Tempted By The Rock Star
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‘No.’ From the flat way she spoke Luke guessed she was as reluctant to talk about her family as he was to talk about his. Fine with him.
He finished tossing the salad. ‘Everything should be ready in a few minutes.’
Aurelie slid off her stool to get the plates. ‘It smells pretty good.’
He glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘Are we actually having a civil conversation?’
‘Sounds like it.’ She didn’t smile back, just took a deep breath, the plates held to her chest. ‘Look, if you came here on some kind of mercy mission, just forget it. I don’t need your pity.’
He stilled. ‘I don’t pity you.’
‘If not pity, then what?’
A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘What are you saying?’
She lifted her chin. ‘I find it hard to believe you came all the way to Vermont to ask me to sing. You hadn’t even heard that song. It could have sucked. Maybe it does.’
‘I admit, it was a risk.’
‘So why did you come? What’s the real reason?’ Suspicion sharpened her voice, twisted inside him like a knife. Did she actually think he’d come here to get her into bed?
Had he?
No, damn it, this was about business. About helping the store and helping Aurelie. The ultimate reinvention. Luke laid his hands flat on the counter. ‘I don’t have some sexual agenda, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
She cocked her head. ‘You’re sure about that?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘What kind of men have you known?’
‘Lots. And they’re all the same.’
‘I’m different.’ And he’d prove it to her. He took the plates from her, his gaze steady on her own stormy one. ‘Let’s eat.’
Luke dished out the meal and carried it over to the table in the alcove of the kitchen. Twilight was settling softly outside, the sky awash in violet. Used to the frantic sounds of the city, he felt the silence all around him, just like he felt Aurelie’s loneliness and suspicion. ‘Do you live here most of the time?’ he asked.
‘I do now.’
‘Do you like it?’
‘It’d be a pretty sad life if I didn’t.’
He sat opposite her and picked up his fork and knife. ‘You’re not much of a one for straight answers, are you?’
She met his gaze squarely, gave a small nod of acknowledgement. ‘I guess not.’
‘All right. Business.’ Luke forced himself to focus on the one thing he’d always focused on, and was now finding so bizarrely hard. He wanted to ask her questions about the house, her life, how she’d got to where she was. He wanted to go back in the hallway and look at the photographs on the walls, he wanted to hear her play that song, he wanted—
Business.
‘It’s pretty simple,’ he said. ‘Four engagements over a period of ten days. You sing one or two of your new songs.’
‘The audience won’t be expecting that.’
‘I know.’
‘And you’re okay with that?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Because your Head of PR definitely wasn’t.’
‘Good thing I’m CEO of the company, then,’ Luke said evenly.
‘You know,’ Aurelie said slowly, ‘people want things to be how they expect. They want me to be what they expect. What they think I am.’
‘Which is exactly why I want you to be different,’ Luke countered. ‘Bryant’s is an institution in America and other parts of the world. So are you.’
‘Now that’s something I haven’t been compared to before.’
‘If you can change your image, then anyone can.’
‘Judging by the papers, you’ve already changed the store’s image successfully. You don’t need me.’
Luke hesitated because he knew she was right, at least in part. ‘I didn’t like the way the press spun it,’ he said after a moment.
‘The whole self-deprecating thing?’ she said with a twisted smile. ‘Former celebrity?’
‘Exactly. I want a clean sweep, home run. No backhanded compliments.’
‘Maybe you should just take what you can get.’
He shook his head. ‘That’s not how I do business.’
She glanced away. When she spoke, her voice was low. ‘What if I can’t change?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’ Aurelie didn’t say anything, but he could see her thinking about it. Wondering. Hoping, even. He decided to let her mull it over. Briskly, he continued, ‘Your accommodation will be provided, and we can negotiate a new rate for the—’
‘I don’t care about the money.’
‘I want to be fair.’
She toyed with her fork, pushing the food around on her plate. He saw she hadn’t eaten much. ‘This still feels like pity.’
‘It isn’t.’
She glanced up and he saw the ghost of a smile on her face, like a remnant of who she had once been, a whisper of who she could be, if she smiled more. If she were happy. ‘And you can’t tell a lie, can you?’
‘I won’t tell a lie.’
She eyed him narrowly. ‘But it’s something close to pity.’
‘Sympathy, perhaps.’
‘Which is just a nicer word for pity.’
‘Semantics.’
‘Exactly.’
His lips twitched in a smile of his own. ‘Okay, look. I told you, I don’t pity you. I feel—’
‘Sorry for me.’
‘Stop putting words in my mouth. I feel …’ He let out a whoosh of exasperated breath. He didn’t like talking about feelings. He never did. His mother had died when he was thirteen, his father had never got close, and his brothers didn’t ask. But here he was, and she was right, he couldn’t lie. Not to her. ‘I know how you feel,’ he said at last, and she raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised by that admission. Hell, he was surprised too.
‘How so?’
‘I know what it feels like to want to change.’
‘You’ve wanted to change?’
‘Hasn’t everybody?’
‘That’s no answer.’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve had my own obstacles to overcome.’
‘Like what?’
He should never have started this. The last thing he wanted to do was rake up his own tortured memories. ‘A difficult childhood.’
Her mouth pursed. ‘Poor little rich boy?’
He tensed, and then forced himself to relax. ‘Something like that.’
She lifted her chin, challenge sparking in her eyes. ‘Well, maybe I don’t want to change.’
It was such obvious bravado that Luke almost laughed. ‘Then why write a different kind of song? Why ask to sing it? Why accept the Bryant’s booking when you haven’t performed publicly in years?’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Done a little Internet stalking, have you?’
‘I didn’t need to look on the Internet to know that.’ She shook her head, said nothing. ‘Anyway,’ he continued in a brisker voice, ‘the point is, I’ve been trying to reinvent Bryant’s for years and—’
‘What’s been stopping you?’
Luke hesitated. He didn’t want to bring up Aaron and his constant quest for control. ‘Change doesn’t happen overnight,’ he finally said. ‘And Bryant’s has a century-old reputation. There’s been resistance.’
‘There always is.’
‘So see? We have something else in common.’
‘You want to reinvent a store and I want to reinvent myself.’
Luke didn’t answer, because there was an edge to her voice that made him think a simple agreement was not the right choice here. He waited, wondered why it mattered to him so much.
He didn’t need Aurelie. He didn’t need her to open a store or sing a damn song. He didn’t need her at all.
Yet as she gazed at him with those rain-washed eyes he felt a tug deep inside that he couldn’t begin to understand. More than lust, deeper than need. Despite having had three long-term satisfying relationships, he’d never felt this whirlpool of emotion before, as if he were being dragged under by the force of his own feelings. Never mind her being scared. He was terrified.
The smart thing to do right now would be to get out of this chair, out of this house. Walk away from Aurelie and all her crazy complications and go about his business, his life, the way he always had. Calm and in control, getting things done, never going too deep.
He didn’t move.
Aurelie drew a deep breath, let it out slowly. ‘Let me play you my song,’ she finally said and, surprised and even touched, Luke nodded.
‘I’d like that.’
She smiled faintly, that whisper of a promise, and wordlessly Luke followed her out of the room.
Chapter Four
AURELIE LED LUKE into the music room at the front of the house, her heart thudding, her skin turning clammy. She felt dizzy with nerves, and silently prayed that she wouldn’t pass out. The last thing she needed was Luke Bryant to think she’d ODed again.
She paused in front of the piano, half-regretting her suggestion already. No, not even half—totally. Why was she opening herself up to this? She didn’t need money. She didn’t need to sing in public again. She didn’t need any of this.
But she wanted it. She actually wanted to share something that was important to her, share it with this man, never mind the public, even as it scared her near witless.
‘Aurelie?’
There was something about the way he said her name, so quietly, so gently, that made her ache deep inside. She swallowed, her face turned away from him. ‘It sounds better with guitar.’
‘Okay.’
She reached for her acoustic guitar, the one her grandmother had bought her just before she’d died. Don’t forget who you really are, Aurie. Don’t let them turn your head. But she had let them. She’d forgotten completely. Her fingers curled around the neck of the guitar and, unable to look at Luke—afraid to see the expression on his face—she bent her head and busied herself with tuning the instrument. Needlessly, since she’d played it that afternoon.
After a few taut minutes she knew she couldn’t wait any longer. Yet she was terrified to play the song, terrified to have Luke reject it. Her. He’d let her down easily because, no matter what he said, she knew he did feel sorry for her. But it would still hurt.
‘So has this song got some kind of long silent intro or what?’
She let out a little huff of laughter, glad he’d jolted her out of her ridiculous stage fright. ‘Patience.’ And taking a deep breath, she began. The first few melancholy chords seemed to flow through her, out into the room. And then she began to sing, not one of the belt-it-out numbers of her pop star days, but something low and intimate and tender. ‘Winter came so early, it caught me by surprise. I stand alone till the cold wind blows the tears into my eyes.’ She hesitated for a tiny second, trying to gauge Luke’s reaction, but the song seemed to take up all the space. ‘I turn my face into the wind and listen to the sound. Never give your heart away. It will only bring you down.’ And then she forgot about Luke, and just sang. The song took over everything.
Yet when the last chord died away and the room seemed to bristle with silence, she felt her heart thud again and she couldn’t look at him. Staring down at her guitar, she idly picked a few strings. ‘It’s kind of a downer of a song, isn’t it?’ she said with an unsteady little laugh. ‘Probably not the best number to open a store with.’
‘That doesn’t matter.’ She couldn’t tell a thing from his tone, and she still couldn’t look at him. ‘Of course, if you had another one, maybe a bit more hopeful, you could sing that one too.’
Something leapt inside her, a mongrel beast of hope and fear. A dangerous animal. She looked up, saw him gazing at her steadily, yet without any expression she could define. ‘I could?’
‘Yes.’
‘So …’ She swallowed. ‘What did you think? Of the song?’
‘I thought,’ Luke said quietly, with obvious and utter sincerity, ‘it was amazing.’
‘Oh.’ She looked back down at her guitar, felt tears sting her eyes and blinked hard to keep them back. Damn it, she was not going to cry in front of this man. Not now. Not ever. ‘Well … good.’ She kept her head lowered, and then she felt Luke shift. He’d been sitting across from her, but now he leaned forward, his knee almost nudging hers.
‘I can understand why you’re scared.’
Instinct kicked in. ‘I never actually said I was scared.’ And then she sniffed, loudly, which basically blew her cover.
‘You didn’t have to.’ He placed one hand on her knee, and she gazed down at it, large, brown, strong. Comforting. ‘That song is very personal.’
Which was why she felt so … naked right now, every protective layer peeled away. She swallowed, stared at his hand, mesmerised by the long, lean fingers curled unconsciously around her knee. ‘It’s just a song.’
‘Is it?’
And then she looked up at him, and knew she was in trouble. He was gazing at her with such gentle understanding, such tender compassion, that she felt completely exposed and accepted at the same time. It was such a weird feeling, such an overwhelming feeling, that it was almost painful. She swallowed. ‘Luke …’ Her voice came out husky, and she saw his pupils flare. Felt the very air tauten. This tender moment was turning into something else, something Aurelie knew and understood.
This was about sex. It was always about sex. And while part of her felt disappointed, another part flared to life.
Luke straightened, taking his hand from her knee. ‘I should go. It’s late.’
‘You can’t drive all the way back to New York tonight.’
‘I’ll find a place to stay.’ He made to rise from his chair, and Aurelie felt panic flutter like a trapped, desperate bird inside her.
‘You could stay here.’
He stared at her, expressionless, and Aurelie put away her guitar, her face averted from his narrowed gaze. Her heart was pounding again. She didn’t know what she was telling him. What she wanted. All she knew was she didn’t want him to go.
‘I don’t think that’s a good idea,’ Luke said after a moment and Aurelie turned to face him.
‘Why not?’
He smiled wryly, but she saw how dark and shadowed his eyes looked. ‘Because we’re going to have a business relationship and I don’t want to complicate things.’
She lifted her eyebrows, tried for insouciance. ‘Why does it have to be complicated?’
‘What are you asking me, Aurelie?’
She liked the way he said her name. She’d always hated it, a ridiculous name given to her by an even more ridiculous mother, but when he said it she felt different. She felt more like herself—or at least the person she thought she could be, if given a chance. ‘What do you want me to be asking you?’
He laughed softly. ‘Never a straight answer.’
‘I’d hate to bore you.’
‘I don’t think you could ever bore me.’ He was staring straight at her, and she could see the heat in his eyes. Felt it in herself, a flaring deep within, which was sudden and surprising because desire for a man was something she hadn’t felt in a long time, if ever. Yet she felt it now, for this man. This wasn’t about power or control or the barter that sex had always been to her. She simply wanted him, wanted to be with him.
‘Well?’ she asked, her voice no more than a breath.
Luke didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Aurelie saw both the doubt and desire in his eyes, and she took a step towards him so she was standing between his splayed thighs. With her fingertips she smoothed the crease that had appeared in his forehead. ‘You think too much.’
His mouth curved wryly. ‘I think I’m thinking with the wrong organ at the moment.’
She laughed softly. ‘What’s wrong with thinking with that organ on occasion?’ She let her fingertips drift from his forehead to his cheek, felt the bristle of stubble on his jaw. She liked touching him. How strange. How nice.
Luke closed his eyes. ‘I really don’t think this is a good idea.’
‘That’s your brain talking now.’
‘Yes—’
She let her thumb rest on his lips. They were soft and full and yet incredibly masculine. With his eyes closed she had the freedom to study his face, admire the strong lines of his jaw and nose, the sooty sweep of his lashes. Long lashes and full lips on such a virile man. Amazing.
‘Shh,’ she said softly, and then slowly, deliberately, she slid her finger into his mouth. His lips parted, and she felt the wet warmth of his tongue before he bit softly on the pad of her finger. Lust jolted like an electric pulse low in her belly, shocking her. Thrilling her. Luke opened his eyes; they blazed with heat and need. He sucked gently on her finger and she let out a shuddery little gasp.
Then he drew back, his eyes narrowing once more. ‘Why are you doing this?’
She smiled. ‘Why not?’
‘I don’t want you throwing this in my face, telling me I’m just like every other man you’ve met.’
‘I won’t.’ She knew he wasn’t. He was different, just like he’d said he was. And she wanted him to stay. She needed him to stay. ‘You really do think too much,’ she murmured. She stepped closer, hooked one leg around his. She hooked her other leg around so she was straddling him. Then she lowered herself, legs locked around his, onto his lap. She could feel his arousal pressing against her and she shifted closer, settling herself against him.
‘That’s a rather graceful move,’ Luke said, the words coming out on a half-groan.
‘All that dancing onstage has made me very flexible.’
‘Aurelie …’
‘I like how you say my name.’
Luke slid his hands down her back, anchored onto her hips, holding her there. ‘This really isn’t a good idea,’ he muttered, and Aurelie pressed against him.
‘Define good,’ she said, and as he drew her even closer she knew she had him. She’d won, and she felt a surge of both triumph and desire. Yet amidst that welter of emotion she felt a little needle of disappointment, of hurt. Men really were all the same.
He was being seduced. Luke had realised this at least fifteen minutes ago, when Aurelie had first got that knowing glint in her eyes, and even though just about everything in him was telling him this was a bad idea, his body was saying something else entirely. His body was shouting, Hell, yes.
He felt as if he were two men, one who stood about five feet behind him, coldly rational, pointing out that he was doing exactly what Aurelie had accused him of doing. Coming here with a sexual agenda, with a plan to get her into bed—
Except she was the one trying to get him into bed.
And he wanted to go there.
Still, that cold voice pointed out, sleeping with Aurelie was a huge mistake, one that would cause countless complications for their proposed business trip to Asia, not to mention his personal life. His sanity.
The other man, the one curving his hands around her hips, was insisting that he wasn’t sleeping with Aurelie, he was sleeping with Aurelie Schmidt. The woman who had sung that beautiful, heartbreaking song, who hid her heart in her eyes, whom he’d recognised from the first moment she’d looked up at him.
Yet maybe that was even worse. That woman was confusing, vulnerable, and far more desirable than any persona she put on. And whether it was the pop star or the hidden woman underneath on his lap, he knew it was still a hell of a mistake.
And one he had decided to make. Luke slid his hands up her back to cradle her face, his fingers threading through the softness of her hair. And then he kissed her, his lips brushing once, twice over hers before he let himself go deep and the coldly rational part of himself telling him to stop went silent.
Somehow they got upstairs. It was hazy in his mind, fogged as it was with lust, but Luke remembered stumbling on a creaky stair, opening a door. There was a bed, wide and rumpled. And there was Aurelie, standing in front of it, a faint smile on her face. Luke slid her sweater over her head, unbuttoned her jeans. She wriggled out of them and lay on the bed in just her bra and underwear, waiting, ready.
Except her damn chin was quivering.
Luke hesitated, the roar of his heated blood and his own aching need almost, almost winning out. ‘Aurelie—’
He saw uncertainty flicker in her eyes, shadows on water, and then she reached up to grab him by the lapels of his suit; he was still completely dressed.
‘It’s too late for second thoughts,’ she said, and as she kissed him, a hungry, open-mouthed kiss, he had to agree that it just might be.
He kissed her back, desire for her surging over him in a tidal wave, drowning out anything but that all-consuming need, and he felt her fumble with the zip of his trousers.
‘Aurelie …’ He groaned her name, felt her fingers slide around him. He pushed aside the lacy scrap of her underwear, stroked the silkiness of her thigh. He slid his fingers higher, kissed her deeper, his body pulsing with need, aching with want. Yet even as his hands roamed over her, teasing and finding, a part of his brain started to buzz.
Distantly he realised she’d stopped responding. Her arms had fallen away from him and she was lying tensely beneath him, stiff and straight.
She let out a shudder that could have been a sob or a sigh, and Luke pulled back to look down at her.
Her eyes were scrunched shut, her breathing ragged, her whole body radiating tension. She looked, he thought with a savage twist of self-loathing, as if she were being tortured.
Swearing, Luke rolled off her. His body ached with unfulfilment and his mind seethed with regret. He’d known this was a mistake.
He raked a hand through his sweat-dampened hair, let out a shuddering breath. ‘What happened?’ he asked in a low voice, but Aurelie didn’t answer. Silently she slid off the bed and disappeared into the bathroom. Luke heard the door shut and he threw an arm over his eyes. He didn’t know what had just happened, but he was pretty sure it was his fault.
From behind the closed door he heard her moving around, a cupboard opening and closing. Seconds ticked by, then minutes. Unease crawled through him, mingling with the virulent regret and even shame he felt. He hated locked doors. Hated that damning silence, the helplessness he felt on the other side, the creeping sense that something wasn’t right. Something was very, very wrong.
He got up from the bed, pulled up his trousers and buckled his belt, then headed over to the door.
‘Aurelie?’ No answer. His unease intensified. ‘Aurelie,’ he said again and opened the door.
As soon as he saw her Luke swore.
She stood in front of the sink, one arm outstretched, a fully loaded syringe in the other. Acting only on instinct, Luke knocked the syringe hard out of her hand and it went clattering to the floor.
Aurelie stilled, her face expressionless. ‘Well, that was a waste,’ she finally said, her voice a drawl, and bent to pick up the syringe.
‘What the hell are you doing?’
She eyed him sardonically. ‘I think the more important question is, what do you think I’m doing?’
He stared at her, confusion, fury and shame all rushing through him in a scalding river. This woman drove him insane.
Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t? He’d said he would. ‘It looks,’ he said as evenly as he could, ‘like you’re shooting yourself up with some kind of drug.’
Her lips curved in that way he knew and hated. Mockery. Armour. ‘You get a gold star,’ she said as she swabbed off the syringe with a cotton pad and some rubbing alcohol. ‘That’s exactly what I’m doing.’
And he watched as she carefully injected the syringe into the fleshy part of her upper arm.
Luke felt his hands clench into fists at his sides. ‘Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on here?’
She put the syringe away in a little black cosmetic bag. Luke glimpsed a few clear phials inside before she zipped it up and put it away. She gave a small, tired sigh. ‘Don’t worry, Bryant. It’s only insulin.’
She walked past him back into the bedroom, and Luke turned around to stare at her. ‘Insulin? You have diabetes?’
‘Bingo.’ She reached for a fuzzy bathrobe hanging on the back of the door and put it on. Sitting on the edge of the bed, swallowed up by fleece, she looked young and vulnerable and so very alone.