Читать книгу Always On Her Mind: Playing for Keeps / To Tame a Cowboy / All He Ever Wanted - Emily McKay, Catherine Mann - Страница 13

The trip across the Atlantic to France passed in a blur for Celia as the time change plunged them into the night. But then her flights usually consisted of delayed connections, long layovers and lost baggage, followed by finding a cab in the heat, rain or snow.

Thanks to Malcolm’s influence, she’d experienced superstar posh luxury and speed. Even sending in her grades had seemed surreal as she’d sat at a decked-out business center on the plane, with a cabin steward bringing her tea and fruit.

Now the Learjet was parking at the terminal at the Paris–Charles de Gaulle Airport, the first stop on Malcolm’s European tour—with his friends along.

Surprisingly, though, she’d enjoyed getting to know Hillary during the flight, and bottom line, she should be grateful for the distraction. Distraction? Okay, the chaperone who would help Celia hold strong in her resolve not to plaster herself against Malcolm again in some impulsive moment.

And there were at least a few hundred other chaper-ones outside waiting under the halo of halogen lights. She glided her fingers down the glass of the window, showcasing legions of fans waving signs that were both handmade and professional.

I heart Malcolm.

Marry me.

Je t’aime.

Police and airport guards formed a human wall between the fans and the carpet being rolled out to the Learjet. Screaming, crying females threw flowers and …

Panties? Ew. Gross.

The gentle hum of the plane stopped, and everyone unbuckled as the steward opened the door. Noise swelled inward, high-pitched cheers, squeals and screams. The words jumbled together, but their adoring enthusiasm for Malcolm Douglas was unmistakable. He was this generation’s Harry Connick Jr. and Michael Bublé—times ten.

Chuckling, Troy scooped up a fedora and dropped it on his head. “Dude, I think there’s a woman out there who wants you to autograph her breasts.”

Malcolm scowled, shrugging on a blue jacket with his jeans and button-down. “We’ll just have to tell her I forgot my marker.”

Hillary held up her leather portfolio and said with a wicked glint in her eyes, “I’m sure I have one in here you could borrow.”

“Not funny.” Malcolm smiled tightly.

Celia agreed. The thought of women climbing all over him made her ill.

Troy clapped him on the back. “Where’s your sense of humor, man? You’re always quick with the sarcasm when somebody else is stressed.”

A joker? He hadn’t been that way back in high school. He’d been intense and driven, but never sarcastic or jaded. The fact that his achieving his life’s dream hadn’t left him unscathed niggled at her.

“I’ll be a lot less stressed after we reach the hotel. So let’s get moving.” Malcolm picked up Celia’s floral bag and started to pass it to her.

Troy choked on a cough.

Malcolm looked at him sharply. “What now, Donavan?”

“I just never thought I’d see the day when you carried a woman’s purse for her.”

Celia snatched it from his hands. “It’s not a purse. It’s a tote bag for my computer and my wallet. My favorite bag, for that matter. I bought it from the Vera Bradley Collection—” She stopped short, wincing. “I’m not helping you, am I, Malcolm?”

“No worries,” he reassured her, planting his hand between her shoulder blades with unsettling ease. “I’m confident enough in my manhood I could carry that pink flowery bag like a man purse straight into that crowd.”

“Photo, please?” Troy asked. “I’d pay good money.”

Celia watched them joke and laugh together as they made their way to the door, and she realized she’d never seen Malcolm with friends before. Not even eighteen years ago. He’d never had time for recreation then. Between school, work and music lessons, he’d been driven to succeed, to make his mother’s hard work pay off even at the expense of any social life most teens expected as their due. What other changes were there in his life now?

They stopped in the open hatch, and the crowd roared to a fever pitch of squeals and screams. He’d earned this, fame and adulation, yet he was still a man at ease with carrying her bag. He waved to the crowd, stirring the cheers even louder.

His hand slid along her spine until his arm went around her waist, cutting her thoughts short with the shock of his solid hold.

“Malcolm?” Halting in the open hatchway, she glanced at him, confused. “What are you doing?”

“This,” he warned her a second before sealing his mouth to hers.

So much for worrying about holding strong against kissing him again. He planted a lip-lock on her to end all lip-locks. The familiarity of his mouth on hers tempted Celia, and before she could think, her hand gravitated to his chest. Her fingers curled into the crisp linen of his jacket.

The crowd roared. Or was that her pulse?

Malcolm dipped her ever so slightly back, stroking her face and along her hair before guiding her upright again. Thank goodness he kept his arm around her waist, because her knees were less than steady as he ended the kiss. Her blood pounded in her ears, her fist still clenched along the lapel of his jacket.

“What the hell was that all about?” she hissed softly, trying not to look at his friends grinning behind him.

Malcolm covered her hand with his, his blue eyes holding hers with an intensity she couldn’t mistake. “Making sure the world knows you’re mine and anyone who touches you will have hell to pay.”

He peeled her hand free then locked arms with her, starting down the metal steps onto the concrete. She held on tightly, her legs still wobbly from his kiss in front of a crowd of people and camera lenses. What about him warning her about the possibility of the press seeing them at a B and B? Had he just said that before because he wanted her to go with him?

Her skin chilled in spite of the warm summer breeze, carrying the scent of flowers tossed by fans. A sleek white limousine waited a few strides away.

Desperate to regain her balance, she angled toward Malcolm to whisper, “I thought we were giving off the impression of friends traveling. Casual companions. What about how you worried the press would see us at a hotel?”

“I didn’t want to claim you until you were safe.”

Safe? Her feelings for him were anything but safe. “Weren’t you the one who made fun of puppy love in the limo?”

His cerulean-blue eyes slid over her, soothing like cool water on overheated flesh. “Darlin’, this has nothing to do with puppy love and everything to with adult passion. With cameras in our face 24/7, it’ll be impossible to carry off a lie. Those photographers will pick up on the fact that I want you so badly my damn teeth hurt.”

Her breath hitched in her throat. “I don’t know what to say.”

He stopped at the limo, waving to the crowds once before he looked at her adoringly again. Totally an act. Right? He waved her into the stretch limousine before following her inside.

“Celia,” he said quickly while Troy and Hillary were still outside, “rather than lie about our attraction and make the press all the more desperate to prove what they already sense, it’s better just to be honest about this. So be forewarned. I’ll be kissing you and touching you and romancing you very publically and very often.”

A shiver of anticipation skittered up her spine. How would she ever withstand that kind of romantic assault? “But I already told you. We can’t do this. We can’t go back. I’m not climbing into bed with you again.”

She willed herself to believe it.

“It won’t matter.” He kissed the tip of her nose, then whispered against her skin, “Your eyes are crystal clear. The camera will pick up the truth.”

She couldn’t catch her breath, and her skin flushed where he touched her. Kissed her.

“Do tell, Malcolm. What truth might that be?”

“Darlin’, you want me every bit as much as I want you.” He stretched an arm along the back of the seat, going silent as Troy and Hillary settled in across from them.

Hillary grinned from ear to ear. “Welcome to Paris, the city of love.”

Malcolm stood alone on the hotel balcony overlooking the Eiffel Tower. Celia and the Donavans had already settled into their rooms for the night, turning in now to combat jet lag.

He, however, was too restless to sleep, too caught up in the need to take Celia into his room, his bed. He used to fantasize about bringing Celia to France, taking her to concerts and proposing to her in a place with a view just like this one. Yet another dream that hadn’t panned out the way he’d planned.

The whole flight, he’d found his eyes drawn to her again and again. Taking in the waves of her hair draping along her shoulder, even how she chewed her thumbnail while poring over grades, trying to decide whether or not to give a student an extra point for a better letter grade.

Everything about Celia entranced him. It always had. Even when they were kids on a playground, he’d known she was special, a dynamo with an electric personality that people wanted to be around. Other kids gravitated to her open smile, melodic laugh and her willingness to try anything. Even come to stick up for the new kid in the middle of an embarrassing-as-hell asthma attack.

Yet even then, as she’d helped him fish his inhaler out of his backpack, he’d been aware of their differences. For class parties, her mom brought a clown to set up an ice-cream bar, and his mom made cupcakes in their tiny kitchen. Such a strange thing to remember now, especially when money was no longer an issue.

He felt the weight of eyes on him and turned sharply, then relaxed.

Colonel John Salvatore stood in the open doorway, wearing his standard gray suit and red tie. The colonel worked at Interpol headquarters in Lyon, France, so it shouldn’t be surprising he’d shown up here. Only surprising he’d arrived in the middle of the night.

“Good evening, sir.” Malcolm didn’t bother asking how Salvatore had gotten into his suite. “You could have called, you know. Anything new to report?”

“Nothing new.” The retired headmaster stepped up beside him at the rail. “Just in town for your concert. Thought I would say hello, Mozart.”

Mozart … Back in the day, his classmates had called him by the name of just about every composer out there since he spent so many hours playing classical music. Mostly, he played the classical stuff because it tended to chase off the other students, allowing him some peace in the crowded school.

“I appreciate the extra security, Salvatore. I mean that. I’ll rest a lot easier knowing Celia’s safe until the authorities can sort out the mess back home.”

The colonel loosened his tie and tucked it into his pocket. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

With the simple discarding of his tie, Salvatore went from distant boss to caring mentor.

Malcolm shook his head, his eyes locked on the Eiffel Tower glowing in the night. “Hell, no, but I can’t back away.”

“Do you have some kind of vendetta against her?”

“What?” Malcolm looked back sharply, surprised the man even had to ask. “I would hope you know me better than that.”

“I know how troubled you were when you showed up at the school.”

“We all were.” Angry. Defiant. Wanting to have a normal high-school experience but knowing damn well it was too late to go back.

“You tried to run away three times.”

“I didn’t want to be locked up,” he said, dodging the real reason for why he’d risked everything, even jeopardizing the peace he’d brought his mother.

“You risked jail time leaving.” Salvatore leaned his elbows on the railing, the ground seven floors below. Sparse traffic drove by, late-night partiers stepping into the hotel next door.

“But you never reported me.” Malcolm still didn’t know why, any more than he could figure out why they were discussing this now.

“Because I knew you were one of the few kids sent to that school who were actually innocent.”

Malcolm straightened in surprise. He’d never once proclaimed his innocence, and everyone had assumed he was guilty. Everyone except Celia, but even she had pulled away from him in the end. Not that he could blame her. Still, hearing the colonel’s unconditional confidence … It meant a lot, then and now. “How can you be so sure?”

“I’d seen enough users and dealers come through that school to recognize one when he crossed my path. You weren’t involved in drugs in any way, shape or form,” he said with unmistakable certainty in his voice. “Besides, if you had a drug problem, this lifestyle would have wrecked you long ago.” As if to lend weight to his words, drunken laughter drifted up from the street.

“So you believe in me because of your proof.”

“The facts merely reinforced my gut. I also know that a man will do anything for his child. I understand. I would die for my kid,” he said, offering a rare glimpse into himself. “I figured you took that job at the bar hoping to make enough money to support Celia and your child. You didn’t want her to give up the baby, and I’m guessing you wanted to keep the child because your father abandoned you.”

“Damn, Colonel.” Malcolm stepped back, looking for an escape from the truth. “I thought your doctorate was in history, not psychology.”

He’d relived enough of the past since seeing Celia again. He wasn’t prepared for this kind of walk down memory lane, especially when the trip was a rough ride that always left him raw.

“Doesn’t take a shrink to know you’re protective of your mother, and you have reason to resent your biological father. So? Do you have a vendetta to fulfill? Some revenge plan in having Celia close to you?”

“No—hell, no.” Malcolm denied it and meant it. The last thing he wanted was to see Celia hurt. “Celia and I are both adults now. And as for our kid, she’s almost an adult, as well. So there’s no going back. The notion of a redo or revenge is moot.”

“Nothing’s ever moot. Remember that.”

He’d had enough of these pointless jabs at old wounds. “Why don’t we talk about your kid, then? Don’t you have a ball game to go to or something?”

“Fine.” Salvatore held up his hands. “I’ll just spell it out for you. It’s all well and good that you want to protect Celia. But you need to accept your feelings for that woman aren’t moot if you’re ever going to move forward with your life.”

And with that parting shot, Salvatore disappeared as silently as he’d appeared, leaving Malcolm alone on the balcony. God, he needed to go inside and sleep, charge up for the performance, protect his voice from the night air.

Instead, he kept right on staring at the Eiffel Tower, battling a bellyful of regrets. Given what Salvatore had said, it didn’t sound as if he had much chance of ever putting the past to rest. Try as he might to move on, he still carried a whole lot of guilt about what had happened. More than that, he still had feelings for Celia. Feelings that weren’t going to go away just because he tried to ignore them.

In which case, maybe ignoring them was a piss-poor idea. He wasn’t getting anywhere like this. So why the hell was he denying himself what he wanted most right now? There was nothing stopping him from persuading Celia to let him back into her bed.

And the concert tomorrow would be the perfect place to begin.

Toying with the twisted seed-pearl necklace, Celia stood backstage at the concert with Hillary as Malcolm gripped the mic, walking along the edge of the stage and serenading the swarms of females reaching up. Their screams combatted with the sound system pumping out his voice and the band. She’d spent a large portion of her life performing, so the lights, the parade of backup instruments and techies didn’t faze her. Still, she couldn’t help but be awed by the intensity of it all, the energy radiating off the thousands of people who’d come to hear Malcolm Douglas.

He’d been emphatic about her staying backstage. He didn’t trust her safety out in the audience, even sitting in one of the exclusive boxes. So she watched from the sidelines, enjoying the sight of him in profile. He wore a black suit and shirt without a tie, his songs a mix of current soft-rock tunes and retro remixes of old classics.

And oh, God, his voice was stirring her every bit as much as his kiss at the airport.

At least she had Hillary to keep her company, along with another friend of theirs, Jayne Hughes. Jayne was apparently married to another reform-school buddy of Malcolm’s. They’d all come out in force with their husbands to see him perform—and keep watch over her. Malcolm’s friends and their wives were rock-solid loyal, no question.

While Hillary was fresh-faced, freckled and approachable in her jeans and sequined tank top, Jayne was so darn elegant and poised in her simple sheath dress that Celia resisted the urge to check her makeup. She smoothed her damp hands down the loose, silky dress she’d chosen from the racks of clothes Malcolm had ordered sent to her room. He’d been gone all day for sound checks.

The chic, blonde Jayne leaned toward her. “It’s a little overwhelming.”

Hillary arched up onto her toes for a better view. “And incredible.”

Jayne continued, “And overwhelming.”

Celia reevaluated her image of Jayne Hughes as a cool socialite as she realized the woman genuinely was worried for her. “You can go ahead and ask.”

“Ask what?” Jayne answered.

“Why I’m here. Why I’m with Malcolm.” She glanced at him onstage as he took his place behind a grand piano. So many times she’d sat beside him to play in tandem, or accompanied him on the guitar. Their shared appreciation of music had added layers to their relationship back then. “Or maybe you already know the story.”

“Only that you and Malcolm grew up in the same town, and you’ve come here to get away from a stalker at home.” Jayne smoothed her already perfectly immaculate hair, shoulder-length and bluntly cut. She looked every bit the casino magnate’s wife, adored and pampered. Loved.

Celia shifted her attention back to the stage. Malcolm’s smooth baritone washed over her, so familiar even with the richness of maturity adding more flavor to the tone. “We’ve known each other since we were kids, dated in high school.”

Jayne tipped her head to the side. “You’re different from the other women he’s seen.”

She wondered if they referred to the women he’d really dated or the ladies he’d been photographed with for—as he insisted—strictly publicity purposes. Still, she couldn’t resist asking, “Different how?”

“You’re smart,” Jayne answered without hesitation.

Hillary chimed in, “Serious.”

“Not clingy,” Jayne continued.

Hillary added, “Literate.”

They made her sound utterly boring. “Thank you for The … uh …”

“Compliment,” Hillary said. “Totally. Malcolm’s a lot deeper than he likes to let on.”

He was. Or at least, he had been back then. And now? It was tough not to appear too hungry for these nuggets of information about Malcolm’s life since they’d been apart.

Jayne tapped her foot lightly to the music, one of Malcolm’s more upbeat songs. “I met Malcolm just over seven years ago. In all the time I’ve known him, he’s never made friends beyond his school buddies. Even his manager went to the military academy with him.”

Hillary held up a finger. “And he’s close to his mother, of course.”

Yeah, she knew that and respected him for it even though Terri Lynn had disapproved of her. Okay, more than disapproved. His mother had hated her. Celia smiled tightly, staying quiet.

Jayne’s blue eyes slit with sympathy. “You must have been important to him.”

“We share a lot of history.” Understatement of the year.

“And we’re nosy. Just ignore us both, and let’s enjoy the concert.”

Grateful to have the spotlight off her for now at least, she turned her attention to the stage, where the focus narrowed to a true spotlight on a lone bar stool with a guitar propped against it.

Malcolm sat, his foot on the lowest rung, and settled the guitar on his knee. “I have a new song to share with you tonight, a simple song straight from the heart….”

The heart? She resisted the urge to roll her eyes as she thought of how he’d vowed he didn’t believe the love songs he sang. She watched with a new, more jaded perspective.

With the first stroke of his fingers along the strings, Celia gasped. Her stomach knotted in recognition.

Each strum of the acoustic, unplugged moment confirmed her fears, touched her soul and rattled her to her core. A completely low blow, unfair—and designed to bring her to her knees. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream as he sang the first notes of the song he’d written for her years ago.

He sang “Playing for Keeps.”