“Oh, I thought you’d be finished. Lance Meyer, the reporter from Entertainment Weekly, came a little early. It’s a good sign. He was hoping to meet you.”
“What? You know I prefer not to meet anyone in person.”
“He’s not going to bring his photographer to the meeting. I thought we’d have some champagne sent down here and have a drink with him before the show,” the guy—Rafe—said in a French-accented voice.
“No,” she said, shaking her head adamantly and causing her long hair to slide against her robe.
“Laila, we need this. If you’d let me sign you with a big name recording studio for your first contract, a well-organized publicity blitz would have come with it. As it is, this reporter from EW might be all we get before you begin recording next month—our only chance.”
“That’s one of the reasons I picked Sunday Records, and you know it. No huge publicity. You know my stance on this, Rafe. I don’t want to be interviewed or have the media connect my face with Yesenia’s. That was my condition from the beginning, and you agreed to it. I thought Meyer was just coming here to see my performance.”
“But this is your chance for some major exposure from one of the top music and entertainment magazines. Most artists would kill for this opportunity.”
“No, Rafe,” she said firmly.
“Your privacy is still going to remain intact.” Asher’s muscles tensed so hard they hurt. What was this guy’s problem? He was going at Laila like a battering ram. Couldn’t he hear? “But it’s only going to fuel the flames of fascination about Yesenia, even if you allow Meyer just to see you,” Rafe continued. “He’s bound to be blown away by the way you look. Even though he won’t have a photo, he’ll likely write tributes to your beauty that will only make your legend grow.” A hand came through the door. Asher stiffened, watching Rafe caress first Laila’s tumbling locks of hair and then her cheek. Laila started back but then stilled herself.
Asher recognized a lover’s familiar touch. A burning sensation started up in his belly.
“You’re flushed, ma cherie. Did you stay in the sauna too long?”
“No. But I’m not feeling all that well. Rafe, I wish you hadn’t suggested it was a possibility I’d meet with Meyer,” Laila said.
“You aren’t feeling well? Do you think you’ll be able to perform?” Rafe asked, suddenly sounding nervous.
“Yes. That is, I will if you give me time to get ready.”
“Of course. Please don’t worry yourself about it now,” Asher heard Rafe say after a pause. “But sometime soon, we’re going to have to talk again about this absolute need for privacy on your part, Laila. It’s in direct opposition to you growing as an artist. It would be one thing if you were some kind of troll behind the curtain, but you’re the most stunning woman—”
“You said you didn’t want me to worry about it now,” Laila interrupted tensely. “Do you want me to get ready for the show, or not?”
“Of course.”
Asher ground his teeth together as he watched Laila turn her cheek for Rafe’s kiss. It shocked him a little, how his entire body seemed to recoil at the vision of another man touching her.
It had been a mistake to come here.
Chapter Twenty
Laila hurried to the bathroom door after Rafe had gone. It was shut tight. She wanted to knock and call Asher’s name, but it felt like an intrusion. How could it feel like an intrusion when she’d been naked and pressed against his aroused body just minutes ago?
All of this was crazy.
She recalled their impulsive, intense make-out session earlier . . . the feeling of his hot, firm mouth pulling gently on her nipple. Against her will, need tightened her sex. She placed her fingertips on her hot cheeks, willing the memory to fade.
Had he heard her talking to Rafe?
“Asher—”
The door abruptly opened. She started. His face was hard again.
She only had to take one look at it to know. He’d definitely heard her and Rafe talking. He walked over the threshold, seeming to tower over her. She stepped back.
“I’m sorry about that,” she said breathlessly. “That’s Rafe. Rafael Durand. He’s the club owner and my manager and promoter.”
“He’s more than that.”
Without saying another word, he started to walk toward her dressing room door. Anger and confusion rose in her.