Whose Bed Is It Anyway?

Desperate?

A loud hammering on the cubicle door rocked into Sasha’s body as a rash seeped through her skin, burning bright and hot. ‘Hey. You. This is VIP access only...and the men’s room. Get out here now before I call the cops.’

No, thanks. Standing in front of an assembly hall full of disenchanted teens was less terrifying than coming face to face with an ex like Nate.

If he remembered the way things had ended between them he definitely wouldn’t want to answer her cry for help, but she had to try. She couldn’t face the kids on Monday and say she hadn’t asked him. In reality, this could be her only chance and it wasn’t as if she had any sentimental feelings for him—time had certainly filled that well. Finding her courage again, she inhaled. Maybe asking him in a loo wouldn’t be so...degrading.

So be a grown-up. Steadying herself, Sasha pulled back the lock. Sometimes, being a grown-up sucked.

Before she could speak the door slammed open and a blur of dark suit brushed against her, jamming her arm behind her back and her cheek against the wall. He patted her hands, her pockets and legs. The voice in her ear was hard and unforgiving. ‘There you go, darling. Take it easy.’

‘Let go of me. Let go

now. Or I call the cops. Harassment. Assault.’

‘She’s clean.’

‘Of course I’m clean. What is this?’

‘Can’t be too careful, ma’am. We meet all sorts of weirdoes in this business.’

‘And that’s just the people who work in it, right?’ Shoving out of the bear’s hold, she straightened her clothes then turned, slamming body-to-body with Nate.

His jaw tensed, and his stare deepened as he took her in, recognition clearly filtering through his brain as he swept his glance up and down her body.

In response she froze, unable to take her eyes from him. Sure, she’d seen the pictures, had some old grainy ones of her own, she’d even stolen quick glances at the rock magazines’ centre spreads, heck she’d just watched him perform two hours of perfect harmonies and slow sexy dance moves in the final concert of his tour. But nothing had prepared her for the real thing up close.

He seemed taller, definitely broader, not the teenager she’d once fallen in love with. He was one hundred per cent man. All sex, with his wavy chocolate-coloured hair dipping lazily to one side. She remembered the soft just-washed feel of it, the faint scent of apples.

Her gaze ran across his face, past those famous soft-caramel eyes, the refined cheeks peppered with his trademark stubble, the perfect curve of his lips.

But she couldn’t stop there. After all, he’d always been a feast to her senses. She imagined the ruffled feel of his shirt, and the hard muscle underneath. His smell of leather and man. Remembered the long legs for ever encased in black denim, rough against her juvenile skin. The arrogant stance that told the world he didn’t give a damn, when she knew he’d cared deeply. Deeply enough to be hurt by the rejection, to leave town altogether and never look back.

And yes, thank you, Cassie, his ass was still to die for.

He stared right back at her, stepping back, palm up in a question. ‘Sasha? Sasha Sweet?’

‘Nathan—’ She started to explain, but suddenly she was grabbed by the bear, who shouted into his walkie-talkie, ‘Now. Now. The car’s leaving. Go, Nate. You want this one too?’

This one? What was she? A toy? A groupie? ‘Wait, no. You’ve got it wrong. I’m not—’

‘No?’ The minder grinned and shook his head. ‘Had a change of heart, sweetheart? There’s plenty more who’d take your place.’

Oh, merry hell. The bear really did think she was a groupie. Nate must have muttered something, or nodded, and she’d missed it before he disappeared into the melee outside.

But at that same moment two more security guards burst into the room, grabbed her by the waist and ran her out through the corridor in a blur of clamouring, screaming women tearing at her hair, her clothes. The chant of Nate, Nate, Nate, ringing in her ears.

‘Nathan...Wait—’ Her voice mingled with the rest, and got lost. Watching his leather-jacketed back disappear into a blacked-out limousine, she breathed out a hiss of irritation. That was that.

He was gone. And now no result for the school; she should have found her nerve and asked him.

Then she felt someone touch the back of her head and push her into the plush car seat opposite Nathan.

He slowly leaned back and grinned, almost oblivious to the two giggling peroxided semi-naked women who had draped themselves over him and now appeared to be cleaning out his ears—with their tongues. The door slammed closed.

And with a jerk the car eased towards the arena exit to the accompaniment of bright flash photography. On the way to who knew where, with the ex she dumped, an audience of twin pipe-cleaners on legs, and a whole lot of explaining to do.