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‘I’m not a total jerk, Polly.’
‘I didn’t mean that. But—well, you keep yourself separate.’
‘Yes.’ Because it was safe.
And he knew she was letting him off explaining when she said brightly, ‘Let’s go back and practise those steps.’
‘Pol—’
‘No pity, remember?’ she cut in.
‘No pity,’ Liam agreed. ‘I know what it feels like when you can see it in people’s eyes when they look at you, and you know they’re desperately glad it’s not them in your shoes.’ He held her gaze. ‘I assume you know about my accident.’
‘That you were badly injured and you recovered, yes. But it’s none of my business.’ She bit her lip. ‘Except I worry that I’m going to trip and it’ll jar your back and do some damage.’
He resisted the urge to touch her cheek to comfort. Just. Which in itself was worrying. He hadn’t wanted contact like this for more than a year, not since Bianca. Why now? Why Polly? ‘Thank you for thinking of me, but you really don’t have to worry. You’re not going to hurt my back, even if you do trip over me.’
‘I take it that’s how you know about pity?’
‘That, and when Bianca dumped me for her new dancing partner. We didn’t know if I’d recover enough to dance again at all, let alone in world-class competitions, and it would have been stupid to let the accident wipe out her career as well as mine. I was happy for her to dance with someone else. It made sense.’ He gave an awkward shrug. ‘I just wasn’t expecting her to fall in love with the guy. Especially so fast. And then she left me for him.’ And crushed what was left of his heart. Something he kept a thick barrier round now.
Except Polly’s tears had unexpectedly put a crack in that barrier. He needed to put that right, the second she left his studio. But her eyes were still wet and he couldn’t bring himself to suggest that she went home. He’d been that lonely and miserable, once. And, even though his head told him not to get involved, this was just too much for him to resist.
Polly hadn’t expected Liam to open up to her like this; but she guessed this was his way of telling her that he understood exactly how she was feeling right now. ‘You’ve already been here.’
‘It’s not the best feeling in the world.’
‘But moping about it doesn’t make it better.’ She’d been there before. Crying didn’t help.
‘I’ll tell you what does make it better,’ he said.
‘What?’
‘As they said in the old Fred Astaire movie, let’s face the music and dance. We’ll forget my routine for now—I’ll work up another one with a different song and we’ll do that tomorrow.’
She grimaced. ‘I feel guilty that you’ve wasted all that work.’
‘I’ll use it somewhere else. Anyway, I like choreographing.’ He gave her another of those rare smiles, and it made her feel warm inside. As if the sun had just come out. Which was ridiculous—they were indoors and it was evening. And they barely knew each other. And today she’d been supposed to be getting married to someone else. This was all so wrong.
‘Trust me, it gets easier with time,’ he said. ‘Like dancing, you just have to work at it a bit.’
To Polly’s surprise, she really did feel better when they’d spent the next hour dancing, practising the steps he’d taught her during the week; he kept to upbeat, happy music, and she loved it when they did the whirling turns all the way down one side of the room and then the other. She could imagine how this would feel in a posh frock, with the skirt spinning out as they danced. Glitzy, ritzy, shiny and happy. Like a princess in her perfect world.
‘Thanks—you’re right, dancing does help to make it better,’ she said when the last song had ended. She went to change her shoes. ‘I’d better get out of your hair now and let you have at least some of your Saturday evening.’
Which was his cue to let her go. Except he wasn’t quite ready to do that. After what she’d just told him, he couldn’t help feeling protective towards her. Wanting to look after her a little bit. Which was dangerous for his peace of mind; if he had any sense, he’d just make some anodyne remark and let her go.
But his mouth had other ideas. ‘I wasn’t doing anything in particular, tonight.’ He paused. ‘I assume you’re going back to an empty flat?’
She nodded. ‘I spent today scrubbing it. Not that I’ve lived there long enough to make much mess, and Fliss—my best friend—helped me move my stuff and clean it, the day I got the flat.’ She shrugged. ‘Still. It’s a new start. And I have a new job to keep me busy—at least, for as long as I can try not to get us chucked out of the competition.’
‘No chance. We’re in this all the way to the final.’
‘You betcha.’ Though her words sounded hollow.
‘Did you eat before you came here?’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I wasn’t hungry.’
He frowned. ‘Polly, you have to eat.’
‘I know. I’m not going to starve myself to make other people feel guilty. That’s not who I am.’ She shrugged. ‘I’m just not feeling that hungry today.’
‘There are two sorts of people: those whose appetite goes when they’re stressed, and those who eat everything in sight. I have to admit, I stuffed my face with cake when Bianca left.’ He gave her a rueful look. ‘I put on ten pounds in a month.’
She winced. ‘Ouch.’
‘The actual ouch bit was having to work it all off again with muscles that I hadn’t been able to use for months—believe me, they really didn’t want to play ball.’
‘It must’ve been really hard for you.’
‘About the same as it is for you, right now,’ he said. ‘I’d lost my career, I’d lost my marriage—and, yes, I lost my home as well, because obviously we had to split our assets in the divorce and it was easiest to sell the flat. Right at that point, I felt that there was nothing left. But I learned something, Polly. I did have something left.’ He paused. ‘I still had me. The one person in my life I can rely on.’
He’d been exactly where she was. Except in an even worse place, really, because he’d thought he’d never be able to do what he loved again. She could still do what she loved—well, she could when she found another job. Or maybe she could come up with a concept for a new show and pitch it to one of Harry’s competitors.
And Liam was right. She still had herself. She could definitely rely on herself. Though she had good friends she could rely on, too. Had it not been like that for him? On impulse, Polly reached out and squeezed his hand. ‘Thank you, Liam.’
He returned the pressure, making little shivers run up her spine. ‘No worries. Been there, done that, come out the other side.’
‘And so will I.’
‘Good.’ He paused. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’
‘Yes.’
‘I was planning on a takeaway dinner tonight. You could join me, if you like,’ he suggested. ‘There’s not far to go, either—my flat’s on the top floor of the building.’
Go home alone to an empty flat. Or take a risk. Get to know Liam a little better.
‘Just so you know,’ he said softly, ‘I’m not coming on to you.’
Which was a relief. And, weirdly, it was a disappointment, too. Which again felt wrong. She hadn’t expected Liam to stir these kinds of emotions in her. Why couldn’t life be simple?
She pulled herself together. ‘And it’ll be OK with your, um, partner if I join you?’
‘Just me. I’ve been single since Bianca left, and that’s the way I’m keeping it. I’m concentrating on getting my career back,’ Liam said. ‘And I guess it’s the same for you, after Harry. So we’re colleagues.’ He paused. ‘We could be friends. Come and have some Chinese food with me.’
Put like that, how could she refuse? ‘Thanks. I’d like that. Provided we go halves on the bill.’ She wasn’t giving up her independence.
‘Deal,’ he said.
And Polly knew that tonight wasn’t going to be the second most miserable night of her life, after all.
CHAPTER FIVE (#ulink_fffd7109-0cbe-5d43-8530-f8020dcfbef3)
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?’
