turned on her heel. His eyes fell to her backside, swinging as she stepped away. He doubted he’d ever forget it.
And then his eyes fell on the photographers who were sitting in the lobby, cameras trained covertly. He knew it. Oh, hell …
He stepped forward. Grabbed her.
‘Georgia, come with me.’
‘I don’t think so, Danny. I think we’ve—’
‘Georgia, don’t argue. There’s paparazzi over there and if you don’t want your picture to be going global any time, come with me. Now. I need to know what they know, what other pictures they’ve got—and so do you.’
She stared with panicked doe eyes up at him and he got that kick to his guts again. Protect her. He needed to protect her. He took her hand in his—no argument. Walked. Brisk. Together. Striding. Out past the fountain, the guests and the bellhops and into the darkening night.
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