It took only a second for Rosie to realise this theatrical gesture had been a mistake. As the heel of her left shoe caught on an ancient loop of acrylic pile, she understood with sudden but perfect clarity that she was going to fall over.
Would her too-tight red dress tear as she tumbled to the floor? A small part of her actually hoped so; it would give her the perfect excuse for bailing on what she was increasingly sure would be a rotten evening.
As she tipped forward, unable to pull her shoe away from the carpet or right herself, she heard her own voice shout, ‘Bollocks!’ and screwed her eyes shut.
Beneath her yell came the sound of the building’s front door closing. Then the heavy tread of feet, moving at increasing speed.
She slammed into something solid and noted that, whatever it was, it wasn’t the floor. In the few seconds before she opened her eyes again, she registered that it was warm and soft against her cheek. It smelled of soap, or maybe washing powder, and a little bit ofman.
‘Oh-my-bloody-god,’ she said in a breathless rush, her words muffled by the faintly fragrant fabric. ‘I’m so, so sorry.’
Two large hands were planted on Rosie’s bare upper arms, steadying her as she backed away from what she now understood was a chest.
She lifted her head, sure that her cheeks were flaming the same colour as her frock. Then she lifted it a little further, craning her neck in search of a face. The owner of this chest was tall.
He was handsome, too, with inky-black hair, olive skin, a sharp, stubbled jawline and deep brown eyes. He was looking down at her with evident concern, his full-lipped mouth unsmiling.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said again, thoroughly flustered. ‘And, er … thanks. For stopping me from hitting the deck, I mean.’
He shook himself slightly, as if he too had been thrown off balance, then slid his hands towards Rosie’s elbows before lifting them from her skin altogether. She felt like the air around her had thickened – as if she was suddenly underwater.
Without saying a word, let alone explaining what the movement meant, the man bent down and rested his full weight on one denim-clad knee. Utterly confused, Rosie’s brain short-circuited and began playing a reel of all the romantic proposals she’d ever seen in films and on TV.
‘Ha ha ha, it’s a bit soon for an engagement,’ she babbled, ‘we only met thirty seconds ago.’
She’d been aiming for jocular but, as the words left her lips, she came to the horrifying conclusion that she sounded deranged.
Of all the idiotic things she could have said, why had she chosenthat?
But also … what on earth was he doing?
He glanced up at her through long lashes, a flicker of amusement briefly dancing in his eyes. Still silent, he gently lifted her left foot, unhooking the heel of her shoe from the scrap of carpet it was stuck to.
After placing it back on the floor, he stood up. He seemed confused about what to do next, unsure of where to look.
His eyes darted around, eventually coming to rest on Rosie’s face. She suddenly felt as if her skin, as well as her dress, were a size too small. And why was the hallway sohot, all of a sudden?
Rosie wished powerfully that she was wearing something less tight. Lessrevealing. She felt an odd certainty that this man was the sort of person whosawthings – noticed fine details that passed most others by. It was intimidating.
For a second, she thought she detected a slight flush – a pink glow that hadn’t been there before suddenly decorating his high cheekbones.
‘Well,’ Rosie said. ‘Sorry again. And thanks. Again. Erm …’
Dear lord, she was an idiot. In fairness, though, this wildly handsome stranger seemed to have had the power of speech knocked out of him by her earlier impact – and surelysomeonehad to speak?
His gaze caught hers and held it for a moment that seemed to stretch on, extending into hours. He opened his mouth like he wasfinallyabout to say something, and Rosie felt her chest tighten in anticipation.
An insistent honking cut through the oddly charged atmosphere.
‘Bloody hell, Rosie,’ James yelled from inside the flat. ‘I thought you were going out there. Look lively, will you?’
As the tall stranger stepped aside and Rosie moved further into the hallway, James appeared behind her. ‘Comeon,’ he said irritably, ignoring the random man entirely and propelling her by the waist towards the front door. He glanced back as he shut it behind them, then manoeuvred Rosie into their waiting cab.
‘Who was that?’ he asked, as the car pulled away from the kerb and headed south-west. ‘New neighbour?’
‘Oh. Yeah. Probably,’ Rosie agreed, remembering only now that there’d been a backpack and several boxes stacked on the staircase up to the building’s first and second floors. They’d been mostly obscured by the very large, very mysterious and weirdly intense person she’d just crashed into.
James threw her an exasperated look. ‘Well, you met him, didn’t you?’ he demanded. ‘Did you not find out if he was moving in?’