AllFreeNovel
Share Us
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 and Katie tried to scream but no sound emerged. Terrified, she tried to slacken back on the throttle but hard, strong fingers tightened on hers, controlling what she did, forcing her to maintain maximum speed.
‘Relax.’ His voice was molten seduction in her ear. ‘They’ll move.’
‘And if they don’t?’
‘Then there’ll be a few less journalists following me. Haven’t you ever played chicken?’
‘I’m vegetarian!’ Katie squeezed her eyes tightly shut, coming to terms with the fact she was going to be the first person to get a speeding ticket on a Vespa. All she could hope was that she wouldn’t earn herself a manslaughter charge to go with it.
Braced for impact, she thought to herself that the rumours about his physical strength hadn’t been exaggerated. His hands were locked on hers in a death grip and the muscles of his shoulders were a solid wall behind her.
‘Hang on,’ he growled in her ear, and Katie opened her eyes to discover that they were now close enough to the photographers to see the whites of their eyes. At the last minute the crowd scattered and the bike shot through the sudden gap and emerged onto the main road. There was a shriek of tyres as people swerved to avoid them, a cacophony of taxi horns and several warning shouts, and Katie was glad his hands were over hers because her palms were slippery with sweat and she knew that if he weren’t controlling the bike, then she would probably have just slid in a heap to the pavement.
She heard him laugh and decided right there and then that Nathaniel Wolfe had a sick sense of humour.
Outside the theatre there was a crowd of people, mostly women, many holding banners saying I Love Nathaniel Wolfe. They’d queued for hours in the hope of catching a glimpse of the Hollywood megastar as he left the theatre. They didn’t seem to care that he was notorious for not signing autographs. All they wanted was to catch a glimpse of those famous eyes.
If they recognised him …
‘Which way?’ The voice next to her ear was firm and de
cisive and now it was her turn to take the lead because she knew these streets well. Soon she was weaving through the London traffic, putting as much distance as possible between her and the journalists. She turned off the main road and took an elaborate detour, choosing back roads and side streets.
As her heart gradually slowed and her panic eased, the enormity of what she’d done suddenly hit her.
It took twenty minutes to be sure that no one had followed her and another ten to double back across the river towards south London and her flat. And all the time she was aware of the heat of Nathaniel’s body pressed against hers and his arm clamped around her waist.
He should have been cold, she thought, wearing only the leather jacket and black T-shirt that was the costume she’d selected for his contemporary portrayal of King Richard, but wherever their bodies touched, she felt warmth. Or maybe the warmth was hers. A fiery glow burned her skin through her clothing.
You’re as susceptible as every other woman, Katie.
Pushing aside that unsettling thought, Katie swerved into an alleyway adjoining a block of flats.
‘This is where I live.’
He swung his leg off the bike and unfastened the helmet.
