In the Heat of the Spotlight. Кейт Хьюит
her fans and sashayed offstage towards him. Their gazes clashed once more and Aurelie tipped her chin up a notch, her eyes flashing challenge.
Luke knew he’d treated her pretty harshly upstairs, but he wasn’t about to apologise. The woman might have been on drugs. Now that she had done her act he wanted her out of here. She was way too much of a wild card to have in the store today. She came towards him and he reached out and curled one hand around her wrist.
He felt the fragility of her bones under his fingers, the frantic hammering of her pulse, and wished he hadn’t touched her. Standing so close to her, he could smell her perfume, a fresh, citrusy scent, feel the heat from her body. He couldn’t quite keep his gaze from dipping down to the smooth roundness of her breasts and the gentle flaring of her hips, outlined all too revealingly under the thin, stretchy material of her skimpy dress. His gaze travelled back up her body and he saw her looking at him with an almost weary cynicism.
He dropped her wrist, conscious that he’d just given her a very thorough once-over. ‘Thank you,’ he said, and heard how stiff his voice sounded.
Her mouth twisted. ‘For what, exactly?’
‘For singing.’ He hated the lilt of innuendo in her voice.
‘No problem, Bossy.’
Annoyance flared. ‘Why do you think I’m bossy?’
‘We-ell …’ She put her hands on her hips. ‘You dunked me in a sink of cold water and expected me to thank you for it.’
‘You were passed out. I was doing you a favour.’
Her lips curved and her eyes glittered. Everything about her mocked him. ‘See what I mean?’
‘I just want you to do what you’re meant to do,’ Luke said tightly. The sooner this woman was out of here, the better. The store opening didn’t need her. He didn’t need her.
With that same mocking smile she placed one slender hand on his chest so he could see her glittery nail varnish—and she could feel the sudden, hard thud of his heart. He could feel the heat of her hand through his shirt, the gentle press of her slender fingers and, irritatingly, his libido stirred.
‘And what,’ she asked, her voice dropping an octave, ‘am I meant to do?’
‘Leave,’ he snapped. He couldn’t control his body’s reaction, much as he wanted to, but he could—and would—control everything else.
She just laughed softly and pressed her hand more firmly against the thin cotton of his shirt, spreading her fingers wide. He remained completely still, stony-faced, and she dropped her gaze downwards. ‘You sure about that?’ she murmured.
Fury beat through his blood and he picked up her hand—conscious again of its slender smallness—and thrust it back at her as if it were some dead thing. ‘I’ll have security escort you out.’
She raised her eyebrows. ‘And that will look good on today of all days.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Having Aurelie escorted out by your security buffoons? The tabloids will eat it up with a spoon.’ She folded her arms, a dangerous glitter in her eyes. It almost looked as if she was near tears or, more likely, triumph. ‘Your big opening will be made into a mockery. Trust me, I know how it goes.’
‘I have no doubt you do.’ She’d been ridiculed in the press more times than he cared to count.
‘Suck it up, Bossy,’ she jeered softly. ‘You need me.’
Luke felt his jaw bunch. And ache. He was tempted to stand his ground and tell her to leave, but rationality won out. Too much rode on this event to stand on stupid pride. ‘Fine,’ he said evenly. ‘You can circulate and socialise for an hour, and then leave of your own accord. But if you so much as—’
‘What?’ She raised her eyebrows, her mouth curving into another mocking smile. ‘What do you think I’m going to do?’
‘That’s the problem. I have absolutely no idea.’
She’d looked so coy and cat-like standing there, all innuendo and outrageous suggestion, but suddenly it was as if the life had drained out of her and she looked away, her expression veiled, blank. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said flatly. ‘I’ll give everyone, even you, what they want. I always do.’ And without looking back at him she walked towards the crowd.
Watching her, Luke felt a flicker of uneasy surprise. He’d assumed Aurelie was as shallow as a puddle, but in that moment when she’d looked away he’d sensed something dark and deep and even painful in her averted gaze.
He let out a long, low breath and turned in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to waste another second of his time thinking about the wretched woman.
Now that the mini-concert was over, the crowd milled around, examining the glass display cases of jewellery and make-up, the artful window dressings. Luke forced himself to focus on what lay ahead. Yet even as he moved through the crowd, smiling, nodding, talking, it seemed as if he could still feel the heat of her hand on his chest, imagined that its imprint remained in the cloth, or even on his skin.
Aurelie turned around to watch Luke Bryant walk away, wondering just what made Mr Bossy tick. He was wound tight enough to snap, that was for sure. When she’d placed her hand on his chest she’d felt how taut his muscles were, how tense. And she’d also felt the sudden thud of his heart, and knew she affected him. Aroused him.
The knowledge should have given her the usual sense of grim satisfaction, but it didn’t. All she felt was tired. So very tired, and the thought of performing on a different kind of stage, playing the role of Aurelie the Pop Star for another hour or more, made her feel physically sick.
What would happen, she wondered, if she dropped the flirty, salacious act for a single afternoon, stopped being Aurelie and tried being herself instead?
She thought of the PR lady’s look of horror at such a suggestion. No one wanted Aurelie the real person. They wanted the pop princess who tripped through life and made appalling tabloid-worthy mistakes. That was the only person they were interested in.
And that was the only person she was interested in being. She wasn’t even sure if there was anything left underneath, inside. Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders and headed into the fray.
The crowd mingling in the elegant lobby of Bryant’s was a mix of well-heeled and decidedly middle class. Aurelie had known Bryant’s as a top-of-the-line, big-name boutique but, from a glance at the jewellery counter, she could tell the reopening was trying to hit a slightly more affordable note. She supposed in this economy it was a necessary move and, from her quick once-over, it didn’t seem that the store had sacrificed style or elegance in its pursuit of the more price-conscious shopper. Ironic, really, that both she and Bryant’s were trying to reinvent themselves. She wondered if Luke would make a better job of it than she had.
For three-quarters of an hour she worked the crowd, signing autographs and fluttering her fingers and giggling and squealing as if she was having the time of her life. Which she most certainly was not. Yet even as she played the princess, she found her gaze wandering all too often to Luke Bryant. From the hard set of his jaw and the tension in his shoulders, he looked as if he wasn’t having the time of his life, either. And, unlike her, he wasn’t able to hide it.
He was certainly good-looking enough, with the dark brown hair, chocolate eyes and powerful body she remembered the feel of. Yet he looked so serious, so stern, his dark eyes hooded and his mouth a thin line. Did he ever laugh or even smile? He’d probably had his sense of humour surgically removed.
Then she remembered the thud of his heart under her hand and how warm his skin had felt, even through the cotton of his shirt. She remembered how he’d looked down at her, first with disapproval and then with desire. Typical, she told herself, yet something in her had responded to that hot, dark gaze, something in her she’d thought had long since died.
His