by Sarah Morgan
‘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.’
Distracted, Nathaniel looked at her in bemuse-ment. ‘Visible hip bones?’
‘Yes. Skinny women always have visible hip bones. I’ve tried for years to get visible hip bones but frankly I like food too much to starve myself and it can’t be natural to go round with your stomach rumbling the whole time, and normally I’m fine with the fact that I have hips and a bottom, but last night I let myself be intimidated by you and I hate myself for that because underneath that handsome face you’re just an ego on legs who thinks that everything in the world is about him—’
‘Katie—’
‘I wasn’t listening to your conversation, but in future if you’re that worried, don’t make calls when you have an audience, don’t have an affair with two women at once and don’t pull innocent bystanders into it.’
Trying to ignore the incessant throb in his head,
Nathaniel pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, vowing never to drink cheap wine again. ‘I am not having an affair with two women at once.’ He spoke with lethal emphasis. ‘Listen—’
‘No, you listen! You want to know why I helped you last night? It was because you looked desperate. For once, you weren’t all remote and sarcastic. You weren’t acting.’ Shivering, she rubbed her hands over her arms. ‘And I hate the way the press hound you. They’ve been camped outside the theatre since the day you arrived. You can’t even breathe without them watching and actually I don’t think that’s fair. That’s why I helped you. And then I get you back here and suddenly you’re acting as if nothing is wrong and I’m imagining everything and I’m starting to wonder if I’ve gone mad.’ The words came tumbling out unrestricted and Nathaniel suppressed the urge to flatten her to her single bed and turn all that red-hot passion into something physical.
‘If you didn’t tip off the press, then who did?’
‘How would I know? I haven’t even spoken to any—’ She broke off in midsentence and a look of horror crossed her face, quickly replaced by guilt. ‘Oh, no …’
Nathaniel’s mouth compressed. ‘So you did call someone.’
‘No.’ Her eyes slid nervously to his. ‘But someone called me.’
‘And you couldn’t help confiding. You’re a girl, and girls just can’t help gossiping to one another. It’s that whole female bonding thing. Men share a beer. Girls share secrets.’
‘No! I didn’t share anything.’ Her eyes were wide with dismay. ‘My friend Claire rang when I was in the bedroom. We were supposed to be going speed dating together and she wanted to know where I was. Apparently the whole theatre was in a state of uproar because you’d vanished. She asked me if you were here but I denied it.’
He sighed. ‘Not a born liar, are you? I need to give you acting lessons.’
‘Claire would not have said anything,’ she said loyally. ‘No way.’
‘Well, someone did.’
‘Yes, but—’ Katie broke off and frowned. ‘The Duchess of Gloucester.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Claire mentioned that the Duchess of Gloucester was revelling in the fact that you’d walked out. She was nearby when Claire phoned so it’s possible she overheard. And it’s not as if she likes you.’ Rubbing her forehead, she gave a regretful groan. ‘I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I shouldn’t have brought you back here. I was crazy to think we could keep it a secret.’
‘No, it’s mine.’ He should have known better. If he’d been thinking, he wouldn’t have involved anyone else. But he hadn’t been thinking. He’d seen
Jacob in the front row and reacted. ‘As you say, I was the one who forced you to help me.’
‘But I shouldn’t have answered the phone. I should have been more convincing when she asked if I knew where you were. On the other hand, they probably would have guessed anyway.’ Her eyes were bleak and tired. ‘Last night, you and I were the only two people missing. The cast would have known that. And the press saw us together. It wouldn’t have taken much for them to work out who I was and tracked us down to this address.’
Forced to concede that such a scenario was not only possible but probable, Nathaniel tried to be practical. ‘They’re here. We have to deal with it. They’re camped outside the front of the flat and they know you spent the night with me.’
‘What? I did not spend the night with you.’
‘Yes, you did.’
‘Well, yes, but not in that way. They’re not going to think that for one minute. I mean, there’s you, a global sex object, and then there’s me—I’m not a global anything.’ Self-conscious, she pushed her hair out of her eyes. ‘No one in their right mind is going to think you spent the night with me so don’t worry about that.’
‘You’re incredibly sexy.’
Her eyes widened with shock and her lips parted. ‘You—you think I’m sexy?’
‘Last night both of us were struggling to keep our hands off each other.’
‘No! I mean, I—You didn’t—’ Her cheeks were scarlet. ‘You’re Nathaniel Wolfe.’
‘What does that have to do with sexual chemistry?’
‘Well, because—because …’ She gave a hysterical, disbelieving laugh. ‘I’ve seen pictures of the women you date and they’re very depressing to look at.’
‘Equally depressing to be with. Perhaps it’s because they don’t eat breakfast,’ Nathaniel drawled mockingly. ‘And you’re definitely underestimating your own charms. The press are going to take one look at you and assume we’ve been swinging from the chandeliers all night.’ Looking at her lush mouth he wished he hadn’t settled for the lumpy sofa. ‘They’re going to want to hear your story.’
And she was such a talker, she’d tell it. And that would be disastrous.
She didn’t know much, but she knew enough to bring his nightmare to life. The fact that she’d drawn all the wrong conclusions was no consolation to someone who understood the unstoppable force of the media.
He thought about the number of years he’d kept his secret. He thought about the possible consequences of discovery.
There was no way he could leave Katie here alone and at their mercy. No way.
Katie tiptoed over to the window. ‘Stop worrying. I don’t have a story. Movie Star Sleeps on Holey Sofa. I can’t see that headline grabbing anyone by the throat.’
‘Don’t look out of the window.’
Ignoring him, she peeped through the curtains. ‘Holy crap.’ Flattening herself against the wall she looked at him in horror. ‘There are millions of them. Are you really that interesting?’
‘Apparently.’
‘There are really important things going on in the world and half the world’s press is outside on the pavement.’ Still plastered to the wall, she seemed afraid to move. ‘I wish I’d never helped you. Th
ey’re going to take my photograph and everyone will make comparisons.’
‘Comparisons with whom?’
She stared at him, her breathing rapid. ‘Nothing … this is a mess …’
‘For once, we agree.’ Nathaniel contemplated that truth with grim resignation. ‘You’re the female equivalent of an unexploded bomb. If I leave you here you could go off at any moment.’
Her spine was stiff. ‘If you’re implying that I’d tell them anything, then you’re wrong.’
‘I thought we’d established that you talk when you’re nervous.’
‘I don’t know anything to talk about!’
‘You know enough.’ He opened her wardrobe and pulled out a coat. Brown. Wondering why everything in her wardrobe was the colour of mud, he threw it towards her. ‘Get dressed. We’re leaving.’
‘Where are we going?’ Flustered, she pulled on her coat. ‘Being seen with you has already got me in enough trouble. We need to separate.’
‘Unfortunately it’s way too late for that.’
‘No, it isn’t too late. All you have to do is open the front door and walk out.’
‘Katie, they will crucify you.’
‘I’ll keep my mouth shut.’ She compressed her lips and drew her fingers across in a zipping gesture. ‘Silence will be the word of the day. Except I won’t say it out loud, obviously.’
Forcing aside thoughts of alternative methods of keeping her mouth occupied, Nathaniel focused on her eyes. ‘As a matter of interest, what’s the longest time you’ve gone without speaking? Not counting when you’re asleep …’
‘Actually, I talk in my sleep. If I’m really stressed about something, I talk about it.’ Her smile was obviously intended to be reassuring. ‘But don’t worry—I’m not going to sleep with any of the journalists.’
‘And that’s supposed to make me feel better?’
‘I’m just saying you have nothing to worry about. The press aren’t interested in me. I don’t know any details about Annabelle or Carrie. We spent an evening together and you said nothing—just sort of glowered a lot in a brooding Heathcliff sort of way. I’ve never known a man say less and I’ve known some uncommunicative types in my time.’
‘It’s hard for a man to get a word in edgeways with you and, Katie, they are interested in you.’ Intent on providing proof of that fact, Nathaniel removed his phone from his pocket and accessed the Internet with one stab of his finger. Following a hunch, he fed a series of keywords into the search engine and then clenched his jaw as the results sprang onto his screen. He held it up towards her. ‘Here is an example of how not interested in you they are. They already have all the information on you, including name, age and your Internet dating profile.’
She stood rigid, staring at the screen. ‘That’s my picture,’ she whispered. ‘Where did they get my picture?’
‘Here’s another—’
‘Wait a minute, when did they take that?’ Snatching the phone from him, she read the headline. ‘Is She the Reason Nathaniel Wolfe Walked Off the Stage Last Night? Well, of course I’m not the reason! I rescued you! We have to tell them the truth! Go out there and tell them the truth.’
He had no intention of telling anyone the truth.
‘The press aren’t interested in the truth. The best we can do is absent ourselves and hope they go and hound someone else instead.’
‘That isn’t very nice for the someone else.’
‘You’d rather they set up camp outside your flat? Stick cameras through your letter box? Interview your neighbours? Track down every boyfriend you’ve ever had?’
‘That would take them less than five minutes!’ Her face was pale. ‘I really hate having my picture taken. You have no idea how much I hate it. I don’t even share photos on Facebook.’
He frowned as he saw a sheen of tears in her eyes. Accustomed to spending time with actresses and models who would run their own mother over if it meant a decent publicity shot, he found it hard to believe she was genuine. But there was no doubting the misery in her face. ‘Why do you hate it?’
She dipped her head and fastened the buttons on her coat. ‘I just do. And I don’t see why anyone would be interested in my love life.’
‘Because you’re with me,’ he said gently. ‘People love reading about other people’s scandals and misfortunes over their breakfast cereal.’
‘I don’t. I hate reading about bad stuff happening. I like happy stories. Man Rescues Dog from Tree—that sort of thing.’
‘You’re not an average person. Which gives us a problem. Pack a bag and grab your passport. You’re coming with me.’
‘You cannot be serious.’
‘If I leave you here they’ll feed on you like sharks attacking raw meat.’
‘If I’m the raw meat in that analogy, then it isn’t a very flattering description. No woman wants to think her thighs would provide sufficient food for one shark, let alone sharks in the plural.’
‘Katie—’ he stifled his exasperation ‘—just get your passport. Move!’
She planted her feet firmly and straightened her shoulders as if ready to repel an invading army. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you. Apart from the fact I can’t relax around you, I have a job, friends, family—I have a life.’ She broke off as his phone rang. ‘Tell whoever it is that they need to pick you up right now and get you out of here.’
Nathaniel checked the identity of the caller. ‘It’s my agent. I need to take this. Don’t go anywhere. I’m going to arrange for us to be picked up.’
How long before the journalists made the connection with her famous sister?
How long before the comparisons started?
Katie paced up and down the bedroom, trying to stay calm.
Honestly, she was a grown woman, not a vulnerable teenager. She should have got over this by now.
She was who she was. Comparisons might hurt her feelings, but they wouldn’t actually damage her physically. She just needed to get on with her life and hope the fuss eventually died down. Maybe she could take a sleeping bag to the theatre and camp there until this all blew over. The security guys had always been really kind to her.
Through the open door she could hear Nathaniel’s cultured drawl as he issued a string of commands down the phone.
He found her sexy.
Gripped by a fit of shivering, Katie rubbed her hands up her arms.
‘Nathaniel Wolfe, screen god and global sex symbol.’
Did he really find her sexy? She’d convinced herself that the chemistry was all wishful thinking on her part….
‘Have you got your passport?’ He was standing in the doorway, and the way he watched her with those slanting blue eyes made it impossible to think of anything but sex. Wild, crazy, animal sex—the sort she’d read about but never experienced.
Seriously unsettled, Katie turned away. ‘I don’t need my passport. I’m going to go straight to the theatre and lock myself in the wardrobe department. They have security there, and—’
‘You’re not going back to the theatre.’
‘Of course I’m going back to the theatre. I have a job to do.’
‘I walked out on the opening night. The play has closed.’ He delivered the news bluntly and she felt her knees wobble.
Not her job.
No.
She had a plan. She had a dream.
‘You’re s-saying I’ve lost my job?’
‘Yes, and that’s my fault,’ Nathaniel growled, ‘and if you could try not to look as though I’ve just killed your favourite pet, I’d appreciate it because right now we have to get out of here and it isn’t going to help to be weighed down with guilt and recrimination.’
‘I—I’ve really lost my job?’
‘Yes.’ The word hissed through his teeth. ‘But I’ll fix it.’
‘How? Are you going to go back on that stage?’
‘No.’
‘Then you can’t fix it.’ The implications thudded home. ‘This play was an important
part of my career plan. I was going to get noticed. It was the first rung of the ladder …’
‘There are other plays—’
‘Do you know how many people applied for that job?’ Panic drove her voice up an octave. ‘Eight hundred! And it’s the same for every job. You have no idea what it’s like—’
‘I’ll give you access to my address book.’
‘I don’t want to make it because of who I know.’
‘Then you’re being naïve,’ he said coldly, ‘because that’s what success in this business is all about.’
Trying to think straight, Katie shook her head stub bornly. ‘Apart from the fact I don’t have any money, I have a really important meeting today with a costume designer. It’s even more important now I’m jobless.’
Jobless. The word made her want to hyperventilate. She couldn’t afford to be jobless.
Nathaniel sighed. ‘What’s her name?’
‘Meredith Beynon.’
‘Never heard of her. She’ll do nothing for your career.’
‘But—’
‘What you need is an apprenticeship with one of the top costume designers. Have you heard of Alicia Brent?’
‘Of course. Everyone has. But she’s not going to talk to someone like me.’
‘She will if I tell her to. Good. That’s settled. Now, fetch your passport. We have to get out of here.’
Katie’s head was spinning. ‘You know Alicia Brent?’
‘Yes. And if it doesn’t work out with her, there are others.’ His voice had an edge to it. ‘Passport!’
Suddenly her future was hazy and terrifyingly unclear. A meeting with Alicia Brent wasn’t going to pay off her debts, was it? She needed work. ‘Where are you planning to go?’
‘A journalist-free zone. I need to lie low until the Sapphire ceremony. A deserted island. Sun, sea and se—’
‘I am not having sex with you.’
A ghost of a smile touched his mouth. ‘I was going to say seclusion, but sex sounds good to me. You talk when you’re awake and you talk in your sleep. It remains to be seen whether you talk during sex.’