Kate Hardy - 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.

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?