he possessed because she was blinking up at him with those pleading brown eyes fringed with the thickest darkest eyelashes he’d ever seen, and all he could think about was how she’d felt plastered up against him, how warm and soft she’d been and how desperate she was looking now.

He didn’t think he’d ever seen quite such raw panic or such heartfelt pleading before, and it was making his resolve not to get involved waver. It was giving rise to a weird protective streak that he hadn’t known he’d had and an oddly difficult to ignore sense of empathy.

Even though he’d always considered himself to be way too canny and too cynical to be suckered by a damsel in distress, he did know what it was like to be bombarded with the whole marriage and children thing so relentlessly that you could be driven to recklessness. He did know what it was like to go off the rails and make rash decisions that with hindsight were just plain madness.

So if he could figure out something that wouldn’t require much input from him but would have the maximum impact for her, if it was only for a moment and strictly on his terms, then maybe, just maybe, he could help her out.

Zoe bit her lip nervously, as if trying to stop herself from telling him to hurry up, and as his gaze dipped to her mouth the solution came to him in a flash.

‘All right,’ he said, dismissing the voice in his head demanding to know whether he truly had gone insane, because, really, what harm could come of it? ‘You can have a kiss.’

* * *

Oh, thank God for that, thought Zoe letting out the breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding.

For one horrible moment she’d thought Dan was going to say ‘no’ to her frankly preposterous proposal, declare she was mad and march off. Like any normal person—as unlike her he seemed to be—would. But he hadn’t. Her decision to enhance her appeal to his better nature with a whole load of very uncharacteristic eyelash batting had worked and he’d capitulated.

Well, sort of, she amended. A kiss wasn’t exactly what she’d been hoping him to offer, but it was a start.

‘Haven’t I already had one of those?’ she asked.

His eyes glittered as he considered. ‘I’ll make it a proper one. In full view of everyone. To make up for any doubts that might have been generated by my pushing you away the last time.’

‘I see,’ she said, having to concede that this was a good idea. ‘And then what?’

‘I’ll be leaving.’

‘Oh.’ Zoe felt her face begin to fall and pulled herself together. What had she been expecting? That he’d want to stick around and get even more involved in the craziness she’d created? Why on earth would he—or anyone for that matter—want to do that? She ought to be grateful that he’d offered a kiss, not left her to face the repercussions of her little white lies.

‘Think of it like this,’ said Dan. ‘I popped in to say hello on my way to somewhere else, and once we’ve had the kiss I’ll be popping out again. You can do what you like.’

Logically Zoe knew that that was fair enough, but the thought of all those women eagerly waiting to meet him and the giddy rapture that would ensue when they did was still battering away in her head and scrambling her powers of reason. ‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay?’

‘I don’t think that’s a very good idea, do you?’

Well, yes, actually she did, because if she was being brutally honest she didn’t want to say goodbye to him just yet. She wasn’t sure why, but she wanted more of him. ‘Why not?’

He frowned. ‘How deep are you in with the details, Zoe?’

She sighed. ‘Pretty deep, I guess.’ Not quite in over her head, but nearly. ‘I think I might have implied that you’re on the point of proposing.’

She thought she saw him shudder, which kind of told her what he thought of that particular idea.

‘Then you should be counting yourself lucky you’ve got away with it this far,’ he said. ‘If you add me into the mix any further when I don’t have any idea of the lies you’ve been drumming up things could get really complicated, don’t you think?’

Hmm, he did have a point. ‘Probably,’ she muttered.

‘Definitely,’ he said, his dark eyes glittering in the soft light of the pub. ‘So that’s the deal, Zoe. One kiss. Take it or leave it.’

Well, what option did she have under the circumstances but to agree? she thought, caving into the common sense she usually valued so highly but seemed to have abandoned tonight.

Dan was absolutely right, of course. There was no probably about it. She’d pushed her luck way beyond its limit this evening and sailed so close to the wind with the story she’d concocted, and what with the emotional turbulence, the stress of having to think on her feet and the horrible sensation that her control was history she didn’t think her nervous system could take any more.

To carry on with the charade would be beyond reckless. She could see that now. She’d achieved what she’d set out to do and she’d got at least some sort of closure to her school days, so there was no need to continue with it any longer.

Therefore Dan wouldn’t be the only one leaving once this kiss was over and done with. She’d be right with him. Hanging off his arm, flinging a wave in the direction of her former classmates and sailing out. Quitting while she was still ahead. Leaving with her head held high and her self-esteem not quite as close to rock bottom as it had been before. And then she’d be heading for home, putting the whole crazy night behind her and moving on.

It had better be one hell of a kiss, though. Her commitment to the idea was irrefutable. Just the thought of having his mouth on hers, properly this time, was making her heart thump and her knees wobble. His, on the other hand...Who knew how he was intending to approach it?

‘OK, well, fine,’ she said, feeling all hot and tingly again at the prospect of the two of them kissing, ‘but could you at least try and make it look convincing?’

Taking her hand and tugging her towards a gap in the crowds from where they’d have maximum exposure, Dan shot her a quick smouldering smile. ‘I’ll do my best.’

* * *

In the event, Dan didn’t have to try all that hard to do his best. Zoe’s instant, scorchingly hot response to him—the way she melted into him with a soft sigh, the tightening of her arms around his neck and the pressure of her pelvis tilting up against his, and then the little moans she started making at the back of her throat—was as mind-blowing as his was to her, and within seconds the kiss had taken on a life of its own.

Kissing a woman certainly wasn’t something he’d never done before. On the contrary it was an activity he’d engaged in a lot during his thirty-three years, generally with great success, but he’d never had a kiss quite like this one. He’d never had his mind go quite so blank quite so fast. He’d never had the feeling that the world around him was disintegrating. And he’d never experienced such a swift rush of desire, such instant heat nor such a reckless longing to toss aside his control and give in to such clamouring raw need.

Who knew where the intensity of it, the insanely desperate urge to flatten Zoe against the nearest suitable surface and get her naked, came from? It could have simply been down to intense and sizzling chemistry that now surged between them. It could have merely been that emotions seemed to be running fever high this evening. Or it could have been the fact that the three-date-only rule he’d instigated following Jasmine’s blabbing to the press usually precluded sex by its very nature, and he was missing it. Whatever it was, and, really, his brain was in no state to try and work it out, Dan didn’t want the kiss to end.

And it might not have done had a distant wolf whistle followed by a cut-glass-accented suggestion they get a room not sliced through the fog in his head and brought him thumping down to earth.

Reluctantly drawing back, he stared down at the woman in his arms. Her eyes were glazed, her cheeks were pink and her lips were rosy from the pressure of the kiss, and her breathing was all ragged and shallow. She looked as shaken as he felt and at the realisation that she’d been as affected as he had his self-control rocked for a second. He could still feel every inch of her pressed up against him, was achingly aware of her breasts crushed to his chest and all he could think about was doing it again.

But he couldn’t do it again, could he, because one kiss had been the deal and that had been accomplished. More thoroughly and disturbingly than he could ever have imagined.

‘Thanks,’ said Zoe huskily, unwinding her arms from around his neck and placing her hands on his chest instead.

‘You’re welcome.’

She tilted her head and a slow sexy smile curved her mouth. ‘That should have done it, don’t you think?’

‘Done what?’ he muttered, too dazzled by the smile and too preoccupied and baffled by the way his skin was burning beneath her palms and his blood was still burning through his veins to have a clue what she was talking about.

‘Convinced them.’

For a moment he was about to ask ‘They who?’ but he managed to pull himself up just in time as his brain cleared enough for reason to put in an appearance. Right. Her ex-classmates. The bullies. The reason for the kiss. ‘If it didn’t I can’t imagine what would,’ he muttered.

Her gaze dropped to his mouth and her eyes darkened, and the expression on her face suggested she was tempted to suggest another one. But she didn’t, thank God, or heaven only knew what he would have done.

‘So now I suppose you’ll be off,’ she murmured, lifting her eyes to meet his once again.

He nodded. ‘I will.’

She tilted her head. ‘Pity. In a way.’

Yes, it was, he thought, momentarily distracted by the intensely fiery look of desire in her eyes and the reciprocal surge that shot through him. And didn’t that pull him up short, because his agreement to help Zoe out had been conditional on his participation being brief and on his terms, and the thought that he could so easily be persuaded into something more was deeply unsettling. ‘But necessary. In another.’

‘Then you’d better let me go.’

‘Right.’ He had. So why were his arms tightening around her instead of loosening? Why wasn’t he turning on his heel and getting out of there just as fast as was humanly possible?

Oh God, he thought, his heart thudding with alarm and his entire body going still. What the hell was going on? Surely he wasn’t thinking of staying, was he? He couldn’t. He’d be nuts to even consider it.

So why was he now wondering if he could do more to help Zoe, the way he should have helped Celia? Why was a flicker of the guilt that he thought he’d dealt with years ago now leaping around in his stomach and battling with desire?

He couldn’t stay, he reminded himself firmly, setting his jaw and ruthlessly stamping out the guilt. He didn’t need to. Celia was fine. She hadn’t needed him. The two cases bore no resemblance whatsoever. Besides, the potential fallout from being some kind of white knight here was huge, and why he kept forgetting that he had no idea.

Or was it as big a deal as he was making out?

Zoe hadn’t recognised him, he realised, his head suddenly pounding with possibilities. No one else here seemed to. Had he really become so paranoid that he thought everyone everywhere was out to get him? Was he really so vain that he thought everyone knew who he was? And how long was he going to let what Jasmine had done influence his decisions?

‘Dan?’

The sharpness of Zoe’s voice jerked him out of the tangled confusion of ideas and thoughts churning around his head. ‘What?’

She pushed at his chest. ‘Let me go.’

‘In a minute.’

‘What?’ Her eyes widened and filled with alarm that mirrored his own. ‘No. Now.’

‘Why?’

‘Why? Because it’s what we agreed, and if you don’t release me right now it’ll be too late.’

It already was. At least for him. Because now all he could think was that he could help her. That he had to help her. ‘What if I’ve changed my mind?’

She looked aghast. ‘You can’t.’

‘Why not? I got the impression you wanted more from me than just a kiss.’

‘Maybe, but that was before.’

‘Before what?’

‘Before I changed my mind too. You were absolutely right. I’m in way too deep for this kind of thing. I’ve had enough and I really don’t think I can take any more.’ She flicked a quick glance to her right. ‘Oh, God, they’re on their way over, and believe me you do not want “us” to be subjected to the horror that is Samantha Newark.’

Dan felt a shudder rip through her and any lingering doubt that he was doing the right thing instantly vanished. ‘Is she the one who gave you the bruises?’

She looked back at him as confusion flickered across her face. ‘What? Oh. Well, yes, but who cares about that now? If we don’t leave right this minute, as you so cleverly pointed out things will get really complicated.’

He set his jaw. ‘Complication is my middle name.’

‘What?’ she asked with something akin to panic. ‘No. This is insane.’

‘You started it,’ he felt obliged to point out.

‘And I want to finish it.’

‘So let’s finish it. Properly.’

‘I’m trying to,’ she said through gritted teeth.

‘Where’s your spirit of adventure?’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘I find that hard to believe. Haven’t you just produced a boyfriend out of thin air?’

‘Would you mind keeping your voice down?’ she said in a furious low voice.

‘And that kiss was something else.’

‘Forget the kiss,’ she practically hissed.

‘I don’t think that’s going to be possible.’

‘It has to be.’

He pulled her close and looked deep into her eyes. ‘You know, we should do this. You should do this.’

‘In the name of all that’s holy, why?’

‘My sister was bullied and it was only when she stood up to them that she got over it. You need to deal with it so you can move on.’

‘I have, thank you very much, Mr Amateur Psychologist, and I am.’

He arched a sceptical eyebrow. ‘Really?’

‘OK, so I’m a work in progress.’

‘I can help.’

‘They’d see through us in a second.’

‘No, they wouldn’t. I’m in advertising.’

For a second she just stared at him in uncomprehending disbelief. ‘What on earth does that have to do with anything?’

‘It involves manipulating perception and getting people to believe what they’re told regardless of whether it’s the truth or not, and I’m an expert.’

‘Your cynicism runs deep.’

‘Luckily so does my creativity.’

‘Believe me, it’s not a patch on mine,’ said Zoe darkly. ‘You do not want to hear the stuff I’ve made up.’

‘Don’t I? I’m rather keen to find out the exceptional talents you’ve given me.’

She clutched at his shirt and stared at him wildly. ‘Why are you being so persistent about this?’

‘I don’t think I want to let you go just yet.’ Of everything that had been running through his brain that was the one thing of which he was certain. He wanted some more of those kisses. He wanted more of her.

‘So let’s talk on the pavement outside. Let’s go to a different bar, a restaurant, anywhere away from here.’

‘I also don’t like bullies.’

‘Neither do I, but they’re mine to deal with, and—’

‘Zoe!’

‘Oh, God,’ she muttered, her voice shaking as the strident female tone came from right behind them. ‘I told you it would be too late.’ She dropped her head onto his chest. ‘This is going to be a disaster,’ she said, her words muffled against his shirt. ‘A total unmitigated disaster.’

* * *

Despite Zoe’s misgivings, her frustration that her escape plan had been thwarted and her deeply felt conviction that Dan had ruined everything, things weren’t turning out to be as bad as she’d anticipated.

With her contemporaries flocking around them she really had feared the worst, but by that stage she’d had no choice but to extricate herself from Dan’s arms to face Samantha and her little bunch of cohorts and imminent disaster.

Lacking his confidence, she’d made the introductions with apprehension and nerves twisting her stomach into knots, absolutely certain that the women, Samantha especially, would immediately see straight through her, Dan and their pseudo romance. She’d been waiting on tenterhooks for the fragile house of cards she’d built to collapse, and preparing herself to run and hide and never show her face in public again.

But in fact things couldn’t be going better, and she was beginning to think she actually ought to be thanking him for making her follow through with this.

Once the introductions were out of the way and drinks had been bought Dan had slid into the role of her boyfriend with surprising ease, swapping small talk with aplomb while displaying such an impressively wide knowledge of everything from London’s social calendar to Tuscan hot spots that she didn’t think he was even having to fake it.

He certainly couldn’t be faking the charm with which he had people eating out of his hand. It was totally natural, dazzling and hypnotic, and she could only envy the way he was entertaining everyone so effortlessly and so compellingly that they were buzzing round him like social climbers in the vicinity of a member of royalty.

OK, so it probably didn’t hurt that he was so gorgeous to look at, she had to admit, casting a surreptitious glance up at him over the rim of her glass. She felt the oddly drugging heat that had filled her when they’d kissed properly begin to spread through her again, but it was more than that. It was something within him, something powerful, magnetic and totally mesmerising, and it made the Dan she’d first met seem nothing more than a brief aberration.

If she weren’t so distracted by the aftermath of that kiss and the weird swimming sensation going on in her head she’d be watching and learning, because while she sucked at interpersonal relationships she had the impression that Dan Forrester excelled at them.

‘So, Dan,’ she heard Harriet née Williams now Denham-Davis and one of Samantha’s more docile cronies say. ‘Zoe tells us you’re hugely successful.’

Tuning back into the conversation she should never really have left, Zoe fought the urge to roll her eyes and gazed up at him with what she hoped was adoration instead.

‘Oh, I don’t know about that,’ he said, smiling down at her so warmly that her insides went all fluttery. ‘She over-exaggerates, don’t you, darling?’

‘I couldn’t possibly, Honeybun,’ she said, flashing him a dazzling smile in return and marvelling at the way he didn’t even bat an eyelid at the cringe-worthy term of endearment she’d given the girls when she’d been asked what her fictitious boyfriend was called and had been unable to drum up a suitable name fast enough.

‘What field are you in?’ asked Harriet.

‘Advertising.’

‘Ooh, how dashingly creative,’ she said. ‘Which firm?’

‘DBF Associates.’

Crikey, thought Zoe with a bit of a start. Even she’d heard of that one. It was one of the most successful advertising agencies in London. She’d read somewhere that it was cutting-edge and award-winning and employed only the best.

‘And what do you do there?’ asked Harriet.

‘I own it.’

Zoe just about managed to keep her jaw from hitting the floor, because for one thing what Dan did for a living—and she couldn’t see why he’d be making this up when he hadn’t had to make anything up so far—was surely something his adoring girlfriend would know, and for another what was so surprising about the fact that he ran his own successful business? After all, she did, didn’t she, and she was a lot less sorted than he seemed to be.

Still, she couldn’t help being impressed—although perhaps not in the same way as Harriet and Samantha, who were letting out little sighs of approval while the pound signs, she fancied, lit up their eyes and the sounds of ker-ching rattled through their brains.

‘And would you be one of the Ashwicke Forresters?’ said Harriet, having established Dan’s professional and, by extension, financial status and clearly deciding to move on to the social.

‘I am,’ he said.

Who or what the Ashwicke Forresters were remained a mystery to Zoe, but Harriet was practically quivering with delight—even the navy velvet Alice band that Zoe suspected was the same one she’d worn at school trembled—and her eyes were sparkling. ‘Oh, how thrilling. I met your parents once years ago. At the Queen Mary’s Ball, I think it was. Absolutely delightful. How are they?’

‘Divorced,’ he said flatly.

‘Oh,’ said Harriet, her eyes widening and losing some of that sparkle as the air thickened with awkwardness. ‘Well. I’m sorry to hear that.’

‘Are you?’ Dan said archly, and as Zoe caught a trace of steel beneath the charming exterior she felt her heartstrings twang. Clearly the subject of his parents’ divorce was a touchy one. As was marriage perhaps, she thought, because gorgeous successful single men over the age of thirty who didn’t have a problem with commitment or excess emotional baggage were rare. So should the conversation ever get round to the imminent proposal she’d hinted at—and in all honesty she didn’t hold out much hope that it wouldn’t—maybe she could do him a favour and release him from that particular obligation.

His abrupt tone might have tugged at Zoe’s heartstrings, but it had taken the other two very aback if the lull in conversation was anything to go by. However, St Catherine’s girls never let conversation stagnate for long, and Zoe wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Samantha recover first.

‘Oh, I recognise you now,’ she said with a gleam in her eye and a faintly triumphant smile on her lips, neither of which Zoe liked the look of at all. ‘You’re that Dan Forrester, aren’t you?’

FOUR

If ever there was a moment to be off this was it, thought Dan darkly as this bombshell once again rendered their little group momentarily silent, because in his blithe assumption that he wouldn’t be recognised he’d clearly been a naïve idiot. He wasn’t vain and he wasn’t arrogant but he was a bloody fool, because he could virtually see ears pricking and antennae quivering, he could practically hear the grapevine beginning to tremble, and it struck him that there was now every chance that this little charade would eventually end up in the news.

As a result he was in something of a quandary. If he stayed he’d undoubtedly be digging the hole he was in deeper, but if he left he’d potentially be adding another dimension to the story, because now he thought about it his departure could well be construed as him giving a damn about what Jasmine had done. Which he didn’t. At least not much.

So what should he do?

For a split second he hesitated while swiftly weighing up the pros and cons of each option, and then he made his decision. If he left, the outcome of the evening would be out of his hands, it could well end up in the press anyway and the likelihood was that his pride would end up dented all over again. But if he stayed, well, at least he’d be able to exert some sort of control over the proceedings.

Besides, the hole he was in was entirely of his making. Zoe had tried to dissuade him from the course of action he’d decided to follow but he’d been absolutely hell-bent on it, thick-headedly bulldozing through every one of her very valid objections, so if he really had the integrity he thought he did he owed it to her to see it right through to the end, wherever and whenever that might be.

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