Backstage with Her Ex. Louisa George

He patted her hands, her pockets and legs. The voice in her ear was hard and unforgiving. ‘There you go, darling. Take it easy.’

      ‘Let go of me. Let go now. Or I call the cops. Harassment. Assault.’

      ‘She’s clean.’

      ‘Of course I’m clean. What is this?’

      ‘Can’t be too careful, ma’am. We meet all sorts of weirdoes in this business.’

      ‘And that’s just the people who work in it, right?’ Shoving out of the bear’s hold, she straightened her clothes then turned, slamming body-to-body with Nate.

      His jaw tensed, and his stare deepened as he took her in, recognition clearly filtering through his brain as he swept his glance up and down her body.

      In response she froze, unable to take her eyes from him. Sure, she’d seen the pictures, had some old grainy ones of her own, she’d even stolen quick glances at the rock magazines’ centre spreads, heck she’d just watched him perform two hours of perfect harmonies and slow sexy dance moves in the final concert of his tour. But nothing had prepared her for the real thing up close.

      He seemed taller, definitely broader, not the teenager she’d once fallen in love with. He was one hundred per cent man. All sex, with his wavy chocolate-coloured hair dipping lazily to one side. She remembered the soft just-washed feel of it, the faint scent of apples.

      Her gaze ran across his face, past those famous soft-caramel eyes, the refined cheeks peppered with his trademark stubble, the perfect curve of his lips.

      But she couldn’t stop there. After all, he’d always been a feast to her senses. She imagined the ruffled feel of his shirt, and the hard muscle underneath. His smell of leather and man. Remembered the long legs for ever encased in black denim, rough against her juvenile skin. The arrogant stance that told the world he didn’t give a damn, when she knew he’d cared deeply. Deeply enough to be hurt by the rejection, to leave town altogether and never look back.

      And yes, thank you, Cassie, his ass was still to die for.

      He stared right back at her, stepping back, palm up in a question. ‘Sasha? Sasha Sweet?’

      ‘Nathan—’ She started to explain, but suddenly she was grabbed by the bear, who shouted into his walkie-talkie, ‘Now. Now. The car’s leaving. Go, Nate. You want this one too?’

      This one? What was she? A toy? A groupie? ‘Wait, no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not—’

      ‘No?’ The minder grinned and shook his head. ‘Had a change of heart, sweetheart? There’s plenty more who’d take your place.’

      Oh, merry hell. The bear really did think she was a groupie. Nate must have muttered something, or nodded, and she’d missed it before he disappeared into the melee outside.

      But at that same moment two more security guards burst into the room, grabbed her by the waist and ran her out through the corridor in a blur of clamouring, screaming women tearing at her hair, her clothes. The chant of Nate, Nate, Nate, ringing in her ears.

      ‘Nathan...Wait—’ Her voice mingled with the rest, and got lost. Watching his leather-jacketed back disappear into a blacked-out limousine, she breathed out a hiss of irritation. That was that.

      He was gone. And now no result for the school; she should have found her nerve and asked him.

      Then she felt someone touch the back of her head and push her into the plush car seat opposite Nathan.

      He slowly leaned back and grinned, almost oblivious to the two giggling peroxided semi-naked women who had draped themselves over him and now appeared to be cleaning out his ears—with their tongues. The door slammed closed.

      And with a jerk the car eased towards the arena exit to the accompaniment of bright flash photography. On the way to who knew where, with the ex she dumped, an audience of twin pipe-cleaners on legs, and a whole lot of explaining to do.

      TWO

      Well, well. This was interesting. Ten years in the business and Nate had had a lot of surprises. Some good. Some not so. Some pretty painful and costly. But a flame-haired ex with a penchant for kicking first and asking questions—er, never...wasn’t one of them. Until now.

      He watched her struggle with the every-day reality of his chaotic life on the road, her shock at the girls in the car. Meanwhile some weird emotion played Dixie with his gut. Was he pleased to see her? That, he hadn’t had time to compute.

      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