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“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 (#u497e4491-fd13-55cd-85ad-050ac00d1c5b)
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.
Unable to resist, she sat down next to him and continued to twine her notes with his as easily as taking in air. “You know, one of the things that attracted me to you before was how you never seemed impressed by my father’s wealth or influence.”
“I respect your father—even if he did get me sent away from you. Hell, if I had a daughter and—” His melody tangled. “Ah, crap. Okay, let me roll back that statement and reframe it.”
“I know what you meant.” Her hands fell to her lap, the piano going silent. “No parent would be happy about their sixteen-year-old having sex, much less reckless sex.”
His face went dark with guilt, his hand gravitating to her face until he cupped her cheek. “I should have protected you better.”
“We both should have been more responsible.” She put her hand over his without thinking, her body going on autopilot around him as it always had, whether with touches or with music.
In less than a day, they’d fallen right back into the synchronicity they’d shared before, and God, that scared her spitless. She’d dated other men—slept with other men—but being with them never had this sense of ease. Already, she felt herself swaying toward him as his body leaned into hers.
Magnetic.
His hand still held her face, the calluses on his fingers familiar, a reminder of the countless hours he devoted to playing the guitar. Music hummed through her now, the sound of the two of them occupying the same space.
Her lips parted in anticipation—
The doorbell rang.
She jolted back as it rang again. How had she missed someone coming up outside?
Malcolm stood, his hand sliding away, then coming back to stroke her jaw once again. “That’s dinner.” He frowned. “And my phone.”
He pulled his cell from his pocket.
“Supper?” she parroted, surprised she could even speak at all. She vaguely recalled him mentioning sending his driver/bodyguard for food. He had a whole staff at his disposal day and night, another reminder of how different their worlds were these days.
On his way to check the door, Malcolm said over his shoulder, “My chauffeur will set everything up while I take this call. All I need is a blanket and pillow for the sofa.”
Before she could answer, he’d opened the door, waving his driver inside and stepping outside with his phone. Clearly, he didn’t want her to hear his conversation. Which made her wonder a little about what he had to say.
And wonder a lot about who he said it to.
How the hell had he almost kissed her?
Malcolm gripped the wooden rails of Celia’s small balcony landing just outside her front door. With ragged breaths, he drew in muggy night air as he listened to his driver setting up dinner inside. Bodyguards were stationed in the yard below and outside the brick-wall fence.
Malcolm’s cell phone continued to buzz, and he knew he had to answer. And he would return the call—as soon as his heart rate settled back to normal.
He’d come here to make amends with Celia. To put his feelings of guilt to rest by helping her now like he couldn’t before.
Where did sex factor into that?
It didn’t. It hadn’t. Until he’d seen her again.
These days he had control over his libido, enjoying healthy, safe relationships. He’d sure as hell never forgotten to put on a condom ever again. But he knew protecting Celia was about more than safe sex. That wouldn’t keep either of them safe from the heartache of resurrecting something that was long done.
Plucking his phone from his pocket, he thumbed Redial and waited for Colonel John Salvatore to answer. His old headmaster from boarding school.
Now his Interpol handler. The man had traded in a uniform for a closet full of gray suits worn with a red tie.
“Salvatore here,” his longtime mentor answered in clipped tones, gravelly from years of barking military orders.
“Calling you back, sir. Any word on Celia Patel’s vehicle?”
“I checked the local department’s report and they lifted prints, but with so many students in the school, there are dozens of different impressions.”
His frustration ratcheted up. “And the security cameras?”
“Nothing concrete, but we did pinpoint the time the flyer was placed on the vehicle. We just couldn’t see who did it. Kids were on lunch break, and a large group passed in front of the camera. Once they cleared, the flyer was under the wiper.”
Malcolm scanned the street beyond the brick security wall, monitoring the lazy traffic for warning signs. “So whoever placed it there appears to be cognizant of the school’s surveillance system.”
