Little Secret, Red Hot Scandal. Cat Schield
didn’t convey his full emotions. He was so damned glad to have her with him. But she smiled as if she understood.
Nate didn’t feel much like talking on the way to the clinic, so they sat in companionable silence. The surgery was the most terrifying thing he’d ever faced and that included the night his sixteen-year-old self had gone up against his drunk, knife-wielding father.
Singing was more than just Nate’s livelihood. It was how he’d comforted himself as a kid in an abusive home and the way he communicated who he was to the world.
No matter how successful he became as a producer and songwriter, he’d give up every penny he had to be able to perform on stage. This was something he hadn’t realized until he was faced with the grim prospect of throat surgery.
When the nurse came to take him into the back, Mia gave him a reassuring smile. It was her face that filled his thoughts as he was wheeled to the operating room and injected with something to put him to sleep.
And when he woke what seemed like seconds later—in post-op, he guessed, based on the dim lighting and hushed silence—her name was the first thought that popped into his head. He floated in post-surgery haze, happy that she was waiting to take him back to his hotel As the residual anesthesia wore off, Nate lifted fingers to his throat, but the discomfort was all on the inside. Had the surgery been successful? He wouldn’t know for several weeks, maybe months.
A nurse came to check on him and asked yes-or-no questions he could answer by nodding or shaking his head. She reiterated what the doctor and all the nurses before her had drilled into him: no talking of any kind for two to three weeks and minimal use of his voice after that. He’d start working with a vocal coach in a month, which would be a new experience. In all the years he’d performed, Nate had never had any formal training. He just got up on stage and let ’er rip.
They wanted him back in three days for a checkup, after which he could return to Las Vegas to continue healing. The nurse recommended Throat Coat tea with honey and gave him a prescription for pain meds.
“Your throat will probably grow more uncomfortable as the day goes on. Drink lots of fluids and remember, no talking.”
Nate nodded. He might suck at taking advice on most things, but this he intended to follow to the letter. He couldn’t imagine losing the ability to sing and perform. While he had songwriting and producing to fall back on, the energy that came at him from a packed stadium was a high he craved.
From post-op they sent him back into the waiting room, where Mia was still waiting, and gave him a glass of water. It slid down his throat without too much irritation and he grew hopeful.
“Are you okay?” Mia asked, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. “Let me know when you’re ready to head to the car.”
He nodded.
The trip back to the hotel was a blur. When they arrived at his suite, Nate fumbled out his key card and tried to focus on getting it into the slot. He wanted to curse, but knew better than to speak. And then, Mia plucked the key from him and within seconds the door swung open. He took a step forward and his head picked that second to swim. With his reflexes not quite back to normal, he swayed and made a grab for the doorframe just in time to prevent himself from pitching forward.
Her arm went around his waist to steady him. “I’ve got you,” she said, but she wasn’t as calm and collected as she sounded. Her brown eyes looked huge in her pale face.
“I’m okay, really.”
She looked so appalled that he almost laughed, but he knew better than to make a sound.
“You okay?”
She gave a husky laugh. “I’ll be better once you’re in bed and resting.”
“I knew you’d been dying to get me back into bed.” His dry smile didn’t help ease the tense line between her brows. And then, becoming more serious, he signed, “It means a lot that you’re here.”
He wanted to follow it up by asking how long she could stay, but again sensed the answer wouldn’t make him happy. For now, he’d enjoy her company and take what time with her he could get.
“I’m sorry things between us didn’t work out...” She was prevented from saying more by his fingertips against her lips.
He didn’t want to talk about the failure of their relationship or argue about Mia’s inability to escape her sister’s demands. His arms ached to hold her. At the moment he didn’t have energy to do more than sit on the couch with her snuggled against him, though.
“Come.” He patted the cushion beside him.
“You should go to bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
For an instant he worried she might call him on that, but then she joined him on the couch.
“At least lie down.”
He obliged by shifting until he lay on his back, his head in her lap. She ran her fingers through his hair. The soothing caress made his whole body ache. Damn, but he’d missed her. How many times in the last month had he relived those precious few hours they’d spent together that last night in Sydney? Over and over the memories tumbled through his mind as he recalled every touch and kiss. The ravenous hunger with which they’d come together that first time. The ache in his chest as the sun lifted above the horizon. The glorious, joyful goddess he’d held in his arms, who faded before his eyes as the morning grew brighter.
He’d sworn then that he would have her. All of her. He intended to do whatever it took to make her happy. Only she would have none of it. None of him. She didn’t understand what it meant to be selfish. To demand happiness. Her family had molded her into someone who put her needs after everyone else’s.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the silence. With Mia he’d learned to appreciate being quiet, for it allowed him to be fully in the moment. Almost immediately, however, Nate found himself drifting off, and fought to stay awake. He’d learned during those long weeks on tour to savor every minute with Mia, because all too often their secret rendezvous were interrupted. But with what he’d gone through earlier today, his body craved sleep.
The next time he woke the suite was dim. His head remained cushioned on Mia’s lap. He rubbed his face and sat up.
“What time is it?” he signed.
“Six. How are you feeling?”
“Sore.”
“I’ll get you some water.” She got to her feet and headed for the wet bar consisting of a mini-fridge behind a white panel door. When she returned and handed him a chilled bottle, she asked, “Do you want to take something?”
He shook his head. Although the pain in his throat required medication to take the edge off, he didn’t like the way the drugs made him feel. Early in his career he’d gotten caught up in the highs and lows of the music scene and had partied too hard. He’d relied on booze and pills to jack him up and mellow him out. And then there had always been girls. They were relentless. He’d signed boobs and butts. He’d taken two to bed and woken up with a third. And all this had happened before Free Fall had their first hit.
Then one morning, Nate had woken up with a thick head and a sick feeling in his gut that had nothing to do with how much he’d consumed the night before. There was a fist-size dent in his hotel room wall and a descriptive expletive written in lipstick on his bathroom mirror. He remembered being angry, but not why. It had been perfectly clear, however, that he’d struck out in anger. Just like his old man used to do.
Nate didn’t have any luck tracking down the girl he’d brought back to his room. She’d just been one of the faceless hangers-on who liked to party after the concerts. He’d been twenty-three and the wake-up call had changed his life. He took a break from the band and returned home to Las Vegas, where he’d spent the next twelve months writing music.
It hadn’t been an easy time. For the first two months neither