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‘Not even the sniff of an audition, right now,’ she admitted. ‘But I can’t work on Monday Mash-up again.’
The boys stayed there for long enough to do some dancing for the cameras on Step by Step, and to tell all the viewers to vote for Polly.
‘We’d better let you get on,’ Danny said when the camera crew had gone, and the three of them gave her a hug and kiss goodbye.
‘They’re nice lads. I can see why you miss them,’ Liam said. ‘But come on, you, back to work.’
She knew he’d seen the glimmer of tears in her eyes and guessed exactly why they were there. But there was also an additional guilty layer: the fact that she was missing the crew, but she wasn’t missing Harry. And shouldn’t she be missing the man she’d been going to marry?
On Friday, Polly was enjoying their last real practice of the routine. She loved the music. She’d always thought of herself as the girl-next-door type; but the way she was dancing with Liam made her feel sexy. More attractive than she’d felt in years. She lost herself in the dance, to the point where she ended up overbalancing on a spin. Liam caught her before she fell and pulled her against his body to steady her. ‘OK?’
‘OK,’ she whispered.
Except she was aware of every drop of blood thudding through her veins, the way Liam was just that little bit too close, to the point where she could feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed. She could feel the moment that his breathing changed, became faster and shallower, and glanced up at him to see that he was staring at her mouth. A moment later, she was staring at his. Thinking. Wondering.
They were a whisper away from kissing. Just as they’d been at the club.
She felt hot all over. Maybe it was the music or the dancing, she tried to tell herself, but she knew that wasn’t strictly true. It was Liam making her feel all hot and bothered. And she couldn’t drag her gaze away.
But then Amanda opened the studio door. ‘Sorry to interrupt. There’s a phone call for you, Liam. It’s Barney, that guy from the Broadway show.’
Liam set Polly on her feet. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’
‘No worries. It sounds important.’ Hadn’t he said he wanted to work with a Broadway cast?
‘It is, a bit. Thanks.’
Polly took advantage of the moment to splash her face with cold water. Yes, Liam Flynn was gorgeousness personified, and a really nice guy to boot, but she couldn’t get involved with him. Even if it wasn’t too soon after Harry, there were other things in the way. Liam wanted to work on Broadway when Ballroom Glitz had finished; this phone call sounded as if he was well on his way to making that happen.
She intended to stay in London. Long-distance relationships didn’t work—she’d seen too many showbiz couples break up because of it. She wouldn’t expect Liam to give up his dreams for her; but she wouldn’t want to give up the security of her life in London for him, either.
So she just had to forget about that near-kiss. They couldn’t get involved.
To her relief, Liam acted as if nothing had been about to happen when he came back into the studio, and they finished polishing the routine.
On Saturday, just before the dress rehearsal, Liam was waiting in the Green Room. He did a double take when Polly walked in. She looked stunning. OK, so he’d been there when she’d chosen the costume, but he hadn’t actually seen her try it on. The tomboyish kids’ TV presenter had morphed into a gorgeous, kittenish flirt. Especially when she practised one of the cha cha cha steps as she walked, making her hips sway. It was sultry and sexy as hell. The movement ruffled her swishy skirt, but it ruffled his composure even more.
‘I had no idea you had such fantastic legs.’ Annoyance with himself at the way he was letting her get to him made him snippy. ‘Why do you always dress in awful clothes?’
‘I don’t dress in awful clothes,’ Polly protested.
‘Yes, you do. You have those shapeless long-sleeved T-shirts—and if you’re not in baggy jeans, you’re in shapeless black trousers.’
She lifted her chin. ‘So you’re saying I’m unfeminine?’
‘No, I’m saying that you hide yourself and I don’t understand why.’ He lifted both his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘It’s none of my business, I know, and if you’re doing a kids’ show I guess you need to dress the part.’
She sighed. ‘Grace was feminine. That’s what gave Harry the kaboom.’
If he didn’t have such a tight rein on his emotions, he had a nasty feeling that she’d be giving him the kaboom. ‘If Harry saw you wearing what you’re wearing now, you’d give him the kaboom.’
‘Three weeks ago, I would’ve wanted to hear that,’ Polly said.
‘And now?’ Liam asked, his throat feeling scratchy.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘it doesn’t matter. I’ve had time to think. And you’re right. I can’t let my happiness rely on someone else. Only on me.’
This time, they were on third on the show. And Polly started smiling as soon as the music started. This time, the dance was over far too quickly.
The applause astounded her. As did the praise from the judges.
At the end of the show, they were in sixth place on the judges’ leader board. Millie came over to her with a microphone. ‘How do you feel, Polly?’
‘Utterly thrilled that we’re not bottom this week!’ Polly said, beaming. ‘I loved learning the cha cha cha.’
‘And you hope that you’ll be here next week?’
She nodded. ‘I really want to stay in, because next week is the waltz. I’ve always wanted to do that—whenever I’ve watched the show, the dancers looked so romantic in those floaty dresses.’
‘If you want to see Polly Anna and Liam doing the waltz next week, phone up and vote for them!’ Millie ordered the audience.
While they were waiting for the phone lines to close, the professional dancers did two numbers, and there was a chart act playing their last hit and the newest single.
Polly tried not to let her nerves get the better of her. This week was the first elimination. Even though they’d managed to stay out of the bottom two on the leader board, if the public hadn’t responded to them and they ended up in the bottom two once the votes were taken into account they would be in the dance off.
‘And now, the moment you’ve been waiting for—the results,’ Millie intoned.
All the couples walked onto the stage and waited in their allotted spots, with a light fixed on each of them. Polly’s heart was pounding so hard, she was sure the audience would be able to hear it.
Liam stood behind her with his arms wrapped round her. He dipped his head so he could whisper into her ear, ‘Stop worrying. It doesn’t matter if we end up in the dance off. You’ve done really well tonight and you know you can do it.’
‘And the first couple who will be going to the dance off tonight, in no particular order, are Jane and André.’
The next two names were a blur.
‘Also going through next week—Polly Anna and Liam!’
For a second, Polly couldn’t take it in.
They were through.
They were through! She whooped and mouthed ‘Thank you’ to the cameras, then spun round and kissed Liam as the spotlight above them switched off.
Liam’s arms wrapped round her, holding her close.
And then his mouth moved against hers. Teasing her. Coaxing her. Tiny, nibbling kisses that made her press herself against him and tip her head back, changing the angle between them so he could part her lips and deepen the kiss.
Kaboom.
So this was what it felt like. As if her blood were fizzing through her veins. As if a thousand starbursts had lit up the sky. As if she were floating. And her senses were filled with Liam. The softness of his skin against hers, the citrusy scent of his shower gel, the warmth of his arms wrapped round her, the sweetness of his mouth.
She’d never, ever felt like this before, wanting the kiss to last until the end of time because it was so utterly, utterly perfect.
But then Liam stopped kissing her and Polly was horribly aware of a low catcall coming from Kyle, the footballer who was one place above them on the leader board.
‘You two had better hope the cameras didn’t catch that,’ he said.
Oh, no. If that had been shown on national TV, the gossip rags would be going crazy. She and Liam had both had more than enough column inches about them for the wrong reasons.
She pulled back. ‘Whoops. Guess I got a bit overexcited about getting through to next week,’ she said lightly.
She couldn’t meet Liam’s eyes as the shame scalded through her. She’d just let him kiss her stupid onstage, in front of millions. Worse still, she’d incited it by kissing him in the first place.
How stupid was she?
‘I—I’d better get changed. See you tomorrow,’ she said, and raced off the stage, not wanting to face him again until she’d had time to cool down and get her common sense back.
CHAPTER EIGHT (#ulink_bc4d9649-ce9d-503f-8a85-7046e9c5bb95)
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.
