“You’re wearing my T-shirt.”

Returning home after a daring rescue mission, all James Wolfe can think of is sleep. So he’s furious to find a beautiful stranger curled up in his king-size bed! Normally no woman ever gets between his sheets without prior invitation—who does she think she is?

Disgraced celebrity Caitlin Moore has been offered a place to stay and she won’t give it up—not with the paparazzi outside, baying for her blood! Reluctantly she agrees to share the apartment with James—but, with enough electricity to short-circuit the whole of Manhattan, keeping to their own sides of the bed might prove impossible.…

‘So, you’re not here for …’ He broke off and almost looked uncomfortable. ‘Me.’

His lips thinned as he turned back to glare at her. She was used to full-on media ‘glare,’ but his dark-eyed look was just about the fiercest, most cutting scrutiny she’d had to withstand.

‘I’m—’

‘Sorry,’ she snapped. ‘The word you’re looking for is sorry.’

‘Tired,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m tired and I made a mistake. And I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.’

She needed this bed.

‘Look.’ She abandoned all dignity and pride. ‘We can figure something out. I’ll take the floor.’

Rigid, his glare pierced deeper. It was a wonder her bones didn’t snap from the force emanating from him.

‘You are not sleeping on the floor.’

Implacable? Yeah—he had the whole stubborn attitude on.

‘Fine.’ She switched tack. ‘We’ll share’

Dear Reader,

There are very few people who aren’t entranced by twins. My twin daughters delight and amaze me every day, and when they were babies I was frequently stopped by people wanting to take a closer look. I feel so privileged to have them, and it’s fun to see how two people who can appear to be so alike are in reality so very different. That idea tied in nicely with another ‘perception and reality’ theme that intrigues me—how someone’s public persona can be very different from the private truth.

So when it came to planning this new trilogy, I thought it would be fun to create identical twin heroes and, to add an extra twist, give them a brother less than a year older. Can you imagine the chaos three boys so close in age could create? And then when they’re wickedly charming adults—who could resist?

James, George and Jack Wolfe are ambitious, arrogant, gorgeous. Raised to be risk takers, ultra-adventurous James is the one who endangers himself most—physically, at least. Going from disaster zone to disaster zone, he’s a bona fide hero. But, courageous as he may appear, the one thing he isn’t willing to risk is his heart.

I had so much fun putting the ultimate feisty threat in his way. Caitlin, a woman desperate to shake her bad-girl rep and escape her past, destroys James’s quest for emotional isolation.

Their private tease—and moments of truce—were such fun to write, I hope you laugh as much with them as I did. And be sure to keep an eye out for George’s and Jack’s stories to come in early 2014!

With very best wishes,

Natalie

Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending, which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings, she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on Facebook, www.facebook.com/authornataliea, and on Twitter, @authornataliea, or her website/blog: www.natalie-anderson.com.

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For Sylvie and Evelyn, two pieces of pure delight in my life

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Excerpt

ONE

New York, the city that never slept. James Wolfe never slept either—at least not in planes, trains or automobiles. And with back-to-back long-haul flights, horrendous delays and now traffic at a time when in any other city there wouldn’t be any, he’d gone more than forty hours without and was about to flip. Only a few more minutes and he could fall into bed. His bed—no hostel bunk, no hotel bed, no hastily built bivvy in a newly popped-up tent city. He couldn’t wait. He willed the traffic to part to let the taxi keep on moving. To take him home.

‘You been travelling?’

Given the cabbie had picked him up from the airport, this was obvious. But James automatically pulled on a smile. The guy had recognised him and James wasn’t about to burst bubbles by being rude. Uncomfortable as it was, public attention was now part of the deal. So he nodded and tried to speak. But the words wouldn’t come together in his strung-out mind.

‘Can’t talk about it, huh?’

James slowly shook his head.

‘You look beat.’ The cabbie didn’t seem to expect a reply to that.

Finally the car pulled up outside his apartment building. The cabbie offered to help James with his bag. Given all he had was a small carry-all it really wasn’t necessary. He managed the ‘no thanks’ with a smile. Then the guy wanted to give him the ride free of charge.

‘If you know who I am, you know I’m good for it.’ James pulled out a last burst of comprehensible speech along with the dollars from his wallet. ‘But you’re working the late shift. You probably need to get paid...’ His family probably needed him to.

The cabbie reluctantly nodded. ‘Any time you need to go anywhere...’ He took the cash and handed James his card. ‘Thanks, man. You’re—’

James widened his smile and got out of the cab before he could hear it. He didn’t want to be that good guy, that ‘hero’. All he was, at this point in time, was tired.

He waved a hand at the security guy, then took the elevator up to his floor. The wave of exhaustion rose right along with the floor numbers. Bone-deep relief hit as he quietly went into the condo and dropped his bag just inside the door. He didn’t bother switching the lights on, the dimness soothed his tired eyes. It took them only a moment to adjust, though there wasn’t anything to see anyway. The place had been stripped bare, ready to be completely refitted. He walked through the empty lounge, toeing off his boots as he went and unbuckling his belt and stepping out of his trousers. There was only one place he was headed and he was going straight there. He slowly hauled up the internal stairs, hoping his instructions had been carried out. That on the top level he’d find his bedroom and en-suite bathroom fully refitted, furnished, finished. Ready for occupation.

Two seconds later he stood at the foot of the bed, rubbing his raw eyes. But they weren’t deceiving him. The bed was made up all right. A big, brand-new bed with acres of soft-looking white coverings. He felt the thick pile of a luxurious rug under his bare feet. He was certain that if he looked, his bathroom would be gleaming and perfect. But there was something else looking gleaming and perfect: a woman. A beautiful woman was curled up asleep right in the middle of his huge bed.

She’d left the blinds open so the city lights gave the room a pale glow. It made her arm and face luminescent. Her long blonde hair was spread enticingly in a swathe over the pillow. A golden beauty in his bed. Goldilocks herself.

He was dreaming.

He glanced around. There was no bag. No clothes anywhere. The rest of the room was pristine. There was just that too pretty, random woman in his bed.

Definitely dreaming.

Real life wouldn’t be so cruel to have her actually there. Not at a moment when he had no chance of stringing a sentence together. No chance of talking, let alone doing any of the other things suddenly running through his head.

Ah, hell. He was overtired and had gone without sex too long and now his mind had come up with the ultimate ‘willing-woman-lying-waiting’ fantasy.

He blinked a couple more times but the vision didn’t dissipate. He cleared his throat. She remained still.

Testing, he spoke. His voice rough and low. ‘Sweetheart, wake up.’

She didn’t wake, but the faintest of furrows appeared between her eyebrows.

Huh, fantasy girl reacted.

So did his body. Hell, she was gorgeous. But this couldn’t be. He ached to be unconscious.

‘Time to leave, darling.’ Oddly he found himself whispering, almost not wanting the mirage to shatter. Maybe she could stay asleep and he could crawl in beside her. He only needed a few hours’ shut-eye, then he’d be up to talking...and taking.

But her eyes shot open. He saw her focus quickly, right on him. With a gasp she sat bolt upright, clutching the sheet to her chest. Her lips remained parted, as if she was going to scream. But no sound came out.

It was James who dragged in the audible breath. His attention arrowed to her full, shiny lips. In the dim light he imagined they were slicked with some kind of gloss. Flavoured? Maybe cherry or vanilla? He did like vanilla. Yeah, it had been way, way too long if he was off sidetracking like this.

‘Who are you?’ he asked, rougher than he meant to.

Big, slumberous blue eyes blinked back at him. Her blonde hair tumbled about her sweetheart-shaped face. She looked warm and flushed and ready. A beautifully pliant, silken, tempting woman.

‘Who are you?’ he repeated, almost plaintively. This so wasn’t fair. If this was a dream, he should have more energy.

‘What do you want?’ she asked, her voice husky.

‘Uh...’ Dear heaven, this just had to be a dream. A full-scale, torturous sexy dream. She was willing to do whatever he wanted? Asking him in that sultry voice? ‘Um...honey, I can’t do this right now...’

She stared at him for a long moment. He noticed her shoulders eased as she spoke with a breathy sigh. ‘You’re James.’

She knew that? She whispered his name in that honeyed-tone?

Pure fantasy.

‘Yeah and I’m sorry, darling,’ he said gruffly. ‘As gorgeous as you are...as good as I know you’d be...it’s not going to happen tonight.’ No matter how pretty she was, he was never going to manage it.

She blinked and didn’t move. Just stared at him. Hard. The flush in her cheeks deepened.

A weird prickling sensation pinched at the base of James’ spine.

Her frown returned—a whole lot bigger than before. ‘George told me to come here.’

Huh? Why were thoughts of his brother encroaching on his fantasy?

‘George sent you here for me?’ he asked, confused. The prickling sensation turned icy. Was she here because she’d been told to, or because she’d been paid to?

No way. This whole thing wasn’t even real. And George would never set something like that up. He might have been going on at James to ‘get back in the game’ for months, but he’d never think paying for a playmate was a solution. The idea was insane. But James’ fuzzed-out brain couldn’t figure anything any more. He just wanted to be in his bed. Now. He closed his eyes, reckoned she’d be gone when he opened them again.

She wasn’t.

And her eyes had narrowed, her expression tightened, her pixie chin lifted. ‘You think I’m waiting for you?’ she asked.

Wasn’t she? This was all just some wonderful, weird dream, wasn’t it?

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Swallowed.

Shit.

* * *

Caitlin Moore tilted her head back and stared at James Wolfe. She didn’t think she’d ever seen such dark brown eyes—almost black, bottomless. Eyes a woman could drown in. Way darker than his twin’s—George had more golden lights in both eyes and hair. But the main difference between the two was more obvious than that.

The scar snaked out from James’ hairline, slashing across his upper cheekbone. She knew how he’d got it. You’d be hard pressed to find a man, woman or child in the world with Internet access who hadn’t seen that iconic picture of James Wolfe running through the middle of a landslide struck village, ignoring the blood pouring down his cheek from the gash at his temple as he carried that broken child to safety. He’d been the one to operate on the kid himself. The hero. The ultimate good guy who thought what, exactly, about her?

Deliberately she didn’t stare at the scar. Nor did she lower her gaze to stare at the legs he had on show. Or the bronzed arms appearing out of the grey tee that fitted him so much better than the one she wore. But she was aware of his tan, his obvious strength, his size. He was all weary warrior with those muscles, that stubble and the end-of-the-fuse glint in his eye. Well, she had her own fuse burning—as good as he knew she’d be?

‘Who are you and what did George tell you?’ he asked. He looked both confused and...intense.

James Wolfe was a medic, a rescue man. A hero who worked in disaster-ravaged countries. She knew exactly who he was. She knew all those amazing things about him. But he had no idea who she was, where she’d come from. Nothing about the recent nightmare she’d left in London. He’d not read the headlines, the worst of the bile from the Internet. So wasn’t it just typical that even someone so ‘good’ automatically doubted her? Did he honestly think she was his paid plaything for the night? That she was here for his personal use and pleasure?

Caitlin sucked in a breath. Unhelpfully the air burned her lungs. She was already hot enough—with anger, right?

‘You think I’m here to do whatever you want me to?’ Caitlin ditched the sheet to reach out and flick on the reading lamp. She remained on the bed. Possession was nine tenths of the law and this was her sleep space tonight.

He didn’t answer. Instead he stood frozen at the foot of the bed, staring at her with those wide, bottomless, ninety-eight-per-cent cocoa eyes. Finally a half-strangled sentence emerged. ‘You’re wearing my T-shirt.’

What, and that then made her his property?

With the light on, Caitlin saw the flush deepening in his upper cheeks and the tension humming through his body—pulling him taller, tighter. Bigger. Her eyes widened as she saw the interest in his. To her horror she felt reciprocal heat build inside. She breathed out, hoping to cool it. No way. No way.

But was the guy attracted to her?

No. She mentally clarified. Not her. It was what he could see. What was with the Paleo instinct that kicked in when men saw skin? Insta-lust central.

Mind you, at this moment she might be found guilty of the same crime. All the muscles and skin he was showing were sure having an effect on her basic instincts. Not that he needed to know it. Not when he’d made such an out-of-line assumption.

‘Be grateful I didn’t take a pair of your boxers,’ she said coolly. ‘It was a close-run thing.’

‘My...?’ He stopped and swallowed. ‘So what else are you wearing?’

He almost looked pained. And Caitlin couldn’t resist the urge to turn the screw a little tighter.

‘Just your T-shirt.’ She faked a careless shrug and glanced towards the bathroom. ‘My clothes are drying.’

His slightly glazed focus didn’t leave her body. ‘Just my T-shirt?’

‘I figured you had more than enough to spare.’ There were about twenty in that walk-in wardrobe. All neatly pressed and stacked and exactly the same colour.

He blinked, clearly unable to get his head together. What was the guy—all animal? Yet she was certain he wasn’t. Oddly, despite her near nudity, despite the bizarreness of the situation, she didn’t think for a second that she was in any real danger. So she wasn’t afraid to bite.

‘Who’d have thought that James—hero with a capital H—Wolfe likes to have a woman of ill repute waiting for him in bed when he gets back from his oh-so-honourable missions?’ she said. It was unbelievable.

He stared at her with that dazed-and-glazed look, obviously trying to process her words. Was he drunk or something?

‘So, you’re not here for...’ He broke off and almost looked uncomfortable. ‘Me.’

‘No, your brother did not pay me to come and be a sexual plaything for you.’ Caitlin smiled sweetly. ‘And don’t you think—’ she cocked her head ‘—that if I were such a “professional”, I’d have chosen to be in your bed wearing something a little more sexy than one of your thousands of identical T-shirts?’

Though the shirt was damn sexy on him—the grey bringing out the depth in his eyes and the fit stretching across his chest in a seriously pulse-pounding fashion.

His lips thinned as he turned back to glare at her. She was used to full on media ‘glare’, but his dark-eyed look was just about the fiercest, most cutting, scrutiny she’d had to withstand.

‘I’m—’

‘Sorry,’ she snapped. ‘The word you’re looking for is sorry.’

‘Tired,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m tired and I made a mistake. And I’m sorry but you can’t stay here.’

Okay, maybe she was a little in the wrong here too, given the guy actually owned a third of this apartment. But she couldn’t afford to go anywhere else. And with her only clothes hanging wet in the bathroom? Damn.

Because worst of all she needed this space for more than piffling money reasons. She needed to hide. ‘Well, it’s just that your brother said I could stay for the next month.’

‘Month?’ His jaw fell open. ‘No. No. No.’

Yeah, she already got that her month wasn’t going to happen. But she needed to buy time to find a new plan. ‘Well, I’m not going anywhere else tonight.’

‘You have to.’

She needed this bed. George had said she could use it. But Grumpy James here was going to ruin it for her.

‘Look.’ She abandoned all dignity and pride. ‘We can figure something out. I’ll take the floor.’

Rigid, his glare pierced deeper. It was a wonder her bones didn’t snap from the force emanating from him.

‘You are not sleeping on the floor.’

Caitlin sighed. ‘Don’t pretend to be all chivalrous now. I’ve seen the real you unmasked, remember? You know, the guy unsurprised to find what he thinks is a hooker in his home.’

‘You are not sleeping on the floor.’

Implacable? Yeah—he had the whole stubborn attitude on.

‘Fine.’ She switched tack. ‘We’ll share.’ She glanced at the massive mattress. ‘The bed is big.’

‘Not big enough.’ He looked shell-shocked.

She swallowed. He was probably right. He was not short and he had shoulders broad enough for a nation’s sorrows. But she had nowhere else to go. ‘Plenty big enough,’ she argued stoically. ‘I’ll have this small edge here. We’ll put some pillows down and you can have the rest. Will that do?’

‘No.’

‘What, you have some Victorian sense of propriety now?’ she said.

‘I never pay for sex. Nor do I sleep with unwilling women.’

Caitlin stared at him, momentarily lost for words. What did he expect her to say to that? A horrendous sizzle slid over her skin as her body whispered the word she surely should deny—willing. So willing.

Oh, no, that just wasn’t right. The guy might be gorgeous, but he was a jerk. He’d just thought she was a prostitute. She shook her head.

Mindless with exhaustion, James just wanted the talking to stop. The drama to stop. Damn it, he needed everything to stop so he could sleep. For a good twenty hours. He’d been going on less than three hours for the last three weeks and that was before the forty-hour travel hell. He was past it.

‘Look, I can control my debauched urges enough not to attack you,’ he slurred more than spoke.

This sure wasn’t some ‘paid-to-please’ woman—she was doing everything possible to displease him. And he supposed he couldn’t really blame her for that.

He felt bad. His whole body ached, especially his brain. But worst of all was the flicker of desire. He didn’t want her to stay in his bed. Not her with her stunning legs and curves and sparkling-for-all-the-wrong-reasons eyes. It was impossible.

Because he wanted but shouldn’t. Besides that, couldn’t. And she most definitely wouldn’t.

There was no making this bad situation better, not while he was this sleep deprived and frankly addled. He closed his eyes but she was still talking. Something about pillows and space again. Infuriating, sexy-as-hell creature.

‘I’m tired,’ he interrupted, holding his hands up as he surrendered. ‘I’m sleeping. Talk tomorrow.’

He pitched face first onto the bed, gave over to the dark.

Caitlin stared at the man now sprawled out on his stomach. Sound asleep already, his limbs stretched out over a good three quarters of the bed.

She should have known it was too good to be true. Walking into this apartment only a few hours ago she’d been so excited. Sure, the rest of the place was unlivable, stripped back to bare, but then she’d climbed the stairs—and hit heaven. Up in the clouds, this beautiful, glass-walled white room offered the most incredible view of Manhattan. She’d stood at the window and looked out at the inspiring constructions of concrete, iron and glass, interspersed with the greenery of parks and the blue patches of sky. She’d felt free. Positive. Safe.

And now? Grumpy bear had returned to his lair.

She glared at him. He was too handsome for his own good with his dark hair, stubble, and long eyelashes. The thin scar marked but didn’t disfigure—it told of courage, sacrifice, determination. His long legs and arms were obviously strong but not bench-press-addict bulky. Hastily she drew the sheet up to cover him. She didn’t need to ogle the jerk. What kind of man automatically assumed a woman sleeping in his bed was there waiting only for his pleasure? An arrogant one who’d had way too many women, way too easily.

She drew in a deep steadying breath. Tried to consider her options. Drew a blank. Just what was she supposed to do now? She was so tired from the last few weeks’ media nightmare, from the hellish flight over from London, from the hour-long battle with the airline over her lost luggage, from facing all these battles alone...

So damn tired.

She looked at the strong man lying so contentedly asleep in the big bed. If she couldn’t beat him, maybe she should just join him?

Caitlin jammed a couple of pillows right up next to him, refusing to note once more just how fine his body was. Then she slipped between the sheets on the small space on the other side and turned her back to him, curling herself into a small ball.

Just for tonight.

TWO

James Wolfe sank deeper into the decadent, erotic dream. He tasted sweet mixed with salt, felt heat and hardness contrast with softness and smiles. Saw aquamarine eyes shimmering with defiance and desire. Heard words whispered with a wild edge. He reached out, wanting to touch...

But his hand slid over a cold sheet.

He slowly opened his eyes, trying to drag his reluctant, relaxed mind back to the realm of reality. First thing he saw was the empty stretch of mattress beside him. Frowning, he blinked—certain his dream woman had been in bed with him.

Then he heard the sound of running water emanating from behind the closed bathroom door. He smiled. It was okay. She was in the shower.

But then his mind, so briefly and blissfully rested, froze. He stiffened, then sat bolt-upright as actual memory returned and shredded the remnants of fantasy.

There had been a woman in bed with him. A woman who’d worn his shirt and nothing else. A woman he’d thought was...hell.

His stomach curdled.

George had said she could stay here. George never invited random women to stay. Not for more than a night and not without him. Which meant this woman was special. James rubbed his aching temples with tense knuckles as the blindingly obvious hit him.

She had to be his brother’s girlfriend.

George had been single a while, earning a reputation as a slayer—‘making up for lost time now he was off the leash’ as all the blogger types sniped. James knew some of George’s supposed escapades were fabrication, but not all. Still, it wasn’t impossible to believe George might’ve fallen for a blonde with soft-looking lips, and blue eyes that widened in surprise and sparkled in annoyance. Uh-huh. Why George wanted her was easy to see. She was easy to want. But letting her stay in their private condo was more than want. That meant serious.

And what had James done? All but called her a whore and told her to leave. He winced. All class, he was. George was, rightly, going to be pissed. James was going to have to grovel. To both of them.

The sound of running water ceased and James tensed. Maybe he could convince her to forgive and forget the whole incident? But how to convince her? Throw himself on her mercy? Explain he was so exhausted he hadn’t been thinking straight? Blame the stress of his last assignment?

He glanced down, frowning at the white cotton sheet covering him. He didn’t remember sliding under it last night, which meant she must have—

An entirely inappropriate image flashed in his head. An entirely enjoyable one. Hell, he wished he’d never seen her legs, or how curvy her unfettered breasts looked in one of his T-shirts.

His clothes. His bed. His.

If she was Goldilocks, he was definitely the bear. But he hadn’t done a very good job of chasing her away. She’d been way more defiant than that thief from the fairy tale. She’d been almost desperate to stay. He wondered why that was.

The door to the bathroom opened. She walked out, her expression guarded. James’ innards shrivelled in excruciation. She couldn’t look less like a hooker. Her pale face peeked out above the turtle-neck roll of a giant black sweater. Baggy black jeans hung on her, hiding the figure he knew was lithe. She’d scraped her wet hair into a function-over-form ponytail, the bedraggled twist nothing like the swathe of colour that had blanketed his pillow so enticingly. Given her pallor he guessed she’d not brushed any make-up on. Cloaked with an air of wariness, she looked smaller, tired. But still determined. Still sexy.

Yeah, part of him wanted to haul her back to his bed, strip her out of the oversized gear and help her relax enough to sleep soundly. She looked as if she needed it as much as he and he still had seven hours’ straight sleep in him. He could forget the world with her. Make her forget her own name. And George’s?

Guilt skewered his chest. What was he thinking? To contemplate—even for a second—messing with the woman his brother had sent here? Maybe he was screwed up after his last assignment. Maybe he’d seen too many hearts broken. Maybe he’d got so desensitised he’d forgotten what was right and what was wrong. Because this was wrong.

He shifted, tugging up the sheet for something to do, cursing himself for not getting up and dressing while she was in the shower. Glancing back up, he caught a flash in her gaze.

James saw emotional extremes all the time—inconsolable grief, terror, pity, relief. Apocalyptic events pushed people beyond human endurance. He knew the keening wails of distraught villagers who’d lost loved ones, homes, land—people who’d lost everything but the ability to breathe. He emotionally distanced himself from them. Had to. Couldn’t get his job done if he felt every hurt along with them. But he wasn’t used to someone looking at him as if she wanted him to disappear. Or as if she wanted to be the one to make him disappear. Usually people fell over themselves in relief when they saw him. So this was novel. And frankly?

Interesting.

Inappropriate again. He gritted his teeth. He needed to get his head together. Find out the facts. And get her to leave.

‘I’m thinking we need proper introductions,’ he said carefully. ‘As you know, I’m James, but I didn’t get your name last night—’

‘Caitlin.’

Her voice was every bit as cool as her expression. Both set him on the boil. Caitlin who? Caitlin why? The temptation to tease was impossible to resist. ‘You like wearing other people’s clothes, Caitlin?’

The ones she had on now sure weren’t hers. Three sizes too big and not nearly stylish enough for her figure.

Colour touched her cheeks. ‘My luggage got lost somewhere between London and New York.’

Luggage? So she’d only recently arrived? ‘So that’s why you were wearing my shirt?’

She inclined her head. ‘I’d washed my clothes and they were still wet.’

‘Those are really yours?’ His brows lifted. He caught the resurgence of defiance in her eyes and checked himself. Tempting as it was to bait, he wasn’t supposed to be making this worse. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘You weren’t interested in listening.’

‘You were too busy talking.’

‘You were too busy assuming.’

‘You were too—’ He broke off. Too tempting—with her beautiful hair and long, lush legs. Of course he’d thought of sex. Hell, what man wouldn’t when he was beyond tired, who’d lived in hell the last three weeks on top of a previous assignment that had been shorter, but even worse. Confronted with that vision—a sleeping, soft, hot woman? The idea of losing himself in her vitality, in feeling alive for a moment before diving into a deep, ideally dreamless sleep?

Oh, hell. He was a sick unit.

‘So you’re heading out to get some new clothes?’ He dropped the previous topic and aimed for something less inflammatory. Fingers crossed she’d find a new place to stay while she was out.

She looked away, studying the room. ‘I’m hoping my bag will arrive today.’

‘There are a ton of shops to tide you over,’ he said, wondering the best way to bring up the topic of her and George.

‘That’s not why I’m here.’

Surprised, he frowned. She was in no hurry to go buy a new wardrobe? What woman didn’t like to go shopping? He glanced at her worn outfit again and mentally kicked himself. A woman who couldn’t afford to.

Was that why she’d resisted leaving last night? She couldn’t afford to go anywhere else? The defiant pride beaming from her eyes showed she wasn’t about to admit it. Fair enough.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked.

‘Just for a holiday.’

‘For a month?’

She nodded but he got the impression she was keeping something back from him. George had said she could holiday here for a month? To be fair, James really hadn’t kept his family up to date with his itinerary. He figured this mess-up served him right. If she couldn’t afford to go anywhere else, he was going to have to do the gentlemanly thing—especially given his brother had offered the place to her. Except James didn’t want to stay somewhere else. This was as ‘home’ as it got for him. It offered him isolation. Peace and quiet—something he only ever needed for a couple of days in between assignments.

If she was here on the tourist ticket she’d be out sightseeing all day, dining out, dancing half the night in the clubs. They’d hardly notice each other, right?

Aside from the minor detail that they’d have to share. Only this one room in the apartment was in action and, while sharing a room would be bad enough, sharing a bed with his brother’s woman was on the ‘forbidden’ list. Assuming she was his brother’s woman?

‘George said you could stay.’ He drew his knees up and leaned forward to watch her reaction.

She nodded again, glancing away. ‘But it’s clearly inconvenient.’

He thought rapidly. If he chased off his brother’s girlfriend, he’d never hear the end of it. As it was he got too much grief for not being involved with the family enough. To be the ‘beast’ who’d scared beauty out of the castle would be too much for his brothers to stand. Doubtless they’d stage an intervention. ‘George doesn’t open up to many people.’

‘He’s been a good friend to me.’

Friend. Was that all he was? James ran his hand through his hair and down to rub the back of his neck. If he’d bothered to be in touch with his brothers more, he’d know. He wouldn’t have to ask. As it was, he did. ‘You know him well?’

‘Not intimately. Which is what you’re really asking, right?’ She shot him a look. ‘What does it matter to you?’

His blood heated at her defiant spark. ‘You really need me to explain?’

The inappropriate reply was out before he could think to stop it. And really, the fierce surge of desire needed no explanation. With those blue eyes, blonde hair, the legs, and the curves that called out to be admired. Held. Tasted. And as for the spirited tilt of her chin and the colour seeping into her cheeks...

‘In some ways you’re very like your brother,’ she said, her voice rougher than before.

‘But I’m not him.’

George, though he was trying hard to deny it, was a commitment man. A keeper for the right woman. James was definitely not. No matter how right the woman, he was all wrong. And knowing that, he probably shouldn’t be thinking all things sexy about his unexpected house-guest. He probably should back off and be good.

Except he was tired of being good.

She angled her head, studying him. ‘Does it bother you? People confusing you?’

They weren’t identical but were so alike most people thought they were. Until recent times, when James’ injury made it obvious. But the scar was superficial. Their real differences had been etched inside years ago when, because of James, a man had died and a family had been destroyed. That old cold feeling sluiced down his spine. He stiffened, pushing it out. He was over that. He was busy, content. Doing something with his life. Slowly he shook his head. ‘Used to. But we’re very different. Sometimes I wish I were more like him.’

‘In what way?’

Caitlin watched a remote look cross James’ face, then his smile twisted and a surprisingly wicked gleam sparked in his eyes. She couldn’t help thinking he’d summoned the charm to scare away the devils.

She knew George Wolfe was the ultimate playboy. Charming, witty, a master at making women willing, biddable, all too easily beddable. Not that she’d succumbed. And truthfully, she’d not received his interest that way, he’d felt pity for her rather than attraction. Because they had that one thing in common. They’d both felt the bite of the press, the judgment of the ill-informed masses.

Notoriety.

But all George had offered her was a safe haven—a hideaway. Turned out the cave came with the big, growly bear who wanted isolation to hibernate. And James Wolfe was more predator than playboy. For all his supposed heroism he had a streak of the hunter. She felt far more at risk here and now than she ever had with George—far more at risk of succumbing. Because James Wolfe, with his sleep-mussed hair, stubble and smoky eyes, was compelling.

‘If I were more like George, I’d have no trouble telling you how well you wear my T-shirt.’ His smile deepened, a small dimple appearing in one cheek. ‘And how much I’m kicking myself for being so abrupt last night.’

Abrupt? He’d been more than abrupt.

‘I hope you can forgive me,’ he said, as smooth as molten chocolate.

She didn’t trust anyone who said anything nice to her—certainly not a man. Not any more. She was sure that in the depths of James’ equally molten chocolate eyes, she’d find calculation. ‘Is that what you really want?’ she asked bluntly.

‘What I really want...?’ he echoed softly.

Oh, she was not falling for his sudden smoothness. She knew what he was up to. ‘You’re worried I’m going to tell the world what a jerk the James Wolfe actually is?’

His concern was laughable. He clearly wasn’t aware there was no way the world would ever believe her.

His chin lifted, his smile turned self-mocking. ‘Not worried about the world, but I am a little concerned about what George might say.’

George would probably laugh.

‘So,’ she challenged. ‘You thought you’d turn on the Wolfe charm and befuddle me so much I’d forget all about it?’

His brows arched high. ‘I thought it was worth a try.’

He was so obviously joking—trying to tease them out of this embarrassing situation. But to have another guy faking flirt with her for his own gain? She couldn’t raise a smile. ‘Why?’ she asked tartly. ‘You need the world to think nothing but the best of you? Your ego is so huge you need every woman to want you?’

He paused, a small laugh escaping beneath his breath. ‘No, I just wanted you to forget how rude I was. But if you want to want me, I guess that’s okay too.’ He shrugged.

‘I don’t want you.’

‘No?’ He adopted a farcically crestfallen look.

Suddenly she couldn’t not laugh. ‘You’re appalling.’ Last night she’d never have imagined he’d be so ridiculous. ‘What would you have done if I said I did want you?’

‘You calling my bluff?’ His smile burst back.

‘So it was a bluff.’ She’d been right, the guy was only out to cover his butt. That hot appreciative look he’d sent her way before was an act. The ‘explanation’ of why her relationship with George mattered was his fear for his reputation. Not because he was attracted to her and didn’t want to tread on his brother’s toes. And she was not remotely disappointed by that fact.

His expression went bland enough to mask all manner of nefarious intentions—but his dark eyes danced. ‘I can neither confirm or deny.’

‘Well, I can’t conform.’ She shook her head. ‘I won’t be one of your millions of adorers.’ She didn’t care how many lives he’d saved, she wasn’t worshipping him.

His chin lifted in a sudden movement, as if he were a predator who’d just caught a whiff of tasty prey nearby. ‘True,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘You’re not like most women I meet.’

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, given you only seem to meet people who think you’re the best thing ever. It strikes me you’ve gotten away with too much for too long.’

‘I have?’ he queried, his lips almost quirking into another of those smiles. ‘So what are you going to do about it?’

Caitlin paused, counting to ten to douse the flicker of attraction. She was super glad her ‘hideaway’ flight clothes swamped her and hid the unreasonable reaction of her body to his. She was all tight, all hot. Perhaps she’d picked up flu on the flight?

She didn’t want this trip to start fraught with failure. Yet it was already. Lost luggage. Random midnight roommate. Looming homelessness. Could it get any worse?

Actually, yes. She’d run away from worse. She could handle this. She might be screwed but she wasn’t going to beg. She’d figure something out. She had in the past, she would now. She straightened her shoulders and sucked it up. ‘I’ll go to a hotel.’

‘No,’ he shot back surprisingly quickly. ‘Hotels are awful,’ he added. ‘Soulless places. Stay here.’ His eyes twinkled.

‘There really isn’t room.’

‘Sure there is,’ he said easily. ‘We managed just fine last night, didn’t we?’

Last night she’d lain there for ages, barely breathing before accepting the guy was making like a gigantic piece of Lego. Immovable, inanimate, so faultless he had to be plastic. She’d wished he’d snored or something—she’d wanted to find a flaw, aside from the fact he’d briefly leapt to an unflattering assumption. But even now, with the air of weariness he wore, with the shadows under his eyes and the stubble on his jaw, even with that raw scar, he was the most startlingly sexy man she’d met. So truthfully, she hadn’t managed that well at all. But given how broke she was, she was going to have to cope. The question was whether he wanted to—and if so, why he would?

‘You don’t mind the state it’s in?’ She paused to clear the frog from her throat. ‘Or being so squashed?’

‘This is nothing.’ He looked amused.

Of course, he’d have seen places in far worse messes and no doubt lived in greatly uncomfortable situations for months at a time. Because on that level, he was that hero.

‘I have a twin. I’m used to sharing,’ he explained. ‘We used to have a line of masking tape down on the floor marking out the boundary. Pain of death if you crossed it.’

Caitlin could easily imagine the scene. But she knew he came from wealth. His family had created the world’s most popular independent travel guides. A total dynasty, they sold millions of books each year. Surely he’d grown up in a huge house? Her innards softened; the guy was trying to make her feel better. But she wasn’t going to let him get away with gross exaggeration. ‘You didn’t have your own room?’

‘Course not,’ he answered instantly. ‘We fought, but we’re brothers. Half the time Jack would be in there as well.’ He chuckled. ‘When we got older, sure, we had our own rooms. But we were really close.’

Were. She paused, wondering about why that was. But she wasn’t going to pry about anything so personal. Besides, he was only sharing this to make her feel as if she weren’t putting him out. ‘And how long is it since the two of you shared a room?’ she asked bluntly.

He laughed. ‘About twenty years,’ he conceded.

Hmm. ‘So this arrangement...would be...brotherly?’

‘Sure.’ His eyes crinkled even more at the corners. ‘I really am used to sharing. Sometimes it’s really cramped quarters when I’m on an assignment.’

‘All the more reason for you to have your space now you’re at home.’ She really shouldn’t stay.

‘You don’t take up that much space.’ He grinned amiably. ‘I like to curl up like a cat.’

Ha. ‘I slept beside you last night. I know how much you stretch out.’

A rueful expression crossed his face. ‘Did I leave you any room?’

‘Less than an inch.’

‘Sorry about that. We can do something better with the pillows.’

Caitlin pressed her lips together for a moment to suppress the heat suddenly flaring inside. She could well imagine his physical demands would be great. He was the kind to want more. To take more.

‘I can’t let you do this.’ Ugh, her voice had gone husky. She cleared her throat. ‘I’ll disturb you.’

He hesitated for a moment. ‘I can sleep through anything.’

Actually, she figured that was true. He’d been out cold last night. ‘So you’re suggesting that we—two total strangers—share this one room?’

‘I am.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’ll only be for a couple days at most. I’ll be heading out on another assignment soon. You’ll have the place to yourself the rest of your month.’

Given she had no back-up plan, what choice did she have? But there was that one thing and she couldn’t not spell it out. ‘You honestly think it can work given what you thought on seeing me here last night?’

‘I was really tired. Not thinking clearly.’ For the first time he glanced away from her first. ‘You can’t blame me. I think most men look at you and think “sex”.’

‘Is that supposed to be a compliment?’ she drawled acidly.

‘Hey, I’m just a man.’

‘But you’re not, are you? You’re not just any man.’

He looked back at her. ‘I think you’ll find I’m very much just a man.’

‘Given that, I’m really not sure it’s a good idea I stay here.’

He studied her silently. Then smiled gently. ‘Sweetheart, you have nothing to worry about.’

Somehow—ridiculous as it was, given he was trying to reassure her—she felt even more insulted than she had last night. ‘Sweetheart?’

He grinned. ‘Sugar, honeypot...’

‘You’ve obviously forgotten my name is Caitlin.’

‘I haven’t forgotten anything about you.’ A glitter intensified the laughter in his eyes.

That kind of focus was enough to make any woman blush. She drew breath, fighting the flare of heat in her cheeks. ‘Okay, I definitely can’t stay here.’ She’d be safer on the streets.

‘Sure you can.’

‘Not if you’re going to flirt like a bulldozer,’ she grumbled. She didn’t want any man-attraction stuff in her life right now. She wanted peace.

He laughed. A deliciously low, warm, infectious sound. ‘You don’t like flirting?’

Caitlin fought to keep hold of her grump and not succumb to his charm. ‘It’s not appropriate.’ He didn’t even mean it.

He looked even more amused. ‘You honestly don’t think a guy and a girl can share a room without...’ He raised his brows.

Oh, now he was making her seem like some kind of sex-crazed spinster. ‘It’s not that but—’

‘Ah, you do think I’m attractive.’ He nodded in a confiding way, his grin absurdly boyish.

Confound the man, he was confusing her. ‘You know you’re attractive,’ she answered almost crossly.

‘I do?’ He turned his head and ran a finger down the thick red welt of the scar that came out of his hairline, cut across his temple and sloped crookedly down his cheekbone. ‘This is attractive?’

Caitlin stared first at the scar, then into his suddenly impenetrably dark eyes. Was there an edge of bitterness? He was insecure about it? When the world knew how he’d got it? What he’d gone through?

‘Your eyes are attractive,’ she said quietly. His eyes were lethal. And they were just the beginning.

He shook his head, his smile returning but a little twisted. ‘My bank balance is attractive. So is my surname—the family connection. The fame.’

Fame didn’t make him attractive to her. She knew fame cost—not with the clichéd sweat, but soul. Fame-craving people sacrificed their humanity. But she got the feeling he was as unenthusiastic about fame as she was.

‘Are you trying to play the pity card?’ She adopted a sassy tone to lighten the prickly moment. ‘You’re worried the only reason women want you is because of your assets, not your personality?’

‘You tell me.’ His lips twitched.

‘I’m not stroking your ego.’

He chuckled warmly again. ‘So you’re not attracted to me.’ He nodded again as he spoke. ‘Guess that means we’ll have no trouble sharing the room.’

Hmm. She considered his tactics and had to acknowledge he was good. She could be too, right? And she really couldn’t afford to go anyplace else. ‘And obviously you’re not attracted to me,’ she said with a small faux sniff.

He looked at her silently, the single dimple appearing again.

‘Given you fell asleep before you even hit the mattress,’ she added, vaguely piqued. ‘And you were desperately saying no.’

His shoulder lifted, a scant apologetic gesture. ‘I didn’t want to have to be nice.’

Another wave of heat caught Caitlin by surprise. ‘You didn’t want to have to be nice—in bed?’ She cocked her head, the provocative words tumbling from her tongue. ‘If I were a hooker, wouldn’t it have been my job to be nice? It would only have been about getting off for you. You could have done your thing in twenty seconds and we’d both have been happy.’

‘That’s not the way I have sex.’ He drawled the words, but his eyes kindled to a quick scorching heat.

‘Ten seconds would’ve been okay as well.’ She tried to shrug. ‘You don’t need to feel bad if that’s all you can manage.’

He leaned forward, his smile appreciative. ‘I don’t feel bad because I’m always nice to my partner.’

‘But you get tired of having to be nice? Why?’ She let herself look directly into his intense, intoxicating, eyes. ‘You want to get naughty sometimes?’

The fire in his expression flared into an inferno. He flung back the sheet and stood up from the bed. ‘I’m not allowed to get naughty,’ he said softly.

Why ever not? ‘But you’d like to?’ she pointedly asked, refusing to glance down and check out his legs. Or recognise the rapid pounding of her pulse. ‘Aren’t you all man? In control of your own destiny? If you want to be wicked, be wicked?’

‘Things are never that simple.’ He walked towards her.

‘No?’ She lifted her chin free of the rollneck of wool and fought the instinct to step back. ‘Seems they are to me. See, I’m bad. Bad news for anyone who comes near.’

‘You’re bad news?’ His eyebrow quirked, as if he didn’t believe her.

‘Oh, yeah.’ In the last few weeks the gossip columns had been filled with it. Only because they needed some kind of cannon fodder to fill the inches of newsprint and populate their webpages with salacious scandal. They all needed a villain. This month, she was it. She’d forgotten how awful it was to be vilified. She’d thought she’d escaped it years ago. ‘You’re right not to be attracted to me. I’m the wild child who’ll ruin a man.’

‘I never said I wasn’t attracted to you,’ he replied calmly. ‘And your supposed badness can’t ruin me.’ He whisked the grey T-shirt off and tossed it onto the bed. ‘I’m bulletproof, didn’t you know?’

She stifled a gasp at his gesture. At the expanse of skin he’d exposed. Yep, the bullets would bounce off those bristling muscles. Dear heaven, this man was hewn.

‘Nothing you can do could tarnish my image,’ he said boldly.

‘You’re that perfect,’ she sarcastically humoured him. But though he was joking, she knew he was about as perfect as it got.

‘Apparently.’ A teasing gleam lit his chocolate eyes. ‘Though you and I know different.’

‘True.’

‘And what about what I could do for you?’ he said softly.

‘There’s no redeeming me,’ she said bluntly. ‘And you should be more careful. Reputations can only go down. Never up.’

‘What did you do that’s so bad?’ His amusement told her he thought she was kidding.

He’d find out eventually. And no matter what she said in response, he wouldn’t believe her. Nobody did. Not even her sister. And her father perpetuated it—not caring about the veracity of any of the stories spread over the Internet. ‘Any publicity is good publicity’ was his mantra. He was wrong.

It was only a matter of time until she saw the judgment enter James’ eyes. Hell, she’d seen it last night. ‘You took one look at me and thought I was trouble.’

‘And I was right about that.’ Softly, he didn’t deny it. ‘But haven’t you heard? I like trouble.’ He walked right up to her. ‘I go out of my way to find it.’

‘Only so you can fix it.’ She glared up at him. ‘And sorry, Handsome, I don’t need fixing.’

‘No?’ he asked, so close she could feel the warmth of his body hitting her even through the baggy layers she wore. ‘You need something else from me?’

She could hardly breathe for the heated tension in the room. ‘All I need is a space in this bed to sleep. Nothing else.’

His gorgeously outrageous smile returned. ‘Maybe.’ He stepped to the side and then walked past her into the bathroom. ‘But you might be surprised what I can come up with.’

She couldn’t resist turning to watch him walk. Goaded by his jaw-dropping back view, she asked the worst possible question. ‘You think you’re irresistible?’

He glanced back from the bathroom door, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, that wry-but-wicked smile on his lips. ‘I guess we’re about to find out.’

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