Only for the Moment

by Ella Sheridan

  A big hand, fingertips rough with callouses, cupped her cheek. “I almost like this look as much as this morning’s vixen.”

  Heat seared other parts of her body this time. Unable to hold his gaze, she dropped her own to his chest. “I— Um…I—” Hell. “What I mean is…”

  His chuckle was low and sexy—why did he have to be so sexy? At least he didn’t remark on her stammering attempts to…what? Apologize? Excuse herself? Even she didn’t know, and that never happened to her. Never.

  Dropping his hand from her cheek, Isaac stepped back and turned, cocking an elbow in her direction. “We’ll discuss that later. Let’s get dinner first.”

  Something about his simple demand calmed the chaos in her brain. And yet she hesitated. Touching him was crossing a line; she had a feeling that once she did, she’d go back for more, again and again. But that intense gaze dared her to chance it, and her willpower when it came to him frankly sucked. She knew that without even going near him.

  When he was near? Forget it.

  And God, he was every bit as warm as she’d imagined. He wore a dark gray dress shirt that molded to his muscular chest like silk, the rolled-up sleeves baring darkly tanned forearms sprinkled with crisp blond hair. The texture beneath her fingertips made her shiver; what would it feel like against her chest, her nipples? Though she’d much rather feel the dark blond stubble along his sharp jaw rasping her most intimate places.

  Not that she should be thinking about that, no matter how tempting he was. Wrapping her professionalism around her a bit desperately, she gestured toward the door of the restaurant with her free hand. “I have a booth reserved on the upper floor, private but with a view.” The Mystic was a lovely mix of navy and cream decor reminiscent of steampunk and modern ambient lighting that had always drawn Kennedy in. Like the spa, she came here regularly. She’d planned to reserve the most public table she could get for their dinner together, but after letting the fog of lust fade earlier, she’d realized Isaac would have no peace that way. Security could only do so much to guard against the intrusion of fans. The upper floor of the restaurant was reserved for VIP guests who desired a meal that was a bit less public, and knowing Isaac could have peace and quiet while he ate, she’d requested a table there.

  Walking side by side, uncannily in sync, they approached the maître d’.

  “Ah, good evening, Ms. Kennedy. We have everything prepared for you and your guest.”

  “Thank you, Arlo. I appreciate your flexibility.”

  “Anything for you,” he said, waving away her thanks. “And for you, sir.” Giving them a slight bow, he gestured forward. “If you’ll follow me…”

  They did, up a thick spiral staircase to a wide balcony. Kennedy noted that the rest of Isaac’s security waited outside the restaurant and at the base of the stairs, though Nick followed them to the top. When he stopped there to lean against the wall, Kennedy paused.

  “Nick, come have a seat.”

  The big man shook his head. “No, thank you, ma’am.”

  “Don’t bother arguing with him,” Isaac said as she opened her mouth to do just that. “It won’t change anything. I know; I’ve tried for years.”

  Kennedy chuckled at the disgruntled look on Isaac’s face. Obviously this was an argument of long standing between the two men. “Well, we do have excellent room service you can order later.”

  Nick gave her a wink, then turned his head to survey the other diners with suspicion.

  At their table in a far corner, overlooking the restaurant below, Arlo seated Kennedy politely while Isaac took the opposite chair. When the maître d’ left them, he opened his menu, his intense eyes spearing her over the top. “So what do you recommend?”

  Orders placed and menus taken, silence settled between them, broken only by the clink of cutlery and murmur of voices from the tables nearby. Unable to put it off any longer, Kennedy cleared her throat. “I really need to apologize.”

  Isaac arched a perfect blond brow. “For…?”

  “For my…behavior…this morning.” She glanced up from under her eyelashes, just a peek, but couldn’t read his expression. “At the spa.”

  “Why?”

  Why? “Because it was unprofessional.”

  “And you’re always professional, I take it.”

  “Of course.” That was the only way to stay ahead of her competition, to push herself, to meet her goals.

  The quirk of Isaac’s lip said that sounded incredibly boring. She had to agree. Not that she planned to tell him that.

  “You know…” He planted an elbow on the table, leaning in, his height allowing him to create an intimacy that chipped away at her armor. “I’m not used to being ignored.”

  Ignored? She couldn’t ignore him if she tried. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I told you I prefer Kennedy to Ms. O’Connell. I prefer you honest and open, not buttoned-up and stiff. And you’re ignoring that request.”

  She preferred being herself with him too, which was why she desperately needed to avoid it. “But the buttoned-up professional has a job to do,” she reminded him—and herself.

  “Do it tomorrow.” His smile was genuine, showing her how he wanted them to be. “For now, have dinner with me. Just Isaac and Kennedy, not Mr. Rock Star and Ms. Professional.”

  Did she dare?

  Don’t you want to please your client?

  Sure. Right. Because that was the only reason she wanted to drop her guard with him.

  Grimacing at the internal tug-of-war that probably wouldn’t stop anytime soon, she braced her shoulders. “I still need to apologize. I should’ve left as soon as I realized the room was occupied. I’m sorry.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She glanced down at her hands twisting in her lap.

  “Kennedy.”

  The command in that tone had her meeting his eyes despite her inner protests. Isaac extended a hand to her, palm up. She stared at it, a serpent tempting her in ways she knew she should avoid. And yet, she couldn’t—and she didn’t understand why.

  Once her palm was secure in his grip, he continued, those light eyes drilling into her, daring her to speak the truth. “Why didn’t you leave when you saw me on the massage table?”

  “Because I couldn’t. I—”

  “Why not?”

  Those two words added pounds of pressure to the already boiling cauldron inside her—and that just made her mad. “Because I couldn’t stop staring,” she finally snapped. Isaac wasn’t offended if the rumbly laugh that left him was any indication. She tossed her head, both at herself and him, then rolled her eyes. “I guess you get that a lot.”

  “From where I’m sitting”—he squeezed her hand—“I’m thinking the same is probably true of you, beautiful. No man would be anything less than flattered to have your attention. I know I am.”

  Their food came, and his hand slid from hers. Was it her imagination, or did he seem reluctant to let go? She was. The realization made her dig in to her pasta with more gusto than necessary, anything to distract her from the feel of his fingers so strong around hers. Imagining them in other, more private places, places a guest should not have access to.

  But oh, she wished he did.

  All the more reason to shut those feelings down quick. “So…favorite hobby?”

  Isaac forked up a bite of fluffy baked potato, a grin tugging at his firm lips. “Is this a standard questionnaire or the special one, for special guests?”

  “Oh, definitely for the most special of guests.” She shot him her own grin. “Come on, Isaac. You wanted to rest while you’re here. I know enough about your accomplishments the past few years and how the music world works to know you probably don’t take days off. There’s always something going on. It’s my job to give you a break from all that. How am I supposed to help you relax if I don’t know anything about what you like to do for fun? Favorite hobby,” she demanded.

  Isaac’s eyes went blinding hot in a nanosecond. “I don�
�t think you’ll give me my favorite hobby. Not yet, anyway.”

  Was he…? Wow. “Not yet? A bit arrogant, aren’t you?”

  “Not without reason.”

  She just bet. Taking a moment to clear her throat, she tried again. “What’s your second-favorite hobby?”

  “Coward.” Isaac chuckled. When she glared, he managed to choke back his amusement—somewhat. “Okay, okay. Surfing.”

  Well, that was a given considering he was a native Aussie. “Not a lot of surfing in the desert. Have you surfed much in the States?”

  Talk about water sports turned to travel when Kennedy asked Isaac about Australia. They lingered over dinner, then dessert, learning what fascinated the other, what animated them, what drew them. It was a dangerous conversation—she didn’t need to know so much about the inner workings of Isaac Anschau, but by the time Isaac ordered the waiter to send the bill to his penthouse, she knew well enough there would be no arguing with him. Instead she rose from the table, setting a mental reminder to e-mail the manager and counteract that request. The decision brought a smile as Isaac took her hand, ostensibly to lead her to the staircase, but she didn’t need leading and he didn’t let go when they reached the bottom.

  A small crowd stood outside the entrance to the Mystic. Kennedy knew immediately that they were waiting for him. Isaac didn’t hesitate. Flanked by Nick and crew, he signed autographs and took photos for fifteen minutes, until each fan had received attention. With every pair of feminine lips that brushed his cheek, every delicate hand on his back, his arm, around his neck, Kennedy felt jealousy rise. She wanted to snatch those hands away from Isaac’s body, the body her hands should be on, not theirs.

  She was losing her freaking mind. Over a rock star, damn it.

  The problem was, it wasn’t just his looks or status that sparked this overwhelming interest. Those she could handle; it was the rest of him that snuck under her guard. He had all the traits she admired in her brother—hardworking, compassionate, smart. His sense of humor reminded her of V too, and Cooper, both men she admired. But she didn’t feel about Isaac the way she thought about her brother or coworker. Isaac made her come dangerously alive. This wasn’t just a man she could imagine in her bed; she could imagine him in her life, and that was not happening. Her life was perfect the way it was—busy but fulfilling, and above all, under control. She didn’t need or want the chaos this kind of attraction could bring.

  A fling? Sure. She’d had plenty of them, and when they were over, she was left with pleasant memories and a satisfied body and no need for more. But looking into those sea-glass eyes as Isaac turned her way, she had the feeling a fling would never be enough with him. And going beyond that was out of the question.

  He insisted on walking her to her door, of course. He and his entourage—although he left the security detail waiting at the elevator. When they reached her apartment, he stood between her and them, his wide shoulders blocking their view. She ignored the cocky grin on those sexy lips and dug in her clutch for her key card.

  “Kennedy.”

  “Hmm?” Still looking down, still digging, her hands trembling. Please don’t let him see.

  Strong fingers grasped her chin and lifted until she met his eyes. Hers fluttered, trying to close, but she forced them open. Forced her voice to come out firm, decisive. Calm. “No.”

  Isaac hesitated inches from her mouth. “What?”

  Taking a chance, she laid a finger against his lips. So smooth. So warm. “No.” A light tap and she stepped back. Waved her card over the lock. The green light flashed, and she pushed the door open. “See you later, Isaac. Let me know if you need anything.”

  The way his gaze dropped to her mouth and his brow arched said he already needed something she wasn’t providing, but she ignored the look for her own peace of mind and entered her apartment, saying a soft good night before the door clicked closed.

  Chapter Six

  The view reminded him of the Highlands outside Bondi, not because they were similar—the highlands were wine country, mountains, and Vegas was desert—but the sheer grandeur of the vista was similar. It should’ve inspired him, but instead he found himself remembering camping with Oliver on school trips into the mountains, how the wilderness appealed to them both with their rigid, regimented lives and families.

  How much it had made them long to be free.

  He was the only one free of that life now. Oliver was gone, almost five years. And fuck if that didn’t tear his heart out every time he thought about it.

  The guitar beneath his tense fingers remained stubbornly silent as he stared into the distance. Refusing to speak to him. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. For two days he’d slept, rested, even meditated, for Christ’s sake. Anything to light the spark that had disappeared into a darkness he couldn’t seem to plumb. It had convinced him of only one thing: no amount of rest was going to heal whatever was wrong with his goddamn head. The only thing that lit a spark was Kennedy, and that spark wasn’t in his creativity.

  She’d taken his breath Sunday night, illuminated by candlelight and crystal reflections, the dim atmosphere of the restaurant enhancing the mysterious slant of her eyes and the dusky hue of her hair. What man wouldn’t prefer to focus his attention on the beautiful woman just out of reach rather than the impotent instrument he’d become?

  Except wanting Kennedy was equally as impotent. She’d made it plain two nights ago that distance between them was best. And he’d given it, if only to prove to both of them that distance wasn’t going to make a fucking thing go away. It certainly hadn’t helped him. He couldn’t imagine, after seeing the need in those gorgeous green eyes, that the intervening time had been any easier for her.

  Too bad he couldn’t translate that into music.

  Steps outside the closed bedroom door alerted him to Nick’s presence. His friend entered, cell phone in hand—the one they reserved for business. Isaac’s chest tightened.

  “You’re not asleep.”

  As if he hadn’t done enough sleeping already. Or pretending to. Rest hadn’t relieved him of his nightmares. How long was he supposed to stay in bed, especially all by himself?

  Nick frowned, his gaze resting on the guitar. “Sorry to interrupt, boss, but I knew you’d want this.”

  Isaac waved away the apology. “Who is it?”

  “Grace.”

  The knot dropped to his gut even as he reached for the phone. “Thanks.”

  Nick nodded, his concern washing down Isaac’s skin like dirty water as he passed the cell over. Grace’s calls were never easy on him, but he didn’t refuse one, ever. Unless he was performing, she got his attention. It was the least she deserved—and too often the most he could give her.

  “Grace?”

  “Hey. Not too early, yeah?”

  The sweet sound of her voice soothed the anxiety that had been building inside him. More like a sister than a longtime friend, she was closer than any family he’d ever had—certainly closer than the two people who called themselves his parents. Grace was the only woman he could say with all honesty that he loved. “It’s never too early for you, love.”

  Her laughter crackled through the line. “It’s not early for me, remember? Almost midnight here.”

  “Too right.” Australia was eighteen hours ahead of Nevada, so yeah. “What’s up? Everything all right?”

  “Just busy with the benefit. This time of year is…hard.”

  He thought he detected more than hard in her voice, but she’d spill it when she was ready, he knew. This time of year was a struggle for him as well. He and Grace had met through her brother, Oliver, back when Isaac had started boarding school at age ten. They’d grown up together, the three of them, and he and Oliver had been best friends. Now there were only two of them left, and every year the anniversary of Oliver’s death hit him like a semi. It was even worse for Grace, mourning her only sibling while running a charity to honor his memory. LIVE supported LGBT youth in crisis, the kind of support
Oliver never received. The yearly benefit concert for the charity was held the week of the anniversary of Oliver’s suicide, less than a month away now.

  Isaac’s stomach cramped all over again at the realization.

  “So where are you in this crazy world right now?”

  Her question, one he heard every time they talked, lifted the corners of his mouth the tiniest bit. “Las Vegas.”

  “Ah, Sin City. I bet you’re doing a lot of that, Mr. Rock Star.”

  He laughed. “Not as much as I’d like.” Launching into the tale of his most recent adventures took his mind off the guitar clutched in his lap and all it represented. Grace laughed too, the sadness that had laced her voice easing as they talked. He’d missed her; he realized that now. Most times he could push it away with work, but now…well, work wasn’t helping with much of anything right now. Maybe after the benefit he could convince her to come to the States on an extended vacation. He hadn’t seen her in a couple of years, but there was one place he didn’t travel—home—and Grace was so busy with the foundation that getting away proved difficult. He needed her, though, needed the only true family he had left.

  “Well, as exciting as all that sounds, it’s really not why I called.”

  As if he hadn’t already guessed as much, though the seriousness of her tone put him on alert. “What’s wrong?”

  “Not a lot.” She paused as if testing out words in her mind. She did that, considering things she said before letting them out. Came from a home life run by judgmental parents. “We’re having some issues with the headliner for the benefit.”

  “Chris?” He’d recommended the guy personally, knowing the chart-topping performer would be a huge draw in Australia. “What’s the problem?”

  “His record label is pressuring him to drop us in favor of a higher profile opportunity in Europe the same week.”