Falling for Mr Wrong

by Joanne Dannon

  Spinning around she stalked to her room.

  The indignity of it.

  How dare he?!

  Running her life. Announcing an engagement. Not even checking with her first.

  Grabbing her e-reader from next to the unmade bed she hunted around for any forgotten items, talking to herself. “I came here to get away from my family and what does Nate do? Exactly what my brothers do. Bossing me around. Tilly do this, Tilly do that.”

  Shoving the last personal things into her carry-on, she yanked it closed. The tag broke off in her hand. Looking at her fingers holding the piece of plastic, she scowled.

  Tossing it in the bin, she lowered the bag onto the floor and jerked the handle up. It remained stuck. She grabbed it again. It still did not move. She grunted while pressing the release button and the handgrip sprung lose.

  Breaking the zip, forgetting to press the catch on her bag. Nate was driving her to distraction. He was the stuff of her girlhood dreams, of her romance novels. The knight who saved the princess. But she was not a princess and their engagement was certainly not real. Goosebumps zipped up and down her arms and she rubbed them away. Being engaged to Nate, being in close proximity with him had her hormones performing a dance to klezmer music.

  With a bod to die-for and a knack for getting her out of sticky situations, Tilly knew the attraction was more than just looks. His take-charge attitude attracted her in a way that surprised her. Unlike her stupid ex, who had seduced her friend, Nate’s actions were well-meaning towards her. Travis had never stood up for her and had never been so chivalrous. What had she seen in that loser? Had she been so desperate to find a guy? Or had it been loneliness that had driven her to him? Pushing aside thoughts of Travis, she thought about the issue at hand.

  She was dangerously close to liking Nate a lot. On her own, hunted by the press, he was the lifeline she desperately needed. How often had she forgotten her predicament when around him? Too many times, unfortunately.

  She sighed. The unanswered questions and thoughts whirled around in her brain, like clothes in the tumble-dryer.

  “You can’t go to Jerusalem.”

  Spinning around she came face-to-face with said distraction.

  She licked her dried lips. “I thought you’d gone.”

  Part of her expected he would leave after her cranky throw-back lines. Part of her hoped he had not.

  Her heart lifted knowing he was still here. Here for her?

  “No. I’m taking you back to London.” He paused before leaning against the wall, his arms casually crossed over his chest. “Our engagement will be of public interest.”

  Her heart missed a beat. Despite his relaxed stance, the skin around his mouth appeared tight and his forehead was creased. She massaged her forehead, hoping the headache would ease. Why would the press be more interested in him than her? Who was he? Royalty?

  Her eyes blinked. “Why?”

  “I’m known in London,” he replied nonchalantly.

  “You’re famous for writing vampire books?” She exclaimed in mock horror.

  Shaking his head. “Nothing like that.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I wrote a book and it did quite well. To publicise it, I did a lot of promotions.” He paused, “This happened very recently.”

  “So, how well known are you? Like, JK Rowling famous?”

  “No, not at all. My blog gets attention but I’m definitely not as famous as her.”

  A worry niggled deep in her chest. Without family or friends, she had gravitated to the one person who was there for her. Time to make a decision. She dismissed the niggle. “I’ll check out your blog later.”

  His face whitened and he stood, ram-rod straight.

  She cleared her throat. “Is there a problem?”

  “Not at all. But I think we should leave now and get you into the safety of my apartment.”

  “Do you live in an equivalent of the Tower of London?”

  He laughed but unlike last night, it came across as forced and stilted. “I’ve had some threatening emails and recently moved somewhere more secure.”

  Her heart jack-knifed. “What emails? Were the police involved?”

  “It was unpleasant. The move was a precaution.”

  She heard herself gasp. “It must have been serious enough that you had to live somewhere else.”

  He nodded. “I don’t like bullies especially those who use social media to say hateful things. But to appease the police and my sister, I now live in a secure apartment.” He paused. “You even have to pass security to drive or walk onto the complex,” he chuckled.

  “Wow, that’s impressive. Are you a lesser-known royal?”

  He shook his head.

  Taking a steadying breath she said, “listen, I don’t think I should stay with you. I don’t know you.” She paused. “What would you think of Bea staying with someone she didn’t know in Australia?”

  His eyebrow lifted. “If my sister was in trouble and I wasn’t there, I’d be grateful to the person that helped her out. Wouldn’t your parents want that?”

  “You had to play the family card, didn’t you?” She needed to distract herself from him because she was scared to like him even more than she did. “You could be an axe murderer.”

  “Tilly, I don’t own an axe.” He chuckled. “I’ll get Bea to accompany us – to be our chaperon.”

  The person who had outed her at the restaurant? No way. “No.” Her lips pressed together. “I don’t hang out at strangers’ apartments.”

  His finger lifted her chin and her jaw slackened as her lips opened slightly. Her heart started to thump away in anticipation of a kiss. “I like my coffee black. My apartment is neat and so is my office. I like opera and classical music, the only exception being the Sex Pistols. When I was little, I wanted to be a fireman. Bea is my world and I would do anything for her. And finally, I want to help you.” He stopped and his eyebrow lifted. “So now as I’m no longer a stranger, may I protect you from the press at my very secure apartment?”

  Words clogged in her throat. She liked him even more now. What was there not to like? She could even see herself going to London just to be with him, not that that was going to happen. She would never, ever go to London. Not even if Sebastian Porter asked nicely. There were not enough jewels in the Tower of London to persuade her. Well perhaps, if the Queen personally offered her, she would. But since that would never happen, she was staying put.

  She hid her hand behind her back, crossing her fingers. “Okay, I’ll go to London with you, but can you first take me back to Jerusalem? I need to retrieve some things of mine.”

  “Your safety is more important than clothes. You can buy new ones in London.” He paused. “I’m going to organise for us to fly out tonight.”

  She stamped her foot down. “I’m going to Jerusalem!”

  “You were nearly accosted by four blokes, you think more of them aren’t on their way?” He fired a look at her, with a look of pure frustration crossing his face.

  She ignored it. “I’ve left my smartphone—”

  “You didn’t bring it with you?” He gave her a disbelieving look as though she had announced she was having lunch with the reporters who had been bothering her.

  “Listen you.” Her finger pointed to his chest. “I came here to relax. I’m not interested in being online 24/7. You probably can’t tear yourself away from the internet, but I can. There is nothing that can’t wait for a couple of days and besides, I’m sick of seeing pictures of myself online. It was quite refreshing to have some time out, to read and enjoy the beauty of the desert.” She took a deep breath. “I’m going to Jerusalem, with or without you.”

  “No,” he said firmly.

  “I’m going to fix up my bill.” She twisted the door knob and it opened easily. The wheels of her bag whirled noisily as she made her way along the tiled corridor to reception.

  She did not have to turn around to know Nate was right behind. His padded steps barely sounded, but her n
eck prickled in recognition of his undeterred presence.

  Within minutes, her account was settled and she walked out of the office coming face-to-face with the stuff women’s fantasies were made of.

  She looked at him, her hands on her hips. “Jerusalem.”

  He shook his head. “London.”

  “Jerusalem.” She raised her eyebrow.

  Swinging around, she pulled her bag along walking towards the hostel’s entrance.

  Barely fifteen seconds away from Nate, she heard, “Where’s lover-boy?” Her stomach recoiled as her blood froze.

  The four reporters were still here?

  Sort of. Legally so.

  They had perched themselves just outside the fence’s perimeter, so they were no longer trespassing on private property.

  She spun away not wanting the photographers to snap a close up with their long-range lens.

  Oh God.

  Her heart pounded against her ribs so hard she was sure they would hear it even though twenty metres separated them.

  Fear swirled in her throat. She swallowed hard, resisting the urge to vomit. The early morning cup of coffee in her belly hardened to mud.

  More questions were fired in her direction.

  The whirl of the camera shutters continued.

  Tilly’s grip tightened around her bag in an effort to hide her trembling hands. With legs as solid as liquid glue, she forced her feet to walk one step at a time back to reception.

  The bus stop was barely five metres from the gate, but it could have just as easily been five kilometres. To reach it, she had to walk past them. They were all lined up, waiting for her.

  If asked, her last request would be for them to be transported to Mars.

  “Darling.” Nate’s arm circled her waist as his lips brushed her cheeks, playing the role of loving fiancé all too well. Her shoulders slumped in relief and her head leant against the strength of his bicep. He whispered in her ear, “You walk away and in seconds you’re back in trouble.”

  “Had a lover’s quarrel, have we? Tilly didn’t look too happy just before.” One of the reporters asked with a snigger.

  “Not at all. We’re in a disagreement whether to climb Masada or catch the cable car.” Nate explained, the lie rolling from his tongue like a seasoned professional.

  The reporters paused before realising no sane person would climb during the heat of the day. They fired a barrage of questions.

  Nate ignored them and their question, tugging Tilly towards him as they returned to the security of the main building.

  Tilly struggled to keep up with the length of his long, quick strides, her breath coming in short bursts.

  Without stopping or looking towards her he fired, “did you really think you could just walk out of here? Catch a public bus?”

  Tilly barely recognised Nate. With the skin stretched taught across his cheeks and his lips a horizontal slash, he looked like he was about to punch someone. His imposing stance had her stepping side-ways, away from him. “You said you had a plan,” he fired at her.

  “I do.”

  He stopped walking and turned to face her. “Do you really think they’re going to leave now? We need to go to London. Now.”

  His forceful tone made her look up. “No.” She glared at him. “I’m going to Jerusalem.”

  “How? They’re waiting for you. You don’t have a car. How are you going to get there?” His eyebrows furrowed into to an accusing ridge.

  “You’re going to take me,” she said with a defiant tone, as she straightened her stance.

  “I beg your pardon?” His forehead creased in surprise.

  “You announced our engagement and made me more interesting than I was. So you can take me.”

  “Why should I?” His arms crossed in front of his chest. A bemused look passing across his face.

  “Because I’m your fiancé?” she said with a toss of her hair.

  He scowled and she caught the tightening of his jaw.

  “Please Nate,” she begged. “I need to get my things.” She could not possibly tell him the truth as to why her phone was so important. It had pictures on it that could destroy Sebastian’s career. She would love to use them, but knew that in doing so, she would hurt his wife. The only person who had been kind to her in London.

  He scratched his chin. “If I take you, you’ll come to London?”

  “Yes.” She lied. She hated lying but there was no way she could deal with the reporters on her own. As much as she resented Nate and his stupid fake engagement, she actually needed him.

  “Fine. We’ll go to Jerusalem and then to London,” he said with a mock sigh, as though he was dreadfully inconvenienced. Little did he know how inconvenienced he soon would be.

  “Great.” Relief mixed with gratitude flowed through her veins and she stood on tippy-toes, determined to give him a thankful kiss on the cheek.

  Their gazes clashed and she caught the smug look that flicked across his eyes.

  Her jaw tightened and she pulled back. Did he have to look so pleased? As her feet lowered to the ground, she took a willing step away from him.

  His engaging grin took infuriating to a whole new level.

  “Thanks for your permission,” she said in the insincere tone she learnt all too well from Stanley Porter.

  Seething, she deliberately bumped her shoulder against his arm as she stormed past.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” Tilly looked at the back seat of Ilan’s small sedan. There was not enough room to have put the Porters’ child restraining car seats let alone two adults.

  “Nate, lie on the floor.” Ilan pointed to the back seat. “And Tilly, you lie on top of him that way, they won’t see you.”

  She shook her head while Nate muttered something inaudible under his breath.

  “I can’t.” No way could she lie on top of Nate for fifteen seconds or fifteen minutes. She did not trust her hormones that cart-wheeled each time Nate was near her. The waft of his male scent combined with the tang of his aftershave had images of beaches, bathing shorts and sunsets popping into her brain.

  What if they accidentally brushed lips?

  What if it wasn’t accidental?

  Nate gave her an exasperated look reminding her that not only had Ilan driven him to save her, but he had also waited and devised an escape plan. Her chest squeezed thinking how little respect she had shown Ilan and his Matchbox sized car.

  “Fine,” she said, agreeing with reluctance to Ilan’s crazy plan.

  So they lay face-to-face, body to body, with her stretched over his lean muscles.

  Minutes later, Ilan slammed his foot on the accelerator, the car’s wheels grinding as it sped out of the hostel and past the reporters who were unaware of his great plan of escape.

  Ilan twisted around to look at them. “You can get up now, they’re not following.” Taking a corner at breakneck speed, he added, “good idea of mine, yes?”

  The tyres squealed as Ilan confidently rounded the next bend. He grabbed the borrowed kaffiyeh off his head and tossed it on the empty passenger seat.

  “I think you’ve been watching too many James Bond movies,” Nate said with a grunt.

  Ilan laughed and continued to drive them back to Nate’s hotel.

  Despite the air conditioner pumping out cold air, the back-area was reminiscent of her day at the resort. A trickle of perspiration leisurely made its way down to her spine, her shirt glued to her skin.

  Nate grunted. “Tilly, you have to move.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “I’m too heavy?”

  He sucked in a breath. “No, your knees are digging into my thigh.”

  “Well I didn’t complain about your elbow and my rib.”

  “Sheket, kids!” Ilan’s voice interrupted them.

  Nate’s warm breath brushed her neck and Tilly was sure Ilan had switched the air con from cold to hot.

  “Tilly, you need to get off me.”

  She
placed her hands on the floor, on either side of his neck to hoist herself up.

  “You’re doing push ups?”

  She bristled at his incredulous tone. “I’m trying to get up.”

  “How do you expect to get to the seat doing that?” The skin around his jaw tightened.

  Hmm. Good question.

  “Oh, for godsake.” He placed his hands under her armpits, lifting her up before tossing her unceremoniously onto the back seat.

  “Gee, thanks, I think,” she said pulling herself into a seated position.

  Still lying on the car floor, Nate’s teeth gritted. “My leg is stuck.”

  “Your fault for being so tall.” She said all too smugly before securing her seatbelt.

  He gave her a dirty look. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She could not help the smile that made her lips twitch in amusement.

  Twisting his torso, Nate muttered a couple of obscenities which were directed at his cramped legs. “Can you lift your feet?”

  She lifted the legs, tucking them under bottom. “Better?”

  His face grew a darker shade of red as he shifted inch by inch to raise himself. Despite much huffing and puffing, he seemed to be stuck to the floor. “You need to help me.”

  Actually, she preferred not to. Watching him struggle had given her an enjoyable, visual treat. Muscles bulging, sweat glistening his skin. A girl would have to have rocks in her head not wanting to watch the show.

  Sighing with reluctance, she leaned over to lock wrists. Dismissing the electrical surge shooting up her arm, she tugged hard. He grunted. She grunted.

  With an almighty heave, she pulled him upright before he fell on top of her.

  Courtesy of the rear view mirror Ilan said, “Get a room.”

  “It’s not what you think!” She flushed hotter than the desert sands.

  “I know what I saw.” He gave them a knowing wink before returning his gaze to the road.

  “It’s a little cramped here,” Nate muttered. Using the seat, he leveraged himself up just as Ilan took another sharp turn that would impress professional race car drivers.

  Nate was flung sideways landing onto Tilly.

  “You should be wearing a seatbelt,” she reprimanded, in her best schoolteacher imitation.