In the Heat of the Spotlight

He stared at her for a moment, saw her, and it took all her strength to stand there and take it, not to say something stupid or suggestive, hide behind innuendo. She lifted her chin instead and returned his gaze.

‘You act like you do.’

‘And I told you, every famous person is an act. Aurelie the pop star isn’t real.’ She couldn’t believe she was saying this.

‘Then who,’ Luke asked, ‘is Aurelie Schmidt?’

Aurelie stared at him for a long, helpless moment. She had no answer to that one. She’d been famous since she was sixteen years old. ‘It hardly matters. Nobody’s interested in Aurelie Schmidt.’

‘Maybe they would be if they got to know her.’

‘Trust me, they wouldn’t.’

‘It’s a risk you need to take.’

It was a risk too great to take. ‘Don’t tell me what I need.’

Luke thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘Fine. Let me take you to dinner.’

Suspicion sharpened inside her. ‘Why?’

‘A business dinner. To discuss the details of the Asia trip.’

She started to shake her head, then stopped. Was she really going to close this down before it had even started? Was she that much a coward? ‘I haven’t said yes.’

‘I know.’

Slowly she let out her breath. She was scared. Of singing, and of him. Of how much he seemed to see. Know. And yet part of her craved it all at the same time. Desperately. ‘All right.’

‘Any recommendations for a good place to eat around here?’

‘Not really. There’s a fast food joint in the next town over—’

‘Anything else?’

‘Nothing closer than thirty miles.’

He said nothing, but his thoughtful gaze still unnerved her. This whole thing was a bad idea, and she should call it off right now—

‘Tell you what,’ Luke suggested. ‘I’ll cook for you.’

‘What?’ No man had ever cooked for her, or even offered.

‘I’m not Michelin, but I make a decent steak and chips.’

‘I don’t have any steak.’

‘Do you eat it?’

‘Yes—’

‘Then I’ll go out and buy some. And over a meal we’ll discuss Asia.’

It sounded so pleasant, so normal, and yet still she hesitated. Pleasant and normal were out of her realm of experience. Then she thought of what Luke was offering her—an actual chance—and she nodded. Grudgingly. ‘Okay.’

‘Good.’ He turned to go. ‘I’ll be back in half an hour.’

Thirty minutes’ respite. ‘Okay,’ she said again, and then he was gone.

* * *

Luke gave her nearly an hour. He thought she needed the break. Hell, he did too. He took his time choosing two thick fillets, a bag of potatoes, some salad. He thought about buying a bottle of wine, but decided against it. This was a business dinner. Strictly business, no matter how much his libido acted up or how much he remembered that mind-blowing kiss—

Hell.

He stopped right there in the drinks aisle and asked himself just what he was doing here. His brain might be insisting it was just business, but his body said otherwise. His body remembered the feel of her lips, the smoke of her voice, the emotion in her eyes. His body remembered and wanted, and that was dangerous. Crazy.

He straightened, forced himself to think as logically as he always did. All right, yes, he desired her. He’d admitted it. But this was still business. If Aurelie’s performance at Bryant’s gave her the kind of comeback he envisioned, it would create fantastic publicity for the store. It was, pure and simple, a good business move. That was why he was here.

As he resolutely turned towards the checkout, he felt a prickle of unease, even guilt. He’d told Aurelie he didn’t lie, but right then he was pretty sure he was lying to himself.

By the time he made it back to the house on the end of the little town’s sleepiest street it was early evening, the sun’s rays just starting to mellow. The air was turning crisp, and he could see a few scarlet leaves on the maple outside the weathered clapboard house Aurelie called home.

He rang the doorbell, listened to it wheeze and then her light footsteps. She opened the door and he saw that she’d showered—squash that vision right now—and her hair was damp and tucked behind her ears. She’d changed into a pale green cashmere sweater and a pair of skinny jeans, and when he glanced down he saw she was wearing fuzzy pink socks. Fuchsia, actually.