If The Ring Fits...

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.

CHAPTER NINE

POLLY woke the next morning, warm and comfortable. But her head wasn’t on a pillow, it was on a male shoulder. And her arm was wrapped round a waist. A bare male waist.

For a moment, she was disoriented; but then she remembered where she was. In Vienna. With Liam. Who’d taught her exactly what the kaboom felt like, last night, and still had his arms wrapped round her.

She kept her breathing deep and even, hoping to buy herself some thinking time. Was he awake? His breathing was deep and even, too, but that didn’t mean he was asleep. He, like her, could have just woken and realised the situation. He, like her, could be panicking and wondering what to do next. And he, like her, could be buying time by faking deep, even breaths.

So where, exactly, did they go from here?

Last night had been amazing. But it had been like something out of time. In their real lives, this couldn’t possibly work. She knew Liam was going to be focused on his career, and she couldn’t see quite how she’d fit into his life. How would he have time for her? If his dreams came true—and she knew he’d work hard enough to make sure they did—then he’d be in New York while she was in London. OK, so he might ask her to join him; but she’d know nobody in New York, and what was she going to do with herself while he worked crazy hours?

The sensible thing to do would be to call a halt to this. Now. Because otherwise she was just setting herself up for more heartbreak.

Liam couldn’t remember the last time he’d woken with a woman’s arms wrapped round him.

Well, he could. The night before the accident. And then he’d been in a hospital bed for weeks. When he finally came out of hospital, he and Bianca had slept in separate rooms because she’d claimed she was terrified of causing more damage to his back.

And then she’d walked out on him.

He’d had offers, since, but he’d turned them down gently. He wasn’t interested in a meaningless fling, and he wasn’t in the market for a relationship, so it had been easier to keep everything strictly platonic. Keep himself separate.

But Polly … Polly had really got under his skin. Even when she drove him crazy with that super-bright fake smile, her warmth and sweetness still drew him. And last night, she’d opened up to him. Shown him what she’d been hiding all along.

She was vulnerable. Fragile.

Yet, at the same time, she was strong. Liam knew she wouldn’t have given up on him, the way Bianca had. She would’ve been there by his side all the way, cheering on his recovery.

And right now she was lying with her head on his shoulder and her arms wrapped round him. It would be oh, so easy to turn to face her. To kiss her awake, to watch her eyes open sleepily and then that warmth shine through at him. To tease her mouth with his until she responded, kissing him back the way she’d kissed him last night. Make love with her again until they were both sated.

Was she really asleep? Her breathing was deep and even, but he knew how often she faked her smile. Maybe she was faking sleep, too.

‘Polly?’ he whispered. ‘Are you awake?’

There was a pause. Long enough to make him think that maybe he’d got it wrong. But then she whispered back, ‘Yes.’

He shifted to face her. Still with his arms wrapped round her, and hers round him.

And he really couldn’t help himself. He touched his mouth to hers. Gently. Lightly. His skin tingled at the contact, and every atom in his body was aware of her. How good she felt, close to him, soft and warm and sweet. ‘Good morning,’ he whispered.

‘Good morning.’ Colour bloomed in her face. She touched his cheek. ‘You look like a pirate with all this stubble.’

‘I feel like a highwayman,’ he said. ‘Ready to grab you from your carriage, lift you onto my horse, and ride off with you.’ He kissed the corner of her mouth. ‘And then I’d most definitely have my wicked way with you.’

‘You’d look amazing in a highwayman outfit.’

So she had a highwayman fantasy, did she? Well, he could do something about that. Something that would be very, very satisfying for them both. ‘I’m so talking to the wardrobe department.’

She shivered.

He could drown in those eyes. Especially when she was looking at him like that, her eyes wide and sultry. ‘Polly,’ he whispered. ‘I want—’

She dragged in a breath. ‘So do I. But we can’t. We need to be sensible about this.’

‘Sensible?’ He went cold.

‘Sensible,’ she said again. ‘We got carried away last night. And we shouldn’t have done.’

He frowned. ‘Polly, if it’s about this …’ He took her wrist and kissed the scar. ‘It doesn’t make any difference.’

‘It’s not about that.’ But there was a catch in her voice and she pulled her wrist away. ‘Liam, we’re both picking up the pieces of our lives. We’ve both got a lot of baggage. If we let this go any further, it’s going to get messy and complicated. Neither of us needs that right now. We need to concentrate on getting through the competition, so you can wow the Broadway producers and I can persuade a network to take a chance on me with another kids’ show.’

She was right. Of course she was. But Liam had thought they’d shared something special last night. Clearly he’d been wrong. And it served him right for breaking his rule and not keeping himself separate.

‘Yes,’ he said, doing his best to sound cool and detached.

She blew out a breath. ‘I’m sorry. I know I’m being a coward, but—’

‘It’s fine,’ he cut in, not wanting to hear any more. ‘We have a plane to catch, and I’d planned to take you for a proper Viennese breakfast, seeing as you worked hard enough to get the waltz right, yesterday.’ He gave her a tight smile. ‘I’ll go back to my own room for a shower.’

‘OK.’ She sounded awkward.

Clearly she’d gone shy on him, even after what they’d shared last night. And when Liam dragged his clothes on, he noticed that she kept her back to him. Was she being courteous and giving him some privacy? Or was it because she couldn’t face what they’d done? Or to stop herself being tempted? The way she’d kissed him this morning made him wonder.

A cold shower did a lot to restore his equilibrium and he managed to keep his face neutral when he knocked on her door. ‘Ready for breakfast?’ he asked when she opened the door.

She nodded. ‘I’ve packed. Do we need to check out first?’

‘No, we’ll do that after breakfast.’

Liam took Polly to one of the oldest cafés in Vienna, where he knew the pastries were wonderful. Her smile was very bright, so he knew she was worrying that he’d push her to talk about those scars on her wrists. Well, he wasn’t going to push her. He’d wait until she was ready to tell him.

‘I’m having the Viennese specialty—Sachertorte and a melange.’ At her questioning look, he said, ‘Coffee. It’s a cross between a latte and a cappuccino, without the cocoa on top.’

‘Sounds good. And you’re actually having chocolate cake for breakfast?’

‘This is more than just chocolate cake.’ He shrugged. ‘This is Vienna. The cakes here are fantastic. There’s a whole counter over there,’ he said, indicating the glass-fronted display with all kinds of cakes and pastries. ‘Go and find something you like the look of.’

She gave him a grateful look and escaped to choose some cake.

When the waitress brought their order over, he found that she’d opted for a rich strawberry torte, thin layers of soft sponge and strawberry mousse, topped with fresh strawberries and whipped cream.

‘That looks lush.’

She tasted a forkful. ‘It is. Want to try some?’

‘Swap you for a taste of my Sachertorte?’

‘Deal.’

Her smile was still a bit on the over-bright side, but Liam could tell she was starting to relax with him again. He enjoyed her feeding him a forkful of her torte, too; though he couldn’t help thinking about last night and wishing things were different. He really was going to have to get a grip.

‘A bit too rich for me,’ was her verdict on the Sachertorte, ‘but the coffee’s fantastic.’

After breakfast, they headed back through the main streets.

‘I can’t believe how pretty it is here,’ Polly said at the corner of Stefansplatz. She gestured to the gothic cathedral with its distinctive roof. ‘Just look at that, the way the spire’s so sharp against the sky.’

Liam had almost forgotten how much he loved Vienna, the wide streets and the incredible architecture and the art installations everywhere. Seeing it with Polly made him see it through fresh eyes.

‘You’re not the only one who likes it.’ He pointed out the artists who were painting street scenes, with racks of pictures for sale set up by their easels.

A string quartet dressed in eighteenth-century costume was playing Mozart.

‘Can we stop and listen for a while?’ Polly asked.

‘Sure.’ And that was the other thing Liam loved about Vienna: the sound. The city of music. No out-of-tune buskers, here: whether they were string quartets or jazz trios or opera singers, they were all note-perfect.

They lingered until the piece ended, enjoying the music. And then the quartet started playing ‘The Blue Danube’.

A waltz.

Liam glanced at Polly. Dancing in public would mean that she’d have to fake it. And that would make sure the physical awkwardness between them was gone before they went back to training. ‘Recognise the tempo?’

Her eyes went wide as she guessed what he meant. ‘We can’t.’

‘Sure we can. It’s Vienna. People expect it.’

‘But … ‘

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the steps again?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I have not.’

‘Dare you.’

She held his gaze, and he knew she’d guessed he was calling her on something else. Then she nodded. ‘You’re on.’

Two seconds later, they were in hold and were waltzing along the wide street. Polly didn’t miss a step, to his relief, doing the turns perfectly and keeping in time with the quartet. The tourists who’d stopped to listen to the music moved back slightly, giving them space to dance.

Everything faded for him except Polly and the music. Dancing to the slow, regular beat of the old tune. The rise and fall of their steps. Whirling her round, his leg sliding between hers and hers between his as they turned. Just like last night in the candlelit ballroom, when she’d looked up at him, those gorgeous brown eyes huge, and he’d dipped his head to kiss her.

It was too much for him to resist. He lowered his mouth to hers, his body on automatic pilot as he led her through the steps. His mouth was tingling where his lips touched hers—and then she kissed him back, her mouth sweet and responsive, making him feel as if they were dancing on air instead of in a wide, bustling boulevard.

It was a while before Liam realised that the music had stopped and people were clapping.

And he was still kissing Polly. Dancing to music that existed entirely in his head.

He slowed his steps to a halt and pulled back, noting the glitter in Polly’s eyes and the hectic flush on her cheeks.

‘Sorry,’ he mouthed. Even though he wasn’t.

‘Bravo,’ one of the onlookers called.

What else could he do but brazen it out? He bowed, and stood back as Polly dipped into a curtsey.

Dancing, he thought, could fix almost anything.

Except Polly’s reservations. Because as soon as she stood straight again, all her barriers were back in place. Her eyes were filled with panic. And he didn’t have a clue how to reassure her, because he was in exactly the same state.

They checked out of the hotel and took the train back to the airport to catch their flight. She was quiet all the way home, clearly brooding, and Liam had no idea how to reach her. All he could do, back in London, was to insist on seeing her home, right to her front door.

‘Thank you. I didn’t think I’d ever get the waltz. And what you did, setting up the ballroom like that … that was special.’

‘Pleasure.’

She looked at him. ‘I owe you an explanation. About …’ She glanced down at her wrists.

Was that what she’d been worrying about, rather than the growing physical and emotional awareness between them? ‘It’s OK. You don’t owe me anything.’

‘Do you want to come in, um, for a glass of wine?’

He had a feeling that this was Polly’s way of telling him she was ready to talk. And maybe what had happened with her wrists was the key to whatever was holding her back. Maybe if he understood that, he could make some sense of this whole thing between them. ‘OK. That’d be good,’ he said lightly.

She let them into her flat, dropped her bag in the hallway, ushered him into the kitchen and poured them both a glass of wine. Then she took a deep breath. ‘Those scars are because I cut my wrists when I was fifteen.’ She looked away. ‘God, even saying it aloud makes me feel so ashamed.’

He’d already worked that out for himself, because she couldn’t look him in the eye.

‘I don’t know how close you are to your family,’ she said.

‘On and off,’ he admitted. ‘They’d all rather I had what they call a sensible job, and they drove me crazy after the accident because they thought it was their chance to get me back on the straight and narrow. But they’ve come to accept that dancing’s a big part of who I am—the better part. Although they’re still not wonderfully happy about it, they’re finally off my case about my job.’

That made her meet his eyes again. She looked shocked. ‘But aren’t they proud of you? Of all you’ve achieved, of the way you’ve made millions of people see beauty—the stuff you’ve choreographed for other people to dance, as well as the stuff you dance yourself?’

‘In their own way, I suppose they are. And I guess it could’ve been worse. I don’t think my dad could’ve handled it if I’d wanted to dance ballet. Billy Elliott, eat your heart out. Though I’m just as bad. I pushed everyone away after the accident.’ He paused. ‘So is this your way of saying you’re not close to your family?’

‘I’m an only child,’ she said. ‘Maybe it would’ve been easier if I’d had a brother or a sister. But I think I was probably a mistake. My parents …’ She sighed. ‘Let’s just say they’re not the greatest of role models. And I don’t think they should ever have had children. When I was young, Mum was always leaving Dad because he was having an affair, and getting her own place for a while. She’d take me with her. I’d just get used to the new place, and then they’d make it up and she’d move back in with him.’

So Polly had never known any real stability, Liam thought. No wonder she was worried about getting involved with him. When his career took off again, he could end up taking a show round the world. Given what she’d said about her past, he knew she’d hate that kind of upheaval.

‘It got worse when I was a teenager. Mum started having affairs to get back at Dad. The house was always full of fights and slamming doors. And they both yelled at me because I was so clumsy, always dropping things.’

And he’d just bet Polly grew clumsier every time she got stressed, making it a vicious circle. No wonder she’d said that she never screamed. She’d had more than enough of it when she was growing up. ‘You were a kid. It wasn’t fair to yell at you.’

‘I guess it made a change from yelling at each other.’ She bit her lip. ‘I hated living in chaos all the time. My teachers started asking me why my grades were dropping, and I was too ashamed to tell them it was because I couldn’t concentrate. About how bad it was at home.’ She swallowed. ‘I asked Fliss’s parents—my best friend’s—if I could stay with them. Fliss had told them what was going on, and they said yes. I went home to pack. I was going to leave my parents a note to tell them where I was, but they found me packing. And they were so angry with me. They said I couldn’t be friends with Fliss any more.’ She dragged in a breath. ‘I talked to Fliss at school, because they couldn’t stop me, but I wasn’t allowed to see her outside. And there was still all the shouting and the slamming doors and the leaving and the moving back in.’

Liam’s heart ached for her. No wonder she’d done something so desperate. She must’ve been so unhappy. Sure, there had been rows at home—mostly over his choice of career—but he’d grown up knowing he was loved.

‘In the end, I failed my mock exams. And I’d just had enough. I wanted out. I didn’t know who to talk to, who could help me. So I … cut my wrists.’ She swallowed hard. ‘It was a cry for help. And I’m ashamed of it now.’

Even though part of him was yelling a reminder that he needed to keep himself separate, to keep his heart safe, right now Polly’s need for comfort was greater. He couldn’t stay away any more. ‘Pol. I know we’re not—well, together. But I can’t just sit here and watch you rip your heart out like this. You need someone to hold you. And I’m here.’ He stood up and went round to her side of the kitchen table, scooped her out of her chair, sat in her place and settled her on his lap, wrapping his arms round her.

‘I don’t know whether I want to weep for you most or bang your parents’ heads together,’ he said. ‘And you’re being way too hard on yourself.’ He held her close. ‘When you’re fifteen, you have enough to deal with anyway, without having family troubles on top of that. Of course you’d have dealt with the situation differently at, say, eighteen, but you were only fifteen, Pol. You were still a kid. You couldn’t be expected to cope with their mind games and selfishness. And I’m sorry you had to go through that kind of unhappiness.’ He paused. ‘Obviously they found you in time after you did it.’