Backstage with Her Ex (5 page)

Dragging his eyes from her backside, he watched the choir fine-tune the dance moves. One kid in particular caught his eye. So similar to Marshall it made his heart constrict into a tight fist. With his eager wide eyes, too big tongue and dazzling smile he was, as far as Nate was concerned, the star of the show. Just as Marshall had been.

And suddenly the urge to escape across the hardwood floor threatened to overwhelm him. It was too much to relive all at once. Chesterton High. Marshall. Sasha. Too many dark memories he'd worked hard at pushing to the farthest corner of his mind in a blur of hard alcohol and commitment-free sex. Good sex, too. Fast, hot, hard. Sex that had taught him how to be a man, how to please a woman.

Not the kind of sex Sasha would want, all fluff and fairy tales and diarised on her planner. Every Wednesday and Saturday, missionary position only.

He dumped her bag on a chair and turned to leave, but at that moment the choir stopped singing and he heard her voice. ‘Guys, I have a visitor I need to talk to. Go through your steps again, from the top. George, you count them in. I won't be long.'

Good, neither would he. ‘Security here sucks. I walked straight in and no one batted an eyelid.'

‘Nate, it's a school. Public property, really. People come and go all day. Besides, it's four o'clock and almost everyone's gone home. You hardly look like a potential threat. Hmm...much.' She looked at the baseball cap pulled down over his face and the dark sunglasses disguising his features. Then her gaze stole a quick glance down his black leather jacket and dark jeans.

Her eyes fired with something akin to want. After ten years in this job he knew when a woman wanted him. After two years of loving her he knew when Sasha wanted him too.

Which was all kinds of a turn-on.

‘You're risking a mobbing, though. I don't think the kids have worked out they're sharing the same air as Nate Munro, but once they do you'll be swamped.'

‘I can handle it.' He nodded to the hall door where Dario stood watch. ‘And I have back-up.'

‘Oh, Tweedle Dum. How nice.' She waved her fingers over to his manager-cum-minder, who, true to form, did not move a muscle. ‘Are you two joined at the hip? That must make your love life very interesting.'

‘Aww, he's very discreet. And he's not the jealous type.'

Her eyebrows peaked. ‘Really? Could have fooled me.'

‘Well, maybe just a little bit, but he has my best interests at heart.'

‘He has a heart? Funny.' Stacking chairs along the side wall, she shrugged. ‘And clearly I'm not on his list of Nate interests.'

‘He thinks this whole project is too distracting.' That was the polite way of describing Dario's reaction. At her frown he smiled and went to help dismantle the rest of the rows of plastic seats. He just couldn't help but wind her up, watch the pink tinge her cheeks. ‘And, for the record, my sex life can be very interesting. As interesting as you like, Sasha.'

‘Whoa. Down boy. Er...girlfriend?'

‘Will you ever listen? There is no girlfriend.' And that was all she needed to know. Private time needed to remain so. There was sex, which he did, and there was dating, which he didn't. ‘Is your opinion so low of me that you think I'd do something as crass as run with two women at the same time?'

‘Wasn't there a leery story once about you and blonde triplets? Really, and I always thought three was a crowd.'

He smiled at the memory. That had been fun, even though the journalist had exaggerated the details beyond any semblance of truth. But recently he'd lost his appetite for hard and fast with adoring strangers.

‘Don't believe everything you read. I might be bad but I do have some morals. Like helping hapless choir teachers when I could be doing something infinitely more relaxing. Here, I brought this.'

He offered her the bag containing way too much paper. No matter how much he'd wanted to scroll through it to find clues about her life he'd managed to keep his eyes away. Her business was her business.

And
her
private life? Yep, damn right he wanted to know more about that. Far more than was good for him.

As she took the bag her line of vision tracked back to the kids on stage. She shifted position, inadvertently stepping a little closer, flowers and vanilla and something...something that made his heart beat a little faster enveloping him. ‘What do you think?'

‘I think...' She really did not need to know what thoughts were running round his head. ‘I'll see you at the concert.' Dario was right: she was distracting. Flirting was all well and good, but with his body reacting so strongly to her the best thing he could do was get out. Fast.

‘Oh. Don't you like the choir? I realise we could do with some help.'

Yes, they could. But it was not going to come from him. ‘Well, yes, but I have to go.'

‘Could you at least tell me your first impressions? Some pointers?' Her shoulders twitched backwards and the beginning of a pout hovered over her lips.

He huffed out a breath. Seemed she wasn't going to let him off lightly. She held him there with her teacher stare that simultaneously scared the pants off him and turned him on.

‘Okay. I like the mash-up, it's a clever mix. But you need to focus more on the harmony in the second verse of “Sunshine Smile”, it gets lost, and that whole riff needs simplifying...' He paused to watch her bemused reaction.

‘Oh...really? Are you sure?'

‘You did ask. If it doesn't suit, then don't change a thing. But you'll be sorry you didn't.' He fought the urge to bury his face in that vibrant hair and tried to refocus on the choir. Not easy. ‘While you're at it you should drop the tenors just for that verse, see if it sounds less...busy. And the alto needs to be stronger in “Ways of a Saint”...have you thought about a more abrupt ending instead of the way it finishes on the original?'

‘Whoa...slow down.' She held her palms up, scrabbled round for a pen and paper and started jotting down bullet points. ‘Isn't that a bit radical?'

‘No. You've got to give them something that surprises them. Trust me. This is my job, I live and breathe this kind of stuff.' He hadn't even started, but pointing out all their failings would take time he didn't have. And he didn't much like the idea of hanging around this hall, with all its ghosts and memories, for the next millennia.

‘Do you want to walk the kids through your ideas? I'm sure it'd be better coming from you.'

‘What? Me? Teach? Them? No, thanks. Like I said, I've got to go.' Always the outsider, he'd never felt as if he'd belonged in this place so there were no warm fuzzies or sentimental reasons keeping him here. None at all. Nothing to compel him to help any more than he already had.

‘What? Mr Fabulous and oh-so wild, Mr Off His Head Crazy...scared of a bunch of mixed-ability kids?' She laughed. ‘That's hysterical.'

He couldn't see a funny side. ‘I'm just busy. Not scared.'

‘Prove it, hot-shot music man. Prove you're not scared.' The paper fluttered to the floor as she stared him down, her eyes a mix of serious intent and a playful tease that tugged at long-buried heartstrings.

Prove it.
Her mouth formed the words but no sound accompanied them. For a moment he thought she might stick out her tongue as well.

‘Don't be immature.'

Then her voice came, soft and appealing. ‘Imagine how fantastic it would have been if you'd had a mentor all those years ago. If someone had helped you, even for a few minutes. It might have made such a difference. What have you got to lose?'

She was right. Guidance was scant back then. No one was interested in a loud-mouthed kid with an over-inflated sense of musical skill and entitlement. But...if someone had helped...

He shook his head, shocked he was even considering this...but even if he didn't make a difference to their performance, getting involved could surely make some amends to the damage he'd wreaked when he was young and stupid. When he'd thought he knew what was best, and that the only way to solve problems involved a whole lot of aggression riding on a surge of testosterone.

These kids needed help.

Looking at their hopeful faces, he suddenly didn't want to be the one to poop on their parade. And if that meant he spent more time with Sasha, then so be it. He could keep a lid on his libido.

‘Okay. I can spare a few minutes. Bring that boy...' he pointed to the Marshall lookalike, saw the big open grin and the thick palms, the intense need to please ‘...and...'

And just like that his past came crowding back in on him along with a host of emotions he didn't want. His voice caught as a dull ache gripped his chest. ‘Yes...more to the front, he's got great rhythm and clearly loves it. You need enthusiasm like that to carry such a happy song.'

Sasha glanced at the boy and then back at Nate. And clearly he hadn't been hiding his feelings too well, because tears filled her eyes and she pressed a palm to her chest. ‘Oh, Nate. I'm so sorry.'

That was all he needed, her pity.

Back off.
Because, in truth, Sasha was the only person in the world who'd understand the pain of losing Marshall. That was a part of his life he never shared and he wasn't revisiting any of it again in a hurry. Not when she was within reach-out-and-hold distance.

‘
Yeah, me too.
'
Forcing his voice through the Rock of Gibraltar that had lodged in his throat, he focused back on the kids. The ones that mattered now, the ones he could help. ‘Right, let's get this act whipped into shape, shall we?'

FIVE

‘Miss Sweet, is
that...is that Nate Munro?'

Readjusting back to the choir took monumental effort. Sasha had been too busy watching the colour in Nate's cheeks bleed away at the memory of Marshall. And she realised at that moment how difficult it must have been for him to come back here. How much she was in his debt that he'd even stepped foot in this hall.

Nate had protected his brother, had fought for him to attend mainstream school at a time when Down's syndrome kids were often regarded as unteachable. And he'd taught them all to embrace differences. So losing his beloved Marshall so young must have been devastating.

She of all people knew how hard it was to lose someone you poured your love into. How difficult to restart your life. How much you clung to a safety raft, the familiar, the known. Because the unknown was too terrible to contemplate. And how you avoided reaching for those painful memories at all cost.

And yet here he was. Making her challenge her assumptions of the kind of man he was.

But now the barriers were up again.

She caught his eye, unsure of how to answer George's question. Of course the kids would click they were in the company of someone important. Just one look at him and his star quality shone through. The dark edgy clothing, his diffident stance that was accentuated with every confident footstep. The whisky-deep voice.

Whispering across the hall, she tried to coax him forward. ‘Well? What do you want me to say? I wouldn't try lying—they're not daft.'

‘Busted.' Removing his baseball cap, glasses and hoodie, he walked to the edge of the stage and looked up into their wide-eyed faces, smiled at the collective sharp intake of breath. ‘Hi. Yes, pleased to meet you all. I'm Nate.'

Her own intake of breath was as instinctive as the choir's. But for a whole different reason. She hoped. Sure, they were blown away by his elevated celebrity status, the face that peered out from magazine racks on the high street. But she just couldn't get used to—or tire of—the way his body moved so fluidly, the way his jeans hugged his toned thighs and appeared not to want to let go.

The taut breadth of his chest, black collared shirt open enough—no, never enough—for her to glimpse the gift of his body underneath. That Californian sunshine sure had kissed his body. And, for a split second, Sasha wondered just how far down that tan went.

‘Ahem...it's
Mr
Munro to you lot.' She grinned, finding her breath again and trying to talk over the squeals of excitement. ‘We have manners, remember, No Limits choir. Mr Munro has agreed to help us with our fundraising concert, but we have to keep his visit here quiet. He's a busy man and he doesn't need the hassle of a zillion screeching fans every time he comes here—we can save that for concert night. And we have to show him we can be professional too, and listen. And do what we are told. Give me two more minutes while I chat to our guest.'

‘Scary teacher voice,' Nathan muttered under his breath and leaned closer, the fresh heat in his eyes melting the sadness she'd seen moments before. And sending a flush to her cheeks, direct hit.

‘You haven't seen anything yet,' she whispered back to him out of the corner of her mouth. ‘They don't call me Miss Sweet and Sour for nothing.'

‘Sweet and Sour? Ouch.' One eyebrow raised as he met her wry smile with one of his own. ‘That sucks.'

‘It's original, I guess, and they obviously think enough of me to make up a nickname. I try not to be too hard on them. It's a tough area and life's difficult enough as it is. I'm more about building them up than shooting them down.'

‘I wish we'd had more teachers like you at school. Ones that gave a damn.' The sentence was loaded with memories, but he smiled back at her, the energy in the air smoothing into something less fraught.

She wondered whether she'd imagined the intense heat in his eyes. But as she risked another glance there was still a warm spark there, simmering, that set her pulse jittering. ‘Some days I could cheerfully scream. They have a habit of knowing which buttons to push.'

‘But you obviously love it regardless, Miss Sweet and Sour.'

‘I get a kick out of helping people, realising potential. It's all I ever wanted to do.' Harnessing her energy into something positive instead of dwelling on the negatives of her life.

‘I remember. You wanted to be a music teacher just like Mr Taylor. You had a crush on him.'

‘I did not.' She laughed, remembering the very bohemian long-haired music teacher who'd opened up a new world to her. Sure, Mr Taylor had inspired her, but the only person she'd had a crush on in her school years was Nathan Munro.

‘You followed him around for the whole of fourth form like a lost puppy.' He leaned close to her ear. ‘That's when I started to get jealous.'

If she edged just a little closer they'd be touching. Hip to hip.

Trouble was, she didn't want simple touching, not where he was concerned. She wanted what every hot-blooded woman would want faced with him in close proximity. And that frightened her.

To stop making a fool of herself in front of the whole choir and Mr Celebrity here she shook free and busied herself with the long-lost contents of her bag.

‘You weren't even going out with me then.'

‘No, but you were very definitely on my radar.'

And he'd been on hers. Out of her league, the cool loner who never quite seemed to belong to one gang or other and had dangerous written all over him. Some things hadn't changed. He still had the remarkable ability to set her on edge. And, worse, after ten years of putting him well behind her, she was reacting like a giddy teenager all over again.

She kept her voice steady and attempted to regain some composure. ‘Okay, let's get this thing going. And you, Mr Obnoxious, stand right over there. Away.'
From me
. She ushered him to the back of the hall. ‘It's better acoustics.'

* * *

An hour and a stratospheric improvement in the choir later Dario tapped Nate on the shoulder. ‘Time to go to your next appointment, Nate.'

‘Oh, yeah? What is it this time?' Thank God he had someone with their eye on the ball, because right now he was way too engrossed to think of what next.

‘De Facto Art Space on Portobello.'

‘Okay. Five minutes.' Nate sighed inwardly. And he was having such a good time, a surprisingly good time.

Not least the fact the choir had listened and performed far better than he could have imagined, but working with Sasha had proved easy and fun. She was a natural with the kids and brought out the best in them. Her refreshing honesty and openness made him believe there were some genuine people left in the world. Maybe not in his world. But out here, in reality, away from his chaos.

‘I'll be outside waiting. Is she coming too?' Dario nodded towards Sasha as she packed her bag and waved the last stragglers off home.

Another insane idea.

She grimaced at them both, eyes wide. ‘
She
? Who? Me?' She touched her chest. ‘Thank you for such a kind and genuine invitation, but I wouldn't want to cramp the Tweedle twins' style. Besides I have an assembly to prepare...then, paint to watch dry.'

But when her lips curved into such a sweet smile and her eyes shone with teasing Nate didn't want this afternoon to end so quickly. He only had a few hours with her all up—maybe one more rehearsal, then the actual show. Then he'd be out of her life, out of this jaunt into a past he'd stuffed at the back of his mind. A few more hours wouldn't hurt. No big deal. His schedule meant he'd be gone soon enough.

And then what?

More sleepless nights wondering, what if? His imagination running wild over what she wore under those demure dresses, how her bare skin would feel against his, how her cute mouth would taste.

Just once.

He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. What was he doing? Inviting her to ruin his life again? He knew what being with her cost. How much she'd trampled over everything they'd had. Thrown their relationship back in his face. And yet...he couldn't seem to help himself.

It was a shock, that was all. Meeting her again after so long, wanting to learn more about her, to see how much she'd changed. Finding answers to those half-asked questions that had flitted through his brain every now and then. People reconnected all the time these days—social media was awash with reunited friends.

Normal. Natural. Nothing to get hung up about.

‘So you'd really rather stay home than come to a party of celebrities drinking carb-free wine and eating organic macro-vegan canapés? I just don't understand you, sweet thing.'

‘Wow.' She laughed. ‘You A-listers certainly know how to have a good time. Shame I'm so busy.' She curled a lock of hair round her finger and looked up at him through her fringe. ‘Did I mention I was going to cook old-fashioned bangers and mash, with lashings of butter, and onion gravy?'

‘Temptress.' He stepped forward and his arm brushed against hers. Like a kid on a first date at the movies, breathless and overflowing with testosterone, he felt the shock and static as they touched. And was it his imagination or did she jump too?

‘No, not at all.' She shrugged away and flashed a nonchalant grin. ‘It's been a long day. I'm just hungry.'

‘Me too. Starving.' Just not for food.

But duty pulled at him. ‘The artist's a good friend of mine. I promised I'd go. If the trendy food doesn't tempt you, maybe the art will? It's Rocco Baldini.'

‘Rocco?' Her eyes grew large. ‘Really? Ohmygod, you know him? Some of his work is...well, amazing.'

Excellent. He'd got her on the hook. Now he just had to reel her in. ‘I know. I have one of his installations at my house in Malibu. I'll introduce you if you like.'

‘Ooh, gosh, no. I wouldn't know what to say.' Strapping her bag over her shoulder, she walked to the door and flicked off the hall lights. The corridor was empty and shadowed. ‘Since when were you into art?'

‘There's so much about me you don't know.'

‘Oh? I thought since you were such a big media star we all knew everything about you. You certainly live your life out on the page, on the stage...'

‘Don't be so naive. I collect art and good wine...race motorbikes, own a gym... You want a copy of my resumé?' He took her arm and walked her through the school, fighting the urge to push her up against the lockers as he used to way back when. ‘How about you spend a few more hours with me finding out what I'm really like? Put some of your assumptions to the test? No strings.'

‘I can't. I told you—'

‘Can't? Or won't? Or...scared? Scared that you might be wrong about me?' He drew to a halt outside room B4. Music class. Where he'd first found the courage to ask her out on a date.

This was a stupid place to come and bring back a host of memories. He had to get out. His hand was on her arm and he searched her eyes for some kind of agreement. Something that said he wasn't the only crazy one here.

But all he found was amusement, shock and a frown that said he was on dangerous ground. ‘No. I'm not scared.'

‘So...prove it.' He made a pretty poor attempt at her teacher scowl.

She shook her head and laughed. ‘Oh, God. How did I not see that coming?'

‘Two can play at that game, Miss Sweet and Sour. Besides, one good turn deserves another, right? I need a little help here. I hate going to this kind of place alone, where I'll have to waffle on about texture and depth and stuff.'

‘Is that because you wouldn't know what it was? Depth?'

‘Hey, I can do deep.'

‘Sure. Nothing says deep like a quickie with two hot blondes with big bazookas, followed by a date with a whole different woman.'

‘I didn't do that.'

‘You were going to.'

‘Can't blame a guy for trying.' Seriously, she had no idea. ‘That was just guy talk. I didn't do it. And I didn't have a date—it was just an excuse to get Dario off my back. Come on. You owe me. Big time.'

For the first time that afternoon her face grew serious, her eyes dark and hollow. She thought for a second, seemed to reconcile his words. ‘I guess I do. Okay, you're right. You've been great with the kids and you're doing the concert—'

‘So you'll come, save me from a night of pretentious boredom?'

‘Just to help you out. Then the debt's repaid?' She looked down at her soft green dress and wedge sandals. ‘I'll need to go home and change.'

‘No, don't. I like the way you look, this whole vintage gig.'

‘This whole
cheap
gig. Ferret around in junk shops often enough and you can find a real bargain. I like it though. It reminds me of an era when people were honest and faithful and...predictable. When life was safe.'

‘Ah, yes.' He loved to watch her face as he teased her, see the dawning realisation. ‘The nineteen fifties, time of the Cold War, the Iron Curtain, the threat of nuclear bombs...yes, very safe.'

‘Okay.' Her whole face lit up as she smiled. ‘So maybe I just like the clothes. They're pretty and feminine.'

‘And as luck would have it, I happen to have a thing for big skirts.' Although it was more that he wanted to know what was going on under hers.

She rolled her eyes. ‘But I don't think it'll work for tonight.'

‘It works for me. It makes you stand out from the crowd, your own style. Unique.' Definitely unique. And if he gave her an out to go home she might change her mind again. He wasn't prepared to take that risk. ‘You look amazing. Seriously, amazing. You'll give them all a run for their money.'

* * *

But Sasha didn't feel amazing. Not when she stepped out of the car to the flash of a thousand light bulbs. Not when all she could hear was the screech of Nate's name to look right, left,
who's the date? Who are you wearing?