Книга - In the Heat of the Spotlight

In the Heat of the Spotlight
Kate Hewitt


This man’s power and passion will lay her bare…Ambitious CEO Luke Bryant needs a big-name star to help launch his luxury department store – everything hangs on its success. What he doesn’t need is washed-up pop princess and tabloid joke Aurelie Schmidt…Faced with the sexiest, angriest man she’s ever met, Aurelie knows her first comeback gig isn’t exactly going to plan. But Aurelie’s tougher than that, and she won’t let any guy, no matter how gorgeous, get beneath her skin – even if he does get between her sheets…‘I read the first chapter of this book online. I absolutely loved it, so happy to finally read it all!’ – Sue, Scientific Administrator, Barnstaple







‘Don’t call me Bryant. My name is Luke. And, considering we almost slept together, I think you can manage my first name. So just stop it with the snappy one-liners and the bored tone and world-weary cynicism—’

‘My, that’s quite a list—’

‘Stop.’ He leaned forward, his face twisting with frustration or maybe even anger. ‘Stop being so damn fake.’

She stilled. Said nothing. Because suddenly she had nothing to say. She’d defaulted to her Aurelie persona, to the bored indifference she used as a shield, but Luke saw through it all. He stared at her now, those dark eyes blazing, burning right through her.

Aurelie swallowed and looked down at her lap. ‘What do you want from me?’ she asked in a low voice.

‘I want to know what you want from me.’




About the Author


KATE HEWITT discovered her first Mills & Boon


romance on a trip to England when she was thirteen, and she’s continued to read them ever since. She wrote her first story at the age of five, simply because her older brother had written one and she thought she could do it too. That story was one sentence long—fortunately they’ve become a bit more detailed as she’s grown older. She has written plays, short stories and magazine serials for many years, but writing romance remains her first love. Besides writing, she enjoys reading, travelling and learning to knit.

After marrying the man of her dreams—her older brother’s childhood friend—she lived in England for six years, and now resides in Connecticut with her husband, her three young children and the possibility of one day getting a dog.

Kate loves to hear from readers—you can contact her through her website: www.kate-hewitt.com

Recent titles by the same author:

BENEATH THE VEIL OF PARADISE

(The Bryants: Powerful & Proud) THE HUSBAND SHE NEVER KNEW THE DARKEST OF SECRETS KHOLODOV’S LAST MISTRESS

Did you know these are also available as eBooks?

Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk




In the Heat of the Spotlight

Kate Hewitt











www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


To my big brother Geordie, the real writer of Aurelie’s song.

Thank you for always being my (tor)mentor. Love, K.




CHAPTER ONE


LUKE BRYANT STARED at his watch for the sixth time in the last four minutes and felt his temper, already on a steady simmer, start a low boil.

She was late. He glanced enquiringly at Jenna, his Head of PR, who made useless and apologetic flapping motions with her hands. All around him the crowd that filled Bryant’s elegant crystal and marble lobby began to shift restlessly. They’d already been waiting fifteen minutes for Aurelie to make an appearance before the historic store’s grand reopening and so far she was a no-show.

Luke gritted his teeth and wished, futilely, that he could wash his hands of this whole wretched thing. He’d been busy putting out corporate fires at the Los Angeles office and had left the schedule of events for today’s reopening to his team here in New York. If he’d been on site, he wouldn’t be here waiting for someone he didn’t even want to see. What had Jenna been thinking, booking a washed-up C-list celebrity like Aurelie?

He glanced at his Head of PR again, watched as she bit her lip and made another apologetic face. Feeling not one shred of sympathy, Luke strode towards her.

‘Where is she, Jenna?’

‘Upstairs—’

‘What is she doing?’

‘Getting ready—’

Luke curbed his skyrocketing temper with some effort. ‘And does she realise she’s fifteen—’ he checked his watch ‘—sixteen and a half minutes late for the one song she’s meant to perform?’

‘I think she does,’ Jenna admitted.

Luke stared at her hard. He was getting annoyed with the wrong person, he knew. Jenna was ambitious and hardworking and, all right, she’d booked a complete has-been like Aurelie to boost the opening of the store, but at least she had a ream of market research to back up her choice. Jenna had been very firm about the fact that Aurelie appealed to their target group of eighteen to twenty-five-year-olds, she’d sung three chart-topping and apparently iconic songs of their generation, and was only twenty-six herself.

Apparently Aurelie still held the public’s interest—the same way a train wreck did, Luke thought sourly. You just couldn’t look away from the unfolding disaster.

Still, he understood the bottom line. Jenna had booked Aurelie, the advertising had gone out, and a significant number of people were here to see the former pop princess sing one of her insipid numbers before the store officially reopened. As CEO of Bryant Stores, the buck stopped with him. It always stopped with him.

‘Where is she exactly?’

‘Aurelie?’

As if they’d been talking about anyone else. ‘Yes. Aurelie.’ Even her name was ridiculous. Her real name was probably Gertrude or Millicent. Or even worse, something with an unnecessary i like Kitti or Jenni. Either way, absurd.

‘She’s in the staff break room—’

Luke nodded grimly and headed upstairs. Aurelie had been contracted to sing and, damn it, she was going to sing. Like a canary.

Upstairs, Bryant’s women’s department was silent and empty, the racks of clothes and ghostly faceless mannequins seeming to accuse him silently. Today had to be a success. Bryant Stores had been slowly and steadily declining for the last five years, along with the economy. No one wanted overpriced luxuries, which was what Bryant’s had smugly specialised in for the last century. Luke had been trying to change things for years but his older brother, Aaron, had insisted on having the final say and he hadn’t been interested in doing something that, in his opinion, diminished the Bryant name.

When the latest dismal reports had come in, Aaron had finally agreed to an overhaul, and Luke just prayed it wasn’t too late. If it was, he knew who would be blamed.

And it would be his fault, he told himself grimly. He was the CEO of Bryant Stores, even if Aaron still initialled many major decisions. Luke took responsibility for what happened in his branch of Bryant Enterprises, including booking Aurelie as today’s entertainment.

He knocked sharply on the door to the break room. ‘Hello? Miss … Aurelie?’ Why didn’t the woman have a last name? ‘We’re waiting for you—’ He tried the knob. The door was locked. He knocked again. No answer.

He stood motionless for a moment, the memory sweeping coldly through him of another locked door, a different kind of silence. The scalding rush of guilt.

This is your fault, Luke. You were the only one who could have saved her.

Resolutely he pushed the memories aside. He shoved his shoulder against the door and gave it one swift and accurate kick with his foot. The lock busted and the door sprang open.

Luke entered the break room and glanced around. Clothes—silly, frothy, ridiculous outfits—were scattered across the table and chairs, some on the floor. And something else was on the floor.

Aurelie.

He stood there, suspended in shock, in memory, and then, swearing again, he strode towards her. She was slumped in the corner of the room, wearing an absurdly short dress, her legs splayed out like spent matchsticks.

He crouched in front of her, felt her pulse. It seemed steady, but what did he really know about pulses? Or pop stars? He glanced at her face, which looked pale and was lightly beaded with sweat. Actually, now that he looked at her properly, she looked awful. He supposed she was pretty in a purely objective sense, with straight brownish-blonde hair and a lithe, slender figure, but her face was drawn and grey and she looked way too thin.

He touched her cheek and found her skin clammy. He reached for his cell phone to dial 911, his heart beating far too hard. She must have overdosed on something. He’d never expected to see this scenario twice in one lifetime, and the remembered panic iced in his veins.

Then her eyes fluttered open and his hand slackened on the phone. Luke felt something stir inside him at the colour of her eyes. They were slate-blue, the colour of the Atlantic on a cold, grey day, and they swirled with sorrow. She blinked blearily, struggled to sit up. Her gaze focused in on him and something cold flashed in their blue depths. ‘Aren’t you handsome,’ she mumbled, and the relief he felt that she was okay was blotted out by a far more familiar determination.

‘Right.’ He hauled her up by the armpits and felt her sag helplessly against him. She’d looked thin slumped on the floor, and she felt even more fragile in his arms. Fragile and completely out of it. ‘What did you take?’ he demanded. She lolled her head back to blink up at him, her lips curving into a mocking smile.

‘Whatever it was, it was a doozy.’

Luke scooped her up in his arms and stalked over to the bathroom. He ran a basin full of cold water and in one quick and decisive movement plunged the pop star’s face into the icy bowlful.

She came up like a scalded cat, spluttering and swearing.

‘What the hell—?’

‘Sobered up a bit now, have you?’

She sluiced water from her face and turned to glare at him with narrowed eyes. ‘Oh, yes, I’m sober. Who are you?’

‘Luke Bryant.’ He heard his voice, icy with suppressed rage. Damn her for scaring him. For making him remember. ‘I’m paying you to perform, princess, so I’ll give you five minutes to pull yourself together and get down there.’ She folded her arms, her eyes still narrowed, her face still grey and gaunt. ‘And put some make-up on,’ Luke added as he turned to leave. ‘You look like hell.’

Aurelie Schmidt—not many people knew about the Schmidt—wiped the last traces of water from her face and blinked hard. Stupid man. Stupid gig. Stupid her, for coming today at all. For trying to be different.

She drew in a shuddering breath and grabbed a chocolate bar from her bag. Unwrapping it in one vicious movement, she turned to stare at the clothes scattered across the impromptu dressing room. Jenna, the Bryant stooge who had acted as her handler, had been horrified by her original choice of outfit.

‘But you’re Aurelie … You have an image …’

An image that was five years past its sell-by date, but people still wanted to see it. They wanted to see her, although whether it was because they actually liked her songs or just because they hoped to see her screw up one more time was open to debate.

And so she’d forsaken the jeans and floaty top she’d been wanting to wear and shimmied into a spangly minidress instead. She’d just been about to do her make-up when she must have passed out. And Mr Bossy Bryant had come in and assumed the worst. Well, she could hardly blame him. She’d done the worst too many times to get annoyed when someone jumped to that rather obvious conclusion.

Clearly she was late, so she wolfed down her chocolate bar and then did the quick version of her make-up: blush, concealer, eyeliner and a bold lipstick. Her hair looked awful but at least she could turn it into a style. She pulled it up in a messy up-do and sprayed it to death. People would like seeing her a little off her game anyway. It was, she suspected, why they were here; it was why the tabloids still rabidly followed her even though she hadn’t released a single in over four years. Everyone wanted to see her fail.

It had been a good twenty minutes since she was meant to perform her once-hit single Take Me Down, and Aurelie knew the audience would be getting restless. And Luke Bryant would be getting even more annoyed. Her lips curved in a cynical smile as she turned to leave the break room. Luke Bryant obviously had extremely low expectations of her. Well, he could just join the club.

Stepping onto a stage—even a makeshift one like this—always felt like an out-of-body experience to Aurelie. Any sense of self fell away and she simply became the song, the dance, the performance. Aurelie as the world had always known her.

The crowd in front of her blurred into one faceless mass and she reached for the mike. Her stiletto heel caught in a gap in the floor of the stage and for a second she thought she was going to pitch forward. She heard the sudden collective intake of breath, knew everyone was waiting, even hoping, she’d fall flat on her face. She righted herself, smiled breezily and began to sing.

Usually she wasn’t aware of what she was doing onstage. She just did it. Sing, slink, shimmy, smile. It was second nature to her now, first nature, because performing—being someone else—felt far easier than being herself. And yet right there in the middle of all that fakery she felt something inside her still and go silent, even as she sang.

Standing on the side of the makeshift stage, away from the audience assembled in the lobby, Luke Bryant was staring right at her, his face grim, his eyes blazing. And worse, far worse, since he should be staring at her, was the realisation that she was staring back at him. And some part of herself could not look away even as she turned back to face the crowd.

Luke watched as Aurelie began her routine, and knew that was what it was. She was on autopilot, but she was good enough that it didn’t matter. Her whipcord-slender body moved with an easy, sensual grace. Her voice was clear and true but also husky and suggestive when she wanted it to be, like sunshine and smoke. It was a sexy voice, and she was good at what she did. Even annoyed as he was with her, he could acknowledge that.

And then she turned and looked at him, and any smug sense of detachment he felt drained away. All he felt was … need. An overwhelming physical need for her but, more than that, a need to … to protect her. How ridiculous. He didn’t even like her; he despised her. And yet in that still, silent second when their gazes met he felt a tug of both heart and … well, the obvious.

Then she looked away and he let out a shuddering breath, relieved to have that weird reaction fade away. Clearly he was overtired and way too stressed, to be feeling like that about someone like Aurelie. Or anyone at all.

He heard her call out to the crowd to sing along to the chorus of the admittedly catchy tune, and watched as she tossed her head and shouted, ‘Come on, it’s not that old a hit that you can’t remember!’

He felt a flicker of reluctant admiration that she could make fun of herself. It took courage to do that. Yet remembering her slumped on the break room floor made his mouth twist down in disapproval. Dutch courage, maybe. Or worse.

The music ended, three intense minutes of song and dance, and Luke listened to the thunder of applause. He heard a few catcalls too and felt himself cringe. They liked her, but part of liking her, he knew, was making fun of her. He had a feeling Aurelie knew that too. He watched as she bowed with a semi-sardonic flourish, fluttered her fingers at her fans and sashayed offstage towards him. Their gazes clashed once more and Aurelie tipped her chin up a notch, her eyes flashing challenge.

Luke knew he’d treated her pretty harshly upstairs, but he wasn’t about to apologise. The woman might have been on drugs. Now that she had done her act he wanted her out of here. She was way too much of a wild card to have in the store today. She came towards him and he reached out and curled one hand around her wrist.

He felt the fragility of her bones under his fingers, the frantic hammering of her pulse, and wished he hadn’t touched her. Standing so close to her, he could smell her perfume, a fresh, citrusy scent, feel the heat from her body. He couldn’t quite keep his gaze from dipping down to the smooth roundness of her breasts and the gentle flaring of her hips, outlined all too revealingly under the thin, stretchy material of her skimpy dress. His gaze travelled back up her body and he saw her looking at him with an almost weary cynicism.

He dropped her wrist, conscious that he’d just given her a very thorough once-over. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and heard how stiff his voice sounded.

Her mouth twisted. ‘For what, exactly?’

‘For singing.’ He hated the lilt of innuendo in her voice.

‘No problem, Bossy.’

Annoyance flared. ‘Why do you think I’m bossy?’

‘We-ell …’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘You dunked me in a sink of cold water and expected me to thank you for it.’

‘You were passed out. I was doing you a favour.’

Her lips curved and her eyes glittered. Everything about her mocked him. ‘See what I mean?’

‘I just want you to do what you’re meant to do,’ Luke said tightly. The sooner this woman was out of here, the better. The store opening didn’t need her. He didn’t need her.

With that same mocking smile she placed one slender hand on his chest so he could see her glittery nail varnish—and she could feel the sudden, hard thud of his heart. He could feel the heat of her hand through his shirt, the gentle press of her slender fingers and, irritatingly, his libido stirred.

‘And what,’ she asked, her voice dropping an octave, ‘am I meant to do?’

‘Leave,’ he snapped. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction, much as he wanted to, but he could—and would—control everything else.

She just laughed softly and pressed her hand more firmly against the thin cotton of his shirt, spreading her fingers wide. He remained completely still, stony-faced, and she dropped her gaze downwards. ‘You sure about that?’ she murmured.

Fury beat through his blood and he picked up her hand—conscious again of its slender smallness—and thrust it back at her as if it were some dead thing. ‘I’ll have security escort you out.’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘And that will look good on today of all days.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Having Aurelie escorted out by your security buffoons? The tabloids will eat it up with a spoon.’ She folded her arms, a dangerous glitter in her eyes. It almost looked as if she was near tears or, more likely, triumph. ‘Your big opening will be made into a mockery. Trust me, I know how it goes.’

‘I have no doubt you do.’ She’d been ridiculed in the press more times than he cared to count.

‘Suck it up, Bossy,’ she jeered softly. ‘You need me.’

Luke felt his jaw bunch. And ache. He was tempted to stand his ground and tell her to leave, but rationality won out. Too much rode on this event to stand on stupid pride. ‘Fine,’ he said evenly. ‘You can circulate and socialise for an hour, and then leave of your own accord. But if you so much as—’

‘What?’ She raised her eyebrows, her mouth curving into another mocking smile. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’

‘That’s the problem. I have absolutely no idea.’

She’d looked so coy and cat-like standing there, all innuendo and outrageous suggestion, but suddenly it was as if the life had drained out of her and she looked away, her expression veiled, blank. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll give everyone, even you, what they want. I always do.’ And without looking back at him she walked towards the crowd.

Watching her, Luke felt a flicker of uneasy surprise. He’d assumed Aurelie was as shallow as a puddle, but in that moment when she’d looked away he’d sensed something dark and deep and even painful in her averted gaze.

He let out a long, low breath and turned in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to waste another second of his time thinking about the wretched woman.

Now that the mini-concert was over, the crowd milled around, examining the glass display cases of jewellery and make-up, the artful window dressings. Luke forced himself to focus on what lay ahead. Yet even as he moved through the crowd, smiling, nodding, talking, it seemed as if he could still feel the heat of her hand on his chest, imagined that its imprint remained in the cloth, or even on his skin.

Aurelie turned around to watch Luke Bryant walk away, wondering just what made Mr Bossy tick. He was wound tight enough to snap, that was for sure. When she’d placed her hand on his chest she’d felt how taut his muscles were, how tense. And she’d also felt the sudden thud of his heart, and knew she affected him. Aroused him.

The knowledge should have given her the usual sense of grim satisfaction, but it didn’t. All she felt was tired. So very tired, and the thought of performing on a different kind of stage, playing the role of Aurelie the Pop Star for another hour or more, made her feel physically sick.

What would happen, she wondered, if she dropped the flirty, salacious act for a single afternoon, stopped being Aurelie and tried being herself instead?

She thought of the PR lady’s look of horror at such a suggestion. No one wanted Aurelie the real person. They wanted the pop princess who tripped through life and made appalling tabloid-worthy mistakes. That was the only person they were interested in.

And that was the only person she was interested in being. She wasn’t even sure if there was anything left underneath, inside. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed into the fray.

The crowd mingling in the elegant lobby of Bryant’s was a mix of well-heeled and decidedly middle class. Aurelie had known Bryant’s as a top-of-the-line, big-name boutique but, from a glance at the jewellery counter, she could tell the reopening was trying to hit a slightly more affordable note. She supposed in this economy it was a necessary move and, from her quick once-over, it didn’t seem that the store had sacrificed style or elegance in its pursuit of the more price-conscious shopper. Ironic, really, that both she and Bryant’s were trying to reinvent themselves. She wondered if Luke would make a better job of it than she had.

For three-quarters of an hour she worked the crowd, signing autographs and fluttering her fingers and giggling and squealing as if she was having the time of her life. Which she most certainly was not. Yet even as she played the princess, she found her gaze wandering all too often to Luke Bryant. From the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, he looked as if he wasn’t having the time of his life, either. And, unlike her, he wasn’t able to hide it.

He was certainly good-looking enough, with the dark brown hair, chocolate eyes and powerful body she remembered the feel of. Yet he looked so serious, so stern, his dark eyes hooded and his mouth a thin line. Did he ever laugh or even smile? He’d probably had his sense of humour surgically removed.

Then she remembered the thud of his heart under her hand and how warm his skin had felt, even through the cotton of his shirt. She remembered how he’d looked down at her, first with disapproval and then with desire. Typical, she told herself, yet something in her had responded to that hot, dark gaze, something in her she’d thought had long since died.

His gaze lifted to hers and she realised she’d been staring at him for a good thirty seconds. He stared back in that even, assessing way, as if he had the measure of her and found it decidedly lacking. Aurelie felt her heart give a strange little lurch and deliberately she let her gaze wander up and down his frame, giving him as much of a once-over as he’d given her. His mouth twisted in something like distaste and he turned away.

Aurelie stood there for a moment feeling oddly rebuffed, almost hurt. How ridiculous; all she’d been trying to do was annoy him. Besides, she’d suffered far worse insults than being dismissed. All she had to do was open a newspaper or click on one of the many celebrity gossip sites. Still, she couldn’t deny the needling sense of pain, like a splinter burrowing into her heart. Why did this irritating man affect her so much, or even at all?

She heard the buzz of conversation around her and tried to focus on what someone was saying. Tried to smile, to perform, yet somehow the motions wouldn’t come. She was failing herself, and in one abrupt movement she pivoted on her heel and walked out of the crowded lobby.

Luke watched Aurelie leave the lobby and felt an irritating mix of satisfaction and annoyance war within him. He didn’t particularly want the woman around, yet he hadn’t liked the look on her face, almost like hurt, when he’d gazed back at her. Why he cared, he had no idea. He didn’t care. He wanted her gone.

And yet he could remember the exact blue-grey shade of her eyes, saw in that moment how they had darkened with pain. And despite every intention to stay and socialise, he found himself walking upstairs, back to the break room where he figured Aurelie had gone.

He pushed open the now-broken door without knocking, stopping suddenly when he saw Aurelie inside, in the process of pulling her dress over her head.

‘Excuse me—’

‘No need to be shy, boss man.’ She turned around wearing nothing but a very skimpy push-up bra and thong, her hands on her hips, eyebrows raised, mouth twisted. ‘Now you can have the good look you’ve been wanting.’

He shook his head. ‘You’re really unbelievable.’

‘Why, that’s almost a compliment.’

And Luke knew he was having a good look. Again. He could not, to his shame, tear his gaze away from those high, firm breasts encased in a very little bit of white satin. Furious with himself, he reached for a gauzy purple top lying on the floor and tossed it to her. ‘Put something on.’

She glanced at the top and her mouth curled in a feline smile. ‘If you insist.’

She didn’t look any more decent in the see-through top. In fact, Luke decided, she looked worse. Or better, depending on your point of view. The diaphanous material still managed to highlight the slender curves that had been on such blatant display. She was too skinny, he told himself, yet once again he could not keep his gaze from roving over her body, taking in its taut perfection. He felt another stirring of arousal, much to his annoyance. Aurelie’s mouth curved in a knowing smile.

‘I came up here,’ he finally bit out, ‘to see if you were all right.’

She raised her eyebrows, and he sensed her sudden tension. ‘And why wouldn’t I be all right?’

‘Because—’ What could he say? Because I saw such sadness in your eyes. He was being ridiculous. About a completely ridiculous woman. ‘You seemed troubled,’ he finally answered, because he didn’t dissemble or downright lie. He wouldn’t, not since that moment twenty-five years ago when he’d put his heart and soul on the line and hadn’t been believed.

‘Troubled?’ Her voice rang out, incredulous, scornful. Yet he still saw those shadows in her eyes, felt the brittleness of her confident pose, hands on hips, chin—and breasts—thrust out. She cocked her head, lashes sweeping downwards. ‘Aren’t you Mr Sensitive,’ she murmured, her voice dropping into husky suggestion that had the hairs on the back of Luke’s neck prickling even as his libido stirred insistently. It had been far too long since he’d been in a relationship. Since he’d had sex. That had to be the only reason he was reacting to this woman at all.

She sashayed towards him, lifted her knowing gaze to his. Luke took an involuntary step backwards, and came up against the door. ‘I think you’re the troubled one, Mr Bossy,’ she said, and with a cynical little smile she reached down to skim the length of his burgeoning erection with her fingertips. Luke felt as if he’d been jolted with electricity. He stepped back, shook his head in disgust.

‘What is wrong with you?’

‘Obviously nothing, judging by your reaction.’

‘If I see a fairly attractive woman in her underwear, then yes, my body has a basic biological reaction. That’s all it is.’

‘Oh, so your little show of concern for my emotional state was just that?’ She stepped back, and her smile was now cold, her eyes hard.

‘You think I was coming on to you?’ He let out a short, hard laugh. ‘If anything, you’re the one who’s been coming on to me. I don’t even like you, lady.’

She lifted her chin, her eyes still hard. ‘Since when did like ever come into it?’

‘It does for me.’

‘How quaint.’ She turned away and, reaching for a pair of jeans, pulled them on. ‘Well, you can breathe a sigh of relief. I’m fine.’

And even though he knew he should leave—hell, he should never have come up here in the first place—Luke didn’t move. She didn’t seem fine.

He stood there in frustration—sexual frustration now, too—as Aurelie piled all the clothes scattered around the room into a big canvas holdall. She glanced up at him, those stormy eyes veiled by long lashes, and for a second, no more, she looked young. Vulnerable. Then she smiled—he hated that cold, cynical smile—and said, ‘Still here, Bossy? Still hoping?’

‘I’m here,’ he said through gritted teeth, remembrance firing his fury, ‘because you’re a complete disaster and I can’t trust you to walk out of here on your own two feet. An hour ago you were passed out on the floor. The last thing I need is some awful exposé in a trashy tabloid about how pop princess Aurelie ODed in the break room.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Oh, and here I was, starting to believe you were actually concerned about me. Don’t worry, I told you, I’m fine.’

Luke jerked his head into the semblance of a nod. ‘Then I’ll say goodbye and thank you to use the back door on your way out.’

‘I always do. Paparazzi, you know.’ She smiled, but he saw her chin tremble, just the tiniest bit, and with stinging certainty he knew that despite her go-to-hell attitude, he’d hurt her.

And even though he knew he shouldn’t care, not one iota, he knew he did. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, because the sooner he was rid of her, the better. She didn’t answer, just stared at him with those storm cloud eyes, her chin lifted defiantly—and still trembling. Swearing aloud this time, Luke turned and walked out of the room.




CHAPTER TWO


“‘BRYANT’S REOPENING HIT exactly the right note between self-deprecation and assurance,’” Jenna read from the newspaper as she came into Luke’s office, kicking the door closed behind her with one high-heeled foot. She glanced at him over the top of the paper, her eyes dancing. ‘It was a total hit!’

Luke gave a rather terse smile back. He didn’t want to kill Jenna’s buzz, but he hadn’t meant the reopening to be ‘self-deprecating’—whatever that was supposed to mean. A quick scan of the morning’s headlines had reassured him that the opening had been well received, if not exactly how he’d envisioned, and the till receipts at the end of the day had offered more proof. It was enough, Luke hoped, to continue the relaunch of Bryant Stores across the globe—if his brother Aaron agreed.

He felt the familiar pang of frustration at still having to clear any major decisions with his brother, even though he was thirty-eight years old and had been running Bryant Stores for over a decade. He’d surely earned a bit more of Aaron’s trust, but his brother never gave it. Their father had set up the running of Bryant Enterprises in his will, and it meant that Aaron could call all the shots. And that, Luke knew, was one thing Aaron loved to do.

‘Getting Aurelie really worked,’ Jenna said. ‘All the papers mention her.’

‘They usually do,’ Luke answered dryly. He spun around in his chair to face the rather uninspiring view of Manhattan’s midtown covered in a muggy midsummer haze. He did not want to think about that out-of-control pop princess, or the shaming reaction she’d stirred up in him.

‘Apparently it was a stroke of genius to have her sing,’ Jenna continued, her voice smug with self-satisfaction.

‘Hitting the right note between self-deprecation and assurance?’ Luke quoted. The newspaper had managed to ridicule Aurelie even as they lauded the opening. Even if Aurelie is too washed up to reinvent herself, Bryant’s obviously can. Briefly he closed his eyes. How did she stand it, all the time? Or did she just not care?

‘Maybe you should have her perform at all the openings,’ Jenna suggested and Luke opened his eyes.

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Why not?’ Jenna persisted. ‘I know she’s a bit of a joke, but people still like her music. And the newspapers loved that we hired a has-been to perform … They thought it was an ironic nod to—’

‘Our own former celebrity. Yes, I read the papers, Jenna. I’m just not sure that was quite the angle we were going for.’ Luke turned around and gave his Head of PR a quelling look. He liked hiring young people with fresh ideas; he wanted change and innovation, unlike his brother. But he didn’t want Aurelie.

Actually, the problem is, you do.

‘Maybe not,’ Jenna persisted, ‘but it worked. And the truth is that nobody wants the old Bryant’s any more. You can only coast on a reputation for so long.’

‘Tell that to Aurelie,’ he said, meaning to close down the conversation, but Jenna let out a sharp little laugh.

‘But that’s all she has. Do you know she actually wanted to sing something new—some soppy folk ballad.’ Jenna rolled her eyes, and Luke stilled.

‘A folk ballad? She’s a pop star.’

‘I know, ridiculous, right? I don’t know what she was thinking. She wanted to wear jeans, for heaven’s sake, and play her guitar. Like we hired her for that.’

Luke didn’t answer, just let the words sink in. ‘What did you say to her?’ he asked after a moment.

‘I told her we’d hired her to be Aurelie, not Joan Baez.’

He rolled a silver-plated pen between his fingers, his gaze resting once more on the hazy skyline. ‘What did she say?’

Jenna shrugged. ‘Not much. We’re the ones who hired her. What could she do, after all?’

Nothing, Luke supposed. Nothing except lash out at anyone who assumed she was just that, only that—Aurelie, the shallow pop princess. An uncomfortable uncertainty stole through him at the thought.

Who was Aurelie, really?

‘That will be all, Jenna,’ he said and, looking faintly miffed since he’d always encouraged a spirit of camaraderie in the office, she left. Luke sank back into his chair and rubbed his hands over his face.

He didn’t want to think about Aurelie. He didn’t want to wonder if there was more to her than he’d ever expected, or worry about what she must have been feeling. He didn’t want to think about her at all.

Sighing, he dropped his hands to stare moodily out of the window. Jenna’s suggestion was ridiculous, of course. There was absolutely no way he was hiring Aurelie to open so much as a sugar packet for him. He never wanted to see her again.

Then why can’t you get her eyes out of your mind?

Her eyes. When he closed his own, he saw hers, stormy and sad and brave. He was being ridiculous, romantic, and about a woman whose whole lifestyle—values, actions, everything—he despised. She might have written some soppy new song, but it didn’t change who she was: a washed-up, over-the-top diva.

Yet her eyes.

He let out a groan of frustration and swivelled back to face his computer. He didn’t need this. The reopening of the New York flagship store might have been a success, but he still had a mountain of work to do. Bryant Enterprises had over a hundred stores across the world and Luke intended to overhaul every single one.

Without the help of Aurelie.

Aurelie bit her lip in concentration as she played the four notes again. Did it sound too melancholy? She had to get the bridge right or—

Or what?

She glanced up from the piano to stare unseeingly around the room she’d converted into a work space. Nobody wanted her music any more. She might be good for rehashing a few of her hit singles, but nobody wanted to hear soulful piano and acoustic guitar ballads. She’d got that loud and clear.

When she’d stupidly mentioned such an idea to her agent, he’d laughed. Laughed. ‘Stick with what you’re good at, babe,’ he’d said. ‘Not that it’s all that much.’

She’d fired him. Not that it mattered. He’d been about to let her go anyway.

Sighing, she rose from the piano bench and went to the kitchen. She’d been working all morning and it was time for a coffee break. She hated indulging in self-pity; she knew there was no point. She’d made her bed and she’d spend the rest of her life lying in it. No one was going to let her change. And, really, she didn’t need to change. At least not publicly. She could spend the rest of her life living quietly in Vermont. She didn’t need a comeback, despite her pathetic attempt at one.

Just the memory of the Bryant’s booking made her cringe. The only reason she’d accepted it was to have a kind of test run, to see how people responded to a new and different Aurelie. And it had failed at the very first gate. The Head of PR who had booked her had been appalled by her suggestion she do something different. People are coming to see the Aurelie they know and love, not some wannabe folk singer. We only want one thing from you.

Sighing again, she poured herself a coffee and added milk, stirring moodily. She’d given them the old Aurelie, just as that woman had wanted. She’d given it to them in spades. Briefly she thought of bossy Luke Bryant, and how she’d baited him. Even now she felt a flicker of embarrassment, even shame. All right, yes, she’d seen the desire flaring in his eyes, but instead of ignoring it she’d wound him up on purpose. She’d just been, as always, reacting. Reacting to the assumptions and sneers and suggestions. When she was in the moment it was so incredibly hard to rise above it.

The doorbell rang, a rusty croak of a sound, surprising her. She didn’t get visitors. The paparazzi didn’t know about this house and the townspeople left her alone. Then she remembered she’d ordered a new capo, and went to answer it.

‘Hey …’ The word died off to nothing as she stared at the man standing on the weathered front porch of her grandma’s house. It wasn’t the postman. It was Luke Bryant.

Luke watched the colour drain from Aurelie’s face as she stared at him, obviously shocked. As shocked as he had been when he’d found this place, for an old farmhouse in a sleepy town in Vermont was not what he’d expected at all. He’d supposed it was a pretty good cover for someone like her, but it had only taken about ten seconds standing on her front porch to realise this wasn’t a bolt-hole. It was home.

‘What …’ She cleared her throat, staring at him with wide, dazed eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘Looking for you.’

‘Why?’ She sounded so bewildered he almost smiled. Gone was any kind of innuendo, any flirt. Gone, in fact, was so much as a remnant of the Aurelie he’d encountered back in New York. He looked at her properly for the first time, and knew he wouldn’t have even recognised her if not for the colour of her eyes. He’d remembered those straight off. The woman in front of him was dressed in faded jeans and a lavender T-shirt, her silky hair tossed over one shoulder in a single braid. She wore no make-up, no jewellery. She was the essence of simplicity and, despite the slight gauntness of her face and frame, Luke thought she looked better now than he’d ever seen her in person or on an album cover.

‘May I come in?’

‘I …’ She glanced behind her shoulder, and Luke wondered what she was hiding. Suspicion hardened inside him. All right, the house might be quaint in a countrified kind of way, and her clothes were … well, normal, but could he really doubt that this woman was still the outrageous, unstable pop star he’d met before?

Well, yes, he could.

He’d been doubting it, aggravatingly, ever since Jenna had suggested he book her for a string of openings and he’d refused. Refused point-blank even as he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Those eyes. That sense of both sadness and courage. And how she must have come to Bryant’s wanting to be different.

That was what had finally made him decide to talk to her. What a coup it would be to have Bryant’s orchestrate a comeback for a has-been pop star that no one believed could change.

Although if he were honest—which he was determined always to be—it wasn’t the success of the store that had brought him to Vermont. It was something deeper, something instinctive. He understood all too well about wanting to change, trying to be different. He’d been trying with the store for nearly a decade. And as for himself … Well, he’d had his own obstacles to overcome. Clearly Aurelie had hers.

Which had brought him here, five weeks later, to her doorstep.

‘May I come in?’ he asked again, politely, and she chewed her lip, clearly reluctant.

‘Fine,’ she finally said, and moved aside so he could enter.

He stepped across the threshold, taking in the overflowing umbrella stand and coat rack, the framed samplers on the walls, the braided rug. Very quaint. And so not what he’d expected.

She closed the door and kept him there in the hall, her arms folded. ‘How did you find me?’

‘It was a challenge, I admit.’ Aurelie had been off the map. No known address besides a rented-out beach house in Beverly Hills, no known contacts since her agent and manager had both been fired. Jenna had contacted her directly through her website, which had since closed down.

‘Well?’ Her eyes sparked.

‘I’m pretty adept with a computer,’ Luke answered. ‘I found a mention of the sale of this house from a Julia Schmidt to you in the town property records.’ She shook her head, coldly incredulous, and he tried a smile. ‘Aurelie Schmidt. I wondered what your last name was.’

‘Nice going, Sherlock.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I still don’t know why you’re here.’

‘I’d like to talk to you.’

She arched an eyebrow, smiled unpleasantly. ‘Oh? That wasn’t the message you were sending me back in New York.’

‘That’s true. I’m sorry if I appeared rude.’

‘Appeared? Well, I appeared like I was strung out on drugs, so what does it really matter?’ She pivoted on her heel and walked down a dark, narrow hall, the faded wallpaper cluttered with photographs Luke found he longed to look at, to the kitchen.

‘Appeared?’ he repeated as he stood in the doorway, sunlight spilling into the room from a bay window that overlooked a tangled back garden. Aurelie had picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip. She didn’t offer him any.

‘I told you, it doesn’t matter.’

‘Actually, it does. If you have a substance abuse problem, I need to know about it now.’ That was the one thing that had almost kept him from coming at all. He would not work with someone who was unstable, who might overdose. He would never put himself in that position again.

‘You need to know?’ she mocked. She held her coffee mug in front of her as if it was some kind of shield, or perhaps a weapon. Luke stayed by the door. He didn’t want its contents thrown in his face. ‘What else do you need, Luke Bryant?’

Her eyes flashed and he tensed. He hated innuendo, especially when he knew it held a shaming grain of truth.

‘I have a proposition to put to you,’ he said evenly. ‘But first I need to know. Do you have a substance abuse problem, of any kind?’

‘Would you believe me if I told you?’

‘Yes—’

‘Ri-ight.’ She shook her head. ‘Why are you really here?’

‘I told you, I have a proposition to put to you. A business proposition.’

‘It’s always business, isn’t it?’

Luke bit down on his irritation. Already he was regretting the insane impulse to come here. ‘Enough. Either you listen to me or you don’t. If you’re interested in making a comeback—’

He saw her knuckles whiten around her coffee mug. ‘Who said I was interested in that?’

‘Why else accept the Bryant’s booking?’

She raised her eyebrows. ‘Boredom?’

Luke stared at her, saw the dangerous glitter in her eyes, the thin line of her mouth. The quivering chin. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said quietly.

‘Why are you interested in me making a comeback?’ she challenged. ‘Because you certainly weren’t in New York.’

‘I changed my mind.’

‘Oh, really?’

‘Look, I’ll tell you all about it if you think we can have a civil conversation, but first just answer the question. Do you have a substance—’

‘Abuse problem,’ she finished wearily. ‘No.’

‘Have you ever?’

‘No.’

‘Then why were you passed out in New York?’

Her expression was blank, her voice flat. ‘I hadn’t eaten anything. Low blood sugar.’ Luke hesitated. It hadn’t seemed like just low blood sugar. She eyed him cynically. ‘Clearly you believe me, just like you said you would.’

‘I admit, I’m sceptical.’

‘So honest of you.’

‘I won’t have anything to do with drugs.’

‘That makes two of us. Amazing,’ she drawled, ‘we have something in common.’

He thought of the tabloids detailing her forays into rehab. The pictures of her at parties. He really should turn around and walk right out of here. Aurelie watched his face, her mouth curling into a cold smile he didn’t like. ‘That doesn’t mean I’ve been a Girl Scout,’ she told him. ‘I never pretended I was.’

‘I know that.’

‘So what do you want?’

What did he want? The question felt loaded, the answer more complicated than he wanted it to be. ‘I want you to sing. At the reopening of four of my stores.’

He felt her shock even though her expression—that cold, cynical smile—didn’t change. ‘Why?’ she finally asked. ‘You certainly didn’t seem thrilled I was singing at your New York store.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ he agreed evenly. ‘Bryant Stores is important to me and I didn’t particularly like the idea of endorsing a washed-up pop star as its mascot.’

‘Thanks for spelling it out.’

‘I’ve changed my mind.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘Well, that’s a relief.’

‘The opening was well received—’

‘Oh, yes, the papers loved the irony of a store trying to reinvent itself hiring a pop star who can’t. I got that.’ Bitterness spiked her words, and Luke felt a rush of something like satisfaction. She was trying to change.

‘People still wanted to see you.’

‘The most exciting part was when I almost tripped. People want to see me fail, Bryant. That’s why they come.’ She turned away and he gazed at her thoughtfully, saw the way the sunlight gilded the sharp angles of her profile in gold.

‘I don’t want to see you fail.’

‘What?’ She turned back to him, surprise wiping the cynicism from her face. She looked young, clear-eyed, even innocent. The truth of her revealed, and it gave him purpose. Certainty.

‘I don’t want to see you fail. Give yourself a second chance, Aurelie, and listen to what I have to say.’

Aurelie stared at him, wishing she hadn’t revealed so much. People want to see me fail. Why had she told him the truth? Even if he already knew it, he hadn’t known that she knew it. And, worse, that it hurt her. Yet she was pretty sure he knew now, and she hated the thought.

She hated that he was here. She couldn’t act like Aurelie the go-to-hell pop princess here, in her grandma’s house. Her home, the only place she’d ever been able to be herself. Be safe.

She felt a tightness in her chest, like something trying to claw its way out, finally break free. ‘I want you to leave,’ she said, and thankfully her voice came out flat. Strong. ‘I’m not interested in anything you have to say, or any job you might have for me, so please, please leave.’ Her voice wasn’t strong then. It trembled and choked and she had to blink hard, which made her all the more furious.

Why did this man affect her like this? So much? In sudden, fearful moments she felt as if he saw something in her no one else did, no one else even wanted to. What a joke. There was nothing there to see. And, even if there were, he wouldn’t be the one to see it. He still probably thought she did drugs.

‘I will leave,’ Luke said steadily. ‘But please let me say something first.’

He stood in the doorway of her kitchen, so still, so sure, like a rock. A mountain. She couldn’t get him out of here if she tried. Yet bizarrely—and terrifyingly—there was something steady about his presence. Something almost reassuring. Which was ridiculous because she didn’t trust any men, and especially not ones who strode in and blustered and proclaimed, insisting that they were going to rescue you as if they were some stupid knight. All Luke Bryant needed was a white horse and a big sword.

Well, he had a big sword. She was pretty sure about that. And she knew exactly how to knock him off his trusty steed. Men were all the same. They might say they wanted to help you or protect you, but really? They just wanted you. And Luke Bryant was no different.

‘All right.’ She folded her arms, gave him a cool smile. ‘So tell me.’

‘I’m overseeing the launch of our stores in Asia, and I’d like to hire you to perform at the reopening of each.’

‘So you want me to sing Take Me Down at each one? Slink and shimmy and be outrageous?’ The thought made her feel ill. She could not do that again. She wouldn’t.

‘No,’ Luke said in that calm, deep voice Aurelie found bizarrely comforting. ‘I don’t want you to do any of those things.’

‘That’s what your Head of PR paid me to do.’

‘And this time I’m paying you to do something else.’

She felt that creeping of suspicion, and a far more frightening flicker of hope. ‘And what would that be, Mr Bossy?’

‘To sing your new song. The one I heard while I was standing on your front porch.’




CHAPTER THREE


AURELIE ALMOST SWAYED, and Luke took an instinctive step towards her. Clearly he’d surprised her with that one. Well, he’d meant to. He had to do something to shock her out of that jaded superstar persona she wore like rusty armour. And the fact that he knew it was armour, no more than a mask, made him more certain.

She was different.

But how different? And how crazy was he, to come here and suggest they do business together? She might still possess a certain popularity, but he knew he was taking a huge risk. And he wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it.

‘Well?’ he asked, pushing away those irritating doubts. She had turned away from him, her arms wrapped around herself, her head slightly bowed. Luke had to fight the ridiculous and completely inappropriate impulse to put his arms around her. That would really go down well.

Then she lifted her head and turned to face him with an iron-hard gaze. ‘You came all the way to Vermont without hearing that song, so that wasn’t your original intention.’

‘Actually, it was. But hearing it was a nice confirmation, I’ll admit.’

She shook her head. ‘How did you even know—’

‘Jenna, my Head of PR, told me that you’d asked to sing a new composition.’ Some soppy folk ballad had been her actual words, but Luke wasn’t about to say that. And one glance at Aurelie’s stony face told him he didn’t need to.

‘Somehow I don’t think you came here on Jenna’s recommendation,’ she said flatly. ‘She hated the song.’

‘I’m not Jenna.’

‘No,’ she said, and her gaze swept over him slowly, suggestively. ‘You’re not.’ She’d dropped her voice and it slid over him, all husky sweetness. Luke felt that prickling on the back of his neck. He hated how she affected him. Hated and needed it both at the same time, because there could be no denying the pulse of longing inside him when that husky murmur of a voice slid over him like a curtain of silk and she turned from innocent to siren. Innocent Siren, that had been the name of her first album.

Except there was nothing innocent about her, never had been, he was delusional to think that way—and then Luke saw she was walking towards him, her slender hips swaying, her storm cloud eyes narrowed even as a knowing smile curved those soft pink lips that looked so incredibly kissable.

‘So why are you really here, Luke?’ she asked softly. He felt his neurons short-circuit as, just as before, she placed one slender hand on his chest. He could feel the heat of her through the two layers of his suit, the thud of his own heart in response.

‘I told you—’ he began, but that was all he could get out. He could smell her perfume, that fresh, citrusy scent. And her hair tickled his lips. He definitely should have got a handle on his libido before he came here, because this woman made him crazy—

‘I think I know why you’re here,’ she whispered, and then she stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his.

Sensation exploded inside him. He felt as if Catherine wheels had gone off behind his eyes, throughout his whole body. One almost-nothing kiss and he was firing up like a Roman candle.

‘Don’t—’ he said brusquely, pulling away just a little. Not as much as he should have.

‘Don’t what?’ she teased, her breath soft against his mouth, and then instinct and desire took over and he pulled her towards him, his mouth slanting over hers as he deepened her brush of a kiss into something primal and urgent. His arms came around her, his hands sliding down the narrow knobs of her spine to her hips where they fastened firmly as if they belonged there and he brought her against him. He claimed that little kiss, made it his.

His, not hers. Not theirs. Because in some distant part of his brain he realised she’d gone completely still, lifeless even, and all the while he was kissing her like a drowning man clinging to the last lifebelt.

With a shaming amount of effort he pushed himself away from her, let out a shuddering breath. His heart still thudded. ‘What the hell was that about?’

She gazed back at him in stony-faced challenge, seeming completely unaffected by something that felt as if it had almost felled him. ‘You tell me.’

‘Why did you kiss me?’

‘Are you trying to act like you didn’t want it?’

‘I—’ Damn. ‘No, I’m not.’ Surprise rippled in her eyes like a shadow on water but she said nothing. ‘I admit, I’m attracted to you. I’d rather not be. And it has nothing to do with why I came here.’

She arched her eyebrows, elegantly incredulous. ‘Nothing?’

Luke expelled an exasperated breath. He didn’t lie. Couldn’t, ever since he’d told the truth in one of the most defining moments of his life and hadn’t been believed. He’d been blamed instead, and maybe—

He pushed the thought away. ‘It probably had something to do with it,’ he admitted tersely. ‘But I wish it didn’t.’

‘Really.’ She sounded utterly disbelieving, and he could hardly blame her. From the first moment he’d met her his body had been reacting. Wanting. He knew it, and obviously so did she.

‘Why did you kiss me?’ he countered. ‘Because I admit I might have taken over, but you started it and there’s got to be a reason for that.’

‘Does there?’

‘I think,’ Luke said slowly, ‘there’s a reason for everything you do, even if it seems completely crazy from the outside.’

She let out a little laugh, the first genuine sound of humour he’d heard from her. ‘Thank you for that compliment … I think.’

‘You’re welcome.’

They stared at each other like two wrestlers on either side of the mat. Some kind of truce had been called, but Luke didn’t know what it was. Or why he was here. His calm, no-nonsense plan to hire Aurelie for the Asia openings—to change the public’s opinion of both her and the store, the ultimate reinvention—seemed like the flimsiest of pretexts after that kiss.

He’d come here because he wanted her, full stop. It really was that simple.

Aurelie stared at Luke, wondered what tack he’d try next. The honesty had surprised her. Unsettled her, because she knew he was speaking the truth and she didn’t know what to do with it. She wasn’t used to honesty.

Trying for something close to insouciance, she turned away from him, picked up her discarded mug of coffee and kept the kitchen counter between them.

Luke folded his arms. ‘So you still haven’t told me why you kissed me.’

She shrugged. ‘Why not?’ That kiss had started out as a way to prove he just wanted one thing and it wasn’t her song. But then she’d felt the softness of his lips, his hair, and she’d forgotten she’d been trying to prove a point. She’d felt a flicker of … something. Desire? It seemed impossible. And then Luke had deepened the kiss and she’d felt herself retreat into numbness as she always did.

She took a sip of her now-cold coffee. She shouldn’t have kissed him at all. She didn’t want to be Aurelie here, in the only place she’d ever thought of as home. She wanted to be herself, but she didn’t know how to do that with someone like Luke. Or with anyone, really. She’d been pretending for so long she wasn’t sure she could stop. ‘Why don’t you tell me why you want to hire me for these reopenings.’

‘I told you already.’

‘The real reason.’

He stared at her, his dark eyes narrowed, lips thinned. He really was an attractive man, not that it mattered. Still a part of her could admire the chocolate-coloured hair, could remember how soft it had felt threaded through her fingers. How hard and toned his body had been against hers. How warm his eyes had seemed—

She needed to put a stop to that kind of thinking right now. ‘Well? Why?’

‘It’s more complicated than I’d prefer it to be,’ Luke said, the words seeming wrested from him. ‘It makes good business sense on one level, and on another … yes.’ He shrugged, spread his hands. ‘Like I said before, attraction comes into it. Probably. It doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it.’

‘Despite the fact that you just did.’

‘If you thrust your tongue into my mouth, I’ll respond. I’m a man.’

Exactly. And she knew men. Still, the extent of his honesty unnerved her. He could have easily denied it. Lied. ‘What are you,’ she said, ‘Pinocchio?’

He glanced away, his expression shuttering. ‘Something like that.’

The man could not tell a lie. How fascinating, considering she told dozens. Hundreds. Her whole life was a lie. ‘So if I asked you anything, you’d have to tell me the truth?’

‘I don’t like lying, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Don’t like it, or aren’t good at it?’

‘Both.’

She was tempted to ask him something really revealing, embarrassing even, yet she decided not to. Any more intimacy with this man was not advisable.

‘Okay, then. Tell me just what this whole Asia thing is about.’

‘I’m relaunching four stores across Asia. Manila, Singapore, Hong Kong and Tokyo. I want you to sing at each opening.’

‘Sing my new song.’

‘That’s about it.’

‘That’s kind of a risk, don’t you think?’

He raised his eyebrows in both challenge and query. ‘Is it?’

‘How long were you standing on my porch?’

‘Long enough.’

She had the absolutely insane impulse to ask him what he’d thought of that song. She’d been working on it for months, and it meant more to her than she ever wanted to admit—which was why she wouldn’t ask. ‘Why don’t you want my usual Aurelie schtick?’ she asked instead.

He nodded, and it felt like an affirmation. ‘That’s what it is, isn’t it? A schtick. An act. Not who you really are.’

She didn’t like the way his gaze seemed to sear right through her. She didn’t like it at all, and yet part of her was crying out yes. Yes, it’s pretend, it’s not me, and you’re the only person who has ever realised that. From somewhere she dredged up the energy to roll her eyes. Laugh it off. ‘Of course it’s a schtick. Any famous person is just an act, Bryant. A successful one.’

‘Call me Luke.’ She pressed her lips together. Said nothing. He took a step towards her. ‘So will you do it?’

‘I can’t give you an answer right now.’

‘You’d better give me an answer soon, because I fly to the Philippines next week.’

She let out a low breath, shook her head. She wasn’t saying no, she just felt …

‘Scared?’

‘What?’

‘You’re scared of me. Why?’ She stared at him, wordless with shock, and he gave her a little toe-curling smile. ‘The honesty thing? It goes both ways. I call it as I see it, Aurelie. Always. So why are you scared?’

She bristled. ‘Because I don’t know you. Because you practically stalked me, coming to my house here, muscling your way in—’

‘I asked. Politely. And you’re the one who kissed me, so—’

‘Just forget it.’ She turned away, hating how much he saw and didn’t see at the same time. Hating how confused and needy he made her feel.

‘Tell me why you’re scared.’

‘I’m not scared.’ She was terrified.

‘Are you scared of me, or of singing?’ He took another step towards her, his body relaxed and so contained. He was so sure of himself, of who he was, and it made her angry. Jealous. Scared.

‘Neither—’ Both.

‘You know you’re not that great a liar, either.’

She whirled around to face him, to say something truly scathing, but unfortunately nothing came to mind. All her self-righteous indignation evaporated, and all the posturing she depended on collapsed. She had nothing. And she was so very tired of pretending, of acting as if she didn’t care, of being someone else. Even if the thought of being herself—and having people see that—was utterly terrifying.

‘Of course I’m a little … wary,’ she snapped, unable to lose that brittle, self-protective edge. ‘The press lives to ridicule me. People love to hate me. Do you think I really enjoy opening myself up to all that again and again?’

He stared at her for a moment, saw her, and it took all her strength to stand there and take it, not to say something stupid or suggestive, hide behind innuendo. She lifted her chin instead and returned his gaze.

‘You act like you do.’

‘And I told you, every famous person is an act. Aurelie the pop star isn’t real.’ She couldn’t believe she was saying this.

‘Then who,’ Luke asked, ‘is Aurelie Schmidt?’

Aurelie stared at him for a long, helpless moment. She had no answer to that one. She’d been famous since she was sixteen years old. ‘It hardly matters. Nobody’s interested in Aurelie Schmidt.’

‘Maybe they would be if they got to know her.’

‘Trust me, they wouldn’t.’

‘It’s a risk you need to take.’

It was a risk too great to take. ‘Don’t tell me what I need.’

Luke thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Fine. Let me take you to dinner.’

Suspicion sharpened inside her. ‘Why?’

‘A business dinner. To discuss the details of the Asia trip.’

She started to shake her head, then stopped. Was she really going to close this down before it had even started? Was she that much a coward? ‘I haven’t said yes.’

‘I know.’

Slowly she let out her breath. She was scared. Of singing, and of him. Of how much he seemed to see. Know. And yet part of her craved it all at the same time. Desperately. ‘All right.’

‘Any recommendations for a good place to eat around here?’

‘Not really. There’s a fast food joint in the next town over—’

‘Anything else?’

‘Nothing closer than thirty miles.’

He said nothing, but his thoughtful gaze still unnerved her. This whole thing was a bad idea, and she should call it off right now—

‘Tell you what,’ Luke suggested. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

‘What?’ No man had ever cooked for her, or even offered.

‘I’m not Michelin, but I make a decent steak and chips.’

‘I don’t have any steak.’

‘Do you eat it?’

‘Yes—’

‘Then I’ll go out and buy some. And over a meal we’ll discuss Asia.’

It sounded so pleasant, so normal, and yet still she hesitated. Pleasant and normal were out of her realm of experience. Then she thought of what Luke was offering her—an actual chance—and she nodded. Grudgingly. ‘Okay.’

‘Good.’ He turned to go. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

Thirty minutes’ respite. ‘Okay,’ she said again, and then he was gone.

Luke gave her nearly an hour. He thought she needed the break. Hell, he did too. He took his time choosing two thick fillets, a bag of potatoes, some salad. He thought about buying a bottle of wine, but decided against it. This was a business dinner. Strictly business, no matter how much his libido acted up or how much he remembered that mind-blowing kiss—

Hell.

He stopped right there in the drinks aisle and asked himself just what he was doing here. His brain might be insisting it was just business, but his body said otherwise. His body remembered the feel of her lips, the smoke of her voice, the emotion in her eyes. His body remembered and wanted, and that was dangerous. Crazy.

He straightened, forced himself to think as logically as he always did. All right, yes, he desired her. He’d admitted it. But this was still business. If Aurelie’s performance at Bryant’s gave her the kind of comeback he envisioned, it would create fantastic publicity for the store. It was, pure and simple, a good business move. That was why he was here.

As he resolutely turned towards the checkout, he felt a prickle of unease, even guilt. He’d told Aurelie he didn’t lie, but right then he was pretty sure he was lying to himself.

By the time he made it back to the house on the end of the little town’s sleepiest street it was early evening, the sun’s rays just starting to mellow. The air was turning crisp, and he could see a few scarlet leaves on the maple outside the weathered clapboard house Aurelie called home.

He rang the doorbell, listened to it wheeze and then her light footsteps. She opened the door and he saw that she’d showered—squash that vision right now—and her hair was damp and tucked behind her ears. She’d changed into a pale green cashmere sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, and when he glanced down he saw she was wearing fuzzy pink socks. Fuchsia, actually.

He nodded towards the socks. ‘Those look cosy.’

She gave him the smallest of smiles, but at least it felt real. ‘My feet get cold.’

‘May I come in?’

She nodded, and he sensed the lack of artifice from her. Liked it. Who is Aurelie Schmidt? Maybe he’d find out.

But did he really want to?

She moved aside and he came in with the bag of groceries. ‘Do you mind if I make myself comfortable in your kitchen?’

She hesitated, and he could almost imagine her suggestive response. You go ahead and make yourself comfortable anywhere, Luke. He could practically write the script for her, because he was pretty sure now that was all it was: a script. Lines. This time she didn’t give them to him; she just shrugged. ‘Sure.’

He nodded and headed towards the back of the house.

Fifteen minutes later he had the steaks brushed with olive oil and in the oven, the potatoes sliced into wedges and frying on the stove, and he was tossing a salad. Aurelie perched on a stool, her fuzzy feet hooked around the rungs, and watched him.

‘Do you like to cook?’

‘Sometimes. I’m not a gourmet, by any means. Not like my brother Chase.’

‘He’s good?’

Luke shrugged. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Chase, or anything to do with his family. He preferred not to dredge those dark memories up; he’d determinedly pushed them way, way down. Yet something about this woman—her fragility, perhaps—brought them swimming up again. ‘He’s good at most things,’ he replied with a shrug. He reached for some vinaigrette. ‘Do you have brothers or sisters?’

‘No.’ From the flat way she spoke Luke guessed she was as reluctant to talk about her family as he was to talk about his. Fine with him.

He finished tossing the salad. ‘Everything should be ready in a few minutes.’

Aurelie slid off her stool to get the plates. ‘It smells pretty good.’

He glanced up, smiling wryly. ‘Are we actually having a civil conversation?’

‘Sounds like it.’ She didn’t smile back, just took a deep breath, the plates held to her chest. ‘Look, if you came here on some kind of mercy mission, just forget it. I don’t need your pity.’

He stilled. ‘I don’t pity you.’

‘If not pity, then what?’

A muscle bunched in his jaw. ‘What are you saying?’

She lifted her chin. ‘I find it hard to believe you came all the way to Vermont to ask me to sing. You hadn’t even heard that song. It could have sucked. Maybe it does.’

‘I admit, it was a risk.’

‘So why did you come? What’s the real reason?’ Suspicion sharpened her voice, twisted inside him like a knife. Did she actually think he’d come here to get her into bed?





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