ELLIE HAD ALWAYS thought that she hated small talk.
Standing at Simon’s side, her role had been to agree with him. It had been the easiest and the safest thing to do. He wouldn’t retreat into one of his terrifying sulks if she didn’t say anything wrong.
Of course she couldn’t be too mute—then he would accuse of her being dull, of not trying hard enough. No, it had been easier to agree with him at all times.
Tonight was as different from a night out with Simon as a glass of vintage champagne was from cheap lemonade.
Max had made no attempt to keep her near him. But his eyes sought her out as she moved from group to group, catching her gaze with an intimate smile that heated her through. And he’d made sure she was introduced to his companions, supplied with a drink. If she found herself alone even for a second then he was there, as if by magic, ready to introduce her to another key contact.
He would whisk her away, off into a corner, every now and then. She usually had to slip into the cloakroom afterwards and reapply her lipstick. Every time she did she would stop and look at the girl in the mirror. The girl with the emphasised eyes, the choppy hair. The girl in the red dress.
She couldn’t hide. Not like this. Her dress was so bright, the cut exposing far more of her arms and legs than she ever usually showed, her hair left her face and her shoulders bare, and her make-up was dramatic.
She was so used to hiding behind her hair she felt exposed without it. But she also felt free, reinvented. It had been long for so many years: one length for her ballet dancing youth, uncut in her teens because her father had loved it so, and her mother would have been devastated if it was cut.
And Simon had liked long hair on women.
She had thought about changing it, in the three years she had spent in Trengarth, but had clung on to the security blanket it offered.
There was no blanket now.
This girl had to mingle, to talk.
And people wanted to talk to her, to know her, to discuss her shop, the tentative festival plans. They were interested in her thoughts, in her perspective.
It was a heady experience. For so long she had listened to the voices in her head telling her she was too young, too inexperienced, that she was hampered by her lack of a degree, unable to follow her dreams—and yet at some point in the last three years she had accumulated huge amounts of industry knowledge.
She was on the front line. She knew what people wanted to read, how they wanted to purchase it, what made them angry, excited—and what left them cold. Her best book club meetings were always those where the participants were polarised. And here she was, surrounded by people who spoke her language, people who knew the prefix to most ISBN numbers, got excited by new covers and new releases. People who openly admitted to sniffing the crisp new pages of a paperback book. She was in her element.
And Max allowed her the freedom to fly.
He didn’t look as if he were having quite so good a time. Oh, sure, to the casual observer he probably looked as if he was enjoying himself, standing in a group, his stance relaxed, a smile on his face. But there was a tension in his shoulders, a crinkle around his eyes that gave Ellie an inkling that he was hiding his true feelings.
Not surprisingly, here in a room full of industry professionals, rumours about DL Media were running rife. And there was no escape for him in the endlessly moving, speculating, keen-eyed crowd. He wouldn’t even be able to relax over dinner. There were no formal tables nor a sit-down meal. Instead endless trays of canapés circulated. It was like dinner in miniature: teeny tarts, quiches, curls of lettuce hiding a quail’s egg in their leaves, delicate slivers of cheese and quince.
Normally the very word ‘circulate’ would bring Ellie out in a cold sweat, but tonight she was managing it effortlessly...despite the pinch of her new and alarmingly high shoes. She had a glass of wine in one hand, something delicious swiped off a passing tray in the other, and interesting conversation.
It beat The Three Herrings pub quiz. Well, apart from the night she had helped win it. That had been pretty spectacular.
‘So, DL Media are sponsoring your festival?’
Ellie had to pinch herself as she remembered that she was talking to an agent: a real, live literary agent whose clients included several of her favourite authors.
He tilted his head to one side, his eyes sharp. ‘Does that mean you’ll only be working with their writers?’
‘No!’ It wasn’t the first time she had heard this. News obviously spread through the publishing world at the same speed with which it rushed through Trengarth—and with the same accuracy. ‘The sponsorship comes from Demelza Loveday’s personal estate. Max is festival director, but as a family member, not a representative of DL Media.’
‘A good thing, if half the rumours I’ve heard are true.’ The agent’s eyes were still fastened on her questioningly. ‘Is it true their book publishing division is being sold off?’
‘I heard they were going digital only.’ Another person had joined the group, her face avid with the desire for information.
‘Either way, I would be very concerned about placing a client with them,’ said the agent.
‘All rumours of DL Media’s demise are very much exaggerated.’
Max’s drawl broke into the conversation, much to Ellie’s relief.
‘It is possible to be both cutting edge and traditional, you know. Ellie, I believe the awards are about to start, and they want nominees to be near the front. Just in case your name gets called. Excuse us, please...duty calls. Here’s my card. Call me. I am more than happy to continue this conversation with you later.’
His voice was calm, with that slightly arrogant edge, but the hand that held Ellie’s arm was gripping tightly.
‘Vultures,’ he muttered.
‘They’re just trying to pry.’
‘They’re not trying. They’re doing a fine job.’ He shook his head. ‘Just a hint of this kind of instability and the whole company could crumble faster than a sandcastle at low tide. You heard Tom Edgar then. If he isn’t going to consider our bids then we could lose out on new authors, or on re-signing profitable ones. He has a lot of clout.’
‘So what are you going to do?’
‘Right now? Smile, deny, and make sure you have a great evening. Tomorrow...? Tomorrow I make some serious plans. Right, no more looking so downcast. This isn’t my night. It’s yours. We need to be ready to toast your success as Independent Bookseller of the Year.’
She laughed, the embarrassed heat flooding her cheeks. ‘Shush, this is England. We don’t boast. We shuffle in a self-deprecating way and mutter that every other competitor is far more deserving and we didn’t expect to win anyway.’
‘Ah, but you’re with an ignorant Yank, and we shout our successes loud and proud.’
‘I haven’t actually won,’ she pointed out.
‘Yet.’ He was looking more relaxed, the lines of strain around his mouth evening out. ‘I for one am ready to cheer very loudly indeed.’
‘Shh!’ But she was smiling. ‘It’s about to start.’
It was a very long ceremony. It seemed as if there was no aspect of the book trade, from industry blogs to conferences, supply chains to sales reps, that wasn’t being honoured. Ellie shifted from aching foot to aching foot, wishing she had actually tried walking in her shoes before buying them.
‘You’re on.’
Max’s breath skimmed over her ear as he whispered, the warmth penetrating her skin, and the desire to lean back warred with the nerves jumping in her stomach like a basket of naughty kittens.
‘I wish we hadn’t come,’ she murmured, and he chuckled, low and deep, a hand at her back. To reassure her or to keep her there? Not that she could run away in these shoes...
Best Chain Bookstore, Best Bookshop Manager, Best Event Organiser... On and on the awards went, and the pain in her feet competed with the increasing nausea gnawing away at her.
‘Ellie Scott!’
The sound of her name echoed around the room as applause and a couple of cheers greeted it. She stood rooted to the spot in disbelief and embarrassment as, true to his word, Max whooped.
‘Me?’
‘Go on.’ He gave her a gentle push. ‘They’re waiting for you.’
Ellie hadn’t lied when she’d said she didn’t expect to win—she worked alone, in a small shop miles away from the capital. Who knew her? Of course a quirky city independent would win, she hadn’t even bothered to prepare a speech.
The sound of Max’s continuing whoops rang in her ears as she stumbled in her unaccustomed heels to the podium. The glare of the lights, the people—so many people—all staring at her, smiling at her. Waiting for her.
Waiting for her to speak.
She was alone under the spotlight of their gaze. Once, long ago, she had enjoyed drama lessons, even taken part in school plays. Now she could barely recognise that girl who had soaked up the audience’s attention, but there must be some residual atom of her left, because her shoulders straightened, her voice strengthened.
‘When I opened a bookshop people said I was crazy...’ A ripple of amusement passed through the crowd and, emboldened by their response, she carried on. ‘They thought I should open a coffee shop and have a few books dotted around. Well, I do have a temperamental coffee machine. But it’s not the main attraction. The books are.’
She paused, trying to formulate her thoughts.
‘It’s not easy, and if I had a pound for every time someone has told me the book trade is dead my cash flow would be incredible. I can’t compete with the internet giants. I can’t stop people browsing and buying the eBook later. But I can—I can and I do—offer a tailored service. I can make book-buying fun, informative and easy. I can recommend. Of course I have to diversify, and not just with coffee. I run book groups for all ages, knitting groups, craft groups. I go into local schools and playgroups and to WI meetings. I open seven days a week and I stay open late.’
She looked out over the anonymous sea of people and swallowed, panic beginning to twist her chest. Who was she to think that she could tell one single person in this room how to sell books? Who did she think she was?
She was twenty-five, and she had run her own business for three years. She wasn’t rich, but the shop was in the black and they had chosen her to win this award. That was who she was.
‘Next year I’ll diversify even further, when I curate the first Trengarth Literary Festival. But at the heart of all this diversification is one very simple mission. To get the great stories around out there, into people’s hands. That’s what they want. Great stories. You keep producing them and I’ll keep selling them. Thank you.’
* * *
‘That was pretty amazing.’ Max sat back in the taxi. Amazing for Ellie, a battle for him. But he wasn’t going to ruin her triumph by telling her so.
‘I know!’
Ellie was glowing, the streetlamps spotlighting her in gold as the car drove them through the well-lit streets. Her hair shone, her dress glittered, but the most luminous thing of all was her smile, stretched wide across her face.
‘I spoke to so many lovely people and they were so kind. Loads of them want to be part of the literary festival. I have so many business cards I don’t know where to start. I thought the first year would be a really small affair, but it really looks like we might attract some big names.’
‘And thanks to Great-Aunt Demelza you can actually pay your participants,’ he reminded her. ‘From what I hear that’s by no means usual...especially for start-up festivals. Many of them rely on goodwill alone. A pay cheque will definitely pull people in. But I wasn’t talking about the festival. I was talking about you. About your speech.’
‘Oh...’ She flushed, her cheeks coming close to matching the vibrant colour of her dress. ‘That wasn’t a speech. It was...’
‘A call to arms?’
‘No! A few panicked words, that’s all.’
He inched a little closer on the seat so their legs were touching, his knee firmly pressed against hers like a high school boy on a first date, sharing a booth. ‘You inspired me.’
‘Really?’
‘Oh, yes. In fact you have been inspiring me all evening.’
‘Inspiring you to concentrate on the books side of the business?’
He slid his hand up her leg. Her stockings were a flimsy barrier. How much further was the hotel?
‘Amongst other things.’
Her eyebrows rose as she leaned a little closer, her body heating him wherever they touched.
‘We do have a day of missed fun to make up for. You spent it in meetings and, although some women might find spas and boutiques relaxing, I was terrified the whole time. We could both do with some relaxing.’
‘Is that so? And did you have anything in particular in mind?’
Ellie put her hand over his, the pressure moulding his fingers around her leg. ‘I’m sure we can work together to think of something.’
Her hand was warm, her fingers wound through his. Was this really the same girl who had jumped like a skittish kitten whenever he touched her? Had the dress and radical haircut given her a new confidence? Or had she been there all the time? Hidden behind the layers and the no-nonsense demeanour?
If only there was more time to explore her, to explore them.
‘It’s our last night in London. We should make it memorable.’
It did no harm to remind her—to remind himself—that this trip was finite. That although he would be returning to Cornwall with her in the morning his holiday was nearly at an end.
‘Real life again tomorrow.’ She sounded wistful. ‘I didn’t even want to come here and I’ve had such an amazing time. I’m not quite ready for it to end—and we didn’t get to see the penguins.’
Was she talking about not wanting the trip to end—or not wanting to stop spending time with Max himself? His hand stilled under hers.
‘The penguins aren’t going anywhere. We could see them in the morning.’
‘No, I need a reason to make sure I come back. Besides, now I know I can have scones with them I won’t settle for anything less.’
‘Of course you’ll come back. We’ll come back.’
We? Where had that come from? Max didn’t usually like to make plans too far in advance. Previous relationships had begun to fracture when he had refused to commit to a wedding or a family party several months in advance.
Here he was making promises for an unspecified future date.
And it didn’t make him want to run.
It was because they had barely begun. He might not be the king of long-term relationships, but neither was he a one-night stand kind of guy. He liked a relationship to run its course.
That was why he was feeling odd about knowing he would have to leave in the next few days. She would be unfinished business, that was all.
‘Max?’
She was sitting there, her hand still in his, as lost in her own thoughts as he was in his.
‘Yeah?’
‘Thank you.’
‘Honey, you don’t have to thank me for anything.’
‘No, I do.’ She paused, pulling her hand away from his and shifting in her seat so that she was looking directly at him. ‘I didn’t want to admit it, especially not to myself, but I was hiding in Trengarth. I’m twenty-five and the highlight of my week is the pub quiz at The Three Herrings. And I only turn up to that once every few months.’
His body tensed. ‘Why were you hiding?’
She didn’t answer for a moment, her hands twisting in her lap. ‘I didn’t trust myself.’ Her voice was low, as if she were in the confessional. ‘I made a couple of bad choices. I think it made me afraid to try again. After Dad and Phil died Mum clung to me. I let that be my excuse for putting off university, for not starting my own life. But I think I was just too scared. Losing them was like losing a part of myself, losing my identity, and I just couldn’t pick myself up again.’
He couldn’t imagine it...having your life ripped apart before it had fully begun. ‘You were very young.’
Her mouth turned up in a sad approximation of a smile. ‘I suppose. But at home I had to be the adult and I allowed it. I allowed Mum to rely on me...allowed her neediness to define me. So when she met Bill and didn’t need me any more it was like...like...’
‘Like you’d lost everything?’
‘Yes. It was exactly like that. And then there was Simon. I was so vulnerable, so lonely when I met him. I guess he sensed that. I thought he was my knight in shining armour. He was ten years older than me and so sure of himself. I was blinded by him, by what he wanted from me I didn’t have to figure myself out.’
She had barely mentioned her past, and her fiancé had been no more than a name, but Max’s jaw clenched at the sorrow and hurt in her voice. It hadn’t been just a relationship gone wrong. She had been badly wounded and her scars evidently still ran deep.
His hands curled into fists. How could anyone hurt her? Strip away her confidence?
‘I was so proud of myself for getting away. I thought it was enough...thought that I was finally living the life I wanted. I live in a place I love, doing something I feel passionately about. And those are good choices. They do make me happy. But as a human being I am still a complete mess. I don’t have many friends, and I don’t leave my comfort zone. Not ever. I didn’t dare dream of anything else, anything more. Especially not romance. Especially not love.’
Her voice broke a little on the last word.
Max was frozen. What was she saying? Was she saying that she was falling in love with him?
Surely not? Not after a week?
Sure, last night had been utterly incredible, but that wasn’t love. Was it? It was passion. It was mutual understanding. It was compatibility. And, yes, he liked the way her smile lit up her whole face, turned mere prettiness into true beauty. He liked the way she was so cool and poised on the outside and yet fire and heat inside. He liked the way she stood up for what she believed in, even when it scared her to stand up and be counted.
But that wasn’t love either, was it?
Love was messy and painful and loud and selfish. Love meant to hell with the rest of the world. Love meant operating on your terms, your way, no matter who got hurt. And when it went wrong you were left defenceless, revenge your only weapon.
He couldn’t risk that. Couldn’t be that vulnerable. There were other ways, better ways. It might sound cold: a timetable, a wish list and a criteria. But it was the key. The key to a quiet, successful life.
Although the truth was he had never met anyone who’d tempted him to more than a nice time. Anyone who’d made him want to make plans months in advance. Never met any woman he couldn’t walk away from the moment things got difficult or messy.
Did that mean he was no better than his dad?
Maybe he was just a coward.
The silence had stretched wafer-thin. He needed to say something. He had no idea what to say.
‘And how do you feel now?’
He held his breath. Would she make some kind of declaration? It was fine if she did. He knew it wasn’t real. It would be the adrenaline from the evening, hormones still racing around after last night. If she had really been single, hadn’t so much as dated in the last three years, then no wonder she was turned upside down by the attraction raging between them. It had discombobulated him after all.
He just needed to handle the situation with tact, with gentle skill.
Ellie leaned back in her seat. Her hands stilled. ‘I feel ready to start living again. I am completely buzzed about the festival, about the work that lies ahead. And I’m not going to hide away any more. I’m going to go out there, start living, start dating again. Last night...yesterday...the whole week...’ She trailed off. ‘It’s made me think. Think about who I want to be, what I want to be. And a lot of that is down to you. So, thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Not a declaration. Not a grand passion. She wasn’t in love with him. She was already thinking ahead. Thinking past him.
Which was great.
Wasn’t it?
So why did he feel...well, deflated? Like a hot air balloon failing to lift off into the sky?
‘No, I mean it. Last night was amazing. I didn’t know I could feel like that, act like that. I’d never...’
She laughed. A low sound that penetrated deep into his bones, into his blood.
‘I didn’t think I would ever feel that free, that wanted. You showed me how it could be...how it should be.’
‘It wasn’t just me.’ Max was uncomfortable cast in the role of Professor Higgins, and Ellie was certainly no Eliza Doolittle, ready for him to pluck, mould and shape. ‘I think you were ready. I just provided the opportunity. Your hair, that dress...that’s all you.’
The car had pulled up in front of the hotel. This was it. He would lead her back up to their suite and hopefully unzip that tight-fitting bodice, learn her body just a little bit more. Then tomorrow they would return to Cornwall and say their goodbyes. No hard feelings. Just warm memories. He would be free to sort out all the problems with DL Media and his parents; she would be free to start her new and more exciting life. A life he had helped her to kick start.
How very altruistic of him.
He couldn’t have planned it better.
And he might feel a little hollow inside now, but give him a week and Cornwall, London and Ellie Scott would all be distant memories. His life was complicated enough without adding long-distance relationships to it.
Besides, she didn’t even want a relationship. Not with him. And that was absolutely fine.
* * *
Had she said something wrong?
Max’s hand was around her waist, his fingers absentmindedly caressing the silky material of her dress, every touch sending sparks fizzing along her nerve-endings. The shock of winning, the champagne, the buzz of the whole evening and the last twenty minutes in such close proximity to Max had combined to create a perfect maelstrom of excitement—and she knew just the perfect way to work it out.
She tapped her foot, willing the lift on. As far as Ellie was concerned they couldn’t get back to the privacy of their room soon enough.
But Max was distant, mentally if not physically, and had been for most of the journey. Was he thinking about work? Planning his next step? The room tonight had twittered with gossip over DL Media’s crisis. It had to be weighing on him.
She’d miss him. It had only been a week, but he had made such an impact on her life, crashing into it like a meteorite and shaking up everything she’d thought she knew, thought she wanted, thought she was. He’d challenged her, excited her, pushed her.
It was only natural that she would miss him. But his life was far, far away...a whole ocean away. And she hadn’t even started to live hers yet.
It was time she did.
His arm remained around her waist as they walked the few short steps from the lift to the suite door, stayed there as he unlocked it and ushered her in.
The velvet cushions, gilt trimmings, opulent colours and brocade hangings hit her again with their over-the-top luxury. Ellie had somehow grown fond of their ridiculous suite. She had been reborn there. In less than forty-eight hours had made some huge changes. She just hoped that back in her own home she could keep the clarity and confidence she had gained here.
‘Congratulations again. I thought we should celebrate.’
Max steered her over to the glass table. A complicated arrangement of lilies, roses and orchids dominated its surface, flanked by a bottle of vintage champagne chilling in an ice bucket, a lavish box of chocolates and a small purple tub.
‘Champagne?’
Max followed her gaze. ‘This is the hotel’s Romance Package,’ he murmured, his mouth close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. ‘Champagne, chocolate and massage oil.’
His eyes caught hers, full of meaning. Wherever he had been he was back. Back with clear intent.
He reached out and plucked the tub from the table. ‘Sensual Jasmine with deep chocolate and sandalwood undertones. Feeling tense, Ellie?’
The promise in his voice shot straight through her.
Ellie shivered. ‘A little.’ It wasn’t a lie.
‘That’s good. We can do something about that.’
Ellie swallowed, her eyes fixed on the small purple tub as he casually twisted it round and round in those oh, so capable fingers. ‘We can?’
‘Oh, yes. But you may want to disrobe first. I believe these oils can get rather...’ His smile was pure wicked intent. ‘Messy.’
‘Messy?’ Had she just squeaked?
‘Oh, yeah. If you do it right, that is.’
She’d bet a year’s takings that Max Loveday would do it right.
She stood there dry-mouthed as he picked up the bottle of champagne, deftly turning the wire and easing out the cork with practised ease.
‘Well?’ He poured champagne into one of the two flutes waiting by the bottle. ‘What are you waiting for?’
Did he mean...? ‘You want me to take my dress off?’
‘Honey, I want you to take everything off. I have plans involving this...’ He held up the champagne bottle. ‘This...’ He held up the massage oil. ‘And your naked body. So come on: strip.’
Her breathing shallow, Ellie reached for the zip at the side of her dress. Her hands were clumsy, struggling to find the fastener, to draw it down the closely fitting bodice. Finally, finally, she pulled it down and let the dress fall away, standing in front of him in just her underwear.
At least it wasn’t sensible this time. Tiny, silky wisps of black and red exposed far more than they concealed. It had taken all her resolve to put them on earlier, but hearing his sharp intake of breath, watching his eyes darken, filled her with a sensual power she had never felt before.
He might be issuing the demands, but she was the one in command.
She looked him clearly in the eye, didn’t flinch or look away. ‘Your turn. You said yourself things could get messy.’
Appreciation filled his face. ‘You’re playing with fire,’ he warned as his hands moved to his tie. ‘Be careful you don’t get burned.’
‘Oh, I’m counting on it.’
Ellie turned and walked into the master bedroom, head high, step confident even in those heels. She didn’t need to turn around to see if he was following her. She knew he would be right behind her.