Chapter One: Hajimemashite!

"Ahhh…I can't believe they're touring in the States!"

Sierra Valentine turned to stare at her best friend, Tiffany. Ow, she thought, scowling, she has got to stop doing that high-pitched squealing thing! She rubbed her ear, glaring pointedly at her friend, who was too absorbed in a magazine to care. There was a bright picture of an anime character, coupled with the title 'Newtype' on the magazine. Oh, not this stuff again, Sierra thought, rolling her eyes. She turned her attention back to her lunch and braced herself for the barrage.

"I just can't believe it," Tiffany repeated, sighing heavily. "They're touring here, Sia, here! Can you believe it?"

"No, I can't," Sierra said dryly. "Who are 'they'?"

Tiffany gave her that incredulous look that told her this was something she really should know. Oops, Sierra thought, flashing a sheepish smile. Guess I haven't been listening lately, have I? These days she tended to tune her friend out. The only reason she put up with Tiffany's constant spray of information about Japanese pop-culture was that some of it was useful. Although it might seem kind of odd to most, Sierra's goal in life was to be a language teacher. Otherwise she would never have allowed Tiffany to drag her off to a Japanese class."

"Muzukashii no Ai," Tiffany said, huffing as though the answer should be obvious. "I've already told you this."
"What kind of name is that, anyway?" Sierra grumbled, picking at her French fries.

"Stop being a grouch, Sia," Tiffany said, "or I won't take you with me to the concert."

Sierra's eyebrows rose. "And who else would go with you…'Sakura'?"

Tiffany glowered. She was obsessed to the extreme, to the point of looking into having her name legally changed to Sakura Takahashi. Sierra never hauled back when it came to teasing her about it. Ignoring her friend's glare, she bent down and began shuffling through her bag. The notebook she pulled out was open to a page full of neatly written romaji. She set it down in front of Tiffany, tapping the paper expressively with the tip of one finger.

"I'll make a deal with you, Tiff," Sierra said. "Take your own damn notes from now on and I'll go with you."

"But you have way neater handwriting!" Tiffany complained, pouting. "I study better from your notes!"

"Bullshit," Sierra growled. "And you know it."

Tiffany sighed, a defeated sound. Sierra might have a knack for languages, but for once she was not the one who was better at this subject. Tiffany studied Japanese language with the same obsession she had for everything else that came from the country. At least now that I've agreed to go, she'll give me some piece and quiet, Sierra thought, echoing her friend's defeated sigh. She passed the notebook over for Tiffany to make her own copy of the notes, and her friend passed over the magazine.

There were four of them, two guitarists, a bassist, and a drummer. Sierra frowned, studying the one in the middle. He isn't completely Japanese, she thought, tilting her head curiously. It wasn't just that his eyes were blue, or that he was head and shoulders taller than the others. No, in fact, it was written in the small caption beneath the picture, along with the name Isamu Takemori.

"I don't get it," Sierra said, glancing at Tiffany. "For all the obsession with perfect Japanese, how come these things don't get the surname first idea?"

Tiffany glared at her. "For once, Your Royal Flippantness, can't you stop questioning things?"

"So I suppose I should avoid all the observations on the fact that he's half American, too?" Sierra asked, barely holding back laughter.

"Not that it matters," Tiffany said, her anger deflating. "He only dates Japanese girls. Old-fashioned family, and all that."

Wait…old-fashioned? Sierra thought, glancing down at the picture. Then why…? She imagined she'd get every little detail Tiffany knew, if she asked, but she wasn't in the mood to listen. A quick scan of the article, an interview, mentioned briefly that he had no plans for visiting his father while in America. A divorce? Sierra wondered. Ah, well…what do I care? I've never even heard their music.

*****

If Isamu had to choose which crowd was more enthusiastic, the Japanese or the American, he'd be hard pressed. The crowds in America were smaller, yes, but they were just as loud. I missed it here, he thought, as Yukio helped him off stage. He'd performed with his usual energy and was exhausted, covered from head to toe in sweat. Isamu hadn't been in America since he was eight, when his father had divorced his mother and they'd ended up returning to her family in Japan.

"You stink," Yukio told him, releasing him as soon as they were backstage.

Isamu grinned. His bandmates hadn't had the benefit of English tutors, as he had, but he tried his best to teach them himself. Yukio could actually speak almost as much as he could, but heavily accented. Their drummer, Rai, had the amusing tendency to confuse words. And the bassist, Akio, could speak better French than English, because his grandmother was French, even though it didn't really show in his features. They were an odd bunch, to say the least.

"I'm going to take a shower," Isamu told Yukio. "Don't wait up if you don't want to."

"We're hungry," Yukio said, glancing back at Rai and Akio. They nodded in unison, something they did often. Isamu had to fight not to laugh. "See you at the hotel?"

Isamu shook his head. "Promised haha I'd go home for the night."

His mother preferred Japan over America, but her family had never quite forgiven her for marrying an American man. In the end, she'd moved back to the States when Isamu and his band had started to become famous. His mother had wanted him to go to Todai and become a businessman, but he couldn't stand the thought. He loved music and he loved being the center of attention, so his band was the perfect career for him. And truth was that his mother never complained about the paycheck.

Isamu liked this stadium, because there were showers here. Not that he couldn't have waited until he got home, because he could have. But he was eager to be clean, so he stopped long enough to take a quick shower. The head of security, a large, somewhat beefy man named Mike, met him afterwards. He could hear giggling coming from beyond the gates that blocked off the backstage area. Oh, not again, Isamu thought, rolling his eyes. This happens every time.

"Sorry, man," Mike said, grinning at him understandingly. "I keep telling them no, but the little blonde is persistent."

Isamu grinned. "Is she cute?"

"Not cute enough," Mike said, shaking his head. "She keeps talking in this high-pitched voice and yelling at the other one in Japanese whenever she tried to drag the blonde away."

Isamu's eyebrows rose. Curious, he followed Mike out to the gate. There was a petite, curvy little blonde in an outfit ripped straight from an anime. It was the other one who caught his attention. She leaned against the gate, having apparently given up on dragging her friend away. Red hair with faintly coppery highlights hung down over her shoulders. He couldn't see her face, aside from the curve of her cheek, but he imagined she was exasperated. Curious, Isamu walked up to the gate, bracing himself in time for the blonde girl's shriek.

"Ow!" the red-head exclaimed, jumping away from the gate. "Damnit, Tiff, stop doing that!"

"Please," Isamu added, smiling. "My ears are still ringing from the amps."

The red-head spun around. She stared at him with wide blue eyes, obviously startled; she hadn't realized he was there. Isamu loved girls with freckles, and she had them, sprinkled noticeably over her nose and cheekbones. Up close he saw that she was probably about five foot six, thinner than her friend, but with a shapelier figure that was somehow more noticeable due to the contrast of a plain white camisole top and a pair of men's army pants. She smiled at him shyly.

"Sorry about my friend," she said. "I'm Sierra, and this is Tiff-"

"Sakura," the blonde corrected, throwing her friend a glare.

And here I thought it couldn't get worse, Isamu thought. Out loud he said, "Nice to meet you. I'm sorry, but you're going to have to leave."

The blonde stared at him, dismayed. She opened her mouth to say something, but Sierra dragged her away. Finally she shook herself free of her friend and began to walk herself. Isamu was almost beginning to think she might not be so bad when she paused and looked back at him, smiling flirtatiously. He leaned against the gate, stretching his hand through the bars.

"Sierra," Isamu called.

The red-head turned, surprised. As soon as she looked at him, he found himself glad he'd called for her. Isamu beckoned to her and she walked forward, her expression cautious by curious. When she was close enough he caught hold of her wrist. Instead of kissed her hand, though, he pressed his lips to her wrist where he could feel her pulse fluttering beneath his mouth. Sierra stared at him, her eyes wide. Behind her the blonde gasped, then turned and ran off.

"Tiff!" Sierra called after her. "Damnit, wait!"

She jerked her hand from his hold and raced after her friend. Isamu stared after her, watching in a sort of fascination the way her hair swung as she ran. Even after she had disappeared, he was still staring. It had been a long time since he'd dated someone who wasn't Japanese, for several reasons. Namely his mother. But Isamu wouldn't mind getting to know her.

Difficult love. That was, very roughly, what the name of his band meant. He hadn't picked the name; his American half-sister had. Isamu had never held his sister's existence against her. Neither of them had been at fault for his father being a cheating bastard, and he at least had had the benefit of his father's money. He had accepted Heather's suggestion for a name because by that time in his life, he had understood just what made love difficult.

*****

Sierra stood in the emptying parking lot, staring into the darkness. Tears of frustration stung her eyes, but she wouldn't let them fall. I should never, ever agreed to go along with that stupid stunt, she thought, sinking down to a crouch on the time roughened tar. I should have never gone along with a lot of things. It had seemed like a good idea, to share an apartment and a car with Tiffany, to make paying easier. Of course, Sierra would never have thought that her friend would take off on her like this, either.

Who did that guy think he was, anyway? she thought, scowling. Just because he's famous, he thinks he's so hot. She might not have been so angry if it weren't for the fact that he'd had her heart pounding for a moment there. Sierra didn't generally let guys get away with things like that. As Tiffany made it a point to remind her often, she hadn't had a boyfriend since her senior year of high school. Heck, she hadn't really wanted one. She was so used to be unimpressed by guys that it had shaken her, the way he'd gotten to her.

Sierra was so busy sulking that she didn't notice the limousine at first. Sad, really, not to notice it. When the driver's side door open and a chauffeur dressed in tidy black stepped out, she looked up, surprised. She watched him as he walked around and opened the door at the back of the limo, just in front of her. Curious, Sierra rose to her feet, carefully sidestepping the chauffeur, and peering into the limo. Isamu Takemori stared back out at her, smiling.

"Sierra, right?" Isamu asked. He stayed in the limo, making no movement to come out. "What are you doing out here?"

She sighed. "Being abandoned, thanks to you."

"Your friend left you," Isamu said, and it was not meant to be a question. "Well…I can give you a ride home, if you'd like."

"You? Mr. Bigshot Celebrity?" Sierra's eyebrows rose.

"Please," Isamu said, reaching out his hand to her. "I feel bad that you were stranded because of me."

Sierra frowned. I don't know a damn thing about him, she thought, but what else am I going to do? Staying in the parking lot really wasn't a great idea either. She reached out to take his hand. Isamu grabbed hold of her wrist suddenly, dragging her into the limo. She shrieked, trying to pull free of him, but he was surprisingly strong. He pulled her into his lap and closed his arms around her, pinning her against his chest. Sierra threw her head back and glared up at him.

"Calm down," Isamu said, chuckling softly. "I really don't want to hurt you."

"Then let me go," Sierra growled, trying not the panic as the chauffeur closed the door.

"Will you let me take you home?" Isamu asked. "I can't let you stay here in this parking lot. It isn't safe. Tell me where you live."

"Will you let me go?" Sierra wanted to know, eyeing him warily.

Isamu smiled. "All I'm going to do is take you home. Believe me."

So she told him and he told his chauffeur. And Sierra expected him to let her go; he had such a sincere smile. But after a long moment she realized that he wasn't going to let her go. If she had known him, if he hadn't been a total stranger, she might have enjoyed being held by him. But he was Isamu Takemori, the reason she had gotten stuck in the parking lot to begin with. Sierra continued to glare at him, but he only laughed, the sound soft and oddly not at all mocking.

"This is not funny," Sierra growled from between gritted teeth. "Why won't you let me go?"

"Because I like girls with freckles," Isamu answered, grinning.

Her cheeks burned and she hated him for that. His grip on her relaxed just a bit, so that his hands rested on her back, fingers splayed. If it weren't for the fact that he had her stuck in his lap, she would say he was actually being a completely gentleman. Isamu's hands didn't wander anywhere they weren't supposed to, and that made Sierra curious. She allowed herself to relax, just a little, thinking maybe she could catch him off guard. Just in case, she thought.

"You uh…you speak…great English," Sierra stammered. It was awkward, trying to hold a conversation while in the lap of someone she didn't know.

Isamu nodded. "I've spent a lot of time in America. And I had English tutors most of my life."

"Sounds like you're more into being American," Sierra said.

She was expecting some sort of smart ass response, so his silence surprised her. There was a flash of something sorrowful in his deep blue eyes, something that made her realize there was a lot of reasons for why he was the way he was. Damnit, Sierra thought, I'm analyzing him like I've known him all my life! She was too caught up in her thoughts to keep him from sliding his hands to her hips. That didn't keep her from noticing, however.

"You're pushing it," Sierra warned, grabbing at his hands.

"Sorry," Isamu said quietly. "If you really want me to let you go, I will."

And he did let go, although he didn't push her hands away. Sierra was startled and-although she was loathe to admit it-vaguely disappointed. Okay, so I'm attracted to him, she thought. I'm an adult, there's no reason I can't handle this like one. She paused, studying his face, trying to gauge what exactly it was that she was attracted to. His face, with the high cheekbones that insisted upon European blood and the eyes reminiscent of a cat's, was certainly exotic. And she kinda liked the soft, coal-black hair that fell shaggily to his shoulders. But Sierra realized that it was something more elemental than that, something more than just his physical appearance.

"Do you do this often?" Sierra asked, her voice as quiet as his.

Isamu shook his head. "Not in quite awhile, and certainly not like this. I…well, can I be honest with you?"

Sierra nodded. She expected him to say something, but he didn't. Isamu lowered his head and pressed his mouth to her shoulder. She was startled. His was breath against her skin made her shiver. Worse, she didn't really want to stop him. He was gentle, pausing between each kiss, allowing her a moment to tell him to stop or push him away. Sierra sighed at the touch of Isamu's tongue. He reached up, pulling the straps of her camisole gently down off her shoulders.

As his mouth worked slowly downward, she braced her hands on his shoulders. Just a little fooling around couldn't hurt, could it? Isamu pulled her camisole down, baring her breasts, and she almost freaked. But once again he paused, this time looking at him, those cat-like eyes asking for permission. Sierra held her breath, watching him, as he lowered his mouth to her breasts. His tongue flicked across the tip of her nipple, making her gasp.

Isamu curled an arm around her waist and bore her down to the seat of the limo. He braced himself above her, so careful in his touch that she found it hard to be afraid. Sierra moaned softly as he slid a hand up along her belly, over her ribs, to cub her breast. His skin was stark against hers, the color like dark brown honey. Isamu's mouth traveled back up over her collarbone, slowly, his tongue leaving a trail of wet behind.

When the limo stopped suddenly, he managed to keep himself from falling on her. That didn't take very long, Sierra thought, surprised at the stab of disappointment she felt. Isamu lifted his head and looked at her, his deep blue eyes echoing her disappointment. She felt the sudden urge to reach up and slide her fingers through his soft, dark hair, and didn't fight it. He leaned into her touch, reminding her even more of a cat.

"Home," Sierra said quietly.

Isamu nodded. "Yes…I told you I'd take you home."

"I um…uh…thank you…" Sierra stammered. She wasn't sure that was the appropriate thing to say, what with her breasts bared and still tingling with the feeling of his mouth.

Isamu watched her for a moment, then lowered his mouth to her neck. She gasped at the sudden, sharp sucking. It was quick, but it was enough that it would leave behind a mark. And then he sat up, helping her up, and pulling her camisole back into place. By the time the chauffeur opened the limo door, Sierra looked as though nothing had happened, with the exception of the hickey he'd left behind on her neck. As she was climbing out of the limo, she felt his fingers brush hers, and turned to look at him.

"I'd like to know more about you, Sierra," Isamu said softly. "I'll see you again."

He flashed her a last smile, then leaned back into the limo. Sierra took one last look, then trotted towards the apartment building, one hand clapped over the spot on her neck. This is strange, she thought, as she fumbled in one of her pockets for her keys. It feels more like a dream than real. But he'd said he wanted to see her again, that he wanted to know more about her. Sierra hoped she would see him again…soon.