Front Man: One Night in Paris Read Online Free PDF Page A

The sensation of the hot water hitting her skin was incredible, and at last she felt herself relax a little. Grabbing a bottle of divine smelling body wash, she gently soaped her entire body. Jack would be back soon, she reasoned. Maybe they would take a shower together, or a nice long bath in the huge tub on the opposite wall. She could make him feel better, she was sure of it, and before long the press would realize they had made a mistake, and this whole stupid story would be old news. Maybe Jack would take a bit of time off, come back to the states. Maybe they would finally get to have that dinner. Running her hands over her full breasts, following the smooth curve of her hips, Sara imagined Jack's hands on her body. All the stress, all the fear, would just melt away the moment he touched her, she was sure of it. A sound from outside snapped her out of her reverie. Her eyes flew open, and she reached over to switch off the spray. Yes, that was the door opening. Jack was back! Hurriedly, Sara squeezed the water out of her hair and grabbed the first towel to hand, not caring that it barely covered her butt. She wished she'd had time to dress and apply makeup, but a look in the mirror told her she would do. She hurried into the bedroom.
    "Ja- ...oh."
    Michael stood sheepishly by the door, key card still in his hand.
    "Sorry, I didn't realize...I just came to see if Jack was back. Jared's going crazy, we're supposed to leave for the venue in half and hour. Have you, um, have you seen him?"
    "No, the bellboy let me in," Sara stuttered, trying to tug her towel into a more decent position. "Why do you have a key?" The question was out of her mouth before she had time to think the accusation through.
    "We keep spares," Michael said curtly, narrowing his eyes at her. "Do I know you from somewhere? I feel like we've met, sorry if I've forgotten."
    "I don't think so," Sara said coldly. She couldn't get the image of him pulling at Erica's clothes out of her head. Once, she thought ruefully, she would have been asking for Micheal’s autograph. Now she wanted to slap the sleazebag in the face.
    "I guess not. I wouldn't forget a face like that in a hurry." Michael winked at her, casting a lingering glance at her bare, wet legs. She glared at him in return.
    "So you've no idea where Jack is?" Michael asked again, and Sara shook her head. "Probably gone on one of his walks. Sometimes he disappears for hours. I figured he was in the bars, but he says he just walks for miles. Thinking, he says, god knows what about. I can't believe he's being such a selfish bastard."
    "Have you seen what people are saying? Wouldn't you be upset?"
    "I'd get over it. The papers write all sorts of crap. No use crying and running away, for Pete's sake. We're a band. It's not all about him."
    "Maybe he could do with your support right now." Sara's tone was icy. Michael just rolled his eyes.
    "Looks like he's got his own personal cheerleader already. Good luck with that one. If you do see him, tell him not to bother showing up to the venue tonight. We can do it without him. It's not like I don't know the words."
    Michael slammed the door, leaving Sara almost quaking with rage.
     

***
     
    Jack breathed out into the cold air and watched his breath disperse. Around him, the city continued to hum with activity, but he was closed off from it all in a shroud of silence. The bench was cold and damp; he could feel the moisture seeping through the seat of his pants. He took a swig from his hip flask, and felt the burn of the alcohol warm his insides. Jack turned his cell phone over in his hands, willing the battery to come back to life. Sara should be in the city by now, maybe even at the hotel. He'd made sure earlier in the day that the staff would look after her. He should find a telephone booth - assuming those still existed- and call. He should walk back to the main street and hail a taxi. But somehow he couldn't bring himself to move. It was a mistake, calling