A Night of Scandal Read online

  ‘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 selfconscious 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, co
mpletely 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 s
tepped 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.