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Rielle pressed her lips together to stop herself laughing. There was that line again, if only he knew. She tucked her head down and picked up her pace. She knew she couldn’t outrun him on the stationary machine but she could try to rob him of the breath to talk.
Jake saw the blonde kick down harder and he went with her, running in sync. Who was this girl? What were the chances of her being in Adelaide and Brisbane at the same time as he was, staying in the same hotel? Then it came to him. It was either a wild coincidence, or she was following the band.
Despite the fact this was a business class hotel, she didn’t exactly look like the corporate type. He thought he could see the edge of some ink in her sweaty hairline. And for most professionals the work day had already begun, so he didn’t think she was a highly paid banker or a consultant on interstate business.
He bet on groupie and he wanted to collect.
/> “Are you a fan of Ice Queen or Problem Children?” he said, over the whirr of their machines. He knew she heard him because the suggestion of a smile pulled at the side of her mouth, but she ignored him. Pity, if she played nice, he’d give her a backstage pass, although with a host of rock stars as competition, it would mean he’d have no chance of capturing her attention for himself.
That thought brought him back to earth. If she was a serious groupie, there was no way she’d be interested in him under any circumstances. Unless it was to use him, and that simply wasn’t his scene, no matter how much it might make for a good distraction from the annoying allure of Rielle.
He slowed up, let her power on and stepped off the cross trainer. He towelled himself off and collected his water bottle and room card. His enthusiasm for a longer workout killed off by his fumble with the girl.
From where he stood he could see her reflection in a mirrored wall. No mistaking it. She was definitely the girl from Adelaide and she was as fascinating to watch then as now. She had a slight but athletic build, long lean muscles and the look of a gymnast in her movements. She reminded him of Rielle. Rielle, if she’d been blonde, had freckles, green eyes and a gap in her front teeth. It was uncanny; they could be cousins. They even had a tattoo in the same place.
He shook his head. He had Rielle lodged too hard on his brain, now he was seeing her likeness in other women. Kissing her, making out with her, had been one heck of a mistake. And agreeing to go with her to the interview was another. He quit the gym, annoyed with himself and wondering how he’d get through the afternoon.
When Jake slammed out of the gym, Rielle stepped off the cross trainer, and braced her hands on her legs to take a deep breath. That was way too close for comfort. Jake wasn’t stupid and he’d practically seen her naked, had his hands all over her body, and though the real Rielle was very different to her usual look, and she’d kept her responses to a minimum and her face turned away, it was still playing with lit matches to have stayed in the gym with him.
She was slightly freaked out. He already thought she was a fake, and he didn’t know the half of it. The last thing she wanted was to push him totally out of her life by meeting his expectation. This whole thing with Jake was driving her insane. She’d gone from thinking he was wet and weak to having a crazy crush on him. And it was more than a temporary brain snap. She was infatuated with Jake Reed, desperate to feel his hands on her again, and it was mucking with her head.
Jake was waiting for Rielle in the foyer, wondering what sort of mood he’d find her in and how she’d take the news Rand had nicked off with Harry.
He saw her step out of the lift. She wore skin-tight black three quarter pants that sat just above her hip bones, with crazy high heeled shoes that wrapped around her ankles. She had an orange and white t-shirt with designer rips in it, which skimmed her narrow waist, emphasising two inches of her flat stomach and taunt obliques, and showing her orange lace bra in places. Today her hair was bundled up, pieces of it falling down her back and around her face, tangling with hoop earrings. She had orange and purple around her eyes and, purple lips.
She was more provocatively dressed than she was on days she rehearsed or when they were travelling; the makeup was louder, the clothing more cutting edge, the hardcore rock chick chic more obvious.
He was smiling to himself about the stupidity of seeing her likeness in the sexy blonde in the gym. What the hell had he been thinking? That girl had been natural sugar. Rielle was aspartame—all artificial.
“What?” Rielle said, eyes narrowed when she reached him. She knew he’d been checking her out. He copped it sweet. “You look amazing.”
She tapped her toe on the marble floor. Her heels gave her extra height; she was almost level with his face. “You don’t actually think that, Jake.”
He didn’t hide his laugh this time. He put his palms up in surrender. “I do, you’re a rock chick and you look hot.”
She said, “I thought you preferred a more natural look.” He thought of the way she’d looked in her dressing room, lemon fresh from a shower, light makeup and barely any clothing. “Er, okay you got me. I think you know how much I liked that.” He turned his head and looked out towards the street. He could feel heat pink his face and wished he’d brought his sunglasses to hide behind.
21. All the Way
“He did what?” Rielle shouted, making several guests at the check-in counter look around.
Here we go. Jake opened his hands, shrugged and repeated what he’d just told her about Rand taking Harry out for the day. He was ready for a blast of her famous temper and half of him thought she was justified in blowing her stack. Rand had ditched a couple of important commitments and left her holding the ball. But all she said was, “Bastard could’ve told me.”
They took a hire car to the first appointment with B106 FM and Jake watched Rielle snap into performance mode the moment she walked into their foyer. She was all flashing eyes and pouty lips, smart comments and witty one-liners. She back announced songs, traded gossip with the announcers, and talked to listeners. When a caller asked about the now famous ‘hanging roadie’ her response was, “Don’t piss a diva off!” then she said quite deliberately, “Shit, can I say that on air?” setting off a flurry of activity from the panel operator.
At rival station Nera, she auctioned off backstage passes for charity and accepted a challenge to sing a cappella. Jake was amazed at the sound of her husky, honey warm voice, unaccompanied except by hoots of approval from the two announcers. Instead of screaming lyrics as she usually did on stage, her sound was raw and achy, sexy as hell. He wished she sang like that more often. She’d reached into his body and kick started a fever.
When they arrived at 98.2 FM, they found the drive time program manager in a flap because Jonathan Bennett’s interview had run over. Jonathan saw them through the glass wall of the booth and waved madly at Rielle. He said into his mic, “Well look what the cat dragged in. Rielle Mainline, and I guess I’m keeping her waiting. Ooh aren’t I naughty.”
Rielle snorted. She gave Jonathan the finger. “He’s such a jerk.”
Jonathan said, “Oh listeners, if only you could see what she just did. She made a very rude gesture at me.”
“I saw that,” said the announcer. “It was rude.”
Jake watched Rielle glaring at Jonathan. “I thought you liked him.” He tried to sound nonchalant, knowing he had a chance to at least look that way, as he leant against the booth wall.
“I tried.” Rielle folded her arms. “A big mouth and a Mick Jagger swagger just ain’t gonna do it.”
