by Nicola Marsh
She loved this job, loved the unpredictability of it, the challenges, the moments when everything came together and the show went off without a hitch.
Like earlier, when Storm had strutted his way across the stage, belting out a medley of old hits and wooing the crowd with new stuff. He’d worked them into a frenzy, milking every last ounce of screaming adulation and applause out of them, and when he’d staggered backstage, sweat dripping in gross rivulets down his leather pants, she’d almost forgiven him for being such a pain in the butt.
If he continued to woo crowds on the country leg of this tour, the scheduled Melbourne show next week would be a sell-out. From there, fan hysteria would build for a new CD, the one Hector was trying to sign him to, and
Landry Records would score a major coup in getting the legendary Storm Varth back on track, back into the studio and back on top.
Flush with optimism, she sipped her Snowball, savouring the smooth Advocaat mixed with the lemonade fizz, her usual celebratory drink.
As an angry shout came from the direction of Storm’s table the drink stuck in her throat and she coughed, her heart sinking as she took in the tense scene: Storm with his hand on a pretty young thing’s breast while he signed the other she offered, and a biker dude, obviously the girl’s boyfriend, clenching his hands into fists.
So much for a celebration drink. With a resigned sigh she pushed her Snowball aside, pasted her best negotiator’s face on and joined the fray.
In a slick move more suited to a magician she palmed an A4-size photo of Storm from her carry-all, swiped Storm’s hand away from the girl’s breast and deftly guided it to the photo, smiling all the while.
‘I’m sorry, miss, Storm doesn’t do personal autographs any more but I’m sure you’d love to have a signed picture?’
While her boyfriend blew cartoon steam out of his ears, the girl simpered and tugged up her top. ‘Sure, that’d be great. Thanks, Stormie.’
When the girl made a move to kiss the rock star Charli stepped between them, shooting Storm a warning glare as she yanked the newly signed photo out of his grasp and shoved it at the girl.
‘Here you go. Have a nice night.’
Groupie Girl stared at Stormie’s photo with open longing before sliding her hand into Biker Dude’s and tugging fiercely. ‘Come on, let’s go see if that all-night photo store has any frames.’
With a final death glare in Storm’s direction Biker Dude followed his girlfriend and Charli waited ‘til they left the bar before exhaling in relief.
Shooing away the groupie on Storm’s left, she sat, immediately regretting her decision when she sank into the low sofa, too close to the increasingly intoxicated star of the show.
Keeping her voice low, she hissed, ‘No more signing of body parts.’
‘Jealous? ‘
Wrinkling her nose, she waved away the toxic alcohol cloud emanating from Storm’s mouth.
‘Merely wanting to keep you in one piece so you have a real shot at getting the comeback you deserve.’
The petulant tightness around his mouth eased. Damn, she was good at her job.
‘Where’s your minder?’
He leered at her, his bloodshot eyes clear indication he’d been doing double-shot vodkas rather than the singles she’d stipulated as part of the celebration.
Annoyed—at his lack of responsibility and her missing the double shots—she glared at him.
‘If you’re referring to Luca he’s burning the midnight oil, crunching numbers to keep your sorry ass on stage.’
When he smirked and opened his mouth to respond she made a zipping motion.
‘So if I was you I’d be nice to Luca because if he pulls the plug on your funding for this tour, you can kiss your comeback goodbye.’
For the first time since they’d met she saw genuine fear in those bleary eyes. Good. Fear meant he cared and if he cared he wouldn’t do anything monumentally stupid to screw this tour up. She hoped.
Turning to the group, she tapped her watch. ‘Listen up, people. Great show tonight but we have to do it all again in Bendigo so last drinks.’
She held up her hands at the groans and odd expletive. ‘Five more minutes then the bus leaves without you. And, considering it’s minus two out there, I’d get a hurry on if I were you.’
The lead guitarist nodded and jerked a head in Storm’s direction, indicating he’d make sure their star made the bus. Thank goodness one of the band members had a level head. The rest were still high on the night’s success and determined to celebrate to the crack of dawn.
And as she glanced around at the motley crew of drunken guys and their hangers-on, it hit her, what Luca had seen earlier on.
She’d been abuzz with the thrill of working backstage, co-ordinating everything to the nth degree, all part of her job, but why did she really do it? Why did she really put up with crap like this?
She tried so hard to be the best, to stay in control at all times but as she looked at Storm, the epitome of the bad-boy rock stars she managed on a regular basis, it struck her that her determined drive to stay in control stemmed from more than job satisfaction.
She was afraid. Afraid of not doing a good job and getting sacked, afraid of being judged not good enough, afraid of feeling helpless and worthless and rejected, the same way she’d felt when her own mother didn’t want her.
Doing a great job every day obliterated that fear: the harder she worked, the better she performed, the easier to forget that her job was her life. She loved it. She thrived on it. That wasn’t so bad, was it?
Yet something in Luca’s disappointment, as if he viewed her world as shallow, grated. And that was what scared her the most: that she valued his opinion. For a guy she’d only known a few days, what he thought mattered and it shouldn’t.
She’d learned the hard way never to depend on anyone for happiness. Better to forge her own way in the world; without the approval of charming rogues with hypnotic blue eyes.
The Snowball she’d drunk earlier rolled in her belly and she headed for the door, needing fresh air, needing fresh perspective.
She was probably overtired, that was where all these maudlin thoughts were coming from, but the more she tried to ignore the realisation that she was afraid, the more it taunted her until she deliberately blocked it out by marching back into the wine bar, settling the tab and doing a final round-up of the gang, shepherding them out to the bus.
When the last staggering band member was on board, she swung up into the front seat and gave the driver the go-ahead.
Some night. The concert had been a huge success, she’d averted potential disaster with Storm and that groupie, and no one had got into trouble.
Yet as Storm and his back-up vocalists broke out into an a cappella version of his first hit she couldn’t help but wonder if she was hanging on too tight and what might happen if she loosened up a bit.
With Luca around for the next few weeks, maybe now wasn’t the best time to find out.
CHAPTER SIX
HUNGER clawed at her stomach, a constant pinch that didn’t ease despite her daily cup of coffee and grilled-cheese-sandwich ration.
She rubbed it, annoyed when her ragged nails scratched the dirty skin of her belly. Sneaking a wash at garden taps wasn’t a patch on a nice hot shower.
When she opened her eyes, she wished she hadn’t. The grimy garden shed stank of manure and had gigantic cobwebs draping the windows like lace curtains.
Something scuttled over her hand in the darkness and she bit back a scream, bolting for the door, flinging it open to see her mum.
Her mum had lost the frown that perpetually creased her forehead. She stood there, her arms wide, the most beautiful smile on her face.
‘Welcome back, Charlotte.’
She ran as fast as she could, running so hard her lungs ached but the closer she got, the further away her mum seemed.
When her legs cramped and threatened to collapse out from under her, she put on one last extra burs
t of speed, flinging herself into her mum’s arms, desperate for a hug.
She needed that hug more than anything in the world, needed to hear her mum say she’d made a giant mistake and that she loved her and wanted her back.
Yet when she reached out, her fingers grasping, her mum vanished and she fell headfirst down a huge dark hole …
Charli screamed and sat bolt upright in bed, her arms flailing, her legs tangled in the sheets.
The claustrophobic darkness pressed in on her and she gasped for breath, dragging in big lungfuls to ease the tightness in her chest.
As her pounding heart eased to a sedate canter rather than an out-of-control gallop she hugged her knees to her chest and rested her head on them.
It had been a stupid dream, a familiar one that still haunted her on occasion.
Must’ve been the aniseed drops though she’d be damned if she gave up her favourite boiled sweets. Or maybe it had been the fear she’d let creep into her subconscious at the bar earlier, undermining everything she’d worked so hard to build up: confidence, happiness, a career.
Damn it, she was good at what she did and no way would she let memories of her mum ruin everything.
The bedroom door flung open and her head snapped up, Luca’s semi-naked silhouette in the doorway jump-starting her heart all over again.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah, just a nightmare.’
‘Must’ve been a doozy.’
He hesitated in the doorway, half turned to leave, his movement allowing the hallway light to flood her room, and his eyes widened.
‘My God, you’re drenched.’
He crossed to her bed in two strides, swiping the perspiration off her brow with gentle fingers.
‘Wait here, I’ll get you a towel and fresh sheets.’
Her refusal died on her lips as she glimpsed the genuine concern on his face and she nodded, clamping her lips shut on a sudden sob.
She let him bring a towel and drape it around her shoulders while he changed the bed and she blinked back tears at the sight of the strong, virile playboy doing such a mundane domestic chore.
‘Here.’
He held up the top sheet for her to slide under and as she sank into bed her back brushed his chest.
That was when it hit her, how truly shaken she must be from the dream, for she’d been so busy trying not to cry she hadn’t registered Luca wore a pair of black silk boxers and nothing else.
He tucked her in and when he straightened to go she grabbed at his hand.
‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome.’
His concern hadn’t eased. If anything, he kept staring at her as if she’d fall apart at any moment.
When he tried to slide his hand out from hers, she held on tighter, suddenly desperate for him not to leave her alone. She didn’t want to fall asleep, didn’t want to risk another nightmare tonight.
‘Stay for a minute?’
He stiffened before nodding and sinking onto the mattress, still holding her hand.
‘Want to talk about it?’
She shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was divulge the truth about her past and how screwed up she’d been as a kid.
‘Not really.’
She plucked at the sheet with her free hand, sensing his reluctance to stay, wanting to keep him with her for the purely selfish reason of not being alone in the dark.
‘Did you ever have stuff happen to you as a kid, stuff you wish you could change?’
He’d shifted slightly so she couldn’t see his expression in the shadows but the tension in his shoulders spoke volumes.
‘Yeah, doesn’t everyone?’
‘I never knew my dad.’
Something she’d often wondered about … was that the reason her mum hated her so much, that her dad had done a runner before she’d been born?
‘Join the club,’ he muttered, his bitterness audible.
Distracted from her version of non-happy families, she said, ‘You mentioned not knowing your dad, so how close are you to Hector?’
He remained silent and she was racking her brain for something to break the awkward silence when he finally spoke.
‘Rad didn’t want a bar of me so I guess Hector tried to even out the family score. He paid for my education, set up a huge family trust I came into when I turned twenty-one, tried to maintain contact since I was a kid.’
‘But?’
He shrugged, a flicker of pain slashing his features. ‘But I never understood why he wanted to know me and Rad didn’t.’
‘Is that why you’ve stayed away all these years?’
She paused, gnawed on her bottom lip, knowing this was none of her business but needing to ease some of the tension radiating off him. ‘Hector cares about you. He wouldn’t have turned to you for help now otherwise.’
He stiffened and she mentally kicked herself for probing into his past when it obviously hurt, half expecting him to throw out a defiant, Isn’t it enough I’m here? Instead, he turned the focus back on her.
‘Was that the nightmare? Family stuff?’
She bought his distraction, not wanting to delve further when he’d obviously clammed up.
‘Yeah, something like that.’
‘In my experience, you can’t rely on anyone but yourself. Stick to that motto and you’ll be fine.’
‘Isn’t that too cynical?’
‘Realistic,’ he said, his expression shuttered as he turned and hallway light illuminated his features. ‘Anyway, better let you get back to sleep.’
‘Yeah, I guess.’
Neither of them moved, but her fear of being alone and letting the nightmare crowd her again made her grip his hand tighter and do something out of character.
‘Stay. Please.’
His head snapped up, his gaze locking on hers.
‘I’m not a saint, Charli.’
‘I’m not asking you to be,’ she whispered, her free hand snaking around his neck and pulling his head towards her.
She wanted to erase the darkness of her nightmare, wanted to reaffirm she was a different person from the desperate, affection-starved teenager her mum had booted out without a qualm.
Surging up from the bed, she met him halfway, their mouths clashing in an explosion of heat and passion.
That kiss in the car? A prelude to the main event, their lips eagerly seeking pleasure, hungry for more.
She clung to him, mindless to everything but him and the exquisite torture of having his tongue touch hers, tease hers, giving her a tempting taste of what it could do elsewhere.
She moaned into his mouth as his hands delved into her hair, his fingertips tugging at the roots, the momentary pain bordering on pleasure.
‘Jeez,’ she whispered on a sigh as he tore his mouth from hers and trailed kisses down her neck, nipping at the delicate skin with his teeth, raising goose bumps all over her body.
Her head fell back and she caught sight of them in the wardrobe mirror: their bodies melded as if one, his bronzed arms engulfing her, her skin flushed and eyes wide.
The image was wild and wanton, two people living in the moment and not caring about tomorrow.
That was when it hit her.
She was behaving just like her mother.
Sharon had continually tried to seek solace with men, desperate to obliterate the misery of her life: dead-end checkout job, living in a housing-commission flat with no money and a daughter she didn’t want.
And while she was nothing like the selfish Sharon, even the slightest resemblance was enough to put a dampener on this amazing encounter.
Her hesitation cost dearly for Luca’s lips eased off her neck and he held her at arm’s length, studying her face.
‘I knew I shouldn’t have done that.’
‘Don’t go getting a conscience on me now,’ she said, trying to lighten the moment, not wanting him to feel bad when she’d wanted this as much as him. ‘Besides, I instigated this.’
‘Because y
ou needed comforting.’
He pronounced it as if he’d rather be panning for gold all night in that freezing river than be here.
She opened her mouth to deny it before clamping her lips shut.
Damn him, he was right. She’d turned to him to vanquish her deep-seated insecurities and in doing so had ended up more like her mother than she wanted to be.
‘I’ve made a mess of this, haven’t I?’
A devilish smile quirked his lips and eased her fears she’d messed up big-time.
‘You needed a goodnight kiss. I gave you one. How about we leave it there for tonight?’
She nodded and brushed her fingers across his cheek in thanks, the prickle of his stubble sending a tingle from the pads of her fingers all the way up her arm.
‘Okay, then.’
He stood and the bed immediately felt empty, her heart giving an alarming twinge as she watched him walk away.
He was so beautiful, the muscles in his back fluidly shifting with every step, every arm swing, as she briefly wondered how many women had watched him do the same thing.
Walk away leaving them wanting more.
He paused in the doorway, cast a crooked smile over his shoulder.
‘Just for the record, the next time we do this, there’ll be no comforting involved.’
Her heart ka-thumped and her body zinged in anticipation but thankfully he didn’t wait for a response.
When he’d left, leaving her door open, she fell back into bed and flung her forearm over her eyes. It didn’t work in blocking out his image as he’d stared at her a moment ago, a potent blend of determination, desire and drop-dead gorgeous.
He was right.
There would be a next time.
And it would blow both their minds.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HECTOR never called when she was on the road. He trusted her judgement, whether scoping out a Gold Coast theme park for a record launch or checking the Opera House for seating capacity. So when her phone buzzed with Hector’s ringtone, she experienced a fleeting moment of panic.
Crazy, that even after all these years and the countless ways he’d shown her she mattered, she still expected to have all her good fortune ripped away in an instant by the man who’d bestowed it in the first place.
