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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.
