Praise for Fiona Harper

      ‘The author never strikes a false note, tempering poignancy perfectly with humour.’

      —RT Book Reviews

      ‘Classic Fiona—funny with fantastic characters. I was charmed from the first page.’

      —www.goodreads.com on Invitation to the Boss’s Ball

      ‘It’s the subtle shadings of characterisation

      that make the story work, as well as the sensitive handling of key plot points.’

      —RT Book Reviews

      ‘Fiona Harper’s Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

      pairs a simple plot with complex characters, to marvellous effect. It’s both moving and amusing.’

      —RT Book Reviews

       About Fiona Harper

      As a child, FIONA HARPER was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book, or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer, before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started pre-school she found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.

      Fiona lives in London, but her other favourite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland, and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavoured. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up with tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favourite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.

       Dancing with Danger

      Fiona Harper

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      MILLS & BOON

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       Also by Fiona Harper

      Swept Off Her Stilettos

       Three Weddings and a Baby

       Christmas Wishes, Mistletoe Kisses

       Blind-Date Baby

       Invitation to the Boss’s Ball

       Housekeeper’s Happy-Ever-After

       The Bridesmaid’s Secret

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

       To Tammy, a woman of both inner and outer grace, and an amazing friend. Thank you.

      CHAPTER ONE

      THE noise of the helicopter’s rotor blades made chit-chat impossible. Just as well, really, because Finn had no idea what to say to the tiny woman sitting next to him. Her eyes were wide, her knees clamped together, and her claw-like fingers clutched onto her seat belt as if it were a lifeline.

      What on earth had Simon done?

      I’ve found a fabulous replacement for Anya Pirelli, his producer had said. Just you wait! A real coup!

      Finn knew sales patter when he heard it and after seeing the goods on offer he wasn’t sure he was buying. She certainly wouldn’t have been his choice for a celebrity guest star.

      She was tiny, this woman. A ballet dancer, Simon had said. If they were standing she’d barely reach his shoulders. Nothing like the Amazonian tennis player, with her sporty curves and long blond hair, who was supposed to have been sitting beside him.

      No, this woman was so thin she was hardly there. Would probably blow away in a stiff breeze …

      Thinking of high winds, he turned to look past the pilot’s head through the windshield. The meteorological report had said the storm would hit in the small hours of the morning, but it seemed that the fickle tropical weather had decided to kick up a spectacular welcome for them. A greyish-purple cloud hung on the horizon and the sea below the helicopter was rapidly turning dark and choppy.

      The pilot was also frowning and he turned to Finn and shook his head before focusing once again on the darkening sky.

      Unfortunately, Finn knew exactly what that meant. He unbuckled his seat belt and reached for his rucksack. Twenty quid said the ballerina baulked at this latest development and he’d be making his way to their temporary desert island home with only Dave the cameraman for company.

      Seriously? Had Simon really thought this woman—this girl, almost—was suitable for a gritty survival skills TV programme? He caught Dave’s eye. They both looked at the tiny, clenched woman sitting between them, then back at each other. It seemed Finn wasn’t the only one who thought Simon’s efforts at scraping the bottom of the celebrity barrel for Anya’s replacement had been unsuccessful.

      The camera operator began to move, too, making sure he had all his equipment with him. A fuller crew would be arriving by much more civilised means later, but for now they only needed Dave, who was used to haring around after Finn and doing daft things. Despite his grumbling to the contrary, Finn was sure Dave secretly loved it.

      The tiny ballerina was watching them as if she’d never seen anyone load a rucksack before. She was completely still, and the only parts of her that moved were her eyes, which darted between him and the cameraman.

      ‘What’s happening?’ she asked. But Finn didn’t hear the words; he just saw her mouth move.

      He pointed emphatically to the dark clouds hovering over the island getting ever larger on the horizon and yelled at the top of his voice. ‘Storm’s closing in. We have to move now.'

      Her mouth moved again. He was pretty sure she’d just echoed his last word back to him.

      ‘Now,’ he said, nodding.

      She was lucky. If he’d been on his own he’d have jumped into the water, the helo still moving. But it was too dangerous for a novice. They would have to jump, but onto the wetter end of a wide beach. Not quite the luxury of a slow and steady descent on ropes as he’d planned. But there was one thing he could rely on in his life, and on his TV show—hardly anything went to plan. And that was just the way he liked it.

      Finn prodded the ballerina’s seat belt buckle. She just clutched onto it harder, almost glaring at him.

      ‘Two minutes,’ he mouthed, and pointed sharply downward.

      None