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
