the winning ticket. Somehow, Arran knew it, too, because his eyes were on her the whole time. Stunned, she couldn’t make herself move, get to her feet, hardly even breathing.
“She’s got it!” yelled the pudgy brunette woman next to Leyla. She grabbed Leyla’s arm and yanked her to her feet. “She’s got it!”
Leyla wavered a moment, a couple of the roadies showed up next to her, each taking one of her arms, helping her up the steps to the stage. The whole thing seemed so surreal, like she moved through a filmy curtain, blinded by the lights on the other side. Like she was dreaming. Until Arran took her in his arms, holding her close to whisper in her ear.
“Now I’ve found her,” he said, breathless, holding on like he’d never let her go. The crowd went wild.
“Thanks, everyone for coming!” Chandler said into the mike. “Good night! Drive safe on your way home!” He waved at someone, who brought up the house lights, and the audience left the auditorium in a deafening babble. “And that’s a wrap,” he said more softly, just loud enough for those on the stage to hear.
Leyla’s head was on Arran’s shoulder, and she didn’t dare move, afraid she’d destroy the illusion, that she’d wake up and it would all be gone. He felt real enough, though, solid flesh inside his blue chambray shirt. It was real. It was real.
“You all right?” he asked her, stepping back to study her face, though his hand kept a tight hold on her arm.
Her lips curved into a faint smile. “Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. Just a little…overwhelmed.”
“Well, my grandma always said if you’re going to do something, do it big.” His smile leaned toward the sheepish side. “Usually she meant going on a bender. But it applies here, too.”
The basket with the numbers in it sat right at their feet. The numbers on the tickets caught her attention. She bent down to sort through the basket in disbelief. “These all have my number on them.”
Chandler laughed. “Yeah, sweet, huh? Arran’s idea. He was pretty determined to—”
Arran made a cutthroat gesture and the DJ shut up. Just like that.
Leyla looked into Arran’s eyes. “You rigged this?”
He shrugged, his expression more that of a mischievous boy than a man with a guilty conscience. “You wouldn’t tell me your address.”
“You…you did all this—set up the concert, gave away all those CDs, flew from California—just to find me?” Her knees nearly buckled, and Arran’s strong arm quickly encircled her, kept her from falling.
“Honey, you didn’t give me a choice.” He half walked her, half carried her offstage to his dressing room, leaving the stage to the breakdown crew. After setting her gently on the worn blue sofa, he poured her a glass of ice water. “Want something stronger?”
“Maybe. No, not yet,” she said, trying to absorb the situation. She put the glass to her lips, let the chill help her focus before she sipped the water, feeling it pass through her, an icy blast of truth. This was really happening. She was in the dressing room of an international music star. But more than a star, the man who’d owned her heart for the past six years.
“Okay. I’ve got some Jack around here someplace.” He chuckled. “Not for me.”
She nodded. “I know.”
Feeling like an idiot, she realized she couldn’t stop smiling. He bent down to look in the lit mirror, then took several wipes from a plastic container and scrubbed makeup off his face. He ran fingers through his hair, leaving it looking a little windblown. When he dragged a folding chair over, turned it around and sat down facing her, she finally laughed.
“What?” He looked down, trying to see what she found amusing. “Did I leave my fly open or something?”
“No. Not at all.” Her face continued to scrunch into a smile. Gods, she felt so ditzy. “You just look…so much like an ordinary guy.”
He laughed hard enough to rock back in his chair. “Then you won’t be