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Proposal At The Winter Ball
Jessica Gilmore
Best friend to Christmas bride?This Christmas hotshot architect Alex Fitzgerald needs an interior designer to impress his biggest client—and fast! Who better than his best friend, Flora Buckingham? Yet one unforgettable kiss unleashes the feelings Alex has kept hidden for years…Alex cherishes Flora above everything. He is estranged from his family, so she’s been the bright spark in a dark life. But after their kiss, Alex must make a decision—step back and protect their friendship, or risk everything, down on one knee, for the happiness he’s always dreamed of!


She looked up at him, at his dearly familiar face so close to hers.
The greeny-grey of his changeable eyes, the long lashes, the faded freckles on his nose, the curve of his cheekbones. The curve of his mouth. So close. Kissing distance. Her stomach tensed. The old exquisite pain. And yet all she had to do was stand on her tiptoes, just a little, and move in.
Maybe Alex was waiting for her to step forward, to make the move. Maybe it had always been within her power to change things but she had just never dared.
Maybe …
She knew that whatever happened the consequences would be immense. There would be repercussions. Last time they had pretended it had never happened. It was unlikely that would happen again; their friendship would be altered for ever. Could she live with that?
Could she live without trying? Laugh it off as lack of sleep and too much schnapps? Now she had come so far …?
No—not when he was looking at her like that. Heat and questions and desire mingling in his eyes, just as she had always dreamed. I want you to go for what you want. That was what he'd told her.
She wanted him.
Flora stepped in, put her other hand on his shoulder and, raising herself on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his.
Proposal at the Winter Ball
Jessica Gilmore


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and sea-front trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes.
For Charlotte and Flo
Charlotte for so selflessly allowing me to pillage her commuting woes and for being such a brilliant sounding board, co-plotter, and very patient (and talented) editor.
Flo for making ‘The Call’ that changed everything, for guiding me so patiently through the whole publishing process, and for being a fab co-presenter extraordinaire and late-night wine-drinking companion.
Thank you both x
Contents
Cover (#ubb0e2e89-dc5a-53a4-91f3-ddb654cefe37)
Introduction (#uc7a698bb-755e-5d64-9827-3cd812acbb16)
Title Page (#ud2a6322e-e219-5aac-b27d-d01f7b3b9c70)
About the Author (#uaa79a915-2dd4-566d-8d0c-b8c0d3010012)
Dedication (#ued5bcdbb-357f-572b-8722-e2274699eba4)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua428f217-f747-57ca-befa-72f84cedf5e2)
CHAPTER TWO (#u0869efd0-d879-5745-9bc5-8d8c9f9d16b6)
CHAPTER THREE (#ua6eaf4bf-a992-5023-be6b-b5b3a65e8564)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Endpages (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_391949b1-c502-5e26-afb9-d3c602259588)
‘A GLASS OF white wine and make it a large one.’ Flora sank onto the low leather seat and slumped forward, banging her forehead against the distressed oak table a couple of times. She sat back up and slouched back in her chair. ‘Please,’ she added, catching a quizzical gleam in Alex’s eyes.
‘Bad day?’ He held up a hand and just like that the waiter glided effortlessly through the crowds of office-Christmas-party escapees and Friday-night drinkers towards their table, tucked away in the corner as far from the excited pre-Christmas hubbub as they could manage. Flora could have waved in the waiter’s general direction for an hour and he would have ignored her the whole time but Alex had the knack of procuring service with just a lift of a brow; taxis, waiters, upgrades on flights. It was most unfair.
What was it about Alex that made people—especially women—look twice? His messy curls were more russet than brown, his eyes undecided between green and grey and freckles liberally splattered his slightly crooked nose. And yet the parts added up to a whole that went a long way beyond plain attractive.
But then Alex was charmed—while Flora’s fairy godmother must have been down with the flu on the day her gifts were handed out. Flora waited not too patiently, ready to finish her tale of woe, while Alex ordered their drinks. A humiliation shared was a humiliation halved, right?
Finally the waiter turned away and she could launch back in. ‘Bad day I could cope with but it’s been a bad week. I think I’m actually cursed. Monday was the office manager’s birthday and she brought in doughnuts. I bit into mine and splat. Raspberry jam right down the front of my blouse. Of course it was my nicest white silk,’ she added bitterly.
‘Poor Flora.’ His mouth tilted with amusement and she glared at him. He was still in his work suit and yet looked completely fresh. Yep, unfairly charmed in ways that were completely wasted on a male. Flora’s seasonally green wool dress was stain free today but she still had that slightly sticky, crumpled, straight-from-work feel and was pretty sure it showed...
‘And then yesterday I left work with my skirt tucked into my knickers. No, don’t laugh.’ She reached across the table and prodded him, his chest firm under her fingers. ‘I didn’t realise for at least five minutes and...’ this was the worst part; her voice sank in shame ‘...I wasn’t even wearing nice knickers. Thank goodness for fifteen-denier tights.’
Alex visibly struggled to keep a straight face. ‘Maybe nobody noticed. It’s winter, surely you had a coat on?’
‘I was wearing a jacket. A short jacket. And judging by the sniggering the whole of Holborn noticed. But even that was better...’ Flora stopped short and buried her face in her hands, shame washing over her as she mentally relived the horror of just an hour ago.
‘Better than?’ Alex leaned back as the waiter returned carrying a silver circular tray, smiling his thanks as the man put a pint in front of him and a large glass of wine in front of Flora. She picked up the glass, gratefully taking a much-needed gulp, the cold tartness a welcome relief.
‘Better than tonight. I didn’t mean to...’ The old phrase tripped off her tongue. Flora’s mother always said that they would be her last words, carved onto her grave.
Here lies Flora Prosperine Buckingham.
She didn’t mean to.
‘I was just so relieved to see a seat I all out ran for it only I threw myself in a little too vigorously, misjudged and I ended up... I ended up sitting on a strange man’s knee.’
She glared at Alex as he choked on his pint. ‘It’s not funny! The whole carriage just stared at me and the man said...’ She stumbled over the words, her cheeks heating at the memory. ‘He said, “Make yourself comfortable, pet. I like a girl with plenty to grab hold of.”’
She took another gulp, ignoring the guffaws of laughter opposite. The words had stung more than she cared to admit. So she was tall with hips and a bosom that her mother called generous and her kinder friends described as curvy? In the nineteen fifties she would have been bang on trend but right now in the twenty-first century she just felt that bit too tall, that bit too wide, that bit too conspicuous.
Of course, sitting on a strange man’s lap in a crowded Tube carriage hadn’t helped her blend in. There had probably been people from her office in that very carriage on that very train, witnesses to her humiliation. Thank goodness her contract ended next week, although the thought of even one week of whispers and sniggers was bad enough; if only she could get a convenient dose of flu and call in sick. A week of rest, recuperation and isolation was exactly what she needed.
Though sick days meant no pay. Flora sighed. It was no fun temping.
Alex finally stopped laughing. ‘That was very friendly of you. So you’ve made a new friend?’
‘No!’ She shuddered, still feeling an itch in the exact spots where the large hands had clasped her. ‘The worst thing was I just had to sit there and pretend nothing had happened. No, not on his lap, idiot! On the seat next to him. I’m surprised I didn’t spontaneously combust with mortification.’
How she would ever get back onto that Tube, onto that line, even onto the entire underground network again she had no idea. Maybe she could walk to work? It would only take a couple of hours—each way.
‘Will you go back there after Christmas?’ It was as if he had read her mind. Alex was far too good at that.
Flora shook her head. ‘No, I was covering unexpected sick leave and she should be back after the holidays. Luckily January is always a good time for temps. All those people who decide to carpe diem on New Year’s Eve or do something outrageous at the Christmas party.’
‘Come on, Flora, is that your grand plan? Another year temping? Isn’t it time you carpe diem yourself? Look, it’s been two years since you were made redundant. I know it stung but shouldn’t you be back in the saddle by now?’
Flora put her glass firmly on the table, blinking back the sudden and very unwanted tears. ‘It’s not that easy to find design work and at least this way I’m paying the bills. And no...’ she put up her hand as he opened his mouth ‘... I am not moving in with you and I am not moving back home. I don’t need charity. I can do this on my own.’
Besides, it wasn’t as if she wasn’t trying. Since she had been made redundant from her job at a large but struggling pub chain she had sent out her portfolio to dozens of designers, retail head offices and agencies. She had also looked for freelance work, all too aware how hard it was to land an in-house position.
Most hadn’t even bothered to reply.
Alex regarded her levelly. ‘I’m not planning on offering you charity. I’m actually planning to offer you a job.’
Again. Flora swallowed, a lump roughly the size of the Titanic lodging itself in her throat. Just great. It wasn’t that she envied Alex his incredible success; she didn’t spend too much time comparing the in-demand, hotshot team of architects he headed up with her own continuing search for work. She tried not to dwell on the contrast between his gorgeous Primrose Hill Georgian terrace, bought and renovated to his exact design, and her rented room a little further out in the far ends of North London.
But she wished he wouldn’t try and help her. She didn’t need his pity. She needed him to believe in her.
‘Look,’ she said, trying to stop her voice from wobbling. ‘I do appreciate you offering me work, just like I appreciate Mum needing a runner or Dad an assistant every time I’m between contracts. But if I learned anything from the three years I was with Village Inns it’s that mingling the personal and the professional only leads to disaster.’
It could have been a coincidence that she was made redundant shortly after breaking up with the owner’s son and heir apparent but she doubted it.
And yes, right now life was a struggle. And it was more than tempting to give in and accept the helping hands her family and best friend kept holding out to her. But if she did then she would just confirm their belief that she couldn’t manage on her own.
At least a series of humiliating, weird or dull temp jobs kept her focused on getting out and getting on.
‘I’m not offering you a role out of pity. I actually really need you. I need your help.’ His mouth quirked into a half-smile.
Flora gaped at him. Had she heard right? The cheesy blend of Christmas tunes was already pretty loud and amplified even more by the group at the bar who were singing along a little too enthusiastically. ‘You need me?’
That potentially changed everything.
‘You know the hotel I designed in Austria?’
Did she know about the high-profile, high-concept boutique hotel Alex had designed for the über-successful, über-exclusive Lusso Group? ‘You might have mentioned it once or twice.’
‘I’ve been offered an exclusive contract to design their next three. They pick stunning natural locations, like everything to be as eco-friendly and locally sourced as possible and each resort has an entirely unique look and vibe. It’s a fantastic project to work on. Only the designer I used for Austria has just accepted a job with a rival hotel brand and can’t continue working with me.’
This was a lot bigger than the small jobs he had been pushing her way for the last two years. It was too big to be a pity offering; his own reputation was at stake as well. Hope mingled with pride and for the first time in a long, long time Flora felt a smidgen of optimism for her future.
Only to be instantly deflated by Alex’s next words. ‘I’m flying out tomorrow for the launch of the Austrian hotel and while I’m there I plan to present my initial concepts for the Bali hotel complete with the interiors and overall look. I thought Lola had at least made a start on it but when I called her today to ask her to fax her scheme over she told me cool as anything that, not only hadn’t she started, but thanks to her new job she wasn’t intending to.’ He blew out a long breath, frustration clear on his face. ‘This job better work out for her because there’s no way I’ll be recommending her again, no matter how insanely gifted she is.’
Ouch, ouch and ouch again. Flora’s fingers tightened on her glass stem. So it wasn’t her talent he was after, it was her availability?
But maybe it was time to swallow her pride. A job like this would propel her into the next league. She leaned forward, fixing an interested smile onto her face. ‘So what do you want me to do? Study your plans and email my ideas over?’ Her tiny box room of a bedroom, already crammed with material, her sewing machine and easel, wasn’t the most inspiring surroundings but she could manage. Or she could travel back to her parents a week early and work from there—at least she would be warm and fed if not guaranteed any peace and quiet or, indeed, any privacy.
‘Email? Oh, no, I need you to come to Austria with me. That way you’ll get a real feel for their taste.’ He fixed her with a firm gaze. ‘You need to follow the brief, Flora. There’s no room for your whimsy.’
Her whimsy? Just because her private designs were a little fantastical didn’t mean she carried her taste into her professional work. She knew the difference between indulging her creativity in her personal work and meeting a client’s brand expectations, no matter how dull they might seem. She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘Of course, I am a professional.’
Alex held her gaze for a long second before nodding. ‘Good. I’ll talk you through my plans on the flight to Innsbruck’
The reality of his words hit her. A trip abroad. She hadn’t been on a plane since her redundancy. ‘Tomorrow? But I have another week of my temp job to go.’
‘Can’t you get out of it?’
‘Well, yes. Although my agency won’t be best pleased.’
‘It’s a temping agency. I’m sure they will be able to replace you.’
‘Yes. Of course.’ A fizz of excitement began to bubble through her. No more Tube trains and oppressive offices. No, she would be spending the next week in a gorgeous hotel. No more spreadsheets or audio typing or trying to put salespeople off, she would be flexing her creative muscles instead.
‘It’s a shame it isn’t Bali. I could do with some winter sun.’ Flora shivered despite the almost oppressive heat in the overcrowded wine bar. Her last holiday had been a tent in the Cornish countryside. It had all sounded idyllic on the website, which had deliriously described the golden beaches and beautiful scenery. The reality had been freak storms and torrential rain. She didn’t think she’d been truly warm since.
Alex set down his pint. ‘This isn’t a holiday, Flora.’
‘I know.’ She leaned forward and grabbed his hand. ‘I was teasing you. I’d go to the Antarctic for a chance like this. What do I need to do?’
His fingers curled around hers, warm and strong, and Flora’s heart gave the all too familiar and all too painful thump at his touch. ‘Be ready tomorrow morning, early. Pack for snow and some glamorous events, you know the kind of thing.’
No, she didn’t. Not recently but there was no way she was going to tell him that. ‘Warm yet dressy. Got it.’ A thought struck her as the group by the bar began to roar the chorus of yet another overplayed Christmas classic. ‘When are we due back? Mum and Dad are expecting both of us home on Christmas Eve. They’d be gutted if you don’t turn up. Horatio is on duty at the hospital so it’ll just be Minerva, her perfect spouse and her perfect twins.’
She could hear the bitter note in her voice, feel it coat her tongue and took another sip to wash it down. What she meant was she couldn’t cope with Minerva and her Stepford family without Alex.
‘No Horry?’ Alex raised his eyebrow. ‘That’s a shame. I do like watching your mum trying to fix him up with the local eligibles. He’s so beautifully oblivious.’
‘I think it’s a defence mechanism.’ Flora eyed Alex speculatively. ‘Anyway, you should be glad he never takes the bait. If Mum wasn’t worrying about her permanent bachelor son she might turn her matchmaking skills onto you.’
‘You’re her youngest child,’ he countered sweetly. ‘I wouldn’t worry about me, Flora. It’ll be you she’ll be launching forth next.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ But she wasn’t as sure as she sounded. Now thirty was just a year away there had been ominous rumbles about settling down along with the usual thinly veiled hints about getting a proper job, buying her own house and why couldn’t she be more like her elder siblings? ‘You’re one of the family. Better. The Golden Boy. You know they think you can do no wrong.’
Alex had spent every single Christmas with the Buckinghams after the year his father and new stepmother had chosen to spend the festive season in St Bart’s leaving eleven-year-old Alex at home in the housekeeper’s charge. The next Christmas Flora and her family had taken it for granted he would join them, a stocking with his name on the chimney breast, a place set at the table.
Five years later he had packed his bags and left his father’s house for good, taking up permanent residence in the attic bedroom next to Flora’s own. He’d never told her just what had led up to his bitter estrangement from his father and Flora had never pried.
Turned out there were places even best friends didn’t dare go.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll be back for Christmas. There’s no way I’m missing out on your father’s Christmas dinner. He’s promising goose this year. I watched him prepare it on a video on the Internet. Nothing is keeping me away.’
‘That’s all right, then.’ She took a deep breath of relief. One day surely even Alex would manage more than six months with one of his identikit, well-bred girlfriends and would have to spend the holiday season with her family, not the Buckinghams. Each year they managed to hold onto him was a bonus.
She stared at her empty glass regretfully. ‘If I need to pack, find my passport and be ready before the crack of dawn I’d better get going. What time shall I meet you?’
‘Oh, no.’ Alex pushed his chair back and stood up, extending a hand to Flora to help her out of her seat. ‘I’m not risking your timekeeping, Flora Buckingham. I’ll send a car for you. Five a.m. sharp. Be ready.’
* * *
Alex looked down at his tablet and sighed. So much for briefing Flora on the flight—although to be fair he should have known better. It was a gift he envied in her. No matter where they were, what the time was, she would fall asleep at the first sign of motion. She’d slumbered as the taxi took them through the dark, wintry pre-dawn streets of London to the airport, waking long enough to consume an enthusiastic breakfast once they had passed through passport control, only to fall back asleep the second the plane began to taxi down the runway.
And now she was snoozing once again. She would definitely give Sleeping Beauty a run for her money. He elbowed her. ‘Flora, wake up. I want you to take a look at this.’
‘Mmm?’ She stretched. ‘I wasn’t asleep, just dozing. Oh! Look at that.’ She gazed, awestruck, out of the car windows at the snow-covered mountains, surrounding them in every direction. ‘It’s just like a Christmas card.’
‘What do you think—is it as pretty as you imagined?’
She turned to him, mouth open in indignation, and he stifled a smile. She was far too easy to wind up. ‘Pretty? It’s so much more than mere prettiness. And look, there are actual chalets. Everywhere!’
‘Well observed, Sherlock.’
She didn’t react to his sardonic tone. ‘I didn’t realise Austrian people actually lived in them. I thought it was like thatched cottages. You know, people assume England is all half-timber and cottage gardens but in reality you’re far more likely to live in some identikit house on a suburban estate. Oh, I wish I lived in a chalet. They are utterly beautiful.’
‘I hope you feel the same way about the hotel.’ It was the moment of truth. She had a keen eye, could always see straight through to the heart of his ideas. Would she appreciate the stark simplicity of the hotel, or think it too modern, anachronistic in this natural paradise?
‘I always love your designs but this one sounds even more exciting than usual; I have to admit I am really looking forward to seeing it in all its finished glory.’
The car had been steadily taking them along the busy roads that led towards the Tyrolean capital, Innsbruck, but now it veered away to follow a smaller road that wound ahead, climbing into the footholds of the Alps. The snow lay inches upon inches deep on the sides of the roads.
‘Just look at it, look at the light.’ Flora’s fingers flexed. ‘Oh, why didn’t I pack my sketchbook? Not that I could really capture it, not the way the sun plays on the snow. Not that light—it’s like a kaleidoscope.’
A knot unravelled in the pit of Alex’s stomach. She saw what he saw. The interchange between light and the snow. She would get the hotel.
‘I have never seen so much snow in my life, not if I took every winter and added them together.’ Yep, she was fully awake now, her dark eyes huge as she stared out at the mountains. ‘How come England grinds to a halt at just the hint of snow and yet everything here is running normally despite tonnes of the stuff?’
‘Because this stuff is what keeps the local economy ticking over. You can’t market yourself as a winter wonderland without the cold white stuff.’
‘It’s like Narnia.’ Flora leaned back and stared with enraptured eyes as the car took them higher and higher. On one side the mountains soared high above them, on the other the town was spread out like a child’s toy village, the river cutting through the middle like an icily silver scarf. ‘How much further? I thought the hotel was in Innsbruck itself.’
‘No, it’s above the town, close to the ski lifts. The guests are transported in and out at will so they get the best of both worlds. That’s the idea anyway, nothing too much effort for them.’
‘They are paying enough for it,’ Flora pointed out. ‘I cannot believe I get to stay somewhere this luxurious. Even the staff quarters are probably one up on a tent in the rain.’
‘You’re not in the staff quarters. Could you really see Lola in anywhere but a suite? You’re doing her job, you get her room. Tomorrow is the soft opening so nobody who stays at the hotel this week is an actual paying guest. We’ll be helping to wow travel journalists, bloggers and some influential winter sports enthusiasts.’
He paused, searching for the right words. He knew how awkward she felt in crowds and amongst strangers. ‘Flora, it’s crucial that they all leave at the end of the week completely bowled over. And it’s equally crucial that I leave with fully approved designs. You can manage, can’t you? I can’t emphasise enough what a big deal this week is. For me, for my firm as well as for Lusso Hotels.’
‘Really? How good of you to warn me. I might have put my foot in it otherwise.’
Warning bells tolled through Alex’s mind. She sounded frostier than the branches on the trees outside. It was the same tone she’d used the day he’d told her that one day she would grow out of boy bands, the tone she’d used the day he had told her that her first boyfriend wasn’t good enough. The same tone she’d used the never to be forgotten day she’d chopped her hair into a pixie cut and he had agreed that, yes, she did look more like a marine than like Audrey Hepburn.
‘I only meant...’
‘I know what you mean: be professional, don’t mess this up. Well, I won’t. I need this too, Alex. I might not have founded a “Top Ten Up and Coming Business” while in my twenties, I might not be the bright young thing in my profession. Not yet. I have a lot to prove and this is my big chance. So don’t worry about me. I’ve got this covered.’
Alex opened his mouth to point out that she hid in the kitchen at every single party she attended and would rather face a den full of lions than make small talk but he shut it again. He needed to warn her just how much networking lay ahead of her but not now. He’d wait until she was a little mellower.
Luckily the car turned down a single-track road, cut into the side of the mountain, a dramatic drop on one side showcasing the valley spread out below. ‘We’re here,’ he said instead with some relief. The car slid to a stop and Alex unbuckled his seat belt. ‘This is Der Steinadler—The Golden Eagle. What do you think?’
She had been looking at him intently, forcing her point home, but at his words she turned and looked out of the window. Her mouth fell open. ‘Holy cow. You did this? This is it?’
‘Yep, what do you think?’
‘I...’ She didn’t answer, clambering out of the car instead, muttering as her trainer-clad foot sank into the snow and pulling her quilted jacket more closely around her as the sharp chill of the wintry mountain air hit. She turned to him as he joined her. ‘All that time spent playing with building blocks as a kid wasn’t wasted, huh?’
The hotel was built on the narrow Alpine shelf and looked as if it were suspended above Innsbruck spread out in the valley below, the mountains opposite a living, breathing picture framed through the dramatic windows. Alex had eschewed the traditional chalet design; instead he had used the locally sourced golden wood as a frame for great sheets of glass. The hotel should have looked out of place, too industrial for the tranquil setting, and yet somehow it blended in, the trees and mountains reflecting back from the many panes of glass.
Every time he saw it, it was like being punched in the chest. He couldn’t believe he had made his ambitious vision a reality. ‘You like?’
Her cheeks were glowing and her large, full mouth curved into a smile. ‘I love it. Alex, it’s wonderful.’
Relief flooded through him. He wasn’t sure why her opinion mattered so much. It wasn’t just that she was his oldest friend. No, he trusted her taste. If she didn’t get it then he wouldn’t have communicated his vision properly. ‘Come on, then. Let’s go inside. I think you might combust when you see the swimming pool.’
CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_2069ce3c-b8a8-591a-bb9c-2c9729dcb1b6)
‘SHOW ME AROUND, ALEX! It’s not every day a girl gets the architect providing the grand tour.’
‘Don’t you want to see your room and freshen up first?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m quite fresh, thank you, and you can conclude the tour at my room.’ Flora watched the bellboy pile her bags and coat onto his trolley and sighed happily. ‘This is a lot better than lugging a tent over three fields—and then having to go back for the beds. Besides, you want me to get an idea of what the client wants? The best way is for me to take a detailed look around.’
Her first impression was of luxurious comfort rather than cold, chic elegance. The whole interior of the hotel was the same mix of glass and wood as the outside but softened with warm colours and plenty of plants, abstract prints and comfy-looking cushions and sofas to mellow the potentially stark effect.
Alex shrugged off his designer ski jacket, a coat that had probably cost more than Flora’s entire suitcase of clothes, and gestured. ‘Where do you want to start?’
‘Bottom and work our way up?’
‘Okay, then, get ready to combust. We’re heading down to the pool.’
If Flora didn’t actually burst into excitable flames when she saw the swimming pool it was a close-run thing. Housed a floor below the hotel entrance in a space carved out of the alpine shelf, the high-ceilinged pool was enclosed by a dramatic wall of glass. Swimming up to the edge of the pool must feel like swimming to the very edge of the mountain itself, she thought, staring out at the white peaks, as if you might plunge over the side, dive down to the valley below.
The lights were low and intimately flattering, padded sofas were dotted around in discreet corners, and whirlpools, saunas and steam rooms were hidden away behind glazed sliding doors. Tables held jugs of iced water and inviting platters of fruit; thick fluffy towels were piled up on wooden shelves.
‘Oh.’ She pivoted, taking in every single detail. ‘I just want to grab a magazine from that beautifully overstuffed bookshelf, pull on a robe and move into this room for ever. May I? Please?’
But Alex ignored her. ‘Come on, next stop the lounge and then I’ll take you to your room.’
By the time they reached her room Flora had scribbled down plenty of notes and photographed enough details to give her a good place to start. Obviously the designs she came up with for the Bali hotel would need to be unique, to marry with Alex’s vision and the setting, but it was good for her to have an idea of the owner’s tastes. She could see why Lola had used the palate she had; it was warming, sumptuous and complemented the natural materials prevalent throughout the building. The soft furnishings and décor were all shades of soft cream, gold, bronze and orange, whether it was the bronze and orange stripes on the cushions or the subtle champagne of the robes and the towels, the same colour in the crisp blouses and shirts worn by the staff.
It was clear that whatever look she designed for the Bali hotel would have to flow through every single detail, no matter how tiny.
‘Okay.’ Alex stopped at a cream door and gestured. ‘This is you.’
Flora held her breath as she slid her keycard into the slot and turned the handle. Yes, she was here to work but there was no reason why she shouldn’t enjoy it and after a few long years of penny-pinching and worrying it was rather splendid to be in such indulgent surroundings.
She stepped in and stopped, awestruck. ‘Wow. Oh, Alex.’
At one end was the ubiquitous wall of glass and the ubiquitous stunning winter-wonderland view—not that it was getting old. Flora thought she could live here for ever and it would still be as breathtaking as the very first heart-stopping glimpse. The ceiling was high, arched and beamed, the walls a pale gold. The bed, a floating platform, was made up in white linen accented with a bronze silk throw and matching cushions.
Her suitcase had been placed on a low chest at the foot of the huge bed, the cheap, battered case more than a little incongruous in the spacious, luxurious suite. A reminder that this luxury was borrowed, that she had to earn her place here. Now she was here the jeans, jumpers and one good dress she had packed didn’t seem enough. Not for the weather or for the hotel itself.
‘You like it?’ Alex stepped into the room, a smile playing on his lips as he watched her dart around, peering into every door.
‘Like it? Do you realise that this walk-in wardrobe is bigger than my bedroom? In fact this suite is bigger than the house I live in—and I’m including the garden!’
She stopped by the glass screen that separated her bed from the small seating area and stared at the other screen, which stood between her bed and the bath, a huge tub affair perched on a dais right in the centre of the room.
‘Thank goodness the toilet’s in its proper place and not on show, otherwise this would feel more like an oddly luxurious prison cell than a hotel room!’
‘It’s looking good.’ Alex took a few steps further in and turned slowly. ‘I haven’t seen most of the suites since they were decorated and the fixtures installed.’ He stopped by the bath and ran one finger along the bronze trim. ‘At least you’ll be clean while you’re staying here. It can be so difficult to drag oneself away from the bed to the bathroom, don’t you find?’
Flora tested out the sofa, wincing as the rigidity of the cushions rejected her attempt to relax. It looked good but she wasn’t sure she would want to actually sit on it for any length of time. ‘Was the bath in the centre of the room your idea, Mr Fitzgerald? Have you been watching Splash again because I don’t think there are many mermaids in the Austrian Alps.’
He grinned. ‘Nope, not guilty, the fixtures are all Lola’s vision. Apparently this particular suite is the epitome of romantic.’
‘That’s where I’ve been going wrong, all that old-fashioned bathing in private nonsense. Although it could be just a leetle awkward if I was sharing a room with a friend, not a romantic interest. Is this...erm...motif in all the rooms?’
‘Not at all,’ he assured her. ‘In most of them the baths are tucked away respectably in the room for which they were intended. Okay. If you are ready, they are laying out Kaffee und Kuchen for us. I thought we could go and look through my design ideas in the lounge while we have a snack.’
‘Kaffee and Kuchen? Coffee and cake?’ Flora jumped to her feet. ‘Never did words so gladden a girl’s heart. I’m ready. Lead on, Macduff. Take me to cake.’
* * *
The coffee and cakes were laid out in the lounge, the social heart of the hotel, situated on the ground floor at the very front of the building to ensure it took full advantage of the stunning views. Once again Flora stood by the huge floor-to-ceiling windows and her stomach fell away at the terrifying illusion that there was nothing between her and the edge of the mountain.
Clusters of comfy bronze and red velvet sofas and chairs surrounded small tables, bookshelves full of books, games and magazines filled one wall and a huge wood-burning stove was suspended in the middle of the room. Somehow the lounge managed to feel cosy despite its vast size, easily capable of seating the sixty people the boutique hotel was designed to hold.
‘Right.’ Alex seated himself on one of the sofas and laid out his sketch pad in front of him. It would, she knew, be filled with exquisite pen-and-ink drawings. This was just the first phase, the visionary one. From here he would proceed to blueprints, to computer models, to hundreds of measurements and costings and attention to a million tiny little details that would transfer his vision from the page to reality.
But she knew this, the initial concept, was his favourite part. In many ways neither of them had changed that much from the children they had once been, designing their dream houses, palaces, castles, tree houses, igloos, ships in absorbed companionship.
But in other ways... She ran her eyes hungrily over him, allowing herself one long guilty look at the bent tousled head, at the long, lean body. In other ways they had both changed beyond recognition—not that Alex had noticed that.
No, in his eyes she was still the dirty-faced, scabby-kneed little girl he had met the first time he had run away from home. He’d only made it half a mile along the lane before bumping into Flora and together they’d built him a den to stay in. Planned for Flora to bring him bread and milk and a blanket.
He loved her, she knew that. And there weren’t very many people who could claim that. Outside Flora’s own family probably none.
He just wasn’t in love with her. There had been a time, way back when, she had wondered. But her one attempt to move things up a level had ended messily.
Flora curled her fingers into fists, trying to block out the memory. Block out the way he had put his hands on her shoulders, not to pull her in closer but to push her away. Block out the look of utter horror in his eyes.
He had kissed a lot of girls that summer and subsequent springs, summers, autumns and winters. But not Flora; never Flora.
And here she was, all these years later, still hoping. Pathetic. One day she’d stop being in love with him. She just had to try a little harder, that was all.
* * *
Neither of them noticed the light outside fading, replaced by the gradual glow of the low, intimate hotel lighting. It wasn’t until the huge Christmas tree dominating the far corner of the lounge sprang into brightly lit colour that Alex sat back, took off his work glasses and rubbed his eyes.
‘So, what do you think?’
Flora chewed on her lip. ‘I think I really need to take a trip out there to fully get your vision,’ she said solemnly. ‘At least three weeks, all-expenses-paid.’
‘Play your cards right, convince Camilla Lusso that you can do this and you will do,’ he pointed out. ‘I told you that part of the brand promise is ensuring each hotel is both unique and part of its environment—and to leave as small a carbon footprint as possible. You’ll need to source as much from local suppliers as possible.’
‘Very worthy.’ Flora pulled the pencil out of her hair and allowed the dark brown locks to fall onto her shoulders. ‘Will the guests arrive in a canoe, paddled only by their own strokes with the help of a friendly wind?’
He bit back a grin. Trust Flora to see the big glaring hole in the whole eco-resort argument. ‘Unlikely. But it’s a start, don’t knock it.’
‘If I get to travel to Bali I promise not to give it as much as a second thought. Do you think they’ll go for it? The glass-bottomed hotel?’
‘I don’t know. They’ve already decided to set the hotel in the rainforest—which is a pretty interesting decision. After all, most people expect a sea view in a place like Bali, so I really want to still have that water element. And although it would be nice to build out over the sea the local laws won’t allow it—and the whole “surrounded by the sea” concept is a little “honeymoon in the Maldives” obviously.’
‘Obviously.’ Flora sounded wistful and he nudged her.
‘Come on, work with me here. If I can’t convince you I’m doomed. I actually think this might be even more breathtaking. Not just building over the lagoon but using glass floors to make the lagoon part of the hotel—the water as one of the design materials.’
‘And I can bring that detail to bear inside. The lovely local dark woods and the natural blues and greens. Yes.’ She nodded. ‘I can work with that. Thanks, Alex.’
Alex pushed himself to his feet and walked over to the bar, a long piece of polished oak on the other side of the room. ‘Glass of wine or a stein of Austrian beer?’
‘I’m not sure what a stein is. A glass of white wine please.’
Alex ordered their drinks from the barmaid who was hovering discreetly at the far end.
He carried their drinks over and handed her the wine, taking a long appreciative gulp of his own cold beer, a heavy weight in the traditional stein glass. ‘Cheers, or should I say prost?’
She raised her glass to his. ‘Cheers. You were right. A job like this is just what I need.’
Alex paused. He knew it wasn’t easy for her, younger sister to such high-achieving siblings, daughter of well-known experts in their fields. He knew her mother’s well-intentioned comments on everything from Flora’s hair to her clothes cut her to the quick. He knew how self-conscious she was, how she hated her conspicuous height, her even more conspicuous figure, her dramatically wide mouth and showy Snow White colouring. She really truly didn’t know how stunning she was—when she wasn’t hunching herself inside one of the sacklike dresses or tunics she habitually wore.
But she was twenty-nine now. It was time she believed in herself.
‘You could have had work before,’ he pointed out. ‘How many times have I asked you to freelance for me? You were just too proud to accept—or too afraid.’
Her mouth shut again, her lips compressed into a tight, hurt line. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to stand on my own two feet.’
‘No, there isn’t.’ He fought the urge to backtrack; he’d always hated upsetting her in any way. ‘But there’s nothing wrong with accepting a helping hand either. Sometimes I think you’re so determined to prove yourself you actually hold yourself back.’
Her eyes blazed. ‘I can’t win, can I? Once you accused me of not knowing my own mind, now you’re telling me I’m too stubborn.’
‘If you mean I told you not to apply to vet school then I stand by that. Just like I stand by telling you not to take that job at Village Inns. I still don’t know why you did.’
Flora set her wine down on the table and glared at him. ‘Why were you so set against it? No one lands the perfect job straight from college. It made sense to get some experience.’
‘No, but your heart was never in that job, just like it wasn’t in veterinary medicine. You applied for that to please your mum.’
Flora jumped to her feet and walked over to the window, staring out at the dark before turning to face him. ‘So you were right that I wasn’t vet material. Right that I couldn’t hack it. So it took me a while to work things out. Excuse me for not being driven, focused on the goal like you, Mr Super Architect of the Year.’
He ignored the dig. So he was driven. Wasn’t that the point? It was why they were here after all. ‘Art school was far more you—but then you took the first safe job you could find even though designing those trendy pubs and twee restaurants drove you crazy. And when that didn’t work out you went into lockdown mode. Took it personally, as if you had failed.’
‘No, I didn’t!’ She paused, looked down at the floor. ‘Well, maybe a little.’
‘Look, Flora. You know the last thing I want to do is hurt you. In any way.’ It was truer than she knew. Alex didn’t know where he would have ended up, what he would have been without Flora’s friendship. It was why he had never been able to confide in her, not fully. He had never wanted to see the warmth in her eyes darken and chill. To be judged by her and found wanting.
God knew he judged himself enough for both of them.
‘Thank goodness.’ She looked at him directly then, her blue eyes shadowed. ‘I’d hate to hear what you would say if you wanted to hurt me.’
‘I just want you to follow your dreams. Yours, not your mother’s or mine or trying to beat your sister at her own game. I want you to go for what you want. Do what makes you happy. Not hang back for fear it doesn’t work out or in case you get knocked down again. Take each rejection as a challenge, get back up and try again. Harder each time. Here is your chance. Seize it.’
‘I was trying to before my temporary boss and arrogant best friend decided to have a go at me.’ But the anger had drained out of her voice. ‘I’m not so good at the seizing, Alex. We didn’t all get the Masters of the Universe education, you know.’
Alex had hated every single day at his elite boarding school. The only thing in its favour was that every day he had spent there was a day not at home. ‘I dropped out of sixth form to slum it at college with you so I missed the Advanced World Domination course. But I tell you what I do know, Flora. We’re all mostly faking it. Tell yourself you can do it, tell yourself you deserve it and make yourself go for it. That’s the secret. Now, I don’t know about you but those cakes seem like hours ago and I know the kitchen is hoping to do a last trial run on us before the guests arrive tomorrow. Let’s go eat.’
* * *
‘That was amazing. Although I don’t feel I can ever eat again.’ Flora patted her stomach happily and curled up on the velvet sofa.
‘Not that cosy though, just the two of us in a room set for sixty.’
‘Oh, I don’t know.’ It had felt a bit incongruous at first, the two of them waited on alone in a vast room, but a couple of glasses of the delicious wine had soon set her at her ease and when Alex suggested they went back into the lounge for one last look at the plans and a digestif her original plans for a bath and an early night were forgotten.
She had only drunk schnapps once before and it hadn’t been pretty. But it was the national drink, after all; it would be rude not to sample it.
Alex was leaning back in his chair, his glass held loosely in his hand. Flora was usually so very careful about how she looked at him. If he ever caught her staring. If he ever guessed how she felt...
Alex was her oldest and best friend. His was the shoulder she cried on after break-ups and heartbreaks. He was her go-to person for advice. He knew all her vices and nearly all her secrets. But there were two things that lay between them. Two secrets; a chasm that could never be bridged.
He had never confided in her why he had left home, and why he was so against any kind of reconciliation with his father.
And she had never told him that she loved him.
Not as a friend, as a confidant, but in every way it was possible for a woman to love a man. Sometimes Flora thought she had fallen for him that very first day, that skinny red-headed boy with a look of determination on his face—and desolation in the stormy eyes. The hair had long since darkened to a deep auburn, his body had filled out in all the right places, but he was still determined.
And he hid it well, but at heart he was still as alone as he had been then. Not one of his girlfriends had ever got through to him. Was that why she had never told him how she felt? He was right, she was afraid.
Afraid of not being good enough for him. Afraid he would turn away in disgust and horror, just as he had all those years ago. Afraid that this time she would lose him for ever.
Flora downed the schnapps in one satisfying gulp, choking a little as the pungent, sharp liquor hit the back of her throat. Hmm, not as bad as she’d thought. In fact, that warm feeling at the pit of her stomach was really quite pleasant. She refilled her glass.
She gazed into the amber depths as his words rolled round and round her mind. ‘Get back up and try again. Tell yourself you deserve it.’ He was right. She never had. She took every rejection as a final blow whether it was work or her heart. It was easier not to put herself out there. Easier to lock herself away and hope.
Hope that somebody would see her Internet site and say, ‘Hey, you amazing talent, come work for me!’
Hope that Alex would turn round, look into her eyes and realise, just like that, she was the only girl for him.
Hope that her parents would tell her that she made them proud.
She just sat back and let life pass her by. Hoping.
Flora raised her glass and downed the schnapps. It wasn’t quite as fierce this time. Not as hot. More...mellow. She had definitely underrated schnapps.
She reached out and closed her hand around the bottle, wondering why it took a few goes to clasp it properly, and pulled it towards her.
‘Another one?’ Alex’s eyebrows rose. ‘We had quite a lot of wine at dinner. Are you sure?’
‘Yes, Dad.’ She grinned at him. ‘I like your hair like that.’
Alex touched his head, staring at her in confusion. ‘My hair?’
Flora put her head to one side. ‘It’s all glowy with the Christmas lights behind you. Like a halo. Angel Alex.’
She didn’t see him move but the next thing she knew he was by her side, one firm hand on hers, removing the bottle from her grasp.
‘If you’re talking about angels then you have definitely had enough. Come along.’ He slid the bottle out of her reach and pulled at her hand, helping her rise to her feet. Flora swayed and caught his shoulder and he grimaced. ‘Bed time for you. I forgot you and schnapps don’t mix.’
‘We mix just fine.’ Flora regained her footing and stopped still, her hand still on his shoulder. She loved that Alex was taller than her. She looked up at him, his dearly familiar face so close to hers. The greeny-grey of his changeable eyes, the long lashes, the faded freckles on his nose, the curve of his cheekbones. The curve of his mouth. So close. Kissing distance. Her stomach clenched, the old exquisite pain. And yet all she had to do was stand on her tiptoes, just a little, and move in.
His words ran through her mind. Try again. Harder each time.
Maybe that was all she had to do. Try again. Maybe Alex was waiting for her to step forward, to make the move. Maybe it had always been within her power to change things but she had just never dared.
Maybe...
Before she knew it the words were tumbling out, words she had spent the last thirteen years keeping locked up deep, deep inside, more plaintive than demanding. ‘Why didn’t you kiss me back?’
‘What?’ His eyes widened in alarm and he took a step back. She moved with him, still holding on as if he were all that kept her anchored. He was lean, almost rangy, but there was a solidity when she touched him, the feel of a man who was fighting fit. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘All those years ago. Why did you push me away? Have you never wondered what would have happened if you hadn’t?’
‘It’s never crossed my mind.’ But his eyes shifted to her mouth as he spoke.
He’s lying. Her throat dried as she realised what that meant.
He had thought about it. And that changed everything. Almost unconsciously she licked her lips; his throat tightened as he watched the tip of her tongue dip onto her top lip and, at the gesture, her heart began to beat faster.
Emboldened, Flora carried on, her voice low and persuasive. ‘All those nights we stayed up talking till dawn. When we visited each other at uni we slept in the same bed, for goodness’ sake. The tents we’ve shared... Have you never wondered, not even once? What it would be like? What we’d be like?’
‘I...’ His eyes were on hers, intent, a heat she had never seen before beginning to burn bright, melting her. ‘Maybe once or twice.’ His voice was hoarse. ‘But we’re not like that, Flora. We’re more than that.’
Flora was dimly aware that there was something important in his words, something fundamental that she should understand, but she didn’t want to stop, not now as the heat in his eyes intensified, his gaze locking on hers. If she pushed it now, he would follow. She knew it; she knew it as she knew him.
She also knew that whatever happened the consequences would be immense. There would be repercussions. Last time they had pretended it had never happened. It was unlikely that would happen again; their friendship would be altered for ever. Could she live with that?
Could she live without trying? Laugh it off as lack of sleep and too much schnapps? Now she had come so far...
No, not when he was looking at her like that. Heat and questions and desire mingling in his eyes, just as she had always dreamed. I want you to go for what you want. That was what he’d told her.
She wanted him.
‘Kiss me, Alex,’ she said softly. And before he could reply or pull away Flora stepped in, put her other hand on his shoulder and, raising herself on her tiptoes, she pressed her mouth to his.
CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_f3481617-d8ec-52cb-8062-9fbae2514696)
HE SHOULD HAVE walked away. No, he should walk away, there was still time. Only there wasn’t. Time was slowing, stopping, converging right here, right now on this exact spot, somewhere above Innsbruck. All that was left was this moment. The feel of her mouth against his, her hands, tentative on his shoulders. He shouldn’t, he couldn’t—and yet he was...
Because it was all he had dreamed it might be, those shameful, secret dreams. The crossing of boundaries, the touching the untouchable. Her touch was light, her kiss sweetly questioning and despite everything Alex desperately wanted to give her the answers she was seeking.
He stood stock-still for one long moment, trying to summon up the resolve to walk away, but the blood hummed through his veins, the noise drowning out the voice of caution; her sweet, vanilla scent was enfolding him and he was lost. Lost in her. Lost in the inevitable.
With that knowledge all thought of backing off, backing out disappeared. One hand slipped, as if of its volition, around the curve of her waist, pulling her in tightly against him, the other burying itself in the hair at the nape of her neck; a heavy, sweet smelling cloud. And Alex took control. He kissed her back, deepening, intensifying the kiss as the blood roared in his ears and all he could feel was the sweetness of her mouth, the softness of her body, pliant against his.
Her touch was no longer tentative, one arm tight around his neck. Holding his head as if she didn’t dare let him go. The other was on the small of his back, working at the fabric of his shirt, branding him with the fevered heat of her touch.
If she touched his flesh he would be utterly undone.
Like the animal he was he could take her here and now. Not caring about the consequences, not caring that they weren’t in a private space. That the staff could walk in any minute. That once again there would be no going back.
That once again he could take things too far. And once again he could lose everything.
He had learned nothing.
Alex wrenched his mouth away; the taste of her lingered, intoxicatingly tempting on his tongue. But he had to sober up. ‘Flora.’ His breath was ragged as he stared into her confused dark eyes. ‘I...’
‘Am I interrupting something?’ Both Alex and Flora jumped slightly as the rich, Italian tones, tinged with a hint of mockery, floated across the hotel lounge. Alex didn’t need to look around to know who he would see—the owner of this hotel and the woman who had employed him to design three more, Camilla Lusso.
‘Buongiorno, Camilla.’ He took a deep, shuddering breath, willing his overheated body to cool, his spinning brain to slow. ‘I wasn’t expecting to see you until tomorrow.’ He turned, fixing a cool, professional smile on his face as he greeted his biggest and most influential client.
‘That’s rather clear.’ Still that hint of mockery in her voice, her eyes assessing and cool as she looked at Flora, clearly not missing a single detail as she took in the mussed hair, the swollen lips, the wrinkles in the baggy dress.
Camilla Lusso could have been any age between thirty-five and fifty-five although Alex suspected she was at the top end of the age range, but her expensively styled hair, subtle make-up and chic wardrobe made her seem timeless. A glossy, confident and successful woman. A professional woman who demanded top-class professionalism from everyone who worked with and for her.
Flora was supposed to be impressing her, not being found drunkenly making out with the architect.
Why now? Why tonight after all these years? He could blame the schnapps, he could blame the mountains framed through the windows, the warmth of the fire burning in the stove. It was a scene out of Seduction 101. But the only person he could really blame was himself. He should have backed off, backed away, laughed off the conversation—not been struck dumb with the thought of an alternate world. A world in which he might have been worthy of the adoration and desire shining out of Flora’s dark eyes.
He had to fix this. Camilla’s eyes had narrowed as she assessed Flora. If she found her wanting in any way then Alex knew she’d turn her away, no matter how good her work.
‘I owe you an apology, Camilla. When I recommended Flora to you I wanted you to appreciate her for her own talent and so...’ He paused, searching for the right words, the right way to make this all right. There was only one way. To make the whole embarrassing scene seem perfectly normal.
‘I didn’t tell you that we’re dating. I’m sorry, I should have mentioned it but we agreed to be discreet this week, to put our relationship on the back burner.’ He allowed himself a wry smile. ‘Starting from tomorrow.’ He took Flora’s hand in his, pinching her in warning, hoping the shock of the last five minutes had sobered her up. Play along.
To his relief she picked up his cue. ‘Pleased to meet you. I am very excited to be working with you and to help breathe life and colour into Alex’s designs. I didn’t realise I would have the honour of meeting you this evening otherwise...’ Flora gestured at her wrinkled dress, at her mussed-up hair ‘... I would have made more of an effort.’
‘But no.’ Camilla’s face had relaxed—as much as her tightened skin would allow—into a smile. ‘The apology is all mine. I should have warned you that I had changed my plans. I have interrupted your last evening of privacy.’
‘Oh, no.’ Flora’s cheeks were pink and her hand hot in Alex’s. ‘Not at all, we have mostly been working...’ Her voice trailed off at the knowing look on Camilla’s face as she said the last word.
‘It all looks absolutely fantastic, just as I envisioned.’ Alex took over the conversation, taking pity on Flora. ‘And the staff seem to know their roles perfectly—not that I would expect anything else from a Lusso Hotel. What time can we expect the guests tomorrow?’
Camilla accepted a glass of wine from a discreetly hovering waiter and sat down on one of the chairs by the stove. ‘We’re expecting the first to arrive after lunch tomorrow. I am so pleased you agreed to spend this opening week with us, Alex. The majority of the guests are influential travel journalists and bloggers and I am sure they are going to have lots of questions about your inspiration for this beautiful building. But please, not all work, eh? You must take full advantage of the facilities while you are here.’
Again she swept a knowing look up and down the pair of them. Alex gritted his teeth. ‘It’s my absolute pleasure. It’s not often I get to spend so much time in a building I designed after completion. It will be really interesting to watch it fulfil its purpose.’ Alex stole a glance at Flora. She was no longer flushed, rather she had turned pale, as if all the life had been leached out of her apart from the dark circles shadowing her eyes. ‘However, if I’m to ensure the Bali designs are perfect for our meeting at the end of the week and socialise appropriately I think we’d better turn in. We were on the road at five a.m.’
‘Of course. I look forward to seeing your designs, Miss Buckingham. Alex has been singing your praises. I can’t wait to be impressed.’
* * *
Flora had thought she knew all about humiliation. She was the high priestess of it, dedicated to short sharp bursts at regular intervals. There was the awful day her university boyfriend announced he was in love with her sister; the even more awful day her subsequent boyfriend admitted he was in love with Alex; the time she thought her last boyfriend had been proposing when he had, in fact, been breaking up with her.
She had been going to refuse him, of course. But that so wasn’t the point.
Her redundancy and the nasty smile on Finn’s face as he had watched her gather up her pitifully small box of belongings and get escorted from the building like a thief.
Yep. High priestess of humiliation. Case in point: the week of catastrophes she had just experienced.
But, nope. None of them equalled the scene just now. She would rather sit on a hundred strange men’s laps on any sort of public transport than relive the scene she had just left.
Flora squeezed her eyes shut as if she could block out the memory by will alone. Kiss me, Alex.
Oh, but he had. And it had been...it had been...
Flora flopped onto the bed and searched for the word. It had been wonderful. Right until the moment he had pushed her away with horror in his eyes and disgust on his face. That bit had sucked.
No. That had been the worst moment of her life. Bar none. Much, much worse than last time. At least she hadn’t asked him, begged him to kiss her then. She’d just misjudged a moment. She should have learned her lesson. She wasn’t what he wanted. Not in that way. Not then, not now.
She could never face him again. She should pack her bags and escape down the mountain, at night, in thick snow. She couldn’t ski, didn’t have a car and Innsbruck was several miles below. But that didn’t matter, the exit plan itself mere details. The important thing was that she needed to escape and to pretend she had never ever laid eyes on Alex Fitzgerald with his crooked smile and red-brown curls.
But then he would spend Christmas alone. And without her family what did he have? He would never show it, of course, never say anything but she knew. She saw the look of relief when he stepped through the front door into her parents’ hall. Saw him almost physically set down whatever burdens he carried around along with his overnight bag. Watched him relax, really relax, as he talked sport with Horatio—not that Horry had much of a clue but he tried to keep up. Watched the laughter lurk in his eyes as he half teased, half flirted with Minerva in a way no other mortal, not even her own husband, could get away with.
He helped her dad in the kitchen, talked through work problems with her mum and was on Flora’s side. Always.
No, he couldn’t be allowed to leave them. She would just have to grin, bear it and blame the schnapps. Not for the first time.
And she would work hard. She would blow the caramel-haired, caramel-clad, tight-skinned Camilla Lusso’s designer socks off with her colour schemes, materials and designs. She would make Alex proud and this would be just a teeny footnote in their history. Never to be mentioned again. Never to be...
What now? A knock on the door interrupted her fervent vowing. Flora pushed herself off the bed, smoothed down her hair. Please don’t let it be Camilla Lusso. There was no way she was ready for round two. ‘Come in.’
A bellboy pushed the door open and smiled politely. ‘Excuse me, Fraulein. I have Herr Fitzgerald’s bags if now is convenient?’
If now was what?
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Frau Lusso asked me to move Herr Fitzgerald’s bags into your room.’ He opened the door a little wider, pushing a trolley through heaped with Alex’s distinctive brown leather bags.
‘But...’ Flora shook her head. Was she dreaming? Hallucinating? Had she been drinking absinthe? That would explain a lot. Maybe the whole hideous evening had been some weird absinthe-related dream.
‘Mr Fitzgerald has his own room.’
‘Not any more,’ Alex stepped into the room, just behind the bellboy. His voice was light but there was a grim set to his face, his eyes narrowed as he stared at her. ‘Camilla very kindly said there was no need for us to be discreet and we absolutely shouldn’t spend the week before Christmas apart. Nice bath. Do you want first dibs or shall I?’
* * *
‘You can’t stay here.’ Flora sank back onto the bed and stared at the pile of bags. It was most unfair; how did Alex have proper stuff? They were more or less the same age. How had he managed to turn into an actual functioning grown-up with matching luggage filled with the correct clothes for every occasion?
‘What do you suggest?’ He seemed unruffled as he opened up the first, neatly packed suitcase and began to lay his top-of-the-line ski kit out onto the other side of the bed.
‘Well, we’ll just say we’re not ready for this step. Say we’re waiting.’
‘We’re waiting?’ An unholy glint appeared in his eye. ‘How virtuous.’
‘People do...’ Her cheeks were hot and she couldn’t look at him. All desire to discuss anything relating to love or sex or kissing with Alex Fitzgerald had evaporated the minute she had caught the disgust in his eyes. Again.
‘They do,’ he agreed, picking up his pile of clothes and disappearing into the walk-in wardrobe with them. ‘Why haven’t you unpacked?’
Flora blinked, a little stunned by his rapid turn of conversation. ‘I have. Those clothes there? They’re mine.’
‘But where are your ski clothes? You can’t hit the slopes in jeans.’
Flora winced. She had a suspicion that hitting would be the right verb if she did venture out on skis—as in her bottom repeatedly and painfully hitting the well-packed snow. ‘I don’t ski.’
Alex had reappeared and was shaking his tuxedo out of another of the bags; somehow it was miraculously uncreased. Another grown-up trick. ‘Flora, we’re here to mingle and promote the hotel. In winter it’s a ski hotel. I don’t think staying away from the slopes is optional. Did you pack anything for the dinners and the ball?’
The what? ‘You didn’t mention a ball.’ Unwanted, hot tears were pricking at her eyes. Any minute he’d inform her that she needed to cook a cordon-bleu meal for sixty and she would win at being completely inadequate.
‘You’ll have to go shopping tomorrow. You need a ski outfit, another couple of formal dresses for dinner and something for the ball.’
Flora leaned forward and covered her face with her hands, trying to block the whole scene, the whole evening, the whole day out. If she wished hard enough then maybe it would all go away. She’d wake up and be back on the train, squashed onto the knee of a leering stranger, and she’d know that there were worse ways to make a fool of herself.
‘I can’t afford to go shopping for things I’ll only wear once. I cut up my credit cards so I wouldn’t be tempted to go into debt and until I get paid next Friday I have exactly two hundred and eight pounds in my account—and I need to live on next week’s pay until I go back to London after New Year. We don’t all have expense accounts and savings and disposable income.’
It was odd, arguing over clothes and money when so much had happened in the last half-hour. But in a way it was easier, far better to worry about the small stuff than the huge, shattering things.

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