Scrummie is a fairly new press title for the other halves of rugby players. Aside from pointing out the obvious, I like to think that the difference in salaries keeps us grounded! We are all very much career-focused girls. I think this probably benefits the boys in the sense that anyone who dates a professional sportsman will know that their sport is all-consuming. I think it’s a nice escape for them to talk about what we do during the day!
How do you manage to combine romance and rugby?
As you can imagine, self-discipline and dedication are foremost to any rugby player. I’ll admit that it’s often hard to break their focus away from the game, but I think, like any career where you are expected to put in the extra mile with everything you do if you want to succeed, you have to find those small moments to share. It can be anything from a posh dinner to simply walking the dog.
Which do you think is the most romantic of the cities in which the Six Nations are played? Why?
By far and away, Rome. Last year was my first visit to Rome, and everything from the fabulous hotel in which the team stayed to the brilliant atmosphere of the Stadio Flaminio makes it the perfect setting for any Mills & Boon novel.
Any tips for looking your best at a wet and windy Twickenham watching the rugby?
This is, almost certainly, the hardest look to achieve. Buy a protective “shield” in the form of a hooded coat. Equally important, I have found out the hard way, is to have a back-up black-tie dress tucked away, in case you are asked to the post-match dinner.
Have you ever been tempted to enter the scrum and play yourself?
Absolutely not! Although both myself and the girlfriend of an England winger once shared a very similar dream that we both had to take the place of our other halves on the bench. In this dream you would have thought we’d both be terrified, but no, in both separate dreams we went on to score winning tries for England, no small feat for myself playing number six at the time.
What’s your ideal romantic getaway?
I love extremes, from The Grosvenor House Hotel in Dubai, where one can happily tuck into oysters for breakfast, to a pint of cider in a Cotswolds cottage hotel with the dog. You don’t always have to get on a plane to find somewhere special.
What’s the most romantic thing you’ve ever done?
I think it’s the lots of little things that count. From surprising someone at an airport to making heart- shaped cookies, it’s all about spontaneity and doing something to show that you know your other half’s likes and dislikes.
‘The sleeping arrangements are entirely your choice.’ His eyes slid from her face to the low divan piled with silken cushions and then back to her face. ‘But it can get lonely at night.’
Molly swallowed and folded her arms across her chest in an instinctively protective gesture. ‘I’m quite comfortable with my own company, thank you.’
‘My taste doesn’t run to beige creatures, anyway.’ His critical gaze ran over her crumpled skirt and blouse before he gave a faint grimace. ‘Why are you wearing those things? I asked Sabra to give you some fresh clothes.’ Although anything less beige than the woman glaring at him with luminous eyes would have been difficult to imagine, he admitted.
Molly knew there were some women who got told by beautiful men they were gorgeous, and she knew that she was not one of them. All the same, his dismissive contempt stung.
‘She did, but I prefer to wear my own clothes. And while we’re on the subject of taste, mine doesn’t run to…’ Molly struggled to speak past the sudden constriction in her aching throat as she stared straight at his chest. ‘To men who kidnap me.’
KIM LAWRENCE lives on a farm in rural Anglesey. She runs two miles daily and finds this an excellent opportunity to unwind and seek inspiration for her writing! It also helps her keep up with her husband, two active sons, and the various stray animals which have adopted them. Always a fanatical consumer of fiction, she is now equally enthusiastic about writing. She loves a happy ending!
PEOPLE assumed that Tair Al Sharif was a natural diplomat, but they were wrong.
He was so not a diplomat—though there had been many occasions when that role had been forced upon him by necessity—that as his cousin’s glance once more drifted from him to the young Englishwoman seated on the opposite side of the table he wanted quite badly to drag the other man from his chair, give him a good shake and demand to know what the hell he thought he was playing at.
‘How is your father, Tair?’
The soft buzz of conversation around the table stilled as Tair removed his steely stare from the Crown prince of Zarhat’s profile and turned his attention to the man who was the hereditary ruler of that country.
‘Hassan’s death was a shock to him.’
The king sighed and shook his head. ‘A man should not outlive his children. It is not the natural order of things. Still he has you, Tair, and that must be a comfort to him.’
If this was the case his father was hiding it well.
There was an ironic glitter in Tair’s blue eyes as his thoughts were drawn back to his last verbal exchange with his father.
‘I trusted you and what did you do, Tair?’ King Malik’s face had been suffused with a dark colour as he’d slammed his fist down on the table, causing all the heavy silver to jump.
Years ago when he had been a boy, Tair had struggled to hide his reaction to his father’s sometimes violent and unpredictable outbursts, though such displays of unbridled fury had left him sick to the stomach. Now he did not need to struggle, as his father’s rages no longer seemed frightening to him, just vaguely distasteful.
‘It is a pity it wasn’t you who walked in front of that car instead of your brother. He knew what loyalty and respect is due me. He would have supported me in this, not taken advantage of my grief to go behind my back.’
‘I tried to contact you in Paris.’
His father’s grief had not interfered in any noticeable manner with his social life.
King Malik dismissed this comment with a wave of his short, heavily ringed fingers and a contemptuous snort.
‘But I was told
