A Little Night Music (8 page)

“Here to next
year
,” Hannah said. “You’re right. No matter what, it was worth it. It was definitely worth it.”

“Sometimes you just have to go with what your hormones are telling you to do,” Gina said. A slow smile curved her mouth, and she sighed. “Remember that time in Phoenix? I met that guy watching the photo shoot? That still rates up there as one of the best weekends of my life.”

“Maybe so,” Hannah said. “But you didn’t have to work with him afterwards, and have everyone wonder if he hired you because you were good in bed. I mean, will people think I’m working for Nate because we’re having a relationship?”

“You’re having a relationship now?” Gina asked. “How did it go from one night with complimentary breakfast to a relationship?”

“That’s not what I meant,” Hannah said. “You know, if you weren’t my best friend, I’d have to fire you.”

“Yep,” Gina agreed.

“We’re going to have to keep what happened to ourselves. He just doesn’t need that kind of publicity.”

“If someone finds out, so what? It’s the music business, babe. Everyone thinks rock stars sleep around.” Gina ducked away from the pillow Hannah tried to throw at her and got up, stretching languidly. “I need to check the equipment and make a few phone calls. I’ll meet you at Fisherman’s Wharf.”

Hannah had a long list of things she had to do, too. Top of it was figuring out how to build a working relationship with a man whose tongue had traced all the intimate spots on her body. A man she wanted again.

Poor planning, that’s what it had been. Note to self. Next time, job first, sex fest afterwards.

Wait. That
had
been the plan. But somewhere along the way, she’d completely lost focus.

Hannah peeled off her suit, trying not to remember how Nate had done it the night before. She failed. Every garment removed, every brush of cloth against her skin, reminded her.

Her shower felt really, really good, in more ways than one.

Towel wrapped around her wet hair, but otherwise, naked, she opened the closet and surveyed the outfit she’d packed to wear today. She wished she’d brought something else. Something a little sexier. The plain black pants, while elegant, were not what she really wanted to be wearing when she saw Nate again. The sweater she’d packed in anticipation of San Francisco’s cooler climate was neither clingy nor low-cut.

And there were going to be groupies. Let’s not forget the groupies. They wouldn’t be wearing black pants and sweaters. She just knew there’d be an excess of cleavage and high heels, come hither looks and offers of just about everything. She found herself suddenly regretting the phone calls that had leaked the shoot to the public.

She wanted Nate to notice her. She wanted him to remember. She was pretty sure that every second of last night was going to be etched in her memory until the end of time. She wanted him to remember her the same way.

Even if she couldn’t rip his clothes off and devour him anymore.

Gina was completely wrong in her assessment. There was no way in hell that Hannah was falling for Nate. No amount of good sex could take the place of friendship, common bonds. Just because the thought of having to work with him chastely made her cringe, it didn’t mean anything.

And her reluctance to share the details of last night with Gina had nothing to do with the desire not to reduce them to giggling anecdotes.

There were no deeper feelings, deeper longings. It just meant that she wanted to savor the memories a little longer, that was all.

The shot about rock stars sleeping around had gotten to her, though. She knew Gina hadn’t meant it badly, but it made her wonder about Nate’s agenda last night. Was she just another notch on his bed post? An attractive woman he wanted to have some fun with? See if he could get his own publicist into the sack?

After all, it’s not as if she had supermodel looks. He was known to date A-list celebrities, and she was pretty sure she wasn’t on anybody’s list. She couldn’t compete with that.

She would be an idiot to fall for Nate Fox.

*

Everything had to go perfectly. It was her first day on the job, and how the photo shoot went could set the tone for the rest of the campaign.

Hannah reached the area of the Wharf where they’d decided to do the photo shoot. At least the weather was cooperating. The sky was that certain shade of blue only achieved on the Bay in the spring. Not too windy, not too hot. Nothing to interfere with the shots.

With a practiced gaze she assessed the crowd that had gathered. Not too many media types yet, but there were enough to show that her emails and calls had gotten some attention. A local radio station had parked a van as close as possible to the cordoned-off area, music blaring from speakers. The gathering wasn’t huge yet. Most people just glanced curiously at the roped-off area and, not seeing anyone famous, continued on. Enough stopped to swell the crowd, though, pushing its outer limits into a wider area. There was an undercurrent of excitement, almost like the first day of a fair, excited voices, restless fans.

With luck, the place would be mobbed by the time the photo shoot was finished. A controlled, non-threatening mob, impressive enough to make Nate look like an A-lister. She noted it all, filing it away for later.

An astonishing number of people milled around inside the cordoned-off area—Sam and an assistant; Gina and her cameras; the equipment guys; a huge, bald black man in Armani and wraparound sunglasses who looked as though he’d snap Hannah’s neck like a chicken’s if she sneezed wrong.

Nate, however, wasn’t there.

Hannah flashed her ID at a rent-a-cop and he let her past the temporary rope barrier.

“Hey,” Sam said, in what she’d already figured was his characteristic bluntness.

“How’re things going so far?” she asked.

He turned in circles, making his own observations. He raised a hand in a quick wave, and a woman behind the rope waved back. Her motion was seen and copied by about a dozen others.

“Friends?” Hannah asked.

“Some of the FoxFanatics,” Sam said. “God, I hate that name.”

Hannah laughed, having to agree with him. She knew the president of the fan club, though, and had been impressed by the work the woman had done in keeping the fervor over Nate high, despite his two-year absence from the music world.

“Don’t ever let them hear you say that,” Hannah told Sam. “They’re our hardcore audience, and we want them to keep spreading the word.”

“I know, but why couldn’t they have called themselves something like the Vixens? Now that’s sexy.”

“It sounds like a roller derby team,” she countered.

A gofer pressed a cup of coffee into Sam’s hands, glancing apologetically at Hannah. The aroma was great, but the thought of caffeine on her jittery stomach made her shake her head.

“We need to have a meeting before this gets going. I want you to meet our head of security and make sure you two are on the same page about fan contact.”

“Ready when you are,” Hannah said.

“Gina!” Sam barked.

Gina looked up from the camera she was fiddling with. Sam tapped his watch, and she held up her hands to indicate fifteen to twenty minutes.

“I’ll grab Andre and meet you inside,” Sam told Hannah.

He directed her to Castagnola’s, the upscale restaurant adjacent to the area of the Wharf on which they’d be doing the shoot. They’d rented out a private room and the restaurant manager escorted her back.

She didn’t bother knocking, assuming Nate would be alone.

Her stomach lurched. A blond woman, her back to Hannah, bent over a seated Nate, their faces close.

Chapter Five

The woman leaning over Nate straightened, looking back over one shoulder to see who had come in, and Hannah choked back a laugh at her own jealous paranoia. A makeup artist, evening out Nate’s skin tone with a brush of powder and adding a smudge of eyeliner to bring out those smoldering eyes.

She’d always found the concept of men with a bare hint of makeup unbelievably sexy.

Nate watched her with a lazy hunger in his eyes. He stood as she approached, his dark blue gaze sliding slowly over her, from the tips of her shoes to the cling of material at her thighs. He didn’t rush, and by the time his eyes met hers, she was having a serious fantasy about pushing him back into the chair and straddling him. Nate took her hand, fingers folding warmly around hers as he drew her close. He leaned in, his mouth skimming a hello across her cheek. Hannah forgot how to breathe—dammit!—when his lips brushed her ear.

“You look great,” he told her, his voice low, a husky caress that warmed her blood. He closed his teeth lightly on her earlobe, laughing very softly at the breathy sound that escaped her. Nate’s hands caressed her shoulders for a moment, the heat of his palms going straight to her nipples. They tightened, puckering in the skimpy lace of her bra. Luckily, he removed his hands before she could cover them with her own and guide them downwards to cup her through the soft sweater.

That would have made them very, very late for the photo shoot.

The stylist finished repacking her industrial kit. “Don’t mess up my hard work,” she said to Hannah, in a tone that clearly bespoke envy rather than any sort of real threat.

“Are they ready for me outside?” Nate asked as the woman left. He moved to the buffet set up along one wall. A variety of the restaurant’s specialties were arrayed across the crisp white linen.

“Soon. Sam wants to have a meeting in here first; he’s on his way.”

“How about you?” he asked in that same low voice. “Are you ready for me?” He held a shrimp to her lips, the lazy glint in his eyes daring her to take it.

Oh god.

Hannah accepted the morsel, enjoying the fresh seafood texture and the spicy taste of cocktail sauce. “I thought last night was supposed to have gotten it out of our systems.”

“Funny thing, that.” Nate stepped even closer to her, trapping her against the chair. He cupped her jaw with one hand, traced the shape of her lower lip with his thumb. “We may have miscalculated. I’m pretty sure we’re not finished yet.”

Her brain rebelled. She couldn’t do this; she had to be professional.

Her body, tense and dampening, agreed with him wholeheartedly.

The door burst open and Sam entered, accompanied by the big bald man she’d seen earlier. Hannah stepped away from Nate, putting the table between them. She could tell from the purse of Sam’s lips that their close proximity hadn’t gone unnoticed.

She cursed her fair skin, knowing she flushed more than the sharp sea breeze outside would have caused. She wondered if Sam knew of last night’s carnal romp.

If he did, he didn’t mention it now. Instead, he indicated the black man at his side.

“Hannah, this is Andre, head of security and Nate’s personal bodyguard. Andre, Hannah Montgomery, Nate’s publicist.”

“Hannah!” The looming man put his meaty hands on her shoulders. The bass rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate the floor. For a moment Hannah was sure he was going to press her down into a chair and interrogate her with a big light on her face.

Instead, he planted big air kisses near each of her cheeks.

“Great to meet you, darling,” he said. “I adore your shoes, by the way.”

“Um, thank you,” Hannah managed.

“Have a seat, everyone,” Sam said. “We only have a few minutes.”

They sat at one of the small round tables. Andre went to the buffet and poured everyone a glass of water. Hannah sipped, grateful for something to do with her hands. Outside the windows, gulls wheeled above moored boats.

Beneath the table, Nate apparently found something to do with his own hand. He stroked her thigh. She pushed his hand away.

He put it back.

Sam glanced at her, then at Nate.

Shades of last night. Hannah drew in a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate. “As Sam’s probably already told you, I let Nate’s fan club know about today’s photo shoot. That’ll show the media that there’s still a lot of interest in Nate. Andre, most of these women are pretty reasonable, and I don’t think they’ll get out of hand.”

“Sam warned me to bring a few extra guards with me. Won’t be a problem,” Andre said. “Just let me know ahead of time when you do something like this again.”

Hannah nodded her assent. “After the shoot, we’ll take a few minutes with the media—sound bites, that sort of thing. Then Nate should mingle with the fans. Sign some autographs, pose for pictures with them, thank them for coming. Nate, you’re good with that, right?”

Nate grinned. “Hell, yeah. I’ve never had a problem being surrounded by beautiful women who worship me.”

He caressed her inner thigh, and she knew from the wicked twinkle in his eye that he was being cheeky. Still, she couldn’t help wonder how much truth was in his statement.

Other than the past two years, when he’d pretty much been off the media’s radar, Nate had never seemed to have a shortage of women. The last girlfriend Hannah had heard about was Suzanne Cooper, who’d been killed in the accident that had forced Nate into rehab. Before her, there’d been a rotating supply of gorgeous celebrities.

She couldn’t recall if he’d dated a fan before, but then again, she hadn’t paid close attention. The fact was, she wasn’t much different than the fans who were lined up outside, desperate for a glimpse of their rock god. She’d
been
one of them. It was only her job that put her on the other side of the security barriers.

“We also need to make sure the paparazzi are kept under control,” Sam said. His fingers played a drum solo along the edge of the table. “They’re going to be looking for any scrap or hint that Nate’s slipping.”

Andre passed a hand over his shaved head as if to test for any stray fuzz. “There’s no such thing as a controlled paparazzi,” Andre said. “The best you can hope for is to avoid the worst of them. My boys will keep an eye out. Hannah, give us a list of who’s allowed and who’s not.”

She made a note in her phone. “Will do, Andre.” She saw Sam check his watch. “Showtime?”

He nodded. They all rose, but before she could step away from the table, the manager touched her arm. “A word?”