Читать книгу Always On Her Mind - Emily McKay, Catherine Mann - Страница 12

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 law made him all the more alluring to fans. The press had spun it into a “bad turned good” kind of story. He didn’t want fans glorifying him or the things he’d done.

His mistakes were his own. He took responsibility for his past. Atonement wasn’t something to parade around for others to applaud. Receiving praise diminished the power of anything he might have done right.

Speaking of atonement …

He tugged the leather briefcase from beside the sofa. His driver had left the essentials. He pulled out his tablet computer to check for an update from Salvatore on Celia.

Because, with memories of that kiss still heating his blood, he sure as hell wasn’t going to fall asleep anytime soon.

Celia kept her eyes closed even though she’d woken up at least ten minutes ago after a restless night’s sleep. Her white-noise machine filled the room with the sound of soothing waves. She snuggled deeper under the covers, groggy and still so sexually strung tight her skin was oversensitive to the Egyptian cotton sheets. Just one kiss, and she was already burning up for Malcolm Douglas again.

The thought of facing him was mortifying—and a little scary. What if she walked out there, lost control and plastered herself all over him again?

Last night’s kiss had rocked her to her toes. And the way Malcolm hadn’t pressed her to hop right into bed together? That rattled her even more. But then, he hadn’t pressured her as a teenager, either. She’d been the aggressor. She’d known him for years. They’d shared a music teacher, even performed at recitals together. But something had changed when they both came back from summer break, entering their sophomore year.

Her friend had gotten hot.

The other high-school girls had noticed, too. But she’d been determined. He was hers. No one had ever denied her anything, and she could see now how that had made her all the more determined to win him over. Her selfishness had played a part in how recklessly fast she’d pursued him.

She’d justified her actions by noting the interest in his eyes. Except, he’d insisted he didn’t have the time or money for dating. He’d told her they couldn’t be anything more than friends. She’d told him she didn’t need fancy romancing. She just wanted him….

After they’d been dating for five months, she’d feared she was losing him. His mother had been filling out applications for scholarships for him to attend a special high school for the arts. Celia understood Terri Ann Douglas wanted the best for her son, but it seemed the push for him to attend school out of town had more to do with getting him away from Celia than obtaining a better music education.

Or at least that was how it had appeared in her self-centered teenage mind.

Already she’d felt as if she barely got to see him between his job and their music lessons and their eagle-eyed parents. Still, they’d stolen time alone together to make out, talk, dream—make out some more. Their make-out sessions had grown hotter, as hot as possible without going all the way.

She recalled every detail of that whole day, the day she’d lost her virginity. She remembered what she wore—pink jeans and a rock-band T-shirt. What she ate—cereal, an apple and not much else, because she wanted to keep fitting into those jeans.

Most of all, she remembered what it felt like stretched out on the backseat of her car with Malcolm, parked by the river at night. She’d already pitched her shirt and bra onto the floor, along with his shirt, too, because there was nothing like the feel of her breasts against his bare chest. Her hand tunneled down his pants, and he was working the zipper on her pink jeans. They’d already learned how to give each other orgasms by stroking to take the edge off the gnawing need.

Except, that night she’d been selfish. Scared of losing him. And most of all, she’d been stupid.

They hadn’t used a condom.

Although she’d still needed him to finish her with his hand afterward because it hadn’t been anywhere near as earth-shattering as she’d expected. Not the first time.

But she hadn’t gotten pregnant then, either. Which made them all the more reckless over the following weeks when Malcolm had been deliciously determined to figure out exactly how to bring her to that earth-shattering release while buried heart-deep inside her….

Celia snuggled deeper under the covers, cocooning herself in memories. The good—then the bad when everything had fallen apart. For years she’d told herself maybe he hadn’t loved her as much as she’d loved him. That they’d only become a couple because she’d gone after him, and what red-blooded teenage boy said no to sex?

But last night, the way he’d played that song made her realize she’d only been trying to ease her guilt over how much she’d cost him, how much their breakup had hurt him, as well.

Now this new insight complicated the trip to Europe.

In the harsh light of the morning, leaving with him seemed like a reckless idea, and she didn’t do “reckless” anymore. She’d left behind impulsiveness when she’d passed over her baby girl to parents who could give her all the things Celia couldn’t. The pain of loss had pushed her over the edge.

She had to be smarter this time, to be careful for her own sake, and for his. Just the thought of seeing him once she walked into the living room sent butterflies whirling in her stomach.

Damn it. He hadn’t even been back in her life for twenty-four hours, and desire for him had flipped her world upside down. She hadn’t helped matters with that impulsive kiss, brought on by nostalgia. She couldn’t let sex cloud their judgment again. She wanted—she needed—her peaceful existence. To make that happen, she had to stay in control while facing her fears and guilt in order to move on with her life.

She flung aside the covers and clicked off her white-noise machine, the sound of waves ending abruptly, only to be replaced by a different buzz coming from outside. Frowning, she went to the window and parted the wood shutters.

Oh. My. God. Her breath caught in her throat. She stepped away fast.

Her lawn was absolutely packed.

Cars, media vans, even tents with clusters of people underneath filled her yard and beyond, overflowing onto the sidewalk. She slammed the shutters closed and locked them. Her home had been invaded, and she was damn certain it had nothing to do with her stalker.

Apparently, Malcolm had about a million of his own.

She snagged her cotton bathrobe from the foot of her bed. Sprinting for the door, she yanked on her robe and knotted the tie on her way to the living room.

Only to stop short again.

Malcolm was sprawled on the sofa wearing only his jeans, with the blanket twisted and draped over his waist. Her mouth dried up. The muscles she’d felt ripple beneath his shirt were all the more magnificent uncovered. Damn it all, why couldn’t he have gone paunchy and bald? Or why couldn’t he have at least become a totally arrogant jerk?

All right. He was a bit arrogant, but not at all a jerk. And the six-pack abs didn’t show the least sign of paunch. His hair was so freakin’ magnificent his fans named that signature lock of hair over the brow—calling it “The Malcolm.” Men everywhere were letting their hair grow long over their foreheads because their girlfriends begged them to. Malcolm’s fans.

His fans.

Damn. Not two minutes after vowing not to let the attraction derail her, she’d failed. She’d been so caught up in gawking at his naked chest that she’d forgotten about the sold-out audience on her lawn. Celia knelt by the sofa, her hand falling lightly on his shoulder.

His warm skin sent sparks shimmering through her.

She snatched back her hand. “Malcolm? Malcolm, you have to wake up now—”

He shot upright off the sofa. His arm whipped from under the blanket, a gun clasped in his hand and pointed at the ceiling.

A gun?

“Malcolm?” she squeaked. “Where did that come from?”

“It’s mine, and it’s registered. I keep it for protection, which seems appropriate given the threats against you. Probably a bit more daunting to an intruder than if I bash them over the head with a rolled-up music score.” He placed the black weapon on the coffee table with a wry grin. “It’s best you don’t surprise me when I’m asleep.”

“Do you get creepy fans waking you up often?” She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.

“When I first hit the charts, a fan managed to get past security into the house. But since then, no. That doesn’t mean I’m letting down my guard, and my security detail is an impenetrable wall between me and overzealous fans.”

“Then why sleep with the gun?”

“Because your life is too precious to trust to anyone else. I have to be sure.”

Her heart squeezed in her chest, and it was all she could do not to caress his face, kiss him, claim that perfect mouth of his all over again.

Clearing her throat, she nodded to the living-room window covered with simple white shutters instead of curtains. “Check out the lawn.”

His eyes narrowed, muscles along his chest bunching. He strode across the room and opened the shutters just a crack.

“Crap.” He stepped to the side, out of the sight line. “Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I was afraid this might happen. I should have insisted we leave last night before they had time to rally.”

Her misgivings churned again. “About leaving together for Europe. I’m …”

“Yeah, I agree.” He snagged his button-down shirt off the back of the chair, tucking his feet back into his loafers. “We need to go right away.”

She toyed with the tie of her bathrobe. “I’m not so sure about that.”

He glanced up from buttoning his shirt. “We don’t have a choice, thanks to the folks on the lawn with cameras.”

“So you more than suspected this might happen?”

“I couldn’t be certain.” He tucked his tablet computer into a leather briefcase. “But I had to consider it and plan accordingly.”

“What kind of plan?”

“A way for us to leave before it gets worse.” He strapped his gun into a holster and stowed it in the briefcase, as well. “As soon as you get dressed.”

“It can get worse than that? There’s no more room on the lawn.”

“There’s always room,” he said darkly. “Get dressed, and I’ll pour some coffee into travel mugs. We’ll have to eat on the road.”

“What if I decide to stay here and let you leave on your own?” So much for her resolution to face her fears. Chicken.

He stood still. Waiting. Leaving her time to realize—she really didn’t have a choice anymore. Once the press saw him leave, they would stay on her lawn until she walked out the door or until they somehow managed to break in. She needed to tuck her head and get out of here quickly.

“Right.” She sighed. “I’m going with you. But why so soon? What about packing?”

“Arranged.”

“Of course.”

He could order anything now, thanks to his money and power. And at the moment, she wasn’t in the position to turn that down. His guards had the crowd contained, but for how long?

“God, this is getting complicated.” She scraped back her tangled hair in her hand. “I have an end-of-the-year concert tonight and grades to file.”

Malcolm held a phone in his hand. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen. I can have an army of guards around the entire school if that’s what you need.”

As much as it pained her, she knew there was only one solution. “That sounds frightening and dangerous. I’ll call the high-school chorus teacher. She can conduct the concert if I send her the lineup, and I can file my grades online. Given the circus out there, I imagine the school will understand my decision to take a personal day.”

He reached out a hand. “Celia, I’m so damn sorry about—”

“Uh, really, it’s okay.” The last thing she needed was his touch scrambling her thoughts again. “You were just trying to help.”

Spinning on her heel, she raced back down the hall to her room. She yanked a sundress and sandals from her tiny closet before peeling off her pj’s.

She couldn’t help but wonder, if Malcolm suspected this kind of fan fallout, then why had he made such a public appearance? Had he been trying to force her to fall in line with his plan? If so, why? What did he have to gain from stepping in to protect her from the stalker?

None of this made sense.

She tugged out fresh underwear and didn’t stop to think about why she bypassed simple white cotton for lemon-yellow lace. It shouldn’t have mattered, and she shouldn’t have noticed her choice.

But it did matter, and she had noticed. That made her angry with herself all over again. It had been tough enough tamping down her runaway attraction after a night spent dreaming about him and that dang kiss. Now she had the additional memory of chiseled abs and his formidable male chest etched in her brain.

She yanked on her clothes and jammed her feet into sandals while the scent of hazelnut drifted into the bedroom from her kitchen. She took a valuable thirty more seconds to brush her teeth and hair, before racing back into the living room, grabbing her floral tote bag along the way so she would have her wallet and computer. “I guess it’s time to put your guards to work helping us run the gauntlet to your limo.”

He passed her a travel mug of coffee. “We’re not using the limo. We’ll go down the inside stairs to the garage.”

“My car is still at the school.” She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, nerves singing freaking arias in her stomach at the thought of all those fans outside. “I really should give my dad a call. And damn it all, Malcolm, just because I’m going with you does not mean we will be sleeping together. You have to understand—”

“Celia, stop. It’s okay. I hear you. Now hear me. I had a vehicle delivered last night in case we needed to make an escape—since the limo wouldn’t fit in your garage. You can call your father and the other music teacher once we’re on the road.” He slipped his fingers down her arm in a shivery caress then clasped her hand. “Trust me. I will not let anyone—including myself—hurt you.”

With a gentle tug, he guided her down the narrow enclosed staircase and opened the door to reveal …

A red Maserati.

Her jaw dropped and her feet grew roots. “Oh. Um, that’s a, uh, nice car.”

Sleek and sophisticated, not unlike the man beside her. The man she’d seen half-dressed this morning.

“Better yet, it’s a fast car.” He opened her door then sprinted around the front to the driver’s side. He settled behind the wheel and reached into the glove compartment for a blue ball cap. “Are you ready?”

“Nope.” Her fingers curled into the supple leather. All the better to prevent her from touching Malcolm. “I guess that doesn’t matter, though.”

“Sorry about that.” He tugged on the cap, clicked the garage door opener and revved the finely tuned engine to life. She caught the scent of his aftershave in the close confines of the sports car.

Her stomach twittered at every growl of the engine. The garage door rumbled as it rolled up, revealing the clusters of people outside.

Somehow, her hand sought out his forearm and squeezed.

As he nosed out, fans pushed at the line of security guards, the high-pitched squeals and flashing bulbs piercing even the thick, tinted windows.

Only a slight flex of muscles along Malcolm’s jaw showed any frustration on his part. This was, after all, everyday life to him now. And so totally alien to her.

The deeper they drove into the swarm of fans and paparazzi, the more and more she felt like Alice in Wonderland falling headfirst into the rabbit hole.

An hour later, Malcolm floored the Maserati on a deserted country road. The high-performance vehicle had given him the speed and maneuverability to dodge the paparazzi that had trailed him out of Celia’s garage. Miles of empty farm fields rolled ahead of them, broken by the occasional sprawling oak or faded red barn.

Best of all, there was almost zero traffic. Tractors chewed up the land off to the side. So far, only two trucks had passed going the other direction. She’d made her calls to reassure her father and to detail the program requirements for the other music teacher.

Finally, he had Celia safely away and all to himself. He wasn’t trusting the press not to find the distinctive car, so he had more change-ups planned. For now, he had a short window to be with Celia, alone on the open road. He needed to use this time wisely to help put her at ease around him again. If he expected to make a serious go at putting the past to rest, then she had to stop walking on eggshells all the time.

She’d showed signs of cold feet about coming to Europe with him when she’d seen the press and fans packing her lawn. Although, that paparazzi sit-in had also offered him the perfect excuse to whisk her away faster. Once he got her out of town and away from whoever was trying to scare the hell out of her, then he could …

What?

Somehow with that kiss, things had shifted between them. In spite of what she’d said about not sleeping together, the heat between them was still there, but matured. He’d spent most of the night thinking about her, wanting her. They were both adults. They both had settled into their lives and careers.

She hadn’t been ready to see that attraction through to its conclusion last night. He could understand that. He meant it when he’d said he would not do anything to hurt her or abuse her trust. But he had to accept that the kiss changed everything. Though he’d meant to stay away, he now knew he couldn’t leave this mission without having her one last time.

As for their past feelings for each other? Puppy love. The flowery notion of soul mates was a crock. Something created to sell music, movies and greeting cards. He was a more practical man these days. He and Celia could indulge in sex without risking their hearts.

Now he just needed to convince her.

He glanced over at Celia, his eyes drawn to the curve of her legs. Hell, he was even turned on by her cute feet with pink-painted toenails peeking out of her sandals.

Crap.

Focus on the road, idiot.

He downshifted around a curve on the two-lane highway. “I’m sorry to have made you miss out on the concert.”

“I know you were just trying to help.”

“Still, it sucks to lose something you’ve obviously worked hard on.” He felt the weight of her stare and glanced over to find her forehead furrowed. “What?”

“Thank you for understanding how important this was to me—for not dismissing it. I know we’re not a sold-out coliseum or a royal audience.”

“Music isn’t about the size or income of the audience.”

She smiled for the first time since they’d left her home. “It’s about touching the heart, the soul.”

His grip tightened on the wheel as he thought of another time she’d said much the same thing. One night, he’d brought along his guitar to serenade her under the stars. He’d picked up fast food and a blanket and told himself someday he would give her better. Give her more. She’d quickly reassured him that money didn’t matter to her, just the heart and the soul.

He should have listened to her. She hadn’t wanted this kind of life then any more than now. Regardless of what she wanted, though, she did need him. At least for the moment.

Accelerating, he sped down the deserted two-lane road.

Celia smoothed the wrinkles from her gauzy dress. “That was quite an impressive getaway. I thought for sure someone would get hit or at the very least have their toes run over. But you got us out of there without anyone getting hurt. Where did you learn to drive like that?”

“Part of the job training.” Except, it had more to do with his Interpol work than the music world, but he tried to stick to the truth as much as he could, as if that somehow made up for the huge lie of omission. But then it wasn’t something he had leave to work into conversation. Hey, I moonlight as a freelance agent for Interpol.

She laughed lightly. “I must have missed the driving class in my music education.”

“I have a friend who’s a race-car driver.” Another truth. “He gave me lessons.”

“What friend is that?” She turned toward him, hitching her knee up so her whole body shifted.

For a second, his gaze drifted to the hem of her dress. The hint of skin the movement had exposed.

“Elliot Starc. We went to school together.”

She gasped. “You went to school with Elliot Starc, the international race-car driver?”

“You know about Starc?” He stared at the road harder and told himself to keep his head on straight. “Most of the women I’ve met don’t follow racing.”

“Honey, this is the South, where people live and breathe NASCAR.” Her soft drawl thickened a little as she laughed again. “Starc is, of course, more Formula One, but some of my father’s friends take their racing interests further.”

“Fair enough. So you’ve heard of Eric, then.”

“There must have been a lot of lessons to get that good at maneuvering … the speed.” She shook her head, her hair shifting over her shoulders. “I’m still dizzy.”

He glanced at her sharply. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You didn’t. I’m all right.” She laughed softly. “Goodness knows I got enough speeding tickets as a teenager. I’m a more sedate driver these days. I no longer expect Daddy to fix my tickets for me.”

“A lot of time has passed.”

“Yet you’re here. We’re here.” The confusion in her voice reached out to him. But before he could figure out what the hell to say, she continued, “I just don’t want you to get hurt protecting me.”

“I’ll be fine. I told you. I have this under control.” Too bad he couldn’t say the same about his resurrected feelings for Celia.

He was aware of her every movement beside him.

“Oh, right. Your plan.” She straightened in her seat again. “Where are we going?”

To the one place he could be certain no one would find them. “To my mom’s house.”