Sophie, naked and wet, her legs wrapped around another man. And the other man had been the national rugby coach, come all the way to Scotland to ask him to play for his country.
Was he emotionally stunted? All day long. And for the rest of his life.
‘Most people don’t believe what they read. I never do, if it’s any consolation.’
His eyes tracked round, following the voice that had split through the sick daydream. Angel-faced Ruby, with those huge brown eyes and wide red lips was looking up at him with something that might be described as concern. How sweet. But if it was concern, it was wasted.
‘Please don’t worry about me,’ he said, fastening the last button on his jacket. ‘I’m a big boy. I can take what they dish up and swallow it whole.’
He winked. He smiled. He put one hand on her shoulder. Her delicate, silken-skinned shoulder. He stepped a little closer and watched as her eyes did that widening thing that women always did—usually just before he leaned in for his first kiss...
And wouldn’t a kiss be the perfect way to start his evening with Ruby? Those gorgeous lips, that ivory skin, her lustrous hair... Hadn’t he been tempted from the moment he’d seen her? Hadn’t she shown that she was tempted too?
This could turn into the perfect night after all.
Oh, yes, he thought, and the stirring and hardening in his groin were now very obviously happening. There was only one thing left to do.
‘But it must hurt your mother—reading that,’ she said, turning her head.
He paused in mid-air, correcting himself and exiting the move swiftly. He’d been rebuffed. Well, well, well...
‘What my mother feels is no concern of yours or anyone else’s,’ he heard himself say. ‘I wish people would leave well alone.’
Colour rose like a scarlet tide over her cheeks and he instantly regretted his sharp tone.
Damn, that had been too harsh. Ruby didn’t seem like the gossipy type. And she was only being kind. And, worst of all, she was right. He knew his mother had been hurt by the press, and he knew he had no one to blame for that but himself.
But why couldn’t people worry about their own lives instead of raking all over his?
He reached out a hand—an involuntary gesture—but she muttered an apology under her breath and was already making her way back through the cabin. He watched her walk carefully, the red satin billowing out above her calves, swishing gently with each step, until he was almost hypnotised by the sight.
And then the plane bumped and dropped. And she stumbled. She reached out to grab at the nearest chair and held on to it for two long seconds. He could tell she was holding herself in pain. She didn’t utter a sound.
He rushed to her.
‘Are you OK?’
‘Perfectly, thanks,’ she said, keeping her eyes ahead and fixing that smile in place as she started to walk again.
‘I saw you stumble there. Is it your injury? I know that’s why you’re not dancing at the moment. Is everything OK?’
She raised her eyebrows and flicked him an as if you care glance. He deserved that.
‘I’m fine, thanks. I’m going to sit down now, if that’s OK.’
‘Ruby—hold up.’
She sat carefully in the seat, straightening her spine, and her bright smile popped back into place. He recognised that—smiling through pain. Everybody had a mask.
He sat in the seat opposite her. She tucked her knees to the left and pressed them together, sitting even straighter—a clearer Keep Back message he’d never seen.
‘What is it? Hip? Knee?’
‘It’s no big deal. It’s nearly healed.’
‘What happened?’
‘A fall. That’s all.’
‘Must have been some fall to have taken almost six months to heal.’
The bright smile was fixed in place. At least it looked like a smile, but it felt more as if she was pushing him back with a deadly weapon.
‘You know, I’ve had my fair share of injuries too,’ he said, when she didn’t reply. ‘I played rugby for years. I know that you might never have guessed, thanks to my boyish good looks, but I was a blindside flanker at St Andrew’s—when I was at university.’
He tilted his head and showed her the mashed ear that had formed after too many injuries. Luckily that and his broken nose were his only obvious disfigurements, but he’d lost count of the fractures and tears tucked beneath his clothes.
‘Blindside flanker...’ She looked away, sounding totally, politely uninterested. ‘Sounds like rhyming slang.’
‘I was about to be capped for England,’ he said, grinning through her cheeky little retort.
‘Really?’
At least that merited a second glance. He smiled, nodded, raised his eyebrows. Got you this time, he thought.
‘About to be? So what happened?’
‘Long story. Doesn’t matter. So, what exactly is wrong with you, may I ask?’
‘It’s complicated.’
‘I’m sure I’ll be able to follow. I’ve been heavily involved in most sports, one way or another, and I know the pounding bodies take. Ballet is tough—I know that. It might not be my cup of tea, but I respect what you guys do.’
He could see her pausing for a moment, hovering between cutting him off again and continuing the conversation. The smile had dropped and she was watching him carefully, but her body was still coiled tight as a little spring.
‘I’ve not always been a boring old banker. I wasn’t born wearing a pinstripe suit,’ he said softly. ‘Give me a rugby ball any day of the week.’
‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘Why didn’t you follow your dream?’
‘Tell me about your injury first,’ he countered.
‘Cruciate ligament,’ she said after a moment.
‘Anterior? Posterior? Don’t tell me it was one of the collaterals?’
‘It was the anterior. I had to have surgery. Twice.’
‘Painful,’ he said, sucking his teeth. ‘You’d better be careful. That can be the end of a beautiful career.’
‘I’m well aware of that.’
‘I imagine you are. Must be on your mind all the time. One of the players in my uni squad had a terrible time. Had to jack it in eventually. Pity. He had a great future ahead but the injury put
