The Price of Fame

‘Sorry to hear that. How is it now?’

‘Better. Shall we get this over with, then?’

One eyebrow rose. ‘You liked it well enough a moment ago.’

And she had. She sure had.

He touched her face again. ‘You should make the moves this time. Persuade him you’re hopelessly besotted with me.’

A stiff breeze ruffled his hair. Black hair too long to call tidy, dark brows and olive skin that told her he was of Mediterranean descent. He had a square masculine jaw and prominent cheekbones. Lines crinkled at the corners of his eyes, as if he enjoyed life in the outdoors. His sensuous mouth curved easily and told her he also enjoyed more than a little indoors activity.

Hopelessly besotted? How could she be? She’d never laid eyes on him before. And yet she couldn’t have said it better herself. And that should worry her because she wasn’t going to be lured and seduced by another man’s suave talk and good looks ever again. A man who undoubtedly knew exactly what he was doing, and did it often and well. ‘I don’t even know your name …’

Amusement touched his lips. ‘It’s Nic. Yours?’

She shook her head, rolled her lips together, then said, ‘I should tell you he didn’t have the wrong woman and he’s probably an expert lip-reader.’

His gaze immediately dropped to her mouth and those dreamy brown eyes darkened. ‘All the more important to head him off, then, don’t you think? Kiss me.’

His husky demand stroked her skin and she rubbed her jacket and the goose-bumps that sprang out on her arms beneath her sleeves. ‘I …’ Don’t kiss men I don’t know. Except she already had.

‘Say my name first if it makes you more comfortable.’

As if he knew her concerns. ‘Nic.’ She liked the way it sounded on her tongue. She liked the fact that he was doing his best to put her at ease. That he’d just saved her from public humiliation. That he was possibly the most stunning-looking guy she’d ever laid lips on. ‘Nicholas …?’

‘Dominic.’

‘Dominic.’ Reaching out, not quite able to look him in the eye, she placed a tentative palm on his chest. His shirt felt warm and smooth against her fingertips. Hard muscle shifted beneath her hand—Her fingers jerked away instinctively.

But what had Flynn said when he’d ended their engagement? She wasn’t outgoing enough, not glamorous enough, not confident enough to be any aspiring politician’s wife. That after twenty-four years as the daughter of a socially distinguished couple, she should be used to being in the public eye.

Since then she’d made a decision to work on her shortcomings. Hence this trip. To relax, regroup and refocus on the new direction her life had taken. To work on improving her confidence. She so wanted to prove her ex wrong. Then she could move on. And hadn’t she already proved with that horrible reporter that she could be confident when it counted?

‘Hey,’ he murmured, catching her hand and putting it back against his shirt. ‘Just shut your eyes and go with it. If it helps, pretend I’m someone else.’

No way. If she was going to do this, she was going to enjoy it, and that meant giving him her full attention. Her new life’s direction could afford a little side-trip along the way. Then she’d book herself a room for what was left of today and this evening. She wouldn’t have to see him again—all flights out of Melbourne did not go through Fiji.

So she took a deep breath, then boldly moved her hand over his shirt, taking her time, enjoying the sensation as she let herself relax and acquainted herself with the rugged unfamiliar terrain. Her other hand joined in—there was … so much of him. This excursion could take hours.

Disgruntled passengers trailing baggage and bad language flowed around them, as if they were an island in a flood-swollen river. Heavy exhaust fumes and the odour of jet fuel from aircraft not going anywhere clogged the air but all she could smell was Nic’s spicy fragrance and warm masculine skin.

‘Nic.’ She met his direct gaze and said, ‘Is there some woman out there somewhere who’s going to want to scratch my eyes out?’

His lips curved boyishly. ‘I could ask the same of you,’ he said. ‘It’s a no from me.’

Charmed against her will—and wickedly turned on by that sexy mouth—she smiled back. ‘And it’s a no from me.’

‘So no more procrastinating.’

She moistened her dry still-tingly lips. ‘Is he still watching, do you think?’

That kiss-me-I’m-gorgeous smile continued playing around his mouth as he toyed with the button on her jacket, knuckles grazing her chest, eyes locked on hers. ‘Does it matter?’

Her nipples tightened beneath his barely there touch and the corner of her mouth curved up. ‘No.’ Not one iota. Right now it so didn’t matter. Give Stalker Man something to gawk at and enjoy herself at the same time, right? Meanwhile, the pest would get the message, find someone else to harass and she’d be free to reclaim her anonymity. All perfectly public and safe.

‘Nic.’ She rose up on tiptoe and planted her lips on his. Not tentatively this time. Winding her arms around his neck, fingers playing with the tips of his silky hair, surprised and amazed that she could let herself and her inhibitions fly away so easily.

Nic’s wasn’t the smooth, close-shaven jaw she was accustomed to and the unfamiliar masculine texture tickled her chin, sending reverberations all through her body.

Which hadn’t happened in a really long time.

Her mouth softened and parted without any help on her part. He swallowed her sigh and quickly took the lead, his tongue sliding against hers as he shifted closer, his hands sliding over her bottom, tucking her against him. Outrageously intimate and a long way from publicly acceptable.

She didn’t know and she didn’t care how long they stood there, locked together until she heard a man mutter, ‘Get a room,’ as he trudged by.

Nic broke away; his head came up. ‘Sounds like good advice.’ His voice sounded a little hoarse and husky. He slid her glasses back on her face, then picked up his bag, hefted it onto his shoulder. ‘Let’s go.’

‘Wait …’

He glanced back at her and Charlotte saw that his eyes had changed. Not just amused now, but … surprised? As if she wasn’t what he’d expected. And hungry, as if he’d like to devour her at the first opportunity. A delicious little shiver shimmied down her spine.

She looked about at the passengers already swarming over the sky bridge towards the hotel. A curious mix of disappointment and relief threaded through her system. ‘Looks like we might already be too late.’

Grinning, he caught her hand. ‘Then it’s lucky I booked a room earlier.’

CHAPTER TWO

LUCKY for him, she decided when they arrived in the congested lobby. Because now she thought about it—rationally—no way was she going with him to his room, no matter how expert a kisser he was. She’d filled her quota of daring, uncharacteristic behaviour for … oh, the next ten years or so.

‘Wait here,’ he told her as they entered. And as if the crowd parted for him, he made his way to the desk and spoke to one of the busy staff. But Charlotte shuffled to the end of the queue. There had to be something still available.

He returned moments later holding a couple of swipe cards. ‘Okay, we’re set.’

She shook her head. ‘Thanks for everything, but I want to book my own room.’

Quirking an eyebrow, he grinned. ‘You don’t trust me after all we’ve shared?’

And that was the thing, wasn’t it? She’d shared all that with a stranger. ‘So why did you kiss me?’ she murmured as the crowd milled around them.

He grinned. ‘You can ask me that when you called me honey pie?’

There was that. ‘You could’ve just stopped at “get lost”…’

His grin vanished. ‘I don’t like bullies.’ He shrugged but she saw the tension in his shoulders. ‘I just reacted.’

And she knew right then that he’d had firsthand experience with harassment. Something in his own past had triggered his Good Samaritan act. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.

‘If I—’