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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.’
