‘That’s what your Head of PR paid me to do.’
‘And this time I’m paying you to do something else.’
She felt that creeping of suspicion, and a far more frightening flicker of hope. ‘And what would that be, Mr Bossy?’
‘To sing your new song. The one I heard while I was standing on your front porch.’
CHAPTER THREE
AURELIE almost swayed, and Luke took an instinctive step towards her. Clearly he’d surprised her with that one. Well, he’d meant to. He had to do something to shock her out of that jaded superstar persona she wore like rusty armour. And the fact that he knew it was armour, no more than a mask, made him more certain.
She was different.
But how different? And how crazy was he, to come here and suggest they do business together? She might still possess a certain popularity, but he knew he was taking a huge risk. And he wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing it.
‘Well?’ he asked, pushing away those irritating doubts. She had turned away from him, her arms wrapped around herself, her head slightly bowed. Luke had to fight the ridiculous and completely inappropriate impulse to put his arms around her. That would really go down well.
Then she lifted her head and turned to face him with an iron-hard gaze. ‘You came all the way to Vermont without hearing that song, so that wasn’t your original intention.’
‘Actually, it was. But hearing it was a nice confirmation, I’ll admit.’
She shook her head. ‘How did you even know—’
‘Jenna, my Head of PR, told me that you’d asked to sing a new composition.’ Some soppy folk ballad had been her actual words, but Luke wasn’t about to say that. And one glance at Aurelie’s stony face told him he didn’t need to.
‘Somehow I don’t think you came here on Jenna’s recommendation,’ she said flatly. ‘She hated the song.’
‘I’m not Jenna.’
‘No,’ she said, and her gaze swept over him slowly, suggestively. ‘You’re not.’ She’d dropped her voice and it slid over him, all husky sweetness. Luke felt that prickling on the back of his neck. He hated how she affected him. Hated and needed it both at the same time, because there could be no denying the pulse of longing inside him when that husky murmur of a voice slid over him like a curtain of silk and she turned from innocent to siren. Innocent Siren, that had been the name of her first album.
Except there was nothing innocent about her, never had been, he was delusional to think that way—and then Luke saw she was walking towards him, her slender hips swaying, her storm cloud eyes narrowed even as a knowing smile curved those soft pink lips that looked so incredibly kissable.
‘So why are you really here, Luke?’ she asked softly. He felt his neurons short-circuit as, just as before, she placed one slender hand on his chest. He could feel the heat of her through the two layers of his suit, the thud of his own heart in response.
‘I told you—’ he began, but that was all he could get out. He could smell her perfume, that fresh, citrusy scent. And her hair tickled his lips. He definitely should have got a handle on his libido before he came here, because this woman made him crazy—
‘I think I know why you’re here,’ she whispered, and then she stood up on her tiptoes and brushed her lips across his.
Sensation exploded inside him. He felt as if Catherine wheels had gone off behind his eyes, throughout his whole body. One almost-nothing kiss and he was firing up like a Roman candle.
‘Don’t—’ he said brusquely, pulling away just a little. Not as much as he should have.
‘Don’t what?’ she teased, her breath soft against his mouth, and then instinct and desire took over and he pulled her towards him, his mouth slanting over hers as he deepened her brush of a kiss into something primal and urgent. His arms came around her, his hands sliding down the narrow knobs of her spine to her hips where they fastened firmly as if they belonged there and he brought her against him. He claimed that little kiss, made it his.
His, not hers. Not theirs. Because in some distant part of his brain he realised she’d gone completely still, lifeless even, and all the while he was kissing her like a drowning man clinging to the last lifebelt.