‘The game I love, yes, – it’s all the bullshit that comes with it I can’t stand. I love the game because it’s one with clear and simple rules that make sense and I can understand. All this fake, ass-kissing stuff?’ He waved around the room. ‘This is what I don’t get. Like I told you before, it feels like another game but one where everyone else knows the rules except they’re not written down anywhere. Or if they are, they haven’t given me a copy.’

Hannah truly began to understand what he meant. There he was among so-called friends and still people were looking in their direction and having whispered conversations.

‘I suppose it is hard being the centre of attention all the time,’ she said. Hannah had always preferred being behind the scenes, helping others into the spotlight, then watching from a distance and vicariously sharing in their moments. When it turned in her direction though, her instinct was to run for the nearest exit.

Ward gave her a quizzical look. ‘Are you kidding? I’m not the centre of attention. Tonight, all those people are looking at you.’

She shook her head. ‘You’re wrong. No one even knows who I am.’

‘That’s just the point. Nobody knows who you are and they’re all wondering: “Who is that gorgeous creature with that bozo? Is she someone famous? I think I might have seen her at the Emmys last year.” You’re causing a stir, Hannah.’

Causing a stir . . .

That … wasn’t good. She flinched and quickly moved away from him.

‘You OK?’ he queried, noticing her sudden change in demeanour.

‘It’s nothing. I suppose I’m just not used to people staring at me.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘You came dressed like that, and you weren’t expecting to be stared at?’ His gaze held hers and there was no mistaking the heat in his eyes this time.

Oh god. She couldn’t falter. Not again.

‘Let’s go inside.’

A little later, after the gala dinner was over and a jazz band started up, Hannah found herself out on the ballroom floor in Ward McKenzie’s arms and, despite her misgivings, she couldn’t imagine anywhere better to be.

The first thing she’d noticed when he’d insisted they share a dance was how solid he was. It felt as if she were being held by a mountain. The next thing that struck her was how good he smelled. She didn’t know what scent he was wearing tonight, but it was intoxicating.

Though she might have been a little intoxicated anyway, due to the champagne.

It didn’t surprise her that he was a good dancer either. She’d seen footage of him on the ice before the injury and, despite his bulk, he’d always seemed so effortlessly graceful.

‘How’s the knee?’ she asked, and instead of replying, he playfully spun her around.