Читать книгу If The Ring Fits...: Ballroom to Bride and Groom / A Bride for the Maverick Millionaire / Promoted: Secretary to Bride! - Kate Hardy - Страница 14

POLLY had a whole night to think about what an idiot she’d been. Not only had she let Liam kiss her stupid onstage, she’d fled afterwards, too flustered to face him. She hadn’t answered her phone or a single text message. She’d just holed up in her flat, filled with panic about her recklessness.

OK, so this had been building up ever since they’d danced together at the club. Ever since he’d nearly kissed her in training. She’d known deep down that it would happen.

But she’d handled it really, really badly.

Would Liam have spent last night thinking about the way they’d kissed as the spotlight went off? Would he realise that she’d rushed off in panic? Or would he think she was capricious, treating him the way his ex had?

How would he react to her this morning?

She felt more nervous when she rang the bell to the studio than she’d felt at her first training session. Would he even answer the intercom?

‘Come up,’ he said, and pressed the buzzer to let her in.

She couldn’t tell a thing from the tone of his voice; it was completely neutral. Her nerves increased as she walked up the two flights of stairs to the studio and opened the door.

When she entered the room, she couldn’t tell a thing from his expression, but she knew she had to face up to this. Explain herself.

‘About last night …’ She stopped, not having a clue what to say. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.

‘Uh-huh.’

Why did he have to be so inscrutable? Couldn’t he help her out here, show some kind of reaction so she had some idea of how he felt—what he wanted?

‘I guess I panicked.’

‘I noticed.’

Was he angry? Hurt? Amused? She didn’t have a clue. ‘So what happens now?’ she asked warily.

‘It’s like you said last night. You were overexcited about getting through. So was I.’ He shrugged. ‘These things happen. It doesn’t mean anything.’

It doesn’t mean anything.

She fought to keep her expression neutral. She’d felt the kaboom—but Liam obviously hadn’t.

And that hurt.

No way was she going to let him know that. But she’d make very sure that from now on she regarded the dancing as strictly work and nothing more. She wasn’t going to make the same mistake she’d made with Harry and fall for someone whose feelings weren’t the same as hers. Even if right now she was too confused to know exactly what those feelings were.

But she could definitely smile her way through this one. ‘I’m glad that’s sorted,’ she said, in super-bright Polly Anna mode. ‘Well, no rest for the wicked. We’re starting the waltz today, aren’t we?’

‘Yes. Are there any songs I need to avoid, apart from the one I already know about?’

She shook her head. ‘Just that one.’

‘Good. Let’s get started. The waltz is a little bit like the foxtrot, but there are three steps instead of four, and the rhythm’s slightly different. Back, side, close—each for one beat.’ He demonstrated the moves for her.

It looked easy enough. Then again, she’d had trouble with the foxtrot. She couldn’t afford to get this wrong. Not if they were going to stay in the competition. Given that Liam might have a Broadway producer interested in his work, she owed it to him to get this right.

‘I’m going to keep it uncomplicated this morning, until you’re used to it. You’ll be going backwards, and we’ll dance anticlockwise round the room,’ he told her. ‘We’ll bank round the corners for now, because I want you to get used to the rhythm of the dance before we add in the turns.’

He switched on the music; when the first notes of ‘Moon River’ floated into the air, her smile turned genuine. ‘I know this one. Breakfast at Tiffany’s is one of my favourite films.’

‘You look like Audrey Hepburn, with your hair like that.’

No way was she as gorgeous and elegant as the actress, but the compliment warmed her—and flustered her at the same time.

Though that wasn’t strictly true, she knew. The real reason she was flustered was Liam and her growing awareness of him. Did she feel this way just because they were spending so much time together? Or was it more than that? Guilt flooded through her. It was only a couple of weeks after she should’ve been getting married to Harry, and right now she couldn’t really remember how Harry made her feel. But one thing she was absolutely sure about: he hadn’t made her pulse skip the way Liam did. She’d never reacted this strongly to anyone before. Never felt the kaboom. She wanted to run away and pretend it wasn’t happening; but at the same time she couldn’t deny it. Part of her wanted to go for it; but part of her was too scared to risk it.

She could see that Liam was looking at her mouth, and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. So much for what he’d said about it not meaning anything. She had the distinct feeling that he, too, was thinking about that kiss last night. That he, too, wanted to repeat it? That he, too, was feeling guilty and mixed-up as well as longing for a deeper intimacy?

Or was she just fooling herself?

He seemed to make an effort to pull himself together. ‘I’ll count you in for two bars. One, two, three; one, two three; now.’

And she stumbled.

It didn’t help when he switched to saying, ‘Left, right, together; right, left, together,’ because all of a sudden she couldn’t tell her left from her right again. And putting it all in time to the music was next to impossible.

‘This is ridiculous—why can’t I do it?’ she asked when he went to change the music. ‘Am I so stupid that I can’t count to three?’

‘No. With the foxtrot, you know you start with your right leg and it’s always right, left, right, left. With the waltz, you have to concentrate a little bit more and remember which leg you moved back last time,’ he said. ‘But you managed to get the foxtrot and the cha cha cha, so have faith in yourself. You’ll get this one, too.’

She tripped over him yet again. ‘Sorry.’

‘Don’t apologise. And, no, before you ask, you haven’t hurt my back. Let’s keep going. You’ll get there.’

At the end of the session, she was disappointed that he didn’t suggest a late breakfast together; but it was probably best that they didn’t spend time together outside the studio until she’d managed to squash these ridiculous feelings about Liam. He’d kept today strictly to teaching: which told her everything she needed to know. He didn’t want to take things any further between them. And she wasn’t giving him the chance to reject her. She still had her pride.

On Monday, Amanda came in to the studio, wagging a finger at them. ‘Well, you two, you’ve certainly got everyone talking about you. All the boards are speculating about whether Pretty Polly and Luscious Liam are an item.’ She paused, raising an eyebrow as she looked at them both. ‘Are you?’

‘No, we’re not,’ Liam said.

‘You kissed each other,’ Amanda pointed out. ‘On national television.’

‘I was thrilled to bits at getting through to the next round, that was all,’ Polly protested. ‘I kissed my driving examiner when I passed my test. And I kissed the guy who taught me to ride a unicycle. I kiss Mike, Danny and Charlie all the time.’ If Polly was honest with herself though she knew that this kiss with Liam had been different.

‘That’s true. I saw you with them last week. Oh, and please tell them thank you for the photos. The kids were thrilled.’ Amanda looked worried. ‘Seriously, though, I’ve had a few calls from the press. What do I say? Because I’ve tried “no comment” and they just keep asking.’

‘Tell them I got overexcited and I kiss everyone,’ Polly said. ‘It didn’t mean anything.’

Though she couldn’t look Liam in the eye as she said it. She didn’t want him to guess what she was starting to feel about him.

Polly really wasn’t getting the hang of the waltz. By Wednesday morning, Liam was seriously worried. He’d tried doing a natural turn with her, and she’d stumbled over the steps. He knew that people often found one way easier than the other, so he’d tried the reverse turn with her instead—and that hadn’t worked any better.

This was even worse than the foxtrot. If they didn’t do the waltz the way the audience expected, all spins and twirls and glamour, the public wouldn’t vote for Polly.

He switched off the music. ‘We’re struggling with this.’

‘More than struggling. I really can’t do this.’ Polly lifted her chin. ‘Look, I’ve been thinking about it. There’s only one thing I can do now.’

‘What’s that?’

‘I’m pulling out of the competition.’

‘What?’ Liam stared at her in disbelief. She couldn’t be serious.

‘I’m pulling out of the competition,’ she repeated. ‘You need to get the Broadway producers to notice you. If I mess things up for you on Saturday night and we’re eliminated, they’re going to blame you—it’s because you’re not good enough at teaching me and your choreography’s too hard, so you’ll make a mess of working with their cast.’

‘I’m a perfectly adequate teach—’ Liam began.

She held up a hand. ‘Let me finish. In their eyes, we’ll be eliminated because you’re not good enough at teaching me or leading me, or you’re trying to get me to do something too difficult. Whereas we know the truth—I’m just hopeless at this and I’m never, ever going to get it. We’ve been training for half a week now, and I can barely do the basic step, let alone the twirly bits. I hate coming here right now, because I feel so stupid and useless. I’m never going to be able to follow a routine. If I pull out of the competition, they’ll know we didn’t make the final because of me, not because of you.’

‘That,’ Liam said, ‘is the most screwed-up logic I’ve ever heard. The reason you’re not getting the waltz, Polly, is because you’re panicking instead of concentrating on what you’re doing.’

‘I am concentrating. I just can’t do it. Like my dad said, I’m a fairy elephant, not a fairy ballerina.’

Liam felt his temper bubble, and he wasn’t sure what made him angriest. Polly’s lack of self-belief—which he was beginning to understand, given what she’d just let slip; her ridiculous idea of pulling out of the competition; or the fact that he was calling her on her lack of concentration and knew he was being a total hypocrite because he was having problems concentrating, too. Every time she was in a ballroom hold with him, he thought back to Saturday night and that kiss. A kiss that had blown his mind because he’d never felt something so sharp and intense before, even with Bianca. A kiss that had made him put all his barriers back up because Polly was a real danger to his equilibrium.

‘Your father was talking rubbish,’ he said. ‘And you are not pulling out of the competition. You’re going to concentrate, Polly Anna Adams, harder than you’ve ever concentrated in your entire life, and you are going to learn the waltz. Properly.’

‘Are you listening to a single word I’m saying?’ Polly’s face flushed with temper. ‘I can’t do this, Liam. I’ve tried and I’ve tried and I’ve tried, and I just can’t do it. I’m never going to be able to do it. I hate this stupid dance. I don’t want the judges to think it’s your fault when it’s all mine. So I’m pulling out of the competition.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous,’ Liam said.

She glared at him. ‘Have you got a better idea?’

He glared back at her. ‘Yes. We’re getting out of here.’

She gave him a slow handclap. ‘At last the man listens and realises I’m right.’

‘You are not right. And we’re staying in the competition. We’re just getting out of the studio.’

‘If you think taking me out to lunch is going to change my mind—’ Polly began.

‘I’m not taking you out to lunch. You’re going back to your flat to pack an overnight bag and collect your passport,’ Liam said.

She frowned. ‘What? Why?’

‘My better idea. We’re going to dance somewhere else.’

She scowled. ‘Don’t tell me you’re thinking tree-trunks. Though maybe that would work. I’ll break my ankle so I can’t dance on Saturday.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. We’re not dancing on a tree-trunk.’ Though he did need to get a couple of things organised. Like now. ‘You do have a passport?’

‘Yes, but what’s that got to do with dancing?’

‘You’ll see,’ Liam said. ‘And the waltz isn’t a stupid dance. It’s floaty and light and sparkly.’ A lot like her. ‘You’re going to get this dance, Polly, whether you like it or not. I’ll pick you up at your flat in an hour. Pack your dancing shoes. If there’s any change to the schedule, I’ll ring you.’

She stared at him, eyes narrowed. ‘What exactly are you planning?’

‘Changing your mindset,’ Liam said. ‘Don’t argue. Just accept I’m right.’

‘You are so not right.’

‘I’m the teacher and you’re the student. Which means you do what I say.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re full of it, Liam.’

He glanced at his watch. ‘Get going, Pol. I have things to do.’ When she remained stubbornly where she was, he added, ‘If I’m wrong about this, then you can make me do any forfeit you like.’

‘Any forfeit?’

He wasn’t too sure he liked the sudden gleam in her eye; but if thinking about a forfeit stopped her thinking that she was useless and would never get the waltz, it would go a long way to sorting out their problems. She needed to start believing in herself. And he knew just the place to make it happen. ‘Any forfeit. Now, go.’ He shooed her out of the studio, then picked up the phone to make the arrangements.

Liam texted Polly to let her know he was on his way.

‘So where are we going?’ she asked when he arrived.

He refused to be drawn. ‘It’s a surprise.’

‘Apart from the fact that I’m not wonderfully keen on surprises,’ she said, ‘I need to pay you for my plane ticket and my room.’

He shook his head. ‘No, you don’t—it’s a teaching expense. And don’t argue, Polly,’ he said before she could cut in. ‘I want you relaxed and calm.’

‘How can I be, when I don’t know what’s going on?’

‘I promise you’ll like it.’

‘I don’t believe in promises,’ she said. ‘They’re pie crust. Easily broken.’ She’d learned that the hard way—firstly with her parents and then with Harry. People she’d trusted to keep her world safe, and they’d let her down.

‘Mine aren’t,’ he said softly. ‘Trust me.’

‘Says the man who trusts nobody.’ Which frustrated her no end.

‘Wrong’

‘So who do you trust?’ She damped down the flicker of hope that he’d say he trusted her.

‘Myself.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘You’re impossible.’

‘And your point is …?’

She gave up and stared out of the window for the rest of the journey.

At the airport, she realised where they were going as soon as their flight was called. ‘Vienna?’

‘Well, it’s the waltz capital of the world,’ he said. ‘It’s the best place to learn the dance.’

‘Yeah, right.’

‘Trust me. I have a friend there who runs waltzing weekends.’

‘So you’re getting someone else to teach me?’

‘No. I’m calling in a favour and borrowing something from him.’

‘What?’

‘You ask too many questions, Pol.’

‘I stand by what I said,’ she grumbled. ‘You’re impossible.’

Though Polly enjoyed the flight, especially as Liam kept the conversation light and told her all about his favourite bits of Vienna. They caught a train from the airport into the centre of Vienna, then changed to the Tube; Polly noticed that Liam didn’t even have to look anything up on a map, so clearly he’d done this plenty of times before.

Their hotel was a beautiful white building, half covered in ivy. Liam went to the reception desk, where he spoke rapid and fluent German; he returned with their room keys, and they went up in the lift to the top floor.

Their rooms were next to each other, and—despite the fact that the rooms were practically identical—Liam gave her the choice. The one she picked had a great view over the street, plus a wide, comfortable-looking bed.

She’d just about finished unpacking when there was a knock at her door.

‘Ready?’ Liam asked.

She nodded.

‘Bring your dancing shoes.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’re right on time.’

‘For what?’

‘To go to the ballroom.’ He ushered her downstairs, handed in the key to the hotel reception desk and led her outside.

Waiting in front of the hotel was a fiaker, an old-fashioned open-topped carriage drawn by two white horses. The driver lifted his Derby hat at them. ‘Herr Flynn?’

‘Ja,’ he confirmed, and turned to Polly. ‘My lady, your carriage awaits.’ He swept into a deep bow.

‘Liam, I don’t believe this!’ She stared at him, stunned and delighted. ‘When did you arrange this?’

‘While you were packing. I told you I had things to do.’

‘Wow. I feel like a princess.’

‘That,’ he said, ‘is the whole idea.’ He helped her into the carriage, then went round the other side of the fiaker to join her.

Inside the carriage, all Polly could really hear was the regular clop-clop of the horses’ hooves on the cobbled streets. With the slight jolting of the carriage wheels on the cobbles, it felt as if they were in another time, not the twenty-first century.

She still couldn’t quite believe that Liam had arranged a horse-drawn carriage to take them to the ballroom. Nobody had ever made her feel this special before, even Harry.

And then a really scary thought struck her. He’d said he meant her to feel like a princess. Was that the surprise? ‘Are we going to a ballroom in a royal palace?’

‘Not the Hofburg, if that’s what you mean—but yes, the ballroom used to be part of a royal palace. A royal summer residence.’ He smiled. ‘I guess it was kind of their garden shed. Albeit a posh one.’

Which told her nothing. Given the beautiful white stone buildings around them, she couldn’t imagine a wooden shack stuck in the centre of the city. What would a ‘posh garden shed’ be like?

The carriage drew to a halt, and Liam helped her out.

They were in front of a stunning white stone building with three rows of tall windows, a green copper roof, and a circular room at each end topped with a green copper dome. Everything was lit up, and it looked stunning. Like a fairy tale.

‘This is the palace?’ she asked.

‘It’s a hotel, now. The ballroom’s the, ahem, former garden shed. I would’ve booked us in here for tonight, but they didn’t have any rooms available. I need to pick up the key from reception—Matt’s left it for me—and get them to switch off the alarm.’

‘Matt?’ she asked.

‘My friend who runs waltzing weekends.’

Liam had a conversation with the hotel receptionist in rapid German, then came back over to join her and led her through to the garden. At the bottom of the garden was a single-storey building, designed in the same style as the hotel.

‘Quite some shed,’ she said.

‘It’s even nicer inside.’ He unlocked the door. From the hallway, she could see a large room with mirrors and gilding everywhere, and when he switched on the lights she was stunned by the huge crystal chandeliers.

‘The room’s not quite how I want it,’ Liam said, ‘but I’ll sort that while you change.’

‘Change?’

‘Yup. Matt has lots of outfits for clients to use. I asked him to set out a couple of dresses in your size.’

‘I can’t believe you’ve arranged all this for me.’ She really couldn’t remember the last time anyone had done anything so nice for her. ‘Thank you so much.’ She wanted to hug him—but they weren’t quite on hugging terms right now. ‘Thank you,’ she said again.

‘My pleasure. This, Polly, is where you are going to get the waltz. Trust me. The ambience will make all the difference.’ He led her to a side room where a suit was hanging up next to three dresses.

She looked at the dresses in dismay, realising that none of them had sleeves. How could she possibly wear one of them? Yet, at the same time, she knew that Liam had gone to a huge amount of effort for her. She couldn’t be ungrateful and just throw it back in his face.

But he’d clearly seen the expression on her face and picked up immediately what the problem was. ‘Sorry, I know you prefer long sleeves. I did ask for them. Or maybe there weren’t any.’ He looked stricken. ‘This is all going horribly wrong.’

She swallowed hard. ‘It’s OK. I’ll wear one of the dresses.’ She knew she was going to have to be brave about this.

‘No, it’s fine. You can wear what you’re wearing now to dance with me.’

‘But you’ve gone to all this trouble.’ And her casual clothes were going to ruin the ambience he’d carefully set up. ‘I’ll wear a dress.’ There was a huge lump in her throat that made it hard to force the words out. ‘I—I don’t want to talk about it right now, but there’s something I guess you need to know before I get changed.’ She pushed up her sleeves, turned her hands palm-upwards and let him see the thin scars on her wrists.

He was the first person who’d seen them since Harry. She was aware that her hands were shaking slightly, and she couldn’t look at him, dreading his reaction. Disgust? Pity? Neither option was one she wanted to face.

He said nothing, simply took her hands and raised her wrists to his mouth, then touched his lips very lightly to the scars.

She stared at him in shock. Now that she hadn’t expected.

‘Whatever made these happen,’ he said softly, ‘I’m not going to pry. If you want to talk later, I’ll listen. If you don’t want to talk, I’ll respect that. And I’m not going to say a word to anyone. You don’t need to worry about that.’

She noticed he hadn’t used the word ‘promise’—because what he’d just said went deeper than that. It was the truth. Honest and unvarnished. Something she could believe in.

‘Thank you.’ She could barely get the words out, she was shaking so hard.

‘Wear the dress and don’t worry,’ he said. ‘Because I don’t see these.’ He kissed the scars again. ‘I see you, Polly Anna Adams. And you’re beautiful.’

She felt tears pricking her eyelids. She wasn’t going to let them leak out and disgrace her, so she gave him her widest smile instead. Best defence mode.

‘Get changed, Pol,’ he said softly. ‘We’re going to face the music. And dance.’

He took the suit and left her to change.

One dress in particular was irresistible; it had a navy blue chiffon skirt that finished just above the ankle, a lacy bodice and tiny spaghetti straps. Gorgeous and frothy—and the kind of dress she’d never dare to wear in a million years. She put it on, looked at herself in the mirror and, for the first time in half a lifetime, she didn’t notice her wrists. The reminders of her shame and disgrace just vanished. All she saw was the dress.

She turned round, loving the way the skirt ballooned out round her. It reminded her a bit of the wedding dress she’d never got to wear, except she knew that Harry wouldn’t have made her feel beautiful, the way Liam had. Harry never talked about her scars and had encouraged her to wear long sleeves all the time to hide them, clearly as ashamed of them as she was; Liam had made it clear he’d listen if she wanted to talk and wouldn’t push her if she didn’t.

Even so, she knew deep down that her scars would make a difference to the way he saw her. How could they not?

She fastened her shoes, then went back into the ballroom. And stopped dead. Liam had turned off the glitzy chandeliers and lit candles everywhere. Every single wall of the room was covered in mirrors; the light of the candles was reflected in them, and the reflections were reflected again, so the room felt as if it were full of stars.

Liam was wearing the suit and looked as gorgeous as he had at the dress rehearsal for their foxtrot. No, more than that, she thought, because the candlelight was much softer than the harsh studio lights.

This whole thing felt enchanted. If she was Cinderella, Liam was definitely Prince Charming. Except there was a lot more to him than just charm.

He smiled at her. And then the music started: a beautiful, simple tune in waltz time, played on a solo piano. Timeless. Perfect.

Liam held out his arms to her. There was no pity on his face, no censure; he was just asking her to dance with him.

She walked over to him and rested her left hand on his arm, curling the fingers of her right hand over his—and then she was in hold and they were dancing to the music, in perfect time.

She didn’t look at her feet or think about counting; she simply let him lead her round the dance floor, doing the basic step and banking round the corners to keep it simple. It was perfect.

And then somehow they were doing the turns—and this time it worked. This time, she could get the steps, and they were spiralling round with their legs sliding between each other’s in perfect timing. Polly felt as if she were floating on air, but at the same time she was safe in his arms and she knew he wouldn’t let her fall. It was the most amazing feeling she could ever remember, and she loved every second of it.

When Liam dipped his head to brush his mouth against hers, this time there were no cameras in the way, no catcalls to stop them. He caught her lower lip between his in tiny, nibbling kisses that made her mouth tingle. When she parted her lips, wanting more, he deepened the kiss; and she wasn’t sure what made her feel more light-headed, the way he was kissing her or the way he was spinning her round and round on the dance floor.

Finally, the music stopped and Liam broke the kiss.

‘We have to go,’ he said softly. ‘But do you get the waltz, now?’

She dragged in a breath. ‘Just like you said. Sparkly and floaty.’

‘Perfect.’

And she knew he wasn’t talking just about the dance; his voice was husky and his eyes were dark and intense.

‘Do you want to go out for dinner?’

He was giving her a choice. Go out to dinner and pretend this hadn’t happened, or go back to the hotel with him.

She could put some much-needed distance between them.

Or she could give herself up to the magic of Vienna, the waltz and his kiss. Do what she really wanted to do. What she could see he wanted just as much as she did.

‘I’m not hungry for food,’ she said quietly.

Desire flared in his gaze. ‘Me, neither.’

By the time they’d changed back into their normal clothes, Liam had locked up and they’d delivered the key back to the hotel reception, the fiaker was waiting for them outside. While they’d been dancing, it had started to rain and the driver had put the hood up on the carriage.

‘Just you and me,’ Liam said softly as the driver closed the door.

He kissed her all the way back to the hotel. When he’d picked up their keys, he kissed her in the lift. And in the corridor. By the time they reached her door, Polly was completely hot and bothered, wanting him more than she’d wanted anyone in her entire life. She needed to be skin to skin with him. Right now.

She could see in his face that it was the same for him.

‘If you’ve changed your mind,’ he said, his voice husky, ‘tell me now.’

‘I haven’t,’ she said.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip. ‘Good.’

She unlocked her door.

And then he scooped her up in his arms and carried her over to the big, wide bed.