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Celia realized she was still expecting the worst of him because there had been no proof to the contrary. Now she clung to this little bit of evidence that maybe he was a decent guy. But for all she knew, maybe he really did lead the wildly decadent, debauched life that was hinted at in all the articles about him, which might very well include sleeping with teenage costars. Everything in her immediate vicinity implied he most certainly was as wild as the press regularly reported.
    She was no prude, but the action all around her was a bit startling. Body shots on the dining room table? Check. Some girl-on-girl action from a couple of gorgeous model types standing over the body-shot woman, on the same table? Check. Someone with a monkey on his shoulder, and the monkey was drinking more than his owner? Sure thing. Quite a bit of bending-and-snorting off the coffee table in the sitting area? Major check.
    Oh, she absolutely did not belong here.
    This was just plain-old too much for her. Never mind the promises she’d made to herself to take more chances, live a wilder life, outside of Marsden. She wasn’t cut out for this. Maybe she was too old for it already—not just this taste of the celebrity lifestyle, but her choice to make a go of it outside her hometown. Was the far side of thirty-five too old for all this? She suspected it was.
    And what about Niall? Where’d he gone? For all she knew, she’d be standing there, watching all the licentious activity swirling around her, until she dropped over, senses overloaded, before he found his way back to her. She should just leave, instead of waiting around like a dope for him to come back.
    Easier said than done, however. She had no idea which direction was the way out. She turned around on the spot, craning her neck, trying to see over the crowd. Which way should she go? Away from the windows. That was the ticket. Unless this loft was at a corner of the building and had two walls of windows. She picked a direction and started pushing. Now she knew what a salmon swimming upstream felt like . . . if every point in the journey was the spot where four streams, from all four directions, converged. And if the poor fish had lost a couple of navigational fins somewhere along the way.
    Pushing through the crowd a little more, overheated from the exertion, she reached a rare pocket of empty space and spied the door. Freedom! She took a breath and dived back into the crowd, energy renewed.
    â€œHey!”
    Niall’s voice cut through the loud music and the chattering crowd. She paused, but only for a moment. She would not look around to find out where his voice was coming from. But he was hard to miss—within seconds he came into view, carried high overhead, passed along from guest to guest. Crowd surfing. Of course he was.
    Celia shook her head. He hadn’t been calling out to her—he’d just been startled when his friends grabbed him. She watched him float on his back over the crowd, everyone clutching at him, eager to place a hand on him. He may have been disconcerted, but he wasn’t upset. He was even laughing.
    Celia felt a warmth spread in her chest at the sight of his grin. He really was too charming and attractive for his own good. Too charming and attractive for her. Naomi had been right. He wasn’t for the likes of her—not by a long shot.
    She decided she’d just remember what he looked like right then, giddy and joyous and above her, and go back to her own world. Secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t see her, she blew a kiss his way, then refocused on her immediate journey, to get the hell out of this loft. She was nearly at the door. If she could just take a few more steps . . .
    Suddenly an arm was around her waist, pulling her close from behind. Her insides flip-flopped. How did Niall get down to the floor and over to her so quickly?
    â€œWanna dance?”
    She turned. It was the joker who’d called her a