Automatically, he caught her and steadied her.
‘Thanks,’ she mouthed, and her blush was visible right through the studio pan stick. ‘And sorry.’
But the audience weren’t laughing at the unintended slapstick. They were clapping even more. Because she’d shown that she was human, just like them: not some impossibly glamorous model or pop star they could only be like in their dreams.
Once the show was off air and they were heading back towards the Green Room, Polly bit her lip. ‘I’m really sorry about that. I’m not used to walking in heels.’
Or dancing, Liam thought, but he couldn’t quite be unkind enough to say so. ‘Tomorrow’s Sunday. Are you OK to start training then, or do you need to be in rehearsals for your show?’
‘I’m—I guess you’d say resting, right now,’ she admitted, looking awkward.
Showbiz-speak for unemployed. Which gave her a real motivation for staying in the competition.
‘I can fit training sessions around whatever suits you. If I get any auditions, I should be able to give you at least a day’s notice,’ she finished.
‘Good. Lark or owl?’
She blinked. ‘I’m sorry?’
Lord, her eyes were gorgeous. He could drown in them.
He pushed the thought away. For pity’s sake. He needed to concentrate on doing his job, not let himself get distracted by a pretty face. Hadn’t he learned a thing from his past? ‘Are you better working earlier or later in the day?’
‘Oh. I’m a morning person. As long as I’ve had a cup of coffee, first.’ She gave him what he thought might be the first real smile he’d seen from her, one that put a dimple in her cheek and a sparkle in those huge eyes. A smile that made him catch his breath.
‘Fine. I’ll see you tomorrow at eight, then, at my studio.’ He handed her a business card, and his skin tingled where his fingers brushed against hers. Which was insane: he couldn’t afford to let himself get distracted. ‘My mobile number’s on the back, in case you’re going to be late or can’t make it.’
‘Thank you. I’m sorry, I don’t have a business card with me, but I’ll text you on the way home so you have my number,’ she said.
‘Fine. See you at eight, then,’ Liam said. And then he left abruptly, before he let himself do something totally stupid. Like wondering if her lips were as soft and as sweet as they looked. And then being tempted to dip his head to find out …
CHAPTER TWO
LIAM glanced at his watch when the studio’s entry-system intercom buzzed the next morning. Five to eight. Polly Anna was actually on time.
He’d always had to give Bianca a fake deadline two hours earlier than the real one, to give them a hope of being on time—whether it was work or a social event—and it had driven him crazy.
At least Polly Anna was sparing him that. So far.
‘Hello? It’s Polly Anna Adams, here for training with Mr Flynn.’
‘Let’s drop the formalities. I’m Liam,’ he said. ‘I’ll buzz you in. The studio’s on the third floor.’
He waited in the reception area for her to walk up the two flights of stairs. As she emerged through the door, she caught her bag on the door handle, and the door banged against her.
Her face went crimson. ‘I’m so sorry, Mr Fl—Liam,’ she corrected herself.
Impatience warred with being charmed. Charmed won. Just. ‘It’s fine, Polly Anna. Are you OK?’
She nodded. ‘Everyone calls me Polly.’
‘Polly. Come through to the studio and we can talk about the training schedule.’ He gestured towards the studio door.
He assessed Polly swiftly as she walked across the room. She’d replaced yesterday’s glamorous outfit and high heels with loose black trousers and a loose long-sleeved black top, teamed with flat shoes. Despite the camouflage of her clothes, he could see that she didn’t have a dancer’s physique, and she moved without a dancer’s easy grace.
A total beginner, then. He’d need to push her.
‘What dancing experience do you have?’ he asked.
‘None. Except a little bit of street dance on the show,’ she admitted, confirming his assessment, ‘and I was absolutely hopeless. It’s just as well they didn’t show that clip on Saturday night.’
Her smile had turned super-bright. Defence mode again, he guessed. He had no idea why, and he wasn’t going to ask. ‘You must have danced at some point in your life, even if it was just at a wedding.’
Was it his imagination, or did she just flinch?
‘I’ve swayed with someone on a dance floor a couple of times, yes, but that’s about it.’
‘How about aerobics classes?’ Some of them used dance routines.
She shook her head. ‘I’ve never had a gym membership or gone to any kind of class. I’m not really one for exercise, apart from the stuff they got me to do on Monday Mash-up,’ she admitted. ‘I’d much rather curl up on the sofa with a good book or watch a movie.’
Whereas doing something so passive would bore him witless; he was happiest when he was dancing, losing himself in the music and pushing his body to its limits.
She looked awkward. ‘You’ve probably worked out already that I’m a bit clumsy.’
Yes, and part of him found it endearing. But being soft on her wouldn’t get the job done. He pushed the thought away. ‘Do you sing or play an instrument?’
‘No.’
Well, it didn’t necessarily mean that she wasn’t musical. Maybe she just hadn’t had the opportunity to learn to play something. ‘OK.’ He remembered what she’d said the previous day. ‘Do you want a coffee before we start?’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m already caffeined up.’
He’d just bet she was worrying about spilling her drink. And that smile had turned a little too bright again. He ought to be nice and reassure her. But he’d done his fair share of helping lame ducks in the past, and look where that had got him. Divorced and having to build up his life again from ground zero. He didn’t need any more disruption.
Particularly as he couldn’t deny that he found Polly attractive. Those wide eyes. That perfect rosebud mouth.
Not good. He needed to keep this strictly professional. This was work. He took his iPod from his pocket. ‘Right, let’s start with the basics. I’m going to play you snippets from a few songs, and I want you to tell me if you can hear the beat of the music in each one. Tap it out on your knee or the table, or whatever makes you comfortable. And try to emphasise the strong beat in the bar.’
‘The strong beat?’ She looked mystified.
He was really going to have his work cut out here. ‘The first beat of the bar is the strongest and you’ll hear that more easily than anything else. Don’t worry about the introduction. Just tap your finger when you feel you can hear a strong beat, and count from that until the next strong beat. You’ll hear it as one-two-three, or one-two-three-four.’
‘OK.’
He flicked into the first track, a waltz he’d deliberately chosen to have a clear triple-time beat. When Polly stumbled over tapping out the rhythm and was clearly cross with herself for not being able to do it, he tapped it out for her. ‘Can you hear it now?’ he asked.
‘Sorry,’ she said with a grimace. ‘Obviously I’m