Save the Last Dance

by Fiona Harper

  ‘No.’ She made a quick gesture with her hand, indicating that he should just stop making a fuss and pass the food over. She was starving, for goodness’ sake! ‘I’m saying we should sit on the floor and eat off the plates they’ve provided.’

  For the first time since she’d known him she witnessed Cameron in a state of bemusement. It was quite funny, actually. He obediently picked up the bags of food, crossed the room, and awkwardly lowered himself down so he was sitting beside her. His trouser legs had ridden up and she could see his socks. Somehow that made him seem more human, less dangerous.

  So from now on, Alice, if you get thoughts above your station, you can think about Aunty Barb, bruised oranges and socks. Okay?

  The food was gorgeous, and Alice discovered she wasn’t just starving, she was ravenous. As they made a dent in the multitude of cartons Cameron had ordered, he began to lose some of the hard angles from his posture, began to relax, and they chatted about work and the plans for the ball before changing the subject to books they’d read but hated. And from there they moved onto family news. Alice realised she knew a lot about Jennie, but knew hardly anything about Cameron. Since he seemed as laid back as she’d ever seen him, she decided to satisfy her curiosity.

  ‘So, how old were you when your mum married Jennie’s dad?’

  There was a slight pause before he answered, as if she’d caught him off guard and he was regrouping.

  ‘Seventeen.’

  Cameron spent an inordinate amount of time staring at his food.

  Twin urges, equal in force, took hold of her. Half of her wanted to heed the ‘keep out’ warnings he was radiating—his stiff posture, the failure to meet her eyes. He wanted her to leave this subject well alone, which was odd, because his and Jennie’s blended family seemed so happy. The other half of her wanted to say What the hell to the warning signs and poke around a bit.

  Tonight was a night for strange alliances—her and Cameron, five-star food and a carpet picnic—and Alice embraced the part of herself she’d usually tell to shut up.

  ‘And before that? You never mention your own father.’

  The atmosphere around them thickened. Cameron looked at her. ‘Okay, technically the man had a minor part to play in my existence—’ he looked vaguely disgusted at the thought ‘—but to earn the title of “father” one needs to care about one’s offspring. To me, that man is nothing but an unfortunate biological connection.’

  She wanted to reach for his hand, but sensed he’d shrug it off, was feeling too raw to let anyone touch him. She’d hit a nerve. A big one. Her instincts had been right. Despite his reluctance, Cameron needed to talk about this. It was burning a hole deep inside of him.

  She kept her next question simple. ‘When did he leave?’

  He stared blankly at the wall. ‘Fifteen days before my twelfth birthday.’

  Tiny pieces of expressions he was trying desperately to hide flitted across his face. She guessed he was watching the memories play out in his mind. Maybe if she gave him space, just sat back and waited, he’d open up and—

  ‘He was tired of us.’

  Cameron blinked. Almost as if he was surprised at his own outburst. She held her breath, waiting to see if the rest would come.

  He started off quietly, slowly, and then the words began to flow. ‘He didn’t like the domestic routine, our ordinary lives. Thought he was too good for it—that he deserved better.’ He tore his gaze from the blank patch of wall and looked her in the eye. ‘My mother and I weren’t enough for him, so he jacked it all in to move to the Costa Brava with a barmaid from the local pub. Haven’t seen him since.’

  Alice inhaled. That was possibly the longest speech about personal matters she’d ever heard Cameron make.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said, feeling completely inadequate to do or say anything to make it all better.

  He shrugged. The mask was back.

  ‘I don’t care about knowing him. I haven’t lost anything with his departure. What made me cross was the mess he left my mother in. My father had been a head teacher, on a very good salary, and suddenly all that was gone. Struggling along as a one-parent family was hard for her. We had to sell the house…She went from being a housewife to working two jobs just to keep food on the table and a roof over our heads.’

  Alice pushed a container of spiced rice in his direction, trying to keep things as light and normal as possible, afraid she would spook him if she showed any emotion whatsoever.

  ‘I didn’t know that,’ she said. ‘I knew you went to St Michael’s College, so I just…assumed.’

  The exclusive boys’ school just outside Greenwich had a stellar reputation and even higher fees. She’d never have guessed Cameron and his mother had had it so hard before she’d remarried.

  He dug his fork into his rice and left it there. ‘Scholarship. I was in my second term when Dad left and the money dried up, but I took the test and they let me stay on.’

  ‘You must have been really grateful for that.’

  Cameron let out a dry laugh. ‘When I think of my school days, grateful is not the word that comes to mind—believe me.’

  He stood up and walked to the window, leaving his half-eaten meal behind. Alice got the impression that he’d reached his limit, and she decided to turn the conversation in another direction and hopefully cheer him up in the meantime. She uncurled herself and got up.

  ‘I’ll just be a second,’ she said, and raced down the hallway to her little office. When she returned, Cameron was still staring out of the window, but she doubted he was actually noticing anything.

  Here goes.

  ‘You know you said you’d wear something vintage to the party?’

  He looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Nice try, but I don’t think I actually agreed to anything.’

  Technically, he was right. But she wasn’t going to let that stop her. ‘But you didn’t disagree—so by default you agreed.’

  A sudden laugh burst from him, surprising both of them.

  ‘You’re a very persistent woman, Alice.’

  She gave him a sheepish smile. ‘Sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be,’ he said as he walked towards her. ‘I like it.’

  In an effort to hide the horrible giddiness that had just overcome her, she pulled out the first of the items in the bag she’d had stashed under her desk for a few days, opened the little box, and held it out for him to see.

  ‘Cufflinks?’

  His eyebrows rose but he didn’t lose his smile, which had to be a good sign. Alice reminded herself to breathe out.

  ‘They’re very…unusual,’ he said.

  The cufflinks were a simple Art Deco octagon—she had passed over many more intricate designs, knowing Cameron would prefer something simple, understated and elegant.

  He picked one of the cufflinks out of its cushion with a thumb and forefinger. ‘What’s the stone in the centre?’

  She swallowed. ‘Tiger’s eye.’

  They reminded me of you. But I can’t tell you that.

  Another gift was in the bag, and she made a show of rummaging for it to hide the blush that was about to give her away. When she looked up again, he was removing the cufflinks from his midnight-blue shirt cuffs and placing them on the edge of the desk, where they rolled to and fro slightly. Platinum, no doubt. With diamonds.

  See, Alice? There’s your proof of why you can say nothing, why you should rob this silly crush of oxygen until it suffocates. You give him old silver and semi-precious stones when he has the ability to buy the most exquisite jewellery from the world’s top designers. Why would he want anything you have to give him?

  She almost pushed her second gift back into the bag, suddenly horribly afraid it would miss the mark, like a prank gone wrong, but Cameron was busy admiring his new cufflinks. He stopped to look at her. ‘I like them. They’re diff…’ He paused, and then a small smile curved his lips. ‘They’re distinctive.’

  She couldn’t help but smile softly back at hi
m.

  ‘If you think they’re different, wait till you see what I’ve got in here.’ And she shoved the bag towards him and took a swift step back once it was in his grasp.

  Cameron took a moment to study the small black gift bag with gold ribbons for handles. Coreen’s Closet was stamped over the front, in blocky letters that reminded him of old movie posters. He gathered up his courage and peeked into the bag.

  ‘It’s a tie,’ he said, feeling relief wash through him. And for something old, once discarded, it was a rather nice tie—deep green silk, so dark it was very nearly black. The perfect match for the charcoal suit he’d be wearing. He looked up at Alice without bothering to hide his surprise.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure I return these in good condition after the party.’

  Alice flushed a deep pink—at least that was the way it seemed in the subdued light from his desk lamp. She shook her head. ‘They’re a gift.’

  Cameron didn’t know what to say—he didn’t do gushing. He’d had many gifts from women in the last few years, much more expensive than this, but he knew that he could probably search the world over and never find duplicates of these things. And no one had ever given him something that summed him up in a way he couldn’t even verbalise. Alice knew him. That should have worried him, had him running for the fire escape, but it didn’t. Instead he just felt something akin to relief—as if he could breathe out for once.

  ‘So you’ll wear them for the party?’

  Her question caught him by surprise. Did she honestly think he’d be that rude? He’d have worn them even if he’d hated them, but as it was he was warming up to the idea of joining in with the theme of the evening, rather than standing alone, marked out as different.

  ‘Of course I will.’

  ‘It’s just that…’ She made a glum little face. ‘I got the feeling that you weren’t very keen on the idea.’

  The fact he’d almost hurt her feelings bothered him. She’d gone to so much trouble that he felt he owed her something. The sofa was only feet away, and he sat down on it, requesting she join him with merely a look. She frowned slightly, but sat down next to him, twisting a little to face him by tucking her right leg under herself.

  ‘I can talk to you, Alice. You’re so easy to be with.’

  She didn’t say anything to that—just gave him an odd look. He took a moment to look back at her and then let his gaze wander. He’d never be able to tell her this if he saw sympathy in her eyes. In fact her eyes in general seemed to be bothering him this evening. Over and over in the back of his mind he kept imagining her lids sliding closed, a small sigh escaping from her mouth. Although he’d asked her to sit next to him, he had the feeling now that it had been a bad idea. She was too close, too distracting.

  His desk lamp was an obvious object to focus on—the sole source of light apart from the backdrop of the city—and he made himself focus on it as he prepared to talk.

  For what seemed like hours he didn’t say anything at all. Then, ‘People think that going to a school like St Michael’s is a blessing, a privilege. But that’s only the case if you fit in.’

  ‘And you didn’t?’ The soft concern in her voice almost made him falter.

  He let out a little huff of a laugh. ‘No. I didn’t.’

  He’d only just been tolerated in his first couple of terms. The fact that he was the class swot had earned him a few dirty looks. But he hadn’t been about to dumb down for anyone—no matter what Daniel Fitzroy and his chums whispered about in their exclusive little huddle.

  ‘Word that I was a charity case on a scholarship soon got around. There was a group of boys—a pack, really. You know how boys are.’

  Out of the corner of his eye he saw her nod gently.

  ‘Once they knew I had free school dinners too, they made my life a misery.’

  He wasn’t about to tell her how. But boys in smart public schools tended to go further than just words, and Fitzroy had been unusually creative in his approach.

  ‘It all came to a head one day when one of the gang realised I was wearing one of his cast-off school blazers. My mum had been so chuffed to find it in a local charity shop because it was in such good condition.’

  A wave of cold nausea swept over him and he clamped his mouth shut. He could still hear the taunts…

  Charity case. Loser. Nobody.

  So that time, instead of shrugging it off and ignoring their childish name-calling, instead of just picking himself up and refusing to lower himself to their level, he’d fought back.

  It had been worth the weeks in detention and the lecture he’d endured from the headmaster—which, funnily enough, hadn’t bothered him at all. Because the man had reminded him of his father. In a perverse kind of way he’d enjoyed it—as if it had been a rude gesture to dear old Dad by proxy.

  Although Fitzroy and his buddies hadn’t touched him again after that, the name-calling had continued. But after that day he hadn’t cared. As for the blazer, he’d refused to put it on again—no matter how many further detentions he’d chalked up for not having the correct school uniform. He’d gone out and got himself a paper round, saved up and bought his own damn blazer. And he’d worn it with pride. Not that it had mattered to the bullies. They’d already labelled him. They’d already passed their verdict. He knew they would never change their minds about him, no matter what he did.

  He didn’t tell Alice any of this, but when he finally turned to look at her he knew that she knew. Not the details. But she knew about his sheer bloody humiliation. It made him unexpectedly angry to think the reason she understood was because she might have been through anything even vaguely similar herself. He just knew she understood it all—about not being able to live up to other people’s expectations…everything.

  When he spoke again, he aimed for levity. ‘So—no—my memories of wearing other people’s clothes are not good.’

  She reached out and touched his hand. Such a simple gesture—nothing, really—but he felt his throat clog.

  ‘Quality endures,’ she said, looking deep into his eyes. ‘It outlasts everything—fashion, prejudice, wrong opinions. In the end it proves itself, even if no one could see it for what it was at the time.’

  He got the oddest feeling when she looked at him like that, her eyes all big and round, welling with moisture. He lifted a hand and wiped the underside of each eye with his thumb.

  No, she mustn’t cry for him.

  Even though he was touched beyond belief by her honest reaction, he couldn’t let her tears fall. He was scared of what he might do, what he might feel, if they did. So, instead of concentrating on her glittering eyes, he diverted his gaze to her mouth. The lips weren’t overripe, but they were beautifully sculpted. Suddenly, he had the urge to taste again. And this time he didn’t bother to ignore it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ALICE felt a shiver run through her. Cameron was looking at her with his tiger’s eyes and the warm glints seemed to glow brighter. Her heart began to pump faster than was strictly necessary.

  Think oranges…

  She started well. Aunty Barb was there in her mind, scrunching up her face and huffing with the effort of keeping the orange in place, but that image morphed into one of Cameron, his eyes dark and intense, concentrating on not dropping the darn fruit. And then he wasn’t passing it to Aunty Barb any more, but passing it to her, coming towards her, his face getting close, lifting his jaw to meet hers so they could make the switch. And then the orange was gone, and it only took a minor adjustment in angles before lips were on lips and no one was trying to pass anything anywhere.

  A tiny sigh escaped from her lips…

  And then a jolt like a thousand volts shot through her.

  It was real. Cameron’s lips were on hers—kissing, teasing, coaxing. She was stunned at first, too overwhelmed to respond in any way, but then she couldn’t help but kiss back, meet his lips and tongue with equal sweetness.

  This was a kiss of fairy tales. Perf
ect in every way. It was warm and skilful and doing crazy, crazy things to her insides. Then suddenly it changed, deepened. Far off she heard something she could only think of as a growl, and a firm pair of hands closed around her torso and lifted her onto his lap.

  And then—oh, wow—the hands didn’t stop, but skimmed over the top of her cardigan, stroking, feeling. His lips moved away from her mouth, travelling along her jaw, down the side of her neck. She clung to him, ran her hands up his back and through his hair. What was he doing to her? What was Cameron doing to her?

  Cameron.

  The waves of tingles started to subside and cold reality crashed in, sweeping everything else away. This was Cameron Hunter. Software tycoon. The man who had to have not just everything but the best of everything. And while the kiss had been as near perfection as she could imagine it wasn’t real—it was just a knee-jerk response at an emotional moment. She was Alice and he was Cameron. This was never going to be anything other than a moment of madness. A mistake.

  Slowly she tried to extricate herself from his hold, but she was starting to discover he was pretty darn persistent himself. But it wasn’t her he was kissing, not really. He’d just been feeling vulnerable…

  ‘Cameron,’ she managed to whisper between kisses, and pulled away enough to rest her forehead against his, her breath coming in short gasps.

  She sensed rather than felt him smile, being too close to focus properly. ‘Alice,’ he breathed, and she just wanted to close her eyes and forget she had to stop this now—stop it before they did something monumentally stupid. He moved in to kiss her again but she managed to pull back enough to stop him reaching his target.

  ‘Cameron…I have to…’

  She didn’t finish her sentence, too caught up in using his bewilderment to free herself and stand up. He looked totally dishevelled—and totally adorable, with a look of sheer confusion on his face. She’d bet not many people had seen that expression on Cameron Hunter.

  She wobbled on her left foot, finding she’d put her weight on it awkwardly, but the momentum was enough to get her going—to get her backing away and heading for the door.