To Catch a Star: A Royal Romance to Remember!
‘A fairy-tale romance to warm even the coldest of hearts.’ Chloe’s Chick Lit ReviewsThe Princess Diaries meets Sex and the City in this fun and flirty contemporary romance will make your heart sore!Teresa Adler is the ultimate Ice Princess, with a heart as frozen as the winter landscape of her beloved home, Westerwald. All her life, she’s belonged to the ‘inner circle’ of wealth, privilege and position.Christian Taylor: Heartthrob. Movie Star. Bad boy. The mischievous actor sets temperatures soaring in the picturesque baroque principality – and with a wicked glint in his eye and a chip on his shoulder he sets his sights on the one thing he’s told he can’t have. Teresa.While Tessa holds the ultimate clue to the secret of Christian’s parentage, it is the heat of his touch that will make this Ice Princess feel more alive than she ever has before…Another magical, gorgeously romantic modern fairy tale from Romy Sommer!
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HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
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First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2014
Copyright © Romy Sommer 2014
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Romy Sommer asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © September 2014
ISBN: 9780007594634
Version 2014-09-25
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
To Barbara and Sarah, Terry and Sue, for friendships that have spanned decades, continents and countless film productions.
Contents
One woman tearing your clothes off was fun. Five at once? Not so much.
âPlease, ladiesâ¦â Christian was only half laughing now.
Rip. There went an Armani sleeve. He shrugged away from the grasp, but there were still other hands pulling at him, tugging at him.
Heâd known adoring fans before, but they seldom pawed him. And this had gone way beyond pawing.
âIâll sign autographs, but you really donât need to take souvenirs.â He had to raise his voice over their squeals. This was definitely not fun. In fact, it was getting downright scary. The crowd surrounding him pressed in tighter. There seemed to be more of them now too.
Another rip. This time his shirt. The excited squeals increased in volume.
âHeâs mine!â shouted one over-eager fan.
âMine!â the others echoed.
âWell, actually, ladiesâ¦â He belonged to no one. But in the grip of mob mentality, they neither heard nor cared.
He had to get out of here.
With another rip, this time the rear seam of his evening jacket, he pulled away from the knot of admirers. One young woman tumbled to her knees with the impetus. Fighting every instinct to be a gentleman, he didnât pause. He ran.
The sound of their pursuit spurred him on. He ran blindly. Now he knew how it felt to be the fox in a fox hunt.
A block or two further and the number of feet behind him seemed to diminish, but he still didnât look back. He only hoped no one had been trampled in the ruckus. Though if one or two of the fanatics broke a heel in the process, justice would be served.
He reached an intersection and looked both ways. This foreign city had turned into a maze and he had absolutely no idea where he was. Back where heâd been accosted, the streets teemed with life. He paused. He stood now in a deserted residential street, a terrace of imposing townhouses lined with trees stark against the night sky.
And no way out.
Cul-de-sac either side and a dead-end straight ahead.
Damn.
He looked back over his shoulder. There were only three women left in the race, but they were gaining.
A car pulled out of a driveway within the cul-de-sac to his left, picking up speed as it approached his street corner. An open-topped sports car with only one occupant. Blonde was all he had time to register. Drawing on a lifetimeâs worth of instinct, he took a running leap and landed face-first in the rear seat, just as the roof began to unfold and close over them.
The driver screamed, more ear-splitting even than the fans who, thwarted of their quarry, howled as the car sped past.
Christian sprawled on the back seat until the adrenalin rush waned enough that he became aware of aches and pains. He was winded too. He struggled upright.
The convertible roof clicked into place, sealing them in. Mercifully, the scream stopped as the driver drew in a fresh breath. He braced himself against another, but it didnât come.
While the white knuckles grasping the steering wheel still revealed her terror, the driver seemed to have composed herself remarkably well. Her chin lifted and her shoulders straightened.
âWhat are you going to do with me?â she asked in local dialect, her voice icy, betrayed by the barest tremor. She turned her head to look at him in the rear-view mirror and he glimpsed an intriguing profile, beautifully arched eyebrows, long eyelashes, full lips, and a pert nose.
