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Saying Yes to the Millionaire
Fiona Harper
First date: Oxford Circus, London… When cautious Fern Chambers is challenged by a friend to say yes to every question, she never expects to spend four days with dreamy Josh Adams doing a charity treasure hunt.First dance: Covent Garden…Daredevil millionaire Josh never stays in one place–or with one woman–for long. But Fern is challenging that rule…. First kiss: Trafalgar Square… Josh realizes the treasure he's been looking for may in fact be the beautiful Fern. Can he persuade her to say yes to his final question, the most important one of all?




Josh waved the piece of paper in front of Fern’s nose. “The treasure hunt.”
Her heart seemed to have slowed to almost nothing and she could hear the rush of the river in her ears.
“You want me to be your partner?”
He jumped off the wall and stepped in front of her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hands, but then he fidgeted, and stuffed them in his pockets. “Yes.”
“Why me?”
He looked her straight in the eye. “Because I think you’d be perfect.”
Inside her head she was screaming with frustration. How many times had she hoped to hear those words? But what he was asking her now wasn’t what she’d yearned for back then. He had no idea he’d ignited a painful and distant memory.
Four days with Josh. Once upon a time, she’d have thought that was heaven.
But it was only an hour since they’d met again, and she was getting all her signals crossed imagining there’d be moments and bolts from the blue and—heaven help her poor confused heart rate—kisses.
Four days would be far too much…and never enough.


Would your perfect wedding be in the spring, when flowers are starting to blossom and it’s the perfect season for new beginnings?
Or perhaps a balmy garden wedding, set off by a riot of color, making the summer bride glow with the joys of a happy future….
Do you dream of being a fall bride, walking down the aisle amid the dazzling reds and burnished golds of falling leaves?
Or of a winter wedding dusted with glistening white snowflakes, celebrated by the ringing of frosty church bells?
With Harlequin Romance
you can have them all! And, best of all, you can experience the rush of falling in love with a gorgeous groom….
In April we celebrated spring with The Bride’s Baby by Liz Fielding
This month, enjoy the summer sun with Saying Yes to the Millionaire by Fiona Harper
Coming in September with crisp autumnal days: The Millionaire’s Proposal by Trish Wylie
Don’t miss:
Marry-Me Christmas
by Shirley Jump, out in December.

Fiona Harper
Saying Yes to the Millionaire




As a child, Fiona Harper was constantly teased for either having her nose in a book or living in a dream world. Things haven’t changed much since then, but at least in writing she’s found a use for her runaway imagination. After studying dance at university, Fiona worked as a dancer, teacher and choreographer before trading in that career for video-editing and production. When she became a mother she cut back on her working hours to spend time with her children, and when her littlest one started elementary school Fiona found a few spare moments to rediscover an old but not forgotten love—writing.
Fiona lives in London, but her other favorite places to be are the Highlands of Scotland and the Kent countryside on a summer’s afternoon. She loves cooking good food and anything cinnamon-flavored. Of course she still can’t keep away from a good book, or a good movie—especially romances—but only if she’s stocked up on tissues, because she knows she will need them by the end, be it happy or sad. Her favorite things in the world are her wonderful husband, who has learned to decipher her incoherent ramblings, and her two daughters.
For Kirsteen, my naughty little sister,
who has travelled the world and
bungee-jumped while I’ve just sat home
and day-dreamed about it.

CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ONE
‘NO, I CAN’T. I don’t think I can do this!’
Solid ground was a distant memory. Fern glanced down past her feet and a tidal wave of nausea crashed in her stomach. The Thames glittered in the June sun and London politely carried on about its business one hundred and fifty feet below her. Someone behind her muttered, ‘Is she going to jump or not?’
Not. Definitely not. Surely, if God had meant us to do this we’d have been born with lengths of elastic attached to our feet.
She gulped. Every muscle in her body had tightened itself into a dozen knots. She closed her eyes, but that just made things worse. The darkness magnified the dull roar of the traffic and the flap of the bungee cord as it swung in the faint breeze. Her body swayed.
No. She was not going to do this.
Her eyes snapped open and she twisted her head, opening her mouth to tell them it had all been a horrible mistake. But, before the sounds emerged from the back of her throat, a warm pair of hands steadied her on either side of her waist.
‘She’s all right. Aren’t you, Fern?’
Fern shook her head, but the squeak that finally made it out of her mouth sounded an awful lot like yes.
She caught a faint hint of aftershave as he moved closer, felt his breath as it tickled the fine tendrils of hair that had worked their way out of her ponytail and now curled in front of her ears.
‘You can do this.’ The voice sounded so warm and reassuring. ‘You know that, don’t you?’
For a second, Fern almost forgot where she was, high on a crane on the banks of the Thames. Almost forgot the crowd of onlookers and charity event organisers looking up at her from the hard concrete below. She recognised that voice!
Josh was here.
And he was right behind her, whispering words of encouragement into her ear. Her pulse didn’t know whether to speed up, slow down or stop altogether. But, bizarrely, she felt safe with him there, so close she could feel the beat of his heart against her back.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. This time, she half-believed her answer.
‘So…I’m going to count to three, and when I say go, you just allow yourself to fall.’
He had the most delicious voice. It seemed to curl and roll inside her ears. She got carried away just listening to the sounds, the individual syllables, forgetting the meaning of the words. And then suddenly she realised he was saying three.
‘But I—’
He didn’t shout; he said the next word so gently it was almost as if he’d just breathed out. ‘Go.’
And then she was falling, falling—the breath sucked so hard from her body that she couldn’t even scream.
Three days earlier…
‘No, thank you.’ Fern shook her head once, firmly, hoping Lisette would get the message. She should have known better. Her friend waved something slimy-looking on a fork in front of her face, so close she was going cross-eyed trying to focus on it.
‘Go on! Try it.’
‘Really, Lisette. No. I don’t like seafood.’
‘It’s squid. Hardly tastes of anything.’ The fork swayed in a hypnotising motion. ‘We’ve been coming to Giovanni’s once a month for the past year and each time you order exactly the same.’
Fern fended the squid-loaded cutlery off with her hand. ‘I like Pasta Neapolitana. It’s my favourite.’
Lisette threw her fork down on her plate. ‘It’s boring, that’s what it is.’
‘It’s nice. And I don’t run the risk of food poisoning if it hasn’t been cooked or stored properly.’
‘Spoken like a true Health and Safety specialist.’
Fern stabbed a pasta bow with her fork, put it in her mouth and chewed, all the time staring defiantly at her friend. Lisette was always poking fun at her job. She swallowed her mouthful and took a sip of wine. Not everybody could have an outlandish job like Lisette’s. And besides, her job might seem routine, but she helped people, kept them safe.
‘Talking of jobs, what are you up to next week?’
Lisette popped the squid in her mouth and swallowed, wearing a playful smile as she gulped it down. ‘Guess.’
Fern rolled her eyes. Lisette’s main work was being a professional ‘extra’. She could end up sitting in a pub in one of the weekly soaps or dressed up in tin-foil for a sci-fi series. Variety might be the spice of life, but Fern couldn’t understand how Lisette tolerated a job with sporadic work, long hours and four o’clock in the morning starts.
‘Lis, I haven’t got a clue. Why don’t you just tell me?’
‘I’ve got a spot on a new police drama. Next week my uniform will be fishnets, high heels and a wicked glint in my eye.’
A small crease appeared between Fern’s brows. ‘Since when did police officers wear fishnets?’
Lisette grinned at her. ‘Come on, can you really picture me in big clumpy heels and a neat white shirt? I’m going to be “Hooker Number Three”. Cool, huh?’
Fern nodded, perhaps a little too hard. Lisette gave her a knowing smile.
‘I’m sorry, Lis. I’m really pleased you’ve got the work but…’
‘Standing up in front of a room full of people and being outrageous is just not your cup of tea. I know. Horses for courses, and all that. I’d die of boredom being an insurance investigator.’
‘Risk analyst,’ Fern reminded her, although she didn’t know why she bothered. Lisette always got her job title wrong. You just had to mention the word ‘insurance’ or ‘office’ and Lis’s eyes glazed over.
‘Yeah, yeah. I remember.’
They returned their attention to their food. Lisette speared a mussel and paused before she put the fork into her mouth. ‘If not squid, how about one of these?’
Fern sighed. ‘No.’
‘D’you know,’ Lis said, still munching the dollop of yuckiness, ‘I think I hear you say that word more than any other in your vocabulary.’
‘No, you don’t.’
Lisette stabbed the air with her fork in a got you kind of manner. Fern looked at her plate and decided she couldn’t be bothered with the rest.
‘See? You’re bored with that already. What you need is a bit more excitement in your life.’
Oh, yeah. Here we go.
Lisette saw it as her mission in life to liven up her poor, deprived friend. Over the years she’d dragged her along to all sorts of strange activities: kickboxing, paragliding, weird yoga classes where you were supposed to fold yourself up like a pretzel…And when those attempts had failed it had got even worse. Next she’d started trying to find exciting men for Fern to date. After an evening with Brad the Formula One driver, she’d been scared of getting in a car for a week.
‘No, I do not.’
Lis’s mouth stretched into a thin, wide smile. ‘There’s that word again. You just can’t help yourself, can you?’
‘Yes. I can.’ Now it was her turn to wear the wide smile.
Lisette shovelled more pasta into her mouth and as she chewed she stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. When she’d finished she sat back in her chair and folded her arms. ‘I reckon if you had to go a week without saying no, you’d shrivel up and die.’
‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’
‘Am I? Okay, let’s see just how ridiculous my theory is.’
Fern really should have listened to her instinct to get up and sprint out of the restaurant door at that point but she was too intrigued to miss out on the last part of her character assassination.
Lisette nodded to herself and then looked Fern square in the eye. ‘I challenge you to say yes to every question you are asked for one whole week.’
Fern laughed so hard that a couple of other diners turned round to stare at her and she clapped a hand over her mouth. ‘And why on earth would I accept a challenge like that?’
A glint appeared in Lisette’s eye. Fern’s stomach dropped. When Lis thought on the hop like this, there was normally trouble to follow. Her brain was likely to kangaroo off in all sorts of directions and come up with some really stupid ideas.
‘Because I will donate five hundred pounds to your Leukaemia Research thingy if you do it.’
That was below the belt. How was she going to refuse an offer like that? The cancer research charity she championed desperately needed more funds for vital research—research into treatments that might have saved Ryan’s life all those years ago, if they’d been available. The charity was asking its volunteer fundraisers to try and raise one hundred thousand pounds. She’d been on countless fun runs, had sponsored this-and-thats, all to hike the total up—and they were so close now. Five thousand pounds to go. What Lisette was offering was a tenth of that. More than she could ever hope to raise by herself in one week.
‘You’re insane.’
‘Quite possibly. But I’d quite happily hand over the cash if I got to see you take a few chances, live life a little. You’re stuck in a rut, darling.’
No, she wasn’t! She opened her mouth to tell Lisette so, but then realised she’d just be using that word again and it would only encourage her.
‘Perhaps I like my rut.’
Lisette leaned back to let the waiter clear their plates. ‘That, my dear Fern, is the heart of the problem. You need to break out of it now, before you hit middle age and get stuck in it for ever.’
If her insides hadn’t been churning, the dramatic look on Lisette’s face would have made her want to laugh. She took a deep breath. Her friend might be letting her imagination run away with her, but she still had some weapons of her own. Logic. Good sense. Sanity, even.
‘You haven’t thought this through at all. I couldn’t possibly say yes to every question somebody asked me in a week. What if somebody asked me if I wanted to rob a bank, or set myself on fire?’
‘Yes, complete strangers always wander up to you in London and ask you to join them in a spot of light burglary.’
Fern looked heavenwards and pushed her plate even further away from her. It was invading her personal space, making her feel uncomfortable. ‘You’re over-dramatising again. You know what I’m talking about. Someone could ask me to look the other way while they stole something or ask me to do something risky. I know the rest of the world might see London as being so very proper and a little bit stuffy but, let’s face it, there are nutters roaming the streets of this city.’
Lisette should know. She’d dated half of them.
‘You’re right.’ Lisette dug in her handbag for a pen and started doodling on a napkin. Really not a good idea as this was the sort of establishment that didn’t use paper napkins but linen ones. ‘We need some ground rules.’
‘We don’t need any rules at all. I’m not doing it.’
Lisette carried on scribbling. ‘Okay, there are some get out clauses. Nothing illegal. Nothing truly dangerous.’
‘Nothing immoral.’ Why was she joining in? This wasn’t going to go anywhere.
Lisette looked up at that point. ‘Nothing immoral? Pity. You’re cancelling out a whole lot of fun that way.’
‘It might sound fun to you, but I’m certainly not going to say yes if some guy walks up to me and asks me to…you know.’
‘Like I said, cancelling out a whole lot of fun, but I’ll concede. You’re allowed to say no if it’s something truly against your conscience.’
‘Gee, thanks.’ A cheeky smile spread across her lips and lifted her cheeks. ‘How are you going to keep a check on me? You can’t follow me round all week. What if I cheat?’
Lisette went so still for a second that Fern thought her heart must have stopped, and then she laughed so loudly that the man behind Fern turned round again and glared at her. Fern gave him an it-wasn’t-me-this-time shrug and turned back to face Lisette, who was wiping her eyes. There was a smudge of mascara on Lis’s cheek. She decided not to tell her about it.
‘Nah. Don’t think so, my little Fern. Even if you were tempted, you’d cave in when I handed you the cheque and you’d confess all, wouldn’t you?’
‘No!’ What kind of sap did her flatmate think she was? But, then again…She buried her head in her hands, her shoulder-length blonde hair swinging forward to hide her face. ‘Oh, all right. Yes, I would.’
‘If there’s one person in this crazy world who is guaranteed to do the right thing, the sensible thing, it’s you.’
Fern picked up the dessert menu and stared at it. ‘And that’s exactly why I’m not going to take any part in your crazy scheme.’
‘Really? I mean, really?’ Lisette dipped the menu down with the tip of one of her fingers so she could look into Fern’s eyes. ‘Think of it as another sponsored event. I’m sponsoring you to prise yourself from your rut for one week. Just one week. You can do that, can’t you? For charity?’ She batted her eyelids, a completely ridiculous gesture, but somehow it always worked on Fern.
Drat that woman! After living with her for three years, she knew exactly where Fern’s weak points were. And raising money to prevent any more children going through the pain and sickness that her brother had endured before his death, to stop any more families being left with a large gaping hole that could never be filled, was something she couldn’t walk away from.
‘I can walk away at any time?’
Lisette shrugged. ‘You can. But you won’t get the money. It’ll be up to you.’
Fern picked up a wineglass and sloshed back the rest of the contents. ‘Okay. Yes. I’ll do it.’ For Ryan. Here’s to you, big brother, she thought as she swallowed the Chardonnay.
Lisette clapped her hands and rubbed them together with glee. ‘I’m going to make sure you have the most exciting week of your life!’
Fern reached for the wine bottle and poured herself another glass. That was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

‘Sorry, Callum. You’re going to have to take the New York meeting on your own.’ Josh stuck his head through the doorway into the living room and spotted his father dozing on the sofa with the paper over his face. He nudged the door closed and lowered his voice. ‘My dad is getting better—slowly—but I’m going to stick around for at least another fortnight.’
While his business partner lamented that he was going to miss a vital appointment with the head of an exclusive hotel chain, Josh wandered from the hallway into the kitchen and stared out of the window into the garden. Callum would cope fine without him; he was such a worrier. Personally, Josh was more disappointed at abandoning the trip he’d had planned after New York—a planned visit to one of his pet projects.
Recently One Life Travel had opened a non-profit making arm that organised charity expeditions. Want to walk the Great Wall of China to help save the whales? Or canoe up the Amazon to raise funds to fight heart disease? Then the new One Life Expeditions was the place to go.
The Amazon. He sighed. He’d been really looking forward to a spot of canoeing. He’d planned to join one of the latest expeditions to personally see if the company was getting it right—if the guides were good, the equipment safe, the staff knowledgeable.
This hands-on personal touch, a rigid policy of road-testing absolutely everything, was why what had started as a simple website offering good advice and cheap deals for backpackers had mushroomed into an award-winning travel corporation. They were in the business of offering once-in-a-lifetime trips, whether that be cheap flights and even cheaper hostels for the backpackers, or exclusive individually tailored trips with five-star elegance for a more discerning clientele.
He could see his mother kneeling on the lawn, planting petunias. His parents’ garden was beautiful, no doubt about that. But it was too…tame. And too small. No chance of running into snakes on the bowling green lawn or piranhas in the fish pond, more’s the pity.
‘It’ll be fine. Take Sara with you,’ he told Callum. His PA was so efficient it would almost be as if he were there in person. ‘She knows the deal inside out. I’ll call you in a week and give you an update.’
He said his goodbyes and left the cordless phone on the kitchen counter. Mum would nag him about that in a minute.
It seemed odd being back in this house, even sleeping in his old bedroom rather than in his own house on the other side of town. Nothing had changed here. Oh, there were different kitchen cabinets and a new three-piece suite, but the atmosphere, the essence of the place was the same. Comforting and stifling all at the same time.
Of course, Mum was delighted to have him here. She hardly let him out of her sight. But maybe that was to be expected. Nowadays he only really made it home for big celebrations, like dad’s sixtieth—had that really been six months ago?—and Christmas dinner. Well, most Christmas dinners. Last December he’d been left stranded in Nepal after a trek through the Himalayan foothills, his flight cancelled.
It was good to see his parents again, but he’d rather it had been under different circumstances. Six weeks ago, he’d got a frantic call from his mother letting him know that his father was undergoing emergency heart surgery. He’d flown straight home. It had been touch and go for a few days, but Dad was pulling through.
He didn’t want to think about the ten-hour flight home. It had been the first time in years that he hadn’t enjoyed the rush of take-off. All he’d been able to think about was how little he’d seen his parents in the last few months and how awful it would be if…
He shook his head and stepped through the open back door and walked towards his mother, leaving that thought behind in the bright and cheery kitchen. His feet were itchy. He wanted to be here for his father but, at the same time, now that Dad was on the mend he was starting to feel like a spare part.
Mum was now standing on the lawn, hands on hips, surveying her handiwork.
‘They look nice, Mum.’
She turned and looked at him, her face screwed up against the bright sunshine. ‘Not very exotic, I know, but I like them. It makes the place feel like home.’
Josh smiled back at her and his gaze drifted down the garden. It was a good-sized plot for a semi-detached house of this size, stretching back more than a hundred feet. A big garden, in London suburb terms. It looked lighter, somehow. The bottom of the garden had always seemed so shady in his childhood memories.
And then he realised something was missing.
‘Mum? What happened to the old apple tree?’
She wiped her hands on the front of her old gardening jeans and walked over to stand by his side. ‘We had some heavy winds this spring. Eighty mile an hour gusts at times.’ She shrugged. ‘Woke up the next morning to find most of the apple tree in next door’s garden.’
He instantly set off walking towards where the apple tree had once been. Only a stump was left. Suddenly he felt angry. That tree had been a huge part of his childhood. He and Ryan, the boy next door and his best friend, had spent more time in its branches during the summer months than they had with their feet on the earth. If he’d known the last time he’d been here that it would be the last time he’d see it, he would have…dunno…said a prayer or something.
He didn’t like graveyards. They were way too permanent. And he hadn’t been to visit the small marble headstone in St Mark’s churchyard, not even on the day of Ryan’s funeral. Instead, he’d come here to the apple tree. He’d climbed up into the highest branches and sat silently with his legs swinging. If only…
If only he’d realised that summer, when he’d been thirteen and Ryan had been fourteen, that it would be their last one together. He would have made sure they finished the tree-house they’d been planning to build in those old branches, not just left it as a few planks nailed in strategic places.
A cold, dark feeling swirled inside his stomach. It threatened to bubble up and overwhelm him. Suddenly his legs were moving and he was striding back towards the house.
His mother, as she always was in his thoughts of her when he was half a world away, was putting the kettle on for a cup of tea. Once back inside the kitchen, he shut the back door, even though the gentle breeze and the warm, buzzing sound of the bees in the lavender below the window would have been pleasant.
‘You still miss him, don’t you?’
He shrugged with just one shoulder, then looked at his feet. Mum would scold him for not using the doormat on his way in. He went back and rectified the situation. When he looked up, she was giving him one of those don’t-think-you-can-fool-me looks.
What good would it do to tell her that, on one level, he still expected Ryan to barge in through the back door and charm his mother into giving him a slice of her famous Victoria sponge? He looked out of the window into the Chambers’s garden next door.
‘I haven’t seen Fern since I’ve been back.’
His mother reached into a cupboard and pulled out the teapot. ‘Her mother says she’s very busy at work.’
He nodded. That was Fern. Dedicated, hard-working, loyal to a fault. ‘I hope she’s not overdoing it.’
His mother laughed. ‘You’re as bad as Jim and Helen! The poor girl gets nagged and smothered at every turn. No wonder she moved out.’
Ah, but Mum didn’t know about the promise. The day of Ryan’s funeral, hidden up in the old apple tree, he’d adopted the girl next door as his honorary little sister and vowed to watch out for her. Oh, he’d teased and tormented her just as Ryan would have done, but he’d protected her too. To his own cost sometimes.
Mum reached for the tea caddy. ‘Don’t think much of her flatmate, though. A bit of a wild thing.’
His features hardened. Fern had a flatmate? Male or female?
‘Is…is she seeing anyone?’
His mother shook her head. ‘Not that I know of. There was someone serious last year. I was sure they were on the verge of settling down but then he upped and disappeared.’
‘Am I allowed to find him, then punch him?’
Billowing steam poured from the kettle, matching his mood nicely. A shrill whistle announced it was at boiling point and he automatically turned the gas off. The kitchen was silent again.
‘She’s not nine any more, you know,’ his mother said.
He knew. It was just easier to think of her that way.
‘Like I said, you’re as bad as her parents. You all want to wrap her up in cotton wool. She puts up with it for their sake, because of Ryan, but mark my words, she’s not going to thank you for joining in.’
Nonsense. Fern loved seeing him. He was her favourite honorary big brother.
Mum reached forward and ruffled his hair.
‘Mu-um!’
‘Not that I could ever pin you down long enough to wrap you up in anything.’ She walked over to the back door and opened it, letting the warm sunshine in. ‘But I’m scared to death half the time when you’re off doing those extreme sports. I can sympathise with the desire to keep your only child safe.’
‘I’ve told you before; I can look after myself.’
Time to change the subject.
‘Are you sure you won’t let me pay for that holiday, Mum? You and Dad have wanted to go back to Loch Lomond for years. It’d be five-star luxury all the way, no expense spared. Dad would get the break he needs and so would you.’
‘Tempting, but no. I’m standing firm on what I said last year. Your father and I don’t want any more of your money; we’d rather see more of you.’
‘You’re not still sticking to that stupid agreement, are you?’
‘I certainly am. For every hundred pounds you want to give us, I want an hour of your time in return. I heard that’s a pretty good deal for a major player like you.’ She winked at him. Actually winked at him.
‘Yes, Mum, but I’m supposed to get the money, not the other way round and, anyway, you’ve seen plenty of me recently.’
‘The amount you’ve been away the last few years, I reckon you still owe me plenty.’
Not for the first time, Josh regretted that he’d got his stubborn streak from his mother. He was just going to have to find a loophole.
She gave him another one of those looks. ‘Go and check on your father and see if he wants a cup of tea.’ Josh started out of the kitchen but she called him back. ‘And puts this back where it belongs!’
He grinned and took the cordless phone from her, then tiptoed back into the living room to place it in its cradle. Dad was snoring now. The paper was fluttering madly with every exhalation and Josh lifted it off him. Better to leave him. Dad needed his rest.
But there was only so much rest Josh could take. He was used to excitement. Action. Adventure. Yes, he wanted to be home and help Mum out while Dad recovered, but the biggest thrill he’d had in his six weeks here had been the rumour of a burglary at number forty-three. He needed something to do before he went insane. Something he could do in London for a few days, just to stop himself going stark raving bonkers.
Funnily enough, it was as he was folding Dad’s paper up to put it in the recycling bin that he noticed the advert, tucked away at the back. His adrenaline levels rose just reading it.

It was Tuesday already and she was still alive. Not only that, but she was starting to enjoy herself. Okay, she’d had a couple of meals she’d rather forget and had hidden behind her hands at a horror movie but, on the flip side, she’d unearthed a talent for salsa dancing. Who would have known her hips could swish and swirl like that? Even after one lesson she could feel the difference in the way she walked.
She smiled across the small round café table at Lisette and took another bite out of her wrap. Her friend had been on to something after all. Only she wasn’t going to confess that to Lisette. It would only spark off another round of crazy ideas.
Still, she was looking forward to Sunday morning, when her life would be her own again. Only four more days. How hard could it be?
‘Here’s Simon now,’ Lisette said, waving towards the doorway.
Fern turned round and smiled. Simon was a nice guy. She’d got to know him quite well, planning various fundraising activities for their local volunteer group.
‘All set for tomorrow?’ she asked as he pulled out a chair and crumpled into it.
He nodded and added a breathless, ‘Yes’ for good measure. ‘Sorry I’m late. We had a last-minute person sign up to do the bungee jump and I had to sort out the paperwork.’
Lisette grinned. ‘Is he hot?’
Simon looked blankly at her.
‘Only asking!’ She stood up and pulled her purse out of her handbag. ‘I’m going to be decadent and have a triple caramel muffin. Anyone else want one?’ She looked pointedly at Fern. ‘Fern?’
See? This was easy, if not downright enjoyable. A guilt-free muffin. She couldn’t say no, after all, could she?
‘Yes.’ She said the word slowly, giving it added weight, and Lisette’s eyes lit up with a mischievous twinkle. ‘I would love a muffin. Thank you very much.’
Simon coughed and shook his head. Lisette wiggled off to the counter.
‘Fern?’ His pale blond hair flopped over his forehead and he pushed it back. He was wearing his trademark earnest look.
‘Yes, Simon?’
‘I was wondering what time you’d be able to get there tomorrow to help with the registration forms and everything.’
‘Okay. What time do you want me?’
Oh, dear! That had been such an innocent remark and still a blush crept up Simon’s neck and stained his cheeks.
‘I mean, how early do I need to be there?’
His hair flopped over his face again and this time he didn’t bother to push it back. He shrugged and looked back at her through his fringe. ‘Eight o’clock? If that’s not too early?’
Actually, she’d been hoping that it’d be more like ten o’clock. This was the first day she’d taken off work in months and she’d really been looking forward to a lie-in.
‘That’s fine. It’s all in a good cause, isn’t it?’
Simon looked nervously towards the counter, where Lisette was flirting shamelessly with the barista. ‘Actually, Fern, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…’
Uh-oh.
‘Simon, I…Oh, look! Here comes Lisette!’
Her flatmate returned, grinning, with two caramel muffins and the barista’s phone number on a scrap of paper. Just in time! She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what Simon had been about to ask her and she really didn’t want to hear that question, not this week.
He was a nice enough guy: polite, sensitive, cared about other people. She guessed he’d been on the verge of asking her out for about two months now. Why, oh why, did he have to pick this week to pluck up his courage? They’d be together all morning tomorrow, organising the charity bungee jump, and she was sure this wouldn’t be the last she’d hear of it. She knew she’d have to say yes to a date.
Would that really be so horrible? He was good company—a little intense at times, maybe, but he was fairly good-looking in a public schoolboy kind of way.
It was just that there was no zap. No chemistry. But, then again, she’d only felt that little lightning strike once in her life so far. She shook her head. Zap didn’t mean anything. It didn’t mean long-term. It didn’t even signal compatibility on more than a physical level. And it certainly didn’t stop you getting your heart broken and withering away from an unrequited teenage crush. Zap, in other words, was dangerous.
No, Simon was a good choice, a safe bet. Maybe she would say yes when he asked, even if he stuttered and stalled until after midnight on Saturday. There’d be time to generate a zap. Sexual chemistry was supposed to be all between the ears, anyway. That was what Lisette had said after she’d finished reading her latest self-help book.
She unwrapped her muffin carefully and placed it on a plate. ‘Simon says we need to be there at eight tomorrow, Lis.’
Simon shuffled in his seat. ‘Actually, those who are actually doing the jump probably don’t need to turn up until nine-thirty.’
Lisette, who had just bitten into her muffin—still in its case—swallowed and flicked the crumbs away from the corner of her mouth with a finger. ‘Actually…’ her voice was muffled as she chewed and swallowed her mouthful ‘…I have some bad news about that.’ She scrunched up her face and looked at Fern through half an eyelid.
Oh, no. She had a really bad feeling about this.
‘Don’t look at me like that. “Bad Cop, Good Cop” want to do more scenes than originally planned and we’re starting filming tomorrow instead of Thursday. It’s not something I could have predicted and I can’t afford to turn the job down.’
Simon looked panic-stricken. ‘What about all your sponsor money?’
‘Well, I had an idea about that…’ She turned to look at Fern and Fern’s skin broke out in goosebumps. ‘Fern, my old buddy, my old friend—’
Fern jumped out of her seat and pressed the fingers of one hand flat against Lisette’s mouth.
No! No way!
Her voice was reedy and shrill, and much louder than she’d anticipated, when she finally got it to work. ‘Lisette, don’t you dare…!’

CHAPTER TWO
THE noise in the coffee shop instantly dropped to a dull murmur. A teaspoon clinked against a saucer. Fern froze and noticed that not a few pairs of eyes were looking in her direction. She sat down with a bump, her fingers still in contact with Lisette’s lips in a vain attempt to hold back her question.
It did no good; Lisette just mumbled against them, her lips squashing into odd shapes. ‘Will you take my place and do the jump for me?’
Fern glared at her flatmate. Slowly, she pulled her fingers away and folded her hands in her lap, never once blinking or breaking eye contact with Lisette. It was only when she heard a rustle to her left that she remembered Simon was still there.
‘Would you, Fern?’ he said meekly.
She turned sharply to look at him and he shrank back. Better downgrade that glare to a firm-and-in-control look. She took a few seconds to make the adjustment. Simon breathed out.
‘Go on. Answer the man’s question.’ Was that a tremor she could hear in Lisette’s voice? Fern flicked a look in her soon-to-be-ex-flatmate’s direction. Lisette had the good sense to stop grinning.
She took a deep breath. Any other week and there was no way this would have even figured on her radar. A bungee jump! She couldn’t do a bungee jump. What was Lisette thinking?
But the question had been asked and Simon was looking at her so hopefully. He was counting on her—the Leukaemia Research Trust was counting on her. And if she refused, they’d also lose out on the five hundred pounds Lisette had promised her if she fulfilled her stupid challenge.
She blew a breath out and let her body sag into the hard chair.
‘Yes. I’ll do it.’
Simon looked ready to hug her. After a few moments’ awkward hesitation, he lurched forward and planted a wet kiss on her cheek. She looked at him. Not so much a zap as a squelch.
‘Thank you so much! If you take Lisette’s place we should still reach our target.’
She felt numb and could hardly listen to the rest of the conversation as Simon grabbed a cup of coffee and wittered on about how great it was going to be tomorrow. By the time he’d finished she only had five minutes of her break left. For the first time in her life she was going to be late back from lunch, because there were some things she needed to say to Lisette that just couldn’t wait.
They both watched in silence as Simon mumbled his goodbyes and flapped through the coffee shop door, narrowly avoiding sending an elderly woman flying.
‘There is no way I can do a bungee jump!’
‘Yes, you can!’
‘No. I can’t.’
Lisette raised her eyebrows and pressed her mouth together in a rueful expression. ‘Too late. You’ve already said you’ll do it.’
Fern sighed and her brows crinkled together until a small crease appeared at the top of her nose. There had to be some way out of this. Some legitimate way that she could pull out without jeopardising all the money. Hang on a second…
She relaxed back into her chair and folded her arms. ‘When we discussed terms and conditions, you said I could refuse to do anything dangerous.’
Lisette raised one eyebrow. ‘Nice try, but the jump has been approved health-and-safety-wise. You double checked all the paperwork yourself, remember? So why, if it’s safe for all the other volunteers, would it not be safe for you?’
Drat! Caught out by her own efficiency.
‘You don’t have to do it, if you really don’t want to.’ Lisette scraped around her cappuccino cup with a teaspoon.
‘I don’t?’ The sense of relief was like the sun coming out unexpectedly on a cloudy day.
The teaspoon made its way into Lisette’s mouth upside down and she licked the foam off it. ‘No one is forcing you to do anything. But you will forfeit my five hundred pounds and the four hundred pounds in sponsor money people have pledged me.’
Fern spluttered. ‘Four hundred pounds! How did you manage that?’
‘Remember that period drama I did last month when I was an eighteenth-century milkmaid?’
Fern nodded, not exactly sure where this was going.
‘Okay, well, that corset made my boobs look really great. And there were lots of hunky male villagers with nothing to do but mill around for hours and stare at my cleavage…’

Josh ran up the escalator stairs two at a time and considered vaulting over the ticket barrier at the top. Under the watchful gaze of the London Underground official, he jammed his ticket through the machine and sprinted across the ticket hall and out on to the busy street.
He was late. Almost.
People were rushing past him, eyes down towards the pavement. He stopped and let them flow around him. Although London was technically home and, by definition, should be classed as boring, he couldn’t help loving the bustle and excitement of the city.
He turned round on the spot, scanning the horizon. All those pavement-gazers took it all for granted. They weren’t paying attention to the beautiful architecture or the clear blue sky criss-crossed with aeroplane trails, or even the two hundred foot crane towering by the bank of the Thames. He grinned to himself and set off towards it.
Good old Mum. She’d heard about this charity bungee jump from Helen Chambers and knew it would be just up his street. This was just for starters. Main course was the torn-out advert sitting in his back pocket.
He’d been working non-stop for the last six months and desperately needed some fun. Why work hard unless he could play hard? He hadn’t had time in his schedule to go snowboarding or white-water rafting recently. The South America trip would have been a good substitute, but he’d just have to have an adventure in London instead.
By the time he reached the foot of the crane, the first couple of volunteers had already jumped and another was dangling upside down while he was lowered to the ground. Josh scanned the crowd as he registered and started towards the little lift that would take him to the top of the crane.
He needed a partner for his next project and there must be at least one guy here who was up for an impromptu escapade. Someone physically fit with half a brain. Someone who’d be prepared to hare around the city for four days and possibly go home with five thousand pounds in his pocket.
Once he was at the top of the crane and waiting in line, he checked out his fellow jumpers more carefully. He made a little face to himself. Not really what he’d expected. A couple of senior citizens, a lanky guy with the look of a frozen rabbit and a few girls.
Another person jumped and the line shuffled forward. Seven more people to go and then he’d have his adrenaline high. There was nothing to beat it. He watched as the next volunteer had her ankles strapped into the harness.
She was standing stock still, staring out across the city. A lot of the others had clucked and fidgeted as the safety checks had been made, but not her. He tipped his head slightly on one side. Not bad legs either. And beautiful pale blonde hair that the wind was teasing bit by bit out of her ponytail. He allowed himself a small smile. Perhaps he’d try and get her number when they were both on terra firma again.
He liked his women brave and feisty. Sure, the relationships didn’t last long, fizzling out quickly, but it was a heck of a ride while it lasted. He had a few more weeks to kill in London. Why not?
And then she turned to look back at the line of people behind her and he knew exactly why not.
He didn’t need to know her number when he already knew her middle name. Not only that, but he knew that she hated Brussels sprouts, loved vanilla ice cream and had a tiny crescent-shaped scar on her temple. Knew it because he’d put it there accidentally when she’d been seven and he’d been messing around with an old tennis racquet.
Fern? Ryan’s shy little sister was doing a bungee jump? He shook his head.
It was her turn to jump but she seemed frozen. A picture flashed in his brain—Fern, standing at the end of the diving board on a joint family holiday, her tiny arms clamped to her sides and her chin tipped up. He’d seen the look of fear in her eyes then and he didn’t have to see all of her face to know it was there now. He knew what he had to do.
The other jumpers were starting to mutter and he pushed past them until he was standing directly behind her. She jerked her head round and a small croak came out of her mouth. Her eyes were glazed over and she hadn’t even registered his presence.
He knew she’d kick herself if she didn’t do this, just the same way that she had sulked for three days after he’d talked her down from the high diving board. Ryan had teased her mercilessly, forgetting—as Ryan conveniently often had—that it had been his goading that had forced her up there in the first place.
He stepped forward and placed his hands around her waist and whispered encouraging words in her ear. Exactly what words he wasn’t sure, because all he could think about was how warm she felt beneath his fingers and how there definitely hadn’t been that much curve there last time he’d grabbed her round the middle.
He’d done so many jumps like this he couldn’t even count them, but he was pretty sure it was Fern’s first time. So he carefully talked her through it, all the time trying to keep his voice steady and soothing, which was harder than anticipated, because he kept getting distracted by the smell of her hair.
He felt her muscles relax as he counted her down and then, before he could analyse the sudden urge to grab on to her and squeeze her close to him, she had fallen away from him and he was left hugging empty space.

He spread his arms wide—stretching to the tips of his fingers—lifted his face to the sun, rocked forward on to the balls of his feet and let gravity do the rest. A yell of pure joy erupted from deep inside his chest. He loved the first moments of a bungee jump, when the exquisite sense of freedom tangled with the natural human desire for self-preservation. Man, it was a rush!
He wondered if Fern had felt the same way. He hoped so. And, as the elastic tugged tight, giving him a split-second of stillness before he was propelled upwards again, he had an epiphany.
He didn’t need a man to help him win the ten thousand pounds; he needed a woman. A woman who was clever and resilient and knew this city inside out. A woman he could trust.
He needed Fern.

The small stones on the dusty ground were starting to dig into her bottom, but she didn’t care. She was going to be filthy when she stood up, but she didn’t care about that either. All that mattered was that large sections of her body’s surface area—namely, her rear end, legs and feet—were in contact with solid ground.
Her back was hunched forward and she was staring at her knees as she sat there motionless, dragging in deep breaths.
She’d never realised how much she loved the ground before now. She’d always taken it for granted—had stomped on it, had walked along it in spiky high heels, had generally ignored it. It had taken being spectacularly separated from it to make her realise how precious it really was.
After another minute she was ready to take her eyes off the dirt and focus on the horizon. The sight of the base of the great crane made her feel all fluttery again.
Had it really been Josh up there?
She deliberately kept her gaze level with the skyline, the sparkling office blocks and grand old buildings that dared to reach heavenwards. The bungee cord was free of any weight and swung aimlessly in the breeze. It must be over. She dragged herself to standing and brushed the grit off her bottom and the backs of her thighs with a few quick swipes of her hands.
That voice in her ear, those hands around her waist—had they been real? Now she was back with her feet planted on the earth it seemed like a half-remembered dream. She must have conjured the image up, been subconsciously taken back in time to a similar incident when he’d been there to help her. Funnily enough, in comparison, the memory of the diving board incident was fresh and clear: Bournemouth, over twenty years ago. That day, an unsuspecting eleven-year-old boy had won the eternal admiration of one small girl.
The murmur of voices behind her disturbed her thoughts. She put her hands on her hips and stared up at the crane.
He still had it. Her admiration. That and a bucketload more.
But she hadn’t seen Josh in more than a year and he was more likely in Timbuktu or Bora Bora, working to put One Life Travel more firmly on the map. His mother was always boasting about her son’s new millionaire status and the last time the Adamses and the Chamberses had had a get-together—without Josh, of course—Pauline had been full of Josh’s new venture. Now, by helping charities organise and run expeditions, he could help hundreds of people every day, not only the people who took part in the expeditions, giving them an experience of a lifetime, but also the charities they raised money for.
Not that people really thought about raising money for an organisation. They thought about the people. People like Ryan. Wasn’t that why she was here today? Why she’d agreed to this stupid challenge of Lisette’s?
Thinking of stupid challenges and raising money, it was high time she made her way over to the registration table and got a signature to confirm she’d done the bungee jump. Then Lisette could go and collect all that cleavage-induced sponsor money. She smiled to herself. She was really looking forward to seeing Lisette’s face when she handed her the form.
Above the general hum of conversation she heard a voice. ‘Fern?’
It must be Simon. She wasn’t surprised he’d come scurrying over as soon as he could. She pushed her hair out of her eyes and turned round, bracing herself for the squelch.
She was most magnificently disappointed as a fully-fledged zap hit her straight between the eyes.
Josh Adams! It had been real after all. Her mouth opened and closed.
As always, he knew just what to do and gathered her up into the most enormous bear-hug. Tears sprang to her eyes as the overwhelming ache of months spent missing him without properly realising it crashed over her. She buried her face in his shoulder, letting his T-shirt absorb the moisture.
A gentle cough somewhere to their right disturbed them.
Fern pulled out of Josh’s arms, although their eyes were locked on each other and they were both grinning like maniacs. ‘Simon, meet my old friend Josh,’ she said, still staring and still doing the maniac thing.
Josh gave her a wink and tore his gaze away to look at Simon and offered him his hand. Fern turned to look at him too. Yep, there was the squelch she’d been expecting. It didn’t even hit her right between the eyes. It just kind of wafted towards her half-heartedly and landed in a blob at her feet.
‘Nice to meet you,’ Josh said as he released Simon’s hand. ‘Are you Fern’s…?’
Simon, who had been looking uncharacteristically tense round the jaw, brightened and opened his mouth to speak.
‘Friend!’ she blurted out, before he had a chance to mouth the first syllable. ‘Simon is a really good friend of mine. He did most of the organisation for the bungee jump.’
Josh clapped him on the shoulder with the flat of his hand and almost sent Simon flying. ‘Good man. In that case, let’s get over there and sign these forms so the money can start rolling in. After that—’he looked at Fern and her tummy did a triple-flip ‘—I’m taking you out for coffee so we can catch up on the last few months.’
She raised an eyebrow. ‘Try eighteen.’
He frowned. ‘Has it really been that long?’
She nodded and gave him a rueful smile. How could she forget that Christmas at the Adams’s when he’d come home with the awful Amber? The darn woman had hardly been able to leave him alone. It had been embarrassing to watch her grope him over—and probably under—the table while they’d had Christmas lunch. Not that Josh had seemed to mind. Yes, that had been the year Fern had gone home early with a migraine.
He frowned again. ‘In that case, I’d better buy you a really big coffee.’
‘That’s more like it. One with syrup in and whipped cream on top.’
Josh pulled a face, but she was undeterred. She was feeling rather fuzzy and low blood sugar was as good an explanation as any. Truth was she’d have drunk river water if it would give her a chance to spend a little more time with him before he dashed off to the next far-flung place. They’d been close once. Almost like brother and sister. Almost.
They had the kind of bond that didn’t require constant telephone messages or texts, or even letters—and you could forget Christmas cards. She doubted Josh even had a list—but she’d seen too little of him in the last few years. It would be nice to have a chance to talk to someone who remembered Ryan.
Almost two decades had passed since her brother had died and the friends she’d known at the time were somebody else’s friends now. And there was no point taking a trip down memory lane with her parents. They still found the whole subject far too distressing.
‘Come on, then,’ she said, tugging at his arm. ‘There’s a nice little coffee shop down by the river.’
Josh saluted her, then turned to smile at Simon. ‘Don’t you just love it when she gets all bossy like this?’
Simon opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out. In the end, he just nodded. ‘Bye,’ he croaked as they disappeared off the brown field site and joined the jostling city again.

Fern stood behind Josh in the queue at the coffee shop and tried desperately not to slide into a time warp where she was a shy thirteen-year-old harbouring a desperate crush on the boy next door. Unrequited, of course.
You’re a grown woman now, she told herself. Enough.
But all her stern warnings couldn’t banish the giddy feeling in her tummy when he turned round, winked and handed her a cardboard cup with a plastic lid. ‘There you go. One large mocha with whipped cream.’
The giddiness upgraded itself into proper vertigo and she hadn’t even got the sugar rush from the chocolate yet.
‘Thanks.’
She knew what would happen now. She would drop her coffee, dribble it down her front or tip it all over him. Josh had always had this effect on her—at least since she’d had hormones in sufficient numbers for them to short-circuit her coordination. Since then, the warm, safe feeling she’d always got when he’d been around was counterbalanced with a jittery nervousness.
He’d always teased her for being clumsy, but the truth was she was only ever like it around him. And, after fifteen years of beating her hormones into submission, they had decided to stage one last revolt. Little traitors.
‘Let’s walk,’ he said, nodding towards the door. She readily agreed. Morning coffee was blending into early lunch and the tables were packed tightly. Too many elbows and chair legs to avoid.
Once clear of the café, they crossed the road and ambled along the Thames Embankment. She loved the wide stone paths and solid walls, the outrageously ornate Victorian lampposts set at regular intervals. Bulbous-headed black fish gazed at her from the base of the lamps and wound their tails up the posts.
After walking for a few minutes in silence, they naturally gravitated to a quiet stretch of wall and stopped to lean on the smooth granite, their cups of coffee balanced in front of them. Josh nodded towards the crane poking above the skyline.
‘That was quite a rush, wasn’t it?’
Rush? Never had she felt such pure terror as when she’d been hurtling towards the ground, sure the bungee cord would snap or that her ankles would slide loose.
‘Yes,’ she mumbled, glad she had a good excuse to lie. Josh would never understand.
‘I thought for a moment, when I heard you say no, that you were going to chicken out.’
Fern stopped watching the light play on the water as it lapped against the wall below her. ‘I said no?’
Josh nodded. ‘I think so.’
Fern bit her lip. Darn, darn, darn. All that for nothing! She’d shot herself in the foot before she’d even jumped. She felt like giving herself a hefty slap on the forehead, but that would have required an explanation she wasn’t ready to give. Instead she turned round and leaned her bottom against the cool stone and stared at the traffic racing along Victoria Embankment.
‘Come on, Fern. Don’t beat yourself up about it. Everyone is a little nervous on their first jump. It’s only natural.’
She twisted just her head to look at him. ‘Were you?’
He half-coughed, half-laughed. ‘Well, no…but that doesn’t matter, does it?’
Fern could feel the coffee churning inside her and looked down at her stomach. Yesterday, she’d been so sure this challenge of Lisette’s was going to be a piece of cake and now she’d blown it. Stupid, stupid girl! All she’d had to do was say ‘yes’. Such a tiny word. Not that difficult. Lisette was right; she was far too used to saying the opposite and a moment of subconscious muttering had cost the Leukaemia Research Trust nine hundred pounds.
‘What you said up there doesn’t matter,’ he continued. ‘It’s cancelled out by the fact that…Hey, look at me…’
She looked sideways at him, her head still bowed forward. He raised his eyebrows, waiting. There was no point resisting Josh when he got all determined like this. She turned to face him and looked straight into his melting brown eyes.
‘It’s cancelled out by the fact that you did it anyway. You turned the no into a yes by your actions. And actions are what count.’
She blinked. That sounded a bit like wiggling out on a technicality. Could she just gloss over it? Tell Lisette she hadn’t said no all week?
The smallest of smiles started on her lips, barely a curve. Focusing on the small print, Lisette hadn’t exactly said she couldn’t say the word no, had she? She just wasn’t allowed to use it as an answer to a direct question. And she hadn’t been asked a question on top of the crane. She’d been talking to herself.
It truly didn’t count. A sigh of relief escaped her lips and she rested her elbows on the parapet once more. Josh’s left forearm was only six inches away from her right one. Not close enough to suggest the intimacy of a boyfriend-girlfriend relationship, but close enough for her to feel the heat of him.
Josh moved the arm closest to her and gave her a gentle prod in the ribs with his elbow. ‘What are you smiling to yourself about?’
‘I really did it, didn’t I?’
He grinned back at her. ‘Yes, you really did. You were really brave.’
The smile waned and the crease reappeared between her brows. ‘Don’t be silly! I’m not brave, not like you. You must have done hundreds of those jumps.’
He sidled up closer so their arms were touching. The breath caught in her throat.
‘You’ve got it the wrong way round. I’m not brave when I do a bungee jump. It doesn’t take anything for me to do it. I love it. But you…’
The way he was looking at her, full of warmth and admiration, made her mouth dry.
‘…I know you’re not mad keen on heights. For you, it was brave.’ One corner of Josh’s mouth lifted in a smile. ‘And that’s why I have a proposition for you.’

CHAPTER THREE
FERN’S eyes widened. Was this it? The moment she had dreamed about as a teenager, lying face up on her bed, listening to power ballads and staring at the posters on the wall? Was this the moment when the scales would fall from Josh’s eyes and he would finally see what had been under his nose all along? He was at least a decade behind schedule.
Her silly heart fluttered against her ribcage like a trapped bird. ‘What…what kind of proposition?’
Josh leaned towards her, a glint in his eye, as if he were making her part of some thrilling conspiracy. He was close enough for her to see the olive-green flecks in his irises and catch a waft of his aftershave.
‘I think we should spend a lot of time together over the next few days.’
‘You do?’ Her voice squeaked the same way it had every time she’d had to talk to him when she’d been a teenager. How embarrassing. All she’d been capable of doing back then was watching his lips move, hoping against hope that he’d stop mid-sentence, lean forward and…
As if he could read her mind, he came closer, near enough for the words he whispered to tickle her hair. ‘How does five grand sound to you?’
Five thousand pounds? He was offering her money to go on a date with him? Didn’t he know she’d do it for free? Heck, there’d been a time when she’d have given the contents of her savings account for such a privilege.
She shook her head. The lack of oxygen in all those high altitude places he’d trekked in must have interfered with his brain.
He suddenly stepped away and jumped up to sit on the edge of the wall overlooking the river. ‘Don’t say no before you’ve heard me out.’
A little laugh tickled at the back of her throat. God bless Lisette and her stupid bet!
‘Come up here.’ He held out one hand and patted the space on the wall beside him with the other. Now, climbing on walls was not something she normally did. They were usually there for a reason. In this case, a twenty foot drop with smelly river water at the bottom. But the look in his eyes told her it was easy—no big deal—and she placed her hand in his and wedged her trainer on the lip at the bottom of the wall. He tugged and for a moment she was airborne and then, somehow, she was sitting on the wall next to him, her feet dangling above the paving stones.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ragged scrap of newspaper. She squinted in the bright sunshine as he began to unfold it.
‘You and me together for four days in London…’ he muttered as he concentrated on flattening the paper out against his thighs.
Four days? This moment had definitely been worth the wait. Her chest seemed to expand, fill with sunshine.
Encouraged by her smile, Josh slapped the scrap of paper with the flat of his hand. ‘I knew you were the right person to ask, the moment I saw you jump off that crane!’
Fern blinked. This conversation was not going anything like it had all those years ago in her daydreams. She’d always imagined that the realisation that she was The One For Him would hit him like a bolt from the blue, rendering him unable to anything but sweep her into his arms and declare his eternal love for her. In reality, it was an awful lot more confusing.
She turned to look at him, leaning forward and resting her weight on her hands as they gripped the edge of the wall. ‘What exactly did you know when you saw me jump off that crane?’ No harm in giving him a prod back in the right direction.
He looked puzzled. She raised her eyebrows and smiled softly in silent encouragement. Typical Josh. His quick brain would race ahead and, between one sentence and the next, his imagination would take so many leaps that he was on a totally different subject when he started to speak again, often so excited by his ideas that he’d forget that he hadn’t said it all out loud and that those listening hadn’t made the jump with him. Thinking outside the box was what he excelled at.
She summarised where they’d got to so far in the conversation, hoping it would jog his memory about what needed to come next. ‘A proposition, remember? Five thousand pounds…you and me for four days in London…’ Her pulse, which had calmed slightly in the last few minutes, started to panic again. ‘What’s this all about?’
He waved the piece of paper in front of her nose. ‘The treasure hunt, of course.’
She snatched the piece of paper from him and held it still. Her heart had obviously banged against her ribcage once too often, because now it seemed to have slowed almost to nothing and she could hear the rush of the river in her ears.
‘…and you want me to be your partner?’
He jumped off the wall and stepped in front of her. For a moment she thought he was going to take her hands, but then he fidgeted and stuffed them in his pockets. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’ The word came out like a strangled cough. She tried again. ‘Why me?’
He stopped shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looked her straight in the eye. ‘Because I think you’d be the perfect partner.’
Inside her head she was screaming with frustration. How many times as a teenager had she hoped to hear those words? That was the one thing he’d never been able to understand. But what he was asking her now wasn’t what she’d yearned for back then. He had no idea he’d ignited a painful and distant memory.
Four days with Josh. Once upon a time, she’d have thought that was heaven; now she was starting to consider it more as purgatory. Being with Josh would be wonderful. And last week, if someone had told her he was coming home and she would get to spend some quality time with him, she’d have been thrilled. But last week she’d considered herself over that all-consuming teenage crush.
The adrenaline from the jump must have sent her system into overdrive, because now it was back with a vengeance and she was likely to say stupid things, do stupid things and, most dangerously, feel stupid things. For Josh.
It had already started. It was only an hour since they’d met again and she was getting all her signals crossed, imagining there’d be moments and bolts from the blue and—heaven help her poor confused heart rate—kisses.
Four days and she’d be in too deep to laugh it all off and pretend it didn’t matter, as she had done the day after her sixteenth birthday party. Four days would be far too much and never enough. Not when he’d disappear off to Kathmandu or Papua New Guinea in a couple of weeks.
She shivered. Water slapped aggressively against the river wall behind her as the wake of a passing boat met solid resistance. Her fingers gripped tighter on the edge of the wall and she slowly slid herself down until her feet touched solid ground again. She pushed past Josh and folded her arms across her middle.
‘Sorry, Josh. I can’t.’

She was worrying the edge of her T-shirt with the tips of her fingers and Josh knew she wasn’t as clear-cut about this answer as her tone and body language implied.
What was the problem? The treasure hunt was going to be a blast. And he knew Fern would have fun if she would just give it a chance. However, she didn’t look as if she was thinking about how much fun it was going to be, with that faint scowl knitting her brows together. No, knowing Fern, she was worrying about something. Practicalities, probably.
Practical. That word described Fern perfectly. He remembered a time when she’d been six and had skipped up the garden and warned him and Ryan that the shed roof would never take their weight. He should have listened. His leg had been in plaster for six weeks and he still had a scar on his thigh.
So, he’d talk practicalities with her. Maybe then she’d give in to that little voice in her head he knew was just egging her on to say yes.
‘The first prize is five thousand pounds cash and five thousand pounds in UK holiday vouchers.’
A slightly hysterical giggle erupted from deep inside her. ‘Holiday vouchers? Why in heaven do you need holiday vouchers?’ She paused. ‘Come to think of it, you don’t really need the cash either.’
‘So why am I doing it?’ See, this was why he needed her. They knew each other so well he could guess what she was going to say before the words left her mouth. ‘Partly because it’s going to be fun, but partly because Mum and Dad need a break and they won’t let me pay for it. I’ve tried, really I have. But they might accept these vouchers. As you said, it’s not like I have a use for them…’
Now he was frowning too.
‘They’re both so stressed. Dad is frustrated that he can’t be the workaholic he knows how to be and Mum is terrified he’s going to get bored and put himself in danger by doing too much too soon.’
The mini-scowl eased from her face a little. He decided to carry on while there was a thaw. ‘I was planning to send them off to Scotland where they had their honeymoon. Mum’s always said how good for the soul those mountains are.’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s a lovely idea.’
‘And what about you, Fern? I’m sure you could find something sensible to spend the money on. Pay off a bit of your mortgage or something. Didn’t that Simon guy mention something about the Leukaemia Research Trust—’ at this she perked up and he knew he was on the right track ‘—some appeal they’re holding at the moment?’
‘I expect he mentioned something like that,’ she said quietly, the pull of conflicting emotions clouding her pale blue eyes.
He laid a hand on her arm, but stopped short of sliding it around her shoulders and pulling her to him as he had the urge to do. As he’d had the urge to do ever since his fingers had felt the soft curve of her waist before she’d fallen out of his hands. He suddenly felt very careless for letting her go that easily.
‘Come on, Fern. The possibility of five thousand pounds and four days in my scintillating company. What’s not to like?’
She shook her head, but couldn’t help smiling. ‘You always were a bit of a big-head.’
‘And you used to say you didn’t see enough of your honorary big brother.’
She shook her head. ‘Seriously, I can’t just drop everything. I have work to do.’
‘What sort of work?’
‘Well, my job involves site visits so I can assess risk factors. The insurance company then uses my report to decide the premium.’
‘And how many visits have you got planned over the next few days?’
She unfolded and refolded her arms. ‘Well, none actually—’ she held up her hand to stop him interrupting ‘—but I’d really been looking forward to having a chance to clear my desk and catch up with the filing.’
He gave her an incredulous look. ‘Sweetheart, filing can always wait for a few more days.’
She glared back at him. ‘It’s too short notice. I can’t just not show up tomorrow.’
‘Why? Have you used up all your annual leave?’
She opened her mouth and shut it again. Then she looked at the floor. ‘Yes,’ she said with the vague hint of a question in her voice. He knew that routine.
‘Fern?’
She looked up.
‘Are you fibbing?’
She blew out an exasperated puff of air and the slightly guilty look in her eyes made him want to chuckle. ‘Yes.’
Their gazes locked and the urge to chuckle leached away. ‘You could ask your boss, couldn’t you?’
She tutted and mumbled some kind of answer as she pulled a mobile phone out of her neat little brown leather rucksack. He tried not to smile too hard as she pressed a few buttons and walked away from him, holding it to her ear. He also tried not to stare too hard at her bottom as she took slow, steady steps away from him, deep in conversation with someone else.
When had Fern started walking like that? With all that sway and fluid grace? She wiped the smile off his face completely by turning round suddenly and catching him in the act. He tried to look nonchalant. Maybe she hadn’t noticed.
He couldn’t work out how the conversation was going. Fern wasn’t looking pleased, but she was nodding more than she was shaking her head. Finally, she removed the phone from her ear, punched the button and took quick steps towards him.
‘Well? Did he say yes?’
She sighed and nodded just the once. He swore that, as she tucked her phone away back in her bag, he heard her mutter something like, ‘It must be infectious.’ When she had zipped every last zip and popped every last popper she looked up.
‘Come on, Fern. It’ll be fun. What do you say?’
Half of her answer was muffled against his chest as he dragged her into a triumphant hug, ignoring his earlier instinct to keep a bit of distance. So he kept wanting to touch her. So what? What were impulses for, if not for following?

Fern was so used to the rumbles, screeches and hoots of the London traffic that she filtered it all out as she made her way from Embankment tube station up the Strand towards Trafalgar Square. Josh had said to meet him there at eleven-thirty and it was already twenty-five past. She picked up speed.
Gone were the glorious blue skies of yesterday. The weather forecast had said it was going to be overcast and for once it was right. Pearly-white clouds hung high in the air, robbing the light of its golden quality but doing nothing to reduce its brightness. She was squinting already, which meant she would almost certainly have a headache by the end of the day.
On the Internet last night she’d done some research on the event and had found out that it was called the Secret London Treasure Hunt, organised by London City Radio to promote not only their shows, but the famous tourist attractions. It had also said something about discovering interesting nooks and crannies that even many Londoners didn’t know about. She smiled. This was really going to be her kind of thing.
She loved the history of London. Her office was in the square mile of the old city and she spent many of her lunch hours exploring the side streets, little parks and myriad churches. There was always something fascinating to find, some little adventure to go on.
There was more of a crowd in Trafalgar Square than she’d expected. She knew from the treasure hunt website that there were forty teams of two people each. As far as she could make out, that number would be reduced each day until only ten teams were racing for the finish line on Sunday. Of course, she could make life much easier for herself and lag behind, causing her team to arrive late enough to be eliminated at one of the checkpoints. She’d have done her duty to Lisette and Josh and she wouldn’t be forced to spend the next four days with him.
But deep in her heart she knew she couldn’t do that. It would be too selfish. Josh’s parents really deserved the holiday, and how could she deprive the Leukaemia Research Trust of the funds it so desperately needed?
She shifted the small backpack she was carrying so it was more comfortable on her shoulders as she crossed the road on to Trafalgar Square. The bag contained as much as she could carry for the next few days: a change of clothes, toiletries, her mini first aid kit. She thought she’d packed light but it was getting heavier by the second.

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