Her ex…the VIP!

Hiding out in the gents’ toilets backstage is not the way Sasha imagined bumping into her significant ex. Especially when that ex is notoriously damaged, famously wild rock god Nate Munro! She has a massive favor to ask him, but one glimpse of his sinfully dark eyes and all she can think about is that he’s seen her naked!

Nate’s used to women doing anything to get his attention, but he never pictured bubbly schoolteacher Sasha as the groupie type—she’s far too sweet! But when the paparazzi get a hint of their reunion, it’s scandal all the way. Now the question on everyone’s lips is this: In this showdown between the girl next door and rock-and-roll royalty, who’s going to come out on top?

She straightened her clothes, then turned slamming face-to-face with Nate.

He stared right back at her, his hand reaching out, palm up in a question. ‘Sasha? Sasha Sweet?’

‘Nathan—’ She started to explain, but suddenly she was grabbed by his security guard, who shouted into a walkie-talkie. ‘Now. Now. The car’s leaving. Go, Nate. You want this one?’

This one? What was she? A toy? A groupie? ‘Wait, no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not—’

At that same moment, two more security guards burst into the room, grabbed her by the waist and ran her out through the corridor in a blur of clamouring, screaming women tearing at her hair, her clothes. The chant of Nate. Nate. Nate, ringing in her ears.

‘Nathan … Wait—’ Her voice mingled with the rest and got lost. Watching his leather-jacketed back disappear into a blacked-out limousine, she breathed out a sigh of irritation. That was that.

Damn. He was gone. A fleeting almost-reconciliation.

Then she felt someone touch the back of her head and push her into the plush car seat next to him. The door slammed closed.

And with a jerk they eased into the night-time London traffic to the accompaniment of bright flash photography. On the way to who knew where, with the ex she’d dumped and a whole lot of explaining to do.

Dear Reader,

I’m so thrilled to be part of the MODERN TEMPTED™ series! The stories in this exciting new line are everything I look for in a romance: sizzling sexual tension, a deeply emotional journey and lots of flirty fun along the way!

Nathan Munro, hero of this book, has had a lot of fun—almost too much—since he ran out on his first love, Sasha Sweet, a decade ago. But when she falls back into his life, he is forced to examine his actions, his past and, ultimately, his future.

Sasha, however, is reluctant to fall for Nathan’s legendary rock-star charm. She has her sights firmly set on Mr Boring but Safe, if only she could find him. So Nate has his work cut out to convince her that Mr Very Wrong could possibly become Mr Very Right.

The settings for this book are two places where I’ve had a lot of fun: amazing Tuscany, rich with history, fabulous food and delicious wine, and London. What could be more exhilarating than the pulse of such a vibrant, sophisticated city? It’s a fabulous place to fall in love (trust me, I know!).

I hope you enjoy reading Nate and Sasha’s story! Look out for Cassie’s story in the second book of the Sweet Sisters duet. Coming soon!

Louisa x

For all my writing news and release dates, visit me at www.LouisaGeorge.com.

Backstage with Her Ex

Louisa George

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Having tried a variety of careers in retail, marketing and nursing (where a scratchy starched uniform was mandatory), LOUISA GEORGE is now thrilled that her dream job of writing for Mills & Boon means she gets to go to work in her pyjamas.

Originally from Yorkshire, England, Louisa now lives in Auckland, New Zealand, with her husband, two sports-mad teenage sons and two male cats. Writing romance is her opportunity to covertly inject a hefty dose of pink into her heavily testosterone-dominated household.

When she’s not writing or reading Louisa loves to spend time with her family and friends, enjoys travelling and adores eating great food (preferably cooked by someone else). She’s also hopelessly addicted to zumba.

Visit her at www.louisageorge.com.

I’ve been very lucky to have made some amazing friends over the years—some older, some younger, some wiser and some … not so (but we had a lot of laughs getting wise, usually after the event!). You know who you are—and if you’re wondering. does she mean me? Yes, I do.

This book is dedicated to you all with heartfelt thanks for the wild ride, and lots of love xxx

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Excerpt

ONE

Hiding out in the gents’ toilets backstage at the London Arena was not one of Sasha Sweet’s personal highs. VIP toilets they might have been but, gold taps be damned, she wanted to go home.

I’ll kill you, Cassie.

Bad enough she’d let herself be harangued into this ridiculous exercise, but ducking into the men’s room in a moment of rare claustrophobic panic? All kinds of embarrassing.

A whoosh of air and a wall of encroaching noise announced the arrival of someone else in the room. Thank God she’d found an empty cubicle.

She checked the state of the wall before she slumped against it. Grateful to be in an empty cubicle? In the men’s room? Could my life get any worse?

She held her breath to listen, knowing if she was discovered in here, flouting all security rules, she’d never achieve what she’d set out to do. And the dreams of fourteen kids would literally go down the pan, along with her professional reputation.

Plan A should have worked just fine: approach someone in authority, ask politely, make an appointment. Not hide out like a weird stalker. In a cubicle. While thousands of fans charged the backstage corridors wanting a piece of the notoriously damaged, famously over-sexed rock deity, Nate Munro.

Where was Plan B when she needed it?

A deep American accent bounced off the tiled walls. ‘Quick, Nate. In here. Give us five minutes ’til they’ve been herded out. There’s a car on its way to pick you up out the back.’

No. Sasha’s shoulders crept towards her jaw, tightening the muscles around her neck like a noose. Not Nate. Not here. Not in this bathroom.

‘What happened to Security? They’re crazy out there.’ Sure enough, it was Nate’s voice now, much deeper, richer than she remembered, but unmistakably his. Tinged with his working-class roots and a smattering of amusement, but refined by maturity and years of stateside living.

The American voice responded with an air of glee, ‘Crazy for you. They love you. The world loves you, Nate. You are gold.’

True enough. Aeons ago in Sasha’s smitten seventeen-year-old eyes being with him had felt as if she’d been sprinkled with gold dust. Nathan Munro. Her eyes fluttered closed at the storm of innocent memories. A young singer desperate to be heard. Night after night of listening to his songs, songs he’d written about her.

He’d scaled the heights against the odds. She’d watched his life spiral out of control, as Chesterton had turned its back on him. And she’d been as scathing as the rest.

But now... Wild boy turned out-of-control rock star. Sold out across the globe on his five continents Hall of Fame tour, catapulted to the top of the charts with his husky sultry songs and edgy dark style. The devil with a god’s voice.

And powerful too. What he wanted he got and to hell with the consequences.

So what the heck she thought she’d achieve by asking him for help now, she didn’t know. But Sasha inhaled, renewing her resolve. It had been for ever ago. Ten years. He’d probably forgotten about her, about them. Or hated her, still.

No matter. She would find a way to ask him for help, and make good on that promise to her kids—that was what was important, not their past history. But she couldn’t face him here, after all this time, not in a loo. Even she wouldn’t be able to take herself seriously surrounded by pipe work and the cloying smell of pine.

No, she was a music professional and she had standards. She’d find another way: phone his agent, bribe him into submission. Beg. Something.

So just leave. Please.

The American spoke again. ‘You want me to find you someone for tonight? There’re plenty of women out there. Your usual? Blonde? Tall? Big—’

‘Sure. Whatever.’

‘I’ll get the guys onto it.’ The crackle of a walkie-talkie split the room.

‘But only for an hour or so. I’ve got a date later and I don’t want to be late.’ Nate’s voice was laced with irritation.

What? Sasha’s shoulders hiked to her ears again. He was planning a one-nighter and a date?

Well, the man had stamina.

And no morals.

And that was none of her business.

She’d got over him a long time ago. Hard not to with his colourful love life splashed front page most days of the week. Supermodels, actresses, singers hung off his arm at every opportunity. She just hoped he wasn’t planning on entertaining in here; she had things to do.

‘So you’re not going to the afterparty?’ the American asked. ‘Twelve months of non-stop touring and you’re going on a date instead of getting loose? She must be special.’

‘I’ll come along to the party later.’

‘So who is it this time? Not Cara again? She’s trouble, you know. Two stints in rehab. Possession. You’ve got to steer clear from girls like that.’

‘But she did my sales a heap of good. She was good value.’

‘Nice thinking, Nate. Point well made. Keep your options open. A pretty lady on your arm keeps the rest of your fans hopeful. But remember, don’t do anything stupid—stay away from the two cardinal sins: drugs and marriage. Drugs bring their own problems, pal, but cosy is the kiss of death to your career.’

‘I had a lucky escape with that fiasco of an engagement. I’m never going there again.’

Sasha’s frown deepened. Did she detect a tinge of boredom in his voice? Something not right in Nate’s opulent successful world? And since when was marriage part of the axis of evil?

He’d clearly changed beyond anything she remembered. The Nathan she’d known at first had been sweet and kind and hadn’t thought of women as good value. But then, she’d witnessed the beginning of that change: the way he’d morphed from sweet teenager to brooding, angry young man.

Seemed that downward trajectory hadn’t stopped.

Suddenly the shrill blare of a text message made her jump.

Shoot! No. No! She clamped a hand to her mouth. Had she said that out loud?

Fumbling into her bag, she fell against the wall, dropped her phone and then watched in silent Slow... Motion... Horror. It bounced and slithered across the tiles, under the cubicle door, and out to the other side.

Crouching down, she watched, mortified, as her bright sparkly purple cell finally came to a stop next to a pair of battered black biker boots.

So yes, it seemed her life could get much worse.

Silence reverberated around the room for two long seconds, save for the hard thump of her heart against her ribs. And the shuffle of heavy feet.

‘What have we got here?’ The American voice deepened as a hand reached for her phone. He read the message out. ‘“Target located? Is he still to die for? What about that ass?”’ He laughed. ‘Hey, Nate, either you’ve cornered the gay military market, or we have ourselves a desperate female admirer.’

Desperate?

A loud hammering on the cubicle door rocked into Sasha’s body as a rash seeped through her skin, burning bright and hot. ‘Hey. You. This is VIP access only...and the men’s room. Get out here now before I call the cops.’

No, thanks. Standing in front of an assembly hall full of disenchanted teens was less terrifying than coming face to face with an ex like Nate.

If he remembered the way things had ended between them he definitely wouldn’t want to answer her cry for help, but she had to try. She couldn’t face the kids on Monday and say she hadn’t asked him. In reality, this could be her only chance and it wasn’t as if she had any sentimental feelings for him—time had certainly filled that well. Finding her courage again, she inhaled. Maybe asking him in a loo wouldn’t be so...degrading.

So be a grown-up. Steadying herself, Sasha pulled back the lock. Sometimes, being a grown-up sucked.

Before she could speak the door slammed open and a blur of dark suit brushed against her, jamming her arm behind her back and her cheek against the wall. He patted her hands, her pockets and legs. The voice in her ear was hard and unforgiving. ‘There you go, darling. Take it easy.’

‘Let go of me. Let go now. Or I call the cops. Harassment. Assault.’

‘She’s clean.’

‘Of course I’m clean. What is this?’

‘Can’t be too careful, ma’am. We meet all sorts of weirdoes in this business.’

‘And that’s just the people who work in it, right?’ Shoving out of the bear’s hold, she straightened her clothes then turned, slamming body-to-body with Nate.

His jaw tensed, and his stare deepened as he took her in, recognition clearly filtering through his brain as he swept his glance up and down her body.

In response she froze, unable to take her eyes from him. Sure, she’d seen the pictures, had some old grainy ones of her own, she’d even stolen quick glances at the rock magazines’ centre spreads, heck she’d just watched him perform two hours of perfect harmonies and slow sexy dance moves in the final concert of his tour. But nothing had prepared her for the real thing up close.

He seemed taller, definitely broader, not the teenager she’d once fallen in love with. He was one hundred per cent man. All sex, with his wavy chocolate-coloured hair dipping lazily to one side. She remembered the soft just-washed feel of it, the faint scent of apples.

Her gaze ran across his face, past those famous soft-caramel eyes, the refined cheeks peppered with his trademark stubble, the perfect curve of his lips.

But she couldn’t stop there. After all, he’d always been a feast to her senses. She imagined the ruffled feel of his shirt, and the hard muscle underneath. His smell of leather and man. Remembered the long legs for ever encased in black denim, rough against her juvenile skin. The arrogant stance that told the world he didn’t give a damn, when she knew he’d cared deeply. Deeply enough to be hurt by the rejection, to leave town altogether and never look back.

And yes, thank you, Cassie, his ass was still to die for.

He stared right back at her, stepping back, palm up in a question. ‘Sasha? Sasha Sweet?’

‘Nathan—’ She started to explain, but suddenly she was grabbed by the bear, who shouted into his walkie-talkie, ‘Now. Now. The car’s leaving. Go, Nate. You want this one too?’

This one? What was she? A toy? A groupie? ‘Wait, no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not—’

‘No?’ The minder grinned and shook his head. ‘Had a change of heart, sweetheart? There’s plenty more who’d take your place.’

Oh, merry hell. The bear really did think she was a groupie. Nate must have muttered something, or nodded, and she’d missed it before he disappeared into the melee outside.

But at that same moment two more security guards burst into the room, grabbed her by the waist and ran her out through the corridor in a blur of clamouring, screaming women tearing at her hair, her clothes. The chant of Nate, Nate, Nate, ringing in her ears.

‘Nathan...Wait—’ Her voice mingled with the rest, and got lost. Watching his leather-jacketed back disappear into a blacked-out limousine, she breathed out a hiss of irritation. That was that.

He was gone. And now no result for the school; she should have found her nerve and asked him.

Then she felt someone touch the back of her head and push her into the plush car seat opposite Nathan.

He slowly leaned back and grinned, almost oblivious to the two giggling peroxided semi-naked women who had draped themselves over him and now appeared to be cleaning out his ears—with their tongues. The door slammed closed.

And with a jerk the car eased towards the arena exit to the accompaniment of bright flash photography. On the way to who knew where, with the ex she dumped, an audience of twin pipe-cleaners on legs, and a whole lot of explaining to do.

TWO

Well, well. This was interesting. Ten years in the business and Nate had had a lot of surprises. Some good. Some not so. Some pretty painful and costly. But a flame-haired ex with a penchant for kicking first and asking questions—er, never...wasn’t one of them. Until now.

He watched her struggle with the every-day reality of his chaotic life on the road, her shock at the girls in the car. Meanwhile some weird emotion played Dixie with his gut. Was he pleased to see her? That, he hadn’t had time to compute.

But images of the last time he saw her flickered through his brain like a bad black and white film. Rain. Tears. Hurt. A big fist of anger that had lodged in his chest, and taken months to shake.

But it was all a long time and countless liaisons ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given her any thought at all.

Waving a hand to the girls to let up, he leaned forward. ‘Hello, Sasha. To what do I owe this...pleasure?’

‘Where exactly are you taking me? I need to get out. To my sister. She’s waiting for me back at the arena.’ Shaking her mane of soft red curls, she frowned, her lipstick-tinged mouth forming the pout that swung him back through the years. The punch to his chest was surprising. ‘That bear of a thug, your security guy, he thought...I don’t want...you know. I’m not a...groupie.’ Her eyes narrowed even more as she glanced towards the girls.

And for a second he felt a strange ping of shame. Fleeting. Then gone. After all, Sasha’s betrayal had been one of the reasons he’d moved on in life anyway. And boy, was life good now. ‘But you used to be my groupie, Sasha. And, if I remember rightly, you used to like it.’

Although back then sex had been a solemn promise for the future, not a reality.

At her quick blink he felt the laugh rumble up from his chest, heard the high-pitched giggles from the girls against his neck. Sasha didn’t crack a smile.

Okay. So this was clearly going to be important. Or why else was she here?

He tapped on the window for the driver to pull over, slapped each of the girls on the backside and let them out into the following entourage cars.

Meanwhile Sasha shook her head in that way schoolteachers did when you disappointed them. He recognised it because he’d experienced it often enough. ‘And just like that they disappear. Everyone does exactly what Nate Munro says?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure. I thought you’d prefer to do this...whatever it is...in private. Just you and me. Unless you’re into threesom—’

‘No!’

‘Relax, Sasha. It was a joke.’ She was too easy to wind up. ‘I don’t want to get naked with you either.’

Liar. Post-show sex was as habitual as coffee in the mornings. And right now her navy-blue eyes and feisty spirit sparked the right amount of interest. He watched in amusement as she gripped the strap on her bag. No wedding ring. Interesting. Still, that meant little these days. And why had he looked at her fingers?

A purely male instinctive reaction. Right?

But everything he remembered about Sasha Sweet was laced with regret. Not just the one that got away, she was the one who had stamped hard on his heart.

‘Now I know everything the papers say is true. You’re just a good-time guy. Shallow. Over-sexed...’

‘Oh? You’ve been reading up about me?’ Stretching out his legs across the lush thick white carpet, he grinned, slow and lazy so she’d understand just how good his life had been. After her. ‘Believe me, it’s been infinitely better than anything they print.’

‘I have not been reading up about you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I just happened to notice some headline about your crazy life in the States. It’s certainly a far cry from Chesterton.’

‘And then some.’ He shuddered at the mention of the place that had cut ties with him. That had branded him with the same tarnish they had his no-hope father. A hooligan, out of control. Bad to the bone. And no one, not even Sasha, had ever come to his defence.

‘Leaving Chesterton was the best thing I ever did. And yes, there are some mad parties in LA. It comes with the territory.’ The press had wasted no time covering the best bits—it just happened the best bits were also the worst. Drunk and debauched had been one hell of a ride.

She tugged at his arm. ‘Nate, I need to—’

‘I know. Here.’ He felt in his pocket for her phone. ‘Text her back. I presume the Cassie ID refers to your little sister?’

She looked surprised. ‘Yes. Of course. You remember Cassie? Although, she’s not so little these days, at twenty-five.’

‘How could I ever forget the infamous Sweet sisters?’

Even though he’d long since put their failed relationship down to innocent first-love infatuation, he hadn’t forgotten the details. Three feisty red-headed girls who had set the fragile hearts of every nubile boy in Chesterton racing. With Sasha, the middle sister, the only woman who’d ever said no to him.

And here she was, all grown-up and seriously hot.

The freckles he’d loved to count and kiss way back in the Dark Ages were still there on her fresh lightly made-up face. Her spirit, clearly, hadn’t diminished. Neither had the curves highlighted by the tight capri trousers and dark mesh top, making her look as if she’d just walked out of a fifties’ movie set, or the translucent skin that had sent shivers down his adolescent spine. But he’d got steel in there now.

Working in a business of backstabbing and greed, he was used to people trying to piggy-back on his success. He’d been taken for a ride too many times to count and wouldn’t be doing it again; a costly separation had taught him that lesson.

So why his interest was piqued by this particular old girlfriend he didn’t know. He might as well just get the cheque book out now. Far easier than going through a messy conversation.

Grabbing the glittery phone from his outstretched hand, she glanced at the screen and visibly cringed. ‘I’m sorry about that. Cassie might be an adult, but she hasn’t fully grown up yet.’

‘And what are you going to reply to her?’

‘Oh...I don’t know.’ She looked up through thick dark eyelashes, her lips pursed, teasingly. ‘That you’re still obnoxious and full of yourself.’

‘And with an ass to die for?’

‘See? Obnoxious.’ She flashed a smile, which did something funny to his heart. He put it down to being on the road for too long.

‘I aim to please. And it seems to work for the most part. I have to admit, you surprise me, Sasha. I never thought you’d do something like this. You always played everything so safe.’ He returned the smile with one of his own as he undid the top button on his shirt, ready to have a little fun.

Instead of the flustered reaction he’d imagined, she sat forward and pinned him to the seat with an ice-cool gaze. ‘I did not.’

‘Yeah? Grade-A student, always toed the line. Never broke the rules—at least never broke them for me. So what’s changed? Why are you in my car en route to a fancy hotel?’

‘Hotel? Oh, for goodness’ sake, get over yourself.’ She blinked quickly, the cool fading into fluster. ‘I...I said, I’m not here for sex.’

‘Oh, yes, and I remember you saying that before too. But I never did quite believe you.’ He leaned forward, met her almost in the middle of the seat, caught a glimpse of fire in her eyes before she turned away.

She’d been saving herself for when they were married or some such foolish idea. At least, until they were engaged. He wondered, fleetingly, who had taken his place, been her first time.

He shook that thought away along with the accompanying uninvited tension that zipped through his veins. And fought back an urge to run his fingers through a curl, see if it was as soft as he remembered. ‘Your body always did give you away.’

‘Not any more. I have full control.’

‘Really?’ He focused on her legs, did a slow journey up to her breasts, her throat, her mouth. Awareness crackled around the car sucking out the oxygen. After five long seconds he met her gaze. ‘You want to put it to the test?’

‘Absolutely not. You should save your energy for someone who’d be more...grateful. Like the poor misguided gruesome twosome you just had in here.’ She glared at him. But he didn’t miss the flash of heat in her eyes. ‘Look, this has been a mistake.’

And the blushing was still the same; she never could control that. A full peachy rash bloomed in her cheeks, spread to her neck and disappeared into that midnight-blue top.

Dragging his eyes away from her, he tried to breathe out the weird emotions thrumming in his chest.

Outside, the city lights illuminated Marble Arch, traffic slowed even at this time of night.

London.

For the first time in years, he was back home. At least it used to be. Home now was a sprawling Malibu mansion overlooking the ocean. But sometimes he missed the vibrancy of this city, the exciting pulse that emanated from the streets and throbbed through his veins, mixing with the comforting feel of the familiar.

Or was that just his strange reaction at seeing Sasha Sweet again?

She looked out of the window, too, for a few moments until her surprisingly girly phone signalled a new message. When she’d finished reading she tilted her head in his direction. ‘Can you drop me off now? Cassie’s going to meet me. I’ll get the tube from here.’

‘Are you serious? You used to cling to me on the tube. You hated it—all those crowds, all that danger hidden in dark corners. The rush of hot air. The noise. Rats.’

‘Well, looky here, things move on. I have.’

‘Clearly. If you’re sure.’ He tapped on the screen to alert his driver, then turned back to face her, still confused as to why she was here and why his body was so stirred up by her. ‘But what’s going on, Sasha? We both know this isn’t about my backside or any kind of sexual intent. “Target located,” Cassie said. Why am I your target? What do you want?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Seriously, forget it. All this...’ She gestured to the car, to the unopened bottles of champagne in the console. ‘You’re way too busy, and...different from how I remembered.’

‘I hope so.’

‘I didn’t mean it was a good thing.’

‘Champagne is always a good thing. As is success.’ In truth, he didn’t have time for another sob story. He already had sacks full of begging letters at his manager’s office.

But her eyes drew his gaze and he was fixed there with a strange need to prove he could do something she hadn’t—listen. ‘Okay. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ve got five minutes. Try me.’

* * *

As the car drew to a halt he watched her take a slow deep breath then exhale the way they’d all been taught back in form four music class. Sing on the out-breath. So he knew if she needed to keep her voice steady it was something important.

‘I’m a teacher now, Nate. Music. And my show choir has reached the finals of a national contest. Problem is, we can’t afford the fares up to Manchester, the hotel costs, costumes and everything. We need your help.’

As he’d thought. Just someone else asking for a handout. Disappointing. ‘You want a cheque? Cash? We could stop by a cash machine.’

‘No. Part of the contest is about raising the money, not just digging deep into our own pockets—not that we could if we wanted to. It’s all about the process—teaching the children about community spirit and involvement, you know the kind of thing. You don’t get handouts, you need to work hard to achieve...’ As she spoke about the project her eyes blazed with a mesmerising fervour.

Immediately he was thrown back to a time when they’d had their future ahead of them, when they’d believed they could do anything. Be anything they dreamed of. Together. He remembered getting lost in her excitement, in that thick luscious hair, in her. Until the day that fervour in her eyes had mingled with disappointment and distrust.

‘We thought about holding a concert at the school to get some funds, but few people around our neighbourhood could afford to come even if they wanted to. No one wants to pay to see a bunch of kids singing and dancing, not...’ she fixed him with hopeful eyes ‘...unless we had a guest star. That would raise a lot of interest from everywhere else too, and, bingo, we get our much-needed cash. I figured we could pay you a fee out of the door money, fifty-fifty.’

He laughed. Loudly. ‘A fee? You have to be joking. You couldn’t afford me in a million light years.’

‘Yes, well, like I said, coming here was a mistake. Why would you want to help us? There was a time when you’d have done this kind of thing for free but I guess we’re too late.’

‘About a decade or so.’ So that was that—he was off the hook from her crazy idea. But one thing niggled him. ‘And you stowed away in the men’s toilet just to ask me this?’

‘I did not stow. Stowing is not my style. It was an accident.’

‘Sasha, no one accidentally finds themselves in the men’s room. Come on, if you want me to help you, you have to at least be honest.’

She shrugged. ‘A friend of Cassie’s got me backstage, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react at seeing me again, and then when all those fans broke through the barrier and surged down the corridor I thought I was going to get crushed. I panicked.’

‘And then played jack-in-the-box in the loo? To be honest I’d have preferred you jumping out of a cake semi-naked, or something.’ Now that was an entertaining thought. He’d gone from never thinking about her at all, to imagining her half dressed. How did that work? ‘You always did like to make a show of things.’

‘I did not.’

‘No? Remember that night you borrowed your sister’s new bra and padded it with tissues to see if I’d notice—’ He laughed as his hands curved in front of his chest. ‘I noticed.’

She clearly did remember if the new flush on her cheeks was anything to go by, and how he’d told her she was perfect without any trimmings or falseness. Their last night. When they’d almost lost control of their agreed celibacy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I wouldn’t use that, Nate.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

So why the tightening in his chest?

He shook his head. ‘Just forget it.’

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Un-frickin-believable.

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

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

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

‘Not a chance, sweet thing.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘But this?’

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

‘And me as a draw card.’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THREE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She shuddered. Way too dangerous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tinny music jolted her attention.

Her mobile.

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

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

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

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

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

‘Hey, sweet thing, is that you?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I’ve been thinking.’

‘Gosh, well done.’

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

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

In answer to Sasha’s thumbs-up sign and broad grin, Cassie gyrated across the floor, wiggling her skinny backside in an attempt to mimic Nate’s very sexy stage performance.

Sasha held her breath and tried to control the relieved laughter. ‘Thank you. Thank you so much—you don’t know how much this means to the choir—’

‘Hold on, Sasha, I’m not making any promises. I need to check my schedule. Text your address to this number and I’ll send a car for you tomorrow at seven p.m. You can come to my hotel and we’ll talk more.’

‘Not that it doesn’t sound fancy, and I’m very grateful, but I’ve been making my own way around London for years.’ She didn’t need any more reasons to be beholden to him. ‘Just tell me where you’re staying. I’ll get there.’

‘No.’ He clearly didn’t trust her with that kind of information. Not surprising really after she’d turned her back on him. At the time she’d called it self-preservation but, in hindsight, he’d probably seen it as betrayal. ‘My car will be there at seven. Be ready.’

‘But...’

‘Sasha, this works better for me. I don’t want anyone getting wind of this yet, okay? And the press have a way of finding things out.’

‘And being nice interferes with your bad-boy image?’

‘Really? You think I care what the press think? It’s way too late for that. I don’t want to get the kids’ hopes up and then not be able to follow through. And it’s my private cellphone, so don’t ever give this number to anyone.’

Normally she didn’t take kindly to being bossed around, but the guy had just given her an opening. The choir would be thrilled, their financial problems solved, if she could pull it off. And keep her jumping heart out of it. ‘Okay. Seven p.m. tomorrow, then.’

‘Oh, and one last thing, Sasha. This is just for Marshall, okay?’

* * *

‘Mr Munro will see you now.’ The bear appeared in the reception of the Grand Riverview Hotel, complete with earpiece and grimace. ‘This way.’

‘Nice to see a familiar face,’ Sasha breathed as she struggled to keep up along the elegant corridor.

Velvet-embossed wallpaper in golden hues served as a backdrop to nineteen-twenties-style furniture. Petite bronze statuettes of dancers flanked the walls. The price of one of those would pay for the whole choir to fly to Manchester, first class. She was so out of her league, and then some. But, fingers clutching her briefcase, she determined to meet Nathan face to face as a music professional.

‘We get a lot of familiar faces here, sweetheart, for a day or two.’ Giving her just enough time to process the ramifications of that statement, the bear opened the door.

You’re nothing special, his feigned smile said as he looked her up and down. Standing aside to let her in, he bowed lightly, muttering, ‘Don’t get too comfortable.’

Like that would happen. Especially with Mr Warm and Fuzzy here.

She blinked once, twice, not knowing what was more impressive: the expansive suite with panoramic views across London, or the fact that Nate was in it, looking extremely comfortable, standing by the bar. Looking extremely gorgeous too. Relaxed and confident. In control of everything: his staff, his surroundings, his emotions.

He’d grown in a way she hadn’t. At least she didn’t see herself like that—uber confident and all grown-up—even though she tried to be. He’d probably honed it from absorbing the adoration of thousands of fans, from years of live performances where self-belief was mandatory.

But regardless of the man he was now she knew his essence, where he’d come from, what he was truly like—the good, the bad and the downright ugly.

And yet, despite knowing what he was capable of, he was still strangely compelling to be with. Walking leisurely towards her, he smiled. Slim black jeans hung from slender hips, a black faded T-shirt hugged his toned frame.

She didn’t have to guess what was under that T because she’d seen it over the years in the music press, smoky black and white images of Nate in various stages of undress, on CD covers that bordered on X-rated. She knew all about the sun-kissed carved abs, the thin line of dark hair... Her mouth dried.

She jerked her head upwards. Big mistake.

The moment she met his caramel-coated gaze her courage faltered. Why did he have to be so beautiful?

Was it appropriate to walk over and kiss him on the cheek? Shake hands? But he saved her the worry by stepping into her space and placing a warm cheek against hers. His lips grazed her skin sending ripples of heat through her veins.

‘Sasha. Thanks for coming.’

‘Thank you...too.’ Excellent. Excellent start. Not.

And then the room seemed to press in as his familiar scent washed over her. This was the kind of place he was used to now. So far from the tiny council-flat bedroom he’d shared with Marshall, littered with guitars and sheet music, posters on the wall of his favourite damaged rock heroes. And a photograph of her by his bed.

Her throat filled. So many things she’d pushed to the back of her mind, or had simply forgotten. The honest sweetness of their first date. Their innocent journey to first love.

And now this. Such abject luxury, no wonder he’d offered to write her a cheque without missing a heartbeat. But could high living change a man? Could it tame him?

She’d read about his wild parties in Ibiza, the spats with paparazzi, riding his motorbike through a hotel reception. She guessed that really he was still the same man underneath the wealth.

Leading her to a couch that would never fit into the whole of her flat, even if she knocked the walls down, he held a glass of beer and offered her a flute of champagne. ‘Drink?’

‘Thanks. Nice place.’ She raised her eyebrows and gestured to the door. ‘Shame about the company you keep, though. Do you pay him to be rude?’

‘Dario?’ Nate’s smile spread slowly across his lips, reached his eyes, which softened with genuine warmth. ‘Only to my friends.’

She laughed. ‘God help your enemies, then. I dread to think what you do to them.’

His gaze hardened from toffee to troubled. The hand holding his glass fisted and she thought for a second it might smash.

Brilliant. Bring up the past, why don’t you?

He’d never explained why he’d launched the attack that had landed Craig in Intensive Care and she doubted he would now. And even more, it was still none of her business.

The silence that followed was mortifying. She watched as he regained control, softened the tight jawline, turned his back on her and walked to the window. ‘You’d better tell me what you need me to do.’

Renewing her purpose, she deposited her flute on the glass coffee table and fished her folders from her well-loved leather messenger bag. She met his authority with her own. ‘I have spreadsheets here with a projected timetable, financial forecast, health and safety plan-’

‘Huh? Health and safety? I thought it was just a school gig.’ It was more a grunt than a laugh, but as she glanced at his face she saw he’d relaxed a little. Ice broken. ‘Or are you planning to do something very dangerous to me?’

Planning, no? Thinking, possibly. Fantasising, definitely. Just being in the same air as him was dangerous enough.

As he sat next to her on the couch his leg brushed against hers. Pursing her lips together, she clamped down on the fizz of electricity shooting through her.

This was unreal. The room was alive with vibrations of their moods. So many things remained unsaid, unresolved; everything was amplified and tangible, mirrored in her erratic heartbeat and the sheen of sweat forming on her brow.

At his proximity she shifted slightly but was thwarted by the thick deep cushions that hemmed her in. His face was too close. He was too close. And just thinking that, breathing him in, sent whispers of something she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A low-down tingling, parts of her body aching for his touch.

Well, heck, she couldn’t be attracted to him, not in a real sense. From a distance, sure—who wouldn’t be turned on by the idea of him? By his sex-god rock-star image? But those kinds of feelings were wishful thinking and daydreams. Not hard reality. Not gut-churning, tachycardia-inducing, libido-stirring reality.

Crazy feelings whirled in her chest, chaotic. Vivid. Hot.

Very, very hot. ‘It’s...er...regulatory...you know.’

He grinned. ‘What is? Doing dangerous things to rock stars? I like the sound of that—what do you have in mind?’

Well, she certainly wouldn’t be telling him that. ‘Obviously the school board needs a safety plan, the choir needs an action plan...’

‘Aha...’

* * *

‘But basically I just turn up to the school hall on the arranged night, do my stuff then leave? It’s hardly rocket science. I’ll do an unplugged set, so we won’t need my band. And if the kids could learn a couple of my songs then we could all sing together in an encore. That’s how it usually goes.’

Nate shoved his hands in his pockets and inhaled, inadvertently breathing in the smell of...yeah, sunshine. Stupid as it sounded. Like a lame lyric destined for the trash, but it was true—there was something fresh and new and bright about her.

‘Sure, we’ve been working on a few of your hits already. They love your stuff.’ Her nose wrinkled as she gave him a brief smile. ‘Maybe you could stay for a little while after and do some autographs...at least for the choir members.’

‘I’m not planning on hanging round and having a big happy reunion with anyone. I don’t see the point in nostalgia, do you?’

She blinked, a slight catch in her throat as she spoke, ‘No. No, not at all. The past is best left alone. Agreed?’

‘Couldn’t have said it better myself.’ Repetition made reality. The past is best left alone. Including ex-girlfriends who had started to haunt his dreams.

In truth he should have got Dario to sort this, as usual; Nate was far too busy to deal with schedules. So call it self-indulgent or just plain dumb, but the thought of seeing her before he went back to LA appealed. More than he wanted to admit.

She was his connection to his past, the experiences that had shaped him, given him the verve to fight hard for what he wanted.

A vibe hovered between them. He’d had lots of vibes before with lots of women. But this was bigger, stronger than ever. He ignored it. Tried to ignore it.

But he couldn’t help looking at her, mesmerised by how the simple halter-neck dress with the daisy pattern and flared skirt, the same blue as her eyes, accentuated her fine collarbones. How her hair looked pull-down ready, and how his hand itched to reach out and let the curls flow over her shoulders.

She was gorgeous. Not Cara gorgeous, but then he’d spent a lot of time trying to work out which parts of her were real and which were fake. Certainly, her outspoken ministrations of everlasting love had been false. Everlasting. Pah. In Hollywood everlasting meant five minutes. But then, Sasha had promised him a lifetime too, and look where that had ended.

Man, this was wild. He forced out a breath. He’d forgotten all about her, consigned her to bad history and pushed her to the dark recesses of his brain. Now here she was invading every thought, his space, the flame of red hair looking pretty darned perfect against the cream couch.

But self-indulgence had been too costly in the past and he’d do well to remember that. Sasha might have held his heart once, but she’d damned near thrashed it too. Taking her to bed would be mighty fine, but he’d never trust her with anything more. Never again.

Staring at the papers in her hand, she shrugged. ‘We’re planning on doing the concert in two weeks’ time. Saturday. The twenty-eighth. Spring Bank Holiday weekend.’

‘Two weeks? You don’t mess about.’

‘I told you we were running out of time.’

And there went his month’s holiday in Italy. ‘I’ll get Dario to handle the details, make sure I’m in town.’

‘That would be great. Brilliant.’ But she didn’t look pleased.

‘So, what’s the problem now?’ Crazy, but without thinking he touched her cheek. She curled into his touch briefly, before shifting out of reach, the papers hovering in her hand in mid-air. Her gaze dropped to her lap, but he didn’t miss the flash of fire in her eyes and that stoked something in him too. ‘You don’t seriously want me to be interested in the details?’

‘Why wouldn’t you be? It’s your show. And it makes things run smoothly if we’re all on the same page.’

He looked at the papers in neat pink plastic folders all with little stickies on them. ‘Which page exactly? You have so many.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with planning, Nate.’

‘Sure. But that’s what I pay someone else to do. I see you’re still a walking-talking stationery cupboard. You haven’t got a smartphone app for all this?’

‘I prefer hard copy. It’s easier if you can see it all laid out.’

‘It’s easier if I don’t see it at all.’ Planning in minutiae had always been Sasha’s way of coping after her father’s death—of ensuring the ordered life and stability she’d wanted. He used to think her organisational OCD was quirky and endearing, the way she’d carry her diary around religiously and check things, plan. If it hadn’t been for her management skills he wouldn’t have secured the gigs and the subsequent recording contract.

Their whole future had been mapped out at one point, down to the number of kids they were going to have, and when. He’d had a lucky break there, he’d always thought, when it was over.

Whereas Cassie—she’d always been happy-go-lucky, life’s too short sort. Far too scatty for his liking. And serious Suzy, the eldest, had just put her head down and worked hard to protect them all. Three girls hit in different ways by one tragedy.

Then it occurred to him that the gents’-toilet fiasco would have pretty much killed Sasha. Her plans gone awry, then finding herself in his car. All out of her control. She liked to play safe.

And he didn’t.

She looked so enthusiastic about her files he decided to indulge her. What did a few more minutes matter? ‘Okay, sweet thing, hit me with it. And if I nod off, then, literally, hit me with it.’

An eyebrow peaked. ‘Aww, your poor addled rock-star brain can’t handle a few simple facts and figures?’

‘Hey, I can handle anything you throw at me. Numbers, forecasts, projections. Do your worst.’ He stretched his arms out and clicked his fingers. ‘Bring it on.’

‘You know your problem? You’re all talk.’

‘What, and no action? That’s a dangerous gauntlet you’re throwing at me. You’d want to be very careful.’ He held her gaze, wondering what she’d do if he just leaned in and covered that mouth with his. Would she drop the brisk schoolteacher act? Would she kiss him back?

The vibe tugged and tightened.

‘Just an observation.’ She swallowed. ‘And, according to Cassie, careful is my middle name. Now listen.’ Laughing nervously, she kicked off her shoes, shuffled up against the arm of the couch and faced him, fingertips running over the lines of ink. Making a good pretence that the heat in the room hadn’t just hit scorching point. ‘We have to cover the cost of train fares, hotels, my supply-teacher salary for a couple of days...I’ve broken it down into individual child cost, just for ease, so each one has a personal target to aim for...’

All he could see was page after page of graphs and squiggly lines. Her voice rose and fell in her schoolteacher voice as, head dipped, she focused on every darned detail.

But it gave him a chance to watch her, the tight swallow at her throat as she spoke, the tap of her toes. His gaze tiptoed up her legs, to the folds in her skirt, the tight cinch of her waist. He remembered how his hands had fitted around that waist ten years ago. Looked as if that couldn’t happen now—but he liked her filled out a little.

His foolish heart tripped as his eyes travelled up the swell of her breast to her neck, the curve of her lips. And he realised she was frowning.

‘Nathan? I said, are we done?’

Before he could stop himself he reached out and tilted her chin so he could see her eyes again. The heat there lit a fire in his gut and he was hit with a sudden need to know if her lips tasted just the way he remembered. ‘Hell, Sasha, I don’t know. Are we?’

FOUR

So this is where you leave.

Sasha stared up into those honeyed eyes, hazy now with only one thing. One unmistakable thing: desire. A shiver of excitement, and fear, tripped down her spine as heat pooled low in her abdomen. An energy buzzed around them, dancing and jumping with every second he held his fingers against her skin. Suddenly, leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

He wasn’t supposed to want her. And she sure as heck wasn’t supposed to want him back. This was a working relationship. Strictly platonic. Strictly professional.

Strictly temporary.

Edging away from his hands, she fixed a smile she hoped was distinctly non-sensual. Even though she sure as heck felt the most sensual she’d felt in aeons. ‘I think that’s all I needed to tell you. Questions?’

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

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

If she leaned forward...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘I don’t...I can’t...’ Can’t think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wiggle away from the sex god, Sasha.

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

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

Yikes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

‘Girlfriend? I haven’t got—’

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

Insane.

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

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

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

That was Sasha all over.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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