Thanks to their escort, they arrived bare moments before the bridal party. Waving a grateful farewell to their policeman, Tilly and Campbell hurried in and were just lifting the cover off the cake when the television crew turned up, all ready to record Cleo’s reaction.

She didn’t disappoint, squealing with delight when she clapped eyes on the cake and throwing her arms around Campbell’s neck.

‘It’s so fabulous! You clever thing!’ she exclaimed as she planted a resounding kiss on his cheek. ‘Thank you so much, Campbell. It’s the best wedding cake ever! I’m never going to be able to cut it. Oh, I think I might be going to cry, it’s so perfect.’

Alarmed at the prospect of tears, Campbell patted her gingerly and rolled his eyes over her shoulder at Tilly in a silent plea for help.

‘Cleo, what do you think of Antony’s costume?’ she asked, coming to his rescue. ‘Campbell researched it down to the last detail. He’s even got the shoes right!’

To Campbell’s relief, Cleo let go of him and bent to examine the cake in more detail. ‘It’s incredible. I can’t believe you’ve learnt to do this in just two weeks, Campbell! Tony, come and look at this.’

Fortunately for Campbell, her groom restrained himself from hugging, but he was equally complimentary. ‘This is really impressive,’ he said to Campbell. ‘I can see a hell of a lot of research has gone into it.’ He walked round the cake, inspecting it closely. ‘Isn’t Cleopatra’s Antony spelt without an “h”, though?’

Tilly met Campbell’s gaze across the cake. A definite smile was tugging at his mouth, and the sight of it unlocked something deep in her chest, releasing a disquieting tingle that seeped slowly along her veins.

‘Could we have a quick interview?’

Suzy’s voice at her elbow startled Tilly out of her thoughts. The producer drew her and Campbell away from the crowd gathering round the cake and beckoned Jim, the cameraman, over.

‘It’s certainly a wonderful cake, Campbell,’ Suzy began. ‘Is it really all your own work?’

‘Yes,’ said Tilly, as Campbell said, ‘No.’

Suzy looked from one to the other.

‘I had to have Tilly’s help in the end,’ he told her. ‘I’d made a mistake, and Tilly put it right.’

‘Why did you say that?’ Tilly demanded crossly under her breath while Suzy was conferring with the cameraman. ‘Now we’ll lose points! I thought you wanted to win.’

‘I do, but I’m not going to cheat to do it. The rules were clear. I had to make the cake entirely myself.’

‘You did that! It was perfect.’

‘It wasn’t perfect. I spelt the name wrong, and you had to put it right.’

Tilly chewed her lip. ‘No one would ever have known it wasn’t you. You’d done it exactly the same, just without the “h”.’

‘I would have known,’ said Campbell. He looked at her curiously. ‘You’ve changed your tune, haven’t you? I thought you didn’t care whether we won or not?’

Tilly couldn’t meet his eyes. She couldn’t tell him that she only wanted to win for his sake. ‘We’ve gone to all this effort,’ she said. ‘It just seems a shame to blow it now.’

‘We’ve done what we can,’ he said carelessly. ‘It’s down to the viewers now. One way or another, it’ll be over soon.’

Tilly looked away. Yes, it would all be over soon, and that was probably just as well. The tension over the last few days had been almost unendurable, erupting at last in that stupid row over how to spell Anthony. She had been torn between not wanting their time together to end and wishing that it would so that she wouldn’t have to live any longer with the breathless churning that gripped her whenever she looked at Campbell.

She was going to miss him so much, but there would be a certain relief in not having to fight the attraction any more. She had to think about that, and not about how empty the kitchen was going to be without his solid, straight but somehow steadying presence. She couldn’t allow herself to think about how the severe expression relaxed when he was amused, crinkling the corners of his eyes and deepening the creases on either side of his mouth.

His mouth…she definitely couldn’t afford to let herself think about that. Or his hands. Or the whole lean, muscled length of him.

It was extraordinary how a man so austere and restrained-looking on the surface could have reduced her to a state of feverish desire where the most casual brush against each other left her boneless, a smile would stop the breath in her throat and the touch of his hand was like a jolt of electricity.

Campbell wasn’t romantic, he wasn’t passionate, he wasn’t any of the things Tilly yearned for in a man. He was tough and terse and acerbic, and she wanted him in a way she had never wanted anyone before.

But she couldn’t have him. He was leaving. Remember that, Tilly?

She wished now that she had ignored his reluctance and told him how she felt after that kiss. At least they could have had a week together and she would have had some memories. But it was too late now. Tomorrow he would be gone.

There was no point being miserable about it, Tilly decided, forcing her shoulders back and fixing on a bright smile. She had made a choice and now she had to live with it. In the meantime, it was Cleo’s wedding, and Cleo would want her to enjoy herself.

She threw herself into the party spirit with a touch of desperation, and it wasn’t, after all, that hard. She knew lots of people and there was a very happy atmosphere, especially after Cleo and Tony performed a dance routine for all their guests. This seemed to involve Cleo pushing Tony around the floor and hissing exasperated instructions at him. Clearly, he didn’t have a clue what he was supposed to be doing, and their audience was soon laughing uproariously.

Campbell looked at Tilly beside him. She was almost doubled over, helpless with laughter. Her face was alight, her eyes glowing, and he was seized by the urge to touch her, to hold her, to draw her warmth and her light around him.

So strong was the impulse that he had to make himself move away, but the more he tried to concentrate on making conversation with the other guests, the more aware he was of Tilly, scintillating, sparkling, in the background. She was talking and laughing, smiling, hugging friends, kissing acquaintances on the cheeks, and Campbell was gradually consumed by the longing to stride over, take hold of her and pull her away, outside.

To make her smile at him. Touch him. Kiss him.

By the time Tilly danced over to him at last, he was in no state to be sensible. He couldn’t remember why resisting her had ever seemed like an option, let alone a necessity, and every stern resolution evaporated as she stopped in front of him. Buoyed up by champagne and the party atmosphere, she was attempting to belly dance but succeeding only in looking faintly ridiculous and yet incredibly sexy at the same time.

‘Come on, Campbell,’ she cried over the throb of the music. ‘Show us what you’re made of!’

And Campbell gave in to the terrible temptation that had been tormenting him all evening and took her by the waist.

‘How can I refuse an invitation like that?’

At the touch of his hands, Tilly abruptly lost her rhythm. She stumbled and would have fallen if he hadn’t been holding her and instinctively she put her hands on his arms to balance herself.

And then she was lost.

The feverish gaiety that had swept her through the evening evaporated without warning, sucked away with the music and the laughter and the other guests behind some invisible barrier where everything was muted, leaving the two of them stranded and alone, while the space shrank around them, shortening the air and making her heart boom and thump and thunder in her ears.

It felt as if an insistent hand in the small of her back was pushing her towards Campbell, and it was a relief to give in, to let herself lean against him with a tiny sigh, knowing there was nothing else that she could do, that there was something more powerful than either of them forcing them together, insisting on balancing his hard strength and solidity with her softness and her warmth.

And, once she had given in, it felt so wonderful that Tilly wondered why she had ever believed that she ought to resist.

Afterwards, she could remember nothing about the music they danced to that evening. She knew only that she was holding Campbell at last, that he was holding her, and that they were dancing together.

Her arms slid up to his shoulders, savouring the feel of the powerful muscles beneath his jacket. Her face was almost touching his throat. She could see the pulse beating below his ear, and she breathed in the scent of clean skin and clean shirt and something that was purely Campbell.

Close to him, she felt light and shimmery, lit by the glow spreading through her, a glow that was burning brighter and brighter the tighter he held her. They were barely dancing, barely swaying, but his lips were against her hair, drifting downwards, and Tilly’s mouth curved expectantly. They would reach her cheek soon. They would graze her jaw, would nuzzle the lobe of her ear until she gasped and arched, and then she would turn her head and they would kiss, and that glow would ignite into a flame, a fire…

Adrift in anticipation, Tilly didn’t realise that the music had stopped until Campbell straightened slowly. His hands fell from her, but he held her still with his eyes, eyes that could look deep inside her and could surely see the desire beating there.

‘Shall we go?’ he asked, his voice deep and low, and Tilly nodded.

Still snared in the magic of the dance, she sat wordlessly beside Campbell as he drove the van back to the house. It seemed a long time since they had driven in the other direction, laughing helplessly as they’d followed their police escort.