Always On Her Mind: Playing for Keeps / To Tame a Cowboy / All He Ever Wanted. Emily McKay
sky.
“So you can more than buy him out twice over. How many times over, five?”
He shrugged, his eyes still smiling.
Her jaw dropped. “Eight?”
He tossed the sheet music—scores she’d written for private students—back onto the side table.
“More than ten?” Holy crap.
“That’s fairly close.”
“Wow.” She whistled softly. “Love songs pay well.” A lot better than the little compositions she made for her students with dreams of putting them into an instruction book one day.
“People want to believe in the message,” he said drily.
“You sound cynical.” That made her sad when she thought of how deeply he’d cared about his music. “Why sing about something you don’t accept as true? You obviously don’t need the money anymore.”
“You used to like it when I sang to you.” He turned on the bench and placed his hands on the keyboard, his fingers starting a simple ballad, hauntingly familiar.
“I was one of those sappy women falling for you.” When she’d been in Switzerland, his baby growing inside her, she’d dreamed of how they could repair their relationship when she got back and he finished his probation. Except, his letters to her grew fewer and fewer until she realized what everyone had told her was true. Theirs was just a high-school romance.
He tapped out another couple of bars of the melody line of one of the songs he’d written for her back when they’d dated. He’d said songs were all he had to offer her. This particular tune, one he’d called “Playing for Keeps,” had always been her favorite. His fingers picked up speed, layering new intricacies into the simpler song he’d composed long ago. When he finished, the last note echoed in her tiny carriage house.
In her heart.
Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes stinging with tears that blurred the image of his broad shoulders as he sat at the piano. She ached with the urge to wrap her arms around him and rest her cheek on his back. She hurt from the lost dreams of what she’d let slip away. Apparently, he’d let a whole lot slip away from him, too. She didn’t want to think about how cynical he’d grown.
Swallowing hard, she let herself dare to ask, “Was it real, what we felt then?”
He stayed silent, turned away from her for so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. Finally, he shifted around again to face her. The raw emotion on his face squeezed at her heart.
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.”
With that heavy sigh of his, she realized he’d suffered, too, more than she’d ever realized. 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.
Malcolm might not have planned on kissing Celia, but the second her mouth touched his, there wasn’t a chance in hell he could pull away. She tasted like the sweet, syrupy insides of pecan pie and more—more than he remembered. Familiar and new all at once.
The tip of her tongue touched his, sending a bolt of desire straight through him until he went so hard at the thought of having her that he ached. His body surged with the need to take her, here, now. Because based on even this one kiss, he knew it would be even better for them than when they had been inexperienced, fumbling teens learning their way around … then learning the pleasure of drawing it out.
God, she was flipping his world upside down all over again.
Then the kiss was over before it barely started.
Celia touched her lips with a trembling hand, her chewed nails hinting at how frayed her nerves had been lately. “Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done. I pride myself on being wiser these days.”
No offers to make up the couch for him. Definitely no offer for him to come to her room. He hadn’t expected otherwise … although a man could hope.
“We don’t always want what’s good for us.”
“True enough. I got caught up in the memories from the music. The fact that you remembered the song from before … Well, I would have to be heartless not to be moved. Except, now reason has set in. If I follow through on that kiss, Europe is going to be very awkward—”
“Celia, it’s okay. You don’t need to explain or say anything more.” He traced his thumb along her mouth. “I won’t go psycho because you don’t invite me into your bed after one kiss.”
Still, his mind filled with the fantasy of tearing each other’s clothes off, of carrying her over to the piano and sitting her on the keyboard, where he would step between her legs and bury himself deep inside this woman who’d always moved him in a way no other could.
Which had him wondering if perhaps they could indulge in more. If it was every bit as inevitable now as it had been eighteen years ago.
Indecision shifted in her dark brown eyes. Could she really be considering it? His pulse ratcheted up to never-before-tested speeds. Except, then she shook her head and turned away.
“I can’t do this,” she mumbled, backing away until his hand slid from her face. From the hall closet, she pulled out a stack of sheets and a pillow, then tugged a quilt from the back of the sofa. “Good night, Malcolm.”
She thrust the linens against his chest and pivoted on her heels before he could say a word. No question, she was every bit as rattled as he was. Resisting the urge to go after her, he still allowed himself to savor watching the gentle sway of her hips as she left. His body throbbed in response, and he knew the feel of her would stay imprinted on him long after she closed her bedroom door.
Silence echoed after her, the scent of lavender wafting up from the sheets she’d given him. He hadn’t slept on a sofa since his early days in the music industry, going to college on scholarship in the mornings, still half-asleep from playing late-night gigs. He’d gotten a degree in music with a minor in accounting because, by God, no manager was ever going to take advantage of his finances. He refused to be one of those musicians who made billions only to file for bankruptcy later. He knew what poverty was like and how it hurt the people around him—how he’d hurt the people around him because of his own dumb decisions.
He was in control these days.
Shrugging the tension out of his shoulders, he tossed aside the sheet and shook out the blanket. He stayed at five-star penthouse suites on a regular basis, but he’d never forgotten where he came from—and he damn well never would. The day a person got complacent was the day someone robbed them blind.
He refused to be caught flat-footed ever again. The lowest day of his life had been sitting in that police cell, arrested for drug possession. Wondering what Celia thought. Hating that he’d let his mother down.
The part that still stuck in his craw? For some twisted reason, his brush with the