Backstage with Her Ex (12 page)

He certainly struggled with something when Sasha was around. But usually it was the fact she was wearing way too many clothes. Today's dress was vintage black silk cocktail with thin straps that kept falling off her shoulder. Perfect for a sophisticated dinner out, but he wanted to rip the damn thing off her.

Sophisticated was hellishly overrated.

He nibbled across her collarbone, feeling her reluctant squirm, the softening of her muscles.

She giggled. ‘Okay. So you're very good at that. Now, stop it...I'm being serious.' Serious with a devilish smile and a promise in her eye. He wanted her naked. Now. But she kept right on talking. ‘How about hobbies, dreams, long-term plans...or your business strategies...pension scheme?'

‘I think you'll find I'm financially secure.' Thank God something was, because his heart was dancing around like a firecracker. But so typical of Sasha that she'd consider a pension scheme in her tick list of qualities in a man.

‘I much preferred talking about the physical, but as you're so insistent...I have fund managers and investors to deal with the fiscal side. I'm the creative one, but there are others, like Dario, the band, producers, stage management, roadies, choreographers, stylists, caterers, marketeers and the rest...It takes a lot of people to make a global brand work. And that's all I am in reality. A product. We have a lot of meetings, with bits of paper and folders and everything. You'd love it. If I gave it all up there'd be a lot of people without jobs.'

‘Gosh, I never thought of it like that before—so many people dependent on your success. That's quite a weight to carry around.'

‘I have broad shoulders.'

‘Indeed.' She sighed, but she tipped her head to one side looking at him, eyes full of questions that he didn't think had much to do with this particular conversation. ‘Okay, weaknesses?'

‘None.'

‘How about tall, blonde, big bazookas?'

‘The girls?' He laughed, was she a mind-reader? He really hadn't thought about that kind of game for a while. Not since... He tried to think. Not since losing himself in rose-scented red hair and list-making had become his top two favourite pastimes. ‘No. Not interested, at all. Looks like you're my only weakness.' Dangerous, yet compelling. ‘And I can't think of any threats.'

He wrapped his arms round her and pulled her close. Then his hand ran along her thigh until she squirmed. But he held her tight, not allowing her to escape no matter how much she wriggled. He stole another quick kiss. ‘And I make sure I always grab every opportunity.'

‘Yes, yes.' She laughed, her shoulders relaxing and the shadows around her eyes melting a little. Her fingers tiptoed across his pecs. ‘So which part of the Nate Munro product is the real you and which is fake?'

Leaning back in the leather seat, he clasped his hands behind his head and grinned. ‘Believe me, sweet thing. I'm all real.'

‘Idiot.'

He hadn't expected the thwack to his upper arm, but it hardly registered. ‘Hey...and you've seen me naked. How much more real do you need me to be?'

‘Nathan, half the women in California have seen you naked.'

‘Good point. But I've never brought any of them here and I've never spoken to them about Marshall or my previous life—'

That truth jolted him. He was getting in too deep, opening up too many wounds. And she was getting too involved.

He shouldn't give her the impression she was any more special than the rest. He wasn't the guy she needed to fall in love with. He couldn't give her what she deserved, the promises bit, the stable home life bit. And it wasn't that he didn't want to live that kind of life at some point; he just didn't know how.

But somehow he just couldn't stop.

The heavy mahogany door creaked open and a waiter appeared with their food.

Sasha jumped and sidled to the edge of her chair, her cheeks reddening. ‘You'd better go back to your seat, Casanova. The show's over and I'm starving.'

‘Okay,' Nate whispered across the space, trying to deflect the ache that had settled in his chest, trying to make things light. ‘Okay, I have an idea. Let's play a game.'

ELEVEN

Sasha swallowed a
mouthful of the most exquisite risotto she'd ever eaten, then leaned in. She liked to play. So long as they played safe. ‘What exactly?'

‘I name two things and you choose which one you prefer. See if we like the same things and if we're remotely compatible.'

‘I already know we're woefully incompatible. If you're talking lists I could write one with all the reasons we shouldn't be doing this.'

‘I'm sure you could, and probably already have.'

‘Well, maybe. One or two.' She blushed; he'd certainly got the measure of her. But she was curious about his game. That couldn't hurt. Could it? ‘Okay, then. Who goes first?'

A mischievous grin settled on his very sexy lips. ‘Me. Easy start: which super power would you prefer to have—telepathy or X-ray vision?'

She laughed. ‘And I thought this was going to be sensible. Typical male question. To read minds or see through clothes? Let me guess, you'd prefer X-rays, right?'

‘Oh, yes. I don't think I want to know what's going on in any woman's head the whole time. But I'm guessing you like that kind of thing?'

She laughed and muttered into her glass of white wine, ‘See? Chalk and cheese.'

‘Sorry, is that a question? Because that's not how it works. The choices have to be kind of the same but—'

‘Don't be stupid.' She stifled another giggle. No matter how hard she tried to be serious and get her sensible point across the man blocked her. Every time. ‘I was just saying we're like chalk and cheese. So very different in every way. And please don't give me that awful opposites attract gumbo.'

‘Are you sure you don't already have telepathy? Because that is exactly what I was thinking.' He raised his palms towards her. ‘No, don't answer that. Telepathy doesn't exist.'

‘When I was little I thought my mum and dad had it. They finished each other's sentences, knew what the other was thinking...'

But that wasn't true and she knew it now. Growing up, she'd believed her parents had the best of marriages and that her father had killed himself because he couldn't bear to let the woman he loved down, that he'd been brave and proud and that was why he'd left them.

But now, with more experience of people's hearts and minds, she wasn't so sure. Maybe her parents hadn't been soul mates after all. Maybe they'd just been two ordinary people who'd had arguments and compromised and muddled through. Maybe it wasn't that her father had loved them too much, maybe he just hadn't loved them enough.

Because if he'd truly loved them with all his heart, why had he done what he did? That wasn't brave, that was...hard. So very bloody gut-wrenchingly hard. ‘At least that's what I always thought. I'm not convinced at all now though.'

Nathan's hand covered hers and she let his warmth rush through her. ‘Hey, things between two people are never what they seem to the outside world, Sasha. There's always an element of pretence, a front.'

‘Don't I know it? Seems to me that everyone's hiding something. So it's pretty hard to work out what the truth is.'

‘I guess that's why you don't give your heart easily.'

‘Trust has to work both ways as far as I'm concerned. And I'm done with trying to second-guess everyone.'

Her father's death, Nathan's story, even hearing it a decade later was mired in complex emotion and, if not deception, then a woeful lack of truth.

But then, she'd been as guilty as everyone else in holding things back. She was too frightened of the fallout.

The main course finished, Nate sat back and studied her. ‘Do you want to talk about it? About your mum and dad?'

‘No, thanks. You know that's off limits. And ancient history.' She refused to look him in the eye and let him see the shadows she knew were there, or pay attention to the sudden fist of pain in her ribcage. So she quickly changed the subject. Forced a smile that came easily when she looked at him. ‘Back to the game. That's far more fun.'

He shrugged, his body freezing, his jaw tightening. ‘Another time, then.'

Never. ‘Starter or dessert?'

Even though she knew her refusal annoyed him, she couldn't lose even more of herself to him.

He looked as if he was consciously trying to relax, stretching out his fingers. ‘I usually prefer a starter, but here they make the best
struffoli
in Italy. So I'd have to go with that.'

‘Sounds like it should be a musical term.
Play the piece allegro with struffoli.
'

His mouth creased into a small smile. ‘That would be very messy seeing as they're sticky balls of dough, covered in honey. Delicious. We should get some.' Ringing a bell, he caught the waiter's attention and started a little debate between the staff. ‘Apparently they're only usually served at Christmas and for celebrations, but they're willing to make an exception. It may take a little time.'

She laughed, rolling her eyes. ‘Of course. How marvellous to have everyone at your beck and call. Anything for you. Mr Wonderful.'

‘Apart from you. Why don't you make an exception too, Sash?' His voice deepened, more a command than a question. ‘Tell me.'

‘No. Just no.' It wasn't her way. She'd kept everything shut down for so long, and her family wouldn't thank her for sharing their shame and their heartache. Her mother didn't need to go through that again. And Nathan lived too much in the public eye and too little in private; she didn't want to risk telling him anything if there was a chance it might ever get out again.

And, really, she was too damned scared to relive it all again.

‘I'm sorry, but I'm not going to ruin a lovely evening.'

Heart pounding, she angled across the table and changed the subject the only way that worked with Nate Munro. She kissed him.

Long and hard and fast. Greedy, bold and powerful, meshing her lips to his, taking exactly what she needed, and giving him more in return. It certainly shut him up.

She pulled back and rubbed her hands together. ‘Okay, back to business. Your turn for the preference game. Hit me with it.'

Surprise flickered across his eyes. ‘You know, you're the only woman who's ever turned me down?'

Twice. No, more than that. Refused to share her pathetic life story. Refused to make love with him so many times she'd lost count and held him to a solemn promise that had taken ten years to follow through.

Her smile widened. It had been worth the wait. Every single second. It wasn't something she'd ever regret, even though watching him go would be so very hard. Chesterton was her reality and she wanted to live out a fantasy just a little while longer. ‘And it's about time someone did. It's good for you. You shouldn't be able to have everything you want. You need to suffer once in a while, and learn to ask nicely. Oh, and to wait a little, not have everyone jumping around after you. It's what normal people do. It's character forming.'

‘I have enough character as it is.'

‘Too true. Way too much.' And every inch of it to die for, if not slightly maddening. ‘Now, Mr Superstar, next question: if you can't think of one, then let me. Pool or ocean?'

He thought a while and rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. ‘I have both, so it's a tough choice. Surfing versus boring laps? Saltwater versus disgusting chlorinated. Ocean's winning so far, I have to admit. But right now...Here? Definitely the pool.' His eyes heated; little flecks of gold sparked in the dark caramel. ‘And a chance of skinny dipping...'

Another thing to tick off her bucket list. She laughed. ‘Maybe...if you're good and ask nicely and wait a little...I could be convinced.'

‘Sweet thing, I'll wait as long as you want. So long as it's about ten seconds.' He slid back into the seat beside her, his fingers stealing their way to her thigh, where he pressed his palm down hard, his thumb dangerously and enticingly too close for comfort.

The pressure was electric, sending spasms of need through her every nerve cell. She twisted to face him, her breath coming in tight gasps. She couldn't deny him, couldn't refuse him. Skinny dipping it was. Plus a whole lot of everything else.

Maybe telepathy did exist after all, because right now she knew exactly what was going on in his mind. ‘You want to get the
struffoli
to go?'

* * *

‘Fast or slow?' Nathan whispered into Sasha's ear as he finally found the strength to let go of her. She'd come through on the skinny dipping, and more. So much more. And holding her, inside her, watching her lose control again and again, tipping over the edge, had been the most sensual thing he'd ever done.

She shifted underneath him, breathless and satiated, pulling faux-fur blankets over them as they lay on the sun lounger in the dark.

‘Hmmm, tricky.' She sighed, her breath like a gentle kiss on his neck, her curves fitting against him like a hand in a glove. A perfect fit. ‘Either. Both. So long as it's with you...' Her hand cupped his cheek as she gazed at him. ‘Eyes or mouth?'

Man, he loved this game. It cut through the crap and got down to the heart of things.

He loved the aftermath of great sex too, the fading glow, the deep relaxation it brought, the soft purr of satisfaction that rippled through his muscles.

And with a zillion stars winking at him through the silver slash of the Milky Way, a beautiful woman slick and wet from their midnight swim wrapped in his arms, it was as if he'd been teleported to a wild out-of-this-world film set.

‘A man should never have to make a choice like that. Your eyes are amazing, but your mouth...' He groaned into the tumble of red curls, remembering the things her mouth had done to him...He groaned. ‘Sasha, your mouth should be X-rated. Your mouth should never be allowed in Chesterton High again. Your mouth—'

But before he could finish she'd filled his mouth with her taste, her tongue. Soft and yielding, her kiss was filled with something that made his heart stutter.

She pulled away, tied her silk robe loosely round her waist, laid her head back on his shoulder and looked up at the sky. ‘Heart or brain?'

‘Whoa, Sasha. That's the biggest question in the universe. I wish I could say heart. But truly? You've got to go with brain every time.'

‘Why?'

‘Because otherwise you get sucked in by sentiment, make poor choices. I've been doing that way too long. It's got to be brain.'

She sighed. ‘Disappointing then, given that we're lying here, doing this.'

‘Believe me, if I'd led with my heart I'd have had you that first night. In the limo.'

‘That would have been leading with your groin. There is a difference.'

‘Huh? Really?' Yes, he knew that. But looking back it was the same thing. Heart, brain and body, all bowled over when the Sasha tornado hit. She was smart, funny, sexy and not interested in his fame or money. She had a huge heart and brought out the best in people. She was...well, goddamn it...she was perfect.

For the settling kind of guy. But instead of relief he felt a strange sense of regret, the slow thud of his heart as it contracted.

She turned her face up to him and her smile just about undid him. He scrambled around for some kind of distraction before he did or said something stupid. ‘Okay, so this brings me nicely onto: romance or...er, horror?'

Seemingly oblivious to the effect she had on him, she bit the corner of her lip and he fell just a little bit deeper under her spell. ‘I've had my fair share of one and not enough of the other.'

‘Okay, don't say any more, I don't think I want to know about how many men have tried to win your heart. Or how many times you've given them it.'

‘I wasn't saying I'd had a lot of romance. I meant I'd had enough of horror.'

‘I guess teaching teenagers can do that to you, Miss Sweet.' But she was serious. Her body stiffened and the chill air drifted into the spaces that had been filled with their heat. This was the in-road he'd been waiting for. So he grabbed it. ‘Now's a good time, Sasha.'

‘No. I'm fine.' She didn't even ask what he was talking about, but she knew.

‘Really?'

‘Yes. Yes. Absolutely.' The upturn in her lips was a poor attempt at a smile.

‘So why the fake smile? I can spot one at fifty paces. Don't forget, sweetheart, I'm usually surrounded by them.' Memories of their break-up night swam back to him. She'd been on the brink of telling him, finally, but then she'd held back. Refused to share the one thing that had driven a wedge between them, the reason she wouldn't ever trust him wholly. ‘Ten years you've kept this from me. More. Stop trying to be so tough.'

‘I'm not trying to be tough. I just don't want to go there.'

He huffed out a breath, trying not to sound too angry when all he wanted was to be angry. Angry with who he wasn't too sure.

‘Really? Over it as in your body reacts instinctively at the mere thought of whatever it was that hurt you? Over it as in you can now willingly, honestly and openly allow yourself to start trusting people?' He paused, took control of his rippling anger, subsuming the feeling of betrayal. ‘Do you even want to?'

‘Of course. Of course I do.' She inhaled deeply then shuddered out the breath. ‘You're a good man, Nate Munro, whatever anyone prints about you. And if I was going to talk to anyone about it, it'd be you...'

And that was a screwed-up sucker punch to his heart. He'd been called a lot of things in his career, but
a good man
was never one of them. But he was clearly not good enough. ‘If I'm that damned good why can't you talk to me?'

A pause lengthened between them as the breeze dropped, leaving nothing but the sound of their breathing cutting through the night.

‘The truth is...I'm scared to say it out loud. Because that way it makes it real all over again.' Her lips trembled as she thought. After a second or two she nodded. ‘I suppose if you looked hard enough you could find out anyway. It was big news back then.
Mr Business fails spectacularly
.' The laugh in her voice was sarcastic and cold, just like the breeze settling over the night.