“No, the press is here. I’m scared.”
The panic in her voice made his heart bungee-jump, then bounce back. “I’m on my way. Where are you?”
She sniffed. She was crying? “Sorry to bother you.”
“You’re not. Where are you?” His blog and hackers would have to wait. Tilly needed him and he was not going to let her down. Plus, she was his. No way would he let some grubby tabloid tosser get close to her. Raw masculine energy pulsed through his veins. He had to protect her, save her.
“I’m at the hostel, at Masada.”
“I’ll see you soon. Lock the door and don’t say anything till I get there.” He disconnected the phone before turning to Ilan, his heart pounded his chest in competitiveness and with a need to be in charge. “You got a car?”
The drive to the hostel took a terrifying seventeen minutes as Ilan drove at a breakneck speed.
During the drive, Nate finally checked his phone. He had ignored the incoming messages thinking they were from his editor. His editor had been messaging, as had his work colleagues and friends. His kiss with Tilly had been snapped and plastered all over the news. He muttered a number of expletives as he viewed the images on his phone. Dammit. He was so sure of his superior smartness that he did not realise that he himself could have been followed. His ‘story’ about accompanying his sister to a clinic in Israel must have been met with scepticism and he had inadvertently allowed the press to find Tilly. His teeth clenched tighter as he considered different tactics of beating them at their own game. Tilly was his.
The car slowed and Nate realised they had arrived. The sun reflected off the whiteness of the stone building and he shaded his eyes with sunglasses. Turning to his new friend, his brow arched, “You Israelis go from stop to fast. Anything in between?”
Ilan grinned as he veered the car and parked in a marked bay. “Come on,” he gestured. “My cousin’s wife works here. I called her and she said your Tilly is nice. I’ve got her room number.”
Nate snorted and opened the car door, leaving the cool confines of the air-conditioned car to be confronted with the oppressive dry desert heat. “Let’s go.”
Ilan led the way. Their walk intensified to a run with the sound of cat-calls and raised voices.
What the hell? They approached Tilly’s room and found four men, two of them with cameras, standing outside.
One of the men repeatedly knocked on her door then called out, “C’mon Til. Come out and talk to us.”
Nate turned to Ilan, “Can you organise some security?”
“Ken.” Yes. Ilan gave him a friendly wave before sprinting in the opposite direction.
Nate swallowed the disgust and animosity he had for Tilly’s harassers. “Haven’t you gentlemen got better things to do than annoy guests?” he said, sauntering towards them as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
Four pairs of eyes turned to stare.
“Look who’s here! It’s lover boy!”
Lover boy? They knew! His lips pressed together. Perhaps it had been them who took the picture of him and Tilly. His hormones had been utterly distracted by Tilly pressing herself against him – was it any wonder he had not seen the competition in the lobby? Of course he bloody hadn’t because he had been fantasising about getting into her knickers. He had been outwitted and he was not going to allow that to happen.. No matter how much he liked Tilly, he was going to resist her, her gorgeous smile and her long, toned legs. Time to focus. Focus was definitely needed now.
Nate kept his face free of emotions, with his favoured poker face he used during tiresome interviews.
A couple of the reporters started making kissing noises.
“Beat it fellas. Leave her alone.” Nate’s fists clenched into hard, tight balls.
“Tilly’s hot property, what with her shagging Sebastian Porter. So what’s she like in the sack?” The older man nudged him, giving him a knowing look. “Come on, tell us. We need something for this evening’s news.”
“Watch him, I reckon he’s gonna punch the daylights out of you, Colin.”
Nate growled. The photographer was right. He was a split second away from wiping the smarmy look off the guy’s face. The only thing preventing him from rearranging his facial features was knowing he did not need a lawsuit.
He shoved his fists into the pockets of his cargo shorts. “The lady has nothing to say and neither do I. Now get lost, all of you.” His arm jerked up pointing towards the exit.
“C’mon, give us a statement? What’s it like ‘doing the deed in the desert’? How long have you two been at it?”
The other men sniggered.
The cameraman continued to snap photo after photo and eventually Nate raised his hand, protecting his eyes from the irritating flashes from the camera.
“You have thirty seconds to make yourselves scarce before security throws you out of here.” His face was tight with the effort of maintaining decorum.
“So Tilly’s dilemma is whether to shag Sebastian, you, or both of you? Are you into threesomes?”
“Wha’ do ya think boys?” The reporter held his hand up as if to highlight a headline, ‘Nate in threesome with Tilly and Sebastian’. I reckon it’s a winner.”
“That’s enough.” He hissed through gritted teeth. How had Tilly coped with this, on her own? No wonder she had sought the safety and security of her aunt.
“Listen. Tilly’s not having an affair with Sebastian. I’ve got my legal people working on a defamation case that will bankrupt your employers. I’d suggest you start working on your resumes.”
“What’s the matter Lover Boy? Upset that she prefers Sebastian’s moves,” the cameraman made a rude gesture with his groin, “over yours?”
That was it. If security did not arrive and throw these lowlifes out of the hostel, then he would.
“You’re so clever,” Nate said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Is that what they taught you at school?”
“Just doing our job.” One of the reporters winked at him.
“Tilly was their nanny, nothing more,” he all but shouted.
“Yeah right.” The cameraman pretended to yawn.
A furnace of resentment and anger in his belly smouldered so hot he could barely hold onto the threads of control he always maintained, even under intense work pressures and stress. He wanted to break the camera, snap it in two with his bare hands. He wanted to smack the guy’s face. He wanted to remind them that Tilly did not deserve this.
That primeval instinct to protect surged its way through this veins as his heart thumped away. All too soon she was going to hate him when she realised exactly who he was. So until then, he could at least shield her from the scum harassing her.
Then he snapped. For the first time, he snapped.
The words rolled off his tongue before he had time to consider or contemplate their implication. “That young woman,” Nate stabbed his finger in the direction of Tilly’s room, “is my fiancé and has been for two months.”
Nate stood in the empty corridor grinding his molars. Tightness grew in his chest and spread horizontally as if his torso was embalmed. What the hell had he just done?
Lost his cool. Nate shook his head. Still quite unable to believe that he did something so idiotic. He had been provoked countless times yet as a hard-hitting reporter, but he had never cracked under pressure. Never!
Not even during his recent combative interview with Sebastian Porter. For two hours, he had maintained a cool professional demeanour and ignored Sebastian’s snide comments on his teenage family life living in their council estate apartment and even about Bea. And now? His hands fisted into tight balls eager to punch the cement wall. Expelling a long breath of anger, he scratched his hands through his hair, rubbing his scalp back and forth.
Within moments of announcing his fake engagement, Ilan arrived with a couple of beefy looking men who could easily dispatch the reporters. They had not bothered arguing with the muscle-clad brigade. Why should they? They had
their scoop and rushed to file the story. His employer would kick his butt from here to the Thames. Time for a career change? His heart lifted at the idea of writing books full time. Much easier than dealing with the Sebastians of the world. He quashed the idea with a pfft. How could he give up his career?
Rubbing his eyes with balled fists, he thought about his editor and how he had let him down, not once but twice. Not only was his blog riddled with porn sites, but their rivals had the story of his supposed engagement to the Naughty Nanny. His editor called him his favourite reporter. Nate suspected it was to do with the advertising revenue he generated from his blog rather than his charming personality.
He grimaced. Time to call his editor now and explain. What to say?
Rubbing his fingers across the roughness along his jaw, he had a sudden premonition things were going to get a lot harder before they got easier.
Shaking his head, he dismissed any foreboding. As a consummate journalist, he knew he would work it out. He had never failed before and he was not about to now. Crinking his neck from side to side, he stared at a paint smudge on the wall ignoring the children playing tag in the courtyard.
What next?
He had just done what he swore he would never do again - get engaged.
Sure, it was fake but no one knew.
His chest tightened as images of newspaper announcements whizzed through his head. What about the congratulatory emails he would no doubt receive from his readers? Messages wishing him a lifetime of happiness with his fiancé. All because he snapped and could not keep his mouth shut. Now it was too late to take it back.
Taking a steadying breath, he realised that he would have to suck it up and play the role. He could do that and get the story. No more engagement. She returns to Australia and he goes back to his industrious life. Everything could return to how it was. Right?
Besides, being in close proximity to Tilly would give him access to the information he would need. He could have the story finished by the end of the week.
His heart lightened. A week was fine.
When it was all over, he would blog about his regrets over their broken engagement.
But for now, Tilly needed somewhere safe to stay. A place with 24/7 state-of-the-art security, restricted access and impenetrable locks.
His place?
Perfect. Back in London, he could look out for her as well as get the facts for his scoop. A smile tugged at his lips. Not just a good idea, it was a great idea.
“Nate?”
He blinked. How long had she been standing there?
With shoulders slumped, her crumpled green shirt hung out over one side of her denim shorts.
Tangled hair fell around the pale skin of her face. The brown of her eyes dull and red rimmed.
Looking around, her head jerked from side to side. “Where’s everyone gone? What happened?”
It was Bea all over again, having been bullied by so-called school friends.
He shoved tight fists into his pockets. Because if he didn’t, he would draw her close, press light kisses against her forehead and tell her everything would be fine.
But, she wasn’t Bea.
With Bea, he would not notice how the sun streaming in the open window emphasised the golden highlights in the chestnut of her hair. Nor would his fingers itch to trail the length of her arms, simply to feel the softness of her skin.
“Nate, where is everyone?”
What the hell? Had he really stood there admiring the colour of her hair? The desert heat must have melted his brain. Time to get back to reality.
His editor could wait. Getting the story from Tilly could not.
He was here for her. Again. Her heart leapt.
And it seemed nothing was too hard. Unlike Travis, her loser ex, who had happily bed-hopped when things were difficult and she was grieving for her Gran.
“Security removed the reporters.” Nate flicked his head towards the entrance.
“Thank you.” A huge sigh released the tightness in her chest. “Those men scared me.”
His face softened. “I’m glad you called.”
“When they started thumping the door and it looked like the lock would break, I almost…” Tilly swallowed back the words she had almost blurted out to the reporters. “I didn’t know what else to do.”
“Bastards,” he muttered under his breath.
“When I threatened the reporters with security, they all laughed at me.”
“You?” His eyebrows shot up as his eyes travelled from her head to her bare feet. “You threatened the London press? Did you really think they would just go because you asked nicely?”
A blush seared her cheeks and her jaw muscles clenched.
Had she imagined the heated interest in his eyes just moments before?
She straightened her shoulders, drawing herself to her full height. Her gaze smacked into his chest, and the black tee stretched tight against it.
Darn his height!
Darn his impressive pecs.
And darn her for noticing.
She was angry and insulted, not interested.
“Perhaps I should have offered them sex? After all I am the Naughty Nanny.”
“That’s great as a diversion but do you think offers of sex with a good-looking woman would make them leave?” he drawled.
He thinks I’m good-looking? Her heart performed a jig. “Stop saying things that make me laugh. I’m supposed to be scared and getting over an ordeal.”
His smile vanished. “It wasn’t a joke.”
“It wasn’t?” Goose bumps scattered across her arms as her heart skipped a beat.
That heated look of his was back. Dark eyes caught and held hers. Her toes curled on the cold floor tiles as her tummy flip-flopped.
A blurred movement to the left caught her eye. Too late. “Oww.” She massaged the growing red mark on her shin.
A man trailed by four young boys approached and grabbed the football. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve got brothers.”
He tugged the youngest towards him. “Sam, apologise to the lady, please. I told you not to play football inside.”
Tilly looked down into the bright eyes of a red-faced little boy.
“Sorry.”
His apology was as sincere as when Stanley Porter ground her brand new lipstick into the sandpit.
The accompanying cheeky chuckle made her smile, tugging at heart strings that were still attached to the Porter children.
She ruffled his hair before he scooted off, the others close in tow.
The father shot her apologetic shrug of the shoulders before sprinting to catch up with the kids.
She turned back to Nate. Arms crossed, shoulders stiff, he looked as approachable as a snake ready to strike. This was not the man who snatched kisses with her in a public place and made her legs as firm as jelly. Couldn’t he come back?
He grabbed her arm steering them towards her room. “You need to get out of here.”
Take-charge-Nate was back. The skin around his jaw was tight whilst his lips were pursed in a disapproving line.
“I’ve already organised it.”
He stopped to look at her. His steely dark eyes bore down. “What?”
“I’m going to Jerusalem.” She declared with a determined tilt of her chin.
“Why don’t you post it as an update on Facebook?”
Fire burned low in her stomach as she caught the roll of his eyes. “I know what I’m doing.”
“They’ll find you.”
“I’ve—” she announced proudly.
“If they found you here, they’ll find you in Jerusalem.” He crossed his arms tightly against his chest. “I don’t think you should go there.”
“Why not? It’s safe, plus…”
His eyebrows shot skyward. “Plus, what?”
“N-n-nothing.” Caught! She looked away, unwilling to meet his gaze, as she stuck her hands in her shorts’ pockets.
He took a step close
r and lowered his voice, “Tilly, what’s going on?
“I think Jerusalem is a safer place for me.”
“I don’t. You should leave Israel. Now.”
“And go where?” Their gazes met.
“London.”
Her mouth became parched before she held her hands up as if warding him off. “Are you insane?” Her high pitched voice bounced off the brick walls of the corridor. “I left there and never want to go back.”
Keeping his voice low, he simply replied. “But I’ll be there to protect you.”
“I never asked you to protect me. Help, yes. Protect, no. I think you’re enjoying this hero role a little too much.” She winced at the shrill tone of her voice and stumbled backwards. Using the wall to gain support she glared at him.
“Think about it. I have a large, secure apartment. You don’t have to run. It’s safe.” He stopped. “You can stay with me for the time being.”
“I barely know you. Why on earth would I stay with you?” She gulped in some air.
“Because we’re engaged.”
“What?” A volcanic explosion of annoyance, frustration and resentment erupted.
“I just announced it to the reporters to get rid of them.”
His casual laid-back reply flamed the furnace burning inside of her. The insolence of him.
Oblivious to the deep scowl across her forehead and her hands balled into fists, he continued. “As my fiancé you can dispute the claims.”
“I already disputed them,” she spat out, before standing straighter.
“This time we’ll be denying it together.” He stood tall and proud, all he needed was a spear and a sword and he would fit right in with the image of the zealots who defended Masada.
“I’m not marrying you,” she said with a toss of her hair.
He chuckled. “Once everything is sorted out, we’ll break the so-called engagement and go our separate ways.”
He had an answer for everything. Had he thought this through? “You make it sound easy, it won’t work.” She poked her tongue at him, refusing to consider the so-called brilliantness of his plan.
He opened his mouth but she waved her hand in front of his face. “Forget it! I don’t want to hear any more.”
Falling for Mr Wrong Page 5
