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In answer to Sasha’s thumbs-up sign and broad grin, Cassie gyrated across the floor, wiggling her skinny backside in an attempt to mimic Nate’s very sexy stage performance.
Sasha held her breath and tried to control the relieved laughter. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much—you don’t know how much this means to the choir—’
‘Hold on, Sasha, I’m not making any promises. I need to check my schedule. Text your address to this number and I’ll send a car for you tomorrow at seven p.m. You can come to my hotel and we’ll talk more.’
‘Not that it doesn’t sound fancy, and I’m very grateful, but I’ve been making my own way around London for years.’ She didn’t need any more reasons to be beholden to him. ‘Just tell me where you’re staying. I’ll get there.’
‘No.’ He clearly didn’t trust her with that kind of information. Not surprising really after she’d turned her back on him. At the time she’d called it self-preservation but, in hindsight, he’d probably seen it as betrayal. ‘My car will be there at seven. Be ready.’
‘But...’
‘Sasha, this works better for me. I don’t want anyone getting wind of this yet, okay? And the press have a way of finding things out.’
‘And being nice interferes with your bad-boy image?’
‘Really? You think I care what the press think? It’s way too late for that. I don’t want to get the kids’ hopes up and then not be able to follow through. And it’s my private cellphone, so don’t ever give this number to anyone.’
Normally she didn’t take kindly to being bossed around, but the guy had just given her an opening. The choir would be thrilled, their financial problems solved, if she could pull it off. And keep her jumping heart out of it. ‘Okay. Seven p.m. tomorrow, then.’
‘Oh, and one last thing, Sasha. This is just for Marshall, okay?’
* * *
‘Mr Munro will see you now.’ The bear appeared in the reception of the Grand Riverview Hotel, complete with earpiece and grimace. ‘This way.’
‘Nice to see a familiar face,’ Sasha breathed as she struggled to keep up along the elegant corridor.
Velvet-embossed wallpaper in golden hues served as a backdrop to nineteen-twenties-style furniture. Petite bronze statuettes of dancers flanked the walls. The price of one of those would pay for the whole choir to fly to Manchester, first class. She was so out of her league, and then some. But, fingers clutching her briefcase, she determined to meet Nathan face to face as a music professional.
‘We get a lot of familiar faces here, sweetheart, for a day or two.’ Giving her just enough time to process the ramifications of that statement, the bear opened the door.
You’re nothing special, his feigned smile said as he looked her up and down. Standing aside to let her in, he bowed lightly, muttering, ‘Don’t get too comfortable.’
Like that would happen. Especially with Mr Warm and Fuzzy here.
She blinked once, twice, not knowing what was more impressive: the expansive suite with panoramic views across London, or the fact that Nate was in it, looking extremely comfortable, standing by the bar. Looking extremely gorgeous too. Relaxed and confident. In control of everything: his staff, his surroundings, his emotions.
He’d grown in a way she hadn’t. At least she didn’t see herself like that—uber confident and all grown-up—even though she tried to be. He’d probably honed it from absorbing the adoration of thousands of fans, from years of live performances where self-belief was mandatory.
But regardless of the man he was now she knew his essence, where he’d come from, what he was truly like—the good, the bad and the downright ugly.
And yet, despite knowing what he was capable of, he was still strangely compelling to be with. Walking leisurely towards her, he smiled. Slim black jeans hung from slender hips, a black faded T-shirt hugged his toned frame.
She didn’t have to guess what was under that T because she’d seen it over the years in the music press, smoky black and white images of Nate in various stages of undress, on CD covers that bordered on X-rated. She knew all about the sun-kissed carved abs, the thin line of dark hair... Her mouth dried.
She jerked her head upwards. Big mistake.
The moment she met his caramel-coated gaze her courage faltered. Why did he have to be so beautiful?
Was it appropriate to walk over and kiss him on the cheek? Shake hands? But he saved her the worry by stepping into her space and placing a warm cheek against hers. His lips grazed her skin sending ripples of heat through her veins.
‘Sasha. Thanks for coming.’
‘Thank you...too.’ Excellent. Excellent start. Not.
And then the room seemed to press in as his familiar scent washed over her. This was the kind of place he was used to now. So far from the tiny council-flat bedroom he’d shared with Marshall, littered with guitars and sheet music, posters on the wall of his favourite damaged rock heroes. And a photograph of her by his bed.
Her throat filled. So many things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, or had simply forgotten. The honest sweetness of their first date. Their innocent journey to first love.
And now this. Such abject luxury, no wonder he’d offered to write her a cheque without missing a heartbeat. But could high living change a man? Could it tame him?
She’d read about his wild parties in Ibiza, the spats with paparazzi, riding his motorbike through a hotel reception. She guessed that really he was still the same man underneath the wealth.
Leading her to a couch that would never fit into the whole of her flat, even if she knocked the walls down, he held a glass of beer and offered her a flute of champagne. ‘Drink?’
‘Thanks. Nice place.’ She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the door. ‘Shame about the company you keep, though. Do you pay him to be rude?’
‘Dario?’ Nate’s smile spread slowly across his lips, reached his eyes, which softened with genuine warmth. ‘Only to my friends.’
She laughed. ‘God help your enemies, then. I dread to think what you do to them.’
His gaze hardened from toffee to troubled. The hand holding his glass fisted and she thought for a second it might smash.
Brilliant. Bring up the past, why don’t you?
He’d never explained why he’d launched the attack that had landed Craig in Intensive Care and she doubted he would now. And even more, it was still none of her business.
The silence that followed was mortifying. She watched as he regained control, softened the tight jawline, turned his back on her and walked to the window. ‘You’d better tell me what you need me to do.’
Renewing her purpose, she deposited her flute on the glass coffee table and fished her folders from her well-loved leather messenger bag. She met his authority with her own. ‘I have spreadsheets here with a projected timetable, financial forecast, health and safety plan-’
‘Huh? Health and safety? I thought it was just a school gig.’ It was more a grunt than a laugh, but as she glanced at his face she saw he’d relaxed a little. Ice broken. ‘Or are you planning to do something very dangerous to me?’
Planning, no? Thinking, possibly. Fantasising, definitely. Just being in the same air as him was dangerous enough.
As he sat next to her on the couch his leg brushed against hers. Pursing her lips together, she clamped down on the fizz of electricity shooting through her.
This was unreal. The room was alive with vibrations of their moods. So many things remained unsaid, unresolved; everything was amplified and tangible, mirrored in her erratic heartbeat and the sheen of sweat forming on her brow.
At his proximity she shifted slightly but was thwarted by the thick deep cushions that hemmed her in. His face was too close. He was too close. And just thinking that, breathing him in, sent whispers of something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A low-down tingling, parts of her body aching for his touch.
Well, heck, she couldn’t be attracted to him, not in a real sense. From a distance, sure—who wouldn’t be turned on by the idea of him? By his sex-god rock-star image? But those kinds of feelings were wishful thinking and daydreams. Not hard reality. Not gut-churning, tachycardia-inducing, libido-stirring reality.
Crazy feelings whirled in her chest, chaotic. Vivid. Hot.
Very, very hot. ‘It’s...er...regulatory...you know.’
He grinned. ‘What is? Doing dangerous things to rock stars? I like the sound of that—what do you have in mind?’
Well, she certainly wouldn’t be telling him that. ‘Obviously the school board needs a safety plan, the choir needs an action plan...’
‘Aha...’
* * *
‘But basically I just turn up to the school hall on the arranged night, do my stuff then leave? It’s hardly rocket science. I’ll do an unplugged set, so we won’t need my band. And if the kids could learn a couple of my songs then we could all sing together in an encore. That’s how it usually goes.’
Nate shoved his hands in his pockets and inhaled, inadvertently breathing in the smell of...yeah, sunshine. Stupid as it sounded. Like a lame lyric destined for the trash, but it was true—there was something fresh and new and bright about her.
‘Sure, we’ve been working on a few of your hits already. They love your stuff.’ Her nose wrinkled as she gave him a brief smile. ‘Maybe you could stay for a little while after and do some autographs...at least for the choir members.’
‘I’m not planning on hanging round and having a big happy reunion with anyone. I don’t see the point in nostalgia, do you?’
She blinked, a slight catch in her throat as she spoke, ‘No. No, not at all. The past is best left alone. Agreed?’
‘Couldn’t have said it better myself.’ Repetition made reality. The past is best left alone. Including ex-girlfriends who had started to haunt his dreams.
In truth he should have got Dario to sort this, as usual; Nate was far too busy to deal with schedules. So call it self-indulgent or just plain dumb, but the thought of seeing her before he went back to LA appealed. More than he wanted to admit.
She was his connection to his past, the experiences that had shaped him, given him the verve to fight hard for what he wanted.
A vibe hovered between them. He’d had lots of vibes before with lots of women. But this was bigger, stronger than ever. He ignored it. Tried to ignore it.
But he couldn’t help looking at her, mesmerised by how the simple halter-neck dress with the daisy pattern and flared skirt, the same blue as her eyes, accentuated her fine collarbones. How her hair looked pull-down ready, and how his hand itched to reach out and let the curls flow over her shoulders.
She was gorgeous. Not Cara gorgeous, but then he’d spent a lot of time trying to work out which parts of her were real and which were fake. Certainly, her outspoken ministrations of everlasting love had been false. Everlasting. Pah. In Hollywood everlasting meant five minutes. But then, Sasha had promised him a lifetime too, and look where that had ended.
Man, this was wild. He forced out a breath. He’d forgotten all about her, consigned her to bad history and pushed her to the dark recesses of his brain. Now here she was invading every thought, his space, the flame of red hair looking pretty darned perfect against the cream couch.
But self-indulgence had been too costly in the past and he’d do well to remember that. Sasha might have held his heart once, but she’d damned near thrashed it too. Taking her to bed would be mighty fine, but he’d never trust her with anything more. Never again.
Staring at the papers in her hand, she shrugged. ‘We’re planning on doing the concert in two weeks’ time. Saturday. The twenty-eighth. Spring Bank Holiday weekend.’
‘Two weeks? You don’t mess about.’
‘I told you we were running out of time.’
And there went his month’s holiday in Italy. ‘I’ll get Dario to handle the details, make sure I’m in town.’
‘That would be great. Brilliant.’ But she didn’t look pleased.
‘So, what’s the problem now?’ Crazy, but without thinking he touched her cheek. She curled into his touch briefly, before shifting out of reach, the papers hovering in her hand in mid-air. Her gaze dropped to her lap, but he didn’t miss the flash of fire in her eyes and that stoked something in him too. ‘You don’t seriously want me to be interested in the details?’
‘Why wouldn’t you be? It’s your show. And it makes things run smoothly if we’re all on the same page.’
He looked at the papers in neat pink plastic folders all with little stickies on them. ‘Which page exactly? You have so many.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with planning, Nate.’
‘Sure. But that’s what I pay someone else to do. I see you’re still a walking-talking stationery cupboard. You haven’t got a smartphone app for all this?’
‘I prefer hard copy. It’s easier if you can see it all laid out.’
‘It’s easier if I don’t see it at all.’ Planning in minutiae had always been Sasha’s way of coping after her father’s death—of ensuring the ordered life and stability she’d wanted. He used to think her organisational OCD was quirky and endearing, the way she’d carry her diary around religiously and check things, plan. If it hadn’t been for her management skills he wouldn’t have secured the gigs and the subsequent recording contract.
Their whole future had been mapped out at one point, down to the number of kids they were going to have, and when. He’d had a lucky break there, he’d always thought, when it was over.
Whereas Cassie—she’d always been happy-go-lucky, life’s too short sort. Far too scatty for his liking. And serious Suzy, the eldest, had just put her head down and worked hard to protect them all. Three girls hit in different ways by one tragedy.
Then it occurred to him that the gents’-toilet fiasco would have pretty much killed Sasha. Her plans gone awry, then finding herself in his car. All out of her control. She liked to play safe.
And he didn’t.
She looked so enthusiastic about her files he decided to indulge her. What did a few more minutes matter? ‘Okay, sweet thing, hit me with it. And if I nod off, then, literally, hit me with it.’
An eyebrow peaked. ‘Aww, your poor addled rock-star brain can’t handle a few simple facts and figures?’
‘Hey, I can handle anything you throw at me. Numbers, forecasts, projections. Do your worst.’ He stretched his arms out and clicked his fingers. ‘Bring it on.’
‘You know your problem? You’re all talk.’
‘What, and no action? That’s a dangerous gauntlet you’re throwing at me. You’d want to be very careful.’ He held her gaze, wondering what she’d do if he just leaned in and covered that mouth with his. Would she drop the brisk schoolteacher act? Would she kiss him back?
The vibe tugged and tightened.
‘Just an observation.’ She swallowed. ‘And, according to Cassie, careful is my middle name. Now listen.’ Laughing nervously, she kicked off her shoes, shuffled up against the arm of the couch and faced him, fingertips running over the lines of ink. Making a good pretence that the heat in the room hadn’t just hit scorching point. ‘We have to cover the cost of train fares, hotels, my supply-teacher salary for a couple of days...I’ve broken it down into individual child cost, just for ease, so each one has a personal target to aim for...’
All he could see was page after page of graphs and squiggly lines. Her voice rose and fell in her schoolteacher voice as, head dipped, she focused on every darned detail.
But it gave him a chance to watch her, the tight swallow at her throat as she spoke, the tap of her toes. His gaze tiptoed up her legs, to the folds in her skirt, the tight cinch of her waist. He remembered how his hands had fitted around that waist ten years ago. Looked as if that couldn’t happen now—but he liked her filled out a little.
His foolish heart tripped as his eyes travelled up the swell of her breast to her neck, the curve of her lips. And he realised she was frowning.
‘Nathan? I said, are we done?’
Before he could stop himself he reached out and tilted her chin so he could see her eyes again. The heat there lit a fire in his gut and he was hit with a sudden need to know if her lips tasted just the way he remembered. ‘Hell, Sasha, I don’t know. Are we?’
FOUR
So this is where you leave.
Sasha stared up into those honeyed eyes, hazy now with only one thing. One unmistakable thing: desire. A shiver of excitement, and fear, tripped down her spine as heat pooled low in her abdomen. An energy buzzed around them, dancing and jumping with every second he held his fingers against her skin. Suddenly, leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded.
He wasn’t supposed to want her. And she sure as heck wasn’t supposed to want him back. This was a working relationship. Strictly platonic. Strictly professional.
Strictly temporary.
Edging away from his hands, she fixed a smile she hoped was distinctly non-sensual. Even though she sure as heck felt the most sensual she’d felt in aeons. ‘I think that’s all I needed to tell you. Questions?’
