Backstage with Her Ex Page 2

  But images of the last time he saw her flickered through his brain like a bad black and white film. Rain. Tears. Hurt. A big fist of anger that had lodged in his chest, and taken months to shake.

  But it was all a long time and countless liaisons ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d given her any thought at all.

  Waving a hand to the girls to let up, he leaned forward. ‘Hello, Sasha. To what do I owe this...pleasure?’

  ‘Where exactly are you taking me? I need to get out. To my sister. She’s waiting for me back at the arena.’ Shaking her mane of soft red curls, she frowned, her lipstick-tinged mouth forming the pout that swung him back through the years. The punch to his chest was surprising. ‘That bear of a thug, your security guy, he thought...I don’t want...you know. I’m not a...groupie.’ Her eyes narrowed even more as she glanced towards the girls.

  And for a second he felt a strange ping of shame. Fleeting. Then gone. After all, Sasha’s betrayal had been one of the reasons he’d moved on in life anyway. And boy, was life good now. ‘But you used to be my groupie, Sasha. And, if I remember rightly, you used to like it.’

  Although back then sex had been a solemn promise for the future, not a reality.

  At her quick blink he felt the laugh rumble up from his chest, heard the high-pitched giggles from the girls against his neck. Sasha didn’t crack a smile.

  Okay. So this was clearly going to be important. Or why else was she here?

  He tapped on the window for the driver to pull over, slapped each of the girls on the backside and let them out into the following entourage cars.

  Meanwhile Sasha shook her head in that way schoolteachers did when you disappointed them. He recognised it because he’d experienced it often enough. ‘And just like that they disappear. Everyone does exactly what Nate Munro says?’

  He shrugged. ‘Sure. I thought you’d prefer to do this...whatever it is...in private. Just you and me. Unless you’re into threesom—’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Relax, Sasha. It was a joke.’ She was too easy to wind up. ‘I don’t want to get naked with you either.’

  Liar. Post-show sex was as habitual as coffee in the mornings. And right now her navy-blue eyes and feisty spirit sparked the right amount of interest. He watched in amusement as she gripped the strap on her bag. No wedding ring. Interesting. Still, that meant little these days. And why had he looked at her fingers?

  A purely male instinctive reaction. Right?

  But everything he remembered about Sasha Sweet was laced with regret. Not just the one that got away, she was the one who had stamped hard on his heart.

  ‘Now I know everything the papers say is true. You’re just a good-time guy. Shallow. Over-sexed...’

  ‘Oh? You’ve been reading up about me?’ Stretching out his legs across the lush thick white carpet, he grinned, slow and lazy so she’d understand just how good his life had been. After her. ‘Believe me, it’s been infinitely better than anything they print.’

  ‘I have not been reading up about you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I just happened to notice some headline about your crazy life in the States. It’s certainly a far cry from Chesterton.’

  ‘And then some.’ He shuddered at the mention of the place that had cut ties with him. That had branded him with the same tarnish they had his no-hope father. A hooligan, out of control. Bad to the bone. And no one, not even Sasha, had ever come to his defence.

  ‘Leaving Chesterton was the best thing I ever did. And yes, there are some mad parties in LA. It comes with the territory.’ The press had wasted no time covering the best bits—it just happened the best bits were also the worst. Drunk and debauched had been one hell of a ride.

  She tugged at his arm. ‘Nate, I need to—’

  ‘I know. Here.’ He felt in his pocket for her phone. ‘Text her back. I presume the Cassie ID refers to your little sister?’

  She looked surprised. ‘Yes. Of course. You remember Cassie? Although, she’s not so little these days, at twenty-five.’

  ‘How could I ever forget the infamous Sweet sisters?’

  Even though he’d long since put their failed relationship down to innocent first-love infatuation, he hadn’t forgotten the details. Three feisty red-headed girls who had set the fragile hearts of every nubile boy in Chesterton racing. With Sasha, the middle sister, the only woman who’d ever said no to him.

  And here she was, all grown-up and seriously hot.

  The freckles he’d loved to count and kiss way back in the Dark Ages were still there on her fresh lightly made-up face. Her spirit, clearly, hadn’t diminished. Neither had the curves highlighted by the tight capri trousers and dark mesh top, making her look as if she’d just walked out of a fifties’ movie set, or the translucent skin that had sent shivers down his adolescent spine. But he’d got steel in there now.

  Working in a business of backstabbing and greed, he was used to people trying to piggy-back on his success. He’d been taken for a ride too many times to count and wouldn’t be doing it again; a costly separation had taught him that lesson.

  So why his interest was piqued by this particular old girlfriend he didn’t know. He might as well just get the cheque book out now. Far easier than going through a messy conversation.

  Grabbing the glittery phone from his outstretched hand, she glanced at the screen and visibly cringed. ‘I’m sorry about that. Cassie might be an adult, but she hasn’t fully grown up yet.’

  ‘And what are you going to reply to her?’

  ‘Oh...I don’t know.’ She looked up through thick dark eyelashes, her lips pursed, teasingly. ‘That you’re still obnoxious and full of yourself.’

  ‘And with an ass to die for?’

  ‘See? Obnoxious.’ She flashed a smile, which did something funny to his heart. He put it down to being on the road for too long.

  ‘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 p
eachy 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 c
alm. ‘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?’