Backstage with Her Ex (14 page)

THIRTEEN

And he'd been
as good as his word, Sasha mused as she dragged her eyes away from Nate and watched the London skyline come into view.

A tight knot settled in her chest. The last few days had passed in a blur of long delicious lunches in remote ancient villages, hair-raising scooter rides under bright blue Tuscan skies and endless sunshine, not to mention the journey of sexual discovery he'd taken her on.

To say she'd been liberated was an understatement. Every inch of her had succumbed to the Nate Munro treatment and he'd sensationally shown her how to express her feelings through touch.

Particularly last night. Their last night. Which had passed in a heart-wrenching blur that she had never wanted to end, of alternating laughter and long pauses where they'd simply looked at each other, a world of emotion passing between them. How could they get so lucky to have found each other again? To have shared this incredible time together?

But they'd made no plans past this day. This hour. And her brain was starting to feel like a rudderless boat, going round and round in circles. The reality of their very different lives was evident in this private jet, the crystal champagne flutes and very personal attention.

‘Mr Munro, Miss Sweet, please fasten your seat belts for landing.' The air stewardess flashed a plastic smile at Sasha and a very open and genuine one to Nate. ‘Captain Walsh says he's secured you a seat on the two-thirty to LA. It'll be a bit of a squeeze, time-wise, but there'll be a car at Denham waiting to take you to Heathrow.'

Time was going too fast. Sasha's stomach tightened. She tried not to look too possessive as she gripped his hand through the turbulence that heralded their descent through thick grey clouds.

But for the last few moments of their trip she wanted to savour him and she was almost past caring who saw her. ‘So it's welcome back to the real world, then, Nate. I think I'm going into culture shock already.'

His brows lifted but his beautiful face became a mask of impartiality. Sasha got the feeling it was because of the aircrew, so protective was he of his emotions, but she couldn't help thinking she was losing him already. ‘Reality has to hit some time, baby. We can't hide away for ever.'

Baby?
Back to his act now? Rock-star-speak not Nathan-speak. The walls were building brick by brick with every metre the plane descended. While frustration and hopelessness nibbled away at her insides. ‘Can't we? More's the pity.'

He frowned. ‘I thought you loved your job?'

‘I do, absolutely. I have the competition coming up and I have to work on that for a start. I just wish...oh, never mind.' After so many hours of being open and honest with him she couldn't find the words to express her feelings now. Yes, she wanted her old life back, but she wanted something more now too.

She wanted him. A future with him.

The real him he'd allowed her to see, the Nathan Munro who had wrapped her in his arms and listened to her story, who made her laugh, made her heart soar. Who made her believe she could be so much more. Free. Alive. Wanted.

Even though the ‘L' word had been mentioned ever so casually it had never been said in that momentous way she imagined it should be.
I love you.

No. Neither of them had ever said that, but she could have. Despite all her efforts she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. No slippers, no family saloon, no promises for ever. Not even a plan past tomorrow. Mr Absolutely, Very Definitely, Heart-Stoppingly Wrong In Every Way.

I love you
.

The urge to shout it almost drove her mad. Was it so selfish to crave something so utterly precious, yet so undeniably unsafe? But she'd learnt from her father's suicide that even the most secure things could become broken.

Old Sasha might well have sat back and planned how to mend her broken heart, but new Sasha was going to try and work out a way they could both have their dreams, their lives. Somehow.

She'd spent too long looking at the world with fear-filled vision. Lived life in the shadow of her father's death. She didn't want to be scared any more. She didn't want to take what made her safe. She wanted to take what made her happy.

Nathan Munro.

She would tell him she loved him. She would work out a plan for them both.

Her heart thumped loud and hard. She felt as if she were on the edge of a precipice dredging up the nerve to jump—absolute fear and exhilaration mingling in her blood.

Then the plane jerked to a halt. The air stewardess spoke to them again. Nate reached for his bag. Chatted to the pilot.

Before she knew it they'd hit the stairs and were breathing fresh English air, the sound of her voice drowned out by aircraft engine and a cruel northerly wind.

I love you
.

As they crossed the tarmac to the terminal building he gave her a weary smile that almost broke her heart. He took her hand, more in an effort to speed her up, she thought, than in any kind of romantic gesture.

‘Right, Sash. So you have to be at school first thing tomorrow morning. And I'm getting the next flight to LA. I have to do that interview and a whole bunch of promo for my new album. Come on, we have to keep moving.'

* * *

Damn. Damn. Damn.
Why the harsh tone? He was hurting her.

But Nate couldn't help himself. He'd spent the best part of a decade learning how to be someone else, especially in public, and he couldn't shake that off. Not even for her. And he had no way of coming to terms with how he felt. He didn't even
know
how he felt. Apart from that something important was coming to an end and he didn't know how to stop it, and that if he didn't act soon he'd lose her for ever.

He caught her arm as they entered the tiny private airport transit hall; once outside the other end they would both be going home. Not together.

He couldn't fathom the screwed-up twisting in his chest. It hurt. Actually hurt. He loved going back to LA. Going home. Loved it. But now? He couldn't contemplate that big empty space in LA, and Sasha in her shoebox, here.

His throat was raw. Every bloody emotion had bundled up in his ribcage and he had to keep hauling in air just to stay upright.

He wanted to say something to make everything right. But what? He didn't know what right was. He hadn't promised her anything after all. ‘Hey, look, Sasha. I'm sorry—'

A bright flash made them turn towards the immigration desk. Further along the corridor he saw a group of photographers he recognised from countless times before. The ones that took the risks, but got the shots.

And then he saw Sasha's eyes darken. ‘How did they know we were here? It's a private airfield.'

That sharp ache in his chest? Just got a whole lot worse. He pulled her closer. ‘Someone will have told them. And if I find out who...'

‘Nate! Sasha! Sasha Sweet!'
One of the men stepped forward and clicked.
‘Are you taming our bad boy?'

‘Sir, your cab is waiting. Your flight is leaving soon.' An airline representative pressed into his face. ‘Sir. Mr Munro. We have to—'

‘Where's Security? We're not stepping foot out there,' he rallied back at the staff member.

‘I've radioed them, sir. I don't know where they are. They should be here. They're always here. I can only apologise.'

‘Too right. This is ridiculous. How did they even get in here?'

‘
Sasha! Tell us about your father.
'

‘What?' Sasha glanced angrily from the airline rep to Nate, to the photographers, clearly trying to come to terms with the intrusion. ‘Er...no comment.'

‘Don't dignify their presence with one word. They're not worth it.' Nate pressed a finger to her lips, determined not to rise to their bait. While his fists balled.

He ignored the tightening in his chest, and kept his voice steady for Sasha. ‘Let me sort it out.'

‘Why did he screw those people out of their pensions?'

His focus narrowed to that one sorry excuse for a man. ‘What did you say, pal?'

‘
William Sweet. CEO of Sweetly Secure Finances. Screwed a lot of people out of a lot of money.
'

He took a step forward. ‘Where do you get off with this kind of drivel? Hey?'

Judging by the hack's quick retreat against the wall, he knew he'd crossed a line in gutter journalism.

Something inside Nate snapped.

So yeah, he'd made a promise not to get riled by these guys. Yes, he'd made a silent vow to curb his angry outbursts in front of Sasha. To even let it all wash over him. But that all faded into nothing in the face of her being dragged into this bloody circus.

The blood left Nate's fingers as he squeezed them tight.

This was all his fault.

The one thing he'd said he'd do—protect her—and he couldn't. Disappointment didn't cut it.

But rage did.

It started as a deep ache in his gut, rose like bile to his throat, then rushed through him.

Without thinking he vaulted over the desk, grabbed the camera by the lens and tried to pull it away from the man. Nate's hand caught in the strap and suddenly he and the reporter were collapsing to the floor. As they fell he heard running footsteps, loud voices.

Finally. Security.

‘Nathan.' But it was Sasha he came face to face with, hands firmly on her hips, as he stood up. Somehow, she seemed taller, stronger, braver. Pure indignation sparked from her eyes, infusing him with immense admiration and sending a shot of fire to his groin.

She flashed him an understanding smile. ‘Honey, you know we talked about this.'

* * *

God.
Sasha's body pulsed with a powerful rush of adrenaline as she stared at the two men. No, as she stared at Nate.

The ripped muscles, the feral reaction, the intense heat in his eyes as he'd leapt the barrier in her defence, fired something primal in her blood. Pure anger whirled with flagrant desire inside her and now she wanted a piece of the action too.

Maybe she was mad. Or just free. Free from doing everything right, from following her rigid rules, from not making waves just in case she got hurt.

Because she was hurting already—at Nathan, for retreating back into his shell when there was a whole lot of things they still needed to say. Hurting that this was the way their week was going to end. In a brawl on the floor. Hurting that someone would dredge up her father's death and use it as a weapon against her.

‘It's okay, really. I get that you're pissed off. I understand. It's a blatant intrusion of our privacy, especially here, where it's supposed to be private... But getting angry isn't enough. Getting even is.'

‘Too bloody right.' Nate stepped forward, but she stopped him with her hand on his chest.

‘No. Wait. I've got this.'

He swiped a hand over his jaw and raised his eyebrows. ‘Okay. Go for your life, sweet thing.'

Out of the corner of her eye she saw the reporter shuffling backwards, but she stomped on the camera strap. Stopped him short. Felt the ripple of anger seep through her cells, her bones, her skin, and waited for it to grow enough to harness it.

Years of dealing with stroppy, surly, unruly teenagers had honed her for
this
moment. Years of being too frightened to step out of her box had honed her for
this
moment.

It was time to fight for what she believed in.

‘You.' She pinned the reporter with her take-no-crap stare. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.'

The little man nodded.

‘Everyone has a right to a little privacy, right? You want people prowling round your house? Stalking your mother? Your sister...'

He shook his head.

‘Your daughter? Making their lives hell? Going through their bins? Telling their secrets? Because everyone has secrets, right? Even you?'

The weasel nodded again. Was that all he could do? He was like a puppet.

‘You want me to start searching your history up?'

Now he was starting to look ill.

‘I thought not. Because that would be crass, wouldn't it? Low. But I'm not like you. I don't stoop that far.' She stepped closer and lowered her voice, commanding every bit of his worthless attention. ‘So take your camera and your lousy morals and your greed and your pathetic desire to destroy other people's lives and stick it...'

But before she could tell him exactly where to stick it he'd scrambled up and fled to the exit. Coward.

‘Coward!' She chased him up the corridor and watched, with a great deal of satisfaction, as he disappeared into the car park.

Yes! God, that felt so good.

What a team. Now where was Nathan?

Nathan.
Her heart stalled. Tears pricked the backs of her eyes. His flight. For a brief moment she'd forgotten he wasn't going to the same place she was. And there was still so much to say.

She turned to see him standing at the immigration desk flanked by a security guard and the airline rep. She could see by Nate's tense stance that he'd climbed further into that shell. The distance he'd put between them was way more than physical. Despite the passion he'd felt for her, despite everything they'd shared, it just wasn't enough to make him stay.

This was definitely the end. Of that she had no doubt. There was no fairy-tale ending about to happen here.

The after-effects of the adrenaline shot made her start to shake and suddenly she felt bruised and battered as if her heart had been punched right out of her. She walked towards him.

Did she have to fight for him too?

* * *

A tight fist of pain lodged in Nate's chest. Part pride, part desolation, all awe.

‘Wow...Sasha, you're on fire,' he said gently, to the woman he now knew he absolutely loved with every part of his soul. The one who had made him whole again, who had glued back together those hollow pieces he'd been pretending were his heart for far too long. Loved her. Completely.