“Was it real, what we felt then?”

A long sigh shuddered through him before he spoke. “Real enough that we went through a lot of pain for each other. Real enough that sitting here together isn’t some easygoing reunion.”

Hearing that heavy sigh of his, she realized he’d suffered, too, more than she’d ever known. Somehow, that made her feel less alone. Yes, they’d hurt each other, but maybe they could help each other, too. Maybe the time had come for a coda of sorts, to bring their song to an end.

“Malcolm, what’s Europe going to be like if just sitting here together is this difficult?”

“So you’ve decided to come with me? No more maybes.”

She shoved to her feet and walked to him at the piano. “I think I have to.”

“Because of the stalker?”

She cupped his handsome, beard-stubbled face in her hands. “Because it’s time we put this to rest.”

Before she could talk herself out of something she wanted—needed—more than air, Celia pressed her lips to his.

About the Author

USA TODAY bestselling author CATHERINE MANN lives on a sunny Florida beach with her flyboy husband and their four children. With more than forty books in print in over twenty countries, she has also celebrated wins for both a RITA® Award and a Booksellers’ Best Award. Catherine enjoys chatting with readers online—thanks to the wonders of the internet, which allows her to network with her laptop by the water! Contact Catherine through her website, www.catherinemann.com, find her on Facebook and Twitter (@CatherineMann1) or reach her by snail mail at PO Box 6065, Navarre, FL 32566, USA.

Playing for Keeps
Catherine Mann

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To the charter members of “The Tree House Club,” karaoke singers extraordinaire:

Johnny, Tom, Elena, Lori, Mike, Vicky, George, Jerry, Linda, Shawn, Chris, and Daphne.

One

Midway through the junior-high choir’s rehearsal of “It’s a Small World,” Celia Patel found out just how small the world could shrink.

She dodged left and right as half the singers—the female half—sprinted down the stands, squealing in fan-girl glee. Their footsteps rattled metal risers and squeaked on the gymnasium floor, the stampeding herd moving as one. All their energy focused on racing to the back of the gymnasium where he stood.

Malcolm Douglas.

Seven-time Grammy award winner.

Platinum-selling soft-rock star.

And the man who’d broken Celia’s heart when they were both sixteen years old.

Celia hefted aside her music stand before the last of the middle-school girls rushed by, oblivious to her attempts to stop them. Identical twins Valentina and Valeria nearly plowed her down in their dash to the back. Already, a couple dozen students circled him. Two bodyguards shuffled their feet uncertainly while more squeals and giggles ricocheted into the rafters.

Malcolm raised a stalling hand to the ominous bodyguards while keeping his eyes locked on Celia, smiling that million-watt grin that had graced CD covers and promo shots. Tall and honed, he still had a hometown-boy-handsome appeal that hadn’t dimmed. He’d merely matured—now polished with confidence and about twenty more pounds of whipcord muscle.

Success and chart-topping wealth probably didn’t hurt.

She wanted him gone. For her sanity’s sake, she needed him gone. But now that he was here, she couldn’t look away.

He wore his khakis and designer loafers—sockless—with the easy confidence of a man comfortable in his skin. Sleeves rolled up on his chambray shirt exposed strong, tanned forearms and musician’s hands.

Best not to think about his talented, nimble hands.

His sandy-brown hair was as thick as she remembered. It was still a little long, skimming over his forehead in a way that once called to her fingers to stroke it back. And those blue eyes—heaven help her—she recalled well how indigo-dark they went just before he kissed her with the enthusiasm and ardor of a hormone-pumped teenager.

There was no denying he was all man now.

What in the hell was he doing here? Malcolm hadn’t set foot in Azalea, Mississippi, since a judge crony of her father’s had offered Malcolm the choice of juvie or military reform school nearly eighteen years ago. Since he’d left her behind—scared, pregnant and determined to salvage her life.

Even though he showed up regularly in the tabloids, seeing him in person after all these years was different. Not that she’d gone searching for photos of him. But given his popularity, she couldn’t help but be periodically blindsided by glimpses of him. Worst of all, though, was hearing the sound of his voice crooning over the radio as she changed the station.

Now, across the room, he pressed a paper against his knee to sign an autograph for Valentina—or Valeria. No one could tell them apart, not even their mother sometimes. Totally beside the point, because watching Malcolm with the young girl twisted Celia’s heart with what could have been if somehow, against the odds and all better judgment, they’d been able to keep and raise their baby.

But they weren’t sixteen anymore, and she’d put aside reckless dreams the day she’d handed her newborn daughter over to a couple who could give the precious child everything Celia and Malcolm couldn’t.

She threw back her shoulders and started toward the cluster across the gym, determined to get through this surprise visit with her pride in place. At least the nine boys in the choir were sitting on the risers, making the most of the chance to play with video games banned during class. She let that slide for now and zeroed in on the mini-mob collected by a rolling cart full of basketballs just under a red exit sign.

“Class, we need to give Mr. Douglas some breathing room.” She closed in on the circle of girls, resisting the urge to smooth her hands down her sunshine-yellow sundress. She gently tapped Sarah Lynn Thompson’s wrist. “And no pulling hair to sell online, girls.”

Sarah Lynn dropped her hand to her side, a guilty flush spreading up her face.

Malcolm passed back the last of the autographs and tucked the pen in his shirt pocket. “I’m fine, Celia, but thanks for making sure I don’t go prematurely bald.”

“Celia? Celia?” asked Valeria. Or was it Valentina? “Miss Patel, you know him? Oh, my God! How? Why didn’t you tell us?”

She didn’t intend to delve too deeply into those murky waters. “We went to high school together.” His name was etched on the sign that proclaimed “Welcome to Azalea, Home of Malcolm Douglas” as if the town hadn’t once tried to send him to jail because of her. “Now, let’s get back to the risers, and I’m sure Mr. Douglas will answer your questions in an orderly fashion since he disrupted our rehearsal.”

She shot him a censorious look that merely prompted an unrepentant grin in return.

Sarah Lynn stayed glued to Celia’s side. “Did you two date?”

The bell rang—thank God—signaling the end of class and no time for questions after all. “Students, line up for your last class.”

And wouldn’t you know, both the principal and the secretary stood in the doorway as starstruck as their students in spite of the fact that both ladies were happily married and grandmothers. How had he gotten into the gym/auditorium without causing a riot?

Celia led the students to the double door, her sandals slapping the wood floor. Step by step, she realized the pair of guards inside were only a part of Malcolm’s security detail. Four more muscle-bound men stood outside in the hallway while a large limo lurked beyond the glassed front entrance. Additional cars with majorly tinted windows were parked in front of and behind the stretch limo.

Malcolm shook hands with the principal and secretary, making small talk as he introduced himself, ironic as all get-out since at least half of the free world knew his face. “I’ll leave autographed photos for your students.”

Sarah Lynn called over her shoulder, dragging her feet on the way down the hall, “For all of us?”

“Miss Patel will let me know how many.”

The last of the students stepped into the corridor, the door swooshing closed after the administrators left. How had their departure managed to suck all the air out of the massive gym along with them? She stood an arm’s reach away from Malcolm, his two bodyguards looming just behind him.

So much for privacy.

“I assume you’re here to see me?” Although she couldn’t for the life of her fathom why.

“Yes, I am, darlin’,” he drawled, his smooth baritone voice stroking over her senses like fine wine. “Is there somewhere we can talk without being interrupted?”

“Your security detail makes that rather moot, don’t you think?” She smiled at the bulky duo, who stared back at her with such expressionless faces they could have been auditioning for positions as guards at Buckingham Palace.

Malcolm nodded to the stony-faced pair and without a word they both silently stepped out into the hall. “They’ll stay outside the door, but they’re here for your protection as much as mine.”

“My protection?” She inched a step away to put a little distance between herself and the tempting scent of his aftershave. “I seriously doubt your fans will start worshipping me just because I knew you aeons ago.”

“That’s not what I meant.” He scratched the back of his neck as if choosing his words carefully. “I hear via the grapevine there have been some threats made against you. A little extra security’s a good thing, right?”

Perhaps some security from the temptation of having him around disrupting her well-ordered life, not to mention her hormones. “Thanks, but I’m good. It’s just some crank calls and some strange notes. That kind of thing happens all too often when my dad has a high-profile case.”

Although how in the world had Malcolm heard about it? Something uneasy shifted inside her, a stirring of panic she quickly squashed down. She refused to let Malcolm’s appearance here yank the rug out from under her blessedly routine existence. She refused to give him the power to send her pulse racing.

Damn it all, she was a confident adult and this was her turf. Still, her nerves were as tight as piano strings. Fighting back the urge to snap at him for turning her world upside down, she folded her arms and waited. She wasn’t an indulged, impulsive only child any longer. She wasn’t a terrified, pregnant teen.

She wasn’t a catatonic, broken young woman caught in the grips of a postpartum depression so deep her life had been at risk.

Her road back to peace had been hard-won with the help of the best shrinks money could buy. She refused to let anything or anyone—especially not Malcolm Douglas—threaten the future she’d built for herself.

Loving Celia Patel had changed his life forever. The jury was still out as to whether that had been a good or bad thing.

Regardless, their lives were linked. For nearly eighteen years, Malcolm had been able to keep his distance from her. But he’d never mastered the art of looking away, even when they were a couple of continents apart. Which was what had brought him here now, knowing too much about her life, too much about a threat to her safety that sent old protective urges into high gear. He just had to figure out how to persuade her to let him back into her life so he could help her. And by helping her, he could atone for how he’d wrecked their lives. Maybe then he could finally let go of a glorified puppy love that after so many years he doubted was real.

Although given his physical reaction to her at the moment, the memories of their attraction were 100 percent real. Once again, desire for Celia Patel threatened to knock him flat on his ass.

Hell, no, he hadn’t been able to forget her even while across the world singing to sold-out stadiums. He certainly couldn’t tear his eyes off her now when she walked only a step ahead. Her wavy dark hair hung loose halfway down her back, swaying with each step. The bright yellow sundress hugged her curves the way his hands once had.

He followed her across the gymnasium floor, the same building where they’d gone to school together. He’d performed on that stage in the junior-high choir to be with her. Taunts hadn’t bothered him—until one stupid little idiot had said something off-color about Celia. Malcolm had decked him and gotten suspended for three days. Small price to pay. There was nothing he wouldn’t do then for Celia.

Apparently that hadn’t changed. One of his contacts had gotten wind of a case on her judge father’s docket, a high-profile drug case with a kingpin who’d drawn a target on Celia’s back. Malcolm had notified local authorities, but they hadn’t bothered looking into the evidence he’d gifted them with. Evidence that detailed a money trail connecting a hit man to the suspected drug dealer.

Local authorities didn’t like outsiders and were stubborn about their ability to handle matters on their own. Someone had to do something, and apparently that someone was Malcolm. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could derail him from his plan to protect Celia. He had to do this in order to make up for all the ways he’d let her down eighteen years ago.

She opened the door by the stage steps, her spine stiff and straight as she entered her small office lined with shelves surrounding a tiny desk. Musical scores and boxes of instruments packed the room—everything from triangles to xylophones to bongo drums. The smell of paper, ink and leather mixed with the familiar praline scent of Celia.

She spun to face him, her hair fanning gently, a strand caressing over his wrist. “It’s more of a closet really, where I store my cart, instruments and paperwork. I travel from classroom to classroom, or we meet in the gym.”

He adjusted the fit of his watch to cover rubbing away the sensation of her hair skimming his skin. “Just like the old days. Not much has changed here.”

The police department was every bit as slack as before, swayed by the person with the most influence.

“Some things are different, Malcolm. I am different,” she said in a cool tone he didn’t recognize at all.

And he was a man who specialized in the timbre of the voice.

“Aren’t you going to chew me out for disrupting your class?”

“That would be rude of me.” Her fingers toyed restlessly with the ukulele on her desk, notes lightly filling the air. “Meeting you was obviously the highlight of their young lives.”

“But obviously not the highlight of yours.” Leaning back, he tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from stroking the strings along with her. Memories taunted him of how they’d played the guitar and piano together, their shared love of music leading to a shared love of each other’s bodies. Had his mind exaggerated those memories into something more than they really were? So much time had passed since he’d seen her that he couldn’t be sure.

“Why are you here?” The sight of her slim fingers moving along the strings damn near mesmerized him. “You don’t have a performance scheduled in the area.”

“You follow my tour schedule?” His eyes snapped up to her face.

She snorted on a laugh. “The whole freakin’ town follows your every breath. What you eat for breakfast. Who you dated. I would have to be blind and deaf not to hear what the town has to say about their wonder boy. But personally? I’m no longer a charter member of the Malcolm Douglas fan club.”

“Now, there’s the Celia I remember.” He grinned.

She didn’t. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”

“I’m here for you.” His libido shouted a resounding echo. Damn it all, why did she have to be even more lushly sensual now than she had been before?

“For me? I think not,” she said coolly, her fingers still lightly stroking the ukulele with instinctive sensuality, as if she savored the feel of every note as much as the sound. “I have plans for tonight. You should have called ahead.”

“You’re much more level now than you were before.”

Her expression flickered with something he couldn’t quite grasp before she continued, “I was a teenager then. I’m an adult now, with adult responsibilities. So if we could speed this up, please?”

“You may not have kept track of my schedule, but I kept up with yours.” He knew every detail of the threatening phone calls, the flat tire and the other threats increasing in frequency by the day. He also knew she’d only told her father half of what happened. The thought of each threat chilled Malcolm’s ardor and ramped up his protectiveness. “I know you finished your music degree with honors from the University of Southern Mississippi. You’ve been teaching here since graduation.”

“I’m proud of my life, thank you very much, far more than can be summed up in a couple of sentences. Did you come to give me a belated graduation gift? Because if not, you can go finish signing autographs.”

“Let’s cut to the chase, then.” He shoved away from the door and stood toe-to-toe with her, just to prove to himself he could be near her and not haul her against him. “I came here to protect you.”

Her fingers popped a string on the ukulele, and even though she didn’t back away, her gaze skittered to the side. “Um, would you care to clarify?”

“You know full well what I’m talking about. Those crank calls you mentioned earlier.” Why was she hiding the incidents from her old man? Anger nipped at his gut—at her for being reckless and at himself for having taken that tempting step closer. As if the room wasn’t small enough already. “Your father’s current case. Drug lord, kingpin. Ring a bell?”

“My father’s a judge. He prosecutes bad guys and often they get angry, make empty threats.” Her eyes met his again, any signs of unease gone, replaced with a poised distance so alien to the wild child she’d once been. “I’m not sure why this is your concern.”

And there she’d hit on the truth. She wasn’t his to watch over, but that didn’t stop the urge to protect her any more than her dress could stop him from remembering what she looked like with only her long hair draped over her bare shoulders. His frustration snapped as surely as that nylon string. “Damn it, Celia, you’re smarter than this.”

Her plump lips pressed into a tight line. “Time for you to leave.”

He gritted back his temper, recognizing it for what it was—frustrated desire. His attraction to her was even more powerful than he’d expected. “I apologize for being less than diplomatic. I heard about the threats on your life, and call me a nostalgic idiot, but I’m worried about you.”

“How did you get the details?” Her face creased with confusion—and suspicion. “My father and I have made sure to keep everything out of the press.”

“Dear old Dad may be a powerful judge, but his power doesn’t reach everywhere.”

“That doesn’t explain how you found out.”

He couldn’t explain the “how” of that. There were things about him she didn’t know. He kept much better secrets than her father. “But I’m right.”

“One of the cases my father’s prosecuting has gotten … messy. The police are investigating.”

“You’re really going to put your faith in the three-man shop they call a police department?” He couldn’t keep the cynicism from his voice. “Security around you is awe-inspiring. I should get my men to make notes.”

“No need to be sarcastic. I’m taking precautions. This isn’t the first time someone has threatened our family because of my father’s job.”

“But this is the most serious threat.” If he told her about the paper trail, he would have to explain how he got it. But that was a last resort. If he couldn’t convince her to accept his help any other way, he would tell her what he could about the work he did outside the music industry.

“You seem to know a lot about what’s going on in my life.”

She studied him with deep brown eyes that still had the power to draw him in and lure him past reason.

“I told you, Celia. I care enough to keep tabs. I care enough to want to make sure you’re okay.”

“Thank you. That’s … nice.” Her braced shoulders eased, some of her defensiveness draining away, as well. “I appreciate your concern, even if it’s a little confusing. I will be careful. Now that you’ve fulfilled your sense of … obligation or whatever, I truly do need to pack up and go home.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” He raised a hand and plastered on his best smile. “Don’t bother saying no. I can carry your books, like old times.”

“Except for your whole secret-service-style protective detail.”

“You’ll be safe with me.” More than she could know.

“That’s what we thought eighteen years ago.” She stopped and pressed a hand to her forehead. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair of me.”

His mind exploded with images of their teenage passion, out-of-control hormones that had led them to reckless sex. A lot of sex. He cleared his throat. Too bad his brain still hitched on the past.

“Apology not needed but accepted.” He knew he’d let her down then, and damned if he would repeat the mistake. “Let me take you out to dinner, and we can talk over an idea I have for making sure you’re safe until the trial’s over.”

“Thank you, but no.” She closed the laptop on her desk and tucked it in a case. “I have end-of-the-year grades to finish.”

“You have to eat.”

“And I will. I have half of a leftover panino waiting in my refrigerator at home.”

She might be a more poised woman now, but there was no missing the old Celia stubbornness. She’d dug in her heels, and it would take serious maneuvering to budge her.

“Fine, then you leave me no choice. I’ll talk now. This threat against your life is real. Very real. In my line of work—” his real line of work, which only a handful of people knew about “—I have access to security sources you can’t imagine. You need protection beyond anything the local police department can provide and more than your father can buy.”

“You’re being overly dramatic.”

“Drug lords, Celia, have unlimited funds and no scruples.” He’d taken the fall for those types as a teenager to keep his mother safe. And it was his own fault for putting himself in their path by working in that club as a last-ditch effort to make enough money to support Celia and their baby on the way. “They will hurt you, badly, even kill you, in hopes of swaying your father.”

“Do you think I don’t already know this?” Her jaw flexed as she clenched her teeth, the only slip in her carefully controlled composure. “I’ve done everything I can.”

He saw his opening and took it. “Not everything.”

“Fine, Mr. Know-It-All,” she said with a sigh, sweeping back her silky hair from her face. “What else can I do?”

Clasping her arms, he stepped closer, willing himself not to cave to the temptation to gather her soft body close against him and kiss her until she was too dizzy to disagree. Although if he had to use passion to persuade her, then so be it. Because one way or another, he would convince her. “Let my bodyguards protect you. Come with me on my European tour.”

Two

Go on a European tour? With Malcolm?

Celia grabbed the edge of her desk for balance and choked back her shock at his outlandish offer. He couldn’t possibly be serious. Not after eighteen years apart, with only a few short letters and a couple of phone calls exchanged in the beginning. They’d broken up, drifted away from each other, eventually cut off contact completely after the baby’s adoption was complete.

Back at the start of Malcolm’s music career, she’d been in her early twenties, under the care of a good therapist and going to college. She’d dreamed of what it would be like if Malcolm showed up on her doorstep. What if he swept her off her feet and they picked up where they’d left off?

But those fantasies never came to fruition. They only held her back, and she’d learned to make her own realities—concrete and reasonable plans for the future.

Even if he had shown up before, she wasn’t sure then or now if she would have gone with him. Her mental health had been a hard-won battle. It could have been risky, in her fragile state, to trade stability for the upheaval of a life on the road with a high-profile music star.

But it sure would have been nice to have the choice, for him to have cared enough to come back and offer. His ridiculous request now was too little, too late.

Celia hitched her floral computer bag over her shoulder and eyed her office door a few short steps away. “Joke’s over, Malcolm. Of course I’m not going to Europe with you. Thanks for the laugh, though. I’m heading home now rather than stick around through my planning period since, for the first day in forever, I’m not slated for bus duty. You may have time to waste playing games, but I have grades to tabulate.”

His hand fell to rest on her bare arm, stopping her. “I’m completely serious.”

Hair prickled. Goose bumps rose. And damn it, desire stirred in her belly.

After all this time, her body still reacted to his touch, and she resented the hell out of that fact. “You’re never serious. Just ask the tabloid reporters. They fill articles with tales of your charm on and off camera.”

He angled closer, his grip firm, stoking long-buried embers. “When it comes to you, I’ve always been one hundred percent serious.”

And wasn’t that an about-face for them? She used to be the wild, adventurous one while Malcolm worked hard to secure his future. Or at least, she’d thought he’d been serious about the future—until he’d ended up in handcuffs, arrested.

Her breath hitched in her throat for three heavy heartbeats before she regained her equilibrium. “Then I’ll be the rational one here. There’s truly no way I’m leaving for Europe with you. Thank you again for the offer to protect me, but you’re off the hook.”

He tipped his head to the side, his face so close a puff of her breath would rustle the stubborn lock of hair that fell over his forehead. “You used to fantasize about making love in Paris in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower.” His voice went husky and seductive, those million-dollar vocal cords stroking her as effectively as any glide of his fingers.

She moved his hand slowly—and deliberately—off her arm. “Now I’m really not going anywhere with you.”

“Fine. I’ll cancel my concert tour and become your shadow until we’re sure you’re safe.” He grinned unrepentantly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “But my fans will be so pissed. They can get rabid sometimes, dangerous even, and above all, my goal is to keep you safe.”

Was he for real?

“This is too bizarre.” She clenched her fists to resist the urge to pull her hair—or his. “How did you say you found out about the Martin case?”

He hesitated for the barest instant before answering, “I have contacts.”

“Money can buy anything.” She couldn’t help but think of how he’d once disdained her father’s portfolio and now he could buy her dad out more than twice over.

“Extra cash would have bought us both some help eighteen years ago.”

And just that fast, their final fight came rolling back over her, how he’d insisted on playing the gig at that seedy music joint because it paid well. He’d been determined for them to get married and be a family. She’d been equally as certain they were both too young to make that happen. He’d gotten arrested in a drug raid on the bar, and she’d been sent to a Swiss “boarding school” to have her baby.

Even now, she saw the regret in his eyes, mixed with censure. She couldn’t go down this path with him, not again. Tears of rage and pain and loss welled inside her, and while she understood how unhealthy it was to bottle her emotions, she refused to crumble in front of him.

She needed to get out of there before she lost it altogether and succumbed to the temptation to throw herself into the comfort of his arms, to bury her face in his shirt.

To inhale the scent of him until it filled her senses.

“Things would have turned out better for you with more financial options,” Celia said, reminded of how he’d lost out on the promise of a scholarship to Juilliard. “But no amount of money would have changed the choices I made. What we shared is in the past.” Securing her computer tote bag on her shoulder, she pushed past him. “Thank you for worrying about me, but we’re done here. Goodbye, Malcolm.”

She rushed by, her foot knocking and jangling a box of tambourines on her way out into the gymnasium. Malcolm could stay or go, but he wasn’t her concern anymore. The custodian would lock her office after he swept up. She had to get away from Malcolm before she made a fool of herself over him.

Again.

Her sandals slapped an even but fast pace through the exit and directly into the teachers’ parking lot. Thank heavens she didn’t have to march through the halls with the whole school watching and whispering. Tears burning her eyes, she registered the sound of his footsteps behind her, but she kept moving out into the muggy afternoon.

The parking lot was all but empty, another hour still left in the school day. In the distance, the playground hummed with the cheers of happy children. What a double-edged sword it was working here, a job she loved but with constant reminders of what she’d given up.

Her head fell back, and she blinked hard. The sunshine blinded her, making her eyes water all the more. Damn Malcolm Douglas for coming into her life again and damn her own foolish attraction to him that hadn’t dimmed one bit. She swiped away the tears and charged ahead to her little green sedan. Heat steamed up from the asphalt. Magnolia-scented wind rustled the trees and rolled across the parking lot. A flyer flapped under the windshield wiper.

She stopped in her tracks, her hand flying to her throat. Was that another veiled warning from her father’s latest enemy?

Every day for a week, she’d found a flyer under her wiper, all relating to death. A funeral parlor. Cemetery plots. Life insurance. The police had called it a coincidence.

She pinched the paper out from under the blade, shuffling her computer bag higher up onto her shoulder. The flyer advertised …

A coupon for flowers? A sigh of relief shuddered through her.

An absolutely benign piece of paper. She laughed, crumpling the ad in her hand. She was actually getting paranoid, which meant whoever was trying to scare her had won. She fished out her keys and thumbed the unlock button on the key fob. Then she reached to slide her computer bag onto the passenger seat …

And stopped short.

A black rose rested precisely in the cup holder. There was no mistaking the ominous message. Somehow that macabre rosebud had gotten into her car. Someone had been in her locked vehicle.

Bile rose in her throat. Her mind raced back to the florist ad under her windshield wiper. She pulled the paper out of her computer bag and flattened the coupon on the seat.

Panic snapped through her veins, her emotions already on edge from the unexpected encounter with Malcolm. She bolted out of her sedan, stumbling as she backed away. Her body slammed into someone. A hard male chest. She stifled a scream and spun fast to find Malcolm standing behind her.

He cupped the back of her head. “What’s wrong?”

With his fingers in her hair and her nerves in shambles, she couldn’t even pretend to be composed. “There’s a black rose in my car—completely creepy. I don’t know how it got there since I locked up this morning. I know I did, because I had to use my key fob to get in.”

“We call the cops, now.”

She shook her head, nudging his hand aside. “The police chief will write it up and say I’m paranoid about some disgruntled students.”

The old chief would make veiled references to mental instability in her past, something her father had tried to keep under wraps. Few knew. Still, for them, a stigma lingered. Unfair—not to mention dangerous since she wasn’t being taken seriously.

From the thunderclouds gathering in Malcolm’s eyes, he was definitely taking her seriously. He clasped her shoulders in broad, warm hands, gently urging her to the side and into the long shadows of his bodyguards. Malcolm strode past her to the sedan, looking first at the rose, then kneeling to peer under the car.

For a bomb or something?

She swallowed hard, stepping back. “Malcolm, let’s just call the police after all. Please, get away from my car.”

Standing, he faced her again, casting a tall and broad-shouldered shadow over her in a phantom caress. “We’re in agreement on that.” He charged forward and clasped her arm, the calluses on his fingers rasping against her skin. “Let’s go.”

“Did you see something under there?”

“No, but I haven’t looked under the hood. I’m getting you out of here while my men make sure it’s safe before the rest of the school comes pouring out.”

The rest of the school? The sound of the children playing ball in the distance struck fear in her gut. The faces of her teacher friends and students scrolled through her head. To put an entire school in harm’s way? She couldn’t fathom whoever was threatening her would risk drawing this much attention—would risk this many lives. But there was definitely something more sinister about this latest threat, and that rattled her.

Malcolm tugged her farther from the vehicle.

“Where are we going?” She looked back over her shoulder at the redbrick building with the flags flapping in the wind. “I need to warn everyone.”

“My bodyguards are already taking care of that,” he reassured her. “We’re going to my limo. It has reinforced windows and an armor-plated body. We can talk there and figure out your next move.”

Reinforced windows? Armor plating? Security in front and behind? He truly did have all the money he’d once dreamed of, access to resources beyond her own local law enforcement. Enough resources to protect her from all threats, real or imagined.

She shivered in apprehension and didn’t bother denying herself the comforting protection of Malcolm’s presence all the way to his stretch Cadillac.

Malcolm stopped seeing red once he had Celia tucked into the safety of his armored limousine and the chauffer was headed for her home.

Two of his bodyguards had stayed with her vehicle to wait for the police—and report the details back to him without the filter of local authorities. He didn’t think there was anything else wrong with her vehicle, but better to be certain and put all of his financial resources to work. He’d done all he could for now to make sure Celia and the school weren’t in danger.

He scrolled through messages on his cell phone for updates from his security detail, all too aware of the warm presence of Celia in the seat beside him. Once he had her safely settled, he would work with his contacts to find substantial proof to nail that drug-dealing bastard Martin for these threats. Malcolm had taken the fall for a drug-dealing scumbag in return for them leaving his mother alone. He hadn’t known who to turn to then.

He wasn’t a flat-broke teenager anymore. He had the resources and power to be there for Celia now in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe then he could finally forgive himself for letting her down.

As they drove down the azalea-lined Main Street, he felt the weight of her glare.

Malcolm tucked away his phone and gave her his undivided attention. “What’s wrong?”

“Something that just occurred to me. Did you put that flower in my car to scare me so I would come with you?” She stared at him suspiciously.

“You can’t possibly believe that.”

“I don’t know what I believe right now. I haven’t seen you in nearly two decades. And the day you show up, offering to protect me, this happens. The thought that they were here, at the school, near my students …” Gasping for air, she grabbed her knees and leaned forward. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

He palmed between her shoulder blades, holding himself back from the urge to gather her close, just to touch her again. “You know me. You know how much I wanted to take care of you before. You of all people know how much it frustrated me that my dad wasn’t there to take care of my mom. Now, ask me again if I put the rose in your car?”

Sweeping her hair aside with her hands, she eyed him, her breath still shallow. “Okay, I believe you, and I’m sorry. Although a part of me wishes you had done it because then I wouldn’t have to be this worried.”

“It’s going to be all right. Anyone coming after you will have to get through me,” he said, tamping down the frustration of his teenage years when there hadn’t been a damn thing he could do for Celia or his mom. Times were different now. His bank balance was definitely different. “The police are going to look over your car and secure the parking lot if there’s a problem.”

“Ten minutes ago you said the police can’t protect me.”

Dark brown locks slithered over his arm, every bit as soft as he remembered. He eased his hand away while he still could. He might not believe in the power of love anymore, but he sure as hell respected the power of lust. His body still reacted to her, but this wasn’t just any woman who’d caught his eye. This was Celia. The power of the attraction—as strong as ever—had caught him unawares. But he’d come here to make up for the past. What they’d shared was over. “We still need to let the police know. Where is your father? At the courthouse?”

“At his annual doctor’s checkup. His heart has been giving him trouble. He’s been talking about retiring after the Martin case.” She sagged back into the leather seat. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

He opened the mini-fridge and pulled out a bottled water. “No one will get to you now.” He passed her the cooled Evian. “This vehicle is steel-reinforced, with bulletproof glass.”

“Paparazzi can be persistent.” She took the bottle from him, taking special care to avoid brushing his fingers. “Is it worth it living in a bubble?”

“I’m doing exactly what I want with my life.” He had a freedom now that went far beyond the musician lifestyle, a side to his world with power that only a handful of people knew about.

“Then I’m happy for you.” She sipped the water, all signs of her fear walled away.

But he knew what he’d seen, even if she was far better at hiding her emotions now than she’d been as a teenager. “Your school year finishes tomorrow. You’ll be free for the summer. Come with me to Europe. Do it for your dad or your students, but don’t let pride keep you from accepting my proposal.”

She rolled the bottle between her hands, watching him from under the dark sweep of her eyelashes. “Wouldn’t it be selfish of me to take you up on this offer? What if I put you in danger?”

Ah. He resisted the urge to smile. She hadn’t said no. Something was shifting in her; he could sense it. She was actually considering his offer.

“The Celia I knew before wouldn’t have worried about that. You would have just blasted ahead while we tackled the problem together.”

A bump in the road jostled her against him. His arm clamped around her instinctively, and just as fast his senses went on overload. The praline scent of her. The feel of her soft breasts pressed against his side, her palm flattened on his chest. And God, what he wouldn’t give for a taste of her as she stared up at him. Her wide brown eyes filled with the same electric awareness that snapped through his veins.

Biting her lip, she eased away, sliding to the far side of the seat. Away from him.

“We’re all grown up, and a more measured approach is called for,” she said primly, setting the water bottle into a holder. “I can’t simply go to Europe with you. That’s just … unthinkable. As for my students, you already noted the school year’s over, and if the threat truly is stemming from my father’s case, it should be resolved by the time summer’s over. See? All logical. Thank you for the offer, though.”

“Stop thanking me,” he snapped, knowing too well the ways he’d come up short in taking care of her and their child. This was his chance to make up for that, damn it, and he couldn’t let it pass him by.

The limo cruised down the familiar roads of Azalea with blessedly smaller potholes. Not much had changed; only a few of the mom-and-pop diners had folded into chain restaurants near a small mall.

Otherwise, this could have been a date of theirs years ago, driving around town in search of a spot to park and make out. They’d both lost their virginity in the back of the BMW she’d gotten for her sixteenth birthday. The memories … Damn … Too much to think about now while trying to keep his head clear.

When he’d come up with the plan to help her, he hadn’t expected to still want her, to be so pulled in by her. He’d dated over the years and could have any woman he wanted. And still, here he was, aching to take this woman. Had he gotten himself in too deep with his offer of protection? The prospect of touring Europe together, staying alone in hotels, suddenly didn’t sound like such a smart idea.

“Malcolm?” Her voice drew him back to the present. “Why did you look me up now? I truly don’t believe you’ve watched my every move for nearly eighteen years.”

Fair enough. He had kept track of her over the years. But this time of year, thoughts of their shared past weighed heavier on his conscience. “You’ve been on my mind this week. It’s the time of year.”

Celia’s eyes shut briefly before she acknowledged, “Her birthday.”

His throat closed, so he simply nodded.

Her face flooded with pain, the first deep and true emotion she’d shown since he arrived. “I am sorry.”

“I signed the papers, too.” He’d given up all custodial rights to his child. He’d known he had no choice, nothing to offer and no hope of offering her anything in the foreseeable future. He’d been lucky not to be in jail, but the military reform school in North Carolina had been a lockdown existence.

“But you didn’t want to sign the papers.” She touched his arm lightly, the careful poise in her eyes falling away to reveal a deep vulnerability. “I understand that.”

His willpower stretched to the limit as he fought back the urge to kiss away the pain in her eyes.

“It would have been selfish of me to hold out when I had no future and no way to provide for either of you.” He shifted in his seat and let the question roll out that had plagued him all these years. “Do you think about her?”

“Every day.”

“And the two of us?” he pushed, studying her hand still resting on his wrist. Her touch seared his skin with memories and, yes, a still-present desire to see if the flame between them burned as hot. “Do you think back and regret?”

“I regret that you were hurt.”

He covered her hand with his and held tight. “Come with me to Europe. To stay safe. To ease stress for your old man. To put the past to rest. It’s time. Let me help you the way I couldn’t back then.”

She nibbled her bottom lip and he sensed that victory was so damn close….

The limo eased to a stop in front of her home. She blinked fast and pulled her hand away. She gathered her computer bag from the floor. “I need to go home, to think. This is all too much, too fast.”

She hadn’t said an outright no, and that would have to do for now. He would win in the end. He always did these days. His fame and position had benefits.

He ducked out of the car and around to her side to walk her to her door. He didn’t expect to come inside and stay the night, but he needed to be sure she was safe. His hand went to the small of her back by instinct as he guided her toward the little carriage house behind a columned mansion.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You already know where I live?”

“It’s not a secret.” In fact her life was too accessible. He’d seen too much corruption in the world. This kind of openness made him itchy.

Although he had to confess to being surprised at her choice for a home. The larger, brick mansion wasn’t her father’s house, as he’d half expected when he’d first learned of where she lived. She’d carved out her own space even if she’d stayed in her hometown.

Even so, the little white carriage house was a security nightmare. Dimly lit stairs on the outside led to the main entrance over her garage. He followed her up the steps, unable to keep his eyes off the gentle sway of her hips or the way the sunlight glinted on her silky dark hair.

She stopped at the small balcony outside her door, turning to face him. “Thank you for seeing me home and calling the cops. I truly do appreciate your help.”

How many times had he kissed her good-night on her doorstep until her father started flicking the porch light off and on? More than he could count. A possessive urge to gather her close and test the old attraction seared his veins, but he was a more patient man these days. He had his eye on the larger goal.

Getting her to leave the country with him.

He held out his hand for her keys. “Once I’ve checked over your place, I’ll be on my way for the night.”

Just not far away.

Malcolm wasn’t the same idealistic teen he’d once been. He’d spent every day at that military reform school plotting how he would show up at Celia’s father’s house. How he would prove he hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. He was an honorable man who’d had his family stolen from him. He’d held on to that goal all through college, as well, playing music gigs at night to earn enough money to cover what scholarships didn’t.

But he never could have foreseen the path to honor that would play out for him. He’d sure as hell never planned on being a music star with his face plastered on posters. He’d stuck with it for the money. Then surprisingly, his old headmaster had shown up in his dressing room after a concert with a crazy offer.

Malcolm’s globe-trotting lifestyle offered him the perfect cover to work as a freelance agent for Interpol.

In that moment, Malcolm gained a strong compass for his life and he’d never veered from the plan. Until today.

Even after eighteen years, he couldn’t look away from Celia. “The keys, please?”

Hesitating for an instant, she dropped the keys into his hand. He turned the lock—a lock he could have picked thanks to some skills he’d acquired along the way—and pushed open the door to an airy and light space with sheer frills, an antique upright piano and a lemony, clean scent.

He stepped inside to make sure there weren’t any more roses—or worse—waiting for her. She disarmed the alarm, then walked beside him down the narrow hall leading toward the living area, clicking her fingernails along a panpipe hung on the wall. His sixth sense hummed on high alert. Something wasn’t right, but his instincts were dulled around Celia, and damn it, that wasn’t acceptable. He knew better. He’d been trained for better.

Drawing in his focus, he realized … Holy hell …

He angled back to Celia. “Did you leave the living room light on?”

Flinching, she gasped. “No. I never do …”

He tucked her behind him only to realize … a man sat on the sofa.

Her father.

Malcolm resisted the urge to step back in surprise. Judge Patel had gotten old. Intellectually, Malcolm understood the years had to have left a mark, but seeing that in person was … unsettling. He’d resented this man, even hated him at some points, but bottom line, he understood they both had a common goal: keeping Celia safe.

Malcolm was just better suited for the job, and this time, he refused to let Judge George Patel stop him.

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?”

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