Save the Last Dance. Fiona Harper

If you’ve got that, you can survive against the odds, even if you are stuck in alien territory.’ He shrugged one shoulder. ‘The survival training makes it easier, but with spark nothing is impossible.’

       She nodded, but she didn’t look very happy about what he’d said. In fact, that eager, open look she’d been wearing since they’d crouched down to build the fire disappeared.

       ‘You mean something like soul?’ she said quietly, her eyes fixed on his face.

       ‘That’s it.’

       She looked at the sandy earth beneath their feet. And then she stood up and walked a few paces further down the beach and looked out to sea. Her arms came around her front and she hugged her elbows tightly.

       Hmm. Maybe this compliant-seeming woman had more of the touch of the diva about her than he’d first imagined. He shrugged to himself and chucked another log on the now roaring fire. He wasn’t pandering to it, though. She’d have to learn that quick-smart as well.

       ‘The next important thing to do is to get dry,’ he said over his shoulder. And then, just because he couldn’t resist, ‘It’s a real morale booster.’

       She twisted her neck to look back at him, and then she turned and walked up to the blaze, extending her arms until they were rigid and flexing her palms back.

       Finn gave a chuckle. ‘You’ll spend all day trying to dry those clothes like that.’ And then, as the little ballerina’s eyes grew the roundest and bluest he’d ever seen them, he began to strip off.

      Well, it seemed her prophecy that anything could and would happen when Finn McLeod was around hadn’t been far off the mark. Allegra wasn’t sure whether to pull up a metaphorical chair and enjoy herself, or slink off into the shelter to protect them both from embarrassment.

       A low, rumbling snort from behind her caused her to yank her head round. Dave was finding it all highly amusing as he caught every millisecond of her double-edged reaction with his big zoom lens. Oh, how she was learning to hate that object!

       She turned her back on both man and camera. However, this meant the only other view open to her was Finn and his rapidly diminishing wardrobe. His shirt was already on the ground, revealing a broad and rather finely muscled back, and he had turned his attention to his boot laces. Allegra swallowed. After that the only items left would be his trousers and his—she gulped again—underwear.

       She stood frozen to the spot, unable to move, unable to look away.

       Why was she reacting like this? It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen her fair share of unadorned male bodies in her line of work. And she’d certainly watched enough episodes of Fearless Finn to know that he had no compunction about getting naked if the situation called for it, but there had always been a little bit of post-production wizardry that had fuzzied out the…um…essentials. She suddenly missed that fuzzy square very much indeed.

       Finn was out of his boots now and had pulled his trousers down to his knees. The sight of his thighs made Allegra’s mouth go dry.

       He paused and looked up at her. ‘Come on, then.’ His cheeky grin turned her already parched tongue to sandpaper. ‘You’ll go mouldy if you stay in those damp things.’

       He stepped out of his cargo trousers and picked them up, along with his shirt, and then hung them out on one of the large bushes that circled their camp, making sure they were stretched out wide and facing the roaring fire.

       Her heart rate began to slow a little. He was stopping at his underwear—at least that was how it looked for now. Part of her was relieved, but the other part? Well, it just…wasn’t.

       Once Finn had finished arranging his clothes on the bush he turned back to her. She discovered she was clutching at the front of her light cotton shirt, pulling the edges towards each other, even though it was still buttoned up.

       What must she look like?

       A timid child? A complete prude? Certainly nothing like the kind of impulsive, free-spirited woman who would appeal to Finn McLeod. The kind of girl who would smile back at the gorgeous hunk of man who had nonchalantly got half-naked beside her and was inviting her to do the same. The kind of girl who already had claimed his heart, she reminded herself.

       Finn jerked his head towards the sparkling pale green shallows. ‘I’m going to wash off the helicopter, the storm and anything else that might be clinging to me,’ he said. And then he bounded off down the sand and threw himself into the surf.

       Well, she couldn’t stand here getting damper and sweatier and smellier by the second, could she? If there was one thing she wanted—besides Finn McLeod—it was to feel clean again, and her island home was fulfilling every fantasy she’d had about it this morning. The sky was a painful crisp blue, the sand the colour of vanilla ice cream, and the sea…

       Oh, how she wanted to feel that cool azure water on her skin, feel it gently stroking her limbs, easing her tension away.

       She didn’t allow herself to question what she did next. She just followed Finn’s lead, threw her shirt and trousers on the nearest twiggy bush and, after a moment’s hesitation, she peeled her vest top off, too, and hung it beside them.

       The funny thing was she was used to stripping off frequently when there were quick costume changes backstage. Nobody had time to be shy then, and she honestly hadn’t thought twice about it. She’d just done what had needed to be done.

       But she wasn’t in the wings or in a dressing room now.

       And Finn wasn’t one of her colleagues, used to seeing limbs and torsos as merely the machinery of his art.

       She pulled herself tall and started walking towards the shore.

       How strange. In her world, her lean muscles and understated curves were considered perfection, were envied even. But out here in the real world she was considered about as voluptuous as an ironing board. Dave’s comment last night about Anya Pirelli had made that patently clear.

       Perhaps that was why she’d been overcome by an uncharacteristic bout of shyness. Even though she knew it was impossible, that she knew he was already taken and just wouldn’t look at her that way, a tiny contrary feminine part of her had wanted to impress Finn just a little bit with her toned limbs and graceful lines.

       But Finn wasn’t anywhere to be seen once she reached the water’s edge. He’d obviously dived under. Allegra took the opportunity to submerge her body completely, even though the beach shelved gently and the sun-kissed water was only a couple of feet deep.

       She closed her eyes for a moment, before walking herself deeper with her hands.

       Oh, this was bliss. Perfect, perfect bliss.

       When her fingers struggled to reach the bottom she opened her eyes again and began to swim, desperately, desperately trying not to notice if Finn had resurfaced or where he was.

       It was no use, though. Even if he hadn’t found her, if he hadn’t burst from the water beside her, grinning, water running down his neck and shoulders, dragging her gaze to his powerful torso, she’d have known exactly where he was. The knowledge thrummed though her and made her legs shake. Unfortunately, this little mermaid was undergoing something of a species change. When Finn McLeod was around she was part woman, part jellyfish.

       She let her quivering feet float to the bottom and made a pretence of washing herself, cupping her hands and scooping up the salty water before throwing it over her shoulders and back, and hoped fervently that her thumping heart wasn’t making little ripples in the chest-deep water that Finn might notice.

       Finn didn’t notice.

       He rolled onto his back and let himself float face up, his eyes closed, and kept himself steady with the odd flap of one of his outstretched hands.

       ‘Isn’t this perfect?’ he asked quietly.

       Allegra stopped washing and stared at him. She couldn’t help smiling herself as the warm sun