Saying Yes to the Millionaire. Fiona Harper
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