LITMIR.BIZ

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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

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