Backstage with Her Ex (11 page)

Oh, she was good. Holding
him
hostage when he was trying to protect her. But he never shared this.

Never.

* * *

Sasha watched, stunned, as he stuffed her clothes into a holdall he'd grabbed from under her bed, doing everything he could to avoid eye contact. ‘Nathan. Talk.'

He looked up and opened his mouth, apparently shocked into speaking. ‘Marshall had a hard time at school. It was my fault. I pushed for him to go there.' He stopped stuffing. ‘Sorry? Why do you need to hear this. Now?'

‘Because I do. And you need to tell me, or we don't go anywhere. Whatever the cost. It was challenging for him, sure, a lot of special-needs kids find mainstream school hard. But you did what you thought was best for him.'

He laughed, but it was hollow and cold. ‘Like I knew? I
believed
he should go to a regular school instead of living with a label. I
believed
only I knew what was the right thing for him. So I forced the school to take him, in the only way I knew how.'

After his father went to prison Nate had been a gangly teenager forced into taking control of a situation he just didn't know how to deal with. But that had never deterred him.

‘I was the man of the house, but I didn't know crap about being a man, other than shouting loudly and getting my own way with violence. So I just walked into the school office and insisted they take him, even accusing them of discriminating against him. They didn't like that.'

‘I imagine they didn't. But Marshall loved the school, right? It was definitely the best decision for him.' She reached across the duvet and tried to pull him to sit opposite her. But he resisted.

Instead, he stared into a spot just past her shoulder. ‘At first he did, but gradually he grew quieter and less willing to join in things. The only place he seemed happy was the choir. Eventually he admitted he was being bullied.'

‘Oh, Nate. That's awful. I had no idea.'

Nate smoothed a palm over the back of his neck. ‘I thought he'd brush the whole thing off—he'd always known he was different and accepted it. But then one day I found him in tears holding a note from one of his classmates. It said he should never have been born, that he was dirty and no one liked him. Seemed he'd been bullied for a while.'

‘That's terrible. You should have told someone—a teacher. The headmaster.'

‘I dealt with it. It didn't need making public. I was the big brother—it was my job to sort it out.' He shrugged nonchalantly, his voice steady and detached, as he slipped back behind the public mask he wore. ‘At least that was the plan. I was pretty sure no one would listen anyway. I was having a bad day already and this made it a whole lot worse. I saw red. Stormed out and hunted down the culprit, some no-hoper called Craig. He and I had a brief exchange of words and then—'

‘Then you hit him,' she interrupted, the events of their last night together now clear. The way he'd turned up at her house, dishevelled, animated. She'd initially thought his rocky emotional state had been to do with an argument they'd had about her refusal to talk to him about her past. How she didn't trust him enough. He'd been so passionate. Ardent.

And that passion had stirred something so deep in her, as it did again now, they'd finally almost made love, so close.

But then the authorities had hammered her door down in search of him. ‘Your knuckles, I remember, they were sore and swollen, but you never did give me the full story, clearly.'

‘Because you did exactly what everyone else did. You looked at me as if you'd been expecting it all along. That I was no different from my useless violent father.'

Was that how he saw it? Pain settled under her ribcage. ‘No. I knew you were different from him. I knew everyone saw a different side from the one I saw.'

‘Sasha, the look in your eyes stayed with me for longer than I cared to remember.'

Because the whole sordid scenario had revived the memories of the night her father had died. Police at the door, shouting. Things getting way out of control. She couldn't witness that kind of aggression and violence again, no matter how justified. And not from someone she'd loved. Or at least, believed she did.

But he'd been acting out of pure love, trying to protect his brother. He'd chosen her as the only person he could turn to when he needed comfort. For love? Trust?

So she could see now how her betrayal, along with the way the town turned their backs on him, had forced him to leave and then spend the next few years forging emotional detachment. The drinking, the endless string of women, the wild parties. And, by saving herself, she'd been partly to blame for that. No wonder the man screamed non-commitment—he probably believed everyone he ever loved would let him down. Walk away. Turn away.

Small wonder then, the rage, the hot-headedness, the ill-contained anger that stirred something raw and new in her, that both attracted and troubled her.

She wanted to pull him back down on the bed and make him understand that she'd had other reasons to walk away all those years ago. But with his tensed muscles and the mask of impartiality he'd slipped back on she didn't think he'd allow it. ‘If you'd only explained, I'd have listened.'

‘No, you wouldn't. You shut down. And I wasn't making a lot of sense. I'd completely lost control. They had to drag me off Craig. I was an animal. Worse. The only reason they didn't press charges was because I had the letter evidence that Craig had been bullying Marshall.'

‘But even so, you can't blame yourself for what happened.'

‘Can't I? I failed Marshall by putting him in that situation. I might as well have bullied him myself. I did the wrong thing to get him out of it. Craig ended up in Intensive Care and Marshall never really recovered. He died a couple of years later.'

‘I'm so, so sorry.'

‘Yes. Well, it was a long time ago.' And with that he turned, swung the wardrobe door open with a crash and reached for more of her clothes.

Conversation over. He'd reached his limit; that was clear.

It almost broke her heart to see him so closed-off, particularly when it was partly her fault. But he was the kind of guy who would take responsibility square on his shoulders, and would never back down.

She didn't know a way forward and didn't want to fill the space with the sound of her own voice so she gathered her toiletries from the bathroom, imagining what the next few days with him would be like when there was so much between them.

An intense connection. Sizzling but bruised. Ice and heat.

Either way, if she didn't protect herself, she was going to get burnt.

Five minutes later he zipped the holdall and pulled out his phone. The smile he gave her was muted, as if a whirlwind of emotion had rattled through and he was dealing with the aftermath. He stretched out a hand and when she took it in hers it was warm and large and solid. Just like his heart—if only he'd let himself believe it.

She smiled back at him.

Then before she could register it his lips were on hers, a sublime pressure that reverberated through her body, melting her bones, leaving her craving more. And more. And...

She kissed him back, hard and deep, gripping his shoulders, forgetting the tension and the uncertainty, the hurt of the past. When he pulled her to him she fitted perfectly into his arms and let the fire raging inside her smoulder and burn some more. The heat subsumed her until she was lost in him, in this, and she wasn't sure she even wanted to find a way back.

Eventually he pulled away, his rough edges softened slightly and, in his face, she caught a glimpse of the man who'd made love to her last night. His voice was thick and hoarse. ‘Ready?'

For more of that? Hell, yes, even though she hadn't got any kind of plan as to how she'd survive the next few days in one piece. ‘So where will we go?'

‘Ah, God, I don't know, Sasha. How does Italy sound?'

TEN

‘I don't suppose
you'd consider putting the guidebook down and actually taking in the amazing Florence scenery?'

Nathan's teasing was fair, Sasha decided. His mood had lightened with every mile they'd travelled away from Chesterton, but flashes of it lingered in his taut stance as he looked at her with a half-bemused frown.

He'd brought her to the one place in the whole world she wanted to visit, had even organised an unprecedented private half-hour to view the most iconic landmark in the city. So he was right—she should be paying attention.

She looked out from the top of the startling black and white marble Duomo across sun-drenched butterscotch buildings topped with terracotta roofs.

The view from the plane had shown her a patchwork of piazzas, the magical river Arno, and lush green Tuscan hills that protected the city. But nothing compared to breathing real Florence air and seeing the architecture close-up.

At every turn there was an ancient cathedral, a church, an ornate building. Florence oozed charm and history, complete with delicious smells that made her stomach grumble: rich garlic, pungent rosemary and dark thick coffee.

She hit him on the shoulder with the book. ‘I'm just reading up about the place. This book suggests the top ten things to do in Tuscany. I want to tick them all off. Did you know you can hire segways to ride around the piazzas, or take a horse and carriage to explore the old quarters?'

‘No, Sasha, I didn't.'

‘Or that legend says Florence is so breathtakingly beautiful it can make you swoon with its utter majesty?'

He stared out over the rooftops, hands deep in his pockets, and breathed out hard. ‘No, Sasha, I didn't.'

‘Did you—?'

‘Here, give me that...' Snatching the book from her hand, he scanned the list, snapped the book closed and shoved it into a nearby litterbin. ‘That's enough of that.'

Tension squeezed her stomach as she looked from his hand to the bin. ‘But...'

He held her gaze, the tautness of his jaw and the coolness in his eyes putting her on edge.

If this was how it was going to be she didn't want to stay another minute. ‘Clearly you don't want to be here, Nate. I'm sorry if you came under duress. You can always leave. For that matter, so can I.'

‘I'm sorry. I'm just a little on edge.' He ran a hand over the back of his neck and looked at her with the same kind of confusion she was feeling.

‘Yes, well, this is all weird for me too. I didn't exactly plan it.'

He laughed, just. ‘No, Sasha. No, you didn't. And I don't want to be constricted by someone else's idea of how to have a good time. I think I can work that out all by myself. That's a rubbish list, for a start.' Warmth returned to his eyes and he began to smile. Slowly at first. Until his features softened along with his stance. ‘It's nothing like
my
top ten things to do in Tuscany.'

‘That's because your top ten things are probably X-rated.'

His eyes glinted, giving her every indication that while they were here he had definite plans of his own. ‘There's nothing wrong with that. This is a kind of holiday after all. And when you're on holiday you're meant to do things you enjoy. Not things people tell you to do.'

A holiday. A break. A fling.
Strictly temporary
. A fantasy that wasn't even hers—she'd just borrowed it until Mr Boring But Safe came driving along in his racing-green family-sized saloon. A fantasy that clearly involved more time in bed if she wanted it.

All she had to do was agree.

It had taken only a matter of days to swerve her from her life plan. And now, here she was with the poster boy for effortless seduction, on the run from the press. She couldn't have made it up. And she sure as heck hadn't put up much of a fight. One whiff of him opening up to her and she'd been putty in those exquisitely toned arms.

But God, the way he made her feel with just one glance from those intense whisky eyes and the mesmerising just-for-her smile he was flashing at her now... Some of her misgivings began to drift away with the gentle Tuscan breeze.

His fingers stole up her back. ‘And seeing as you're getting so good at it...'

‘That's because I have a very good teacher.' The giggle that came from her throat surprised her, she never giggled. Well, heck, it seemed she did now. She was changing in surprising ways.

‘Takes one to know one.' He shrugged. ‘But we do have a lot more to cover...'

He'd put himself out for her—the least she could do was enjoy it. She could do this. She could enjoy him and this fantasy while still protecting herself. She could. All she had to do was let go. It would seem very rude not to.

And fit in as much sightseeing as humanly possible. ‘But please can we visit the Ponte Vecchio, the Uffizi...?'

‘I've arranged a private viewing at the Uffizi at three. Before that we can take a drive to the bridge. There's an amazing gelato shop just the other side.'

‘Okay.' She turned to take the rickety worn steps back down to ground level. ‘So, bridge, then ice cream, then Uffizi? What about—?'

‘Sasha, your lists are starting to drive me crazy.' He shook his head. ‘I need something to distract me. Luckily, I know just the thing...'

He pushed her against the old cool wall, imprinted no doubt with hundreds of years of stolen moments just like this.

The moment his mouth found hers she forgot the buildings and the art and the book in the bin; the only thing she wanted to look at was his face as he kissed her. To commit this moment to memory so she could bring it out when she was old and grey and remember it. Remember him.

The kiss was soft and gentle, not the heated urgent need of desperation and fire. The kind of kiss you sank into and never wanted to be rescued from. If she hadn't been leaning against the wall she'd have fallen, her legs woozy with pleasure and the swell in her heart.

‘And after the sightseeing...' She gave him her best seductive smile. ‘What will we do then?'

‘You want another list? Yes, I suppose you do.' He nuzzled against the dip of her neck, his hand cupping her breast making every cell in her body scream for skin on skin. ‘Okay, my house, my list. Let me see...lazy mornings in my four-poster at the castello...long, long nights...You get the picture.'

‘Typical man. Sex...and sex.'

‘You have a problem with that?'

She twisted to face him, giving him what she knew was a full-watt smile, wishing...wishing what? That he'd said he wanted something more than physical? ‘But you can do that anywhere.'

‘Is that an offer? You want to start now? Only, I think the priests downstairs might have a problem with that...'

‘Oh, yes. Good point. Save it for later.'

He groaned. ‘I can't wait.'

‘But you have to wait...' Her fingers trailed towards his jeans zipper, and she heard his gasp, the increase in his breathing. ‘Just for the record, Nathan, your lists are getting better all the time.'

She swallowed deeply, relishing her new-found sexual power—instilling such desire in a man, making him want more. Making him want
her
. If only she could have the same effect on his brain and find out what was really going on in that superstar fame-filled head of his.

He gave her so much...but never everything...allowing her a glimpse of his inner private self, before slamming the shutters down pretty resolutely. She knew he was damaged but a survivor, tender and funny. Reluctantly kind. Sexy as anything. She knew exactly what he wanted her to know—and no more.

Strip away the rest of that alpha bravado and what else would she find underneath? Did she really want to know?

* * *

Three days, and a lot of extra-curricular activity later, Nate sat in a private dining room overlooking his local town's busy piazza. Strains of soft music floated through the shutters as the local community began their evening promenade, smiling, nodding and taking absolutely no notice of Nate and his beautiful dinner guest. For that, he was grateful.

‘
Risotto ai funghi, per favore
?' Sasha smiled up at the waiter, nibbling her bottom lip as if worried about her accent.

Nate's stomach clenched. First smile of the day and she'd given it to someone else.

He leaned across the table. ‘If I'd known you spoke the language I'd have let you do the talking instead of my pathetic efforts.'

‘I've only just plucked up enough courage to try it out. When in Rome, and all that... I've got one of those language DVDs at home.' She smiled for him, just. ‘Goes to show how little you really know about me.'

‘I know the best bits very well. But I'm always open to a reminder.'

His gaze travelled down her body, lingered over flawless breasts that he ached to touch again and again.

Her eyes widened, and even though she was pretending to be shocked he caught the spark and fire and heard the crackle of desire in her throat as she spoke. ‘Nathan! Please don't look at me like that.'

‘Like what?'

‘Like you want to eat me.'

‘But I do.' Seemed he'd lost his appetite for anything else lately. This time her smile was genuine, as was the full-body blush.

‘And what about your
Bistecca alla Fiorentina
?'

‘Oh, the food can wait.' He slipped into the seat next to her, unable to wait any longer to feel the brush of her skin against his. Cupping her cheek, he turned her to face him. By God, he'd go to hell for this.
‘But this can't.'

He ran his tongue along her bottom lip, felt her brief hesitation, then his heart lifted as she opened her mouth, a tiny growl deep in her throat. He held her face in his hands. ‘I want you. Here,' he groaned.

She shifted away from him. ‘The food will be here in a minute. We can't keep doing this. We're going to get banned from every eatery in Greve.'

He looked across the candlelit empty room towards the closed door. Knew the waiters would keep their distance unless absolutely necessary. ‘We could...if we wanted to. I want to.'

‘I can tell. But I'm an upstanding citizen, not a rock star with no morals.'

Something was bugging her and he had no idea what.

Worse—he cared. Cared that she was cranky. And that scared the heck out of him. Mainly, because he didn't
know
what to feel when he was with her, other than warm, strangely contented and more aroused than at any other time in his life.

Caring? He didn't do that. He hadn't done that for a very long time.

He was losing his edge.

‘Hey! Steady. I do have a few morals, I'm sure...somewhere...' He patted his pockets as if trying to locate them. ‘Just not the ones you want me to have. I do charitable deeds. Isn't that enough?'

She pulled even further back. ‘You do charity? Which one? Over-sexed Rock Stars Anonymous? You know, with your money you could do a great deal to help kids like Marshall.'

‘I've been thinking about doing more, and I will. I just need to get a few things sorted out. I'll look into it when I get back home.'

Spending time with her and those choir kids had opened him up to other ideas too. Maybe it was timing; the end of a tour that had sucked his energy, the chance to rethink where his life was going, or maybe it was just her. She made him want to clean up his act.

The frown that had been hovering over her forehead all day returned, just when he'd thought he'd erased it.

‘So what else do you do in LA? When you're not busy being rich and famous?'

‘I'm away touring for nine months, maybe a year, at a time and I'm usually pretty beat up when we're done. I work hard but then I need to let off steam and play hard. Very hard. Sometimes I get to take time out, like this, but usually we go from touring to the studio, a new album, then touring again. It's a bit like being a hamster in a wheel. Same old. Same old. But, as I say, I like to keep busy. It keeps me out of trouble.'

And only a few more days to go in exile and he'd be back on an even keel again. Maybe that was his problem—he was getting too used to the easy life, getting too used to...well, Sasha and her weird lists and her quirky ways, getting used to her soft folds and sweet smiles. He was getting too used to waking up with her every morning and the bright slash of lightness that burned in his chest.

Yeah, getting wasted in a different city every night would do him a power of good. There was nothing like stranger sex to make a guy forget a girl. But the more he thought about it, the less it appealed. Strange. ‘Call me empty and shallow, but what you see is pretty much what you get.'

She shook her head. ‘No. No, that's not true at all. I know you have this stage persona and then there's this other person. I think I've met him a couple of times. Briefly. Who is he?'

‘Oh, you have questions? Go ahead.' He peered into her handbag and pretended to look for something. ‘You want me to fill out a questionnaire? A checklist?' At the pursed lips and exaggerated frown he continued, ‘No? Really, you are slacking,
list girl
. Let's start with the physical. I have full-working body parts, but then, you know that.'

‘Oh...yes, I do. Full working order.' Her hesitant smile sparkled a little and grew as she drummed fingers on the table. ‘A checklist. I can't believe I didn't think of that. Let me see, what would I be looking to ask?' Her nose wrinkled as he ran his fingers down her spine. ‘Hey, I know, we could do a SWOT analysis.'

‘Are you serious?'

‘It couldn't hurt.'

He laughed. ‘You are serious? Sasha—this isn't a bloody employment interview. Although, I do have a lot of strengths.' No way was he going to get sucked into any kind of self-analysis. He'd paid way too much to shrinks to be told he had commitment issues, he struggled with emotional attachment. Blah. Blah. Like every man he'd ever met.