In the Heat of the Spotlight (2 page)

‘You were passed out. I was doing you a favour.’

Her lips curved and her eyes glittered. Everything about her mocked him. ‘See what I mean?’

‘I just want you to do what you’re meant to do,’ Luke said tightly. The sooner this woman was out of here, the better. The store opening didn’t need her. He didn’t need her.

With that same mocking smile she placed one slender hand on his chest so he could see her glittery nail varnish—and she could feel the sudden, hard thud of his heart. He could feel the heat of her hand through his shirt, the gentle press of her slender fingers and, irritatingly, his libido stirred.

‘And what,’ she asked, her voice dropping an octave, ‘am I meant to do?’

‘Leave,’ he snapped. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction, much as he wanted to, but he could—and would—
control everything else.

She just laughed softly and pressed her hand more firmly against the thin cotton of his shirt, spreading her fingers wide. He remained completely still, stony-faced, and she dropped her gaze downwards. ‘You sure about that?’ she murmured.

Fury beat through his blood and he picked up her hand—conscious again of its slender smallness—and thrust it back at her as if it were some dead thing. ‘I’ll have security escort you out.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘And that will look good on today of all days.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Having Aurelie escorted out by your security buffoons? The tabloids will eat it up with a spoon.’ She folded her arms, a dangerous glitter in her eyes. It almost looked as if she was near tears or, more likely, triumph. ‘Your big opening will be made into a mockery. Trust me, I know how it goes.’

‘I have no doubt you do.’ She’d been ridiculed in the press more times than he cared to count.

‘Suck it up, Bossy,’ she jeered softly. ‘You need me.’

Luke felt his jaw bunch. And ache. He was tempted to stand his ground and tell her to leave, but rationality won out. Too much rode on this event to stand on stupid pride. ‘Fine,’ he said evenly. ‘You can circulate and socialise for an hour, and then leave of your own accord. But if you so much as—’

‘What?’ She raised her eyebrows, her mouth curving into another mocking smile. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

‘That’s the problem. I have absolutely no idea.’

She’d looked so coy and cat-like standing there, all innuendo and outrageous suggestion, but suddenly it was as if the life had drained out of her and she looked away, her expression veiled, blank. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll give everyone, even you, what they want. I always do.’ And without looking back at him she walked towards the crowd.

Watching her, Luke felt a flicker of uneasy surprise. He’d assumed Aurelie was as shallow as a puddle, but in that moment when she’d looked away he’d sensed something dark and deep and even painful in her averted gaze.

He let out a long, low breath and turned in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to waste another second of his time thinking about the wretched woman.

Now that the mini-concert was over, the crowd milled around, examining the glass display cases of jewellery and make-up, the artful window dressings. Luke forced himself to focus on what lay ahead. Yet even as he moved through the crowd, smiling, nodding, talking, it seemed as if he could still feel the heat of her hand on his chest, imagined that its imprint remained in the cloth, or even on his skin.

* * *

Aurelie turned around to watch Luke Bryant walk away, wondering just what made Mr Bossy tick. He was wound tight enough to snap, that was for sure. When she’d placed her hand on his chest she’d felt how taut his muscles were, how tense. And she’d also felt the sudden thud of his heart, and knew she affected him. Aroused him.

The knowledge should have given her the usual sense of grim satisfaction, but it didn’t. All she felt was tired. So very tired, and the thought of performing on a different kind of stage, playing the role of Aurelie the Pop Star for another hour or more, made her feel physically sick.

What would happen, she wondered, if she dropped the flirty, salacious act for a single afternoon, stopped being Aurelie and tried being herself instead?

She thought of the PR lady’s look of horror at such a suggestion. No one wanted Aurelie the real person. They wanted the pop princess who tripped through life and made appalling tabloid-worthy mistakes. That was the only person they were interested in.

And that was the only person she was interested in being. She wasn’t even sure if there was anything left underneath, inside. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed into the fray.

The crowd mingling in the elegant lobby of Bryant’s was a mix of well-heeled and decidedly middle class. Aurelie had known Bryant’s as a top-of-the-line, big-name boutique but, from a glance at the jewellery counter, she could tell the reopening was trying to hit a slightly more affordable note. She supposed in this economy it was a necessary move and, from her quick once-over, it didn’t seem that the store had sacrificed style or elegance in its pursuit of the more price-conscious shopper. Ironic, really, that both she and Bryant’s were trying to reinvent themselves. She wondered if Luke would make a better job of it than she had.

For three-quarters of an hour she worked the crowd, signing autographs and fluttering her fingers and giggling and squealing as if she was having the time of her life. Which she most certainly was not. Yet even as she played the princess, she found her gaze wandering all too often to Luke Bryant. From the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, he looked as if he wasn’t having the time of his life, either. And, unlike her, he wasn’t able to hide it.

He was certainly good-looking enough, with the dark brown hair, chocolate eyes and powerful body she remembered the feel of. Yet he looked so serious, so stern, his dark eyes hooded and his mouth a thin line. Did he ever laugh or even smile? He’d probably had his sense of humour surgically removed.

Then she remembered the thud of his heart under her hand and how warm his skin had felt, even through the cotton of his shirt. She remembered how he’d looked down at her, first with disapproval and then with desire. Typical, she told herself, yet something in her had responded to that hot, dark gaze, something in her she’d thought had long since died.

His gaze lifted to hers and she realised she’d been staring at him for a good thirty seconds. He stared back in that even, assessing way, as if he had the measure of her and found it decidedly lacking. Aurelie felt her heart give a strange little lurch and deliberately she let her gaze wander up and down his frame, giving him as much of a once-over as he’d given her. His mouth twisted in something like distaste and he turned away.

Aurelie stood there for a moment feeling oddly rebuffed, almost hurt. How ridiculous; all she’d been trying to do was annoy him. Besides, she’d suffered far worse insults than being dismissed. All she had to do was open a newspaper or click on one of the many celebrity gossip sites. Still, she couldn’t deny the needling sense of pain, like a splinter burrowing into her heart. Why did this irritating man affect her so much, or even at all?

She heard the buzz of conversation around her and tried to focus on what someone was saying. Tried to smile, to perform, yet somehow the motions wouldn’t come. She was failing herself, and in one abrupt movement she pivoted on her heel and walked out of the crowded lobby.

* * *

Luke watched Aurelie leave the lobby and felt an irritating mix of satisfaction and annoyance war within him. He didn’t particularly want the woman around, yet he hadn’t liked the look on her face, almost like hurt, when he’d gazed back at her. Why he cared, he had no idea. He
didn’t
care. He wanted her gone.

And yet he could remember the exact blue-grey shade of her eyes, saw in that moment how they had darkened with pain. And despite every intention to stay and socialise, he found himself walking upstairs, back to the break room where he figured Aurelie had gone.

He pushed open the now-broken door without knocking, stopping suddenly when he saw Aurelie inside, in the process of pulling her dress over her head.

‘Excuse me—’

‘No need to be shy, boss man.’ She turned around wearing nothing but a very skimpy push-up bra and thong, her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, mouth twisted. ‘Now you can have the good look you’ve been wanting.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re really unbelievable.’

‘Why, that’s almost a compliment.’

And Luke knew he
was
having a good look. Again. He could not, to his shame, tear his gaze away from those high, firm breasts encased in a very little bit of white satin. Furious with himself, he reached for a gauzy purple top lying on the floor and tossed it to her. ‘Put something on.’

She glanced at the top and her mouth curled in a feline smile. ‘If you insist.’

She didn’t look any more decent in the see-through top. In fact, Luke decided, she looked worse. Or better, depending on your point of view. The diaphanous material still managed to highlight the slender curves that had been on such blatant display. She was too skinny, he told himself, yet once again he could not keep his gaze from roving over her body, taking in its taut perfection. He felt another stirring of arousal, much to his annoyance. Aurelie’s mouth curved in a knowing smile.

‘I came up here,’ he finally bit out, ‘to see if you were all right.’

She raised her eyebrows, and he sensed her sudden tension. ‘And why wouldn’t I be all right?’

‘Because—’ What could he say?
Because I saw such sadness in your eyes.
He was being ridiculous. About a completely ridiculous woman. ‘You seemed troubled,’ he finally answered, because he didn’t dissemble or downright lie. He wouldn’t, not since that moment twenty-five years ago when he’d put his heart and soul on the line and hadn’t been believed.

‘Troubled?’ Her voice rang out, incredulous, scornful. Yet he still saw those shadows in her eyes, felt the brittleness of her confident pose, hands on hips, chin—and breasts—thrust out. She cocked her head, lashes sweeping downwards. ‘Aren’t you Mr Sensitive,’ she murmured, her voice dropping into husky suggestion that had the hairs on the back of Luke’s neck prickling even as his libido stirred insistently. It had been far too long since he’d been in a relationship. Since he’d had sex. That had to be the only reason he was reacting to this woman at all.

She sashayed towards him, lifted her knowing gaze to his. Luke took an involuntary step backwards, and came up against the door. ‘I think you’re the troubled one, Mr Bossy,’ she said, and with a cynical little smile she reached down to skim the length of his burgeoning erection with her fingertips. Luke felt as if he’d been jolted with electricity. He stepped back, shook his head in disgust.

‘What is
wrong
with you?’

‘Obviously nothing, judging by your reaction.’

‘If I see a fairly attractive woman in her underwear, then yes, my body has a basic biological reaction. That’s all it is.’

‘Oh, so your little show of concern for my emotional state was just that?’ She stepped back, and her smile was now cold, her eyes hard.

‘You think I was coming on to you?’ He let out a short, hard laugh. ‘If anything, you’re the one who’s been coming on to me. I don’t even like you, lady.’

She lifted her chin, her eyes still hard. ‘Since when did like ever come into it?’

‘It does for me.’

‘How quaint.’ She turned away and, reaching for a pair of jeans, pulled them on. ‘Well, you can breathe a sigh of relief. I’m fine.’

And even though he knew he should leave—hell, he should never have come up here in the first place—Luke didn’t move. She didn’t
seem
fine.

He stood there in frustration—sexual frustration now, too—as Aurelie piled all the clothes scattered around the room into a big canvas holdall. She glanced up at him, those stormy eyes veiled by long lashes, and for a second, no more, she looked young. Vulnerable. Then she smiled—he hated that cold, cynical smile—and said, ‘Still here, Bossy? Still hoping?’

‘I’m here,’ he said through gritted teeth, remembrance firing his fury, ‘because you’re a complete disaster and I can’t trust you to walk out of here on your own two feet. An hour ago you were passed out on the floor. The last thing I need is some awful exposé in a trashy tabloid about how pop princess Aurelie ODed in the break room.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, and here I was, starting to believe you were actually
concerned
about me. Don’t worry, I told you, I’m fine.’

Luke jerked his head into the semblance of a nod. ‘Then I’ll say goodbye and thank you to use the back door on your way out.’

‘I always do. Paparazzi, you know.’ She smiled, but he saw her chin tremble, just the tiniest bit, and with stinging certainty he knew that despite her go-to-hell attitude, he’d hurt her.

And even though he knew he shouldn’t care, not one iota, he knew he did. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, because the sooner he was rid of her, the better. She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those storm cloud eyes, her chin lifted defiantly—and still trembling. Swearing aloud this time, Luke turned and walked out of the room.

CHAPTER TWO

‘“B
RYANT
’
S
reopening hit exactly the right note between self-deprecation and assurance,’” Jenna read from the newspaper as she came into Luke’s office, kicking the door closed behind her with one high-heeled foot. She glanced at him over the top of the paper, her eyes dancing. ‘It was a total hit!’

Luke gave a rather terse smile back. He didn’t want to kill Jenna’s buzz, but he hadn’t meant the reopening to be ‘self-deprecating’—whatever that was supposed to mean. A quick scan of the morning’s headlines had reassured him that the opening had been well received, if not exactly how he’d envisioned, and the till receipts at the end of the day had offered more proof. It was enough, Luke hoped, to continue the relaunch of Bryant Stores across the globe—if his brother Aaron agreed.

He felt the familiar pang of frustration at still having to clear any major decisions with his brother, even though he was thirty-eight years old and had been running Bryant Stores for over a decade. He’d surely earned a bit more of Aaron’s trust, but his brother never gave it. Their father had set up the running of Bryant Enterprises in his will, and it meant that Aaron could call all the shots. And that, Luke knew, was one thing Aaron loved to do.

‘Getting Aurelie really worked,’ Jenna said. ‘All the papers mention her.’

‘They usually do,’ Luke answered dryly. He spun around in his chair to face the rather uninspiring view of Manhattan’s midtown covered in a muggy midsummer haze. He did
not
want to think about that out-of-control pop princess, or the shaming reaction she’d stirred up in him.

‘Apparently it was a stroke of genius to have her sing,’ Jenna continued, her voice smug with self-satisfaction.

‘Hitting the right note between self-deprecation and assurance?’ Luke quoted. The newspaper had managed to ridicule Aurelie even as they lauded the opening.
Even if Aurelie is too washed up to reinvent herself, Bryant’s obviously can.
Briefly he closed his eyes. How did she stand it, all the time? Or did she just not care?

‘Maybe you should have her perform at all the openings,’ Jenna suggested and Luke opened his eyes.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ Jenna persisted. ‘I know she’s a bit of a joke, but people still like her music. And the newspapers loved that we hired a has-been to perform... They thought it was an ironic nod to—’

‘Our own former celebrity. Yes, I read the papers, Jenna. I’m just not sure that was quite the angle we were going for.’ Luke turned around and gave his Head of PR a quelling look. He liked hiring young people with fresh ideas; he wanted change and innovation, unlike his brother. But he didn’t want Aurelie.

Actually, the problem is, you do.

‘Maybe not,’ Jenna persisted, ‘but it worked. And the truth is that nobody wants the old Bryant’s any more. You can only coast on a reputation for so long.’

‘Tell that to Aurelie,’ he said, meaning to close down the conversation, but Jenna let out a sharp little laugh.

‘But that’s all she has. Do you know she actually wanted to sing something new—some soppy folk ballad.’ Jenna rolled her eyes, and Luke stilled.

‘A
folk
ballad? She’s a pop star.’

‘I know, ridiculous, right? I don’t know
what
she was thinking. She wanted to wear jeans, for heaven’s sake, and play her
guitar
. Like we hired her for that.’

Luke didn’t answer, just let the words sink in. ‘What did you say to her?’ he asked after a moment.

‘I told her we’d hired her to be Aurelie, not Joan Baez.’

He rolled a silver-plated pen between his fingers, his gaze resting once more on the hazy skyline. ‘What did she say?’

Jenna shrugged. ‘Not much. We’re the ones who hired her. What could she do, after all?’

Nothing, Luke supposed. Nothing except lash out at anyone who assumed she was just that, only that—Aurelie, the shallow pop princess. An uncomfortable uncertainty stole through him at the thought.

Who
was
Aurelie, really?

‘That will be all, Jenna,’ he said and, looking faintly miffed since he’d always encouraged a spirit of camaraderie in the office, she left. Luke sank back into his chair and rubbed his hands over his face.

He didn’t want to think about Aurelie. He didn’t want to wonder if there was more to her than he’d ever expected, or worry about what she must have been feeling. He didn’t want to think about her at all.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to stare moodily out of the window. Jenna’s suggestion was ridiculous, of course. There was absolutely no way he was hiring Aurelie to open so much as a sugar packet for him. He never wanted to see her again.

Then why can’t you get her eyes out of your mind?

Her eyes. When he closed his own, he saw hers, stormy and sad and
brave
. He was being ridiculous, romantic, and about a woman whose whole lifestyle—values, actions, everything—he despised. She might have written some soppy new song, but it didn’t change who she was: a washed-up, over-the-top diva.

Yet her eyes.

He let out a groan of frustration and swivelled back to face his computer. He didn’t need this. The reopening of the New York flagship store might have been a success, but he still had a mountain of work to do. Bryant Enterprises had over a hundred stores across the world and Luke intended to overhaul every single one.

Without the help of Aurelie.

* * *

Aurelie bit her lip in concentration as she played the four notes again. Did it sound too melancholy? She had to get the bridge right or—

Or what?

She glanced up from the piano to stare unseeingly around the room she’d converted into a work space. Nobody wanted her music any more. She might be good for rehashing a few of her hit singles, but nobody wanted to hear soulful piano and acoustic guitar ballads. She’d got that loud and clear.

When she’d stupidly mentioned such an idea to her agent, he’d laughed.
Laughed.
‘Stick with what you’re good at, babe,’ he’d said. ‘Not that it’s all that much.’

She’d fired him. Not that it mattered. He’d been about to let her go anyway.

Sighing, she rose from the piano bench and went to the kitchen. She’d been working all morning and it was time for a coffee break. She hated indulging in self-pity; she knew there was no point. She’d made her bed and she’d spend the rest of her life lying in it. No one was going to let her change. And, really, she didn’t need to change. At least not publicly. She could spend the rest of her life living quietly in Vermont. She didn’t need a comeback, despite her pathetic attempt at one.

Just the memory of the Bryant’s booking made her cringe. The only reason she’d accepted it was to have a kind of test run, to see how people responded to a new and different Aurelie. And it had failed at the very first gate. The Head of PR who had booked her had been appalled by her suggestion she do something different.
People are coming to see the Aurelie they know and love, not some wannabe folk singer
.
We only want one thing from you.

Sighing again, she poured herself a coffee and added milk, stirring moodily. She’d given them the old Aurelie, just as that woman had wanted. She’d given it to them in spades. Briefly she thought of bossy Luke Bryant, and how she’d baited him. Even now she felt a flicker of embarrassment, even shame. All right, yes, she’d seen the desire flaring in his eyes, but instead of ignoring it she’d wound him up on purpose. She’d just been, as always, reacting. Reacting to the assumptions and sneers and suggestions. When she was in the moment it was so incredibly hard to rise above it.

The doorbell rang, a rusty croak of a sound, surprising her. She didn’t get visitors. The paparazzi didn’t know about this house and the townspeople left her alone. Then she remembered she’d ordered a new capo, and went to answer it.

‘Hey...’ The word died off to nothing as she stared at the man standing on the weathered front porch of her grandma’s house. It wasn’t the postman. It was Luke Bryant.

* * *

Luke watched the colour drain from Aurelie’s face as she stared at him, obviously shocked. As shocked as he had been when he’d found this place, for an old farmhouse in a sleepy town in Vermont was not what he’d expected at all. He’d supposed it was a pretty good cover for someone like her, but it had only taken about ten seconds standing on her front porch to realise this wasn’t a bolt-hole. It was home.

‘What...’ She cleared her throat, staring at him with wide, dazed eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’

‘Why?’ She sounded so bewildered he almost smiled. Gone was any kind of innuendo, any flirt. Gone, in fact, was so much as a remnant of the Aurelie he’d encountered back in New York. He looked at her properly for the first time, and knew he wouldn’t have even recognised her if not for the colour of her eyes. He’d remembered those straight off. The woman in front of him was dressed in faded jeans and a lavender T-shirt, her silky hair tossed over one shoulder in a single braid. She wore no make-up, no jewellery. She was the essence of simplicity and, despite the slight gauntness of her face and frame, Luke thought she looked better now than he’d ever seen her in person or on an album cover.

‘May I come in?’

‘I...’ She glanced behind her shoulder, and Luke wondered what she was hiding. Suspicion hardened inside him. All right, the house might be quaint in a countrified kind of way, and her clothes were...well, normal, but could he really doubt that this woman was still the outrageous, unstable pop star he’d met before?

Well, yes, he could.

He’d been doubting it, aggravatingly, ever since Jenna had suggested he book her for a string of openings and he’d refused. Refused point-blank even as he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Those eyes. That sense of both sadness and courage. And how she must have come to Bryant’s wanting to be different.

That was what had finally made him decide to talk to her. What a coup it would be to have Bryant’s orchestrate a comeback for a has-been pop star that no one believed could change.

Although if he were honest—which he was determined always to be—it wasn’t the success of the store that had brought him to Vermont. It was something deeper, something instinctive. He understood all too well about wanting to change, trying to be different. He’d been trying with the store for nearly a decade. And as for himself... Well, he’d had his own obstacles to overcome. Clearly Aurelie had hers.

Which had brought him here, five weeks later, to her doorstep.

‘May I come in?’ he asked again, politely, and she chewed her lip, clearly reluctant.

‘Fine,’ she finally said, and moved aside so he could enter.

He stepped across the threshold, taking in the overflowing umbrella stand and coat rack, the framed samplers on the walls, the braided rug. Very quaint. And so not what he’d expected.

She closed the door and kept him there in the hall, her arms folded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘It was a challenge, I admit.’ Aurelie had been off the map. No known address besides a rented-out beach house in Beverly Hills, no known contacts since her agent and manager had both been fired. Jenna had contacted her directly through her website, which had since closed down.

‘Well?’ Her eyes sparked.

‘I’m pretty adept with a computer,’ Luke answered. ‘I found a mention of the sale of this house from a Julia Schmidt to you in the town property records.’ She shook her head, coldly incredulous, and he tried a smile. ‘Aurelie Schmidt. I wondered what your last name was.’

‘Nice going, Sherlock.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I still don’t know why you’re here.’

‘I’d like to talk to you.’

She arched an eyebrow, smiled unpleasantly. ‘Oh? That wasn’t the message you were sending me back in New York.’

‘That’s true. I’m sorry if I appeared rude.’

‘Appeared? Well, I
appeared
like I was strung out on drugs, so what does it really matter?’ She pivoted on her heel and walked down a dark, narrow hall, the faded wallpaper cluttered with photographs Luke found he longed to look at, to the kitchen.

‘Appeared?’ he repeated as he stood in the doorway, sunlight spilling into the room from a bay window that overlooked a tangled back garden. Aurelie had picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip. She didn’t offer him any.

‘I told you, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Actually, it does. If you have a substance abuse problem, I need to know about it now.’ That was the one thing that had almost kept him from coming at all. He would not work with someone who was unstable, who might overdose. He would never put himself in that position again.

‘You need to know?’ she mocked. She held her coffee mug in front of her as if it was some kind of shield, or perhaps a weapon. Luke stayed by the door. He didn’t want its contents thrown in his face. ‘What else do you
need
, Luke Bryant?’

Her eyes flashed and he tensed. He hated innuendo, especially when he knew it held a shaming grain of truth.

‘I have a proposition to put to you,’ he said evenly. ‘But first I need to know. Do you have a substance abuse problem, of any kind?’

‘Would you believe me if I told you?’

‘Yes—’

‘Ri-ight.’ She shook her head. ‘Why are you really here?’

‘I told you, I have a proposition to put to you. A business proposition.’

‘It’s always business, isn’t it?’

Luke bit down on his irritation. Already he was regretting the insane impulse to come here. ‘Enough. Either you listen to me or you don’t. If you’re interested in making a comeback—’

He saw her knuckles whiten around her coffee mug. ‘Who said I was interested in that?’

‘Why else accept the Bryant’s booking?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Boredom?’

Luke stared at her, saw the dangerous glitter in her eyes, the thin line of her mouth. The quivering chin. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly.

‘Why are you interested in me making a comeback?’ she challenged. ‘Because you certainly weren’t in New York.’