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LIAM’S flat turned out to be neat and very tidy, much like his office and his dance studio. Polly followed him into the kitchen, where he took a takeaway menu out of a drawer and waved it at her. ‘Is there anything in particular you like or loathe?’ he asked.

‘I like most things, except hot prawns,’ she said.

‘Noted.’ He rang the Chinese takeaway and ordered a variety of dishes. ‘They should be here in about half an hour.’ He rummaged in the fridge. ‘White wine OK?’

‘Yes, thanks.’

He poured two glasses, handed one to her, and ushered her into the living room. It was uncompromisingly masculine, with no cushions and no ornaments of any kind: just a leather sofa, one small bookcase, a television and what looked like state-of-the-art audio-visual equipment. Or maybe, like her, he hadn’t moved in that long ago and hadn’t had time to unpack most of his stuff.

‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked.

‘About a year.’

Her thoughts must have shown on her face, because he said, ‘I’m not keen on clutter and dusting. I’d rather have everything put away.’

‘I kind of expected to see a cupboard full of trophies,’ she said. ‘I know you’ve won loads of competitions.’

He shrugged. ‘Jointly, so Bianca took a lot of them. The rest are packed away.’

Because they were too painful to look at, she guessed. Bringing back memories of who he’d been and who he couldn’t be again.

There were no photographs on the mantelpiece, either—so was he, like her, not very close to his family? Yet he’d mentioned a brother who was a lawyer.

It didn’t feel polite to ask. And it was none of her business anyway. He’d tell her if he wanted her to know.

She sat awkwardly on the sofa, not knowing what to say. This felt almost like a first date—the getting-to-know-you, putting-your-foot-in-it stage. And it really wasn’t how she’d been expecting to spend this evening. Right up until ten days ago, she’d been expecting to spend it dancing and laughing and enjoying herself with people she loved—and instead she was sitting here in silence with a near-stranger who’d had his life knocked off course the same way that she had. A stranger who looked absolutely gorgeous and could take her breath away with his rare smiles—and who could clam up and stick a wall round himself quicker than anyone she’d ever met.

As if he was thinking along similar lines, he blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. My social skills are a bit rusty.’

‘It’s OK.’ She gave him a bright smile.

‘So you live up to your name. Polly Anna. Seeing all the positive things.’

‘Yes.’ It was the one thing her parents had done right: naming her. ‘It helps, finding something good in a tough situation.’

‘Hence the smile.’

‘Something like that.’ She wasn’t going to tell him that her counsellor had given her a version of the Chaplin song when she was fifteen and the lyrics had helped her put her world back together. ‘Smile, and it makes things better.’

‘Not always.’

‘We’ll have to agree to disagree on that one,’ she said.

Finally, his intercom rang to let them know that their meal had arrived. Liam buzzed the delivery boy up, taking crockery and cutlery from cupboards and drawers while they waited, and then Polly helped him unpack the box at the kitchen table. Several times her fingers brushed against his and it sent an odd frisson down her spine.

‘Help yourself,’ he said when they’d opened the last carton.

Polly couldn’t resist the dim sum.

‘Good?’ he asked.

‘Try some.’ Without thinking, she leaned across the table, offering him one of the tiny steamed dumplings on her fork.

Colour stained his cheeks and his eyes widened.

Oh, help. What on earth did she think she was doing? They were practically strangers, and she was treating him like a best friend-cum-hot date. Not good. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered. ‘I, um, forgot where I was.’ She snatched her fork back.

Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d shared a meal with someone in such an intimate way. And he was oh, so tempted to lean across the table and draw her hand up towards his mouth, so he could finish what she’d just started. Worse still, he could imagine himself feeding her a morsel. Breakfast. In bed. A new-season strawberry, still warm from the sun—making her reach up for it, then tasting the juice of the fruit on her lips.

Oh, help. He needed to get a grip. And somehow defuse the tension in the room; it felt as if all the air had been sucked out.

‘Do you—?’ she began, at the same time as he said, ‘Have you—?’

‘Sorry. You first,’ she said.

‘No, you’re my guest.’

She shook her head. ‘I can’t remember what I was going to say now. But thanks. For bailing me out and not making me feel even more of an idiot.’

‘You’re not an idiot. Most women would’ve screamed and wailed about it long before now.’

‘I don’t scream. Ever.’ Polly had lived through too many fights and too much screaming. ‘It doesn’t change things.’

‘“Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing,”‘ he quoted.

Polly felt her eyes widen. ‘I didn’t peg you as a culture vulture.’

‘Not all dancers are vain airheads,’ he pointed out.

‘Says the man who works in a room covered with mirrors.’ For a moment, she thought she’d gone too far. And then he laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh before, and it was a revelation. A rich, amused chuckle that made her toes curl with pleasure. And she was shockingly aware of how attractive Liam was. The man he could be, when he didn’t keep himself locked up. Though, given what he’d told her about Bianca, she could understand why he kept himself separate. She was planning to do that herself where her love life was concerned.

Liam wouldn’t let her wash up, afterwards, but made them both a mug of coffee while she sorted out her half of the bill. Then her phone beeped, signalling a text message.

‘Are you going to answer that?’ Liam asked.

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I don’t want to be rude.’

‘It might be important.’

‘It’s probably just Fliss—my best friend—checking that I’m OK.’ She grabbed her phone from her handbag, checked the screen and typed in a rapid answer to reassure Fliss. ‘Sorry about that. She worries about me. So do the Monday Mash-up boys.’ She swallowed hard. She was not going to cry all over him again. ‘I guess Danny, Charlie and Mike are like the brothers I don’t have.’

‘So that’s why your phone beeps for ages when you switch it back on after a training session? They’re all checking you’re OK?’

She nodded. ‘Sorry. It must be annoying for you.’

‘No. It’s good to have friends looking out for you.’

Something in his tone alerted her. ‘Didn’t your friends do that, after your accident?’

‘Yes and no.’ He grimaced. ‘A lot of them were worried about seeing me. They thought it’d be like rubbing it in, because they could still dance and I couldn’t.’

She frowned. ‘I know I only met you a week ago, but that doesn’t sound like the way you’d react.’

‘It isn’t. I guess they didn’t know me as well as I thought they did. It was good just to talk about dancing—and, even if I couldn’t dance again, I still intended to be involved in dance. Choreography.’

‘Is that what you want to do after the competition—choreograph things?’ she asked.

He nodded. ‘I want to choreograph a musical for Broadway or the West End. I’ve done most of the routines for the professionals on Ballroom Glitz, this series.’

‘So you need to win the competition, to get the producers to notice you.’

He shrugged. ‘Being in the final would do.’

‘No pressure, then,’ she said wryly.

‘What about you?’ he asked.

‘Hopefully, being on Ballroom Glitz will bring me to the attention of another producer and give me a chance to do something else in children’s TV. Or maybe … It’s probably a bit too ambitious, given that I’m not exactly an A-lister, but I’ve had enough experience now to know what works with kids. I might put together a proposal for a show and pitch it to the networks.’

‘Another children’s show?’

At her nod, he said, ‘So you prefer working with kids rather than, say, acting onstage or on screen?’

‘Absolutely. You get really spontaneous reactions from kids, much more than you do with adults, and it makes the live shows more interesting. You have to think on your feet.’

‘Was the whole show live?’ He grimaced. ‘Sorry, that’s rude. I ought to know that.’

She laughed. ‘You’re hardly our target audience. Most of the people who watch us are aged between nine and about fourteen.’

‘And I don’t have kids,’ he said. ‘Though Amanda says her kids love the show.’

‘Thank you.’ She remembered his question. ‘About two-thirds of it’s live; the rest is pre-recorded. We all have different slots. “Charlie’s Charts” is where he goes through the new music releases that week, with video clips. “Mike’s Movies” is—well, obvious.’ She smiled. ‘“Danny’s Dance” is where he teaches some of the kids in the studio a street-dance move, and then I have “Challenge Polly Anna”. It started off as “Polly’s Puzzles”, where I’d give everyone a brain teaser to solve, but then one day one of the kids in the studio gave me a challenge in return, and it snowballed from there. So I’ve done everything from being able to eat a doughnut without licking my lips, through to juggling raw eggs.’

Liam raised an eyebrow. ‘How many did you break?’

‘Enough for a few omelettes,’ she said with a grin. ‘I practised with rubber eggs until I was nearly there.’

‘You don’t give up until you’ve done whatever it is, do you?’

‘I try not to, though sometimes I haven’t been able to beat the challenge. I really couldn’t get the hang of roller skating, so ice skating was a definite no-no.’

‘Noted.’ He looked thoughtful. ‘You know, we could get juggling into a routine. A circus theme for the jive, maybe. I’ll think about it.’

‘I’m in your hands.’ Then she realised how cheesy that sounded. ‘Not that I was coming on to you,’ she added swiftly.

‘Of course not.’

Polly glanced at her watch, and was surprised by how late it was. ‘I’d better go home.’

‘I’ll drive you.’

‘No, it’s fine. I can take the Tube, and I’m sure you have other things to do anyway.’

‘I do have some paperwork to go through,’ he admitted. ‘But I don’t want you walking anywhere. It’s pouring with rain. I’ll call you a cab—and don’t argue. If you’re sneezing your way through the routine next Saturday, you’re not going to enjoy it, are you?’

And if she was distracted by fighting off some bug or other, she was more likely to go wrong following the steps of the routine. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that his concern was all for her. ‘I guess you have a point. Thank you.’

He rang the taxi company. When he put the phone down, he said, ‘They’ll be here in fifteen minutes.’

‘Thank you.’

They looked at one another in silence for a moment and the atmosphere became charged. Liam thought of something quickly to say.

‘So, our training tomorrow. Does the afternoon work for you? It’ll give me a chance to sort out a new routine in the morning.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’ Deciding to be brave, she lifted her chin. ‘Look, I can give your original routine a go.’

‘To the song you planned as the first dance at your wedding reception?’ He shook his head. ‘I’m not going to put you through that. Anyway, as I said, I like choreographing. Is “Beyond the Sea” OK for you?’ He hummed the first few bars of the old Bobby Darin song.

Recognising it, Polly remembered that they’d danced to it before. ‘That’s absolutely fine.’

‘Good.’

Then the intercom buzzed. ‘That’s your taxi.’

‘OK. I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.’ She paused. ‘And thank you for this evening.’ For not letting her go home to a lonely, empty flat.

‘No worries. I’ll see you downstairs.’

‘There’s no need, really. I think I can just about manage a couple of flights of stairs.’

‘You can manage anything you put your mind to. And that includes nailing our routine.’

Liam really intended just to shake her hand. In a brotherly way. Except he found himself dipping his head and kissing her on the cheek. Hesitant, a little awkward; but her skin was so soft around his lips, and he could smell that sweet, fresh, floral scent she wore. He couldn’t resist the temptation to linger. And he only just managed to stop himself kissing a line from her cheek to the corner of her mouth—and then taking it further.

The kiss on the cheek was just like any of the team on Monday Mash-up would have done.

Except this didn’t feel like a brotherly kiss. Where Liam’s lips touched Polly’s skin, they made every nerve-end tingle.

Though she was just being ridiculous, she told herself on the way home in the taxi. Nice Liam wasn’t just for the cameras; she had a feeling that that was who he really was. Who he’d always been. But the accident and Bianca’s betrayal had made him grow a shell to cover up that niceness. Being Mr Snippy meant that he didn’t let people close to him—and that in turn meant he wouldn’t get hurt.

The fact that he was starting to open up to her, be Nice Liam again … Well, if he wanted her to trust him, he had to trust her, too. Maybe he’d worked that out for himself.

And she was overanalysing things. Overreacting to a kiss that hadn’t meant anything more than it would’ve done from Danny, Mike or Charlie. She was stupid to wish for more; or maybe she was just overemotional and mixed-up, given what today should’ve been.

She let herself into the flat. Although it was tiny, it felt empty.

‘Polly Anna Adams, don’t you dare be so wet,’ she told herself.

And she wasn’t going to let herself think about what Harry was doing tonight.

At all.

On Sunday, Polly arrived at Liam’s studio in the afternoon, as they’d arranged.

Would he mention the kiss? she wondered. Would it have changed things between them? Would he throw up a huge brick wall between them?

His expression was unreadable. She really wasn’t sure which way this was going to go. His eyes narrowed slightly, as if he’d noticed the shadows beneath her eyes; but then he seemed to switch into professional mode.

‘Ready for the routine?’ he asked.

‘Sure,’ she said, glad to follow his lead. Glad that he wasn’t going to overanalyse that kiss on her cheek—she’d already done that more than enough.

The music was upbeat, lively and fun. He broke the routine down into segments for her and talked her through the steps.

‘I can’t believe you’ve put this routine together so quickly.’

He shrugged off the compliment, though a glitter in those gorgeous navy blue eyes told her that he was pleased. ‘I told you I liked choreographing.’

The training session went incredibly quickly; at the end, Liam said, ‘I’ve been thinking. You really ought to go to the wardrobe department tomorrow afternoon to sort out your dress for Saturday. And it might be useful to practise the last few days of the routine in a skirt, so wearing the costume doesn’t throw you on the night.’

Polly bit her lip. The wardrobe department. They’d styled her as Audrey Hepburn, last time; hopefully this time they’d give her a pair of long gloves again, or if not then a dress with long sleeves. Or maybe she could tell them she was superstitious and she’d get stage fright with short sleeves …

Though she knew that Liam wouldn’t buy that. Eventually, he’d ask why she always covered her wrists. But she couldn’t face telling him the shameful truth.

She cleared her throat. ‘Were you planning to go with me?’

‘I’m teaching the cast a new routine tomorrow. If you’re desperate for a second opinion, I can probably spare you five minutes. But the show’s been running for six years, now, and Rhoda in the wardrobe department’s very experienced. You’ll be fine.’

‘So does she choose the dress for me?’

‘She’ll probably offer you a selection,’ Liam explained. ‘She knows you’re dancing the foxtrot, so she’ll find you some costumes that suit the dance—but it’s your choice within that selection. I’ll be in a black tailcoat with a white shirt and a white tie, so you won’t clash with me, whatever colour you choose.’

‘Any colour I like?’ she tested.

He wrinkled his nose. ‘Maybe not quite as bright as the stuff you used to wear on Monday Mash-up.’

She laughed. ‘Very tactful. OK. Noted. Something classy. Anything else I need to look for?’

‘Keep the hem of your dress just above your ankle, so your heel won’t catch in the material, and pick shoes with a similar heel height to the ones you’ve been dancing in. And you’ll need to dance in them for the rest of the week, so you get used to the weight and the feel of them.’

‘OK.’ She summoned up a smile. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Monday’s training session went well, but Polly’s confidence had evaporated by the time she got to the wardrobe department. Thankfully one of the dresses Rhoda had selected for her had long sleeves; it was the right length, too. Sea green and floaty, with silver shoes.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Polly thought, Nobody at Monday Mash-up would recognise me. She wasn’t sure she recognised herself. But that was a good thing—wasn’t it?

‘So what’s your dress like?’ Liam asked Polly, the next morning.

‘Green.’

He raised an eyebrow

‘What’s the problem?’ she asked.

‘You’re not superstitious, then?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t tell me you are.’

‘No.’ But he didn’t sound too sure.

‘It’s all rubbish about green being an unlucky colour. And yellow. I used to wear lime green all the time on Monday Mash-up.’

‘Lime green,’ he said, sounding thoughtful. ‘Is that what you chose?’

Unable to resist teasing him, she pointed out, ‘You said I wouldn’t clash with you, whatever I chose.’

‘Lime green. Okay-y-y,’ he said. ‘Tomorrow, you need to wear a skirt to training. Did you bring your shoes?’

‘I forgot,’ she admitted. ‘I’ll bring them tomorrow.’

‘And they match your dress?’

‘They’re silver,’ she said. Which would tell him nothing about the colour of her dress. ‘You’ll see the dress on Saturday.’

But she duly wore a skirt and the silver shoes on Wednesday. They polished the routine on Thursday and Friday, pausing only to do a quick video of their training progress for the Step by Step programme. By the end of the last training session, Polly was totally sick of ‘Beyond the Sea’ and swore privately that she’d never, ever listen to the song again after the show on Saturday.

‘Do something that helps you relax, tonight,’ Liam said as she was about to leave the studio. ‘Read a good book or curl up on the sofa with a film.’

She scoffed. ‘I’m surprised you’re not telling me to go on a five-mile run.’

‘No, that’s what I’d do to relax.’

‘So are we training tomorrow morning?’

‘No, because we have a dress rehearsal in the afternoon. I don’t want to overdo things. See you tomorrow on the set.’

On Saturday afternoon, Polly turned up at the TV studios for the dress rehearsal, and changed into her dress. She knew that Liam would be in a tailcoat, but even so she wasn’t prepared for how gorgeous he looked.

And getting the shivers when she saw him was utterly ridiculous. He’d made it very clear that he wasn’t interested in her beyond teaching her to dance for the competition. He wasn’t interested in a relationship, full stop. He was focused on getting his career back. And she was behaving like a newly hatched chick, trying to bond with the first person she saw.

Be professional, she told herself, and held her head high as she walked over to him.

Last time, the wardrobe department had styled Polly as Audrey Hepburn. Today, she took his breath away. The dress was floaty and elegant, and, although she looked slightly nervous, she looked beautiful. Like Sleeping Beauty when the prince’s kiss had first woken her.

And Liam was shocked to find himself wondering what it would be like to kiss her. Properly this time …

But this wasn’t part of the deal. It wasn’t what either of them needed right now. And he didn’t have a clue what to say to her. He had a nasty feeling that if he opened his mouth, the wrong words would come out. Words that could embarrass both of them. They couldn’t afford to cross that line.

He managed to get his head back in control—just—by the time Polly joined him. Teasing. That was the way to go. She’d teased him about the colour of her dress. He could tease her. Play the boy next door. And it might stop him wanting much, much more.

‘Lime green, indeed,’ he said with a grin.

Except then he ruined it by being unable to resist running one finger down her long sleeve.

Polly went absolutely still. This was crazy. Why was her skin tingling? He hadn’t even touched her—just the material of her dress.

Except her imagination was running overdrive on what it would feel like if he touched her skin. And that scared her. Why was she reacting this way to him? There was no point in starting something that just couldn’t have a future. She didn’t want a fling. She didn’t think he did, either. Neither of them needed this kind of complication.

Get a grip, she told herself.

‘This is sea green,’ he said.

‘Because of the song. It kind of went together for me.’ That, and the fact that it had long sleeves.

‘Good choice. It’s lovely.’

But she had the distinct feeling that he was holding something back. ‘You’re not really superstitious, are you?’

‘No. Though I don’t go out of my way to walk under ladders, either.’

Perhaps Bianca had always worn green. Polly made a mental note to check out a few videos on the Internet, to make sure she didn’t pick anything in the future that might remind Liam of his ex-wife.

The rehearsal went well, but Polly’s nerves kicked in the second that the first couple took to the floor.

Liam laced his fingers through hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. And how pathetic was she, wanting him to hold her hand?

‘Remember, there are no eliminations in the first week,’ he told her, ‘just the critique from the judges—and they’re all new judges this year.’

‘Have you worked with any of them before?’

‘Tiki, the choreographer, yes.’ He grimaced. ‘She always picks holes in people, so ignore whatever she says. I guess they’ve set her up as Miss Nasty; and Mr Nice will be Robbie, the soap actor who won the competition last year. He’ll be sweet and supportive to everyone because he’ll remember what it feels like, being in your shoes. The one you need to pay attention to is Scott, the dancer—he’ll give you the constructive comments, the stuff that will help you learn and improve.’

‘Got it,’ Polly said.

‘Whatever happens tonight, it really doesn’t matter. You can fall flat on your face, and it’ll be just fine,’ Liam reassured her.

It hadn’t been fine in her dreams last night. She’d fallen flat on her face and they’d changed the rules of the show—they’d kicked her out in the very first week. Not that she’d dare confide that to him. It would send him straight into Mr Snippy mode.

Polly’s nerves grew worse with every couple that went out from the Green Room to the dance floor. She knew the scheduling had been done fairly—the names had been picked out of a hat in front of all of them after the dress rehearsal. But she really, really wished that they’d been first. She wanted to get it over with. Being last was just the pits.

Finally Millie, the host, looking very glam in a little black dress and the highest heels Polly had ever seen, announced them: ‘Dancing the foxtrot to “Beyond the Sea”, it’s Polly Anna Adams and Liam Flynn!’

Polly felt sick. She was used to having an attack of nerves before going on the live set of Monday Mash-up, and in the past had always welcomed them because she thought they kept her sharp and helped her try her hardest to put a good show together. But this was nothing like she’d experienced before. She could barely move her feet.

The audience applauded as they walked onto the dance floor.

‘Relax,’ Liam said softly. ‘Pretend we’re in my studio and it’s Amanda clapping us.’

And then the first notes of ‘Beyond the Sea’ floated into the air.

Oh, help. She’d forgotten every step he’d taught her. She’d forgotten which was her right and which was her left. And were her hands in the right place?

Then Liam moved, leading her round the dance floor. Making her feel lighter than air; yet, at the same time, she felt like a sack of potatoes. She was making a mess of this and showing him up, after all the hard work he’d put into teaching her. Any West End producers watching this would scrub his name straight off their lists. She’d let him down, and she was so cross with herself for it.

The song lasted for the longest three minutes of Polly’s life.

And then finally it was over. She gave the audience a megawatt smile that she definitely didn’t feel, and to her shock Liam stood back and directed the audience’s applause to her, clapping along with them.

Why was he applauding her when she’d been so hopeless?

He slid one arm round her shoulders and walked with her over to the judges’ table.

Tiki shook her head and compressed her lips. ‘Polly Anna, your hands weren’t quite right, your movements were too jerky, and you don’t hold yourself straight enough.’

The audience booed, and Liam tightened his arm round her shoulders.

‘And the routine was too simple.’ She flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Or maybe you couldn’t cope with anything more.’

‘May I say something, please?’ Liam asked before Millie went to the next judge. At her nod, he continued, ‘Polly’s a total novice and she’s worked incredibly hard the last couple of weeks. I think that deserves some recognition. I’m sorry you don’t like the choreography—but that’s my fault, not Polly’s, so don’t blame her for that.’

The audience clapped wildly; Tiki said nothing but scowled at Liam.

Hastily, Millie moved on to the next judge.

‘Polly, Polly, Polly.’ Robbie smiled at her. ‘You and me, we both know what it’s like being on set in front of a camera and doing bits of live shows. But Ballroom Glitz is different. You’re in the spotlight, being watched by millions. It’s scary. And you smiled all the way through it, so well done to you, girl.’ The audience clapped loudly. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing you shine next week.’

‘Scott,’ Millie said.

‘You’ve made a good start. You can build on that and work on the polish. Your posture needs to be stronger and you need to be less worried about where you put your feet, but that’ll come with practice. I’m looking forward to watching your confidence grow.’ He smiled. ‘Well done.’

‘Remember what I said. Tiki’s paid to be mean, Robbie’s paid to be a sweetheart, and Scott’s the serious one. He gave you some praise as well as saying what you need to work on,’ Liam said as he led Polly off the dance floor and back to the Green Room.

They’d just sat down when the judges’ scores were announced.

They’d been the last couple on; to Polly’s shame, they were also the last on the leader board. By a very long way. As she’d expected, Lina the pop singer was top of the leader board, followed surprisingly by Bryan the TV gardener. But the gap between their scores and hers was huge.

‘Sorry, Liam. I let you down.’ That, or she shouldn’t have worn an unlucky colour. If this happened next week, it would all be over. And right now she wasn’t sure she’d manage to dance any better next week. She’d done her best and it wasn’t good enough.

‘You didn’t let me down. Stop worrying.’

‘Tiki didn’t like us.’

‘She didn’t like anyone.’ He spread his hands. ‘Even if she gives someone a ten, she’ll still find something to criticise.’

‘We came last.’

‘Which means the only way is up.’

Ha. That should be her line. But her confidence, already shaky thanks to Harry and Grace, had gone through the floor.

So Polly did what she always did. Faked it with a broad smile. ‘Yeah. See you tomorrow for training.’

‘Not so fast.’ He laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘You’re not going home to brood in an empty flat.’

‘Of course I’m not.’

He rolled his eyes. ‘Polly, I saw you smile like that last Saturday night.’

She flinched. How could he be mean enough to bring that up?

‘I know you’re going to brood,’ he said, his voice a little gentler. ‘So we’re going for a drink.’

‘Why?’

‘To celebrate.’

‘Celebrate? We came last,’ she repeated. ‘That’s hardly a cause for celebration.’

‘We have a baseline position,’ he corrected. ‘Something we can work with. Get changed. I’ll see you in ten minutes.’

Polly couldn’t think of any arguments, and she still couldn’t by the time she’d changed and met Liam in the corridor. Or when he took her to a small club where a band was playing soft jazz-blues numbers. She was still angry with herself for letting him down—for letting herself down, too—but the music did a lot to soothe her soul. As did the two glasses of white wine he persuaded her to drink.

And then the band played the opening of ‘Beyond the Sea’.

‘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 onto 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.

This was nothing like their dance earlier tonight. This was intense, sharp, sexy—and the adrenalin pumping through her blood wasn’t from nerves, as it had been earlier. This was fuelled by something else. Something she really hadn’t expected.

She looked up at him, and could see the shock mirrored in his eyes.

So he felt it, too. And was just as shocked by it.

What next?

Would he want to see where this took them?

Would he dip his head to kiss her?

Did she want him to?

Time seemed to slow down. To stop.

But then the band segued into another song, one she and Liam had practised to. One she really liked; and as Liam brought her back into ballroom hold she found herself singing along to it. Even though the words were all about love and romance and dancing in the moonlight.

At the very end of the song, Liam lifted her up and spun her round. And, as he set her down again, he held her close enough that she slid down his body. Her knees went weak, and if he hadn’t been holding her tightly she would’ve fallen. For a moment his gaze held hers, dark and intense. She could feel her lips parting, inviting him to kiss her.

This would be total, utter madness. She needed to call a halt to it right now.

‘I need a drink,’ she mumbled.

‘Water. We need to rehydrate,’ he said huskily.

The shock on his face was so clear that she knew he’d been just about to kiss her. And that those feelings were just as unlooked-for and confusing for him as they were for her.

Somehow they had to get past this. Focus on what they both wanted: a new contract to take their careers forward.

Separately.

Knowing she was being a coward, she made an excuse when he came back from the bar with their water. ‘I didn’t sleep well last night.’ She yawned. ‘I’d better go home now so I’m up in time for training tomorrow.’

Was that relief or disappointment in his eyes? She couldn’t be sure. And she didn’t dare ask. But he ordered a taxi for her and waited with her until it arrived.

If only things were different, she thought as the cabbie took her home. If only she and Liam had met some other time. But this fledgling thing between them didn’t stand a chance. So she’d just have to be sensible. And back off.