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
