Save the Last Dance (18 page)

While Dave and Barry got some shots of Allegra's temporary home, Finn strode to the edge of the ruins, his eyes restlessly scanning from left to right and back again. That was when he spotted the footprints heading off down the beach.

Moments later he was standing on the sand, frozen by the beauty of the scene in front of him—and he hadn't even noticed the sunrise yet.

She was dancing.

Not the pretty, precise movements he'd seen her do on stage. This was sometimes graceful, sometimes clumsy. Her clothes were dotted with large rain spots and her hair had fallen out of her ponytail and was starting to look damp and stringy, but what she was doing eclipsed all of that. It was wild and free and definitely, definitely beautiful. Even when she stumbled and landed on her rear end. Because this dance wasn't just movement, it was truth. This dance
was
Allegra.

And, right at that moment, Finn realised he'd reached the end point of the journey he'd started with her a week ago. He had a sense of things falling into place, that something permanent and inevitable had just happened.

He was finally there. His ultimate destination.

And now it made sense why he'd never been able to find it, why he'd always had to search one more place, try one more map reference. Like most great discoveries, this one had a twist to it, something Finn hadn't expected or planned for.

Not for one second had Finn McLeod thought that his ultimate destination, the end to all his restlessness, might not be a place but a person. That elusive beauty wasn't to be found in the great outdoors, but in this woman. All of that in one tiny frame. It must have been a powerful miracle that had put it there.

Allegra paused in her dance and spotted him just as the full terror of his situation hit him.

He had to move on.

Because Finn McLeod always moved on. But he didn't run away; that was cowardly. He was always moving
towards
the next destination, not
away
from where he'd just been, so he needed a plausible sounding reason to pin his departure on.

She started to run towards him—not pretty little gallops, but full-out sprinting—and Finn had to dig his heels into the sand to keep himself there. As she came closer he saw that a grin was lighting up her face. She did a cartwheel just before she reached him, clean and precise and elegant, and landed in a little jump in front of him.

‘I did it, Finn! I did it!'

He wanted to smile, but the need to clench his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering prevented it. ‘Yes, you did.'

But he discovered he didn't need to smile back. His gaze moved upwards from her lips and teeth to her eyes. There it was again. That feeling of something finishing, of something being knotted and tied…

‘Oh…you were right, Finn! There's nothing like this. I feel so alive!' Her smile outgrew her words, stopping her from talking for a few seconds, while she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Thank you. Thank you for giving this to me…'

She stepped forward and touched her damp and slightly sandy fingertips to his cheekbones. Finn stopped breathing.

And then she kissed him, a sweet, slow touching of the lips, full of gratitude and so much more. It was the briefest of moments, and she did it again, just because once wasn't enough.

Once wasn't nearly enough.

But he peeled her fingertips from his face, pulled his lips from hers.

‘Allegra…'

She rested her forehead against his shoulder. He could hear the rain slapping on her scalp and his, see it running through her hair and down her face. She closed her eyes.

So beautiful…

An idea formed in his head. A reason. A very good reason. One he could just about buy into himself. One that would make leaving the right thing instead of the wrong thing.

He knew now that one could be selfish with beauty. Hadn't he had the urge last night to rush in and rob her of her chance to discover she could do it on her own? If he'd followed his instincts, she wouldn't be feeling this now, wouldn't be looking at him as if she were a firework waiting to shoot straight into the sky.

He'd almost put his need above hers. Even worse, he couldn't promise himself he wouldn't do it again. How could he stop himself wanting to limit her, by tying her to him? It was so wrong. Not what
she
needed.

She'd had too much of that in her life already. She needed a chance to stretch her wings and fly, to see if she could do it on her own. He couldn't take that away from her.

Even so, he was weak. Before he told her so, he kissed her, and it was long and sweet and drugging. And it said far more than he'd wanted to say. It gave far too much away.

She smiled against his lips and then tipped her head up to look at him.

No, don't, he wanted to say. Don't look at me like that, like you'd throw all that freedom you've just earned for yourself away on me, because I really don't deserve it. I'm not even man enough to
want
it.

Their fingers were still intertwined and he brought them down so they were between their bodies, the flimsiest of barriers. He wasn't sure if he was holding her fingers to stop her doing anything more, or to prevent himself.

He got his answer when he pulled away and stepped back, letting her hands drop. ‘I can't do this for you,' he said hoarsely. ‘I can't be this for you.'

She opened her eyes and Finn wished she'd kept them closed. No one should have to witness such bleakness in the eyes of another. He didn't want the guilt of having caused it, but he had no other choice. Allegra's roots had already started to burrow deep inside him. He couldn't let them continue to grow. It wouldn't be good for either of them, and it was better to cut them off now before they got so embedded he wouldn't survive when they were pulled out.

She stood very still, her eyes saying the words before they left her mouth. ‘I think I love you.'

The honesty and bravery of her statement slammed into him, making him take yet another step back.

‘You told me to make a choice,' she said. ‘And I choose you.'

He shook his head. ‘That's impossible.'

One corner of her mouth curled in a heartbreaking attempt at a smile. ‘I thought I was supposed to “expect the impossible” with you around. Don't you live up to your hype?'

Not even close, he'd discovered. And it was time for her to know that about him.

She kept talking. Finn closed his eyes. He wanted her to stop.

‘I feel
I
could do the impossible now, thanks to you,' she added softly.

A spark lit inside him. That was his
out.
In survival situations you always had to have an
out.
He looked away, back at the ruins, as he noticed Tim and Dave watching them from the top of the rocks. Dave had his camera on his shoulder.

‘You don't love me,' he said. ‘You can't. It's too much, too soon…'

The smile disappeared. The eyes grew huge.

Finn kept going. ‘You ran away from your life because you were looking for an escape, and you found me. I can't let you anchor yourself to me instead. It wouldn't be right.'

She shook her head. Stubborn as well as beautiful. Yes, he remembered that now.

‘I can't be your escape route, Allegra. I can't rescue you.'

It sounded so reasonable, so sane. Then why did he feel one step down from a leech on the evolutionary scale?

‘But I know you feel the same way. I—'

‘I can't,' he said firmly. ‘You've been wonderful company this week, but that's all it will ever be. It's not a fairy tale where I can fall instantly in love with someone else, swap partners and then ride off into the sun—' he blinked at the heavy globe on the horizon ‘—rise.'

He saw it. The moment the poison worked, when it reached her eyes.

‘Real life is harder,' he said, feeling steadier now, feeling slightly justified, even. ‘You do what you must to survive.'

As he was, right now.

‘I'm sorry,' he said. And he really meant it, but his words sounded superficial and hollow.

She looked at him, sadness and anger and longing warring for supremacy on her rain-soaked features.

He didn't have anything left to say, so he turned and walked back up the beach to join his crew—his team—and left her to watch the rain pooling in his footsteps, making little puddles.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

P
UDDLES
.
They were so very
London,
Allegra decided, as her plane taxied towards the gate at Heathrow. Outside the dirty plane window the sky was grey. The terminal building was grey. The tarmac was grey, and even the flat puddles collecting on it were grey.

Welcome home, Allegra.

Home to what, she wasn't sure. She was half tempted to stay in the terminal building and run away again, book a flight to somewhere pretty and forget about everything. Everyone. Especially
someone.

They'd shared a speedboat off the island and the same hotel for one night before going their separate ways. They hadn't discussed what had happened on the beach, or the night of the thunderstorm. In fact, they'd hardly even talked. There had been post-island interviews to complete, and she'd had the feeling Finn was deliberately keeping out of her way. Then she'd flown east—back home to London—and he'd headed west. He hadn't told her exactly where.

Didn't matter, though. She still felt as if a part of herself had gone with him.

It wasn't fair. She would have been able to let him go easily if she'd really believed that was what he wanted, but she'd seen his eyes when he'd given her the brush-off. So different from the way he'd looked at her when he'd kissed her. But
exactly
the same as the shuttered expression he'd worn the previous morning when he'd been hiding something, keeping her secret challenge from her.

At first that ‘no entry' look had given her hope, because she'd known it was a lie. Now it just made her angry.

The plane trundled to a halt and passengers began grabbing their things from overhead lockers. Allegra stayed in her seat and let them scurry about. She wasn't in a hurry, after all. What did she have to come back to? Her father would be furious with her—as he had every right to be—and her career was in tatters.

Thankfully, she didn't have anything but hand luggage, so at least the process of getting through the airport was quicker than it could have been. As she exited Immigration, she spotted a burly form she recognised.

‘Dave?'

He turned and smiled at her, which left her speechless. She didn't think she'd seen his lips and teeth do that before. But they really didn't have that much to say to each other, so after the awkward greeting they both just stood there.

‘Thank you,' she said.

‘Sorry,' he said at the same time.

She frowned. ‘What for? It was my choice to do the show, and I enjoyed it most of the time.'

‘I'm talking about the Fearless One,' he said, his face reverting to his much more familiar and strangely comforting scowl. ‘If it makes you feel any better, I've always said the bloke was an A-grade idiot.'

Allegra sighed. It hadn't been the camera that had had the all-seeing eye, had it? It had been Dave. And, apparently, he really had seen everything.

‘Thanks,' she said for the second time, even though it hadn't made her feel better at all.

Dave nodded and wandered off towards Customs.

Allegra stood there, too angry with Finn to move. She wanted to shake him, make him understand what he was turning his back on, but she couldn't, could she? Because Finn wasn't here. He was probably thousands of miles away. She shook her head instead, still not quite ready to face the fact that while she might have chosen him, Finn clearly hadn't chosen her back.

As she neared the Arrivals gate she could hear a lot of noise. There must be a lot of people out there. Perhaps somebody famous was about to arrive?

Flashguns fired in rapid succession as she turned the corner into the arrivals hall. She glanced round. The elderly couple with the trolley she'd been walking behind just looked like regular holidaymakers back from a bit of winter sun. Clearly, she should have recognised them.

Still the flashguns fired at a dizzying speed. Allegra held her hand up in front of her face, palm out, to deflect the retina-searing pops of light. The sooner she was out of this, the better. All she wanted to do was slink away home and lick her wounds, leave the elderly couple to their moment of glory. Maybe they were lottery winners or something.

But then the general roar of journalists' shouts crystallised into actual words.

‘Allegra!'

‘Miss Martin? Over here!'

That was her name. These people were here for
her?
What on earth had she done to warrant this?

A woman, not much older than herself, lunged over the barrier and thrust a Dictaphone her way. ‘Allegra! Why exactly did you drop out of
The Little Mermaid
and run away?'

She shook her head and moved on. Really? All this fuss for her? It was hardly the golden age of ballet anymore, when ballerinas had been treated like movie queens. Why would anyone care if she missed a performance or two? They certainly didn't seem very impressed when she
had
shown up, and there were plenty of other dancers rehearsed and ready to step into her shoes.

She moved more quickly now, glad she only had the one bag hoisted over her shoulder and wasn't slowed down by a trolley. Mind you, she could have used it as a battering ram, so maybe it would have been a good idea. She dipped her head and ignored them all, leaving the catcalls and outrageous questions unheeded.

‘Allegra! Can you confirm reports you've been in an exclusive clinic after a breakdown and the desert island story is a cover-up?'

She was tempted to laugh, but she put her ballet face on and kept her features neutral. Where did people come up with these ideas? They must try to outdo each other in some kind of twisted contest. The best thing to do was not to react. Just keep walking and she'd soon be out of there.

But right near the end of the barriers, a whole scrum of reporters waited, making a wall that had closed around the elderly couple and had blocked off her exit. She slowed her pace significantly and started looking around for a gap—any gap, no matter how small. How was she going to get round them? And what were they going to do? Follow her home on the Tube?

She was starting to panic a little when she spotted a tall, solid mass in the crowd, grim and unsmiling.
Dave.
She'd never been so pleased to see that grumpy mug in all of her life. He was looking straight at her, and his eyes were speaking volumes.
Stick with me,
they said,
and I'll get you out of here in one piece.

She breathed out and picked up speed. As she reached him he put a protective tree trunk of an arm around her shoulders and steered her through the crowd. One bright spark couldn't resist a parting shot, though.

‘Miss Martin! Rumour has it you ran away for a steamy week in paradise with your secret lover, Finn McLeod. Care to comment?'

The gaggle of journalists hushed, eager to catch her answer.

‘How do you think his fiancée's going to feel about that?' the reporter added.

Allegra didn't say anything, of course. But she'd swivelled her head to look at the man before she could tell herself not to. Her mouth was slightly open and her eyes full of guilt and panic. Not quite the truth, what he'd said, but close enough to hit a nerve. She didn't need to say a word; her face had said far too much already.

The picture—and headline—in tomorrow morning's paper was going to be a doozie.

Allegra stood in her basement kitchen opposite her father, her overnight bag at her feet. Neither of them had said anything in the last sixty seconds.

Dave had whisked her out of the airport and into a car the producers of
Fearless Finn
had provided when they'd realised what kind of reception had been waiting for Allegra at the airport. Anything to keep their guest star happy—especially as her show might just get them the highest ratings they'd ever had. However, the journey had been much quicker than her planned slog on the Tube and, as a result, she'd had hardly any time to get her head ready for this moment.

‘It was a bit crazy at the airport,' she said finally.

Great opening line, Allegra. Really eloquent.

Her father nodded to a tabloid paper that lay, unfolded, on the kitchen table. ‘I'm not surprised.'

She took a couple of steps forward, then stopped. That was
her
on the front! A horrible picture of her, looking all tired and tortured. When on earth had that been taken?

‘Runaway ballerina thought to be on tropical island hideaway',
the headline screamed. There was even a small box down on one side with a picture of Finn and his fiancée. They'd managed to find a photo of him that made him look really…shady…at first glance. Closer inspection led her to believe he'd been about to say something to the photographer—something funny, knowing Finn—but the shutter had closed when his eyelids were half-shut and his mouth halfway between smile and joke, and he'd ended up looking both sly and arrogant.

She flicked the first page over.
More
photos! More words—all about her and Finn!

‘The press got wind of your…disappearance…and couldn't resist making a meal of it,' her father said dryly. ‘I take it there's no truth in these rumours that you're having an affair with a married man?'

Allegra's mouth dropped open and she shook her head. ‘N…no! And he's not married. He
was
engaged, but…' Oh, it was so complicated, and what was the use? She hung her head. ‘I only met the man last week and, no, there's nothing between us.'

Nothing at all.

Her father exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, then he pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down at the table. ‘Then why?' he asked, looking fragile and crushed—the way he'd been after her mother had died. ‘Wasn't your life good enough for you? What more could I have done?'

Allegra was momentarily speechless. She hadn't expected this at all. Lectures and scoldings, yes, but not this broken man sitting at his kitchen table, looking confused and sad. She'd had no idea she had the power to reduce him to this, and the realisation brought no joy, only guilt and regret.

She went and stood behind his chair, bent over and pressed her cheek against his. Then she folded her arms around him as tears slid down her cheeks. ‘I'm sorry,' she whispered. ‘I didn't mean to hurt you—I didn't mean to hurt anyone—I just…'

She kissed his temple softly, then just held him. More tears fell as she realised he was shaking just as much as she was.

‘Please, Daddy, don't…'

She hugged him tighter and his hand came up and gently rested on her forearm. They stayed like that, breathing, for a few moments and then she skirted round the table to sit opposite him, maintaining contact as long as she could, leaving her hand on his shoulder, and then she drew his hands into hers across the table.

When had her father become so old?

When had
she?

Because something had changed between them. She was still his daughter, but she knew, deep down, that she wasn't his little girl any more.

‘Thank you,' she said, ‘for being my protector and champion, for looking after me when I needed you to, but—'

His eyes seemed to get greyer. ‘But you don't need me any more.'

She shook her head softly. ‘No, that's not what I meant. I just…'

How did she put this?

‘I needed you to do those things for me when I was growing up, but I've finished now. I finished a long time ago. And I'm perfectly capable of making my own decisions—' she glanced at the open paper on the table ‘—and my own mistakes.' A dark flash of humour passed between them. ‘But I still need you, Dad. Just not in the same way…'

Her father nodded. ‘I understand,' he said. ‘And I'm sorry, too. I should have let you have your wings before now, but it was so hard…' He looked away. ‘Your mother…she left before I was ready to let her go.'

And you held onto me instead.