Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

Whose Bed Is It Anyway?
Natalie Anderson

“You’re wearing my T-shirt.”Returning home after a daring rescue mission, all James Wolfe can think of is sleep. So he’s furious to find a beautiful stranger curled up in his king-size bed! Normally no woman ever gets between his sheets without prior invitation – who does she think she is? Disgraced celebrity Caitlin Moore has been offered a place to stay and she won’t give it up – not with the paparazzi outside, baying for her blood!Reluctantly she agrees to share the apartment with James – but, with enough electricity to short-circuit the whole of Manhattan, keeping to their own sides of the bed might prove impossible…

“You’re wearing my T-shirt.”

Returning home after a daring rescue mission, all James Wolfe can think of is sleep. So he’s furious to find a beautiful stranger curled up in his king-size bed! Normally no woman ever gets between his sheets without prior invitation—who does she think she is?

Disgraced celebrity Caitlin Moore has been offered a place to stay and she won’t give it up—not with the paparazzi outside, baying for her blood! Reluctantly she agrees to share the apartment with James—but, with enough electricity to short-circuit the whole of Manhattan, keeping to their own sides of the bed might prove impossible.…

‘So, you’re not here for …’ He broke off and almost looked uncomfortable. ‘Me.’

His lips thinned as he turned back to glare at her. She was used to full-on media ‘glare,’ but his dark-eyed look was just about the fiercest, most cutting scrutiny she’d had to withstand.

‘I’m—’

‘Sorry,’ she snapped. ‘The word you’re looking for is sorry.’

‘Tired,’ he said firmly. ‘I’m tired and I made a mistake. And I’m sorry, but you can’t stay here.’

She needed this bed.

‘Look.’ She abandoned all dignity and pride. ‘We can figure something out. I’ll take the floor.’

Rigid, his glare pierced deeper. It was a wonder her bones didn’t snap from the force emanating from him.

‘You are not sleeping on the floor.’

Implacable? Yeah—he had the whole stubborn attitude on.

‘Fine.’ She switched tack. ‘We’ll share’

Dear Reader,

There are very few people who aren’t entranced by twins. My twin daughters delight and amaze me every day, and when they were babies I was frequently stopped by people wanting to take a closer look. I feel so privileged to have them, and it’s fun to see how two people who can appear to be so alike are in reality so very different. That idea tied in nicely with another ‘perception and reality’ theme that intrigues me—how someone’s public persona can be very different from the private truth.

So when it came to planning this new trilogy, I thought it would be fun to create identical twin heroes and, to add an extra twist, give them a brother less than a year older. Can you imagine the chaos three boys so close in age could create? And then when they’re wickedly charming adults—who could resist?

James, George and Jack Wolfe are ambitious, arrogant, gorgeous. Raised to be risk takers, ultra-adventurous James is the one who endangers himself most—physically, at least. Going from disaster zone to disaster zone, he’s a bona fide hero. But, courageous as he may appear, the one thing he isn’t willing to risk is his heart.

I had so much fun putting the ultimate feisty threat in his way. Caitlin, a woman desperate to shake her bad-girl rep and escape her past, destroys James’s quest for emotional isolation.

Their private tease—and moments of truce—were such fun to write, I hope you laugh as much with them as I did. And be sure to keep an eye out for George’s and Jack’s stories to come in early 2014!

With very best wishes,

Natalie

Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

Natalie Anderson

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

NATALIE ANDERSON adores a happy ending, which is why she always reads the back of a book first. Just to be sure. So you can be sure you’ve got a happy ending in your hands right now—because she promises nothing less. Along with happy endings, she loves peppermint-filled dark chocolate, pineapple juice and extremely long showers. Not to mention spending hours teasing her imaginary friends with dating dilemmas. She tends to torment them before eventually relenting and offering—you guessed it—a happy ending. She lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her gorgeous husband and four fabulous children.

If, like her, you love a happy ending, be sure to come and say hi on Facebook, www.facebook.com/authornataliea, and on Twitter, @authornataliea, or her website/blog: www.natalie-anderson.com.

For Sylvie and Evelyn, two pieces of pure delight in my life

Contents

Chapter One (#ub619a189-3953-5b17-b965-9261b2eea24e)

Chapter Two (#u36e5d8ad-f347-58a8-b89b-44f498aa27d6)

Chapter Three (#uf9d79b7b-6792-52ca-9551-96feee6cea27)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Excerpt (#litres_trial_promo)

ONE

New York, the city that never slept. James Wolfe never slept either—at least not in planes, trains or automobiles. And with back-to-back long-haul flights, horrendous delays and now traffic at a time when in any other city there wouldn’t be any, he’d gone more than forty hours without and was about to flip. Only a few more minutes and he could fall into bed. His bed—no hostel bunk, no hotel bed, no hastily built bivvy in a newly popped-up tent city. He couldn’t wait. He willed the traffic to part to let the taxi keep on moving. To take him home.

‘You been travelling?’

Given the cabbie had picked him up from the airport, this was obvious. But James automatically pulled on a smile. The guy had recognised him and James wasn’t about to burst bubbles by being rude. Uncomfortable as it was, public attention was now part of the deal. So he nodded and tried to speak. But the words wouldn’t come together in his strung-out mind.

‘Can’t talk about it, huh?’