Cinderella’s Wedding Wish

over the immaculate set of his suit, luxuriating in the feel of the powerful muscles beneath as she wondered what it would be like to slide her fingers under his jacket to unbutton his shirt, to spread her hands over his warm, bare skin…

Miranda inhaled sharply, shocked by the vividness with which she could imagine the scene. The sooner this dance ended, the better.

But when the music died away on a last note, perversely she wanted to cry. Rafe stopped moving but he continued to hold her until Miranda tried to tug her hands free.

‘They’re just getting going,’ he said, not letting her go. ‘Stay.’

Miranda’s throat was tight and hard and it was effort to force the words. ‘I think I’d better go,’ she managed. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

‘Like what?’

Protecting my heart. Remembering who I am and what I’m doing here. Making sure I don’t do anything stupid like fall in love with you.

‘Just things.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m sure you’ll be able to find another partner for the last dances.’

‘I’d rather dance with you,’ said Rafe softly, and his voice was deep and warm and irresistible. ‘Do you really want to go, Miranda?’

No, Miranda’s heart cried, no, I don’t! But her head was back in control now.

‘Yes,’ she said, not meeting his eyes.

Rafe let her go at that. ‘Then you must go, of course,’ he said. ‘Thank you for the dance, Miranda,’ he said with cool formality. ‘And thank you for everything you’ve done this evening.’

She couldn’t let herself look at him properly, or she would simply throw herself back into his arms and beg him not to let her go again, and what kind of behaviour was that for a temporary assistant?

‘Goodnight,’ she said huskily, and, turning, she hurried away from him, in search of Elvira’s shoes, her clipboard and the cold comfort of knowing that she had been sensible.

Miranda waited for the barman to fill the glasses with champagne before picking up the tray and heading back into the crowd. This was her third night working this week, and she was tired, but she had found herself making excuses not to spend the evenings alone in the flat, where there was too much time to sit and think and remember.

It had been a long three weeks since the ball. She had a new assignment at a management consultancy. Everyone was very nice and if the job was dull, well, temp jobs often were. It was a pity there wasn’t more to keep her busy. She had an hour for lunch every day, but there were no walks in the park, no ice creams, no Rafe to tease her and provoke her and make her laugh.

Miranda hadn’t realised how much she would miss him.

She had never said a proper goodbye. Back in the office, it had taken a couple of days to tidy her desk and sort out the payment of the outstanding bills, and then she had handed the last few loose ends to Ginny. Rafe hadn’t been around.

What had she expected? Miranda asked herself. That he would come rushing back just to say goodbye to a temp? She had done the job she was asked to do, and now that it was over it was time to move on. She’d said goodbye to Ginny and to Simon and promised to keep in touch, but of course she hadn’t. It wouldn’t be fair to meet up when all she wanted to do was to talk about Rafe, to find out how he was, whether he had missed their walks in the park.

Whether he remembered every second of that dance the way she did.

Enough. Miranda was always having to scold herself for drifting into wistful memories nowadays. Straightening her shoulders and fixing her smile back in place, she moved from group to group, offering champagne. The reception, to launch a new charitable foundation, was being held in a museum, although nobody seemed to be looking at the exhibits. They were all too busy talking. They certainly seemed to be enjoying themselves, Miranda thought, squeezing between guests with her tray held high, and was startled to realise that she was feeling envious.

When was the last time she had simply enjoyed herself? Ever since she’d given up her degree course to try-and fail-to sort out the mess at Fairchild’s, it seemed that she had been worrying. She had worried about the firm and what would happen to its employees. She had worried about her father, about Octavia, about how they would pay for Belinda’s wedding.

She had spent so long worrying about money that she had forgotten how to enjoy herself, Miranda realised. Instead, she had fixated on the idea of Whitestones as a place where she could hide away from all the worries associated with London. Everything always seemed so much simpler there.

Well, she would get there, but at her present rate of saving it wasn’t going to be any time soon. In the meantime, perhaps it was time to start enjoying the present more, the way Rafe did? Miranda thought about the laughter at the back of his eyes, about the way he exuded energy and a zest for life no matter what he was doing, whether it was just sitting at a desk or eating an ice cream in the park.

The thought of Rafe’s smiling eyes was enough to give her a pang, but Miranda caught herself up. Less moping, she ordered herself. Less planning. If she really wanted to change, she would start right now. She would still work, still save, but she would live for now too.

It felt surprisingly good to have made the decision, and Miranda smiled as she offered the last champagnes in exchange for empty glasses. There was just one glass left, she noticed. She might as well go back and get more.

She was turning towards the bar when a voice behind her said, ‘I’ll take that one,’ and she nearly dropped the lot as she spun round, joy blazing through her.

‘Rafe!’

There he stood, looking devastatingly handsome in a dinner jacket and bow tie. ‘Hello, Miranda,’ he said, and smiled.

There ought to be a law against a smile like that. It couldn’t be right that a mere curving of the lips, a simple creasing of the cheeks and twinkle of the eyes, could wipe one’s brain free of all coherent thought and turn one’s bones to liquid. Look at the tray, about to slide from nerveless hands!

Belatedly, Miranda tightened her hold on it and took a grip of herself. ‘Hello,’ she said. It came out a bit croaky, but it wasn’t too bad, considering.

Rafe reached out and helped himself to the glass of champagne. ‘How have you been?’

Miserable. Bored. Missing you. ‘Oh, fine,’ said Miranda. It didn’t sound that convincing, so she said it again. ‘Fine.’

‘I heard you had another job. I trust you’ve managed to whip the new photocopier into shape?’

‘Unfortunately, the assignment ends tomorrow, so I’ll have to start training another one next week.’

Yes, that was better. She sounded much more like her old self: cool, composed, in control. ‘How are you, anyway?’ she asked, keeping her smile steady. ‘Are you engaged yet?’

Rafe made a face. ‘Nowhere near. I’m not having much success,’ he told her. ‘I can’t find anyone.’

‘There must be somebody! What happened to all those women we invited to the ball? Haven’t you invited any of them out?’

‘I have,’ said Rafe. ‘I asked Julia first. I invited her out to dinner, and pulled out all the stops to make it a romantic evening I thought she would like. It turned out I needn’t have bothered. She told me very kindly that there was no need for me to jump through all the hoops. She said she didn’t want an emotional relationship right then and was only interested in sex.’

He smiled crookedly. ‘I felt a bit of a fool for going to all that trouble,’ he confessed. ‘I got the feeling she thought I was a bit weird for wanting something more than her body.’

‘Well, now you know what it’s like for a lot of women most of the time,’ said Miranda, wishing she could ask whether he had slept with Julia anyway.

‘Next I invited Stella out. I tried dinner again, but it wasn’t any more successful than the last time.’

‘Was she only interested in your body too?’

‘No, I’d almost have preferred her if she had been. At least Julia was fun. Stella cross-examined me over dinner about everything from my star sign to when I was potty trained.’

‘What on earth for?’