His second sensation was horror as waif-and lunch-fought for balance, lost, and tumbled to the next landing.

What had he done?

He’d been in too much of a hurry. There weren’t enough hours in the day for Marcus Benson. He had people waiting.

They’d have to wait. He’d just knocked a kid down half a flight of stairs. She was crumpled in a heap on the next landing, looking as if she wasn’t going anywhere.

It seemed an eternity while she slid, but in fact it was two or three seconds at most. The next moment, Marcus was brushing the bright curls away from her face. Trying to see the damage.

Again he had to do a rethink. She wasn’t a street kid-or not the type that he recognised.

She was clean. Sure, she was covered in what remained of her bagel and her milkshake, but her mop of curls were soft to touch. Her shorts and her T-shirt were freshly laundered under the mess he’d made, and she was…

Cute?

Definitely cute.

She wasn’t a kid.

Maybe she was about twenty, he thought. Her eyes were closed but he had the impression that it wasn’t unconsciousness that was causing her eyelids to stay shuttered. There was a sense of exhaustion about her, as if she was closing her eyes to shut out more than the pain and shock of the moment. Dark shadows smudged deeply under her eyes. She was thin. Far too thin.

His first impression solidified. Cinderella.

Her eyes fluttered open. They were wide green eyes, deep and questioning. Pain-filled.

‘Don’t move,’ he said urgently and she focused on his face, questioning.

‘Ouch,’ she whispered.

‘Ouch?’

She appeared to consider.

‘Definitely ouch,’ she said at last, and the strain in her voice said she was trying hard to make light of something that was worse than just ouch. She didn’t move; just lay on the steel-plated landing as if she was trying to come to terms with a catastrophe that was just one of a series. ‘I guess I spilled my milkshake, huh.’