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, something uglier—something
