Sex, Gossip and Rock & Roll. Nicola MarshЧитать онлайн книгу.
more to the point, how companies could invest in his pet projects, the things that really mattered.
Her astute stare bored into him and he sat back, clasped his hands behind his head, the epitome of a guy who didn’t give a damn. And he usually didn’t but there was something about this woman, some indefinable quality that made him want her to like him.
‘You really are an international man of mystery, aren’t you?’
He winked. ‘That’s Petrelli, Luca Petrelli to you.’
Her mouth relaxed into a soft smile, kicking him in the guts. Or lower to be precise. That kiss in the car had been a mere prelude. Those beautiful lips, the lush full bottom lip, begged to be kissed. Repeatedly. All night long.
She stood abruptly and he mentally kicked himself for letting his thoughts drift south when they’d been getting along, establishing some kind of fragile rapport.
‘Thanks for dinner. It was great.’
‘My pleasure.’
Her gaze locked on his, his last word hanging in the silence between them, promising so much if she’d let herself go.
She wanted to; he could see it in the pulse beating frantically in her neck, in her slightly parted lips, in the shimmer of her eyes.
Then she blinked, straightened and the invisible thread holding them spellbound vanished in an instant.
‘See you in the morning. Eight sharp.’
‘Eight it is.’
She managed a tight smile at his half salute before diving for the safety of her bedroom.
Beautiful Charli could run but she couldn’t hide. The spark between them was intangible but it was there and he had every intention of creating a few more before this tour was out.
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLI stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the kinks. Stupid hard pillows. Though she knew the pain in her neck had more to do with her constant tossing all night while mentally rehashing conversations with Luca—and remembering him in that damn towel—than any pillow.
She didn’t want to like him, didn’t want to feel anything for him, but after that thoughtful dinner he’d set out last night and that moment they’d shared, she’d thought of little else all night but how easy it would be to succumb to his many charms.
Blowing out an exasperated huff, she knocked on Storm’s door again. Her first knock had been loud enough to rouse half of Ballarat but not so much as a curtain had twitched behind the heavily tinted windows of the longest bus she’d ever seen.
She’d organised many tour buses over the years but Storm had insisted he bring his own, and after seeing the gigantic two-semi-length monstrosity painted glossy black with his signature storm clouds and lightning bolts slashing the sides, she knew why. It signalled showman.
As for the inside, she hadn’t seen it, thanks to Storm living up to his superlative cranky reputation yesterday and holing away inside the bus, corresponding with her via terse text messages.
Today, she’d set the tour ground rules and make sure the idiosyncratic rocker played her way.
Her hand clenched into a fist and rapped for the third time, on the window this time, not stopping until she glimpsed a flicker of curtain.
Charli waited while Storm played his little mind games—she’d heard he was notoriously late, notoriously rude, just plain notorious—mentally checking the list she’d made on Landry Records’ latest star.
Storm Varth: fifty-six, had topped world charts for eight weeks running thirty years ago, had a string of bad songs to his name over the past few decades and a string of bad women.
He’d been in rehab five times, in love ten and had finally sobered up enough over the past year for Hector to take a chance on reviving his career.
Personally, she had her doubts on the hard-living rocker lasting the distance this tour let alone making another recording but Hector had a good eye for talent, old or otherwise, so she’d make sure she did a damn good job no matter how much she wanted to throttle him.
‘Take your time, Mr Varth. The longer you take with your day itinerary, the less time you’ll have for trawling bars tonight.’
She bit back a grin as she heard fiddling with the lock accompanied by a string of curses before the door finally opened.
‘Good morning.’
She gave him her best fake smile, designed to dazzle with just a hint of ‘don’t mess with me’ thrown in.
‘What’s so freaking good about it?’
When Storm finally stepped into view, she bit the inside of her cheek to stop from laughing out loud.
Fifty-six-year-old guys shouldn’t wear mid-thigh emerald silk kimonos, no matter how rich or famous.
‘You’ve studied the itinerary for today?’
He leered at her through bleary eyes, his blond-tipped three-inch spikes standing to attention as he ruffled his hair.
‘Would rather study you, sweetheart.’
She rolled her eyes. ‘We’ve already been through this. Me, tour manager, you, rock star. Professional relationship, comprende?’
‘I love it when you talk foreign.’
Hanging onto the door, he leaned so far forward he almost tumbled out of the bus and she couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Come on, Storm, play nice.’
Before he could make another innuendo about playing with her, she held up her hand.
‘Get dressed. Eat. Sign the rest of those promo photos—’
‘Yeah, yeah, I remember, then we tour the local music shops, sweet-talk the owners into promoting the concert tomorrow night, yada, yada, yada.’
He waved his hand around, making the kimono gape in front and she quickly averted her eyes before she got more than an unwanted glimpse of greying chest hair and fake-tan flabby abs.
‘And if you’re on your best behaviour, you’ll get the afternoon off to visit Sovereign Hill.’
For the first time this morning his expression turned animated. ‘Yeah, Tiger mentioned it looked cool on the Net.’
‘Kids love it,’ she said, a small part of her cynical heart softening at his obvious affection for his seven-year-old kid. Though how anyone could name their child Tiger was beyond her. ‘So snap to it.’
His lips curved into a wicked grin and for a second she could see what countless groupies over the years must’ve found appealing.
‘I’ll be much quicker if you come in here and scrub my back?’
Biting back an answering grin, she jabbed a finger in his direction.
‘I’ll scrub you out in a minute if you don’t hop to it. Now go! ‘
She just caught his muttered, ‘With legs like those, can’t blame a guy for trying,’ as he blew her a kiss and shut the door.
Shaking her head, she fished around in her handbag for her mobile, the hairs on the nape of her neck standing to attention as she sensed Luca’s presence before he spoke.
‘You handled him like a pro.’
‘It’s my job,’ she said, her breath catching as she glanced up to see Luca in head-to-toe black: black silk shirt, black trousers, black shoes.
He looked like a corporate raider rather than a corporate financier and she instantly dismissed the briefest yearning for what it would be like for him to make a raid on her.
‘The