by Nicola Marsh
In a place this size she’d be forced to interact with Luca whether she liked it or not.
Either that or spend every spare second when she wasn’t working in her bedroom and, considering that consisted of a narrow bed and little else, it’d get mighty uncomfortable mighty fast.
With her blood pressure spiking along with her temper, she snatched up her overnight bag and strode into the closest bedroom, flinging it onto the bed and bumping her elbow on the door in the process.
Luca watching her in silent amusement didn’t help and she stalked towards him, every step bringing her closer to slugging him. He must’ve caught the maniacal gleam in her eyes for he quickly shut the door and held up his hands in surrender.
‘Hey, I’m not the bad guy here. You made the bookings. I’m just tagging along as your new finance manager, remember?’
‘How could I forget? ‘
She stood toe to toe with him, wanting to hit him for no other reason than he was convenient and she had to take her temper out on someone. She wasn’t the fiery type usually, had learned to master her emotions and hide them beneath a veneer of indifference, the only way to cope with her manic mother’s mood swings and total disregard for her only child.
But her temper had been building the entire trip and she had to find a release before she exploded. Temper or something else? She banished the thought in an instant, not willing to acknowledge that this wild, out-of-control feeling had more to do with sexual tension than anger.
But it was there, simmering between them, and when she locked gazes with his the air between them shimmered and coalesced into something bigger than the both of them.
Her heart stalled when he reached for her, the crackle of electricity zapping her into reality.
She had a job to do, he had his. That was it.
She’d manage Storm, he’d manage the money. Co-workers, that was what they were for the next fortnight. That was all. And if her momentary reality flash wasn’t enough, the fact he was Hector’s grandson, the man she owed everything to, should be enough of a wake-up call.
Dragging in several shaky breaths, she placed a hand on his chest to stall him.
‘Ignoring this isn’t going to make it go away,’ he said, his heat burning her through the cotton of his shirt.
‘Maybe not, but I have to try.’
With a reluctant sigh, she patted his chest and walked away, his gaze burning her back until she shut the door on her stupidity and quite possibly the best offer she’d had in a long time.
Charli was going stir crazy.
She’d holed up in her room for half an hour: unpacking, unravelling, unhinged.
If she couldn’t spend two nights in the same apartment as Luca what chance did she have surviving the rest of the week? Storm had several gigs scattered through country Victoria over the next seven days, a warm-up for his big Melbourne debut in a fortnight.
She’d co-ordinated his itinerary to within an inch and then he’d thrown a spanner in the works, announcing his kid would be tagging along. From what she’d seen, rock tours were the last place for kids but in true Landry Records style she’d adjusted the itinerary to include fun kid stuff in Storm’s down time.
It had all been running smoothly since that slight hiccup until Hector had fired Klaus and Luca had taken his place on tour. From what she’d learned with a few discreet inquiries, the guy could handle money. Sadly, she feared he could handle her as easily.
She paced the postage-stamp-size room, tossing around different scenarios in her head of how this could pan out.
She could avoid him other than the work stuff scheduled. She could feign politeness and spend the least amount of time with him possible. Or she could go out there and face Luca as she’d faced every other challenge in her life: with head held high, with bravado, with the confidence she could handle whatever he dished up and more.
Besides, since when had she run from a challenge? Her job presented challenges on a daily basis, from placating irate fans who couldn’t get VIP tickets to ego stroking the latest chart topper and everything in between.
So what was one cocky, charming playboy? She should be able to handle him with her eyes closed. Therein lay the problem: if she closed her eyes, she could envision exactly how she’d like to handle him and it sure as hell wasn’t in a professional manner.
How could she have the hots for someone she seriously wanted to strangle? He’d done nothing but goad her, tease her and throw her off balance since they’d met. And she still had no idea what he was doing here: back in Melbourne, doing Pop a favour when he’d practically ignored his existence until now?
What would a hotshot playboy want with filling in a temp job in the music industry?
Unless Pop was grooming him to take over.
Her eyes flew open as horror lodged in her gut.
No way.
Hector was at the top of his game, a fit seventy and showing no sign of slowing. Dynamic, knowledgeable, an entrepreneur with brains and morals, Hector could rule the music industry in Australia for the next decade. But once the thought had taken form it blossomed into a nasty suspicion that wouldn’t go away.
Luca Petrelli as her boss? She’d rather work for her illustrious charge Storm Varth, Australia’s oldest, crankiest rock star who went through personal assistants as fast as girlfriends.
She had to know why Luca was really here. Now.
Flinging her bedroom door open, she marched out into the lounge room, ready to take him on. And promptly deflated when she caught sight of the meal he’d laid out on the coffee table.
While she’d alternated between fuming and sulking in her room, he’d ducked out to the shops and bought a gourmet picnic, the staggering array of cheeses, cold meats and grilled vegetables making her mouth water.
Her stomach rumbled as the tantalising aroma of garlic-infused Turkish bread and chilli olives wafted over her and she realised how long it had been since she’d last eaten. Breakfast, eight hours ago? She’d been too wound up since then: picking up Luca, the drive here, getting a grip on her crazy behaviour—like allowing him to kiss her.
Unable to resist the lure of food she plopped onto one of the sofas just as Luca stepped out of his bedroom, and she could’ve sworn she salivated more at the sight of him than the antipasto platter.
He’d changed into running shorts that revealed long, muscular legs, and a white T-shirt that set off his tan, and all she could think about was how hungry she was. But not for food.
‘Going for a run?’
His mouth quirked into a crooked smile that made her heart flutter wildly.
‘Yeah, thought I’d leave you to eat in peace.’
She swallowed her disappointment. Probably for the best. She’d confront him better on a full stomach.
‘Okay.’
He stalked towards her and she held her breath as he squatted next to her, his forearm brushing her thigh. ‘Unless you want me to stay?’
She should fob him off, get rid of him so she could strategise how she’d confront him later.
Instead, she found herself nodding. ‘There’s an awful lot of food here, shame to let it go to waste.’
His knowing grin had her wiggling in discomfort. He knew exactly what her concession meant: she wanted him to share this meal with her for no other reason than she liked him. Liked sparring with him, liked his flirting, liked how he made her feel alive.
Letting her hair slide forward to hide her blush, she grabbed a plate and filled it with a selection of olives, salami, Brie and Turkish bread.
‘Thanks for this. It looks great.’
‘You’re welcome.’
Folding his frame into the chair next to her, he helped himself, slathered hummus onto bread and piled it high with semi-dried tomatoes, grilled eggplant and roasted capsicum.
‘Beryl at Reception pointed me in the right direction of a local deli within walking distance.’
‘Bet you smiled and she fell all over you.’
He
shrugged, his modest grin endearing. ‘Pity this legendary charm you attribute to me doesn’t work on you.’
Oh, it was working all right. She’d only met him a few hours ago yet she felt strangely comfortable sitting here sharing an impromptu indoor picnic.
She didn’t trust easily, never let anyone get too close, so the fact she’d invited Luca to join her spoke volumes.
‘I’m immune,’ she said, forking olives into her mouth, almost choking when he patted her knee.
‘That’s what they all say.’
‘I bet.’
Her wry smile made him laugh and she joined in, some of her animosity towards him fading. It wasn’t any secret the guy was a world-renowned playboy. Pick up a glossy magazine and Luca’s picture would be in it: strutting the red carpet with an Oscar nominee on his arm, frolicking in the Caribbean ocean, driving a fast car in Monte Carlo.
He never hid who he was. Pity she couldn’t say the same.
‘So what are you doing here?’
‘Thought that would’ve been obvious.’
The corners of his eyes crinkled adorably as he winked. ‘Having dinner with a beautiful woman.’
She snorted. ‘Why are you in Melbourne, filling in on the tour?’
When his smile faded, she pushed. ‘Helping Hector when you haven’t seen him in ten years?’
‘That’s none of your business.’
If he thought his cold, clipped tone would shut her up, he could think again.
‘Actually, it is. Hector’s a friend as well as my boss and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of him.’
‘Funny, that’s what I thought about you when we first met.’
Hating that she had to justify herself to him, she toyed with the food on her plate.
‘Hector’s my mentor. He gave me my first break when I was a teenager looking for a job.’
And a home and a life off the streets, where she’d had to live for a horrific fortnight that haunted her for years afterwards. But Luca was on a need-to-know basis and the depth of her caring for Hector had nothing to do with him.
‘I respect him more than anyone, would never take advantage of him.’
He pinned her with an intimidating glare. ‘And you think I would?’
‘Would you?’ She shrugged, ‘I wouldn’t know, considering you haven’t visited your grandfather in all the years I’ve been around.’
An emotion she couldn’t fathom flickered in his eyes—regret?—before he sat back and draped an arm across the back of the sofa, his forced casualness not fooling her for a second.
‘You’re not going to give up, are you?’
‘Nope.’
He ruffled the back of his hair, the strands curling around his fingers like caramel swirls, making her own fingers ache to delve in.
‘He called me, said he was in a bind, so here I am. Satisfied?’
Not by a long shot. His trite answer hid a truth he wouldn’t divulge to her: she could see it in the tense shoulders, in the rigid neck muscles, the pinch behind his smile.
There was more to him being here and if he had some nefarious plan … The food she’d just consumed roiled in her stomach. If Luca had lied to her, she’d lied to him too. Hector meant more to her than a friend and boss.
He was the man who’d taken a chance on a homeless kid when no one else had given a flying fig. He’d seen past her quick temper and resistance and resentment and opened his home, his heart and his life to her. He’d trusted her and she’d never let him down, so the thought he might not have trusted her with this …
‘What’s wrong?’
Luca was beside her in an instant, his concerned expression warming her heart and showing her there was more to him than lazy smiles and practised charm. She couldn’t tell him the truth, that she didn’t believe a word he said, so she blurted the first thing that popped into her head.
‘Indigestion.’
She rubbed her chest to add authenticity and his eyes narrowed, shrewd, assessing, disbelieving.
Luca knew how to call a bluff. He’d been doing it his entire life.
‘Anything I can do?’
‘No, I’ll be fine.’
Her bottom lip gave a convincing quiver and before he could stop himself he reached out and cupped her cheek, his thumb stroking that wobbly lip into calm.
‘You sure?’
A tiny sigh puffed against his thumb; that one small vulnerability had him yearning to bundle her into his arms.
Crazy. He didn’t do cuddles. He did hard and fast sex all night long; the kind of sex that didn’t beg questions or require answers, the kind of sex that satisfied without complicating matters. Right now, he’d give anything to have that kind of sex with the woman staring at him with guilt in her big green eyes.
Some of what he was thinking must’ve shown on his face for she shuffled to her right, a subtle move to put some distance between them.
‘It’s not so bad. I’ll live. So let’s try this again. What are you doing here?’
‘Already told you. Pop fired some jackass who lost the company a stack of cash and asked me to step in on this tour. Apparently Storm Varth is potentially worth a small fortune if his comeback takes off so the books need to be balanced right.’
‘Why the hell would he ask you?’
His eyebrows shot up at her blunt question as she belatedly clamped her lips shut.
‘I know a thing or two about companies.’
‘Like how to sweet-talk receptionists and influence female CEOs?’
‘Like how they run, how they can increase profit margins, how they can tighten outlays.’
Surprise widened her eyes. He liked that, catching her off guard. She viewed him as a flake that travelled around the world, lolling on beaches doing little else.
If she only knew: being in the public eye constantly, pretending to like people who were essentially self-serving and didn’t give a damn about doing anything for anybody else unless it got their greedy mugs in the glossies, dating a string of vacuous celebs to further his cause … It was damn hard work and becoming increasingly tough.
He’d done it for years now, ensuring charities were financially viable, especially those with underprivileged kids—the kind of kid he would’ve been if it hadn’t been for Hector’s generosity.
With every dollar he took from the rich who could afford it, with every dollar bestowed on those kids who needed it, he released some of his pent-up bitterness at the past. He still had a long way to go.
‘You did a finance degree?’
‘Economics and marketing at uni. Stuff like that interests me.’
Or more to the point, how companies could invest in his pet projects, the things that really mattered.
Her astute stare bored into him and he sat back, clasped his hands behind his head, the epitome of a guy who didn’t give a damn. And he usually didn’t but there was something about this woman, some indefinable quality that made him want her to like him.
‘You really are an international man of mystery, aren’t you?’
He winked. ‘That’s Petrelli, Luca Petrelli to you.’
Her mouth relaxed into a soft smile, kicking him in the guts. Or lower to be precise. That kiss in the car had been a mere prelude. Those beautiful lips, the lush full bottom lip, begged to be kissed. Repeatedly. All night long.
She stood abruptly and he mentally kicked himself for letting his thoughts drift south when they’d been getting along, establishing some kind of fragile rapport.
‘Thanks for dinner. It was great.’
‘My pleasure.’
Her gaze locked on his, his last word hanging in the silence between them, promising so much if she’d let herself go.
She wanted to; he could see it in the pulse beating frantically in her neck, in her slightly parted lips, in the shimmer of her eyes.
Then she blinked, straightened and the invisible thread holding them spellbound vanished in an instant.
‘See you in the morning. Eig
ht sharp.’
‘Eight it is.’
She managed a tight smile at his half salute before diving for the safety of her bedroom.
Beautiful Charli could run but she couldn’t hide. The spark between them was intangible but it was there and he had every intention of creating a few more before this tour was out.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLI stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. Stupid hard pillows. Though she knew the pain in her neck had more to do with her constant tossing all night while mentally rehashing conversations with Luca—and remembering him in that damn towel—than any pillow.
She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for him, but after that thoughtful dinner he’d set out last night and that moment they’d shared, she’d thought of little else all night but how easy it would be to succumb to his many charms.
Blowing out an exasperated huff, she knocked on Storm’s door again. Her first knock had been loud enough to rouse half of Ballarat but not so much as a curtain had twitched behind the heavily tinted windows of the longest bus she’d ever seen.
She’d organised many tour buses over the years but Storm had insisted he bring his own, and after seeing the gigantic two-semi-length monstrosity painted glossy black with his signature storm clouds and lightning bolts slashing the sides, she knew why. It signalled showman.
As for the inside, she hadn’t seen it, thanks to Storm living up to his superlative cranky reputation yesterday and holing away inside the bus, corresponding with her via terse text messages.
Today, she’d set the tour ground rules and make sure the idiosyncratic rocker played her way.
Her hand clenched into a fist and rapped for the third time, on the window this time, not stopping until she glimpsed a flicker of curtain.
Charli waited while Storm played his little mind games—she’d heard he was notoriously late, notoriously rude, just plain notorious—mentally checking the list she’d made on Landry Records’ latest star.
Storm Varth: fifty-six, had topped world charts for eight weeks running thirty years ago, had a string of bad songs to his name over the past few decades and a string of bad women.
