had learned to master her emotions and hide them beneath a veneer of indifference, the only way to cope with her manic mother’s mood swings and total disregard for her only child.
But her temper had been building the entire trip and she had to find a release before she exploded. Temper or something else? She banished the thought in an instant, not willing to acknowledge that this wild, out-of-control feeling had more to do with sexual tension than anger.
But it was there, simmering between them, and when she locked gazes with his the air between them shimmered and coalesced into something bigger than the both of them.
Her heart stalled when he reached for her, the crackle of electricity zapping her into reality.
She had a job to do, he had his. That was it.
She’d manage Storm, he’d manage the money. Co-workers, that was what they were for the next fortnight. That was all. And if her momentary reality flash wasn’t enough, the fact he was Hector’s grandson, the man she owed everything to, should be enough of a wake-up call.
Dragging in several shaky breaths, she placed a hand on his chest to stall him.
‘Ignoring this isn’t going to make it go away,’ he said, his heat burning her through the cotton of his shirt.
‘Maybe not, but I have to try.’
With a reluctant sigh, she patted his chest and walked away, his gaze burning her back until she shut the door on her stupidity and quite possibly the best offer she’d had in a long time.
Charli was going stir crazy.
She’d holed up in her room for half an hour: unpacking, unravelling, unhinged.
If she couldn’t spend two nights in the same apartment as Luca what chance did she have surviving the rest of the week? Storm had several gigs scattered through country Victoria over the next seven days, a warm-up for his big Melbourne debut in a fortnight.
She’d co-ordinated his itinerary to within an inch and then he’d thrown a spanner in the works, announcing his kid would be tagging along. From what she’d seen, rock tours were the last place for kids but in true Landry Records style she’d adjusted the itinerary to include fun kid stuff in Storm’s down time.
It had all been running smoothly since that slight hiccup until Hector had fired Klaus and Luca had taken his place on tour. From what she’d learned with a few discreet inquiries, the guy could handle money. Sadly, she feared he could handle her as easily.
She paced the postage-stamp-size room, tossing around different scenarios in her head of how this could pan out.
She could avoid him other than the work stuff scheduled. She could feign politeness and spend the least amount of time with him possible. Or she could go out there and face Luca as she’d faced every other challenge in her life: with head held high, with bravado, with the confidence she could handle whatever he dished up and more.
Besides, since when had she run from a challenge? Her job presented challenges on a daily basis, from placating irate fans who couldn’t get VIP tickets to ego stroking the latest chart topper and everything in between.
So what was one cocky, charming playboy? She should be able to handle him with her eyes closed. Therein lay the problem: if she closed her eyes, she could envision exactly how she’d like to handle him and it sure as hell wasn’t in a professional manner.
How could she have the hots for someone she seriously wanted to strangle? He’d done nothing but goad her, tease her and throw her off balance since they’d met. And she still had no idea what he was doing here: back in Melbourne, doing Pop a favour when he’d practically ignored his existence until now?
What would a hotshot playboy want with filling in a temp job in the music industry?
Unless Pop was grooming him to take over.
Her eyes flew open as horror lodged in her gut.
No way.
Hector was at the top of his game, a fit seventy and showing no sign of slowing. Dynamic, knowledgeable, an entrepreneur with brains and morals, Hector could rule the music industry in Australia for the next decade. But once the thought had taken form it blossomed into a nasty suspicion that wouldn’t go away.
Luca Petrelli as her boss? She’d rather work for her illustrious charge Storm Varth, Australia’s oldest, crankiest rock star who went through personal assistants as fast as girlfriends.
She had to know why Luca was really here. Now.
Flinging her bedroom door open, she marched out into the lounge room, ready to take him on. And promptly deflated when she caught sight of the meal he’d laid out on the coffee table.
While she’d alternated between fuming and sulking in her room, he’d ducked out to the shops and bought a gourmet picnic, the staggering array of cheeses, cold meats and grilled vegetables making her mouth water.
Her stomach rumbled as the tantalising aroma of garlic-infused Turkish bread and chilli olives wafted over her and she realised how long it had been since she’d last eaten. Breakfast, eight hours ago? She’d been too wound up since then: picking up Luca, the drive here, getting a grip on her crazy behaviour—like allowing him to kiss her.
Unable to resist the lure of food she plopped onto one of the sofas just as Luca stepped out of his bedroom, and she could’ve sworn she salivated more at the sight of him than the antipasto platter.
He’d changed into running shorts that revealed long, muscular legs, and a white T-shirt that set off his tan, and all she could think about was how hungry she was. But not for food.
‘Going for a run?’
His mouth quirked into a crooked smile that made her heart flutter wildly.
‘Yeah, thought I’d leave you to eat in peace.’
She swallowed her disappointment. Probably for the best. She’d confront him better on a full stomach.
‘Okay.’
He stalked towards her and she held her breath as he squatted next to her, his forearm brushing her thigh. ‘Unless you want me to stay?’
She should fob him off, get rid of him so she could strategise how she’d confront him later.
Instead, she found herself nodding. ‘There’s an awful lot of food here, shame to let it go to waste.’
His knowing grin had her wiggling in discomfort. He knew exactly what her concession meant: she wanted him to share this meal with her for no other reason than she liked him. Liked sparring with him, liked his flirting, liked how he made her feel alive.
Letting her hair slide forward to hide her blush, she grabbed a plate and filled it with a selection of olives, salami, Brie and Turkish bread.
‘Thanks for this. It looks great.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Folding his frame into the chair next to her, he helped himself, slathered hummus onto bread and piled it high with semi-dried tomatoes, grilled eggplant
