Nothing Like the Sun Read online

  “About what?”

  The familiar voice turned his head, and Julian stood. Micheline was early, and irritated, and Julian had to struggle not to frown. She’d have no problem denying him the right to see Amie if he pissed her off.

  “Mama!” Amie ran to greet her mother. “Will Daddy be able to come to my birthday party?”

  Micheline gave Julian a cool look. “I’m sure your daddy will be busy with his tour.”

  The way she wrinkled her nose made it clear what she thought of Julian’s work. Which was fucking ballsy of her, considering it was what had interested her in him in the first place. He gave her a bland smile.

  “Daddy?”

  “I’ll work it out,” Julian assured her, and the answer seemed to satisfy Amie.

  “Go wait with Daddy Bill in the car.”

  With a kiss and a hug for Julian, Amie did as her mother ordered. When she’d gone, Julian faced the woman who’d been more cause for trouble in his life than any other, and that was saying a lot because women and trouble, in his experience, always went together.

  “You look good. Have you had more work done?”

  Another woman might have been offended by the suggestion, but not Micheline. She viewed her body as a canvas to be forever improved upon. She barely looked like the woman he’d dated nine years ago.

  “My chin,” she said and turned from side to side so he could get a better view.

  “It looks good.”

  She nodded, not even bothering with a thank-you.

  “Let me know about the party.”

  She sighed, dramatically. “We’ll see.”

  He was surprised by her reluctance. She’d refused to name him as Amie’s father, after all, until he’d fought for and won the right to DNA testing that proved his paternity. A birthday party wasn’t, in his mind, any less important. Amie was his daughter, and even though he couldn’t be there for her every day, he could try to be there whenever possible.

  “I want to be there, Micheline.”

  “I know you do.”

  “I have the right to be a part of Amie’s life.”

  Micheline gave an aggrieved sigh. “We’ll see, Julian.”

  He didn’t argue further. There was no point. She moved forward to give him two completely insincere air kisses to his cheeks and left him wondering how he ever could have thought he loved her.

  6

  The concert was fantastic. Better even than her imagination could have made it because her mind had left out all the inconvenient details, like the drops of sweat flung off Seth Graham’s face as he leaned into the crowd to howl out the lyrics to one of Blue Silver’s biggest hits, or the way the Troy Douglas’ drumsticks had had his name burned into them in flowing script. Georgie had gathered all those little pieces, the details that made the experience real, to herself, where she could sort through them later at her leisure and imprint the memories so she’d have them forever. Georgie was transported¸ and having her friends there to share it had made it all that much better, even if Cassie had refused to introduce Georgie to Julian at the airport.

  The concert ended too soon, leaving her gasping for air and drenched with sweat. As the house lights came up, she giggled and gushed with Marcy and Faith and gave Cassie a high five. She even squeezed Arliss, who was not the squeezable sort.

  “I’ll see you at the after-party,” she told Cassie as the crowd swept toward the doors.

  Cassie gave her a dark look. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Still grinning, Georgie ran across the walkway over the street from the theater to the hotel, and took the stairs to her first-floor room, booked for the express purpose of swift access. A good whore didn’t need hours of primping to look her best. One of Esther’s lessons, taken to heart. Georgie had rehearsed this like she’d practiced everything else from how to deep throat—she didn’t think she could eat a banana again for years—to how to look as sexy putting her clothes on as she did taking them off.

  She leaped into the shower, scrubbing, hair under a shower cap to keep it from getting wet. Pits, tits, clit and ass, out of the shower, pat dry, not rub, to keep some moisture on her skin. Lotion, smelling faintly of vanilla, not a scent she preferred, but one studies had shown men responded to. Then, using an additional trick from Esther, she ran a finger through soft folds and pressed it to her wrists and behind her ears; the soft feminine scent of her own body, enhanced by perfume and nearly indistinguishable, but, Esther assured her, guaranteed to drive a man wild should he get close enough to smell her. Georgie fully intended to get Julian close enough to her.

  Still naked, only ten minutes gone by on the clock, she used the straightening iron to touch up her hair so it fell smoothly to just below her shoulders. Practiced fingers swiped on foundation, liner, mascara, lipstick. She used glittery powder on her face, shoulders and bust. Twenty minutes now, by the clock, and her hands had begun shaking.

  Like an athlete who’d trained for months to run a race or a dancer who’d rehearsed for years to perform a ballet, Georgie was about to face the results of her hours of practice.

  “Stop. Deep breath,” she told her reflection, which looked slightly wild-eyed. “You can do this.”

  She tilted her head and ran a tongue across her lips. During her hours of vigil at Joe’s bedside, Georgie had lost herself in classic movies. She’d modeled herself on those sex symbols. Marilyn, Lana, a bit of Scarlett O’Hara, and don’t forget to add a dash of Bette. Davis, not Midler.

  Thus armored with the faces of screen legends, Georgie dressed. Bra, garter belt, panties, stockings. At last, the fitted blouse of dark plum, the top button, shaped like a dragonfly, nestled just between her breasts. After that, the slim black linen skirt. Nothing fancy. It hit her just above the knee and had slits on either side that opened invitingly when she walked or sat, to reveal a glimpse of black-stocking clad thigh. She made sure her seams were straight, then picked up the shoes.

  “You’re my lucky charms, ladies,” she told each one, kissing the dark satin and not feeling the least bit silly for doing so. “Take me where I want to go.”

  She put on the shoes. And she was there.

  7

  “Bloody fucking great concert!” Julian beamed, clapping Troy on the shoulder as he passed. High on the applause, Julian grabbed Seth round the waist and planted a wet kiss on the taller man’s cheek. “Seth, mate, you were fucking brilliant! Tell me that doesn’t get you harder than my granny’s fruitcake!”

  Seth shook his head, wet hair spattering Julian’s suit, but Julian didn’t care. Seth’s grin told him all he needed to know. They jumped up and down, laughing, pounding each other’s backs and whooping like they were kids again.

  “If you two lunatics have finished,” said Brad, with a roll of his eyes, “can you let a fellow through? Some of us want something to eat.”

  Seth broke away, still grinning. “Yeah, yeah. C’mere, you bastard.”

  But Brad, laughing, was ducking away and Seth was chasing him, the pair of them as giddy as old times.

  “Pete,” said Julian, catching sight of the band manager’s familiar stubbled face. “You have to admit, we were fucking gorgeous out there.”

  “First night,” Pete grumbled. “A bunch of wet-pantied housewives re-living their horny youths. We’ll see if we can hold that through.”

  Julian laughed and gave Pete a hug, too. “So long as their panties are wet and they’re horny, does it matter if they’re housewives?”

  Pete scowled, wiping off the kiss Julian had planted on his bristly cheek. “Keep your fucking lipstick smears to yourself!”

  Julian winked. “I’m not wearing lipstick, Pete. Just gloss.”

  Pete muttered a faintly scandalous curse and waved his hands at Julian, shooing him. “Get on with you! Some of us have work to do! Go greet your adoring fans!”

  “I intend to do just that.” Julian ran a hand through his hair, swiping it smooth without having to even look. He straightened the cravat and tugged the cuffs of his