Backstage with Her Ex

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 trust her with anything more. Never again.

Staring at the papers in her hand, she shrugged. ‘We’re planning on doing the concert in two weeks’ time. Saturday. The twenty-eighth. Spring Bank Holiday weekend.’

‘Two weeks? You don’t mess about.’

‘I told you we were running out of time.’

And there went his month’s holiday in Italy. ‘I’ll get Dario to handle the details, make sure I’m in town.’

‘That would be great. Brilliant.’ But she didn’t look pleased.

‘So, what’s the problem now?’ Crazy, but without thinking he touched her cheek. She curled into his touch briefly, before shifting out of reach, the papers hovering in her hand in mid-air. Her gaze dropped to her lap, but he didn’t miss the flash of fire in her eyes and that stoked something in him too. ‘You don’t seriously want me to be interested in the details?’

‘Why wouldn’t you be? It’s your show. And it makes things run smoothly if we’re all on the same page.’

He looked at the papers in neat pink plastic folders all with little stickies on them. ‘Which page exactly? You have so many.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with planning, Nate.’

‘Sure. But that’s what I pay someone else to do. I see you’re still a walking-talking stationery cupboard. You haven’t got a smartphone app for all this?’

‘I prefer hard copy. It’s easier if you can see it all laid out.’

‘It’s easier if I don’t see it at all.’ Planning in minutiae had always been Sasha’s way of coping after her father’s death—of ensuring the ordered life and stability she’d wanted. He used to think her organisational OCD was quirky and endearing, the way she’d carry her diary around religiously and check things, plan. If it hadn’t been for her management skills he wouldn’t have secured the gigs and the subsequent recording contract.

Their whole future had been mapped out at one point, down to the number of kids they were going to have, and when. He’d had a lucky break there, he’d always thought, when it was over.

Whereas Cassie—she’d always been happy-go-lucky, life’s too short sort. Far too scatty for his liking. And serious Suzy, the eldest, had just put her head down and worked hard to protect them all. Three girls hit in different ways by one tragedy.

Then it occurred to him that the gents’-toilet fiasco would have pretty much killed Sasha. Her plans gone awry, then finding herself in his car. All out of her control. She liked to play safe.

And he didn’t.

She looked so enthusiastic about her files he decided to indulge her. What did a few more minutes matter? ‘Okay, sweet thing, hit me with it. And if I nod off, then, literally, hit me with it.’

An eyebrow peaked. ‘Aww, your poor addled rock-star brain can’t handle a few simple facts and figures?’

‘Hey, I can handle anything you throw at me. Numbers, forecasts, projections. Do your worst.’ He stretched his arms out and clicked his fingers. ‘Bring it on.’

‘You know your problem? You’re all talk.’

‘What, and no action? That’s a dangerous gauntlet you’re throwing at me. You’d want to be very careful.’ He held her gaze, wondering what she’d do if he just leaned in and covered that mouth with his. Would she drop the brisk schoolteacher act? Would she kiss him back?

The vibe tugged and tightened.

‘Just an observation.’ She swallowed. ‘And, according to Cassie, careful is my middle name. Now listen.’ Laughing nervously, she kicked off her shoes, shuffled up against the arm of the couch and faced him, fingertips running over the lines of ink. Making a good pretence that the heat in the room hadn’t just hit scorching point. ‘We have to cover the cost of train fares, hotels, my supply-teacher salary for a couple of days...I’ve broken it down into individual child cost, just for ease, so each one has a personal target to aim for...’

All he could see was page after page of graphs and squiggly lines. Her voice rose and fell in her schoolteacher voice as, head dipped, she focused on every darned detail.

But it gave him a chance to watch her, the tight swallow at her throat as she spoke, the tap of her toes. His gaze tiptoed up her legs, to the folds in her skirt, the tight cinch of her waist. He remembered how his hands had fitted around that waist ten years ago. Looked as if that couldn’t happen now—but he liked her filled out a little.

His foolish heart tripped as his eyes travelled up the swell of her breast to her neck, the curve of her lips. And he realised she was frowning.

‘Nathan? I said, are we done?’

Before he could stop himself he reached out and tilted her chin so he could see her eyes again. The heat there lit a fire in his gut and he was hit with a sudden need to know if her lips tasted just the way he remembered. ‘Hell, Sasha, I don’t know. Are we?’

FOUR

So this is where you leave.

Sasha stared up into those honeyed eyes, hazy now with only one thing. One unmistakable thing: desire. A shiver of excitement, and fear, tripped down her spine as heat pooled low in her abdomen. An energy buzzed around them, dancing and jumping with every second he held his fingers against her skin. Suddenly, leaving wasn’t as easy as it sounded.

He wasn’t supposed to want her. And she sure as heck wasn’t supposed to want him back. This was a working relationship. Strictly platonic. Strictly professional.

Strictly temporary.

Edging away from his hands, she fixed a smile she hoped was distinctly non-sensual. Even though she sure as heck felt the most sensual she’d felt in aeons. ‘I think that’s all I needed to tell you. Questions?’