Bad Blood. Кейт Хьюит

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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

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