CHAPTER FIVE

      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?’

      She nodded. ‘Sorry. It must be annoying for you.’

      ‘No. It’s good to have friends looking out for you.’

      Something in his tone alerted her. ‘Didn’t your friends do that, after your accident?’

      ‘Yes and no.’ He grimaced. ‘A lot of them