His Pretend Wife. Lucy Gordon

on her gyrating form. She was smooth and graceful, moving as though the music were part of her.

      At first she barely glimpsed the stranger in the doorway, but then a turn brought her back to face him, and she saw that he was taller than everyone else in the room, and looked a little older. He wore a shirt and jeans, which were conservative compared to the funky teenage clothes around him.

      What struck her most of all was his expression, the lips quirked in a wry smile, like a man showing indulgence to children. Obviously he thought a teenage rave beneath his dignity, and that made her very annoyed.

      It wouldn’t have mattered if he clearly belonged to another generation. Older people were expected to be stuffy. But he was in his twenties, too young for that slightly lofty look, she thought.

      Nor would she have minded if he’d been unattractive. But for a man with those mobile, sensual lips to be above the crowd was a deadly insult. His lean features made matters worse, being slightly irregular in a way that was intriguing. His eyes were a crime too, dark, lustrous and expressive. They should be watching her, filled with admiration, instead of flickering over everyone with a hint of amusement.

      ‘Who’s that?’ she yelled to her partner above the music.

      ‘That’s Johnny’s brother, Andrew,’ he yelled back, glancing at the door. ‘He’s a doctor. We don’t see much of him here.’

      Johnny was weaving his way over to his brother. Ellie couldn’t hear them through the music, but she could follow their greeting, the way Johnny indicated for Andrew to join the party, and Andrew’s grimace as he mouthed, ‘You’ve gotta be kidding.’

      She followed Johnny’s reply, ‘Aw, c’mon.’

      And Andrew’s dismissive, ‘Thanks, but I don’t play with children.’

      Children. He might as well have shouted the word. And her response, as she later realised, was childish. She put an extra sensuousness into her writhing, which made the boys shout appreciation and the girls glare. She’d show him who was a child.

      But when she looked up he’d gone.

      She found him in the kitchen half an hour later, eating bread and cheese and drinking a cup of tea. She’d switched tactics now. Charm would be better.

      ‘What are you hiding out here for?’ she asked, smiling. ‘It’s a party. You should be having fun.’

      ‘I’m sorry, what did you say?’ He raised his head from the book he’d been reading. His eyes were unfocused, as though part of him was still buried in the pages, and he didn’t seem to have noticed her smile.

      ‘It’s a party. Come and have fun. Don’t be boring out here.’

      ‘Better than being boring in there,’ he said, indicating the noise with his head.

      ‘Who says you’re boring?’

      He shrugged. ‘I would be to them.’ His tone suggested that he wasn’t breaking his heart over this.

      ‘So live a little.’

      ‘By “live” you mean drink too much and make a fool of myself? No, thanks. I did that in my first year at Uni, and who needs to repeat an experience?’

      He was dividing his attention between Ellie and his book, making no secret of the fact that she couldn’t go fast enough for him.

      ‘You mean we’re boring, don’t you?’ she demanded, nettled.

      He shrugged. ‘If the cap fits.’ Then he looked up from the book, giving her his whole attention. ‘I’m sorry, that was rude of me.’

      ‘Yes, it was,’ noticing that his smile was gentle and charming.

      ‘What’s the party about?’

      ‘It’s my birthday—and Grace’s.’

      ‘How old are you?’

      ‘Nineteen.’ He laid down the book and regarded her, his head on one side. ‘All right, not quite nineteen,’ she admitted.

      He looked her up and down in a way that made her think he was getting the point at last, but when he spoke it was only to say, ‘Not quite eighteen, either.’

      ‘I’m seventeen today,’ she admitted.

      ‘Don’t sound so disappointed. Seventeen is a lot of fun.’

      ‘How would you know? I’ll bet you were never seventeen.’

      He laughed at that. ‘I was, but it’s lost in the mists of time.’

      When he grinned he was very attractive, she decided. ‘Yes, I can see you’re very old. You must be at least twenty-one.’

      ‘Twenty-six, actually. Ancient.’

      ‘No way. I like older men.’ She was perching on the edge of the table now, crossing her legs so that their silky perfection was on display.

      ‘Really?’ he said, meeting her eyes.

      ‘Really,’ she said in a husky voice, full of meaning.

      He picked up the book. ‘Go back to your party, little girl. And be careful what you drink.’

      ‘I think that’s up to me,’ she said defiantly.

      ‘Sure. Enjoy the hangover.’

      She glared but he wasn’t looking. There was nothing to do but flounce out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. So she did it.

      She found Johnny drinking cider.

      ‘Your brother’s insufferable,’ she snapped.

      ‘I could have told you that. Dull as ditch water. I don’t know what made him arrive home tonight of all nights. He’s supposed to be studying for his exams.’

      ‘I thought he was already a doctor.’

      ‘He is. He qualified last summer. This is a different lot of exams. He’s always studying for something. Forget him and enjoy yourself. Here.’ He poured some cider into a glass for her and she drank it in one gulp. Johnny immediately refilled her glass and she drained it again.

      Out of sight she clutched the edge of the table. Not for the world would she have done anything so uncool as reveal how it was affecting her. She took a deep breath against the swimming of her head, and held out her glass.

      ‘Fill it up,’ she commanded with bravado.

      He did so, and from somewhere there was an admiring cheer. Encouraged, she seized the big plastic bottle and drained it.

      When she took the floor again she found that something had happened to her. Her limbs were mysteriously light, she danced as if floating on air and her whole body seemed infused with sensuality. Partners came and went. She didn’t know who she was dancing with from one moment to the next, but she knew that none of them was the one she wanted.

      ‘Hey,’ she said, suddenly aware that there was a pair of unfamiliar arms about her, and she was being urged towards the door. ‘Who are you?’

      ‘You know me,’ somebody whispered against her mouth. It was a man, but she couldn’t think who he was. ‘And you fancy me, don’t you?’

      ‘Do I?’

      ‘’Course you do. You’re up for it, I can tell. Hey, what do you think you’re doing?’ The last words were addressed to someone who’d appeared out of nowhere and was determinedly freeing Ellie from the man’s arms. ‘Clear off.’

      ‘No, you clear off,’ came Andrew’s voice.

      ‘Now, look here—’

      ‘Get lost before I do something very painful to you,’ Andrew said, speaking almost casually.

      ‘He will too,’ Ellie remarked to nobody in particular. ‘He’s a doctor,