When Stars Collide (Chicago Stars #9) - Susan Elizabeth Phillips Page 0,49
your grievous betrayal of our friendship.”
“I don’t think I was serious.”
“You’re not sure?”
She shrugged, looking more like an insecure teenager than a seasoned opera singer.
“So just to make certain everything’s out in the open . . . You want to get down and dirty with me, but you’re worried that could lead to a relationship. Which you don’t want.”
“Definitely not.”
“Hardly an insurmountable problem since neither do I.” He tugged on one end of the towel draping his neck as he briefly debated how far to push her. “Here’s my suggestion. Las Vegas. The last night of the tour before Chicago. You, me, and a bedroom. We have all the sex we can pack in before morning. And then . . .”
“Then?”
“We fly to Chicago. Hang out together for two weeks until the gala. After that, I dump you forever.”
She smiled. “Go on.”
“This gives us something to look forward to—Las Vegas—and it also solves the relationship problem you’re worried about.” It didn’t solve the problem of the danger she was in, a complication he still wanted resolved.
She thought it over. “Just to clarify . . . You’ll look past my small deception, but only if I have sex with you?”
“Your brutal, hurtful deception. And, as a gentleman, I’m deeply offended that you believe I’d bargain with sex. Unlike you.”
She tilted her head so her hair fell over one shoulder. “I’m forgiven, right?”
“As long as you promise to be straight with me from now on.”
“I promise.” She made a cross over her heart that was such a little girl move, he wanted to kiss her. “We have three days of interviews in Chicago, then a two-week break while you laze around and I work hard in rehearsals. Assuming I have the voice to show up at rehearsals.” The distress he’d hoped never again to witness clouded her eyes. She combed her fingers through her hair. “But as soon as those rehearsals start, we’re done.”
“Hold on. Once the gala is over, we’re done. It’s our last obligation to Marchand, and no way are you depriving us of those two weeks of sexual bliss.”
“Wrong.” She pushed her hair away from her face. “We have sex the last night in Las Vegas. Sex for those three nights we’re in Chicago before rehearsals start. And then you dump me on Sunday night, right before my rehearsals start on Monday morning.”
“Fine. I’ll compromise. We have the last night in Las Vegas. Three nights in Chicago. And the two weeks while you’re in rehearsal. I’ll have dinner and a back rub waiting for you when you come home. The night of the gala, I dump you.”
“Exactly how is that a compromise?”
Because he wanted it to be.
She pointed a long, elegant finger at him. “There’s no compromise. As soon as rehearsals start, I’m on the job, completely focused, and we’re over.”
“Now, Liv, be reasonable.”
“The only time we’ll see each other again is at the gala. We’ll greet each other like old friends, pose for photos, and go our separate ways. That’s it. We’re history. No dates. No cozy dinners. No lakefront walks. Nothing.”
“You really are afraid of me, aren’t you?”
She shifted her knees. “Do you agree or not?”
“This is like a bad labor negotiation, but I agree.” For now, anyway. Once things unfolded, he intended to revisit the situation.
“Great.” She gave him a bright smile. A smile he had to spoil because he couldn’t stand the knots that had formed in her shoulders, the tension in her neck.
“Liv, you need to get your head together.”
“How do you suggest I do that?”
“Ease up on yourself about Adam. Accept your many imperfections—which I’ll be happy to keep pointing out, starting with your tendency to run off by yourself.” A thread of an idea formed in the back of his mind. “You also have to start singing for me.”
She jumped from the chaise, leaving the towel behind. “I told you. I can’t sing!”
The elderly couple in the hot tub looked over at them. He rose and blocked their view of Olivia. “I didn’t say you had to sing opera. Maybe some blues. Rock. ‘The Wheels on the Bus.’ I don’t care. I’m only a football player, remember? I won’t know if what I’m hearing is good or bad.”
“We’ve listened to jazz together, remember? You know music. And that’s the worst idea ever.”
“Is it? I have to deal with Clint Garrett, remember? A guy with all the talent in the world who still manages to choke under pressure. The two of you have