Much as I want to, clinging to charming, flirty Noah could lose me everything.

Bea is right. I just have to say no. So, I am going to call him and explain that as I have dates, I don’t need to do this.

***

‘Oh no, you can’t get out of it like that.’ I can hear the background chuckle in his deep voice.

‘But I’ve got a date lined up, a proper date, I don’t need—’

‘Nope,’ he says firmly. ‘That doesn’t change anything, this will still do you good.’ I’ve got a horrible feeling he wants me suspended from the ground so that he can interrogate me about my next date.

‘I can’t.’

‘What do you mean, you can’t? You’ll be fine, high ropes are totally different to climbing a rock face. Hey,’ his tone softens, it travels seductively across the airwaves and aims straight for my heart, ‘I’ll look after you, you know that, right?’

I nod. Strangely enough, I do. ‘It’s not the climbing, it’s the heights.’ And you, I say in my head. And I can’t get any closer than I am already to you.

Oh bugger, I should not have said yes.

Chapter 17

The weekend started off very ropey, haha, but has just got decidedly better. I am being manhandled by a very dishy guy, and it isn’t Noah. He’s dishy in a quiet, unassuming serious manner, which is lovely. And has very large, warm capable hands, which is even lovelier. And, like I say, he isn’t Noah, which helps put our relationship back on a professional (if it’s wise to call it that) footing.

Noah wouldn’t back down on the whole rope idea thing; we had a bit of a tiff to be honest. I felt a bit raw after the whole Serena thing, which didn’t help. But even using my logic and reasoning to tell myself that Noah is not Dad, and that this isn’t a romantic involvement anyway, the whole idea was still making me queasy.

It’s not that I didn’t want to watch him romp about on a rope Tarzan style, I’ve just got a thing about being suspended high up in the air, my feet dangling and lots of spiky things below waiting to, well, spike me, if I let go. Or something breaks. I don’t want to end my days resembling a raw kebab.

He did mention kayaking (honestly? You must be joking, all that water all around and who knows what weeds lurking ready to drag a body down), skydiving (too expensive, thank God), and wild swimming (see kayaking, above, plus this is England and even though it’s summer it’s not exactly the same as swimming with dolphins in sun-kissed sea, is it?). I counteracted with motorbikes or a gallop on the beach, which he said wouldn’t work as a. I’d suggested them so they obviously didn’t scare me, and b. if I thought he was getting on a horse I had another think coming. His sister apparently put him on her pony when he was eight, then hit its bottom with her whip. He’s never got over the indignity of being galloped off with then dumped in a smelly ditch. She thought it was hilarious.