Backstage with Her Ex (3 page)

Their heated innocent fumblings swarmed back in a cloud of memories. He'd needed her, needed a release, an escape from the realities of his life. And they'd been so close to sealing their love.

Low in his abdomen something tightened and prickled hot. The jolt of his body's response jarred. He so wasn't in the mood for a trip down Memory Lane or the unwelcome feelings she invoked. In his experience women were trouble, particularly exes. ‘Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why didn't you just get hold of my manager?'

‘Oh duh. Why didn't I think of that?' She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead. ‘You, Mr Out of Touch with Reality, have no idea how hard that is. We tried calling, letters, emails. The kids even sent in a video. But nothing. No reply from your office. And now the deadline's looming.'

‘I see. So desperate measures, eh?' That tingling zipped through his body again. He liked the idea of Sasha desperate. Images of her youthful body lashed against his mixed with the full-woman curves in front of him now. One thing was for sure: she'd always had an effect on him.

God, he needed to get laid. Soon. And not with her, because he never did reruns of his mistakes.

Which was why his indignation grew as he watched her scrape her hair back into an untidy ponytail, with a hair tie she kept on her wrist, not caring how she looked. He couldn't help watching her, unable to remember the last time he'd been in the same room as a woman who hadn't continually looked in a mirror or asked for reassurance about her appearance. Sasha was a breath of fresh air in his world of fakery, but she was trading on their past and that hurt.

‘London is awash with Z-list celebrities desperate to raise their profiles. Why not ask one of them? Why me?' He didn't know what he wanted her to reply. That she'd never stopped thinking of him? That this was a way of connecting with him again?

‘Aside from the fact you're the only successful person I know, or that came out of Chesterton High?'

‘And that was despite it. Did you think I'd be an easy target? Or is it because of our history?'

‘I wouldn't use that, Nate.'

‘Isn't that exactly what you're doing?'

He watched as she struggled to maintain calm. ‘No. I didn't want to dredge up the past, but somehow Cassie managed to convince me to try to get hold of you. This is all about helping the kids out. They don't know about what happened between us—very few people do. What we had was...well, I guess it was special. It was private.'

‘So special you refused to hear my explanation. So special you turned your back like everyone else. So damned special you couldn't even look me in the eye.' But he'd looked into hers. Right when he'd willed her to speak up for him, to serve as character witness or do something to save him, the way he'd have done anything for her.

She gripped the door handle. ‘You hit someone, Nathan. You told me you had. I wasn't going to lie and say you hadn't. The police were hammering on the door screaming that you'd had to be hauled off the poor kid before you killed him. You were all shouting. I was seventeen and scared as hell by the aggression—from you all. I wouldn't have been heard even if I'd wanted to.'

Which she hadn't. He hadn't told her why he'd hit Craig. Why he couldn't stop. She'd noticed his raw knuckles and he'd told her just enough to stop her asking questions.

But ancient history didn't matter; he'd put it so far behind him he could barely remember it.

So why the tightening in his chest?

He shook his head. ‘Just forget it.'

‘You always were trouble, Nathan Munro, and don't deny it.' Her lips stretched into an upwards curl. She might well have developed into a stunning ardent woman, but the smile was still very youthful, teasing. ‘And it looks like you still are.'

‘I try my best.' Trouble, and never good enough for her and her family. Even in a rundown place like Chesterton there'd been a pecking order and his family had been at the bottom.

But okay, she'd never sold him out to the press, though many others had.

Bond Street tube station lights flickered directly outside, but she made no effort to get out of the car. Tapping his fingers on the leather seat, he waited for her to leave; he had no intention of spending time again with Sasha. Some things were just best left alone—memories, for a start, trampled hearts. Their lost past. ‘And?'

‘And...' Her mouth tightened into a thin line as anxiety flitted across her eyes. ‘The school I work at? It's Chesterton High.'

* * *

Un-frickin-believable.

He'd put all this behind him and had no desire to go back there again. For any of them, least of all her.

‘So let me get this right. In the precious amount of spare time I have, you want me to drop everything to help you, and help that school too, after all that happened?'

Her eyes widened, her chin tilted higher, daring him to agree to her ridiculous suggestion. ‘Yes.'

‘Not a chance, sweet thing.'

She gasped. Using the nickname he'd called her throughout their two-year relationship seemed to strike a chord. Her mouth fell open as if she was about to say something, then she closed it.

He leaned across her, careful not to brush against that hair, or those curves, caught the handle of the car and opened the door. ‘I'm sorry. This crazy plan of yours won't be happening. You can go now.'

‘Wait.' Pausing with one foot on the pavement and the other in the car, she tilted her head to him. ‘There is another reason I thought you might want to help us.'

‘I can't wait for this. What could possibly be more compelling than what you've suggested so far?'

Her discomfort was palpable, her eyes turbulent with emotion. Now the words tumbled out in a rush as she dragged in a breath. ‘It's a mixed ability choir...called No Limits.'

The ache in his chest was swift and sudden, finding all the empty places and filling them. Disarmed by her words, and the way she looked at him with empathy and sadness, he was thrown off kilter. ‘You really know how to turn the screw, don't you, Sasha? You think I'd want to help because of my brother?'

‘Marshall loved singing and dancing, Nate. And he loved being in the school choir.'

Marshall had loved Sasha, too, almost as much as Nate had. But he'd hated the school. He'd hated the bullies that ruined his life. And Nate's, for a while. But revenge was sweet when it came wrapped in international stardom.

And then...the ache deepened in wave after wave of pain. None of his success would bring Marshall back. ‘So now you're using Marshall as collateral? Are there no limits to the lengths to which you'll stoop?'

‘I just thought it might make a difference to you.' She'd never treated Marshall as different, and he knew she'd have been as devastated as he was when Marshall died. At least, he assumed she knew of his death even though he'd tried to keep it quiet. But the furore afterwards as he'd lost control had been splashed over the newspapers.

‘But this?'

‘You wanted me to be honest, so hear me out. The kids in the choir are just like him. Excited, hopeful...special. They want to go to the national competition and be part of something that's normal. And they've got a good chance of placing too. They just need a break.'

‘And me as a draw card.'

This was a game-changer. But he didn't know if he could walk into a room full of kids like Marshall and not make a fool of himself by losing it. He'd ploughed thousands of dollars into research, donated anonymously to charities, but he was scared about coming face to face with a kid like his brother.

‘I never pegged you as a coward, Nate.'

‘I'm not a coward.' Irritation tripped down his spine mixing with the other emotions she'd dredged up in him. ‘I just don't need to go back there. I have nothing to prove.'

The laugh gushing from her throat was filled with passion. ‘Oh, yeah? The Nathan Munro I knew always had something to prove. You've spent the last ten years showing the world how good you can be despite your upbringing. But right now the only thing you're proving is how much you've changed. And not for the better.'

Retrieving a card from her purse, she regained her composure. Which was a shame, because something about her all fired up connected with something deep in him. ‘If, by any kind of miracle, you change your mind here's my contact details. And the school—well, you know where that is. Please just think about.'

He didn't need to. He wasn't doing it.

Crumpling the card into his fist, he frowned. ‘Sasha, I could find that school with my eyes closed. I just don't want to.'

‘That's okay. I understand. It was worth a try, though, eh?' She pressed her lips together and shrugged. ‘Good to see you after all this time.'

‘Yeah, sure.' Was it? He didn't know. But one thing he was sure of: he didn't want to see that school or her again. He just didn't trust her or the weird and immediate effect she had on him.

Then she dashed out of the door and into the tube station. Leaving him with a distinct unease, accompanied by a determination not to let Sasha Sweet get to him.

But as he looked at the tatty bit of cardboard with her name on it, he got the feeling that was going to be very hard to do.

THREE

‘What is it
with men?' Sasha slumped into the deep cushions on her lumpy old sofa and shook her head. ‘I'll never understand them.'

‘What you really mean is, what is it with Nate Munro?' Cassie came through from the kitchenette, bearing mugs of thick creamy hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, and snuggled in next to her. Mainly because in Sasha's cramped flat there was just no space for another piece of furniture.

‘Aaaargh. He's so annoying.' And so was her body's reaction to him.

‘I can't believe you rode in his limo, you lucky thing. I bet it was amazing.'

‘It wasn't like I had a choice. It was tantamount to kidnapping. And I wasn't looking at the interior décor.' Technically she'd been tagged as a desperate groupie and bundled in like a piece of merchandise. But she doubted that would make it seem less glamorous in Cassie's eyes.

Inhaling the chocolate aroma, Sasha tried to instill calm. Nothing was ever so bad that chocolate couldn't help. Except...she breathed in again...nothing changed. Her pulse still jittered, her head pounded, and every time she closed her eyes she could see his lazy smile. Only instead of feeling angry with him she felt flustered and breathless and strangely confused. First time ever the chocolate magic hadn't worked.

Cassie nudged her. ‘You can hardly blame him, sis, you knew he'd never come through. He's too famous, too busy. Too darned hot to care about a school he was expelled from or an ex from years back.'

Hot for sure. Yes, yes, Sasha knew that, and she hated to admit it. Since the second she'd laid eyes on him again she'd been fighting to keep her hormones under control. And failing.

It had always been the same with him; he had a way of making her whole body light up with a touch. After he'd gone she'd thrown herself into forgetting him, and that had worked just fine. Until now.

‘And you can stop with the sighing too, Cassie. He might be beautiful, but he's not kind if he can turn my lovely choir down like that. He's selfish and brooding and...' She stopped right there. Thoughts straying in his direction were not good for her mental health.

‘And you really are hooked on finding someone kind, aren't you? You're a lost cause.' Cassie giggled. ‘Top of my list comes abs, eyes...ass. Rich helps. Sense of humour, definitely—'

Sasha sighed, grateful for Cassie's never-ending sense of optimism and fun. Grateful too, that, with Suzy's help, Sasha had shielded their adorable little sister from the fallout of their father's death. At least one of the three sisters had survived intact.

‘I just can't see me falling for anyone who doesn't treat me as an equal. I want to feel safe, and cherished. I don't want to live on an edge or spend my life worrying whether he loves me or not. I want boring. Old tatty slippers and cardigans. Holding hands for our sixtieth wedding anniversary like Granny and Gramps.'

After her father had died all ideas of being safe either emotionally or financially were ripped apart, leaving the whole family bereft. She didn't want to invite more hurt into her life and the few less-than-successful experiences she'd had with men had proved her right. Loving someone could be unpredictable, based on lies that hurt like hell.

So when her Prince Charming arrived, he'd be driving a Volvo and wearing sensible brogues.

Immediately, her thoughts strayed to slim long legs and big biker boots, tiled toilet floors and flashy limousines.

She shuddered. Way too dangerous.

‘I know...' Cassie sat up and squished her left leg underneath her bottom, eyes firing with excitement. ‘Do you want me to get Nate arrested? Then we can
convince
him to do it. Pat's a great policeman—I'm sure he'd find something on him.'

Sasha eyed Cassie in the way only a big sister could—a look that said
I love you, now shut up
at the same time. ‘Will you stop with that? Ever since you started dating Pat the Plod you've been offering for him to arrest someone.'

‘I know. I can't help it—the thought of him being all masculine and strong—ooh.' Cassie clasped her mug to her chest and sighed. ‘Divine.'

‘Just as I thought, it has more to do with the idea of handcuffs than an inflated sense of civic duty.' Sasha laughed and shook her head. ‘But if the papers are to be believed Nate's been arrested way too many times already.'

‘I'm sure they make half of that stuff up.'

‘I dare say.' But the one time it had mattered—the first time—she'd let him go.

No—she'd turned her back on him like the rest. And with due cause. The man had attacked someone and she'd had enough violence in her life to put up with it from a boyfriend too. Seeing Nathan's aggressive reaction had sparked a deeply buried memory that she couldn't bear to relive. So she'd walked away.

‘It's probably a good thing, anyway. I just have to work out a Plan B for the choir. Leave it with me...' She thought for a moment and came up with...precisely nothing. ‘Okay, arresting him suddenly seems very attractive. Especially if I get to read him his rights...'

Tinny music jolted her attention.

Her mobile.

Knots tightened in her stomach as she relived the moment it slithered across the toilet tiles; the wretched thing had got her into too much trouble already tonight. She checked the number. No one she knew.

Cassie leaned over her shoulder and eyeballed the display. ‘Answer it.'

‘No. It's way past midnight. Who'd ring at this time? It'll be a crank.'

‘Answer the darned thing. Or...I will.' Cassie grabbed for it. Sasha jumped off the sofa and stared at the unfamiliar number.

No way was she taking a chance on her flirtatious little sister nudging in on the act. If it was Nate Munro she needed to be professional and responsible, remember that this was about the choir, and not about herself, or her drumming heart rate. Probably a wrong number anyway. ‘Hello?'

‘Hey, sweet thing, is that you?'

‘Once was funny, now it's just irritating. Stop calling me that.' Hearing the pet name she'd loved hit her hard in the gut. After ten years of honing her career into shape she was so far from being a sweet thing it was laughable. So, occasionally she allowed the pupils to think they'd got the better of her just so they'd see her as human and approachable. But she was always in control. Always.

But there was her body reacting all by itself again. The drumming developed into full-on bongos in her chest, her hands grew sticky and her peripheral vision fuzzied.

But her head was in full control. ‘I thought you were on a date? What's the problem—couldn't she keep up with your ego, or the delightful twins' bimbo competition?'

A deep rumble permeated down the phone. ‘Date? Oh, yes. That. It was great.'

‘Didn't last long. Don't tell me, you peaked too soon.'

‘Sweet thing, believe me, I haven't even started.' His voice lowered to a growl that sounded a lot like sex, and he knew damned well he was winding her up. ‘You know, you show way more spirit over the phone than in person. Easy when you can't see me, eh? But don't forget I know how easy it is to make you blush.'

Too right. On cue heat swept across her cheeks and down her neck as if proving his point. Maybe her cocky attitude would ruin their chances, but somehow she didn't think so. She guessed he had his fair share of yes-people in his life. But Nate wouldn't like that. He liked down-to-earth honesty and playfulness rather than false praise. At least he used to. ‘And you called because?' She crossed her fingers and prayed.

‘I've been thinking.'

‘Gosh, well done.'

‘See? Spirit. I'd forgotten that.' His laugh was gentle and surprising. ‘About your project. You want to give me more details? Dates, times...'

Hope rose as the drumming beat faster in off-beat demi-semi quavers. That hurt. ‘So you'll do it? You'll do the concert?'

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.'