Always On Her Mind

Three

Celia could swear she heard Fate chiming with laughter.

She looked from her father to Malcolm, waiting for the explosion. They’d never gotten along. Malcolm encouraged her to think for herself. Her parents had pampered her while also being overprotective. They’d seen her relationship with Malcolm as dangerous. They’d been right, in a way. She had been out of control when it came to him.

However, their refusal to let her see him had only made her try all the harder to be with him. Malcolm had chafed at their disapproval, determined to prove himself. The whole thing had been an emotional train wreck in the works.

Could they all be more mature now? God, she hoped so. The thought of an ugly confrontation made her ill, especially at the tail end of a day that had already knocked her off balance in more ways than one.

Malcolm nodded to her father. “Good evening, sir.”

“Douglas.” Her father stood, extending his hand. “Welcome back.”

They shook hands, something she wouldn’t have believed possible eighteen years ago. Even if they were eyeing each other warily, they were keeping things civil. The last time they’d all been together, her father had punched Malcolm in the jaw over the pregnancy news, while her mother had sobbed on the couch. Malcolm hadn’t fought back, even though he was at least six inches taller than her father.

Nervous about pushing their luck, she turned to Malcolm and rested her fingers lightly on his arm. “I’m fine now. You can go, but thanks again, truly.”

She shuddered to think what it would have been like to find that macabre rose on her own and have her concerns discounted by the police again. This was not the work of some student pissed off over a failing grade. Malcolm seemed to grasp that right away. She hadn’t considered until just this moment how much his unconditional belief meant to her.

He dipped his head and said softly, “We’ll talk tomorrow. But don’t say no just because I’m the one offering.” Grasping the doorknob, he nodded to her father again. “Good night, sir.”

And that was it? He actually left? No confrontation? Celia stood there stunned at how easily he’d departed. She wanted a proper goodbye, and it scared her how much that mattered. Although his final words swirled in her mind. Was she being contrary—like the old Celia—turning down a wise opportunity because Malcolm had made the offer?

She shook off the thoughts. Likely Malcolm just realized she was safely home, his duty done. After resetting the alarm, she turned back to face her dad. The familiarity of her place wrapped around her, soothing her at the end of a tumultuous day.

This little carriage house wasn’t as grand as the historic mansion where she’d grown up or the posh resorts Malcolm frequented—according to the tabloids. But she was proud of it. She took pride in how she’d decorated on her own budget. She’d scoured estate sales and flea markets until she pieced together a home that reflected her love of antiques and music.

Her home had become a symbol of the way she’d pieced herself back together, reshaping herself by blending the best of her past and her future. Shedding the dregs, taking responsibility for her own messes, which also gave her the freedom to celebrate her own successes.

And in finding that freedom, being around her father had actually become easier. She wasn’t as defensive, and right now, she was only worried—about him.

“What are you doing here, Dad? I thought you were at your doctor’s appointment.”

“News travels fast.” He nudged aside throw pillows and sank back on the couch, looking weary with bags under his eyes and furrows in his brow. “When I heard about Malcolm Douglas’s impromptu visit to the school, I told the doc to speed things along.”

His shock of gray hair still caught her by surprise sometimes. Much like when she’d been stunned to realize her indomitable father was actually only five-six. He’d always had a larger-than-life presence. Yet the day her mother had died, her father had grown frail in an instant, looking more and more like Grandpa Patel—without the Indian accent.

Intellectually, she’d always understood that her mom and dad were older than her friends’ parents. She’d been a late-in-life baby, born after her sister died. How strange to have a sibling she’d never met.

And yes, more than once, Celia had wondered if she would have been conceived had her sister lived.

She’d never doubted her parents’ love or felt she was a replacement for the child they’d lost to cancer. But that loss had made them overprotective, and they’d spoiled her shamelessly. So much so that Celia winced now to think of what a brat she’d been, how many people she’d hurt.

Including Malcolm.

She glanced at her slim silver watch. “He showed up at school less than an hour ago. You must have rushed right over.”

“As I said, small town.”

There weren’t many secrets around Azalea, Mississippi, which made it all the more miraculous that she’d managed to have a baby and give her up for adoption without the entire town knowing all the details. Malcolm had been sent off to a military reform school in North Carolina, and she’d been sent to Switzerland on an “exchange” program, actually a chalet where she’d been homeschooled until she delivered.

She swallowed the lump in her throat and sat on the arm of the sofa. “What did the doctor say about your shortness of breath lately?”

“I’m here, aren’t I? Doc Graham wouldn’t have let me leave unless she thought I was okay, so all’s fine.” He nudged his round steel glasses in place, ink stains on his fingers from making notes. Her dad didn’t trust computers and backed everything up the old-fashioned way—on paper. “I’m more worried about you and your concerns that someone might be targeting you.”

Her concerns? Did he doubt her, too? “How bad is the Martin case?”

“You know I can’t talk about that.”

“But it’s an important one.”

“Every judge dreams of leaving the bench with a landmark case, especially just before he retires.” He patted the top of her hand. “Now, quit trying to distract me. Why did Malcolm Douglas show up here?”

“He heard about the current case on your docket, and somehow word got out about my reporting the threats to the police, which I find strange since no one here takes them seriously.” Would they finally listen to her after today’s incident?

“And Malcolm Douglas—international music star—came running after not seeing you for eighteen years?” Concern moved through his chocolate-brown eyes.

“Seems crazy, I know.” She toed a footstool made of an old leather drum. “Honestly, though, I think it had more to do with the timing.”

“Timing of what?”

That he even had to ask hurt her heart. “Dad, it’s her seventeenth birthday.”

“You still think about her?”

“Of course I do.”

“But you don’t talk about her.”

She’d done nothing but talk about her baby in therapy—cry and talk more, until finally she’d reached a point where she could move forward with her life. “What’s the point? Listen, Dad, I’m fine. Really. I have end-of-the-year grades to tabulate and submit.”

Her dad thumped his knees. “You should move home.”

“This is my home now,” she reminded him gently. “I consented to letting you pay for a better security system. It’s the same one at your house, as you clearly know since you chose the pass code. Now, please, go home and rest.”

She worried about him, about the pale tinge to his dusky complexion, the tired stoop to his shoulders. His job would be easier if she wasn’t around since he wouldn’t have to stress about her. Not taking Malcolm up on his offer suddenly felt very selfish. “Dad, I’m thinking about taking a vacation, just getting away once school ends.”

“If you come to the house, you’ll be waited on hand and foot.” He continued to offer, and she continued to say no, a pact she’d made with herself the day she’d graduated from college at twenty-four. It had taken her an extra two years, but she’d gotten there, by God.

“I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to misunderstand or be upset.”

“Well, you’d better spit it out, because just saying that jacked my blood pressure a few points.”

She drew in a deep breath of fortifying air before saying quickly, “Malcolm thinks I should go on tour with him.”

His gray eyebrows shot upward, and he pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “Did he offer because of the reports made to the police?”

She weighed whether or not to tell him about the incident with the rose, but then given how fast he’d heard about Malcolm’s arrival, he would hear about the little “gift” in her car soon enough. “There was another threat today.”

He stopped cleaning his glasses abruptly, then slid them slowly on again. “What happened?”

“A cheesy black rose left in my car.” As well as the florist coupon in some kind of mocking salute. She tried to downplay the whole thing for her father, but her voice shook and she probably wasn’t fooling him in the least. Still, she plowed ahead, trying her best to put his mind at ease. “Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving a dead horse somewhere like a parody of The Godfather.”

“This isn’t funny. You have to move back home.”

Seeing the vein at his temple throb made her realize all the more how her being around right now made things more difficult for him. “Malcolm offered the protection of his own security people. I guess crazed stalker fans rank up there with hired hit men.”

“That’s not funny, either.”

“I know.” And it wasn’t. “I’m concerned he has a point. I make you vulnerable, and I placed my students at risk by waiting this long. If I go on his European tour, it will solve a lot of problems.”

She didn’t want her father to worry, but she had to admit there was something more to this decision than just her father. Malcolm had presented more than an offer of protection. He’d presented the chance to put their past to rest. Because he was right. The fact that she’d turned him down so promptly hinted at unresolved issues.

But could they really spend the whole tour together? A tour that lasted four weeks? She knew because, damn it, she periodically did internet searches on his life, wondering if maybe he would play at a local arena. He never did.

“That’s the only reason you’ve made this decision?”

She hadn’t decided yet. Or had she? “Are you asking me if I still have feelings for him?”

“Do you?” he asked and strangely didn’t sound upset.

God, as if she wasn’t already confused enough.

“I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Malcolm hadn’t spoken to her, either, not since after the baby was born, and yes, that stung. “Aren’t you going to push me again to come to your house?”

“Actually, no. Go to Europe.” He studied her with those wise judge eyes. “Close that chapter on your life so you can quit living in limbo. I would like to see you settled before I die.”

“I am settled,” she said and then as an afterthought rushed to add, “and happy.”

Sighing, her father stood, kissed her on top of the head. “You’ll make the right decision.”

“Dad—”

“Good night, Celia.” He patted her arm as he walked past, snagging his suit jacket from the iron coatrack. “Set the alarm after I leave.”

She followed him, stunned, certain she couldn’t have heard what she thought she’d heard. Had her father really encouraged her to just pick up and travel around Europe with the former love of her life? A man reputed to have broken hearts around the globe?

Except, strangely, going to Europe with Malcolm was beginning to make sense. Going with him would solve her problems here, keeping her life ordered and safe. It was also her last chance to be with Malcolm, and the wild child she’d once been shouted for her go for it.

The newer, more logical side of her even answered that leaving with him would be the lesser of two evils.

Celia locked the door behind her father and keyed in the security code.

A noise from the hall made her jolt.

Her stomach gripped tight with fear and she spun around fast, grabbing a guitar propped against a chair and lifting it like a baseball bat. She reached for the alarm just as a large shape stepped out of her bedroom.

A man.

Malcolm.

He grinned. “Your security system sucks.”

Malcolm watched the anger flush Celia’s cheeks as her hand fell away from the alarm’s keypad.

She placed the guitar on an armchair. “You scared the hell out of me.”

“Sorry about that.” He stepped deeper into her living room, a space decorated with antique musical instruments his fingers itched to try out. Later. First, he had business with Celia. “I thought I made it clear I’m worried about you being here alone.”

“So you broke into my home?”

“Just to prove how crummy your security system is.” He’d bypassed the alarm, climbed the nearby oak and made it inside her window in less than ten minutes. “Think about it. If someone like me—a plain ol’ musician—could break into your place, then what about someone motivated to find you?”

“Your point has been made.” She pointed to the door. “Now leave, please.”

“But then you’re still here, alone in the crappily secured apartment. My code of honor has trouble with that.” He wandered lazily through her living room, inspecting the canvas over the fireplace, a sketch of band instruments and, below it on the mantel, an antique piccolo on a stand. “Gauging by your conversation with your dear old dad, you don’t want to go to his place.”

“You eavesdropped on my discussion with my father?”

“I did.” He lifted the piccolo and blew into it, testing out a quick scale—not a bad sound for an instrument that appeared to be close to two hundred years old.

“You’re shameless.” She snatched the instrument from him and placed it back on the wall.

“I’m unrepentant, yes, and also concerned.” He moved aside a brass music stand full of hand-scored songs—apparently for students, given her notes at the top—and sat on the piano bench in front of the old upright. “Since we’re being honest, I heard it all, and even your father gave his consent for you to come with me.”

“I don’t need my dad’s permission.”

“Damn straight.”

Watching him warily, she sat in a rocker by the piano. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

“I’m trying to make sure you’re safe—and yes …” He took her hand lightly in his. A benign enough touch. Right?

Wrong. The silkiness of her skin reminded him of times when he’d explored every inch of her. “Maybe we’ll settle some old baggage along the way.”

“This is too much.”

He agreed. “Then don’t decide tonight.”

Her thick dark hair trailed over one shoulder. “We’ll talk in the morning?”

“Over breakfast.” He squeezed her hand once before letting go and standing. “Where are the sheets for the sofa?”

She gaped at him, smoothing her hands over wrinkles in her skirt. “You’re inviting yourself to spend the night?”

He hadn’t planned on it, but somehow the words had come out of him anyway, likely fueled by that reckless second when he’d touched her.

“Do you expect me to sleep on your porch?” He’d actually intended to sleep in the limo.

This was the man he was, the man he’d always been. He remembered what it was like for his mom living on her own. Call him old-fashioned, but he believed women should be protected. No way in hell could he just walk away. Especially not with images of the skirt of her dress hugging her soft legs.

“I would offer to get us a couple of rooms at a hotel or B and B, but we would have to drive for hours. People might see us. My manager likes it when I show up in the press. Me, though? I’m not as into the attention.”

“Being seen at a hotel with you would be complicated.” Her fingers twisted in the fabric she’d just smoothed seconds earlier.

“Very.” He knelt in front of her, careful not to touch her just yet, not when every instinct inside him shouted to kiss her, to sweep her up into his arms and carry her to the bedroom. To make love to her until they both were too sated to argue or think about the past. He wasn’t sure yet where he planned to go with those impulses. “So let me stay for dinner, and I’ll bunk on your sofa. We won’t talk about Europe tonight unless you bring it up.”

“What does your girlfriend think of your being here?”

Girlfriend? Right now he couldn’t even envision anyone except Celia. “Those damn tabloids again. I don’t have a ‘girlfriend.’ My manager planted that story to make it look like I’m settling down.”

Relationships were too messy, and more of that protective honor kept him from indulging in the groupies that flocked backstage. He “dated” women whose publicists lined up promo gigs with his publicist. As for sex, there had been women who kept things uncomplicated, women who needed anonymity and no strings as much as he did. Women as jaded about the notion of love.

“Is that why you’re really here?” Her fingers kept toying nervously with the hem of her dress, inching it higher, revealing a tantalizing extra inch of leg. “You’re between women and the timing fits?”

Something in her voice triggered warning bells in his mind. “Why is it so difficult to think I’m worried about you?”

“I just like my space. I enjoy the peace of being alone.”

“So there’s no guy in your life?” Damn it, where had that question come from?

A jealous corner of his brain.

She hesitated a second too long.

“Who?” And why the hell wasn’t the man here watching out for her?

“I’ve just gone out with the high-school principal a couple of times.”

The reports he’d gathered on her hadn’t included that. His people had let him down.

“Is it serious?” he asked, her answer too damn important.

“No.”

“Is it going to be?” He held up a hand. “I’m asking as an old friend.” Liar. His eyes went back to her legs and the curve of her knees.

“Then you can ask without that jealous tone in your voice.”

She always had been able to read him.

“Of course …” He winked. “And?”

She shrugged, absently smoothing the dress back in place again. “I don’t know.”

Exhaling hard, he rocked back on his heels. “I worked my ass off for that answer and that’s all I get?”

“Pretty much.” Hands on the arms of her chair, she pushed to her feet. “Okay. You win.”

Standing, he asked, “Win what?”

“You can stay tonight—on the sofa.”

He resisted the urge to pump his fist in victory. “I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

“You won’t be so glad when you hear what’s on the menu. I only have half a panino, barely enough for me. I was planning to shop once school finished.”

“Dinner’s on its way.” He’d remembered about that panino and had given his chauffeur instructions before he’d climbed the tree. He found the notion of an intimate dinner with Celia—discovering all the new secrets about her—stirring. “My very discreet driver will be delivering it.”

“You already assumed I would agree? You’re more arrogant than I recall.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“That’s all right.” He soaked in the sight of her brown eyes flickering with awareness, her chest lifting faster with each breath. His hands ached to touch her, to relearn the curves, to find out if she still had the same sensitive areas and discover if she had new ones, as well. “It’s for the best we don’t exchange too many pleasantries.”

She chewed the rest of the gloss off her bottom lip. “And why ever not?”

“Because honest to God,” he growled softly, his body firing with a need that hadn’t diminished one bit in nearly eighteen years apart, “I want to kiss you so damn badly it’s already all I can do to keep my hands off you.”

Four

Each seductive word out of Malcolm’s mouth sent a thrill rippling through Celia. And not just his voice, but the strong lines of his handsome face, the breadth and power of his mature body—all man.

Teenage lust had ripened into a deeper, headier awareness. She still found him infinitely attractive, and the fact that she’d already been with him many times in the past only made that need edgier.

Dangerous.

Especially when they were only steps away from her bedroom.

She tipped her chin and steeled her will against temptation. “You used that line on me eighteen years ago. I would think your game would have improved since then. Or does being some kind of music legend make you lazy in the romance department?”

His head fell back, laughter rolling and rolling until he scrubbed his hand over his face, grinning. “As I recall, my ‘game’ was just fine with you back then.”

“Suffice it to say,” she retorted, meeting his gaze with level strength, “my standards and expectations have changed.”

“You want me to work harder.” His eyes narrowed with the challenge.

“That’s not what I meant.” Her heart stuttered over a couple of beats before she found her balance and bravado again.

“What did you mean, then?” His hand grazed the keys of the upright piano, touching without stirring a note.

She shivered as she remembered the way he’d played so carefully over her skin long ago. “I was sixteen.” She tapped out a quick tune on the other end of the keyboard, her nerves all too ready for an outlet. “Tough sell? I think not.”

“My poor ego.” He skimmed a scale.

“Sorry to have wounded you.” She mirrored his notes. How many times had they done this?

“No, I mean it. You’re good,” he said without a trace of sarcasm. “It’s nice to have someone who’s real around me, someone I can trust.”

“Am I supposed to cry for the poor little rich rock star?”

“Not at all.” He slid onto the piano bench, his scale taking shape into a tune, the music relaxing and drawing her in at the same time.