And it was a glamorous town. The old, medieval streets surrounded by snow-capped mountains gave Innsbruck a quaint, old-fashioned air but there was a cosmopolitan beat to the old Tyrolean town. People came here to shop at the Christmas markets and to enjoy the myriad winter sports aimed at all levels. There was a palpable sense of money, of entitlement, of health and vigour.
‘Look at them all.’ Flora stared down the main street at what seemed like a sea of glowing, youthful faces. ‘It’s like they’ve been ordered out of a catalogue. I’ve never seen so many gorgeous people.’
‘Even him?’ Alex indicated a man sitting in the window of a café, his sunglasses perched high on his unnaturally smooth face, his skin the colour of a ripened orange. Flora bit her lip, trying not to laugh.
‘Or her?’ He nudged her in the direction of a skeletally thin woman, swathed from neck to ankle in what Flora devoutly hoped were fake furs, incongruously bright yellow hair topping her wrinkled face.
‘Maybe not everyone,’ she conceded. ‘But most people seem so at home, like they belong.’ No one else bulged out of quilted jackets, or had hair flattened by their hats. The girls looked wholesomely winsome in thick jumpers and gilets, their hair cascading from underneath their knitted hats, their cheeks pink from the cold. The men were like Norse gods: tall, confident as they strode down the snow-filled medieval streets. Alex fitted the scene like the last piece of a jigsaw. Flora? She was the missing piece from a different jigsaw that had somehow got put in the wrong box.
‘What did I tell you, Flora? No one really belongs, they just act like they do. You just need to stand tall and look people in the eye.’
‘Not easy when everyone is wearing shades.’ It was a feeble joke and Alex just looked at her, concern in his eyes. She winced; somehow she had managed to provoke almost every response going in the last forty-eight hours. She made herself smile. See, joking.
‘We don’t have to be back at the hotel for a few hours yet, you’re respectably kitted out and I have even managed to clear my emails while you were dress hunting. What do you fancy doing?’
Flora pulled at her coat. ‘I should work. What if Camilla wants to see my ideas? All I have are a few online mood boards.’
‘That’s all she wants at this stage. I can promise you, she’ll change her mind a million times and in the end your first concept will be the winner.’
‘Then why drag me here for the week?’ Oh, no. He hadn’t forced her over here as some sort of intervention, had he? He could just imagine him on the phone to her mother, reassuring her that he had it all in hand. That he would put an end to this temping nonsense quick smart.
‘Not that I’m not grateful...’ she added unconvincingly. Just think, if he’d left her alone she could have been cosying up to the man on the train again tomorrow morning. Maybe she’d misjudged him and his grabby hands. He might just be plain-speaking and tactile. They could have told their kids and grandkids about how they’d met on an overcrowded commuter train a week before Christmas. Just like a film.
‘Flora, Camilla can snap her fingers and have the best at the touch of a button. It’s the story, the package that she needs to see. She loves that I’m young, terribly English, well educated, have my own firm and I’m tipped for the top.’ His laugh was a little self-conscious. ‘It’s an easy sell, makes a good interview, adds that extra little detail when she’s publicising the hotel. You’re here so she can see that you can do the same—that’s why it’s so important that you look right, that you say the right things.’
That she what? Panic churned in her stomach, the snow dazzling as she stared at the ground, her eyes swimming. ‘I’m here to schmooze? You didn’t tell me that!’
‘I didn’t hide it. You know who the invited guests are. Look, Camilla knows I wouldn’t recommend anyone who wasn’t talented and creative. She needs to see that you can mingle with the right people, chat to journalists, help sell her creations. And, Flora, you can.’
‘But I can’t...’ He wanted her to what? Chat to journalists? Sell? Flora gulped in air, rooted to the spot, oblivious to the crowds passing her by.
‘You’ve done it before.’ He didn’t add Many times but the words hung in the air. ‘At least this time you won’t have to baste chickens or pipe icing while you’re talking.’
Flora still couldn’t joke about her childhood spots in front of the camera. To be honest she wasn’t sure she ever would reach that state. ‘Can you imagine what it was like going into school after Dad’s shows aired? Me this tall and this...’ She sketched an arc around her chest. She had been the tallest in her class from nursery onwards—and the most developed from the end of primary school. ‘The last thing I want to do is talk about me, you know that. And if I chat to journalists they’ll know who I am...’
‘And they’ll love it. Youngest daughter of food writer and TV chef, Ted Buckingham and TV doctor Jane Buckingham? They won’t try and catch you out, Flora. We’re talking travel sections, maybe some lifestyle blogs. I promise you. It’ll be a lot less stressful than your dad’s Internet videos of family get-togethers.’
‘Horry says neurosurgery is less stressful than the Internet get-togethers.’
‘All you have to do this week is have fun. Try to ski, chat to people, talk colours and materials and be enthusiastic. If Camilla offers you the commission then you can worry about the other side of it later, but if I were you I’d think about how a little publicity in the right places could send your stock sky-high. Come on, Flora. You never know, you might even enjoy it. Now, Christmas markets or ice skating? Your choice.’
Flora took in a deep shuddering breath. Alex was right, if he’d mentioned any of this before she would have hightailed it back to London before he could say prost. Minerva positively fed off their parents’ fame, using it as a springboard when she opened her PR firm, and Horry was oblivious. Flora, on the other hand, had always found it mortifying, whether appearing on her dad’s cookery programme or listening to her mother talk about Flora’s first period on national TV. She wasn’t sure the scars from that particular episode would ever fade.
Still, silver linings and all that—she hadn’t thought about the kiss or their sleeping arrangements once in the last half-hour. It turned out there were only so many things even she could stress about.
‘I haven’t been ice skating for years.’
‘Indoors or outdoors?’
Flora looked around, at the blue sky, the sun warm despite the chill of the air. ‘Oh, outside, please.’
‘Come on, then, I challenge you to a backwards-skating race. Loser buys the mulled wine.’
CHAPTER FIVE
THIS WHOLE WEEK was doomed. Alex had known it from the minute he’d got Lola’s email. Camilla Lusso liked to work with people she could show off. Extroverted, larger than life, Lola had fitted the bill perfectly. Flora? Not so much. But she did have the training, after all. It wasn’t as if he had thrown her in unprepared; she’d been brought up with camera crews, journalists and interviewers traipsing through the house, had been expected to converse intelligently at dinner parties and receptions since she’d hit double figures.
Of course, that didn’t mean she enjoyed any of it. Alex knew all too well that if he’d been completely honest with her at the start she’d have run a mile.
Maybe that would have been for the best. No Flora, no kiss, no sleepless night.
Because, try as he might, he just couldn’t shake the memory of the warmth of her mouth, the sweetness of her lips, the way his hands had held her as if she were made just for him, every curve slotting so perfectly against him.
There had been far too many kisses from far more women than Alex cared to remember. Not one had stayed with him, not for a second. This one he could still taste. He had a feeling he would still feel it imprinted on his lips in fifty years’ time.
And it was all
he could do not to put his hands on her shoulders, turn her around and kiss her once again. And this time there would be no stepping back. Not ever.
But he couldn’t. She deserved better than him. She needed someone who wasn’t dead inside, someone who could match her sweetness and generous spirit. Sometimes Alex thought that Flora could be the saving of him—but he’d be the damning of her. His father’s last words echoed around his brain yet again.
You taint everything you touch. You were born bad and grew up worse.
And his father was right.
But he wouldn’t taint Flora, never Flora.
‘I haven’t been ice skating in years.’ She worried away at her lower lip as they walked through the twisty streets. ‘Not since we used to go to the ice discos on a Friday night. Not that you did much skating. You were usually in a corner snogging some random girl.’
He had been. A different girl each week. The worse he’d behaved, the more they’d seemed to find him irresistible. He had hated himself every single Friday night as he’d smiled across at yet another hopeful—but it hadn’t stopped him moving in while last week’s conquest had watched from a corner.
Had anything changed? He went in for relationships now, not kisses in a booth by an ice rink, but he didn’t commit as much as a toothbrush to them—and Flora had a point when she said that each of his girlfriends was interchangeable. A warm body to lose himself in, a talisman against the dark.
Could he change that—did he even want to? Or would it be just as lonely with one woman by his side as it was with dozens?
He shook off the thought. ‘It’ll be just like riding a bike—the skating, not the snogging.’ Why had he said that? He was pretty sure that the red in her cheeks had nothing to do with the cold and she ducked her head so that he couldn’t see her expression.
It’ll get easier, he told himself. But he hoped it was soon. He couldn’t imagine being this awkward in front of her parents. He knew Flora thought they favoured him but there was no contest—she was their little girl and if he hurt her they’d take her side. As they should.
It made him aware just how alone he was in the world. Was there anyone who would be on his side no matter what?
There were lots of ice rinks in and around Innsbruck, the prettiest on naturally frozen lakes, but the one Alex had chosen had a charm all of its own. It was a temporary rink right in the centre of town, just a short walk from the bustling Christmas markets. The early afternoon sun was too bright for the Christmas lights hanging overhead and bedecking every tree to make any impact but Alex knew that once dusk fell the whole town would light up, a dazzling, golden winter wonderland of crystal and light.
The rink was busy and it took a while before they could pay and order their skates. The boots were tight and stiff, unfamiliar on his feet, a reminder as he awkwardly stood up just how long it was since he had last been skating. Judging by Flora’s awkward gait, she felt the same way. Gingerly they walked, stiff-legged and heavy-footed, to the wide entrance and peered at the whirling crowd. Even the toddlers seemed to have a professional air as they flew round and round, their mittened hands clasped behind their backs.
Alex grimaced. ‘I’m not sure about that backward race; right now just going forwards feels like it might be a struggle.’
Flora slid her foot forward, wobbling like a fawn who had only just found her feet, her arms windmilling madly as she found her balance. ‘Come on, we just need to find our feet. It’ll be fine. I used to be able to dance on the ice.’
‘Synchronised moves to pop. It wasn’t exactly figure skating,’ he pointed out as he put a tentative toe on the white surface, his eyes following a slight figure who did seem to be practising figure skating as she looped elegant circles round and round. ‘I don’t think we ever got to Austrian standards.’
Flora slid out another cautious foot and then another, a smile playing around her mouth as she began to pick up speed. ‘Speak for yourself! You should have spent more time skating, less time being the local Casanova,’ she yelled over her shoulder as she struck out for the centre of the rectangular rink.
Alex took a quick look around. On the far side the tented café was open to the rink and filled with cheerful onlookers clutching hot drinks and waving at family members as they skated close. At both ends spectators paused in their shopping to watch the sport. Christmas music blared from speakers and a giant, lit-up Christmas tree occupied the very centre of the rink.
He could stay here, clinging to the handrail, or he could venture out. Come on, he used to spend every weekend doing this. His body must remember the moves. Grimly he let go and began to move.
That was it, knees bent, body weight forward, letting the blades cut at an angle and propel him forward. The air chilled on his face as he got up some speed, the rest of his body warming with the exertion. Where was Flora? Squinting through a gang of teens, arms locked as they swung round in matching step, he saw her, weaving nimbly in and out of the other skaters. He’d always liked to watch her on the ice. She lost all self-consciousness, graceful as she pirouetted around.
She saw him and skated an elegant figure of eight, the ice swishing under her skates as she pulled up alongside him.
‘Hey.’ She smiled at him, any trace of reserve gone in the wide beam. ‘This is brilliant. Why don’t we do this any more?’
‘Because we’re not sixteen?’
‘That’s a rubbish reason. Look, there are plenty of people here way older than us.’
‘And way younger.’ Alex nodded towards one of the toddler prodigies and Flora laughed.
‘He must have been born with skates on. Come on, let’s go faster...’
She grabbed his hand and struck out and with a shout of alarm mixed with exultation he joined her, their gloved hands entwined, their bodies moving in swift, perfect synchronicity as they whirled faster and faster and faster round and round and round. All he could hear was his blood pumping in his ears, the roar of the wind and the beat of the music; colours swirled together as they moved past, through and round other groups until someone’s foot, he wasn’t sure whose, slipped and they crashed together, a sliding, flailing, unbalancing. Somehow he managed to grab hold of Flora and steady her before she fell completely onto the ice and they backed carefully to the side, holding onto each other, laughing.
‘That was brilliant.’ Her eyes shone, her cheeks were pink with exertion and her breath came in pants. She had never looked more magnificent, like some winter naiad glorying in the ice.
‘Yes.’ He wanted to say more but all the words had gone. All he could see were her long lashes, tipped with snow, her wide laughing mouth, a mouth made for kissing. All he could feel was her softness, nestled in next to him.
He had held her before, stood this close to her before. If he was honest he had wanted her before. But he’d hidden it, even from himself, every single time before. It was as if yesterday’s kiss had opened the gates, shown him the forbidden fruit concealed behind them and now that he had tasted he wasn’t sure he could ever stop craving.
It was a bad idea. But God help him he’d forgotten why. And when she looked at him like that, tentative, hopeful, naked desire blazing from those dark, dark eyes, he was utterly undone.
It was a bad idea. But Alex pushed that thought away as the air stilled, as the beat of the music faded away replaced with the thrum of need beating its own time through his veins, through his blood. He stood, drinking her in like a dying man at an oasis. All he had to do was bend his head...
He paused, allowing the intoxicating possibility to fill him—and then he stood back. ‘Come on.’ His voice was rough, rasping like yesterday’s beard. ‘We need to get back.’
It was a bad idea. If only it didn’t feel so wickedly, seductively good. If only doing the right thing didn’t rip his heart right out of his chest.
He turned and skated aw
ay. And didn’t look back once.
* * *
He’d nearly kissed her. She knew it completely. She’d seen it as his eyes had darkened to a stormy grey, as his breath had hitched and a muscle had pulsed on his cheek. She’d felt it as his arm had tightened around her shoulders, as her body had swayed into his. She hadn’t thrown herself at him; she couldn’t blame the schnapps, not this time.
No, Alex Fitzgerald had looked at her as if she were his last hope.
Of course, then he had turned and skated away as if all the Furies were chasing him down, but still. They had had a definite moment.
Which was pretty inconvenient because hadn’t she vowed that this was it and she was going to Get Over Him no matter what? And then he had to go and look at her like that and all her good intentions were trampled into the ground like yesterday’s snowfall.
Because that look went beyond mere lust. It did. It wasn’t just wishful thinking. No, she had felt it penetrate right through to the core of her.
Flora sighed and nudged the hot tap with her foot and let another fall of steaming water into the tub. It felt decadently wrong to lie naked in the middle of such a big room, wearing just hot water and scented oils. The view from the bathtub might be incredible but it seemed, a little disconcertingly, as if she were bathing right outside in the middle of a mountain glade.
Still, it was pretty relaxing—as long as Alex stuck to his timetable and didn’t walk back in.
What if he did? Would he look like that again or would he back away terrified again?
Something was going on. I need answers, she decided, allowing herself to slip deep into the hot, almost to the point of discomfort, luxuriantly smelling water. She couldn’t go on like this.
It was one thing thinking he was indifferent; horrid to think he was repulsed. But now? She had no idea. It was as if she were sixteen again. His face had that same remote, shuttered look it had worn all that long, hot summer.
Proposal At The Winter Ball (Harlequin Romance) Page 6
