Whose Bed Is It Anyway? (4 page)

‘And I was right about that.' Softly, he didn't deny it. ‘But haven't you heard? I like trouble.' He walked right up to her. ‘I go out of my way to find it.'

‘Only so you can fix it.' She glared up at him. ‘And sorry,
Handsome
, I don't need fixing.'

‘No?' he asked, so close she could feel the warmth of his body hitting her even through the baggy layers she wore. ‘You need something else from me?'

She could hardly breathe for the heated tension in the room. ‘All I need is a space in this bed to
sleep
. Nothing else.'

His gorgeously outrageous smile returned. ‘Maybe.' He stepped to the side and then walked past her into the bathroom. ‘But you might be surprised what I can come up with.'

She couldn't resist turning to watch him walk. Goaded by his jaw-dropping back view, she asked the worst possible question. ‘You think you're irresistible?'

He glanced back from the bathroom door, his thumbs hooked into the waistband of his boxers, that wry-but-wicked smile on his lips. ‘I guess we're about to find out.'

THREE

Caitlin turned away,
hearing his laughter and the click as the bathroom door closed. He was being deliberately outrageous, trying to make her laugh and put her at a funny kind of ease.

She did feel somewhat better. At least they'd established an arrangement for the next few days. But oh, boy, was he a vastly different guy to the exhausted grouch who'd tried to boot her out of his bed last night. Still gorgeous, yes. Driven, yes. Determined—most definitely. But amusing, teasing, mercurial in his mood...not to mention arrogant. It all added up to appallingly attractive.

Still, Caitlin could resist anything, right? It was peace and quiet she was after really. She only had to get through a couple of nights next to him. Easy peasy.

She wasn't thinking of
being
easy
.

She pulled her straggly ponytail free and found her comb in her bag. She sat cross-legged on the lower corner of the bed and worked out the knots before twisting her hair into a plait. She'd just finished when he emerged from the bathroom, a white towel around his waist. Once more Caitlin was stunned into silence at the sight of his shoulders, chest, and sheer lean strength. Not bodybuilder bulky, but not skinny. Just right. He winked outrageously at her before walking into the wardrobe and closing the door behind him. A bare minute later he reappeared clad in a fresh grey tee and clean combat pants. She couldn't help grinning at what was so clearly his uniform. Clean-shaven, dressed, uber-alert, he'd switched on his inner action man.

‘Now for the practicalities,' he said.

She drew her legs up and wrapped her arms around her knees. ‘Practicalities?'

‘Food.' He jerked his head to the side. ‘There's not even a fridge in this place. We're going to have to forage.'

That easily he made her smile. ‘In the wilds of New York city?'

‘It's a challenge.' He nodded seriously. ‘You up for it?'

Truthfully she'd been going to go with a container of yoghurt. She was on bread and cheese rations for this trip. But she needed to get out of here and inhale some fresh air. Cool the little inferno bubbling inside.

‘Okay.' She swiftly twisted her plait into a flat bun—and then hid the lot under her black beanie, and grabbed her oversize sunglasses.

‘What are you doing?' he asked, staring at her.

‘Getting ready to go out.'

‘You don't like the sun?'

‘I don't like being seen.'

‘You're used to being recognised?' His brows lifted again.

‘It's unlikely here, but you never know.' There was always someone, and everyone had smartphones. A snap could go round the world in seconds. She'd suffered through that many scathing articles and online comments recently, she didn't feel safe from them yet—despite being in a whole other country.

‘Why would people recognise you?'

She hesitated. Until a few weeks ago most people wouldn't have. It was years since she'd been on telly screens. But just over a month ago Dominic and his new girlfriend had set the hounds on her. Not that she was telling James about that mess. ‘I have a famous sister.'

His frown deepened when she didn't elaborate. ‘Well, if you don't want to be noticed—' he plucked the glasses from her nose ‘—you're going the wrong way about it.' He tugged the beanie off her head as well and tossed it onto the bed. ‘There are plenty of blondes in this town. Even natural ones like you. No one will notice. But if they see someone so obviously trying to hide,
then
they're going to think you're someone worth snapping.' He walked into the wardrobe.

‘Photographers linger in this area?' she called after him. She should have known it. This building filled with huge condos in central Manhattan meant serious wealth—no doubt celebrities were part of the body corporate.

‘Sometimes.' He reappeared. ‘Wear this.' He handed her a New York Yankees cap. ‘It's not winter, you know.'

‘Thanks.'

Fists on hips, he studied her intently as she pulled the cap down more securely. ‘You really don't like the press?' he asked.

‘Who does?'

‘Lots of people want to have more than their fifteen minutes,' he said.

‘They're welcome to have mine.' Caitlin walked out of the bedroom.

She'd actually had more than her fifteen minutes years ago, and she didn't want a second more. Which made the recent events all the more galling. Given she'd been out of the scene for so long, she'd forgotten how to play the game. She'd forgotten how much it hurt. And worse, both the field and her opponents of today were bigger and more vicious than before.

She lost her stomach in the elevator ride down to the lobby. Well, maybe it wasn't the elevator, maybe it was a weird combo of nerves and excitement and a fragile possibility of happiness. Outside she drew breath and blinked at the mid-morning sunlight. Could she really walk down the street like a free person?

The last few weeks in London she'd been a virtual prisoner, afraid not only of whether there'd be a photographer lurking, but the reaction of the general public. She'd dreaded anyone recognising her. Having been labelled the psycho ex of the ‘hot young actor' and the woman who'd gone crazy in her attempts to get him back, she'd been on the receiving end of the venom. They said she'd gone stalker when Dominic broke up with her. That she'd used the possibility of a baby to try to get him back. That she'd terminated that pregnancy when he refused to come to heel.

Lies. Vicious, hurtful lies. Every one of them.

And of course those stories were accompanied by all the articles comparing her to her sister—a resurgence of the pieces penned years ago. She was proud of Hannah, pleased for her. But her success came at a cost to Caitlin. The press had polarised them way back when—the ‘good sister' versus ‘the bad sister', the ‘talented' versus the ‘try-hard', the ‘consummate professional' versus the ‘demanding diva'. While Hannah didn't buy into it, didn't add to the rumour mill, or perpetuate it, their father always had. He still was, with his apparent attempt to ‘reach out' to Caitlin, his ‘troubled younger daughter'. Through the press of course. As if what had been written were true.

She'd never forgive him for that.

She'd never wanted her life to become like some scripted reality TV show. Didn't hunger for fame the way her father did or have a passion for being on film like her sister. She'd worked as a child model and actress purely because she'd been told to. Because they'd needed the money. She'd got out of it as soon as she could—as soon as she'd forced them to drop her.

Now she just wanted to be left in peace to do her own thing.

Here, now, in New York, the streets were crowded with people busily going their own way, getting to where they needed to go and not paying attention to anyone else. Moving fast and free. She wanted to be like them.

‘First time in Manhattan?' James' amused voice broke into her reverie.

She realised she was standing stock-still, staring at the crowds walking down the sidewalk. She tore her gaze away from the scene and looked up at him, pasting a smile to her lips. ‘It's that obvious?'

His eyebrows flickered. ‘What's first on the list?'

‘The list?' She echoed like an idiot as she looked at him in the midday light. He really was extremely compelling—tall, focused, intriguing.

‘Your “must-see, must-do” itinerary,' he explained.

‘Oh.' She turned and fell into step with him. ‘Do you know, I don't know. I haven't had the chance to figure it out.' She glanced up and saw his surprised expression. ‘The trip was a last minute thing.'

‘You must have some ideas. No?' He frowned. ‘Come on, let's eat and I'll give you a rundown of the highlights.'

‘The Wolfe Guide?'

‘Something like that.' He led her a few more paces down the block and then turned, holding the door for her.

A diner like one out of an old Seinfeld episode? She grinned. Okay, she could do that. She was definitely in the Big Apple now.

He slid into a booth. She sank into the seat opposite and toyed with the menu.

‘You ready to order?' a waitress asked.

Caitlin hesitated.

‘I'll have blueberry pancakes, please,' James ordered, then looked at Caitlin and winked. ‘Nothing beats dessert for brunch.'

She faux winced and ordered just a coffee.

‘That's all you want?' He frowned as the waitress departed.

‘It takes a while for my appetite to wake up,' she lied, fiddling with a sugar sachet to avoid looking at him. It wasn't an outrageously expensive place, but she was going to have to be careful.

‘It should be awake by now,' he half snorted. ‘It's after midday—we slept through breakfast and lunch.'

Well, her budget was more a one-meal-a-day deal, but she wasn't going to tell him all her sad little secrets.

‘So, you must have some kind of list,' he said, sitting back as the waitress came and poured their coffees. ‘Got to have the usual things...Statue of Liberty, Times Square, Rockefeller Center...'

‘Yeah, I guess so.' She picked up her cup and blew on the coffee before stealing a quick sip.

An insulted expression crossed his face. ‘Are you not fully excited about being in New York?'

She laughed and set down her cup. ‘I am. Oh, I absolutely am.' But it hadn't struck her before that she'd be here seeing it on her own. And that she'd hardly be able to afford a thing. All she'd been thinking about was escaping. She was going to need a second to get her head around it.

And just like that it came—the surge of happiness. She was free. She might even have some fun. She was in Man-freaking-Hattan.

His pancakes arrived and he began decimating the huge tower with a remarkable speed. He glanced up and caught her amused expression.

‘Brothers,' he explained out of the corner of his mouth. ‘Eat it or lose it.'

‘I'm not going to steal your lunch.'

His eyebrows lowered as he eyed the lonely cup in front of her. ‘Maybe you should.'

‘I'm not a fan of pancakes.'

The look he shot her then was of such pure disbelief she couldn't help chuckling. Then she went for distraction. ‘So aside from the Statue of Liberty, what do you recommend?'

He munched and thought about it for a bit. ‘Depends.'

‘On?'

‘What you're into.' He speared through three pancakes at once. ‘There's something for everyone in this city. So what are you into?'

‘I don't know.'

He paused and met her eyes. ‘You don't know what you're into? What you want?'

She felt that wretched heat bloom in her cheeks. Why must she read innuendo into everything the man said? ‘I just want to see some things.'

‘Not
do
some things?'

Oh, there was innuendo there. ‘Perhaps.'

‘You're going to need more than coffee if you're planning on doing things.'

‘Then perhaps today I'll just stick with seeing.'

He inclined his head with a wry grin. ‘Fair enough.'

She stiffened as he opened his wallet. ‘You're not paying.'

‘Yeah? Well, I don't expect you to buy me breakfast.' He sighed. ‘Though would it be so bad to let me buy you a coffee to make up for my rudeness of last night?' He looked across at her for a moment, his eyebrows lifting higher as the seconds passed. ‘Clearly it would.'

Caitlin swallowed the last mouthful of her coffee. She was an idiot. Overreacting because she was oversensitive. The events of the last six weeks had made her paranoid. She wasn't being fair. It was one thing not to trust, but to treat someone rudely? ‘I'm sorry, it was me being rude then. I really appreciate the way you're helping me out.'

He met her gaze; a low smile spread across his face. An open, nothing-held-back smile that flooded her with warmth. ‘No problem.'

She stood, trying to escape the megawatt impact of that smile. ‘Thanks.'

* * *

Two minutes later James dug his mobile out and switched it on, keeping an eye on his new roommate as she walked off down the street ahead of him.

She'd finally smiled, finally relaxed and accepted the situation. And his apology. Good. Now all he had to do was get out of here as soon as possible. The condo was hers. The sooner he got back on a plane, the better.

With an effort he glanced at his phone. No messages. Most everyone thought he was in the back of beyond and wouldn't expect to hear from him. Except for his boss. He touched her name in his contacts list. True to all-efficient form she answered on the second ring.

‘I need a project,' he said as soon as she'd said hello.

‘You're only just back.'

‘I know. And bored already,' he lied.

‘Well, I do have something...' Lisbet trailed off.

Despite his lingering tiredness, his skin prickled. He did like to stay busy. ‘Where?'

‘Here.'

‘Forget it.' He heard Lisbet's impatient mumble and hurried on. ‘You know I don't want a desk job. Can't think of anything worse.'

‘You have other skills we need. Not all our people can perform the way you do in a public environment. Communication, fundraising is necessary.'

‘I'm not your poster boy—you know this already.' He watched as Caitlin disappeared into the throng walking downtown. Fleetingly he hoped she'd be okay on her own—that she'd not just ‘see' but ‘do'.

‘And you know you already
are
. You could still go on overseas projects,' said Lisbet. ‘Just fewer.'

Lisbet had been on at him about taking on more of a public role for a while now, but he wasn't giving up the real work. He preferred to be an anonymous part of a team, not a figurehead. ‘Don't lessen my load,' he warned her. ‘I'd have to offer my services elsewhere.'