The Independent Bride. Sophie Weston

so sorry,’ said the goddess, flustered.

      She did not seem to have noticed his reaction.

      ‘My pleasure,’ said Steven. He could have kicked himself the moment he said it. It sounded as if he had been hanging around just waiting to get his hands on her.

      But the goddess did not seem to be on political correctness patrol just now, thank God. In fact the goddess was looking adorably remorseful.

      ‘Did I hurt you?’ The soft voice had an accent he did not recognise, and Steven was good at accents.

      ‘Of course not.’

      Steven was charmed that she should ask, though. It was a long time since anyone had asked if they’d hurt him. The brilliant and influential Steven Konig was not supposed to have any vulnerabilities at all.

      But his golden Venus was still worried about him.

      ‘That was so clumsy of me. I just wasn’t concentrating.’

      ‘I was standing in your way. Don’t worry about it.’

      She gave him a shy, grateful smile. His flame-haired Venus was shy?

      ‘No, it was my fault. I had stuff on my mind. Sorry.’

      ‘I know the feeling.’ And for some reason he found himself telling her a truth, suddenly. ‘I end up taking stock of my life when I’m on a plane. Coming down can be a shock. Brace yourself for landing; here comes your life again!’

      She laughed. She had exactly the right sort of laugh for a goddess. It was a warm gurgle, as warm as that amazing hair and full of delighted surprise. Steven felt as if he had been given a prize.

      ‘You are so right,’ she said with feeling.

      He beamed at her. Flustered and rumpled and honest, she was the sweetest thing he had seen in a long time. He had a sudden urge not to let her go.

      ‘Is this your first time in England?’

      And at once thought, How stupid; that accent could even be English.

      She was shaking her head but she did not crunch him. ‘No. But I haven’t been here for years. I’m going to have to do the Tower of London and St Paul’s Cathedral all over again. If I have time.’

      ‘Time? It’s really a business trip, then?’

      ‘You could say that.’ She had a dimple at the corner of her mouth when she wanted to smile and was trying to repress it. Steven stared, fascinated. All goddesses should have dimples, he decided. Made them more human. More approachable.

      He said on impulse, ‘If you’re doing the sights, you should certainly take a trip out to Oxford. The old colleges are pure fairytale.’

      She let herself laugh aloud then, and the dimple disappeared. He would have objected but her dancing eyes made up for it.

      ‘That’s a great marketing job you’re doing. Has the town got you on a retainer?’

      ‘City,’ he said automatically. ‘No, but I live there.’ He smiled into those warm brown eyes. It was a heady feeling. ‘The place is a jewel. You ought to see it if you haven’t.’

      She shook her head. ‘No. Well, not that I remember.’

      He was intrigued. ‘Amnesia?’

      ‘I wish.’ This time the dimple flickered only for a moment. She gave a sharp sigh. ‘I was born in England, but my mother died when I was five and my father took me to Peru.’

      He was fascinated. ‘And you’ve never been back?’

      ‘Well, not seriously. Once with the school for a few days, a long time ago. But it wasn’t easy—’ She stopped. Then said explosively, ‘Hell, why cover it up any more? There was a family feud. The Other Side lived in England.’

      He pursed his lips in a soundless whistle. ‘Big stuff. I didn’t know people still had family feuds. Not having a family myself, I suppose I wouldn’t.’

      The dimple reappeared. ‘Congratulations.’

      He laughed aloud, enchanted. ‘So, this trip is of the nature of a peace summit?’

      She jumped. ‘Not really. Though I’ve thought about it,’ she admitted cautiously. ‘But I’d have to do a lot of tracking down. I don’t know where to start.’

      The goddess had a chin that Napoleon would have been wary of—and a voluptuous, vulnerable mouth.

      Distracted, Steven said, ‘I bet you’ll find a way. I bet you could do just about anything you set your mind to.’

      She gave him a smile like sudden sunshine. ‘That’s what I’ve always been told.’

      ‘Well, then—?’

      She laughed. ‘They may not want to see me,’ she pointed out. ‘People have been brooding on this feud for a long time.’

      He found his mouth widening into his wickedest grin. ‘Montagues and Capulets,’ he said. ‘They’ll be fascinated. Trust me.’

      She was doubtful. ‘Do you think so?’

      ‘Positive. What’s more, it makes you much more than a tourist. So you must definitely come to Oxford.’ He felt in his pocket for a business card. ‘It’s your heritage. You’re coming home.’

      ‘Home!’ She flinched as if he had kicked her. The wonderful smile died as abruptly as if someone had flung a switch. ‘I don’t think so.’

      A man, thought Steven at once. It had to be. In his experience, a woman only flinched like that at the word ‘home’ if there was a man involved. Was she fleeing an unhappy relationship? Or was there a man she wanted who wouldn’t make a home with her? For some reason Steven hated the idea of that.

      He stuffed his business card back and took his hand out of his pocket.

      Or maybe the man wanted her to move in with him. Anyway, her reaction to the word ‘home’ had nothing to do with a load of long-lost relatives. Oh, yes, it was a man all right.

      He stopped his thoughts right there. Either way, it made no difference to him, did it? He was not the sort of man to pick up women in mid-air. And his shy golden goddess did not look like the sort of woman to let herself be picked up anywhere.

      Nice idea, Steven. Not practical. You’re not Captain Blood and you haven’t got a pirate ship to carry her off to. Get yourself a shave and a tie and get back to normal!

      He stepped back and gave her one of his public smiles—courteous, regretful, remote as the moon. He was invulnerable Steven Konig again.

      ‘Well, have a good one, whatever you decide to do. Safe landing!’

      ‘Th-thank you.’

      Or he thought that was what she said. He did not wait to hear her reply.

      See that fantasy; let it go. He said it to himself savagely as he made his way back to his seat. He was thirty-nine years old and far too many people depended on him to keep his head. Fantasising about goddesses was for teenagers.