“I’m going to call your friend Koji. He can take you home, and I’ll return all these things to the stores. Do you have the receipts or is your name enough of an identification?”
“No,” Imai said quietly. “I’ll be fine. I want to go to the gala.”
“Then I’ll go home alone. I’m sure one of your lady friends would love to accompany you, and if not one of the ones here, I’m sure you have a few lined up elsewhere.” She reached for her cell phone, then rummaged in her purse for the business card Koji had given her.
“I want to go with you.”
Kim narrowed her eyes, wondering just what he was trying to pull now. “Why, so I can embarrass myself in some way to amuse those friends, too?”
“No,” he grumbled, resting his forehead in his hand. “What ‘friends?’”
Outside the dressing room, a burst of laughter rippled through the group of models. Kim knew they probably couldn’t hear anything that was going on back here, but the sound made her clench her teeth. She jabbed her finger in the direction of the door.
Imai gave her a dry look. “Please,” he sighed. “Those women are just ‑‑” He caught himself before finishing the sentence and cleared his throat.
“Just what?” Kim asked icily.
“Nothing serious,” Imai said.
Kim snorted. Like those were words she could believe coming from a playboy. “You must really take me for some kind of fool. I didn’t come to Japan for this.”
“But I hope you’ll stay for me,” he whispered.
Kim simply stared. She was tempted to ask him to repeat it, yet knew that she’d heard correctly. She folded her arms across her middle. “You want me to stay so you can set me up again at a later date once the humiliation of this blows over?”
“I want you to stay because you’re the best.”
“The best patsy you’ve ever had? What an honor, Shimizu-san.” She gave him an exaggerated bow to go with her sarcasm.
“Don’t act the ass. It doesn’t suit you.”
Kim straightened and gave him a stern look. “But being a manipulative jerk suits you just fine, doesn’t it?” A part of Kim couldn’t believe she was talking this way to an employer, and yet she was powerless to resist the push of her damaged pride.
Imai smirked at her. “You’re the best I’ve had work for me since this shit happened,” he said gesturing to the cast. “You’re the only one who hasn’t turned tail and run because I got pissed off.”
Kim grinned. “One of my first professional stylist jobs was working on a video shoot with Madonna. You’re barely a diva in training compared to her.”
“Are you always this defensive, or do you wait until your clients are in agony before sharpening your claws?” Imai’s smirk showed no sign of disappearing.
Kim tilted her chin up. “Only with the ones who don’t know how to act like gentlemen.”
Imai nodded, and then to Kim’s horror, started to stand up. “Don’t!” she said quickly. “You shouldn’t put anymore weight on your leg until the swelling goes down a bit.”
He made a face, but was on his feet before she could stop him.
“This is another thing I can’t stand.” Kim glared as he approached. “Instead of blowing off the medical advice I’m giving you as your nurse, you should listen. I didn’t ‑‑”
Imai pressed a fingertip to her lips, cutting off Kim’s reproach in mid-sentence. She sucked in her breath at the touch, her entire body tingling.
“I can be a gentleman when the occasion ‑‑ or woman ‑‑ calls for it.” He reached for the jeweled choker on the dressing table and draped it around her neck. Kim sucked in her breath at the touch of Imai’s fingertips. He fiddled with the latch, gently bending it back into place, and fastened the choker.
“Now.” Imai smiled at her. “That’s better, yes?”
“Yes,” was all Kim could manage.
Harada scurried in. “Imai-san, the cars are here. We’re going to the show. I can leave my assistant to lock up if you need a few more minutes to rest.”
“We’re coming. You arranged a car for me, yes?”
Harada nodded.
Kim transferred a few necessary things from her purse into the clutch. “What do I do with my real clothes and things?”
“Harada-san can send them to the house tomorrow.”
Kim nodded and followed Imai and the photographer out.
Wow. Things were certainly not going the way she’d expected them to, but she wasn’t sure if she should be glad or upset. She smiled to herself as she caught sight of the reflection she and Imai made in the gleaming stainless steel elevator doors. Tonight she’d just enjoy being the date of a rock star and figure the rest out tomorrow.
Chapter Seven
Nothing had prepared Kim for the moment when she stepped out of the limo in front of the convention center. The fashion show was set up as elaborately as any red carpet event she’d caught snippets of on the pages of entertainment magazines.
Photographers snapped pictures of guests and designers as they made their way up the polished granite steps toward the open doors that led into a sleek lobby where bronzed mannequins were set up to display a range of different fashion styles.
Imai followed her out of the limousine and offered her his arm.
“This is insane,” she said quietly. “You need both crutches. Look at those steps going into the building.”
He smiled for the cameras then turned that ultra sexy smile on her. “I’ll be fine with such a strong and capable nurse to help me.”
“Then you let me do just that. Put your arm around my shoulders and lean on me when we go up.”
They walked together up the steps, stopping just short of the entrance to the lobby to pose for a photo.
Kim’s stomach jumped and her pulse raced. Imai still had his arm around her. In fact the rat pulled her closer, and she was sure it wasn’t for physical support. He was playing her, using her to make himself look good and retain his Playboy of the Century image. Ugh. She’d been a total idiot to think he’d do anything else.
Oh well, she might as well just take the evening at face value and enjoy being one of the “beautiful people” until the clock struck midnight.
More photographers and reporters waited inside, and this time Imai deigned to pause and speak to a cute woman in a short-skirted suit, who shoved a small tape recorder at him. The reporter kept looking at Kim, and she assumed at least some of the questions pertained to who she was and why she was accompanying him. Damn, she wished she knew at least a little Japanese because a part of her doubted that Imai was portraying her as a nurse or stylist.
The reporter batted her false eyelashes at Imai before moving off to speak with someone else, and a familiar face appeared in the crowd. It was the lady exec, Michiko Izumi from the record company, who had given Kim a hard time when she arrived. She, too, gave Imai the batting eyelash response when she approached, champagne flute in hand. She gushed over the singer, not bothering to give Kim more than a quick, hard look.
Miss Izumi led them further inside where the evening’s main events would be. Kim recognized a few faces of actors and singers from some of the things she’d watched with Mandy. And she couldn’t deny that she was more than a little star struck. Back home she’d only seen the behind-the-scenes goings on and was far too busy working to really appreciate any of it, but now she was on the other side of the dressing room and liked it. A lot.
They stopped at a large, round table close to the small stage and runway that dominated the cavernous space. More familiar faces greeted Kim. One was Mr. Suzuki, the recording exec, and Kim recognized two other men as members of Imai’s band.
Imai’s rich voice came out of nowhere to grab her attention. “This is Kyoru and his wife Sasao,” he said, indicating the band’s drummer, who stood and bowed. “And this is Toru, the idiot who broke my leg.”
“It was an accident and your own fault for laying half on a stool with wheels to sleep.”
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“And if you didn’t snore in the hotel room I wouldn’t have had to nap backstage,” Imai shot back.
Toru offered a sheepish, crooked grin in reply and pulled Kim’s chair out for her. “So Koji was full of shit when he said you were mistreating this nice lady?”
“Koji’s always full of shit,” Imai said, handing his crutch off to a waiter who came to retrieve it. “And he was also in on the supposed ‘accident,’” Imai told Kim with a self-satisfied smirk.
Kyoru and his wife chuckled. “That will teach you to play with those big remote-controlled things backstage,” Sasao said.
Imai snorted his contempt and shifted in his seat. He lifted his broken leg and set it across Kim’s lap. “I know you don’t mind.”
“And if I do?”
“Then you wouldn’t be the dedicated nurse you claim to be, ne?”
Kim found she had to work to give him what she hoped was a berating look. He sipped the champagne poured for her. Her look of disdain when Imai accepted a drink from the waiter was quite real. She leaned in and whispered, “You had that pain pill.”
“I know what I’m doing, Donovan-san.” He held up his glass in a mock salute before sipping.
Izumi, who was seated on Imai’s other side, drew him into a conversation in Japanese while Sasao chatted with Kim about how she’d come to work for Imai. Soon a familiar voice made Kim look over her shoulder. It was Koji.
“Donovan-san.” He smiled in greeting and took the seat next to hers. Catching sight of the cast on her lap, he rolled his eyes. “I see Imai is still being Imai.”
Kim sighed. “Leave it to him to prop his cast up on a dress that cost I don’t know how many thousands of dollars. Or yen, actually.”
“I’ll tell him off for you.” Koji leaned forward, but Kim patted his hand.
“It’s okay; his secret is out.” She gave Imai another sharp glance as his conversation came to an end with the other woman. “And he knows he should not be drinking that champagne.”
Everyone at the table snickered, which quickly brought a sour expression to Imai’s face. He gestured at Koji and Toru. “I should make you two go sit at another table. Kyoru’s lucky he has his lovely wife with him or I’d make him leave, too.”
To Kim’s surprise, Koji stood up and poked at Imai’s cast. “Actually, we do all have to go. You, too, Imai.”
“Why?”
“I was just talking to Omura-san, and since we’re here he asked if we’d actually perform the music to kick off his big collection instead of using the recorded version.”
Imai rolled his eyes. “What can I do with this?” he asked, miserably gesturing to his leg.
“I don’t think he should,” Kim said. “He had a fall earlier ‑‑”
“I don’t need you to play mother, Donovan-san,” Imai said, eliciting a gasp from Kim. “What song?”
“Secret Whispers,” Koji said. "It’ll work fine with me doing Jun’s part."
Imai smirked. “I can do that sitting down.”
“And what if you fall off your seat again?” Kim couldn’t have held that one back if she’d tried. Toru bit his lip to keep from laughing while Koji chuckled without reservation. Imai glared at them all, but saved an especially cocky ‑‑ and sexy, damn him ‑‑ smirk for Kim.
“That’s why you’re here.” He leaned in to give Kim a quick kiss on the cheek. “To catch me.”
Kim stared after him, unable to say another word of protest as he hobbled off toward the backstage area with the other members of ChildsPrey. Those kisses of his were dangerous; they knocked out a woman’s senses without any trouble at all.
Kim pretended she didn’t notice the evil look Miss Izumi from the record company gave her as the lights began to dim. Kyoru’s wife, Sasao, slid into the seat next to her and asked if Kim knew the song they would perform.
“No. My daughter would know it I’m sure,” she whispered with an embarrassed grin.
“You’ll love it. It’s one of my favorites. One of their latest ballads.”
The lights went out and in a few moments a single spotlight illuminated the center portion of the runway where Imai sat perched on a chair, his injured leg propped upon a box that had been covered with a blood red piece of velvet that reminded Kim of her dress.
The music began, but only the drums, with a slow, steady, sultry as hell beat that worked its way down into her bones until she had to make a conscious effort not to sway in time with the beat as Imai did. She was barely conscious of Sasao scribbling something on the back of her menu card.
When Imai made a deep breathing sound as if he were having sex, Kim felt her temperature rise. The bass and guitar kicked in, and Imai stared straight at her as he began to sing, making the tune even more erotic.
His voice carried the melody with a soft vibrato that stole the breath right out of Kim’s lungs. The lyrics were Japanese, making it impossible for Kim to understand their meaning, but the power and emotion behind each sound moved her in a way she’d never felt before. His lips moved so sensually, as if to hint at the pleasures they could provide in more than one way.
Only once or twice did he break eye contact with her throughout the song, whenever he tilted his head back during an instrumental solo and closed his eyes as if lost in the music. His gaze was especially intense when he leaned forward to take up the edge of the velvet cloth and gently fingered the fabric, rubbing it against his leg in a way that made Kim catch her breath again.
The models came out when he began to sing again and they touched him as they passed, their hands in his long, silky hair, one stroking his impossibly perfect cheekbone, the next running her fingers along the length of his leather covered thighs.
Imai touched them as well, his free hand caressing a hip here, a thigh there, the rounded curve of a rear. The French model came out last in a clingy silver dress that hung only a handful of inches from her ass. Imai slipped his arm around her waist and held her close as he sang, and she kissed the top of his head, toyed with the ends of his hair. She crouched beside him like a devoted pet and placed her hand on his, stroking it back and forth along the thigh of his injured leg.
His voice hit a crescendo, and the model bent forward to run the tip of her tongue along his leg before she stepped away with a wicked grin to finish her stroll along the runway.
The music’s tempo slowed a touch, and once more Imai fixed that dark gaze of his on Kim as he sang the last verse and the houselights dimmed once more. The music continued, the beat growing slower and sultrier until it faded away. The applause was deafening as the lights slowly came back up and the waiters began circulating, once more bringing out appetizers. Kim gulped the last of her champagne and polished off half of what the passing waiter poured for her.
“It’s a great song, yes?” Sasao said. Kim could only nod. It was an incredible song, and Imai an incredible vocalist. Sasao pushed the menu card toward her. “I wrote a quick translation for you.”
Kim drank the rest of her champagne and looked at the card.
Your secret whispers echo in my ear
Unseen hands touching, teasing
The fire takes control
I spill in the dark
Into you, without you
Alone it comes
Once then again
Secret cries of longing, aching
Tempting, taunting
The fire takes control
I spill into you, without you
My hands pale in comparison
Your secret whispers echo in my ear
Her cheeks were flushed. Very flushed and it brought a satisfied smile to Imai’s lips as he followed his band mates back to the table. Michiko Izumi rushed to his side and offered to help him the rest of the way. He waved her off, instead choosing to call out to his lovely nurse/assistant.
“Donovan-san.”
The voice slithered through the clatter of dishes, the clinking of glasses, and the chatter of the crowd to reach down and grip her low in the bell
y. Kim followed the magnetic pull and looked to the right. Imai smirked at her and gestured to his leg. She set the card with the lyrics down and brushed past Koji, who gave her a quizzical look.
Imai handed his crutch off to Miss Izumi and placed his arm around Kim’s bare shoulder for support. “What did you think?”
“Think?”
He chuckled, the tips of his fingers flicking over her shoulder. “The performance. It was far from ideal, but…”
“I think the performance was beautiful,” Kim murmured. She coughed to cover up the tiny whimper that tried to escape when he leaned in, his lips brushing the tip of her ear.
“How much did you understand?” Imai’s eyes glittered in the soft lighting.
She felt the heat rush to her cheeks and hoped to God the lights were dim enough that Imai wouldn’t notice. But standing so close to her, he couldn’t help but see the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Enough, I see.” He grinned at her.
Kim helped him to his seat and allowed him to place his leg on her lap once more. She was conscious of the way he kept watching her in between comments to his friends and the record people.
That attentiveness enabled him to see when she tried to slip the menu card with the song lyrics into her clutch. He snatched it out of her hand. “Sasao wrote it for me so I’d know what you were singing about.”
Imai chuckled and leaned over as best he could. “Perhaps I’ll write a song with English lyrics. I haven’t done that in years.”
“I’m sure it will be wonderful.”
Imai smiled at her. It was the sexiest smile she’d ever seen, and she turned to a puddle of goo inside all over again. She was actually a little thankful when Izumi caught Imai’s attention.
Sasao had given Koji his seat back when the band members came from the stage, and he now tapped Kim lightly on the arm to get her attention. “You look stunning.”
“Thank you. I’ve never had anything so beautiful or expensive. I’ll hate to give it back.”
“Why would you?”
Kim cocked her head a bit to the side. “I assumed this is loaner stuff from the jeweler and designer. They do that at home in Hollywood. Designers loan clothing and jewelry to entertainers and their dates when they go to big functions like this.”
Under a Silver Moon Page 6