Книга - The Tortured Rake

The Tortured Rake
Sarah Morgan


Nathaniel. . . Icon. Celebrity. Heartthrob.Underneath the movie star’s good looks is a man battling with the demons of his past. No one knows the real Nathaniel, they only see the pin-up, the man he pretends to be. Until one night he is forced to rely on Katie Field, an ordinary young woman from a very different world to Nathaniel’s.She may be starstuck but she isn’t blinded by the bright lights of fame. Can Nathaniel trust her enough to reveal the man behind the mask? Let the seduction begin…










“Sorry—I’m just not used to having a movie star in my living room. It feels—”

“How does it feel?” The way he was looking at her turned her insides to liquid. His eyes slid to her mouth and Katie felt the blood pound through her veins. Being the focus of his attention was the most heady, exciting thing that had ever happened to her. He was looking at her as if, as if—

Oh God, Nathaniel Wolfe was going to kiss her—

Why, oh why, hadn’t she stuck to her diet?

Wound tight with sexual awareness, she swayed towards him. She saw him lower his head towards hers and then he gave a sharp frown and turned away abruptly, walking to the far side of the room.

Katie stood like an idiot, completely thrown off balance. What had she expected? Nathaniel Wolfe was a superstar. What on earth had made her think he’d want to kiss someone like her? Clearly she was delusional.







A powerful dynasty, where secrets and scandal never sleep!

THE DYNASTY Eight siblings, blessed with wealth, but denied the one thing they wanted—a father’s love.

A family destroyed by one man’s thirst for power.

THE SECRETS Haunted by their past and driven to succeed, the Wolfes scattered to the far corners of the globe.

But secrets never sleep and scandal

is starting to stir…

THE POWER Now the Wolfe brothers are back, stronger than ever, but hiding hearts as hard as granite.

It’s said that even the blackest of souls can

be healed by the purest of love…

But can the dynasty rise again?


ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author SARAH MORGAN writes lively, sexy stories for both Modern™ Romance and Medical™ Romance.

As a child Sarah dreamed of being a writer and although she took a few interesting detours on the way, she is now living that dream. With her writing career she has successfully combined business with pleasure and she firmly believes that reading romance is one of the most satisfying and fat-free escapist pleasures available. Her stories are unashamedly optimistic and she is always pleased when she receives letters from readers saying that her books have helped them through hard times.

Romantic Times has described her writing as “action packed and sexy” and nominated her books for their Reviewer’s Choice Awards and their “Top Pick” slot.

Sarah lives near London with her husband and two children who innocently provide an endless supply of authentic dialogue. When she isn’t writing or reading Sarah enjoys music, movies and any activity that takes her outdoors.

Readers can find out more about Sarah and her books from her website www.sarahmorgan.com. She can also be found on Facebook and Twitter.











TORTURED RAKE

SARAH MORGAN







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my fellow ‘Wolfe’ authors—

Caitlin, Abby, Robyn, Lynn, Janette, Jennie and

Kate. Working on this series with you was so much

fun. You’re a fantastic, talented bunch of women

and I can’t wait to read the final stories!




CHAPTER ONE


THEY were waiting for him to fail.

Nathaniel Wolfe, bad boy of Hollywood and focus of millions of women’s erotic fantasies, stood alone in the wings of the famous London theatre, listening to the excited hum of conversation from the waiting audience.

He knew they could roughly be divided into two camps. Women who had come to see if his face and body lived up to the promise of the big screen and men who had come to see whether he could really act.

The knives had been out for him since it had been announced that he would play the title role in a modern interpretation of Shakespeare’s Richard II.

They thought he couldn’t do it. They thought that the awards, the plaudits, the box office successes were all a result of clever camera work and a handsome face. They thought he had no talent.

A cynical smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

He was going to blast their prejudices into the stratosphere. By tomorrow morning no one would be questioning his talent. The headlines wouldn’t be Can the Big Bad Wolfe Really Act? but Big Bad Wolfe Silences Critics with Outstanding Performance. He was going to show them an emotional range that had never before been seen in the theatre.

The director was hovering in the wings and they shared a single brief glance. It had been a stormy collaboration with Nathaniel insisting on playing the part the way he wanted to do it and the director fighting back. Between them they’d produced magic that both knew would go down in theatre history.

As the moment approached, Nathaniel closed his eyes and blocked out the outside world. It was the ritual he always used. Within moments, Nathaniel Wolfe ceased to exist.

He was Richard, King of England.

This was what he did. He turned a role into reality. He didn’t just act that character, he became that character. At the age of nine he’d discovered it was possible to slip into someone else’s skin and hide there. It had been a way of escaping from the dark that had licked around the edges of his life. He could be whoever he wanted to be. A knight, a ninja, a dragon slayer, a vampire, a superhero. Desperate, he’d given himself the strength and power to fight back. To protect those he loved. Acting had begun as an escape and quickly become a disguise. And that was how he lived his life. Alone and in disguise, depending on no one.

He had no trouble being someone else.

It was being Nathaniel Wolfe that gave him problems.

‘The dress does not make you look fat.’ Katie tightened the corset over rolls of flesh. ‘The colour is really flattering, I think you look great. And anyway, you’re the Duchess of Gloucester. You’re supposed to look—’ She broke off as the actress glowered at her. ‘Statesman-like,’ she finished. ‘You’re supposed to have gravitas.’

‘So you’re basically saying I look fat and old?’

‘No! I picked the costume really carefully.’ Realising how that could be interpreted, Katie braced herself for more abuse. ‘You’re playing the part of a grieving widow so you’re not supposed to look bright and cheerful.’

‘Are you trying to tell me how to act?’

‘No. I’m telling you that you look perfect for the part. Please try and relax.’

‘How can I relax when I’m cast alongside Nathaniel Wolfe? He is sarcastic, cutting, moody… Yesterday when I made that one simple mistake—’

‘He just looked at you,’ Katie said soothingly. ‘He didn’t actually say anything.’

‘You don’t know how much can be conveyed by the eyes, especially when those eyes belong to Nathaniel Wolfe. When he looks at you it’s like being zapped by a laser.’ Increasingly agitated, the older woman waved her hand towards the door. ‘Go. I need to be around people who understand my temperament.’

Crabby and irritable? ‘I still have to zip up your dress.’ Katie discovered that her hands were shaking. ‘Look, we’re all stressed—’

‘What do you have to be stressed about?’

‘Well…’ For a moment Katie almost told her about the meeting she had with a top British costume designer and how much was riding on it. She almost blurted out that her debts were so scarily huge she spent her nights creating mental spreadsheets, trying to find a way of paying everything she owed. But if all went well tomorrow, then that would change. This was her big break.

Misinterpreting her silence, the actress made an impatient sound in her throat. ‘You have no idea what it’s like acting opposite a Hollywood star. You have no idea how it feels to know that every single person in that audience has come to see him.’ She turned the full force of her wrath onto Katie. ‘My dress could split and everyone would still be looking at him! I could be naked and no one would notice!’

Horrified by that thought, Katie took several deep breaths. ‘Please calm down. It’s just opening-night nerves. Everyone feels the same.’

‘Everyone except Nathaniel Wolfe,’ the actress snapped. ‘He’s as remote as Antarctica and every bit as icy. No one dares get too close in case they injure themselves on all that ice.’

‘And then they’d sink like the Titanic.‘

‘Are you saying I look like the Titanic?’

‘No!’ Katie decided it was safer not to indulge in conversation. ‘You look gorgeous and the dress fits perfectly.’

‘Not for much longer. When I’m stressed I just want to eat. And acting alongside Nathaniel Wolfe stresses me. You’re young and pretty. Why aren’t you backstage wearing a push-up bra and a plunge top like all the other girls?’

‘I look ridiculous in a push-up bra and I’d die on the spot if Nathaniel Wolfe actually noticed me. Fortunately he doesn’t know I exist. He calls me “wardrobe.” Even when I was fitting him for his costume he didn’t talk to me. He was on the phone the whole time. Breathe in…’ Katie struggled with the zip, praying that it would hold. She didn’t want to be the one to point out that eating a truckload of doughnuts between costume fitting and opening night wasn’t helpful. ‘Nathaniel Wolfe is so famous I find it impossible to act normally around him. When he walks into the room my stomach churns, my mouth falls open and I stare like an idiot, which is not a good look. And anyway, he is the ultimate bad boy and I prefer men who are a little less scary.’ She fastened the hooks at the neckline. ‘There. You’re ready. Good luck.’

‘It’s bad luck to wish an actress good luck. You’re supposed to say “break a leg” or something similar.’

Katie sighed. Break a zip? ‘I’m in charge of wardrobe, if anyone breaks anything it will be a problem because none of the costumes will fit over a plaster cast. And now I have to go and check on John of Gaunt.’

She escaped to the wardrobe department where her close friend and assistant, Claire, was munching a bar of chocolate and reading a celebrity magazine hidden underneath a costume. She glanced up guiltily as Katie entered the room.

‘Oops. You caught me peeking into other people’s lives—all for the purposes of research, of course.’ Her grin turned to a frown as she looked at Katie’s face. ‘I’m guessing you’ve just come from sorting out the Duchess of Grizzly Ghastly Gloucester. Did she fit into her dress?’

‘Just.’ Katie flopped into a chair. Pain stabbed behind her eyes. ‘Dressing her in deep purple is great for the character she’s playing, but dark colours are very unforgiving against exposed flesh and I have a horrible feeling that her dress is going to split. Do we have any headache pills left?’

‘I just swallowed the last. And talking of headaches…’ Claire passed her the magazine. ‘I don’t know if you’re going to want to see this, but there’s a huge feature on your sister in here. Is Paula Preston the Most Beautiful Woman in the World? Well, duh—no, she’s the most airbrushed woman in the world. How come you’re Field and she’s Preston? Why don’t the two of you have the same surname?’

‘She doesn’t want anyone to make the connection. She likes to pretend her family doesn’t exist.’ Katie stared at the picture of her sister and then thought about how much their mother was struggling. Part of her just wanted to get on the phone and yell. She wanted to remind Paula about family loyalty and priorities. But she knew there was no point. ‘When it all came out about Dad’s gambling problem, she was horrified. I was horrified, too, obviously, but Paula was just so angry with Mum for forgiving him and staying with him all those years. She blames her for the fact we had no money when we were growing up and says that if Mum loses the house now, then it’s her own fault. She doesn’t see why she should pay for what she sees as Mum’s weakness.’

‘Nice.’

‘Sometimes I can’t even believe we’re related.’ Katie chewed the corner of her fingernail and then caught sight of her sister’s perfect nails and let her hand drop into her lap. ‘It was all too grubby for her. She’s created this perfect image for herself and she doesn’t want it tarnished by Dad’s sins.’

Claire snatched the magazine back from her and ripped out the offending article. ‘There.’ She scrunched up the pages and threw them in the bin. ‘She’s where she deserves to be. And now I’m going to watch the wicked Wolfe onstage. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime thing. Are you coming?’

‘No. I need to look at my drawings again and go over the script before tomorrow.’

‘You’ll never be able to work in Hollywood if you’re star-struck.’

‘I’m not star-struck.’

‘Yes, you are. When you took his inside leg measurement, your face was like a tomato.’

‘OK, maybe I’m Nathaniel Wolfe-struck.’

‘The guy is smoking hot, that’s for sure.’

Katie twisted the cap off a bottle of water. ‘Yes, but he isn’t real. How well can you ever really know an actor? How do you know when they’re acting?’ She sipped her water. She knew only too well how easy it was to think you knew someone and then discover you didn’t. ‘I mean, if Nathaniel Wolfe ever said “I love you” to you, are you seriously going to believe him?’

‘I overheard him telling the director that love is a four-letter word and he never uses four-letter words. Do you know that the tickets for this sold out in four minutes? Four minutes. Incredible. Particularly when you think that Shakespeare is gobbledegook to lots of people. Macbeth talking to skulls—’

‘Hamlet.’ Katie slipped off her shoes and flexed her toes. ‘It was Hamlet.’

‘Whatever. I was rubbish at English at school. I used to think Chaucer was something you rested your teacup on.’

‘That’s saucer, not Chaucer.’

‘My point exactly. Anyway, what I’m saying is that he could be reading his tax return and it would still be a full house. This is Nathaniel Wolfe we’re talking about. The man has won every award going, except the Sapphire Screen Award. That’s the big one.’ Katie thought about the massive hype that surrounded the most prestigious film award in the world. ‘He’s been nominated three times.’

‘I guess it’s every actor’s ultimate goal. He certainly deserves it this time round.’ Claire looked dreamy.

‘Even when he’s spouting Shakespeare and I don’t understand a word he’s saying, I still can’t stop listening.’

‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you—it’s mind control. It’s the voice. And those incredible blue eyes.’

‘Can you imagine what it would be like to actually have sex with him? I wonder if you’d stare with your mouth open all the way through?’

‘That’s one question I’m never going to be able to answer. He doesn’t even know I’m alive. Thank goodness.’ Katie put the top back on her water and returned the bottle to her bag. ‘Listen, about tonight—’

‘You are not backing out, so don’t even think about it. It starts at eleven and we need to look really sexy. Wear something that shows your cleavage.’

‘No way. I still have no idea how I let you talk me into speed dating.’

‘You’re gorgeous, Katie. You only think you’re fat because your sister is Paula Preston, supermodel.’

‘I feel so unfit. When this play is over I’m going to be more disciplined about exercise. I want to be toned and sleek. It’s depressing watching Nathaniel Wolfe. His body is packed muscle.’ Gloomy, Katie flexed her biceps. ‘I barely have the strength to lift my water bottle.’

‘He looks deadly in that leather jacket you picked out for him. You are utterly amazing at knowing exactly which costume will work best.’

‘The costume is supposed to mimic the character’s emotional journey.’ Katie glanced down at her ripped jeans. ‘I dread to think what my clothes say about my emotional journey but I definitely travelled economy.’

‘Your clothes say that you’re an overworked, underpaid costume designer with no time to worry about your own wardrobe.’

‘And with huge debts.’

‘You’re incredibly talented. One day someone is going to discover you.’

‘Well, I wish someone would discover me quickly.’ Panic streaked through her. ‘The house sucks everything I earn. It’s like a monster.’

‘You have to tell your Mum how much you’re struggling. She doesn’t really need three bedrooms, does she?’

‘It’s the home she lived in with Dad. It’s full of memories.’ Emotionally and physically exhausted, Katie closed her eyes. ‘Every time I go there she tells me that living in the house is the only thing keeping her going since we lost him. Despite everything, theirs was such an incredible love story. Anyway, if I get this job it will all be fine. Another step up the ladder.’

‘I bet your sister would be interested if she knew you were working with Nathaniel Wolfe.’ Claire stretched out her legs. ‘Do you prefer him in Alpha Man or Dare or Die?’

‘Alpha Man.’

‘Seriously?’ Claire frowned. ‘Alpha Man was about a Special Forces soldier. I didn’t think it would be your sort of thing.’

‘I loved the fact he thought he had no heart and then when he met the daughter of his enemy—’ Katie’s eyes misted ‘—that bit at the end when he sacrifices himself to save her. I cried for days. I must have watched it a hundred times. Nathaniel Wolfe was crazily good in that movie. And totally gorgeous. If they awarded a Sapphire for Best Physique, he’d win.’

‘Talking of the Sapphires—’ Claire threw her the magazine ‘—flick through the rest of that when you get a minute. There’s an article on dressing for the big night. They’re predicting who will wear what at the ceremony in two weeks’ time. You might be interested.’

‘Why? I’m never going to be invited to the Sapphire ceremony, which is just as well because I don’t think you’re allowed to wear holey jeans.’ Katie slipped the magazine into her bag to read later and Claire glanced at her watch and jumped to her feet.

‘Whoa, look at the time. Less than five minutes to go. Sure you won’t change your mind and come?’

‘No, thanks. You can drool for both of us.’

Nathaniel walked centre stage and stared into the darkness. He didn’t see the audience. He wasn’t thinking about the critics.

He was King Richard II, the doomed king.

He opened his mouth to deliver his opening lines to John of Gaunt when a spotlight illuminated the front row of the audience.

Holding the crown in his hand, Nathaniel looked down and his eyes locked onto a familiar face. Familiar and yet unfamiliar. Twenty years had wrought changes, but not so many changes that the features were unrecognisable.

Shock froze time.

The features blurred.

And then the past rushed forward with terrifying speed and his concentration shattered like glass dropped onto concrete. The momentary lapse released a lethal cocktail of memories and they swirled around his head, delighted to be free after so many years incarcerated in the locked vault of his brain.

Shouts and terror. Stop it, stop it! And blood. Blood everywhere. Do something…

He felt helpless. Utterly helpless.

His heart pounding, Nathaniel stared down at his hands clasping the crown. There was no blood. His hands were clean. But still he couldn’t move, his brain frozen by the ghosts of his own inadequacy. The knowledge that he hadn’t acted, hadn’t done something, gnawed at him….

Guilt crawled over him like a poisonous insect and he wondered how it was possible to shiver and sweat at the same time.

Dimly aware of the ripple of speculation that slowly spread through the audience, Nathaniel fought with ruthless determination to close down that side of himself.

Richard, he thought desperately. King Richard.

He gripped the crown and tried to slip back into his character’s skin. But it no longer fitted him. Control slid from him like a cloak.

Each time he opened his eyes he saw the same face looking at him from the front row reminding him that he wasn’t King Richard II—he was Nathaniel Wolfe, an actor with a family background more dramatic than anything penned even by the Bard himself.

If Shakespeare had been alive, Nathaniel thought bitterly, he would have written the Wolfe family history as a tragedy in three acts.

No comedy. No happy endings. Just life at its darkest.

Desperate now, he tried to claw his way through that darkness back to the surface but he could feel himself sinking, drowning in the thick mud of his past.

Why choose this moment to come back? Why now, when they’d all rebuilt their lives?

Anger ripped through him, hot and sharp.

He had to warn Annabelle. That, at least, he could do. He had to contact her right now.

The ripple of speculation grew to a restless buzz from the audience. People who had assumed he was pausing for maximum effect, suddenly realised that something was terribly wrong. Silence turned to murmur and murmur to conversation.

Bracing his shoulders like a fighter poised for impact, Nathaniel tried one more time to deliver his opening lines but he couldn’t even remember them. Sucked back in time, the layer he put between himself and the world simply melted away.

Stripped of his camouflage, he was forced into the skin of the one character he’d avoided playing all his life.

Nathaniel Wolfe.

Last time, he’d let her down. This time, he wouldn’t.

‘Ladies and gentleman…’ His voice, cold and devoid of emotion, carried to the back of the auditorium. He made a point of not looking at the man in the front row. It took all his self-control not to stride into the audience, grab him by the throat and knock him out cold. ‘Tonight’s performance is cancelled. Please see the box office for a refund.’

Having finished her preparation for the interview, Katie rolled her aching shoulders and left the wardrobe department. Backstage, the theatre was eerily quiet. Everyone was watching Nathaniel Wolfe.

She stood for a moment, breathing in the smells and the atmosphere. History was embedded deep in the fabric of the building. How many famous actors and actresses had trodden the boards of this theatre?

For a moment she was a child again, six years old and playing dress-up with her sister, Paula.

You can’t be the princess, Katie, you’re too fat and your hair is curly. I’m the prettiest so I’ll be the princess. You can dress me.

What had started as duty fast became a passion. When Paula had decided it wasn’t cool to hang out with her dumpy little sister, Katie had continued to dress her friends. Every night after school they’d put on plays, and Katie had been the one who decided what they were going to wear. She’d loved experimenting with different combinations, loved the challenge of designing a costume that conveyed the essence of each character. A princess with a sword. A fairy in breeches and boots. She’d listened to her friends discussing roles and knew instinctively which costume they needed to fully express the part. She’d dressed her friends, she’d dressed dolls, she’d dressed her mother…

The only person she never dressed again was Paula, whose modelling dreams had taken her far away from her humble roots.

But Katie had continued to dream.

A loud crash from the wings brought her back to the present.

Katie turned her head and listened. What began as a purposeful masculine stride, suddenly increased to a run.

Frowning, she stood her ground, ready to point out to whoever it was that the noise could probably be heard all the way across London’s West End.

Who could possibly be running? An inexperienced stagehand, presumably. Or possibly one of the hangers-on who had been lingering backstage in the hope of catching a glimpse of Nathaniel Wolfe’s virile, muscular frame and flawless features.

Realising that the footsteps were coming straight towards her, Katie hurriedly stepped out of the way but she was too late. A powerful male body slammed into her and sent her flying. There was no time to gasp or cry out. Falling backwards, she braced herself to hit the ground but strong hands suddenly grabbed her and hauled her upright, holding on until she was steady.

Trapped against hard, packed muscle, something melted inside her. It was an elemental reaction that transcended common sense and the sheer power of it shocked her.

Sharp bones, black hair and eyes that could make a woman forget her own name.

‘Er, Mr Wolfe, I didn’t expect to see you here. I mean, obviously you’re performing here so I did expect to see you, but not exactly right here at this precise moment and especially not running backstage.’ Oh, shut up, Katie. ‘Is something wrong?

Well, I can see something is wrong,’ she blurted out, ‘otherwise you wouldn’t be thundering backstage like a herd of elephants, but—’

‘He’s here….’ His hands gripped her shoulders so tightly that Katie winced.

‘Er, who?’ She stared up at him stupidly, her heart hammering against her chest and her mouth dry as dust. Up close it was impossible not to stare. He was shockingly sexy, every line of his perfect features accentuating his masculinity. She tried desperately to form a lucid sentence but her brain felt as if it had been anaesthetised. ‘Mr Wolfe?’

‘Why now?’ Those blue eyes were two glittering slits of fierce anger. ‘Why?’ He released her and punched his fist hard into a piece of abandoned scenery, splintering the wood. Breathing heavily, he pressed his fingers to his forehead, barely coherent. ‘I can’t—I don’t—I have to warn Annabelle….’

Who was Annabelle?

‘Right, well, I can see you’re upset….’ Katie took a wary step backwards, watching him as he drew his phone out of his pocket and keyed in a number. His knuckles were grazed and raw, but he didn’t appear to have noticed. In that single moment, she understood why Nathaniel Wolfe excelled at playing deeply troubled heroes—underneath that perfect physique and breathtakingly handsome face he was a man every bit as troubled as the characters he portrayed. And that was part of the attraction, of course. There was a side of him that was untamed and dangerous. Registering the hard set of his jaw and the grim line of his mouth, she thought about the Special Forces soldier he’d played in his recent action thriller, Alpha Man.

He was the hunter.

And right now he wasn’t acting. She knew he wasn’t acting. And there was no point in her trying to persuade him back onstage. He was a man who followed no one’s orders but his own.

Out of her depth, Katie glanced around, desperately hoping someone else would arrive and take over. Where were the stage managers?

He held the phone to his ear, his movements restless and edgy. Apart from onstage, acting, she’d only ever seen him supercool. He was occasionally sarcastic, frequently bored, but never out of control.

Right now, he looked out of control. The force field of cynicism that surrounded him had been replaced by something close to desperation.

‘Is there an exit that the press don’t know about?’

‘Exit?’ Katie tried to breathe but there was something about the intensity of his gaze that made it impossible to do anything except stare. This was closer than she’d ever been to him before and he was spectacular.

‘If Carrie finds out, this whole thing is going to blow up—Answer the phone, damn it….’ Clearly no one did and he left a short, cryptic message before pocketing the phone again. Then he grabbed Katie by the arm, his tone raw and desperate. ‘You have to get me out of here. Fast.’

Still absorbing the fact that he obviously had two women on the go at the same time, Katie looked at him sternly and then froze because she saw desperation in his eyes. And knew she’d made a fundamental mistake in her assessment of him.

He wasn’t the hunter.

He was the hunted.

Someone—or something—was chasing him.

‘There’s a fire escape in the wardrobe department. It leads into one of the side streets.’ Without pausing to question her actions, she grabbed his hand and dragged him back into the wardrobe department, locking the door behind them.

‘That will hold them for a few minutes. The fire escape is over there. Good luck.’

‘I can’t do this without help!’ He yanked her up close. ‘Where do you live? Is it far?’

The strength left her knees. ‘You have to be kidding. I mean, you have a suite at The Dorchester and—’

‘—and that is the first place they’ll look. The press have been camped outside since my plane landed.’

Katie tried to imagine Nathaniel Wolfe in her cramped bedsit and her face burned. ‘My place is really tiny. Honestly, I don’t think—’

‘Please.’ He cupped her face in his hands so that she had no choice but to look at him again. Eye to eye, she was dazzled. Tumbling into that intense blue gaze, she forgot where she was. She forgot who she was. Dimly she remembered him asking her something but her eyes were locked with his and—

‘Katie?’

In the grip of a sexual excitement she’d never experienced before, she swayed towards him. ‘Mmm?’

‘Katie!‘ He snapped his fingers in front of her face and broke the spell.

Shaking her head to clear the buzzing in her brain, Katie felt as though she was coming out of a trance.

‘Y-you know my name.’

‘I make a point of knowing the name of every woman who has ever taken my inside leg measurement.’ Beneath the sardonic lift of his brows his eyes glinted. ‘Get us out of here, angel. I don’t want to be tonight’s meal for the paparazzi.’

Always a sucker for anyone in trouble and totally bowled over by the fact he actually knew her name, Katie ignored the inner voice that was telling her it was a big mistake. ‘All right, but my place is going to be a shock after The Dorchester. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.’ She grabbed her jacket and two helmets and thrust one of them towards him. ‘Take this.’

He stared at it blankly. ‘What for?’

‘If we’re escaping, then we need an escape vehicle. I have one outside. It’s nippy and great for getting through London traffic. Put the helmet on—it will cover your face. Not that your face isn’t incredible to look at but—’ Flustered, she pushed the helmet into his hands. ‘This will be a lot easier.’

The voices were outside now and someone rattled the door.

Katie took matters into her own hands. She reached up and jammed the helmet onto his head. ‘The fire escape will be icy. Watch your footing. I feel really stupid saying that to you—the guy who does most of his own stunts. I’m sure an icy fire escape isn’t going to present you with a challenge.’

He had his phone in his hand again. ‘I just need to make one more call….’

‘You can make it when you get to my place.’ Katie didn’t point out that if he stuck to one woman at a time, then he wouldn’t be in this desperate situation. Telling herself that his complicated love life was none of her business, she tugged at his arm. ‘If you don’t want to get up close and personal with a hundred camera lenses, then we need to get out of here now!’




CHAPTER TWO


THE sound of their feet echoed on the metal steps of the fire escape and Katie jumped the last few and landed in the alleyway next to her Vespa.

As the cold February air nipped through their clothing, Nathaniel stared at the scooter, one eyebrow raised in naked disbelief. ‘That’s your idea of an escape vehicle?’

‘It may not be a Ferrari, but—’

‘It definitely isn’t a Ferrari.’

‘It’s faster than it looks. And it has the added advantage that you wouldn’t be seen dead on one, which means that no one will be expecting to see you on it.’ As she swung her leg over the bike and fired up the engine, a pack of paparazzi came screaming round the corner like crazed animals.

Flashes exploded and Katie shrank. ‘I don’t want them to take my picture—I hate having my picture taken.’

Nathaniel vaulted onto the bike behind her, hooked his arm round her waist and pulled himself close. ‘Move. That’s if this thing is capable of moving.’

His hard body pressed against hers and awareness speared her from throat to pelvis. The raw burn of it shocked her. More powerful, more intense than anything she’d experienced before. Mortified to realise that he had his hand planted firmly on her stomach, Katie sucked it in and vowed that from now on she was going to do at least a hundred sit-ups a day.

Impatient, Nathaniel closed his hands over hers. ‘Go!’ Taking control, he twisted the throttle and the Vespa sprang forward with a force that threw Katie back against his chest. Caged by his strong arms and crushed against hard male muscle, some of the fear left her. Her helmet bumped against his shoulder and in that instant she thought about all the women in the world who would have given their life savings to swap places with her.

Surreal, she thought. Nathaniel Wolfe on the back of her Vespa.

And then suddenly she had a whole new reason to be afraid because he wasn’t slowing down. Instead he was squeezing every last atom of speed from the bike. The wind blew in her face, the ends of her hair lifted.

‘Slow down!’ She hadn’t known her tame, trusty little Vespa was capable of such speeds. Too late she remembered that Nathaniel Wolfe raced motorbikes as a hobby and that several directors refused to work with him because he was wild and a risk taker.

The bad, bad boy of Hollywood.

Fearless and bold he pushed her bike to its limits and Katie gave a whimper of panic. She didn’t particularly like journalists, but she had no wish to kill anyone.

‘Something wrong?’ His laughing voice was close to her ear and she choked out one word.

‘Speeding—’

‘I’m doing my best, sweetheart, but next time do us both a favour and buy the fuel-injected version. This one sucks.’

They shot towards the crowd of journalists and Katie tried to scream but no sound emerged. Terrified, she tried to slacken back on the throttle but hard, strong fingers tightened on hers, controlling what she did, forcing her to maintain maximum speed.

‘Relax.’ His voice was molten seduction in her ear. ‘They’ll move.’

‘And if they don’t?’

‘Then there’ll be a few less journalists following me. Haven’t you ever played chicken?’

‘I’m vegetarian!’ Katie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, coming to terms with the fact she was going to be the first person to get a speeding ticket on a

Vespa. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t earn herself a manslaughter charge to go with it.

Braced for impact, she thought to herself that the rumours about his physical strength hadn’t been exaggerated. His hands were locked on hers in a death grip and the muscles of his shoulders were a solid wall behind her.

‘Hang on,’ he growled in her ear, and Katie opened her eyes to discover that they were now close enough to the photographers to see the whites of their eyes. At the last minute the crowd scattered and the bike shot through the sudden gap and emerged onto the main road. There was a shriek of tyres as people swerved to avoid them, a cacophony of taxi horns and several warning shouts, and Katie was glad his hands were over hers because her palms were slippery with sweat and she knew that if he weren’t controlling the bike, then she would probably have just slid in a heap to the pavement.

She heard him laugh and decided right there and then that Nathaniel Wolfe had a sick sense of humour.

Outside the theatre there was a crowd of people, mostly women, many holding banners saying I Love Nathaniel Wolfe. They’d queued for hours in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Hollywood megastar as he left the theatre. They didn’t seem to care that he was notorious for not signing autographs. All they wanted was to catch a glimpse of those famous eyes.

If they recognised him…

‘Which way?’ The voice next to her ear was firm and decisive and now it was her turn to take the lead because she knew these streets well. Soon she was weaving through the London traffic, putting as much distance as possible between her and the journalists. She turned off the main road and took an elaborate detour, choosing back roads and side streets.

As her heart gradually slowed and her panic eased, the enormity of what she’d done suddenly hit her.

It took twenty minutes to be sure that no one had followed her and another ten to double back across the river towards south London and her flat. And all the time she was aware of the heat of Nathaniel’s body pressed against hers and his arm clamped around her waist.

He should have been cold, she thought, wearing only the leather jacket and black T-shirt that was the costume she’d selected for his contemporary portrayal of King Richard, but wherever their bodies touched, she felt warmth. Or maybe the warmth was hers. A fiery glow burned her skin through her clothing.

You’re as susceptible as every other woman, Katie.

Pushing aside that unsettling thought, Katie swerved into an alleyway adjoining a block of flats.

‘This is where I live.’

He swung his leg off the bike and unfastened the helmet.

‘Don’t take it off,’ Katie said quickly. ‘Someone might recognise you. Let’s get inside first. Walk as if you’re ordinary, not as if you’re a movie star or a Special Forces soldier on a mission. You need to melt into the background.’

‘I’m six foot two. Melting into the background isn’t easy.’

Katie rolled her eyes as she slid off the bike, her legs as floppy as string. ‘You drove like a maniac. I thought you were going to kill us both.’ She locked her scooter. ‘I’m on the second floor. Don’t look at anyone.’

‘I’m wearing the helmet.’

‘But you can still see your eyes.’ And those fierce blue eyes were known the world over. Slightly slanting and fringed by thick, dark lashes that simply intensified that hypnotic gaze, his eyes were designed for sin and seduction.

Katie tried not to look at him. It was easier to concentrate if she didn’t look. ‘Just… try and be invisible.’ Their footsteps echoed around the stairwell and a door opened a slit as they passed.

‘Is that you, Katie dear?’

Katie gestured to Nathaniel to stay back. ‘It’s me, Vera. Everything all right?’

‘You’re home already?’ The door opened a little wider and the old lady peered through her glasses, ‘And with a nice young man. That was quick. I suppose that’s why it’s called speed dating.’

‘Vera—’

‘I said to Maggie in 22A, if those guys have any sense they’re going to all be taking our Katie’s number.’

‘Vera, I haven’t—’

‘And you brought him straight back home. No messing around. Good for you. I envy you modern girls. In my day we had to sit through long boring dates and we didn’t even get sex at the end of it.’ Vera leaned forward and squinted at Nathaniel. ‘You look like a man who can handle himself. And you have good shoulders. I like a man with good shoulders.’

Melting with embarrassment and terrified that the old lady would recognise Nathaniel, Katie leaned forward and gave her neighbour a hug. ‘Go back inside now. It’s freezing tonight and you’re letting all the heat out. I’ll come and have a cup of tea with you soon.’

Vera was gazing at Nathaniel. ‘You look a bit like that lovely young man everyone is raving about—that movie star. You could get a job as his body double or one of those lookalikes. We had a Tom Cruise lookalike at the Day Centre a few months ago but he was very disappointing. The eyes were all wrong.’

‘Vera, we have to go….’ Katie backed away.

‘Well, of course you do.’ Vera gave a knowing wink. ‘You have things to do. Speed dating. Just remember, not everything has to be done fast.’ She closed the door and Katie pulled her keys out of her pocket, so embarrassed she didn’t know where to look.

Flicking on the light, her embarrassment increased when she saw the state of the place. Pictures from her sketchbook were spread all over the floor from her late-night working session and dirty bowls and plates were still stacked in the sink waiting to be washed.

‘Sorry about the mess.’ Still not looking at him she closed the door behind them. ‘I did the early shift at the coffee shop yesterday and then I was working on a costume plot for a new production of The Taming of the Shrew. I didn’t have time to clear up.’

‘A shift at the coffee shop?’

‘I start at six. Mostly serving double-shot cappuccinos to tired commuters. Look, just give me a minute and I’ll clear the place up.’

Nathaniel dragged off the helmet and picked up the drawing closest to him. ‘Don’t you work on computer?’

‘Yes, but I prefer to draw when I can, especially in the early stages of design. It’s very important to understand what the costume says about the character.’

‘This dress says “I like hot sex.”’ He studied the drawing. ‘If that’s for Katherine I’d say Petruchio is in for a good night. So… you were supposed to be speed dating tonight?’

Katie snatched the drawing out of his hand. ‘I was just going to keep a friend company.’ She changed the subject quickly. ‘Do you think anyone followed us?’

‘I think you managed to lose them. You could give a few lessons to my security team.’ He was cool and relaxed, almost bored, as if the entire escape plan had been engineered solely for her entertainment. There was no sign of the desperation he’d shown at the theatre. Instead he strolled around her tiny living room, examining photographs, picking up a book she’d left lying face down, glancing at a stack of magazines.

Magazines.

Katie froze in horror, but it was too late. He’d already picked up the one from the top of the pile. The one with the photograph of him naked from the waist up as Alpha Man.

‘Why do you have pictures of me?’

Because she was human. Because she was a woman…

‘I used them for costume design.’ She fished around for a plausible reason. ‘I had to study your features—decide which styles and colours would look best for the part of King Richard.’ At least she hadn’t stuck the pictures to her wall.

He put the magazine down and picked up another of her drawings. ‘You’re good.’

Relieved that he hadn’t gone through the rest of the magazines and discovered just how many photos of him she’d collected, Katie stood rigid and self-conscious as Nathaniel looked slowly round her small cramped one-bed apartment.

‘Interesting choice of decor.’ He lifted one of the red silk cushions piled on her sofa. ‘What is this place—the harem? Are you auditioning for a part as the sheikh’s concubine or something?’

Katie felt herself turn the same shade as the cushion. She so rarely brought anyone back home that it hadn’t occurred to her to think how it might look through someone else’s eyes. ‘I don’t think I’m sheikh’s concubine material.’ She didn’t have enough experience to be anyone’s concubine. ‘The place was kind of tired and depressing when I moved in. I got a bit carried away trying to make it homely.’ She’d used her creative flair to make the cramped space welcoming. To conceal the damp patches she’d tacked fabric to the wall. The threadbare carpet was now covered by a large rug in deep shades of exotic red. Lamps provided subtle lighting and drew the eye away from the watermark on the ceiling. The single sofa had been left there by the previous occupants and she’d simply covered it with a bright throw and piles of jewel-coloured cushions that she’d made herself from scraps of fabric.

Imagining what he must be thinking, Katie blushed. ‘It doesn’t look like much, but actually the area isn’t too bad as long as you stay indoors after midnight. And it’s cheap—I’m paying off some debts at the moment. My dad died last year, which was devastating enough, and I only discovered after he died that he’d had a gambling problem for most of his life….’ A lump lodged in her throat. ‘Anyway, he’d borrowed money against the house and if I miss a payment the house gets repossessed and my mum loses her home… so I’m working pretty hard.’

He looked slightly stunned. ‘Do you always tell your life story to strangers?’

‘If they stand still long enough to hear it,’ Katie said lamely. ‘Sorry. I don’t mean to bore you. I’m just trying to explain why there hasn’t been a lot of housekeeping going on around here.’

His gaze lingered on the unwashed cereal bowl in the sink. ‘Breakfast?’

‘Last night’s dinner.’ Katie replied without thinking. ‘If I’m home late I can’t always be bothered to cook so I just have cereal. Or toast. You know what it’s like when you’re on your own….’ Remembering who she was talking to, she gave an awkward shrug. ‘Actually, you probably don’t. If you’re on your own you probably go to a five-star restaurant….’ Digging herself deeper and deeper into a hole, she felt herself turn redder and redder. ‘Except that a guy like you is probably never on his own… and anyway, no one in Hollywood ever eats carbs, I know that, so cereal and toast would be—’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’ He was watching her with those sexy slanting eyes that made grown women lose their grip on reality. And his mouth—oh, God, his mouth…

Katie clamped her own mouth shut. This was her opportunity to intrigue him with scintillating conversation. At the very least she ought to be talking about something intelligent like films, global warming or space exploration. Instead she was talking about breakfast cereal.

‘Sorry. I’m just not used to having a movie star in my living room. It feels—’

‘How does it feel?’ The way he was looking at her turned her insides to liquid. His eyes slid to her mouth and Katie felt the blood pound through her veins. Being the focus of his attention was the most heady, exciting thing that had ever happened to her. He was looking at her as if, as if—

Oh, God, Nathaniel Wolfe was going to kiss her.

Why, oh, why, hadn’t she stuck to her diet? Wound tight with sexual awareness, she swayed towards him. She saw him lower his head towards hers and then he gave a sharp frown and turned away abruptly, walking to the far side of the room.

Katie stood like an idiot, completely thrown off balance. What had she expected? Nathaniel Wolfe was a superstar. What on earth had made her think he’d want to kiss someone like her? Clearly she was delusional.

Delusional and untidy.

Absorbing the state of her flat in horror, she vowed that from now on she was going to be more organised in her home life. No more getting lost in work and losing track of the time. No more spreading her drawings over the floor. Taking advantage of the fact he had his back to her, she dropped stealthily to her knees and started scooping up papers.

And then he turned. Their eyes met and held.

The papers slipped from her hands. ‘I told you you’d be better off at The Dorchester. You probably think I’m a mess, but I don’t have a desk and I find it easier to spread out so that I can see the character progression.’ Realising that he was just staring at her blankly, she sat back on her heels. ‘You look awful,’ she muttered. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it? You seemed pretty upset in the theatre. If something is bothering you it’s better to let it spill out, instead of bottling it up.’

Those famous blue eyes were blank of expression. ‘Nothing is bothering me.’

Liar. Katie remembered the way he’d looked in the theatre. ‘You don’t have to pretend with me. When Dad died last year I would have gone under if it hadn’t been for my friends.’ She gathered up the papers again and stood. ‘Do you want my humble opinion on the situation?’

‘You have an opinion on my situation?’

‘I can only give you the female point of view.’ Katie hugged the drawings to her chest. ‘You mentioned Annabelle and Carrie, so I assume you’re seeing two women at the same time…’ She paused, waiting for him to contradict her but he simply stared at her so she stumbled on. ‘That’s only ever going to end badly, even if you’re a movie star, but obviously that’s up to you, and frankly my love life is such a disaster I wouldn’t dream of passing judgement on anyone else’s, but I would say that I think it’s a seriously bad move to get involved with a married woman.’

A tiny muscle flickered at the corner of his mouth. ‘What makes you think I’m involved with a married woman?’

‘The way you rushed off the stage. You looked as though you’d seen Hamlet’s ghost and you said something like—’ Katie wrinkled her nose as she tried to remember. “He’s here.” Yes, that’s right, you said, “He’s here.” Then you were muttering about needing to warn Annabelle and something about Carrie not finding out, so I assumed that the “he” you referred to must be a jealous husband—and then you punched a hole in a piece of scenery.’ She glanced at his hand. ‘Which reminds me, I’d better get you some ice for that before it swells up.’ Putting down the drawings, she walked over to the fridge and pulled out a small packet of frozen peas.

‘You have an overactive imagination,’ he said harshly. ‘When I said, “He’s here,” I was referring to a theatre critic from one of the newspapers—really nasty guy. I suddenly realised that I wasn’t ready to play the part. Filming on my last project overran and that cut into the rehearsal schedule. We just weren’t ready. I stood there and it felt wrong.’

It didn’t make sense to Katie. ‘I saw you in rehearsal. You were incredible. Are you trying to say you had an attack of stage fright?’

‘More an attack of artistic integrity. I’m a perfectionist. If it isn’t going to be perfect, I won’t do it.’ His eyes were a deep, mesmerising blue and they drew her in, demanding her trust. It was like being hypnotised.

Katie felt her doubts fade.

If he said it was all about the performance, then maybe it was. Actors, singers—all artists were the same, weren’t they? Focused on themselves and their craft.

And then she remembered that this man had won awards for his acting skills.

And he was acting now.

A mesmerising, compelling gaze didn’t mean he was telling the truth. It meant that he wanted her to believe him. Not the same thing.

Her first impression had been correct. His reaction at the theatre was genuine. Under the surface, the tension was still there. And then there had been that phone call—the phone call she’d tried not to listen to—sparse on information but loaded with tension and urgency.

He’s back.

Why would he say that about a theatre critic? And which one of his many women had he been talking to? His love life was obviously a complete mess.

Katie pressed the icy bag of peas to his hand. ‘That looks really painful. Do you think you’ve broken something?’

‘It’s nothing.’ He snapped out the words. ‘What else did you overhear?’

‘I don’t know. Don’t stress out about it. It doesn’t matter.’

‘Trust me, it matters.’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve just discovered you can talk for England.’

‘That doesn’t mean I’m going to say anything about you. It isn’t as if I even know Annabelle or Carrie so it isn’t going to be awkward. The only thing I know is that they’re going to be pretty upset when they find out about each other but I daresay they’ll punish you in whatever way they see fit. The other day I read about this woman in Chicago who found out her husband was seeing someone else, and she—’

‘Do you ever stop talking?’

Skewered by his lethal tone, Katie froze. ‘I talk when I’m nervous and you’re making me really nervous.’

‘How am I making you nervous?’

‘Just by being here!’ Her voice rose. ‘It’s pretty weird having a movie star in my living room. I keep waiting for someone to shout, “Action!’”

His eyes grew slumberous. ‘You’re looking for action?’

Her body warmed and the room suddenly felt dangerously claustrophobic. ‘I just mean this whole thing feels surreal. You, here. I warned you it wasn’t The Dorchester.’

‘If I wanted The Dorchester, that’s where I’d be.’

Her living room seemed to have shrunk to half its size. She was aware of every movement he made—of every glance and every shift in his facial expression. ‘Look—’ she backed away ‘—I know you’re desperate to phone your many women, so I’ll just leave you to get on with it.’

‘Thanks.’ There was a heavy note of sarcasm to his voice that she didn’t understand and she decided just to make herself scarce. There was a restlessness about him that was making her uneasy.

‘I’ll be—’ she waved a hand vaguely ‘—in the bedroom if you need me.’ Oh, for crying out loud, Katie, think before you speak.

A sardonic gleam lit those blue eyes. ‘In the bedroom—ready for action?’

Was he actually flirting with her?

No, of course he wasn’t. She was having delusions again. Not looking at him, Katie shot into the bedroom and closed the door.

The powerful surge of lust astonished him.

What the hell was he doing, flirting with a woman who had pictures of him in her home?

It was asking for trouble and he already had more than enough of that.

He’d been running on adrenalin since that moment he’d walked off the stage and now the tension was a white-hot ball inside him. His carefully constructed life was crashing down around him like a full-scale demolition programme. There were things he needed to do and people he needed to speak to.

So why did his hand burn to reach for the door handle rather than his phone?

Why was he gripped by an inexplicable urge to break down that damn door and lose himself in her gorgeous breasts and sweet smile?

It didn’t help that she wanted him too. Experienced at dealing with women far more sophisticated than

Katie, he’d read her easily—seen the exact moment her pupils dilated and sexual awareness had darkened those lovely eyes. He’d also seen how hard she was fighting that reaction.

Nathaniel gave a bitter smile.

He hoped she was having more success than he was. Right now, sex was the last thing he needed.

Hands thrust in his pockets, he stepped back from her bedroom door, disconcerted by the sheer strength of that craving.

He was no saint when it came to his relationships with women, but he knew better than to mess around with a woman who looked at him as if he had a first-class ticket to the end of the rainbow.

There were no rainbows in his life. Only thunderclouds. At the moment those thunderclouds were threatening a storm like no other.

Nathaniel checked his phone again, but there was no response from Annabelle. Had she even picked up the message? Was she huddled in a heap somewhere, shivering with reaction?

He felt the bite of guilt, as he always did when he thought of Annabelle, and something deeper, something uglier—something moulded deep inside himself.

Pushing the phone back into his pocket, he wondered why he was even bothering trying to contact her. It wasn’t as if they were close. None of the Wolfe siblings did ‘close.’ The only common thread they shared was fierce independence. A reluctance to bond with anyone.

Nathaniel paced across the flat and glanced out of the window but the streets were empty apart from a loan woman slipping and sliding on the icy streets as she struggled against the icy wind.

There were no paparazzi. Miss Chatterbox-with-the-gorgeous-breasts had managed to lose them.

He stared blankly out of the window, and by the time the bedroom door opened again he had himself under control.

It was immediately obvious that she’d renewed her make-up and then scrubbed it off, afraid it would look as if she were trying too hard. Nathaniel gave a humourless laugh. She didn’t need to try. Make-up or no make-up, her mouth was still the same full tempting curve that made a man want to dive straight in and sample the flavour. Even seeing her wild, curling hair tied back in an unflattering ponytail didn’t kill the chemistry. All that chatter and unusual openness should have irritated him. Instead she was getting under his skin.

He wondered what she’d say if she knew how close he was to hauling her back into the bedroom. He wanted to lose himself. He wanted distraction from the mess that was his life.

‘Are you—?’ She cleared her throat, careful not to look at him. ‘Are you going to answer that?’

Answer what?

Drowning in his private hell, Nathaniel realised that his phone was ringing and he hadn’t even noticed.

It was his brother Sebastian and this time he took the call, conscious that Katie would be listening to every word of the conversation. ‘Yes, he was there…. Rafael must have given him the ticket…. I’ve no idea. All we can do is manage the situation.’ As he talked, Katie busied herself in the kitchen area, clattering away, trying not to listen. She was still wearing her skinny jeans and her bottom was a smooth curve straight from a bad boy’s fantasy. Deep in that fantasy, Nathaniel realised he’d missed half of what his brother had said. ‘Sorry?… No, that’s way too risky. I’m going to leave the country. I’ll be in touch and you have my private number…. The most important thing is that we protect her.’

What the hell was the matter with him? He should be concentrating on damage limitation, not working out ways to remove Katie from those jeans.

He pocketed the phone. ‘Do you have any bourbon?’

Still with her back to him, she stacked a week’s supply of breakfast bowls. ‘Sorry, no.’ Her slender shoulders were stiff and Nathaniel felt a flash of irritation.

‘Look at me, will you?’

‘The only way I can behave even remotely normally is if I don’t look at you. Sorry if that seems rude, but that’s just the way it is. I don’t have bourbon but I do have water, or—’ Still not looking at him, she tugged open the fridge. ‘Milk?’

‘I haven’t drunk a glass of milk since I was three years old.’

‘It’s full of calcium and vitamin D. Good for your bones.’

‘Alcohol is good for my stress levels. What’s this?’ He picked up a bottle of red wine that was sitting on the side and read the label.

She glanced over her shoulder, the movement sending the ponytail swinging. ‘You won’t be interested in that. It could double as paint stripper.’

Nathaniel was tempted to confess that the way he felt right at that moment he would have considered the paint stripper. ‘It can’t be that bad.’ Without waiting to be asked, he reached past her and grabbed two glasses from the cupboard. The scent of her wound itself around his senses and he tried to block his reaction.

She closed the fridge and moved away carefully. ‘Don’t pour one for me.’

Wondering how sexual tension could still throb when two people weren’t looking at each other, Nathaniel ignored her and poured two glasses. ‘Drink. We both need it.’ He took a large mouthful and winced as his palate was assaulted by flavours not normally associated with wine. ‘On second thoughts, maybe we don’t need it.’

‘I’ve changed my mind. I think I do.’ Visibly flustered, she picked up her glass and drank.

‘Clearly you don’t have a very discerning palate.’

‘I can’t afford a discerning palate, Mr Wolfe.’

‘What’s it going to take to get you to look at me?’

Still holding the glass, she stared at a point in the centre of his chest. ‘I just—I’m finding it really hard to behave normally with you. Sorry, but… aren’t you finding this at all odd?’

‘What’s odd about it?’

‘Well, I’m me.’ With a rueful smile, she glanced down at herself. ‘Jeans with a hole, tiny flat, modest job. And you’re—well, you know who you are. Let’s just say I feel as though I should buy a ticket before I’m allowed to look at you. I associate you with movies. I keep waiting for some bad guy to leap out from behind you with a gun.’

‘Talking of guys leaping out from behind me, is some jealous lover built like a sumo wrestler likely to turn up later and want to beat me to a pulp? Presumably not, as you’re speed dating.’

‘I live alone. Number of jealous lovers—zero. I’m going through a lean patch. Well, not lean as in lean, obviously.’ The words spilled out, uncensored. ‘Lean as in not much action. And not action as in—’

‘So you’re single.’ Why was he asking? Why the hell was he doing this to himself?

‘Completely single. Not that I mind being single,’ she added hastily, clearly worried he might think she was dropping hints. ‘Being single is good. I can do anything I like without having to check with anyone. I can be spontaneous. I can eat cereal for supper and wash up the breakfast things when I’m ready and until today no one ever knew or cared, although—’ she gave a tiny smile ‘—obviously from now on I’ll be tidier just in case a Hollywood star happens to drop by. And, being single, if I want to go and—and—well, whatever I want to go and do, I do it. Sorry. Talking too much again…’ Her voice faded and she shrugged awkwardly. ‘The short answer to your question is yes, I live alone. And now I’ve said that I’m realising that actually you’re a complete stranger and I’ve invited you into my home. And that is why this is weird. I feel I know you because I’ve spent so long staring at you in movies. I’ve seen you naked, but I don’t know you at all.’

‘You’ve seen me naked?’ The nerves on the back of his neck prickled. This wasn’t the way he’d intended the conversation to go. He should be on the phone, sorting out his monumental personal crisis, not flirting with a girl who had romantic stamped all over her.

‘You did that indie film.’ She stared down into her glass. ‘I think I saw it once—or maybe twice…’ The colour of her cheeks told him she’d watched it at least a hundred times. ‘The bit where you carried the daughter down to the beach was a bit of a cult scene when I was at university.’

Nathaniel struggled valiantly not to return the favour and imagine her naked. It didn’t help that they were having the conversation surrounded by red silk cushions and a deep, inviting sofa. Gritting his teeth, he blanked out a sudden image of him taking her, there and then, on that sofa. ‘I thought you studied costume design. Talk to me about what you do.’ Talk about something. Anything. Anything, but sex.

‘The naked body can be a costume—’ she sounded breathless ‘—if it fits the role. All I’m saying is that it’s weird to have seen you naked and yet actually not know you at all. You could be—well, I just don’t know you, that’s all.’

He bit back the suggestion that they get to know each other better. His life didn’t have room for any more complications. It was already a mess and looking to get worse.

‘You’ve worked with me for the past month so I’m not a stranger and I can assure you I don’t have any nasty habits,’ he drawled softly. ‘Don’t make the mistake of mixing me up with the parts I play. That’s not who I am. Just for the record, the only time I’d rip your clothes off is if you were ripping mine off too.’ And right now that sounded like a damn good idea.

‘Honestly, I’m not thinking for one moment that you’re going to rip my clothes off. I may be dreamy but I’m not delusional. I can distinguish between reality and fantasy, although—’ she kept it light ‘—there were definitely moments on my scooter when you seemed to think you were Alpha Man. Do people often do that? Mix you up with the parts you play? Mix fantasy with reality?’

‘All the time. The worst one was when I played a psychopathic doctor in Heartsink. For months people were coming up to me and asking me to diagnose their rashes.’ They were no longer talking about sex, so why was his body still throbbing? And why couldn’t he stop looking at her? ‘I haven’t thanked you for what you did tonight.’

‘You’re welcome.’

He was used to people behaving oddly around him—sometimes they were giggly, sometimes they were plain hysterical—but Katie was the first woman he’d met who was determined not to look at him. Exasperation flickered through him. ‘It’s really hard having a conversation with the top of your head.’

Finally she looked at him. Their eyes met and the explosion of awareness was mutual and instantaneous. ‘Are you feeling a bit better?’

‘Better?’

‘At the theatre you were incredibly stressed.’

‘Now you are delusional.’ He changed the subject smoothly. ‘Or maybe it’s the wine. How many glasses do you need to drink before you do the dance of the seven veils?’

Her laugh was nervous. ‘Your harem already seems a little crowded.’

‘It’s not crowded. Let me know any time you want me to play sheikh to your concubine. I could throw you over my shoulder and ravish you on that pile of silk cushions.’ And he was sorely tempted.

Who cared if she had pictures of him? He was more than willing to give her the real thing.

‘The sofa is really uncomfortable. Hence the cushions.’ Her cheeks were the same shade of scarlet as those cushions.

‘In that case I’ll make sure I’m the one on top.’ Without thinking, Nathaniel lifted his hand and stroked her face thoughtfully. ‘You’re very pretty. That’s why the Duchess of Gloucester has been so irritable for the past month. She hates working with people who remind her she’s ageing.’ His hand lingered and he saw her lips part as she snatched in a shallow breath.

It would have been so easy to kiss her….

So easy…

‘So—’ she backed away from him, snapping the tension ‘—er, what are your plans tonight?’

He found her tendency to speak without thinking surprisingly endearing. In his world, no one spoke without thinking. ‘I need somewhere to stay.’

‘Oh—’

‘That was your cue to invite me.’

‘You want to stay here?’ Her voice was a squeak. ‘Are you mad? You could be in the penthouse suite at The Dorchester ordering room service and wallowing in luxury.’

Or he could be lying on her decadent sofa, listening to the rain and wondering whether she slept naked or not. ‘Privacy is luxury. Can I sleep on your sofa?’

Her mouth opened and closed. ‘You don’t have any luggage. No pyjamas or anything.’

He managed to subdue the smile. ‘I don’t own pyjamas. So is that a yes?’

‘I—well, if that’s really what you want.’ She looked faint, and despite the dark clouds rolling into his life he couldn’t resist teasing her.

‘And if I’m cold in the night?’

Their eyes met. He watched the dreams chase across her face just before she gave a little shake of her head.

‘I’ll go and fetch you some blankets. You won’t be cold.’




CHAPTER THREE


HE WAS drowning.

The cold waters of the lake closed over his head, a murky coffin pulling him down to his death. As he opened his mouth to scream, the water poured into his lungs and the last thing he saw was the figure of a man as he walked away and left him to die.

Nathaniel woke drenched in sweat and shivering. Every bone in his body ached and his muscles screamed a protest at having been cramped in such an unforgiving position for a whole night. Despite the blankets, he was bitterly cold. His head ached from the after-effects of cheap wine and lack of sleep but he didn’t care. He was just relieved to be awake. If sleep meant the nightmare, then he’d choose insomnia every time.

He ran his hand over his face, still gripped by images of the lake. The vision lurked at the back of his head, refusing to fade. It had been years since he’d returned to the place—years since he’d had the dream. It depressed him to know that it was still lurking in the corners of his brain, waiting to burst to life. All it had taken was Jacob’s return.

Why the hell had he come back?

And why now?

Through the gap in the curtains Nathaniel caught a glimpse of a miserably wet February morning. The sky was a cheerless grey and he could hear rain sheeting against the window. He thought longingly of his enormous and extremely comfortable bed in his Californian home. He’d built a different life for himself and yet happiness was always just beyond the horizon. He’d thought doing live theatre would be a welcome change from the empty glass bubble that was Hollywood. He’d thought that in London he’d be safe from his past—he hadn’t reckoned on the past watching him from the front row on opening night.

Nathaniel stared up at the ceiling, reliving the moment when he’d been stranded in the spotlight, staring trouble in the face while a flabbergasted audience watched in shocked fascination.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he found a text from Annabelle, sent in the cold dark hours of the night. Just two words.

I know.

Nathaniel stared at the message, wondering what state she’d been in when she’d sent it.

Chased by his own thoughts, plagued by that feeling of powerlessness, he sprang from the sofa and stood for a moment in the centre of the tiny living room, forcing himself to breathe. He’d never been in a room where the walls were so close together. He was trapped with only his thoughts for company.

And he hated his thoughts.

A shout came from outside and Nathan moved silently to the window and glanced through a gap in the curtains to the street below.

Journalists and photographers were gathered four-deep, lenses poised, a sense of excitement in the air.

They were calling his name.

Nathaniel leaned back against the wall, cursing fluently, wondering why he was surprised. It was part of his life, wasn’t it? In no country in the world could he walk down the street unrecognised. And there was always someone willing to sell his whereabouts to a gossip magazine.

He glanced towards the closed bedroom door, his mouth tightening as he remembered how much she’d talked the night before.

‘Nathaniel! Katie!’

Hearing her name shouted alongside his, Nathaniel felt a flash of anger and launched himself towards the door she’d closed between them the night before. Without bothering to knock, he strode into the room. ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. We’ve got crowd control issues.’

She came awake in an instant, her tousled dark curls spilling over her bare shoulders and her green eyes still dazed with sleep. ‘What? Who?’

Beautiful, Nathaniel thought, momentarily distracted by the arresting sight of a sleepy female. For a moment he thought she slept naked and then he caught a glimpse of the tiny lace straps of a camisole through the soft tumbling hair.

‘Thanks to your inability to keep a secret, we have company.’ Gripped by a vicious attack of lust, Nathaniel turned away and banged his elbow sharply on the wall. Pain arced up his arm and through his shoulder. The place was so cramped he could hardly move. He eyed the narrow single bed in disbelief. ‘How do you have sex in a bed that narrow?’

‘What do you mean, crowd control issues?’ She ignored his question. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Photographers.’ Three sketchbooks were stacked by her bed. Everywhere he looked there were sketches of glamorous dresses and yet he’d never seen her in anything other than jeans and boring tops. ‘Our own little pack of journalists have hunted us down and now they’re staking out the place, waiting to get a really revealing picture. You’re looking particularly savoury this morning, wardrobe. If you stand in front of the window like that you might even make the front page.’

‘Journalists?’ His words finally penetrated and she shot upright, her eyes wide. ‘Here? How did they find us?’

‘Surprising, isn’t it? Or perhaps it isn’t so surprising given that you warned me you talk too much when you’re nervous. They’re also yelling your name,’ he drawled, ‘so don’t waste your time pretending you don’t know how they got here.’

‘My name?’ She froze and stared at him, her lips parted as she drew in uneven breaths. ‘Oh, no—’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I did not call the press.’

‘Well, someone did, angel, because they’re banging on the door as we speak.’

She flung the covers back and he had a glimpse of legs long enough to make a man lose his grip on reality. Dragging his eyes from slender perfection, he encountered pretty lacy underwear and then she was pulling on the same brown jumper and jeans she’d worn the day before. Sexy underwear—boring choice of clothes, Nathaniel thought absently. Strange.

‘Stop looking at me.’ With a flick of her hands, she freed her hair from her jumper. ‘Give me some privacy.’

‘Like you gave me privacy?’ Ruthlessly shutting down his libido, Nathaniel folded his arms and watched her performance with grim-faced anger. ‘I need to know what you told them.’ The thought of what discovery might do to fragile Carrie sent a blast of cold anger through his system.

He’d promised he’d protect her and instead he’d exposed her.

‘You think I called them?’ She pushed her feet into brown pumps. ‘Are you mad?’

‘Right now I’d describe my mood as moderately evil.’

‘You were the one who grabbed me! You were the one who begged me to bring you here and let you stay the night—’

‘I’ve never begged a woman in my life,’ Nathaniel said coldly, ‘and when I asked for your help at the theatre I was under the impression that you were a sweet, helpful young thing.’ He tilted his head and gave a smile loaded with ironic self-mockery. ‘But now we’ve cleared up that gross misconception, answer my question—who exactly did you phone and what did you tell them?’

‘No one! Nothing!’ Her voice rose and the horror in her eyes was replaced by anger. ‘This is all your fault. You put me in this position.’

‘The position of being able to make a mint from selling me out to the press?’

‘I drove halfway round London last night to try and avoid the press. Why would I bother doing that if I was just going to call them anyway?’

‘You tell me.’

‘You think I brought you safely back here to my “lair” so that I could call the press, is that right? You think that’s why I helped you?’

‘If that isn’t why you helped me, then tell me why you did.’

‘Honestly? I don’t know. Clearly I had a moment of extreme insanity.’ Her voice was shrill. ‘At the moment I wish I hadn’t helped you because I certainly didn’t need this in my life. I’m not the sort of person who wants to pose in front of a camera! And I don’t know why you’re so keen to believe the worst of me. Why would I sell you out?’

‘People do it all the time, usually as they snap a picture of me on their phone.’

‘I don’t even have a camera on my phone! It switches on and off and that’s about all it does.’ Her hands in her hair, she sank down onto the edge of the bed. ‘I don’t want them printing my picture. I hate having my picture taken.’

Nathaniel drew in a breath. ‘How much of my phone conversation did you hear? When you were in the bedroom, were you listening at the door?’

‘Do you have any idea how offensive you are?’ Her eyes were very green and very angry. ‘I do not listen at doors. I am a very decent person and I have the utmost respect for the privacy of the individual.’

‘You were in the bedroom for ages. What were you doing?’

Her cheeks reddened. ‘I was staring in the mirror feeling about the size of a spec of dust because I had Alpha Man in my living room and I was looking like something that had been pulled through a hedge backwards.’ She rubbed her hands over her knees in an agitated movement. ‘You want to know what I was doing in the bedroom? I was wishing I was someone else—like a beautiful, long-legged actress-model-type, someone with visible hip bones who wouldn’t have been phased to be entertaining Hollywood royalty.’





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