If The Ring Fits...

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

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

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

CHAPTER TWO

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded. ‘Everyone calls me Polly.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

Was it his imagination, or did she just flinch?

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘No.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘The strong beat?’ She looked mystified.

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

‘OK.’

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

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

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

‘Right.’

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

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

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

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

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

‘Do I need to wear a skirt?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Yes.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ve found the vee,’ she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned. ‘How do you mean?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘It’s fake.’

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

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

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

‘Then concentrate, Polly. Right foot back.’

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

He frowned again. ‘Yes.’

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

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

She could walk out of that door, right now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Literally.’ She smiled at him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘OK. I’ll pretend I trust you.’

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

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

‘Left leg back the same amount.’

She followed his instructions carefully.

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

Step, step.

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

She coughed.

‘What?’

‘Well done?’ she prompted.

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

She should’ve expected that. ‘Right.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She nodded.

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

And it felt as if she were floating.

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

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

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

‘Told you so,’ he said laconically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘OK.’

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

She turned to face him, expecting another order.

‘Well done.’

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

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

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

CHAPTER THREE

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

‘Are you online?’ Amanda asked.

‘Yes. Why?’

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

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

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

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

‘She’s a sweetie, Liam.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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