Emily McKay - Always On Her Mind

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.”