Caught In His Gilded World. Lucy Ellis

and the girl pulled out her phone to take a picture.

      An older man said, ‘Why don’t you go back to London, where you belong?’

      Gigi would have seen more, but Kitaev had stepped in front of her, effectively blocking her view.

      For a moment Gigi was confused. Was he shielding her? She stared up at his broad back and felt quite odd, because no man had ever looked to her welfare before, and that it should be this man was, well...confusing.

      He didn’t even like her.

      But she never could stand bullies.

       If you can’t take the criticism, Gigi, you shouldn’t be on the stage.

      Fair enough, but her two-faced bully of a father’s critiques stayed with her to this day: too freckly, too red, too skinny, too stupid, too much trouble.

      She’d learned to blank her expression and keep going. She hadn’t had much choice.

      Kitaev appeared to be doing the same.

      Taking it.

      Well, she didn’t have to.

      She scooted around him. ‘Hey! Who do you think you are—talking to people you don’t even know like that?’

      In disbelief Khaled watched Gigi walk up to the woman clutching at the necks of her boys’ T-shirts.

      ‘No wonder your children have no manners if this is how you behave—and you, sir—’ she gestured to the older gentleman ‘—you should get your facts right. He doesn’t even live in London! None of you have seen what he’s going to do with the cabaret. You’re just condemning him out of hand. All of you!’

      Given Red’s opinion of him, this was interesting.

      ‘Why don’t you wait and see before passing judgement? He might just surprise you.’

      On the contrary—he would be doing pretty much what they expected. Offloading it to the next buyer, charity or scrapheap. Because he wasn’t invested in this heritage crap and this much aggravation wasn’t worth the trouble.

      ‘Besides, if people like you would buy a ticket to the show once in a while we wouldn’t be in so much trouble in the first place!’ Gigi put her hands on her hips, staring them all down.

      She should have been funny to watch, and she was, but he also wanted to give her a shake. Why was she bothering? Why was she paying any attention to them? These people’s opinions meant nothing. They could and would change with tomorrow’s new headlines. Given what he’d said to her, he wasn’t even worth her spirited defence.

      ‘Who do you think you are?’ demanded the woman accusingly.

      It was the moment Gigi didn’t know she had been waiting for. She drew herself up to her full five feet eleven inches and opened her mouth...

      Khaled said something roughly in Russian.

      ‘That’s it,’ he said in English. He grabbed her hand. ‘Show’s over.’

      To Gigi’s astonishment he began to drag her away.

      ‘Gigi Valente,’ she called a little desperately over her shoulder. ‘I’m a showgirl at L’Oiseau Bleu. Best cabaret revue in town!’

      He jerked her roughly to his side.

      ‘Hey, what are you doing?’ she snapped at him.

      ‘I could ask you the same thing.’

      ‘I’m trying to promote the cabaret.’

      Khaled said a rude word. In English.

      He scanned over his shoulder and his features tightened.

      Gigi followed his example. People were taking more photographs of them with their phones.

      ‘Do not turn around,’ he instructed, ‘and do not respond.’

      ‘Fair enough,’ Gigi replied, suddenly uncertain as to what was going on, and very aware that they were holding hands.

      He glared down at her. ‘I cannot believe you gave them your name.’

      Gigi blinked, her thoughts still on their linked hands. ‘Why wouldn’t I?’ Then the other shoe dropped. ‘Oh, crap.’

      He eyed her and Gigi frowned. ‘What? You think I did it on purpose?’

      ‘Nyet,’ he shot back. ‘I think you did it the same way you appear to do everything, Gigi—without a firm grasp on the reality of the situation.’

      She firmed her mouth. He was referring to her accusations earlier. Accusations she still hadn’t apologised for.

      Someone else called out, ‘Barbare!’

      Gigi shuddered at the viciousness of it. ‘What is wrong with people?’

      ‘Your cabaret has become a catalyst for public opinion, as you well know, and I’m newsworthy.’

      Gigi hadn’t been aware that public opinion could be this scary. She yelped as flashes went off in her face and instinctively turned away. Khaled tugged her into the shelter of his body.

      ‘Paparazzi’ was the only word she understood in the short volley of Russian invective he released. Although her ability to concentrate was somewhat impaired by being pressed up against him. He was incredibly hard and big and honed, and she was inhaling him like an addict. His scent was the faint spice of aftershave, the musk of his skin and fresh male sweat. It was a heady combination and, given his hand had settled solidly at the base of her spine, she guessed he wanted her to stay where she was.

      As suddenly as they’d arrived the photographers were gone, but neither of them shifted.

      He was making her very much aware that she was a woman.

      ‘We need to move,’ he informed her, his breath brushing her cheek, but he didn’t.

      Was he feeling it too? Gigi became excessively conscious of the hard muscles of his thighs against hers and how well their bodies fitted together. Warmth began to pool in her loins, her nipples tightened, and all of a sudden she became aware that she wasn’t the only one with a problem.