now’s not a good time to talk. I’m in a hurry. I forgot you were coming, and I made plans.”
There, she’d said it. Shuji spun around toward her, his narrowed eyes flashing angrily. “You forgot I was coming?”
She almost smiled—she’d known that would get him off the track. “I’ve been rattled lately—which is one reason I could use a break.”
“I take time from my own busy schedule to attend this concert, and you forgot I was coming? You ungrateful little witch!” He slammed the palms of his hands together with a restrained fury she found reassuring. Eric Shuji Shizumi was always easier to deal with when he was roaringly pissed. “How the hell have I put up with you all these years!”
“Just be glad you never married me,” Juliana said lightly, attempting to diffuse his anger.
Shuji just glared at her.
A gentle rap on the door interrupted them, and Shuji hissed impatiently but quickly recovered his poise as a tall, boyishly handsome man poked his head in and said, “Excuse me—”
Juliana held back a groan. “Yes, what is it?”
“Be nice,” Shuji warned under his breath. “Wouldn’t want your public to think you’re a snot.”
She resisted making a face at him. He gave her a wry, nasty grin and, without another word, stormed out. Damn him, Juliana thought, damn him, damn him, why couldn’t he just leave her alone?
“I’m sorry to disturb you, Miss Fall,” the man in the doorway said. He gave her a dashing smile that was unexpectedly sincere. “I’m Samuel Ryder.”
He paused, obviously expecting that she would recognize his name. She didn’t. She did, however, notice his eyes, a dreamy baby blue, a child’s eyes in a man’s face. They were oddly appealing—and somehow disturbing, perhaps because the rest of him seemed so polished and sophisticated. She said automatically, “Pleased to meet you.”
“I wanted to congratulate you on your performance this evening.” He came into the dressing room, at once bold and tentative. “This was my first opportunity to hear you, and I assure you, it won’t be my last. You were mesmerizing.”
She hadn’t heard that line in a while but silently chastised herself for being so cynical. Maybe he meant it. “Thank you,” she said politely. “It’s very nice of you to take the time to tell me so personally.” Now will you leave so I can become someone else?
He didn’t seem to know what to say next. On purpose, she’d left him no natural opening. He caught himself twisting his fingers together and suddenly shoved them into the pockets of his elegant evening overcoat. It was unbuttoned and underneath was a stylish black tuxedo over an obviously trim body. Juliana could almost hear her friends telling her not to be so damn critical—a rich, handsome, interested man was a rich, handsome, interested man.
She felt a touch of sympathy for him. He looked so lost, so lonely. Had she had that effect on him, her music? The Beethoven was a powerful piece. Yet she knew if Samuel Ryder was attracted to her, even just for tonight, it had little to do with her performance or who she really was. Experience had taught her that. Like others before him, Samuel Ryder was taken with his own fantasies about who she was and what she could mean to him. He was captivated by his own image of her. He knew nothing substantive about her temperament, her family, her intense, volatile, nonromantic relationship with Shuji. He knew nothing about J.J. Pepper.
She suspected Samuel Ryder wouldn’t approve of J.J.
But there was something so sweet and melancholy about the way he looked at her that she couldn’t be angry with him for his assumptions, nor could she denigrate how he felt. He was good-looking enough that she wondered if she was being too nasty in wanting to get rid of him. Even Shuji, who rarely noticed such things, had once commented that she was entirely too picky about men. Maybe he had a point. But Len’s baby grand at the Club Aquarian was waiting. Should she invite Ryder along? No, don’t be an ass! J.J. was her secret.
She smiled and watched his eyes melt. “It was nice meeting you, Mister Ryder, but if you’ll—”
Another man appeared in the doorway. He was dark-haired and dark-eyed, with a hard, scarred face that Juliana found both compelling and a little frightening. His clothes were expensive but casual—and sexy. The face, the attire, the tough, compact body all seemed to go with the deep sardonic voice. “Hey, Sam, thought that was you.” He walked in, uninvited, and nodded at Juliana. “Ms. Fall.”
I will never get out of here, she thought.
But Ryder’s reaction interested her. He had stiffened visibly and paled. “Stark—Matthew,” he said, managing a smile as he put out his hand. There was no friendship in the gesture. Whoever Matthew Stark was, Sam Ryder didn’t want any part of him. “It’s been a long time.”
“I guess it has,” Stark said, shaking hands briefly. “I caught the concert and spotted you. Thought I’d say hello.”
That’s bullshit, Juliana thought unexpectedly. Matthew Stark had anticipated the effect he would have on Sam Ryder. But that, she reminded herself, was hardly her problem. “If you gentlemen don’t mind—”
Matthew turned and grinned at her look of controlled frustration. “Come on, Sam, we’re in the lady’s way. I’ll buy you a drink.”
“I’m sorry—bad night.” Regaining his composure, Ryder turned to Juliana, his baby blue eyes shining with embarrassment and anger. “I apologize for the intrusion.”
Juliana bit back a laugh when she realized he meant Stark, not himself. “It’s all right,” she said, not caring whom he meant, just so long as they both got out of her way.
“Miss Fall, I was wondering—” Ryder stopped himself, red-faced, and glared at Stark, who just smiled back, staying put. Ryder turned back to Juliana, obviously controlling his anger. “It’s been a pleasure.”
He brushed past Stark, who was leaning against the open door, looking relaxed and distant. Juliana felt bad for Ryder and realized Stark’s presence had prevented him from asking her to dinner, which, she supposed, was just as well. She hoped Stark would take the hint and move along, too. But he didn’t. To hell with him, she thought, whipping up the turban and tossing it back into her bag with her rose-colored shoes. He could stay if he wanted. She was leaving.
“Nice turban,” he said. “Didn’t peg you for the sequins type.”
She gave him an ice-cold look. “Excuse me, won’t you?”
Stark made no move to get out of her way. “Take it easy,” he said, his own equanimity in stark contrast to her almost compulsive energy. “I’m on my way, okay?”
She almost told him good, go. Instead she remembered her position and Shuji’s lectures on how to treat her public, although somehow she didn’t think this solid, hard man fit into that category. Had he pulled an Aunt Wilhelmina and snored through the Beethoven? Why was he here?
“I take it you don’t know much about Sam Ryder,” Stark said.
She picked up her black crepe and considered just starting to undress right in front of him, but her eyes fell on his, dark and remote, and she reconsidered. “No, we just met tonight. Now—”
“You
