Backstage with Her Ex (4 page)

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?'

‘None. As always, you're very thorough. Very...impressive.' Judging where his eyes were scrutinising now, she got the feeling Nathan wasn't talking about the reams of paper in her hands or the hours she'd spent on the spreadsheets.

And if he just leaned in a few more inches...

If she leaned forward...

Oh, hell. Seriously?
She wanted to kiss him? She fought for a breath.

Maybe it was the champagne lulling her into a false sense of...
in
security? Because there was nothing secure about the way her heart hammered or her legs weakened. Or the way he was looking at her with possession written all over his beautiful face.

She tore her eyes from his gaze, but they flatly refused to leave his face. Instead, she drank in the thick dark lashes, sculpted cheekbones and strong stubbled jaw. Everything about him screamed confidence, strength, sex appeal.

But more than that, he'd agreed to help her, at a huge personal cost. He'd given her time to go through the details when she knew he probably didn't give a damn, indulging her for no one's benefit but her own.

That just about blew off the assumptions that he was a selfish sex-crazed raiser. Who knew there was a softer side too? Strident. Complicated, not one dimensional like his media persona.

For goodness' sake, where did he get off being kind? And where did that leave her?

Captivated? Hot. Yes, too hot. And aching to feel the press of his mouth on hers.

When she spoke her voice was shaky. ‘Why did you invite me over when we could have talked all this through on the phone?'

‘Direct as ever. I wanted to see you.' The spark in his eyes swirled with confusion now.

‘And what Nate Munro wants, Nate Munro gets, right?'

‘Usually.' He shrugged. ‘I just had a...feeling about you. Your last entrance made quite an impression. I wondered what you could possibly do for an encore, but I wasn't expecting spreadsheets. Women usually employ other techniques to get me to do things with them.' He laughed. ‘You're definitely one of a kind.'

That was new—no one ever had feelings about her. She tried hard to be unobtrusive and not draw attention to herself. Fighting the heat whooshing through her now, making her unsteady and unsure, she swallowed deeply through a dry throat. ‘A feeling?'

‘Yes, I don't know. A hunch.' But he clearly didn't want to elaborate. For a man famous for heavy, heart-on-your-sleeve rock ballads that wooed the world's women, he kept way too much wrapped up inside when it mattered. ‘Why did you agree to come if we could have just talked it through on the phone?'

‘Cassie made me. Suzy, of course, would have a fit if she knew I was here.' And no way was she going to admit the guy had been burning a hole in her brain for twenty-four hours.

‘Suzy. Suzy.' He shook his head, his mouth kicking up into a rueful half-smile. ‘So forthright and ardent and so...righteous. How many times did she warn you off me?'

‘Too many to count.' It had been a battle of wills in the end: the more Suzy told her no, the more Sasha had said yes. To Nate. ‘But I never took any notice of her.'

‘Until the end. Seems she was right after all.'

That he was wrong for her? That he was bad through and through? That he'd break Sasha's heart? ‘Yes, I guess she was.'

Her big sister had been right about all of that. But Sasha had ignored the warnings. Just as she was ignoring the alarms blaring in her ears now.

Go
. Walk away. She'd got what she wanted from him.

Hadn't she? ‘So. Is that it? I should go now.'

‘Unless...' His hand was on her arm now.

‘I don't...I can't...' Can't think.

‘Hush, Sasha. I don't want anything you don't want to give.' He'd said that line before too. And she'd ached to give him everything, but every single time she'd stopped short. Unable to truly let go. With him, or anyone else since.

His voice was thick and gruff as the pad of his thumb stroked along her arm, and it felt as if he were stroking her insides too. Her breathing matched his as his fingers wound up the back of her neck, her nerve endings on full alert, rooting her to the spot. ‘I'd forgotten just how beautiful you are. How intensely you feel things. Ten years, but you haven't changed so much.'

‘You want to bet? If you think I'm still that little lost girl I used to be then you're very mistaken. I've worked hard to be who I am now. I've changed more than you could imagine.'

‘Yes.' He smiled as he unhooked a strand of her hair that had caught in her dress strap, then he glanced down her body. ‘I guess you have.'

Oh, God
. She didn't want him touching her in some sort of rose-coloured grasp at something they'd had, too long ago. Rewinding wouldn't achieve anything but heartache, and moving forward meant grasping her self-respect and waiting for Mr Right, not grabbing a quickie on a couch—however nice—with Mr Very Wrong.

Typical, the first time in years her hormones were demanding usage, and it just had to happen with Mr So-Far-From-Safe not even one of her health and safety policies could help her.

Her hand reached to his hard wall of chest to push him away. But the feel of his T-shirt beneath her palm, and the heat of his skin beneath that, made her fingers curl into the fabric.

His face closed in, his eyes telling her what he wanted, his so familiar spicy scent weaving round her in a sensual web. Breathing became laboured as she waited for the moment she felt his lips against hers. Waiting to see if he still kissed the same way after all this time.

His head inclined towards her but he paused, his face swimming with a mixture of emotions, the most profound of which was confusion. Giving her just enough time for her doubts to jump in and fill the gap.

Wiggle away from the sex god, Sasha.

She knew who she was now, what she wanted, and it definitely wasn't inviting trouble back into her life.

Finding strength from who knew where, she pushed him gently away, then swung her feet to the floor and slipped on her shoes. ‘I don't think
this
is a good idea, Nathan. It might be the way you crazy rock stars roll, but it's not how I do things.' Or was this how he wanted to be paid for his help?

Yikes.

‘What? Have you invented a whole new way of
doing things
in Chesterton? In LA-LA land we usually start with a kiss and then see how things pan out...'

‘Nothing's going to pan out. Is it just a game to you? Something for old times' sake? Play the silly ex-girlfriend and see how far you can get. What happened to leaving the past alone?'

‘I was just getting caught up in the moment.' His smile was genuine and warm and reflected in his eyes. Which made her feel even worse. He stood calmly and offered her his hand. ‘And so were you.'

Good point. ‘But I can't just live in a moment, Nate. My life's not a wild ride like yours. I have responsibilities, I have to work, to pay the mortgage, I have to be a good role model to my students. Moments don't count, the big picture does.'

Her sister Cassie would kiss and walk away without a second's thought. No, Cassie would stay the night and not have a qualm. Cassie would relish the chance of grasping a little vicarious fame, enjoy the buzz of being with a celebrity.

But Sasha wasn't Cassie. She couldn't do the one-kiss thing, and definitely not the one-night thing. She was a for-ever girl, plain and simple, so there was no way she'd let herself get carried away with him. Especially not to then watch him leave again.

Shaking his touch away as quickly as she could, she smoothed down her dress and her nerves. ‘I'll see you at the gig in two weeks. Thanks for taking the time to see me. And for helping in this project.'

‘No, seriously, the pleasure was all mine.' But his eyes had darkened and he looked as bewildered as she felt. Standing up, he reached for the hotel phone. ‘I'll call the car.'

‘You'll do no such thing. I can find my way home from Mayfair.' The further she got away from him, the better. And quickly. Spending time in his car with his people wouldn't help her a jot. And she didn't need to owe him any more. The one lesson she'd learned from her father's suicide—never owe anyone anything.

Nate captured her gaze and shook his head in an
I'll-never-understand-you
kind of gesture, but eventually capitulated to her firm stance. ‘Then at least let me walk you to the tube.'

‘No. I'm just fine. Thank you. I can manage the tube—' And then she remembered their phone conversation, his chat with Dario the bear in the gent's.

Her hand covered her mouth in horror. She'd been about to commit the most heinous sin in her own book: kissing a man who was already committed to someone else. Her brain had clearly fried with lust. ‘And what about your girlfriend?'

‘Girlfriend? I haven't got—'

‘The other night, after the gig, didn't you have a date? And then...eugh, the tramp twins in the limo? What kind of person are you, Nathan?'

‘Misunderstood?' His hands curled into tight fists as bewilderment turned to bitterness. ‘Story of my life.'

‘I've pegged you as a lot of things over the years, reading reports of you drinking yourself into oblivion, partying for days on end, and hooking up with the most...' she tried to think of a word that didn't sound as condemning or derogatory as her thoughts ‘...quirky of girlfriends. But I never thought of you as someone who uses women. Not until now.'

Grabbing her handbag, she dashed to the door and down the stairs as quickly as she could.

Only when she'd reached the tube station did she realise that, along with her pride, she'd left her messenger bag and files on his couch.
Goddamn.
The man was turning her brain to a soggy hot mess.

But there was no way she was going back to fetch them, not tonight. Not when she'd had to rip her body away from him. Not when she had only one thing on her mind where Nate Munro was concerned. And it certainly didn't include a whole lot of paper.

* * *

Insane.

Yep. Insane in every aspect. Nate stood outside the grimy red brick walls of his old high school and felt the familiar tightening in his gut. How he'd allowed himself to be talked into this he didn't know. And by a woman who hadn't changed much at all no matter how much she protested to the contrary. She still shot first and asked questions...never.

Don't ask, but jump to conclusions. Check.

Don't give him a chance to explain. Check.

That was Sasha all over.

Just being here in this rundown dead-end school was bad enough, never mind spending more time with her.

He found her in the old school hall. Nothing had changed here either—the whole scenario was as if he'd rewound ten years to his adolescent nightmares. If this was the punishment for being the bad boy of rock, he was definitely going to work on his game from now on.

The place still smelt of sweaty socks and cheap lemon air freshener. Still had scuffs in the dirty cream paintwork, and old velvet curtains that didn't quite fit the stage. Where she was standing. In front of a gaggle of kids who, as it happened, made quite a good noise.

‘Sorry to interrupt...' He waited for her to turn round. Watched the silent gasp, the irritated raise of her eyebrows, the flush of her cheeks. The hesitant smile as she saw her bag in his hand.

Sunshine streamed through an upper window, casting bright light across the stage in a perfect arc, catching dust motes dancing almost in rhythm with the song.

Even from this distance he could see the different hues in her hair, not just red, but gold and blonde too, drifting down her back, shimmering with every move.

Goddamn she was sexy. And so different from the women he usually dated. First off, she'd said no to him.
Again.
That never happened.

She wasn't lured by his fame or his wealth; in fact far from that, she didn't want a dime of it for herself. Which was refreshing and curious. And the fact she'd left without taking advantage of what he'd had to offer pushed intriguing to the top of the list of adjectives he already had for her.

She wore another fifties' summery dress today, short capped sleeves, tight V neck and full skirt in a soft green that accentuated her waist and fell in feminine folds to her knees. Demure enough to be suitable for her job, it was cut from some kind of thin fabric that made you want to touch it. Touch her.

Holding her finger towards him to signal him to wait, she led the choir through a medley of three recent number one hits, none of them his, while they performed a quirky dance routine at the same time. A mix of above-average talent and ability, they had enough charisma to pull at the heartstrings of any benevolent audience, but probably not enough to win any prizes. Yet.

Sasha was good with them too. Praising and cajoling when the more timid ones forgot the words, or were reluctant to walk to the front of the stage. Singing along with them in her soft lyrical voice that swung him back to a time he'd be better off forgetting. Swaying her hips as she conducted. Her head tipping back with a gentle laugh as one of them played the fool, then bringing them back to focus again and finishing the song.