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I don’t really know,’ she admitted. ‘I mean, being swept off your feet is all very well in theory, but in practice, how would you be able to trust a man who overwhelmed you and persuaded you into changing your life before you’d had a chance to think about what you were really doing?’

      ‘I thought you wanted to live dangerously?’

      ‘Not that dangerously,’ said Phoebe. ‘Falling in love like that seems like a sure way to get yourself hurt.’

      Gib signalled and then moved out to overtake. ‘I think if you fell in love you might change your mind. If you really loved someone, you’d be prepared to take that risk.’

      ‘I’ve been in love,’ she said flatly. ‘I took that risk, and I got hurt. I’m not going through that again.’

      There was silence for a while. Gib concentrated on driving, and Phoebe looked out of the side window and thought about Ben and the look in his eyes when he had told her that he had fallen in love with Lisa. He was the last person she had ever expected to hurt her. They had been so comfortable together, so gentle, so safe. She had thought that was what he had wanted too, but she had been wrong. Perhaps she hadn’t known him as well as she had thought.

      And then for some reason she found herself remembering what she had said to Bella about Gib. It would be hard to find a man more different from Ben. Safe was the last word you would use about him! Phoebe could imagine him sweeping a girl off her feet all right. He was the type who saw what he wanted and went for it, and if what he wanted was you, you would have little choice in the matter, she thought with a tiny shiver. He would turn your life upside down, spin you around, subject you to a roller coaster of adrenalin and excitement—and then drop you back down to earth with a thump when he was bored and wanted to move on.

      No, thank you, thought Phoebe. She could do without that kind of excitement. Living dangerously like that would not be worth the pain and humiliation you would have to endure afterwards. She had had enough of both of them in the last year.

      ‘What shall I call you?’ Gib broke the silence at last, and she turned to look at him in surprise.

      ‘What’s wrong with my name?’

      ‘I was thinking more along the lines of endearments. Do you want to be “darling” or “honey” or what?’

      Phoebe grimaced. ‘I’m not really a “darling” kind of girl.’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘Because darlings are soft and sweet and pretty, not sharp and intimidating.’

      ‘Hey,’ said Gib with a grin, ‘you don’t intimidate me, baby!’

      She shot him a look. ‘I’m not a “baby” either!’

      ‘Shall I call you bunnikins then?’

      ‘Not unless you want to spend the next month with your jaw wired,’ said Phoebe evenly, and he threw back his head and laughed.

      ‘But we’re so in love!’ he pretended to protest.

      ‘We’re not that in love,’ she said, more unnerved than she wanted to admit by the way Gib looked when he laughed like that. He had obviously taken advantage of American dentistry because his teeth were very white and strong, and the creases starring his eyes deepened in what was—OK, she was prepared to concede this—a disturbingly attractive way. The sound of his laughter rolled around the car and seemed to linger, reverberating over her skin so that she shivered slightly.

      If only he wasn’t quite so overwhelming. He was so vivid, so vital, that she was left feeling pale and drab and somehow vulnerable in comparison.

      Gib was still talking. ‘I thought I was supposed to be the perfect man for you?’

      ‘Exactly,’ said Phoebe, pulling herself together with an effort. She really must get a grip. ‘And everyone knows that I wouldn’t let a man who would even think about calling me bunnikins within a mile of me!’

      ‘So if they heard me calling you bunnikins, they’d know it had to be true love,’ he pointed out.

      ‘Listen, who’s paying you here?’ she said crossly, feeling herself being drawn into a ridiculous argument that would, on past form, end with her not only agreeing but begging Gib to call her bunnikins. That was how she had ended up in this mess in the first place! She had been determined not to be talked into asking him to act as her imaginary lover, but somehow, here she was, heading down the motorway towards the wedding with Gib beside her.

      ‘If I hear the word bunnikins cross your lips, I’ll cut that fee we agreed in half, so don’t say I didn’t warn you!’

      ‘OK, bunni-boss!’

      ‘Very funny,’ she said with a frosty look.

      ‘Perhaps I just call you madam and be done with it, if you’re going to be that stand-offish,’ said Gib, pretending to sound aggrieved.

      Phoebe gritted her teeth. ‘Look, I don’t care what you call me, as long as it’s not bunnikins, all right? You’re supposed to be perfect!’

      ‘If I’m so perfect, how are you going to explain the fact that our fantastic, perfect relationship is going to end shortly after this wedding?’

      ‘Well, I haven’t quite decided yet,’ she admitted. ‘Perhaps I’ll discover that you’ve got a deep dark secret. Everyone knows that I could never love a man who lied to me.’

      ‘Oh?’ he said carefully. ‘Why’s that?’

      ‘I’ve always had a thing about lying. I hate it.’

      ‘But you lie,’ Gib pointed out with a cool glance. ‘You’ve lied to your mother about our relationship and you’re going to carry on lying today.’

      ‘That’s different,’ she protested.

      ‘How?’

      ‘My lies aren’t going to hurt anyone.’

      ‘Things aren’t always as straightforward as you want them to be,’ said Gib, choosing his words with care. ‘Sometimes the truth can hurt as much as a lie.’

      Did he think she didn’t know that? Phoebe thought about Ben, insisting on telling her about Lisa as soon as he knew that he was in love. That was one thing about Ben, he was always absolutely honest. He had never pretended, and if the truth had been unbearably painful, at least it had been better than discovering it from someone else much later.

      Gib glanced sideways. Phoebe’s face was sad and he cursed himself inwardly for triggering what were obviously unhappy memories. He was supposed to be supporting her today like the good friend he was trying to prove that he was, not making her even more miserable.

      ‘So the idea is that in a couple of weeks’ time you’re going to tell your mother that I lied to you and dump me without hearing my side of the story, is that right?’ he said, deliberately keeping his voice light and upbeat.

      ‘I’ll probably have found out by then that there are lots of other things about you that have begun to irritate me,’ said Phoebe loftily, but Gib saw the effort it cost her to reply in kind. ‘Your lies will just be the final straw.’

      ‘Wouldn’t it be simpler to forget about the whole lies thing?’ said Gib. ‘Why don’t you just say that I’m a bastard who’s dumped you?’

      ‘Because I’ve already been dumped once,’ she said with a slight edge to her voice. ‘This time I’m the one who gets to do the dumping. And what’s more,’ she went on, pointing at him for emphasis, ‘you are going to devastated! I’m going to tell Mum that you’re making a real nuisance of yourself, sending me flowers every day, showering me with diamonds, and ringing up every five minutes to beg me to give you another chance.’

      That was better. Gib pretended to look disconsolate. ‘If I’m going to humiliate myself to that extent, I think

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