The Tycoon's Shock Heir. Bella Frances

doing now—he was a bit of a one-trick pony. I don’t think he had a Plan B...’

      And then suddenly the mask slid down and her brilliant smile slipped and wobbled. Her delicate collarbones bunched and the fine muscles of her throat constricted and closed. She was visibly holding herself in check.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘That’s not what you want to hear right now. Dance is your whole life, isn’t it? I totally get it.’

      ‘How can you until it happens to you?’

      She shook her head and twisted away from him, staring out over the twinkling yellow lights of London.

      ‘I really do understand,’ he said, cringing at his thoughtlessness. ‘Rugby was my whole life. As far as I was concerned banking was what my father did. And then—whoosh—he died and the carpet got pulled from under my feet. And here I am.’

      He looked round at the jet, at the cream leather, the crystal glasses, the plasma screen flashing, the numbers and money, wealth and success. For all the Arturo deal would be the icing on the cake, he still had a pretty rich cake.

      Her face told him she was thinking exactly the same thing and he couldn’t blame her for that.

      ‘It’s not exactly the same, though, is it?’ she said, with a note of wistfulness that rang like a bell in his consciousness. ‘You had a Plan B. I’ve got nothing else. Only this. My whole life has been preparing to be a principal dancer. I’m not good at anything except dancing—I barely got myself together to do this.’

      She held out the skirts of her dress and looked right into his eyes with such an imploring look that he thought how easy it would be to fall for a woman like her. She was strong, yet vulnerable too—but all he had to do was dive right in and before he knew it he’d be scrabbling for the banks of some fast-flowing river or, worse, being dragged under and losing his mind along the way.

      He would not be diving into anything. Arm’s length was the only safe distance with any woman—especially one that looked like this—because even when he was crystal-clear it always ended up the same way, with her wanting more than he could give.

      Relationships: the rock he was not prepared to perish on again. No way. The skill came in avoiding crashing into that rock by keeping it light, keeping it moving along, keeping it all about the ‘now’. Worrying about the future...that wasn’t such a great idea.

      He turned to Ruby, lifted her chin with his finger, the lightest little touch.

      ‘You’re doing a fine job. You’ve nothing at all to worry about,’ he said, hearing himself use his father’s gentle but firm pull yourself together tone.

      But she shook her head and lifted those doe eyes.

      ‘I’m not. I’m useless. I’ve left the notes I wrote out at home on the table. And I spent hours writing them—in case I forgot something. I can’t hold things in my head, other than dance steps, and it’s been months since I’ve danced. I’m terrified that I’ll have even forgotten how to do that.’

      ‘Well, one thing at a time, yeah? You’ve been brilliant so far. I had no idea I was going to see a ballet based on a poem by Rumi, who I used to think was an amazing poet—back when my head was full of mush. Maybe I’ll see the error of my ways. Who knows?’

      ‘You really don’t mind that I’ve been a bit of a disaster so far? I don’t want to spoil your evening.’

      ‘It’s certainly different.’

      ‘You’re really going to love the ballet. I promise you.’

      She smiled. Wide and fresh and beautiful. He wondered if she knew it was her deadliest weapon. She had to. She might say that she was no good at anything except dancing, but he would wager she could wrap pretty much anyone, male or female, around her little finger with just a flash of that smile or a glance from those eyes.

      The plane touched down and rolled along the runway. This was shaping up to be quite an evening—the last before he turned all his attention towards netting Arturo. So he might as well enjoy it.

      The game was definitely on.

       CHAPTER FOUR

      SO, THE LOVE RAT wasn’t so much of a rat after all.

      He could have gone to town on her for messing up with the notes, but he’d let her off the hook and he’d actually been quite kind when she’d almost started blubbing like a baby.

      He wasn’t just a boring banker. He was smart. And handsome. Even with a broken nose and a flattened ear he was built like a man should be built.

      She glanced down at his thighs and his biceps, pushing out the fabric of his tux as they waited in the back of a limousine to take their journey along the red carpet. He was prepped and primed to play the role of patron, and all the doubts she’d felt that he was just a surly shadow of his mother were gone. He could dial up the charm as easily as she could.

      Or down. He was no pussycat either. He’d grilled her when he’d first met her, and that had been no party, but she could see why. He was only trying to protect his mother, and who could blame him for that? In his place she’d have been exactly the same—though of course that was never going to happen. The last person that would need any defending was her mother...except from herself.

      The car door was opened. It was time to go. Matteo turned to her, gave her a wink and a smile and stepped out, walking off towards the entrance with lithe grace, light-footed.

      It was just like stepping on stage without the dance steps, she thought. Her stomach flipped. She took a breath and popped her smile into place. Then she followed him past the flashing cameras, pausing beside him as he chatted in the foyer, breathing in and out and beaming for all she was worth.

      With moments left until curtain up they went on into the auditorium, where the air above the velvet rows bubbled with excitement. Heads turned everywhere as they stepped out into the royal box. Ruby stared straight ahead, the interest of so many people feeling like hives on her skin.

      She moved to sit down in the row behind his, but he indicated with a smile and a gracious gesture that she should sit beside him.

      He leaned close as the lights dimmed.

      ‘You’re sure this is going to be as good as you say?’

      ‘If it isn’t you can always ask for your money back.’

      The music struck up. A penetratingly beautiful note was sung in the unmistakable voice of an Indian woman, cutting through the atmosphere of the theatre like a sabre through silk. The audience gasped.

      Matteo’s eyes held hers. A shiver ran down her spine.

      ‘Or I can take recompense another way,’ he said.

      Slowly his eyes swept over her bare shoulders and décolleté, down to her mouth and then back to her eyes. She felt it in every tiny pore, every nerve, every fibre of her body. His mouth curled into a smile...some promise of what he would take. With each second she felt the charge of attraction flare between them. Her whole body reacted as easily as if he’d flipped a switch. She wasn’t imagining it.

      She sat back in her seat, blind to the emergence of the principal dancers onto the stage. Some part of her knew that they were dancing—striking buoyant and beautiful poses, their costumes flowing and extending the elegance of each step, the hauntingly beautiful song telling the story of the stirrings of early passion between the dancers—and some part of her watched. But most of her was alive to this totally new sensation.

      ‘Having fun?’ he whispered.

      Yes, she wanted to gasp out loud. For the first time in months she felt she was actually living. The dance, the theatre, the interested crowd and, despite knowing the dangers, the magnetic draw of this man.