Backstage with Her Ex

‘I aim to please. And it seems to work for the most part. I have to admit, you surprise me, Sasha. I never thought you’d do something like this. You always played everything so safe.’ He returned the smile with one of his own as he undid the top button on his shirt, ready to have a little fun.

Instead of the flustered reaction he’d imagined, she sat forward and pinned him to the seat with an ice-cool gaze. ‘I did not.’

‘Yeah? Grade-A student, always toed the line. Never broke the rules—at least never broke them for me. So what’s changed? Why are you in my car en route to a fancy hotel?’

‘Hotel? Oh, for goodness’ sake, get over yourself.’ She blinked quickly, the cool fading into fluster. ‘I...I said, I’m not here for sex.’

‘Oh, yes, and I remember you saying that before too. But I never did quite believe you.’ He leaned forward, met her almost in the middle of the seat, caught a glimpse of fire in her eyes before she turned away.

She’d been saving herself for when they were married or some such foolish idea. At least, until they were engaged. He wondered, fleetingly, who had taken his place, been her first time.

He shook that thought away along with the accompanying uninvited tension that zipped through his veins. And fought back an urge to run his fingers through a curl, see if it was as soft as he remembered. ‘Your body always did give you away.’

‘Not any more. I have full control.’

‘Really?’ He focused on her legs, did a slow journey up to her breasts, her throat, her mouth. Awareness crackled around the car sucking out the oxygen. After five long seconds he met her gaze. ‘You want to put it to the test?’

‘Absolutely not. You should save your energy for someone who’d be more...grateful. Like the poor misguided gruesome twosome you just had in here.’ She glared at him. But he didn’t miss the flash of heat in her eyes. ‘Look, this has been a mistake.’

And the blushing was still the same; she never could control that. A full peachy rash bloomed in her cheeks, spread to her neck and disappeared into that midnight-blue top.

Dragging his eyes away from her, he tried to breathe out the weird emotions thrumming in his chest.

Outside, the city lights illuminated Marble Arch, traffic slowed even at this time of night.

London.

For the first time in years, he was back home. At least it used to be. Home now was a sprawling Malibu mansion overlooking the ocean. But sometimes he missed the vibrancy of this city, the exciting pulse that emanated from the streets and throbbed through his veins, mixing with the comforting feel of the familiar.

Or was that just his strange reaction at seeing Sasha Sweet again?

She looked out of the window, too, for a few moments until her surprisingly girly phone signalled a new message. When she’d finished reading she tilted her head in his direction. ‘Can you drop me off now? Cassie’s going to meet me. I’ll get the tube from here.’

‘Are you serious? You used to cling to me on the tube. You hated it—all those crowds, all that danger hidden in dark corners. The rush of hot air. The noise. Rats.’

‘Well, looky here, things move on. I have.’

‘Clearly. If you’re sure.’ He tapped on the screen to alert his driver, then turned back to face her, still confused as to why she was here and why his body was so stirred up by her. ‘But what’s going on, Sasha? We both know this isn’t about my backside or any kind of sexual intent. “Target located,” Cassie said. Why am I your target? What do you want?’

‘It doesn’t matter. Seriously, forget it. All this...’ She gestured to the car, to the unopened bottles of champagne in the console. ‘You’re way too busy, and...different from how I remembered.’

‘I hope so.’

‘I didn’t mean it was a good thing.’

‘Champagne is always a good thing. As is success.’ In truth, he didn’t have time for another sob story. He already had sacks full of begging letters at his manager’s office.

But her eyes drew his gaze and he was fixed there with a strange need to prove he could do something she hadn’t—listen. ‘Okay. I’m probably going to regret this, but I’ve got five minutes. Try me.’

* * *

As the car drew to a halt he watched her take a slow deep breath then exhale the way they’d all been taught back in form four music class. Sing on the out-breath. So he knew if she needed to keep her voice steady it was something important.

‘I’m a teacher now, Nate. Music. And my show choir has reached the finals of a national contest. Problem is, we can’t afford the fares up to Manchester, the hotel costs, costumes and everything. We need your help.’

As he’d thought. Just someone else asking for a handout. Disappointing. ‘You want a cheque? Cash? We could stop by a cash machine.’

‘No. Part of the contest is about raising the money, not just digging deep into our own pockets—not that we could if we wanted to. It’s all about the process—teaching the children about community spirit and involvement, you know the kind of thing. You don’t get handouts, you need to work hard to achieve...’ As she spoke about the project her eyes blazed with a mesmerising fervour.

Immediately he was thrown back to a time when they’d had their future ahead of them, when they’d believed they could do anything. Be anything they dreamed of. Together. He remembered getting lost in her excitement, in that thick luscious hair, in her. Until the day that fervour in her eyes had mingled with disappointment and distrust.

‘We thought about holding a concert at the school to get some funds, but few people around our neighbourhood could afford to come even if they wanted to. No one wants to pay to see a bunch of kids singing and dancing, not...’ she fixed him with hopeful eyes ‘...unless we had a guest star. That would raise a lot of interest from everywhere else too, and, bingo, we get our much-needed cash. I figured we could pay you a fee out of the door money, fifty-fifty.’

He laughed. Loudly. ‘A fee? You have to be joking. You couldn’t afford me in a million light years.’

‘Yes, well, like I said, coming here was a mistake. Why would you want to help us? There was a time when you’d have done this kind of thing for free but I guess we’re too late.’

‘About a decade or so.’ So that was that—he was off the hook from her crazy idea. But one thing niggled him. ‘And you stowed away in the men’s toilet just to ask me this?’

‘I did not stow. Stowing is not my style. It was an accident.’

‘Sasha, no one accidentally finds themselves in the men’s room. Come on, if you want me to help you, you have to at least be honest.’

She shrugged. ‘A friend of Cassie’s got me backstage, but I wasn’t sure how you’d react at seeing me again, and then when all those fans broke through the barrier and surged down the corridor I thought I was going to get crushed. I panicked.’

‘And then played jack-in-the-box in the loo? To be honest I’d have preferred you jumping out of a cake semi-naked, or something.’ Now that was an entertaining thought. He’d gone from never thinking about her at all, to imagining her half dressed. How did that work? ‘You always did like to make a show of things.’

‘I did not.’

‘No? Remember that night you borrowed your sister’s new bra and padded it with tissues to see if I’d notice—’ He laughed as his hands curved in front of his chest. ‘I noticed.’

She clearly did remember if the new flush on her cheeks was anything to go by, and how he’d told her she was perfect without any trimmings or falseness. Their last night. When they’d almost lost control of their agreed celibacy.

Their heated innocent fumblings swarmed back in a cloud of memories. He’d needed her, needed a release, an escape from the realities of his life. And they’d been so close to sealing their love.

Low in his abdomen something tightened and prickled hot. The jolt of his body’s response jarred. He so wasn’t in the mood for a trip down Memory Lane or the unwelcome feelings she invoked. In his experience women were trouble, particularly exes. ‘Why all the cloak and dagger stuff? Why didn’t you just get hold of my manager?’

‘Oh duh. Why didn’t I think of that?’ She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead. ‘You, Mr Out of Touch with Reality, have no idea how hard that is. We tried calling, letters, emails. The kids even sent in a video. But nothing. No reply from your office. And now the deadline’s looming.’

‘I see. So desperate measures, eh?’ That tingling zipped through his body again. He liked the idea of Sasha desperate. Images of her youthful body lashed against his mixed with the full-woman curves in front of him now. One thing was for sure: she’d always had an effect on him.

God, he needed to get laid. Soon. And not with her, because he never did reruns of his mistakes.

Which was why his indignation grew as he watched her scrape her hair back into an untidy ponytail, with a hair tie she kept on her wrist, not caring how she looked. He couldn’t help watching her, unable to remember the last time he’d been in the same room as a woman who hadn’t continually looked in a mirror or asked for reassurance about her appearance. Sasha was a breath of fresh air in his world of fakery, but she was trading on their past and that hurt.

‘London is awash with Z-list celebrities desperate to raise their profiles. Why not ask one of them? Why me?’ He didn’t know what he wanted her to reply. That she’d never stopped thinking of him? That this was a way of connecting with him again?

‘Aside from the fact you’re the only successful person I know, or that came out of Chesterton High?’

‘And that was despite it. Did you think I’d be an easy target? Or is it because of our history?’

‘I wouldn’t use that, Nate.’

‘Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing?’

He watched as she struggled to maintain calm. ‘No. I didn’t want to dredge up the past, but somehow Cassie managed to convince me to try to get hold of you. This is all about helping the kids out. They don’t know about what happened between us—very few people do. What we had was...well, I guess it was special. It was private.’

‘So special you refused to hear my explanation. So special you turned your back like everyone else. So damned special you couldn’t even look me in the eye.’ But he’d looked into hers. Right when he’d willed her to speak up for him, to serve as character witness or do something to save him, the way he’d have done anything for her.

She gripped the door handle. ‘You hit someone, Nathan. You told me you had. I wasn’t going to lie and say you hadn’t. The police were hammering on the door screaming that you’d had to be hauled off the poor kid before you killed him. You were all shouting. I was seventeen and scared as hell by the aggression—from you all. I wouldn’t have been heard even if I’d wanted to.’

Which she hadn’t. He hadn’t told her why he’d hit Craig. Why he couldn’t stop. She’d noticed his raw knuckles and he’d told her just enough to stop her asking questions.

But ancient history didn’t matter; he’d put it so far behind him he could barely remember it.

So why the tightening in his chest?

He shook his head. ‘Just forget it.’

‘You always were trouble, Nathan Munro, and don’t deny it.’ Her lips stretched into an upwards curl. She might well have developed into a stunning ardent woman, but the smile was still very youthful, teasing. ‘And it looks like you still are.’

‘I try my best.’ Trouble, and never good enough for her and her family. Even in a rundown place like Chesterton there’d been a pecking order and his family had been at the bottom.

But okay, she’d never sold him out to the press, though many others had.

Bond Street tube station lights flickered directly outside, but she made no effort to get out of the car. Tapping his fingers on the leather seat, he waited for her to leave; he had no intention of spending time again with Sasha. Some things were just best left alone—memories, for a start, trampled hearts. Their lost past. ‘And?’

‘And...’ Her mouth tightened into a thin line as anxiety flitted across her eyes. ‘The school I work at? It’s Chesterton High.’

* * *

Un-frickin-believable.

He’d put all this behind him and had no desire to go back there again. For any of them, least of all her.

‘So let me get this right. In the precious amount of spare time I have, you want me to drop everything to help you, and help that school too, after all that happened?’

Her eyes widened, her chin tilted higher, daring him to agree to her ridiculous suggestion. ‘Yes.’

‘Not a chance, sweet thing.’

She gasped. Using the nickname he’d called her throughout their two-year relationship seemed to strike a chord. Her mouth fell open as if she was about to say something, then she closed it.

He leaned across her, careful not to brush against that hair, or those curves, caught the handle of the car and opened the door. ‘I’m sorry. This crazy plan of yours won’t be happening. You can go now.’

‘Wait.’ Pausing with one foot on the pavement and the other in the car, she tilted her head to him. ‘There is another reason I thought you might want to help us.’

‘I can’t wait for this. What could possibly be more compelling than what you’ve suggested so far?’

Her discomfort was palpable, her eyes turbulent with emotion. Now the words tumbled out in a rush as she dragged in a breath. ‘It’s a mixed ability choir...called No Limits.’

The ache in his chest was swift and sudden, finding all the empty places and filling them. Disarmed by her words, and the way she looked at him with empathy and sadness, he was thrown off kilter. ‘You really know how to turn the screw, don’t you, Sasha? You think I’d want to help because of my brother?’

‘Marshall loved singing and dancing, Nate. And he loved being in the school choir.’

Marshall had loved Sasha, too, almost as much as Nate had. But he’d hated the school. He’d hated the bullies that ruined his life. And Nate’s, for a while. But revenge was sweet when it came wrapped in international stardom.

And then...the ache deepened in wave after wave of pain. None of his success would bring Marshall back. ‘So now you’re using Marshall as collateral? Are there no limits to the lengths to which you’ll stoop?’

‘I just thought it might make a difference to you.’ She’d never treated Marshall as different, and he knew she’d have been as devastated as he was when Marshall died. At least, he assumed she knew of his death even though he’d tried to keep it quiet. But the furore afterwards as he’d lost control had been splashed over the newspapers.

‘But this?’

‘You wanted me to be honest, so hear me out. The kids in the choir are just like him. Excited, hopeful...special. They want to go to the national competition and be part of something that’s normal. And they’ve got a good chance of placing too. They just need a break.’

‘And me as a draw card.’

This was a game-changer. But he didn’t know if he could walk into a room full of kids like Marshall and not make a fool of himself by losing it. He’d ploughed thousands of dollars into research, donated anonymously to charities, but he was scared about coming face to face with a kid like his brother.

‘I never pegged you as a coward, Nate.’

‘I’m not a coward.’ Irritation tripped down his spine mixing with the other emotions she’d dredged up in him. ‘I just don’t need to go back there. I have nothing to prove.’

The laugh gushing from her throat was filled with passion. ‘Oh, yeah? The Nathan Munro I knew always had something to prove. You’ve spent the last ten years showing the world how good you can be despite your upbringing. But right now the only thing you’re proving is how much you’ve changed. And not for the better.’

Retrieving a card from her purse, she regained her composure. Which was a shame, because something about her all fired up connected with something deep in him. ‘If, by any kind of miracle, you change your mind here’s my contact details. And the school—well, you know where that is. Please just think about.’

He didn’t need to. He wasn’t doing it.

Crumpling the card into his fist, he frowned. ‘Sasha, I could find that school with my eyes closed. I just don’t want to.’

‘That’s okay. I understand. It was worth a try, though, eh?’ She pressed her lips together and shrugged. ‘Good to see you after all this time.’

‘Yeah, sure.’ Was it? He didn’t know. But one thing he was sure of: he didn’t want to see that school or her again. He just didn’t trust her or the weird and immediate effect she had on him.

Then she dashed out of the door and into the tube station. Leaving him with a distinct unease, accompanied by a determination not to let Sasha Sweet get to him.

But as he looked at the tatty bit of cardboard with her name on it, he got the feeling that was going to be very hard to do.

THREE

‘What is it with men?’ Sasha slumped into the deep cushions on her lumpy old sofa and shook her head. ‘I’ll never understand them.’

‘What you really mean is, what is it with Nate Munro?’ Cassie came through from the kitchenette, bearing mugs of thick creamy hot chocolate topped with marshmallows, and snuggled in next to her. Mainly because in Sasha’s cramped flat there was just no space for another piece of furniture.

‘Aaaargh. He’s so annoying.’ And so was her body’s reaction to him.

‘I can’t believe you rode in his limo, you lucky thing. I bet it was amazing.’

‘It wasn’t like I had a choice. It was tantamount to kidnapping. And I wasn’t looking at the interior décor.’ Technically she’d been tagged as a desperate groupie and bundled in like a piece of merchandise. But she doubted that would make it seem less glamorous in Cassie’s eyes.

Inhaling the chocolate aroma, Sasha tried to instill calm. Nothing was ever so bad that chocolate couldn’t help. Except...she breathed in again...nothing changed. Her pulse still jittered, her head pounded, and every time she closed her eyes she could see his lazy smile. Only instead of feeling angry with him she felt flustered and breathless and strangely confused. First time ever the chocolate magic hadn’t worked.

Cassie nudged her. ‘You can hardly blame him, sis, you knew he’d never come through. He’s too famous, too busy. Too darned hot to care about a school he was expelled from or an ex from years back.’

Hot for sure. Yes, yes, Sasha knew that, and she hated to admit it. Since the second she’d laid eyes on him again she’d been fighting to keep her hormones under control. And failing.

It had always been the same with him; he had a way of making her whole body light up with a touch. After he’d gone she’d thrown herself into forgetting him, and that had worked just fine. Until now.

‘And you can stop with the sighing too, Cassie. He might be beautiful, but he’s not kind if he can turn my lovely choir down like that. He’s selfish and brooding and...’ She stopped right there. Thoughts straying in his direction were not good for her mental health.

‘And you really are hooked on finding someone kind, aren’t you? You’re a lost cause.’ Cassie giggled. ‘Top of my list comes abs, eyes...ass. Rich helps. Sense of humour, definitely—’

Sasha sighed, grateful for Cassie’s never-ending sense of optimism and fun. Grateful too, that, with Suzy’s help, Sasha had shielded their adorable little sister from the fallout of their father’s death. At least one of the three sisters had survived intact.

‘I just can’t see me falling for anyone who doesn’t treat me as an equal. I want to feel safe, and cherished. I don’t want to live on an edge or spend my life worrying whether he loves me or not. I want boring. Old tatty slippers and cardigans. Holding hands for our sixtieth wedding anniversary like Granny and Gramps.’

After her father had died all ideas of being safe either emotionally or financially were ripped apart, leaving the whole family bereft. She didn’t want to invite more hurt into her life and the few less-than-successful experiences she’d had with men had proved her right. Loving someone could be unpredictable, based on lies that hurt like hell.

So when her Prince Charming arrived, he’d be driving a Volvo and wearing sensible brogues.

Immediately, her thoughts strayed to slim long legs and big biker boots, tiled toilet floors and flashy limousines.

She shuddered. Way too dangerous.

‘I know...’ Cassie sat up and squished her left leg underneath her bottom, eyes firing with excitement. ‘Do you want me to get Nate arrested? Then we can convince him to do it. Pat’s a great policeman—I’m sure he’d find something on him.’

Sasha eyed Cassie in the way only a big sister could—a look that said I love you, now shut up at the same time. ‘Will you stop with that? Ever since you started dating Pat the Plod you’ve been offering for him to arrest someone.’

‘I know. I can’t help it—the thought of him being all masculine and strong—ooh.’ Cassie clasped her mug to her chest and sighed. ‘Divine.’

‘Just as I thought, it has more to do with the idea of handcuffs than an inflated sense of civic duty.’ Sasha laughed and shook her head. ‘But if the papers are to be believed Nate’s been arrested way too many times already.’

‘I’m sure they make half of that stuff up.’

‘I dare say.’ But the one time it had mattered—the first time—she’d let him go.

No—she’d turned her back on him like the rest. And with due cause. The man had attacked someone and she’d had enough violence in her life to put up with it from a boyfriend too. Seeing Nathan’s aggressive reaction had sparked a deeply buried memory that she couldn’t bear to relive. So she’d walked away.

‘It’s probably a good thing, anyway. I just have to work out a Plan B for the choir. Leave it with me...’ She thought for a moment and came up with...precisely nothing. ‘Okay, arresting him suddenly seems very attractive. Especially if I get to read him his rights...’

Tinny music jolted her attention.

Her mobile.

Knots tightened in her stomach as she relived the moment it slithered across the toilet tiles; the wretched thing had got her into too much trouble already tonight. She checked the number. No one she knew.

Cassie leaned over her shoulder and eyeballed the display. ‘Answer it.’

‘No. It’s way past midnight. Who’d ring at this time? It’ll be a crank.’

‘Answer the darned thing. Or...I will.’ Cassie grabbed for it. Sasha jumped off the sofa and stared at the unfamiliar number.

No way was she taking a chance on her flirtatious little sister nudging in on the act. If it was Nate Munro she needed to be professional and responsible, remember that this was about the choir, and not about herself, or her drumming heart rate. Probably a wrong number anyway. ‘Hello?’

‘Hey, sweet thing, is that you?’

‘Once was funny, now it’s just irritating. Stop calling me that.’ Hearing the pet name she’d loved hit her hard in the gut. After ten years of honing her career into shape she was so far from being a sweet thing it was laughable. So, occasionally she allowed the pupils to think they’d got the better of her just so they’d see her as human and approachable. But she was always in control. Always.

But there was her body reacting all by itself again. The drumming developed into full-on bongos in her chest, her hands grew sticky and her peripheral vision fuzzied.

But her head was in full control. ‘I thought you were on a date? What’s the problem—couldn’t she keep up with your ego, or the delightful twins’ bimbo competition?’

A deep rumble permeated down the phone. ‘Date? Oh, yes. That. It was great.’

‘Didn’t last long. Don’t tell me, you peaked too soon.’

‘Sweet thing, believe me, I haven’t even started.’ His voice lowered to a growl that sounded a lot like sex, and he knew damned well he was winding her up. ‘You know, you show way more spirit over the phone than in person. Easy when you can’t see me, eh? But don’t forget I know how easy it is to make you blush.’