Save the Last Dance by Fiona Harper Page A

at her. ‘I saw you dance Juliet—Nat dragged me along.’ He gave her a look that reminded her of a naughty schoolboy. ‘That sounded awful. Sorry.’
    She tried not to smile back, and failed. ‘Forgiven.’
    â€˜But you’re wrong when you say you’re not spontaneous and creative. You took that choreography and filled it with life. You made it something unique.’
    Allegra’s whole body began to tingle, warmed by Finn’s praise, then as suddenly as the pins and needles had started, they vanished.
    â€˜That was a long time ago.’ She looked at the mattress beneath her fingers, played with a thin leaf. ‘Don’t you read the papers? I’ve burned out since then. Lost my spark.’
    Finn didn’t say anything and her stomach went cold, fearing his silence, but when she found the courage to meet his gaze she discovered he’d been waiting for her to do just that. He dismissed her comment with a word that shouldn’t be repeated in polite company.
    â€˜I don’t believe that. Not from what I’ve seen of you in the last two days. But it really doesn’t matter what the papers think. It’s what you think that counts.’
    Allegra raised her eyebrows. What a novel concept.
    Finn continued. ‘I think you need to stop waiting to see if ballet has finished with you and decide if you have finished with it. It’s your choice, Allegra. Yours alone.’
    Neither of them said anything for a long time after that. Finn left her to digest what he’d said in peace, and digest it she did. Who knew if it would agree with her?
    I don’t know about ballet, she silently told him, but you’re my choice. That one was easy. Took no effort at all.
    When she sneaked a look at him again his eyelids were closed, and seeing him give in to drowsiness pulled her own lids down, too. She let them slide closed as she rolled over, but before sleep took over she whispered, ‘Thank you, Finn.’
    â€˜No problem’ was the mumbled reply.
    And then Allegra wasn’t aware of anything any more.
    â€˜Doesn’t this make you wish we had a packet of marshmallows?’ Finn was enjoying the contrast of the warmth from the fire on his face and front and cool night snaking up his back under his shirt. With a million childhood campfires swirling in his head he turned to Allegra, who was sitting on a log they’d pulled close to the fire for a bench, looking at him with blank eyes. He poked the fire with the stick he’d been holding before dropping it into the flames.
    â€˜You never went camping as a kid?’ he asked, almost wondering if such a horror could be true.
    She shook her head.
    Wow. A deprived childhood indeed, despite her obviously cultured and privileged background.
    â€˜Not even once?’
    She bit her lip and shrugged. Finn tried hard to find the silver lining. He liked silver linings; they protected a man from the depressing facts of life. His gaze roamed to the shelter, the fire, the moonlit beach and then he turned back to her. ‘At least this week should go some way to making up for that.’
    She smiled at that. ‘Apart from the marshmallows,’ she added quietly.
    Right then and there, Finn decided to send a whole crate of marshmallows to Allegra when he got back to London. Then she could use her fire-making skills to roast them whenever she liked—if she ever managed to get the knack of it, of course.
    â€˜Who did you go camping with?’ she asked. ‘Your parents?’
    Finn nodded. ‘Sometimes. But I used to spend a huge chunk of my summer holidays with my grandfather at his home on Skye. We’d go camping and fishing and hill-walking…’
    Allegra sat up a little. ‘And marshmallows were always essential kit?’
    â€˜Always,’ Finn replied, grinning. ‘Grandad would eat the pink ones and I’d eat the white.’
    She laughed. ‘Why no pink