Georgie stared at him. It was the middle of the night. Had he lost his mind?

“Another time. I need to catch up on some reading.” Rory gave him her coolest look, then shocked Georgie by offering a quick hug. “I’ll call you as soon as I talk to the security company.” She turned back to Bram. “Be good to her. And, Georgie, if you need any help, let me know.”

Bram’s fake good humor slipped. “If she needs any help, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m sure you will,” Rory replied in a manner that suggested she wasn’t sure at all. She walked away, the folds of her nightgown concealing her gun.

Bram waited until they were on their own side of the wall before he spoke. “If the tabs run any of those shots, we’re going after them.”

“They probably won’t,” she said. “Not here. But there’s a big market in Europe, and then they’ll hit the Web. We won’t be able to do anything about it.”

“We’re suing.”

“Our marriage will be long over before a lawsuit reaches the courts.”

“What do you suggest? We just forget the whole thing? This doesn’t bother you?”

The truth was that she’d gotten numb. “I hate it,” she said.

They walked silently across the yard. She shouldn’t be so upset. The photos of the two of them would lend legitimacy to her sham marriage. But she felt almost as violated as the day the paps had caught her looking at the sonogram. “I’m going to bed,” she said, when they reached the house. “Alone.”

“Your loss.”

She was heading up the steps when an interesting piece of the puzzle that made up Bram Shepard fell into place. “Rory has something to do with your reunion show project, doesn’t she? That’s why you were sucking up to her at The Ivy two weeks ago. And that embarrassing invitation to heat up cinnamon rolls…”

“Babe, I suck up to anybody who might be able to get me a decent acting job.”

“That’s pathetic. But I’ll admit it’s enormously gratifying to watch you grovel.”

“Whatever it takes to get ahead,” he said lightly.

Sleep was beyond him, so Bram went to the pool. Life had become way too complicated, he thought as he stripped and dove in. He’d hoped this idiotic marriage would make things run smoother for him, but he hadn’t factored in how protective Rory was of Georgie.

He flipped to his back and let himself drift. Every time he tried to dig his way out of the tunnel he’d fallen into, another cave-in threatened to bury him. Georgie thought it was all about money. She didn’t know that he needed respectability more. And he didn’t want her to know. He intended to make sure Georgie continued to see him as the bastard he’d always been. His life was his own, and he wasn’t letting her into any part of it that mattered.

He hadn’t always been a loner. Growing up without a real family had made him quick to create an artificial one from the guys who’d eventually bitten him in the ass. He’d thought they were his friends, but they’d been users-spending his money, exploiting his connections, and eventually setting him up for that damned sex tape. Lesson well learned. Looking out for number one meant going it alone.

Georgie wasn’t a user, but that didn’t mean he wanted her rooting around in his psyche, figuring out how much he needed to create a new life for himself. She’d known him too long, she saw too much, and she was dangerously easy to talk to. But he couldn’t stomach the idea of having her watch him fail, a possibility that grew more likely every day.

Georgie was useful for polishing his reputation and for sex. As much as he wanted to rush that last part, his ugly behavior that night on the boat meant he had to give her as much time as she needed…and then draw her in.

Four days passed. Just as Georgie began to hope the balcony photos would never appear, they showed up in a U.K. tabloid. After that, they were everywhere. But instead of revealing a lovers’ tryst, the blurry nighttime images the photographer had caught seemed to show Georgie and Bram having a nasty argument. In the first frame, Georgie looked combative with her hand splayed on her hip. Next came Georgie with her face buried in her palms, remorseful over her self-serving plan to go to Haiti, except even the most casual observer would believe she was crying from their fight. Another picture showed Bram holding her by the shoulders. It had been a comforting gesture, but the shadowy image made his posture look menacing. The final shot, the blurriest of them all, showed their private kiss. Unfortunately, it was impossible to tell whether he was kissing her or shaking her.

All hell broke loose.

“I can’t believe these bastards get away with this kind of crap.” Bram took a vicious swipe at a fly that had the temerity to land on the table next to his coffee mug. He’d once made an art out of shrugging off bad publicity, but now he wanted blood-the photographer’s and everyone who’d printed the photos, from the original tabloid to the online gossip sites. “If I could just get my hands on one of them…”

“Don’t look at me if you’re going to turn violent,” she said. “I’m on your side for once.”

They were sitting outside at Urth Caffé on Melrose sipping cups of organic coffee. Seven days had elapsed since the photos had appeared. Photographers and gawkers lined the sidewalk, and the Caffé’s other customers were openly staring at the city’s most famous newlyweds.

Everything she’d hoped to achieve with this marriage was backfiring. All her friends had called except Meg, who was still M.I.A. She’d had to keep both April and Sasha from flying back to L.A. As for her father…He’d stormed over to the house and threatened to kill Bram. She still wasn’t sure he believed her account of what had really happened, and his resistance to their marriage had only intensified. So much for taking charge of her life. Her self-confidence was shakier than ever.

“Will you smile at me, for chrissake?” His clenched jaw made his own smile suspect, but she played the good soldier and leaned forward to kiss the tight corner of his mouth.

There’d been no more private kisses since the night on the balcony eleven days ago, although she’d thought about that kiss more than she wanted to. She might dislike Bram as a person, but apparently his body was another matter, because the only pleasure she’d managed to conjure up all week had been watching him walk around with his shirt off, or even with his shirt on, like now.

“And this is a date, damn it. Our fifth this week.”

“Bull,” she said, keeping her smile. “This is business, damage control like all the rest. I told you-it’s not a date until we’re both having a good time, and in case you haven’t noticed, we’re miserable.”

He clenched his teeth. “Maybe you could try a little harder.”

She dunked her second biscotti in her coffee and took a desultory nibble. At least she’d gained a few pounds, but that was small compensation for being trapped in an impossible situation with the press dogging them…and with a man who trailed testosterone.

He set down his own cup. “People think pictures don’t lie.”

“These do.”

The headlines read:

Marriage Over! Next Stop Splitsville

More Heartbreak for Georgie

Georgie’s Ultimatum! Get to Rehab!

Even Bram’s old sex tape had resurfaced.

They’d been trying to repair the damage by hitting all the paparazzi hot spots daily. They’d bought muffins at City Bakery in Brentwood, lunched at the Chateau, visited The Ivy again, as well as Nobu, the Polo Lounge, and Mr. Chow. They spent two nights club hopping, which left Georgie feeling old and even more depressed. Today, they’d shopped at Armani’s home store on Robertson, Fred Segal on Melrose, then stopped at a trendy boutique where they’d bought a set of obnoxious matching T-shirts they’d never wear anyplace but in public.

They’d only been able to risk a few separate outings. Bram slipped away for a couple of mysterious meetings. She took a few dance classes, went for an early-morning hike, and sent a huge anonymous check to Food for the Poor’s Haitian relief program. Generally, however, they had to stick together. At his suggestion, she was pulling the publicity-hungry celeb’s favorite trick of changing her clothes several times a day, since every new outfit meant the tabs bought a fresh photo. After having spent the past year trying to stay out of the public eye, she didn’t miss the irony.

The other coffee-shop customers had been content merely to stare, but now a young guy with a scraggly goatee and a fake Rolex came up to their table. “Can I get your autographs?”

She didn’t mind signing autographs for genuine fans, but something told her these would be up for sale on eBay by the end of the day.

“Just your signature is okay,” he said, confirming her suspicions as she took the felt pen and pristine piece of paper he handed her.

“Let me personalize it,” she said.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I insist.”

Personalizing a signature devalued it, and his loser’s mouth grew sullen as he realized she had his number. He muttered the name Harry. She signed, “To Harry, with all my love.” On the next line, she deliberately misspelled her last name, adding an e to York, so the autograph looked bogus. Bram, in the meantime, scrawled “Miley Cyrus” across the other piece of paper.

The kid balled up both signatures and stalked away. “Thanks for nothing.”

Bram slumped back in the chair and muttered, “What the hell kind of life is this?”

“Right now it’s our life, and we need to make the best of it.”

“Do me a favor and spare me the Annie sound track.”

“You’re a very negative person.” She made her point by launching into the chorus of “Tomorrow.”

“That’s it.” He shot to his feet. “Let’s get out of here.”

They set off down the sidewalk, their hands linked, his bronze hair glistening in the sun, hers desperately in need of a cut, and the paps trailing close behind. The trip took a while. “Do you have to stop and talk to every little kid you see?” Bram grumbled.

“Good photo op.” She didn’t reveal how much she loved talking to children. “And who are you to complain? How many times have I had to stand around while you flirted with other women?”

“That last one was sixty if she was a day.”

She’d also had a big mole on her face and bad makeup, but Bram had admired her earrings and even given her an eye-smolder. He did that a lot, she’d noticed, bypassing the beauty queens to stop and chat with their homelier sisters. For the space of a few moments, he made them feel beautiful.

She hated it when he did nice things.

Still, his generally foul mood had lifted her own, and when she spotted a pretty flower shop, she pulled him inside. The interior was fragrant, the flowers beautifully arranged, and the clerk left them alone. Georgie took her time studying the arrangements and finally chose a mixed bouquet of iris, roses, and lilies. “Your treat.”

“I’ve always been a generous guy.”

“You’re going to bill me, aren’t you?”

“Sad, but true.”

Before they got to the register, his cell rang. He glanced at the display and flipped the phone shut without answering. He was on the phone a lot, she’d noticed, but seldom where she could overhear. She held out her hand before he could pocket the phone. “Lend it to me, will you? I need to make a call, and I forgot mine.”

He passed it over, but instead of punching in a number, she flicked through the display to the most recent entry. “Caitlin Carter. Now I know your lover’s last name.”

He snatched the phone back. “Stop snooping. And she’s not my lover.”

“Then why won’t you talk to her in front of me?”

“Because I don’t want to.” He headed for the counter with the bouquet. As he stopped near a florist’s cart filled with frilly pastel blooms, she was struck by the contrast between his confident masculinity and those lacy flowers. Once again, she felt that distracting sexual stirring. This morning she’d even made an excuse to work out with him just so she could watch the show.

It was pathetic, but understandable. She was even a little proud of herself. Despite the current chaos stirred up by the photos, she was experiencing lust at its most elemental, separate from even a minimal amount of affection. Basically, she’d turned into a guy.

Bram gave her the flowers to carry from the shop. They’d been lucky enough to find a rare parking space close by, but they still had to get through the crowd of noisy paps stalking the sidewalk in front.

“Bram! Georgie! Over here!”

“Have you two patched up your fight?”

“Make-up flowers, Bram?”