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Local authorities didn’t like outsiders and were stubborn about their ability to handle matters on their own. Someone had to do something, and apparently that someone was Malcolm. Nothing, absolutely nothing, could derail him from his plan to protect Celia. He had to do this in order to make up for all the ways he’d let her down eighteen years ago.
She opened the door by the stage steps, her spine stiff and straight as she entered her small office lined with shelves surrounding a tiny desk. Musical scores and boxes of instruments packed the room—everything from triangles to xylophones to bongo drums. The smell of paper, ink and leather mixed with the familiar praline scent of Celia.
She spun to face him, her hair fanning gently, a strand caressing over his wrist. “It’s more of a closet really, where I store my cart, instruments and paperwork. I travel from classroom to classroom, or we meet in the gym.”
He adjusted the fit of his watch to cover rubbing away the sensation of her hair skimming his skin. “Just like the old days. Not much has changed here.”
The police department was every bit as slack as before, swayed by the person with the most influence.
“Some things are different, Malcolm. I am different,” she said in a cool tone he didn’t recognize at all.
And he was a man who specialized in the timbre of the voice.
“Aren’t you going to chew me out for disrupting your class?”
“That would be rude of me.” Her fingers toyed restlessly with the ukulele on her desk, notes lightly filling the air. “Meeting you was obviously the highlight of their young lives.”
“But obviously not the highlight of yours.” Leaning back, he tucked his hands in his pockets to keep from stroking the strings along with her. Memories taunted him of how they’d played the guitar and piano together, their shared love of music leading to a shared love of each other’s bodies. Had his mind exaggerated those memories into something more than they really were? So much time had passed since he’d seen her that he couldn’t be sure.
“Why are you here?” The sight of her slim fingers moving along the strings damn near mesmerized him. “You don’t have a performance scheduled in the area.”
“You follow my tour schedule?” His eyes snapped up to her face.
She snorted on a laugh. “The whole freakin’ town follows your every breath. What you eat for breakfast. Who you dated. I would have to be blind and deaf not to hear what the town has to say about their wonder boy. But personally? I’m no longer a charter member of the Malcolm Douglas fan club.”
“Now, there’s the Celia I remember.” He grinned.
She didn’t. “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you.” His libido shouted a resounding echo. Damn it all, why did she have to be even more lushly sensual now than she had been before?
“For me? I think not,” she said coolly, her fingers still lightly stroking the ukulele with instinctive sensuality, as if she savored the feel of every note as much as the sound. “I have plans for tonight. You should have called ahead.”
“You’re much more level now than you were before.”
Her expression flickered with something he couldn’t quite grasp before she continued, “I was a teenager then. I’m an adult now, with adult responsibilities. So if we could speed this up, please?”
“You may not have kept track of my schedule, but I kept up with yours.” He knew every detail of the threatening phone calls, the flat tire and the other threats increasing in frequency by the day. He also knew she’d only told her father half of what happened. The thought of each threat chilled Malcolm’s ardor and ramped up his protectiveness. “I know you finished your music degree with honors from the University of Southern Mississippi. You’ve been teaching here since graduation.”
“I’m proud of my life, thank you very much, far more than can be summed up in a couple of sentences. Did you come to give me a belated graduation gift? Because if not, you can go finish signing autographs.”
“Let’s cut to the chase, then.” He shoved away from the door and stood toe-to-toe with her, just to prove to himself he could be near her and not haul her against him. “I came here to protect you.”
Her fingers popped a string on the ukulele, and even though she didn’t back away, her gaze skittered to the side. “Um, would you care to clarify?”
“You know full well what I’m talking about. Those crank calls you mentioned earlier.” Why was she hiding the incidents from her old man? Anger nipped at his gut—at her for being reckless and at himself for having taken that tempting step closer. As if the room wasn’t small enough already. “Your father’s current case. Drug lord, kingpin. Ring a bell?”
“My father’s a judge. He prosecutes bad guys and often they get angry, make empty threats.” Her eyes met his again, any signs of unease gone, replaced with a poised distance so alien to the wild child she’d once been. “I’m not sure why this is your concern.”
And there she’d hit on the truth. She wasn’t his to watch over, but that didn’t stop the urge to protect her any more than her dress could stop him from remembering what she looked like with only her long hair draped over her bare shoulders. His frustration snapped as surely as that nylon string. “Damn it, Celia, you’re smarter than this.”
Her plump lips pressed into a tight line. “Time for you to leave.”
He gritted back his temper, recognizing it for what it was—frustrated desire. His attraction to her was even more powerful than he’d expected. “I apologize for being less than diplomatic. I heard about the threats on your life, and call me a nostalgic idiot, but I’m worried about you.”
“How did you get the details?” Her face creased with confusion—and suspicion. “My father and I have made sure to keep everything out of the press.”
“Dear old Dad may be a powerful judge, but his power doesn’t reach everywhere.”
“That doesn’t explain how you found out.”
He couldn’t explain the “how” of that. There were things about him she didn’t know. He kept much better secrets than her father. “But I’m right.”
“One of the cases my father’s prosecuting has gotten … messy. The police are investigating.”
“You’re really going to put your faith in the three-man shop they call a police department?” He couldn’t keep the cynicism from his voice. “Security around you is awe-inspiring. I should get my men to make notes.”
“No need to be sarcastic. I’m taking precautions. This isn’t the first time someone has threatened our family because of my father’s job.”
“But this is the most serious threat.” If he told her about the paper trail, he would have to СКАЧАТЬ