The Price of Fame. Anne Oliver

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       ‘There you are.’ Nic said the first thing that came to mind. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

      Charlotte blinked. One moment she was trying desperately to deny her identity to the press, the next she was being swept against some dark-shirted stranger with abs of steel who seemed to think she was someone else.

      Large hands held her in place, and a deep voice against her cheek murmured, ‘Trust me and play along.’

      For an instant a whole other ‘play along’ scenario scorched the back of her eyeballs as his lips teased and toyed with hers. She was vaguely aware of the voices around them blurring into one meaningless hum. This guy could kiss. Somewhere an inner voice warned her that she didn’t know him … but instead of easing away, as she should be doing, she kissed him back.

      About the Author

      ANNE OLIVER was born in Adelaide, South Australia, and with its beautiful hills, beaches and easy lifestyle, she’s never left.

      An avid reader of romance, Anne began creating her own paranormal and time travel adventures in 1998 before turning to contemporary romance. Then it happened—she was accepted by Harlequin Mills and Boon for their Modern Heat series in December 2005. Almost as exciting; her first two published novels won the Romance Writers of Australia’s Romantic Book of the Year for 2007 and 2008. So after nearly thirty years of yard duties and staff meetings, she gave up teaching to do what she loves most—writing full time.

      Other interests include animal welfare and conservation, quilting, astronomy, all things Scottish, and eating anything she doesn’t have to cook. She’s traveled to Papua/New Guinea, the west coast of America, Hong Kong, Malaysia, the UK and Holland.

      Sharing her characters’ journeys with readers all over the world is a privilege and a dream come true.

      You can visit her website at www.anne-oliver.com

       Recent titles by the same author:

      THE MORNING AFTER THE WEDDING BEFORE

      THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT A REBEL HER NOT-SO-SECRET DIARY

       Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

      The Price

      of Fame

      Anne Oliver

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      CHAPTER ONE

      NIC RUSSO always planned for contingencies. The volcanic ash cloud from Chile sweeping across southern Australia had already disrupted air travel and any moment all flights out of Melbourne’s Tullamarine would be grounded.

      His instincts were always spot on and Nic didn’t intend being one of those passengers caught up in the chaos.

      In line at the airline’s business check-in, he speed-dialled Reception at the airport hotel, heard Kerry’s familiar, but somewhat distracted voice on the other end and smiled. ‘Hey, babe. It’s Nic.’

      ‘Nic, hi.’

      ‘How’s it going there?’

      ‘Hectic.’

      ‘I bet. Reckon I’m going to need that reservation after all.’

      ‘You’re not the only one. There’s a waiting list a mile long.’

      ‘Ah, but they don’t know the receptionist like I do.’ He grinned. ‘Connections, Kerry babe.’

      ‘Are everything. Right.’ He could hear the clatter of her fingers flying over her keyboard. ‘So … that’s for one guest?’

      ‘Depends …’ He deepened his voice and drawled, ‘What time do you get off?’

      The muffled cough was laced with friendly amusement. ‘You’re incorrigible, Nic.’

      ‘So you keep telling me.’ He could envision the humour in her eyes and knew Kerry and her partner, Steve, would have a laugh over it later tonight. ‘If I’m still grounded when you get off, do you want to come by for a thank-you drink?’

      While he talked, his attention was drawn to the slim brunette in line ahead of him. She’d been a passenger on his flight from Adelaide earlier in the day. He’d noticed her perfume then and he noticed it now—French and expensive but cool and light and refreshing.

      Was it only her perfume that captured his interest? Neat and conservative weren’t his type but there was … something about her. Something timeless.

      The notion tickled him for a moment. But only for a moment, because Nic didn’t do that nostalgic sentimental nonsense where women were concerned. In fact, he didn’t do sentimental, period.

      But it was exactly how she made him feel, and that was weird. He could imagine standing behind her just this way on the edge of a still lake and watching the stars come out. Flicking aside her single strand of pearls and the glossy hair that had escaped its knot and putting his mouth right there, on that slender neck—

      ‘I’d love to catch up,’ he heard Kerry say, jolting him back to the noisy, overcrowded terminal, ‘but at this point with everything so uncertain I don’t know how long my shift’s going to be.’

      ‘No worries. You’re busy; I’ll let you get on with it. Maybe I’ll see you shortly. Ciao.’

      He disconnected, his eyes still focused on the back of the woman’s neck. Shaking away the odd feeling she’d invoked, he studied her from a purely objective viewpoint. Who wore pearls these days? Unless she’d dressed for a royal garden party.

      His gaze wandered over her shoulders, covered in a slippery-looking fade-into-the-background jacket, then down to a matching knee-length skirt over a well-rounded, caressable bottom. A sexy little handful. Warmth flooded his palm—and other places. He could do a tea party if it meant taking her home after …

      Tea party? Pearls? Hell, if that turned him on, his libido needed some serious attention. It had been a dry couple of months, after all.

      She’d been in the aisle seat one row back and across from him, plugged into her music player, eyes glued shut every time he looked, fingers stiff on her lap. No rings on her left hand, he’d noticed, but a heavy chunk of bling on her right. Maybe she suffered from the same affliction he did? But the suffocatingly claustrophobic effect of being hermetically sealed in a flying tin can was a tedious necessity in his life.

      Whatever the reason for her tension, she’d been an intriguing distraction. Her apparent lack of interest had given him the opportunity to glance back every so often and wonder whether that peach-glossed mouth would taste as luscious as it looked. How she’d respond if he put his theory to the test. The expression he’d see if she opened those eyes and saw him watching.

      He grinned to himself—yeah, that was more like him. The excitement of the chase, the inevitable conquest. And temporary. None of that timeless sentimental rubbish.

      He shuffled forward with the line.

      So she was also travelling to Fiji and flying Tabua Class. She didn’t look like a businesswoman; not in that insipid suit that whimpered ‘don’t look at me’, but she didn’t look like a tourist either. Maybe she’d have the seat next to him and he could spend the next few