by Nicola Marsh
‘Storm and Tiger will be back any second and I’m distracting you from your job.’
Anger sparked the gold flecks in the sea of green before she blinked, eradicating any hint of emotion, yet her disappointment was almost palpable as she pulled a notebook out of her back pocket and pretended to study it.
He showed her the same respect she’d shown him earlier, giving her time to compose herself while mentally kicking himself.
He was smarter than this. He never did emotion, never allowed himself to feel. Feeling led down a one-way road to trouble and he’d be damned if he replayed the mistakes of the past.
Whatever happened with Charli—and he had no doubt something would—he’d ensure he kept it light-hearted, ensure she knew exactly where they stood.
He had a playboy reputation to uphold, a reputation he’d fostered, a reputation he relied on to keep him exactly where he liked to be: tangle-free, emotion-free.
And he’d do whatever it took to keep it that way.
CHAPTER FIVE
CHARLI marched into the Sovereign Hill lolly shop, not caring if Luca followed.
It had taken all her will power not to slug him over the past hour. Oh, she’d been the epitome of civilised professionalism, faking enthusiasm for Storm and Tiger, who’d joined them for the carriage ride and gold pouring, concentrating on the tour guides, but inside she’d been simmering.
Trouble was she didn’t know whether the bulk of her anger was directed at him or herself. She’d been so close to letting him kiss her again, had practically begged for it by letting him charm her, slide an arm around her waist, pull her close …
The memory of how he’d looked at her, a potent mix of lust and tenderness, had ripped a hole in the fabric of her self-protective mantle, the one she’d honed to a fine art since her mum had kicked her out of home at sixteen.
Hector was the only person she’d allowed to get close in all these years and even he didn’t know the real her: her deepest fears, her deepest wishes.
No one got that close. Ever. Yet in the instant that Luca had locked gazes with her an hour ago, it had felt as if he were seeing into her soul.
She wasn’t prone to fancifulness but in that moment a scary premonition had slithered down her spine: that this man would rip the carefully constructed world she’d built apart.
‘Let me guess, you’re a humbug type of girl.’
She wanted to snarl ‘bah humbug’ at him. Instead, she managed a tight smile and shook her head.
‘Nope, aniseed drops are my favourite.’
When she reached into her purse he stilled her hand, his touch sending fire sparking through her.
‘I’ll get it.’
‘Let me, as a sign of my gratitude for letting me tag along all morning and answering my inane questions.’
That was another problem: far from asking inane questions he’d asked insightful, probing questions about her job and what planning an itinerary for visiting rock royalty entailed. If anything, his intelligence only made him more attractive and she silently growled at her stupidity.
With compressed lips, she muttered, ‘Thanks,’ and proceeded to study the extensive lollipop collection while surreptitiously watching him charm the apple-cheeked assistant behind the counter.
When he’d paid, he handed her a large bag of aniseed drops and slipped a smaller bag of something into his back pocket.
‘Thanks. What did you buy?’
With a wink, he tapped the side of his nose.
‘A secret emergency stash in case we run out before the end of the tour and you get grumpy on me, I’ve got something to sweeten you up with.’
Unable to stay mad with him too long, she chuckled. ‘Good plan. You tend to bug me a lot so I’m guessing you’ll need those before the fortnight is out.’
‘I bug you, huh?’
He held up his hands in surrender.
‘Totally unintentional. Must be my dazzling personality you’re not used to.’
‘Yeah, something like that,’ she said, wishing there were an immunisation against tall, tanned playboys with dark blond scruffy curls and deep blue eyes. She’d be first in line for vaccination.
As she opened the bag of aniseed drops a powerful waft of liquorice drifted up and tickled her nose, catapulting her back to one of her happiest childhood memories. Her mum in a rare maternal mood, taking her to the Esplanade market at St Kilda on a sunny summer Sunday, holding her hand, stopping at every stall, admiring the paintings and woodcarvings and handmade jewellery.
The tiny bag of aniseed drops had been a rare treat from a mother so wrapped up in her selfishness she barely acknowledged her daughter existed most days. And though that special Sunday had been rare, Charli had clung to the memory for years afterwards, hoping to see another glimpse of a mum she loved unreservedly but who rarely returned that love.
When Abe had moved in, the latest in a string of her mum’s loser boyfriends, she hadn’t expected the status quo to change: her mum fawning over her guys and not giving two hoots about her.
But that summer Abe had moved in, the summer she’d turned sixteen, things had changed.
She’d never quite figured out why though she’d had her suspicions. Abe had been a flirt, had chatted up anything in a skirt including her and, while she’d found him creepy and done her best to avoid him, she’d seen the way her mum had started looking at her.
Her mum had been jealous, of her own daughter, and had booted her out two weeks later.
‘Get out and never come back.’
Even now, ten years later, she couldn’t block out the cold finality in that statement from the one person in the world she’d trusted.
She’d spent two weeks on the streets, using her limited money to survive on cheap coffee and toasted sandwiches, sleeping in a shed—Hector’s shed, as it turned out—and if it hadn’t been for the benevolent man mourning the death of his only son at the time, who knew how her life might’ve turned out?
‘You okay?’
She blinked away her memories and nodded at Luca, concern creasing his brow.
‘Yeah, just hungry.’
She offered him the bag of aniseed drops before popping one in her mouth. ‘Let’s head back so I can check the concert bookings.’
He let it go but she caught him sneaking glances her way every few minutes as they headed for the car park and when she slid behind the wheel, she swivelled to face him.
‘Stop looking at me like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Like you care.’
The ever-present quirk of his lips faded.
‘Who says I don’t?’
Unable to control the flare of anger—at her mum, at her memories, at allowing herself to be in this position of caring what Luca thought—she slammed her palms on the steering wheel.
‘Give me a break. Guys like you don’t do emotions.’
For a second she could’ve sworn hurt flickered in those too-blue eyes.
‘That’s harsh.’
‘Is it?’
She was sick of dancing around each other, sick of the crap. They were stuck together for a fortnight and she’d be damned if she let him get under her skin and tie her up in knots with his inconsistent charms.
‘Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t we have a cosy little moment back there and what did you do? Back off so fast you gave me whiplash. So you’re not doing emotion? Fair comment.’
His jaw clenched before he forcibly relaxed, slumping into the passenger seat.
‘Fair it may be, but who says emotion has to complicate this?’
‘Complicate what?’
He shook his head, caramel curls brushing the back of his neck in finger-itching disarray.
‘Now you’re not being fair.’
Reaching out, he captured a strand of her hair, wound it around his finger.
‘Don’t do that, pretend like there’s nothing going on here.’
Her heart jackknifed at the intent in his eyes,
the fire of desire darkening them to indigo. ‘We’re two single adults forced into close proximity. Stands to reason there’d be a spark of attraction.’
She sighed as he released her hair, only to sharply inhale when his hand cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing the tender skin under her chin.
‘Spark? From where I’m sitting, more like an out-of-control bushfire.’
‘Lucky I’m not sitting where you are, then.’
Patting his lap, he winked. ‘Well come on over, then. It’s mighty comfortable where I’m sitting.’
Grateful to defuse the tension between them, she smiled.
‘You don’t do emotions. You do sparks. Got it.’
No way would she be foolish enough to confuse the two.
‘There’s something else I’d like to do.’
She didn’t wait for him to elaborate.
She gunned the engine and squealed away from the kerb, wishing she could drive out the new resident demon whispering in her ear that she’d like to do him too.
Luca had never understood the expression fly on a wall, until now.
Virtually invisible backstage, he watched Charli whirl from one crisis to another: urging slack roadies to speed up, placating irate sound guys who weren’t happy with the auditorium’s acoustics, ensuring Storm’s wardrobe changes were hanging in the correct order.
He had to admit he’d had no idea how much hard work she put in; and that was just to get the perpetually painful Storm on stage.
How she kept her cool under Storm’s constant irrational demands he’d never know. He wanted to throttle the rock star and whisk her away from all this but he’d already made the mistake of trying to ease her load and it wouldn’t happen again.
He’d offered to talk sense into Storm, she’d politely declined, giving him a stern warning to stick to what he knew best, figures, while she took care of the rest.
So far he’d played by her rules but it irked every time Storm demanded sparkling water over still, dark chocolate over milk and a hamburger with the lot just before going on stage.
To his amazement Charli didn’t balk, acquiescing to the reasonable requests, denying the rest. She was a powerhouse dynamo, wielding power with a velvet glove, and he couldn’t help but admire her.
Throw in the fact she had some system going where she organised free tickets for disadvantaged kids and arranged for local teenage musicians to come backstage and meet the band, and he’d become a number-one ticket holder of her fan club.
‘My dad’s awesome.’
Luca glanced down at Tiger, his proud gaze fixed on Storm strutting around in some weird warm-up ritual involving marching steps, swinging arms and vocal scales. He looked like a hyper toy soldier, the image accentuated by his navy leather drainpipe trousers and red velvet jacket complete with epaulettes and lightning flashes adorning the slashed sleeves.
When he didn’t respond, Tiger narrowed his eyes and glared at him.
‘Yeah, he’s impressive all right.’
Apparently satisfied with his answer, Tiger pointed to Charli.
‘Is she your girlfriend?’
Luca bit back a grin at the typical blunt interrogation technique of kids the world over. ‘No.’
‘Because my dad likes her, you know. I can tell.’
Ignoring the instant flare of jealousy, he folded his arms and leaned against a speaker.
‘How do you know?’
Tiger rolled his eyes at his apparent ignorance. ‘‘Cos he had a thing for my nanny but when Charli started bossing him around he forgot all about Elke.’
‘You always this perceptive, kid?’
Tiger shrugged. ‘I know my dad. He’s pretty cool most of the time.’
Luca didn’t want to know about the rest of the time. From what he’d seen, Tiger was the only person Storm didn’t give crap to. In fact, when the two were together, Storm almost acted human.
Was it an act for the benefit of his adoring fans? The bad boy trying to redeem himself of past sins by playing the devoted dad? It wasn’t any of his business but the way Tiger idolised his dad, he’d hate for the kid to be let down.
As he’d been.
The first time he’d met his father was imprinted indelibly on his memory: he’d been five years old and his mum had taken him to see a movie at the Jam Factory on Chapel Street. He’d been beyond excited, looking forward to a treat of popcorn, fizzy soda, lolly bag and an afternoon uninterrupted with his mum, when they’d run into Rad exiting some exclusive clothing boutique.
His mum had lit up, clutching his hand tighter as they all but ran across the road to confront him. He’d been wary of the man who glared at him as if he were about to pickpocket his wallet, but he’d remembered his manners and held out his hand when his mum had introduced them.
Rad had taken one look at his outstretched hand and walked away without looking back.
His mum had pretended like it didn’t matter, but he’d seen the tears in her eyes and his outing had been spoiled. He’d never been able to stomach popcorn since.
That was the first time Rad had rejected him but not the last and thankfully he’d grown a thicker skin as he’d got older. Yet glancing at Tiger, his obvious adoration for a father who was flaky at best, brought it all back in a rush—the expectations, the hope, the naivety—and he wished he could protect the kid from potential heartache.
Tiger elbowed him. ‘Watch this.’
As the crowd worked into a frenzy, their stomping and clapping threatening to raise the roof, Storm paused at the main curtain, turned towards his son and gave Tiger a salute, then held up an index finger.
Tiger responded with a thumbs-up sign of approval and only then did Storm allow Charli to do one final check of his costume and wireless mike before giving him a gentle shove out onto stage.
As Storm slid across the stage to an electric-guitar riff and the crowd went wild Luca nudged Tiger.
‘What were those signals about?’ Tiger grinned, his little chest puffing out. ‘My dad always says I’m his number-one man, so he holds one finger up before he goes on stage. No matter if I’m backstage or at home in bed, he’ll always make the sign so I know he’s thinking of me. Cool, huh?’
‘Yeah, cool,’ Luca said, relief filtering through him.
Despite Storm’s lousy work ethic, it looked as if he loved his son, and Luca couldn’t help but admire him for that. ‘What you said before?’ Confused, Luca stared at Tiger. ‘About?’ ‘About Charli not being your girlfriend? I didn’t believe you.’
Tiger’s cheeky grin and quick glance over his shoulder alerted him to one incoming dynamo. ‘Here comes your girlfriend now.’
With a wave Tiger vanished, leaving him to handle a bright-eyed glowing Charli.
‘Isn’t this the best?’
She did an odd little twirl, clapping her hands like an excited kid, and he couldn’t help but laugh.
‘You really thrive on this stuff, don’t you?’
‘Uh-huh.’
She didn’t need the shimmery gold eyeshadow highlighting her eyes. They gleamed and glittered all on their own, testament to how the backstage buzz turned her on.
Oh-oh, bad choice of words, silent or otherwise, and he covered his mental gaff with gruffness.
‘Don’t you get tired of the fawning?’
He gestured around them. ‘The roadies, the band, the hangers-on. All they do is bow down to Storm no matter how much of a pain in the ass he is.’
Her smile waned and he hated himself for putting a dampener on this evening, but somewhere between Tiger’s open adulation of his father and watching Charli flit around like a social butterfly he’d realised he didn’t like this scene at all.
He lived it almost every day of his life—the fake platitudes, the schmoozing, the handshakes, the air kisses—and he was over it.
In all honesty, he’d grown tired of his carefully honed life a long time ago and seeing Charli in her element here disappointed him in some way.
He wanted
her to be deeper than all this fluff, wanted her to care about more than whether Storm bloody Varth had his sparkling water on hand.
Harsh? Unfair? Maybe, considering she was only doing her job, but he couldn’t shake the feeling the woman he’d divulged more to than he would’ve liked wasn’t who he thought she was.
‘The band and roadies listen to Storm because if it wasn’t for him they wouldn’t have the opportunity to have another crack at the big time.’
Where her eyes had glittered with enthusiasm a moment ago, they now radiated enough fire to scorch him on the spot.
‘Are you questioning my pandering to Storm too? Because it’s my job and you have no right—’
‘Sorry, guess I’m not a good backstage groupie. I’ve got some more numbers to crunch with the booking centre so I’ll see you back at the apartment.’
He squeezed her upper arm, a brief apologetic gesture that only served to reinforce how stupid he was. He wanted this woman in a way he hadn’t wanted another in a long time, if ever, and alienating her by attacking her job wasn’t the way to go.
‘Yeah, whatever,’ she said, and she was gone, her other arm claimed by some teenager with too-long hair and too many eyebrow rings, tugging her towards the stage door where some local big-shot was trying to muscle his way in.
When she flashed the pushy guy a dazzling smile, he quelled another surge of disappointment and headed for the booking office.
Charli had been the go-to person on several tours but none had had the vibe of this one.
Even now, as she watched Storm charm everyone in the tiny wine bar she’d chosen for his after-party, she couldn’t shake the feeling Landry Records was on the verge of something big in backing his comeback.
An image of Luca’s disapproving expression shimmered into her conscience … Well, not everyone was thrilled about it. He’d surprised her backstage. One minute he’d looked as if he was getting into the spirit, the next he’d virtually accused her of pandering to Storm because she liked it.
As the man in question snorted tequila through his nose, she maintained her unflappable stage face, the one she’d honed over the years to deal with whatever this job threw her way.