by Duffy, Aimée
Sander began calling out names. Miles studied Annabelle without the distraction of her twinkling eyes. The heat was back, turning the blood in his veins molten.
Arousal flared at his groin and he realized that the part of his anatomy which had been mostly dormant was coming to life. He dragged his gaze away from her and tried to think of unpleasant things so he could avoid his trousers tightening. It wasn’t like he didn’t have plenty of unpleasant memories to choose from.
“Annabelle MacIntosh,” Sander called, bringing Miles’s mind back into focus. Before going over to join the others, Annabelle wrapped her arms around the girl she was standing next to. There was nothing fake or superficial in her actions. Her aqua eyes sparkled with moisture and he knew she was genuinely upset.
He longed to cross the room and pull her into his arms. Instead, he cemented his feet to the floor and dragged his attention away from her again. Sander had finished splitting everyone into two groups. Now he had to confirm which group would make it through.
Miles turned to the people positioned to the left hand side of the room, grateful that this was part of the show they didn’t film, otherwise Dave would insist he’d make some kind of demeaning remark.
“You’re all very talented and that’s why you’ve made it this far.” Hope gleamed in the eyes of everyone in the group and he hurried on with his explanation. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t enough on this occasion. We’ve decided that you won’t be going through. We’re sorry and wish you all the best in the future.”
Pain distorted almost every face in the group in varying degrees, while an uproar of shrieks and screams sounded to his right. He turned to search for Annabelle and noticed that she wasn’t amongst the others, hugging and celebrating. Instead she was over by the window, her arms again wrapped around the girl who she stood with before.
There was no smug expression on Annabelle’s face. Her brow was furrowed with concern and her lips moved as she whispered to the girl. From here, he couldn’t make out what she was saying. Knowing what he did about Annabelle, he doubted her words were anything other than kind and encouraging.
Warmth spread through Miles’s chest as he watched Annabelle console the girl. Such caring attributes. There was no evident cheer waiting to burst free. He knew then what he had to do to save her. He would befriend her and find a way to tell her exactly why she should walk away from this, without hurting her feelings.
Chapter 3
Motivations
Lurking in a shadowed corner of a corridor could be construed as creepy.
Miles didn’t care.
Ever since he’d left the room where Annabelle should have been celebrating, he’d had the craziest notion to make sure she was okay.
Most of the other contestants were already gone. He’d been waiting here almost ten minutes behind a large leafy house plant near the exit of Studio Four. The urge to tap his foot against the hardwood floor as an outlet for his impatience was wearing on him. He ground his teeth. Patience was highly overrated in his opinion.
“I’ll miss you too.” He’d recognize Annabelle’s voice anywhere. Odd, he thought. Miles had barely heard her speak. “Look me up on EconEkt. My username is annabella,” she continued, and he filed the information away for future reference. He wasn’t on EconEkt. He thought thirty-six was a bit too old for social networking, but his company, Oliver Records, had a page. He’d ask the IT guys if they’d show him how to work it.
While he was debating new ways to practically stalk Annabelle, the blue-eyed angel came into sight. The girl she’d consoled earlier passed on her username, but he had no interest in listening to it. They were nearing the glass doors to the exit and he had to act now or lose his one opening to befriend Annabelle. Letting her escape without speaking to her first wasn’t an option.
“Annabelle,” he called, stepping away from his hiding place. “Have you got a minute?”
Both girls spun around and Annabelle fixed him with wide eyes. “Um…”
“Go ahead, Anna, I’ll add you later and we’ll catch up.” Miles caught the girl’s wink as she left Annabelle and Miles alone in the corridor.
“Do you want to grab a coffee?” he asked the instant her friend was out of earshot.
She turned to him, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “That will take longer than a minute.”
He winced at the defensive note in her Scottish accent. “Okay, half an hour then.”
She folded her arms across her chest and chewed on her lip. He could see she was nervous. She probably thought he was going to tell her to leave again.
“I promise I won’t ask you to leave the show.” Yet, he corrected silently. “I just want to talk.” He threw her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.
Pink tinged her cheekbones and her eyes turned cobalt blue. “About what?”
Beyond the glass doors he saw a man crouched behind a small squared hedge. There was a camera in his hands. It was aimed straight at them.
Shit.
“Not here. Come on.” Without waiting for her reply, he gripped her upper arm and pulled her back into the building.
“What are you doing?” she demanded, trying to wriggle out of his hold.
“There’s a photographer outside,” he explained, keeping a firm grip on her arm as he marched them further into the studio.
“So?”
They’d reached the end of the corridor and he turned right. “So,” he tried to imitate her accent. It was a poor attempt, but he couldn’t help himself. “Unless you want to be in all the papers tomorrow morning, I thought we might take this somewhere private.”
“Oh.” Her resistance dissolved and she kept pace with him. Without heels, she was shorter than he’d originally thought. Barely five-five, five-six at most.
He released his grip when they arrived outside his dressing room door. It was ordinary and gray, not even a star with his name on it like in the movies. He pulled a bundle of keys from his pocket and flicked through them looking for the right one.
“If you carry that around, how do you manage not to jingle when you walk?”
He looked back to Annabelle, a smile tugged the corner of her pink lips. He couldn’t help himself from smiling back. “I line my pocket with a handkerchief,” he teased, and she shook her head, her lips curving wider. “It’s easier to have one bundle than lots of separate keys lying everywhere. I tend to lose them,” he explained before returning to search for the right one.
Finally, he found it and opened the door for her. She walked in ahead of him and then froze a step beyond the doorway. “Is this your dressing room?”
He stepped around her and flicked on the light switch. She was staring around the room in wonder. He supposed it was a bit over the top considering he hardly spent any time here.
A large wooden dresser spread the length of the far wall, with an antique mirror hanging directly above it. Spotlights were scattered over the ceiling. The expensive wooden floor was covered by a large green rug. At the opposite end, two green sofas sat parallel to one another and at the side, a smaller table held the newest Platinum Gagga coffee machine.
“Where else would we have coffee?” he asked and walked across to switch on the coffee maker. “Any preference?”
Annabelle shook her head, her eyes huge as they swept the room. “How about a coffee shop?”
He laughed as he put the packs of coffee in the machine. “The press,” he answered, and she bit her lip. She could obviously guess at how invasive they could be. After all, celebrities’ lives were splashed throughout the tabloids on a daily basis. At one time his had been—almost every day—but now that his life was ‘dull’, the press weren’t half as bad.
“I’ll have what you’re having.”
“Take a seat.” He gestured to the sofa to his left, then pulled out two porcelain cups from the shelf below.
Annabelle obliged, sliding onto the edge of the sofa nearest the door, perched to flee at a moment’s notice.
“Relax, Ann
abelle,” he assured her, realizing she must think of his behavior as odd. In Glasgow, he’d told her to get out now while she could and this afternoon he’d complemented her performance and asked her to join him for coffee.
“I’m fine.” She murmured something under her breath which sounded suspiciously like controlling oaf and he frowned. “What did you want to talk to me about, Mr. Oliver?”
Miles flinched at the formal way she addressed him. “Call me Miles, please.” He decided to let the insult slide for the moment.
“Okay.” Her eyes shadowed warily.
He felt his brows crease as he considered why she would be wary in his presence. Was his unusual curiosity with her making her uncomfortable?
With a cup in each hand, Miles made his way over to the table between the sofas and set them down. He waited until he was seated on the opposite sofa before answering her question. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You looked upset earlier.”
Her lips curved into a shy smile. “I’m great. Really great. I was a bit upset that my friend didn’t get through. I really like her.” A wicked smile curved her lips. “I don’t suppose you could get her back. Use a wild card or something?”
“I’m sorry, Annabelle. I can’t do that.”
She laughed at his sorrowful expression. “Aw well. Nae cheek nae chance, eh?”
Now he joined in with her laughter. It was adorable when she purposefully thickened her accent. Shit, everything about this girl was adorable to him. There was no way he could have her though. With his manhood malfunctioning and his conspiracy to get her out of the contest, he’d probably destroy her more thoroughly than fame would.
She reached for her cup before relaxing back into the sofa. His gaze followed her every move. “I’m sorry for asking. That was rude.”
“It’s okay. I’m surprised you didn’t ask me to make sure you stay in. Most girls would leap at that opportunity.” And most girls would see this attempt at friendship as a way into his bed, where they could start the real persuasion. Annabelle wasn’t flirting with him even a little bit. He didn’t know if he felt disappointed about that.
His words must have displeased her because she frowned. “If I were to win, I’d want it to be because I worked hard. Not because I begged for it. Nothing worth having comes easily.”
Sincerity shone from her eyes and admiration surged through him. Miles knew exactly what she meant. When he was younger, he’d had to work hard to get where he was. Year after year, all the young hopefuls he’d trained expected an easy way in. Although Annabelle might not have what it took to survive the fame, she wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Before he could comment, his iPhone rang. A glance at the screen showed Dave’s face, red as a tomato. He’d taken the picture last year when Dave had been yelling at him for something or other over the show. “Sorry. I have to take this.”
Annabelle nodded, and he slid his finger over the phone to answer. “Oliver.”
“I know who it is. Why the hell do people insist on answering their phones by introducing themselves?”
“What’s up?” he asked before Dave could get into a long-winded version of the reason he’d called.
“We’ve allocated the groups. You have the boys.”
Miles rolled his eyes. He could have seen that one coming. He’d put good money on Sander being assigned the groups and Safri the girls. “Cheers, Dave. Can’t talk right now, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He hung up without waiting for a reply and furrowed his brow. If he was going to befriend Annabelle now, he’d have to be careful about spending time with her. The last thing either of them needed was a scandal spread all over the tabloids.
Annabelle rose from the sofa. “Where are you off to?” he asked, rising too.
“Well, I have to rehearse for tomorrow.” She glanced at her watch. “It’s almost seven.”
Of course she did, but he didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. But he still had work to do at the office and at this rate he’d be there until three in the morning. “Can I give you a lift?”
“No, it’s okay. The hotel isn’t very far. I’ll walk. Thanks.” She turned to go, placing her cup next to the coffee machine on her way out.
Persuading her to leave was for the best, but it was going to be harder than he thought. How could he ask her to leave for good when he didn’t want to wait even a couple of days to see her again?
* * * *
“Well done, Annabelle. You’re in my top five.” Safri wrapped her arms around Anna’s still trembling frame. The last few days she’d been a bundle of nerves waiting on her mentor’s final decision.
Tears clogged her throat, rendering her unable to speak. Everything about the day was overwhelming and Safri’s house was the tip of the iceberg. When she walked up the stairs to Safri’s huge white mansion and stepped inside the large entrance vestibule—complete with a twin staircase at the opposite end—she almost ran away. Money intimidated her, almost as much as stress crippled her.
“Thank you,” she managed to choke out past the lump in her throat. Stunned was not a strong enough word. Anna was ecstatic and shell-shocked. Going from one-in-fifteen to one-in-five was an honor.
An honor she didn’t feel she deserved. Then there were the live shows next Saturday to worry about. One week and one day until she had to sing in front of the whole of Britain and a live studio audience.
Although Anna had to admit, she felt excited underneath it all. Her dad had told her a woman’s job was in the kitchen and insisted she give up her silly dreams of being a singer. Standing on the stage in front of the UK would be like giving the man who’d controlled Anna all her life the finger.
“Congratulations, Annabelle.” She recognized the deep baritone immediately and turned her head toward the sound. Miles lounged against the door frame of Safri’s living room, looking messier than ever with wild hair and rumpled jeans. She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was so sexy her stomach did a little flip.
“Miles, darling. What are you doing here?” Safri released Anna, her hips swaying as she made her way across the hardwood floor toward Miles. There wasn’t much difference in height between the two, not to mention they were both very attractive. Anna felt an irrational pang of jealousy that Miles was there to see Safri.
Well, he wouldn’t be here to see her.
Not that she should want him to be.
She was still utterly confused about their chat over coffee. Why would he want to talk to her or make sure she was okay? Especially after the way he acted at the first audition. It was mind boggling. That said, she enjoyed their brief spurt of time together, but it only left her longing for more.
She had to get over the way he made her yearn—when he focused on her and only her. And soon. Sure, he fascinated her, and he was gorgeous, but the way he’d dragged her away from the photographer and badgered her into having coffee with him only confirmed his controlling personality.
“I just popped by to see who I’m up against.” His devilish grin did funny things to her insides. Anna’s mind was too scattered to order her body to rights. “I see you put Annabelle through. Me and my boys are going to have to up our game.” He threw a smile her way and heat flushed her cheeks as blood pounded through her veins.
Out of bounds, remember? You don’t want to date someone as controlling as your good-for-nothing dad.
“Yep. I’ve got the winner this year, Miles. You’d have to up your game a helluva lot to beat me. Your three year reign is over.” Safri chuckled coyly and flicked her long dark hair over a bronzed shoulder. “Now shoo, I have to let the rest of my group know whether they’re going through to the live shows or not.”
Anna rose from the white leather sofa and picked up her bag. Safri’s house was so alluring yet grandly understated. Despite the impressive entrance, everything seemed to be mismatched. The pale yellow walls held an array of prints and paintings, the furniture was all different colors with contrasting cushions, and the rugs covering the
hardwood floors were shaggy and colorful.
Anna loved it. The woman obviously had a creative flare.
“Who’s taking Annabelle to the house?” Miles asked, and Safri shrugged. “I’ll take her to pick up her things.” He turned to Anna. “Are you all packed?”
“Yes.” Butterflies assailed her stomach at the thought of spending more time with him.
“Good night, Safri. I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said.
“Bye, Miles. Oh, Anna. I forgot to mention, we’re having a party tomorrow night at Club Jem. It’s closed to the public. Your name will be on the guest list.”
The butterflies turned to hard balls of lead. A party in a London club? She couldn’t afford that. Nor could she afford anything to wear. Those who got through to the live shows were paid a salary, but she had to send most of it home to her mum.
She tried to hide the shock from her face and lied. “Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Time to pull out the old ‘I’ve got a tummy bug’ routine. She hadn’t used that one in a while.
“Have you been out in London before?” Miles asked when they were outside.
She was too busy staring at the red sports car idling in Safri’s drive to pay much notice. God, it was pretty. “Um…no.”
He laughed as he opened the passenger door for her. “Fan of sports cars?”
She’d never even seen one before, except in movies. “No. I’m just...” Shocked, awed, startled? “Wow. I’ve never seen a car like this before.”
He closed the door and walked around to the other side. He slid into the driver’s seat, then turned to her. “I love it. I’m probably going through some kind of mid-life crisis. It’s definitely a young guy’s car.”
She studied his face. He didn’t look that old. There was no silver in his hair and only fine lines curved around the corners of his mouth. “You don’t look middle-aged.”
“Maybe middle-aged is an exaggeration.” His self-assured smile made her breath catch in her throat. “Still, I’m thirty-six. Not twenty-six. I guess I’m trying to re-live my youth.”