Praise for Nicola Marsh

‘This lovers-reunited tale is awash in passion,

sensuality and plenty of sparks. The terrific characters

immediately capture your attention, and

from there the pages go flying by.’

—RT Book Reviews on

Marriage: For Business or Pleasure?

‘Sterling characters, an exotic setting …

and crackling sexual tension make for a great read.

The realistically paced romance is also refreshing.’

—RT Book Reviews on

A Trip with the Tycoon

‘Romantic, engrossing and realistic,

The Billionaire’s Baby shines with pathos, charm and heart, and readers looking for a story they can lose themselves in shall certainly not be disappointed.’ —pinkheartsocietyreviews.blogspot.com on The Billionaire’s Baby

About the Author

NICOLA MARSH has always had a passion for writing and reading. As a youngster she devoured books when she should have been sleeping, and later kept a diary whose content could be an epic in itself! These days, when she’s not enjoying life with her husband and son in her home city of Melbourne, she’s at her computer, creating the romances she loves in her dream job.

Visit Nicola’s website at www.nicolamarsh.com for the latest news of her books.

Also by Nicola Marsh

Deserted Island, Dreamy Ex

Three Times a Bridesmaid.

A Trip with the Tycoon

Wild Nights with her Wicked Boss

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Sex, Gossip and Rock & Roll

Nicola Marsh

www.millsandboon.co.uk

This one’s for the lovely Natalie Anderson,

who was my rock throughout the writing of this book.

Thanks, Nat, for the cyber chats, hugs

and general championing.

We’ll catch up for that coffee one day, promise!

CHAPTER ONE

CHARLI loathed babysitting.

Not that she had anything against kids, per se, but having her boss’s grandson tag along on Storm Varth’s comeback tour sucked.

Big-time.

As if minding the wild rock star wasn’t bad enough, she had to worry about Luca Petrelli watching her every move.

Not good.

Stabbing at the elevator button, she glanced around the lobby of Melbourne’s Crown Towers, the familiar muted golds and warm browns exuding class and sophistication.

She practically lived in this hotel with the number of international musos and rock stars that stayed here. And where Landry Records stars stayed, she’d be there, catering to their every whim.

It was what she did best: pamper visiting rock royalty, arrange VIP services, guarantee every second of every itinerary ran like clockwork.

She thrived on it; the buzz, the rush, the pressure of ensuring the plans she put into place ran smoothly.

Nothing fazed her. Not any more.

Stepping into the elevator, she glanced at her watch and grimaced. Luca Petrelli had better be ready and waiting when she knocked on his door, or else.

She’d co-ordinated their departure and arrival time between here and Ballarat to the last second. Storm’s tour bus had just taken off and while the surly rock star had demanded he not be approached until morning, she wanted to ensure his arrival at the first stop of his tour of Victoria went off without a hitch.

She had things to do and no one, not even some notorious slack-arse playboy, would slow her down.

As the elevator doors soundlessly slid open, she smoothed down her favourite aubergine skirt, adjusted her jacket and stepped out, a quick glance at the numbers on the wall sending her right.

She marched up the long corridor, her impatience growing with every step.

She’d do anything for Hector Landry, CEO of Australia’s biggest recording label, but when her boss and mentor had sprung the surprise of Luca’s unwelcome presence on her a few hours ago, she’d almost balked.

Okay, so she’d been a little harsh in labelling his presence babysitting some idle playboy. Apparently the infamous Luca Petrelli had dragged himself away from the French Riviera and the parties in Rio de Janeiro as a favour to Hector, who’d just fired his top financier and needed a quickie replacement on this tour.

Enter one recalcitrant playboy who flaunted his charms from one end of the globe to another. The fact he used his public profile to raise money for charities only served to raise her suspicions.

If the guy hadn’t been near his grandfather in the past ten years, what the hell was he doing here now?

She stopped outside the suite and knocked, quickly relaxing her face into neutral. This was a job, just like any other she’d done for Hector and she had no right to second-guess her boss or the rationale behind his flaky grandson’s visit.

However, as the door swung open and she caught her first glimpse of Luca Petrelli, she knew this was no ordinary job.

‘You look disappointed,’ he drawled, holding the door open with one hand, leaning against the jamb with the other, naked from the waist up.

She didn’t dare glance down to assess the rest of the situation, though as a jumble of emotions tumbled through Charli disappointment wasn’t one of them.

She’d seen pictures of Luca in magazines, taking time to politely glance at the odd snapshot Hector would point out to her. The pride in Hector’s voice had always grated. How could he be proud of a layabout grandson who never visited let alone acknowledged he existed?

So while she’d glanced at those pictures she’d never really looked at them, had the impression of a tallish guy with too-long hair, too much stubble and too many bimbos.

The reality was far different.

He’d cut his hair, dark caramel curls spiking in all directions, he’d shaved and there wasn’t a busty Botoxed blonde in sight.

‘Disappointed?’ she managed to mutter when he cocked an eyebrow, her silence and none-too-subtle stares earning her a lazy grin. A lazy, sexy grin that made her whimper inside.

Hell.

‘That I’m not a rock star.’

‘No chance of confusing you for a rock star.’

Her gaze reluctantly dropped to his chest and she struggled not to gasp. Broad, bronze, beautifully sculpted, the guy was nothing like the emaciated, pale stars she routinely dealt with.

The rock stars she managed were nocturnal creatures, at ease in the darkness of smoky clubs and dark stages, chain-smoking to ease nerves, or worse.

No way could Luca Petrelli in all his six-four bronzeness be mistaken for a washed-out rocker.

Leaning against the door frame, he smiled, and she could’ve sworn the whimper turned to a roar.

‘Why’s that? Don’t I look the part?’

Despite every self-preservation mechanism telling her not to look down, her gaze travelled from his chest lower and she exhaled in relief when she spied a towel. A towel loosely knotted in front. Where she might have glimpsed movement …

Heat surged to her cheeks, scorching a few choice parts in her body along the way, and she focused on his face.

Bad move.

The body was bad enough. Combined with the slashed cheekbones, cut jaw and dark blue eyes the colour of Melbourne’s night sky, the guy should be branded illegal.

‘Problem?’

Quelling the urge to turn and run, she frowned. ‘You’re not dressed.’

‘You noticed.’

Her heart leaped at the wicked glint in his eyes and she slapped it down.

‘Because if the towel’s a problem, I could lose it—’

‘I’ll give you five minutes.’

‘Or what?’

As he leaned forward a tantalising blend of expensive toiletries and freshly showered male washed over her, undermining her anger.

The guy was a player. He flirted for a living. So why was she tempted to broach the short distance between them, bury her nose in the crook of his neck and inhale deeply?

‘Just do it,’ she said, annoyed by the slightest quiver in her voice. ‘We have to hit the road.’

‘Your loss.’

He shrugged and turned away as she gaped at his insolence. Not that it stopped her watching him stride across the room, the thick white bath sheet draped provocatively low on his hips, clinging to his butt with every tempting step.

The man was a menace.

Whatever she’d expected, this wasn’t it.

Luca Petrelli in the flesh was a lot more disarming, a lot more charming, than she’d expected. And the fact she hadn’t had a date in ages went a long way to explaining why her hormones were shimmying along behind him, tugging at that damn towel.

He paused at the bathroom door and she quickly glanced up. Not quick enough if his smug grin was any indication.

‘You’ve misjudged me.’

‘How’s that?’

‘You don’t think I have what it takes to be a rock star?’ He pointed to the towel and smirked. ‘You should see my tat.’

In her imagination, her traitorous hormones couldn’t rip the towel off him quick enough.

In reality, she turned her back on his chuckles and prayed for immunity against rogue playboy charmers.

CHAPTER TWO

LUCA whistled as he zipped his oldest jeans and shrugged into a black cashmere pullover, grinning at his reflection in the bathroom mirror.

By his reckoning, he had another three minutes before the fiery blonde pacing his suite barged in here and dragged him out.

She’d given him five minutes to get ready.

He’d deliberately taken ten.

Whatever he’d expected from Pop’s PA, Charli Chambers wasn’t it.

Sure, he’d been away awhile—give or take ten years—but Pop had always had sedate, subservient employees, women who wore bland grey trouser suits and conservative blouses. Stereotypical drones who wouldn’t say boo to Australia’s top musical entrepreneur.

Charli Chambers was far from stereotypical.

Her knee-length purple skirt hugged a butt made to be grabbed by a guy’s hand, her fitted jacket outlined a hand-span waist and the deep V of her crisp white shirt highlighted a very nice cleavage indeed.

As for those long stockingless legs … shapely calves, trim ankles, manicured silver nails peeping from open-toe designer sandals. Yep, he was a leg man and proud of it.

But it wasn’t her designer outfit or sexy shoes that surprised him as much as her lousy attitude. If her dismissive tone wasn’t bad enough, she’d looked at him as if he’d stolen every one of her favourite CDs.

She didn’t trust him.

He knew the look well: it was the same one he’d learned to hide from an early age, when he quickly learned you couldn’t trust anyone, even so-called family.

The thing was, Charli shouldn’t be looking at him with mistrust; it should be the other way around. He’d Googled Pop’s protégé and what he’d found raised hackles of distrust.

He’d expected to find the odd mention of her in an occasional newspaper article linked to Pop. What he’d discovered was a plethora of pictures: Charli hanging off Pop’s arm at some charity shindig, Charli dining with Pop at countless fund-raising balls, Charli accompanying Pop on his overseas jaunts.

Where Pop went, she shadowed and it immediately set his alarm bells ringing. He knew what it was like, having people fawn over him just because he had money, and if Charli thought she could take advantage of Pop.

His grin faded and he absent-mindedly rubbed his stomach at the sudden gripe. He might not be close to Pop but he owed him and if there was one thing he’d learned it was to pay his dues, and if that included protecting Pop from money-grabbers in designer PA clothing, so be it.

Pushing off the bathroom sink, he flung open the door.

He’d given Pop a fortnight. Two weeks to manage Landry Records’ finances of some over-the-hill rock star’s tour before he headed back to London.

Before he did, he had every intention of sussing out Miss Snooty Britches.

Charli glanced at the gold Tag Heuer Hector had given her on her twenty-first for the fifth time in as many minutes, cursed under her breath and glared at the bathroom door, ready to kick it down.

She’d thought it might take a pampered playboy longer than the average guy to get ready but he’d been in there for ten freaking minutes! What was he doing? Plucking individual nose hairs?

Having Luca Petrelli tag along on this tour had been bad enough. Then he’d opened the door wearing that damn towel and her misgivings had shot into the stratosphere.

The guy was cocky, brash and annoying.

Don’t forget hot, an annoying little voice in her head whispered, and she gritted her teeth.

As if she needed reminding. The image of that broad, tanned chest was imprinted on her brain like the passwords to all Hector’s accounts.

And that was what had her mad as hell. His disregard for punctuality stung but the fact her skin prickled with heat every time she closed her eyes and saw his naked torso burned into her retinas? Now that seriously peed her off.

Clenching her fists, she marched towards the bathroom, raised a hand to thump on the door at the exact second it opened and she stumbled headlong into the chest she’d been fantasising about less than five seconds ago.

‘Falling for me already?’

Luca’s deep voice murmured in her ear but that wasn’t what had her knees wobbling. Uh-uh, his hands grasping her wrists, pressing her palms against his chest, a chest radiating enough heat to warm the entire suite, took care of that.

‘I’m flattered, but shouldn’t we go through the motions first? A date? Dinner?’

‘You wish.’

She pushed against his chest and he released her. She should’ve been glad but as she reluctantly dragged her gaze upwards to meet his, saw the spark of heat there, his regret matched hers.

The corners of his lips quirked into a decadent smile that must’ve slain females the world over—and had, if the glossies were to be believed.

‘You have no idea what I wish for, Goldi.’

‘It’s Charli,’ she snapped, angry at herself for being this close to him, for enjoying his banter, for her damn knees still wobbling courtesy of that smile. ‘Where’d you get Goldi from?’

His patronising pat on the cheek had her fist clenching to slug him.

‘It’s an abbreviation.’

Confused, she glared at him. ‘Short for what?’

‘Gold-digger.’

Stupefied, her jaw dropped as he slung a Vuitton overnight bag over his shoulder and strutted out of the door.

Charli caught up with Luca at the lift, grabbing his bag so he had no option but to stop.

‘What did you just call me?’

He’d lost the smile, the spark in his eyes replaced by suspicion.

‘You heard me.’

Taking a deep breath, she mentally counted to five, a technique Hector had taught her when he’d first rescued her from the streets. Back then, she’d fly into a rage at the slightest provocation and, while she’d come a long way, having hotshot Luca Petrelli stare at her as if she’d pilfered his Rolex grated.

‘You’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not here out of choice. I’m just doing my job.’

Confusion creased his brow for a moment before he laughed.

‘You think I think you’re after my money?’

Now it was her turn to be confused. ‘Isn’t that what you meant?’

‘Nice try to deflect, Goldi, shame it didn’t work.’

‘Stop calling me that!’

‘If the Louboutin fits.’

He dropped his gaze to her shoes, and she didn’t know what unsettled her more. The fact he recognised the artistic brilliance of her favourite shoe designer or the way his gaze slowly travelled upwards the entire length of her leg, lingering along the way.

‘If I’m not after your money, who …?’ She trailed off, a nasty thought sliding insidiously into her brain.

He didn’t speak, merely raised an eyebrow, as if taunting her to drop the act.

She’d drop something all right. Right onto his big fat mistaken head.

Beyond indignant she straightened, took two steps forwards until they were toe to toe, and eyeballed him.

‘Not that I owe you anything, let alone an explanation, but Hector is my boss. I’m his executive assistant. We’re friends and I’d never do anything to take advantage of that.

So you can take your stupid misconceptions and stick them.’

Surprise widened his eyes before he blinked, studying her as if she were a clue to the missing link.

‘So it’s in your job description to accompany him to balls? Charity functions? That kind of thing? ‘

To her mortification she blushed, an annoying heat that flushed her cheeks and notched up her temper.

‘My job description is none of your business.’

Charli had been called many things in her life, had shrugged off the nasty labels of spending part of her life on the streets. She’d heard the gossip about her relationship with Hector many times and had given it the attention drivel like that deserved: absolutely none.

Over the years she’d developed a thick skin from necessity. Nothing or no one could hurt her.

So why the hell was she fuming now, so furious she could strangle Luca, leave him slumped in the hallway and not look back?

‘Fair call.’

His finger hovered over the elevator button, his smile as infuriating as the implication behind his accusation a few moments ago. ‘You coming?’

‘Not ‘til you apologise for being so vile.’

His grin broadened and her hands clenched into fists. Just another step and she’d be close enough to slug him …

‘Now, we both know that’s a lie.’

She frowned, not following as he crowded her personal space but she didn’t give an inch, wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

‘What are you going on about?’

‘You don’t think I’m vile.’

He leaned close enough to murmur in her ear, close enough a wave of some expensive citrus aftershave washed over her, close enough for her to feel the heat radiating off him and she gritted her teeth against the impulse to get closer.

‘Not by the way you were looking at me earlier in that towel.’

He popped the intimate bubble enveloping them just like that and she shoved him away.

Mistake number two: placing her palms on that hard chest again.

Mistake number one had happened the instant she’d agreed to have him tag along on this tour.

Taking a deep breath to steady her rampaging pulse, she pinned him with a glare he couldn’t mistake for anything other than ‘take one step closer to me again and you die’.

‘I’ve changed my mind. You can shove your apology and your sexy smiles. Let’s go.’

She stabbed at the elevator button and broke a nail in the process.

Thankfully, he kept his mouth shut. Until they stepped into the elevator and the doors slid soundlessly shut.

‘So you think my smile’s sexy, huh?’

Charli silently called herself some very unladylike names and clamped her lips shut in response.

Luca couldn’t help himself. There was something delightfully alluring about a woman who didn’t fall at his feet. Sure, he liked a challenge as much as the next guy, but lately even dating the newest Oscar winner or squiring a princess around Europe had lost its thrill.

He knew why he did it, of course, was well aware of how every paparazzi picture or each gossip-column mention vindicated the choices he’d made. Childish and puerile, maybe, but every time he saw himself in the press, he hoped the people who’d shunned him had their snooty noses rubbed in it.

As the valet steered a low-slung bright red Ferrari to stop in front of them he wolfwhistled.

‘Some car.’

She shot him another death glare that did nothing but turn him on as she stepped around the bonnet and held out her hand to the valet.

The Ferrari was hers? Jeez, and he’d started to believe her story about not taking advantage of Pop. No way no how could an executive assistant afford a car like this.

She flashed the valet a glorious smile that only served to rile him further—he wouldn’t mind being on the end of one of those—and slid into the car, her skirt riding mid-thigh, his libido shooting sky-high. Those long, gorgeous legs could be put to much better use than pushing pedals.

Easing his overnight bag into the back seat, he slid into the passenger side, admiring her driving skill as she guided the car out of Crown and into the heavy city traffic.

When she kept up the silent treatment for six blocks, he said, ‘Nice wheels.’

‘I like fast cars.’

Her frigid tone could’ve produced glaciers in the Pacific.

‘Yours?’

‘What do you think?’

She took her eyes off the road for a second, her withering glare speaking volumes.

O-kay, maybe they’d got off on the wrong foot, what with him virtually accusing her of working for Pop for easy access to his fortune. And while the car only served to reinforce his suspicions, he’d get more out of her by treating her nicely rather than antagonising further.

Not that it would be simple. He liked teasing her, getting her all riled up so those big green eyes glowed and her mouth pursed, plumping up some seriously kissable lips.

‘Seeing as we’re stuck with each other for the next fortnight, why don’t we call a truce? I won’t accuse you of anything if you stop looking at me like something you stepped in at a dog show.’

The corners of her delectable mouth twitched and as the car eased to a stop at a traffic light she shot him a tight smile.

‘Can’t make any promises but I’ll try. Deal?’

He couldn’t shake her hand, with one on the steering wheel and the other on the gear stick, so he did the next best thing. Unable to stop the resident demon that prompted him to do impulsive things on a daily basis, he leaned across and kissed her.

‘Deal,’ he murmured against her lips, taking advantage of her shock by kissing her again, lingering this time, sliding his lips over hers, exerting just enough pressure to show that given half a chance he’d deepen it to the point of no return.

Two sharp honks on a horn behind them had her cursing and shoving him away before she returned her hand to the gear stick and slid into first.

‘Care to explain what that was about?’

Her tone had resumed its frostiness while he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

‘Not that I usually need to explain why I kiss a beautiful woman, but we couldn’t shake on the deal so I did the next best thing. Why, did I offend you?’

His silky tone garnered a snort in response. ‘Newsflash. That out-of-line kiss rendered the deal null and void. New deal. We don’t talk for the next fortnight. Capish?’

Oh, yeah, that kiss had got to her.

‘Where’s the fun in that?’

‘You’re here to manage the finances, not have fun.’

‘Surely the two aren’t mutually exclusive?’

She screeched into a side street, giving him momentary whiplash, before cutting the engine and turning to face him.

‘Another newsflash. I’m not one of your bimbos. I work for your grandfather. I take my job seriously. And I don’t need some goof-off blow-in making trouble for me. Got it?’

She stopped just short of jabbing him in the chest. Pity, he would’ve liked to feel her hands on him again.

‘Loud and clear.’

Her shoulders sagged in relief, before he added, ‘Doesn’t mean I’ll play nice.’

‘You’re a pain in the—’

‘With all this talk of work, doesn’t sound like you have much time for fun?’

‘I have plenty of fun.’

His snort deepened her indignant frown. ‘When’s the last time you had a date?’

She clamped her lips shut.

‘Had sex?’

Her legs followed suit and he laughed.

‘Look, we can do this the hard way or the fun way. My mouth? Has a life of its own. Runs away all the time. I’ll compliment you constantly. I’ll tease you incessantly. I may even kiss you on occasion but it’s harmless. All good, clean fun.’

It was her turn to snort but not before he’d caught the gleam of excitement making the gold flecks in her green eyes glow.

‘No kissing.’

He paused for a moment, pretended to think. ‘Sorry, can’t promise that.’

‘You’re impossible! ‘

‘But you like me anyway.’

Their gazes locked and the car’s tight confines shrank further. He could smell her light floral perfume, could see the indecision warring with excitement in her eyes, could sense her capitulation as her shoulders relaxed and she leaned forward a fraction.

For once, he kept his big mouth shut, enjoying the electricity buzzing between them, savouring the promise of sparring, sparks and sex.

And there would be sex, he had no doubt. They had some serious chemistry going on, the kind you couldn’t ignore.

Throw in the fact they’d be together twenty-four-seven and it was inevitable.

He could hardly wait.

‘There’s nothing I can say that’ll make you back off, is there? ‘

‘No.’

With an exasperated sigh, she shook her head. ‘Having you tag along on this tour goes way beyond the call of duty. And I have to put up with grief to boot?’

She revved the engine, the sound of the firing cylinders a joy to a guy’s heart.

‘Go on, admit it.’

‘What?’

‘You’re having fun already.’

With another neck-twisting wrench on the steering wheel she pulled back onto the road.

‘Does it look like I’m having fun?’

‘Either you’re trialling for the Grand Prix or you’re driving like a maniac because you’re ticked off.’

She threw in another rev for good meas ure.

‘Okay, got the message loud and clear. I’ll shut up ‘til we get to Ballarat.’

Her hands instantly relaxed on the steering wheel.

‘How long?’

‘An hour, maybe ninety minutes in this traffic,’ she said, her tone smug.

He let her have her little victory for now. She’d soon learn he didn’t always do as he said.

CHAPTER THREE

CHARLI cranked up the stereo as they left the city traffic behind, hoping Luca would get the hint. She’d tried telling him to his face; it had done nothing. Maybe the subtle approach would work better?

Yeah, and maybe he’d shut up for the duration of the tour. Absolutely no chance.

Ever since he’d kissed her she’d avoided looking at him; couldn’t look at him, really, not without staring at his mouth. And if she did that. She could verbally flay him all she liked but her eyes couldn’t lie. One look and he’d know exactly how his kiss affected her: rattled beyond belief.

Forget the fact she hadn’t had a date in nine months let alone a hint of a smooch. Abstinence couldn’t explain her irrational, overwhelming urge to keep kissing him until they were breathless, the urge to run her hands all over him, the urge to tear her clothes off and straddle him and let him prove to her if half of what she’d read about his playboy reputation was true.

A car overtook them on the freeway, the four-wheel-drive’s tail-lights seeming to wink at her and she blinked. Even damn inanimate objects were laughing at her expense.

How stupid could she be? The kiss meant nothing, was more of the same teasing he’d been doing ever since she’d had the misfortune to knock on his hotel door.

For some unknown reason he’d wanted to rile her the second he’d opened the door to her wearing a towel and that infuriatingly cocky smile. So far, he’d done a good job of it. He’d flirted with her, insulted her and kissed her, all within the first hour. Didn’t bode well for the rest of the fortnight.

‘We nearly there yet?’

‘What are you? Four?’

Slowing to let a truck pass, she smirked. ‘Silly me, that’s just your IQ.’

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that rippled over her like soft velvet.

‘I love it when you’re feisty.’

‘I love it when you’re silent.’

She turned up the music, unconsciously humming along with her favourite pop ballad. Of course he had to go one better, singing along in perfect tune, the lyrics sounding like erotic pillow talk tripping from his lips.

She gulped, her hands clenching the steering wheel so tight her knuckles stood out. A hot flush started somewhere in the vicinity of her belly and spread upwards and outwards, burning her up from the inside out as he crooned about touching and pleasure and all night long.

‘Interesting taste in music,’ he said when the song thankfully ended and she sighed in relief.

‘I like pop. Didn’t peg you for a fan, though.’

‘Why’s that?’

‘Don’t guys go in for heavier stuff?’

She jumped when he reached across and squeezed her hand on the gear stick.

‘Thought you’d have figured out by now, I’m not your average guy.’

‘No, you’re more annoying than most.’

Though that was a lie. Sure, he’d done his best to wind her up when they first met, was still doing it in fact, but he wasn’t annoying so much as intriguing. And that was what made her mad; that she’d been all set to dislike him, and every time he opened his mouth only reinforced the fact, but she couldn’t.

He was the first guy in ages to pique her interest, to make her want to retaliate. The first guy to make her body tingle from top to toe, to make her skin prickle with awareness, to make her yearn for more than a teasing brush of his lips.

‘Why don’t you admit it?’

Grateful she had to focus on the freeway, she didn’t need to look his way to hear the laughter in his voice.

‘Admit what?’

‘That I’m growing on you.’

‘Yeah, like fungus.’

‘Now who’s the child? Didn’t that one get used around third grade?’

‘Should be about your level, then.’

She saw him recline his seat out of the corner of her eye and wriggle around to get comfortable before clasping his hands behind his head.

‘You know, I’ve been around the block a few times. Dated princesses, movie stars, models. But you, you’re something else.’

She didn’t know if he’d just complimented or insulted her but the thought of him being with all those women served as a wake-up call. He’d said it himself. He’d been around and no way was she foolish enough to become another string on his guitar.

‘So you’ve slept around a lot. Doesn’t make you a good judge of women.’

‘Who said anything about sleeping around?’

She blushed, hating how she’d have to dig herself out of this one.

‘You did—’

‘I said dating. Not the same thing. Do you sleep with all the guys you date?’

‘‘Course not!’

Besides, she’d have to date to have a chance at sleeping with them and she’d been so busy these past few years, proving herself, proving to Hector he hadn’t made a mistake taking in a scruff like her, she’d had limited down time. When she had dated she’d chosen guys so removed from her past that once they got beyond the first few dates she found they had nothing in common.

Ironic, the cool musos who once held so much appeal left her dead now. She’d seen what that world could do, the havoc it wrought if you got caught up in the glamour and the rush, and thankfully she’d never been inclined to date Landry’s clientele.

‘You seeing anyone?’

‘Like that’d stop you,’ she muttered, shooting him a withering glance as he held up his hands in surrender.

‘Hey, I like a challenge but I don’t poach.’

‘What’s it to you anyway?’

Her heart stuttered when he leaned across, their shoulders brushing, and it took all her concentration to focus on the freeway and not land them in a ditch.

‘We’re both single. We’re stuck together for this tour. We’re attracted to each other. You do the math.’

‘One plus one equals a bit fat zero?’

Disappointingly he didn’t retaliate, the loaded silence only serving to notch up the intimacy, and she silently swore. This car was her pride and joy, a symbol of how hard she’d worked, how far she’d come but right now the interior she usually found comfortingly cosy seemed stifling.

It was him, of course, with his big chest and big shoulders and big head.

‘Care to lay a wager on that?’

She bit back her first response of where he could stick his wager.

‘Because from where I’m sitting, the two of us getting together by the end of this tour is inevitable.’

This time, her cursing wasn’t so silent and she clenched the steering wheel, not risking a glance in his direction and catching the smug grin that had to be plastered across his too-handsome face.

The guy was infuriating.

The guy was annoying.

The guy was only verbalising what she’d already envisaged in her mixed-up head, making her mad as hell.

She cranked up the music and he wisely shut up. If only he’d stay mute for the rest of the tour.

The road trip from hell got worse the moment Charli approached the front desk of the apartments where they were staying.

‘Welcome to Ballarat, Miss Chambers.’

‘Thanks. Do you have our room keys?’

The receptionist’s smile faded. ‘We do but there’s been a problem.’

Charli didn’t need any more problems. Bad enough she had one big problem tagging along for the tour.

‘What’s up?’

The receptionist’s eyes widened and her jaw sagged as Luca strode into the small reception area.

The woman had to be fiftysomething but she had a pulse and any woman would’ve drooled over Luca—including her, sadly, considering she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss the entire drive.

‘I thought I told you to wait in the car,’ she muttered, shooting him a frown that only served to widen his permanent grin.

Leaning down, he murmured in her ear, ‘Heads-up. I’m a big boy now. I don’t always do as I’m told.’

She gulped at the hint of danger tinged with promise in his smoother-than-honey tone, grateful when the receptionist held out a pair of key cards.

‘Management’s apologies, but due to the construction work next door and burst water mains we’ve had to put you both in the same apartment. It’s a two-bedroom, far end of the corridor. If you need anything—’

‘But I made this booking a month ago. You must have another apartment.’

Her voice had risen to an embarrassing squeak and she clamped her lips shut as the receptionist shook her head.

‘I’m sorry, Miss Chambers, this is all we’ve got.’

Her brusque tone held a distinct undercurrent of ‘take it or leave it’ and, considering this had been her last resort due to some folk festival coinciding with Storm’s first gig in town booking up every last room, she had no choice.

‘We’ll take it,’ Luca said, swiping the key cards from the receptionist with a dazzling smile that had the older woman practically purring. ‘Thanks.’

‘You’re welcome, sir.’

Charli slumped, her heart sinking as Luca draped an arm over her shoulders and drawled, ‘Let’s go, roomie. I’m looking forward to bunking down.’

She elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

As Luca opened the door to their apartment and gestured her in Charli realised things could be worse. The apartment complex might’ve shoved them into a one-bedroom. But as she stepped into the apartment, only slightly larger than a shoebox, her relief was short-lived.

In a place this size she’d be forced to interact with Luca whether she liked it or not.

Either that or spend every spare second when she wasn’t working in her bedroom and, considering that consisted of a narrow bed and little else, it’d get mighty uncomfortable mighty fast.

With her blood pressure spiking along with her temper, she snatched up her overnight bag and strode into the closest bedroom, flinging it onto the bed and bumping her elbow on the door in the process.

Luca watching her in silent amusement didn’t help and she stalked towards him, every step bringing her closer to slugging him. He must’ve caught the maniacal gleam in her eyes for he quickly shut the door and held up his hands in surrender.

‘Hey, I’m not the bad guy here. You made the bookings. I’m just tagging along as your new finance manager, remember?’

‘How could I forget? ‘

She stood toe to toe with him, wanting to hit him for no other reason than he was convenient and she had to take her temper out on someone. She wasn’t the fiery type usually, had learned to master her emotions and hide them beneath a veneer of indifference, the only way to cope with her manic mother’s mood swings and total disregard for her only child.

But her temper had been building the entire trip and she had to find a release before she exploded. Temper or something else? She banished the thought in an instant, not willing to acknowledge that this wild, out-of-control feeling had more to do with sexual tension than anger.

But it was there, simmering between them, and when she locked gazes with his the air between them shimmered and coalesced into something bigger than the both of them.

Her heart stalled when he reached for her, the crackle of electricity zapping her into reality.

She had a job to do, he had his. That was it.

She’d manage Storm, he’d manage the money. Co-workers, that was what they were for the next fortnight. That was all. And if her momentary reality flash wasn’t enough, the fact he was Hector’s grandson, the man she owed everything to, should be enough of a wake-up call.

Dragging in several shaky breaths, she placed a hand on his chest to stall him.

‘Ignoring this isn’t going to make it go away,’ he said, his heat burning her through the cotton of his shirt.

‘Maybe not, but I have to try.’

With a reluctant sigh, she patted his chest and walked away, his gaze burning her back until she shut the door on her stupidity and quite possibly the best offer she’d had in a long time.

Charli was going stir crazy.

She’d holed up in her room for half an hour: unpacking, unravelling, unhinged.

If she couldn’t spend two nights in the same apartment as Luca what chance did she have surviving the rest of the week? Storm had several gigs scattered through country Victoria over the next seven days, a warm-up for his big Melbourne debut in a fortnight.

She’d co-ordinated his itinerary to within an inch and then he’d thrown a spanner in the works, announcing his kid would be tagging along. From what she’d seen, rock tours were the last place for kids but in true Landry Records style she’d adjusted the itinerary to include fun kid stuff in Storm’s down time.

It had all been running smoothly since that slight hiccup until Hector had fired Klaus and Luca had taken his place on tour. From what she’d learned with a few discreet inquiries, the guy could handle money. Sadly, she feared he could handle her as easily.

She paced the postage-stamp-size room, tossing around different scenarios in her head of how this could pan out.

She could avoid him other than the work stuff scheduled. She could feign politeness and spend the least amount of time with him possible. Or she could go out there and face Luca as she’d faced every other challenge in her life: with head held high, with bravado, with the confidence she could handle whatever he dished up and more.

Besides, since when had she run from a challenge? Her job presented challenges on a daily basis, from placating irate fans who couldn’t get VIP tickets to ego stroking the latest chart topper and everything in between.

So what was one cocky, charming playboy? She should be able to handle him with her eyes closed. Therein lay the problem: if she closed her eyes, she could envision exactly how she’d like to handle him and it sure as hell wasn’t in a professional manner.

How could she have the hots for someone she seriously wanted to strangle? He’d done nothing but goad her, tease her and throw her off balance since they’d met. And she still had no idea what he was doing here: back in Melbourne, doing Pop a favour when he’d practically ignored his existence until now?

What would a hotshot playboy want with filling in a temp job in the music industry?

Unless Pop was grooming him to take over.

Her eyes flew open as horror lodged in her gut.

No way.

Hector was at the top of his game, a fit seventy and showing no sign of slowing. Dynamic, knowledgeable, an entrepreneur with brains and morals, Hector could rule the music industry in Australia for the next decade. But once the thought had taken form it blossomed into a nasty suspicion that wouldn’t go away.

Luca Petrelli as her boss? She’d rather work for her illustrious charge Storm Varth, Australia’s oldest, crankiest rock star who went through personal assistants as fast as girlfriends.

She had to know why Luca was really here. Now.

Flinging her bedroom door open, she marched out into the lounge room, ready to take him on. And promptly deflated when she caught sight of the meal he’d laid out on the coffee table.

While she’d alternated between fuming and sulking in her room, he’d ducked out to the shops and bought a gourmet picnic, the staggering array of cheeses, cold meats and grilled vegetables making her mouth water.

Her stomach rumbled as the tantalising aroma of garlic-infused Turkish bread and chilli olives wafted over her and she realised how long it had been since she’d last eaten. Breakfast, eight hours ago? She’d been too wound up since then: picking up Luca, the drive here, getting a grip on her crazy behaviour—like allowing him to kiss her.

Unable to resist the lure of food she plopped onto one of the sofas just as Luca stepped out of his bedroom, and she could’ve sworn she salivated more at the sight of him than the antipasto platter.

He’d changed into running shorts that revealed long, muscular legs, and a white T-shirt that set off his tan, and all she could think about was how hungry she was. But not for food.

‘Going for a run?’

His mouth quirked into a crooked smile that made her heart flutter wildly.

‘Yeah, thought I’d leave you to eat in peace.’

She swallowed her disappointment. Probably for the best. She’d confront him better on a full stomach.

‘Okay.’

He stalked towards her and she held her breath as he squatted next to her, his forearm brushing her thigh. ‘Unless you want me to stay?’

She should fob him off, get rid of him so she could strategise how she’d confront him later.

Instead, she found herself nodding. ‘There’s an awful lot of food here, shame to let it go to waste.’

His knowing grin had her wiggling in discomfort. He knew exactly what her concession meant: she wanted him to share this meal with her for no other reason than she liked him. Liked sparring with him, liked his flirting, liked how he made her feel alive.

Letting her hair slide forward to hide her blush, she grabbed a plate and filled it with a selection of olives, salami, Brie and Turkish bread.

‘Thanks for this. It looks great.’

‘You’re welcome.’

Folding his frame into the chair next to her, he helped himself, slathered hummus onto bread and piled it high with semi-dried tomatoes, grilled eggplant and roasted capsicum.

‘Beryl at Reception pointed me in the right direction of a local deli within walking distance.’

‘Bet you smiled and she fell all over you.’

He shrugged, his modest grin endearing. ‘Pity this legendary charm you attribute to me doesn’t work on you.’

Oh, it was working all right. She’d only met him a few hours ago yet she felt strangely comfortable sitting here sharing an impromptu indoor picnic.

She didn’t trust easily, never let anyone get too close, so the fact she’d invited Luca to join her spoke volumes.

‘I’m immune,’ she said, forking olives into her mouth, almost choking when he patted her knee.

‘That’s what they all say.’

‘I bet.’

Her wry smile made him laugh and she joined in, some of her animosity towards him fading. It wasn’t any secret the guy was a world-renowned playboy. Pick up a glossy magazine and Luca’s picture would be in it: strutting the red carpet with an Oscar nominee on his arm, frolicking in the Caribbean ocean, driving a fast car in Monte Carlo.

He never hid who he was. Pity she couldn’t say the same.

‘So what are you doing here?’

‘Thought that would’ve been obvious.’

The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably as he winked. ‘Having dinner with a beautiful woman.’

She snorted. ‘Why are you in Melbourne, filling in on the tour?’

When his smile faded, she pushed. ‘Helping Hector when you haven’t seen him in ten years?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

If he thought his cold, clipped tone would shut her up, he could think again.

‘Actually, it is. Hector’s a friend as well as my boss and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of him.’

‘Funny, that’s what I thought about you when we first met.’

Hating that she had to justify herself to him, she toyed with the food on her plate.

‘Hector’s my mentor. He gave me my first break when I was a teenager looking for a job.’

And a home and a life off the streets, where she’d had to live for a horrific fortnight that haunted her for years afterwards. But Luca was on a need-to-know basis and the depth of her caring for Hector had nothing to do with him.

‘I respect him more than anyone, would never take advantage of him.’

He pinned her with an intimidating glare. ‘And you think I would?’

‘Would you?’ She shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t know, considering you haven’t visited your grandfather in all the years I’ve been around.’

An emotion she couldn’t fathom flickered in his eyes—regret?—before he sat back and draped an arm across the back of the sofa, his forced casualness not fooling her for a second.

‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’

‘Nope.’

He ruffled the back of his hair, the strands curling around his fingers like caramel swirls, making her own fingers ache to delve in.

‘He called me, said he was in a bind, so here I am. Satisfied?’

Not by a long shot. His trite answer hid a truth he wouldn’t divulge to her: she could see it in the tense shoulders, in the rigid neck muscles, the pinch behind his smile.

There was more to him being here and if he had some nefarious plan … The food she’d just consumed roiled in her stomach. If Luca had lied to her, she’d lied to him too. Hector meant more to her than a friend and boss.

He was the man who’d taken a chance on a homeless kid when no one else had given a flying fig. He’d seen past her quick temper and resistance and resentment and opened his home, his heart and his life to her. He’d trusted her and she’d never let him down, so the thought he might not have trusted her with this …

‘What’s wrong?’

Luca was beside her in an instant, his concerned expression warming her heart and showing her there was more to him than lazy smiles and practised charm. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that she didn’t believe a word he said, so she blurted the first thing that popped into her head.

‘Indigestion.’

She rubbed her chest to add authenticity and his eyes narrowed, shrewd, assessing, disbelieving.

Luca knew how to call a bluff. He’d been doing it his entire life.

‘Anything I can do?’

‘No, I’ll be fine.’

Her bottom lip gave a convincing quiver and before he could stop himself he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking that wobbly lip into calm.

‘You sure?’

A tiny sigh puffed against his thumb; that one small vulnerability had him yearning to bundle her into his arms.

Crazy. He didn’t do cuddles. He did hard and fast sex all night long; the kind of sex that didn’t beg questions or require answers, the kind of sex that satisfied without complicating matters. Right now, he’d give anything to have that kind of sex with the woman staring at him with guilt in her big green eyes.

Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face for she shuffled to her right, a subtle move to put some distance between them.

‘It’s not so bad. I’ll live. So let’s try this again. What are you doing here?’

‘Already told you. Pop fired some jackass who lost the company a stack of cash and asked me to step in on this tour. Apparently Storm Varth is potentially worth a small fortune if his comeback takes off so the books need to be balanced right.’

‘Why the hell would he ask you?’

His eyebrows shot up at her blunt question as she belatedly clamped her lips shut.

‘I know a thing or two about companies.’

‘Like how to sweet-talk receptionists and influence female CEOs?’

‘Like how they run, how they can increase profit margins, how they can tighten outlays.’

Surprise widened her eyes. He liked that, catching her off guard. She viewed him as a flake that travelled around the world, lolling on beaches doing little else.

If she only knew: being in the public eye constantly, pretending to like people who were essentially self-serving and didn’t give a damn about doing anything for anybody else unless it got their greedy mugs in the glossies, dating a string of vacuous celebs to further his cause … It was damn hard work and becoming increasingly tough.

He’d done it for years now, ensuring charities were financially viable, especially those with underprivileged kids—the kind of kid he would’ve been if it hadn’t been for Hector’s generosity.

With every dollar he took from the rich who could afford it, with every dollar bestowed on those kids who needed it, he released some of his pent-up bitterness at the past. He still had a long way to go.

‘You did a finance degree?’

‘Economics and marketing at uni. Stuff like that interests me.’

Or more to the point, how companies could invest in his pet projects, the things that really mattered.

Her astute stare bored into him and he sat back, clasped his hands behind his head, the epitome of a guy who didn’t give a damn. And he usually didn’t but there was something about this woman, some indefinable quality that made him want her to like him.

‘You really are an international man of mystery, aren’t you?’

He winked. ‘That’s Petrelli, Luca Petrelli to you.’

Her mouth relaxed into a soft smile, kicking him in the guts. Or lower to be precise. That kiss in the car had been a mere prelude. Those beautiful lips, the lush full bottom lip, begged to be kissed. Repeatedly. All night long.

She stood abruptly and he mentally kicked himself for letting his thoughts drift south when they’d been getting along, establishing some kind of fragile rapport.

‘Thanks for dinner. It was great.’

‘My pleasure.’

Her gaze locked on his, his last word hanging in the silence between them, promising so much if she’d let herself go.

She wanted to; he could see it in the pulse beating frantically in her neck, in her slightly parted lips, in the shimmer of her eyes.

Then she blinked, straightened and the invisible thread holding them spellbound vanished in an instant.

‘See you in the morning. Eight sharp.’

‘Eight it is.’

She managed a tight smile at his half salute before diving for the safety of her bedroom.

Beautiful Charli could run but she couldn’t hide. The spark between them was intangible but it was there and he had every intention of creating a few more before this tour was out.

CHAPTER FOUR

CHARLI stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. Stupid hard pillows. Though she knew the pain in her neck had more to do with her constant tossing all night while mentally rehashing conversations with Luca—and remembering him in that damn towel—than any pillow.

She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for him, but after that thoughtful dinner he’d set out last night and that moment they’d shared, she’d thought of little else all night but how easy it would be to succumb to his many charms.

Blowing out an exasperated huff, she knocked on Storm’s door again. Her first knock had been loud enough to rouse half of Ballarat but not so much as a curtain had twitched behind the heavily tinted windows of the longest bus she’d ever seen.

She’d organised many tour buses over the years but Storm had insisted he bring his own, and after seeing the gigantic two-semi-length monstrosity painted glossy black with his signature storm clouds and lightning bolts slashing the sides, she knew why. It signalled showman.

As for the inside, she hadn’t seen it, thanks to Storm living up to his superlative cranky reputation yesterday and holing away inside the bus, corresponding with her via terse text messages.

Today, she’d set the tour ground rules and make sure the idiosyncratic rocker played her way.

Her hand clenched into a fist and rapped for the third time, on the window this time, not stopping until she glimpsed a flicker of curtain.

Charli waited while Storm played his little mind games—she’d heard he was notoriously late, notoriously rude, just plain notorious—mentally checking the list she’d made on Landry Records’ latest star.

Storm Varth: fifty-six, had topped world charts for eight weeks running thirty years ago, had a string of bad songs to his name over the past few decades and a string of bad women.

He’d been in rehab five times, in love ten and had finally sobered up enough over the past year for Hector to take a chance on reviving his career.

Personally, she had her doubts on the hard-living rocker lasting the distance this tour let alone making another recording but Hector had a good eye for talent, old or otherwise, so she’d make sure she did a damn good job no matter how much she wanted to throttle him.

‘Take your time, Mr Varth. The longer you take with your day itinerary, the less time you’ll have for trawling bars tonight.’

She bit back a grin as she heard fiddling with the lock accompanied by a string of curses before the door finally opened.

‘Good morning.’

She gave him her best fake smile, designed to dazzle with just a hint of ‘don’t mess with me’ thrown in.

‘What’s so freaking good about it?’

When Storm finally stepped into view, she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing out loud.

Fifty-six-year-old guys shouldn’t wear mid-thigh emerald silk kimonos, no matter how rich or famous.

‘You’ve studied the itinerary for today?’

He leered at her through bleary eyes, his blond-tipped three-inch spikes standing to attention as he ruffled his hair.

‘Would rather study you, sweetheart.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘We’ve already been through this. Me, tour manager, you, rock star. Professional relationship, comprende?’

‘I love it when you talk foreign.’

Hanging onto the door, he leaned so far forward he almost tumbled out of the bus and she couldn’t help but laugh.

‘Come on, Storm, play nice.’

Before he could make another innuendo about playing with her, she held up her hand.

‘Get dressed. Eat. Sign the rest of those promo photos—’

‘Yeah, yeah, I remember, then we tour the local music shops, sweet-talk the owners into promoting the concert tomorrow night, yada, yada, yada.’

He waved his hand around, making the kimono gape in front and she quickly averted her eyes before she got more than an unwanted glimpse of greying chest hair and fake-tan flabby abs.

‘And if you’re on your best behaviour, you’ll get the afternoon off to visit Sovereign Hill.’

For the first time this morning his expression turned animated. ‘Yeah, Tiger mentioned it looked cool on the Net.’

‘Kids love it,’ she said, a small part of her cynical heart softening at his obvious affection for his seven-year-old kid. Though how anyone could name their child Tiger was beyond her. ‘So snap to it.’

His lips curved into a wicked grin and for a second she could see what countless groupies over the years must’ve found appealing.

‘I’ll be much quicker if you come in here and scrub my back?’

Biting back an answering grin, she jabbed a finger in his direction.

‘I’ll scrub you out in a minute if you don’t hop to it. Now go! ‘

She just caught his muttered, ‘With legs like those, can’t blame a guy for trying,’ as he blew her a kiss and shut the door.

Shaking her head, she fished around in her handbag for her mobile, the hairs on the nape of her neck standing to attention as she sensed Luca’s presence before he spoke.

‘You handled him like a pro.’

‘It’s my job,’ she said, her breath catching as she glanced up to see Luca in head-to-toe black: black silk shirt, black trousers, black shoes.

He looked like a corporate raider rather than a corporate financier and she instantly dismissed the briefest yearning for what it would be like for him to make a raid on her.

‘The guy’s a lech.’

‘The guy probably comes on to every woman who enters his sphere every day. I can handle it.’

His blue eyes flashed with amusement as he folded his arms and propped against the side of the bus.

‘So if I step out of line, will I get that professional death glare you gave him?’

‘Nothing surer.’

Finally locating her phone, she scanned her calendar for the umpteenth time this morning, wanting to make sure they were on time at every scheduled stop.

‘By the way, did you get the updated schedule I emailed you?’

He tapped his head. ‘Got it. Memorised it.’

‘Good. Because I don’t want any hold-ups today. We need to get into those music stores, talk up the concert, promo the—’

‘You always this hyper first thing in the morning?’

She didn’t know what stalled her pulse more: his hand resting lightly on her forearm as her thumb tapped manically on her mobile keypad or the curious glint in his eyes, turning them a darker, seductive indigo.

‘Always.’

Shrugging his hand off, she scrolled through the key locations for the morning, her gaze focused on the screen.

For some reason, his laid-back attitude annoyed her. This tour was a big deal and while he probably didn’t give two hoots how it panned out, considering he’d be gone in a fortnight, she expected professionalism.

Liar.

Every thought since he’d opened that hotel door had been one-hundred-per-cent unprofessional.

‘I know what I’m doing, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

Her head snapped up and she glared at him. Another thing that annoyed her: his ability to read her when she hardly knew the guy.

‘You handle big money, so you said last night.’ With a last glance at her phone, she shoved it back in her bag. ‘How about you do your job and I’ll do mine?’

His lips twitched. ‘Sounds like the spiel you just gave old Lightning.’

She couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. ‘His name’s Storm.’

‘What sort of a lame-assed name is that?’

‘A rock star’s name, a rock star who is going to make your grandfather a lot of money if this tour goes off without a hitch so let’s make sure nothing goes wrong, okay?’

He held his hands up and backed away. ‘Hey, I’m just the money guy. You get to keep old Storm in line.’

‘Lucky me,’ she muttered, her attention captured by a curtain halfway down the bus being yanked open with Storm framed in the window doing a slow strip with his kimono while mouthing words to a song she couldn’t hear, his cocky grin infuriatingly smug.

Luca registered the momentary shock on her face and turned quickly, craning his neck, only to see an empty window where the reprobate rocker had disappeared.

He frowned. ‘I swear, if that old fool steps out of line with you, I’ll—’

‘Refer to my better judgement and skills in handling anything this job throws my way, including rockers hell-bent on clinging to their misspent youth.’

His lips compressed in an unimpressed line and a small part of her melted under his chivalry.

She didn’t need protection but the fact Luca was willing to defend her honour made her like him all the more.

‘Come on, let’s run through the projected figures for the concert while we wait for his lordship to beautify himself.’

‘With that ugly mug, it’ll take him a week at least.’

She laughed and fell into step beside him. ‘We can’t all be like you.’

The minute the words tripped from her tongue she wished she could take them back.

‘Like me?’

Floundering, she blurted, ‘Well dressed. Well put together.’

Little wonder he wore a smug grin. She rolled her eyes. ‘You know what I mean.’

‘Thanks,’ he said, touching her arm, the merest brush of his fingertips eliciting a bolt of electricity that zapped her into a heightened awareness instantly.

They had work to do.

They had a fortnight to make this the best damn tour Landry Records had ever backed.

They had a petulant rock star and his kid to please, fans to woo, crowds to draw in droves.

Yet in that moment all she could think about was how much she’d like to explore this incredibly strong attraction between them.

Gritting her teeth, she picked up the pace, resolving to focus on work.

Work was her life.

Work kept her focused and grounded and confident in a world she’d created, a world filled with certainty and guidelines, the complete opposite of her past.

No way, no how, would she let some guy, no matter how gorgeous and charming, muck up her equilibrium.

She ignored the tiny voice deep inside that whispered, What if he already has?

‘This part of your job description?’

Charli glanced up at Luca from where she was squatting next to a river of water, a flat pan in hand.

‘Whatever it takes to get the job done.’

Luca smiled as she wobbled and almost fell into the water. ‘Dedication, I like that.’

‘It’s not you I’m trying to impress,’ she said, jerking her thumb towards Storm several metres away, squatting next to his son, the two of them engrossed in sifting sand and water through the pans in search of elusive gold.

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