Backstage with Her Ex (6 page)

Who?
Idiots.
Clothes,
she wanted to shout back. Can't you see? And they'd all die if they knew she'd bought hers from a Chesterton High Street charity shop.

‘Scaato and Paul, Frederike,' Nate called back, in a language she didn't understand.

And she definitely didn't feel amazing when he leaned in and said, ‘It's a bit of a maul but we just have to get through this bit.'

She didn't want to just get through. She wanted it to end. Didn't want them to see her, to ask who she was. She didn't want them to know. The last thing she needed was her past dragged through the papers all over again.

Plan A: she would stay long enough to be polite, then leave through the back door. Plan B? She'd come up with something...just as soon as he removed his distracting hand from her back.

He steered her into the sparse concrete-grey space. Once the front door closed behind them her heart rate normalised. Not many guests so far, but enough to keep the ambient noise above a whisper. And no more photographers.

What groups of people there were she recognised from the TV as they air kissed and
mwah-ed
their way round.

‘I feel seriously underdressed,' she whispered.

‘You look fine. You look—'

Nate brushed a curl back from her face and looked down at her, his dark eyes locked with hers. A ripple of heat engulfed her, sucking air out of her lungs, stalling her breath. Everything around her lost sharp focus, then he abruptly dropped his hand, startled by something—some war inside him that played out in the shadows of his cheeks. There was a flicker of doubt in those heated pupils, a question that he seemed to be pondering.

Like her. What was she doing here?

Flustered by his proximity, she dragged her eyes away from his, and refocused on the surroundings, trying to make the best of it. After all, it wasn't every day she was invited to such a schooshed-up event. ‘This place is astonishing. I've never seen anything like it. Although, I guess for you it's nothing unusual. It's part of your job. A way of life.'

He shrugged. ‘It
is
my life. Heart and soul.'

‘You never think of stopping? Settling down? Family even?'

Oh, Lordy, where did that come from
? She hoped her question didn't sound too much more than idle curiosity. Which it wasn't. Seriously. ‘I read that you got engaged once.'

Again with the shrug. She got the feeling he'd brought the shutters down just a little the moment he'd felt her prying, or was it just before that? ‘In this job if you stop, you die. Or your profile does, which is about the same thing. Truth is, I'm just not the settling kind.'

And she'd known it, so why her stomach contracted, just a little, she couldn't say. ‘Do you get proper time off, ever?'

‘No.'

Casting her eye around at all the beautiful people, she asked him, ‘Do you have real friends?'

‘As opposed to what? Imaginary ones? Because I grew out of those years ago. Of course I have friends.' In a swift motion he stepped back and spread his arms out. Laughed. ‘I'm just a regular guy.'

A smile tugged at her mouth, just watching him laugh had a relaxing effect on her. ‘Believe me, Nathan, there's nothing regular about you. Or this...'

She pulled her shoulders back and wandered through the cavernous room towards the bar refusing to be intimidated by the designer suits and sky-high heels, people who wouldn't know where Chesterton was or how desperately needy the area was. Who had never met a special-needs kid let alone fought for their rights.

And they were the poorer for it.

Unless, of course, she was being overly judgemental.

And spending time with Nate had shown her that she could be. She'd been wrong about him, after all. Was that how she'd become? Placing people in boxes, with labels? Was that what being safe meant? That she couldn't see further than her own experiences?

She rolled her neck from side to side, eased the muscles, and tried to relax.

Nate leaned against the bar with languorous ease, his legs crossed at the ankles, sleeves rolled up. A regular guy at a regular work function. Worth about a trillion dollars. ‘You want a drink, Sash? It might help you relax a little.'

‘Just a fruit juice, please.' He had a way of making her want to do things she shouldn't, like attend pretentious parties, lean into his palm on the small of her back. Kiss him.

The thought buzzed round her head like an irritating wasp she couldn't waft away.

Kiss him!

Goodness, no.

So she'd be avoiding alcohol, because that would only lead her further into temptation.

‘Let me see,' he said, with a mischievous glint in his eye. ‘Fruit juice...lychee or durian?'

‘What?'
Oh, merry hell. Beam me up.

‘Kidding.' As he laughed his leg brushed against hers causing a riot of tingling throughout her body. She didn't know if he even realised he was doing it. But by God, she wanted him to stop.

And to never stop.

‘Okay, so no to the exotic fruit. How about...oranges that have been pressed through the thighs of nubile virgins?' He handed her a glass of something thick and bright. ‘That's very on trend at the moment.'

‘No, darling, that was so last year.' She laughed and took the proffered drink. ‘I'm glad you can see how strange this all seems to someone like me.'

‘I suppose I've got used to it all. It is what it is.' He paused, his brow creased as he surveyed the room. ‘I've never really thought about it, until now. I fell headlong into a life of crazy and it's just a part of me now.' He laughed. ‘Some people go to any event to get themselves noticed. I'm more selective these days.'

Sasha shuddered. ‘I don't understand this need to be seen. I'd hate having to face those cameras every day.' But then, perhaps not everyone had a past they wanted to keep out of the spotlight.

She followed him to the stark back walls, where bright orange oddly molded objects, made from what looked like balls of Plasticine, hung on tight steel chains.

People around them talked about light and structure and the profound meaning of such stark urban symbolism. Or something.

Nathan's eyebrows peaked and a little frown line appeared on his forehead. She fought an urge to trace her finger along it, down his cheek, to that mouth.

He whispered into her ear, his breath warming her skin. ‘Do you like the art?'

She shook her head and bit her lip trying not to be thrown by a situation so utterly out of her comfort zone. Or by her body's irritating response to his every touch. ‘Would it be rude if I said no?'

‘It's worth a bomb.' His head tipped back as he focused longer on the piece. A laugh rose from his chest, full and hearty. ‘But it looks like...earwax?'

‘Yup. Thank goodness I'm not the only one to think so.' As she laughed their gazes snagged again. One second. Two. Something snapped between them, electric and intense. Something deep. Something new. For a moment bewilderment flitted across his face.

‘Better not tell Rocco what you think—he's coming over. Don't break his heart.'

A tall scruffy-looking man in an ill-fitting mismatched jacket and trousers sauntered over. He gave Nate a thump on the arm. ‘Long time no see, mate. How ya dooin?'

‘Great. This is my friend, Sasha.'

‘Y'all reet?' The guy was called Rocco, but was from deepest Newcastle? She'd never heard him speak, famous as he was for his Silent Night series—living art that involved a bed, a mouth gag and handcuffs. Whacky didn't cut it.

She watched as Nathan engaged Rocco in quiet intense conversation. Where was the hell-raiser now? Talking knowledgeably about earwax installations and art spaces, drinking champagne and laughing. The more she discovered about him, the more she wanted to know. Which was all kinds of irritating.

He stepped forward as he spoke, and immediately a cold chill snaked up her back.

Ah. Clearly her body was just on physical overdrive. Lust. Hot and sharp, and not lasting.

Physical she could deal with. She had total control over her body; she could wrestle it into submission. It was the psychological she had trouble with. The knowledge that love was fragile, that had been reinforced with every going-nowhere relationship she'd had.

But to make things easy on herself she was going to activate Plan A. Just as soon as she could get a word in.

Edging back from the group, she leaned against the bar and took a moment to watch him in action.

Presently, a statuesque blonde glided by in a curve-hugging dress slashed up the sides and held together by transparent plastic panels. She gave Sasha a quick disappointed once-over, then linked her arm into Nate's and curled into his body like a cat eager for a stroke.

A cat on heat. Her manicured hand strayed to Nate's spectacular backside and squeezed possessively. Another of Nathan's conquests, clearly. Sasha presumed the room was full of them.

But even from here he looked surprised, embarrassed, although no one would ever have known it. His gaze hardened and his jaw twitched enough for Sasha to remember how similarly he'd reacted when he'd tried to cover up for his shortcomings as a youth.

‘Jasmine. This is Sasha.' He steered the lofty blonde over. ‘She's a friend of mine, from school.'

‘Going back to your roots? How very retro of you. Clever boy,' the woman purred. ‘Hi...er...Sara? Didn't have time to change? Never mind, you look adorable just as you are. Really.'

Then before Sasha had a chance to retort Jasmine turned her back, pressed a kiss on Nathan's cheek and whispered something into his ear.

A colossal lump stuck in Sasha's throat. If these were his friends then she was better off not knowing them. If ever she'd thought she might fit into his life, even for a moment, being hounded by the press outside and then here in this cold, unfriendly space proved she'd been delusional.

But she tilted her chin up and gifted them all the best smile she could muster. Dignifying Jasmine's comments with a response would only aggravate an already tense situation—and she didn't want to embarrass Nate in public. But she sure as heck wouldn't be accompanying him anywhere else.

‘Not tonight, Jasmine.' Nate stepped back and fixed an equally plastic smile that did not reach his eyes. The clenched fist at his side was not unnoticed by Sasha.

‘Oh? Busy boy? Tomorrow, then. Whenever you're ready, Nate.'
I'll be waiting.
Jasmine didn't say it, but every pore of her eye-lifted-cheek-filled-lip-plumped face screamed,
Take me to bed
. ‘Call me.' Then she pressed another kiss on his cheek, leaving a dark red stain.

That kiss said so much. It said,
I know you
. I've had you. I want you again.

It said she was everything Sasha wasn't. Rich, beautiful. Fabulous, with her enhanced face and triple-F chest. It said she knew the ways of Nate's world. How to act, how to be. How to snag her man. And that she could do it, if she wanted. Right now. In fact, she already had.

And then it happened. Shocking and unexpected.

A swirl of frank jealousy that started as a hot blaze on Sasha's cheeks, rushed to her gut, curling her hands round the stem of her glass, and hit her...smack in the chest.

She'd been lured by his heat, by the reluctant kindness hidden underneath that dark-edged womanising mask. By his to-die-for ass. And now she was becoming far too interested in him. And that could never happen. Never. Again.

SIX

Crazy really, one
bar, two exes.

One who was all over him like a rash. The other looking as if she'd rather be any place but here.

Nate unwound himself from his ex-fiancée's grip and went over to Miss Nineteen-Fifty-Seven. For all her bravado she hadn't been able to hide the shot of pink to her cheeks with Jasmine's uncharitable line.

Sometimes he hated how shallow everything was. This world that he'd craved, that he loved, that he used just as much as it used him.

But now, because of it, Sasha looked plain miserable sitting at the bar slugging back red wine and nibbling at the deconstructed asparagus crostini. His stomach growling for proper food and his mood seriously dented, Nate yearned for...what? Damned if he knew. But it wasn't this.

‘I'm sorry. Jasmine tends to be a little possessive.'

‘So I see. I thought I might need a crowbar to prise her off you.' Sasha raised her glass and took another sip. ‘She's clearly a very good friend.'

‘An old one.'

Friends? Great question, Sasha. He looked around at the mish-mash of celebrities. He knew every one of them—none of them well. He understood how important it was to be seen at events like this, to raise his profile, to sell records, make deals. But he didn't fit in here. He didn't fit the settled life with Jasmine either. He didn't fit in Chesterton. Where on earth did he fit?

He filled his home, hotel rooms, days and nights with employees, groupies, hangers-on, but he always kept a distance, at least emotionally. That was how he liked it. On the outside looking in—that way he could do as he pleased, when he pleased, and had no one to answer to. No one who invested in him or wanted something back.

Sasha grinned. ‘She's very...tactile. At school we have a no-contact rule.' Grabbing a tissue, she swiped at the place Jasmine had kissed his cheek. ‘That's better—not quite your colour. She'd get a detention with that kind of behaviour.'

‘That's Jasmine, breaking all the rules.' He forced out a laugh. But it was far from honest. It was all mixed up with the sudden realisation that, despite how full his timetable was, his life was pretty damned empty.

And then there was that wild disconnected heartbeat Sasha instilled in him...

The things he wanted to do to her—
with
her—as those navy-blue eyes held his gaze, man, things he'd never craved like that before. To get lost in her until he could find himself.

He already knew that was impossible.

‘Actually, I've had enough of this place. We should go.'

‘So soon? And I was having so much fun.' Relief flooded her face, her voice upbeat, positive energy flowing from her. ‘Where to now? What's next in this riveting instalment of your amazing life?'

‘Home. I'll drop you off.' He couldn't help stepping closer just to inhale her flowery smell again, willing her optimistic vibe to weave through him.

‘Oh. Yes, of course.' She looked taken aback, not affronted exactly, but surprised. ‘Looks like it's sausages for one, then, after all.'

As she leaned forward to pick up her bag he caught a glimpse of lace, creamy flesh, breasts that looked just about perfect. Before he had the chance to tear his gaze away her head dipped back up, and she caught him looking, heat hitting her pupils.

Home sounded like a very good idea. Hers. Now. He failed to swallow the question forming on his tongue. ‘How about sausages for two? Catch up on old times?'
Make some new ones too
?

As she wiped her hands on the napkin her eyes grew wide. ‘You want to come back to my place? For sausages? That's...novel. No one's ever asked me to do that before.'

‘No? Then, Sasha, hold onto your hat. I may even cook.' At the thought of being alone with her his groin tightened.

‘Really? Don't you have people to do that for you?' Her lips parted just enough, the quick dart of her tongue to moisten lipstick-free lips. Wet. Hot...

‘There are some things I have people for. And some things I really much prefer to do myself.'

Where was he going with this? The last few days had been like an ancient dance, pulling together, parting, touching and stepping away. How easy it would be to crank up the tempo and take it to its logical conclusion.

Easy and pretty stupid to have even one kiss with the woman who had pushed him to his limits years ago.

But his mouth and brain had total disconnect. ‘Your place would be much more private.'

‘I don't want you getting the wrong idea. Sausages and mashed potatoes—that's all that's on offer. Seriously. Nothing more. So don't even think it.' She swung down from the bar stool and fiddled with her dress, flashed a wry smile. When she spoke again her voice was hoarse and warm. ‘You'll have to leave Tweedle Dum and your ego at the door. There's just not enough room. It's the size of a shoebox.'

‘Excellent, cosy. Even better. Let's go.' The feel of her soft hand as it fitted into his sent shivers through him. ‘Brace yourself for the cameras again. This isn't going to be pretty. Stick with me.'

* * *

Opening the door to a cacophony of camera shutters, Nate dipped his head and focused on the pavement ahead, told her to do the same. Business as usual for him, but she looked scared to death.

A wave of irritation rippled through him as, for a moment, he wished he could shield her from the ugly side of fame.

‘Nate!' one of the photographers yelled over as if he were his friend. ‘Where are you going to now? Trudy's, Opal? Who's your friend?'

‘Mind your own business.' Shoving past them down the street, he tried to decide which direction to follow. ‘There's no car.' In his hurry to leave he'd completely overlooked that.

She rolled her eyes. ‘Tube? Taxi? Bus? Like normal people. Oh, sorry, I forgot, you're not normal.'

‘Tube? Do you have any idea...?' No, she didn't. ‘We'll walk until we see a black cab. The trick is to keep moving.' The photographers followed, clicking and whirring, shouting and clamouring. ‘Welcome to the greatest show on earth. My private life.'

‘It's like being in a zoo.' She grimaced as she tripped over a guy who had his lens in her face. Her eyes flickered with fear as she tried to hide her face. ‘Ouch, sorry.'

‘Don't apologise to them.' He shouldn't have cajoled her into coming here, knowing how much she liked to play safe. His heart twisting at what he was prepared to put her through for his own needs, Nate came to a halt, put his hand on the man's chest. ‘Leave us alone, mate. It's a private night out.'

‘Nate, it's fine.' Biting down on her lip, she looked even more alarmed at his reaction than the gross intrusion of privacy. ‘Please, leave it. It's not worth it.'

Maybe they weren't, but she was. The camera jutted into her face. His irritation turned hot.

‘I mean it,
mate.
' Nate's hands curled instinctively as he wished he hadn't made that vow ten years ago: that he would never hit another human being again. But, God, the feel of his knuckle against that man's jaw would be sweet right now.

His shoulders ratcheted back as he leaned towards them all, tried to rein in his anger. ‘I said leave us alone or I'll slap you with a lawsuit so quick you won't have time to put your lens cap on. Get outta here.'

As one the group stopped moving. They didn't retreat, but they didn't take another step forward either. And the clicking and whirring stopped.

‘Nathan.' Sasha's face had leeched of colour and her hand shook against his arm. ‘Please.'

He drew her a few more feet away from the photographers and lowered his voice. ‘Sasha, listen to me, they'll follow us for ever. Don't you understand?'

No? Hell if he did either.

This need to protect her—where had it come from? And why so intense? It made no sense. Ten years ago, maybe, but not now. Why did she bring out that primal instinct in him when he thought he was through with it?

‘No, I don't understand, Nathan. Not at all.' Her gaze was hard as it clashed with his. ‘Next time you fancy a fight, don't invite me.'

‘What is this?'

She scowled. ‘You know I hate this...violence. And yet, here you are showing off or something with your fists. It...it scares me.'

‘Hell.' The truth hit him square in the gut. He was acting no better than his own useless father, lashing out and angry. Again. ‘I'm sorry. You know I'd never do anything to hurt you.'

‘Yeah—?' Turning away she suddenly careered forward into the road, her foot buckling under her. He grabbed out, caught her as she plunged towards the concrete. Next thing he knew he was holding her, his chest frozen with fear of what might have happened. Because of his stupid feral overreaction. ‘Are you okay?'

‘I stumbled, that's all.' She shook out of his arms. ‘For goodness' sake, I can manage. I'm not some stupid hapless woman.'

‘No. I can see that.' He turned her by the shoulder to face him. ‘But I'm just not prepared to share you with them.'

‘So you act like an animal instead? All hot-headed, shoot first? Have you not learnt a thing?'

‘Of course I have. I've been living with the choices I made for the last decade.'

But this was different, he was different. He could contain the rage now. He just couldn't contain the passion that fed it. Didn't want to. He wanted to feel things, didn't want to become the empty carcass that the shrink's uppers and downers had made him following Marshall's death. ‘I'm not allowed to get angry? To feel things? Is that right?'

‘Of course you can feel things. But making a fuss will clearly make it worse.' Under his fingers tension rippled through her body, but heat hit her eyes. ‘You can't get so...passionate about things like this. You have to control yourself.'

As she did. Sasha had always tried to control every nuance of emotion to the point it had almost driven him crazy. ‘I understand I have to tolerate it. There are times I happily walk that line—I even enjoy it. Don't get me wrong, I love the fame, the money, the whole thing. But not today... And not with you.'

‘Oh.' Blinking once. Twice. Three times, she opened her mouth to say more, then obviously decided not to. The hand she held to his chest trembled. But bingo, the heat was returning to those eyes. ‘Then why didn't you just say so?'

‘You were too busy tearing a strip off me. And I was too busy being a jerk.'

Mouth pursed, she shook her head and tutted. ‘Finally he says something sensible.'

‘Finally she shuts up long enough to let him. Can you walk?'

‘I think so.' She nodded as he wrapped an arm round her waist.

‘Then let's get out of here.'

Streetlights flickered into life as the sky darkened, mirroring his mood. As they walked thunderous black clouds blocked the last dying rays of the sun. Thick drops began to fall, slowly at first in a kind of staccato waltz, getting faster and thicker. Good old London in the spring.

Zigzagging through the dark west London streets they finally lost the photographers and lost themselves in the process.

She pushed her palms onto his chest. ‘Great one. My shoes are ruined. My foot hurts...This has got to be the best—'

‘Let's just take a minute to get our bearings.' He dragged her out of the rain into a shop doorway; bedraggled hair dripped onto her shoulders. Her dress stuck to her, delineating her shape, the tight swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist. Black streaks ran down both cheeks. And yes, normally he'd walk past a woman like her—but just seeing her all fired up made his heart race erratically and his body harden.

‘Fine. Great. I'm already soaked to the skin, take as long as you—'

But before she could say another word he grabbed her wrist, gently now, pinned her against the shop door. ‘God, you're beautiful.'

‘And you're an idiot.'

‘Doing this, here, probably. But I can't help it.'

His arms curled round her waist, brought her closer. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her lips parted just enough for him to feel her warm breath on his face. Heat engulfed him, a fierce need that meshed with the anger at those stupid trolls and the ache to kiss her.

No—his anger dissipated as quickly as it had come. And the gaping hole that was left was filled with her.

The heavy bass beat from the club opposite blurred out of focus; his peripheral vision turned to fuzz. All he could see were huge blue eyes staring up at him, telling him what he needed to know. She felt it too, this wild crazy buzz. And she had no idea what to do with it either.

Careless and foolish to want her here in such a public place, but all he could think of was tasting those lips, feeling her righteous anger and uncertainty and downright sweetness in his arms. And sometimes, just sometimes he regretted courting the publicity that had made him such a success. Sometimes he wished he could live a normal life where no one cared who he kissed.

His thumb tracked to her lip but she didn't move, didn't blink, just kept on staring up at him with eyes that swirled with the same messed-up emotions as he had in his gut.

‘Sasha.' He tilted his head towards her, saw the flicker of doubt, but he'd already seen the heat and knew she was fighting it too. ‘God, I want you and I can't stop.'

‘We have to stop.'

‘Really? Do we? No one can see us—it's just you and me.'

She nodded. ‘But, what next?'

He rested his forehead against hers. ‘I don't know. We'll deal with it.' Somehow.

But when her tongue darted out and licked her bottom lip he was gone. Lost. Flailing around in the essence of her, looking for something to grasp onto. But the only thing that could anchor him was her.

Slanting his mouth over hers, he dipped his head and pressed his lips against the corner of her mouth. He felt her stuttered breath, the jolt of electricity that simultaneously rocked their bodies. And drank in the taste of oranges and stark clear honesty.