Jenna inhaled sharply, her dazzling green eyes widening in astonishment. She was 23 years old and breathtakingly beautiful, the hottest property in the music world right now.
‘My God, it’s crazy,’ she murmured to herself.
Gerry King, her manager, looked over. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked, concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ Jenna insisted, trying to fight the feelings of insecurity rising in her chest. It was her first major event following a well-publicized break, and being back on the scene was overwhelming.
‘Don’t worry. You look sensational,’ Gerry reassured her.
He wasn’t lying. Her skin was tanned and flawless, her incredible body encased in shimmering Roberto Cavalli, cut high on the thigh and slashed heart-stoppingly low at the front to reveal her magnificent cleavage. Diamonds glittered at her ears and throat, and a mass of glossy, blonde curls tumbled down her back. She was the epitome of raw sex appeal.
‘Thanks,’ Jenna smiled gratefully.
The car pulled to a halt and the silent, dark-suited security guard seated opposite her jumped out. Jenna watched as he spoke to the security team, his eyes scanning the tightly packed crowd, constantly alert for any possible threat. The fans were working themselves into a frenzy; in spite of the freezing winter weather they’d turned out in force, waving banners with her name and singing the chorus of ‘Sexual Rush’, her latest hit.
‘See you on the other side,’ winked Gerry, as the guard headed back across to the sleek limousine. At a signal from inside he opened the door. Then Jenna stepped out and the place erupted.
Flashbulbs exploded like firecrackers in the night sky, the noise from the crowd reaching a deafening roar as Jenna hit the red carpet on spike-heeled Jimmy Choos. It was as though someone had flicked a switch – the adrenaline kicked in and Jenna felt her nerves instantly vanish, shining like the superstar she was.
She placed a hand on her hip as she turned to face the cameras, catching her breath as she took in the sheer number. She could hardly believe that they were all there for her.
‘Jenna – over here!’ came a yell from the press pit where the world’s media, banked steeply on their step-ladders, waited eagerly for their piece of her.
Instinctively Jenna broke into an irresistible smile, her lips full and glossy, her eyes sparkling with excitement. This was the shot that would grace every tabloid front cover the following morning – Jenna Jonsson, the newly crowned princess of pop, fresh from her unprecedented victory at the MTV Europe Awards where she’d just won an incredible six gongs.
‘Jenna, what can you tell us about the rumours you’ve split with Will?’
Jenna froze. Her smile died on her lips, the pain in her eyes impossible to hide.
‘I … I really don’t want to talk about that …’ Jenna began hesitantly, the memories of Will’s infidelity still fresh in her mind. Horrified, she felt tears prick at her eyelids and she bit down hard on her lip. ‘… But what I will say is that I have no ties, no commitments, and I intend to enjoy myself tonight. Bring on the champagne!’
Jenna’s pulse was racing, her breath coming fast, as she heard the reporters rush to share the news with fans watching all over the globe.
‘You heard it here first, folks. Jenna Jonsson exclusively confirmed to us that she has split with Will Rothwell, son of multi-millionaire property developer Charles Rothwell. That’s right guys, Jenna’s back on the market …’
Pull it together, Jenna admonished herself, all too aware that every emotion would be magnified by the cameras. The question about Will had upset her more than she’d expected. She’d been counting on him to accompany her to the awards tonight; she needed that emotional support of having him on her arm. And then she’d found out he was cheating on her. The girl was just 17 years old, at boarding school with his younger sister. How fucking humiliating. Apparently he was finding it ‘difficult’ dating someone so successful, so he’d needed to screw some barely legal bimbo without an original thought in her head.
Jenna had told him to grow a pair of balls and walked out, shaking with anger. She was hurting badly, but she didn’t intend to give him the satisfaction of seeing her like that.
Will Rothwell was history, Jenna vowed. Tonight she had her mind on something – and someone – far bigger.
The rumour was that Phoenix were going to be attending the after-show party. A world-famous American rock band, with looks to die for and an insane amount of talent, Phoenix had exploded onto the scene five years ago and their reputation was wild. Jenna was beyond excited.
Get a grip, she told herself firmly.
With a final wave at the crowd and the drooling paps, Jenna let herself be guided into the hotel. It was a jaw-dropping sight and she stared round in awe, noting the way the marble floor shone like glass, the whole ballroom bathed in a soft, pink light. Huge vases of white lilies had been mounted on podiums and looked spectacular against the black and gold classical backdrop.
Jenna scanned the room, smiling in thanks as she accepted a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. Then she raised it to her lips and almost dropped it.
Christ, it was him. It was Nick Taylor.
Jenna’s pulse went into overdrive, her heart beating out of control. Nick Taylor was the drummer with Phoenix and the hottest guy on the planet – five feet eleven inches of strapping, blond good looks with piercing blue eyes and a killer smile to boot. To a London girl like Jenna, he looked like the ultimate American cowboy, with his powerful, muscular body and sexy, Southern accent. But Nick was more interested in riding women than horses. He exuded sexuality, smouldering with an animal magnetism that women seemed powerless to resist. And he did little to discourage them. Jenna wasn’t stupid – she’d heard the stories and knew that his womanizing was notorious. He was legendary for never being pictured with the same girl twice, yet the ladies still flocked to him, and Jenna was as smitten as any of them.
She was vaguely aware that someone was trying to speak to her, but she wasn’t paying attention. She couldn’t take her eyes off Nick as she watched him make his way across the room, radiating confidence and charisma. The crowd pressed against him, the women vying for his attention. Jenna wasn’t surprised – he looked utterly gorgeous, devastatingly handsome in the Armani tux he was wearing. His bow tie was undone and thrown around his neck with an almost arrogant indifference; his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the smooth, tanned flesh beneath.
Then, almost as if he’d known exactly where she would be, Nick raised his head and looked straight into Jenna’s eyes. Her stomach went into freefall, a bolt of electricity surging through her as she heard herself gasp in shock. Nick’s face creased into a smile of recognition and he began slowly walking towards her. The sea of people parted to let him through – he didn’t even have to push, just walked with that easy swagger, the crowd moving naturally out of his way. And then suddenly he was standing right in front of her, so close that she could see every lash framing those amazing blue eyes, each curve of that luscious mouth …
‘Congratulations,’ Nick murmured. His voice was rich and gravelly, deliciously sexy.
‘Thanks,’ Jenna squeaked, horrified to discover her voice seemed to have gone up two octaves. Her heart was pounding and she knew her cheeks must be flushed. She lowered her head in embarrassment, not realizing how impossibly cute it made her look.
‘Good to finally meet you,’ Nick said smoothly, in that low, Southern drawl. He leaned in to kiss her on the cheek, his fingers resting lightly on her waist. Jenna was sure she would melt right there and then, dissolve into a puddle at his feet.
‘You too,’ she faltered. ‘I can’t believe you’re here. I mean, I heard you were coming and I hoped it was true but I didn’t know for sure …’ she raced on, mentally cursing herself for saying something so stupid.
‘Well I definitely noticed you were here.’