The Price of Fame. Anne Oliver
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were diving into taxis as fast as they pulled into the kerb and disgorged their load.
She accompanied him towards the sky bridge that led to the multi-storey car park and hotel. ‘I’m sure we convinced him,’ she murmured, yanking her wheel-bag up over the kerb and onto a strip of grass. Heavens, this guy had convinced her—introverted scene-avoider, Charlotte Dumont. And in more ways than one.
‘Convincing, you reckon?’ He stopped, looked down at her, lips curved into that devastatingly intimate-secret grin again. His eyes were twinkling. Or maybe it was just the sun momentarily peeking out from behind the clouds. ‘I think we should give it another try,’ he said. ‘To be absolutely certain.’ Before she knew what he was about to do, he slipped the glasses off her face. ‘Ah,’ he murmured.
She jerked her chin up, daring herself to meet his gaze. ‘You were expecting brilliant blue or moss green? Violet maybe? I appreciate your help,’ she hurried on before he could pay her some smoothly delivered yet empty compliment she didn’t want to hear. She bent to unzip the side pocket of her bag, slid her documents inside, then straightened. ‘Really. Thank you. But was all that …’ she waved a hand, trying to find the right words to express the almost orgasmic experience and failing ‘… necessary?’
Orgasmic? One kiss? Oh, she so needed to get a life. A new life. And wasn’t that why she was taking this trip? Time away to ponder her future and decide what she wanted to do? Which could, just maybe, include spicing up her non-existent sex life?
‘Absolutely it was necessary.’ His eyes remained on hers as he dumped his cabin bag at his feet. ‘Subtleties are lost on guys like him.’
‘Okay.’ She nodded. ‘Right. But I don’t think we need to repeat the performance.’
He glanced towards the terminal. ‘Think again, babe.’
‘Oh, no.’ She didn’t look, snatching at her glasses instead, but he shook his head, holding them out of her reach. He stood so close she could feel his heat all down the front of her body.
He caressed the side of her face with his thumb. ‘He can’t be sure you’re who he thinks you are—he’s too far away to see the colour of your eyes. And that’s his loss because they’re enchanting.’
Oh, please. Flynn had been a smooth-talking charmer too. ‘They’re grey.’ She resisted reaching for her glasses again because that was exactly what he was expecting her to do.
‘Is there a reason you hide them behind sunglasses?’ he asked, studying her closely. Curiously.
No way was she spilling her family history. ‘I woke up with a headache, if you really want to know.’
‘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.’