No poker face this time.
Between the elf costume and her wet hair sticking out at all angles, it was not her finest fashion hour, at least if the eyebrow gymnastics were anything to go by.
Making the most of a bad job, she pasted on a bright smile and gave him a twirl. ‘What do you think?’ she asked. ‘Does my bum look big in this?’
There was a long moment—too long-while he considered the matter and her smile began to wobble. What kind of idiot drew attention to her worst bits?
‘What happened to your dress?’ he finally asked, avoiding her question.
‘Are you referring to the world’s most expensive floor cloth?’ she responded, giving herself a mental slap for asking a question to which she already knew the answer.
‘I don’t know. Am I?’
‘The dress that some idiot man managed to knock into a freezing puddle with a badly tossed towel?’ She didn’t wait for him to answer that one. ‘You don’t think I’d be wearing this if there was any choice, do you?’
‘You were happy enough to grab it this afternoon,’ he reminded her, ‘although I have admit that it is rather—’
She glared at him, daring him to say the word tight.
‘—green.’ He opened the door that led into the electrical department. ‘It goes with your eyes,’ he added, taking her elbow as he fell in beside her. Not in a frog-marching way. Just a touch, a guiding hand, rather like a gentleman escorting a lady in to dinner in some Jane Austen movie, but she wasn’t fooled by that. Or his attempt at gallantry. She knew he was simply keeping contact so that if she decided to make a run for it all he had to do was tighten his grip.
She’d do it, too, at the first chance of escape.
For the moment, however, she forced herself to relax so that she wouldn’t telegraph her intentions. She’d already witnessed the lightning speed of his reactions when he’d stopped her from falling on the stairs. Lightning in every sense of the word. That moment while something seemed to fuse between them had been like a lightning strike. For a moment they had both been a little dazed. She wasn’t dazed now, though—well, not much—and carrying her kicking and screaming through the store was an entirely different kettle of fish. And if she decided to play hide and seek she might be able to hold out until morning.
Not so easy when the store was empty. There were cameras everywhere. But that worked both ways. His security people, the ones he’d warned her about, would be watching…
She realised that he was looking at her.
‘What?’ she demanded.
‘Nothing. I was just speculating on Frank Alyson’s response to the liberties you’ve taken with your elf costume.’ He sounded grave, but a smile was tugging at the corner of his mouth. ‘Your belt is a little too tight and your make-up is definitely non-regulation. Where are the rosy cheeks and freckles?’ he asked. ‘And you must know that you’re improperly dressed without your hat.’
Okay, he was teasing and, despite everything, she was sorely tempted to smile. Instead, she reminded herself that they were his security people. They would believe whatever he told them and she couldn’t deny that she was on the premises illegally.
Cool. She had to play it cool. Wait her chance.
‘So…what? He’ll feed me to the troll?’
‘Troll?’ he asked, startled into a grin and set off a whole new wave of sparks flaring through her body.
Maybe she could set off a fire alarm, she thought desperately, doing her best to ignore them. Or there were the cleaners. They would be arriving soon; he’d said so. They had to get in. And get out again.
‘It’s what he does to underachieving elves,’ she replied, deadpan. ‘But I’m off duty so I’m afraid you’re going to have to live with “improper”, at least until my dress dries,’ she said, as if her clothing disaster was the only thing on her mind. ‘Always supposing it survives the dunking.’
‘I’m sorry about the dress. For some reason I didn’t notice it.’
Well, no. He’d been too busy not noticing her towel slipping all over the place…
‘I’ll replace it, of course.’
‘It was a one-off. A designer original.’
‘Oh. Well, let’s hope it dries out.’
‘It had better. Everything else I own is packed up in a couple of boxes. Along with my life.’
The life she’d had before she met Rupert Henshawe. It hadn’t been very exciting, but it had been real. Honest. Truthful.
Her clothes, including the most expensive suit she’d ever bought, the one she’d bought for her interview at the Henshawe Corporation—she’d been so determined to make a good impression. It had done its job, but of course it hadn’t been good enough for Lucy B.
There was an ancient laptop she’d bought second-hand. All the letters were worn off the keys but it had seen her through her business course. A box of books for her college work. A few precious memories from her childhood.
She’d left pretty much everything else behind when the constant presence of the media on the doorstep of the tiny flat she’d shared with two other girls had made it impossible to do even the simplest thing. When even a trip to the corner shop for a bottle of milk had become a media scrum.
Her kettle, radio, her crocks and pots. The bits and pieces she’d accumulated since she’d left the care system.
She was now worse off than she’d ever been. No job, nowhere to live. She was going to have to start again from scratch.
How much did she have left in her old account? Enough for the deposit on a room in a flat share?
There had been a time when she’d have known to the last penny.
‘I didn’t plan this very well, did I?’ she said, trying to keep the panic out of her voice.
‘I’ve no idea what you’ve done, Lucy.’
Nothing. She hadn’t done a thing…
‘I missed the start of the news bulletin but you wield a mean handbag.’
‘That man grabbed me,’ she protested. ‘He wouldn’t let me go.’
‘I wasn’t criticising. It must have been terrifying to be caught up in that kind of media mayhem. I didn’t catch the wrap up,’ he prompted. ‘As you’re aware, Pam collapsed and I was called away.’
‘Is she going to be okay?’ Lucy asked.
‘Just a seasonal bug. She should have stayed at home, but it tends to get hectic at this time of year.’
She glanced at him. ‘You saw me, didn’t you? When you were talking to Mr Alyson.’
‘I saw the costume,’ he said. ‘Not you. I was looking for a girl in a very sexy black dress.’
At least he didn’t deny that he’d been looking for her.
‘It was only later,’ he added, glancing down at her, ‘when I remembered your beauty spot, that I realised it was you.’
‘My what?’
‘Your beauty spot,’ he repeated, pausing, turning to face her. ‘Here.’
‘That’s not…’
Her voice dried as he touched his fingertip to the corner of her lip. He was close, his eyes were dark, slumberous as he looked down at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, finish what he’d started on the stairs.
Her