For One Night Only (2 page)

Chapter 2

‘Now that was interesting,’ Ruben said as Byron came back from seeing the hot looking doctor to the door. The staid suit she wore did her no justice, but couldn’t hide her long, lean body. He smiled again as he recalled how flustered the tall brunette had gotten. He could tell that she’d been surprised at her own reaction to him although she was classy enough to disguise it well. Only the spark in her pretty green eyes had given her away.

The shrill ring of his cell phone broke through his reverie. Seeing it was Karen, the angel who ran his charity, he greeted her warmly but briefly, knowing that if she rang it had to be something important. He was probably needed in the office. After initially committing to a major part of the workload himself, he’d been forced to take a back seat eventually but had maintained overall control of the charity’s management. The problem was that meant there were certain jobs only he could do and at times like this, he regretted the decision.

It had all started years ago with an offer to become a UN Goodwill Ambassador. He had to admit his initial motivation had been a selfish one. It never hurt your image to show the public your ‘caring’ side. He’d guessed also that it could be cathartic and help him to sort out some of the stuff he was still carrying around from his childhood. But, once he’d begun to educate himself on the issues facing children in the
Third World, the horror he’d found chased any thoughts of self-gratification out of his head. He would never forget what he’d seen and heard in those first few days—children being trafficked, sold into slavery, prostituted, abused, and orphaned by AIDS. It had changed him and his view of the world forever. He’d known he had to do something.

So, he’d started his own charity. Initially they had focused on raising funds and awareness about the myriad problems these kids faced. Recently though, they concentrated solely on the problems of the lack of medicines, health care providers and simple AIDS education in the world’s poorest regions. It was a thankless task and, so far, hadn’t affected the statistics much, but he wouldn’t give up on it. For years now, a portion of the profits from his record sales had gone directly towards funding.

Ruben ended the call as Byron brought him a sandwich. He was in his late forties, and had been his personal manager as well as his best friend for the last fifteen years. Byron looked tired these days, Ruben thought, and had been neglecting his personal life recently. ‘When did you last speak to John?’

‘Earlier today. He was in
the
worst mood so it wasn’t a long call.’ Ruben recognized the blasé tone Byron always used when he was pretending he wasn’t bothered about something. The tour had been hard on both of them. The difference for Ruben was that he didn’t have a personal relationship that was suffering as a result. Byron missed John badly, but he refused to have him join them, claiming that he wouldn’t be able to mother two people at the same time.

The
US leg of the tour was almost over. Ruben didn’t even want to think about
Europe, never mind the
Middle East. They were definitely going to need some time off before then. The charity wanted a little of his undivided attention and Byron really should go home for a few days.

Clicking on his laptop, he sighed as he opened his email account to find endless pages of messages waiting for him.
Damn, not again
. His inbox had been flooded since the last time he had logged on a couple of days earlier. He’d pay whatever it took to find out who had given his private email address out to a fan. Forced to change it a few times in the past, he’d found the process of notifying everyone who needed to contact him via email a total pain. Besides, someone always seemed to get the new one from somewhere. Eventually, he’d decided to keep the one he had, simply deleting any mail from people he didn’t know, without reading it.

Ruben laughed, remembering some of the sleazier messages he’d stupidly read in the past. He considered himself a worldly man, but had never even heard of half of the things the emails talked about doing to him. Some of them were very innocent and sweet, but others had been pretty nasty, threatening to harm him and any woman whose name had been linked to his—usually falsely—in the press.

Unable to delete every email cluttering his inbox in case some were important, he resolved to at least scan them all before he left for the venue, pausing only to beg Byron for another cup of coffee.

* * * *

The Fan had waited with the others for hours in the stifling heat but there had been no sign of him at all. They had checked all the exits for a glimpse of somebody they knew. His manager Byron would usually be running in and out, giving away Ruben’s location without intending to.

The girl next to her suggested they join the rapidly forming line of people waiting to enter the arena. As usual, most of the hardcore fans had tickets for the front rows, but it never hurt to get your seat early—it left more time for scouting out the venue, looking for ways to get backstage.

Following the crowd reluctantly, she remembered with a flash of anger that she had forgotten to send the emails she had spent all night composing. She wrote to him every day and wondered if he ever read them. It would be a terrible waste of her time and effort if he hadn’t at least seen some.

Mind you, it wasn’t easy staying in touch with him. After an initial fraught time for her when he kept changing his email address, she had managed to write to him often, sometimes up to ten times a day. More if she was feeling particularly creative. Changing her own address every few days had become a necessity once she had realized her regular account was being blocked.

Her poetry told him everything she could not. Maybe one day soon, she would get to read him a few poems.
Maybe during a long, lazy morning in bed or a romantic dinner?

Pulling herself up short, she remembered she was in company and couldn’t afford to let her feelings about Ruben surface. Thoughts of the two of them together always elicited an almost painful physical reaction in her—a combination of unbearable sadness and instant arousal, tinged with anger. Many times, when the feelings were too intense, they had sent her blindly out into the night, desperate for release. Men were easy to find and always happy to oblige an attractive woman who just wanted to fuck.
The arrogant fools thought they had struck lucky, unaware that she had less respect or use for them than she did her vibrator.

The woman beside her was irritating. The constant chatter intruded on her thoughts; spoiling the anticipation she could feel building within. The day would soon come when they would all realize how very little they had in common with her. It served her purposes to allow them to think she was as pathetic and hopeless as they.
Let them believe that all she lived for was a smile or a kiss
. Some of them dared to dream of more, but she knew they would never get near him, not in that way. Many of his fans were middle-aged housewives holding on to their youth through fantasies…fantasies they pursued relentlessly. The irony of it all made her laugh. They didn’t know the real Ruben, wouldn’t want him in fact.
The Holy Grail they sought didn’t exist.

They didn’t know him, as she did, as a real flesh and blood man, not the plastic fantasy the public saw. They wanted a lover who would say all the right things and never hurt them or shatter their illusions. They craved a romantic hero to save them from the soul-destroying monotony of their day-to-day lives. She pitied them. They had no idea how futile their dreams were.

Normally, she wouldn’t have needed their help. Following him was easy; he was a creature of regular habit, often staying in hotels he had visited previously. She had only lost him a couple of times since ‘going on tour with him’ six months ago. That was what she called it, going on tour. Some of the other fans, the ones that didn’t have the spiritual connection to him that she did, called her a stalker. It didn’t bother her. They were jealous of the fact she could afford to do what they wished they could.

The line moved forward again, taking her into the arena, bringing him closer. Very soon, she would be with him again. The circumstances were not ideal and certainly not what she had been working toward for so long, but they would have to do for now.

Smiling at the tightening in her groin, she squeezed her thighs together discreetly, holding the feeling deep within. Excitement trickled through her. What if tonight was the night? The night when she reconnected with her soul mate?

Chapter 3

Bethany
felt self conscious as she walked through the stage door alone later that evening. She’d had no idea how to dress. Bon Jovi’s huge stadium gigs in the early nineties were the last concerts she had attended but big hair and a leather mini skirt had been her choice of outfit back then! Feeling strangely excited, she waited for the show to start.

Her niece hadn’t come after all. Her mother Donna had already bought tickets for another show. They were on the way to the airport at that very moment, flying out in time for the gig in LA the following day.

Bethany
laughed when she recalled the new respect in her niece’s voice once she learned where her ‘old maid’ aunt had been that afternoon. Tyla had been very excited and full of endless questions.
Bethany did not go into
ALL
the details—the kid was only fifteen after all. She laughed again, realizing she had acted like a horny teenager herself that afternoon. It had been a long time since a handsome face and hot body had elicited that kind of response from her.

Finding out she would be alone that evening,
Bethany had almost changed her mind about going. After a couple of hours of indecision she’d realized it would seem rude not to accept the invitation—and there was a huge part of her that was curious to find out how he looked up on stage, larger than life. She wanted to see if that animal magnetism came through in his performance too.

He had been as good as his word. She collected both tickets, deciding there was no need to explain that she did not need the other one, and found that her seats were in the front row. Most of the other people attending had chosen to wear jeans and t-shirts and she was happy she had settled for the same.

Two hours later, she was exhausted. Nothing had prepared her for the exhilaration of watching him perform. Her hair hung in damp ringlets around her face, wet from dancing almost non-stop. It had been impossible to resist the urge to move to the rhythm. As for Ruben—he had been on fire.

Bethany
was glad she had never seen his show before she had been called to his suite that afternoon. A knot formed in her stomach as remembered the feel of his skin under her hands and the fire in his eyes. Interlaced with that now was the image of his body moving sinuously to the music—sweat soaked shirt outlining every inch of him. If he moved in bed like he did onstage, he could kill somebody.

As she got up from her seat, a young woman approached informing her that Mr. Navarro had invited her party backstage.
Bethany began explain about her niece but the woman had started walking, obviously expecting her to follow. Led through a labyrinth of hallways until they reached a door with a very unassuming piece of paper stuck onto it bearing his name, she tried again to tell the woman what had happened, but she had already knocked on the door.

Byron appeared almost instantly, this time smiling at her in recognition. Stepping aside to allow her access, he asked why she was alone. Surprised not to see Ruben in the stark, bright dressing room, she began to explain what had happened. Byron’s eyes registered on something over her left shoulder and she turned to follow his gaze, finding Ruben across the room listening. His hair was still wet from his earlier exertion, dripping onto the vest top and track pants he appeared to have just put on. Using the towel thrown around his neck to mop his face, he came closer. Her body set about betraying her—quite willing to ignore the warning from her brain to calm down.

Sure her eyes were bugging like some star struck kid, she shook his offered hand. If he noticed, he didn’t show it, simply stating that he was sorry to hear her niece had been unable to come as they took a seat.
Bethany realized he was only half listening to her explanation as his eyes wandered freely over her face and torso. Not enjoying being sized up so obviously, she had to admit she probably bore no resemblance to the woman he had met that afternoon. A quick glance into the mirror over his shoulder confirmed her worst fears. Dark hair framed her flushed face in moist ringlets and her t-shirt clung damply to her body.

‘Did you enjoy the show, Dr. Shaw?’ Ruben asked, his eyes following her not so subtle attempt to peel her top away from her skin.

Her face lit up as she answered. ‘Please, call me Bethany, and yes it was wonderful. I have never danced so much in my life.’ She laughed. ‘In fact,’ she added, ‘I may well try to join my niece in LA tomorrow night if the tickets are not sold out.’