Valentine's Day. Nicola Marsh

the paper around to her and passed her his fancy pen. She asterisked Wimbledon, cooking classes—which she agreed to because he’d indicated his listeners would love it, not because she actually wanted to know the difference between flambé and sauté—cocktail-making class, truffle-making, and a makeover. That last one because she got the sense he really thought it was important. She tugged her sensible shirt down further over her sensible trousers.

      ‘I really want to do this one.’ She circled one down near the bottom, taking a risk. It wasn’t what he’d be expecting at all. And unlike some of the others this one actually did interest and intrigue her.

      ‘Ice carving?’

      ‘How amazing would that be? Ooh, and this one...’ Another asterisk.

      ‘Spy school?’

      She lifted excited eyes. ‘Can you imagine?’

      He shook his head. ‘I don’t need to imagine. I’m going to find out.’

      She sipped her wine.

      ‘What about travel?’ he asked.

      ‘What about it?’

      ‘Not interested in the thought of a holiday?’

      Flying to a whole other country seemed a lot to ask. Besides, she didn’t have a passport. Just the idea of applying for one got her blood thrumming.

      ‘Where could I go?’ she breathed.

      His smile was almost indulgent. If it weren’t also so confused. Had he never met anyone whose gratification went so far beyond delayed it was non-existent?

      ‘Anywhere you want,’ he said.

      As she holidayed in her apartment as a rule, anything further afield than Brighton just didn’t occur to her. ‘Where would be good for your listeners?’

      Zander shrugged. ‘New York? Ibiza?’

      Her breath caught... Ankara? She’d wanted to go to Turkey since seeing a documentary on its ancient history.

      But no, that seemed too much. Fanciful. She wrote down Ibiza on the bottom of the list. That seemed like the kind of place EROS listeners would like to hear about. The party capital of Europe. Fast-pour bars and twenty-four-hour clubs and duelling dance arenas and swollen feet and ringing ears.

      Oh, yay.

      ‘I might add some things, as we go along. Things that occur to me.’ Things she’d like to do but didn’t want Zander knowing about. Though of course they wouldn’t stay secret for long.

      ‘That’s fine. Just hook them up with Casey. I’ll just go where she sends me.’

      ‘That’s very accommodating of you. Compliance won’t do much for your reputation as a fearsome boss,’ she said.

      One eye twitched. ‘I’m not fearsome; I just want them to think that I am.’

      ‘Why?’ That was no way to enjoy your work.

      ‘Because it gets things done. I’m not there to be their friend.’

      She thought of her own boss. A whacky, brilliant man whom she absolutely adored. ‘You don’t think people would work just as hard with respect and admiration as their motivation?’

      He lifted his gaze. ‘I’d like to think they respect me. I just don’t need them to like me.’

      Or want them to? Something in his demeanour whispered that. But there wasn’t much else she could say about that without offending him. Besides, last time she checked he was the most successful person she knew. And she didn’t know him at all.

      Silence fell. ‘What do you do on your weekends?’ she finally asked.

      ‘What?’

      ‘You said you had things to do on your weekend. What kinds of things?’

      He regarded her steadily. ‘Weekend stuff.’

      She lifted both her eyebrows.

      ‘I train.’ He frowned.

      Lord. Blood from a stone! ‘For...?’

      ‘For events.’

      She took a stab. ‘Showjumping? Clay shooting? Oh!’ She drained the last of her wine. ‘Ice dancing.’

      A reluctant smile crept onto his face. ‘Endurance running. I compete in marathons.’

      ‘Truly?’

      He chuckled. ‘Yes.’

      ‘What sort of distances?’

      ‘Forty or fifty kilometres. It depends.’

      ‘A weekend?’ Her half-shriek drew glances from around the noisy bar.

      His lips twisted. ‘A day.’

      A day! ‘Well, that explains the body—’

      Horror sucked the words back in, but not fast enough. Oh, God! She quietly pushed her nearly empty glass far away from her.

      ‘I have to keep my fitness up, so I run every morning and I do long runs or hikes every weekend.’

      ‘Every weekend?’

      ‘Pretty much.’

      Wow. ‘Just running. For hours on end?’

      ‘Or hard hiking. That’s why it’s called endurance.’

      ‘Sounds lonely.’ But also kind of...zen. Kind of what she did when she wandered deep into the dark heart of forests.

      ‘I don’t mind the solitude,’ he murmured.

      ‘Is that why you do it?’

      His answer was fast. As if he’d defended himself on that point often. ‘I do it for the challenge. Because I can. And I do my best thinking out there.’

      Fifty kilometres. That was a lot of thinking time.

      ‘Just...wow. I’m impressed.’

      ‘Don’t get too excited. In competition we can do that in under four hours.’

      Georgia shook her head. ‘Put marathon running on the list.’

      He looked up sharply. ‘You want to run a marathon?’

      ‘God, no. I have two left feet. But I’ve never seen one. I can just watch you. Help you train.’

      Intense discomfort flooded his face.

      Once again she’d managed to misread a man. This wasn’t a friendship. They weren’t bonding. This was a business arrangement with the sole purpose of tracking her activity. Why on earth would he want her around during his private time? He probably had a raft of friends actually of his choosing to hang out with—and many of them women.

      ‘I...uh...’

      She’d stuffed up big enough to actually make a man stammer. World class.

      ‘You know what?’ she breezed, not feeling the slightest bit breezy. ‘I’ve changed my mind. Me watching you run would make terrible radio. Scratch that off the list.’ Was she a convincing liar? They’d find out. His pen was still frozen over the page and so there was nothing to scratch out, so she said the only other thing that came into her head.

      ‘Another drink?’

      * * *

      The list grew as long as the evening. They hit the Internet for ideas of cool things for her to do in London. Pretty soon they had learn-to-dance classes, movie premieres, and a royal polo match.

      ‘Aquasphering!’ she said, a little bit too loud. ‘Whatever that is.’

      ‘Really? That’s your kind of thing?’

      ‘None of it is my thing—isn’t that the point? Pushing myself