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colour. ‘Got to look good in the photographs,’ she said, beyond shaking. She wasn’t feeling anything very much at all, just a sort of numb weightlessness, and she bared her teeth in the nearest approximation to a smile she could manage. ‘Now I’m ready.’ She handed the lipstick and mirror to Niall. ‘Any last-minute advice?’

      ‘Don’t look down?’ He picked her up from behind and for a moment held her hard against his chest. The warmth was welcome, and for the first time since she’d stepped onto the hoist she felt safe. Then he took a step forward.

      A gasp of fright escaped her. ‘Are you going to throw me over?’ She’d intended to whisper, but the microphone attached to her sweatshirt picked up every syllable.

      ‘Not this time,’ he murmured, his response covered by a burst of laughter. Then he placed her carefully on the edge of the platform, with her toes sticking out into clear space. Her toes didn’t like it, and clawed desperately at the inside of her shoes. Only his hand, still on her shoulder, was keeping her from fainting. Actually, that wasn’t such a bad idea…

      ‘On the count of three,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘And don’t forget to scream.’

      CHAPTER THREE

      NIALL watched Romana fly. It was a spectacular jump by any standards. Only an underlying suspicion that she was actually scared rigid had prompted him to bring up the card.

      Watching her in the hoist, he’d been sure that she was going to lose it completely. And, no matter who was running the company, he had a financial stake in its image.

      He should have known that the fooling around was for the camera. He hadn’t been sure until she’d pulled out the lipstick, but her hands had been steady as a rock. It was all just part of the act. She’d certainly put on a show for her sponsors.

      All she’d forgotten was the blood-curdling scream.

      Someone opened a bottle of champagne and pushed a glass into her hand. Romana didn’t dare put it to her mouth. The glass would have shattered against her chattering teeth. She just gripped it tightly as around her the crowd chanted a slow countdown for the next jumper.

      For a moment she thought she’d be all right, but just as the next bungee reached its full length and then snapped back her entire stomach relived her own experience. She pushed the glass into the hand of the person standing nearest to her and fled to the caravan so that she could be violently sick in private.

      When she’d washed her face, and rinsed her mouth out with water, she realised that her phone, still lying on the chair where she had abandoned it earlier, was ringing.

      ‘Ramona Claibourne.’

      It was Molly. ‘Are you all right? We’ve got a television on here, and when I saw you make a run for it I wondered—’

      ‘If breakfast was a mistake? Believe me, it was. Is everyone demanding their money back?’ She was still shaking. ‘I wouldn’t blame them. I couldn’t even manage a decent scream. My throat was apparently stuffed with hot rocks.’

      ‘Don’t worry about it. You looked terrific. And the jokey stuff was very convincing. I shouldn’t think anyone guessed how scared you really were. I can’t imagine how you’ll top it next year—unless you can think of something that involves Mr Dour getting his shirt off,’ she added hopefully. ‘I’d sponsor him for that myself.’

      Ramona’s mouth dried at the thought. Fortunately there was a sharp rap at the door and she was saved from having to comment.

      ‘It’s open,’ she called, and turned to see the man himself, with a frown that might have been concern creasing his forehead. She didn’t want his concern. ‘Come to pay up?’ she asked, with a lack of graciousness she regretted the minute he laid a cheque on the table, along with her lipstick and mirror. ‘That’s very generous,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’

      He gave a small shrug, as if it was nothing. ‘Don’t let me interrupt your call.’

      ‘Oh, it’s just Molly. She saw the jump…’ The least said about that the better. ‘She’s trying to think of some way of topping it. She seems to think you, minus your shirt, would be a good start,’ she said, and was assailed by wails of anguish from her assistant. ‘Why don’t you talk it over with her?’ she suggested, handing over her phone. ‘And she’ll need your address so that she can book you a car for tonight. Six o’clock. Black tie.’

      ‘Six?’ he repeated. ‘Isn’t that a little early for the theatre?’

      ‘I’m working, not having fun. I do all the organising beforehand. I make sure everything goes smoothly throughout the evening, and then I make sure everyone is happy afterwards.’

      ‘While I watch?’

      ‘No one is insisting you come, Niall. You’re the one demanding to see what I do every minute of my working day.’ Which today would end somewhere past midnight.

      She turned away, avoiding a game of ‘chicken’ to see who could outstare the other. She knew she’d lose. She didn’t bother to change back into her suit, but folded it neatly and put it into her bag, then glanced in the mirror as she slid her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame it.

      Her reflection warned her that she was looking less than her best. The colour had leached from her skin, leaving two vivid patches of blusher and making her look like a rag doll. She took a tissue and scrubbed at her cheek-bones. In the meantime, having considered her response and apparently got the message, Niall relayed his address to Molly.

      Romana retrieved her phone and her bags and flung open the caravan door.

      ‘Where are you going now?’ he asked, following her.

      ‘Why don’t you come along and see?’ He gave her a look that suggested he was quick learner—he was asking first. ‘First I’m going home to hang up my dress. I would have done it earlier, but I had to meet you instead. Then I’m going back to the store to have my hair done,’ she told him, walking quickly to the road.

      ‘No lunch?’

      She felt ill at the thought. ‘No,’ she said, glancing at the workmanlike watch on her wrist. ‘No time. We have to go.’

      ‘Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on the hairdo.’

      ‘Good decision. I can fix most things,’ she said, and smiled, ‘but an appointment with George on a gala night is not one of them. I’ll see you at the theatre.’

      ‘Don’t you think it would be more sensible for us to share a car?’

      Share? Working with him was going to be difficult enough; she had no intention of extending the time they spent together. ‘Is your concern ecological or financial?’

      ‘Neither. I simply thought you could brief me about this evening on the way to the theatre. Speaking of which, you put on quite a performance yourself just now,’ he said, keeping step with her and giving her no chance to argue. ‘You nearly had me fooled.’

      She had no way of telling whether he meant her performance pretending to be scared, or her performance covering up the fact that she was totally terrified. ‘Only nearly?’

      ‘How many jumps have you made?’

      She smiled as she stopped and turned to hail a passing taxi. There was something very pleasing in the discovery that he wasn’t nearly as clever as he thought he was.

      ‘I’ll see you at the theatre, Niall,’ she said as she climbed aboard, shutting the door firmly behind her.

      Romana, swathed in a dark-red salon wrapper, regarded herself in the mirror, searching vainly for some clue as to what about her appearance had so irritated Niall Macaulay.

      It couldn’t just have been the incident with the coffee that had made him so surly. It had, after all, been an accident. Unfortunate, perhaps, especially in view of the subsequent

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