Getting Real

20. Following the Band



The hotel gym was blissfully empty when Jake arrived. He wanted to sweat out the last traces of the Zanect and keep an appointment with a behavioural therapist before he did Rand a favour by accompanying Rielle to a couple of media interviews. He wasn’t sure which was going to be harder on his heart, talking about his fear of heights or being alone with a woman who’d delighted in bringing them on.

For stars as big as Ice Queen, they kept their professional entourage scaled to miniature. They liked it simple and under their own control, bringing with them only a skeleton staff of technical people who’d bedded in with Jake’s team. There was no trailing cloud of wardrobe or makeup artists, no phalanx of publicists, instrument techs or other helpers and minders, and the most discrete security Jake had ever seen, or rather not seen, in action. Rand had explained they’d tried it the other way and hated the intrusiveness. They preferred to do their own fetch and carry than live in a circus twenty-four seven.

Rand had taken off with Harry for the day and had asked, well, pretty much begged him to go with Rielle. He had the impression Rielle didn’t know Rand had flaked out, which would make things interesting.

He was sweating a river on the treadmill, old Silverchair playing through his headphones. His plan was a half hour run, fifteen minutes of rowing, then a quick swim. Daniel Johns was singing The Greatest View, when a trim-figured blonde stepped onto the cross trainer in front of the row of treadmills. She paused to set the machine. Then she started to pump the pedals and pull back on the handles. She wore short skin-hugging black lycra pants and a matching singlet top. A sweatband on her wrist was an Eighties touch. The minute she started her workout, Jake abandoned plans to move to the rowing machine. This view would do just fine.

He watched the blonde’s hips shift, her leg muscles tighten and the sway in her tiny waist. This was good. Just what he needed. Someone new and real to replace the images of Rielle burned fresh across his retinas.


When Rielle had flung open the door to the gym and saw Jake, she nearly did a complete three-sixty and exited the way she’d come in. He’d glanced over, but he didn’t seem to register anything other than general awareness of another person in the room.

If she stayed in front of him and didn’t speak, she could probably get away with it. He wouldn’t place her without her armour: without the hairpieces, her prosthetic front teeth, the coloured contacts and the makeup. And with her blonde hair slicked back, and the sweatband plus a simple ring, her tattoos were hidden.

No one but Rand ever saw her without her armour. The fact she could step out of being Rielle Mainline, rock star, and become someone else was her sanity. The whole being recognised thing never bothered Rand, and he could slip back to his old hair colour and go underground if he wanted to. Rand didn’t need armour, that’s what he called her look, but she couldn’t face the world without it.

Ten minutes into her workout, when the handles of the cross trainer beside her started to swing, things got tricky. What did he think he was doing? There were five cross trainers and no reason why he would need to choose the one right next to hers unless he intended to do something more than work out. He was definitely creeping her out. She was about to bark at him to back off when he said, “Hey, we’ve met before.”

Without looking at him she said, “No.”

“Yeah, we have. In the gym. At the Adelaide Hilton.”

Rielle fiddled with her ear bud, hoping it would give the impression she couldn’t hear him.

He said, “Are you stalking me?” and laughed, letting go the handle closest and angling his body to look at her. Surprised, she glanced at him, catching his warm brown eyes as they swept over her face, full of mischief. “Oh yeah, we’ve definitely met before. I wasn’t likely to forget you.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Nope. I always remember girls who nearly kill me.”

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.