songwriter of our time.”
But songwriting had become music production, the business, and star-making. He’d exchanged lyrics for the constant buzz of his phone, the high of making millions on others’ stories.
And then...the music stopped.
The stardust had blown away, and the silence was like a death. He didn’t have time to grieve the loss. Instead he spent every waking moment looking for the next star. He’d found fame, money, women—a lifestyle most people could only imagine.
There was no joy in it. But he told himself joy didn’t make millions.
“Mr. Medeiros, we’re going to be together a lot this week...” He wanted to imagine the breathiness in her voice wasn’t solely from walking up the stairs. “I feel, um, I should tell you something.”
He leaned closer. “Chloe has a secret?”
Her blue eyes shimmered. “I had a tiny crush on you when I was a girl.”
Every now and then his past came in handy, especially when a beautiful woman seemed to appreciate his talent. Or, at least, the talent he used to have. Maybe this sexy blonde with the long braid and “kiss me” lips still remembered who he used to be.
They were on the landing on the top floor.
He pressed his hand to his heart, pretending to be wounded. “Only tiny? Not a man-size crush?”
“Honestly, it was more than tiny.” She chuckled. He loved the richness of the sound. “I named my iguana after you. Little Nicky M.”
He cocked his eyebrow. “Was he a handsome lizard?”
“Very. A red iguana with pretty eyes. Almost as amazing as yours.”
Perhaps she would be his beautiful distraction for a few days. He needed a break and sleeping with a sexy fan would help him feel like himself, not the high-powered producer, for a while.
“We are going to get along fine, Chloe. Remind me to thank RW.” It was a stroke of genius to send Chloe his way. But if Harper thought a sexy woman would drive Nicolas wild enough to instantly sign a contract, the man was wrong.
Nicolas could be as ruthless as RW when it came to the music business.
“Oh, no. My father can’t know!”
Father? “You are a Harper, too?”
“Yes. I thought you knew. Didn’t I say so? Sorry. I got a little excited when we met.” She bit her lip. “Way too excited. Even now I’m having trouble—” she fanned herself “—getting my words out. Which is exactly why my father might not want me to work with you. If he knew about my huge...” Her gaze dipped toward Nicolas’s crotch and bounced back up to his eyes again. Her cheeks flushed. “Uh, infatuation. When I was younger.”
He spoke, his words low. “It will be our secret, then.”
“I’ll be completely professional with you—I promise.” She crossed her heart, which had the effect of drawing his gaze to her chest.
“Que pena. Are you sure there’s not any infatuation left?” Stepping closer, he looked into her eyes and pinched the air with his thumb and forefinger. “A flicker?”
Her breath hitched. She tried to play it straight, but her full lips seemed to want to turn up of their own accord. He liked the dimples in her cheeks. They reminded him of sideways smiles, and he had the urge to caress one of them with the back of his hand.
She blinked, clearly flustered. “A flicker, sure, but I want you to trust that I’ll be...”
“Professional?” he finished for her.
“Yes.” Her voice cracked. The way her gaze locked on to his told him she was into him, even if she didn’t want to admit it.
He noticed they’d stopped in front of a door. “Is this my room?”
“Yes.” She took a key ring out of her pocket, unlocked a door and held it for him to step inside. “Mine is just down the hall. Let me know if there is anything you need.”
When he passed her, he inhaled the coconut scent of her shampoo. Did she taste as good as she smelled?
She licked her bottom lip as if she’d heard his thoughts.
The suite had a large sitting room, wet bar, overstuffed leather couch, full-size desk and large patio.
“There is something I need,” he said circling back to her.
He could hear her swallow. “Name it.”
Leaning against the door frame, he crossed his arms. “A date for dinner tonight. Will you be mine?”
Her breath came out in a rush. “Me?”
He was thoroughly intrigued by the blush traveling up her neck. What was she thinking? Whatever it was, he liked it. He usually avoided starstruck fans, but she was too tempting for his usual caution.
“Yes, gata, you.”
She blinked. “Did you call me a cat?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Gata is a term of endearment in Brazil. Gatinha, as well, which means kitty. Would you prefer I say sexy?”
“Gata,” she tried the word on for size. “I like it.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth. Pure heat flashed between them.
He wanted to kiss her. Tasting a stranger was nothing new for him. Women still threw themselves at him. Wild hookups came with the territory as a musician. As a producer, he still had his pick of women, though he was careful not to mix business with pleasure. He enjoyed sex. But as he’d gotten older, he started to think he was missing something—a real life with deep, loving relationships.
But he wasn’t the picket fence, loving wife and two kids in the yard kind of a guy. He’d left Hollywood for Plunder Cove because of the show and because he had a rather public breakup with a supermodel. It was better for him to stick with short-and-sweet-while-it-lasted flings. A pretty blonde fan might be exactly what he needed right now.
“Seven o’clock?” he pressed.
Her lips parted but no words came out. Some emotion he couldn’t read passed over her face. Worry? Sadness?
Droga. Was she going to decline?
“Say yes, Chloe.”
“Nicolas, there’s something I should tell you...” she began in a tone that did not bode well for him.
His phone rang. “Merda,” he cursed. “Sorry. Give me a moment to take this.”
To his disappointment, Chloe used the phone distraction as her chance to walk away from him. For some reason, that hurt.
Just before his door closed, she said the word he desperately
