by Cindy Dees
She took a deep breath. “Saul, I need to do this show right away. I don’t have time to develop big production numbers or manage a cast of thousands.”
His bushy eyebrows came together over glaring eyes. “Do you want to blow this shot?”
She winced. “No. I really, really want to restart my career, and I fully understand how much is riding on this. But I can’t spend months and months pulling this thing together.”
“Why the hell not, missy?”
She closed her eyes. Much more even than her father, Saul could make or break her comeback based on how he supported her show. The good news was that, in many ways, Saul had been more of a father to her over the years than Harold had been. The bad news was he might very well be out to sabotage her comeback.
As Saul stared down at her hands, she realized she was wringing them until they were an angry red. She stopped. “Saul. I swear I have a life-shattering reason why I have to do this show now. But I can’t tell you. I don’t have any right at all to ask you, but could you please just trust me on this one?”
Skepticism glittered in his eyes.
She sighed. “I’ve changed. I’ve grown up. I’m not that spoiled, snot-nosed brat I was a few years ago.” Did he remember the night he’d called her that? When she’d called him to bail her out of jail before the paparazzi got wind of it, and he’d come down to the police station and told her she could rot in the slammer for all he cared?
The memory of that night gleamed in his gaze, too. “You’re so grown up and committed to your career that you won’t sacrifice your personal plans to do this show right?” he bit out sarcastically.
Desperation made her throat tight. “I hear what you’re saying. You’re absolutely right. But I can’t work around this one. I’d give up anything—everything in the world—except one thing, to perform again. And that one thing makes it necessary for me to do this show in the next few months.”
Saul stared at her long and hard. If he’d figured out what she was making veiled reference to, he didn’t comment on it. Finally, he reached into his desk and pulled out a leather day planner. Saul was old school. No computers or PDAs for him. He did everything on paper. “Lemme take a look at the schedule.”
She exhaled on a massive sigh of relief. This could work if he’d cooperate with her.
“You’re booked for Valentine’s Day next year.”
She did the math fast. Good Lord, she’d be over eight months pregnant by then. “What have you got that’s sooner?”
He thumbed through the pages. “I always book a year or more in advance. But there is one possibility…” He trailed off as he turned to a page near the front of the planner. She peeked across his desk and saw June in block print at the top of the page. That was next month. Hope sprang through her.
“That phone call you walked in on was the manager for Metal Head Dead.”
They were a rock band currently topping the charts. Their reputation was already worse than hers had ever been. And yet, because they were guys, they got away with all the rotten stunts that had deep-sixed her career. In fact, their careers were helped by their wild antics. She put aside her bitterness. The double standard was just part of the business.
Saul was talking again, mumbling to himself. “…would put their knickers in a twist if I canceled their leather-clad butts. And tickets for their show are set to go on sale in three days…We could call a press conference…make a big announcement about your comeback…tickets could go on sale immediately and we could capitalize on the buzz…”
He looked up at her. “You’d have only six weeks to pull the entire thing together. You won’t be able to scrimp on anything…it’s going to have to be a top-notch production or you’ll be a worse has-been than you are now.”
Ouch.
He continued, “I’m telling you, I think it’s impossible to get a decent show together by then. Plus, June isn’t the big tourist season on the strip.”
She replied hopefully, “But it’s hot enough that everyone who is in town is inside and going to shows.”
He shrugged. “I can’t promise sellout crowds with only a few weeks to promote the gig. But if you’re hell-bent on doing this thing right away, I can book you for June.”
She darted around his desk to lay a big hug on him, just like the old days. The tears of gratitude that came to her eyes seemed to surprise him as much as they surprised her. She whispered, too choked up to speak any louder, “Thanks, Uncle Saul. I promise I won’t let you down this time.”
For just a moment, he returned the hug. Then he cleared his throat and set her away from him. “Now. About music,” he said briskly. “I’d better be the one to make the call to your old label. The way I hear it, you didn’t part on the best of terms.”
Silver grimaced. Now there was an understatement. She’d been fired and escorted out of the record company’s building by armed guards. In retrospect, she’d probably deserved worse. As she recalled—vaguely—she’d been stoned out of her head at the time.
She took a deep breath. “Actually, Saul, I’ve been writing some of my own stuff. Maybe we could use some of that—”
He cut her off with a slashing hand through the air. “Nobody ever builds a decent career on their own stuff. Three or four big-name, girl pop singers have taken time off recently. There’ll be plenty of good songs lying around waiting for a big, sexy voice.”
“But—”
“No buts. Your father told me to launch your second career, and that’s what I aim to do. You leave the music to me, baby doll.”
She wanted to tell him she wasn’t a baby doll anymore. She was a grown woman, dammit, and she didn’t want to do the same old music she’d sung the last time around. She wanted to do something new. Something more soulful, more…grown up. But Saul was first and foremost her father’s man. And, he’d been a dear about the scheduling problem. He’d canceled a huge act for her. Like it or not, she was probably going to have to go along with him on the music thing.
She sighed. Time for more of that maturity stuff.
“…stop by tomorrow, and I’ll show you the stage. We’ve made quite a few changes to it since you last were on it.”
She winced again. The last time she’d sung on the Grand stage seven years ago, she’d been too fried to hit a note, had forgotten lyrics left and right and had topped off the disaster by being booed offstage. Not one of her more stellar moments in her meteoric fall from grace.
“I’ll be here first thing tomorrow. And Saul…thanks. For everything. This means the world to me.”
He gave her his first genuine smile. “I’m counting on it, Silver Girl. If you don’t fill the house every night, I’m gonna lose a fortune. Those British prima donnas would’ve sold a lot of tickets.”
“Gee. No pressure there.”
He quirked a pragmatic brow. “Music’s a tough business. Art be damned—this is about dollar signs. You sure you want back in the game?”
She took a deep breath and answered, certain for the first time in a long time about something. “Yes. I’m sure. This is exactly what I want to do.” The only thing in the world she wanted to do as much as be a mother was sing. Good Lord willing, she’d find a way to do both.
She let herself out of Saul’s office, blissfully happy, and ran smack dab into a living wall of muscle. “Whoa, I’m sor—” she started. And then she looked up. Austin Dearing. “—Oh. It’s you.”
“If you want to play games with me, Miss Rothchild, I’m telling you now you’re going to lose. Please don’t try to ditch me again.”
“I didn’t try to—”
He cut her off. “I’d highly recommend never fibbing to me. I have an alarming tendency to turn into a serious bastard when I get lied to.”
She muttered under her breath, “You’re already there.” Rather than stand around arguing with this mountain of a man, she turned and stalked back toward the casino. If he wanted to tag along, that was fine with her.
Austin tagged along a
ll right. He was half tempted to jack her up against a wall by the shirt front and explain a thing or two to Miss Fancy Pants. She didn’t seem to grasp that it was not part of his job description to chase around after his subjects like a puppy on a leash. She might be a celebrity, but her life now rested in his hands…not the other way around.
She barged out into the explosion of color and sound that was the casino’s gambling floor, and his irritation intensified. The place was a security nightmare. Cut-throughs and niches were everywhere, and an assailant could be lurking in any of them. There was so much commotion in here that a guy like him couldn’t possibly see a threat coming with his vitally important peripheral vision. Surely there was a way around the casino in a hotel this size. She needed to take an alternate route, dammit!
A low-level hum of panic vibrated in his gut. As a security man, this place made him feel like he’d already failed. Clamping down on the anxiety clawing its way up his spine, he lengthened his stride to catch up to Silver as they neared the front of the place. His impulse was to pick her up, throw her over his shoulder, and get her the hell out of here. Now. He exhaled carefully. Must go easy on this particular client. Break her in gently to the idea of having a bodyguard, without alienating her if at all possible.
“Hey, slow down,” he murmured casually from just behind her. He needed to get in front of her, pronto!
She blatantly ignored him and continued marching on.
“I mean it, Silver. You need to move more slowly so I can clear the area in front of you for threats.”
She spared him an irate glance over her shoulder and didn’t even break stride.
His gaze narrowed. Several extremely unkind names for her flashed through his head. Fine. He could play that game, too.
He grabbed her by the arm and swung her around sharply to face him. She was a tiny little thing, and her weight was nothing in his hand. He took an aggressive step closer and glared down at her. “I tried to do this the nice way. But now we’re gonna do it my way. I’m heading for the nearest exit and getting you under cover, and you’re going with me whether you like it or not. Got that?”
She nervously eyed a cluster of people near the front entrance, most of whom wielded big cameras. “Don’t make a fuss,” she hissed.
“Too late,” he retorted. “I’m making as big a fuss as I damn well feel like. And you are not going anywhere else in this hotel until I say so.”
“I have to go see Stella. She’s the head costume designer,” she insisted. “She’s expecting me.”
“You’re not seeing anybody until you and I get a few things straight,” he replied grimly.
Her eyes snapped and sparks all but flew off her, singeing his fingertips.
She bit out, “Let’s get this straight. I’m the boss. I say where I go and when, and you follow along like a good employee and do as you’re told. You don’t make public scenes in front of tabloid reporters—of which there are a dozen behind me, right now,” her voice rose slightly in volume, “and you don’t do anything to embarrass me. Got that?” She actually had the temerity to poke him in his chest for good measure.
He was so aggravated he could strangle her right then and there. He scowled down at her and loomed even more assertively. “I am not your employee. I work for your father. You’re under my protection, and you’ll damn well do what I tell you to do when I tell you to do it and how I tell you to do it. Have you got that?”
She blanched. “You and me—this is never going to work.”
His jaw clenched. “I’m entirely inclined to agree with you.”
If hate at first sight was possible, this was it. The woman drove him crazy, and he’d known her for two minutes.
He became aware of a surge of movement behind her. The paparazzi had apparently noticed their altercation and were closing in like a pack of hungry hyenas. He swore under his breath. Men in his line of work despised the press almost as much as the public figures they protected did. The last thing he needed was to have his face splashed all over the front pages of the tabloids.
“Let’s get out of here,” he muttered at Silver.
“Ya think?” she snapped back.
“Hey, Silver!” one of the reporters shouted. “Did you hear that the Tears of the Quetzal is in police custody?”
Another piped up. “Yeah. Luke Montgomery’s fiancée found it in her purse. Do you believe that story?”
Austin frowned. What were these guys talking about? He opened his mouth to ask Silver, but just then, someone moved forward out of the crowd of reporters, jumping abruptly toward her. Austin registered dark hair and a black, burning gaze, a uniform of some kind. Something about the set of the man’s shoulders, the intensity of concentration in his eyes set off warning bells in Austin’s head. Time slowed as the guy lunged in Silver’s direction, and Austin went into high threat mode. If he’d told his men once, he’d told them a thousand times, don’t question your instincts. Act first. Ask questions later.
The guy lowered his shoulder and rammed it into Silver, spinning her around as their bodies collided. Hard. Dear God. The guy had an open shot at stabbing or shooting her at point-blank range in a vital organ! Austin went airborne, flinging himself full length through the air for Silver.
He wrapped his arms around her in a move worthy of the NFL. His momentum knocked her off her feet. While they were still airborne, he twisted to cover her with his much larger body. He released her at the last moment before they hit the floor, catching most of his body weight with his arms so he didn’t crush her.
An explosion of flashbulbs went off nearby.
Austin twisted to look for the assailant, and the guy was rushing past, his right shoulder hunched to hide his face from Austin.
And then the strangest thing happened.
A wave of heat passed over Austin, a tangible thing tingling across his skin. He saw flashes of purple and green behind his eyelids, brilliant, jeweled prisms of color momentarily blinding him. His blood rushed, pounding in his ears until frantic thumping was all he heard. Suddenly he became intensely aware of the feminine softness below him, molding to every contour of his body as if she’d been made for him. Oh, yeah. A promise of sex, hot and sweaty enough to boggle the mind, pored off her.
Silver looked up at him, her gorgeous eyes wide with surprise, fear and something else. Something…aware. Of him. As a man.
Their gazes locked and nothing short of unbridled lust roared between them. All that friction of a few seconds ago had abruptly morphed into something so steamy it set him on fire. She looked ready to come apart in his hands. In fact, a moan slipped out of her throat that was all about raging pleasure. Unseen by the press, her hips undulated beneath his, and he realized his male flesh was so hard he was in danger of busting his trouser zipper.
He swore under his breath.
Her pupils dilated until her eyes were nearly black with raw need. He wasn’t in any better shape, himself. Small problem: he was the bodyguard, and a whole bunch of cameras were very publicly recording every second of this.
“You okay?” he muttered.
She nodded, looking shell-shocked.
“I’ll get up first, then I’ll help you to your feet and pull you behind me. Keep my body between you and the photographers, okay?”
She nodded again.
He started a quick push-up when a voice shouted from nearby, “Get the hell off my girlfriend!”
Austin came smoothly to his feet and turned to face this new threat. A beefy guy a little shy of six feet tall was barreling toward them. Austin assessed the threat in an instant. More beer gut than muscle. Had barroom brawled just enough to think he was a hotshot, but lacked the balance of a trained fighter. This guy would use bluster and bullying to hide his actual lack of physical skill. A lot of noise, but not a lot of true threat.
Austin reached down and lifted Silver, as light as a feather, to her feet. He tucked her protectively against his side away from the cameras. The paparazzi had already turned the
ir lenses on the loudmouth, and predictably, he was preening for them.
“Who the hell are you?” Austin growled.
“I’m Mark Sampson.” Bluster Boy jabbed a finger toward Silver. “Her boyfriend. And take your hands off her, jerk wad.”
Jerk wad? He hadn’t been called that since junior high. Austin allowed his amusement to show on his face. Interestingly enough, Silver huddled more closely against his side, making no move to distance herself from him in front of this boyfriend of hers. Most women would be leaping away from another man, especially with a hotheaded idiot like that for a boyfriend.
Sampson bristled. “Get away from her before I make you do it.”
A new round of flashes exploded. He could see the headline now. Brawl Over Pop Singer. He sighed. Seemed as if he was getting off on the wrong foot with everyone on this assignment. But Bubba could damned well come and try to make him unwrap his arm from Silver, who was now trembling beneath his protective hug.
“Please,” she whispered frantically from beside him. “Don’t make a scene.”
As if they hadn’t already made a big scene? But then he glanced down at her. Abject terror shone in her face. She was really scared. For him? Surely not. For Bubba? Maybe. But that didn’t feel right, either. What then? Did this have to do with her sister’s murder and the unspoken reasons he’d been hired to protect her in the first place?
He murmured under his breath, “For you, I won’t kick this guy’s ass right now. Let’s get out of here, though.”
“That’d be great,” she murmured back gratefully.
He guided her toward the lobby. Or at least he started to guide her. Sampson stepped forward aggressively and blocked their way before they’d gone two steps. “Get your hands off my girl!”
Austin gave the guy a withering stare but spoke calmly enough. “I’ve been hired to protect Miss Rothchild. I’m not making a move on your lady, so relax already. You’re making a scene and you’re making Miss Rothchild uncomfortable.”
If anything, Sampson got even redder in the face and swelled up into an even bigger bullfrog. “I’m her bodyguard! Now, for the last time, get away from her!”
