Under a Silver Moon Read online

  “Now I’m ready,” Imai said.

  While the music started, Kim eased into the chair, careful not to make a sound. She crossed her legs and consciously made an effort not to keep time with the pulsing beat of the bass line. The song was good, but as soon as Imai sang the first few lines in a throaty whisper, Kim was swept away.

  The man’s voice was more intoxicating than liquor, and those dark eyes of his were like a drug that sucked her in and clouded her senses. She had no clue what the lyrics meant, but his tone and the power his voice took on as the music rocked harder was unreal and she could only imagine what it would be like to be front row center for the upcoming concerts with a full band behind him, lighting effects, and the stage set adding to the atmosphere.

  How could his father not be proud of what his son had accomplished? Had Imai’s parents never seen him on stage? Truly, they were the ones missing out, and Kim wondered if there was some way she might contact them and try to get them to see him perform one of these upcoming solo shows.

  The music came to an end, and Imai tossed the headphones onto the stand in front of him. “How did it record?” he asked the producer.

  “Wow.” The man nodded slowly, obviously as moved as Kim had been. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you in such good form.”

  Imai snorted and turned to Kim. “What did you think?” he asked. “Honestly.”

  “Amazing,” Kim said without hesitation. “When you perform this live in the concert, you’ll leave the audience breathless.” A lot like the way she was now. Of course, she didn’t add that and looked away from Imai’s gaze.

  He seemed unconvinced, and she wanted to give him a swift kick for doubting her and the technician. He told them to replay the tape and Kim watched as he closed his eyes to concentrate fully on the song. She got shivers all over and wondered if she might get the Japanese lyrics. She desperately wanted to know what the song meant and thought she might be able to email them to Mandy’s Japanese teacher for a translation.

  Imai kept his eyes closed after the music stopped. When he opened them again he said simply, “It works.”

  He sipped his water, then began leafing through the sheet music on the stand before him. Kim found herself totally fascinated with his simple yet elegant movements, from the way he held one of the pages to the way he flicked his hair over his shoulder and licked a stray drop of water from his lip. She remembered the skill of those hands, the feel of those lips against hers, on hers. No. She had to stop that nonsense right now. What had happened between them had been an aberration. It was wrong and could never ‑‑ would never happen again. She didn’t know why he’d done it, but he had and she’d let him. It was best to forget it and keep things on a professional level from now on.

  The jarring sound of Imai loudly clearing his throat caught Kim’s attention. “What?” She looked around, wondering how she’d failed to notice the musicians who’d assembled in the studio while she was lost in her thoughts.

  He gave her an impatient look and folded his arms across his chest. “I asked if you know Bush.”

  “Of course I know Bush.” She gave Imai a suspicious look. “You don’t have some rude anti-American political song, do you?”

  Imai gave her one of those smirks of his then turned and said something to his musician friends who chuckled. He turned back to her. “I meant Bush the band. From Britain.”

  “Oh. Oh, yes I know of them. I have one of their CDs, actually.”

  “You may know this one then.”

  “Do you want me to go back to the other room now?”

  “No. You stay right there.”

  Right. I’ll stay here while your little music friends snicker at me. Ugh.

  Kim tried not to look at Imai as the band began the intro, but of course the moment he started to sing she was transfixed. And of all the songs he could have picked to cover he had to pick this particular one. The Chemicals Between Us, indeed.

  As powerful as Imai’s original song had been, this one almost overwhelmed her. Now that she could understand the lyrics, she was completely drawn into the performance, her eyes focused on no one else but Imai. For a wild moment, she imagined him singing the song directly to her -- for her.

  This time when the music ended, she had to leave the recording booth. “Excuse me.” Kim stepped out into the hall and continued down until she found an empty lounge. She dropped onto the thick leather sofa, her heart pounding and her insides a mess.

  “That’s the second time today I’ve made you run out on me.” She looked up and there was Imai in the doorway.

  “You’re not supposed to be moving that quickly with your leg in that cast,” Kim pointed out, avoiding the subject.

  “I’m sorry,” Imai said quietly. “But not about me being reckless with my leg.”

  “Then what ‑‑” Kim stopped short when that woman from the record company appeared in the doorway. Kim stood. “Excuse me. I’m going out for a bit of air.”

  “Kim ‑‑”

  “Discuss your business with Miss Izumi. Please.” Kim avoided the hateful look of the other woman. She ducked into the control room of the recording studio to grab her purse and notebook, then hurried outside. She’d stopped smoking right after Mandy was born, but if anyone offered her a cigarette now she knew she’d take it in an effort to work off the nervous tension knotting her insides.

  Maybe she should quit. This job had been doomed from the moment she’d set eyes on Imai Shimizu. The chemistry between them was very real, at least on her end, but was it real with him as well.

  Obviously the man was bored out of his skull by being laid up with his leg and unable to go gallivanting hither and yon with his babe du jour. She had no desire to be his poor substitute, no matter how damn good it had felt to be in his arms last night. It was a blessing he hadn’t taken things all the way. At least this way the humiliation was bearable.

  Pretty much.

  Confused and hurt, Imai watched Kim bolt from the studio. He wouldn’t go after her like some love struck teenager. Beside him, Michiko Izumi clicked her tongue and shook her head.

  “Thank God,” the executive drawled. “I’m surprised she didn’t screw up the recording session ‑‑ which was amazing, Imai-san. I think we should have her replaced immediately.”

  He turned away angrily without a word. Izumi followed, and halfway to the sound booth, she slipped her arm through his. “What’s wrong? This concert tour is going to be a smashing success,” she purred. “Your solo career will make everything else you’ve done pale in comparison.”

  Imai unhooked his arm from hers. “I’m not firing Kim.”

  “Not fire ‑‑ replace,” Izumi corrected him with a smile. “You do still need someone to look after you.”

  “I’ve been looking after myself since I was seventeen. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “Exactly. You need a true assistant to handle your solo ‑‑”

  “I’m not leaving the band, Michiko, so stop nagging me about it. This is just a temporary side project.”

  “I know, but ‑‑”

  He turned away from her and called out to the producer to tell the studio band to go home. He was done for the day. Outside in the parking lot, Kim was leaning against the gleaming fender of the car, staring off into space. “Heads up!” He tossed her the keys. “I want to go home. I’ll sit in the back.”

  When they arrived, Imai retreated to his room and dismissed Mrs. Nimura for the remainder of the day. “If I get hungry, I’ll fix something myself.”

  “If you need anything phone me,” Kim called up the stairs.

  She winced when she heard the bedroom door slam.

  “What happened?” Nimura-san asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Kim said quietly. She went back to the guesthouse and hung the spare house key Mrs. Nimura gave her on a small hook over the counter in the kitchen. She changed into a pair of jean shorts and an old sweatshirt, then made herself a cup of tea and settled down to watch anoth
er of those ChildsPrey concert DVDs.

  Not a good idea. Imai was an incredible performer, a phenomenal singer, and she knew without a doubt that he could be an international star anytime he chose to. Again she thought of that flicker of longing in his eyes when he spoke of his father’s coldness toward him.

  Kim turned off the DVD, then got her laptop. She emailed Mr. Suzuki at the record company and asked for the Shimizu’s contact info in case of emergency. She said that Imai was resting, and she didn’t wish to disturb him but wanted to jot down the information now while it was fresh in her mind.

  When the mail alert beeped, she was surprised to find the message not from Suzuki but from someone else at the record company. It was an assistant of Mr. Nakamura’s. Apparently the mogul had asked him to check in with her and make certain that things were going well. She lied and said everything was running normally and that Imai had the hard cast removed and should be able to begin rehearsals soon following some physical therapy to help strengthen his leg once it was fully healed.

  Mr. Nakamura’s assistant responded almost right away. At first, Kim was a little surprised and worried. Maybe it had been obvious to everyone but her that she was going to suck at this job. Already discouraged, Kim opened up the email.

  Thank you for all your hard work, Ms. Donovan. Shimizu is often a very trying person to deal with. --Eric

  Kim smiled wryly, but she knew most of the trouble was caused by her not being able to get around the fact she was insanely attracted to him. And when Imai didn’t go out of his way to be a brat, she rather enjoyed his company. She forced those thoughts from her mind before she became even more confused or felt more foolish.

  Eric,

  I actually find Mr. Shimizu to be quite charming. He does have a bit of a temper, but then his injury is surely responsible for a large portion of that. And it’s also been my experience as both a nurse and hairstylist that those in the public eye are under many stresses that usual folks like myself haven’t had to deal with.

  True, some celebrities can be quite absorbed with themselves, but I think I can positively say that Mr. Shimizu isn’t like that at all. He’s a genuinely good man as evidenced by his concern for that young girl who was hospitalized en route to one of his concerts in California.

  I hope he’s satisfied with my work and please do let me know if there are any concerns he may not want to address directly to me. I want to do the best job I can while I’m here.

  Thanks,

  Kim

  She clicked the send button on her email with a soft sigh. She meant everything she’d typed, and doing the best job she could as Imai’s nurse was very important to her. But with so many personal feelings getting in the way, she couldn’t help but doubt herself. At least this encouraging email from Mr. Nakamura’s assistant, Eric, helped a little.

  Just as she was about to close the browser and shut down the laptop, an email from Mandy came through. As soon as she opened it, she wished she had turned the damn thing off. The subject said “Mom!” and the message itself was only, Why didn’t you tell me you’re dating Imai Shimizu???

  Attached to the email were press photos from the fashion show ‑‑ the ones where she’d posed with Imai. And they did indeed look like a couple, with his arm draped across her shoulders and a drop dead gorgeous smile on his face. Kim looked so happy, too, even with all the quips they’d exchanged during the evening.

  Giving in to impulse, she set one of the photos as her desktop image then replied to Mandy’s email.

  Why aren’t you in school? It’s got to be eight a.m. there. If you’re getting over on Rita, you will be so sorry, little missy!

  For the record, I am not dating Mr. Shimizu. He had a function to go to and perform at, and as his nurse I accompanied him ‑‑ end of story. The photos just happened. I was there, he was there, end of story.

  I’ll call you later. Go to school, and do not spread wild rumors. I know your Live Journal and My Space hang outs. I will know if you do.

  She clicked send then exited the email program. She stared at the desktop photo for a long time, but when the phone rang she shut the laptop and ran to answer it.

  “I ordered pizza. Come up to the house and pay for it.”

  Oh, yeah. Imai Shimizu was charming all right.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “I’ll be right there.” Imai could almost picture Kim rolling her eyes on the other end of the line. But she didn’t say no or brush him off.

  He hung up the phone and tossed it on the nightstand before leaning back against the headboard. Next to him on the bed, the laptop still had Kim’s email to Eric open, and Imai reread the short note. Was Kim sincere about what she’d said? That would be a miracle, considering how he’d acted like a prick half the time.

  Imai laughed at himself. That was easier than letting himself subscribe to the small, but growing, hope that he meant more to Kim Donovan than a large salary.

  “I’m here!” Kim called out before coming up the stairs. Imai switched off the laptop and put it away, then climbed back onto the bed and began tuning the strings of the acoustic guitar that he’d taken out earlier.

  She knocked on the door, then opened it. She didn’t enter the room but instead leaned against the doorframe. “How long will it be?”

  “About ten more minutes, I suppose. Oh, by the way, I don’t have any cash on me. Can you pick it up?” She looked at him the way he’d seen mothers look at their daughters who squealed and embarrassed them when encountering him or his band on the streets.

  “I hope it’s a long ten minutes,” she grumbled before rushing away, undoubtedly to get her purse.

  Of course he could have taken it out of his wall safe, but then he wouldn’t be treated to the heaving of her beautifully ample bosom when she came back. He smiled at her when she returned, huffing and puffing, her breasts rising and falling rapidly, sending shock waves through his groin. She approached the bed and held up a few bills.

  “This is enough, right? I haven’t gotten the hang of your money yet.”

  He motioned her forward and took the amount plus tip from the bills in her hand. He folded the money in half, then reached out and took hold of her free hand. She watched warily as though he were a viper about to strike. With a smile, he kissed her palm, then tucked the bills inside and closed his fingers over hers.

  She stared for a moment, then pulled her hand away. “So you and the pizza guy have a thing going on, huh?”

  It took him a moment to catch on, and when the doorbell chimed she laughed and rushed off.

  Imai laughed as well. “I’ll get you for that, Donovan-san!”

  “Promises, promises!” she called out from the hallway.

  What a playful breath of fresh air she was in a world filled with superficial socialites and groupies. Smiling, Imai got out of bed and tossed a robe on over his boxers and T-shirt.

  “Pizza man sends his love,” she joked when he appeared at the top of the stairs. Her brow creased when she noticed that he didn’t have his crutches.

  “Don’t worry I’m not going to spit on it or anything. You go back to bed and I’ll get a plate and bring it right up.”

  “I want to eat in the kitchen.”

  “No!” she shouted as he tried to take a step down. “You stay put!” She set the pizza box on the closest flat surface, an antique chair, then trotted up the stairs. “Are you out of your mind? Do you want to purposely cripple yourself or worse? If you take a header down these marble stairs, you’re toast, my friend.”

  “Am I your friend?” he asked slipping his arm around her shoulders as she slid hers around his waist.

  “Well, you’re my boss, and I guess we’re friendly.”

  “Oh,” he said, feeling his spirits plummet.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked softly, pausing and looking over at him.

  He shook his head. “Nothing. I’m just tired.”

  “That’s a good excuse, but I’m not buying it.” She started down the s
tairs again, supporting him.

  “Oh, you think you know me that well?’

  “Not really, but I’m a mom. I can tell when someone is faking.”

  Imai nodded. “Yes, you are a lot older than I am, aren’t you?”

  “Hey! I’m only thirty-six.” She stopped dead as they reached the entry hall. “Ewww. I am old.”

  The realization that she was so close to forty seemed to truly pain her, and Imai couldn’t help but reach out to smooth his hand over the stray blonde strands escaping her ponytail. “You, Kim Donovan, will be beautiful no matter what age you become.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re only saying that because you think I’ll forget that you owe me however much it is you owe me.”

  “Perhaps, Donovan-san. Perhaps,” he said cryptically before scooping up the pizza box from the chair with one hand.

  “Don’t tell me you used to wait tables while waiting for your big musical break.”

  “It’s that obvious, is it?” he asked as they passed through the formal dining room.

  “Oh, I bet you got a lot of tips from the ladies.”

  “And from some men, too,” he said before sticking his nose in the air.

  Kim groaned but couldn’t suppress the hint of laughter coloring her tone.

  He sat beside her at the kitchen island, and she went to the refrigerator for soft drinks, then retrieved a plate.

  “You aren’t having any?”

  She gave him a slightly pained look. “I don’t want to seem disrespectful to your culture or anything, but after the Dancing Shrimp fiasco…”

  Imai laughed and opened the box so that she could see inside. “It’s mere pepperoni, I assure you.”

  “Then I’m in,” she said with a smile that gave him a shiver as no woman’s ever had before.

  “I’d like to see you smile like that more often,” Imai said softly, reaching in for a slice after Kim had taken one.

  “Oh, really?” Kim licked a drop of sauce from her fingertip, the gesture looking absolutely erotic without her even meaning it to. Or maybe she did. “Hmm…that can be arranged with a little help from you.”