Playing for Keeps. Catherine Mann

code. Now, please, go home and rest.”

      She worried about him, about the pale tinge to his dusky complexion, the tired stoop to his shoulders. His job would be easier if she wasn’t around since he wouldn’t have to stress about her. Not taking Malcolm up on his offer suddenly felt very selfish. “Dad, I’m thinking about taking a vacation, just getting away once school ends.”

      “If you come to the house, you’ll be waited on hand and foot.” He continued to offer, and she continued to say no, a pact she’d made with herself the day she’d graduated from college at twenty-four. It had taken her an extra two years, but she’d gotten there, by God.

      “I have something to tell you, and I don’t want you to misunderstand or be upset.”

      “Well, you’d better spit it out, because just saying that jacked my blood pressure a few points.”

      She drew in a deep breath of fortifying air before saying quickly, “Malcolm thinks I should go on tour with him.”

      His gray eyebrows shot upward, and he pulled off his glasses and cleaned them with a handkerchief. “Did he offer because of the reports made to the police?”

      She weighed whether or not to tell him about the incident with the rose, but then given how fast he’d heard about Malcolm’s arrival, he would hear about the little “gift” in her car soon enough. “There was another threat today.”

      He stopped cleaning his glasses abruptly, then slid them slowly on again. “What happened?”

      “A cheesy black rose left in my car.” As well as the florist coupon in some kind of mocking salute. She tried to downplay the whole thing for her father, but her voice shook and she probably wasn’t fooling him in the least. Still, she plowed ahead, trying her best to put his mind at ease. “Next thing you know, they’ll be leaving a dead horse somewhere like a parody of The Godfather.”

      “This isn’t funny. You have to move back home.”

      Seeing the vein at his temple throb made her realize all the more how her being around right now made things more difficult for him. “Malcolm offered the protection of his own security people. I guess crazed stalker fans rank up there with hired hit men.”

      “That’s not funny, either.”

      “I know.” And it wasn’t. “I’m concerned he has a point. I make you vulnerable, and I placed my students at risk by waiting this long. If I go on his European tour, it will solve a lot of problems.”

      She didn’t want her father to worry, but she had to admit there was something more to this decision than just her father. Malcolm had presented more than an offer of protection. He’d presented the chance to put their past to rest. Because he was right. The fact that she’d turned him down so promptly hinted at unresolved issues.

      But could they really spend the whole tour together? A tour that lasted four weeks? She knew because, damn it, she periodically did internet searches on his life, wondering if maybe he would play at a local arena. He never did.

      “That’s the only reason you’ve made this decision?”

      She hadn’t decided yet. Or had she? “Are you asking me if I still have feelings for him?”

      “Do you?” he asked and strangely didn’t sound upset.

      God, as if she wasn’t already confused enough.

      “I haven’t spoken to him in years.” Malcolm hadn’t spoken to her, either, not since after the baby was born, and yes, that stung. “Aren’t you going to push me again to come to your house?”

      “Actually, no. Go to Europe.” He studied her with those wise judge eyes. “Close that chapter on your life so you can quit living in limbo. I would like to see you settled before I die.”

      “I am settled,” she said and then as an afterthought rushed to add, “and happy.”

      Sighing, her father stood, kissed her on top of the head. “You’ll make the right decision.”

      “Dad—”

      “Good night, Celia.” He patted her arm as he walked past, snagging his suit jacket from the iron coatrack. “Set the alarm after I leave.”

      She followed him, stunned, certain she couldn’t have heard what she thought she’d heard. Had her father really encouraged her to just pick up and travel around Europe with the former love of her life? A man reputed to have broken hearts around the globe?

      Except, strangely, going to Europe with Malcolm was beginning to make sense. Going with him would solve her problems here, keeping her life ordered and safe. It was also her last chance to be with Malcolm, and the wild child she’d once been shouted for her go for it.

      The newer, more logical side of her even answered that leaving with him would be the lesser of two evils.

      Celia locked the door behind her father and keyed in the security code.

      A noise from the hall made her jolt.

      Her stomach gripped tight with fear and she spun around fast, grabbing a guitar propped against a chair and lifting it like a baseball bat. She reached for the alarm just as a large shape stepped out of her bedroom.

      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