by Andrea Dale
Instead, he planted big air kisses near each of her cheeks.
“Great to meet you, darling,” he said. “I adore your shoes, by the way.”
“Um, thank you,” Hannah managed.
“Have a seat, everyone,” Sam said. “We only have a few minutes.”
They sat at one of the small round tables. Andre went to the buffet and poured everyone a glass of water. Hannah sipped, grateful for something to do with her hands. Outside the windows, gulls wheeled above moored boats.
Beneath the table, Nate apparently found something to do with his own hand. He stroked her thigh. She pushed his hand away.
He put it back.
Sam glanced at her, then at Nate.
Shades of last night. Hannah drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate. “As Sam’s probably already told you, I let Nate’s fan club know about today’s photo shoot. That’ll show the media that there’s still a lot of interest in Nate. Andre, most of these women are pretty reasonable, and I don’t think they’ll get out of hand.”
“Sam warned me to bring a few extra guards with me. Won’t be a problem,” Andre said. “Just let me know ahead of time when you do something like this again.”
Hannah nodded her assent. “After the shoot, we’ll take a few minutes with the media—sound bites, that sort of thing. Then Nate should mingle with the fans. Sign some autographs, pose for pictures with them, thank them for coming. Nate, you’re good with that, right?”
Nate grinned. “Hell, yeah. I’ve never had a problem being surrounded by beautiful women who worship me.”
He caressed her inner thigh, and she knew from the wicked twinkle in his eye that he was being cheeky. Still, she couldn’t help wonder how much truth was in his statement.
Other than the past two years, when he’d pretty much been off the media’s radar, Nate had never seemed to have a shortage of women. The last girlfriend Hannah had heard about was Suzanne Cooper, who’d been killed in the accident that had forced Nate into rehab. Before her, there’d been a rotating supply of gorgeous celebrities.
She couldn’t recall if he’d dated a fan before, but then again, she hadn’t paid close attention. The fact was, she wasn’t much different than the fans who were lined up outside, desperate for a glimpse of their rock god. She’d been one of them. It was only her job that put her on the other side of the security barriers.
“We also need to make sure the paparazzi are kept under control,” Sam said. His fingers played a drum solo along the edge of the table. “They’re going to be looking for any scrap or hint that Nate’s slipping.”
Andre passed a hand over his shaved head as if to test for any stray fuzz. “There’s no such thing as a controlled paparazzi,” Andre said. “The best you can hope for is to avoid the worst of them. My boys will keep an eye out. Hannah, give us a list of who’s allowed and who’s not.”
She made a note in her phone. “Will do, Andre.” She saw Sam check his watch. “Showtime?”
He nodded. They all rose, but before she could step away from the table, the manager touched her arm. “A word?”
They stepped to a corner while Nate and Andre headed to the door. Some of Gina’s equipment cases cluttered up a table next to them.
“Here’s the deal,” Sam said. “Other than drugs, Nate’s personal life is personal unless he chooses to talk to me about it. So I’m not going to ask for details.”
God, he did know about last night. Knew, or guessed. Plus, it wasn’t as if Nate hadn’t been obvious at the table.
“Sam, I—”
“Just keep your eye on the job, is all I’m saying,” Sam said, surveying her. “No distractions, no interference.”
Hannah felt a tweak of annoyance. “Absolutely not,” she said. She didn’t bother telling him it was just a fling, anyway. He said he didn’t want to know the details. “I’ll put him back on top, Sam. That’s what I’m here for.”
“Glad we’re on the same page.”
Outside, the crowd had grown in anticipation of Nate’s appearance. A wave of shrieks swelled when the fans spotted him. Despite her experience, despite doing a lot of shrieking of her own at his concerts, Hannah still wasn’t prepared for the reaction. At least it was gratifying that the info she’d leaked to the FoxFanatics bulletin boards had been noticed. Andre and the rent-a-cops scattered around stiffened, but the women—maybe thirty in total—didn’t try to rush the flimsy barrier. They just pressed close, waving paper and Sharpies and CDs and posters, shouting Nate’s name.
Nate turned the full force of his smile on them, and the noise faltered, just for a second before rising even higher. He raised a hand in greeting, then made a motion that implied signing an autograph, and mouthed, “Later.”
Good. Every fan he could connect with was one who’d spread the news to her friends. Who’d continue to buy CDs and concert tickets and anything else that featured Nate.
Hannah made a mental note to ask Sam if they’d ever worked with the FoxFanatics—maybe offer a limited edition fan club T-shirt, preferred seating at some of the concerts. Anything to entice them to spend more money on their hero.
She crossed over to stand with Andre and let Gina take over, then glanced back at the fans. They’d subsided in their squeals, enough so that Hannah could hear the barking of the hundreds of sea lions that made their home on floating docks just off the pier. The young women vibrated with excitement, flipping their hair and even touching up their lip gloss without taking their eyes off their idol.
Hannah put a hand to her own hair, which she’d pulled back in a big clip to keep it from getting in the way. Back at the hotel, it had looked artlessly tousled. Here, compared to the young women’s coifs, it felt haphazard and boring. And she didn’t even want to think about comparing her businesslike outfit to their casual, flirty ones. She might be wearing expensive pants and a silk sweater, but she knew it was dull in contrast to the fans’ tight jeans and skimpy camisole tops, the thin fabric making it obvious how chilly the weather was.
Gina had started snapping shots. Hannah turned her attention back to Nate. He stood on the wooden boards scoured silver-grey by time and salt, casually leaning against the railing, dark hair whipping around his face in the wind.
Hannah watched as her friend coaxed the reluctant musician into posing for the camera. She could sense his discomfort with the posed shots, and knew instinctively that even after all these years, he still found being the subject of a camera’s lens disconcerting. She couldn’t think of too many pictures she’d seen of him that had affected her as deeply as the ones that had been taken when he was performing. Those captured a depth of passion that these maneuvered shots lacked. Still, she knew Gina was capable of coaxing even the most reluctant people into relaxing in front of the lens.
There was no denying that Nate looked sexy as the wind blew the neck of his shirt open, revealing the line of his collarbone, the edge of his neck. The way he leaned back against the railing pulled the soft denim of his black jeans tight over his thighs. Her hands clenched in the pockets of her jacket when she remembered the feel of those muscles beneath her palms.
Lord, but just looking at him made her horny.
“Finest ass in the business,” a deep voice rumbled next to her.
“Oh yeah,” Hannah replied wholeheartedly. She looked up at Andre, seeing herself reflected in his sunglasses.
“Oh, girl,” Andre said. “It’s a good thing I’m not the jealous type.”
She sighed. “Is it that obvious?”
“To someone with incredible observational skills such as myself, absolutely.” He nodded in Nate’s direction. “Just look at him.”
Nate had turned his head towards her, and even though he wore sunglasses, she felt pinned in his gaze, making her the only other person on the crowded boardwalk. When he took off the glasses, the look he gave her was intense, hungry.
Her stomach fluttered. Just as Nate made her feel like the only person around, now she had eyes only for hi
m.
What did she want, really? For much of her life, she’d had two main goals: be successful at her job, and have her night of passion with the man making eyes at her over there.
Now she’d achieved both, and already the two were in conflict.
But it wouldn’t last, she was sure of that. Despite their attraction and their passion last night (okay, and this morning, she acknowledged, unable to fight back a satisfied smile), she and Nate didn’t have a future personally. He was bright lights and glamour, starlets and parties. She was behind the scenes, normal and maybe even a little boring. She wasn’t his type, and that was fine.
She sighed. She didn’t want a long-term relationship with him, but if she could do a kick-ass job as his publicist while continuing to enjoy his bed, why not? It was worth a try, at least.
Gina finished her shots, and Hannah crossed over to Nate.
This was professional time, she reminded herself, even as she smelled his shampoo and felt a flare of desire streak through her belly. It was all about balance.
“Like I said, let’s give the press a few minutes,” she said. “A couple of sound bites, quotable stuff. I’ll set up longer interviews later.”
He nodded. “You’re the boss.”
Well, that made for some interesting—and very nonprofessional—mental images. Nate spread-eagled on the bed, muscles taut as he tested the strength of the leather straps that bound him…
Stop it. Just stop it.
The media shouted questions, microphones and mini-recorders held his way. Nate picked and chose the questions he answered, and Hannah stood ready nearby to step in if she was needed. She wasn’t. His responses were quick, deft, and constantly turned the topic back to his newest album and upcoming tour. He was good at this.
More than one reporter asked about his drug habit, and the accident that had put him in rehab. When the questions slowed, Hannah moved forward, thanking them all for coming. She passed out her cards, assuring them that she would be available later to answer further questions about Nate’s future plans.
The interviews finished, Nate turned to the fans. They’d been polite and patient while he did his work, but they’d fairly vibrated with contained excitement the entire time. Hannah separated herself from the microphones with a final wave, and moved to watch Nate sign autographs.
“Hey, Helen, good to see you,” Nate said to a curvaceous woman with curly, dark red hair.
Hannah blinked. He knew their names? Were these women he’d been intimate with?
She missed whatever the fan had to say, but Nate had finished signing his name to an 8X10 and had moved on to the next.
“Karen!” he said to a pretty, slender blond wearing glasses. “How was your trip to—where was it—Santo Domingo?”
Holy crap.
At least he didn’t know all of the ones who crowded forward. Still, he worked through the line, a model of patience as he signed, posed for photos, answered brief questions. She noticed Gina nearby, the digital camera in her hand recording shot after shot to be posted to his website.
Finally, most of the fans had left, although a few lingered to one side, having already gotten their moment with him but obviously not yet willing to miss a second of his presence. That’s when a thin, wavering voice said, “Excuse me?”
The question came from a wide-eyed teenaged girl who clutched a piece of paper and a pen in her hands. The paper was slowly being strangled into an unrecognizable wad. Hannah wasn’t sure whether to be amused by the awkwardly eager look on the girl’s face, or embarrassed that the child seemed so much like she had been all those years ago.
A slow smile curved Nate’s wide mouth, a mix of humor and sensuality. “Hi. Would you like my autograph?”
“Oh god yes,” the teenager said in a breathy rush. She thrust the pen and paper at him, and then snatched it back, frantically trying to smooth the mangled paper.
Nate plucked the pen from her hand and stepped closer to her. He touched a spot just above his picture on her shirt. “We can use this,” he told her with a grin. “What’s your name?”
“Miranda, but my friends all call me Mindy, which I hate, so if you could sign it to Miranda that would be really cool.” The words came out in one jumbled sentence. “I am such a big fan, I mean, I really am. I have all your CDs. I just got the new one and it’s so good. Oh god, I can’t believe I’m standing here talking to you. No one is going to believe me.”
Nate smiled at her as he scrawled his signature across the shirt and then handed the pen back. “It was nice meeting you, Miranda. I’m glad you like the latest CD. You should come to the concert. The tour starts next week.”
“Oh, I will,” she said, backing away, not taking her eyes from him. It was only when she bumped into someone that she looked away, clutching her pen to her chest while she hurried back across the pier.
*
“That was nice of you,” Hannah said.
“I’m a nice guy,” Nate told her with a slow smile. It was funny, he thought, but he hadn’t enjoyed signing an autograph as much as that one in years.
Maybe it was the way Hannah’s eyes had softened while she watched. He wondered if she were remembering their first meeting. She’d been a lot like that young fan.
Of course, she’d grown up since, finding a poise she’d lacked then. But her mouth was the same sweet curve it had been that first time. He felt himself harden remembering what that mouth had done the night before.
Andre and his minions were shooing the crowd away.
Nate caught Hannah’s hand, drawing her away to the back wall of Castagnola’s where there was a modicum of privacy. He was puzzled by the wariness he saw in her eyes. He trailed his fingers over the smooth line of her jaw, letting them follow the delicate curve of her throat to where her pulse fluttered quickly.
“Nate,” she began quietly.
“Hannah,” he teased. He bent his head, allowing himself the pleasure of tasting her lips. He stroked his tongue along her full lower lip, relishing the soft sigh of need she made. Despite what he’d seen in her eyes, there was no wariness in the way her mouth invited him in. He ran his hands down her sides, teasing the swelling curves of her breasts with his thumbs before drawing her hips tightly to his. He wanted her to remember just exactly what her nearness did to him. The restless movement of her body against his made him groan, and he finally lifted his mouth from hers, knowing that if they continued, they might draw more publicity than he really wanted.
Hannah took a deep breath. “I have to talk to you about something. Sam’s concerned.”
“Yes?” Nate asked carefully. He’d wondered why Sam had drawn her aside, whether it had to do with the wariness.
“He reminded me—rightly so—of the need to be professional,” she said. “My job is to get you back on top, and that has to be my number-one priority. I have to separate my personal and professional selves. I’ll be honest with you, Nate. I’ve never slept with a client. Before or after.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said lightly. But seeing the seriousness in her gaze, he added, “I’ve never slept with a professional contact, either.”
“It was extraordinarily unprofessional of me,” Hannah persisted.
“And of me,” he said. His hands tightened briefly on her shoulders, not intended as a caress, but as a punctuation of his words, to let her know he felt the same. Still, just touching her was enough to rekindle the memories, the desires.
“I don’t think any less of you,” he continued. “We both agreed to it, as adults. I’m glad it happened. It was…intense.”
“Yes, it was,” Hannah agreed. He felt her relax at his words.
“I’m not ready for it to end,” he told her, and felt her draw in a long breath.
“We didn’t quite get it out of our systems like we planned,” she said. Her grey eyes were flecked with silver. They were eyes that held mysteries, eyes that would haunt his fantasies.
Nate grinned. “You’re right. We
failed abysmally on that count. Let’s go home and try again.” He slipped his thigh between hers, watching her eyes widen as he pressed against her sensitive mound. He could feel her heat through her clothes.
“Nate, I have to get to the airport. I have an afternoon flight out.”
The breathy sound of her voice, the dilation of her pupils, told him just how tempted she was. “Then promise me it’ll be soon.” His mouth brushed her cheek. “Tell me you want to see me again.”
“I want to see you again,” she admitted. “As long as it doesn’t interfere… Yes, yes, I do.”
He felt a surge of triumph. It turned into outright hunger when one of her slender hands stroked through the hair at his nape, pulling his mouth down to hers. He let her control the kiss, using every ounce of willpower he possessed not to take charge and kiss her senseless. He let her tongue flirt with his, let her explore the recesses of his mouth. When her tongue flicked across his lip, he thought he was going to lose it right then and there. He groaned and pulled her tightly to him, holding her still until she understood just what she was doing to him. Her wicked smile when she looked into his eyes told him that she knew exactly what she was doing.
This woman was trouble. He knew it, and it didn’t seem to matter. He just knew that he wanted more of her, as much of her as she was willing to give. He wanted to see how far he could take her, what the limits of her passion were, and whether they could reach beyond them. She intrigued him and aroused him in a way he hadn’t felt before, and the knowledge was intoxicating and terrifying. He just knew that he had to see her again.
Have her again.
And again.
With a low moan, Nate eased her away. It was a good thing that Gina had disappeared with the camera, or she could get some shots of his condition that would scare the holy bejeezus out of mothers everywhere and give his fans endlessly restless nights.
“What are you thinking about?” Hannah asked. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, then wandered down the tendons of his neck. The touch raised shivers that chased down his spine.
