The Dance Off

But in that moment he felt anything but cool. Standing on the quiet footpath, the first rays of morning blinking on the horizon, he struggled to get any hold of his emotions at all. His muscles screamed for relief. His heart pounded inside his chest.

And he knew that this time he didn’t only have his father to blame.

He’d been playing with fire of late, in the hope he was cool enough not to get burned. Fire by the name of Nadia Kent.

The quixotic, bewitching, tempting creature had hooked herself into places deep inside him he’d long since kept locked away. She called to his darker emotions, luring them out of hiding. Feelings that could only do more harm than good.

And the whole time he was staring down his father, when his ire ought to have been all about standing up for Sam, there was no getting away from the fact that the deepest root of his fury was that he’d been dragged away from her. From that hellfire kiss that had been swarming them both headlong into something much more.

Not that he’d give his father an inch, ever, but the episode was just the wake-up call he needed.

With every effort he slowed his heart, reclaimed his breath, corralled the mixed emotions roiling inside him and pressed them back down. Deep. Deeper even than he ever had before, along with the big dark vault he kept especially for anything to do with his father.

Until the heat relented. His enmity abated. And every part of him felt blissfully, mercifully, icily cool.

FIVE

Times like this Nadia wished she could drive.

Living out of hotels, or in share houses, there’d never been much point. But as her arms ached and her fingers turned numb under the strain of grocery bags she’d filled on her weekend trek to the Queen Vic Market it felt like a really long walk to the train.

And she wasn’t even done yet.

The boom of boutique butchers competing for business thundered across the white noise of happy crowds while mounds of mouth-watering cheeses, curtains of speckled sausages, and trays of speckled brown, free-range eggs fought for greedy eyes. But the final stall on Nadia’s list sold wine. Great, gleaming bottles of the stuff.

Nadia tipped up onto her toes and over the seething swarm of locals and tourists alike spied her target. Then, eye on the prize, she nudged her way through the crowd. When she stepped back to make way for a group of little old ladies sucking down fresh-made caramels she glanced away to discover that smack bang between her and the Promised Land stood Ryder Fitzgerald.

But before she had the chance to do anything about it Ryder looked up and straight into her eyes.

Surprise washed across his beautiful face. Surprise and heat. The kind that landed in the backs of her knees with a fiery whumph. But the moment passed as his brow furrowed into a scowl and wiped out everything in its path. Seriously, she thought, locking her wayward knees, like he had anything to damn well scowl about.

Resisting the desire to cut and run, Nadia stood stock still as Ryder began to stride her way.

She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. Not that it mattered any. She was dressed in her weekend gear of skinny jeans, pink ballet flats, a sleeveless top and thin summer scarf, her hair was a day late in the washing and twirled up into a messy bun, and she wore no make-up bar lip balm and wind burn. She was hardly at her best.

While he looked...breathtaking. His sharp jaw unshaven, his face all dark and glowering, his hair spiking up a little from the effects of the light drizzle outside, and in jeans and a dark grey T-shirt he was all broad shoulders and lean hips and the kind of swagger that came naturally or didn’t come at all.

“Nadia,” he said, her name in that deep voice doing things to her blood she had no hope of containing.

“Hiya!” said she in a high sing-song voice she’d never used in her life.

“Shopping?”

“Lunch. A bottle of wine to go with it, then home.”

He eyed the two heavily laden bags then his eyebrows raised a smidge. “Expecting company?”

“Just me.”

His eyes moved from her bags to her flat tummy, and she wondered if he could see the flutters she felt. Hoped not. Hoped so. Lost all hope in herself.

“Anyway, I need to get in line before it all sells out. So...” With a quick smile, she saw a gap in the crowd and slipped through.

She felt rather than saw him follow, the heat of the man burning against her back till she couldn’t help but arch away from it. And then he was at her side, walking with her as if it was all planned. As if the last time she’d seen him he hadn’t had his mouth on her, and his hands, and so very nearly more.

Knowing she couldn’t outrun him, and needing that promised bottle of red more than ever, she said, “Doing a little shopping yourself this fine Saturday?”