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