BAD BLOOD

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?

BAD BLOOD COLLECTION

TORTURED RAKE

SARAH MORGAN

SHAMELESS PLAYBOY

CAITLIN CREWS

RESTLESS BILLIONAIRE

ABBY GREEN

FEARLESS MAVERICK

ROBYN GRADY

HEARTLESS REBEL

LYNN RAYE HARRIS

ILLEGITIMATE TYCOON

JANETTE KENNY

FORGOTTEN DAUGHTER

JENNIE LUCAS

LONE WOLFE

KATE HEWITT

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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SARAH MORGAN

BAD BLOOD

TORTURED RAKE

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.

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, un derpaid 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 every thing, 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 mur mur 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, some thing 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 pal ate.’

‘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.’

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. They’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.’

CHAPTER FOUR

WHY the hell had he brought her with him?

At the time it had seemed the only way to make sure she didn’t talk to the press, but he was only now realising what her presence meant. He had company at a time when he wanted it least.

Not just company. He had Katie—a girl who believed that all would be right with the world providing you had someone with whom to share your problems. A girl who believed talking solved everything.

It was probably just punishment for dragging her into this mess.

She was furious with him.

He glanced at her tense profile, careful to reveal nothing of his own emotions.

‘You don’t have to look as though your world has come to an end,’ he ground out. ‘It was a small-time costume drama with second-rate actors. It would have been provincial and boring.’

‘It was another step up the ladder.’

‘How many steps does this ladder of yours have? You might want to think about taking two at a time or you’re never going to reach the top.’

‘Do you have to be sarcastic about everything?’

‘That play would not have progressed your career.’

‘I had some really original ideas for the costumes. My name would have been on the credits.’

‘Which three people would have seen. Anyway, you’d never have got the job.’

‘Thanks. So not only did you stop me going, but now you’re telling me I’m rubbish at my job.’ She turned her head deliberately and looked out of the window. ‘Just because I don’t work in Hollywood doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings. I think you’re incredibly mean.’

‘Mean?’ Fighting an inexplicable urge to laugh, Nathaniel stared at the back of her head. ‘I haven’t heard that word since I started at boarding school.’

‘I bet you were a complete nightmare at boarding school.’

‘I had my moments. And for your information, I wasn’t being “mean” or sarcastic, I was being honest. They wouldn’t have given you the job.’

Her shoulders grew a little stiffer. ‘I heard you the first time. You don’t need to repeat yourself.’

‘I saw the costume plot. Your drawings are in a class of their own.’

‘Just because I’m not—’ Her head turned. ‘What did you say?’

‘Your drawings are in a class of their own. You have great talent. And you would have terrified them. Your work is far too imaginative and original. They would have gone with something “safe” and predictable that has been done a thousand times before. Provincial, boring producers don’t want to rock the boat.’ That assessment was met with a long tense silence.

‘You think I have talent? You’re not just saying that because I’m angry with you?’

‘I’m saying it because it’s the truth.’

‘Oh.’ A confused frown pulled at her brows. ‘Well, that’s nice. Unfortunately you admiring my work won’t pay my bills or help me up the ladder. Not that I expect you to understand. You live in a world of private jets, bodyguards and limousines. I live in a world of rising debt and unemployment.’

She knew nothing about his world.

‘Relax, wardrobe. I’ll make some calls and get you work in Hollywood. If it doesn’t work out with Alicia, then I’ll call Rupert Schneider or Howard Kennington.’

Her mouth opened and closed. ‘You know all those people?’

‘Yes. And they’re always on the lookout for new talent. They’d love you.’

‘Y-you’d introduce me? Seriously?’ She looked stunned. ‘Well, thank you. It’s nice to know you do, in fact, have a conscience.’

‘Don’t endow me with qualities I don’t possess. I’m introducing you because you have talent, and because I can’t stand a woman who sulks, especially if I’m stuck on an island with her.’

‘You should have thought of that before you forced me to come along with you. There is such a thing as karma, you know. You’ll be punished in some way for doing this to me.’

‘I’m already being punished. I’m about to be trapped on an island with a woman who can’t stop talking. Man’s idea of hell, believe me.’ Smiling, Nathaniel leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes. Immediately, reality closed in and his thoughts turned dark. He saw Jacob sitting in the front row. Saw those dark eyes looking at him. Knowing. They were bound together by the past. Nothing was ever going to change that.

His smile faded and his eyes flew open.

Oh, yes, he was being punished.

‘Are you all right?’ Katie’s big green eyes were full of concern. ‘Only you’re gripping your seat really hard.’

Nathaniel released his grip and the blood flowed back into his fingers. ‘I’m a nervous flyer.’

‘You flew a plane in your last film. You have a pilot’s licence.’

‘Precisely.’ He hauled in all of his professional skills to make sure he didn’t falter. ‘I hate being flown by someone else. I’d rather be the one at the controls but I had a lousy night’s sleep on your lumpy sofa and I didn’t want to crash us into a mountain.’

Her steady gaze suggested that she wasn’t convinced and he reminded himself that Katie Field noticed things. He couldn’t afford to lower his guard. Which suited him just fine. Apart from last night, onstage, Nathaniel couldn’t remember the last time he’d lowered his guard.

‘So this island—’ The hope of new contacts seemed to have cheered her slightly. ‘Where is it? And how do you know we won’t be followed around when we get there?’

‘It’s a tropical island off the coast of South America. And the reason I know we won’t be followed around is because we’ll be the only two people on the island.’

‘Just us?’ Her voice was a horrified squeak. ‘You expect me to spend two weeks without a single person to talk to?’

‘I believe there are two species of parrot found on the island. If you play your cards right, one of them might talk to you.’

‘You may think you’re funny, but I’m the sort of person who likes company. If you’re the only person on the island—’ her eyes narrowed ‘—then I’ll just have to talk to you.’

‘Talk away. Just don’t expect me to answer.’ Nathaniel watched her through the dark shield of his lashes. ‘On the other hand, if it’s company you want, I’m sure we can find some way of passing the time that doesn’t include conversation.’

He was arrogant, overbearing—Katie sighed. And insanely sexy.

How could he be sexy when he was asleep? Strands of dark hair flopped over his forehead giving him a dangerous, rakish look. The bold black brows and darkened jaw were wholly masculine and as for that mouth—

She looked away quickly, her heart thudding against her chest.

No, no, no.

She wasn’t going to do that to herself. Not again. No more fantasies about unobtainable guys. She knew who she was now and was comfortable with herself. Five minutes of idle flirtation with a hot movie star didn’t change anything.

Blind with tiredness but totally unable to relax enough to sleep, Katie stared out of the window at the tropical islands that studded the sparkling ocean below.

Some of the tiredness sloughed away as she gazed beneath her. The sea was dotted with emerald-green islands, each framed by white sands and coral reefs.

Clear turquoise water lapped at secluded coves. Paradise, she thought, with a twist.

She sneaked a glance at Nathaniel, sleeping beside her.

He was the twist.

What secrets was he hiding? Who were Annabelle and Carrie? Why did he feel the need to bury himself on a deserted island?

The questions spiralled in her head until sheer exhaustion made her fall asleep. When she woke it was to find Nathaniel staring out of the window.

For a few seconds she saw torment and anguish in his eyes and then he realised she was awake and quickly blanked it.

What was going on in his life? What was he hiding? ‘Have we arrived?’

‘We’re in Rio de Janeiro. It’s a short helicopter hop to Wolfe Island.’

‘This island—’ she retrieved her bag from under her seat ‘—you said your brother owns it?’

‘He’s a hotelier. Very convenient at times like this.’

‘Wolfe.’ Katie stared at him for a moment, wondering how she could have failed to make the connection. ‘Sebastian Wolfe is your brother?’

‘That’s right.’

‘I’ve heard of him, of course. I just hadn’t realised—you never talk about your family.’

‘And I don’t intend to start.’

‘You’re not close to your family?’

A muscle flickered at the corner of his mouth. ‘You certainly like to live dangerously.’

‘If we’re going to be trapped together for the next two weeks we have to know a few things about each other.’

Those sexy, slanting eyes were faintly mocking. ‘You need to know I’m dangerous when I’m cross-examined.’

‘And I’m dangerous when I’m deprived of human conversation. I’m not cross-examining you. I’m just asking about your family. I don’t see what’s wrong with that. I’m just being polite.’

‘Let’s set some ground rules, shall we?’ Thick dark lashes swept down to conceal his expression. ‘You don’t ask me anything personal and I won’t ask you anything personal. In fact, why don’t we just agree to a no-talking rule for the next two weeks? It’s fine with me if we keep our relationship purely physical. We can communicate via body language.’

Katie chose to ignore that. ‘You can ask me anything you like. I don’t have secrets. And I can’t not talk for two weeks. Talking is how I relieve tension.’

He leaned towards her, his blue eyes two narrow, dangerous slits of simmering sensuality. ‘Want to know how I relieve tension, wardrobe?’

‘No, I do not.’ Trapped by his gaze, she found it hard to breathe. He was a man who clearly understood the effect he had on women.

As if to confirm that, his smile was slow and confident. ‘Sure?’

‘Completely sure.’

‘But you’re curious.’ His voice was soft and seductive. ‘Admit it—you’ve been wondering how it is going to feel when we eventually stop all this self-control nonsense and kiss each other.’

‘I haven’t. It hasn’t crossed my mind.’

‘You’re a terrible liar.’

‘And you’re impossibly arrogant. And arrogance,’ she said breathlessly, ‘is never an attractive trait, even for the Sexiest Man Alive.’ Her heart was pounding and the blood hummed in her ears.

‘You think I’m the sexiest man alive?’

‘I was quoting opinion polls.’ Thoroughly flustered, Katie looked out of the window again. ‘We’re landing.’ Thank goodness. How come he always knew what to say and she never did? How come he never seemed to feel awkward?

He unbuckled his seat belt and leaned across to do hers. ‘Let’s move. The helicopter is waiting.’

The first thing that hit her when she stepped out onto the island was the intense heat and the colours. Deep green palm trees shaded milky white sand, and a parrot added a flash of exotic red as it took refuge in the trees clustered in the centre of the island. The hot sun was a ball of orange and the sea was a magic carpet of glittering jewelled blue.

‘Beats London in February.’ Nathaniel took her arm and drew her away from the helicopter. ‘Here we are. Home sweet home. Otherwise known as Paradise Villa. All the bedrooms open onto the terrace and overlook the sea. Take your pick.’

Feeling hot and sticky in her jeans, Katie walked into the house and stopped dead, stunned by what she saw. ‘Oh, it’s—’

‘Yes. My brother has flawless taste. It’s the jewel in his company crown. VIP all the way.’

Katie gazed around her. The outdoor living area was cleverly designed to offer maximum shade while making the most of the breathtaking views. Exotic plants swayed lazily in the breeze and deep cream sofas invited relaxation and indulgence. The only sound was the swish of the sea as it rushed onto the sand. It was another world. ‘Who can afford to stay here?’

‘We can.’ Nathaniel urged her forward. ‘Most of the living space is outdoors, obviously, because of the view. Terrace, infinity pool, hammocks—you’ll find everything you need to chill out and do nothing. If you get bored doing nothing, there are water sports.’

Katie felt faint. ‘So when people come here, they book the whole island?’

‘Indeed they do. They come here for peace and quiet and to experience the unique challenges of having hot sweaty sex in a hammock.’ His smile was slow and sexy. ‘You’ve never tried sex in a ham mock?’

‘You’re not funny.’ Feeling as though she’d been plunged into a furnace, Katie pulled off her jumper. ‘Is there somewhere I can buy some clothes? Next time you kidnap someone, warn them to pack for hot weather. I’m boiling to death wearing jeans in this heat.’ Or maybe it wasn’t the heat. Maybe it was him …

That disturbing blue gaze was slumberous. ‘The staff were instructed to put some clothes in your room.’

Great. Her worst nightmare. Someone else choosing her clothes.

Speculating on the sort of woman the staff would have expected to see with Nathaniel Wolfe and sensing major embarrassment, Katie’s heart sank. She’d rather wear jeans and risk heatstroke. ‘I can tell you now that nothing will fit.’

‘If nothing fits, then you can walk around naked.’

‘You’re still not funny.’ Lifting her chin, Katie walked across the terrace and back into the villa. ‘I presume the bedrooms are this way?’

‘That’s the master suite. Unless you want to share it with me, you need to turn left.’

Katie turned left so sharply she almost fell over.

The door to another bedroom suite was open and she escaped inside, her eyebrows lifting as she saw the rose petals sprinkled on the white silk bedcover and the candles clustered around bowls of scented flowers.

It was a room for romance. A room for loving.

‘Miss Katie?’ A smiling woman ambled slowly into the room carrying soft fluffy towels. ‘I’m Rosa, and if there’s anything you need during your stay, you just have to ask.’

Katie frowned, confused. ‘I thought—He said we were on our own.’

Rosa laughed, her smooth brown face alight with amusement. ‘Bless you. This place has a staff of twenty. But we all live on the mainland. We arrive in time to make breakfast and leave after supper. So you have the best of both worlds. I arranged for some clothes for you, but if they’re not right just let me know.’

They were going to be too tight, all the wrong colours and it was going to be hideously embarrassing. But Katie was too polite to complain. ‘I’m sure they’ll be perfect. Thanks very much.’

Perfect or not, it was a relief to peel off her jeans. After a deliciously cool shower in a luxurious bathroom with one side open to the beach, she wrapped herself in a soft fluffy white towel and wandered into the walk-in closet. Oh, to live like this. An array of colourful bikinis had been spread out for her and she gave them a single horrified glance and reached for a primrose sundress. Yellow was too bold a colour for her, but it was better than squeezing into a bikini in front of Nathaniel Wolfe.

She slipped on the dress, relieved to find it fitted perfectly. It was extremely pretty—in fact, the only thing wrong with it was the colour. It was so bright. And she never wore bright clothes. She preferred to blend into the background.

With a short laugh, Katie looked in the mirror and shook her head.

No chance of blending in dressed in yellow. Slipping her feet into a pair of pretty flip-flops, she walked back onto the terrace feeling as conspicuous as a sunflower in a vegetable patch.

Nathaniel had stripped off his shirt and was sprawled unselfconsciously on the white sun lounger in nothing but a pair of low-slung board shorts that showed off his rippling abs. ‘It’s going to be hard to swim in a dress, wardrobe.’

Feeling about as appetising as a piece of uncooked pasta, Katie sat down neatly on the sun lounger furthest away from him. ‘I’m not swimming.’ Strip almost naked and parade in front of a man who was fed a daily diet of size-zero women? Please.

He glanced up from his phone. ‘You can’t swim?’

‘I can swim if I want to. I don’t want to.’

‘Why not? Swimming is the only way to stay cool.’

Katie slid off her sandals. ‘Actually, I’m not hot.’ A sardonic smile touched the corners of his mouth. ‘You look hot to me.’ Leaving that ambiguous com ment floating in the air, he leaned across and passed her a glass of chilled lemonade. ‘What was wrong with the selection of bikinis Rosa bought you?’

‘Nothing was wrong with them.’

‘Then why aren’t you wearing one of them?’ Abandoning subtlety in favour of honesty, Katie glared at him. ‘Because there is no way I’m wearing a bikini in front of you!’

‘Why not?’

‘Is that a serious question?’ Judging from his blank expression, she decided it was. ‘Nathaniel, there are basically two types of women—the padded version and the unpadded version. You hang out with the unpadded version. I’m the padded version. You’ve probably never met one of me before.’

‘The padded version?’

‘I’m designed with extra cushioning,’ she muttered, ‘built for comfort, not speed. And now can we please talk about something else?’

‘That’s why you won’t wear the bikini?’ A slow smile spread across his face. ‘Because you’re worried about your body?’

‘Call me vain, but I don’t want to spend the whole day sucking in my stomach.’

‘So don’t.’ Smiling, he leaned back against the lounger and closed his eyes. ‘Women have such a distorted view of what a guy finds sexy. If the rest of you is anything to go by, I’m sure you have a very sexy stomach. Put the bikini on, and I’ll give you my verdict.’

Her gaze drifted to his wide shoulders and hard chest. He had the body of a man who lived a physical life. ‘I’d rather boil alive than let you see my stomach.’

‘Sweetheart, if you’re going to spend two weeks on a tropical island, fully clothed, then you will boil alive.’ The fact that he was laughing at her doubled her tension.

‘Don’t make fun of me.’

‘For what it’s worth, I think you’re extremely pretty,’ he drawled, ‘so all this insecurity about yourself is misplaced.’

‘Nathaniel, I saw your leading lady in Alpha Man. She was a sex goddess.’

‘She was a spoiled princess with a vicious temper.’

Katie remembered the high-octane sex scenes that had held the entire audience gripped. ‘You didn’t seem to mind her too much on screen. I seem to remember that the chemistry between you was described as “superexplosive.”‘

‘I’m an actor.’ His tone was flat. ‘It’s what I do.’

‘Kissing the most beautiful women in the world? Tough job.’

‘It can be.’

And he was acting now. She didn’t think for a moment that the man lounging across from her was the real Nathaniel Wolfe. ‘So how does it work, preparing for a part like that? Did you have extra training for the part of Alpha Man?’

‘I spent two months with the Special Forces.’

‘You ran around the countryside with a big pack on your back?’

‘Amongst other things.’

She could imagine him, hair cropped short, pushing himself to the limits. Nathaniel Wolfe, bad boy. ‘Which Special Forces? U.S. or the UK?’

‘If I told you that I’d have to kill you.’ He spoke with that light, mocking tone that made her stomach curl. ‘Let’s just say it was the only time I’ve never been bothered by the press. Those guys are the definitive alpha man. And they’re a team. Better than any family.’ Something in his voice made her glance towards him but his profile revealed nothing.

Better than family.

Apart from briefly mentioning his brother Sebastian, he’d already banned that topic, hadn’t he? ‘You’re not the only one with a complicated family. When Dad died and I discovered all his gambling debts—to start with I was so upset. And angry. I couldn’t believe he’d led this whole secret life. I kept thinking of all those years Mum had kept it to her self—we had no money as kids and twice we lost our home.’

Nathaniel tilted his head. ‘So basically we agree that families suck.’

Katie thought about her sister. About the way she’d divorced herself from her family.

‘I don’t think families suck.’ She dragged her eyes from his mouth, horrified to find herself thinking about sex. Again. ‘But sometimes they’re messy. I still think you should stick together. Is your brother older than you?’

His gaze was watchful. ‘If you don’t want to end up in the pool, you should change the subject.’

‘Sorry. I’m not used to having banned topics of conversation. I’ll try and talk about the weather. Or the gardens. This place is truly beautiful.’ Katie looked around her and saw a mesh of palm trees and foliage, the green broken up by splashes of bright tropical colour. Spotting a large green gecko basking in the sun by the pool, she reached in her bag for a sketchbook.

‘You’re drawing him?’

‘Why not? He’s lovely.’ Her pencil flew over the page and she took out a box of pastels and played with colour combinations. ‘I love the mix of turquoise and tropical green. Those colours would be gorgeous in silk.’ She narrowed her eyes, imagining it, spinning designs in her head.

‘If you like colours so much, why do you always wear brown.’

Her pencil stilled. ‘I like brown.’ And she was invisible in brown. Katie tightened her grip on the pencil. Just holding it soothed her. ‘I still love the feel of my pencil. It reminds me of when I was a child. I used to watch all the Hollywood movies and redesign the costumes.’

He locked his arms behind his head. Muscles rippled. ‘Favourite movie of all time?’

‘Gone with the Wind.’ She kept her eyes on her sketch pad and not on those muscles. ‘Fabulous costumes and so romantic. What about you? I guess it’s Alpha Man.’

‘I never watch my own movies.’ Dropping his arms, he leaned across and looked at her drawing. ‘I love the old Hitchcock films. The 39 Steps and Notorious—Cary Grant. One of the greatest actors never to win a Sapphire.’

‘Does it mean that much? Winning a Sapphire?’

His answer was to spring to his feet and dive into the pool.

Katie put down the pencil, feeling guilty

She shouldn’t ask him anything personal. It wasn’t as if they knew each other. They were just two strangers trapped together by unfortunate circumstances. And yet, after the emotion she’d witnessed at the theatre and in her flat, she felt as though she did know him. She knew little bits—Annabelle, Carrie—small pieces of a jigsaw that meant nothing because there was no picture.

Frustrated, she watched as he cooled off in the pool. The sweat prickled her back. The sundress felt like a coat but there was no way she was removing it.

The initial euphoria at finding herself in paradise, dimmed. It was only paradise if you could afford the time off. She couldn’t. If she couldn’t find herself another job fast, she wouldn’t be able to pay the mortgage. Her career would stall. Her dream would die.

And she wasn’t prepared to give up on her dream.

By the time Nathaniel pulled himself out of the pool her stress levels had reached breaking point. ‘Does this place have Internet access?’

He reached for a towel and dried his face. ‘Why?’

‘I need to look for a job. You said you’d introduce me to costume designers, but I don’t see how you can do that when we’re here. I need to do some job hunting.’

‘Wait there.’ Without enlightening her as to his intentions, he strolled into the villa. Moments later he emerged carrying a thick sheaf of papers held together by an elastic band. He dropped it into her lap. ‘Read that. It’s the script for my next movie.

I’m finalising the funding soon. We haven’t chosen a costume designer yet.’

Katie stared at the sheets of paper, looking for the meaning behind the gesture. He felt guilty? No, Nathaniel Wolfe didn’t do guilt. Then why? Just to shut her up, she decided. To give her something to occupy her so that he didn’t have to spend time with her. ‘There’s no way you’d give it to someone like me.’

‘Do me some sketches and we’ll talk.’

She kept the hope ruthlessly in check. ‘Because your conscience is pricking you and you feel guilty that you lost me my job?’

‘I’ve already told you, when it comes to my work, I don’t have a conscience.’ Without a flicker of regret or apology, he confirmed her own thoughts on that topic. ‘I pick the best person for the job. I liked the drawings I saw in your flat. The question is, can you do it again with a contemporary script? This isn’t Shakespeare.’

He liked her drawings enough to give her a chance? ‘Are you acting or directing?’

‘Directing. Don’t think about actors when you read it—just think about the characters.’

‘So are you giving up film acting?’ Refusing to be intimidated by his silence, she tightened her fingers on the wedge of papers in her lap. ‘Was that why you agreed to a stint on the stage in London?’

‘Don’t you ever stop asking questions?’

‘Sorry. I’m not good with silences. I’m trying to be polite.’

‘We’re not at a palace garden party.’ His soft drawl brushed over her nerve endings and Katie looked at him.

‘You’re not the only one finding this situation difficult. You could be a little more friendly.’ And a little less intimidating. A little less masculine. A little less … everything.

The smile that tugged the corners of his mouth definitely wasn’t friendly. It was dangerous. ‘Change into a bikini and I’ll show you how friendly I can be.’

He was just baiting her, she knew that. He couldn’t possibly be serious. A man who had his pick of women wasn’t ever going to pick her.

Katie thought about her sister’s perfect bone structure and endless legs. Next to Paula, she’d never felt anything but depressingly ordinary and a man like Nathaniel Wolfe was never going to be interested in ordinary.

Her fingers tightened around the bunch of papers. ‘How long until dinner?’

If he wasn’t going to talk, she might as well read the script.

Nathaniel waited impatiently, his fingers strumming a rhythm on the table. Two messages sat unopened on his phone, both from Jacob.

His temper and his mood simmered along at one degree under boiling point. Even on the other side of the world, his past hunted him. ‘Did Katie say how long she would be?’

‘I knocked on her door but there was no answer. I thought she might have been asleep. You had a long flight.’ Ben poured chilled wine into a glass. ‘You want me to call her again?’

‘I’ll do it myself.’ Desperate for distraction, Nathaniel left the phone on the table and strode back inside the villa towards the guest suite. The door was shut. He tapped once and received no answer so he opened the door and walked in.

And stopped dead.

Katie lay on her stomach on the bed, dressed only in a skimpy lace plunge bra and an equally skimpy thong, both in the same shade of hot pink. The headphones from her bright pink iPod trailed from her ears and she lay with her chin on her hand, completely absorbed by the script. Her head bobbed in time to the music and occasionally she made a little sketch in the margin.

Nathaniel’s mind blanked. He forgot about the texts waiting for him on his phone. Instead he stood still, transfixed by the creamy curve of her bottom revealed by the thong. He remembered the lacy camisole she’d worn to bed. Nothing about the way she dressed hinted at a secret love of sexy underwear. Underneath all that boring brown she’d been wearing hot pink lacy silk?

Engulfed by a scorching flame of lust, he felt himself harden. Dinner, he decided, was going to be delayed.

Kicking the door shut behind him, Nathaniel strolled into the room just as she glanced up and saw him there.

With a squeak of horror, she yanked the earphones out of her ears and scrambled off the bed, scattering pages of the script over the floor.

‘Get out of here!’ Her scarlet face clashing with the hot pink underwear, she grabbed the dress she’d been wearing earlier and clutched it to her chest, but not before Nathaniel had been treated to a full frontal display of her generous curves.

‘Just for the record, you definitely don’t need to suck in your stomach,’ he drawled. ‘And I thoroughly approve of the underwear.’

‘Don’t you knock?’

‘I knocked. You weren’t listening.’

‘I was reading—’

‘In your underwear?’

‘I was hot.’

‘Now, that we can agree on.’ Nathaniel delivered a smile of undiluted masculine approval. ‘Why do you always wear brown on the outside when you’ve got all that lacy pink going on underneath?’

Her green eyes flashed a warning. If he’d been keen on the safe route he would have left the room, but Nathaniel had always preferred to live dangerously so he strolled towards her, prised the dress from her rigid fingers and studied the smooth perfection of her soft curves. ‘You have an incredible body.’

‘Get out of here!’

He discovered that playing with fire distracted him from all the things he didn’t want to be thinking about. ‘Of all the secrets you’ve spilled in the past twenty-four hours, this one is definitely the best.’ He tumbled her back onto the bed, pinning her arms as she tried to roll.

‘What are you doing?’

‘You said you wanted to get to know me better. This is the quickest way I know.’ Without thinking he brought his mouth down on hers, capturing her soft lips with his, smothering her moan of shock. Her mouth opened and he tasted the sweetness and then desire slammed into him, the explosion of need consuming him like a fever. Nathaniel locked his hand in her hair and plundered that mouth, turning what had begun as an experiment into a kiss of such erotic intensity that the shock of it exploded right through his body. Sucked under by the sheer impact of raw physical chemistry, he slid his hand under the smooth curve of her bottom, bringing her into contact with the urgent thrust of his arousal. His need for her desperate, he teased her lower lip with his teeth and tongue and then lowered his mouth to her breast. Pink lacy fabric acted as a barrier between them and he dragged it aside with impatient fingers and fastened his mouth around one thrusting peak—and tasted heaven.

He heard the sudden snatch of her breath and felt her fingers dig hard into his shoulders. When he skimmed her breasts with tongue and fingers, she moaned under him, the sensuous movement of her hips unleashing a ravenous hunger inside him.

Nathaniel lost all sense of time and place.

His brain shut down and he responded with pure animal instinct.

Sliding his hand between her legs, he breached the barrier of her underwear and explored her slick softness with bold, gentle fingers. He felt her stiffen beneath him and then she shoved hard at his chest.

‘No.’

He heard her through a dark mist of ferocious, primal need.

‘Nathaniel, no—’

It was the tone that registered, rather than the words. That and the sharp bite of her nails in his shoulders.

Lifting his head, he stared into green eyes glazed with the same need that tore through him. He tried to speak but there was only one part of him that seemed to be working. Nathaniel licked his lips, realising that he hadn’t just found distraction, he’d found oblivion.

Shaken by his own lack of control, he rolled away from her. ‘Sorry,’ he drawled. ‘Blame it on the padding. For the record, it’s in all the right places.’

What had happened to him?

Seriously unsettled, he stared up at the canopy that draped the four-poster bed in soft creamy folds. Romance, he thought. The whole damn room was designed for romance and happy endings. And there wasn’t a happy ending within a million miles of him.

Nathaniel sprang to his feet and strolled towards the door. ‘I came to tell you dinner is served.’

‘Nathaniel—’

Behind him, he could hear the rustle of fabric as she pulled on her dress. He didn’t turn. Because he didn’t know what had happened, he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t happen again.

His hand on the door handle, he gave a smile of self-mockery. ‘I’ll see you on the terrace, wardrobe.’

‘Nathaniel, for goodness’ sake, wait!’ There was a soft thud as her feet hit the floor. ‘You can’t just—We nearly—Damn it, do you ever talk about anything?’

Not if he could help it. He turned to look at her and then wished he hadn’t because her hair was mussed and sexy and her mouth was softly bruised from his kisses.

‘Do you have to talk about everything?’

‘Not everything—’ she looked confused, exasperated ‘—but you just … we just—’

‘But we didn’t.’ Nathaniel opened the door. ‘You said no. I stopped. End of conversation.’

‘No, it isn’t the end of the conversation!’ She stalked over to him. ‘Why did you kiss me?’

‘You were lying semi-naked in provocative underwear on an enormous bed.’

‘So your criteria for having sex with someone is that you like their underwear. Don’t you ever want to get to know someone?’

No, never.

Nathaniel took advantage of the open door. ‘Dinner,’ he murmured, ‘is definitely served.’

CHAPTER FIVE

KATIE felt dizzy and light-headed, as if her body might float off at any moment.

It didn’t help to tell herself that his job had taught him how to make a kiss hot and seductive and how to make a woman feel irresistible. Nor did it help to remind herself that she’d been half naked, which was sufficient provocation for a red-blooded male like Nathaniel Wolfe.

In fact, nothing helped.

She still felt … desirable.

Sneaking a look at him through the flickering candles that lit the dinner table, she saw that he was staring at a point in the distance, his dark brows locked in a brooding frown.

Unobserved, Katie looked at his mouth. How many times had she watched him on the big screen and wondered how it would feel to be kissed by him?

Now she had her answer. It felt incredible.

She had to remind herself it wasn’t real. If she fooled herself that he’d been carried away by passion, then she’d be forgetting her own theories. He was an actor. He could play any part he chose.

Awkward with the extended silence, she spoke. ‘I read the play ….’

‘Play?’ His blank look made her realise how distracted he was.

‘Your play.’

‘Right.’ His face cleared. ‘If you were gripped enough to read it in your knickers, presumably you liked it. Any ideas?’

Determined not to show him how much that one kiss had flustered her, Katie beamed at Ben as he served chargrilled vegetables. ‘Yum. That looks delicious, thanks. You spoil me.’

Ben returned the smile. ‘I’ll be hovering right here if there’s anything you need, Miss Katie.’

‘No, you won’t.’ Nathaniel’s voice was silky smooth. ‘If we need anything, we’ll call you.’

As Ben discreetly melted away, Katie rolled her eyes and picked up her fork. ‘Do people always do exactly what you want?’

‘Evidently not,’ he purred, ‘or right now you would be naked on that bed underneath me and we’d be indulging in a form of communication that certainly doesn’t require conversation.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with conversation.’

‘Fine. So let’s talk. Tell me why you always wear brown.’

‘I happen to like the colour brown.’

He leaned forward, his gaze disturbingly acute. ‘Why don’t you like having your picture taken?’

‘Not everyone is born an exhibitionist.’

‘Here’s a hint—’ he spoke softly ‘—when you’re lying, you need to look someone in the eye and act sincere. You, Katie Field, are an appalling liar. And you have your secrets, just like anyone else.’ He lifted his glass and took a mouthful of wine, watching her over the rim of his glass.

Not secrets, she thought. Insecurities. It wasn’t the same thing.

Their eyes held and she felt the blood pound in her ears.

But he had secrets, that much was obvious. And she suspected they were dark secrets. Secrets he didn’t share with anyone.

What surprised her was how much she wanted him to share them.

How much she wanted to provide a listening ear.

He was looking at her with those spectacular eyes and suddenly talking and listening were the last things on her mind. It was obvious that he was thinking about that kiss. And so was she.

Her pulse thudding dangerously fast, Katie put down her fork. Seeking a safe subject, she chose acting. ‘Tell me more about how you prepared for the part of Alpha Man.’

She half expected him to refuse, but he relaxed back in his chair and proceeded to regale her with stories about filming. He was witty and sharp, his observations about his cast members so wickedly incisive that she found herself laughing even though she’d promised herself she wasn’t going to fall under his spell.

He was such amusing company that it was only after the last of the plates had been cleared away that she realised he still hadn’t revealed anything personal. The whole evening had been spent talking about other people.

‘So, how about you, little Miss Talkalot.’ He leaned across and topped up her wine glass. ‘How did you end up designing costumes? School play?’

Make me something to wear, Katie.

‘Way before the school play.’ She dismissed her sister’s petulant voice from her head. ‘I always loved costumes. Clothes. I used to make my own dolls’ clothes. We didn’t have that much money so I used scraps of fabric and old buttons from Mum’s sewing kit. I hovered around thrift stores, car boot sales—anything I could find. My friends and I used to play Hollywood.’ Afraid she was boring him to death, she broke off and took a sip of her drink.

‘You used to play Hollywood?’

‘We’d pretend we were a film studio. Martha was the director.’ Katie grinned at the memory. ‘She was the bossy one. Then there was Emily—she was the drama queen so she always had the leading part. Sally and Jenny took whichever parts Emily didn’t want.’ And then there was her sister, Paula. I have to be the princess. I’m the prettiest.

‘And you?’

‘I made everyone else look good.’ She gave a simple shrug. ‘All I ever did at school was draw and draw. We had a school prom and I designed and made everyone’s dresses. My parents wanted me to read English at university, but all I was interested in was art, fashion, the movies and theatre. That’s all I ever wanted to do and they were so good about it. Were your parents good about you wanting to be an actor?’

‘I never asked their opinion.’ His face was inscrutable.

‘I read somewhere that you left home at sixteen and went to Hollywood. That’s pretty young. My parents would have totally freaked out if I’d suggested crossing the Atlantic at that age.’

‘I had an opportunity. I took it.’

‘And your parents didn’t try and talk you out of it? Lucky you. I did my degree in London and my mum and dad were constantly worried about what would happen to me. Not that I’m complaining,’ Katie said hastily, ‘because at the end of the day you know it’s because they care. Yours were obviously pretty chilled about that sort of stuff.’

His eyes glittered and he rose to his feet. ‘Goodnight, Katie.’

‘Oh, but I—’ Her mouth opened and closed because she was talking to herself. Nathaniel had gone.

Katie spent the next few days poring over the script and making sketches.

She saw virtually nothing of Nathaniel.

After that first night, he’d kept his distance. They ate meals together and when he talked about films he’d made he was entertaining company, but she was acutely aware that he was acting a part. The part of host. He said nothing about himself and his conversation was delivered with the same air of bored mockery that characterised all his communication. The slightest attempt on her part to turn their verbal exchanges into something more personal was met by an impenetrable icy wall.

Increasingly lonely, Katie took to hanging out with the staff. She befriended Ben and even went out fishing with him early one morning. She spent time with Sylvia and Kylie who cooked for them. Soon she was firm friends with everyone.

Everyone except Nathaniel.

‘You talked to Ben for so long today he couldn’t get his work done,’ Nathaniel drawled one evening as they ate a delicious meal.

Katie put down her fork, trying not to feel hurt.

‘We were chatting. Do you know he only gets to see his girlfriend once a week?’

‘Lucky guy.’ Nathaniel suppressed a yawn. ‘He gets the sex and none of the rest of the junk that comes with a relationship.’

‘Do you always have to be sarcastic about everything?’

‘Who says I’m being sarcastic?’

Katie thought about his wicked reputation with women. ‘Haven’t you ever been in love?’

He threw back his head and laughed, genuinely amused. ‘That’s a question straight from Katie-land where the sky is blue and the sun always shines.’

Angry, she stood quickly, knocking over her chair in the process. ‘Actually, the sky isn’t that blue in Katie-land. I’ve had my share of problems. My life has bumps in it, just like anyone’s. Right now I’ve lost my job, thanks to you, and there is no way any bank is going to give me another loan when I don’t have work. Not that I expect someone like you to understand.’

‘So if it’s raining in Katie-land,’ he said softly, ‘why are you always so damned cheerful?’

Katie picked the chair up and sat down on it slowly. ‘I don’t know.’ She bit her lip. ‘I suppose I just prefer being happy to being miserable. Over the years I’ve learned what cheers me up.’

‘Talking?’

‘Yes—’ she flushed ‘—I like people. I find people interesting and generally very warm and friendly. Human contact is what makes life OK when things are tough.’

‘Really? Generally I find it to be the other way round.’ His beautiful mouth curled. ‘Human beings are what make life tough when things are OK. I presume your need to talk and make friends is the reason you’re distracting all the staff.’

‘I’m not distracting them.’

‘Sweetheart, you’re virtually on the payroll.’

‘I’d love to be on the payroll! At least then I’d be earning some money. And it’s better than being lonely by the pool.’

‘Lonely?’ Black eyebrows rose in incredulous surprise. ‘How can you possibly be lonely? You’re in paradise.’

‘It’s only paradise if you have someone to share it with. What’s the point of spotting a gorgeous bird if you don’t have anyone to get excited with.’ Katie poked at her food. ‘Today I was reduced to having a long conversation with a lizard.’

‘I saw one unconscious on the path,’ he drawled, deadpan. ‘Now I know why. He’d been “Katied.”’

‘You think it’s funny, but I happen to like talking to people.’

‘I had no idea you were lonely. I thought you were working on my script.’

‘I am, but I work better when I have people around me. My creativity is totally stifled otherwise.’

‘You can talk to me.’

‘You’re hardly ever around. You avoid all conversation. You’re no fun.’

A slow, dangerous smile touched his mouth. ‘Any time you want me to demonstrate how much fun I can be, just let me know.’

‘I don’t mean that sort of fun.’ Her heart galloped off at a frantic pace. ‘I mean the sort of fun you can have just talking to someone—’ She broke off as his phone buzzed. ‘Aren’t you going to answer that?’

‘No.’ He leaned towards her, those impossibly thick lashes shielding his gorgeous eyes. ‘There’s more fun to be had by not talking to someone.’

Why was he ignoring his phone?

‘Stop playing games.’ Katie wiped damp palms over her shorts. ‘If we had sex, you’d really hurt me.’

‘I promise to keep my caveman tendencies under control and be incredibly gentle.’

Her mouth dried and her cheeks flamed. ‘I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘I know what you meant.’ He leaned back in his chair. ‘Wicked, bad Nathaniel would bring thunderstorms to Katie-land. It could end in serious flooding.’

‘You’re mocking me, as usual, but I’d rather be optimistic than a cynic like you.’

His phone started to ring again but he continued to ignore it and stood. ‘I’m sorry I’ve neglected you.’ He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been in a vile mood. Let’s walk on the beach. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a sunset on Wolfe Island.’

Her gaze flickered to the phone, abandoned on the table. ‘Don’t you think you should see who was ringing? It might be important.’

His fingers closed over hers, warm and strong. ‘Not as important as seeing a sunset.’

‘I’d love to see the sunset, but …’ With a final glance at the phone, she followed him down onto the soft, white sand that curved below the villa, telling herself that it wasn’t her business if he ignored his calls. Enjoying the beach, she stooped to pick up a shell. ‘I never imagined that anywhere as idyllic as this existed. How often do you come here?’

‘Whenever I need privacy.’

Katie curled her toes into the sand, loving the warmth and the softness. ‘It’s lucky your brother owns it. It’s a great place for family gatherings.’

‘When I come here, it’s for solitude.’

So he didn’t come here with his family. Deciding that she’d better keep her mouth shut on that subject, Katie walked in silence, clamping her lips together whenever she had the urge to speak.

When they reached some large boulders that protected the next beach, he put out his hand to help her over. ‘The best view on the island is from here.’ He vaulted over the last rock with athletic grace and stood, powerful and strong, staring over the sea. ‘This is Turtle Cove.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ Slinging her bag down on the sand, Katie sat and rested her chin on her knees. ‘I did some preliminary sketches for your script, by the way. Just a few ideas. Might be completely wrong and not what you were imagining.’

‘Do you have them with you?’

She reached into her bag and pulled out her pad, suddenly nervous. ‘They’re just ideas.’

He sat down next to her and took her sketch pad. Silent, he flipped through the pages. ‘Brown?’

‘Yes, because in this scene she isn’t sure of herself. She doesn’t want to stand out. Then later—’ Katie leaned across and turned another page ‘—here, she’s wearing bolder, more flamboyant colours and everything is tailored because she isn’t hiding behind her clothes any more.’ Suddenly she realised what she’d done and she felt a flash of mortification. She’d made it personal. ‘If you don’t think it’s a good idea I can—’

‘I think it’s a great idea. I wouldn’t have thought of doing it like that. You’ve shown her character arc through costume.’ Nathaniel studied the drawings carefully. If he spotted any parallels, he didn’t comment. ‘They’re original. Clever.’

‘You really like them?’

‘Yes. Can you work up a costume plot?’

‘Do you have a computer I can use?’

‘You can’t do it the old-fashioned way with pen and paper?’

‘Yes, but it won’t look so professional and you won’t be able to email it to whoever you need to email it to.’

‘Good point. I’ll sort something out for you.’ He sprang to his feet and held out his hand. ‘Sun’s going down. If you want romantic, this is the closest you’ll get.’

She didn’t want romantic, did she? At least, not with this man. She wasn’t that foolish. But after a moment’s hesitation she took his hand and let him pull her upright. The chemistry sparked immediately.

She knew he felt it too, because she heard him swear under his breath.

For a moment she thought he was going to ignore the heat, but then he hauled her into him and the searing burn of his mouth on hers melted the last of her inhibitions. Flames licked at her nerve endings and a wicked thrill shot through her entire body. She felt his hand slide to the base of her back and he pulled her hard against him, his other hand locked in the soft mass of her hair as he used his mouth with erotic purpose.

His fingers massaged her scalp, his touch so inherently sexual that her excitement levels shot into overload.

Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring straight into his.

In that single moment she saw Alpha Man, the ruthless soldier about to possess the daughter of his enemy.

Confused by that vision, Katie pulled her mouth from his. ‘No.’ It was hard to breathe. ‘This is … surreal. I look at you and I see the movie star, not the man.’

He lowered his forehead to hers. ‘You just kissed the man, Katie.’

She dragged herself out of his arms, and stepped backwards, the sand warm and soft under her feet. ‘I just assume you’re acting. Like earlier in the week—’

‘I wasn’t acting then and I’m not acting now.’

Of course he was acting. He could act desire every bit as convincingly as he could act daring and dangerous. ‘You know how to look at a woman in a way that makes her feel beautiful. The scary thing is I know that, but it still works on me.’

‘Katie—’

‘And much as I’d love to tell myself that I’m stunning enough to attract the world’s sexiest movie star, one look in the mirror reminds me that I’m not. You can look at a woman like that and not mean it, I know you can. You do it on the screen all the time. When you kissed the daughter of your enemy in Alpha Man you were so convincing that I actually believed that the two of you must be together in real life because I just couldn’t imagine how you could look at her like that and not mean it.’

‘I’ve already told you I couldn’t stand the woman.’

‘I know.’ Katie gave a confused laugh. ‘Which shows how good an actor you are! And that proves my point.’ She ran her tongue over her lips, wishing she’d never let him kiss her. Now she just wanted more and she knew that if she allowed herself more she’d be in dangerous territory. Whatever she shared with this man would be scorching and intense, but it would also be fleeting and ultimately painful. ‘You made me come here because you were worried I’d talk to the press, so I’m here. But I don’t want to do anything else. I’d be crazy to let myself fall for that whole movie-star thing. Just because you’re bored and you’ve been deprived of your diet of Hollywood women, doesn’t mean you can use me as a substitute.’ Her hand shaking, she rubbed her fingers over her forehead. ‘I don’t move in the same world as you. Quick meaningless sex just doesn’t work for me.’

‘Have you ever tried meaningless sex?’ There was humour in those eyes. But there was also gentleness and it was the surprising gentleness that ripped at her self-control.

‘No.’

‘You should try everything once.’

‘In that case you should try opening up and trusting. You might find a meaningful relationship really satisfying.’

Still holding her hands in his, he backed her against the rocks. ‘Right now I know exactly what I’d find satisfying.’

Sandwiched between smooth rock and solid male muscle, Katie’s willpower faltered. Her body throbbed and ached and excitement was a tight ball in the pit of her stomach. Sexual tension pulsed between them, the heat so intense that it was like flying into the sun. She stared up into his face, trying to read those eyes ….

As he lowered his head towards her, she thought about the week they’d spent together. He’d told her nothing about himself. She knew no more now than she had when she’d worked in the theatre with him.

Katie planted a hand in the centre of his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under her fingers. ‘Are you ever yourself?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You’re playing a role. Do you ever play yourself, Nathaniel?’

The change in him was almost imperceptible but it was there. Shimmering desire faded and his eyes were guarded. A tiny muscle flickered in his jaw and he watched her without speaking.

Then he released her in a smooth movement and stepped away. The cynical, mocking look was back in his eyes. ‘We would have been good together.’

Katie was glad she was leaning against the rock. Her knees were shaking so much she needed the support. Her hands ached to reach out for him, drag him back to her, lose herself in the heat of his mouth.

But she wanted it to be real, and this wasn’t real.

They’d spent a week together, but she knew she hadn’t spent a single moment with the real Nathaniel Wolfe.

His head throbbing from yet another sleepless night, Nathaniel flung snorkelling gear onto the deck while Ben and one of the other members of staff loaded food and equipment.

‘Where are you going?’ A soft, female voice came from behind him and he turned to see Katie standing on the jetty. Her feet were bare and her hands pushed into a pair of shorts. Even from a distance, he could feel her tension. Her cheeks were pale and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

Having spent most of the night wide awake in the hammock, it gave him some satisfaction to know that she wasn’t sleeping any better than he was.

‘We are going sailing. Given my misfortune of being trapped on this island with someone with your moral code, I need a distraction to take my mind off the total lack of meaningless sex.’ And a

distraction to keep his mind off the new messages waiting on his phone.

He picked up the final box and stowed it on board.

Katie didn’t move. ‘I think it would be best if I stayed here.’

‘No, it wouldn’t.’ Before he could talk himself out of it, Nathaniel scooped her into his arms and deposited her onto the boat, keeping his eyes averted from her long, bare legs. ‘This is one of the best dive sites in Brazil. You’ll love it.’

‘You’re afraid to leave me here in case I tell someone where you are. What do you think I’m going to do, Nathaniel? Send up smoke signals? Even if I wanted to call someone, I can’t. You locked up my phone.’

He wished he’d locked up his own. Those messages gnawed at him, acting like a block jammed in a door he was trying to slam shut.

‘You don’t need a phone.’

‘You’re afraid I’m going to tell someone about Annabelle or Carrie, but I swear I’m not going to mention their names to anyone. I don’t even know who they are!’

It was possible to feel cold, he discovered, even when the sun was pounding down from high in the sky. ‘I want you to forget you ever heard those names.’

‘Fine, I’ll forget I ever heard them. But once in a while it would be good for you to just trust someone. It must be incredibly lonely living a life where you think everyone is out to get you.’ She pushed aside the snorkelling gear and sat down on the deck with a thump. ‘I’ve never snorkelled. I’ll probably drown.’

‘You’ll love it.’

‘What if I inhale water?’

‘I’ll give you mouth-to-mouth.’ Wishing he’d never allowed his mind to go in that direction, Nathaniel sprang onto the boat. ‘Let’s go.’

Under sail, the catamaran sped through the water, swift and smooth, responding well to the light winds. The water sparkled in the sunlight and shoals of colourful fish darted beneath them.

Katie stretched her legs out on the seat and tilted her face up to the sun.

Wondering whether he’d made a mistake bringing her, Nathaniel pushed the tiller away from him and sailed towards the wind, breathing deeply as the salty air touched his face. The position gave him a perfect view of her long slim legs, so he shifted slightly.

They sailed for several hours, past numerous deserted islands, and finally attached themselves to a mooring buoy so that they could snorkel around the reef.

Ignoring him, Katie stripped off her shorts and T-shirt to reveal a tiny red polka-dot bikini.

It was the first time she’d worn a bikini in front of him and he was starting to wish she’d stuck to drab, conceal-everything clothes. Sweat prickled the back of his neck.

Wishing he’d given her a wetsuit, he helped fit her mask and then they slid into the water.

‘How deep is it here? On second thought, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.’ She held on to his arm tightly and looked around her. ‘Is anything in this water going to want to eat me for lunch?’

Just him. Wondering if she’d even noticed he was aroused, Nathaniel showed her how to clear her mask and snorkel of water, trying to put some distance between them.

A shoal of parrot fish darted beneath them, playing hide and seek through fronds of tropical sea grass, and she gave a gasp of delight and dragged the snorkel out of her mouth. ‘They’re beautiful. Can we take a closer look?’

It took only moments for him to realise that she was an excellent swimmer, her kick smooth and graceful as she slid through the water with the elegance of a sea creature. Seriously distracted, Nathaniel decided that if he didn’t concentrate he was going to drown.

Finally he gestured to the surface and they slid upwards through the sun-dappled water and emerged to hot sunshine.

Katie removed the snorkel from her mouth, laughing and gasping for air. ‘That was fantastic!’ Something over his shoulder caught her eye and she frowned. ‘Nathaniel …’

He turned his head and saw that another boat had anchored only metres away from theirs. ‘Relax. They don’t know who we are.’

‘You mean they have no idea I’m the famous costume designer? Thank goodness for that. If there’s one thing I hate it’s signing autographs in the water.’ Giggling at her own joke, Katie watched the other boat. ‘Looks like quite a party. Better keep your mask on.’

‘Do you want to dive again?’

‘What sort of a question is that? I want to do this for the rest of my life.’ Without waiting for him, she ducked under the water and Nathaniel followed, surprised by how much he was enjoying himself.

They snorkelled for several hours, exploring different parts of the reef, careful not to touch or disturb any of the marine wildlife. Each time they surfaced she burst into a torrent of chat, telling him what she’d seen and asking question after question.

It was impossible not to make comparisons with the last woman he’d taken sailing who had spent her time lying on the deck topping up her suntan and protecting her hair. The mere suggestion that she might join him in the water had been greeted by unadulterated horror. Katie’s hair hung over her shoulders in thick wet ropes but she didn’t seem remotely self-conscious. Enraptured by what was going on beneath the surface of the water, she even seemed to have lost the awkwardness she felt around him.

When they finally climbed back onto the boat, her smile was as bright as the sun. ‘That was the best thing I’ve ever done.’ Her happiness was so infectious that Nathaniel found himself smiling back.

The dark mood that had gripped him since the night he’d walked off the stage had lifted. Realising that she was the one responsible for the lightness inside him, Nathaniel frowned.

He couldn’t ever remember enjoying himself with a woman so much.

Dragging his eyes from that smile, he reminded himself that the last thing he needed in his life was a woman who believed in happy endings.

He’d stopped believing in happy endings when he was nine years old.

Sipping her drink, Katie stared at the platinum-white sand of the distant beach. Her limbs ached and her skin stung from the combination of sun and sea water but she’d never felt happier. She’d even stopped sucking in her stomach.

Her gaze slid to Nathaniel, who was neatly looping a rope.

The chemistry between them had boosted her confidence.

And he wanted their relationship to go all the way. If he’d had his way they would have spent last night together.

He was Hollywood’s hottest leading man, voted Sexiest Man by no fewer than ten leading women’s magazines. Women screamed when he arrived at premieres.

And she’d said no.

Was she mad?

Raucous laughter from the nearby boat cut through her thoughts.

Katie glanced over her shoulder and saw two of the girls flirting with the men at the front of the boat. Missing the peace and wishing they hadn’t chosen this part of the ocean for their sail, she was about to look away when movement caught her eye. Putting down her drink, she squinted into the sunshine. ‘Nathaniel, that child is standing on the rail and she’s not wearing a life jacket.’

As Nathaniel turned his head, the toddler leaned over a little too far and plopped helplessly into the deep water.

Katie shot to her feet in horror. She cupped her hands either side of her mouth and yelled, ‘Hey!’ at the top of her voice, but the distance and the music drowned out the sound and the adults on the boat were too busy partying to notice that the toddler had fallen in. ‘Ben, turn the boat! Do something! We need to—’

There was a splash from beside her and droplets of water showered her as Nathaniel plunged into the sea in a smooth dive.

Still in shock, Katie stared as he powered through the water. It was an astonishing display of athleticism and if it hadn’t been for the urgency of the moment she would have stopped and watched in awe. Instead she was frantic. ‘Ben—’

‘I know …’ Ben was pulling up the anchor and Katie stood, agitated, helpless and wanting to help.

‘What can I do?’

‘Sit down and watch for Nathaniel. He’s a strong swimmer. If anyone can get to the child, he can.’ Ben started the engine and turned the boat. ‘I daren’t get too close because of the propeller. Can you see him?’

‘No. He’s diving down exactly where the toddler fell in, but it’s so deep, Ben.’ Katie’s palms were slippery on the side of the boat. Panic weakened her limbs. ‘I’m going in too. I might be able to help.’

Ben didn’t try to stop her and Katie plunged into the water after Nathaniel.

He still hadn’t surfaced and it seemed impossible to her that he could have held his breath for all that time.

Under the water Katie realised that she should have grabbed the mask so that she could see more clearly. She kicked her legs and dived as deep as she could but her lungs were already bursting for air and she could see nothing. The mysterious underwater world that had captivated them earlier had now formed a deadly trap.

Heart pounding, her chest aching, she was about to surface when she saw Nathaniel a few metres away, manoeuvring something wedged under a large boulder. She saw a white arm and a leg and realised with a flash of panic that the child had somehow become wedged under the rock. The burning in her chest was so intense that she had no choice but to surface and breathe. How Nathaniel could have stayed under for so long, she had no idea.

The group on the nearby boat still hadn’t noticed the absence of the toddler, their music and laughter drowning out everything around them.

Nathaniel surfaced next to her and dragged in a lungful of air. His dark hair was plastered to his head, his sodden lashes framing eyes blazing with determination. Almost immediately he dived under the water again.

A commotion from the other boat told her that the toddler’s absence had finally been discovered and there was a pounding of feet and shrieks as they realised what had happened. They hung over the side, yelling the little girl’s name and Katie felt hot tears scald her eyes, horrified by how quickly paradise had turned to hell.

She kept watching, hoping.

And then Nathaniel finally surfaced, the limp toddler in his arms.

‘Ben—’ The strain was visible as he swept his hand over his face to clear the water. ‘Take her. Get her on a flat surface.’

Ben reached down and took the child in his large hands, laying her on the floor of the boat, and Nathaniel immediately put his hands on the side of the boat and levered himself out of the water in a smooth, fluid motion.

Envying his athletic ability, Katie struggled back into the boat. Nathaniel was performing mouth-to-mouth and chest compressions with grim focus. He seemed oblivious to the screams and sobs coming from the occupants of the other boat. It was as if this was one challenge he was determined not to lose. ‘Come on, baby girl—’ he turned his head to listen to her chest ‘—breathe for me, sweetheart. Breathe …’

Moved by the tenderness in his voice, Katie dropped to her knees next to him. ‘Nathaniel—’

The toddler coughed and vomited weakly and Nathaniel immediately rolled her on her side into the recovery position, his hands gentle and confident.

‘That’s a good girl. You’ll be all right, now. You’re going to be fine ….’

Weak with relief, Katie looked at him expecting to see similar emotion reflected in his face but instead saw a man who was clearly traumatised.

Underneath the bronzed good looks, his face was ashen.

Realising just how much the rescue must have taken out of him, she put her hand on his arm.

‘You did it,’ she croaked, wondering if he realised what he’d achieved. ‘Nathaniel, you saved her. You were so brave. And determined. If it hadn’t been for you—’ Unashamed to discover that she was crying, Katie was about to say something else when the little girl wriggled weakly onto all fours, still choking and coughing.

‘Want Mummy …’

Nathaniel rubbed the child’s back gently, his strong hands soothing as he comforted the toddler. ‘You’re going to be fine, angel.’ But there were dark shadows in his eyes that Katie didn’t understand.

Shouldn’t he be celebrating?

There were shouts from the water and lots of splashing as two of the adults from the other boat swam the short distance towards Nathaniel’s boat. ‘Nina? Is she alive?’

In a single decisive movement, Nathaniel rose and vanished into the saloon.

By the time the couple boarded the boat there was no sign of him.

‘Oh, thank God, thank God …’ The couple scooped up the toddler and thanked Ben profusely.

He accepted their thanks calmly, suggested they take the child to be checked by the doctor who worked on the island and pointed out that the little girl should have been wearing a life jacket.

Katie wanted to yell that they were thanking the wrong person but she understood that Nathaniel hadn’t wanted to be recognised and the couple were too relieved to have their child safe to show too much interest in the identity of the rescuer.

She sat, numb, as Ben skilfully moved the two boats alongside so that the rapidly recovering toddler could be transferred with the minimum of fuss.

Now that it was over, Katie found that she was shaking and shivering like a leaf in a storm. She grabbed a dry towel from the deck and wrapped it around herself but the shivering wouldn’t stop. The sun shone high overhead, and yet she felt cold. Really cold.

If she felt like this, how was Nathaniel feeling?

Nathaniel leaned over the toilet, retching violently. The horror of it gripped him like a physical force. He’d taken refuge in the cabin, not because of the risk of being recognised, but because he’d been afraid he was going to humiliate himself right there in the middle of the boat.

Water. A drowning child. Sick panic.

Wasn’t it ever going to go away?

Lifting his head, he looked in the mirror. Staring back at him was a face so deathly pale he would have made a corpse look healthy. And as for his eyes—he gave a humourless laugh—if the eyes were windows to the soul, then he was definitely in trouble.

Not wanting to see what was through those windows, he closed his eyes, but immediately saw the child flailing, helpless in the water. Drowning, her lungs screaming for air as she sank in her watery grave.

Nathaniel turned on the taps and tried to splash his face but his hands were shaking so badly most of the water landed on the floor. His stomach churned like the ocean in a storm and his body felt shaky and weak.

Alpha Man? He gave a bitter laugh at the evidence of his own weakness.

Under his feet, he felt the shift of the deck and realised the boat was moving.

Ben, he thought gratefully. Thank goodness for Ben.

He needed to get the hell off the water.

CHAPTER SIX

KATIE lay in the hammock, her book unopened. Beneath her, a kaleidoscope of sea life darted through clear, turquoise water but her brain was too preoccupied to enjoy her idyllic surroundings.

The moment the boat had approached the island, Nathaniel had jumped into the sea and waded the last few metres to the shore without glance or conversation.

Maybe it was just delayed reaction. Maybe he needed time to himself.

If Nathaniel wanted to be alone, then there was no way she was going to force herself on him. In his position she would have been talking it through, but he was different, wasn’t he?

Katie opened her book and stared at the first page. After she’d read the same line five times, she gave up and stared at the horizon. Images of Nathaniel diving into the water played across her brain. It wasn’t the bold rescue that stayed with her, although that in itself had been impressive. What really affected her was the look on his face. The fierce determination in his eyes was something she’d never forget.

Remembering the mother’s frenzied, hysterical relief as she’d held her child, Katie shivered.

Without Nathaniel it would have been so different.

Alpha Man.

Even she could see that with the Sapphire Award ceremony only a week away it would have been a perfect publicity opportunity. And yet he hadn’t taken it. He’d made sure the child was safe and then he’d left the scene quickly before anyone had a chance to recognise him. It didn’t make sense.

None of it made sense.

Katie gave up on the book and swung her legs out of the hammock. She’d just check on him, she told herself, and then she’d give him space.

Barefoot, she walked along the terrace that circled the villa, breathing in the heavy scent of tropical plants. As she approached the terrace of the master bedroom she paused, still worried about intruding. It wasn’t as if they had a relationship. They were castaways, thrown here together by accident. They weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers.

Lovers.

She shivered at the word, thinking of that first night when they’d come so close. And last night on the beach—

Impatient with herself, Katie breathed deeply and walked onto the deck. She was doing what any human being would do in the circumstances. Offering comfort.

She found him sprawled on the swing seat, staring out across the sea as the sun went down.

‘Nathaniel? You didn’t eat dinner. Do you want Ben to bring you something?’

‘No. I want to be on my own.’ Both words and tone were a warning to back off.

Katie ignored the warning and sat down next to him. The decision earned her a cautionary look.

‘I never saw you as a risk taker.’

‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think.’

And she didn’t know him, did she? She knew nothing about him. He let the world see the actor, never the man. ‘You were amazing today. You know how to play the hero in real life as well as in the movies.’ It still shocked her to think how quickly the day had changed. How death had lurked in those calm, clear waters.

‘I feel pretty shaken up, so goodness knows how you’re feeling.’ She decided to take a risk and plunged. ‘Talk to me, Nathaniel. Tell me why you’re sitting here on your own, pushing me away.’ Show yourself to me. Don’t hide ….

The silence was thick and heavy. ‘Talking isn’t going to change the fact that she almost drowned.’

‘But she didn’t drown. You saved her. She’s lucky you’re such a good swimmer who loves the water so much.’

‘I hate the water.’ The confession was wrenched violently from somewhere deep inside him. ‘The reason I’m a good swimmer is because I hate the water.’ He turned his head and she saw such intense suffering that she sat still, immobilised by the agony reflected in those perfect features.

It was like a veil falling down. She’d wanted him to show himself, but the reality was almost too painful to watch. In his face, she saw nothing but dark, sinister shadows. They lurked in the depths of his eyes, settled around the line of his mouth and haunted the hard angle of his jaw. Emotion. Raw and brutally real. The actor had vanished and she was looking at the man.

Shocked into silence, as far out of her depth as the helpless child in the water, Katie felt a desperate need to ease his anguish in whatever way she could. She moved her hand towards his and then withdrew it, afraid of doing anything that might be a catalyst for his withdrawal. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’

His laugh was harsh. ‘Do you want to hear it?’

‘Yes.’ She held her breath, feeling the fragility of the moment and afraid to damage it with clumsy words. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Are you sure? You and I don’t live in the same world. You live in Katie-land.’

‘Stop saying that.’

‘Why? It’s true.’ It was the low, warning growl of a wounded animal. ‘You believe that people are basically good and that happy endings come to those who wait. You believe in love.’ He spoke the word with cynical emphasis that said everything there was to be said about his own belief system.

This time she did take his hand and held tightly, refusing to let him pull away. ‘We’re talking about you, not me. Tell me why you hate the water.’

The silence stretched for so long she started to think that he was never going to talk.

And then he spoke. ‘There was a lake—’ his voice was hoarse ‘—in the grounds of our house. I grew up in this huge, soulless stately home. Wolfe Manor. A privileged upbringing, or so everyone always told me. It was big. Big enough to play hide and seek and never get found, which was useful because hiding was part of how I lived.’

‘Who were you hiding from, Nathaniel?’

He stared into the darkness, his eyes focused on nothing. ‘The lake was huge. No matter how blue the sky, the water was always dark. Just below the surface you could see the weeds, floating like tentacles ready to grab an ankle. None of us knew how deep it was, but we did know that one of our ancestors had drowned there.’

Katie shivered, although whether it was the words or the tone, she didn’t know. ‘It sounds like a pretty menacing place.’

‘When we were very young we used to believe that a monster lurked in the middle.’

Without thinking, she lifted her hand and smoothed her fingers over his face. Her fingertips registered the roughness of stubble and the perfect symmetry of his jaw. Those smouldering good looks belonged to the man. There was no trace of the boy in his face, but it was surprisingly easy to imagine how he might have been back then, a child, standing by that lake, fascinated and horrified in equal measure, terrified of the monster.

‘What happened?’ She asked the question in the absolute certainty that something had. ‘Nathaniel?’

His blue eyes fixed on hers with a fierce intensity, revealing indecision and a deeply inbred reluctance to share with anyone.

After a moment he stood abruptly and paced to the front of the terrace. His hands curled over the railing, his knuckles white with the force of his grip.

‘It was late evening. Dark. I’d been doing something I shouldn’t—as usual. Messing about. My father picked me up and threw me in that lake.’ His voice shook with repressed emotion. ‘I don’t know whether it was the look on his face just before he hurled me in or the words he spoke, but the shock froze all my reactions. I didn’t even struggle. When I hit the water I thought, This is it, I’m going to drown. I remember wondering how long it would take and whether it was going to hurt. I remember struggling below the surface, trying to get my legs free of the weeds, watching his back as he walked away, thinking, He’ll come back and save me in a minute. He didn’t.’ He kept his back to her, his voice strangely flat as he recounted an incident so sickening that for once Katie found herself without words as she struggled to absorb the full implications of that driven confession.

‘No.’ Her voice trembled with uncertainty. She thought about her own father, of the games they’d played where he’d tumbled her upside down and tossed her in the air. ‘It must have been a joke that went wrong. He must have been playing a game.’

‘He wasn’t playing. Afterwards I tried to rationalise it to myself. I’d been messing around instead of raking the leaves. I’d had it coming to me. I was so young I didn’t really understand.’ He recited the options in a flat tone. ‘I thought it was me. My fault. I thought if I did the right thing, he’d love me. It isn’t easy for a child to absorb the fact that isn’t ever going to happen.’

He’d wanted his daddy’s approval, the way all little boys did.

He’d wanted love. Wasn’t that the minimum any child should expect from a parent?

Katie felt the numbness spread through her body. She’d never felt so inadequate, not even when her father had died and the whole ghastly mess he’d left had come to light. She wanted to say exactly the right thing but how could you say anything right about something so wrong?

Nathaniel turned his head to look at her. His eyes were hard and his mouth slanted into a cynical smile. ‘Poor Katie. Now I’ve destroyed your essential belief that all human beings are good and that life always ends in a happy ever after.’

She roused herself. ‘I don’t think that. I don’t think that all human beings are good, but …’ She drew breath, struggling to imagine how it must feel to have a father that brutal. ‘What about your mother?’

‘Ah, my mother …’ His expression altered. ‘Well, the one thing you need to know about my mother was that she was in love with my father. She only ever wanted one thing and that was for him to love her back. He didn’t, of course. My father didn’t love anyone.’ His tone was derisive and contemptuous, layered with bitterness and years of pain and rejection. ‘He was the wrong guy for someone as sensitive and fragile as my mother. It was like placing Venetian glass under a sledgehammer. He shattered her. She … left.’

Katie winced at the image he drew. ‘So you were left alone with your father?’ The man he’d described was a monster.

‘Not on my own. Some aristocratic English families collect Renaissance art or Louis XV furniture. My father collected women. And those women had children. Children my father was never interested in.’

‘He didn’t want children?’

‘My father was interested only in himself.’

Katie stood and the swing creaked. Her feet silent on the deck, she took two steps and placed her hands on his shoulders. Her fingers encountered knots of tension under hard solid muscle. ‘Who rescued you from the lake that day? How did you survive?’

‘My half-brother Jacob. He was nine years older than me and it wasn’t the first time he’d fished me out of the lake.’ Something flickered in his eyes. ‘His role in the family was to clear up my father’s mess. He hauled me choking out of the water, pumped the water out of my lungs and kept me out of the monster’s way until he’d drunk enough to forget I even existed.’

‘Nathaniel—’

‘It’s all right. You don’t have to try and find the right thing to say. In this case, there really isn’t anything. Even someone with your sweet, sunny nature can’t put a positive spin on a father like mine, although for years I tried to do just that.’

‘Is he still alive?’

‘No. He died when I was nine years old.’ His voice was savage. ‘You think you’ve heard the worst? Ask me how my father died, Katie. Ask me that question.’

The air around them felt thick and heavy. ‘How did he die?’

‘We were all home from boarding school for the holidays. My sister had taken advantage of his absence to sneak out of the house to a party in the village. She wasn’t even fourteen, but she was already stunning and that night she decided to flaunt it. Lipstick, miniskirt—’ He broke off, his face several shades paler than normal. ‘It would have been fine, except that he came back early.’

‘Your father?’

‘He’d seen her flirting in the village and when he arrived home he took a whip to her.’

Katie flinched, her imagination making it all too easy to imagine the cruel bite of the whip. ‘He beat her?’

‘His intention was to make sure no boy would ever look at her again, but he was drunk and out of control and he beat her so brutally that he would have killed her if Jacob hadn’t stopped him. And the whole time I stood there shaking and yelling, “Stop it! Stop it!”’ He stared down at his shaking hands. ‘That night I learned how it felt to be helpless. Powerless.’

Katie’s face was soaked with tears. ‘Nathaniel, you were a child. What could you possibly have done?’

‘We should have fought him. But we shouted at him, Sebastian and I,’ Nathaniel said hoarsely. ‘And just when I thought it was all over, that he was going to kill her with us watching, Jacob walked through the door.’

‘He stopped him?’

‘He killed him.’ Nathaniel turned his head to look at her. His eyes were empty. Tired. ‘It was an accident—he was so drunk that he fell and his head cracked against the stairs and then …’ His brow furrowed. ‘There was so much blood. My father’s blood, Annabelle’s blood, her beautiful face a torn mess. Jacob was frozen with shock. And my father was dead.’

Annabelle?

Annabelle was his sister?

Digesting that fact, Katie stood still, hopelessly inadequate in the face of so much pain. ‘I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.’

‘I wasn’t.’ He turned and locked his hand in the front of her shirt and hauled her against him, his eyes the deep, menacing colour of a sea in a storm. ‘I wasn’t sorry, Katie. I stood there thinking, Now it will stop. But I wasn’t sorry.’ His voice was thickened with a vile mess of emotion, from guilt to bitter anger. ‘So now you know. Now you know who I really am. Your world and my world don’t even overlap.’ He released her so suddenly she staggered. The intensity of emotion pulsed from him like a living force and suddenly she realised just how much he kept locked inside, hidden away from the world.

‘Do you feel guilty for not being sorry? Is that what’s wrong? You were just a child, Nathaniel.’ She slid her arms around his waist but he stood rigid and unresponsive.

‘He was my father, and I hated him. That makes me the monster.’

‘It makes you human.’ Her throat thickened by tears, Katie rubbed her hands over the tense muscles of his back and then slid her arms around the strong column of his neck. ‘You’re not a monster, Nathaniel. You were a little boy who wanted, and deserved, to be loved by his father.’

‘At the time I assumed it was shock.’ It was as if he was talking to himself. ‘I assumed I’d wake up one day and feel sorry that it had happened. I’m still waiting to feel sorry.’

She pressed her lips to his chest, as if her touch could heal his agony. ‘You have no reason to feel guilty.’

‘I didn’t protect my sister.’

‘You were a child!’

His beautiful mouth twisted into a cynical smile. ‘We weren’t allowed to be children.’

They stood for a moment in silence and then she lifted her head. ‘What happened to Jacob?’

‘There were expensive lawyers in sharp suits. They sorted it.’

So few words to describe such a hideous trauma.

‘But that didn’t make it go away, did it? You all had to live with that. Who took care of you?’

‘To begin with, Jacob. Then one day he just took off.’ In the dim light, his eyes shone a deep, glittering blue. ‘That was the day I really thought Annabelle might die. I guess she saw him as the one stable person in our very unstable family. She loved him so much.’ He gave a crooked smile. ‘Big mistake. If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt. Annabelle cared, and she got herself badly hurt.’

And not just Annabelle.

If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt.

That was why he avoided relationships. Not because he didn’t believe in love, but because he was afraid of love. He associated love with carnage, both emotional and physical.

‘You must have felt so lost and vulnerable, losing your father and then Jacob.’ Katie hesitated. ‘When you walked off the stage that night, you kept saying, “I have to warn Annabelle.” What were you warning her about, Nathaniel? What really happened on opening night?’

‘Jacob was in the audience.’

‘And you haven’t seen him for a while?’

There was a long silence. ‘I last saw Jacob twenty years ago.’

‘Twenty years!’ Katie couldn’t hide her shock. ‘You haven’t seen him since he walked out?’

‘We’re not what you’d call a close family. As reunions went, this one wasn’t exactly successful.’

Katie found it difficult to absorb. ‘No wonder you reacted the way you did—no wonder you walked out.’

‘I kept thinking about Annabelle. How his sudden reappearance would affect her. I just wanted to warn her he was back.’

So he hadn’t been involved in some complex love triangle. When he’d said, ‘He’s here,’ he’d been referring to his half-brother Jacob. And Annabelle was his sister.

When he’d walked off the stage, he’d been intent on protecting the sister he believed he’d failed all those years ago.

Her heart ached for the lonely little boy, hurt and abandoned by those who should have loved him.

The soft sound of the sea licked at the air and the smell of tropical flowers tinged the night with sweetness.

The stark contrast between the idyllic surroundings and his brutal, loveless childhood was acute.

His mother had left. His father had beaten him.

He had little or no contact with his family. No wonder he was hard and cynical when she talked about family. She winced, remembering all the things she’d said. Katie-land. She’d been insensitive. If she’d known …

‘Have you spoken to Annabelle?’

‘We exchanged a text.’

‘A text? That’s it? No conversation?’

‘This is the Wolfe family.’ His tone mocking, he reached out and picked a brightly coloured hibiscus from the profusion of flowers that crowded the terrace. ‘If our background taught us one thing, it was how to survive alone. A text is a lot for Annabelle.’

‘But you love your sister.’ She said it as fact, not as a question. ‘And Jacob—’

‘When I saw him in the front row of the theatre I felt nothing but uncontrollable rage, but those feelings were all mixed up with seeing my father beating Annabelle that night.’ Nathaniel stared at the flower in his hands. ‘I left without speaking to him. And I still don’t want to speak to him. It’s in the past. I don’t want to go back there.’

Instinctively she knew who was making those calls he ignored. ‘The two of you must talk.’

‘Talk.’ His tone mocking, he turned to her and slid the scarlet flower into her hair. ‘Katie’s answer to all life’s problems.’

Katie blocked out the sensuous stroke of his hands in her hair. ‘If you’ve never talked about that night, then surely it’s time you did.’

‘Why?’ His eyes were bleak and empty. ‘We can’t change what happened. We can’t change who we’ve become. It isn’t possible.’

‘But it is possible to change the future. And the present. And the way you feel about the past. You didn’t let Annabelle down—you wanted to help her.’ She tried not to feel disappointed as his hands dropped to his sides. ‘I’m glad you told me.’

‘Why? Because now you have a juicy story to tell the press?’

‘You know I wouldn’t do that.’ She reminded herself that he was raw and hurting.

‘Go to bed, Katie. We should never have started this conversation.’ He turned away from her, his broad shoulders forming yet another barrier between himself and the world.

Braced for rejection, she placed her hand on his back. The heat of his skin burned through his shirt and she frowned.

‘You’re burning up.’

He turned, his eyes glittering dangerously—a cold, fierce blue loaded with warning. ‘I don’t want your sympathy. Go to bed.’

‘Why? So that you can wallow and feel bad in private? I’m not leaving you, Nathaniel. You’ve tried dealing with this on your own. Now try the other alternative. I’m not walking away.’

‘Why? What is it that you want?’

She stood, poised and breathless as a diver on the highest board about to plunge. ‘I want you.’ She’d never wanted anything so much. She wanted it more than she wanted to protect herself. Because of that, the words were remarkably easy to say. ‘I want you.’

‘I’ve been offering you that all week.’ He kept his hands by his sides. ‘You rejected it.’

‘You offered me Nathaniel Wolfe, the actor. I’m not interested in him. I want the man. I want to know it’s real.’

‘You don’t want the man and you can’t handle real.’

Katie caught his arm before he could turn away again. ‘Don’t tell me what I want. Don’t tell me what I can handle.’

‘Real isn’t always pretty, Katie. Most people prefer their reality tempered with a little gloss. That’s why they go to the movies. They don’t want real.’

‘I do. I’m not afraid of that. I’m more afraid when you’re acting because then I can’t trust anything you say or do. Don’t hide from me, Nathaniel.’ Her fingers threaded through his and she felt his hesitation. And that hesitation punctured her confidence. Insecurity spread in widening ripples through her body. There was assertive and then there was pushy. He wasn’t just ‘a man,’ was he? He was Nathaniel

Wolfe, A-list movie star and sex god. What if he didn’t really want her? What if the flirtation had just been his way of relieving boredom?

When he still didn’t touch her, Katie took a step backwards, wishing she could vanish.

The embarrassment was hideous.

‘Right.’ She conjured up brightness to cover the oceans of humiliation. ‘Well, obviously you can’t always have what you want, so I’ll just—’ The words were crushed under his mouth as he hauled her against him, his hands rough and his body hard.

‘Is this real enough for you?’ He spoke the words against her lips and his eyes blazed hot into hers. When she didn’t answer, he took her mouth, his kiss rough and demanding. His movements were jerky and unsynchronised and yet the desperation in his touch was more erotic than any of the smooth, choreo graphed movements of their previous encounters. The hands that dug into her hair shook slightly, and when he yanked at her dress he fumbled in his desperation to strip her naked.

‘How does this—?’ Impatient, he tore it from neck to hem and she gasped, excited and nervous at the same time.

‘Nathaniel—’

‘I want you.’ His mouth was at her throat. Her head tipped back and her nerves exploded with heat. ‘I want you so badly ….’ His hands were rough as he scooped her up and deposited her on the bed but she revelled in the desperation she sensed in him.

For once, he wasn’t in control.

It wasn’t about camera angles or movements—it was about a primitive, elemental driving force that transcended everything. It was just about the two of them. And an explosive physical attraction like nothing she’d ever felt before. It felt real. It felt right.

His hands were in her hair, his hungry mouth awaking feelings so intense that she shook with the force of it. She ripped at his shirt and he helped her, his mouth still on hers as he tore it off so that she could touch him. And then he was crushing her against the bed. His fingers skimmed her body, exploring her intimately until fire licked through her veins and heated her skin. And she touched him too, fascinated by the dip and swell of muscle, by the contrast of sleek and rough.

Sounds mingled in the night air. The swish of the sea on the beach, a soft sigh from low in her throat as his touch grew more intimate. The pleasure rose to burning excitement, every part of her trembling and quivering as she writhed in a fever of anticipation.

And then he was above her and she sobbed in desperation as she felt the hard heat of him against her. With a single thrust he filled her and she gave a sharp cry of shock because it was so much more than she’d anticipated. Holding herself tense, she was aware of his harsh breathing, of the tension in his powerful frame as he forced himself to hold still.

‘Katie—’

‘I—I’m OK … it’s OK.’ But she was afraid to breathe, afraid she couldn’t accommodate the size of him.

With a soft curse, he started to withdraw but she closed her hands over his hips. ‘Don’t stop. I don’t want you to stop ….’

His head dropped to her shoulder and he paused for a moment, buried deep, his breathing unsteady. Then he lifted his head and his eyes burned into hers.

‘Look at me.’

And she did.

Holding her gaze, he lowered his head and kissed her gently, seducing her mouth with slow, practised kisses until her whole body was shivering.

‘Relax, sweetheart …’ He murmured the words against her lips, holding himself still as her body melted around him, until she was moaning and quivering. Then he started to move, slowly at first, infinitely gentle as he taught her what her body could do.

It was overwhelming. Like nothing she’d ever experienced or imagined.

‘Nathaniel—’ Her voice broke and he slid his hand under her hips and drew her against him, controlling her pleasure.

The excitement was fierce and hot, clawing at her as he increased the rhythm, and she met each driving thrust with wild abandon. It was wild and crazy and the climax hit like a violent storm. As it crashed down on them, Katie clung to his slick shoulders, shattered by the violence of the emotion that swamped both of them.

‘It was your first time.’ Nathaniel lay on his back, his forearm over his forehead, not sure whether he was supposed to feel guilty or smug. The truth was he didn’t recognise any of the feelings inside him. He didn’t know whether what they’d just shared was a mistake or a miracle.

Damn.

She snuggled against him. ‘So?’

‘If I’d known, I would have stopped.’ Or would he? Nathaniel shifted uncomfortably, disturbed by how out of control he’d been. When had he ever felt like that before? Flirtation, dinner, jewellery, sex—it was a well-rehearsed sequence that required no thought, effort or emotional engagement.

What he’d shared with Katie was different.

He’d shared something with her he’d never shared with another person.

Himself.

The knowledge sat in a tight, uncomfortable knot in his stomach. Something close to panic gripped him. It wasn’t just the fear of what she might do with the information that bothered him, it was the fact that he’d told her at all.

Why had he told her? He never talked about his family. He went to extraordinary lengths to conceal his past. He’d reinvented himself as someone different.

But rescuing the toddler had brought it all rushing back. He’d been a child again, plunged into the dark, oily waters of the lake. Unfortunately Katie’s internal radar for anyone in distress was alarmingly sophisticated.

And long range, he thought grimly, remembering how she’d tracked him down.

Unlike other women who were only interested in the glitz and glamour of life, Katie wanted reality.

And he’d given her a hefty dose.

Realising that she was unusually silent, he turned his head to look at her and discovered she’d fallen asleep, her hair a wild tumble around her shoulders, a smile on that gorgeous mouth. A strand of hair had curled itself around his arm and he lifted his hand and touched it, feeling the silken softness coil around his fingers.

She was the most optimistic person he’d ever met.

Apparently even the ugly truth of his childhood hadn’t been enough to send her running.

She’d had sex with him because she believed she’d finally seen the ‘real’ Nathaniel.

And that, he reflected bitterly, had been his biggest mistake in this whole crazy mess, because he had no wish to be the real Nathaniel. He’d left the real Nathaniel behind decades ago and that was the way he wanted it to stay.

CHAPTER SEVEN

KATIE woke with the sun on her face. A breeze whispered through the open doors and she could hear the soft lap of water against the edge of the pool.

Aching, happy, she opened her eyes and the first thing she saw was the empty space next to her.

Nathaniel had gone.

A shadow veiled her happiness but she pushed it aside. It was late, wasn’t it? Of course he was already up.

He’d let her sleep late.

Refusing to allow herself to overanalyse what could simply be a thoughtful gesture, she took a quick shower and slid into her favourite canary-yellow sundress. Spotting the tropical flower he’d given her the night before, she slid it into her hair. The scent of it brought everything rushing back and her whole body was suffused with a warm glow. She felt special. Not because of the sex, although that had been incredible—no, the reason she felt special was because he’d confided in her. He’d trusted her with his darkest, deepest secrets—something she suspected he hadn’t shared with anyone before.

As she walked out onto the terrace, she told herself it was ridiculous to feel nervous after the intimacies they’d shared the night before.

Nathaniel was talking on the phone. His hair gleamed in the sunlight and his striking blue eyes were fixed on a point in the distance. Distracted by his flawless features and sensual mouth, Katie’s confidence faltered.

He looked like a superstar.

For a brief, crazy moment she wondered whether she’d imagined the whole thing.

Trying to forget that he was a movie star, she reminded herself that they’d just spent the most incredible night together. They’d connected, not just physically but emotionally. He’d trusted her.

Waiting for him to finish on the phone, she walked forward, wishing she possessed his acting skills. ‘You should have woken me. I didn’t mean to sleep this late.’

‘I had some calls to make. It appears my agent has earned his keep. The situation in London has been smoothed over.’ Reserved and distant, he gestured to the empty chair. ‘Coffee?’

Disappointment thudded into her gut like a fist. That was it? That was what the night had meant to him? Only a few minutes ago she’d woken up feeling as though life couldn’t get any better. The gulf between expectation and reality was shocking.

‘Coffee would be great, thanks.’ Formal. Polite. Two people forced to live together on the island—not two people who had rolled naked and wild, tangling sheets between their heated bodies.

Had it really meant nothing?

‘Help yourself to pancakes and fresh fruit. We have an hour until the helicopter arrives.’

‘Helicopter?’ Katie put the cup down without taking a sip. ‘We’re leaving?’ She was disturbed by just how much that bothered her. A week ago she hadn’t even wanted to come here, and now—

‘Just the island. We’re going to spend some time in Rio.’ Still not looking at her, he scrolled through his emails as if it were the beginning of a normal working day while Katie stared sickly at the food on the table. Embarrassment washed over her. How long had he watched her while she slept? Had he seen her in daylight and regretted what they’d shared? Frustration and anger mingled with the pain. But the anger was mostly directed at herself. Had she really been naïve enough to think she’d interest a man like him?

‘Why are we going to Rio?’

‘I’ve had enough of being trapped on an island. There’s only so much solitude I can take.’ His casual dismissal fed her insecurities and Katie stood quickly, the chair scraping the floor. Her eyes stung.

The rejection sat like a solid lump in the pit of her stomach.

‘Thanks a lot. So the part you’re playing this morning is obviously “utter bastard.’’’

His eyes narrowed warily. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘If you’d been playing “nice guy” you might have thought that what we shared last night was at least deserving of a morning-after smile. You’re making me feel horrid about myself.’

His eyes shone with incredulity. ‘How?’

‘Do you really have to ask? Are you really that insensitive?’ Katie wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she’d taken the time to put on make-up and do her hair before facing him. No woman with any sense would choose the ‘natural’ look around Nathaniel Wolfe. ‘We spent the night together and now you’re doing everything you can to get away from me.’ She felt really foolish for believing even for a moment that they’d shared something special. ‘I understand that what happened yesterday was awful for you. I understand it brought everything back and maybe what we did was heat-of-the-moment stuff. If you regret last night, just say so. But don’t act like nothing happened.’

‘Sit down, Katie.’

‘Why? So that you can make me feel even more insignificant than you have already? I don’t think so. You’re an incredible actor, Nathaniel, but I’m not interested in the actor and you don’t want to be the man.’ Totally squashed, utterly humiliated, she stalked off the terrace, throwing words over her shoulder. ‘Go to Rio. Go to hell. I really don’t care. Just don’t follow me.’

What the hell did she want from him?

His hand shaking, Nathaniel finished his coffee and ordered another one. It had taken all his willpower to leave the bed before she woke. In the end, what had driven him had been the fact that he’d wanted to stay there, wrapped around Katie for ever. And the terror had acted as a jet-propelled engine.

For ever?

He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm. Those were words he just didn’t use.

Utterly spooked by his feelings, he hadn’t even trusted himself to look at her when she’d walked onto the terrace. He’d hoped for baggy brown clothes but she’d chosen bright yellow, the colour of sunshine and happiness.

Not that it had taken him long to kill that happiness, he thought bitterly.

Right now she was probably changing back into brown.

Ben brought the coffee to the table, his usually friendly smile absent. ‘I just saw Miss Katie running towards the beach.’ He thumped the pot down on the table and some of it sloshed over the side. ‘Looked like she was crying.’

Nathaniel looked at the puddle of spilled coffee. ‘She just needs space.’

‘Not all folks need space when they’re upset. Miss Katie is the sort who would prefer someone to talk to.’

Meeting Ben’s accusatory look, Nathaniel felt fingers of ice trail down his spine. She wanted to talk about feelings and there was no way he wanted to even think about his feelings, let alone talk about them.

‘You’ve known her five minutes—’

‘Some people you get to know in five minutes because they’re open and friendly. Others …’ Ben’s gaze didn’t shift. ‘Others keep themselves locked away.’

Locked away sounded good to him. ‘Everyone is different.’

‘She’s trying to help you. In all my years I never met a kinder, warmer person than Miss Katie.’

‘I don’t need anyone’s help.’

‘Depends where you’re standing.’ Ben picked up Katie’s abandoned cup. ‘I’ll clear up this mess.’ The message was clear. Nathaniel was supposed to clear up the other mess. The one he’d made.

Cursing himself for allowing his guard to drop, Nathaniel abandoned the coffee and strode along the little path that wound through the tropical gardens down to the beach.

One conversation, he promised himself. One.

He found her on the perfect curve of soft sand that was Turtle Cove, her yellow sundress blending with the sand, her dark hair tumbling down her back.

Remembering the way she’d looked when she’d first arrived on the island, Nathaniel felt something twist inside him. She’d lost her dull, brown feathers and now she reminded him of an exotic bird. And last night—

‘Katie …’

She didn’t turn but her shoulders grew a little stiffer. ‘I want to be by myself.’

Nathaniel would have loved to have taken that claim at face value but Ben’s voice was still ringing in his ears, and on top of that his conscience, which rarely even got out of bed in the morning, was now working overtime.

‘Look—’ his tone was impatient ‘—you have to understand that this isn’t easy for me. I don’t do relationships, not the sort you dream about anyway. I have short term, mutually convenient affairs with women who don’t want any more connection than I do. You’re different. For God’s sake, Katie—’ he dragged his hand through his hair ‘—you’d never even been with a man before.’

‘I don’t want to talk about this.’

He felt a flash of exasperation. ‘Why not? You want to talk about everything else. I know you’re upset because I didn’t stay in bed this morning—’

‘I’m upset because last night I saw the real Nathaniel, and now you’ve turned back into the movie star. I don’t know you like this.’

And that was the idea, wasn’t it?

Staring at the back of her head, Nathaniel felt as though there was a battle going on in his brain. ‘I’m not good at being the “real Nathaniel,”’ he ground out. ‘I’m not good at letting people know me.’

‘You prefer to hide behind the actor.’

‘Yes.’ The admission was easier than he’d thought it would be. ‘It’s what I’ve always done.’

She turned then and he saw the wetness on her cheeks. Guilt lanced through him, sharp as a blade. Usually when women used tears they left him unaffected. Seeing Katie’s reddened eyes made his insides clench with panic.

‘Don’t cry,’ he breathed. ‘Don’t do that ….’

‘Answer me something honestly.’ Her voice was croaky. ‘Is it Carrie? I know you said you weren’t having an affair with her, but—’

‘It isn’t Carrie.’ Just saying the name made him want to turn and run, but he fought it. He knew he ought to tell her the truth about Carrie, but he’d carried the secret for too long to part with it easily. ‘It’s nothing to do with Carrie. It’s me. This is who I am.’

She was silent and that silence was another tug on his conscience. Nathaniel scanned her face. ‘Say something. Yell at me. Tell me what I should be feeling, doing …’ He looked at her desperately. ‘It’s not like you to be silent.’

‘You don’t like it when I talk.’

‘I do.’ It came as a surprise to realise it was true. ‘Yesterday when we were on that boat, and you were saying everything that came into your head—’

‘I drove you nuts.’

‘No, I enjoyed it. A lot. I really like the way you say what you’re thinking.’

‘You never say what you’re thinking.’ Her gaze was steady. ‘And I find it impossible to tell what’s real. With you, it’s all too easy to get it wrong because you’re so good at what you do.’

He tried to find a way to tell her that the whole idea of ‘real’ scared the hell out of him. ‘Last night was real, Katie.’

‘No, it wasn’t. We had sex. I played the part of a gullible female and you played the part of the macho, virile caveman.’

‘Are you saying I hurt you?’ It was something that had worried him and he saw her cheeks redden.

‘You didn’t hurt me. Not last night.’

He’d hurt her this morning, with careless words and his own inability to let his guard down. Burying those thoughts, Nathaniel pulled her to her feet.

When she tried to resist him he tightened his hold and found her mouth with his.

‘Go away.’ She turned her head. ‘You regret last night.’

‘I don’t regret last night. At least not the part where you were naked and uninhibited. That bit was incredible. You were incredible.’ He took a breath. ‘And I’m sorry I hurt you this morning.’

‘I’m not going to say it’s OK.’

‘I don’t expect you to.’

With a sniff, she tilted her head and looked up at him. ‘So what happens now? Jacob is back, Nathaniel. You can’t change that and you can’t run from the past for ever.’

‘I’m not running. I just wasn’t in the mood for the whole family reunion thing.’

‘Surely the press must know about your father? Did you really manage to keep that quiet?’

‘It gets dug up periodically. I’m hoping that a Sapphire win will make them bury it and focus on my career rather than my personal life.’

‘That’s why you want to win a Sapphire so badly? To distract the press?’

‘It’s one reason.’ Nathaniel stood for a moment, staring towards the water. He should tell her. He should just tell her the rest of his story.

The sound of a helicopter cut through their conversation and she glanced up at the sky. ‘Looks like your ride to Rio is here.’

‘Our ride.’ He stroked his fingers through her hair. ‘You’re coming with me.’

She pulled away from him. ‘I don’t think so. I’ll be fine here.’

‘I want you with me.’ Just how much he wanted her with him shook him to the core. Jumping out of an aeroplane or scaling a sheer cliff face seemed less daunting than plunging into a relationship with Katie. ‘You’ll love Rio. It’s the most exciting city in the world. Please.’

She rubbed her foot over the sand, drawing a pattern. ‘If I came where would we stay?’

‘We’ll crash in Rafael’s penthouse.’

‘Who is Rafael?’

‘Another half-brother. As you can see, I’m plagued by half-brothers, but they do come in handy when you want somewhere exclusive and private to stay.’

‘Rafael?’ She looked dazed. ‘How many wives did your father have?’

‘Four? No, I think it might have been three, but it gets confusing because of all the mistresses. Do those count?’ Nathaniel slid his fingers through hers and they started to walk back along the beach. ‘His bedroom was busier than Hollywood Boulevard on Sapphire night.’

‘So is Rafael younger?’

‘We’re the same age. He’s the son of the woman my father slept with while my mother was expecting me.’

She stopped walking. ‘He—oh, my God. But you’re close?’

‘Close?’ Nathaniel frowned at the question. ‘I live in LA and he lives in Brazil. I have no idea how far that is. Ten thousand kilometres? More?’

‘No, I mean—’

‘Oh, you mean close as in brothers. That’s a typically Katie question.’ He didn’t know whether to be amused or exasperated that she wanted everyone to bond. ‘I use his place in Rio. He crashes at mine in LA If we happen to overlap, then we go and get drunk together. If you call that close, then we’re close. Does that satisfy the rules of Katie-land?’

Her expression was serious. ‘That must be a difficult relationship.’

‘What’s difficult about it?’

‘Well, because—’

‘Because my father slept with his mother? That wasn’t Rafael’s fault. He wasn’t there.’ Nathaniel gave a sardonic smile. ‘At least, not until nine months afterwards. And now that’s enough about my family. There’s only so much reminiscing I can stand in one day and we’re definitely into injury time.’

‘So, will I meet Rafael?’

She was imagining happy family gatherings. ‘No chance. We’re going to Rio so that we can have steaming-hot sex in the land of the steaming-hot samba.’

‘I’ve never even danced the samba.’

‘Don’t worry—’ he flashed her a smile and took her hand as they walked along the beach ‘—I’m going to teach you. The way you move your hips, you’ll be a natural.’

‘This place is incredible.’ Katie stared at the view from the terrace of the exclusive penthouse apartment. ‘Your brother must be very successful.’

‘He’s slowly taking over the technology world.’ Nathaniel leaned on the balcony and scanned the beach. ‘Rafael and I have got drunk on this balcony more times than I want to remember. Whatever you do, don’t touch anything. He’s a techno genius and this whole place is run by gadgets. If you sneeze some piece of electrical equipment will probably hand you a tissue. I’ve told him that the day he invents an app for my phone that will kill photographers, I’ll invest in his company.’ He slid his hand behind her neck and brought his mouth down on hers and Katie gave a low moan.

All he had to do was kiss her and she melted every time.

She was a total pushover.

Disturbed by that thought, she eased away from him. Last night she’d given him everything. Today she was a little more cautious. ‘Are we going sightseeing?’

‘Of course. This is Rio.’

Nathaniel took her everywhere. They drank in the spectacular views from Pão de Açúcar, Sugarloaf Mountain, and ate in a beachside restaurant packed with locals.

When they arrived back at the apartment it was late and Katie automatically walked towards the bedroom but he closed his fingers around her wrist.

‘Rio is just waking up. Tempted as I am at the thought of an early night—’ his kiss was swift but devastating ‘—we’re going to samba school.’

‘School? It’s almost midnight.’

‘It isn’t a school in the sense that you mean. The samba schools are part of the neighbourhood where people go to dance. Part of Rio’s culture. They’re all rehearsing for the Carnival in a few weeks’ time. Here—’ he picked up a box that had been delivered earlier ‘—I bought you something to wear.’

‘You’re in jeans.’ Delving through layers of tissue paper, she retrieved a short dress in a vibrant shade of electric blue, dipping to the waist and ending in a flared skirt. ‘I might as well go naked.’

‘There’s something else in the box.’

Katie shifted the tissue paper and found an emerald-green sequined bikini top. She blinked. ‘Gosh. That’s—’

‘Perfect for dancing the samba.’

She hadn’t worn brown since she’d arrived in South America. And that was because of Nathaniel. He’d brought colour into her life. Being with him had given her confidence. ‘I love it.’ Katie examined the flow and texture of the fabric and then disappeared into the bedroom to change.

Nathaniel followed her and she was conscious of him watching her as she pulled on the dress. ‘Stop staring.’

‘You have fantastic legs.’

‘All the better for dancing.’ She met his eyes in the mirror. Felt the sharp stab of chemistry. ‘Shall we go?’

It was the most exciting evening of her life, although whether it was the dancing or just being with Nathaniel, she didn’t know.

The samba was an innately sexual dance and Nathaniel was a hotly sexual man. Those heavy-lidded blue eyes and that slow, masculine smile soon drew the attention of every woman in the room—that and his enviable sense of rhythm and the effortless way he moved. He danced with a natural grace and an unapologetic sensuality that blurred the lines between bedroom and ballroom. Dancing with him was a hedonistic experience that was a full-on assault of her senses and Katie felt her head and her heart spin as their eyes held and their bodies touched.

Drowning in those blue eyes, Katie suddenly wanted to be alone with him. ‘Can we go home?’

‘You’re not enjoying the samba, angel?’ His smile was slow and knowing and her heart was performing its own version of the samba.

‘I love the samba.’

The heat flowing between them was immense and he curved a strong hand over her hip and held her against him for a moment. The lazy humour in his eyes turned sharp and hungry. ‘You’re right. Let’s go.’ He took her hand and virtually dragged her out of the building and into the waiting car.

The instant the doors closed, they were kissing and they kissed all the way back to the apartment, their mouths frantic, hot, explosive as they feasted. His hands were under the flirty skirt of her dress and Katie moaned and curved her leg over his, urging him on. She loved the way he watched her, with eyes half shut and the promise of ecstasy shimmering in the depths of that blue gaze. The excitement of his skilled touch was intensified a thousand times by that raw masculine sex appeal. All over the world, women had posters of him on their walls. Just looking at him was a visual pleasure but Katie tried not to dwell on that because she didn’t want to think about him as a movie star. As a movie star he was unobtainable, out of her league. As a man—

They shared a fierce, explosive chemistry.

‘We’re here.’ His voice thickened by passion, he lifted his head, his eyes still on her mouth. ‘We need to take this inside or we’ll be arrested. Two minutes,’ he promised thickly. ‘We just have to get ourselves up in that elevator and into the apartment.’

Trembling with anticipation, Katie followed him out of the car, too embarrassed to look at the driver. They were kissing as they tumbled into the lift that led to Rafael’s luxurious penthouse, and then Nathaniel lifted her so that she straddled him and pressed her back hard against the mirrored wall.

‘Two minutes is too long.’ He groaned and Katie was so desperately excited after dancing with him that she simply sobbed her encouragement as he unzipped his jeans.

Caught in a vortex of excitement, she was blind to her surroundings, blind to everything except him. He was silken warmth and hard masculinity and then he was inside her and the delicious shock of it made her gasp.

‘Oh, yes …’ Her head tilted back against the cool, hard mirror as he thrust into her. It was hot and primal, as out of control as that first night in the tropical gardens of Wolfe Island.

A gentle ringing sound indicated that they’d reached the penthouse. Without lifting his mouth from hers, Nathaniel slammed his hand against the panel of buttons, trying to hit the one that stopped the lift. Instead he hit the one for the ground floor and the lift started moving again.

‘How do you stop this thing?’ His eyes fevered with lust, he lifted his head impatiently and tried to focus on the buttons but Katie took advantage of the sudden shift in his attention to move her hips. He gave a thickened groan and turned his head back to her. ‘Don’t move. You’re killing me ….’

‘I want—I need—’ Her voice broke and his hands plunged into her hair and his mouth devoured hers in a hungry kiss.

‘I have to stop this damned lift.’

He was deep inside her and she tried to match his rhythm but he held her trapped, controlling every movement, each virile thrust sending an explosion of sensation through her. Katie was sucked down into a world of dark, dangerous pleasure and she cried out his name and clung to his shoulders, feeling the strength and power under her fingers.

Breathing heavily, Nathaniel thumped his hand blindly against the lift buttons again and this time hit the stop button.

The lift jerked and then stopped and he gave an unsteady smile. ‘Finally I can concentrate ….’

Somewhere in the distance Katie heard bells ringing but she wasn’t given the opportunity to focus on it because he was turning their sexual encounter into a single-minded orgy of sensation. Pleasure slid through her in smooth waves and then rushed forward, building in pace as he drove them both higher and higher.

It was sex at its most basic, sheer self-indulgence, the slaking of the desperate hunger that consumed both of them.

‘Watch us,’ he ordered in a thickened tone, ‘watch us in the mirror.’

Her eyelids felt heavy but she opened them, looking first at him and then over his shoulder. And watching intensified everything. Reflected in the mirror, she saw the contrast between her sun-warmed skin and his darker, hair-roughened thigh. Soft and hard. Tough and fragile. Male and female. It was his strength that held them in this position. His strength that drove them both forward towards the peak of pleasure. There was fire in her blood and a wildness burst from within her as sensation exploded through her body.

She cried out his name and he rode her hard, his eyes locked with hers, drawing every part of her into him. She felt him fill her completely, felt the male fullness of him as he thrust deep and she tore at his shirt, desperate to touch. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was shallow and uneven, and she clutched at the sleek muscle of his shoulders, feeling everything inside her fly free. Her climax hit like a lightning bolt and she tumbled over the edge into ecstasy, sobbing his name and holding tight as the explosion of passion took him with her.

It took a long time for everything to settle, for the world to return to normal.

Finally Nathaniel slowly lifted his mouth from hers. His eyes hazy and far from focused, he tilted his head. ‘What’s that awful noise?’

Katie struggled to breathe. ‘I think the alarm went off when you hit the stop button. You’re only supposed to press that button in an emergency.’

‘That’s fine, then—’ with a wicked smile, he lowered his mouth to hers again ‘—because it was definitely an emergency.’

She moaned against his mouth. ‘I expect there are a team of engineers on the way or something.’

Nathaniel lifted his head reluctantly and slammed his hand against the lift button.

Katie made a strangled sound. ‘Now we’re going down instead of up.’

Tearing his eyes from hers, he looked at the buttons. ‘Oops.’

He just had time to lower her to the floor and swiftly rearrange their clothing before the lift doors opened on the foyer.

Two of Rafael’s security team stood there looking perplexed.

Scarlet faced, Katie wanted to slide to the floor with embarrassment but Nathaniel simply smiled. ‘Having a good evening, guys?’

‘Er, was there a problem, sir?’

‘We had a slight malfunction, but I fixed it.’

Adopting his customary bored tone, Nathaniel threw an intimate smile at Katie and once again pressed the button that took the lift straight to the penthouse. ‘I’m good with my hands.’

As the door slid closed Katie sagged against the mirrored walls and covered her face. ‘Why did you have to say that? They knew what we were doing. Just don’t tell me there was CCTV in here.’

‘Why? I can give you some insider tips if you like. The secret of performing in front of the camera is to act as though it isn’t there. Although that definitely should have been a closed set.’ Laughing at her, he swung her into his arms and took her onto the terrace. ‘Where do you think? Day bed? Night bed? Floor? Wall? Shower? All of the above?’

Breathing in the sweet scent of exotic flowers, Katie stared up at his darkened jaw and felt ridiculously happy.

‘You’re insatiable.’

‘Guilty as charged.’ In the end he tumbled her onto the day bed on the terrace and proceeded to prove to her just how insatiable.

They fell asleep on the terrace and woke to the unforgettable sight of the sun rising over Sugarloaf Mountain.

Katie stared dreamily at the incredible view. ‘This place is truly amazing.’

‘Yes. Rafael has impeccable taste when it comes to real estate.’ Nathaniel stifled a yawn and kissed her. ‘Don’t get up. I have some business to attend to today. I’ll see you a bit later. Take a bath. Chill out.’ With a reluctant sigh and a last look at her mouth, he sprang from the bed and picked up a stack of papers and a glossy report.

Still half asleep, Katie sat up. ‘Business? What business?’

‘Rafael and I sponsor a drama project here. Disadvantaged kids.’ He hesitated and then dropped the report on her lap. ‘It’s full of heart-tugging stuff designed to make people with too much money part with some of it. I have to meet with the woman who runs it—it won’t take long.’

With the hiss of the shower in the background, Katie flicked through the pages. Then she turned back to the beginning and read slowly. When she lifted her head, her face was wet with tears. ‘The life some of these kids have led …’

Knotting a towel around his hips, Nathaniel frowned. ‘Why are crying? You don’t know them.’

‘I’m crying because it’s awful.’ And because he was reaching out to children who’d suffered as he had suffered. Reading it made her think about what he must have experienced. Children in hell. Was he even aware of what he was doing? ‘It must be so rewarding to be able to do this. To watch them develop.’

‘I don’t actually “watch them.” I don’t meet any of the kids.’ Nathaniel thrust his arms into a fresh shirt. ‘I just write the cheques.’

‘You’ve never visited one of your projects?’ Katie stared down at the report in her hands. ‘Aren’t you interested to see who these people are?’

‘I know who they are.’ He snatched his shorts from the chair, his tone brittle. ‘They’re kids. The idea is to try and keep them off the streets and out of the gangs. Being involved in these youth projects stops the kids picking up a gun. That’s what the project does.’

‘But you’ve never met them?’ Katie slid out of bed and walked across to him. His hair was wet from the shower and flopped in dark spikes over his handsome face. ‘Aren’t you curious?’

‘No.’ The panic in his eyes was so swiftly veiled she wondered if she’d imagined it.

‘It would mean a lot to them to see Nathaniel Wolfe in person.’

‘I don’t get personally involved.’

‘So why help them?’

‘Because I earn enough to give some of it away.’

He could have given his money to any number of charities, Katie mused, but he’d chosen to give it to children from difficult, violent backgrounds.

There was no way that was a coincidence.

She wondered if he was even aware of his reasons for championing that cause.

‘If you showed up, the children would be thrilled.’

‘And I care about that because …?’

‘Because you care about helping the children. If you didn’t care, you wouldn’t be giving them money. You’d be giving the money to the cats’ home or some other worthy charity.’

He reached for his watch. ‘Maybe I’m the cold-hearted bastard they say I am.’

He wasn’t. She knew he wasn’t. But he wouldn’t allow himself to become close to anyone. ‘Cold-hearted bastards don’t risk their lives rescuing drowning children. And they don’t waste time and money sponsoring acting projects that the media don’t even know about. You should go and see what they do. Imagine how that would make you feel.’

‘Bored? I don’t do things for other people.’ He sank his hands into her hair and kissed her neck. ‘I’m intrinsically selfish.’

‘That’s what you like to think about yourself, but it isn’t true. Nathaniel …’ She gave a low moan as his mouth found a sensitive spot. ‘Don’t. I can’t think when you—oh …’

With a satisfied laugh, he tumbled her down onto the soft rug and it was another hour before either of them thought about moving.

‘I could help with the costumes.’ Katie curled herself around him, trailing her fingers down his body. ‘I have all those ribbons and pieces of fabric I bought in the market yesterday. Who makes their costumes at the moment?’

‘Don’t you ever give up?’ Nathaniel rolled her onto her back and looked at her, his blue eyes blazing in exasperation. ‘I was going to get this meeting over with and then take you sightseeing.’

‘I’d much rather help out at your acting project. Please, Nathaniel. You’ll make their day. Their whole year.’ The thought of what it would mean to the children excited her almost as much as what it could mean to him. She’d seen the compassion behind the tough exterior. She knew how much of himself he kept locked up. Maybe working with children would help unlock that part of himself.

Nathaniel swore fluently and sprang to his feet. His eyes menacing, he threw her a warning glance. ‘Cry once, just once, and we’re leaving. Understood?’

Nathaniel stood outside the building that housed his youth drama project, stomach churning. Any minute now he was going to be on his knees in the gutter, throwing up.

Why had he agreed to this?

Above them a chaotic maze of tin-roofed, wooden and unpainted brick shacks hung precariously from a steep hillside and wide-eyed, curious children watched them as they kicked a football in the dusty street.

The air was hot and sticky but Nathaniel had never felt colder.

He took a step backwards and then felt Katie’s hand close over his.

‘Let’s go inside and meet some of them.’

Nathaniel wanted to pull away. He wanted to go inside about as much as he wanted to shoot himself in the head. He didn’t want to get to know these people. He didn’t want to find himself back there but Katie was pulling him and he couldn’t find a reason to stay outside.

Inside the building a crowd of children of various heights and ages were milling around. The moment Nathaniel walked across the threshold the atmosphere changed. Everybody stopped talking and just stared. He was used to that, of course. It happened everywhere. But this was different. The eyes looking at him were different.

The silence lasted only seconds and then the room erupted into excited squeals and non-stop chatter as a crowd of children of various ages surged towards them.

Erecting the usual barriers between himself and the rest of the world, Nathaniel switched into actor mode and tried to distance himself.

But he wasn’t able to distance himself. Unlike adults, the children didn’t respect boundaries and soon several of the younger ones were climbing all over him, talking simultaneously, touching him to see if he was real.

He saw scuffed shoes and unwashed hair. He saw bruises and eyes that held stories no one wanted to hear. But most of all he saw enthusiasm and excitement. Yes, there was trauma there, but it came a poor second to hope.

The sickness inside him faded. His hands relaxed.

He signed a few autographs before remembering that he never signed autographs.

‘Oi, tudo bem?’ He spoke in Portuguese and Gabriela, a slim dark-haired woman who ran the centre, clapped her hands and commanded silence.

‘We’re overwhelmed that you have chosen to visit us in person.’ There were tears in her eyes and Nathaniel tried to think of a slick, movie-star response but his tongue had tied itself in a knot and his acting cloak failed him, just as it had that night onstage.

‘Show me what you’re doing,’ he said roughly. ‘Maybe I—I can try and help.’ Great. Now he couldn’t even string a sentence together.

At first it felt awkward. Taking him to one side, Gabriela told him a little about each child and they acted scenes for him, proud to show off what they’d been doing. Some of them were wooden; others were better, and one or two had real talent. But it was the one boy who refused to join in who drew his attention. Watchful and tense, he stood close to the door.

‘That kid over there—’ Nathaniel wiped his forearm over his brow. ‘What’s his story?’

‘I don’t know.’ Gabriela handed him water. ‘He comes and watches sometimes. If you try and speak to him, he runs. I suspect he’s just hiding out here. Best to leave him and hope that one day he’ll have the confidence to join in. It happens sometimes. He isn’t the first.’

Nathaniel looked at the boy and felt an immediate flash of recognition. In those eyes he saw defiance, anger, curiosity—and fear.

It was the fear that made Nathaniel stroll towards him.

The boy edged closer to the door and Nathaniel almost stopped walking. What was he doing? He didn’t know anything about counselling kids. He didn’t even know how old this one was. Ten? Older?

The boy turned his head, torn between the lure of the escape route and the lure of the world’s most famous movie star. The movement revealed the livid bruise darkening one side of his jaw. His mouth tightening, Nathaniel kept walking. He didn’t know anything about kids in general, but he knew about damaged kids. Knew he was looking at one.

Anger shot through him but he checked it as the boy glared at him, fists clenched. ‘It’s all right—I’m going. You don’t have to throw me out.’

‘Actually, I was hoping you could help me out ….’ Keeping what he hoped was a non-threatening distance, Nathaniel squatted down so that he was eye level with the boy. ‘You’re exactly right for this part—you ever act?’

The boy’s fists relaxed slightly. ‘I don’t know anything about acting.’

‘Good. It’s easier that way than if you think you already know all there is to know.’ Nathaniel held his gaze. ‘So this is what you do—you forget all about being you, and pretend you’re someone else. That’s it. That’s all there is to it. Easy.’

He was willing to bet the boy dreamed about being someone else almost every day of his life….

When a sheen of tears glazed the boy’s eyes, Nathaniel didn’t know which of them was more alarmed.

Out of his depth, he was about to call time and summon reinforcements in the form of Gabriela and Katie, when the boy grabbed his arm.

‘I’ve seen your movies.’

Nathaniel felt a pressure behind his chest. ‘Right. Good.’

‘I—You’ve got plenty of actors here.’ His voice was rough. Desperate. ‘You don’t need me.’

‘Well, that shows how little you know.’ Nathaniel saw the bruises on the boy’s arms and the anger was a hard knot in his stomach. ‘I need you really badly. So get your skinny butt on that stage and let’s get to work.’

‘No one has been able to persuade the boy to speak.’ Gabriela was huddled with Katie, sewing costumes out of scraps of material. ‘But now he’s having an acting lesson with Nathaniel Wolfe. Katie, I just saw him laugh.’

‘Don’t. You’ll set me off.’ Katie blinked rapidly. ‘I can’t sew and cry.’

But Nathaniel’s dogged determination to persuade the child to open up and participate had moved her. He’d refused to give up. Every time the boy had backed off, he’d been there, lowering his own barriers in order to help the child.

‘Do you know how many times I’ve tried to get that boy to speak?’ Gabriela threaded a needle. ‘And now he has a part in the play. I have his name now—we can help him.’

Katie lifted her head and watched Nathaniel. He was demonstrating a movement to the children and they were watching, enraptured.

He would make a fantastic father.

The thought came out of nowhere and she froze, shocked by her own thoughts.

Oh, no, she wasn’t going to do that, was she? She wasn’t going to start thinking, even for a moment, that their relationship was more than a quick flash of fire.

Feeling a sharp pain, she looked down and realised she’d pierced her finger with the needle.

Katie grabbed a tissue and did a swift reality check.

Children? After his own scarred childhood?

Trying to distract herself, she sewed and produced costumes and made sure she was completely steady before she took a quick break and walked over to Nathaniel. ‘You’re doing well. I had no idea you spoke the language.’

‘Rafael is Brazilian. We hung out together when we were younger.’ He was watching two boys staging a fight scene, occasionally passing comment.

‘Gabriela told me how much money you’ve ploughed into the project. She told me that you’re the reason lots of those children are even alive today. How did you meet her?’

‘Rafael sponsors education programmes—puts computers in schools, that sort of thing. He introduced me to Gabriela.’ As the fight became rather too realistic, Nathaniel stepped forward and intervened. ‘You’re not actually supposed to beat each other. Do it like this—’ He showed them how to make it look convincing without actually causing damage and then turned back to Katie. ‘The whole thing snowballed. Sometimes our projects overlap. Two years ago Rafael sent me a script written by one of the kids he’d helped—it was good. We’ve turned it into a film.’

She was astonished. ‘You found a studio to put up the money?’

‘No.’ His hand shot out and he steadied the boy before he fell and hit the floor. ‘Rafael and I put up the money ourselves. It’s a low-budget film, premiering at one of the film festivals in May. Carnival. Gritty urban thriller. It’s about a boy from a violent family.’ He turned his head, his eyes on Carlos, the boy he’d persuaded to join them. ‘It’s the life story of many of the kids here. Except in Carnival, acting gives the hero a chance at a new life.’

And he couldn’t see the parallels? Acting had helped him escape from a difficult childhood and now he was offering the same escape to other children.

Katie swallowed. ‘Who gave you that chance? Did you go to drama school?’

‘Boarding school. My father couldn’t wait to get rid of us all. I was happier at school than I was at home.’ A frown touched his brows, as if that thought had only just occurred to him. ‘The school had a fantastic drama department. When I was sixteen

I was playing Romeo in a summer production. A Hollywood casting agent happened to be in the audience looking for an English teenager to play the lead in his coming-of-age blockbuster, Summer Semester. I was a complete unknown.’

‘But talented.’

‘I thought I was.’ His smile was loaded with self-mockery. ‘I just wanted to get the hell out of England. It was the ultimate teenage rebellion.’

He’d wanted to escape from the horrors of home.

‘So you were swept off to Hollywood where you wowed everyone. What then?’

‘I married my co-star.’

It felt as though something heavy had dropped on her chest. The noise around her faded and the only sound was her heart pounding in her ears. ‘You … married?’

‘You didn’t know?’

‘Why would I?’

‘Because people generally like to study my life in minute detail and it isn’t a secret. I thought you read celebrity magazines.’

‘I just look at the pictures—to see what people are wearing.’ It didn’t matter, she told herself. It was in the past. It didn’t have an impact on now. But it was just another example of why he was completely wrong for her. Information that she would have considered vital was locked away in the vault with restricted access. ‘I—I didn’t know you were married.’

He glanced at her. ‘Now I see dark clouds in Katie-land. Why should the fact I’ve been married upset you?’

Because she’d stupidly fooled herself that he’d never been this close to a woman before. But he’d cared enough to marry someone. ‘It doesn’t upset me. I’m just a bit … surprised, that’s all.’

‘It was a publicity stunt. We were manipulated by the studio and the media—it was all about the movie.’ There was a cynical edge to his voice. ‘I never told her a thing about myself. In fact, I’ve never told any woman anything about myself, until I met you. You know more about me than anyone. If you’re counting points, you’re winning.’

‘I’m not counting.’ Katie’s heart pounded. Or at least, she didn’t want to be counting. All she knew was that something inside her had changed. That day on the boat when he’d saved the child—that night …

Her heart flipped.

It wasn’t love. Oh, no, no. It couldn’t be love. She wasn’t going to let it be love. Not with this man.

Her stomach churned and she felt slightly sick. How had it happened? Less than two weeks ago she’d been going speed dating with Claire. She’d eaten cereal for every meal. She’d worn brown.

Nathaniel Wolfe had been someone she’d fantasised about from a distance. And now …

She’d never considered herself to be reckless, but suddenly she was in love with a man who lived his life in the spotlight. A complicated man, all hard edges and armour plating.

A man who found it hard to talk about anything, least of all his emotions.

If that wasn’t reckless, she didn’t know what was.

They spent three days working with the kids on the acting project. Three days in which Nathaniel felt himself getting sucked deeper and deeper into the emotional issues he’d always made a point of avoiding. Part of him wanted to walk out and go back to the anonymity of writing big cheques. Instead he found himself talking to Gabriela, discussing ways in which the project could extend the support it offered for children. When a young boy revealed that his father beat him regularly Nathaniel ignored the cold slime that crawled over his skin and listened.

The older ones were harder to connect with. They’d learned to lock it away, as he had.

Any attempt to touch on the subject was met with resistance. ‘So I’ve got secrets.’ The shrug was years older than the boy. ‘Don’t you have secrets?’

Yes, he had secrets. He had secrets he carried with him every day of his life. The past churning inside him, Nathaniel turned his head to look at Katie.

Sensing his gaze, she looked up at him and smiled and the smile cut him like the blade of a razor because he knew there was still so much about him she didn’t know.

What had she said to him? I want to know the real Nathaniel.

She’d barely scratched the surface.

As if to taunt him, he felt the phone in his pocket buzz with another message.

Even without checking, he knew who it was and knowing was enough to shake his mood from light to dark.

Normally when the black clouds descended he chose to do something reckless. A motorbike on a slick road. Free climbing a vertical cliff. Any raw physical challenge that required such concentration that nothing else could intrude.

Anything that helped him to forget …

Riding the anger and the stress, he strode across the room and grabbed Katie, pulling her into his arms. ‘We’re going.’

‘But—’

‘Don’t argue.’ Nathaniel spoke briefly to Gabriela, said goodbye to the children and surprised himself by promising to come back again really soon. Then he propelled Katie into the waiting car and drove straight to the airport.

‘What are you doing?’ Breathless, laughing, she moaned as his lips found hers.

Nathaniel was rough. Hungry. Take me away from this. Make me forget. ‘I don’t have a motorbike here and I don’t feel like climbing a vertical cliff ….’

Her eyes were smoky and soft. ‘Is that supposed to mean something?’

‘We’re going back to Wolfe Island. I’ve had enough of sharing you.’ He savoured her mouth, felt the punch of desire slam through his body, sought oblivion in the warm sweetness. ‘I want you to myself.’

For the first time in his life he wasn’t thinking of ways to end a relationship with a woman. In fact, he was looking for excuses to keep her with him.

He didn’t want to share her with a bunch of children, however deserving.

Katie snuggled against him. ‘And you think I’m going to argue with you? I love the island. And when it’s just the two of us, you don’t act. I get to see the real Nathaniel. No hiding. No secrets.’

No secrets.

Nathaniel felt cold fingers of guilt stroke his spine and the guilt angered him.

There was no reason why he had to tell her everything about himself. All right, so Katie had told him pretty much everything about herself, but that was her choice, wasn’t it? Women were different like that. They liked to spill every thought and every feeling. Living like that would drive him mad. Most of his thoughts and feelings didn’t bear thinking about, let alone repeating.

‘So how long are we staying on the island?’ She was smiling at him, unaware of the conflict of emotions at war inside him.

‘Two days. Then I have to go back to LA for the Sapphire Award ceremony.’

She didn’t say a word but he saw the brightness dim.

‘And you’re coming with me.’ He didn’t know he was going to say the words until they left his mouth. ‘I want you to come with me.’

‘To the Sapphires?’ Her jaw dropped. ‘You can’t be serious.’

‘I’m deadly serious.’ Being with her felt good, he reasoned. She was easy company. Unselfish. Cheerful. And sexy.

Why wouldn’t he want her with him?

It didn’t mean anything.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS all very well having good intentions. Harder to stick to them when the man you were determined not to fall for was Nathaniel Wolfe.

Katie curled up on the sofa in his private jet, trying to hold hope in check. It wasn’t just the thought of attending the Sapphire ceremony that excited her, it was the knowledge that Nathaniel wanted her with him.

He could have flown her home or left her on the island.

But he’d chosen to invite her. Not a skinny A-list actress with visible hip bones. Her. Katie Field. Costume Designer.

And he was no longer acting when he was with her. He was the real Nathaniel.

‘We’ve extended the acting project—’ he was reading an email from Gabriela ‘—and she says Carlos has been back every day.’

‘That’s great.’ And it was. But what really warmed her was how involved he’d become. Far from shutting himself off, he’d opened himself up.

‘He’s emailed me. Gabriela let him use the connection from her office.’ His smile was tinged with self-mockery. ‘I’m going to regret that one. Never given my private email to a snotty kid before. Next thing, he’s going to want to come and stay with me in LA.’ But there was satisfaction in his voice and a smile on his lips as he tapped a reply.

Katie blinked back the tears that stung her eyes. ‘I think that would be great.’

Nathaniel turned his head slowly and held her gaze. ‘I’m glad I got involved. I wouldn’t have done it if it hadn’t been for you.’ He leaned forward and kissed her. They’d kissed so many times over the past two weeks, and yet this kiss was different. She felt the difference. And so did he.

Lifting his head, he frowned. ‘Katie—’

She waited, her heart in her mouth. She had no idea what he wanted to say but she felt the tension and the shift in the atmosphere.

‘Five minutes to landing.’ The captain’s voice filled the cabin and Nathaniel pulled back from her, his eyes blank.

‘Nothing. We’ve arrived. Welcome to Los Angeles.’

They walked off the plane straight into a heaving crowd of reporters and photographers.

‘Nathaniel? Is it true you saw your brother Jacob on your opening night in London?’

‘Do you have any comment about why you walked off the stage?’

‘Have you spoken to him since that night?’

Shocked by the relentless battering by the press, Katie gripped his hand, horrified that all the things he hated talking about were being flung out there for public consumption. To her it seemed monumentally insensitive and cruel and she wanted to shout at them to leave him alone but she knew that wouldn’t help. They were like a pack of hungry hyenas converging on a juicy carcass. They showed respect for neither privacy nor personal space and she found the crowd and the cameras both threatening and intimidating.

The confidence she’d found on the island evaporated and suddenly she wanted to shrink into the background again.

In contrast, Nathaniel was cool and confident, striding through the ranks of photographers with a bored smile that was absolutely in character with his public persona. The man she’d spent the past two weeks with had vanished and he was every inch the remote, supersuccessful movie star.

‘I have nothing to say about my private life,’ he drawled, ‘but if you want to talk about Alpha Man, then contact one of my team.’

‘Do you blame Jacob for murdering your father?’

Nathaniel didn’t break stride, nor did he give any indication that he’d heard, but Katie thought that he gripped her hand a little tighter.

‘Do you think Alpha Man will win the Sapphire for Best Movie, Nathaniel?’

‘Katie, how does it feel to have trapped the wealthiest movie star in the world? Is he paying off your debts?’

Before she had time to recover from the shock, Nathaniel sprang like a leopard trapping its prey. Lithe and lethal, he ploughed through the front row and grabbed the journalist by the front of his shirt, dragging him forward. ‘She did not “trap” me,’ he growled, ‘and what I do with my money is none of your business.’

Frozen with shock, Katie closed her hand over his arm and tugged. ‘Let him go. He isn’t worth it.’

For a moment she thought he hadn’t heard her, and then he released the journalist and the man staggered. His face was white and he looked shaken.

‘Don’t ever speak to her like that again or I’ll rip your throat out.’ Nathaniel wrapped a protective arm round Katie. ‘Now leave us alone.’

Touched by his violent defence of her, Katie suddenly wished the journalists would just vanish. At that moment she felt closer to him than she ever had, and when he lowered his head to kiss her in blatant disregard of the cameras, she felt happiness brim over.

Through the mists of pleasure and the explosion of flashbulbs she heard a voice—a clear, hard voice—shout from the back of the crowd. ‘What about Carrie? Isn’t it time you talked about Carrie?’

Because her mouth was pressed against his, she felt the change, felt the ripples of tension as he slowly lifted his head.

Anxious murmurings spread across the crowd from journalists worried that they’d missed an important story. People turned to one another, seeking enlightenment as to who ‘Carrie’ was.

The journalist who had spoken pushed to the front. She was an icy blonde who had ruthless ambition stamped over every centimetre of her carefully made-up face. Behind her was a cameraman determined not to miss a shot. ‘Must have been a hell of a childhood, Nathaniel.’

Confused, Katie glanced at the woman and then back at Nathaniel. His face was the colour of the palest marble.

‘My childhood was fine.’

‘Really?’ It was obvious that the journalist wasn’t going to let it go. ‘If I knew my mother tried to drown me when I was a baby, I don’t think I’d be fine.’

His mother? Katie frowned, wondering how the woman could have got the story so wrong. It wasn’t his mother who had tried to drown him, it was his father. She waited for Nathaniel to correct the woman but he stood silent, the black fury in his eyes sending an uneasy silence across the crowd of journalists.

The blonde took a step backwards but refused to abandon her story. ‘You’ve been clever. You put out the story that your mother left, so none of us bothered looking. Why didn’t you just tell people she had a complete breakdown and she’s been in a psychiatric hospital ever since? You and your brother Sebastian should be proud that you used some of your many millions to build her a pretty cottage in the grounds so she thinks she’s living a normal life. Why do you keep her a secret, Nathaniel? Are you afraid that if people find out about your mother, it will ruin your perfect movie-star image?’

Carrie was his mother?

She was in a psychiatric hospital?

Katie’s first impulse was to leap to his defence and deny it, but one look at Nathaniel’s white face and traumatised expression told her that the woman was telling the truth.

And this time he didn’t attack. He didn’t move. It was as if he’d been felled at the knees.

And the warmth inside Katie melted in an instant. His mother, she thought numbly. Hauling back the sick disappointment that he hadn’t told her, she focused on the blonde journalist. The woman’s smile said everything. She knew she’d hit the jackpot.

Pushing her own pain aside, driven by a depth of anger she’d never known before, Katie stepped forward. ‘How dare you use someone’s personal life for cheap entertainment and to make a name for yourself. Shame on you.’ Her voice shook and she stared at the woman with contempt. ‘Shame on you.’

Shaking with anger, Katie stepped backwards just as six bulky men arrived and surrounded them.

‘You’re late,’ Nathaniel said flatly, and the largest of the men gave him an apologetic look.

‘Terrible traffic in downtown LA, boss. Sorry.’

They were ushered out to a waiting limousine and Katie collapsed into the luxurious interior. The warmth she’d felt when he’d leapt to her defence had seeped away through the stab wounds made by this latest discovery. Why hadn’t he told her?

She glanced across at him but he sat in silence, withdrawn and remote. The Nathaniel she’d got to know on the island and in Rio—the real Nathaniel—was gone. Katie pushed aside her own pain. They’d only known each other for two weeks, she reasoned. For a man like him, that wasn’t long enough to establish real trust. She needed to be patient. ‘I’m sorry. She had no right to say all those things. How did she find out?’

Nathaniel tipped his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. ‘The surprise isn’t that she found out, but that it took everyone so long. Sebastian and I have been waiting for this for years. We tried to keep the secret—whenever there is press coverage about my father, it affects Carrie badly. She takes a lot of medication, but even with that, it isn’t good.’

He didn’t talk about it because he was trying to protect his mother. ‘Why do you call her Carrie?’

‘Because that’s how I think of her. I stopped thinking of her as my mother a long time ago. She wasn’t really capable of being a mother. She was too ill.’

‘Is it true that you built her a cottage?’

‘Sebastian and I wanted her to have as normal a life as possible. It’s easier to keep her condition stable when she isn’t around strangers. She lives in her own little world. Most of the time she’s happy enough. She has full-time carers who she sees as family.’

‘And what about you? Her real family?’

‘I see her whenever I’m in England. But she doesn’t recognise me. Or Sebastian.’ Nathaniel’s hands curled into fists. ‘Do you know the really frustrating thing? She talks about me all the time. “My son Nathaniel, famous Hollywood movie star …” But she doesn’t actually know it’s me. She calls Sebastian “Nathaniel” but when I visit her, she can’t seem to make the connection. Once she even asked me if I knew her son Nathaniel.’

Thinking about his bleak, loveless childhood brought a lump to her throat.

He’d learned to survive alone.

She slid along the seat and put her arms round him but he was rigid and unresponsive.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Nathaniel, you’re not fine!’

‘It’s how it is. It’s how it’s always been. I need to warn the clinic.’ Shrugging her away, he reached for his phone. ‘They need to keep her away from newspapers and television. It could have a serious impact on her emotional stability. And then I need to increase security so those jackals can’t get anywhere near her because she associates gangs of journalists with her disastrous marriage to my father. And the LA press don’t have anything on the British tabloids.’

Katie sat there, helpless, trying not to feel hurt by his rejection. ‘Are you going to call Sebastian?’

‘I’ve just sent him a text.’

One by one the doors between him and the world were slamming shut. Katie wanted to put her foot in the final crack to stop him closing her out along with everyone else.

‘You don’t think a conversation might be helpful?’

‘All he needs are the facts.’

Facts. Facts. Katie wanted to point out that there was more to conversation than an exchange of facts.

Picking up on her tension, Nathaniel turned his head and looked at her. ‘You’re upset that I didn’t tell you—’

‘No.’ She pushed the words past stiff lips. ‘It’s how you cope with things. I understand.’

‘Do you?’ His voice was hard. ‘Because if revelations about my family are going to shock you, then you’re hanging out with the wrong guy. There are more skeletons in my family than in the average graveyard.’ The brittle tone rubbed over her nerves like sandpaper and Katie tried desperately to regain some of the closeness they’d had on the island.

‘I understand why you didn’t tell me. I understand how much you must be hurting.’

‘I’m not hurting.’ The shield was up and no one was getting through. ‘I stopped hurting twenty years ago.’

Katie stared at the perfect lines of his profile, despair seeping through her.

Not hurting?

He was in agony.

And she had no idea how to reach him.

‘This place is incredible.’ They were high up in the Hollywood Hills, near the urban wilderness of Runyon Canyon. Beneath them, the sprawl of Los Angeles lay in a haze of early-morning sunshine.

Sunbeams danced on the infinity pool and the place was infused with the delicious scent of pine.

‘An architect friend of mine built it.’ Distant and polite, Nathaniel poured her a cup of coffee. ‘Down there is Sunset Boulevard.’ He gestured with his head. ‘And to the left you can see the high-rises of downtown. Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’ Did he really think she would have slept when he hadn’t come to bed? She wondered where he’d spent the night. Awake on the terrace thinking about his mother? Pacing?

Feeling utterly exhausted, Katie stared down at the city. It felt like a million miles from London in February. A million miles from her real life. Only her real life hadn’t gone away, had it?

In the past twenty-four hours she’d come back down to earth and she was still bruised from the rough landing. ‘I need to do something about finding a job.’

‘Howard Kennington will be at the Sapphire ceremony tonight. You’re going to meet him along with Alicia. There’s a project they want to discuss with you.’

For a moment their problems receded into the background. Her head spun and excitement sparked inside her. ‘The Howard Kennington? The producer?’

‘That’s the one.

‘But … how do you know the two of them will meet me?’

‘I’ve already set it up.’ Nathaniel was polite and formal and Katie felt as though her heart was being twisted in different directions. He was offering her a dream with one hand, while snatching back an entirely different dream with the other.

‘Thank you,’ she said quietly, ‘for doing that for me.’

‘I already sent your preliminary drawings and your costume plot. He’s impressed and so is Alicia. The rest is up to you.’ Nathaniel glanced at his watch, all brisk efficiency. ‘You need to start getting ready for tonight.’

She hadn’t even taken a sip of her coffee. ‘Already?’

‘This is the Sapphires.’ He gave a sardonic smile. ‘Most of the actresses started preparing at least two months ago.’

‘You’re kidding …’ Awash with insecurities, she put her cup down on the table. ‘Suddenly I’m not so excited about going—how do you fancy an evening in front of the TV?’ Her feeble joke drew a flicker of a smile from him.

‘Think of it this way—you’re already at an advantage because you don’t need Botox, plastic surgery, teeth-whitening or a month with a personal trainer. You’re going to look fantastic and I predict much teeth gnashing among the glitterati.’

Panic set in. ‘Nathaniel, I can’t go to the Sapphires. For a start I don’t have a dress.’

‘Yes, you do. Follow me, Cinderella.’ He walked across the terrace towards the house.

‘I can’t wear something you’ve chosen. There are loads of fabrics and colours I just don’t look good in. And turquoise is fine for the beach, but it won’t do for the Sapphires.’ Wishing they were back on Wolfe Island where it was just the two of them, she followed him into the house. The vast windows threw sunshine and light over the polished wooden floors and elegant white furniture.

Silent and preoccupied, Nathaniel led her up the winding staircase to the master bedroom with its Brazilian wood balcony and views across the Santa Monica Mountains. But the last thing on her mind was the view.

Aware of the tension in him, Katie tried again to reach out to him. ‘Nathaniel … about the press yesterday—’

‘I have two well-known American designers waiting to talk to you if you don’t like the dress.’ Without giving her the chance to turn the conversation into something more personal, he gestured towards the dressing room that was about the same size as her apartment in London.

Walking into a room that dazzled with glass and mirrors, Katie blinked in shock. Hanging from a rail was the dress she’d designed. Her dress. It was taken straight from the drawing he’d admired that night in her flat, even down to the sequins hand stitched to the gold silk. ‘Oh.’ She swallowed. ‘Nathaniel. How did you—? When did you—?’

‘I found another drawing of it in your pad and sent it to a designer friend of mine. He’s had a team of seamstresses working on it non-stop.’

‘It’s perfect. It’s—’ An incredible gesture. And she had no idea what to read into it. She’d never felt more confused in her life.

Nathaniel was watching her with an expression that she couldn’t fathom. ‘You approve?’

‘How could I not?’ Katie stepped forward, touching the fabric as she always did with any garment. ‘It’s exactly as I imagined it. Except that I didn’t imagine I’d be wearing it myself.’ Really touched, she flung her arms round his neck and hugged him. ‘Thanks. That was incredibly thoughtful.’

It was like hugging a stone pillar—a one-way experience. There was no response. Nothing.

Nathaniel gently disengaged himself. ‘I bought you something else ….’ His tone casual, he removed a box from his pocket and flipped it open. A beautiful diamond necklace winked at her from a bed of seductive black velvet.

‘Oh—’ Katie’s heart stopped and suddenly she couldn’t breathe. ‘That’s beautiful ….’

And it was a breathtakingly extravagant gift. No one had ever given her anything that generous before. She stared at it, stunned.

‘Pleased?’

‘Of course.’ And she was. It was crazy to think that what she really would have preferred was a hug. Or a kiss. Something intimate.

But Nathaniel made sure there was no opportunity for intimacy as he wheeled in a team of hairdressers, make-up artists and a top stylist.

By the middle of the afternoon, Katie had been primped and pampered and was feeling more and more nervous about the evening ahead. Why had she and Claire ever thought it would be fun going to the Sapphires? She was going to walk down that famous red carpet with some of the most beautiful women in the world on the arm of the sexiest man in the world. It didn’t take a genius to predict what everyone would be thinking. Why her? It would be like letting a mongrel loose in a dog show, she thought gloomily. There was no way she’d ever win Best of Breed.

When she finally stepped into the dress, the stylist stood back and stared.

‘You look totally awesome.’

Unconvinced, Katie turned to look in the mirror. And saw a stranger. They’d swept her hair up and the skilled use of make-up made her skin look flawless and her eyes huge.

‘The dress is stunning.’ The stylist sighed. ‘Who is the designer?’

‘Me.’ Katie stared at her reflection, trying to see herself through the layers of sophistication. ‘I’m the designer.’

‘Wow. Well, by the end of the evening everyone will know who you are, that’s for sure. I bet you’re nervous. Every woman in the world is going to be watching that ceremony tonight and hating you for being with Nathaniel. Not to mention that several of the actresses attending tonight would have given just about anything to be in your position. He’s a superstar.’

Nathaniel Wolfe, superstar.

Suddenly Katie wished they were back in Rio, helping the kids with their drama class. There, Nathaniel had been himself. She’d started to get to know him, although there were huge parts of himself he still kept hidden.

Like why he wanted to win a Sapphire so badly.

She had a feeling it was more than personal pride.

Great actors went through their whole careers without winning, didn’t they? Of course it would be a wonderful accolade, but was it really a matter of life or death?

She wondered if he’d talk about it on the way to the ceremony, but from the moment he strode into the room, she knew there was no hope of that.

There was no sign of the real Nathaniel. This was Alpha Man in person, impeccably dressed in a black tuxedo with a black satin bow tie at his throat. He exuded the raw, masculine glamour of the Hollywood leading man and Katie felt the gulf between them widen. It was like waking up from a wonderful dream and not being able to hold on to the images. She could feel him slipping away from her.

‘Nathaniel …’ Desperate to break through those barriers, she tried to talk to him but he was distant and unapproachable. She was no closer to him than those audiences watching him up on the big screen.

His fingers were cool as he fastened the diamonds around her neck. ‘You look beautiful.’ It was as if he was analysing her quality as another accessory to be fed into the whole Sapphire machinery.

‘Nathaniel—’

‘This evening must feel daunting.’ Stepping back, he scanned her with those sexy, slanting eyes. ‘You have no reason to be nervous. You will outshine everyone.’

‘I love the necklace and I love the dress.’ She wanted to tell him that it wasn’t how she looked that worried her, it was how she felt. How he felt. The Nathaniel she’d fallen in love with had somehow slipped away when they’d landed in Los Angeles. ‘You must be feeling really nervous. I know tonight means a lot to you.’

‘It’s work. The Academy Awards are an important night in the calendar.’ He was all movie star. Remote. Untouchable.

Katie caught his arm in a tight grip, trying to reach the man.

‘Please tell me what’s wrong. Is it just because you want to win so badly?’

‘Of course I want to win.’ His eyes burned brilliant blue. ‘Winner takes all.’

Katie let her hand drop, wondering why she didn’t believe him. ‘So it’s just your competitive nature.’

‘We don’t have time for a full-on Katie analysis session.’ He held out his arm. ‘The limo is waiting, as are the photographers. You might want to practise your smile.’

Katie hesitated and then took his arm and walked with him to the door. She’d been naïve, hadn’t she? She’d congratulated herself on breaking down those barriers. She’d thought the man she’d spent the past two weeks with, the real Nathaniel Wolfe, was here to stay. She’d truly believed she had exclusive access, which showed how stupid she was.

It didn’t matter what they’d shared. It didn’t matter what had happened before.

Nathaniel Wolfe was gone.

It was a slow drive. The streets were closed off and people herded together and crushed against barriers, hoping to catch a glimpse of the stars. And then Katie found herself standing on the legendary red carpet, blinking in the blaze of the Californian sunshine. She touched the diamonds at her throat, listened to the screams and felt like a total impostor. It was controlled chaos, the sheer volume of people daunting, and she hoped that she didn’t lose Nathaniel. She’d never find him again in this crowd.

A woman approached them, smiling and obsequious. ‘Mr Wolfe, I’ll walk you through. The cameras are waiting.’

Of course the cameras were waiting. The cameras were always waiting for Nathaniel Wolfe.

They headed along the red carpet and Katie spotted a sea of famous faces, but none as famous as Nathaniel, who engendered something close to hysteria in the watching crowds. They held banners and huge, blown-up photographs and yelled his name.

Calm and relaxed, he smiled and strolled as if he were walking on the beach, occasionally stopping to chat to someone or shake a hand. He was the megastar, the man everyone wanted to be or be with. Pushed into the reality of his world, Katie realised how hopeless it was. How had she ever thought, even for a moment, that this could work? Yes, she’d spent time with the real man, but he was also a movie star and that was never going to change.

There would always be cameras and screaming women. Beautiful women. Drowning in a wash of despair, she walked through the metal detectors, trying not to tread on the glamorous dresses and embarrass herself.

And then she was being urged forward towards the banks of photographers and press desperate to interview the stars.

Katie wanted to shrink into the background but shrinking meant losing Nathaniel and his was the only face she knew so she stood and distracted herself by examining all the dresses and mentally altering the cut, the colour or the fit.

If her career as a costume designer hit the rocks, maybe she could become a stylist, she mused. She was good at dressing other people.

After endless photographs a voice announced that the awards ceremony would be starting in five minutes and Nathaniel guided her into their seats at the front of the auditorium.

Front row, she thought dizzily. She was in the front row.

As the Awards progressed, she felt Nathaniel’s tension increase. The suspense was agonising and Katie sat there, heart pounding, unable to enjoy the evening because she was so desperate to get to the part that mattered for Nathaniel. She wanted him to win because she knew how badly he wanted it.

Even when she saw the words Best Performance

by an Actor in a Starring Role flash onto the giant screen, it still wasn’t over. Five beautiful actresses stood onstage to talk about each of the nominees and Katie held her breath thinking that if they didn’t get on with it soon she was going to leap onstage and rip open the envelope herself. She ground her teeth as the women waxed lyrical about the other nominees, but when it came to Nathaniel’s turn for acclaim, she found herself listening intently. As the beautiful actress, his co-star, started praising his raw talent, his intuition and his skill on both sides of the camera, Katie realised with a flash of guilt that she always tried to ignore that side of him. She tried to forget that he was a great actor because thinking of him like that simply intimidated her. But he was world-class. And clearly he had the respect of his peers.

Knowing that the cameras would be focused on him, Katie kept a fixed smile on her face, while the same thought revolved in her head, Please let him win, please let him win.

Finally the talking stopped.

The glamorous woman who had won Best Actress the previous year walked onto the stage.

Tense as a bow, Katie listened as the names of the nominees were read out again and then the actress finally opened the envelope. Her mouth curved into a smile as she looked up at the audience.

‘And the Sapphire goes to Nathaniel Wolfe for Alpha Man.’

The applause exploded across the auditorium like a clap of thunder. Katie felt her vision blur and she turned to congratulate him, expecting to see him smiling. Instead he sat still, staring straight ahead.

‘Nathaniel?’ she choked out his name. ‘You won. You did it.’ She gave him a little push and he turned to look at her, his eyes blank. ‘Congratulations. They’re waiting for you onstage. You have to go and get it!’

As he rose slowly to his feet, so did the audience. One by one, they stood, saluting him in an unprecedented show of support. There wasn’t a person in the room who, by now, didn’t know the sad story of his childhood. There wasn’t a woman in the room who wasn’t thinking about his mother as Nathaniel walked slowly towards the stage. The noise was deafening and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that it was a popular choice. Nathaniel could barely make it down the aisle for people hugging him, kissing him and shaking his hand. And Katie watched, pride lodged in her throat, tears stinging her eyes.

Eventually he extracted himself from the clinging hands and walked onto the stage to receive his Sapphire from Hollywood’s hottest female star.

The applause was tumultuous, and in the midst of her happiness Katie felt a wash of despair.

For a while he’d been hers. Not Nathaniel Wolfe, Sapphire winner, but Nathaniel Wolfe the man. For a while they’d laughed, swum in the sea and made love. He’d shared his thoughts with her. He’d told her about his family. She knew that underneath those famous blue eyes was a caring, strong decent man who guarded his emotions.

But now …

Watching him lift the icicle shaped Sapphire trophy high in the air as a gesture of triumph, she felt her eyes sting.

He’d been a little boy trying to escape from the nightmare of the real world. And that little boy had fought his way to the top in the toughest business of all.

The achievement was outstanding.

When the applause died and the audience finally seated themselves, Nathaniel gave his trademark sexy smile, back in control. ‘This is the part where I’m supposed to cry, isn’t it?’

Laughter rippled across the auditorium and Nathaniel spread his hands in mocking apology. ‘Sorry to disappoint,’ he drawled, ‘but I’ve always had a problem with the crying part. Unless I’m being paid, of course. Thank you for this amazing honour ….’ He spoke fluently and with grace, thanking his co-star and all the people involved in the making of the film.

Then he paused and looked at the glittering trophy in his hand. Silence fell, as if everyone sensed that the obligatory thanks were over and that he was about to say something meaningful.

‘I dedicate this Sapphire to my mother, Carrie.’ His voice didn’t waver and he spoke directly into the camera that was circling the front of the stage. ‘Carrie, you are a beautiful, special woman and you always told me that one day your son Nathaniel was going to win a Sapphire. Well, you were right. I won. This is mine.’ He held it high, a strange smile playing around his mouth. ‘Maybe when you look at this on your mantelpiece, you’ll think of me.’

Katie heard a quiet sob come from a woman in the row behind her. A man cleared his throat.

To the rest of the world it sounded like a simple dedication, but Katie understood the true message behind those words. Finally she understood what Nathaniel was trying to do.

He was hoping that seeing him holding the Sapphire would trigger something in his mother’s brain. He was hoping it was going to be enough to make her remember that he was her son.

Tears poured down her cheeks and she brushed them away quickly, realising that the cameras might be on her.

Nathaniel left the stage to even louder applause and Katie gave him a wobbly smile as he sat down next to her, expecting to see pride in his eyes. Instead his face had a greyish tinge and those famous blue eyes were empty.

‘That was beautiful.’ She covered his hand with hers. ‘Will she be watching?’

‘Yes. It’s ridiculously late in England but she insists on watching the Sapphire ceremony every year. She even dresses up for it.’

A confused, lonely woman getting ready to watch the world-famous ceremony on a television.

Katie blinked rapidly. ‘Well, you’ve made her night.’

He didn’t respond and suddenly she wished they could just go home right now so that she could try and get him to talk to her. Instead they sat through the rest of the ceremony and then moved on to the Sapphire Ball.

Sparkling chandeliers sent a cascade of light over the decorated tables, the room a mixture of contemporary elegance and glamour. Nathaniel was immediately surrounded by people wanting to soak up his success and Katie found herself pushed back to the fringe of the group.

Wondering how anyone could feel invisible and conspicuous at the same time, she hovered. The falseness of the situation made her uncomfortable and she realised that this was why Nathaniel chose to hide himself. You couldn’t be real here, could you? These people didn’t want real—they wanted the dream.

She was wondering whether to pay an extended visit to the bathroom, when a man with a friendly smile approached.

‘You must be Katie.’ He extended his hand. ‘Howard Kennington.’

Still worrying about Nathaniel, it took Katie a moment to register that she was in the presence of movie royalty. ‘Oh …’ She felt tense and awkward. ‘Nathaniel said that he’d sent you my drawings, but—’

‘They’re awesome. As is that dress you’re wearing. Even Alicia is impressed and she’s one hard nut to crack.’ He drew her to one side and questioned her about her ideas and soon Katie was deep in conversation, talking non-stop as she spilled out a lifetime of dreams.

‘Sorry.’ Eventually she ground to a halt. ‘I’ve gone on and on—’

‘It’s been most illuminating. You don’t hide much, do you?’

‘Nothing.’ Katie turned scarlet. ‘But I’m trying to change.’

‘Don’t. It makes you unique and it’s hard to find anything unique in Tinseltown. You have real talent. As does Nathaniel.’

The famous producer smiled and they talked for another twenty minutes and when he gave her his card and invited her to meet both him and Alicia the following week, Katie felt her spirits soar. Howard

Kennington liked her work. It was more than a dream. It was a fantasy. Never in a million years had she ever thought she’d have this sort of luck. It was all she could do not to squeal with joy.

If she could prove herself, she could be working as a costume designer on movies.

Virtually dancing across the floor, she went in search of Nathaniel, wanting to thank him and share her excitement.

She found him alone in a room used for press interviews.

He was sprawled on the red sofa, eyes closed. His bow tie dangled loose around his neck and his jacket was slung carelessly over the arm of a nearby chair. The coveted Sapphire lay at his feet on the floor.

‘You look completely wrecked.’ Deciding that this wasn’t the time to tell him her good news, Katie walked over to him. ‘Do you want to go home?’

‘Are you kidding? The party is just getting started.’ His eyes opened and she saw instantly that he was well on his way to being drunk. ‘I won a Sapphire.’

‘I know—’

‘And with any luck, my mother might finally figure out who I am.’ Decades of hurt shimmered in those words and Katie felt her heart break in two as she saw his mouth curve into the familiar mocking smile.

‘Nathaniel—’

‘Don’t look at me with those big, sympathetic eyes. Life sucks, angel.’ His eyes shone hard and cynical. ‘You should know that by now. But you’re still hoping, aren’t you? You’re still dreamy enough to be looking out for that happy ending.’

‘I think sometimes you have to work on the happy ending.’ She eyed the bottle of champagne that lay empty on the floor next to him.

Ever since his plane had touched down in LA, he’d been under the most enormous pressure. And then the emotional turmoil of winning the Sapphire …

‘Your speech was—’ she took a deep breath ‘—it was beautiful, Nathaniel. And I know how tough this whole thing must be for you.’ Katie sat down next to him. ‘Do you want to talk?’

‘No. Absolutely not.’ His eyes glittering like jewels, he slid his hand behind her head and pulled her mouth down to his. ‘There are lots of things I want to do tonight, but talking is definitely not one of them.’

Katie tried to ignore the flash of sexual excitement. No, she thought desperately. Physically he was pulling her close, but emotionally he was pushing her away.

‘Nathaniel—’ she dragged her mouth from his ‘—you can’t just run from this.’

‘Do I look as though I’m running?’ With a smooth, practised movement he shifted her under him and gave her a wicked smile. ‘I’m lying. With you.’

‘Yes, you’re lying.’ Desperate, she pushed at his chest, trying to ignore the way his body felt against hers. ‘You’re lying to yourself. You can’t just pretend nothing is happening ….’

‘Nothing is happening—’ he trailed his lips down her neck ‘—but it will in a minute. I’d better lock the door—I think this calls for a closed set….’

‘No—’ The chemistry threatened to suck her down. ‘No! This is crazy.’

‘Sex with you is always crazy.’ His mouth was warm and skilled and Katie turned her head away, trying desperately to ignore the pulsing excitement building inside her.

‘You’re doing what you always do in a crisis—you’re acting.’

Slowly, he lifted his head. ‘You think I’m acting?’

‘Not the sex …’ Her voice was husky. ‘I think the sex is real. But it’s the only thing that is. You can’t keep running, Nathaniel—’

He said a word that shocked her and then he sprang to his feet and paced to the far side of the room. ‘Why not?’

‘Because it doesn’t solve anything.’ It would have been so easy to let the heat take her. Take the easy

route, her body sang, tempting her. Put your arms round him and do what you’re aching to do.

Nathaniel was staring at her, his eyes a dark, dangerous blue. ‘I’ve had enough talking.’

‘Have you returned Jacob’s calls?’

‘What business is it of yours?’

Katie flinched. ‘None.’ Anger mingled with the frustration. ‘None at all. I can see that now.’

‘Don’t sulk.’ He strolled towards her, his mouth flickering into that familiar slanting smile that made her dizzy. ‘Tonight we’re going to party.’

Her heart thudded, a slow unfamiliar beat in her chest. The anger glowed and burned. ‘You can party. If how you feel is none of my business, then there’s nothing more to be said.’

Bold dark brows met in a frown. ‘Katie—’

‘No.’ She held up her hand. ‘I don’t want a relationship that’s just about parties and glitter. I want a proper relationship, and if that means dealing with hard stuff, that’s OK. I’m used to dealing with hard stuff. What I can’t deal with is secrets. My dad had a whole secret life going on and I don’t want to live like that. I won’t live like that.’ Outside the room she could hear laughter and cheers, but inside the room there was silence as Katie was forced to accept that he didn’t actually care how she was feeling.

Nathaniel inhaled deeply. ‘Katie Field …’ A strange smile played around his mouth. ‘Are you dumping me?’

‘No. You’re the one dumping me.’ The anger burning red-hot, she stooped and picked up her bag. ‘Face it, Nathaniel, you don’t want a relationship. A relationship is about sharing—sharing the highs and the lows. And not just yours—everything isn’t about you.’ She swallowed. ‘I came in here to tell you my news … I was excited—’

‘You have something to celebrate?’ He reached for another bottle of champagne and Katie felt her frustration boil over.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’

‘I don’t think so. In fact, I don’t think I’ve had anywhere near enough.’ He lifted the bottle and popped the cork. Foam spilled over his hand and dripped onto the floor.

Katie had never felt less like celebrating in her life. She felt cold. Terribly cold.

‘You need to speak to Jacob,’ she said. ‘He’s trying to make amends. That’s obvious from the fact he keeps contacting you. You need to stop running. Be brave.’

‘Brave?’ His laugh was mocking. ‘I’m Alpha Man and I have the Sapphire to prove it.’

Sadness spread like dark clouds, blotting out the final rays of happiness. ‘That Sapphire just proves you’re a brilliant actor. But I’ve always known that.

You’ve been the actor, Nathaniel. Now you need to be the man.’

‘You want me to prove I’m a man?’

‘No.’ Ignoring his slow, suggestive smile, Katie straightened her shoulders and held his gaze. ‘Everyone thinks you’re exactly like your character in Alpha Man, but you’re not because he wasn’t afraid to face his fears. You run from yours.’ The dangerous glitter in his eyes made her wonder whether she should turn and run herself. Fast. ‘I’m not talking about the physical stuff—you do all that easily because you’re not afraid to take physical risks. I’m talking about the emotional stuff. That makes you feel vulnerable and you won’t allow yourself to be vulnerable. You won’t allow yourself to take emotional risks. Have you ever asked yourself why you take back-to-back roles with no break in between? It’s because you don’t want to leave a single chink in your schedule where you might actually have to be yourself. You don’t even know who you really are because you’ve been hiding and running for so long. You won’t go home because it reminds you of your past.’ She discovered that her hands and knees were shaking. ‘You avoid your family ….’

His face lost its colour. ‘My relationship with my family is none of your business.’

‘You seem to think you’re the only person in the world with a messy, difficult family, but you’re not! Mine isn’t exactly a picnic. We have our fair share of skeletons. I don’t care. But I wanted to help you. I still want that. I love you …’ She said the words without shame or hesitation. ‘And I know that terrifies you but it’s the truth. And when I think about what you lived through as a child it makes me boiling mad, Nathaniel, but what makes me even madder is that you’re not prepared to face it and deal with it.’

A cynical gleam lit his eyes. ‘And I thought you were such a sweet, sunny little thing. Clearly I had you all wrong.’

‘Do you want to know what makes me most angry?’

‘No—’ he was icily polite ‘—but I’m sure you’re about to tell me.’

‘What makes me most angry is that you’re prepared to destroy what we have because you’re too cowardly to take a risk with your feelings. I know they hurt you, Nathaniel. Your father, Jacob—they all abandoned you. But are you really going to let the past dictate the way you live your life in the future? Before you can go forward, you have to go back. You have to talk to Jacob. You have to accept what happened and live with it, not just keep switching your phone off. You have to be who you really are.’

There was a long, pulsing silence. He watched her, his face inscrutable. ‘Are you finished?’

Katie felt her heart crack in two. Hope drained away. The future, which a few hours earlier had seemed so bright, now seemed dark and empty. What they had was special. She knew that. Why wouldn’t he fight for it? Why was he just giving up? Caught in a whirl of despair, misery and exasperation, she allowed herself a final long indulgent look at his face. Memories, she thought. That was all she was going to be left with. Desperately she imprinted images in her brain—the brilliant blue eyes, their astonishing colour intensified by the jet of his eyelashes and bold brows; the straight line of his nose and the slow curve of his sensual mouth. But the image that was going to stay with her for ever wasn’t the movie star collecting his Sapphire, it was the man teaching disadvantaged children how to act. The man delving deep inside himself to help a vulnerable child.

Dredging up willpower she hadn’t known she possessed, Katie lifted her chin. ‘Yes—’ her voice was shaky and sad ‘—I’m finished. And so are we.’

Feeling as though someone had gouged out her insides with a blunt instrument, she turned and stumbled through the door. Her vision swam and she narrowly avoided crashing into a group of people who were laughing together.

Blind, she kept ploughing forward until she ran smack into one of Nathaniel’s security team.

‘I’m not feeling well,’ she choked. ‘Mr Wolfe would like you to take me back to the apartment and then to the airport.’

She still had a credit card, didn’t she? The fact that she’d never be able to pay it off was irrelevant. She’d book herself on the first flight into Heathrow and go home. She wasn’t naïve enough to think that the Howard Kenningtons of this world would be interested in her if she wasn’t with Nathaniel. It was all about who you know, wasn’t it? Contacts.

Katie hurried down the steps. Like Cinderella, she thought, running from the ball. Except that she hadn’t lost a shoe.

Both shoes were on her feet, but her heart was in pieces.

CHAPTER NINE

BEFORE you can go forward, you have to go back.

In a dangerous mood, Nathaniel floored the accelerator of his Ferrari and shot down the long drive that led to Wolfe Manor.

He’d swum with sharks, leaped from moving vehicles, skydived and climbed vertical cliffs but none of those activities had left him shaking the way he was shaking now. Fear, he thought. It lodged itself in his chest and gripped him by the throat.

What if, by going back, he was unable to move forward?

Centuries before, his ancestors had carefully planted an avenue of horse chestnut trees and they added an air of grandeur which was abruptly shattered as the main house came into view.

In a state of crumbling disrepair, Wolfe Manor stood like an ancient aristocrat struggling to maintain dignity in the face of advancing years and little maintenance.

Nathaniel killed the engine and sat for a moment, his fingers drumming a rhythm on the steering wheel.

What was he doing here? How did torturing himself with the past help solve the issues in his present?

Swearing under his breath, he sprang from the car and prowled through the tangled, long-neglected gardens. After the warmth of California, the bite of a British winter was particularly brutal and he turned up the collar of his jacket and blew clouds in the freezing air.

Afterwards, he realised that it had always been his intention to walk to the lake—to confront that part of his past—but now, as his feet moved, he felt as if he were being drawn there against his will.

He kicked his way through grass that was untended and overgrown. It brushed against his knees and wrapped itself around his ankles, impeding every step, as if warning him about the danger.

And then there it was.

Bulrushes clustered at the edge of the water, tall and straight as sentries as they guarded the dark, sinister pool that had dominated his childhood. It had begun here, he thought, and it had almost ended here, in the depths of the lake.

‘You sank like a stone.’

His mind still trapped in another place, Nathaniel turned sharply to find Jacob watching him. Apart from that brief glimpse at the theatre, it had been almost twenty years since they’d laid eyes on each other and both had spent that time running. Isolating themselves from their past.

Nathaniel felt the anger rush down on him, vivid and scorching hot. The full force of twenty years of simmering resentment and pain powered the fist he slammed into Jacob’s jaw. Pain exploded through his hand and Jacob staggered. But he didn’t retaliate.

Nathaniel was shocked by how badly he wanted him to. As if a good earthy physical pounding might right all the wrongs.

Deep down he felt sick with himself because he knew the person he wanted to lay out cold had been dead for twenty years.

He stepped back. Let his hands fall. ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

Jacob touched his fingers to his jaw, checking for damage. ‘I thought it was time.’

‘Why? Because we’ve all grown up?’ Nathaniel heard the bitterness in his tone. ‘We did it without you.’

There was a long silence, broken only by the ghostly howl of the bitter wind. ‘Don’t you ever pick up your phone?’

‘Only when the caller is someone I want to speak to.’

‘You have every right to be angry. I’m sorry about what happened at the theatre. I should have warned you I was coming.’

‘Why did you come?’

‘I wanted to see you.’

‘Well, now you’ve seen me so you can leave.’ His emotions in turmoil, Nathaniel turned to walk away but Jacob caught his arm.

‘I’m not leaving. I’m here to stay.’

Nathaniel stood still, staring down at the hand that held his arm. Those hands had hauled him out of the lake and saved his life. Those hands had been responsible for the death of his father. Katie’s words rang in his head. He’s trying to make amends—you need to stop running.

Nathaniel scanned the rigid, forbidding lines of his half-brother’s face and saw the same shadows that darkened his own life. And more. He saw pain and self-recrimination. Guilt and self-loathing. ‘You look wrecked.’

‘Thanks.’ Jacob’s laugh was devoid of humour. ‘You look pretty rough yourself for a guy who’s supposed to be the sexiest man on earth. Makes me wonder what the others look like.’

Despite the anger, Nathaniel’s mouth curved into a reluctant smile. ‘Ugly.’

‘Too much post-Sapphire partying?’

Nathaniel didn’t mention the fact that he’d skipped all the Sapphire parties to go after Katie. By the time he’d extracted himself from the hundreds of well-wishers and press, he’d arrived home to find the villa empty. She’d gone. Without telling him her news.

The emptiness in the pit of his stomach was something he’d never experienced before. This is what he did, wasn’t it? He lived his life alone. He kept people at a distance.

If you don’t care, you don’t have anything to lose.

Jacob took a few steps forward, his eyes on the lake. ‘What brought you back here?’

‘Honestly? A woman accused me of being a coward so I thought I’d better just test the theory.’ He blew clouds in the freezing air and Jacob gave a wry smile.

‘You used to do that all the time when you were a kid. You pretended to be a dragon breathing fire. You were always entertaining us, pretending to be something. For you, it was a way out.’

‘We did what we had to. You took up rugby to hide the bruises.’

Jacob’s eyes were shadowed. ‘Have you found a way to balance the make-believe with reality?’

Reality? Reality was what he’d shared with Katie.

And he’d walked away from it. Nathaniel stared at the glassy surface of the lake. No monsters, he thought. No ghosts. Just a dank, dark pool of water. ‘I gave Carrie my Sapphire.’

‘I heard your speech. Did she make the connection?’

Nathaniel was silent for a moment. ‘I think she did. For a short time anyway. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking on my part.’

Jacob hesitated and then closed a hand over his shoulder. ‘It was so hard for you and Sebastian.’

‘Harder for Sebastian—she didn’t even acknowledge his existence.’

‘Whatever William may have told you, your mother loved you. When she took you into the water that night, she believed she was protecting you from our father. She was ill ….’

Nathaniel stood rigid and unresponsive. It was the first time a member of his family had touched him since the night Jacob had walked out years before.

‘Why didn’t you hit me back?’

‘Just now?’ Jacob gave a crooked smile. ‘Because I deserved it. Don’t worry, I’m only allowing you the one. I thought you were going to leap off stage and punch me that night at the theatre.’

‘I couldn’t believe it when I saw you in the front row.’

‘I wanted to see you. I should have let you know I was coming, but I suppose I was afraid you wouldn’t want to see me. I was cowardly.’

‘Seems we’ve all been guilty of that.’

‘I left you all—’ Jacob’s voice was raw ‘—and you were just children. I don’t blame you for hating me.’

Twenty years of pain and resentment melted away. Emotions left over from childhood suddenly seemed irrelevant. ‘I don’t hate you. You were hardly more than a child yourself.’ It was what Katie had said, and suddenly Nathaniel knew it was true. He stood, thinking about how it must have been for Jacob. Just eighteen, with the death of his father on his conscience and no one to turn to, his only human contact a ragged bunch of out-of-control children. Damaged, all of them.

Nathaniel stared across the water, allowing his mind to drift back to that time. Katie was right. Those memories were part of the past. They had no place in the present.

‘I was selfish.’ The words came from deep inside him. ‘I only thought about what it did to the family when you left. I only thought about us. Annabelle was distraught and watching her suffer made me feel as powerless as that night I watched William beat her. I didn’t think about what it must have been like for you, living with what happened. We had you, but you had no one.’

‘I shouldn’t have left but at the time I couldn’t see another way. I let you down.’

There was a tense moment and then they were embracing, holding each other tightly, the bonds of blood flowing from one to the other.

‘When I saw you in the front row of the theatre that night, I had to warn Annabelle that you were back,’ Nathaniel confessed in a raw tone. ‘She was devastated when you left.’ They eased apart, both of them awkward.

Clearing his throat, Jacob turned to look at Wolfe Manor. ‘Did you know they’ve served me with a Dangerous Structure Notice for this place? Apparently I have to take urgent action to remove the danger, remedy the defects and carry out works to make the building and structure safe.’ His laugh was edged with cynicism. ‘It’s hard to know where to begin. The roof is leaking, the brickwork is crumbling … We’ve had numerous break-ins. According to the police, local kids dare one another to sneak into the house.’

‘The place was boarded up after we all left.’ Nathaniel stared at the crumbling, forbidding house that had been the backdrop for the dark drama of his childhood. ‘It feels strange, being back. It’s been so long since I allowed myself to think of the place. I pretended it didn’t exist. My whole childhood ceased to exist.’

‘After I left, who stepped in?’

‘Lucas.’ Nathaniel kicked a stone into the water. ‘Can you believe that? Naturally it wasn’t a role he volunteered for. Lucas’s idea of passing on fatherly advice was to teach us everything we ever needed to know about sex, how to avoid discipline and how to get drunk and still walk in a straight line. And—’ he glanced at Jacob’s jaw ‘—how to fight.’

‘He taught you well.’ With a rueful smile, Jacob ran a hand over his face. ‘Although Lucas isn’t the best role model for impressionable children. He slept with at least half of the girls in the school.’

‘And a few of the teachers.’

Laughing, Jacob shook his head in despair. ‘Do you see him?’

‘Occasionally. He turned up late and drunk to one of my film premieres.’ Nathaniel grinned at the memory. ‘Staggered down the red carpet with some gorgeous blonde on his arm, winking at the paparazzi. I seem to remember the headlines were something like Bad, Bad, Bad Brothers …’

‘Sounds like Lucas.’

‘I bumped into him at Annabelle’s Christmas party a few years ago. The one thing Lucas is good at is partying.’

‘But none of you came back here?’

‘Call me fussy,’ Nathaniel drawled, ‘but this place is lacking in party atmosphere.’

‘It’s full of memories.’

‘Most of them bad ones.’

‘Some. Perhaps it’s time to make new ones. Remodel the place. Let in some light.’

‘From what I’ve heard, you’re the man to do that.’

Nathaniel slid his hands into his pockets. ‘I looked you up once. And Rafael mentioned that you’ve built a successful design business. You’ve done well.’

‘And you. I haven’t congratulated you on your Sapphire. I saw the film. You were incredible.’

For a moment Nathaniel thought about confessing how empty it all felt, how meaningless, but his tongue wouldn’t form the words. What had Katie said? Playing someone else is so easy for you, Nathaniel—it’s being yourself that you find impossible.

‘Have you been inside the house?’

‘Yes.’ Jacob glanced at him. ‘Do you want to take a look?’

They walked, and Nathaniel was surprised by how easy it was to be with his brother. Easier than being in the house.

Pushing open that heavy oak door, he shivered. So many ghosts, he thought. So many secrets.

‘He’s gone.’ Jacob’s voice was flat. ‘William is gone. I was wrong to let the family drift apart, but I’m going to do something about that. Things are going to change, Nathaniel.’

‘Maybe it’s time for change.’

They paused at the foot of the grand staircase, now less than grand, each reliving private memories.

‘You used to slide down this banister.’ Jacob’s mouth twitched as he ran his fingers over the cracked, neglected wood. ‘It drove William nuts.’

‘That’s why I did it. Why did you leave when you did?’

‘Guilt.’

‘You saved Annabelle. Without you …’ Nathaniel breathed deeply. ‘Do you know how many times I blamed myself for not saving her?’

‘You were nine years old. What could you have possibly done to protect her against a man like William?’

‘Nothing.’ Saying the word released something inside him. ‘You stopped it. You were a hero.’

‘Hero?’ Jacob’s mouth twisted. ‘I don’t think so. Annabelle was scarred for life. I should have prevented it happening in the first place.’

Nathaniel thought about William. ‘He was unstoppable. You did what you had to do.’

‘And I’ve lived with that every day of my life. The first time William hit me, I was six years old.’ Jacob stared at a faded painting on the wall. ‘He was drinking. I found him with a bottle of whisky in his hand. I didn’t know what whisky was. I just knew it was a drink that made him angry, so I grabbed it out of his hand and poured it away. I thought that was it. I thought after that everything would be fine. I kept telling myself that. When you’re a child you believe what you want to believe. And after he died—’ The words hung in the air, the rest of the sentence unsaid. ‘You say you blamed yourself for that night—there’s nothing you can teach me about blame.’

Nathaniel realised just how much his brother was carrying. ‘We weren’t your responsibility.’

‘Yes, you were. And I let you down. If I hadn’t left, all of you might not be scattered around the world.’

‘If you hadn’t left, we might not be so successful,’ Nathaniel drawled. ‘Did you know Alex was the youngest driver to win the British Grand Prix at Silverstone?’

‘I watched it on television while staying in one of Sebastian’s hotels—the Singapore Grande Wolfe, I think.’ Jacob stooped to pick up a broken photo frame that lay abandoned and forgotten on the dirty floor. He stared at the faded, cracked picture. ‘We need to replace this with some of Annabelle’s. Her work is astonishing. She finds beauty in everything. And then there’s you—Sapphire-winning actor. Twenty million dollars for your last movie and a percentage of box office gross. What do you do with all that money?’

Nathaniel thought of the children in Rio and the projects he was exploring back in the U.S. ‘I give it to Jack and he doubles it.’

‘Yes, I gather he has rather a talent for investments.’

‘And poker. Even Lucas refuses to play poker with him.’

‘The tabloids have been full of stories about you and Katie Field. You’re lucky finding someone who loves you like that.’

Feeling cold inside, Nathaniel concentrated on the graffiti sprayed on the wall. ‘She walked out.’

‘And you let her? Because you don’t love her?’

‘Because I do love her.’ Acknowledging that for the first time, Nathaniel rubbed his fingers over his forehead, aware that Jacob was watching him.

‘So you’d rather spend your life with women you don’t care about?’ His tone was heavy with irony. ‘If there’s logic there, I’m missing it.’

‘If you don’t care, you don’t have anything to lose.’

‘But you do care,’ Jacob said quietly, ‘and it’s up to you to make sure you don’t lose. Although I’m guessing it can’t be easy for a woman, being with you.’

‘Because I’m screwed up?’

‘You’re no more screwed up than anyone else. No, I was thinking about the publicity. Cameras in your face wherever you go. Women wanting to marry you and have your babies. On the other hand, maybe she likes all that.’

Nathaniel thought of the brown jumpers. The way she tried to blend into the background. Beautiful, caring Katie. On Wolfe Island, there had been nothing but the two of them. The crazy, insane Hollywood world had been nowhere in sight.

Nathaniel stared at the crumbling walls of Wolfe Manor, at the dust and the cracks. The history. Jacob would restore the house, he thought. Build a future from the rubble. He needed to do the same thing. ‘She hates all that. She thinks I’m a different person in front of the camera.’

‘Is she right?’

‘Yes.’ Nathaniel traced his initials in the dust. ‘I’ve always hidden behind the acting. I didn’t want to be myself. Maybe I was afraid of more rejection. If people reject the character you’re playing it’s not as personal as if they reject the real you.’

‘You should be proud of who you are.’ Jacob’s voice was soft. ‘You’re an incredible actor. I’ve watched your career from the very start. You have a ferocious talent, Nathaniel. But you’re also a good man. I know about all your charity work—about the drama projects for disadvantaged children. Rafael filled me in.’

‘I just wrote cheques,’ Nathaniel said gruffly, ‘until Katie made me roll up my sleeves.’ He thought about the children in Rio. ‘This boy has been emailing me—I think he has real talent. I’m going to pay for him to go to drama school.’ And others—it was a decision he’d made when he accepted his Sapphire. He wanted to give other children the chance he’d had.

‘You’ve played a lot of roles. Now it’s time to play yourself. With Katie. Go.’ Jacob gave him a push. ‘We’ll get together another time. All of us. I’m back now and I’m staying. I have to stop this place from crumbling into the dirt and I intend to do the same for the rest of this family.’

Katie taped the lid of the last box. ‘There.’ She sat back on her heels and wiped her forehead with the sleeve of her jumper. Keep busy. Keep busy. ‘I never knew I’d gathered so much stuff.’

‘I can’t believe you’re packing boxes wearing a priceless necklace.’ Claire put two mugs of tea down on the threadbare carpet.

‘I’m just terrified I’ll lose it.’ Katie touched the diamonds at her throat. ‘I haven’t taken it off since I discovered I was still wearing it on the plane. I’ll be relieved when it’s finally gone.’

‘Now you’re talking rubbish. You’ll be heartbroken when it’s gone because it’s the only thing you have of him.’ Her voice gruff, Claire leaned forward and hugged her friend. ‘You’re so thin. I hate him for doing this to you.’

Terrified by how bad she felt, Katie pulled away. She’d never been in love before and she’d had no idea that it could hurt this much. The grief was huge and physical, a weight on her chest that she couldn’t shift. ‘Don’t you dare cry or you’ll start me off.’

‘Sorry—I just can’t believe you’re going. What am

I going to do without you? You’re my best friend … you tell me what to wear.’ Claire’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’m loving that red jumper, by the way. What happened to all your favourite shades of brown?’

Katie felt her eyes sting. ‘I moved on,’ she said huskily. ‘Now, stop making me sad. You can come and stay. And we can email and text and there’s always Skype and Facebook—’ She broke off as someone hammered on her front door.

Claire looked at her watch. ‘The removal men are early.’

‘Katie?’ Nathaniel’s voice bellowed through the closed door. ‘Open this damn door!’

Claire shot to her feet, tea sloshing onto the carpet. ‘It’s him! What’s he doing here?’

Katie put her tea down carefully. ‘He’s here for his diamonds. I should have texted him to tell him I was planning to return it.’

‘I don’t think men like Nathaniel would bother travelling to another continent just to retrieve lost property.’

‘Well, there isn’t any other reason for him to be here.’ Feeling sick and dizzy, Katie stood and smoothed her jumper. She didn’t want to face him. She just wasn’t sure she could hang on to control. Wishing she’d couriered the necklace back to him, she walked to the door and pulled it open.

Nathaniel stood there dressed in black leather, a motorbike helmet tucked under his arm.

Her knees went weak.

How was she going to cope? How could she forget about him when Nathaniel Wolfe’s insanely handsome face stared back at her from every billboard and every magazine?

‘Hi, I know why you’re here.’ She must have learned something from him, she thought, because it was only acting skills that kept her afloat. ‘You’ve come for your property.’

‘That’s right.’ His voice was smooth and sure and he glanced over her shoulder and saw Claire. ‘Hi, Claire.’

Claire looked as though she might faint. ‘You know my name ….’

Katie put her hands behind her neck and unfastened the necklace. The diamonds seemed to symbolise all the reasons why this would never have worked. ‘Here—’ She held it out to him and he stared at it.

‘Why are you giving me that?’

‘You’ve come for your property.’

‘That’s right. But I don’t want the necklace.’ He studied her with those blue eyes that made women forget how to think straight and walk straight. ‘I want you.’

There was a whimper and a thud behind her, but Katie was too busy keeping her own emotions under control to have any thoughts to spare for her friend. She wasn’t going to fall for it. Yes, it sounded sincere. He was an actor. He earned a living making the unbelievable, believable. ‘Take the necklace …’ She pushed it into his hand. ‘Get on with your life.’ Get out of my house before I make a complete fool of myself….

‘You have every right to be angry with me.’ Without waiting for invitation, Nathaniel walked into the flat and kicked the door shut behind him.

Panic fluttered in her chest. ‘What do you think you’re doing?’

‘You’re always saying that if there’s a problem, it’s better to talk, so we’re going to talk.’

Katie stood, mute, terrified to open her mouth in case this was the moment when she broke down and sobbed.

Nathaniel lifted an eyebrow. ‘I’m giving you permission to talk—to say everything that’s in your head.’

Katie said nothing.

‘I think I’ll just go for a walk.’ Claire’s voice was falsely bright. ‘This is one scene where you definitely don’t need any extras.’ Grabbing her coat, she melted out of the flat, shutting the door firmly behind her.

Nathaniel didn’t shift his gaze from Katie. ‘This isn’t like you.’ When she still didn’t answer, he gave an exasperated sigh. ‘All right, maybe this time I’ll do the talking. I went back to Wolfe Manor. I saw Jacob.’

Katie still said nothing, but her legs felt unsteady and everything inside her was churning.

‘I went to the lake.’ Something flickered in his eyes. ‘I told you that William tried to drown me there—what I didn’t tell you was that Carrie did the same thing when I was a baby. She’d just discovered that my father had produced a child with another woman. She was always emotionally fragile, but that night—well, it tipped her over the edge. Apparently she thought she was saving me.’

This time she found her voice. ‘Nathaniel—’

‘Are those your pictures of me?’ He stared at the pile of magazines that she’d stacked by the door. ‘Are you clearing them out of your life?’

‘Never mind that.’ She felt dizzy. ‘Who saved you that night? When your mother walked into the lake with you?’

‘Jacob and Lucas were home from the school holidays and were camping in the grounds. They waded in and rescued us both. Much to my father’s fury—he beat them both for saving his “mad wife” and her unwanted child. That’s me by the way.’ His mouth twisted. ‘I was the unwanted child. Apparently the only time my father was nice to my mother was when she was pregnant with my brother Sebastian. Unfortunately she made the mistake of thinking that history would repeat itself so she got herself pregnant again. Big mistake.’

Katie wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Did she recognise you when you gave her the Sapphire?’

‘I don’t know.’ His voice was soft. ‘I think so but maybe that’s just wishful thinking.’

‘How is she?’

‘Stable. On buckets of medication, of course, but happy enough in her own world. All we can do for her is protect her as much as we can.’

But it wasn’t the child’s job to protect the parent, was it?

Katie thought about her own childhood. Her father’s hidden life didn’t change the fact that she’d been loved. Really loved. ‘I don’t know how you survived.’

‘I survived by becoming someone else. I acted my way through the most difficult years.’ Nathaniel held her gaze. ‘I was someone else pretty much the whole time until I met you. You’re the first woman who has been interested in the man, not the movie star. The drama project in Rio—I just wanted to give money. I didn’t want to know where it went. I didn’t want to hear their stories. Maybe I was trying to get rid of the guilt I felt about not protecting Annabelle. If I helped some other child …’ He gave a careless shrug. ‘And then you suggested I get involved. And it changed everything.’

‘Nathaniel—’

‘I don’t do “involved.” I don’t get down and dirty with people’s emotions—I’m not good with all that stuff. But those kids were—’ He frowned. ‘I thought I was the one helping them, but it turned out they were the ones helping me. Watching them made me realise that you cannot let yourself be defined by what went before. It’s never too late to build a new life. To do something different. To want something different. And I want something different, Katie. I don’t want to wake up every morning and act my way through the day. I want to live my life, not someone else’s.’ His gaze burned into hers. ‘And I want to live it with you.’

Her heart tried to fly but her brain wouldn’t let it. Don’t be a fool, Katie.

Nathaniel gave a crooked smile. ‘Say something.’

‘You won a Sapphire—’ her voice was a croak ‘—you’re the world’s hottest movie star ….’

‘That’s just my job—’ he took her face in his hands, stroking her cheeks with his thumbs ‘—that’s not who I am. You taught me that. You’re the only person who ever cared enough to look past the performance. The only person who ever wanted to know me. And I want to carry on being me, with you by my side. I love you.’ When she still didn’t speak, his smile faltered. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever said those words outside a film set.’

Still Katie kept the excitement tightly leashed. ‘This is all very sudden—and unexpected ….’ She wasn’t brave enough, was she? She wasn’t brave enough to believe him. ‘When did you decide that you loved me?’

‘When I won a Sapphire and it meant nothing to me.’ His eyes raked her face, searching. ‘I wanted to win it for Carrie, but the moment you walked out that night, I knew I hadn’t won at all. I’d lost.’

‘Nathaniel—’

‘I know you think I’m a coward—’ he lowered his forehead to hers, his voice unsteady ‘—but give me the chance to prove to you that I’m not. I’m a tough guy. Want to feel my muscles?’

The tears came then. They brimmed in her eyes and then slid past her smile. ‘I know you’re not a coward. I just wanted to make it better and you kept pushing me away.’

‘I won’t be doing that again. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.’ Nathaniel swiped the tears away from her cheeks and took her mouth in a brief, desperate kiss. ‘Katie, I really—Please … I’m telling you I love you—say something.’

Terror and hope danced together. ‘I can’t let myself believe you. I don’t know if you’re acting.’

‘You know I’m not acting. I love you and I want to spend the rest of my life living with you in Katie-land. And you can throw out those magazines because you have the real thing.’

She made a sound that was half laugh, half sob. ‘We’re so different ….’

‘Not so different. You hid behind brown clothes. I hid behind my job.’

‘I haven’t worn brown since Wolfe Island.’ She sniffed and mopped her tears on the sleeve of her sweater. ‘You made me feel beautiful.’

‘You are beautiful.’ Sliding his arms around her, he frowned. ‘Have you lost weight?’

‘I’ve been miserable.’

With a groan of remorse, he flattened her against him. ‘I’m never letting you out of my sight again. I’m going to take you straight back to LA—’

‘I’m already going back to LA’ Katie pulled away from him and looked at the boxes stacked by the door. ‘I spoke to Howard Kennington this week and he wants me to come out and work on his next movie. He really liked my work. I assumed it was because of you, but he was really cross that I’d flown back here without talking to him first. He sent me a flight ticket.’

‘You won’t be needing it because I’m going to fly you home. I knew your work was exceptional the moment I saw it.’ He stroked her hair away from her face. ‘I’m going to give up acting and concentrate on directing. We can work on films together.’

Together. Her heart twisted with emotion.

‘Katie Field, Costume Designer.’

‘Katie Wolfe, Costume Designer.’

She didn’t dare move for fear of breaking the spell. ‘Nathaniel—’

‘I want you to marry me. Say you’ll marry me.’

There was a buzzing in her ears. ‘You want to marry me? But … you—Oh, my God—you’d break a billion female hearts.’

‘There’s only one female heart I care about,’ he said softly, and cursed lightly as her eyes filled again. ‘Don’t do that. I can’t stand it when you cry—I never want to see you cry ever again.’

‘This time it’s happy crying.’ Katie leaned her head against his chest. ‘I can’t believe this ….’

‘Usually when I ask a woman to marry me I already know the answer because it’s in the script.’ Uncharacteristically unsure of himself, Nathaniel gave a horrified groan. ‘I forgot the ring.’ He swore under his breath and delved into his pocket. ‘I’m doing this all wrong. I had it all planned out, the whole on-the-knee thing, fairy tale, Katie-land style, and then I saw you and—sorry, I’m sorry, can we do another take?’ He dropped to his knees. ‘Katie Field, will you marry me? Will you love me and talk to me as long as we both shall live?’

Her laughter turned to a gasp as he slid a huge, glittering diamond onto her finger. ‘Oh, my—’

‘If you don’t like it we can choose a different one. Maybe I should have let you choose it. I’m sorry—as proposals go I totally messed that one up.’

‘No, you didn’t …’ She could hardly make her voice work. ‘It was perfect.’

‘I forgot the ring and I forgot to go down on one knee,’ he said dryly. ‘What was perfect about it?’

‘It was perfect because it was real. It came from the heart, not from a script. If you’d been fluent I would have thought you were acting.’

‘Really?’ His voice was raw and there was uncertainty in his eyes as he looked at her. ‘In that case is there any chance of an answer some time this century?’

‘Yes!’ The word flew from her heart to her lips. ‘Of course yes. I love you. You know I love you.’

Nathaniel rose to his feet and this time his kiss was hard and possessive. When he finally tore his mouth from hers, her head was spinning. ‘Now you’re wearing the ring and you can’t back out, I need to break the news about my family. If you’re hoping for conventional, then you might want to rethink. Jacob is determined to bring us all together so you’ll be meeting them all over the next few months and you’re going to wonder what you’ve got yourself involved in.’

‘So will you …’ Katie wrapped her arms around his neck, unable to contain the happiness that bubbled up inside her. ‘There’s something I haven’t told you about myself.’

‘You’ve been keeping secrets?’ He started to laugh. ‘You hypocrite—’

‘Paula Preston is my sister.’

‘Paula Preston?’ He frowned. ‘The super model?’

A horrible thought entered her head. ‘Have you—? Did you ever—?’

‘No. I definitely haven’t. She’s not my type. I assume she’s the reason you wear brown and are a late developer.’

Katie bit her lip. ‘It wasn’t easy having her as a sister.’

‘I can imagine. I met her once. Utter nightmare. But it’s good to know I’m not the only one with colourful relatives. I think our wedding is going to be interesting.’

‘You still want to marry me?’

‘Of course. Why wouldn’t I?’

‘Paula is the beautiful one. People always make comparisons.’

He hauled her against him. ‘There is no comparison. You’re sweet, she’s not. You care about people, she walks over people. And the biggest difference of all—’ his smile was slow and sexy ‘—is your bottom. She doesn’t have one and yours is every man’s erotic fantasy. Want me to prove it?’

Katie blushed. ‘If she comes to our wedding, she’ll probably try and seduce you. None of your relatives can possibly be as embarrassing as my sister.’

‘Don’t you believe it. My brother Lucas doesn’t think there’s any point in going to a wedding if he can’t try and have sex with the bride,’ Nathaniel drawled. ‘He will definitely try to seduce you at our wedding. Women love him, but I warn you that if you cast one look in his direction you’ll be spending the rest of your life on Wolfe Island with just me for company.’

Katie slid her arms around his neck, feeling as if she were floating. ‘An exotic island and the sexiest guy in the world? That sounds like a perfect ending to me.’

‘In that case—’ a smile touched the corners of his mouth and he lowered his head to kiss her ‘—it’s a wrap.’

1992: Jacob leaves Wolfe Manor …

After the devastating events that took place at Wolfe Manor, Jacob knew he had to get far away from everything—and everyone—he loved. Too overwhelmed to think more than a day or so ahead, he left England for France, and a succession of jobs to make ends meet. But, after just a few weeks, restless Jacob would always leave and travel onwards. And, as Jacob travelled, he wrote endless letters to his beloved siblings that he never quite found the courage to send …

Behind the scenes at Wolfe Manor …

Share a secret about Nathaniel or Katie?

Nathaniel Wolfe has a few big secrets tucked away but I wouldn’t be much of a friend to him (or you) if I gave them away without his permission, so I’ll share a small one—he’s not good with deep water.

Who is the biggest, baddest Wolfe?

That’s a difficult question because they’re all big and bad in different ways. For undiluted shocking behaviour and for seducing anything female, I suppose it has to be Lucas.

Which Wolfe brother did you most fancy?

Definitely Nathaniel. He’s the world’s hottest movie star, ferociously talented and the very best at what he does. Yes he’s damaged and has a very dark side, but he has real strength and I find that incredibly sexy. And he’s scorching hot!

Which is Nathaniel’s favourite room in Wolfe Manor?

Given all the things that happened to him during his childhood, Nathaniel isn’t a lover of Wolfe Manor. If I had to pick one room it would probably be the main hallway because it was the quickest route out of the house.

How did Nathaniel pop the big question?

Nathaniel has proposed to plenty of women in his movies but his words have always been taken from a script. He’s a talented actor, capable of making every word sound heartfelt without meaning anything he says. So when it came to proposing for the first time in real life, he had a challenge on his hands. He had to convince Katie that this time he meant what he was saying. I think it’s a very romantic scene because Nathaniel finally stops playing a part and reveals his true self to the woman he loves.

SARAH’S WRITING SECRETS …

What do you enjoy most about writing as part of a continuity series; how does it differ from writing a single title?

Writing is a solitary job. When you’re writing a single title, you’re on your own with your story and your characters all the way through. Being part of a continuity means having contact with other writers. Although you’re still writing the book on your own, you have the opportunity to share those ups and downs that come with every book and you couldn’t find a better bunch of people to share those moments with than the Modern™ authors. We started an e-mail loop so that we could voice any thoughts and ideas and ensure that what we were creating individually also made sense as a whole. Working with them and having that extra contact was great fun.

What do you think makes a great hero/heroine?

For me, a great hero has to have strength and bravery and by that I mean the ability to face up to anything life throws at him. I want to know that if things get tough he’s going to be right by the heroine’s side fighting for what they share, not walking away.

I like a heroine who can take care of herself and doesn’t allow herself to be pushed around, but also someone who enjoys being a woman and isn’t afraid to show her feminine side.

When you are writing, what is a typical day?

I start by checking my e-mails and dealing with anything urgent that has popped into my inbox overnight. Then I look at my schedule and check whether I have any other commitments in terms of blogging, etc. I don’t have my own blog so I blog in other places, but that means remembering to keep track of where and when so that I can be around to comment and chat with people.

Having organised my day, I switch off the main phone (my kids have a different number they can call me on in an emergency) and then settle down to write without disturbance. I try to resist the temptation to read over the beginning of the book every time and instead write fresh, pushing the story forward. I give myself a minimum daily word count so that I can be sure I’ll meet my deadline. I take a short break for lunch and sometimes I’ll go for a quick walk. Once a week I have lunch with friends—it’s a great way to unwind and I often find it easier to work out plot problems when I’m relaxed and with other people.

CAITLIN CREWS

BAD BLOOD

SHAMELESS PLAYBOY

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CAITLIN CREWS discovered her first romance novel at the age of twelve. It involved swashbuckling pirates, grand adventures, a heroine with rustling skirts and a mind of her own, and a seriously mouthwatering and masterful hero. The book (the title of which remains lost in the mists of time) made a serious impression. Caitlin was immediately smitten with romances and romance heroes, to the detriment of her middle-school social life. And so began her lifelong love affair with romance novels, many of which she insists on keeping near her at all times.

Caitlin has made her home in places as far-flung as York, England and Atlanta, Georgia. She was raised near New York City, and fell in love with London on her first visit when she was a teenager. She has backpacked in Zimbabwe, been on safari in Botswana, and visited tiny villages in Namibia. She has, while visiting the place in question, declared her intention to live in Prague, Dublin, Paris, Athens, Nice, the Greek islands, Rome, Venice, and/or any of the Hawaiian islands. Writing about exotic places seems like the next best thing to moving there.

She currently lives in California, with her animator/comic-book artist husband and their menagerie of ridiculous animals.

CHAPTER ONE

GRACE Carter glanced up from her computer, frowning at the figure that sauntered so confidently into her office high above the cold, wet February streets of central London, without so much as a knock on her door as warning.

And then she went very still in her chair. Something that felt like fire rolled through her, scorching everything in its path. She told herself it was indignation because he had failed to knock as any decent, polite person should—but she knew better.

It was him.

“Good morning,” he said in a low, richly amused and somehow knowing voice that seemed to echo inside of her. He seemed to smolder there in front of her, like a banked flame. She straightened in her seat in reaction.

“By all means,” she said, her voice cool, ironic. “Come right in.”

He was dressed in a sharp, sleek Italian suit that clung to the hard planes of his celebrated body and looked far too fashion-forward for the staid and storied halls of Hartington’s, one of Britain’s oldest luxury department stores, where conservative was the watchword in word, deed and staff apparel. His too-long dark chocolate hair was tousled and unkempt—rather deliberately so, Grace thought uncharitably—and fell toward his remarkable green eyes, one of which was ringed by a darkening bruise. It matched the split lip that failed, somehow, to dampen the impact of his shockingly carnal mouth. His cuts and bruises gave him a faintly roguish air and added to the man’s already outrageous appeal.

And well he knew it.

“Thank you,” he said, those famous green eyes bright with amusement, quite as if her invitation was sincere. His decadent mouth crooked to the side. “Is that an invitation into your office or, one can only hope, somewhere infinitely more exciting?”

Grace wished she did not recognize him, but she did—and this was not the first time she’d seen him in person. Not that anyone alive could fail to identify him on sight, with a face that was usually plastered across at least one or two tabloids weekly, in every country in the world. Showcasing exactly this kind of inappropriate behavior.

She was not impressed.

“Lucas Wolfe,” she said, as a gesture toward good manners, though her voice was flat.

He was Lucas Wolfe, second son of the late, notoriously flamboyant William Wolfe, darling of the paparazzi, famously faithless lover to hordes of equally rich and supernaturally beautiful women—and Grace could not think of a single reason why this creature of tabloids and lore should be standing in her office on a regular Thursday morning, gazing at her in a manner that could only be called expectant.

“All six resplendent feet and then some,” he drawled, his dark brows arching high above his wicked green eyes. “At your service.”

“You are Lucas Wolfe,” she said, ignoring the innuendo that seemed to infuse his voice, his expression, like some kind of molten chocolate. “And I’m afraid I am busy. Can I direct you to someone who can help you?”

“Too busy for my charm and beauty?” he asked, that wicked grin making his eyes gleam, his expression somewhere between suggestive and irrepressible—and surprisingly infectious. Grace had to fight to keep from smiling automatically in return. “Surely not. That would require hell to freeze over, for a start.”

She ignored him, rising to her feet to regain the appropriate balance of power.

“I would invite you make yourself comfortable,” she said with a tight smile, close enough to courteous, knowing her voice would make the words sound sweeter than they were, “except that seems rather redundant, doesn’t it?”

Every instinct she had screamed at her to let this man know exactly what she thought of his kind. Womanizing, useless, parasitic, just like all the men her poor mother had paraded in and out of their trailer when Grace was a child. Just like the father she’d never met, who from all accounts was yet one more pretty, irresponsible wastrel in a long line of the same. Just like every other idiot she’d had to slap down over the years.

But as a member of the Wolfe family Lucas was considered royalty at Hartington’s, given that his family had once owned the company. The Wolfes might not own Hartington’s any longer, but Hartington’s board of directors loved to play up the connection—and as the events manager who was in charge of Hartington’s centenary relaunch in a matter of weeks, Grace was expected to act in Hartington’s best interests at all times no matter the cost to herself.

“I am always comfortable,” he assured her, his voice a symphony of innuendo, his green eyes wicked and amused. “Making myself so at every opportunity is, I confess, very nearly my life’s work.”

She had a huge project to manage, which meant she had better things to do with her time than waste it on this useless, if shockingly attractive, man. Grace hated wasting time. That was the feeling that expanded within her, she told herself, threatening her ability to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” she began, the polite smile she was known for curving her lips, though she knew her gaze remained cool on his. “I’m afraid I’m quite busy today. May I help—?”

“Why do I recognize you?” he interrupted her, languidly, because of course he had all the time in the world.

Grace was horrified to feel that rich voice of his wash through her, sending tendrils of flame licking all over her skin, coiling low in her belly. She felt it, and it panicked her. Surely she should be immune to this man’s brand of practiced, cynical charm—she, who prided herself on being absolutely unflappable!

“I can’t imagine,” she said, which was a lie, but it was not as if she and Lucas Wolfe would ever speak again, would they? She could not fathom why they were speaking now—and why the cynical boredom she’d sensed in him in a chic and crowded hotel bar the night before had changed to something else, something dangerous and edgy. As if a dark fury lurked within him, just out of sight, hidden beneath his well-known and deliberately polished exterior.

But surely not. She was being fanciful.

“I know I’ve seen you before,” he continued, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he looked at her, then warming as he let his all-too-practiced gaze drop from her face to skate over the figure she’d dressed in Carolina Herrera and other exclusive labels no doubt down-market to a man of his tastes. His lips moved, sensual and inviting for all they were cut, seeming to … suggest things. “You have the most extraordinary mouth. But where?”

Heat danced through her, simmering in every place his green gaze touched her: her breasts, the indentation at her waist, her hips, her legs. Grace was forced to remind herself that a man like Lucas Wolfe more than likely looked at every single person he encountered in that very same way—that the promise of sex and intrigue that seemed to heat his expression meant about as much to him as a handshake meant to anyone else. Less.

She felt a strange sort of echo sound through her, a deep alarm, reminding her of that naive girl she’d been so long ago and had sworn she would never be again. Not with another man like this one, who would render her just as pathetic and deceived as her poor, trusting mother. Who would destroy her whole life if she let him.

That was what men like this did. Simply because they could.

Grace knew that better than anyone.

“He’s more than a bit of all right, isn’t he?” the fashion buyer from Hartington’s had cooed to Grace last night, when she’d first seen Lucas—much drunker and far more disreputable than he appeared now, if that was possible—at an extraordinarily glamorous fashion show thrown by Samantha Cartwright, one of London’s most beloved and avant-garde designers.

Mona had sighed lustily, gazing at Lucas from across the trendy bar as he’d flirted with Samantha Cartwright herself, oblivious to all the watching, judging eyes around them, Grace’s among them. “And, of course, we’re to treat him like a king should he so much as glance our way. Boss’s orders.”

Grace had nodded, as if she’d had the slightest expectation of interacting with the famous playboy, known as much for his devil-may-care attitude as for his long and illustrious string of lovers. Not to mention his much-discussed allergy to anything resembling work, particularly for Hartington’s, who had been after him for years to take a figurehead position with the company as his equally disreputable late father had once done.

She’d felt a potent mix of awareness and disgust as she’d watched him. How could a man like Lucas, who was unabashedly making a play for the much older, and very much married, Samantha Cartwright right there in full view of half the city, also manage to seem so … alive and vibrant, in the midst of London’s crème de la crème, as if he were the real thing and they were nothing but fluff and misdirection?

However, all his sexiness and charm had not prevented Samantha Cartwright’s husband from expressing his displeasure at finding Lucas secluded with his wife sometime later—all over Lucas’s pretty face.

The fact that she, personally, had had a strange moment, a near-interaction with this man, did not signify. He clearly could not recall it and she—well, if her sleep had been disrupted last night, what did that matter? It could as easily have been the espresso she should have known better than to order after dinner. It had to have been.

“I believe I saw you last night at the Cartwright show,” she said now, and felt gratified when he blinked, as if not expecting that response. Grace smiled, razor sharp, and let her dislike for him—for all men like him, so careless and callous—flood through her. “Though I cannot imagine you remember it.”

“I have an excellent memory,” Lucas replied, his voice silky, and she had to admit that it got to her. It should not have affected her at all, the lazy caress of it, like bourbon and sin, but it did. The man was lethal, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

“As do I, Mr. Wolfe,” she said crisply. “Which is how I know that we do not have an appointment today. Perhaps I can direct you …?”

She let her words trail off, and waved her hand in the general direction of the door and the offices beyond. But Lucas Wolfe did not move. He only watched her for a moment. His battered, sexy mouth curved slightly.

“You knew who I was the moment you saw me.” He looked amused. Triumphant. She could not have said why that seemed to claw at her.

“I imagine every single person in England knows who you are,” she replied briskly. She let her brows arch, hinting at disdain. “One assumes that must be your intention, after so many scandals, all of which are dutifully reported in the papers.”

“And yet, you are not English,” he said, shifting his body, making Grace suddenly, foolishly glad that her desk stood between them.

She was abruptly aware of how powerful he was, how well-tuned and whipcord tough his body was, for all he kept it concealed behind a lazy smile, calculating eyes and sophisticated clothes. Leashed and hidden, though the truth of it lurked beneath the surface. As if his playboy persona was a mask he wore … but that was ridiculous.

“You are American, are you not?” His head tilted slightly to one side, though his gaze never left hers. “Southern, if I am not mistaken.”

“I cannot imagine why it should be relevant, but I am originally from Texas,” Grace said, in quelling tones. She did not speak about her past. She did not speak about her private life at all, come to that—never at work, and certainly not with perfect strangers. The origin of the accent she’d worked so hard to minimize was about as far as she was willing to take this conversation. “But if you will tell me why you are here, I can find a more appropriate—”

“Exactly what did you see me doing last night?” he asked, interrupting her again, his gaze amused, his grin widening. “Did I do it to you?” His gaze warmed, became more suggestive. “Do you wish that I had?”

“I hardly think you would have had the time,” Grace said with a short laugh, but then his eyes gleamed and she recollected herself.

She had not worked as hard as she had, nor overcome so much, to ruin it all over someone like this. She didn’t know why Lucas Wolfe, of all people, should get under her skin in the first place. Grace had been working in events management since college, and she had seen her fair share of huge personalities, the very rich and the wished-to-be-famous, and everything in between. Why was this man the first to threaten her renowned calm?

Lucas only gazed at her, his green eyes mild, though Grace could not quite believe what she saw there. She had the sense, again, that it was all a mask—the shocking masculine beauty, the roguish appeal, the sexy swagger—and that beneath it lurked something far shrewder. But where did such an idea come from? She dismissed it, impatient with herself.

“If you will excuse me,” she said, her voice perfectly calm, betraying none of her strange internal struggle, “I really must return to my work.”

“But that’s why I’m here,” he said, an unholy glee lighting up those marvelous green eyes. His mouth pulled into a smirk, and he shifted again, as if bracing himself for a blow—a blow he was fully prepared to handle, his body language assured her.

A prickle ran through the fine hairs at the back of her neck, making her hands itch to smooth her sleek, understated chignon and make sure it continued to tame her wild blond hair into something appropriate for her position. Making her want to remove herself until she had reverted to the ice queen norm that had saved her time and again, and until she’d gotten the best of this baffling heat he seemed to generate in her.

“What do you mean?” she asked, hoping she sounded cold instead of anxious. Stern instead of thrown.

She was resolved to fire whichever member of her staff had let this man in here to unsettle her like this when all of her focus needed to be on the relaunch. Yet even as she thought it, she knew that no one who worked at Hartington’s could possibly deny this man anything—he was a Wolfe. More than that, he was Lucas Wolfe, the most irresistible of his whole compelling, colorful family.

Even she could feel that pull, that attraction—she who had long considered herself terminally allergic to men of his ilk.

“I am the new public face of Hartington’s, like my dearly departed father before me,” he drawled, his green eyes sharp and mocking, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking. “Just in time for the centenary relaunch.”

He smiled then, that famous, devastating smile that Grace discovered could light a fire within her even when she knew he must practice it in his own mirror.

“I beg your pardon?” she asked, desperately, though she already knew. She could not seem to believe it, to accept it, and her stomach twisted in protest, but she knew.

That smile of his deepened, showing off the indentation in his jaw that had been known to cause hysteria when he flashed it about like the deadly weapon it was. The smile that had catapulted him into the hearts and fantasies of so many people the world over. The smile that drove so many women to distraction and regrettable decisions.

But not me, she told herself desperately. Never me!

“I believe we’ll be working together,” he confirmed, smiling as if he knew better. As if he knew her better than she could ever hope to know herself. As if he had that power already, had claimed it and who knew what else along with it. “I do so hope you’re the hands-on sort of colleague,” he continued, in a voice that should have infuriated her and instead made her feel weak. Susceptible. His smile deepened like he knew that, too. “I know I am.”

CHAPTER TWO

SHE looked appalled, which was not a reaction Lucas often inspired in women. Not even in starchy, standoffish females like this one, not that he met a great many of that breed in the course of his usual pursuits.

“Working together?” she echoed, sounding as if he’d suggested something unduly perverse. “Here?”

“That’s the idea,” he said, smiling wider. “Unless, of course, you can think of a better way to pass the time in this dreary office.”

Normally, even the most constitutionally unimpressed—librarians and nuns and the like—melted at the very hint of his smile. He had been wielding it as the foremost weapon in his arsenal since he was still a child. It had felled entire battalions of females across the globe. It was, in his practiced opinion, even more devastating than that of his younger brother Nathaniel, who was currently up for a Best Actor Sapphire Screen Award and whose inferior smile could be seen via every press outlet on the planet. Lucas was not entirely certain why Grace Carter, prim events manager for bloody Hartington’s, should be immune when legions before her had dissolved at the merest sight of it.

In point of fact, she scowled.

“I certainly cannot,” she said, judgmental and starched stiff and horrified. “And I’ll thank you to keep your suggestive comments to yourself, Mr. Wolfe.”

“How?” he asked with idle curiosity, shifting toward her and watching her tense in reaction.

“How …?” she repeated icily. “By exercising restraint, assuming you are capable of such a thing.”

“How will you thank me?” he asked, enjoying the flash of something darker than temper in her eyes, despite himself. “I am quite easily bored, you understand, and therefore only accept the most shocking and ingenious displays of gratitude these days. It’s my personal policy. One must have standards.”

“How interesting,” she said smoothly. Too politely. “I was under the distinct impression that your standards were significantly more lax.”

“A common misconception,” Lucas replied easily. “I am not so much lax as laissez-faire.”

“If by that you mean licentious,” she retorted.

Her gaze flicked over his battered face. Her distracting Southern drawl went suspiciously sweet. “I certainly hope you won’t be left with any unsightly scars.”

“On my famously beautiful face?” Lucas asked, affecting astonishment with a small tinge of horror. “Certainly not. And there are always surgeons should nature prove unequal to the task.”

Not that a surgeon would be much help with his other, less visible scars, he thought darkly. Lucas had not been particularly bothered by the appearance of Samantha Cartwright’s movie-producer husband at a delicate moment the night before. It took more than a few punches to impress him, and in any case, it was only sporting to let a wronged husband express his ill will. There was nothing about the situation that should have distinguished the night from any other night, bruises included.

Except that, upon leaving the hotel, Lucas had not ordered the waiting car to take him to his soulless flat high above the Thames in South Bank. Instead, responding to an urge he had no interest at all in naming, he had ordered it to take him out into the wilds of Buckinghamshire to Wolfe Manor, the abandoned familial pile of stone and bad memories he had assiduously avoided since he’d left the place at eighteen.

He’d heard a rumor that his prodigal older brother, Jacob, had returned after disappearing some twenty years before and Lucas, with the typical measure of cockiness brought on by the liberal application of too many spirits, had decided this particular drunken dawn was high time to test the truth of that story.

But Lucas did not want to think about that. Not about Jacob himself, not about why Jacob had disappeared, nor why he had returned and certainly not about what Jacob had said to him that had spurred Lucas into a series of unlikely actions culminating in his arrival in this office. And so, as he had done with great determination and skill since he was young, he focused on the woman in front of him instead.

The one who was still scowling at him.

“If I was someone else,” he said, letting his gaze drift to that expressive mouth she held so tightly, “I might begin to think that scowl meant you disliked me. Which is, of course, impossible.”

“Never say never,” she replied, so very sweetly.

“I rarely do,” he assured her in a low voice, lifting his gaze to hers and letting them both feel the heat of it. “As I’d be happy to demonstrate.”

There was a brief, searing pause.

“Did you just suggest what I think you suggested?” she demanded, her dark eyes promising fire and brimstone and other such irritants. Her full mouth firmed into a disapproving line.

He couldn’t have said why he was so entertained.

“I can’t say that I remember what I suggested,” he replied, smiling again. “But one gathers you’re opposed.”

“The word is insulted, Mr. Wolfe,” she retorted. “Not opposed.”

But he knew what that spark in her gaze meant, and it wasn’t insult. “If you say so,” he said, and let his gaze move over her body.

She was tall and slim, with rich curves in all the right places, bright blond hair and soulfully deep brown eyes, making her the perfect, long-legged distraction. Unfortunately, she was also wearing entirely too many severely cut articles of clothing, all of them designed to force a man’s eye from the very places it was naturally drawn.

Add to that her scraped-back, no-nonsense hairstyle and it was abundantly clear that this woman was one of those stuffy, deeply boring career women who Lucas found tedious in the extreme. The only kind of distraction this woman would be likely to provide, he knew from painful experience, would come in the form of a blistering lecture concerning his many moral failings rather than a few hot moments with her long legs wrapped around his hips while he thrust deep and true.

A great pity, Lucas thought, grudgingly.

“I beg your pardon?” It was not the first time she had said it, he realized. She was still staring at him in a horror he found overdone and on the verge of insulting, her honey-and-cream voice laced with shock. “I don’t mean to be rude, Mr. Wolfe, but are you by any chance still drunk?”

She might have gone out of her way to hide her many charms, but he happened to be a connoisseur of women. He could see exactly what her full lower lip promised and could imagine the precise, delicious weight of her full breasts in his palms. Why a woman would hide her own beauty so deliberately was a mystery to Lucas—and one he had no interest at all in solving.

Not today, when there were mysteries to go around. Not ever.

He moved to one of the chairs in front of her desk and lowered himself into it, watching the way her huge brown eyes tracked his every movement as he sprawled into a much more comfortable position. Not with the shell-shocked, often lascivious awe to which he was accustomed, but with a certain, unexpected wariness instead. He was interested despite himself.

“Not at all,” he said, smiling at her, knowing that one of his legendary dimples was even now appearing in his lean jaw. “Though a drink would certainly not go amiss. Thank you. I find I am partial to bourbon this week.”

“I am not offering you a drink, or anything else,” she said, a snap in her voice, though her smile remained nailed in place. “From what I observed last night, I can’t imagine you would ever require another one.”

“I’m sorry,” he replied easily, still smiling, propping up his jaw with one hand. “Did we meet last night—or were you simply one of the many onlookers? Part of the inevitable crowd? Perfect strangers do so love to watch my every move and make up stories to suit their own opinions of my character.”

It was meant to embarrass her, as Lucas knew well that even the most prurient gossipmonger hated to be called out as such, but she did not balk. Instead, she waved a hand at his black eye, his split lip, her eyes steady on his. Bold, even.

“Is a story required?” she asked from behind that veneer of politeness that he noted and knew better than to believe. “The truth seems sordid enough, surely.”

He forced himself to sink even farther into the chair, every inch of him decadent and debauched, exactly as vile as she believed him to be. He knew more about veneers, about masks and misdirection, than anyone ought to know. It had always been his first and best defense. He thrust aside the dark cloud of memory that hovered far too close today, another offense to lay at Jacob’s prodigal feet, and forced a smile.

“The wages of sin,” he murmured, his voice suggestive, smoky.

She would see what he wanted her to see, he knew. The useless parasite, the indolent playboy. They always did.

“Sin is your area of expertise, Mr. Wolfe,” she said briskly. “Mine is events management.”

“And never the twain shall meet,” Lucas said with an exaggerated, theatrical sigh. “My heart breaks.”

“I rather think you operate from a different part of your anatomy,” she said, those dark eyes gleaming.

“I’m delighted you think about that part of my anatomy,” he replied smoothly. “Feel free to indulge yourself. At length.” He smiled. “No pun intended.”

He was fascinated by the color that showed against her high cheekbones, the way her full mouth firmed. She was dressed to exude a particular message—competence and elegance—and Lucas could see she hit those notes perfectly. But only a blind man could miss the fact that she was perfectly formed—which made him wonder about the rest of her, the trim body buttoned up tight beneath her layers of black and gray.

She held herself under such tight control. How could he not imagine what she would be like without it?

“I should tell you,” he said idly, flicking an imaginary piece of dust from his lapel as if he was not watching her closely, “I have never laid eyes upon something buttoned-up that I was not drawn to unbutton, whether I choose to indulge that urge or not.” He smiled as her hand crept toward the buttons on her suit jacket and then dropped sharply to her side as if she’d reprimanded herself. “It is one among my great many personal failings.”

She crossed to the front of her desk and leaned back against it, folding her arms over her chest. In that position, as she was clearly well aware, she could look down her fine, delicate nose at him as he sprawled below her in the visitor’s chair. He was no doubt meant to feel his inferiority keenly. But Lucas had grown up subject to the uncertain temper and intermittent cruelty of the late, unlamented bully William Wolfe, also known as his deeply despised and little-mourned father, and he knew power games when people were unwise enough to play them in his vicinity. He also knew how to win them. After all, he was Lucas Wolfe. He was not a legend by accident.

Something moved inside of him, rolled over and shook itself to life.

“Let me be frank, Mr. Wolfe,” she said, smiling at him again, that bland, placid smile that he knew, with sudden certainty, was meant to manage and soothe him even as it hid her own feelings. Unfortunately, it only drew his attention to her mouth.

“If you have so far been less than candid, I cannot imagine the difference,” he drawled as those brown eyes narrowed. “Will I require full body armor?”

That sweet, fake smile sharpened. “Not at all,” she said, and her honey-and-cream voice seemed to pool in his groin, making him uncomfortably hard. Surprising him. Intriguing him. “I do apologize if I seem anything less than thrilled about what will be, I’m sure, a long and productive relationship between you and Hartington’s. As you know, Hartington’s greatly values its relationship with your family.”

His family. Lucas refused to think about them, the great damaged mess of them, much less the cavern of guilt that always yawned open when he considered his own epic failures where they were concerned. He shoved the thoughts, the memories, aside—cursing Jacob’s name, his sudden reappearance. And then, as ever, himself. He needed to sleep, he thought; he needed to regain his usual equilibrium, to reaccess his sense of humor, at the very least.

“Do you always speak in press releases?” he asked mildly, allowing no hint of his inner turmoil to color his voice. “Or is this for my benefit? Because there are far more interesting ways to secure my undivided attention.”

“My focus is the centenary relaunch of the

Hartington’s brand,” she continued, only the faintest flash in her milk–chocolate brown eyes to show him she’d even heard him. “You may not be aware that we will be throwing a gala event in just over three weeks to celebrate our hundredth year as we reintroduce Hartington’s to the modern age.”

“As a matter fact, I do know that,” he said, his gaze captured by the front of her stern jacket, where her crossed arms drew attention to the tempting valley between the breasts he saw only the barest hints of behind the gray silk of her blouse. He dragged his eyes north and bit back a laugh when he saw her eyes were narrowed even further in outrage. A different woman might have preened, but she didn’t, and Lucas found he was less disappointed by the fact she was not that woman than he should have been.

“Then you must also know that this is an exciting time for Hartington’s,” she said. Lucas did not think she sounded at all excited—rather, she sounded as if she would like to have him forcibly removed from her office. He was well acquainted with that tone, having heard it so often in his lifetime, even if, in her case, it was drenched in all that Texas honey. “I’m sure that a man of your stature will have a great deal to contribute.”

“And by ‘stature,’” he murmured silkily, unable, somehow, to look away from her narrowed chocolate gaze, and just as unable to rationalize his own behavior—why should he care what she thought or meant?—”am I to assume you, in fact, mean ‘notoriety’?”

“Yours is a face with which the whole of Britain, and indeed the world, is intimately familiar,” she said, her cool gaze at odds with her soft, velvety voice. “Your headline-grabbing antics are, truly, a gift to the public relations department. No publicity is bad publicity, after all.”

“I will have to schedule further antics at once,” he said, with bite, though she neither quailed nor colored as she gazed back at him, as she should have done. “I am certain there is no limit to the number of headlines I can grab, all for the greater glory of Hartington’s.”

“You are too kind,” she said sweetly, as if she had not picked up on his sardonic tone, when he was more than certain she had. He could see that she had. She nodded at his battered face. “Though perhaps you might let those bruises heal a little bit first.”

Lucas realized, belatedly, what a powerful asset she had in that voice of hers, so soft and sugary and deadly all at once. A rapier-sharp blade sheathed in honey and cream. It was impressive.

But he did not wish to be impressed.

“In any case,” she continued, “I am truly delighted to have had this opportunity to meet with you, Mr. Wolfe—”

“By all means, call me Lucas,” he said quietly, weighing that soft, sweet voice against the steel he could sense beneath, and could even see in her gaze. “I insist that all character assassinations be made on a first-name basis.”

“—and I am certain,” she continued, that smile remaining firmly in place, “that I will have the pleasure of working with you sometime in the future, after we’ve had the relaunch. I’ll be sure to schedule a meeting with the PR team in the next few weeks, once you’ve had time to settle in and get your bearings….”

This time she trailed off as he shook his head, her brows rising in inquiry. Lucas found he enjoyed that far more than he should.

“You are Grace Carter, are you not?” He enjoyed saying her name—because he could see that she did not like the way he said it. As if he could taste the flavor of it with his tongue. It was his turn to smile. “Charlie assured me you were the person I needed to find.”

There was a slight, humming sort of pause. She blinked, and he felt it like a victory.

“Charlie?” she asked, an odd, slightly strangled note in her voice.

“Charlie Winthrop,” Lucas supplied helpfully, and was delighted when her cheeks reddened again—this time, he had no doubt, with temper.

It made him wonder what she would look like if it was passion that heated her. If it was him. “I am to be at your disposal,” he said, making his voice as suggestive as possible. “Completely.”

He was intrigued when the expression that flashed across her face was anger. Most women were not angry when flirted with, especially not when the flirt in question was as accomplished as Lucas, without a shred of immodesty, knew himself to be. He had once made the queen smile while enjoying the races at Ascot. What was one embittered executive next to Her Royal Majesty?

“Of course,” she said through her smile, even as she glared at him as if she’d like to incinerate him on the spot with the force of her gaze.

“Perhaps you’ve heard of him,” he said, unable to keep the amusement from his voice. The hint of triumph.

Lucas found himself fascinated by the way she visibly wrested control of herself, wrapping her show of temper behind another wide smile and an extra helping of that sweet, sweet Texas honey with its swift, sure kick beneath.

“If, as the CEO of Hartington’s, Mr. Winthrop feels your contributions to the company are best utilized through my office,” she said, her voice smooth while her eyes burned, “then I am delighted to have you aboard.”

If he had not known better, he might have believed her. If he had not seen her mask slip, and the way she put it back on so skillfully. If he had not been as accomplished a master of disguise himself, he might not even have recognized hers when he saw it.

But, God help them both, he was.

And, worse—she intrigued him.

He shifted in his chair, deliberately emphasizing his idle bonelessness because he knew, somehow, it would infuriate her. He stretched his long legs out in front of him, nearly brushing her feet with his, and watched her spine stiffen as she deliberately did not move out of the way, did not cede her ground. More power games, presumably.

Lucas had never encountered a power game he did not feel compelled to win. That was how he was wired, to his own detriment. And, unfortunately for Miss Grace Carter of the too-dark clothes and the obvious disapproval, he never, ever lost.

Not in decades now. Not ever again.

“You are a liar,” he continued, letting his voice drop into an insinuating growl that he knew would get to her. “Lucky for you, so am I.”

Their eyes met. Held. Seared.

“We should get along famously,” he said with a deep satisfaction, and then he let loose his smile, like the holstered weapon it was, and let it do its work.

* * *

When Charles Winthrop had confirmed publicly that, indeed, Hartington’s was delighted to welcome the famous Wolfe heir aboard—and privately that he expected Grace to personally manage the wild-card playboy with her usual aplomb—Grace had smiled calmly, exuded serenity and comforted herself with visions of smashing every piece of china and shred of pottery she owned. The deep blue bowl from her first trip to Paris, in smithereens. The candlesticks from her holiday on the Amalfi Coast, in a million tiny pieces. Bliss.

When she had explained to her awestruck team—in full view of the smirking, flirtatious Lucas, who appeared to bewitch three-quarters of the staff simply by existing, or possibly by lounging across the cabinets so that his magnificent torso was on display—that Lucas was now a crucial component of their strategy for the fast-approaching centenary project, she had kept a suitably straight face and had imagined lighting a small, personal bonfire on her wraparound balcony and setting ablaze the art she’d hung on the walls when she’d moved in a year earlier. The painting she’d bought directly from the hungry-looking painter with the poet’s eyes on the Charles Bridge in Prague. The print of the first van Gogh she’d seen in the famous Metropolitan Museum in New York City. All smoke and ashes. It made her smile feel real.

“We are delighted to have you on the team, Mr. Wolfe,” she said as they walked together from the conference room, her smile sweet and her tone razor sharp. “But in future, please do try to contain yourself. The secretaries are not here to serve as your personal dating pool.”

“Have you asked them?” he asked lazily, his rangy body moving with a grace that should have seemed out of place in the dim light of the hallway. Instead, he seemed to take it over. “Because I was under the impression that my every wish was their command. I believe one of them told me so.”

“I don’t need to ask them,” Grace replied, smiling more sharply and pretending she was un affected by his nearness. “I need only consult company policy.”

“Hartington’s has a Lucas Wolfe clause?” he asked, in that deeply amused drawl that wove spells through her and around her. “I don’t know whether to be flattered or insulted.” Against her will, hardly aware of it, Grace found herself standing still in the corridor instead of walking briskly toward her office. Standing, gazing up at him, like a moon-faced calf. How could he beguile her without even seeming to do so?

She could not afford it.

“Leave the secretaries alone,” she said calmly, as if he had not slipped past her defenses somehow already. As if she had meant to stop there and look up at him.

“Happily,” he said. His abused mouth tilted up in the corner. His green gaze was a banked fire that seemed to kick off echoes within her, hot and wild. “But tell me,” he continued softly, pointedly, “where else should I direct my attention?”

“Perhaps to your brand-new job,” she bit out, ignoring the way he looked at her, his eyes so hooded, so suggestive. “You may find it challenging, after all, having never had one before.”

“I am so sorry to shatter your illusions,” he said, laughing, though she thought it did not quite reach his eyes, “but despite my well-documented, dissipated, sybaritic existence, I have, in fact, held a job. We all have our deep, dark secrets, do we not?”

She had no intention of discussing secrets with this man.

“You understand, Mr. Wolfe, that when one says ‘job,’ one is not referring to your rather questionable relationships with somewhat older ladies of excessive means.” She smiled. Hard. “There are other words for that.”

“Someday you will have to teach me all the ins and outs of your vocabulary,” he said, in a voice that seemed to demand she imagine what tutoring him might involve. Something powerful shook through her, stealing her breath. He smiled. “The job I held was somewhat less illicit, I’m afraid.”

“You?” she asked, in disbelief. “Who on earth would employ you?”

“Not everyone finds my face as distasteful as you seem to do,” he said, challenge and mockery stamped across his expression. He angled his head toward her, too close, and she had to fight to keep herself from jumping back and letting him see how he got to her. “In fact, some people find it addictive.”

“Are you referring to yourself?” she asked lightly, and smiled to take the sting away.

His smile then was as sharp, and far more dangerous. “I mean myself most of all,” he said quietly, an undercurrent in his voice she did not understand. “I am my own heroin.”

It was the ferocity in his voice that lingered with her even hours later, and the fact she could not dismiss the man from her thoughts made her fantasize anew about destroying all of her belongings in a dramatic—if private—show of temper.

But the sad truth, she acknowledged late that evening when she arrived home and looked around the carefully pristine, perfectly decorated penthouse apartment that normally made her feel happy and successful and tonight felt oddly empty, was that she was entirely too practical.

She could not let herself be so reckless, so careless. No matter how good it would feel. She’d learned that lesson the hard way.

“Women in our family are built to love,” her mother had said with a shrug years ago, when Grace had collapsed in a sobbing mess on her bed, trying to handle the fallout of her first, doomed relationship. Back when her mother still spoke to her. “Too much and too long, and always messy. That’s how it goes. It’s our curse.”

“You don’t understand—” Grace had moaned.

“You’re no different, Gracie,” her mother had said, and shaken her head as she’d reached for another cigarette. “I know you want to be, but you’re not, and the sooner you get your head around that the happier you’ll be.”

Now, so many years and miles away from that conversation, and all the betrayal and pain that had followed it, Grace sank down on her smooth, modern couch in the foreign country she called home, and reached back to let her hair fall, heavy and thick, from its place on the back of her head. She shook out the pins, and ran her fingers through the wild mess of it that she only ever dared let down when she was alone. It was too unruly, too untamed—too reminiscent of the girl she had been, who she preferred to pretend had never existed at all.

I am my own heroin, he had said, and she thought it was an apt description of his lure, his innate danger.

There was never any something more with a man like Lucas. There was only heartbreak and loneliness. She needed only to consider her poor mother’s endless string of misery and despair, her life lived on the strength of broken promises and late-night tears, as one more man smiled like he meant it and Grace’s mother believed. She always believed, and they always let her down. Always.

And Mary-Lynn never blamed the men. She always blamed herself, and so lost a little bit more of herself, her battered heart and the light in her eyes every time. Until the day she’d blamed her daughter instead.

Grace kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch. She could not afford to be fascinated with Lucas Wolfe. She could not allow herself to be intrigued. She had to throw a relaunch party so fabulous that it cemented her reputation for years to come, and she could not permit any deviation from her plan, especially not in the form of a man who was clearly put on the earth to ruin every woman he touched.

It made her heart ache that she was so susceptible, as if it really was a genetic defect passed down from mother to daughter. When all this time, after everything that had happened in high school had changed her so completely, she’d truly believed she was immune. She would be different, no matter what her mother thought—no matter what she’d screamed at Grace when she’d thrown her out like so much trash. She would.

But she would start tomorrow, she thought, closing her eyes, succumbing to her weariness and letting all of her heavy armor drop from her for a moment. She felt the helpless fascination creep in and take her over, and then curled up on the couch with the memory of his devastating smile raging through her like a wildfire she could not bring herself to put out.

Not yet. Not tonight.

CHAPTER THREE

“I’VE remembered you,” Lucas announced, swaggering into her office like a conquering hero, his smile far too bright and much too wicked as it played over his mouth. “It came to me over the weekend.”

It was Monday morning, nearing eleven o’clock, and Grace was not feeling at all charitably inclined toward her new team member. She sat back in her desk chair and regarded him stonily.

It did not matter in the least that he looked even more delicious this morning, in yet another absurd, catwalk-ready sort of suit that made him seem like a sleek, wild, green-eyed jaguar set down among a fleet of tamed and corpulent house cats. His dark hair was still too long for civility—and the office—and stood about in what she imagined were spikes as carefully managed as his wardrobe. His perfect male form was still showcased to mouthwatering effect, his muscled shoulders and lean hips lovingly defined, his torso a work of art in dark wool. His beauty was still far greater, far more masculine and disturbing, than one would suspect from having seen him in photographs.

His bruises had faded considerably, she could not help but notice. His dizzying appeal had not.

Happily, she told herself with some internal rigor, her moment of weakness had passed. There was no genetic defect, no predisposition. Lucas Wolfe was nothing more than the human version of a well-known painting, widely regarded as beautiful in the extreme—even a masterpiece. One could appreciate such a painting the way one appreciated all forms of beauty. Lucas Wolfe was a curiosity to be admired, and then ignored.

“Mr. Wolfe,” she said now, smiling perfunctorily. “I understand that this may be a new experience for you, and I’ll try to be sensitive to that, but I think you’ll find the team is expected to make it into the office at nine o’clock sharp each morning, not at eleven. Even you, I’m afraid.”

“At Samantha’s party,” he continued, unperturbed. Quite as if she had not spoken, much less reprimanded him. “It was when I went to get the drinks, wasn’t it? You were standing by the bar.” His dark brows rose in challenge, and something else she told herself she did not wish to explore, even as it slid intimately along her skin, kicking up goose bumps. “I knew I recognized you.”

“I’m afraid I can’t remember,” Grace said, lying coolly and without a single shred of remorse.

“Of course you do,” he said, with that easy confidence and a knowing gleam in his bright eyes that arrowed directly into Grace’s sex, making her knees feel weak even as she felt herself soften. For him. Her heart jumped in her chest. She was entirely too grateful that she happened to be sitting down. He was lethal.

And impersonal, she reminded herself sharply, crossing her legs beneath her desk. You could be a random shopgirl. A bus driver. The bus itself. He has chemistry with the very air around him—he can’t help it.

“Mr. Wolfe, really,” she said, frowning at him. “This project is doomed to failure if you cannot respect the most basic rules of the workplace. Allow me to give you a refresher course.”

“Less a refresher course, and more an introduction,” he amended, with a careless shrug and no visible sign that he was at all embarrassed he’d never worked a single day in his pampered, over-privileged life of sin and excess—whatever he might have claimed the previous week.

He certainly made it easy to dismiss him, Grace thought. She dearly wished that she could—that she had not been ordered to personally handle him. But she had been, and so she waited until she had his full, if amused, attention, and began to tick off her points on her fingers.

“You must knock and receive permission to enter before barging into an office,” she said briskly. “You must not ignore your coworkers when they are speaking to you, no matter if you think what you have to say is more interesting—it is unlikely that your coworkers will agree. And it is completely inappropriate to make insinuations regarding the private lives or thoughts of anyone you might work with, under any circumstances. Do you understand me?”

It was as if he lounged against something, though he stood in the center of her office. Such was his natural indolence. He reminded her of the great cats she found so fascinating in the nature programs she often watched—a lazy grace, sleepy-eyed and seemingly harmless, and yet with all that predatory watchfulness and physical prowess hidden just beneath his sleek surface.

“Did I make insinuations?” he asked, not seeming remotely cowed. Only interested. And, if possible, even more amused. “I do beg your pardon. They cannot have been particularly interesting, if I cannot recall them.”

“One imagines that you are so used to insinuating inappropriate things about everyone you meet that it is rather like a comment on the weather for anyone else,” she replied sweetly. She let her smile widen. “Please do try to remember that this is not a yacht on the Côte d’Azur, brimming with starlets and debauchery—this is Hartington’s, a much-beloved and revered British institution.”

He thrust his hands into his pockets and regarded her with that cool green gaze that made her wonder, against her will, what else he hid behind all that sexiness and swagger.

“Rather like me,” he said after a moment, his mouth curving, daring her, somehow. “A bit tattered around the edges, perhaps, the pair of us, but I think somehow the gilt and glamour remain.” He smiled. “Don’t you agree?”

Grace eyed him, torn between the urge to laugh—or to scream. Or, worse, to give in to the hugely inappropriate and somewhat alarming urgings of her body and the heat he seemed to ignite within her without even trying. She did none of the above. She did not even fidget under his scrutiny, though it cost her.

“The team will be meeting in the conference room in a half hour for our daily status update,” she said instead, pointedly glancing at the slim gold watch she wore on her wrist, and then back toward her computer monitor, dismissing him. “If you don’t mind …?”

“You were the only woman in the crowd who refused to smile at me,” Lucas said, in that silken voice of his that, she reminded herself sternly, had seduced millions in exactly the same way. No need to be the next in line in the endless parade. Not that she was considering it! “At first I thought you were one of the ones who scowl at me on purpose, to distinguish themselves from the fawning fans, but you didn’t do that, either.”

“Are you sure it was me?” Grace asked, pretending to be bored with the conversation. “I remember your rather spectacular exit from the party, but very little else.” She gazed at her computer screen as if she could read a single thing on it. As if she was not entirely too focused on the man who stood so close, just on the other side of her desk, commanding all the air in the room despite his seemingly languid slouch and his unkempt hair.

“Neither a smile nor a scowl. You simply looked at me,” Lucas said, his voice like a caress, dark and unfair as it worked its way through her like fine wine, turning her too warm too quickly. She could feel him everywhere. Hot. Shivery. “Even after I said hello.”

“Sorry,” she said in mild yet clear dismissal, her attention on the screen in front of her, as if she could not feel the pull of him, the heat. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

“No,” he said, his gaze shrewd, considering. “No, I don’t think so.”

Grace would rather die than admit she remembered that moment—because she had been quite literally struck dumb to turn from the bar and find him so close, so glowing and impossibly compelling, sexy and rumpled and male. In painful hindsight, it ranked as one of the single most humiliating moments of her life. She, twenty-eight years old, a fully grown adult woman who oversaw teams of staff and high-level events, had been struck mute at the sight of this man. This waste of space, famous for no particular reason aside from his name, who used his considerable charm like currency. Yes, something in her had whispered, deep and sure—as, no doubt, it did in every silly female who laid eyes on him up close. But Grace had never forgiven herself for losing her head so spectacularly over a man back in high school, with so many horrible consequences; she would not compound the error now. She would not do it again.

“Yes, well,” she said, proud that her voice remained cool, “perhaps I was simply astounded that you could manage to speak coherently. You do have the reputation of being somewhat consistently drunk, don’t you?”

“Which means that I am rarely incoherent,” he said, smiling faintly. “It is my finest skill. For all you know, I could be drunk right now.”

But his eyes were too clear, too watchful. His voice too deliberately blasé. He was about as drunk as she was.

“I will keep that in mind in future,” she replied briskly. She straightened in her seat and let impatience creep into her voice. “I’m sorry I don’t remember meeting you at Samantha Cartwright’s party, Mr. Wolfe. How embarrassing, when I am usually so good with faces. But then, it was a busy night for everyone, wasn’t it?”

She could not seem to keep her own insinuations from creeping in, and she knew why when she saw his green eyes warm with a kind of rueful acknowledgment. With a kind of recognition she knew she should fight. Instead, something about him made her want to needle him, to get under his skin.

She could not bring herself to imagine what that might mean.

Meanwhile, he watched her with those cat’s eyes, and he knew. Her secrets, her darkest corners. Everything. As if he could see right into her.

It should have horrified her. It should not have made her ache and her skin seem to shrink against her bones. It should not have made her breath catch in her throat, her mouth dry. It should not have made her want to show him all her secrets, one by one, even the ones that still made her cringe.

“It’s that voice of yours,” he said, musingly, as if he’d given the matter a great deal of thought. His head tilted to one side. “It’s so surprising. It goes down like a good cream tea, and then a few moments later the sting sets in. It’s quite a formidable weapon you have there, Miss Carter.”

“I prefer Ms. Carter, thank you,” she retorted automatically.

“You should be careful how you use it,” he replied, and she knew she did not mistake the threat then, the sensual menace. It resonated between her legs, made her breasts feel too heavy, brought her breath too quickly to catch in her throat. He knew that, too—she had no doubt. His wicked, battered lips crooked to the side. “Ms. Carter.”

“So you do, in fact, listen when others speak,” she said as if delighted and smiled sharply at him. “One did hope. Perhaps next week we can graduate to knocking before entering!”

“But where’s the fun in that?” he asked, laughing at her. A real laugh—one that made his eyes crinkle in the corners and his head tip back. One that lit him up from the inside. One that seemed to make her chest expand too fast, too hard.

It was a good thing she had resolved to ignore him, Grace thought dimly, captivated against her will—or she might really be in trouble.

The novelty of his brand-new office wore off quickly, Lucas found. It rather made him feel like a caged animal, for all that it gleamed of dark wood and chrome and featured no-doubt-coveted views of London from the floor-to-ceiling windows that dominated the far wall. But while Lucas was many things, most of them damning, covetousness had never been among his flaws. Why should he covet anything? Whatever he wanted, he had. Or took. And yet he stayed in the grand leather chair, behind the immense desk, and pretended he could convey some kind of authority—become some kind of authority figure—by doing so.

But then, he was not sitting in his new office to feel good about himself or his life choices. He was doing it to prove a point. A long overdue point that should not have required proof, he thought, tamping down the surge of anger that seared through him.

“Hello, Lucas,” Jacob had said that early Thursday morning, freshly risen as if from the dead. He had looked Lucas up and down from the great front door where he’d stood, the restored master of Wolfe Manor, his black eyes flicking from bruise to cut to disheveled shirt and making Lucas feel as close to ashamed as he’d been in years.

The very grounds around them had seemed infested with the malevolent ghost of William Wolfe and all the pain he’d inflicted on his unlucky children and wives—or perhaps that had just been the sleepless night getting to Lucas. Perhaps it was Jacob himself, taller and broader than in Lucas’s memory—a grown man now, of substance and wealth, if his fine clothes were any indication.

For a long moment they had both stood there, the early-morning light just beginning to chase away the gray, sizing each other up as if they were adversaries.

On the one hand, Lucas had thought, Jacob had once been his best friend, his partner in crime and his brother. They were only a year apart in age, and had grown up sharing the brunt and burden of their father’s temper. If Lucas could have been there that one fateful night to do what Jacob had done for their family, he would have. Happily—and without a shred of the agony he knew Jacob had felt for what Lucas had always viewed as a necessary act, if not long overdue.

On the other hand, Jacob had taken off without a word and stayed gone for well over a decade. He had left Lucas in his place—a disaster for all concerned. They had been boys back then, if much older than they should have been and far too cynical, but they were grown men now and, apparently, strangers.

But Lucas had not wanted to believe that. Not at first. Not after so long.

“It is lovely to see you, dear brother,” he’d said when the silence had stretched on too long. “I would have slaughtered a calf in your honor, but the kitchens are in some disrepair.”

“I’ve followed your exploits in the papers,” Jacob had said in his familiar yet deeper voice. His black eyes raked Lucas from head to toe again, then back, missing nothing.

Even Jacob, Lucas had thought, something sinking through him like a stone. But he had summoned his most insouciant smile. He had not otherwise reacted.

“I’m touched,” Lucas had replied, blandly. “Had I known you were so interested in my adventures, I would have added you to the annual Christmas card list. Of course, that would have required an address.”

Jacob had looked away for a moment. Lucas had wanted to reach out, to bridge the gap, but he had not known how. His head had pounded ferociously. He’d wished fervently that he’d just gone home, slept it off and left the ghosts of his past alone. What good had this family ever been to him? Why did he still care?

“It’s not as if we don’t already know where this lifestyle leads,” Jacob had said, so quietly that Lucas almost let it go, almost pretended he hadn’t heard. Anything to maintain the fiction of Jacob he’d carried around in his head all these years. Jacob, the hero. Jacob, the savior. Jacob, who knew him.

“My original plan was to prance off into the ether, abandoning family and friends without so much as a backward glance,” Lucas had snapped back at him. “But unfortunately, you’d already taken that role. I was forced to improvise.”

“You know why I had to leave,” Jacob said in a low voice, thick with their shared past and their family’s secrets, public and private.

“Of course,” Lucas had interrupted him, years of pain and resentment bubbling up from places he’d spent his life denying even existed. He’d laughed, a hollow sound that echoed against the stones of the manor house and inside of him in places he preferred to ignore. “You’re nearly twenty years too late, Jacob. I don’t need a big brother any longer. I never did.”

“Look at yourself, Lucas—don’t you see who you’ve become?” Jacob’s voice had been quiet, but had flashed through Lucas as if he’d shouted.

It was not the first time Lucas had been compared to his father, but it was the first time the comparison had been made by someone who shared his bone-deep loathing of the man who had wrecked them both. By someone—the only one—who ought to know better. It was a body blow. It should have killed him. Perhaps it had.

“I thought you were dead,” Lucas had said coldly, unable and unwilling to show his brother how deeply those words cut at him. “I’m not sure this is an improvement.”

“For God’s sake,” Jacob had said, shaking his head, his eyes full of something Lucas refused to name, refused to consider at all. “Don’t let him win.”

Staring out the windows of his luxurious office now, Lucas let out a hollow sort of sound, too flat to be a laugh. He had turned on his heel and left his prodigal brother behind—and had thought, To hell with him. He’d spent the whole long walk down the private lane pretending nothing Jacob had said had gotten to him. Yet when he’d reached the road, he’d flipped open his mobile and rousted Charlie Winthrop from his sleep to announce he’d had a sudden change of heart and would, despite years of claiming otherwise, dearly love to work for Hartington’s in any capacity at all.

Careful what you wish for, he mocked himself now. Especially if you were Lucas Wolfe, and had a tendency to get it.

At half past eleven, Lucas dutifully walked into the conference room, expecting to be bored silly by corporate nonsense. Bureaucracy and posturing. It was one of the reasons he managed his own affairs almost entirely via his computer. But instead of a dreary presentation, he found the room in the grips of evident chaos. One did not have to know a single thing about business to know that something had gone wrong. The very fact that none of the events team seemed to notice or care that he had entered the room told him that—it was a rare experience for him and, strangely, felt almost liberating.

He sank into a seat at the oval-shaped table, reveling in the feeling. It was as if he was very nearly normal, for the first time in memory.

Even smooth, efficient Grace looked harried when she strode into the room a few minutes late, a frown taking the place of the competent, soothing smile he already knew was as much a part of her as her ruthlessly controlled blond hair.

“I’m so sorry, Grace,” one of the anxious-looking girls said at once, all but wilting against the glossy tabletop, distress evident in her very bones.

“Don’t be silly, Sophie,” Grace said, but that marvelous voice was tighter than it had been earlier, and tension seemed to reverberate from her in waves as she set down a stack of files in front of her. “You could hardly have foreseen a burst pipe when you found the place six months ago.”

Another team member rushed up to whisper something in her ear, making her frown deepen, and as the rest of the staff took their seats, Lucas took the opportunity to simply look at Grace.

He wasn’t at all certain why he found the woman so compelling.

There was absolutely nothing about the severe gray suit she was wearing that should have appealed to him. Lucas preferred women in bright colors, preferably showing swathes of tanned, smooth skin. He liked impractically high heels and tousled manes of lustrous hair. Glimpses of toned thighs and full breasts. Not a skirt that showed far too little leg, a jacket he knew she had no intention of unbuttoning and another boring silk blouse in some pale, unremarkable pastel shade that covered her up to her delicate collarbone.

And yet. There was something about Grace Carter that he could not dismiss. That kept him captivated. That had plagued him throughout the long, boring weekend while he had been surrounded, as always, by the kinds of women he usually preferred yet had found unaccountably tedious and insipid this time. That had kept him awake and brooding until he’d placed exactly where he’d seen her before and why he’d noticed her in the first place. He’d thought her a boring prude, of course—but the point was, he’d remembered her.

That in itself was highly unusual.

“All right,” Grace said, calling the meeting to order, her brow smoothing and that great calm seeming to exude from her once again. Lucas could feel the room relax slightly all around him. That was her power, he realized. The gift of that smile.

He felt something in him ease, which should have alarmed him—but, oddly, did not. Instead, he watched her take over the room without seeming to do so. It was almost as if he could not bring himself to look away.

“As many of you have already heard,” she said briskly, “we’ve just had word from the centenary venue that their sprinkler system malfunctioned dramatically over the weekend and flooded the grounds. Completely. They expect that the space will be unusable for at least the next two months, which, of course, means we no longer have a location for the gala.” She raised her hands when the murmuring from the staff increased in volume and took on the unmistakable edge of panic. “I suggest we all look at this as a challenge,” she said. She flashed that smile. “Not a catastrophe.”

She seemed so calm, so at ease. As if she expected no less than seven catastrophes before lunch every day, and what was one more? But Lucas could see something in her chocolate-colored eyes, something that seemed to ring in him. Like she was scared and fighting hard not to show it. Like she had as much riding on this as he did, however improbable. Like she might be someone completely different when she was alone, and had nothing to prove, and was not performing for the crowd.

He could not have said why he wanted so much to believe that. Maybe that was why he opened his mouth, surprising himself as much as anyone else. More.

“Exactly what are you looking for?” he heard himself ask, as if from afar. “In terms of a location?”

Her dark eyes seemed to slam into him. She held his gaze for what seemed too long—and yet even as she smiled politely at him, he could see the wariness, the uncertainty, the panic she hid from the rest. It was almost as if he could feel it—he, who felt nothing. Deliberately.

“It must be the perfect melding of old and new, to stand as a showcase for Hartington’s—an updated classic.” She smiled that professional smile, the one that made him want to lick her until he saw the real one she must have hidden away in there somewhere. “Do you know anything that fits the bill?”

“As a matter of fact,” Lucas said, far too easily, “I do.”

He hadn’t known where he was going with this until it fell into his head, exquisitely formed, the perfect solution. Better by far than the miserable pile of stones and nightmares and broken childhood dreams deserved.

“It must also be suitable for a corporate event, Mr. Wolfe,” Grace said. Her dark eyes were level on his, her voice perfectly professional. “Not, for example, a den of iniquity.”

“Those are the only dens worth inhabiting,” he replied at once, aware of all the eyes on him, on them, as if they could see the same sizzle he felt. “I make an excellent guide to all the local dens of iniquity, in fact. Perhaps we should take a company field trip.”

There was a small titter from the group around him, but Grace, of course, merely flashed that calm smile.

“Tempting,” she said, though it was clear that she was anything but tempted, “and one has no doubt at all of your expertise—

“I should hope not,” he said, his lips curving. “I’m Lucas Wolfe.”

“—but I think we’ll have to decline.” Her smile took on that edge. He should not have found it so fascinating.

“Never fear,” he said before she could dismiss him entirely. “I have something far more boring in mind for your event.”

“Wonderful,” Grace said, her brows raised. She did not trust him, of course. Who did? Who could? He had made certain it was impossible—and so he could not imagine why it should bother him now. “By all means, let’s hear it.”

She thought he was as much of a lost cause as his brother did, he knew. He had gone out of his way to make sure of it—to make sure he lived down to every single low expectation others had of him. The “famous Lucas Wolfe” was his own, best creation, and he’d taken pride in that for years.

So there was no reason at all he should want to alter her impressions.

“What you need is a place that is intimately connected with Hartington’s, yet adds a touch of exclusivity, as well. A destination location.” He had no idea what he was talking about, or why. And yet he could not seem to stop himself. He held her gaze. Challenge and demand. Mystery. He could not resist it. Her. “How would Wolfe Manor suit?”

The rest of the team exploded into excited noise, but Lucas could only see Grace. It was worth it, he told himself, to see her stunned expression, to watch her swiftly reevaluate him in that single split second. The fact that he might be a touch cocky in proposing this particular solution hardly signified, he told himself. He could see the wheels in her head turning, the possibilities occurring to her, a new plan taking shape.

And then she smiled the real smile he’d imagined, and time seemed to still. There was nothing fake or pointed about this smile—it was all that honey and shine, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that, no matter what, he would have this woman.

He had to.

CHAPTER FOUR

RAIN drummed against the roof of the limousine as it made its way out of London toward Wolfe Manor the following day. Water tracked silken, wet paths across the windows in ever-changing patterns as the car slid through mile after mile of the wet and green British countryside—and yet all Grace could concentrate on was the six feet and more of Lucas Wolfe, stretched out with far too much lazy confidence and sheer male appeal next to her in the confines of the car.

“You can look at me directly,” he said in that low, insinuating, endlessly amused voice, far too close to her ear. “I can’t imagine why you would fight the urge. I am, after all, quite marvelously handsome.”

“I believe the word you’re looking for is conceited,” Grace replied, her gaze on the PDA in her hand as if he did not affect her in the slightest. And yet she could only seem to concentrate on the fact that he was much too close to her on the plush seat, his strong shoulders just a whisper away, his spicy, expensive scent—male and seductive and him—seeming to inflame her, to tease her and taunt her, every time she inhaled.

He laughed, completely unfazed, as ever. “Conceit cannot possibly be the right word,” he countered. She was much too aware of how he shifted in his seat, how he inched even closer. “I’ve had independent confirmation in the press for years. I am a glorious male animal. You may as well simply admit the truth.”

“You should probably not believe everything you read, Mr. Wolfe,” Grace replied airily. Easily. She wished she could feel the way she sounded. “It can lead to all sorts of issues. A swollen head, for one thing.”

She knew the moment she said it that she should not have used that word.

“My head is the not the part of me—” he began, evident delight in his tone and in his bright green eyes when she turned to frown at him.

“I beg you,” she said crisply. “Let us preserve the fantasy that you are not, in fact, a twelve-year-old schoolboy. Please do not finish that sentence.”

The wicked smile that should have irritated her, but somehow did not, flirted with his mouth even as his eyes darkened with a heat she wished she could not feel.

“I assure you, Ms. Carter,” he said softly. “I am a grown man in all the ways that could possibly interest you.”

She was all too aware that he was a man. Just a man, she reminded herself. No more and no less, no matter what the fawning press and her own reactions seemed to suggest. And no matter that, yesterday, he had seemed to sense how agitated she was when no one else had. She had no idea what that could mean.

He had discarded his suit jacket the moment he’d entered the vehicle, stripping it from his lean, masculine form in a manner she’d found entirely too disconcerting—and Grace was forced to note that his biceps were more muscular, his shoulders wider and harder, his torso more sculpted than she had imagined when he was covered in more than just a soft bit of linen. She shifted farther, trying to pull herself as far toward the opposite side of the car as possible without looking as if that was what she was doing.

“Tell me about Wolfe Manor,” she said, dropping her PDA into her lap and facing head-on the dragon in its lair. An apt comparison for this man, who was all fire and heat and that coiled danger that no one ever seemed to mention, but which Grace found mesmerizing. And alarming.

His green eyes gleamed and his fine mouth crooked into a half smile as he considered her for a moment.

“If we are to pull off a huge party there in a very short period of time,” she said mildly, reminding them both why they were there, together, “I really should know everything there is to know about the place.”

“I can tell you that it has never flooded,” Lucas said in that silken voice, a dark eyebrow arching high. Grace was forced to consider—and not for the first time—the unnerving possibility that he was much quicker and significantly wittier than any pathetic international playboy had a right to be. She did not know why that thought should unsettle her. Why it should make her arms break out in goose bumps.

“Touché,” she said, but still gazed at him expectantly.

“What is there to tell?” he asked then, with a careless sort of shrug. “It is a manor house like any other. The country is infested with them. It is the ancestral encumbrance, passed down through generations, a monument to aristocratic greed. I thank the gods every morning for the great gift of primogeniture, which, as I am not the firstborn son, ensures I need never set foot there again unless I wish it.”

A moment passed, and then another. The tires swished along the wet roadway, the rain drummed against the roof, and still, Grace was too aware of the way his eyes met hers, bold and demanding, daring her to look away. To ignore him. To pretend he was not getting to her.

“Thank you,” Grace managed to say in her driest tone. “I’m sure that will be very useful information as we prepare to throw a gala there. No thoughts on an appropriate place to pitch the tent? Where to set up the catering? How to craft the perfect delivery system to ensure the guests are properly wowed as they enter the event?”

Lucas only continued to watch her, that wolfish smile and a silvery light in his eyes that made her feel as if she was made of sand, something insubstantial that would blow away at his next breath. Grace felt almost dizzy, and hated it. Hated him, she told herself fiercely, that he should be the reason she felt so wildly out of her depth when she was working—the one place Grace had always exerted complete control.

He was a devil, clearly. He was used to this, to using his incredible sexual magnetism to bend all he encountered to his whim. Simply because he could. But he was not the first devil she’d met, and she refused to be seduced. She refused.

“I imagined my role was to be rather more decorative than administrative,” he said, his eyes laughing at her.

“My mistake,” she said, redirecting her attention to her PDA as if dismissing him. “I thought for a moment in yesterday’s meeting that you were a creature of substance as well as style.” She smiled, to soften her words—to pretend she was still being professional, when she felt so edgy, so raw and unwieldy within. “But you can rest assured, Mr. Wolfe, that your face alone is of great use to Hartington’s, however else you choose to help. Or not.”

“I know,” he agreed, not appearing in the least chastened by her words. Or even particularly offended by them. “This is not the first time I have worked for Hartington’s, Ms. Carter. Though it is true that when I did it last, I was still quite young.”

She blinked at him, thrown. She could hardly think which was more astonishing—that he had ever been young, or that he had ever actually worked. Neither seemed possible. He was too dissolute to have ever been a child, surely, and far too committedly lazy to ever have worked for his living.

“Define ‘worked for Hartington’s,’” she suggested, mildly enough, trying to conceal her interest. She should not find him fascinating. She should not care that he was able to fence words with her so easily. She should not let that soften her. “Because, and do forgive me if I’ve misunderstood, I was under the impression that you took great pride in the fact that you’ve never worked a day in your charmed life. Aside, that is, from your vague claims last week of once having been employed.”

“Perhaps my charmed life is more complicated than you might imagine,” he said, a hint of chill in his voice and that uncannily shrewd gaze of his, but only for the barest moment. Grace was convinced she’d imagined both when he blinked, and that self-mocking smile of his returned. “My brothers and sister and I were once the Hartington’s window display at Christmas,” he said, his tone light and yet, somehow, Grace could hear only the sardonic inflection beneath, the hint of something much darker. “Decked out in matching outfits like the von Trapps, merry and bright. A true Christmas card come to life. The punters adored us, of course. Who could resist a brood of angelic children? They all but emptied their wallets on the spot.”

“As a matter of fact, I’ve seen the pictures,” Grace said quietly, uncertain of him, suddenly. Perhaps he was unaware that there were blown-up photographs of his family all over the executive office suite: seven bright-eyed, shockingly good-looking children arrayed around their attractive father, like a series of Norman Rockwell paintings. They all fairly exuded hearth and home and happiness. She was not sure he would welcome that knowledge. The atmosphere inside the car had changed, and he seemed more dangerous, more unpredictable, though he had not moved at all.

She was imagining things, she told herself. But she remained on her guard.

“Such a happy family we looked,” Lucas said in a soft voice that Grace did not believe at all. “Beyond that, my brother Jacob and I worked in the store during every school holiday for years. My father felt it was character building, apparently.” His smile seemed knife-edged now, deeper somehow, and resonated through her, making her ache in ways she was afraid to examine. “I spent my time talking the shopgirls out of their pants rather than learning how to operate the till. I built my character carefully, and with excessive practice.”

Grace had a sudden, flashing vision of the teenaged Lucas, prowling about the gleaming sales floors of Hartington’s with this same lean and feral edge to him. He would have been much less restrained in his youth, she imagined—all green eyes and cocky swagger and far too much self-awareness. She repressed a sudden shiver. There was nothing safe about this man. She doubted very much there ever had been, even when he’d been small. If.

“It is difficult to imagine you young,” she said, voicing her thoughts without meaning to, her voice far softer than it should have been. Almost as if she cared.

Their eyes met then, and something bright and profound moved through Grace, searing into her through the gloom of the rainy day and the stuffy confines of the car. She found she was holding her breath. That she could not look away from him as she knew she should.

“It was a chronological situation, nothing more,” he said after a short pause, never moving his electric, arrogant gaze from hers. “I never had the opportunity to be naive or innocent.” He seemed to recollect himself and looked away then, that smile sharpening as he did. Grace felt it as if he’d cut into her, as if he’d carved symbols deep into her flesh. “But I doubt innocence would have suited me, in any case.” When he looked at her again, he had gone predatory. Male. Hot and knowing—and it made her melt and tremble, despite her best intentions. “I was always far more proficient in sin.”

“So I have read,” Grace said primly, ignoring the clamoring need in her own body. “At length. It is what makes you such an excellent choice to head up the new Hartington’s campaign. All women have already had numerous fantasies about you, and all men wish they could be you. You are, yourself, the ultimate luxury brand.” She smiled. Professionally. “Kudos.”

“All women?” he asked, his eyes hard and gleaming on hers—as, she realized on some level, she must have known he would.

Had this man ever ignored a gauntlet thrust down before him? She knew, somehow, that he had not. He smiled that wolf’s smile, and it connected hard with that strange humming deep inside of her that grew louder the nearer he was. He was everything she had spent her whole life fearing, avoiding. He made her into someone else, someone lost in the shimmering heat that suffused her, the flame of interest in his gaze. He made her feel things she’d never believed she was capable of feeling. She could not seem to look away. For a long, spinning moment, she could not find it in her to fight him—to fight the weakness in herself.

And she knew that was as good as the death of her.

“Does that mean you’ve fantasized about me, Grace?” he asked, in his seducer’s voice, a low, sexy rasp that promised far too much she knew he could never deliver.

“I believe I have already asked that you call me Ms. Carter,” Grace said, sounding like a starchy, stereotypical schoolmarm sort of person, to her horror. Yet it was exactly the image she strove to project, with her severely cut suits and her scraped-back hair: efficient and competent. A vestal virgin, clutching her pearls.

But what other option did she have? She was trapped in the back of a car with a man who exuded sex—long, slow, all-encompassing, masterful sex, for that matter, from which one was unlikely to recover. And Grace knew what that kind of sex meant, the damage it could and did wreak. She had seen it happen too many times. She had lived it.

“You should have said no, Gracie,” her mother had said so long ago, her face hard and drawn, her eyes flashing the same censure Grace had seen everywhere else. Her own mother, who should have known better—should have tried harder, Grace had thought, to protect her daughter. But Mary-Lynn had made her choice. “You should have said no, but you didn’t, and now you have to live with the consequences.”

Sex like that was a threat, Grace knew, shaking off the unpleasant past. Sex like that was about power, and, ultimately, pain. She had never wanted anything to do with it after the events of her senior year—but then, she had never met a man who fascinated her on all the levels this man seemed to do. For the first time in years, since she had set her course and focused exclusively on putting the past behind her and excelling in her career, Grace felt lost.

“Is that part of your fantasy?” Lucas asked, his voice low, suggestive. He shifted closer to her, and Grace froze—her entire body, her very being, focused on the heat he generated, on the length and strength of his lean, hard body mere inches away from hers. Only inches. A breath. “I’m happy to call you anything you like.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wolfe,” she said in that brisk, insultingly matter-of-fact voice that had gotten her out of sticky situations in the past. She pretended not to notice how hard it was to dredge up this time, how hard it was to employ. “But I doubt very much I’m the target demographic for your particular brand of charm.”

“You are a woman, are you not?” he asked mildly.

“Yes.” She smiled, bright and false. “But a discerning woman, I’m afraid.”

His gaze moved to her mouth, and she felt it like a touch. Hot and demanding. Sure.

“Excellent,” he said softly. “Can you discern my thoughts?”

She felt herself flush in helpless reaction, and could only hope that her legendary cool kept her skin from actually turning red and broadcasting her response to him. How could this be happening? She had never had trouble in the past, keeping her feelings and any unwanted attractions safely hidden away in the parts of herself she kept locked up tight. Soon enough, they’d disappeared, subsumed into the work she’d always known would save her. Anything to pretend her past belonged to someone else.

“I’m afraid not,” she managed to say, forcing herself to sit there calmly, as if she was relaxed. “My psychic abilities only work on more … intellectual subjects.”

“That is a great pity, indeed,” Lucas said, not at all discomfited. “My own abilities are far more universal. Shall I tell you what you’re thinking?”

She wanted to know what she was missing, she knew suddenly—with a deep, new need that frightened her with its intensity. She wanted him to touch her, to taste her. To mark her. Brand her. Take her. She wanted to taste that wicked mouth with her own. She wanted him in ways she’d never wanted another man—even though it made no sense. Even though it made her everything her mother had ever called her. But none of that seemed to matter. She wanted.

But that didn’t mean she planned to act on it.

“I doubt that would be wise,” she said, and mustered up an approximation of her professional smile. “Mr. Winthrop wanted me to usher you through your first project, not mortally insult you.”

His gaze moved up to meet hers once more, and his smile was far too satisfied, far too aware. As if he knew that all he needed do was touch her and she would collapse at his feet, as much his to toy with as any of the hundreds of women who had undoubtedly landed face-first at his trouser cuff before. He was the ultimate predator, and that should have repulsed her utterly—but it did not, and she could not account for it. Anger and fear and something else, something too much like yearning, collided inside of her, making Grace feel jangly and breathless, unnerved.

“It seems your luck has held, Ms. Carter,” he said at last, laughter lurking somewhere in his voice, and that dark, sensual promise in his eyes. That was when she noticed that the car had slowed considerably. He inclined his head toward the window. “We’re here.”

Lucas did not mind when Grace all but leaped from the car the moment it rolled to a stop at the top of the winding drive, in the looming shadow of the great house he so hated. Let her run. He had always enjoyed the chase—not that, in truth, he had ever had to do much more in the way of chasing than indicate his interest. But he’d always liked a new challenge to keep life interesting, and there were only so many times one could leap from a plane or climb a mountain when one did not, in fact, have a death wish.

He climbed out of the limousine after her, more focused on the sweet curve of her behind in the latest of her series of stuffy, corporate suits than in the fact that he was once more at Wolfe Manor.

Acquiescing to an urge he only belatedly realized was uncharacteristically chivalrous instead of calculating, he relieved the driver of his umbrella. He motioned the poor man back into the warm and waiting car, then followed the prickly Ms. Carter through the rain toward the front of the house, from where, he knew, she could see just about the whole of the property laid out at her feet. He loathed the very sight of it—all the picturesque British countryside spread out so prettily, with the charming little village of Wolfestone in the distance. He knew that appearances were deceiving: the prettier the surface, the uglier the mess beneath. He had not, perhaps, thought through his impulsive offer of this house for Hartington’s use, much less considered that he would have to return here himself.

He concentrated instead on the woman standing with her back to him, frowning through the weather at what there was left of the once-famous view.

“You’re wet,” he said, close enough to her to see her start, and man enough to enjoy the flustered look she sent his way when he caught up to her. He indicated the rain, lighter now than before but still falling with no sign of stopping, and then moved even closer, shielding them both beneath the umbrella.

He doubted she knew the picture she made as she stood there, damp and inviting, her lush mouth soft, her usually sleek hair escaping from its confines and curling slightly, making her seem more wanton, more open. He felt himself harden and shifted closer to her.

“You failed to mention that this house is falling down,” she said, her voice faintly accusing, her chin tilting up as she looked at him.

“Not yet,” he said. He looked at the house, still regrettably upright and this time, thankfully, without his brother’s disapproving presence on the front stair. While it was certainly in a notable state of disrepair, it had not been reduced to rubble and a hole in the earth, as Lucas had often fiercely imagined while still forced to live here. “Though one can dream.”

But Grace was not looking at him any longer. She peered up at the house, then pivoted to look out over the wild, overgrown gardens and sweeping lawn that led down to the picturesque lake, pretty even beneath the onslaught of the rain. Her brow creased in fierce concentration, and she pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she let her gaze move from one dilapidated marker of the once-lush Wolfe estate to the next. She sighed and then turned her frown on him.

Somehow, he restrained himself from pressing his mouth into the indentation between her dark blond brows.

“I suppose we can set up a big tent on the lawn,” she said. “It will be pretty if the weather is fine, and there will be enough space if it isn’t. And the state of everything else could work for us. The house and grounds will add a bit of gothic splendor to the whole enterprise.”

Lucas laughed, the sound more bitter than he’d intended. “This is Wolfe Manor. The ghosts here outnumber the living, I assure you, and are all known by name. And there is not a person in the whole of England who does not want to come here and see it for himself.”

She looked at him, her expression warily polite, and he remembered belatedly that she was American, and was not, perhaps, as conversant on the Wolfe family and their tragic history as any citizen of the United Kingdom might be. He was not sure if he liked the possibility of her ignorance regarding all things Wolfe or resented that she might now have to learn all those terrible stories as if they were new.

He could not imagine why he should care either way. And yet he did.

“One of my ancestors supposedly drowned in the lake,” he said abruptly, jerking his chin toward it. “Regrettably, not my father. He died in the house.” He smiled, though he could feel it was not a very nice smile. It matched the dark memories that flew at him, each one a new knife in his gut. He shoved them all aside, ruthlessly. “The rest of us survived this place, in one form or another, but left the better part of our souls behind. I am not being poetic. There was never anything good here. Ever.”

He looked down at her, unable to understand why he was speaking to her this way—as if it mattered to him that she see the truth about Wolfe Manor. He could not understand the urge.

“But it will make the perfect backdrop for your gala, I imagine,” he continued after a moment. “The only thing people like more than glamour is glamour gone wrong, left to crumble into dust and disrepair and salacious old stories.”

“You are so optimistic about human nature,” she said, her voice as tart as ever despite the sweet honey of it, and completely devoid of any cloying compassion—or, worse, pity. She did not quite roll her eyes at him, and he felt something fierce and hot expand in him. “It is no wonder your company is so sought after.”

“I am sought after because I am me,” he said, arrogant and deliberate, daring her to look away, to deny him. “And because anyone seen in my company is certain to be photographed and speculated about in the next day’s gossip rags. I am sought after because I am rich, sickeningly handsome and rumored to be excellent in bed.” He raised his brows at her, challenging her.

“And here I thought it was for your remarkable modesty,” she replied, as quickly and as sharply as he’d known she would. As he realized he’d hoped she would.

“I don’t require modesty,” he assured her. “I have a mirror—and, barring that, the great and glorious British press. I am more than aware of my charms.”

“Clearly.” She did not look remotely impressed. Or even interested. Which, in turn, he found uncommonly fascinating. “But to return to a slightly less important topic than your vast and staggering ego, I think that we can pull this off.”

She turned from him once more, to peer out across his history as if it was no more than a piece of property she was expected to transform. As if it was merely a venue.

Lucas wondered what she saw. What anyone who had not been abandoned here as a child—in his case, quite literally as well as emotionally—saw. None of it could ever be anything simple to him—never just a house, a great lawn, an old estate. His few happy memories involved his siblings, especially Jacob, and the mischief they’d gotten into with their decided lack of parental supervision over the years, but there had never been enough of those moments to tip the balance.

Wolfe Manor was where he had been discarded on the doorstep as an infant, his mother’s identity ever after hinted at, but never confirmed. It was where he had come to understand as a very young boy that while William Wolfe had viewed all of his children with a certain caustic disinterest, it was Lucas who he had actively hated. It was where he had learned to be the person he was today—ever merry on the surface, ever concealed beneath, ever the disappointment to all who expected anything from him.

But Grace could see none of that. No ghosts, no uncomfortable memories, no absentee mothers and vicious, cruel fathers. For her, perhaps, this was no more than an abandoned great house on a vast property—one more British eccentricity for her to work around. In the pouring rain, no less. He watched as she worried her lower lip with her teeth, and then pulled out her PDA and began typing into it.

“We’ll put lights on the house to play up its mysterious past,” she murmured. “A haunted house theme, but elegant.”

He realized with some astonishment that she was no longer speaking to him. She was entirely focused on her PDA, and thus the job at hand. As if he, Lucas Wolfe, the greatest temptation on two feet according to the tabloids and any number of his former lovers, was … no more than a business associate.

He found it surprisingly arousing.

“We’ll have the design capitalize on the Wolfe saga at every opportunity,” she continued in that same distracted tone. “The Wolfe touch on the Hartington’s brand in the eighties is widely considered to be the glory days—we’ll use that. Expand it into the new era.”

She continued on like that for a few minutes more, while Lucas stood idly by, holding an umbrella over her head and waiting patiently. Like one more toothless member of her intimidated staff. Like her lackey.

He was sure it spoke to the deficiencies in his character that he’d been hearing of all his life that he did not mind it as he should. That he found her deep concentration and ability to block out even him deeply, sensually intriguing. Would she be like that in bed? Would she gaze at her lover with that kind of rapt focus?

He certainly hoped so.

“What is it?” she asked, looking back at him as she slid her PDA back in her pocket, her brown eyes narrowing as they caught his expression “Why are you looking at me like that?”

The rain had picked up again, thudding hard against the umbrella and rebounding from the stones beneath their feet. They were both wet, cocooned together amid the noise of the storm. Lucas found it exhilarating. Or perhaps that was simply her presence—and the fact she was standing so close to him. Finally. She smelled like soap and rosemary and something fresher, more feminine, in the close embrace beneath the umbrella.

He could tell the very moment she realized that the pounding rain had trapped them even closer together, that she was near enough to be wrapped around him if she wished—that the only reason besides the downpour that would bring two people together like this had everything to do with the carnal heat that flared between them and nothing to do with the weather. He watched her chocolate eyes widen in alarm—and unmistakable awareness.

He reached across the scant space between them, and slid his hand along the side of her face, filling his palm with the soft skin of her tender cheek, letting his thumb scrape across her full lower lip, wishing he could test it against his teeth as she had. He was so unused to waiting. He could not recall the last time he’d had to wait for anything.

Soon, he promised himself.

“I want you,” he said quietly. It echoed between them as more than a statement of intent. It was a promise. A vow.

He could read her so well, though he did not wish to analyze that unexpected ability. He heard her breath catch in her throat, saw her eyes heat with desire. He knew she wanted him. He could feel it in the fire that scorched the humid air between them, see it in the way her lips parted and the faint tremor that shook through her.

“I am afraid that I do not want you, Mr. Wolfe,” she said in that brisk, professional tone, making him blink—though he did not drop his hand. The heat of her skin beneath his palm did not match the coolness in her voice.

“You are such a liar,” he said, his voice low, intent on her heat, her passion. “I thought we covered this already.”

He could already see them together, entwined, entangled. Her long legs wrapped around his waist, her breasts in his hands. Her lush mouth wrapped around his hardness. He wanted to take her where she stood, pull her skirt to her waist, and feel her soft heat with his hands, his mouth.

“Please do not touch me again, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied. Her brown eyes were direct. Serious. She reached up and took his larger hand in hers, and pulled it away from her face. “It is completely inappropriate.”

“Grace …” He let her move his hand, but he curled his fingers around hers, holding her fast. Something urgent was overtaking him, almost shaking him. He had never felt anything like it. “Do you really think I don’t know you want me, too?”

They were so close, the rain pounding down all around them, stranding them beneath a noisy umbrella—the only two people in the world. Wolfe Manor, with all of its howling ghosts and terrible memories, faded away until there was nothing but the weather, this umbrella and this overly polite, overdressed woman who had somehow wedged herself under his skin.

And she was dismissing him.

She even smiled, a studiously polite, faintly pitying smile. Lucas had never seen anything quite like it—and certainly not directed at him. She tugged her fingers from his grip, and he let her do it.

“I want a great many things that are no good for me,” she told him. Not unkindly, but with an undercurrent of intensity. “I want to live on nothing but red velvet cake and dark chocolate. I want to spend my days lolling about on white sand beaches, reading romance novels and basking in the sun. Who doesn’t?” She tilted her head slightly, still holding his gaze. “But instead I eat healthily and I work hard. No one should get everything they want. What kind of person would they be?”

“Me,” Lucas said. But there was an odd note in his own voice, and it seemed as if the rain roared in his ears. His mouth crooked to the side. “They would be me.”

“Well,” she said after a long, searing moment. Her voice seemed thicker—or did he only imagine that? “Life is not about want, Mr. Wolfe.”

Something passed between them, electric and alive, dancing in the breath of space between their bodies and jolting into him. He did not know what to make of it. He only knew he could not look away.

“You mean your life,” he amended quietly, as if they stood in the presence of something bigger—something important.

“And in any event,” she continued, squaring her shoulders as if he had not spoken, “I have a very strict policy against becoming personally involved with coworkers. I understand you’ve never really worked in an office before—”

“If I kissed you right now,” he said, his eyes trained on hers and the truth he could see there—the truth that resonated in him no matter what words she threw out to deny it, “I could make you forget your policies. I could make you forget your own name.”

That hung there like smoke for a heartbeat, then another, and then, impossibly, she laughed.

At him.

CHAPTER FIVE

GRACE thought she sounded on the verge of hysteria—and that was certainly how she felt, her chest too tight and her skin on fire—but Lucas merely stared down at her, his beautiful face looking nonplussed and not a little disconcerted. His hand tightened around the handle of the umbrella he still held above them. She could still feel the places where he’d touched her face, her hand—as if he’d burned the imprint of his hand into her flesh.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, biting back the laughter before it gave her away, before he saw the truth. Before he realized she was putting on a desperate act to divert his attention. “I have no doubt you could do all of those things. You are Lucas Wolfe, are you not? You’re famous for doing all of that and more to the better part of Europe.”

“Never fear,” he said stiffly. His green eyes burned like smoky emeralds in the wet, gray air. “I am reckless with the feelings of others, perhaps, but never my own health.”

“I’m sure you’re all you claim to be,” she said, injecting a placating note into her voice, which made his eyes narrow and his full lips thin. But he was no longer touching her, which meant he was no longer turning her brain and body to smoke and need, and Grace felt she had to count her blessings where she could.

“You have no idea,” he murmured.

I have more of an idea than I should, she thought ruefully, pushing aside a host of dangerously vivid images that taunted her, teased her, made her yearn to throw herself headlong into the very thing she knew would destroy her. It was as if Lucas Wolfe had been created with every one of Grace’s preferences and secret desires in mind. The aristocratic drawl. The quick, smart wit that suggested an agile mind he chose to hide behind his famed laziness. The lean, arrogant swagger. The narrow, beautiful face that made Grace think of fallen angels and other impossible creatures, all seduction and compulsion, magic and wonder, wrapped up in a package that was unmistakably, devastatingly male.

“And that is yet one more reason I can’t possibly allow anything to happen between us,” Grace said as politely as she could, speaking more to herself than to him. She forced herself to meet his gaze fully and blandly. She forced herself to smile serenely, despite the wild tumult that raged inside of her, nearly knocking her from her feet.

“Grace …” he began, but she had one more card to play. She splayed one hand over her chest, and let her smile take on just the slightest hint of something in the neighborhood of pity.

“I am, of course, very flattered,” she said. Distinctly. Sweetly. Sympathetically.

She knew she’d hit the right note when he stiffened, his eyes narrowing to outraged green slits. She almost opened her mouth then to take it back, to tell the truth, compelled by a force she could not begin to understand. Why should she have the insane urge to protect him? To shield him—even from herself, at her own expense? What was happening to her?

It was the rain, she told herself with some desperation. The rain and a man she should never have met, who she could never allow herself to know in any way other than the superficial. Just the wet and the peculiarly British dampness that crept into the bones and stayed there, squatting, like a kind of grief.

It was the rain, she thought, and nothing more.

“I think we’re done here,” she said, when he only stared at her, affront and something else she was afraid to consider too closely written plainly across his face.

“Are you certain?” he asked coolly. “Surely you are only now warming to the subject. Just think, with some more time and energy you could flay my flesh entirely from my bones using only that sharp tongue of yours.”

“Tempting,” she could not help but reply, not wanting to think about her tongue near any part of him, not wanting to feel how much of a temptation he truly was, how completely he could ruin her if she let him. “But I think I’ll pass.” A kind of shadow passed across his face, darkening those fascinating eyes, and she felt an answering twinge in the vicinity of her chest. She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings—”

“Please contain yourself, Ms. Carter,” he interrupted her smoothly, with a touch of hauteur, all hint of shadows gone from his perfect features as if she’d imagined them. “I am Lucas Wolfe. I don’t have feelings, I have sycophants. I think, somehow, I will manage to survive the disappointment.”

She was surprised she was still standing, that they were still huddled together beneath the same umbrella—that she was not lying in pieces scattered at his feet after that lacerating tone of voice.

But this was a good thing, she reminded herself when she was tempted to let that affect her as it should not. When it came to this man, antagonism was the better part of valor. It was the hint of tenderness, the suspicion of emotion, that would be her downfall. But this—this she could handle.

She smiled her frostiest smile at him, the one that had helped earn her the title of ice queen from everyone who’d been unlucky enough to receive it.

“If you say so, Mr. Wolfe,” she replied in a tone as sharp as his had been, his formal name feeling bitter against her teeth.

Then she strode toward the car, grateful for the rain against her face because it was cold. Grateful for the cold because it snapped her out of the strange spell she’d been in since she’d gotten in the car with him in London. Grateful because finally—finally, she told herself—she felt like herself again.

Grace would have preferred it if Lucas had reverted to his expected type over the next few days—rolling into work at odd hours, drunk and disreputable and incapable of doing more than ogling the secretaries, which was just as everyone expected him to behave—but he did not.

Instead, he turned out to be good at his job.

He threw a press conference to announce his own new position at Hartington’s, deliberately starting the kind of media frenzy that would have taken anyone else a great deal of time and money to attempt to duplicate. And then he simply … went out on the town, as he normally did. He attended all the usual parties, with all the usual people. Pop stars and models, actors and Sloane Rangers. Up-and-coming artists across all mediums, and brash rockers known as much for their prodigious use of recreational substances as their music. And wherever he went, whoever he was with and whatever the event, when he was photographed—and he was always, always photographed—he talked about Hartington’s.

He knew the very fact that he’d taken a job would be considered noteworthy, and so he milked the public’s fascination with the idea of him at work for all it was worth. All the while talking so much about the Hartington’s gala at Wolfe Manor that Grace was soon reading breathless reports on celebrity gossip sites about who was and who wasn’t on the guest list, which artists were jockeying for a chance to perform—the kind of exposure and excitement she normally only fantasized about. With the centenary gala approaching so quickly, there simply could not be enough publicity—and certainly not of this kind and caliber.

Lucas Wolfe, it turned out, was a publicity machine, completely adept at using the press to his own ends.

“Your ability to manipulate the press is really very impressive,” Grace told him at the morning meeting, the paper in front of her spread open to yet another story about the perennially shiftless Wolfe brother and his shocking newfound interest in corporate life.

Though she could not help but wonder—if he was this good at making the press do his bidding, had he been doing precisely this all along, creating the very image that even she now reacted to as if it was the gospel truth about him? Perhaps he really was as clever as she’d now and again imagined him to be, Grace thought, and could not have said why that revelation made her shiver slightly. Nor why he would have deliberately chosen to spend his life this way, to be known far and wide as this … dismissible.

“Not at all,” Lucas replied with a careless shrug, though there was a measuring sort of look in his eyes when he met Grace’s gaze across the conference table. Something much too commanding for a lifelong layabout. Something dark. Aware. “Paparazzi have followed me around for the whole of my life. It’s long past time they made themselves useful.”

“Usefulness is apparently going around,” Grace said, unnerved by the way he looked at her and determined not to show it in front of her team members, all of whom still gazed raptly at Lucas as if he descended to work each morning from Mount Olympus itself, complete with a thunderbolt and a golden chariot.

Lucas, meanwhile, only watched her with an undecipherable expression that made Grace distinctly uncomfortable. Wrenching her gaze from his, she returned to the business at hand, grateful that hers was a high-pressure career that had taught her years ago how to always, always appear calm and collected no matter what fires burned inside of her or around her.

No matter if she felt scorched.

This was what she had wanted, she reminded herself more stridently than should have been necessary when she was back in her office, away from his too-incisive green scrutiny. She wanted distance. She wanted him to stay away.

She did.

So there was no reason at all for her heart to skip a beat in her chest when she looked up from a frustrating email chain regarding the florist’s latest temper tantrum about the changed location to see Lucas filling up her doorway, far too broad of shoulder and smoldering of eye.

Her smile felt more forced than usual. As if that odd interlude in the rain had happened only moments ago, instead of days. As if she thought that somehow Lucas could truly see inside of her, where she still shivered for him, still wanted him, still ached for him to put his hands on her, no matter how much she wanted to deny it.

“I need a date,” he said, the corner of his mouth quirking slightly.

For a moment, one panicked beat of her heart and the next, Grace wondered if this was yet another in the succession of vivid dreams she’d been having about Lucas and this very office—all of which started innocuously enough, just like this, and then quickly became shudderingly, achingly carnal.

But he merely waited in the open door, his face particularly unreadable in the gray light from the window. Grace surreptitiously dug a fingernail into her own palm and told herself she was relieved when the sharp little pain lanced through her.

She was awake. But he was still here.

“I’m sure you can auction yourself off for charity, or some such good cause,” she said briskly, as if there had been no strained moment at all. She leaned back in her chair and eyed him warily. “Or, alternatively, step into the street and announce you have a gap in your social schedule. I imagine eligible ladies will tackle you where you stand.”

That knowing smile flirted with the curve of his mouth. There was something especially untamed about him today, Grace thought helplessly. The suit he wore had been crafted with loving attention to every long, sinewy muscle he possessed, every hard, flat surface. His roguish dark hair fell over his forehead, begging for female hands to rake it back into place. But more than that, he seemed edgy. Determined. Words she would never have thought to associate with this deliberately languid, casual man.

But she would not have thought he could act in the interests of Hartington’s, either, a small voice whispered, nor in so skillful a fashion, and he already had.

“Those are both attractive options,” he said after a moment. “But my needs are more specific. You, to be precise.”

Grace felt her stomach drop out of her body. She carefully folded her hands on her lap to keep them from betraying her by shaking. She ruthlessly tamped down on any outward sign, any reaction, because she knew, somehow, that it would be far too dangerous to show him any hint of what those words did to her. Any whisper of the clamoring inside of her, her heart thudding against her chest, all of her wanting with a force that scared her—and she would be lost.

And then what would become of her? She was afraid she already knew—and shoved aside another guilty flash of memory, resolving she would call her mother later to assuage her guilt and attempt to make amends. But that did not mean she would become her.

“I am running out of ways to tell you I am not available to you,” she said with a great calm she did not feel. She met his gaze, her own firm. “Along with the patience necessary to keep saying it.”

“I received the message, believe me,” he assured her, sounding wholly unrepentant. “Though I believe it was the laughing in my face that truly drove the point home.”

His green eyes gleamed with amusement. She found the sight a relief, and then immediately wondered why she cared whether he found her entertaining, on any level. She should not care if he hated her. She should not care if he was entirely indifferent to her. And yet …

“I apologize if I bruised your ego,” she said, with a razor-sharp pretense of sympathy. “I will confess, I thought it impossible.”

“Oh, it is,” he said easily. “Which is why you can spare me a new lecture on appropriate behavior—it bounces right off my shiny, pretty surface.” His mouth pulled into that self-mocking curve. “But I still need you to be my date tonight.” He shook his head when she started to protest. “It is work-related, of course. I may be a desperate egomaniac, but I can, on occasion, listen.”

His eyes were intent on hers, hinting at all the layers of himself he kept hidden that she could sense hovered there, just out of reach.

“Sometimes I am even capable of processing the information I hear,” he continued, deep irony laced through his voice. “It is astonishing.”

“There is no need for sarcasm,” Grace said, trying to sound firm and in control but fearing she sounded unnecessarily prim instead.

He did not answer for a moment, and then, he casually dropped the name of the current reigning pop star sensation, the young woman who had recently taken the country by surprise with her debut album—an achievement made all the sweeter because she was the daughter of one of England’s most beloved former football heroes.

Grace blinked, unable to track the change of subject. “What about her?” she asked, baffled.

“It’s her birthday party tonight,” Lucas said. “Quite the coveted invitation list. It should be one of the events of the year.”

“And, naturally, you’ve been invited,” Grace supplied for him.

He did not bother to address that absurdity, and Grace wondered why she’d bothered to say it. He was Lucas Wolfe. Of course he was invited.

“I thought you could accompany me and we could convince her to sing at the gala,” he said instead, and there was the unmistakable light of challenge in the gleam of his eyes, the set of his chin. “I suspect she’ll do it if I ask. She’s had a crush on me since she was a schoolgirl.”

Grace shook her head at him. Getting the current number-one pop star to perform at the gala would, indeed, be a coup—but for some reason, that was not the part of what he’d said that she focused on.

“She is eighteen!” she chided him, even as she was caught up in the challenge in his gaze. The dare. Even as she found herself unable to look away from him.

“I said she had a crush on me, not that I returned the favor,” Lucas replied, unperturbed. His gaze grew hotter and seemed to light Grace up from within. “Besides, everyone knows I prefer my women older, desperate and married.”

Grace wanted to discuss his sexual preferences about as much as she wanted to fling herself out the window behind her to the cold street below. But that did not keep her mouth from drying out, nor her pulse from leaping at her throat.

“So you are pathetic rather than predatory,” she found herself saying, despite her best intentions. Despite the fact she knew it was not at all wise. “My congratulations.”

But Lucas only smiled.

“Nine o’clock,” he said quietly, his voice as low as his eyes were bold. He let his eyes fall over Grace’s tightly buttoned jacket, then back up, and his lips twisted. “But you cannot wear one of those ghoulish suits you love so much, not in front of the paparazzi in my company. And, I beg you, do something with your hair.”

His smoky gaze met hers—dared her, provoked her, made her want to throw the nearest paperweight at his inflated head—and then he smiled again.

No one should have a smile like that, Grace thought, hating herself for the flush that washed through her, the fire that licked into her—for her inability to tell him exactly what he could do with his sartorial suggestions.

“Anything else?” she asked tightly, furiously.

Because they both knew that she would do it. She would go to this party and she would dress more or less to please him. Because she had no choice, she told herself, because it was her job to do so, but still—she was surrendering, like all of her worst fears. His eyes gleamed with a hard, male triumph she could feel echo inside of her, making her soften instead of scream. Making her yearn.

“That should do it,” he said in that insinuating voice of his, the one that tickled and teased, and crept along her skin like the softest feather, the lightest touch. “And, Grace—I have a certain reputation to uphold. Don’t force me to choose an outfit for you. I guarantee that you won’t like it.”

She was the most irritating woman he had ever encountered, Lucas thought later that night, lounging on a suede settee in the middle of the celebrity-studded birthday party, under the all-glass dome of one of London’s most exclusive nightclubs. Yet for all his annoyance, he was unable to shift his attention from Grace, who was sitting beside him and yet, somehow, managing to ignore him completely.

He might have admired her fortitude had he not had this electric current of desire and temper surging through him, making him want to take out his frustrations on her very sweet flesh. All over her flesh, again and again and again.

But that was not a productive line of thought.

“No one is convinced by this act,” he told her. “The entire British press knows you are only pretending to ignore me for effect.”

“Just a minute …” she murmured, not paying any attention. Not even glancing at him.

It was lowering, to say the least. Lucas almost laughed at himself. He was brooding in public, which was not like him at all. He, who was known for his ability to make all around him laugh and fall a little bit in love with his smile. But he could not seem to shift his attention from the woman next to him, as she blithely tapped away at that damned PDA of hers. She had taken him at his word regarding her attire—which perhaps he should have expected.

But he had not been prepared. He had suspected she was beautiful beneath her gloomy clothes, of course—but he’d had no idea how correct he was.

For the first time since he’d met her, she was not wearing an undertaker’s suit in black or gray. Instead, she had chosen to wear a dress so red, so bright, that it was all he could do not to gawk at the way it flowed over the mesmerizing legs she’d made even longer, even more wicked, in high platform sandals. The dress clung to her breasts as he would like his hands to do, spanned her waist with a lover’s attention to detail and then flared out from her body to show only saucy hints of the magnificent legs beneath. She looked like a column of fire, and he wanted to burn them both beyond recognition.

But because she was Grace, and might possibly be the death of him, she had left her hair up. In a slightly more complicated knot, to be sure, with a few tendrils of golden blond waves left hanging to tease and entice, but it was ultimately no less controlled than her usual style. He felt certain it was a deliberate act of defiance on her part.

One step at a time, Lucas thought. He was that much closer to getting her naked and beneath him, and that, really, was what mattered. It was fast becoming an obsession.

He had presented her to the pop princess who had, as he’d anticipated, eagerly agreed to perform at the gala—an agreement that Grace had immediately set out to confirm with the girl’s hovering management team while Lucas suffered through a series of indecent propositions that should have appealed to him more than they did. He had smiled obediently for the cameras, and then the princess and her entourage had moved on, leaving Grace behind to email back and forth with her team members about ways to update the design concept for the party to best showcase the new talent. And leaving Lucas with nothing to do but imagine removing that silky smooth red dress from her mouthwatering curves, tasting every inch of her heated skin as he went.

“All right,” she said finally, looking up at him, triumph bright in her eyes. “That was another fantastic idea. Thank you.” She slid her PDA into the clutch bag she held. “I’ll find my own way home, and see you in the office—”

“Home?” He tamped down on the unexpected surge of temper, but still found himself glaring at her. “You cannot be serious.”

“Of course I’m serious,” she said, with that calm gaze of hers that he suddenly found enraging, not peaceful or relaxing at all. “I understand that you are used to all manner of late evenings and early mornings, and more power to you. I, however, require far more sleep in order to function.”

“This may very well be the party of the year,” Lucas said mildly, waving his hand at the parade of celebrities, the overwrought chandeliers up above, the walls draped in deep magenta and studded with crystals. “You miss a single moment of it at your peril.”

“It’s a bit early in the year to be making such pronouncements, don’t you think?” She shrugged. “Besides, I believe the intricacies of the London party circuit fall more within your purview than mine.”

“I want you to stay with me,” he said, baldly. He saw her stiffen, saw her eyes widen. He smiled. “After all, this is the perfect place to drum up excitement for the gala, is it not? Who knows what other luminaries we can rope into attending?”

Her brown eyes were wary—and furious, he noted with growing interest. Why should she be furious? But he suspected he knew. He felt it, too, the tightening noose around them. The pull of it.

The difference was, he was not fighting it. Much.

“Have I misunderstood something?” she asked in the tone of one who was quite certain she had misunderstood nothing. “I was under the impression that the collection of celebrities was your job—a job you are quite good at, actually.” She waved her hand at the crowd around them. “And, of course, these are your sort of people, anyway.”

“Famous?” he asked idly. “Shockingly attractive? Filthy rich and well connected?”

“Bored,” she retorted with that sharp smile and a matching glint in her eyes. “Desperate. As anyone would be, were their self-worth predicated on how many mentions they received in a glossy magazine.”

He eased back against the settee and watched the flush of heat that stole across her face. Passion, he thought with deep satisfaction. And she was not happy about it.

But he was.

“As opposed to the deep social and philosophical relevance of party planning for a department store?” Lucas asked mildly, baiting her. “I can certainly see where your exalted sense of worth comes from.”

She froze, her eyes shooting sparks at him, temper storming across her normally impassive face. It fascinated him.

“I have a job,” she said from between her teeth. “One that I am very, very good at. My self-worth derives from my achievements. Not my father’s surname.”

That might have landed a blow on a man less used to hearing such things and in far more offensive terms. But Lucas only relaxed against the settee, stretching his arm along the back and smiling at her.

“You just finished telling me that I’m good at the same job,” he said, making his tone deliberately insulting, wanting to see the fire in her blaze higher. Hotter. “How difficult can it be?”

“Is anything difficult for you?” she asked, her voice scathing, her hands curling into fists in her lap. “Or do you just float through life making snide commentary and endless innuendos, forever the darling of the paparazzi and very little else? How proud you must be. How deep, indeed, your still waters run.”

He was uncomfortably hard, and delighted with her temper, even though she directed it at him. He, after all, could take it. Temper did not upset him; it usually only intrigued him, since he so rarely lost his own. Still, he was a man, and her words made him long to teach her all manner of lessons. Soon, he thought, watching her proprietarily. Very soon.

“Are we discussing masks, Grace?” he asked quietly, angling close enough to breathe in her scent. “Because I’ve been waiting to talk about yours since the moment we met. What are you so afraid of?”

“Becoming you, of course,” she threw at him immediately, with all of her customary ice and that fire that he instinctively knew was blazing bright underneath. “Becoming anything like you. A zombie with a million-dollar smile.”

“That would hurt my feelings—” he began, fighting a smile.

“If you had any,” she finished for him, and rolled her eyes. “I know full well that you don’t.”

“If I believed you,” he corrected her, his voice quiet but firm. He waited until her gaze found his. “But we both know that you’ll say whatever it takes to maintain this fiction of yours. That you do not want me. That you cannot feel this thing between us, this pull. What would happen if you told the truth, Grace? What then?”

The party was loud around them, a swirling cloak of laughter and music and the whirl of interchangeable faces, but Lucas hardly noticed any of it. There was only this forgotten settee in a darkened corner of the expansive room. There was only this woman. There was only this need.

“Oh,” she breathed, not looking away, her eyes narrowing. “I didn’t understand. This is still about your ego, isn’t it? I won’t fall at your feet and beg for your attention, so there must be a grand conspiracy. There must be a detailed explanation. Masks and fictions and reasons.”

“Not at all,” he said, unable to keep the laughter from his voice, though it only seemed to stoke the fire within him. “Only the truth.”

“Here’s the truth, then,” she said, her voice dangerous, honey and fire. She shifted closer, her need to slap at him and show him her power clearly overcoming any common sense. He needed only to lean forward and he could taste her.

“I am all ears,” he murmured, the laughter gone, every part of him focused on that lush, full mouth so close to his.

Her smile was like a razor, her voice like a whip. “If I were to make a list of all the things that I hate in a man, every single characteristic you possess would be on that list.”

“I have no doubt,” he said, raising his gaze to catch hers. Holding them both captive for a long, hot breath. “But that doesn’t change the fact you want me inside of you. Right now. All night. Until you can’t stand the pleasure any longer.”

He saw her silent gasp as her breath fled her, saw the color flood her face, but most of all he saw the heat in her deep brown eyes. The carnal wonder. The need.

His, he thought. She was his.

“Your conceit is rivaled only by how deeply you are mistaken,” she managed to say, but her voice was no more than a thread of sound, and her eyes were too wide.

“The facts remain the same,” he taunted her softly.

“I don’t want you,” she said, enunciating every word. But he could see how it cost her, how she fought for control. “Is that clear enough for you? Is there any room for error? You bore me.”

But she didn’t move away. If anything, she angled her body closer.

He looked at her for a long, shimmering moment. The music pounded. The crowd surged. London sparkled and preened far below them, even as raindrops fell against the high glass enclosure above.

But all Lucas could see was Grace. Maddening, courageous, sharp-mouthed Grace. His.

Then, never breaking eye contact, he reached over and gently pressed his fingers against the delicate hollow of her neck. Where her skin was soft like satin and hot to the touch.

Where her pulse thumped out hard and then went wild beneath his hand.

“Liar,” he whispered. Then he closed the distance between them and took her mouth with his.

CHAPTER SIX

MOST first kisses were gentle, sweet. Lucas was neither.

He simply took her mouth with no hesitation—as if it was his, as if she was his, as if that devastating possession was his right.

It was like a bomb detonated inside of her, exploding through her limbs, white-hot fire and spiraling need combusting again and again and again, leaving her weak. Wanting. Her breasts ached. Her nipples hardened. Her core melted. And still he kissed her, taking her mouth with an easy command that made her tremble against him.

He kissed with a carnal demand, a sheer, arrogant certainty, that shook Grace almost as much as the feel of his mouth on hers.

Hot. Commanding. As if her entire life had led inexorably to this moment, to the incomparable feel of his lips against hers, sending desire swimming through her veins like alcohol and rendering her incapable of doing anything more than kissing him back.

As if she had never done anything else. As if she would die if she did not.

She raised a hand, and then forgot why as it found the rock-hard planes of his chest, the hint of stubble on his lean jaw, each new sensation igniting a flood of desire, each stronger and more thrilling than the last.

She … forgot. Where they were. Why she was angry with him. Why she should not allow him to angle his mouth over hers with such skill and talent, nor rake a hand into her hair to anchor her head in place as he tasted her again and again and again. Everything that was not Lucas was like smoke, drifting away, signifying nothing. As if only he existed.

Without lifting his mouth from hers, without giving her even a moment to breathe, to collect herself, Lucas shifted on the small settee, his powerful arms sweeping Grace up and over him, settling her sideways across his lap. He murmured something she could not understand, could hardly hear over the pounding of her heart and the wild rush in her ears, and then he claimed her mouth once more.

It was too much. He was everywhere. Hard beneath her thighs, hard against her body, and that talented, wicked mouth of his that took and took, until she could not think at all. She could only feel the heat. The fire. The slick fit and exquisite taste of him, expensive liquor mixed with that part that was purely him. Pure Lucas. Sinful and delicious and capable of making her head spin around and around while the very core of her pulsed with need.

One of his hands remained laced in her hair, and on some dim level she was aware that he was destroying her careful twist. The pins scattered at his impatient touch and the heavy, wild curtain of her blond waves cascaded down around them, shielding them, cocooning them. She could not find it in her to care. His other hand stroked a lazy path from her cheek to her neck, down the stretch of her bare arm to settle at her hip, his big hand holding her fast on one side with his arousal stark and unmistakable on the other.

Grace’s hands went to his strong, sculpted shoulders and were lost, unable to keep from testing the stark physical power he held leashed there—the fine, chiseled lines of his lean and muscular form. Once again, her hand crept to his cheek as if she could hold him, understand him, make sense of him that way. As if she could keep him there, kissing her as if he was starved for her, kissing him back as if she had never been kissed before, as if he had switched a light on inside of her and she could only glow. And glow.

She had never felt this fine desperation, this coiling, insistent need. This fire. She was lost in him. Undone by him.

And still he made love to her mouth as if he could do so forever, as if he had all the time in the world, as if nothing existed but the two of them.

At first, the flash of light made no sense to her, though she pulled back and blinked, dazed, her breath coming in pants and her eyes too glazed to see. But then it came again, and again, and she realized with dawning alarm that it was not lightning. It was no storm. It was a camera. A flashbulb.

“Ignore them,” Lucas muttered, his hands still urgent on her.

Reality came crashing back, slamming into Grace with the force of a punch to her gut. Ice and horror washed through her, and for a long moment she was frozen, incapable of movement, like a stone as she stared down at Lucas.

At that wicked mouth of his, that some treacherous part of her still longed for. At his beautiful, fallen-angel face, that she now knew the feel of beneath her hands. At his bold, unapologetic green gaze, that tore into her like knives, leaving her jagged and despairing.

She could not speak. Words flashed across her mind, harsh and accusing, desperate and pleading, and none of them came close to addressing how she felt. What it meant to be the latest in his endless parade of interchangeable females. Who she had just discovered she was, despite everything, despite all her years of sacrifice and hard work, ambition and denial.

All it took, apparently, was a red dress and the world’s most shameless playboy, and she transformed into her own worst nightmare.

She lurched to her feet, putting air and space between their too-heated bodies, letting her hair swirl around her—hoping it covered her face and concealed her identity from the cameras. She wished desperately she did not have to live through the next awkward, terrible moments, that instead she could simply disappear in a puff of smoke and avoid the consequences of her thoughtless actions altogether. But when had she ever gotten what she’d wished for?

Lucas reached out and snagged her small wrist in his big, elegant hand before she could turn away, forcing her to look down at him, sprawled there on the brushed suede settee like some kind of dissolute god. She wanted to scream, to curse. To throw things at him. To ruin that handsome face, as if that could change how easily she’d fallen for him, how quickly she’d melted all over him.

She bit back what felt like a sob—but could not be. She would not allow it. Not here. Not now. Not where too many people, too many cameras—and Lucas—could see.

“Don’t touch me,” she managed to grit out, past the lump in her throat and the tears that threatened to further disarm and expose her. “Haven’t you done enough for one night?”

“Grace,” he began, his voice low, but she could not listen to him. He was all lies and seduction, and she had to go before she lost herself completely. She had to think. How could she repair the damage? It was as if a bomb really had gone off, and she was the wreckage, all splintered and shredded and strewn haphazardly about. There was nothing left of the Grace she had been before he’d kissed her like that.

And she would die before she let him see it.

She jerked her wrist from his grasp, all too aware, from the measuring gleam in his green eyes, that he allowed it. And then she spun around on her heel, ignoring his muttered curse, and threw herself into the crowd. She shoved her way past the avid gazes of the looming cameramen and bolted for the elevator that would whisk her away from this mess.

If only she could run from herself as easily.

She heard her mother’s voice echo in her head, weathered from too many cigarettes and too many bad choices. “Someday you’ll ruin yourself on some no-account man just like the rest of us. You’ll see. Then maybe you won’t be so high and mighty.”

Grace felt a rolling swell of a multitude of things—none of them high and mighty. Maybe no one could escape her destiny. Maybe she’d been a fool to try so hard, for so long.

It was not until she’d made it down into the lobby of the exclusive luxury hotel that she realized she’d left her bag behind on the top level—behind the tight wall of high-level security that only Lucas’s famous face had managed to breach. She sighed, a noise that was dangerously close to a sob.

Her keys. Her wallet. Her PDA. How could she leave without them? Where could she go?

She came to a stop in the middle of the marble floor, her legs feeling unsteady beneath her, her breath still too quick and her heart still so loud she was afraid it echoed in the hushed space.

“Grace.”

Of course he had followed her. He was the reigning champion of this particular game, and she had just forfeited. All over him and on film.

It was not possible to hate herself more than she did at that moment, but Grace tried. Oh, how she tried.

She did not turn around, but still, she knew when he drew close. Her body reacted as if his proximity was a caress. She felt an inevitable, breathless kind of heat slide from the nape of her neck to her breasts, then down between her legs where it coiled tight and bloomed into a fire. She found she was biting her lower lip and forced herself to stop. Just as she forced herself to raise her head and meet his penetrating yet oddly shuttered gaze when he stepped around to her front to face her.

For a moment, the world fell away. The glittering, ornate lobby, with its hint of tasteful music from above and the acrobatic flower displays in large ceramic vases, faded into a gray nothingness, and there was only Lucas. Only the things she told herself she did not, could not, see in him, because he was only surface no matter how he made her ache. Only the deep, abiding desire for him that rolled inside of her, the fire banked and smoldering, but too-easily kindled by the way he tilted his head to one side as he considered her, his mouth crooking slightly in one corner.

“I would almost say that you were running away from me,” he said quietly, his gaze too perceptive for such a supposedly shallow man, “if I did not know that such a thing were impossible. Women run to me, not away from me.”

“I must not have received that memo,” she said, attempting to match the lightness in his tone, if not his eyes—but her voice betrayed her. It was too rough, too emotional. Too fragile.

Wordlessly, he held out his hand, and that was when she noticed that he held her small, glittering clutch. She swallowed and reached for it, taking care not to touch him in any way. She knew, somehow, that it would ignite that fire all over again, and she was not so foolish as to think she could walk away from this man twice. She was not even sure she could do it now.

“I never took you for the Cinderella type,” Lucas said. Still that light, easy tone, but she could see something much darker, much more intense in his face, his gaze. As if he knew, too, that they danced around the same land mines, the same quicksand. That one false step would incinerate them both.

“I loathe Cinderella,” Grace said, trying to firm her spine, to breathe. To retain control. “There is never any need to wear shoes so precarious that you might lose one should you need to run. And why was a ball so important to her, of all things? She’d have been much better off looking for a job instead of a prince.”

“I suspect you are missing the point of the fairy tale,” Lucas said in that same quiet voice. His dark brows rose. “Deliberately.”

She did not know why she stood there, simply looking at him. She did not know why the moment felt so heavy, yet so breakable, and why she could not seem to make her escape as she knew she should. As she knew she must.

“Come home with me,” he said, and it was a command, not a request. It licked through her, into her. She could not seem to breathe through the heat suffusing her, the tight, hot desire that coiled in her and pulled taut.

What terrified her was how tempted she was to simply do it. To give in to the demands of her body. To surrender to him and the pleasure she knew he could deliver. Had already delivered, little as she wanted to admit it.

But it was that terror that spurred her into action. She heard herself sigh, or perhaps she’d tried to speak, but then she stepped around him and headed for the grand entrance across the lobby. There was nothing to be gained by a discussion, because she could not be trusted around him. It was as simple as that. She had to get away from him—from this spell he’d cast that seemed to compel her to do the very thing she’d vowed she would never do.

The night outside was frigid and wet, but Grace welcomed both, gasping slightly as the cold slapped into her.

“This is absurd,” Lucas said from behind her, his voice clipped with impatience. “The weather is vile. You’ll contract pneumonia.”

“That would be preferable, at this point,” she said without thinking and heard his short laugh.

And then she was spinning around, because his hands were hot and firm on her bare shoulders, and then the world tilted again and there was nothing but the smoky green of his impossibly beautiful eyes. The ones that saw too much, however unlikely that should have been.

“You would prefer the fate of an opera heroine to one moment more in my company, is that it?” he asked with a certain grim amusement, and were he any other man, Grace might have thought she’d hurt his feelings.

But this was Lucas Wolfe. He had none, as he would be the first to announce.

“Yes,” she said, lifting her chin and wishing that alone could clear her head. “Consumption. Tuberculosis. Either is far better than being photographed as yet one more hapless female connected at the mouth to the infamous Lucas Wolfe.”

The night was dark and the rain seemed to blur the edges of things, but, even so, Grace could have sworn that she’d wounded him somehow. Far more confusing than that possibility was her reaction. She wanted to apologize, to comfort him. To make that hint of vulnerability disappear.

She had no idea what was happening to her.

“Don’t worry,” he drawled, his eyes flashing as his fingers flexed slightly against the flesh of her shoulders before letting go. “I cannot imagine anyone will recognize you as my ‘unnamed companion du jour,’ or care. I doubt that it will even make the papers.”

“I’m so glad,” she bit out, unable to process why she was suddenly so angry with him—and not wanting to examine it, just as she did not want to examine why she felt so jagged, so messy, so ruined—as her mother had spitefully predicted all those years ago. She wrapped her arms around herself, her hands moving to absently cup the places he’d just vacated.

“Grace,” he said, and her name was something between a sigh and a curse. “Come home with me,” he said again. He shook his head slightly, as if he was as unnerved by his own tone of voice as she was. “Please.”

“I …” But she could not seem to finish the sentence. She could not bring herself to break the odd spell between them, the enchantment—as if doing so would cause him pain. And, she acknowledged with great reluctance, her, too.

He looked at her for an age, a moment, a heartbeat. Cars skidded past them on the late-night street, the traditionally uniformed doorman hailed a cab with a shrill whistle and London carried on all around them, the city bright and noisy and shimmering in the winter rain.

And there was Lucas, brilliant against the night, as if nothing else had ever mattered, or could.

“Come with me,” he whispered, and held out his hand.

She could not speak, or move. She felt herself sway slightly, as if pulled to him by some invisible chain. She knew too much now—that his body was so strong, so warm, so incredibly male. That he could set her on fire with only that dark, stirring gaze even as the cold rain fell down on them both.

She felt the great gulf of the loneliness she spent her waking hours denying yawn open inside of her, reminding her of all the nights she’d spent alone, all the years she’d denied she was a woman, all the vows and promises she’d made to herself about how different she would be than her mother, than her own past. Than what had happened to her. But then Lucas had touched her, and she was nothing but a woman.

Finally, something inside of her whispered, and that word seemed to ricochet inside of her, leaving marks. Scars.

She wanted to reach over and slip her hand into his more than she could remember ever wanting anything else.

He was far too good at this, she thought in a kind of daze—and it was that sudden spark of reality that gave her the courage, the strength, to step back from him. To really see him again, instead of what she felt.

To remember exactly who he was, and what he did, and why he knew all the right buttons to push, and how best to tempt her. He could seduce a stone gargoyle. He probably had.

And if her heart hurt inside her chest, well, that was just another secret she would learn how to keep. And hide away, where he could never find it again to use against her.

“I can’t,” she whispered. “I won’t.” And then she turned away from him, blind but determined, and did not breathe again until she’d hurled herself into the nearest black cab and slammed the door between them.

Walking into the morning meeting the following day, with a smile on her face and exuding all the professionalism she possessed, was one of the most difficult things Grace had ever had to do.

If she could have, she would have called in sick. But she’d suspected that doing so would be far too telling—it would give Lucas far more of an advantage than he already had, and she could not live with that possibility.

I am my own heroin, he had said, and now she was terribly afraid he was hers, too. She felt very nearly strung out, and he had done nothing but kiss her. Just imagine …

But she refused to go down that road.

“Good morning,” he said, along with the rest of the team as she entered the conference room—his voice seeming to arrow straight into the center of her, kicking up echoes and vibrations.

There was no need to look at him directly, she told herself as she took her place at the head of the table and confidently addressed those gathered. There was no need for anything so foolish, and anyway, she had already blinded herself staring into that particular sun. She had already flirted with her worst fears. No need to compound her sins.

But, unfortunately, she did have to look at him when the topic of the gala’s entertainment was raised. She glanced over, surprised to see that while he lounged carelessly in his seat like a pasha, his eyes were on the tablet in front of him. It should have felt like a reprieve. Instead, she felt a hollowness behind her breastbone.

“We have some exciting news,” she said crisply, infuriated with her own weakness. Again. “Once again, our newest addition has proven himself to be an invaluable asset to the Hartington’s team. If you’ll explain your latest coup, M—”

She never finished saying Mr. Wolfe. She didn’t even fully say the word mister, because his head snapped up, his green eyes fierce. Searing. Furious. Daring her to call him a name designed to distance him, after all that had happened. After they had tasted each other and burned in the same fire. Daring her.

There was a tense, tight silence. Grace felt herself flush. His eyes slammed into her, and she was terrified that everyone could see—that everyone knew—that she might as well have been writhing in his lap there and then, making a fool of herself, a spectacle of herself just like before, every inch the names her mother had thrown at her….

She was losing it.

“Lucas,” she said, knowing as she did so that she should not have capitulated, that she should have prevented that gleam of deep male satisfaction from warming his gaze by any means necessary. That he had won something she could not afford to lose. “If you could share …?”

She could not let this happen, she told herself as Lucas began to talk. She watched him play to the crowd, with a self-deprecating smile and that wickedly funny turn of phrase that had everyone on the edges of their seats, hanging on his every word.

And she was no better.

She was, in fact, everything her mother had predicted she would become.

Grace let that sit there for a moment, a shocking and breathtaking realization, cruel and all-encompassing—but it was true. How could she deny it? Lucas Wolfe possessed not one single redeeming characteristic, and still, she had melted, become a stranger to herself, at his slightest touch. How could that make her anything but … loose? Easy? Ruined already, from within?

She thought of those strange, loaded moments in the rain outside the hotel last night. She thought of the arrested look in his eyes, as if he’d felt the same complicated rush of emotion and confusion that she had—

But she shoved that all aside, ruthlessly.

She would do whatever she had to do, but she would not let him destroy her. She would not let everything she’d worked for disappear so easily. She would not, could not, let herself be everything her mother had told her she’d be, sooner or later. Not now. Not ever.

He had expected a cold reception. He had even expected that she might pretend nothing had happened and carry on as if that was the case.

But Lucas had not been at all prepared for Grace Carter, the most determined and prickly woman he could remember tangling with, to completely avoid his gaze. To blush in public. And then to bolt toward the door when the meeting had ended, quite as if she planned to run away from him altogether.

He wanted to feel something like triumph, but did not. It was something else, something closer to temper, that surged through him.

“Grace?” he called after her, not bothering to rise from his seat, but loud enough to carry to the rest of the team as they filed for the door. To force her hand. “If I could have a word?”

He saw her back stiffen, but when she turned, that smile of hers was firmly stamped across her mouth. Perhaps only he could see the color high on her elegant cheekbones. Perhaps only he noticed the storm in her dark brown eyes.

She waited by the door, smiling and exchanging a few words with her staff as they left, and then closed it behind the last of them, trapping them together in the great fishbowl of a conference room. It was glass on three sides, and sat in the center of the offices and cubicles all around them, so that anyone happening by in the halls could glance in and see what was going on.

He wondered if that made her feel safe. It made him … twitchy. He remained in his seat, with the whole glossy width of the big table between them, because he knew that if he stood he would put his hands on her, and if he touched her again, he did not think he would stop.

“That is the ugliest suit I have ever seen,” he told her, his voice low, his careless posture at complete odds with the strange tightness that held him in a secure grip. “I cannot imagine where you find these things. It is as if you pay to deliberately obscure your figure and your natural beauty.”

“Is this what you wished to discuss in private?” she asked, her voice frigid even as her brown eyes shot flames at him. Even as she retained the razor’s edge version of that smile. “My fashion sense?”

“I think you mean your lack thereof,” he replied lazily.

“Your concerns are duly noted,” she said tightly. “And this is a world-renowned designer suit, for your information. But if that is all, I really must—”

“Grace.” He liked the way her name felt on his tongue. He liked the sound of it in the air between them, the command in it. He liked how her eyes darkened in reaction. He wondered where else she reacted, and how it would taste.

“We are not going to discuss it,” she told him, her full lips thinning in distress. “Not any of it. We will never mention it again. I am deeply appalled at my own behavior and can only assume you feel the same—”

“I do not.” He arched his brow. She let out an impatient, aggrieved sort of breath.

“You should!” Her voice was harsh. Raw.

She cleared her throat, and smoothed back her hair with one palm. It did not require any attention—it was already ruthlessly yanked back into her typical slick twist, and all he could think of was the glorious fullness of it when it had fallen around them. The weight of it, the scent of it. Her delicate, intoxicating little moans against his mouth.

“I will thank you not to tell me how to feel,” he said mildly. It was only a figure of speech, he told himself. It was only to score a point. It did not mean he felt.

She looked away, and he could see that she fought with herself—for control, perhaps. He wanted her to lose that control, once and for all. He had already tasted it, and he wanted more. He wanted her wild and wanton and free.

He simply wanted her. It was no more complicated than that.

“I do not have time for this,” she said at last. “For you. For … what happened. I can think only of the gala.”

He thought she sounded desperate. He told himself he wanted her that way. That had always worked well for him in the past. He ignored the small voice that insisted that this woman was not like other women. That she could see him. That she could know him. That she was Grace, and different.

“All work and no play …” he began, teasing her, alarmed at the direction of his own thoughts.

Her eyes shot to his. “That is not a topic I suspect you have any familiarity with at all,” she snapped out. She let out a breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was smoother. “It’s wonderful that you are able to help so much, that your connections are so useful. It really is. But that doesn’t change the fact that my florist is a prima donna or that the security firm keeps changing its estimate, does it? And those are the things that require my attention. Not you.”

“What are you afraid of?” he asked, almost conversationally.

But it was not a light question at all, and he knew it.

She stared at him for a long moment, until he felt something not unlike shame twist through his gut—though he knew it could not be that. He was immune, surely.

“Do not bring this up again,” she said, her voice soft yet firm, her gaze direct. Grace, in control. Grace, in charge. Grace, locked up and put on ice. Hidden. He hated it. “It is not something I am ever going to wish to discuss.”

She was lying. He knew it as well as he knew his own lies. It was as obvious to him.

But the walls all around them were made of glass, with too many eyes watching them from all sides, and so he had no choice but to watch her turn and walk away from him as if it were easy to do.

Again.

CHAPTER SEVEN

THERE were any number of flashy, spectacular parties that Lucas could have attended, from club openings to birthdays to opening-night film screenings. All of them would, inevitably, be packed with scantily clad women who would smile invitingly at him and offer him anything he might possibly want. Their attention. Their interest. Their bodies. Themselves, on any available silver platter. And yet, for some reason he could not quite fathom, he’d chosen to spend his Thursday night sitting alone in his office instead, staring out over the cold March streets rather than enjoying himself down on the pavement.

He pushed back from his desk and raked his hands through his hair, irritated with himself. That might not have been a particularly new feeling for someone as committed to his own self-destruction as Lucas had always been, but he rather thought the cause of it was.

He had done most of the work that had been allocated to him, most of it relating to the public relations aspect of Hartington’s relaunch, and the marketing and sales plans that went along with it. Lucas was as surprised as anyone else to discover that he had quite a knack for marketing, in addition to PR. It made a certain kind of sense, he supposed. After all, he had been involved in the guerrilla marketing of his own identity since his earliest days.

First, when he’d decided as a child that if he was going to be punished harshly no matter if he was good or bad he’d just as well make sure to be really bad. And then, of course, when he had spent his time at home diverting his father’s violent attentions away from his younger siblings by any means necessary. Better he should take the hit than the younger ones, he’d thought—and anyway, he’d taken a certain, possibly sick pleasure in behaving as if he was, in fact, his father’s worst nightmare.

Is that the worst you can do? he had taunted the usually drunken William, no matter how hard the blow or evil the insult. And no matter what his father came back with, Lucas had always laughed. And laughed. Even if it hurt. He’d always managed to enrage his father even more—and refocus the old bastard’s attention on a target who could take the abuse.

To his siblings he had been and apparently still was the smart-mouthed and charming ne’er-do-well: impossible to take seriously, perhaps, but quick to make them laugh and think of things other than the cruel master of Wolfe Manor. To his father, meanwhile, he had been the devil, taunting and disrespectful, and never, ever as afraid as he should have been.

Perhaps because of the roles he’d assumed so early on, Lucas had discovered quite young that one needed only to suggest a few key points, lay the right groundwork and the world jumped to the specific conclusions he’d intended as if of their own volition. It was all in the marketing, really, with a little PR polish to make it all sparkle.

He had only attempted sincerity once in his life, and that had not ended well. He felt his lips thin as he thought of the two-faced Amanda and how thoroughly she’d broken his young heart. He’d never made that mistake again. When she’d left him, he’d decided it was far easier to be what people expected him to be. Far safer, and far more comfortable in the long run.

Which meant, oddly enough, that he was well suited to the position he’d been given at Hartington’s. Who would have thought it? He could not help a wry smile then. Lucas Wolfe had become what had long been his own worst nightmare: an office drone. By choice. It was the most extraordinary thing.

The iconic old building was dark and quiet all around him. What few noises there were echoed slightly down the abandoned halls. Very few employees were still around this close to midnight on a Thursday, but there was something about the emptiness of the usually busy place that appealed to him. Lucas sat behind his vast, powerful desk and stared out the window, wondering if he looked as much a fraud to the casual observer as he felt. The sudden and inexplicable businessman. The nouveau tycoon. He was certain that if he sat still long enough, he’d be able to hear the howls of derision rise from the wintry London streets far below.

And yet he could not seem to summon the necessary energy that would be required to go out on the town as he normally would, wearing his overused public face and prepared to cavort in front of the cameras as expected. It was as if the Lucas Wolfe he had worked so hard to present to the world for so long no longer fit him as it should, and he did not know what to do about it. There had always been such a fine line between the way he behaved according to the low expectations of whomever he came into contact with and what he did in private, and that line had never, ever been crossed.

No one knew the truth about Lucas, and he liked it that way. Better to remain silent and be thought a fool than to argue the point and find that one was suddenly expected to live up to a host of responsibilities that were completely beyond one’s capabilities. Lucas was all too familiar with that brand of failure. That was why, among other things, he kept his particular flair for money management secret and allowed the world to speculate that he lived off the kindness of certain desperate patronesses like a bloodsucking leech.

He did not want to think about why those long-defended and maintained lines seemed to be blurring these days. He had not wanted to impress someone else in so long now that it seemed almost like an elaborate practical joke he was perpetrating against himself, this brand-new compulsion to do so. But he knew it was true. He wanted Grace Carter to think well of him. He could not think of a single reason why he should, and yet there it was, stark and impossible to deny, sitting in front of him like a wall he kept butting his head against.

It was absurd. Suicidal. And yet he still could not manage to get that woman out of his head. The cutting way she spoke to him, as if she expected better from him when she should know that he quite famously had nothing to offer. The grudging respect in her chocolate eyes when it turned out he was good at this PR game or that he knew his way around a marketing plan. The way she’d looked at him that night in the hotel lobby, as if she could see into him, into the places he’d denied existed for so long that he’d almost forgotten about them himself.

He was becoming maudlin, he thought derisively, annoyed at himself. What was next? Perhaps he could rend his garments and start talking about his terrible childhood in the streets, like all the other madmen. Perhaps he could write a self-pitying memoir and hit the talk show circuit to weep crocodile tears and garner sympathy for his poor-little-rich-boy plight. He could not think of anything more pathetic.

So instead, he thought about Grace. She remained a mystery to him, and that had not happened in a very long time. A woman was not usually much more to Lucas than a pleasant diversion, especially not after he’d tasted her. He could not understand why Grace was so different. Why she resisted him, or why she should want to continue to do so. Twice now she had walked away from him. Twice. He could not imagine why anyone would deny the kind of chemistry that raged between them, so explosive he had forgotten himself completely in that party—had actually forgotten where they were. What was the point of denying something so elemental? Chemistry like theirs was hardly commonplace. Surely she knew that.

Or, he considered, rubbing a hand over his jaw, perhaps she did not. Perhaps she was as shocked by it as he had been. She did not strike him as the kind of woman who had had a battalion of lovers. Perhaps she was unaware that she should be chasing this kind of connection like the Holy Grail it was. That seemed so unlikely—she was so strong, so intriguingly self-possessed—yet what did he really know about her?

He leaned back in his decadently plush office chair and considered. He was all too aware that she took her job quite seriously—so seriously, in fact, that it had begun to rub off on him in ways he was not entirely comfortable with. The fact that he was musing over Grace while seated in his office instead of in a hot tub filled to the brim with nubile women whose names he would never learn did rather tell its own story, he reflected, wincing slightly.

He knew that she was quick, and smart, and not in the least bit intimidated by either his famous name or his admittedly formidable good looks, both of which had been known to overawe those who encountered him in the past. He knew she gave as good as she got, and could throw his own words back at him as if she was trying to best him at a game of tennis. He even knew that, on some level, she enjoyed the deliciously combative relationship they’d developed, because he found it surprisingly addictive—and he’d seen the look in her eyes that indicated she did, too.

He knew that she buttoned herself up like a latter-day Victorian maiden and reacted with the same level of overblown outrage when called on it. He suspected she did it deliberately, to hide the mouthwateringly perfect body he had now seen in clinging silk and felt with his own hands. He knew that she unfairly concealed her glorious mess of hair from view, which he felt was an offense against every aesthetic he possessed. Why would a woman allow her hair to grow like that, so wild and free and sexy, and then spend most of her life scraping it back and wrestling it into submission?

Grace was a mystery, and Lucas discovered that he did not much care for mysteries. Not knowing left too much to chance, and left him far too unsettled.

Before he knew it, Lucas found himself typing her name into the search engine on his computer, just to see what other tidbits he could come up with. There were pages upon pages of links to her name, most having nothing at all to do with the Grace Carter, events manager for Hartington’s, that he knew. There were images of all kinds of Grace Carters, none of whom were his Grace.

He scrolled idly through the list, trying to imagine the Grace he knew as a production assistant in Los Angeles, a concert pianist from Saskatchewan, a book-writing missionary in the Côte d’Ivoire. And then his eyes fell on one link that did not seem to go along with the others. Gracie-Belle Carter, it read. It made Lucas laugh, even as he clicked through. Gracie-Belle sounded absolutely nothing like the Grace he knew—in fact, it sounded a lot more like the kinds of women, soft and smiling and always submissive, who had helped him solidify his reputation over the years.

But then the picture loaded on the screen in front of him, and Lucas froze in his chair. Desire and curiosity combined, rushing through him like something heady and illicit.

Because it was—yet also wasn’t—the Grace he knew.

The woman before him in full-color photography was more properly a girl, all coltish limbs and ripe curves, hair flowing all around her, sexy and rumpled, wet and lush. One picture showed her in nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms, looking coquettishly over her shoulder at the camera with big eyes and sultry lips, the line of her bare back an enticing, mesmerizing curve. Another featured an even smaller bikini, and a whole lot of sand plastered in interesting places, as she knelt on a dark rock and stared moodily at the camera, holding back her wild, wet hair with both hands. A third showed her lying on her back in some kind of hammock, eyes closed, a wet T-shirt showing the full swells of her breasts while her thumbs were hooked in her bikini bottoms as if she were about to tear them from her body and bare all.

She was delectable. Shockingly sensual in ways he had not imagined she could be, and he knew how she tasted.

It took Lucas longer than it should have to realize that he was looking at an old American sports magazine with a swimsuit photo shoot. It took even longer than that for him to accept that he was, without a doubt, looking at Grace. His Grace, listed as Gracie-Belle Carter from Racine, Texas. She could not have been eighteen when these pictures were taken. She was flushed with youth, yet still somewhat unformed—beautiful in the way young girls could be, but not yet as mesmerizing as she would become with the passing of the years.

His Grace, the born-again Victorian, a swimsuit model? That went against everything he thought he knew about her—and some deep, male part of himself loved it.

Alone in his office, Lucas smiled. He’d known it, hadn’t he? He’d known that she was wild beneath that prim, severe exterior. He’d sensed it, and he’d tasted it. And now he knew for certain.

What would it take to bring the real Grace out of hiding? What would she be like if she let this part of herself free? He felt himself harden just imagining her fierce and unfettered, bold and sexy, hiding nothing.

He sent all the images he could find to the printer. His Grace, a wanton. His Grace, unrestrained and unbound by propriety. He was deeply, darkly thrilled. He couldn’t wait to get under her skin and taste the truth of her, at last.

Grace slammed open his office door without knocking, which was his first clue that he’d riled her considerably. She was halfway across the room before he had time to react at all. When he did, he found he could only watch her as she stormed toward him, the file folder he’d left on her desk gripped tight in one hand.

She was furious.

And glorious, he could not help but notice, with the flush of temper high on her cheeks and the light of battle in her eyes. She had hidden herself away in one more dreary corporate suit, a depressing gray with a long hem and a high collar, and he could not help but imagine her in nothing but her bikini instead. She stopped in front of his desk and slapped the folder of photographs down in front of him.

“I expected you to be contemptible,” she told him in a low, angry voice. “After all, you quite famously have the moral standards of an alley cat in heat, but this is over the top, even for you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lucas said easily, leaning back in his chair and eyeing her. She was like a high-octane narcotic, a rush and a thrill, and he could not help the fact that he enjoyed it when she fought with him. “I am excoriated daily for photographs of me, many of which are taken without my consent. You, on the other hand, posed for these, did you not?”

“I was seventeen!” she gritted out from between her teeth, her hands in fists at her sides. “And I have not courted public opinion and infamy every day since!”

“I do not have to court attention, Grace,” he replied, smiling slightly. “It finds me whether I want it or not.” He indicated her presence before him with a languid wave of his hand, and was rewarded by the sparks that flashed like lightning in her eyes.

“That might have been more believable before you proved yourself to be a master manipulator of the press, the marketing department and anyone else you come into contact with,” Grace seethed at him. She shook her head fiercely. “I don’t believe your lazy playboy act any longer.”

Lucas did not speak for a moment, watching the play of emotion across her face instead. There was fear behind her anger, fueling it. He found it fascinating—and disconcerting. Something turned over in his gut.

“What happened to you?” he asked her quietly, his eyes searching her flushed face.

He took in the inevitably sleek and perfect bun she’d wrapped her hair into, the severe and overly conservative cut of her suit. All she was missing was a pair of clunky black eyeglasses, and she could have completely embodied the stereotype. Why was she hiding? What was she hiding from?

And why was he so compelled to find out the truth about her?

“If you mean what happened to me this morning,” she snapped at him, vibrating slightly with tension and fury and that incomprehensible fear, “I came into the office to discover that the resident Don Juan spent his free time digging around in a past I leave buried for a reason!”

“I mean, in your life,” he said, shaking his head slightly. The look in her dark eyes made him feel restless, made him want to do things that were anathema to him—like try to save her, galloping in on a gleaming white horse and pretending to be someone who could. But he had stopped rescuing people a long, long time ago. “I could hardly believe these were pictures of you. Why do you hide all your joy, power, beauty? Why do you pretend that part of you never existed?”

“Because she never did!” Grace threw at him, her hands rising and then dropping against her thighs, her voice much too rough, too raw.

And then, to his horror, her dark brown eyes filled with tears.

* * *

She could not cry. She would not cry—not in front of this man, who had managed to expose her darkest secret with the same lackadaisical smirk and easy carelessness as he did everything. Not here, not now, where she was already far too vulnerable.

She had almost passed out when she’d opened that folder after the morning meeting. Shame and horror had slammed into her with too much force, too much pain, and the fact that it had been Lucas who had found the pictures, Lucas who had seen her like that … It made her want to sob. Or scream. Perhaps both.

Thank God she’d been alone in her office! Of all the things she’d expected to see in a folder from Lucas, the very worst mistake she’d ever made had not been on the list. Sometimes, eleven long years later and a world away, she even let herself forget about it for long stretches at a time. She would tell herself that everyone had things they would prefer to forget tucked away in their history, that it hardly bore thinking about any longer.

That her mother had not been right. That she had not been ruined so long ago, when she had let it all happen. That she was not beyond the pale, as she’d been treated. That her mother should have believed her—and should not have disowned her.

But she had been kidding herself, apparently.

He had presented the glossy reminder of the worst year of her life to her in bright color photographs, in her office, the one place where Gracie-Belle had never existed. Could never exist. Gracie-Belle had died the moment those pictures were published, and she’d been so young and so stupid it had taken her far longer than it should have to recognize that fact. She’d needed money desperately enough to forget everything she’d learned about the way men were, and the way the world worked—and she’d paid for that. She was still paying.

Grace’s hands curled into fists at her sides. How dare he throw those pictures in front of her as if he knew something about them—about her?

“I do not expect you to understand,” she said coldly, stiffly, desperately fighting to sound calm—no tears, no sobbing, no shouting—and not quite succeeding. “You have never needed anything in your privileged, aristocratic, yacht-hopping life, have you?”

“Grace,” he said, his green eyes growing dark as he stared at her, that confidence he wore like a second skin seeming to slip before her eyes, “you are taking this the wrong way. I only meant—”

“To humiliate me?” she interrupted him wildly. “To punish me because I refused to sleep with you?”

He looked appalled. Shocked. “What? Of course not!”

They stared at each other for a searing, tense moment. He swallowed, then shrugged, visibly uncomfortable. “I only wanted to remind you. Of who you are. Who you could be.”

“Who I am?” she asked, hearing the bitterness in her own voice. She tried to shake it off, turning away from him toward the wall of windows and the lush little seating area grouped before them. “How could you possibly know who I am?”

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” His voice was deceptively mild in the quiet office. “We all think we know someone because we’ve seen them in pictures. Isn’t that how you knew I was so contemptible?”

She did not want to admit that he had a point, throwing that word back at her, and she told herself it didn’t matter, anyway. Rich men acting badly made the world go around. They could, like Lucas himself, wake up one morning wishing for a change, and just like that, executive positions were doled out like candy.

It was different if one happened to be born dirt poor. And a woman.

“Let me tell you a story,” she managed to say past the lump in her throat and the tight ball of anxiety in her gut. “You’ll have to use your imagination because it takes place far, far away from a sprawling estate in the English countryside or the glamorous Christmas windows of Hartington’s.”

She shot a look at him over her shoulder, not sure how she felt when she saw how he watched her, as if he really did know her—something almost tender in his expression. But what did that really mean? He thought the pictures he’d unearthed were a good memory, that they were something other than desperate. He did not, could not, know her at all.

“I grew up poor, Lucas,” she said as evenly as she could. “Not ‘Daddy refuses to pay my bills this month’ poor, but real poor. ‘Having to choose between rent and food’ poor. A trailer park in a dirty little Texas town that nobody’s heard of and nobody ever leaves, because there’s no money for dreams in Racine.”

“Grace …” he said, but she was too far gone to stop. She could hear the emotion in her voice, could feel it pumping through her. She did not know why she was telling him this, only that she had to.

“Mama didn’t understand why I couldn’t just settle down with whatever boy would have me and live the same kind of life that everyone we knew lived, that she lived, but I couldn’t.” She shook her head, as if that would help ward off the accent that returned when she talked about Texas, her words sprawling, her drawl thickening. “I read too much. I dreamed too hard. And even though there was a part of me that loved Racine more than words, because it was home, I knew I had to leave.”

She swallowed, as if she was still standing in that dusty trailer park, so blisteringly hot in the summer, and the wheezy old air-conditioning forever being turned off to save pennies—even though she could see London in front of her, sparkling and cosmopolitan through the windows.

“So while the other girls my age were making out in backseats and getting ready to marry their high school sweethearts,” she said quietly, as if remembered dust and despair were not choking her even now, “I was banking everything on a college scholarship.”

She could hardly bear look at him then, so beautiful and impossible, high-class and expensive, like a male fantasy made flesh. Her fantasy. The only man who had gotten under her skin in eleven long years. She didn’t know why it made her ache to see him as he sat there behind his big desk, as far away from her now as he had ever been. She told herself she wanted it that way. That the kisses they had shared, the odd moments of communion, were no more than an elaborate game to him, and she was not at all the worthy player he seemed to think. That he simply hadn’t known it, but he would now.

She told herself she was glad.

“It was one thing to be bookish,” she said, looking at the folder of the photographs that had damned her. “And something else to be pretty.” Her mouth twisted in remembered shame and trembled slightly. “And I was much too pretty. Mama’s new boyfriends were always quick to comment on it. Some of them tried to get too friendly when they were drunk. I kept my head down, hid in the library and studied. I was the top of my class—the top of the state, even. I knew I’d get some kind of scholarship—but I also knew it very likely wouldn’t be enough to cover my expenses. I’d have to do work/study, at the very least. Maybe more than one job, if I wanted textbooks. Or food. But I was destined for better things. That’s what I thought.”

“You were clearly correct.” Lucas’s voice was cool, crisp. His aristocratic accent seemed to cut through her memories of those hot Texas days like a knife through butter. But it only served to remind her how vast the gulf between them was, and how little he could ever understand her.

She did not want to think about why she wanted him to understand her in the first place.

“That fall my class took a field trip to San Antonio to see the Alamo,” Grace said, forcing herself to continue, however little she wanted to keep talking. “And that was where Roger discovered me.”

She didn’t want these memories. She wished she could excise them from her head and throw them away as easily as she’d gotten rid of all the other things that had held her back from the future she’d so desired. Like her accent. Her roots. Even her mother, who hadn’t wanted her enough, in the end. And it had all started with Roger Dambrot.

“He was a photographer,” she said. She could feel Lucas looking at her, and she had no one to blame but herself. She had started this, hadn’t she? “Quite a famous one, actually.”

She had decided to share this story of her past, but that didn’t mean she had to share all of it. Like her doomed, childish love for Roger, who had been as happy to sleep with her as he had been to disappear the moment she veered toward any emotion. She thrust the memory of that first, last heartbreak aside. She had been a colossal idiot, but wasn’t every teenage girl? She’d been so pleased with the attention. So delighted that he could make her look like that with his camera. She’d thought she’d found her calling—her ticket out of Racine and into the bright future she’d always believed she’d deserved.

“Thanks to him,” she said, fighting to stay calm, “I was offered a lot of money for a modeling contract, and it never even crossed my mind to refuse it.” She smiled, unhappily. “I was proud of it! I thought it proved that I was different—that I was special.”

“Grace …” Lucas’s voice was a caress. She shook it away.

“What I did not expect,” she said tightly, “was that appearing in a bathing suit in a national magazine meant that every one in Racine would consider me a whore. The teachers at school. The other kids. My mother’s boyfriend.”

She could remember it all so clearly, no matter how hard she’d tried to forget it over the years. Travis, her mother’s latest boyfriend, with his copy of an American sports magazine in his hands and that knowing, lustful look in his mean black eyes. The tiny bedroom in the trailer that Grace had always considered her refuge. Travis’s hands, touching her. His big body, reeking of stale beer and old cigarette smoke, pressing her back, pushing her down, making her freeze in panic and confusion.

And then her mother’s appearance in the doorway—to save her, Grace had thought. Thank God, she’d thought. It had taken so long, too long, for her brain to accept that her mother’s rage and fury was directed at her, not Travis.

“I should have known you would pull something like this!” Mary-Lynn had screamed at her. “This is how you repay me? After all these years?”

And the names she’d called Grace. Oh, the names. They were still lodged like bullets beneath Grace’s heart. She could still feel them when she breathed.

“Once they think you’re a whore,” she said quietly,

“that’s how they treat you. Even my own mother. And more to the point, her boyfriend.”

All the things she did not say hung there between them, and Lucas only looked at her, as if she was not more naked, more vulnerable, than she had ever allowed herself to be before. Grace felt a deep trembling move through her, climbing from her feet to her neck, and fought to breathe.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said, his voice too soft, so soft it made her eyes heat with the tears she refused to shed. “As it happens, I understand completely what it is like to be judged on photographs, and the conclusions about one’s character that so many people draw from them.”

“So one would imagine,” she said. She turned around and met his gaze fully, not sure when he’d climbed to his feet and not certain she liked the reminder of his height, his surprising grace.

“Why do you care so much what so many ignorant people think?” he asked, still in that soft voice.

“Because they were my people!” Grace blinked to keep the wet heat from sliding down her cheeks. “Racine was the only thing I ever knew, and I can never go back. Do you understand what that feels like?”

“I cannot understand why you would wish to return to a place that scorned you,” Lucas said, his voice low.

“Those pictures are the reason my mother threw me out of the house when I was seventeen,” she said, as evenly as she could. “I hate them and every thing they stand for. I wanted to make some money for college, and instead I lost my family, my hometown and, for a long time, my self-respect. That’s all you need to understand.”

“But that was then,” Lucas said, smiling slightly, encouragingly. “Now they are an acknowledgment that you were always, as you are now, a beautiful woman.”

“I don’t want to be a beautiful woman, whatever that is!” Grace cried, old and new emotions boiling too hot, too wild, inside of her. Why couldn’t he understand? Her looks had never done anything but cause her trouble. She would have removed them if she could. The life she’d built had nothing to do with her body, her face. It had everything to do with how well she did her job, and she couldn’t let go of the panicked notion that if everyone knew what she looked like half-naked that would be all they knew about her, ever after. Again. What would she lose this time?

“Why should you hide yourself away?” Lucas asked, in the same light tone, because what wasn’t light to this man?

And it was just too much. Over a decade of anguish seemed to well up within her, threatening to spill over and drown her. She had already been down this road—she knew what happened. Let a man see her as a piece of meat and he would treat her that way, too. This was the truth about men. This was what Grace inspired in them. Hadn’t she spent all these years completely immersed in her job, her career, to keep from having to face the uncomfortable truth? The loneliness? Why had she wanted so desperately to believe that Lucas was any different?

“Did you really believe I would be delighted to see these pictures?” she countered. Her eyes narrowed. How had she tricked herself into believing there was more to him than this shiny surface? When would she learn that she knew nothing of men—especially not men like Lucas, who wielded sex as just one more weapon? “Or was this one more of the sick little games you play that mean nothing to you, because you are completely heedless of the damage you cause to the people around you?” She was unable to hide the hurt from her voice. “Because you can be?”

He stood there against his desk, an arrested look on his face, his smoky green eyes changing to something much darker, much grimmer. It was as if she watched him alter before her eyes. Gone was the sly, insinuating good-time guy, made of sin and rumor and utter carelessness. And in his place was this … man. Different. Darker.

Tortured, she thought, her heart pounding like a drum, too fast and too hard. But how could that be? How could he be hurt?

And why should she care?

He is like all the rest! that old voice inside of her cried, still nursing the wounds her mother and Travis had inflicted so long ago. Don’t listen to a word he says—don’t believe the things you think you read on his face!

But she could not bring herself to move.

“You have no idea of the damage I can do,” he said, his voice thick with what could only be self-loathing, the lash of it making her blink and sway slightly on her feet. “And ferreting out a few perfectly tasteful pictures from a decade ago hardly match up to the destruction I can wreak. You should count yourself lucky, Grace.”

She did not want to care about this man. She did not want to feel that unwelcome tug in the vicinity of her heart, or want to soothe away the darkness that had overtaken him. She wished she did not know that he could feel pain, that he could react at all to the things she’d said. She wished he was no more and no less than the flighty playboy she’d believed him to be.

But if she’d truly believed that, why, the relentlessly logical part of her brain asked, had she told him the story she’d never told another living soul?

“Do not show those pictures to anyone,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, trying hard not to notice the way his mouth twisted, as if she’d wounded him again.

“They are only pictures,” he said softly, with a bitterness she could not understand. He swept the folder into his hand, and then pitched it into the wire trash bin that stood next to his desk. “And now they are gone. No lives ruined. But I am Lucas Wolfe, after all. I’m sure there are six or seven other lives I can destroy before the evening news.”

Grace knew she should have walked away then. She should have turned on her heel and left the offensively luxurious top-floor office he’d done nothing to earn. She should have considered the matter finished, and comforted herself with the knowledge that he was the person she’d believed him to be from the start—shallow, conscienceless, empty.

But she did none of those things.

“Why do you want me—the world—to think the worst of you?” she asked before she knew she meant to speak. That odd tension that had gripped her in the lobby of the hotel and out on the street the other night returned, hovering between them, making the air feel heavy with portent and meaning. Regret and fear. Secrets. Hope. Or perhaps that was no more than the way he looked at her.

“It saves time,” he replied, his voice strained, almost harsh. “There is nothing here, Grace. Nothing beneath the pretty face. Isn’t that what you think? What everyone thinks? Congratulations. You are correct.”

His pain has nothing to do with you! she cried at herself, but it was as if another person inhabited her body. Another person who swayed closer to him, whose hands itched to reach over and touch him—a person who could not let that much raw pain go unacknowledged. Especially when it was his. A person who could not believe he was who he said he was. Who would not believe it.

God help her.

“I think,” she said, very quietly, unable to look away from him, unable to hide herself as she should, as she’d meant to do, because something about the way he was talking made her think he was grieving and she could not ignore that, she simply could not, “that your looks are quite probably the least interesting thing about you.”

“Grace—”

He bit out her name, but she could not stop. She lifted her chin and did not so much as blink as she gazed at him. As she saw him.

“I think that you could teach lessons on how to hide in plain sight,” she said. “That you do it all the time. That you are doing it even now.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

THE following afternoon, Grace forced herself to unpack her things from her suitcase and put them away in the wardrobe of her cozy room at the Pig’s Head, the only inn and tavern in the quaint little village of Wolfestone—just down the road from Wolfe Manor. The honey-colored beams above her head and the cheerful fireplace in the corner should have made her feel relaxed, as if she was on holiday, but she could not seem to keep the wild tension swirling inside of her at bay.

In fact, she was not sure she’d breathed fully since that stark, upsetting scene in Lucas’s office. She did not know what might have happened had they not been interrupted by Charles Winthrop’s pursed-mouthed secretary, who had taken no notice at all of the crackling tension in the room and had invited Lucas to visit Mr. Winthrop at once.

It was only after he’d left that she had retrieved the photographs from his waste basket, because she could not leave them lying around, and certainly not in his office. She had shredded them with great relish in her own office, shoved the past back down into the vault where it belonged and told herself she’d had a lucky escape.

But somehow, she did not feel lucky at all.

She should be jubilant, she told herself now and not for the first time, that they had been stopped before they could go any further along that road of personal revelation. She had a feeling that they had hovered perilously close to a great disaster, and disaster was something she could not afford with the gala so close. It had been a relief to depart for Wolfestone this morning, knowing that this last stretch of time before the party was crucial—and that living immersed in the venue and on hand to deal with the inevitable issues that would crop up was necessary.

Necessary and convenient, Grace acknowledged ruefully. There would be little time to deal with the mysteries of Lucas Wolfe. Much less her own confusion regarding her reaction to him. So far she had discovered that she could neither keep her hands off Lucas nor her mouth shut around him. Even his own behavior failed to give her pause. What was next? She shuddered to think.

There was a sharp knock at her door, and she walked over to wrench it open. A jolt of awareness shot through her when she found Lucas himself standing there, as if she’d summoned him.

Were they both thinking about those photographs? Grace wet, wild, debauched? She swallowed with some difficulty and felt herself flush.

Lucas smiled.

Up close, all hints of the tortured, wrecked man she’d seen the day before were gone. He lounged in the doorway as if he was the local gentry—which, of course, she reminded herself, he was. His wicked mouth crooked invitingly, making his lean and clever face seem positively sinful. One arm was propped up over his head against the doorjamb. His dark hair was artfully tousled, as if he’d just woken from a nap or had raked his fingers through the mess of it. Repeatedly. He was wearing a soft-looking shirt in bright blue that clung like a lover to the planes of his hard chest, thrown carelessly over a pair of denim trousers that fit him like paint, and Grace could not pretend to herself that he was anything but the most gorgeous man she’d ever beheld. He made her mouth run dry.

Or maybe that was her fear about what might happen next.

“Invite me in.” The crack of command in his voice dragged her attention to his eyes, which were far darker and ripe with the tension between them than the rest of him let on.

She was doomed.

“Why would I do that?” she managed to ask crisply, as if she was affected neither by his stark male beauty nor the darker truths she could see move through his gaze. “Do you plan to suck my blood?”

“Is that a request?” he replied, but his customary easy charm was gone. She sensed it before she under stood it—a whisper of trepidation that danced across her skin, snuck down her spine. Something is different, a small voice whispered in alarm. He seemed edgier. More dangerous. Less controlled. She remembered that dark fury she’d sensed in him the first morning he’d walked into her office. Everything has changed, she thought. But she cast it aside.

If she pretended she didn’t notice that the balance had shifted between them, that every breath and every moment seemed taut and terrifying and much too unwieldy to be borne, would that make it so?

“I had to see it for myself,” he drawled, his eyes like green fire as they traveled over her, making her feel scorched. Making her want. Making the air seem to hum with everything that had changed, everything that was new and dangerous. “Up close.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Grace managed to say over the catch in her throat. She left him standing in the doorway, because it was that or risk much more than she dared, and moved back over to the bed as if she meant to finish unpacking. But she was aware only of Lucas.

“You do.” He stepped inside the room and let the door swing shut behind him, which was not at all what she had planned. She jumped slightly and then turned to face him, her stomach dropping. The room seemed much smaller, suddenly, constricting around her. Trapping her—and yet she couldn’t bring herself to run.

Worse, she did not want to run.

She meant to speak, to deny him again, to keep up the civil, professional pretense—but she couldn’t seem to do it. It was the hungry look in his eyes as he moved closer, lean and big and more commanding than he should have been. More intense. More compelling. She could not tear her gaze away from him. It was as if, having seen a glimpse of what was behind the mask he wore, she could not see that mask any longer. She saw the man. Electric and consuming, and so much more real than he had seemed before—more real than was at all healthy for Grace. Her heart began to beat low and deep, the pace quickening—becoming ever wilder, more frenetic—the closer he came.

“I had no idea you even owned a piece of clothing that was not strictly stodgy and office appropriate,” Lucas continued, that mocking note in his voice, the one that suggested he was being playful when she could all but see the tension shimmer through every tendon, every bone of his lean body. “Other than that one red dress.”

“There is nothing in the least bit outrageous, or even interesting, in anything I’m wearing,” she said, trying to sound authoritative. In control. She had chosen the crisp denim jeans and smart black cashmere sweater deliberately, knowing that while her team might choose to dress more casually while away from the conservative head office, she could only allow herself to unwind so far. Her version of casual involved dry cleaning and clothes she would be comfortable wearing to business meetings with her superiors.

Was she really thinking about her clothes? With this man so near? So unpredictable? Did she think that would work?

He ignored her, and prowled closer, peering at the clothes stacked in her open suitcase and beside it on the thick white duvet. Grace felt frozen in place. She did not dare to move. He was much too close, so close she could smell him, heat and man and something expensively spicy. So close she could seem to do nothing at all but think of how his mouth had fit against hers—how demanding, how sure. Or recall how warm his skin was to the touch, or think about how she felt so shivery now, so hot and cold.

And he knew everything. There were no secrets.

Why should that make her feel even weaker? Even more aroused?

He leaned back against the bed, far too close to where she stood, crossing his long legs at the ankle and tucking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. His green eyes were hooded as he gazed at her for a long, hot moment while Grace could do nothing but panic. Her heart sped up and her pulse pounded. Her eyes seemed to glaze over with heat, while her mouth stayed far too dry. The very air in the room seemed to crackle.

“Will we talk about it?” he asked, that dark edge to his voice, as if he fought the same demons that Grace did. “Or will we continue this game of cat and mouse until we end up in bed? I love to verbally spar with you, Grace, do not doubt it. And I intend to take you to my bed. But I rather think there is more to this than that.”

“More?” She did not quite stammer. Not quite, though her voice went up an octave or two, and she flushed.

“I am afraid you’ve seen behind the curtain,” he said in a low voice, with that odd, stirring current beneath. The corner of his mouth flirted with a smile, though his gaze was far too direct, too disconcerting. Too dark. Was this the real Lucas? The man behind the mask? Because Grace knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was not joking. Not this time. “There are penalties for that. Taxes that must be levied. Those are the rules.”

She could not breathe. She moistened her lips and then clenched against a shocking flood of heat when his gaze dropped to her mouth and a stark, purely sexual hunger cast his face into wickedness. The kind of wickedness she wanted to taste, despite everything.

“I came to find you yesterday, after meeting with Charlie Winthrop,” he said, coiled there, just out of reach, about to pounce. And still, Grace could not bring herself to move away as she knew she should. His head tilted slightly to the side, his gaze measuring her. “But you’d gone.”

“I had a meeting,” she said faintly. An electric current was buzzing through her, skimming along her skin, burning through her veins. She felt almost light-headed. Almost dizzy.

“I do not understand this,” he said in the same quiet, serious tone he’d used yesterday. The same stark, brutal honesty. The same directness, with the same undercurrent of something like despair. The room seemed to contract, trapping them both in the same tight, bright grip. “I do not understand why I feel compelled to tell you things I normally do not speak of to anyone. I do not understand why I cannot stop thinking about you. I can’t seem to stay away from you.” His smile turned wry. “And the truth is, I do not want to.”

“You must,” she said, but her voice was insubstantial, the barest breath, and he ignored it, anyway.

“I have never been very good at doing what I must,” he said, a hard amusement flashing through those smoky green eyes. “It is among my many and varied character flaws.”

Grace did not want this. She could not want this—it was too much. He was too much. She felt as if the world shook, as if she shook with it, though nothing moved.

“I am not interested in your flaws, many though they may be,” she said, fighting desperately to return to familiar ground. She could not do this. “We have a job to do. Nothing more.”

“Yes,” he said. “Our job. That has brought us here, to this village of the damned I vowed I would burn to the ground before I’d return to it, and all I can seem to do is wonder.”

His voice was deceptively light, completely at odds with the intensity and fire in his gaze.

“Wonder?” she echoed, as if she did not take his meaning, but she knew.

She wondered the same things. She wondered so much and so heatedly, so breathlessly, that she had barely slept in days. Even the invocation of her past, of what had happened to her, had not changed the wondering, the imagining. And that was only the physical part of this. The easy part. The only part she planned to acknowledge. The inn seemed to spin and tilt wildly at the corners of her eyes, but at the center of it all stood Lucas.

And an uncomfortably reasonable voice inside of her whispered, Why not?

Grace fought to keep her breath even. She had told Lucas the truth and he had not looked at her differently. He had not reacted like a long-ago almost-lover in college had: he had not looked at her in that calculating way and asked if, in fact, she had been seducing her mother’s boyfriend that day. If she had that scarlet letter blazoned upon her face, the way she’d always believed, Lucas had not seemed to see it. And if he already knew the worst but didn’t believe the worst of her—what was the point in denying herself the pleasure that might go with that kind of uncomfortable honesty? The spoonful of sugar to sweep away the taste of the bitter pill?

And who was to say that this time she couldn’t be the one to take control—to beat the player at his own game? Why not be the seducer instead of the seduced? Why not call the shots? Why not, indeed?

She blinked, dazed by her own trail of thought. And all too aware of the heat and sleek beauty of him, standing near enough to touch, watching her so closely.

If she’d learned anything from her mistakes, from her mother, from her own hard-won successes, Grace thought with a dawning sense of certainty, it was this: it was always better to be the one in control.

So if she was already doomed, she might as well dance.

It was as if a great weight fell from her then, and disappeared into the tense air between them.

“If you keep looking at me like that,” Lucas warned, his expression hard with hunger, “I will not be held accountable for what happens next.”

“I already know what will happen next,” she said. She faced him—and herself—head-on, clear-eyed and somehow completely ready for what had been, only moments before he’d walked in this room, unthinkable. He’d had no compunction about throwing those photos in her face, so why should she worry about using his own weakness against him now? She raised her brows at him in deliberate challenge. “I only hope that after all of this talk and all these promises, you can live up to your reputation.”

He was not in the least bit fazed. His eyes seemed to see straight through her, to all the places where she ached for him, yearned for him, dreamed of him at night. All the places where she was made of nothing save the want of him. And she would use that against him, she thought. She would get her own back. She would be the one to laugh when it was done, and leave, too.

He did not move from his position at the bedside, lounging there, watching her as if cataloging her every move, her every thought. It was almost too much. It was almost too real. He was quite obviously not a fantasy at all, as someone who looked like him should be—he was a man.

“I have to check in with the team,” she said, teasing him, feeling the tension and electricity roll through her. It made her feel powerful. As if it really was hers. To wield. To use. To enjoy.

But he only laughed.

“The team is in the pub, and the last thing they need is the intrusion of their ice queen boss to force them into tediously good behavior and stilted conversation,” he said. “The best thing you can do for them is give them tonight to blow off steam. You’ll be in one another’s pockets for the foreseeable future as it is.”

“Well,” she said, momentarily discomfited by his unexpected insight—not to mention the fact he knew the whereabouts of her staff when she did not. “That works out, then.”

For a moment she did not move. He was the only thing she could see, green eyes and that crooked smile, as if nothing else existed. She let that wash over her, through her. Then she stepped toward him, closing the distance between them with a single step.

Surprise warred with desire in his gaze, on his face, but his hands moved to her hips—anchoring her against him as she moved to stand between his legs. She rested her hands against his sculpted chest, tested the softness of his shirt and the muscles beneath with her palms, eliciting a faint, rough laugh from him.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” he asked, threading one hand into her bun and starting to pull the pins out, one by one, with an easy confidence, as if she was already his. His other hand tucked beneath the soft hem of her sweater, then moved hot and hard against the small of her back, urging her even closer.

She could do this. It might even be easy.

“Do you?” she countered. She leaned into him, pressing her heavy breasts against the wall of his chest, letting her body slide against his, bringing their mouths within a scant inch of each other.

She had the impression of scorching green fire and hectic color. Of exhilaration pounding through her like wine. And a sense of absolute rightness that might have scared her, had she not already decided to take him—on her terms.

And then, finally, she leaned up and kissed him, taking control, she thought, and everything burst into flame.

* * *

Lucas allowed himself to remain surprised for roughly three seconds, and then desire took over. He did not care why she was doing this, only that she was doing it.

Finally.

He slanted his mouth over hers, determined to make her his, determined to prove that she was no more than any other woman, no different, no matter what yesterday’s uncomfortable conversation had indicated.

He had been alone forever, and he liked it that way. It was simple. Easy.

But she tasted like honey, like her Texas drawl, warm and sunny and sweet. She went straight to his head, until he could not seem to care about protecting himself as he knew he should, as had always been second nature to him before.

He did not like the feelings she aroused in him. The need to protect her, even from her own past. Yesterday’s searing need to unburden himself. This obsession, this need, to lose himself in her. He hated it, he told himself, and so he kissed her again and again, deeper and harder and longer, surrendering himself to her exquisite taste, her scent, the sweet perfection of her body pressed against his.

This was sex, he told himself. Nothing but sex. And he happened to be particularly talented in that arena.

She pushed him back on the bed, and he let her, bemused by this sudden show of assertiveness. But who was he to argue? He lay back and watched appreciatively as she climbed up on the bed with him, straddling him.

He hissed in a breath as the core of her came up flush with his groin, making him harder than he could ever remember being before. More. He wanted more. He wanted to bury himself inside of her and lose himself entirely. He wanted to make her scream his name. He wanted to taste every inch of her body, every freckle, every moan. He wanted her in every possible way, all night long.

Only then, he told himself, could he exorcise her. Make these uncomfortable feelings disappear as if they had never been. Make her no more and no less than another conquest, indistinguishable from the rest. That was what he wanted. He didn’t know how to want anything else.

She settled against him, her wild blond hair falling forward, making her look like some kind of goddess. His goddess, he thought and stretched out his hands to test her hips, the indentation of her waist. He pulled a long strand of hair to his mouth, rubbing it over his lips. She smelled like rosemary and wine, and the feel of the long blond waves was like raw silk. But she batted his hands away, and then frowned down at his shirt as her fingers started to work the buttons.

Her fierce concentration, her focus on the task at hand, kept him from flipping her beneath him as every instinct shouted at him to do. That stern frown of hers made him stir against her, made the fire blaze even higher, even hotter, within him. She finally bared a swathe of his chest and bent over to taste it, him. Her tongue was soft, wet, maddening. He tangled his fingers in her hair and urged her up to eye level, taking her mouth with a swift possession that made some kind of bell toll, long and true, deep inside of him.

He ignored it, because he was tasting her—hot and female and deliciously, undoubtedly Grace—until he felt drunk from her. Wildly, fantastically drunk, and more than happy to stay that way.

But she had other ideas. She reared back up, and pulled her lower lip between her teeth as she returned to work on his shirt. When he moved to pull her close again, she shook her head at him. He was mesmerized by the silken fall of her hair across her shoulders, the way it teased her breasts, the way the length and wave of it softened her face, making her seem more flushed, more open, more his.

“Just lie back,” she said, bracing one hand on his abdomen, as if she thought she could keep him there against his will.

“And think of England?” he asked dryly. “I’m afraid that’s not my style.”

“It can be a brand-new experience for you,” she said in the prim voice that drove him crazy with need, her attention drifting back toward the bare skin she’d uncovered. “I doubt you have many of those.”

Lucas did not. But he had also never been one to wait.

He sat up, holding her flush against his hips, and only smiled against the delicate skin of her neck when she made a sound of protest. When she had settled against him, her arms loose around his shoulders, he let his hands skim down her back to slip under her sweater. The soft cashmere was almost harsh compared to the warm silkiness of her skin beneath. He tugged the sweater up and over her head, baring her to his view, then threw it aside.

She was perfect. Taut, full breasts encased in decadent black lace that said far more interesting things about the real Grace than the depressingly austere suits she preferred. Lucas cupped her breasts in his hands, dragging his thumbs slowly across the peaks, making her head fall back as she moaned out her pleasure. The sound was like petrol on a bonfire—he ached to be inside of her. He reached behind her, expertly unhooking the bra with a single hand, then caught a hard nipple with his mouth as he pulled the garment free of her flesh.

He heard her breath stutter as her body tensed and then shook beneath him. He tasted one breast, then the other, taking his time, learning her. He traced a path from her breasts to her collarbone, pressing kisses against her as he went, tasting her with his tongue, his lips, his teeth. He reached her mouth and took it in a hard, deep kiss, holding her face between his hands, his fingers deep in her wild mane of hair.

“Wait,” she whispered, pulling away. She shifted against him and then lifted shaky hands to his shoulders to push his shirt off, so that when she pressed back against him they were skin to skin.

Yes. So hot. So soft. So perfect.

He was delirious. He wanted more. And then still more.

Growing impatient, he swung her around and then rolled her under him in a swift, simple move. She blinked up at him, her chocolate-brown eyes molten with passion, her generous mouth faintly damp from his.

“You are not letting me take control of this,” she scolded him through lips swollen from his kisses, her breasts full against his chest, the taut peaks sending pinpricks of desire shooting through him, straight to his hardness.

“No,” he agreed, his voice rough with desire. “I am not.”

He propped himself up on one elbow, then traced a lazy pattern down her torso with his hand, stopping to worship each breast in turn. He continued on to her navel, testing that shallow valley, before he reached the waistband of her jeans. He had them unbuttoned and unzipped in a heartbeat, and she let out a shaky laugh.

He tested the upper edge of her lacy panties, pulling slightly on the elastic that held them in place. She let out a slight moan, her legs moving restlessly against the coverlet. He looked down at her, smiled—then slid his hand beneath the lace, to hold her wet heat in his hand.

She gasped and shuddered, bucking her hips against his palm, her eyes drifting closed. She was so wet, so soft, deliciously, meltingly hot. She burned into him, making him sweat. Yearn. Need.

Soon, he told himself. So very soon.

“Are you sure?” he taunted her gently, his fingers learning her most intimate secrets, stroking her silken folds, then pressing inside. “I know you had some doubts, did you not?”

She made an incoherent noise, her head moving against the bed linens, her hips meeting his hand, matching him stroke for delicious stroke.

He wanted more. God help her, he wanted everything. He’d forgotten why. He only wanted.

“I want you to come,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear, delighting in her long, slow shudder, the way her hand speared into his hair, holding him as he held her.

He used one hand deep in her heat, his fingers moving to an age-old rhythm within her, and his mouth bold and demanding against her breast. One breath, another. Her head tossed back and forth against the pillows while her body tightened, her back arching and her hands curling into fists.

“Now, Grace,” he whispered, moving to her other breast and circling the nipple with his tongue. “Now.”

One tug on her nipple with his mouth, one hard rocking motion against her molten femininity with the palm of his hand, and she convulsed around him, shattering into pieces, her face flooding red and her mouth parting on a long, high sob.

She was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen. His.

And he was only getting started.

CHAPTER NINE

GRACE barely had time to breathe, and no time to compose herself, before Lucas sat up and stripped her boots, jeans and panties from her body with more of that consummate skill that should have worried her deeply, but instead made her thighs clench against another thrilling wave of desire.

He removed the rest of his own clothes as quickly and then moved back over her as she lay, shattered, on the bed. Her heart was still pounding too hard, her breath still uneven.

She was supposed to be the one in control! She was supposed to be the one leaving him this undone!

“Lucas,” she began, not knowing what she might say. Not knowing where or how to begin. Not even recognizing the sound of her own voice.

“Shh,” he replied, and then he moved down the length of her body to rest between her legs. He slid his strong arms beneath her hips, and before she had time to react, to take back the lead and use it, he lifted her and settled his mouth against the hot core of her.

Passion exploded inside of her, a white-hot, searing heat that blanked out her plans, her fears. He licked her, teased her, took her—his mouth more wicked, more clever, more confident.

She arched against him, into him, as he kept her anchored beneath him, his mouth glued to her heat. She heard her own voice, moaning wordless sounds of desire, of pleasure, of ecstasy, as if from far away. Her breath came in hard, shallow pants, and she could not quite catch it, she could not calm down. And still he built that fire, stoking the flames with every swirl of his tongue, pushing her higher and higher until she toppled over the edge and dissolved all around him.

When she came back to herself, he was braced above her, surrounding her, his wide shoulders blocking out the world. She felt turned inside out, exposed, made more vulnerable than she had ever been before. She did not know if she wanted to burst into tears—or kiss him.

“Pay attention, Grace,” he murmured, amusement and passion in his low voice, bringing himself down against her chest, his skin like hot satin over steel, rubbing against her taut breasts, making her sigh as the aftershocks still rolled through her.

And then he thrust inside of her.

Grace felt the leftover pleasure from her last climax coalesce and shiver through her, kicking into her as he began to move, slow and sure, building her up again when she would have thought she was more than sated.

Lucas rolled over, keeping himself deep inside of her, but bringing her on top of him. Dazed, Grace could only stare down at him for a moment.

“I thought you wanted control,” he said, pressing kisses to her jaw, the corner of her mouth, her neck. “By all means, take it.”

“Your concept of control is a bit more elastic than I’d intended,” she said, amazed that she could speak at all—astounded that she could hang words together, no matter how breathless her voice sounded.

He laughed, and she felt it inside of her, as deep as he was. She felt it radiate through her, pleasure coursing outward from where they were joined, lighting her up from within.

“I don’t much care for boundaries,” he said, pushing her hair back from her face, teasing her lower lip with his teeth. “Unless I set them.”

He was so hot and hard within her, so uncompromisingly male, and Grace felt suddenly restless, urgent. Unbelievably, she felt that tightening, that coiling desire, begin to pull taut inside her all over again. All that mattered was that feeling. She sat back, settling herself against him. Then she rolled her hips into a slow, steady pace and watched his eyes go dark with passion, reveling in the power she had over him just as surely as he could wield it over her.

But she didn’t care about the power. Not anymore. Not after what had just happened between them. She knew she should care about that, but she shoved it aside. She cared only about the pleasure, about the slick slide of their bodies, the thrust and the pull that made her feel wild, insatiable. She forgot about the photos, forgot about the past and the pain, forgot about the lessons she’d decided she’d teach him. The truth was his hard length within her, his wild hands on her flesh. The truth was she wanted him with a desperation that should have terrified her, but instead made her yearning all the more intense. She was more hungry for him than she had ever been for anyone. Than she had ever imagined it was possible to be.

She was too hungry for him to protect herself. Perhaps she had known that from the start.

At a certain point, his hands gripped her hips, and Grace could no longer think, she could only feel. And when she shattered one more time, he spurred her on, his thrusts wild and urgent until he, too, fell over the edge.

She thought he even called her name.

Lucas knew how he was supposed to act. Smoldering, arch, easy. Hadn’t he played the role a thousand times? He knew how to perfect the postcoital scene. He knew how to make a woman who had just bedded him feel like a queen, as if she’d never made a better decision in her life. He knew how to leave them wanting more.

But none of them were Grace.

Outside, the night had long since fallen, casting the room in shadows. Only the lamp on the antique desk shed any light, and it was the barest halo, yellow against the gloom.

He was still deep inside of her. She was still sprawled over his chest.

He had no idea why he felt a great sense of melancholy when he considered his next move, almost as disconcerting as the unusual sense of well-being that washed over him when he did no more than hold her and breathe.

So much for the exorcism.

She stirred. He had the strangest urge to pretend he was asleep, to keep her there against him, the perfect, soft weight of her holding him down, as if she anchored him to the world, to herself. But instead, he let her move away from him and disposed of the condom as she pulled herself to her feet on the opposite side of the wide bed.

She looked over her shoulder at him, thoroughly disheveled, and he felt a fierce stab of a kind of pride. Her hair was a wild cloud around her face, her lips still slightly swollen, her eyes not entirely focused.

“I am going to shower,” she said, her voice still rough from passion. There was something awkward in the way she held herself, something uneasy. She did not quite meet his gaze, and he knew as she pulled an arm around herself that she felt the heaviness, the weight, that hung there between them.

He was a master at this scene. He should have sorted it out already, made her laugh, flattered her and teased her into pleased satiation. But his happy manners, his notorious charm, seemed to have deserted him completely.

“Grace.” He did not know why he said her name like that, why he felt it reverberate through him, why he wanted to reach for her for no reason at all but to hold her close. To stay in this moment, not to let it go. He did not know why every part of him felt that could be disastrous to move forward, to keep going.

To admit that he was back in Wolfstone, with all that entailed.

He was descending into melodrama, and she was not even looking at him.

“Why don’t you order room service?” she asked lightly, her tone not fooling him at all. But what could he do when he was not even sure what held him in this odd, tight grip around his chest? “We could use some food, I think.”

And then he watched her walk across the room to disappear into the en suite bathroom, naked and more beautiful than any woman ought to be, her head held high and regal, the culmination of fantasies he hadn’t even known he’d had.

He was in trouble. More trouble, he understood, than he had ever been near before.

“You accused me of hiding yesterday,” he said without turning around, not moving from where he stood in front of the big bay window. “In plain sight.”

He had heard the water shut off, had heard the old pipes cease their chattering and clanking. He’d heard her move around in the bathroom, and then emerge. She brought a cloud of fragrance with her, something floral with a faint kick of spice. Her soap, shampoo, perfume. It teased his nose and made him harden again in the jeans he’d thrown back on to answer the porter’s knock when their food had been delivered. Lamb with buttery mashed potatoes and peas. Hearty fare befitting a cold March night—and yet he could not seem to summon up an appetite.

“It was an observation,” she replied in an even tone, closer to him than he’d expected, though he still did not turn. “Not an accusation.”

“It was astute, either way,” he said. “But I cannot seem to do it here.”

He turned to find her just beyond his shoulder, her face carefully blank, her brown eyes noticeably wary, her hair piled haphazardly on the top of her head and curling at the ends. She was wrapped in a thin silk wrapper of a deep royal blue, her skin flushed pink and rosy from her ablutions. Or perhaps from what had happened between them.

She looked like candy, sweet and damp and all too edible. And he could not understand why tasting her again, though he yearned to, was not the urge that drove him. Why something else battled to take him over instead.

It was the ghosts again, he thought darkly. There were too many, especially in Wolfestone. Hadn’t his run-in with Jacob taught him the folly of revisiting the past? And yet here he was, back in this village, as if he’d learned nothing at all. He’d even been the one to suggest coming here, so full of himself, never considering the consequences. The story of his damned life.

“I don’t know what this is,” he muttered. “If it is you—or this damned place. It brings back far too many memories. None of them good.”

Her wary eyes searched his face, and he saw her swallow, as if fighting for calm. Oddly, that small sign of discomfort eased him. It made him realize that this woman—who knew something about hiding herself in plain sight just as he did—could understand. That he wanted her to understand.

“What happened to you here?” she asked in a soft voice, as if she feared he would not like the question.

He looked at her for a long moment, and then back out the window. The night was dark and blustery, with no hint of moon or stars. He could see only the wind-tossed branches of the trees across the lane, and the impenetrable country blackness beyond. But he still knew precisely where he was. He still knew that the Wolfe estate began just on the other side of the deceptively bucolic river that wound through the town, that the manor house hunkered out there in the dark, empty and brooding and marked, as far as he was concerned—forever marked as soulless and evil as its former owner had been.

What had he been thinking, to return here?

“I had the misfortune to be born William Wolfe’s son,” he said, a hollow laugh escaping him. “That is what happened to me. Do not let the tales of his fame, his great charisma and cult of personality fool you, Grace.” He shook his head. “I’ve managed to put him from my mind for vast swathes of my life—but that does not work here, apparently. The things he did and the kind of man he was hang in the air in this village like smoke.”

She was quiet for a long moment, and Lucas felt that ache inside of him expand. As if he had never known loneliness, not really, until this moment. But then she brushed past him, and sat down on the couch just beside the window and faced him, tucking her long, bare legs beneath her. She tilted her face toward him, and he saw … nothing. No judgment. No arch, inside knowledge she might use against him. Nothing but her warm, steady gaze.

“He was a monster,” Lucas said baldly. He felt his mouth twist and turned away, staring out the window once again, though what he saw was the past. He shrugged, as if he could will it away.

“And …” Her voice was hesitant. “Your mother?”

“I never knew who she was,” Lucas said, on a sigh. Funny that the truth could still sting, when he should have long since ceased caring about a relatively meaningless fact like that one. “He told me only that she could not stand the sight of me, and that was why she’d left me on his doorstep.” He smirked a little bit then, ignoring the small noise she made. “I grew up rather amazed that what people saw when they looked at me was this remarkable face I’d been awarded in the genetic lottery, when I knew the truth about how ugly I was. So ugly it repulsed my own mother, who was never heard from again. So ugly it made my father hate me. Quite a dichotomy.”

“And you had only your father’s word on that?”

Grace asked, and it was the lack of pity, the simple calm in her voice that made it all right, somehow, that he was telling her all of this. No matter that he still did not know why.

Lucas remembered then, unwillingly, the night he’d confronted William in his study with the birth certificate he’d found after hours of searching. He’d been a mere teenager then, angry and bitter that all of his siblings knew their parents—even Rafael, the other bastard son who lived in the village yet out of William’s view, had the comfort of his mother’s presence to ease William’s rejection of him. But Lucas had nothing. Only William’s lifelong loathing and a birth certificate with the mother’s name blanked out.

William had reacted predictably when Lucas had waved the document in front of him, and Lucas had still been too emotional, too small yet to fight back as he might have done later. It was only when William had him pinned to the wall that he’d relented at all—in true William Wolfe fashion.

“Your mother is a difficult woman to forget,” he had said, in a vicious sort of tone, designed to wound, confuse.

He had thrown a photo album at Lucas’s feet, sneered at the nose he’d bloodied with his own big fist and left Lucas to page through photographs of his uncle Richard’s wedding—to a woman who had Lucas’s own unusual green eyes. If what he had seen was true, it meant William had slept with his own sister-in-law. Lucas had been sick right there on the study floor.

The subject of Lucas’s mother had never been raised again.

“Yes,” Lucas said now. “I never discovered who she was. Not really.” He could not believe how much William’s behavior could still get under his skin, even all these years later. When it could not matter to anyone, not even to him. When the man had been dead for nearly twenty years. “Not for certain.”

“My father disappeared before I was born,” Grace said matter-of-factly, wrapping her arms around her knees. “There are any number of John Benisons in the world, and none of them were interested in claiming me. I don’t even have his name.” She looked at him, her dark eyes intent on his. “There is no shame in being an accident, Lucas. There are only parents who are not up to the challenge.”

“William was not up to any kind of parental challenge,” Lucas said. “He was not what I would call a parent at all, aside from his biological contribution.”

He looked at her then, taking in the way she gazed at him, his own near-overpowering urge to touch her, to hold her, to pull her close to him again and make him feel that fleeting sensation he’d felt in the bed, that he’d never felt before. He was afraid to name it.

“I told you before that there are ghosts here, Grace,” he said quietly, but in that moment he did not know if he meant in Wolfestone or in himself.

She smiled slightly, seemingly unperturbed by his warning.

“Will they rattle their chains and scare the guests away with all their moaning?” she asked.

“They are more likely to dress in designer labels and behave as if they are normal human beings,” Lucas replied dryly. “When they are not. Not one of them.”

She searched his face for a moment, then twisted around to look out the window, as if she, too, could pierce the darkness with her gaze and see the dilapidated manor house in the distance.

“Is that why it was abandoned?” she asked, and he knew she meant the house, not him. “Too many ghosts?” She frowned slightly, as if trying to make sense of it. “Was it easier somehow to let it crumble into the ground?”

“If it were mine,” Lucas said with a quiet ferocity, “I would demolish it and salt the earth on which it stood.”

Her brows arched then, and another near-smile played over her generous mouth, drawing him like a moth to a flame. He could not bring himself to look away.

“That seems unduly dramatic,” she said. “Surely you could simply choose not to visit. Or donate the place to English Heritage. It is only a house.” When he did not speak, she shrugged. “And surely not all of your siblings share your opinion of the place?”

“We are not close,” he said. He laughed slightly, a hollow sound. “Or perhaps it is more truthful to say they are not close with me. And why should they be?”

“Because you are their brother,” Grace said quietly, as if she believed in him. As if she knew him. And he could not let her, could he? He could not let her think he was something other—something better, something less worthless—than he was. Not even if it felt as if she’d wrapped him in sunshine. This was meant to be an exercise in exorcism, not in intimacy.

He sat down next to her on the plush, bright couch, confused by the urge to be near her even when he planned only to disabuse her of any positive notions she might have of him. Then, even more confusing, he reached over and took one of her pale, slender hands in his. He did not understand himself, when he thought he had looked into every dark corner he possessed, and more than once, leaving no surprises. He had never been more of a stranger to himself than he was tonight.

“One night when I was eighteen,” he said, striving for an even tone, “William got drunk. This would not have been of interest to anyone, you understand, except that on that particular night he worked himself into a temper over my sister, Annabelle.” He smiled, though it was the barest sketch of a smile. “He brutalized her,” he said, his voice growing raspy. He indicated his face with his free hand. “Slashed her face with a riding crop.”

“Why?” Grace breathed, her eyes wide.

“He was a bully and a drunk,” Lucas said caustically. “Did he need a reason?” He shook his head slightly. “My brothers tried to stop him,” Lucas continued. “But they were too young. When my older brother, Jacob, came home, he waded right into it.” He paused and looked at her, hard. “I was not there, of course. I was chasing a set of twins through Soho.”

But she did not flinch, nor look away. So he did.

“When Jacob pulled William off Annabelle,” he said, concentrating on their linked hands, “he punched the drunken bastard as he richly deserved. Hard.”

Grace’s hand tightened around his, as if she knew. “And then?” she asked quietly.

“He died,” Lucas said matter-of-factly. “That was always the William Wolfe way.” He let out a derisive sound. “He always did get the last laugh.”

“I am so sorry,” Grace murmured. “For all of you.”

“It is my younger siblings you should feel sorry for,” Lucas said, that jittery feeling washing over him, as it always did. Muted, somehow, but still there, making him restless. Making that old self-loathing glow and expand within him. “Once Jacob was cleared of any charges, he, of course, put his life on hold to be a guardian to us all, because that was Jacob. Generous to a fault. The perfect older brother. But he could not live with himself.” Lucas shook his head. “What did that vile old bastard ever do to deserve regret? What did he do besides make us all miserable?”

He could hear the echo of his voice, raw and rough, and was glad there was no mirror nearby. He felt certain he would find himself unrecognizable. His heart was hammering against the walls of his chest and he felt unhinged, untethered, as if he might explode. But then Grace brought their linked hands to her mouth and kissed his knuckles, one by one, and Lucas let himself breathe.

“I dreamed every night for years that I’d killed William myself,” he said quietly. He turned to meet her troubled gaze. “I hated him. I would not have lost a single night’s sleep if I’d been the one to kill him, accidentally or otherwise, nor would the weight of him on my conscience, such as it is, have caused me a moment’s pause.”

“Then what does?” she asked, and he had the most uncomfortable feeling, once again, that she could read him. Much too easily, and far too closely. “Because,” she continued, “it is clear that something weighs on you, Lucas. Heavily.”

“It’s only myself,” he answered, with unflinching honesty. “When Jacob left, the role of guardian fell to me.” His smile felt like acid. “I was unfit for the position, to put it mildly. I abandoned them, too. Deserted them. That is the kind of man I am.”

The room was quiet. The enticing scents of the food set out on the room service tray perfumed the air, and the wind rattled the windowpanes.

“How old were you?” Grace asked after a moment, her gaze unreadable, her face calm.

“Eighteen.” He made a bitter sound. “A man.”

“Or, perhaps, a boy who had been brutally treated the whole of his life,” she said quietly, holding his gaze. “A boy who knew nothing at all about how a parent should act. I think you expected far too much of yourself. Unfairly.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his history shimmering between them, his failures and flaws lying out there with nothing to cover them. Not his charm, his wit, his face—none of the usual tools he’d used his whole life to prevent a moment like this from ever occurring.

And what was most unreal was that he had done all this himself. He had thrown all of this at her feet. And he still could not allow himself to think about why he had done it. He did not dare.

“This is what I was talking about earlier,” he said, reaching over to cup her jaw in his hand, his body thrilling to the feel of her soft skin, the way her lips parted slightly. “No one has ever expected anything of me, Grace. Least of all me. Why should you?” He stroked his thumb along her soft cheek. “Why do you?”

Her eyes were luminous. Deep and unwavering as she stared back at him.

She shrugged slightly, though her gaze never left his. “Perhaps it’s time you started.”

And then she turned her head, pressing her lips into the palm of his hand, and that simply ruined him.

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