This Loving Feeling (A Mirror Lake Novel)

by Miranda Liasson

  His coal-black eyes scanned the gym, waving and egging everyone into a frenzy. Then his gaze locked on to her.

  The music faded. The beat of the song was replaced by a solitary heartbeat that thundered in her ears, loud and strong.

  Sam shook her head. He couldn’t have singled her out, not in the dense crowd. It was just her imagination. There was a time when she wouldn’t have been able to look away, when she would have frozen in jaw-dropping attraction, but now she made herself turn her back. It was much easier knowing that those stolen words were hers. She even made it to the beverage table for a drink of punch.

  His voice echoed through the gym on the squeaky old microphone. “Someone named Ellen sent me a video you kids made saying why you wanted me to show up at your prom.”

  Wild cheering. The principal stood, arms crossed, looking pleased as pie that his school would make headlines in the national news tomorrow. The chaperones whispered among themselves, as googly-eyed as the kids.

  Lukas Spikonos flashed his million-dollar grin. Sam went back to pouring punch, angry with herself for looking again, and angry that she’d felt that grin deep down in places he had no business reaching.

  That’s all it was. Hormones. Maybe she couldn’t help the attraction but that was simply part of his carefully orchestrated brand. Suddenly she was desperate for fresh air, but found it impossible to peel her eyes off of his magnetic presence.

  He pulled a square of paper out of his pocket, carefully unfolded it. Put on reading glasses. What? The most popular recording artist in America wore geeky glasses? “I’d like to thank Joey, Christy, Shawna, Paul, and Katie for writing to me via my friend Ellen. And I’m thrilled to be back here at my alma mater to play for you.”

  Shouts and screams reverberated through the gym.

  “So I’d like to have all of you and—where’s Katie Hubbard?—yeah, all of you, come on up here and sing my newest song with me.”

  The kids helped Katie up on stage. She’d been in a car accident at the beginning of the school year and was still doing physical therapy for her injuries.

  They sang together his latest release, “Not Over You.” He danced with Katie, who shone with happiness.

  “He’s doing a good thing,” Jess said, taking a plastic cup of punch from the table. “Are you okay?”

  Sam smiled and gave her friend an aggressive thumbs-up. Whatever. In a few minutes he’d be out of here with his entourage and the night would return to the normal prom stuff of stopping the kids from grinding and keeping an eye out for disruptions.

  Lukas was back at the mic. “Okay, that was fun.” The crowd cheered their agreement. “But I think an old friend of mine is here and I was wondering if she’d come up and join me.”

  As Lukas squinted over the lights to scan the crowded gym, Sam’s heart dropped like the ball at Times Square. She looked around wildly. No eyes were on her. Good. It was just her imagination, which was on overdrive. Yet Lukas was always a loner. He hadn’t had a lot of friends. Except . . . except . . .

  “Sam, will you come up here and sing with me? I mean Ms. Rushford, will you come up here and sing?” He turned immediately in her direction, as if he’d known where she was all along. Then he extended his hand and motioned for her to join him.

  Up there.

  On instinct, she shook her head. Frowned hard, the only way she could convey her distaste—no, her abject horror at being put on the spot. These were her students, and she was a respectable teacher. She was no longer the girl who fell for a bad boy who’d turned into a wild man whose antics were splashed all over the grocery-store tabloids.

  “C’mon, Ms. Rushford,” his gravelly voice cajoled. “I bet you’re the coolest teacher in the school.” He looked over the crowd of cheering teens. “Am I right?”

  The uproar was deafening.

  His voice was a unique blend of the smoothness of velvet rubbing against the roughness of stubble. She could still hear it whispering sweet, lovely phrases into her ear. Ones she’d actually believed at nineteen.

  She was much less gullible now at twenty-six.

  Shit. He could’ve picked any of fifty doe-eyed girls in sherbet-colored dresses, eager, expectant, and steeped in adoration. After all these years, why her?

  Sam was suddenly swept away by her own students, the traitors. “Oh my God, Ms. Rushford, you know him?” one of her students asked. She only had time to shrug as they collectively pushed her forward, everyone shouting and cheering. She managed to catch Jess’s gaze from her place near the drinks, full of concern and worry. As the crowd began chanting “Ms. Rushford, Ms. Rushford,” and “Sing one song, Sing one song,” she knew she was doomed. She couldn’t disappoint her kids, seeing how excited they were at the amazing turn of events, so she allowed herself to be drawn up onto the stage.

  Under the spotlight and the disco ball, she found herself next to Lukas Spikonos. The splinter under her thumbnail. The water seeping into her shoes on a rainy day. The prickle in the bouquet of roses. And every other awful metaphor she could think of.

  She could force herself to make nice, for the sake of her kids. She had no choice. She would never spoil this for them, no matter how much she disliked him.

  “Hello, Samantha,” Lukas said, tossing his head a little to flick a lock of gypsy black hair out of his eyes. He played a little strum on his guitar, the spotlight bouncing off its spit-shined wood, as he casually hooked one long leg around the rung of a stool and gestured for her to take a seat on another one nearby. There went that smile again, still slightly crooked even though he could surely afford to throw millions at some dental work.

  She deflected the smile by glancing at the guitar. Some fancy acoustic model she knew nothing about. He had one arm draped around it, his hand hanging casually over the body. Those hands. Each long, elegant finger adorned with a hammered silver ring she knew he’d made himself. On his wrists, he wore bands of leather cords.

  Reluctantly, she looked up. Met his deep, searching gaze, being careful not to look too long lest it suck her in and turn her to dust. “Hi, Spike,” she said, deliberately avoiding his God-given name. “Long time no see.”

  “You as well, Samantha Rushford,” he said as he swept her slowly up and down, taking in every inch. “Long time no see.” Then he started the riff, that same damn one again. He crooned into the mic, his butter-soft voice spreading smoothly through the gym and trying to work its way into her heart.

  But failing. Gritting her teeth, she forced a frozen smile. For the kids, for the kids, she repeated to herself as every impulse begged her to reach out and strangle his beautiful neck with one of those shiny guitar strings. She crossed her arms to hide her clenched fists.

  For the next three minutes, life imitated art in the weirdest way as she joined him in a song about love gone bad. Their love gone bad. The pure, resonant tones of his voice seemed to vibrate clear through to her soul. Her own voice was adequate but didn’t hold a candle to the angelic quality of his. She simply carried the familiar melody as he harmonized and blended their voices together until they sounded . . . beautiful. The anguish she had written about long ago was the anguish he now sang about, carried on his face, and the very intimacy of it shook her deeply.

  At last the music ended. Panic swelled inside her chest. It was only a song. To believe more would be as unrealistic as believing in a child’s fairy tale. She shook her head to dissipate the spell that seemed to envelop her like the cacophony of applause and cheers sounding all around them. When the final whoops and hollers went up at the end, she took her chance and hopped off the stool.

  Out of the spotlight, he grabbed her by the elbow. She spun to face him.

  “I thought you’d want the chance to finally sing that to my face,” he said, his coffee-black eyes flashing.

  “Gee, thanks. I’ve been waiting six years for that. I feel so much better now.”

  He tugged her back under the spotlight and spoke into the microphone, “Hey kids, give your teach a hand.
Her voice is so sweet it makes your heart break, doesn’t it?”

  Suddenly he leaned over and she realized with horror that he was going to kiss her. She politely offered her cheek while clenching her teeth but he ignored her civilized gesture. He pushed his guitar aside, wrapped one hand around her neck, then pulled her in and kissed her directly on the mouth.

  His lips were pliant and soft. His kiss was gentle but thorough, bold, and cocksure. He tasted like peppermint and his own unique, seductive flavor that brought unwanted memories hurling back. He pulled away and looked at her with a blank expression, as if he were actually startled by his own brash behavior. Then the wicked sparkle returned, and a wide bad-boy grin spread slowly over his face.

  “You arrogant bastard,” she hissed in his ear, still smiling, above the deafening uproar of the gym.

  She turned to go, but he reached out yet again. For a moment, they were in the shadows. His grip on her arm felt hot and tingly, probably from all the outrage coursing through her body. In the dim light she saw something raw in his eyes. She used to be attracted to precisely this exact kind of danger, this risk. That was before she’d lost a brother seven years ago. She’d learned the hard way that stable and steady was far better than a wild roller coaster ride that gave you an adrenaline rush and a headache.

  “Let me see you later,” he said off mic. On the stage, a handler took away the stools. The gym went black except for a lone spotlight, beckoning him for his next song.

  He had to go, as always. But this time, Sam wasn’t going to be the one he left behind.

  She shrugged out of his warm grasp, shaking her head. Then she took advantage of the darkness and slipped away.

  CHAPTER 2

  “Be there in a sec,” Lukas Spikonos said to his bodyguards as he exited the gym and stood beneath an old beech tree. Charles and James—not ever Chuck or Jim—were the most tight-assed guys he knew, and from the looks they were giving him, they were not happy he was standing alone in plain sight and not locked up in his tour bus across the parking lot safe and sound. Sure, it had taken a while to clear away all the kids, but they were just being kids and he’d been happy to spend time with them.

  It wasn’t like midnight in the Mirror Lake High School parking lot was a dangerous place. He snorted, thinking it might be if Samantha ever came out. He tugged a cigarette out of his jacket pocket and flicked his wrist at the guys to at least get them to stop standing ten feet away staring at him while he snuck a smoke. He took a long pull and closed his eyes, trying to conjure the image that he was a normal person standing by himself under a tree. When he opened his eyes, the guys were still there, with their backs to him but standing sentinel nevertheless. “Hey, guys,” he called. “No one’s here. Okay to leave.”

  They exchanged worried glances.

  “Seriously. This is Mirror Lake.” The two men stepped into the shadows of the trees between him and the bus. At least he couldn’t see them anymore. Even if he still felt their presence.

  Privacy was nonexistent in this business, one of the things Lukas disliked the most about it. Not that it didn’t have its moments—he often experienced a freedom when he sang that he’d never felt doing anything else. Music spoke to him in a language that he felt down to his soul. Lately, though, he’d felt restless. Lonely. Confined by the fact that since his fame had skyrocketed, he could no longer walk around in public without a disguise and a lot of planning. He was grateful to take a few more minutes in the fresh air before he could bring himself to retire for the evening inside that claustrophobic bus.

  What the hell had he been thinking, dragging Sam up on stage? That was audacious and impulsive, a side effect of his passionate Greek nature. Judging by the number of cell phone camera flashes, he’d pay for it tomorrow.

  He’d needed to know so many things. What she looked like after six years—still just as beautiful in that all-American-girl way, with her coppery spiral curls springing everywhere, her vibrant green eyes warm and wide. They didn’t hold even a trace of welcome, at least not for him, and who could blame her? But man oh man, the woman still stirred him and set his blood on fire. If calling her up there had been a test, he’d gotten an F. For completely effed up. If he’d thought that six years could dim the feelings he’d buried down deep for so long, he was completely, completely wrong.

  He didn’t blame her for being angry. He’d left without explanation. Actually, he’d ripped himself away. She’d never know what leaving her had cost him. Later, when he’d combined his music with her words on a lark, he’d had no idea the resulting song would hit big and make him into a star. No wonder she hated him. What she didn’t know was that every song he’d written since had a piece of her in it.

  Not that he was coming back to be with her. From what he knew, she was practically engaged. He just wanted . . . he wasn’t sure what. Forgiveness? Friendship? Maybe the freedom from being tormented by her memory all these years. All he knew was that if he could see her, talk to her, make some kind of amends . . .

  Oh, hell. Who was he kidding? The moment he’d seen her, he’d lost all control. He’d kissed her like it was his last act on earth. He’d been simply . . . overcome. Overwhelmed. Another reason for her to be furious at him. What the hell had he been thinking, coming back here?

  He didn’t really have a choice, did he? Mirror Lake was as close to home as he’d ever come. And right now he desperately needed a home.

  Before anyone had noticed his entrance, when his men were still staking out the place for safety, he’d spied her talking to students, laughing and gesturing with her hands in that big way of hers. When she talked, her whole body talked, too—her eyes danced, her arms waved. As a girl of nineteen, she’d barely been able to rein in that exuberant nature.

  He’d wanted her badly back then, when he was a low-on-the-totem-pole car mechanic with no family and no money. No parents to help him get to college. Or anyone to give him any kind of help or advice. A target for the more well-off kids to mock.

  Then a miracle had happened. In a few years, he’d sung his way out of obscurity and become unconscionably rich. His face was a front-and-center staple on the grocery store tabloids. As his fame grew, his privacy shrunk. He’d never realized how much he’d valued solitude and privacy—until they’d vanished.

  Tonight he’d hung around the gym for a long time after his performance, talking with the kids. Dancing with any and all of them. Trying to deflect the words of admiration and praise that made him so uncomfortable. Lukas didn’t want to be worshipped. He wanted—no, he needed—a place where he could have a bit of privacy and recharge before he faced the crowds. And Mirror Lake would be perfect for that.

  His roadies carried his guitar and props back to the bus. From his spot under the tree, he watched the last of the kids trickle out of the gym. Finally, she walked out. He took one last drag on his cigarette, pulled it from his lips, and crushed it beneath his foot.

  Samantha said good-bye to the fellow teacher she’d walked out with and headed to her car, which was parked close to his tree.

  He waited until she put the key into the lock to speak. “Nice night to put the top down.”

  She startled. Dropped the keys. Bent slowly to pick them up and when she straightened, her face was calm. Too calm. “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “Waiting for you.” It was the truth. He was no good at lying, although he’d done his share of it to her in the past. A frown creased her brow. The wind had blown her curls into her face and she pushed them back with her hand.

  “It was nice of you to come back for the kids, Spike,” she said warily. Despite her fury, she’d found something nice to say. That was just like her.

  He laughed.

  “What is it?” She sounded offended.

  “No one’s called me that in a long time.” He stopped himself from pacing, a nervous habit, and took a good look at her. Same fresh face, same big, stunning eyes that were giving him a look.

  He hated that look. Like h
e was a spider that had climbed the wall near her bed and she was about to bolt. Or squash him into a tiny, juicy streak on the wall.

  “Don’t be angry with me,” he said. It came out sounding more like pleading. God, what mistake wouldn’t he make tonight? He should just pack it up now. Except he needed to talk to her.

  “Angry?” She snorted. “Just because you left with barely a word and used my poem without permission to make yourself famous. Why should I be angry?”

  “So you did miss me.” He couldn’t help smiling. She was still so full of all that fabulous passion. He wanted to tell her how often he’d thought of her—every single time he sang that godforsaken song, for starters—but that would make her run screaming for sure.

  He reached forward and pulled the keys out of her hand. She allowed it but stabbed him with a glare. He examined the key chain he’d made for her years ago. A pair of hammered silver wings. Had she taken flight, as he’d wished her to those fateful years ago? Had she spread her wings so she could really fly? From the information he’d gathered on her, he didn’t think so.

  “Give my keys back,” she said. “I’ve got to go before someone takes more photos of us. My boyfriend isn’t going to like that.”

  It was Lukas’s turn to snort.

  She put her hands on her hips. “What was that for?”

  “I thought you broke up with him once upon a time.” She’d ended up with that blowhard preppy lawyer who even back then was determined to mold her into the perfect political wife clone. She could do so much better. Deserved so much better.

  “We—got back together.”

  Only a few months after Lukas had left, but he pretended not to know that. Still, the memory stung. He decided to change the subject. “How’s my car running?”

  “Is that why you waited for me? Because you want it back?”

  “How is it that you’re so feisty in some matters, yet you can’t seem to untangle yourself from that Ivy League idiot?”

  She stiffened. Looked like she was about to draw blood. He really should calm down. She was going to figure out she had the equivalent of a stalker in about minute. What was it about her that made him lose his famous cool?