

### FINDING HER RHYTHM

A BACKSTAGE PASS NOVEL

BY _DANI WADE_

Copyright 2013 Katherine Worsham

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

SMASHWORDS EDITION

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Cover Art Design by Elizabeth Wallace

Editing by Ella Sheridan

Formatting by Hot Damn Designs

**DEDICATION**

This book is dedicated with love and appreciation to the best friends I could imagine having, the Playfriends: Kimberly Lang, Kira Sinclair, Andrea Laurence, and Marilyn Puett. Thanks for plotting in the hot tub, talking me off ledges, and teaching me how to have fun. Your friendships have blessed me beyond measure.

Chapter One

"You want me to nanny for a Jon Bon Jovi wannabe?" Taylor asked, laughing at Stephen's stern expression.

Not that she'd expected any different. As a high-powered attorney, Stephen was more somber than most, which was why she had to tease him every once in a while. All that seriousness wasn't good for his health.

He went along with it, for the moment. "Absolutely not. Michael Korvello and his band are way cooler than Bon Jovi ever thought of being. Trust me."

But is he as sexy?

Taylor crushed the thought immediately. Her libido had run screaming from the building months ago, and she had no intention of letting it back in the door. Her mama had been right.

Lust leads to nothin' but trouble.

If only she'd listened in the first place. Better to talk about—think about—something else.

"I'll take your word for it," she said with a shrug. "Hard rock has never been my music of choice." Though she had heard a few of the band's slower songs. The Top 40 stations she listened to might even push the envelope with some of Solar Uprising's edgier music, but mostly they loved to dish lots of gossip about the Korvello brothers—guitar player Michael and the band's lead singer Daniel, whose sexual exploits were widely documented.

"I wish you hadn't waited so long to contact me," Stephen said. "Damn it, Taylor, what is it with you and asking for help? How many times have I told you to call if you need me?"

She shrugged, her shoulders feeling heavier than usual. Too many questions. Not enough answers. "I've been standing on my own for too long, I guess."

"It doesn't have to be that way," he said, an attempt at a smile long gone. "Now that we know what he's capable of—"

"Can we please not talk about Bradley right now?" she asked, afraid tears might sneak up on her with very little provocation. Maybe teasing him some more would take her mind off her problems. "Your secretary might ask a few questions if she finds you comforting a weeping mess of a woman."

"Don't you think she's used to that by now?" he said, falling into her ploy with a grin. "Seriously, this job is perfect for you. Your background is excellent," he said. "Your record after six years of working at the county middle school is outstanding, and I can personally vouch for how great you are with kids. My monsters love you."

Taylor flushed with warm fuzzies when she thought about Amber and Katie—full of girlie-girl sass and really tight hugs.

She could use a good dose of kid fun after seven months of fear and failure.

"How old are Korvello's children?"

Stephen relaxed back in his creaky leather chair, grinning like he'd won this round. "Thirteen and fifteen. One boy. One girl. Nothing in the file indicates any problems. The current nanny had to leave unexpectedly to care for a terminally ill parent, and they need someone right away."

Taylor knew just how urgent those family emergencies could be. "Did you get Granny settled?" she asked, her heart aching that she hadn't been there to ease the transition for her only living relative. But Stephen had thought it best that she stay away while they got her grandmother settled in a new nursing home under an assumed name. Fewer crumbs for Bradley to track. Luckily her grandmother wouldn't notice the difference—her Alzheimer's disease had gotten severe over the last year.

Leaving Taylor to feel like she was losing her last grip on family along with her sanity.

"Yes, ma'am," Stephen said with a soft smile. "New facility, new name. All her paperwork is under our company's title. She'll never know the difference, poor thing, but they'll take very good care of her. I promise. One of the managers is a personal friend of mine."

"She was living completely in her childhood when I saw her last week."

He nodded. "The doctor says it's permanent at this point. But what else can we expect? She's seventy-five years old. She deserves some sort of peace and quiet."

She certainly wouldn't get any peace living with Taylor.

Turning to the window, Taylor stared out into the bright spring sunshine and wished some of that brilliant light could erase so many of her mistakes. She'd been lonely, having lost her parents two and a half years ago, and had just enough gumption to go searching for the sexual experience she'd been curious about her entire life. Bradley had been a member of a BDSM club she'd visited, hoping to experiment. They'd only been together a few months before she realized her interests had nothing to do with whips and chains but with handing over control to someone who could make her stop thinking for a little while and simply feel.

Bradley had far more painful interests.

It had taken her a while to fight both her grief and her fear, but finally she'd gathered her courage and kicked him to the curb. That confrontation had ended with her in the emergency room to check for broken bones.

Soon enough, she'd realized it was just the beginning.

She'd tried to get away from him without disrupting her life or Granny's, but everywhere she turned, there he'd been. Six months later, with school almost over for the year, she knew she'd have to do something drastic. He followed her to work, trailed her through grocery stores, and last week had broken into her new apartment. She'd barely gotten a call in to 911 before he'd snatched the phone from her hand.

Oh, he'd been careful not to hurt her this time, but his words had been even more frightening. _One day, this body will be mine again._ She didn't even know why he wanted it—at five foot six and a hundred seventy pounds, she was curvier than most. An active lifestyle had never changed that. But it didn't stop Bradley—not a single inch. Even the police couldn't hold him after he made bail for breaking into her apartment.

Where can you hide, Taylor?

She wrapped her arms around her waist, wishing she had someone to hold her tight and keep her safe. She was so tired of being the strong one. Every new stunt Bradley pulled left her shaking and lost.

Now she'd moved past scared to terrified. If Stephen couldn't help her, she was screwed.

As if he trailed the direction of her thoughts—not surprising since they'd known each other from grade school—he said, "What better place for you to be safe than behind a six-foot electrified fence and a security gate? Michael Korvello has _the best_ protection for his family, especially since he's out of the country half the time."

"Perfect. I could do without men, especially sexy ones, for about another, oh, ten years."

Even though he smiled, Taylor recognized the hint of sadness. Of regret. Stephen had watched out for her since her parents died, but a busy law practice and family meant her ex's behavior had slipped through the cracks. Until it was too late.

Plopping into a chair facing the desk, Taylor let her head drop into her hands. "This is all my fault."

Stephen was there in a few steps, squeezing her shoulders. "You were lonely, honey. You'd just lost your family, taken on Granny's care. Don't beat yourself up. He did it enough for you."

"You know he's gonna show up like a bad penny." She swallowed hard. "He always does."

"Once you're on Michael Korvello's estate, it won't matter. You could live there the entire summer and never step foot off the property. No need to, except to see your grandmother," he said with a satisfied grin. "It's almost better than a Klingon cloaking device."

She shook her head. "If other people knew what a geek you were—"

"Only you and the wife."

"How many _Star Wars_ movies do you make her watch on your rare days off?"

" _Star Trek_ , my dear. _Star Trek_."

Taylor grinned, relaxing into the familiar banter. She didn't want Stephen to worry. If she could stop herself from worrying, even better. But she'd settle for not obsessing over her last encounter with her ex-boyfriend: the feel of Bradley's hot breath against her ear and his big body holding her down on the hard plank floor...

"So what do I have to do to apply for this job?" she asked.

Considering all her savings were gone and she desperately needed money to take care of her grandmother, it didn't look like she had much choice.

"As far as Michael knows, the job's already yours. We'll worry about the details later, shall we?"

As he laid out the plan, Taylor felt her head start to swim. How had this happened? One day she was a plain middle-school English teacher. The next, a rock-star nanny.

* * *

Michael Korvello slipped into the predawn quiet of his house outside of Atlanta and let the peaceful stillness soak in for just a minute—until his brother pushed in behind him.

"Move, asshole."

That was Daniel. All noise.

"Don't be so loud. I don't want to wake the kids," Michael said.

"In a house this size, I don't think that will be an issue, bro."

He was probably right, but the standard held. He'd gotten used to tiptoeing into their rooms to take care of them when they were babies, and hadn't broken the habit.

"Just keep it down, will ya?"

_Shit_ , they were both grouchy. Ten straight weeks on the road would do that to a man.

Even so, he was addicted. He'd be out the door in half a day if it meant immersing himself in the adrenaline and pounding music that came with being onstage. At the same time he dreaded being away from his kids.

Dropping his carry-on, he and Daniel strode through the quiet back halls from the attached garage. Byron, the bodyguard they traveled with, had headed straight for the apartment above the garage after checking in with security. One by one Michael could shed the layers from the road until he was just Michael again, Dad, not guitarist for a hard-rock band growing in popularity every year.

Great job security. Tough on the personal life.

When they rounded a corner, light appeared ahead, along with the faint _swoosh-swoosh_ of the treadmill from the glassed-in workout room.

"Looks like somebody's up," Daniel said. "I hope they made coffee."

Drink of the gods. Amen.

But one look through the glass had Michael swallowing his tongue. The room was empty except for a woman running on one of several treadmills. Angled in profile, she was shorter than average, but skintight spandex shorts outlined perfectly curved hips and an ass with plentiful enough to make his palms itch with curiosity. Her top was covered by a loose T-shirt that couldn't hide the bouncing of generous breasts, moving in rhythm with the swinging of dark blonde hair.

Michael's mind immediately filled with images of tying her to his bed, sweat and all, and—

"Holy shit, brother. Who's that?" Daniel asked.

Michael could barely hear above the beating of his pulse in his chest and other very inappropriate places. Because the addition had to be their new nanny.

Without even meeting her, his body revved into high gear. _Hell no. This would not work._

Michael had been extremely careful in the five years since his wife's death not to let any form of temptation invade his private life. No booze, no drugs, and no women who stroked the dark desires he was determined to keep under wraps.

He might still have a reputation as an all-in, balls-out rock star, but he hadn't lived the lifestyle in a long time. His kids meant too much to him for that.

"I think that's my new nanny."

"Fuck me," Daniel said with a kind of awe. "How'd you get such a hot chick employed in your house?"

"I. Don't. Know. I let the lawyer hire someone."

"You trusted this to a lawyer?"

"Stephen's a good guy. Plus he has kids of his own. I thought he knew what he was doing."

But obviously he hadn't. No way would Michael have ever hired a hottie to work in his house. He wanted Plain Jane—for his own protection. Yep, he was a coward that way. Guess he'd forgotten to give Stephen that part of the job description.

"Do you know anything about her?"

Michael frowned. "Of course I do. Her name is Taylor, and the kids have told me a few things over the last few weeks."

"Like what?"

For the life of him, Michael couldn't remember.

"Looks like the monk is facing a bit of a challenge."

"What?" Michael asked, turning to look at his brother.

"Wake up! You haven't even met the woman and you're standing here with your mouth open and your dick hard. I'd say you're doomed."

"Oh hell no. First thing I'm calling Stephen and—"

"And telling him what? 'Get this woman out of here before I fuck her'?"

"Hey, language."

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Do you see any kids around?"

"No, but that's not the point."

"I know. The little boogers have ears like radars."

The familiar argument reset Michael's equilibrium somewhat, but the boat wasn't through rockin' yet. He turned back to the glass, mouth watering, while Daniel contributed his own " _mmm, mmm"_ to the party. How was he supposed to fix this?

A minute later the blonde caught sight of them in the mirror, jerked in surprise, and lost her balance on the moving belt. A muffled scream reached them outside the room. Michael knew she was going down before she even grabbed for the rails.

As he and Daniel rushed the door, Michael's mind filled with a picture of those wide, green eyes. Gorgeous.

They cleared the doors to find her scrambling back up the treadmill, struggling to get her feet under her.

"Ma'am, are you okay?"

Daniel's voice just seemed to agitate. Her hand slapped at the display until the belt stopped, then she snatched at the white cord now dangling nearby. Michael knew exactly what the button on the end of that cord did. His whole body tensed.

"Who the hell are you two?"

Her face had flushed a bright red, but it only seemed to emphasize the outrage in those green orbs. Her thumb remained poised over the bright red panic button. "Start talking before I call for security," she said, her fingers flexing.

"Wait," he said. Somehow his instincts not to wake the kids were still flying warning flags. That button wouldn't just wait the kids—it set off an alarm that would wake the whole neighborhood. "I'm Michael, Michael Korvello. I live here."

Her body froze, but it must have been too much for that gorgeous head. Even sitting down, she lilted to the side as if she'd pass out. Rushing forward, Michael made a grab for the arm she'd been leaning on to steady her.

It wasn't until she lifted those heavily lashed eyelids that he noticed the wide dilation of her eyes, the pupils almost swallowing the green rim. Her breath caught and held. So did Michael's.

As if he watched himself move, he saw his other hand encircle the inside of her wrist. Both sets of fingers squeezed just enough to make their presence known, locking her in his grip with no way out.

Her pupils expanded once more as her eyes met his. He recognized the surrender that slipped over her features as her body moved to a whole new place. Somehow he knew. Not only was his new nanny sexy, she was his own personal kryptonite.

Truly submissive.

He wanted to jerk back like he was holding fire, but controlled himself enough to lift her to her feet. Even sweaty and shaken, she was a delicious armful. He needed to get the hell away. He tried to use his brain for the first time in this situation but still found himself pulling back slowly. Oh, he was making sure she was steady on her feet. He was also lingering way longer than he should.

She didn't say a word, but her other hand moved to unconsciously trace the very point where he'd held her wrist. Her lashes dropped to protect her eyes for long moments.

Her pull finally broken, Michael glanced at his brother, who was holding back a case of hard-core laughter. _Damn bastard._ Taylor's gaze lifted to focus somewhere near his mouth, and he recognized the emotion sweeping over her face.

Embarrassment.

"Mr. Korvello, I'm so very sorry. No one told me to expect you, and I didn't know you or your—" She shot a quick glance in Daniel's direction.

Who was more than happy to supply the details. "Brother." Daniel was enjoying this way too much.

One arched brow rose at the laughter in his voice; then she studiously avoided looking in Daniel's direction. "Right. Your brother. I just saw two men in the mirror—"

"And rightly freaked out," Michael said, wanting to ease the situation so he could make sure she wasn't hurt—and not embarrass her further. "We completely understand. I didn't let the kids know I was coming because I didn't know myself."

He moved a little closer, only to have her step back quickly. "It's okay," he soothed. "Let's just check you out, see if you're okay."

"Oh." She paused for a moment as if to take inventory, one hand still holding her wrist. "I'm fine. A little bump on the head, maybe. That's all."

Daniel spoke up. "What about that knee? Looks a little scraped up."

Sweeping his gaze down her body, Michael took in a flat stomach, rounded thighs, muscled legs, and a red, angry patch of skin. "Here," he said, motioning for her to come with him. "Let's go to the kitchen. There's a first-aid kit in there."

She raised her hands in front of her as if to ward him off. "No problem. I can handle it." Then she swept by them and out the door.

"We can see that," Daniel murmured, flashing an amused look at Michael.

Yes, he could. She exuded self-sufficiency, yet Michael hadn't mistaken that glimpse of vulnerability.

These two are gonna kill me, and we haven't even added the kids into the mix.

She paused in the open doorway and looked back at him over her shoulder, her eyes darkened by the shadows behind her. "By the way, I'm Taylor Jemison. Your nanny."

He nodded, then they moved forward, Michael and Daniel trailing her down the hall.

"Wow, dude. You've seriously got to hit that," Daniel mumbled under his breath as they followed her.

"Stop. Right. There."

Daniel paused, studied Michael's glare for a moment, then kept going. "Why? I've been telling you for years: just because Claudie was a roamer doesn't mean you have to be a monk."

"I'm not a monk. Just...picky." But the thought stuck. That's why he was so horny. Surely. Unlike the rest of the guys in the band, groupies left a bad taste in his mouth, so he hadn't been laid in what felt like forever. That's all this was.

Who was he kidding? He could have a quick taste any day of the week. It wasn't what he wanted, wasn't what he needed. Michael's dominant strain had gone underground when his wife started sampling everybody but him, mostly because it would have been too easy to let his master hand mix with the rage burning deep inside. But he knew what he liked, and a quick roll in the hay wasn't it.

Unfortunately his new nanny was tailor-made to his horny specifications.

Chapter Two

What kind of reference could an employee look forward to after threatening her boss?

Granted, Taylor had thought they were intruders, maybe rabid fans, at the time, which made her feel even more stupid. She'd seen pictures of Michael around the house, but none of them were close up and she'd been too caught up in her own turmoil to go searching out what her boss looked like. After all, she hadn't planned on seeing him for another few weeks.

But would he see that as an excuse?

He'd been concerned, but distant ever since. Those mist-covered eyes somber, leaving her with the feeling that she was being judged...and not measuring up. While he was distracted with the kids, she studied him across the table over lunch. Yep, she was an idiot. After all, the man was lip-smackin' gorgeous, with dark, close-cropped hair and a goatee. His brother was fairer, with almost shoulder-length, blondish-brown hair, but the angular jaw and high cheekbones were identical.

Every time Michael Korvello turned those smoky blue-gray eyes her way, she wanted to melt into a puddle—right along with half a million other women at a time, she was sure.

Ugh. She was pathetic. Shouldn't she still be eschewing new men while she was on the run from an old one? Yet she couldn't forget the feel of his hand around her wrist, squeezing lightly. The message had been clear, _I'm in charge_. The urge to let him mold her however he wanted was overpowering, so she'd deliberately taken charge of herself. She didn't need anyone, no matter how sexy they were.

The kids definitely loved having him home. They'd both latched on quick the minute they saw him, not getting more than a few feet away. Did they think he would disappear as quickly as he'd appeared?

"Daddy," Matthew said, trying to fit two months worth of news into as short a span of time as he could, "I got all As on my last report card. Well, except for one C. And we made greenhouses in science and went on a field trip to some caves and saw bats..."

"Dude," Daniel said, "let Daddy's ears breathe for a minute. You talk to him every couple of days. Remember?"

"Right," Matthew said. He took a big bite of his hamburger but only got about halfway through chewing before he said, "But we also made posters for the Drug Awareness program, and mine will be hanging at the Galleria all summer."

"Cool, buddy," Michael said, not at all phased by his son's constant chatter. A smile even pulled at his lips, something she hadn't seen yet.

And what a sight it was.

Bradley had never been able to abide noisy kids. Of course, without a family to expose him to, it had taken several months before she realized that. By then the other warning signals had convinced her he wasn't the type of person she'd ever want to have kids with.

Matthew's growing hyperness jangled her nerves, especially since it wasn't normal for him. The more laid-back of the two kids, he could be silent for hours. But when he wanted to talk, he made every breath count. She'd been trying to work with Matthew on appropriate behavior in appropriate places. As he jiggled in his chair, she acknowledged that the excitement had led to a definite setback. And the father showed no signs of reining in his son.

It happened, but this crew seemed to take it in stride. The family laughed over Matthew's continued antics, reawakening Taylor's dreams of rebuilding a family of her own. Amazing how someone could be alone, even with a partner. Just sitting at the table, this group had more togetherness than Taylor had experienced in years.

Without warning Matthew turned full frontal toward her. She winced as he missed taking out his plate by a mere inch. His bright eyes, more the color of Daniel's, took on a pleading expression. "Taylor, are we still making cookies tonight?"

They'd been baking since her arrival, but for the first time that voice from the past intruded. _Do you really need another chocolate chip on that fat ass? Hell no!_ She almost folded under the shame of Bradley's condemnation, but the disappointment leaking into the kids' eyes had her straightening her once nonexistent backbone.

"Of course." She nodded as the kids erupted into excited chatter over chocolate chips and the marvels of cookie dough.

"Cookies?" Daniel asked. "Why the he—um, heck, are you making cookies _after_ I leave?"

McKayla, a little more restrained than her brother, answered, "It's family fun night. You're family, Uncle Daniel, so you can come too."

Both men's brows went up, and they turned to look at Taylor. Much as she would like to have controlled it, her cheeks heated and she looked away. Being the focus of that much testosterone was more than a little unnerving. "Just something we've been having fun with," she murmured.

"Yeah," Matthew chimed in. "We cook and play games or watch a movie or something fun. It's great."

"I find that it's nice for families, kids, to do stuff together," Taylor said, gaining confidence. "We enjoy it."

"I'm learning to cook, Dad," McKayla said.

If anything, Michael looked even more surprised; then he frowned. Nerves quickened in the pit of her stomach. Didn't he want the children to have fun? To bond together?

"The cook doesn't mind," Taylor interjected, "as long as we clean up."

"Which we do," McKayla said.

"Yeah," Matthew added, but this word was more of a moan than a response. "That's the only bad part of the whole night."

The men laughed, prompting Matthew to throw out his arms in a "whatchya gonna do" gesture that took out his milk glass with panache.

McKayla squealed as she jumped back from the liquid flung her way and the men stood, but Taylor held her seat. Her eyes met Matthew's when he glanced to the side.

He didn't move, almost as if he were frozen. The cook rushed through the swinging door from the kitchen with a wet towel.

"That's okay, Susan," Taylor said. "Matthew can clean up his own mess."

A quick glance around the table and Matthew's lip stuck out with petulant grace. "Isn't that her job?"

A nanny could always expect some ground to be lost in any progress, but those smoky eyes watching her without an expression didn't clue her in to how he wanted her to handle this. No one said a word. Heat flushed from her toes up to her cheeks. Although used to making children behave, Taylor wasn't used to doing it in front of their parents. As if he knew that, Matthew looked toward his father with a self-satisfied expression.

Oh, that wasn't going to happen. At all.

Taylor tried again. "Susan, give Matthew the towel. He's a young man and can clean up his own mess. Can't you, Matthew?"

Without saying a word, Matthew tucked his hands under his legs. With a nod, Taylor motioned for Susan to leave the towel on the table, then retreat to the kitchen.

Taylor didn't look toward Michael, though she felt the prickle of awareness when his gaze swung her way. Testing her, too, was he?

"Matthew, you're right. You don't have to clean up if you don't want to, but if you don't, you won't be joining us for family fun night. You can spend it in your room instead."

The child's eyes widened, and his defiance melted like butter. Matthew wasn't a bad kid—neither of them were—he was simply testing his boundaries. He'd done it when she first arrived, and she should have expected it again once a parent returned to the scene. With silent acquiescence, he wiped up the milk and looked to her for approval.

"Good job. Now take the towel back to Susan, please."

He headed for the kitchen with a little more attitude in his step, but as long as he was heading that way, she let it slide. No sooner had he breached the door than McKayla's phone rang.

"May I be excused?" she asked.

One of the other "new rules" the kids had to get used to—no cell phones at the table. She hadn't gone so far as to institute the "pray before every meal" tradition she'd learned growing up, but mealtime was family time. Not "talk on the phone" or "text with your friends" time. Taylor nodded, then watched as the young woman excused herself to the other room with her phone.

Only then did Taylor allow herself to look over at the two men still seated at the table. Daniel's mouth hung slightly open as if frozen in a moment of surprise, but it was Michael that worried her.

His frown had turned to a glare. Guess the teacher hadn't won a gold star this time.

* * *

Michael snapped his cell phone shut and listened to his kids chattering in the kitchen. The cell phone was a vivid reminder of lunchtime and all the surprises Taylor Jemison had in store for him. He'd wanted to call the lawyer and tell him to replace her, but he didn't have a good reason. And unlike a lot of celebrities, Michael wasn't interested in throwing his weight around, just for the sake of it.

Not wanting personal temptations inside his home didn't qualify, since he had no intention of sleeping with her. Or even touching her. Even if he burned to the longer he watched her. But he still wanted her to go—because he was a weak-willed bastard.

Except her performance this afternoon with the kids proved this wasn't just a gig for her. She was good. Really good. Which had made him angry for a moment. If she'd sucked as a nanny, he'd have an excuse to act.

His kids weren't bad. He'd isolated them from a lot of exposure, protected them with security and private schools, and kept a lot of secrets about their mother from them. Still, constant trips meant his visits home included chaos, something Michael had no idea how to tame. Sometimes being home made him feel like an alien visiting Earth. He loved Matthew and McKayla, but he sure didn't know how to do the father thing. The kind of father he truly wanted to be.

How could he fault someone for trying to institute some structure without slamming down a heavy hand? He focused once more on the laughing voices inside the kitchen. How could he give up someone who might just teach them what it meant to be a family?

His libido was an issue all his own—as evidenced by her remote behavior from the moment he'd let her wrist go.

" _Wow! Kids and cookies, too? Now who's the superstar?"_ Daniel's words floated through his head. She definitely wasn't what he'd expected, and just might be what he needed. _What they all needed._ So he should suck it up, just like Daniel said.

This wasn't a groupie. This wasn't his dead wife, and wasn't someone worming their way in to get close to a rock star. This was an employee doing her job.

He could handle that, couldn't he?

Sure he could, if he just kept his mind on his kids and her hand off his dick. _His_ hand. Damn it, his hand.

He scrubbed at his face, aiming to wake himself up and get in the game. Keeping her around would be harder than he thought.

With a wry twist of his lips, he headed into the busy kitchen, following the draw of happiness and the lure of butter and brown sugar.

They'd assembled homemade pizza masterpieces, with Susan's blessing, and had now moved on to the dessert portion of the evening. Although as he walked into the room, he wondered just how many cookies would make it to the oven, considering the blatant dips into the cookie dough bowl.

His gaze met a laughing green one, sparkling with knowledge of his thoughts. "Don't worry," Taylor mock whispered. "That's why we make two batches at a time."

Good thing she couldn't read all his thoughts, or she'd know he would give his next endorsement check to lick the swath of grainy butter mixture from the edge of her mouth. Her lips parted, and he wondered whether his thoughts were so secret after all. Then a wicked grin tilted her full lips, stopping his breath in his chest.

Somehow her finger was loaded down with cookie dough—he didn't see it happen because he couldn't tear his gaze away from her mouth—and she was offering it to him. "Wanna bite?" she asked.

_Oh boy, did he._ He wanted to make her take the bowl, spread it over those full breasts, and offer him a bite— Breaking the spell with a shake of his head, he leaned back. "No thanks," he said, his voice coming out a little harder than he intended.

Like flipping a light switch, the emotions disappeared from her face. "Okay," she mumbled, then popped the dough into her own mouth. An intriguing flush swept over her high cheekbones.

Damn, he'd embarrassed her. Not what he'd planned, but if it kept her away from him, then so be it.

As she turned away, she wiped over her lips with a towel, then started searching the cabinets. "Anyone know where the cookie sheets went?"

"They're over here, silly," Matthew called, then dug for another finger full of cookie dough.

"Stop that." McKayla swatted at his hand. They both collapsed into a giggling heap rather than pretending to be the almost-adults they often tried to convince him they were.

After they delivered a batch of cookies safely to the oven, Taylor rested her fists on curvy hips lovingly shaped with a pair of dark jeans, and asked, "So what game are we up for tonight?" She studiously avoided looking in his direction.

The kids jumped in, mouths first.

"Scrabble."

"Monopoly."

"Cards."

"Poker."

"Poker?" Taylor asked, raising a brow in their direction. "I don't know how to play that."

"But Dad does," Matthew asserted. "He could teach us."

They all looked his way, but he couldn't tell from her hooded gaze what Taylor thought of him teaching the kids how to gamble. Better not rock the boat any more tonight.

"Maybe next time, Son," he said. "Let's just go with something easy tonight."

The silence settled across the room before McKayla spoke. "So you're gonna be here next week too?"

McKayla's uncertain hazel eyes and Matthew's blue ones watched him with extra care. Michael could go onstage in front of thousands of people without a single qualm, but looking into his children's eyes prompted a high-level buzz that took up residence in his gut. He'd been looking forward to surprising them, and now was as good a time as any.

"Yes, baby, I'll be here until our next gig in Washington State."

The entire room went silent, as if the kids and Taylor were holding their breath. Did she care whether he was here, or would she prefer him out of her hair?

"In September," he said. That's when cheers erupted from the crowd, and Michael savored a high unlike anything he felt in front of an audience. God, he loved his kids.

His chest tightened as they danced around, then hugged him, one on each side. It hurt to know they had gotten so used to him leaving that they felt they had to keep their regrets inside. But their show of enthusiasm was a spotlight in his dim world.

McKayla, her face so very reminiscent of her mother—a woman who had never reached the maturity level of her fifteen-year-old daughter—gifted him with a super smile. "That's good then."

The buzzer went off, and the cookies came out of the oven. Michael appreciated the distraction so he had a moment to breathe through his emotions. Music was the energy that pumped him up and kept him from dwelling on the darkness lurking inside him—he couldn't give it up. Especially since music was what provided security and stability to his kids. He wouldn't leave Daniel anyway, even if the melodies didn't call to him almost every second of his waking days.

But he missed his family in ways he didn't know how to express. As he watched his new nanny settle the hot baking sheet onto the counter and the kids fish the gooey cookies off with spatulas, the rare domesticity of the moment hit him. As if she felt it too, Taylor looked up at him with a shy smile. A few brief seconds of communion before she turned back to make sure the hot cookies were actually landing on the cooling racks.

"How about Risk?" she asked.

To his surprise, everyone enthusiastically agreed. A game of strategy and domination. Somehow he had the feeling tonight was only the beginning of the game.
Chapter Three

"Maybe I should just go with Jane?" McKayla whined, her voice even higher than normal. An overabundance of teenage emotions practically shimmered in the air. "But what if I don't get home before Dad gets up?"

Taylor struggled to suppress a sigh. Teenage girls could obsess for hours on end, but McKayla was severely testing Taylor's limits. She'd been wavering back and forth about whether to go out for the last forty-five minutes. In that amount of time, she could probably have gone and been back by now.

"McKayla, your dad will be here when you get home," she soothed while irritation at Michael Korvello built in the background. The man hadn't shown up before three a single day in the week since he came home. From what she could tell, he stayed up late into the night, long after they all went to bed. And his kids were the ones missing out on summer fun. They were afraid to go anywhere or do anything in case a chance to spend time with him passed them by.

And it was clear they wanted that time, more than the average teenager on summer break.

"Trust me," McKayla complained. "You never know when he'll leave again, even if he did say he'd be here until September. A special gig might come up. A recording session. I just want to hang out with him while he's here."

As her heavily-lashed hazel eyes filled with tears, then overflowed, Taylor's anger grew. Not with McKayla, but with Mr. Hot Ass Rock Star who couldn't keep normal hours while he was at home.

Not that she was anxious to see him again herself. He did his best not to look her way or touch her, even casually. His rejection of her stupid offer of cookie dough still burned. Why had she done that? And eating it in front of him only opened the door for Bradley's past insults to re-emerge.

Fatty. Do you honestly need another cookie on those thighs?

So the nightmares began all over again. She pretended that she didn't notice Michael's stiff way of behaving around her, and kept herself in the background as much as possible to give the kids his full attention. Then tried not to notice how he smiled and laughed with them.

When he actually bothered to show up.

She glanced at Matthew, hoping for some support, but he was blinking. The sight of him trying to control his own emotions while he watched his sister was too much.

_That did it._ Michael Korvello was going to get a piece of her mind. But until then...

"How about you invite Jane out to lunch? After that, your dad will be up and y'all can hang out and swim for the afternoon. You invite someone too, Matthew." She took a deep breath, mentally crossing her fingers. "How's that sound?"

Thank goodness, it was just the pacifier the kids needed. After shipping them off to collect their friends in the family SUV with Byron, Taylor's stomped on bare feet toward the wing of the house she hadn't visited since she'd moved in.

With each step, her anger transformed into nerves, but remembering two teens and their teary eyes spurred her forward. She was the nanny and as such, needed to look out for McKayla's and Matthew's best interests.

Michael didn't seem to understand just how lucky he was to have such great kids. And he was clueless how to deal with them. They were like three boats without engines or compasses.

Her own loneliness, lurking ever since her parents had died in a car accident two and a half years ago, surged forward. She beat it back, focusing on her steps and her mission.

She might not be taking the traditional route by trying to force a parent to be involved—real nannies probably filled the emotional void themselves—but she was going on gut instinct here. Besides, the last few years had taught her she wasn't a traditional kind of girl. At least, not in the religious sense that had permeated her southern upbringing.

After a couple of wrong turns, she finally reached the corridor leading to Michael's suite and had to stop. The sight of several oversize photos on canvas, black-and-white against the buttery yellow walls, held her breathless. A much younger Michael, bare-chested, in jeans, cradled his babies in various poses. His large hands held their tiny bodies with confidence, like he was used to taking care of something so small, so fragile. Those gray-blue eyes practically jumped out at her—they were shining with love and vulnerability.

Where was this Michael? The bad-boy rocker with a tender side. The father who'd do anything for the child in his arms. The man who understood the responsibility he'd been blessed with.

This was the father Matthew and McKayla needed. And by God, she wasn't walking away until they had him.

That resolution gave her the courage to continue down the hall and through the double doors. Darkness shrouded the room on the other side, despite it being almost twelve thirty. The same creamy walls as the corridor reflected tiny slivers of light peeping around navy curtains, giving her the barest impression of a body-sized lump under the matching comforter in the middle of the bed.

Not giving herself a chance to think, she crossed to the window nearest the bed and jerked the curtains back. Then the next set of windows. Then the next, until sunlight streamed into the artificial cocoon.

"What the—"

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty," she said, struggling to keep a sneer from her voice. Didn't sound like she succeeded.

Something moved; then Michael sat up in the middle of the bed. The blanket fell to his waist, revealing naked, tanned skin sprinkled with a dusting of dark hair. She swallowed hard to loosen her tight throat. _This is more important than your libido, Taylor._

"What do you think you are doing?" he groaned.

That warning voice went straight to her nervous system, setting off alarm bells. Good and bad alarms. Keeping her eyes averted, she hid her reactions behind her best parent/teacher conference voice. "I realize it's rude to wake someone who's sleeping, but your children—"

He jerked fully upright, drowsiness shaken away in an instant. "Tell me what's wrong."

A frown tugged at her forehead. "Why?" she asked, her gaze wandering back over him then skittering away again. "You'd know if you weren't sleeping every day away."

He stared at her a few moments, as if trying to figure out why she was really here through osmosis. "What is this? A life lesson?" he joked, though the tension didn't dissolve from those tight, very naked shoulders.

Boy was it hard to maintain righteous indignation in the face of all that skin. But his condescending smile helped get her back on track.

"Listen, I just spent the morning dealing with two crying teenagers who desperately want to spend time with their father. You don't get to make the jokes."

That brought out a full-on glare.

"Entertainment isn't my job," she explained. "It's yours. You do it every day for rabid fans. Now it's time to do it for your kids."

The noise she heard could have been classified as a growl, but whatever it was shot straight to secret places that seemed to be heating up over this little argument. "Are you presuming to order me around?" he ground out. "I'm the boss here. Besides, you don't know me. You know nothing about me."

He was right. She didn't. But his actions spoke pretty clearly. He either didn't know how to be a father or didn't care. Those pictures said he cared.

"I know your kids. They not only need you, they want you with them. Do you know how special that is at this age?" She softened her tone, hoping to get through to him.

His body didn't move an inch, his gaze steady as he faced her. Though short, his black hair was pillow tousled, his eyes barely blinking, his jaw scruffy once more with a heavy day's growth of beard. _What would that feel like against her neck? Her breasts?_ Wrangling her thoughts, she forced herself to meet that still-sleepy gaze. "Well?"With a resigned sigh, he lay back against the pillows, displaying the same bare chest she'd seen in the portraits in the hallway. Only the muscles were mature now, defined. The light covering of dark hair narrowing at his waist was even more tempting than his face. "Do you know how late we're up on the road?" he asked, the words almost a weary sigh that drew her gaze back up. "Every night. For months sometimes."

"Are you still on the road...or are you home?"

His only answer was a slow blink.

"Meals are important face time with kids this age. They have looked for you every day at lunch, only to be disappointed."

"Are you sure it's not the broccoli Susan insists on serving?"

_Damn man._ "Don't be a smart-ass. This is your family we're talking about."

He relaxed into the mattress like a king taking her presence for granted. His eyes drifted closed, turning her outburst into the equivalent of a childish temper tantrum. "And you've decided you're the boss, huh?"

That anger made another appearance in two seconds flat. She hated being dismissed. "Somebody needs to be." Crossing the room as fast as her short stride would take her, she made a grab for the edge of the covers. "Get up. Come downstairs. Spend time with your kids."

Before she could complete the motion, Michael had regained control. Both hands now clutched warred over territory. His eyes flashed, but she couldn't recognize the emotion behind it.

"Look," he bit out. "I love my children. I take care of their physical needs, provide for them. As you've seen, I give them a home. So, I don't know how to make us a family." The eyes that had examined her like an experiment every time they were together now seeming to plead without softening an inch. "I never have."

Those pictures in the hallway proved otherwise. "Just be with them, Michael," she said through the tightness of her throat. "Look at them, watch them, spend time with them. They'll tell you what they need in their own way." She stood for long moments more, wishing she didn't sound so bossy and know-it-all, but years spent in full classrooms had taught her a lot. Matthew and McKayla's needs _were_ simple if he'd only take the time to see them.

"They want to be with you," she repeated. A smile worked its way out, snagging his attention. "That is a rare gift. Enjoy it."

"At their age the last thing I wanted was to spend time with my mom."

A rare, half grin made an appearance, melting her insides. She told herself he didn't mean anything by it, but her body had other ideas.

Definitely time to go. She retreated a few steps, then resumed her best schoolteacher's voice. "Good. I think we're on the same page. Now, get your butt out of bed and join us."

"Yes, ma'am." Then that regal air reappeared as he stood, capturing her attention with his full, commanding glory.

It wasn't until he closed the door to the bathroom behind him that she realized she'd just watched her very naked boss walk across the room with her mouth hanging open. Probably drooling.

He was indeed qualified to be a rock star.

Chapter Four

She should have let his lazy ass stay in bed.

Although considering the state of it, he worked out pretty often. But that wasn't the point. It wouldn't have helped her anyway. She was going to have to get in the pool in front of him at some point. But maybe she could already be in the water before he graced them with his presence. Less exposure time.

She could still beat him there if she hurried. Pulling on her modest black one-piece, she shimmied out of her clothes in the dressing room. Across the narrow corridor, she could hear McKayla changing too, and Jane next door. Matthew was down the hall in the men's locker rooms with his friend. Not only did the Korvello's have an indoor/outdoor pool, they also had locker rooms for changing and showering off. Pretty sweet. And it meant she didn't have to traipse through the house in her swimsuit—thank goodness.

What normal woman wanted to parade half-naked in front of a rock star? Especially one as built as Michael Korvello?

Breathing deeply, she tried to banish the vision from her mind and calm her racing heart. But it didn't seem to be helping any. Her skin broke out in a sweat that made it even harder to pull the stretchy material up over her stomach.

"We're going out," McKayla called as she hurried by.

"I'll be there in a minute." _And please let it be a minute before Michael._

Her total lack of professionalism this morning just might make her expire from humiliation. She thought she'd kept a pretty tight lid on her reactions to him since he'd been home. Her reawakened sexuality was disconcerting enough. Having him realize how much she craved even a little taste of him would burn her alive with embarrassment.

Just as she got the swimsuit straps secure, her cell phone rang. Normally she wouldn't take it with her to the pool, but she needed to be available in case something happened to Granny. Glancing at the display, she kissed her chances of slipping beneath the concealing water good-bye.

"Hey, Stephen. What's up?"

"How's it going, my friend?" he asked. "Still enjoying yourself?"

_I was._ "Sure. The kids are great."

"I hear Michael is home now. Pretty intense character, isn't he?"

"He's interesting, all right."

Something in her tone must have been off. "Any problems?" he asked, his voice deepening with that genuine concern she knew so well.

_None that I can admit to anyone else._ "No, I'm fine. What's up?"

"Let me just start by saying, Granny is fine."

"What's wrong with her?"

"Nothing. Didn't I just say that?"

"Well, yes..."

"Look. I got a call from her old nursing home this morning. Looks like Bradley has been nosing around over there, trying to figure out where she's been transferred to."

Taylor's throat tightened. "Is she going to be safe?"

"She is, Taylor. Trust me. I've hidden her as well as I would my own grandmother under the circumstances, okay?"

She tried to breathe deep and still her racing heart. _Stephen knows what he's doing._ And he loved Granny almost as much as she did. "Okay." She wrapped her towel around herself as best she could and shoved her feet into flip-flops before making her way to the door.

"I just want you to be aware of what's going on—not to scare you, but so you don't feel left in the dark," he said.

"You better."

"Oh, I don't want to be on the receiving end of the death stare."

She smiled. "I reserve that for kids."

"Not always. I can still feel the burn."

Taylor rang off, laughing, which was probably Stephen's intention all along. For the moment Granny was safe. That's what she had to focus on. No worries for today—well, except for wearing a bathing suit in front of a man who had probably seen more naked females than a gynecologist.

Maybe she was exaggerating, but not by much if you believed the gossip. Adjusting her straps, she let the nerves rush over her, then pulled open the door.

A quick peek into the common hallway showed no signs of life, so she stepped out into the open, only to lose her grip on her towel. She caught the edge quick enough to keep it from hitting the floor, but thank goodness no one saw her ungraceful juggle and exposed thighs.

A groan echoed through the hallway.

Too late. With a quick shimmy she righted it, securing the fluffy length high around her not-so-tiny waist. How much skin did he see?

Then Michael's husky, slightly sarcastic voice snuck up from behind her. "Oh, come on. Fair's only fair, right?"

The reminder of seeing him naked kept her frozen a moment too long. Glancing over her shoulder, she found him much closer than she had anticipated, just feet from her. His shadowed gaze traveled up and down her length, as if to take in every exposed curve...and judge her for it. So much for hoping he'd stubbed his toe.

His hooded eyes and shuttered expression weren't telling her anything. He checked her out like she was an inept prostitute trying to practice her wiles on him—unsuccessfully. Full of suspicion and something she could swear was anger, but it didn't match his snarky statement.

Maybe she could make amends by apologizing for her pushiness in his bedroom?

"Look, Michael, I'm really sorry about this morning-"

"Don't be. I know I can be a selfish ass on occasion." His gaze seemed to have paused somewhere in the vicinity of her upper back. Right at the towel line. His eyes narrowed, hiding his thoughts. "It isn't often that someone calls me on it."

Okaaay. Was that good or bad?

She tried again. "I just want you and the kids to make the most of what you have." _While you still have it, unlike me._

He didn't respond, which made her even more uncomfortable. She paused for a moment longer than necessary, praying he'd say something, but no such luck. With an old-fashioned gesture, he allowed her to precede him to the door.

Great. _Give him even more of a jiggly show._ Her legs refused to work for a minute. _Just move, damn it._ She acquiesced with ill grace but quickly tried to cover it up.

Somehow she knew she didn't succeed.

Her body had never been skinny, not even as a teenager. She'd had curves galore, and added some weight after her parents died that she'd only been able to shed in the last year. After the kick-ass glimpse she'd had of Michael this morning—well, needless to say having him eyeing her ass as she walked to poolside and dropped her towel wasn't an appealing thought.

Not that she had any business wondering what he thought of her body. But that never stopped a woman from judging herself, did it?

Walking into the glass-enclosed atrium still made Taylor want to pause in awe, even after weeks of swimming here. The rain that had moved in forced them indoors, but they weren't missing anything. This side of the pool was surrounded by decorative concrete and lush tropical plants that thrived in the humid environment. The far side of the pool was sculpted with a combination of smoothed-down rocks that formed a waterfall in one corner.

Now this was her idea of paradise.

"Taylor, look at this!"

She paused to watch as Matthew did a swan dive off the elevated diving board, only to tuck into a cannonball at the last minute.

"Wow, dude," Michael said as his son surfaced. "You've gotten really good at that."

"Oh, wait until you see what else I can do."

McKayla groaned from her poolside perch with Jane. "Now you've done it. He'll be yelling 'watch me' for an hour."

Michael just laughed and dropped his towel on one of the lounging chairs. Taylor had been so busy worrying about her own body she hadn't paid much attention to his. Big mistake. The next thing to go was the T-shirt, leaving lots of bare skin around a pair of board shorts. Not as naked as this morning, but just as droolworthy. Especially since this view showed off the gorgeous phoenix tattoo that graced the back of his left shoulder.

Taylor made herself to look away before her tongue snuck out. As it was, she found it hard to breathe. Forcing air into her lungs, she shut down her brain so she could drop her own towel without panicking.

Yeah, nothing like feeling judged to make you _not_ want to drop trou. The all-in-one standard maillot covered most everything except her upper back and a smaller circle at her lower back. Nothing titillating to see there.

His attitude, coupled with her earlier reminder of how much Bradley had controlled her—and was still trying to control her—sent a blaze of rebelliousness whipping through her. Her jaw clenched tight until it ached, but still she slung the towel off and gathered steel into her spine. Looking neither right nor left, she walked with deliberate consciousness to the steps into the pool.

Loving to swim, for Taylor this pool area was like walking into a dream. The cavernous glassed-in room was filled with plants and light, even with the gray skies outside. Still the water was a little cool as it mixed with the rainwater from outside via the connecting tunnel where the pool met the wall. All they had to do was swim through and they were outdoors. McKayla had told her the outer pool was closed off during the wintertime and some kind of barrier installed so the inner pool could be heated during the cold months.

Amazing.

Keeping her head high, she descended into the chilly water step by step until the blessed protection reached her waist. The steel wilted a little, her bravado fading as her imperfections were covered by the water. Not that her chest was any smaller, but at least most men found that interesting.

Michael still stood halfway up the pool when she finally dared look, his focus on encouraging his son and his friend to even further antics. From this angle, his long legs, dusted with dark hair, were tight and strong. Their inherent power brought to mind the sight of his bare muscular thighs and made her wonder just how much force they could put into a thrust of his hips. Her inappropriate thoughts made her glance away the moment Michael's face turned, and she ducked under the water to cool off.

She surfaced just as Matthew did after a dive, and Michael cannonballed right near his son, sparking a tidal wave of water right into Matthew's face. He sputtered and shook his head; then the fight was on.

McKayla watched their mock battle from her new perch on a float, shaking her head. "Men." She glanced over at Taylor. "Want to swim some laps?"

Taylor nodded and the girls started off with ten, the number that had become their almost daily goal. Stretching out to glide through the water felt great, but the sensual slide of its coolness against her skin only reminded Taylor of things she'd rather forget with a half-naked Michael not far away. She pushed herself even harder, racking up time and a half above McKayla and Jane in an effort to exhaust her body into not feeling. Not wanting.

It didn't work as well as she'd hoped. Not with pictures of full-naked Michael running through her brain.

Finally too tuckered to go any farther, she lounged against the side of the shallow end where a tile bench was formed and watched the girls laze in their floats. The guys seemed to have given up the fight, moving on to a diving competition. Michael had disappeared since her last sighting of him.

All the better for her peace of mind.

Her eyes slid closed as she let the nearby waterfall drown out the boys' antics. A few minutes later water splashed near her shoulder and she braced herself for one of Matthew's sneaky assaults, but instead that deep, signature voice spoke from above her.

"The kids really enjoyed family night."

Her eyes flew open to find Michael seated on the lip of the pool nearby, his legs dangling in the water with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. Thank goodness he'd covered up that delectable torso. Except now she was eye level with heavily built thighs and naked knees—how could even this man's knees be sexy?

Looking up into his face, she found an almost accessible expression she'd seen on him. The muscles around his eyes had relaxed and he met her gaze without the hooded expression that normally obscured the mysterious blue of his eyes. Her heart pumped a couple of extra beats.

Take it easy. No employee should double for a sex-starved groupie. In any situation.

"Just the kids?" she asked, aiming for a light tone. "I mean, somebody sure seemed to enjoy trouncing us at Risk."

He laughed, and the move completely transformed his dark, handsome looks into something resembling a warrior angel, the contrast between light and sin so tangible it took her breath away.

This was how he responded to the kids and his brother. Only she seemed to be the recipient of his somber brooding.

With a shrug, he brushed over his competitiveness, but the grin still tugged at those sculpted lips. "Where did the idea come from?"

Wow. He was acting almost human. "My parents," she said, loosening up as she remembered those happy times spent around their kitchen table. "We did it all through my teens, usually on Sundays. I even came home for it after I left for college."

"Still?"

Her gaze shifted into the distance when he turned those intense eyes her way. "No. My parents have been gone for over two years now."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, so low she almost couldn't hear it over the sound of the waterfall feeding into the nearby corner of the pool. For long moments neither of them spoke, but for once she didn't feel the need to rush in and fill the silence. When she did that, she always ended up regretting it.

After about a hundred ripples brushed the edge of the pool, Michael said, "My mother died when the kids were little."

Taylor knew from experience that condolences were often empty, making the loneliness worse. She glanced toward him but didn't dare look into his eyes, instead focusing on the contrast of the blue and white print on his swim trunks. "What was she like?"

"Strong. Independent. Single all her life. She dated, but wasn't willing to let a man move in and take over what she saw as her domain." He grinned again, pulling her gaze upward. "Daniel and I tested her something fierce, but somehow she was always one step ahead, maneuvering around us, laughing at our surprised expressions when she caught us red-handed."

"That is a strong woman—to handle two rowdy boys with ease and a sense of humor."

"She was, right up to the end." He shifted on the smooth tile. "Now Daniel and the kids are my only family."

She knew exactly how that felt, except her only family didn't even remember she existed. _Time to think of something else._ He was probably only talking to be nice, but the conversation kept her focused on something other than his body.

"It must be nice, being in the same band, getting to spend so much time with your brother." She snuck a quick peek toward his face, which had lost that illuminating smile.

"Sometimes it's a helluva lot of fun. Sometimes I feel like I do nothing but herd cats all day."

A giggle burst out. "That's not how I envisioned life in a band."

The somber look wasn't directed at her this time, but it was there nonetheless. "A lot of people assume a lot of things. Very rarely is any of it true." Finally the grin reappeared and he cut his eyes down at her, leaving her floating with emotions she couldn't identify. "Then again those rare moments are something else."

"Are they worth it?"

His eyes slid closed, giving her the chance to study the almost peaceful expression that softened his strong features. "Absolutely."

"It must be incredible, being able to live your passion like that." She was jealous. She loved kids, had thought she was meant to be a teacher, but Bradley had taken that from her too.

For now.

Michael's deepened voice cut through her thoughts. "Passion is made for living. Otherwise it dies."

Chapter Five

You'll never be free of me. No one will ever want you like I do.

Taylor shifted on the cool cotton sheets of her bed, eager to escape the voice of her tormentor.

We're perfect together, Taylor. I command and you obey.

This wasn't what she wanted, but the voice refused to go away.

I'll tie you to me forever, whether you want it or not.

"No." Taylor jerked awake, finally able to shake sleep enough to stop the nightmare.

Bradley had tormented her for so long, she should be used to his voice replaying over and over in her head. Somehow his abuse had mixed with her own guilt for letting him gain so much control over her while she grieved for her parents. In the aftermath, her brain spent her sleeping hours rehashing her mistakes.

Sometimes she could make it stop. Most nights, she couldn't. Hearing from Stephen that Bradley had been nosing around made the voice that much louder.

Distraction had been the winning strategy so far. Lying in bed trying not to think about the past, her mistakes...that only made the dreams worse. Dragging herself out of bed, she drew a knee-length, thin robe over her tank top and sleep shorts. Luckily for her, the cook kept a particularly decadent brand of hot chocolate in the kitchen ever since she'd discovered it was one of Taylor's weaknesses.

The evenly spaced night-lights gave just enough illumination to the darkened halls for Taylor to make the trek without turning on the overheads. One o'clock in the morning wasn't the ideal time for waking the kids—or her employer.

Heat burned her cheeks and along her neck as she promised herself she would never awaken her employer again—even if the house was burning down.

He was on his own.

She piddled around in the kitchen, letting her mind get caught up in the tiny details of heating milk, mixing, stirring, and sipping. All her muscles relaxed with the first hot, dark taste.

The cool air conditioning and rain that still came down outside allowed her to imagine it was fall, her favorite season. She could close her eyes and pretend the last year never happened. That Bradley hadn't started stalking her, hadn't threatened her in any way. But then she'd have to pretend she hadn't had him removed from her apartment by police officers, and that was the best decision she'd ever made.

A little too late, but still the best.

Then she'd landed herself in a situation where she totally lusted after her boss, a man who went out of his way not to touch her. Not even a casual brush of the fingers when passing the salt. Who frowned at her more often than not, at least until this afternoon in the pool. And who probably found her curves repugnant after years of feasting on Barbie dolls morning, noon, and night.

Wow. She felt so much better.

Maybe she'd watch television for a while, drift off to a movie instead of a litany of memories and regrets. But as she followed the hallway along the back curve of the house toward the space affectionately named the "family room"—where everyone gravitated to hang out—she heard a few haunting notes, so faint she wondered if they were manifestations of tonight's overactive imagination. The closer she came to her destination, the louder the sound.

Though she knew she shouldn't, her feet still carried her through the doorway and onto the second-story balcony that overlooked the firelit family room below. This side of the house was built on a slight hill, so the room was one level down from the main floor. The fireplace crackled with a small fire, just enough to take the rainy chill from the air. The rest of the room remained in darkness, almost tranquilized with the simple sound of an acoustic guitar.

Hauntingly beautiful, the music built on her melancholy mood, reawakening the ache to hold someone close. As she approached the entryway, a voice joined the melody.

Instinctively she knew it was Michael, but he sounded different than the times she'd heard him on the radio. Even in his brother's background, his voice had a distinct hard edge.

Tonight sadness penetrated the words, giving her a glimpse of the man beneath the stone. He sounded less in control and more, well, exposed.

Like a breath of fresh cool air

The taste of you on my tongue

Just the scent of sun in your hair

Tells me I'm no longer alone

My arms wouldn't be empty

My heart would be full

I'd take you down with me

Love you every way that I could

The longer she stood there, the more Taylor felt like she was witnessing a side of him Michael rarely showed anyone. The same side she'd glimpsed in the pictures of him holding his children—vulnerable, full of fear, ready to love, aching with need.

Something that drew her, even when she knew she shouldn't watch.

She took a step back, determined not to intrude, only to catch the sharp edge of a side table. The rattle of photo frames was just loud enough to be heard over the rain, but Taylor held her breath, praying the noise hadn't traveled to the room below.

"McKayla? Honey, is that you?"

Without the stretch of the music as a guide, Michael's voice sounded strained, tight. Taylor found she couldn't leave him alone when she knew exactly how the loneliness could close your throat and make it hard to breathe. Even if she was asking for him to reject her again.

With a shaky breath, she stepped from the shadows. "No, Michael. It's me."

He sat at the far end of the room, shrouded in darkness, with only the low-burning fireplace to illuminate the closest edge of his body and gleam off the guitar that rested in his lap.

"Taylor? What are you doing up so late?"

The remembered fear, the looming presence of Bradley's continued pursuit froze her for a millisecond, but she forced herself to descend the steps into the room. "I couldn't sleep." She lifted the mug in her hand, though she wasn't sure if he would see it. "Thought some hot chocolate would help."

As she moved closer, she could make out the faint grin that pulled at his lips. He waved toward the fire. "We're both seeking warmth tonight."

Unsure of her welcome, she slipped forward in the darkness and ease down onto the sofa a few feet away.

"I'm sorry if I disturbed you," she said, her voice hushed in deference to both the late hour and the air of solitude that permeated the room. "I didn't mean to—"

"Don't." He leaned back in the chair, farther into the shadows where she could only make out the reflection of the fire in his eyes. He cradled the guitar like a child, his long fingers absently tracing its bottom edge.

Long, silent moments crept by, and Taylor's heart thudded uncomfortably loud in her ears. But still she couldn't dredge up the will to walk away. The movement of his fingers mesmerized her, lulling her into the intimacy found in the shadows.

Finally the words slid from her, without thought or volition. "If you're lonely, why do you leave? Your family is here."

His body stiffened for a moment; then his words shot across the space between them with the accuracy of an arrow. "Honey, what I really need, my kids can't give me."

The burn that had simmered underneath her skin as she watched him flared out of proportion. A few deep breaths helped her bring it under control. She pulled the flimsy robe a little tighter around her curves, unconsciously protecting them from implied ridicule.

"I understand, I really do—the need for intimacy." She tried to speak matter-of-factly, without letting her own arousal seep into her words. "The need for someone close by, to hold on to in the dark of night." She swallowed. Maybe that was going a bit too far with one's boss.

"But family, just knowing there's someone nearby who loves you, appreciates you, can go a long way toward filling the void." At least, she imagined it could, when the ache for her lost family grew too heavy for her to bear.

He jerked forward, snatching up the lone beer bottle that rested on a low table before him. "You don't know a damn thing about me. You're so naive, what I want would probably have you running in fear." He took a swig, his movements full of anger and rejection.

So she sank inside herself...away from the turbulence simmering beneath his surface. Away from revealing her own inadequacies and need. She stood on shaking limbs, her arms hugging her waist, and took painful steps back the way she'd come. Because she _had_ been naive, and look where it'd gotten her. She'd just breached the outer ring of the fire's soft glow when he spoke again.

"The paparazzi have it all wrong."

Frozen at the bottom of the stairs, she found herself asking, "What?"

"They have it all wrong, about my brother and me. I don't have sex with a new woman every night. We didn't hold orgies on the tour bus. And I didn't need whips and chains to get my wife to have sex with me."

Apparently she wasn't listening to the right kind of gossip shows.

He stalked to her as he spoke again. "People want us to be edgy, raw. After all, we're rock gods. But my needs are relatively simple."

Without volition, she found herself backed up to the wall, her fingers flat against the wainscoting to give her some piece of reality to hold on to. Though a part of her was still scared, a growing part of her felt the kindle of arousal.

He leaned in close, resting his forearm on the wall beside her head. The fire behind him obscured his face. Her pulse pounded as she felt space narrow to the inches separating them. He surrounded her, and every muscle in her body wanted to surrender.

"Does a fresh-faced middle-school teacher like you even know what bondage and domination means? Other than the academic definitions?"

Taylor thought she might have swallowed her tongue for a moment. Images flashed in her mind. Whips and chains, yes. But straps, blindfolds, and commands. Her core liquefied, but she struggled not to show it. Licking her lips, she asked, "You mean like lots of leather and handcuffs?"

Instead of disgust, he surprised her by chuckling. A deep rumbling in his chest that she was close enough to feel. Her nipples tingled as if he'd touched them.

Leaning in, his big body crowded her much smaller one. He whispered in her ear, "Close, but not close enough."

His fingers twined into her wavy hair, immobilizing her. His touch was sure. Afraid, but for once trusting her body's lead, she dove into the undertow of desire. He used the entanglement to his advantage, positioning her just where he wanted her.

"Taylor," he groaned. "I need..."

She couldn't deny him when he fused his mouth with hers. The earthy taste of beer mixed with his dark essence, drawing her under in a matter of seconds. As lips and tongue explored, she learned the true meaning of domination.

Michael held her open, available for his plunder, but everything he did set her aflame. Like he held the original roadmap for her sexual fulfillment. He didn't force himself on her. Instead he teased her lips apart, nibbled their curve, stroked deep to brush his tongue against hers. His hands in her hair tilted her head to the side, exposing the vulnerable skin of her neck. Her secret fuse to her own personal dynamite. Every lick, every suck set off shockwaves, and her pussy was ground zero.

Long moments later one hand skimmed low over her back to grip her butt and squeeze, pulling her tight against the erection trapped between them. _He actually wants this._ She felt submerged in the sensations, her core wet and open, heat travelling from his marauding tongue to every erogenous zone in her body—until she could no longer smother the moans escaping her lips.

She held her position, hands against the wall, aching to please him. If he wanted her to move, he'd show her. That knowledge kicked her need up another notch. _How many nights had she ached for this?_ For a man who could command without torment, who could orchestrate her response until she couldn't think, couldn't worry—could only feel.

Finally he returned to her mouth, but stopped when their lips were barely brushing. Their breath mingled for long moments.

Then he whispered. "Show me, Taylor."

Accepting his permission, she skimmed his lower lip with her teeth, testing the plump flesh, delivering a hint of pain. He grunted, grinding his hips even harder against her. Giving her his response. His body stiffened, small contractions showcasing his need.

She soothed the sting with her tongue, then followed where his hands directed—across his hair-roughened jaw and down to the salty skin of his neck. She felt him swallow hard beneath her questing mouth. Then she sank her teeth lightly into the crook between his throat and shoulder.

Michael hissed, his hands tightening in her hair almost to the point of pain. She could explode so easily—

Suddenly his weight disappeared and she found herself lifted up a few stairs. But he didn't follow, didn't pursue. Instead he retreated, tucking his hands behind his back and holding himself very still.

"Michael?"

Her body felt even emptier than it had before he ever touched her, aching for more of the unique fire roaring through her blood. He started this. Why wouldn't he finish it?

"I can only control myself for so long, Taylor," he said, that beautiful voice on lockdown. He continued to withdraw, step by deliberate step. His chest and shoulders stiffened even more, as if the clench of his hands wasn't enough to keep him in check. "When I stop holding back, you might not like where it leads."

That's when the memories rushed in, and Taylor knew nothing except darkness and fear.

Chapter Six

In the week since that midnight meeting, Michael developed a simple, unspoken code that he strictly abided by. He kept his hands off the help. As if she knew, Taylor kept him focused on rebuilding his family.

It was working—except during long, lonely nights where he remembered the eagerness of her mouth and the lush press of her body. She'd responded to his touch like a wet dream come to life. But, while she might enjoy it in the moment, something about the experience had scared her. It had shown clearly in her eyes the minute he set her away from him.

Had it been her unexpected reaction to a situation she wasn't sure she wanted? Her fear of what him controlling her might mean? Or something completely different? Something to do with the phone calls she took but never spoke about.

The master in him wanted to dig deep, find the answers and fix it until her arousal was open, not tainted with fear, worry, or self-consciousness. He knew he could do it.

He also knew he shouldn't.

He'd thought his own memories of that night were under control. But then there were moments, like now, when he had to suppress the urge to kill his own brother because he was flirting with Taylor, and Michael knew he was fooling himself.

His only saving grace? Even though she blushed and smiled, Taylor always brushed Daniel off and never responded overtly—at least, not in front of Michael. It was the moments when he couldn't see her, couldn't know the truth with his own eyes, that kept him far, far away.

His dark thoughts, mingled with memories of his dead wife, had him snapping at Daniel as Taylor followed the kids around a corner to the next display in the aquarium.

"How'd you get invited on this trip?" he asked his brother.

Taylor had suggested the trip a few nights ago when the kids were talking about the fish tank they used to have, how much they enjoyed watching the fish swim, and the soothing sound of the water. The aquarium in nearby Atlanta was well on its way to becoming the kids' new favorite place. Between this and the daily swims, they were definitely turning into a semiaquatic kind of family.

Daniel raised his brows at Michael's surly tone. "Um, it's a family outing, and McKayla invited me because I'm family. And I live here in the city. Remember?"

"We used to only see you on holidays," he groused, giving in to his petty irritation.

"That's before there was more to see." Daniel glanced in the direction of Taylor's disappearance like a hunting dog on the scent of a trail. "Though surely there's a holiday soon? Maybe Easter? God, she'd make a great bunny. Fluffy tail, some tiny ears, satin with fur trim..."

Michael barely managed to pull his punch enough to turn it into a hard tap. He doubted the families surrounding them would appreciate an all-out brawl—even between brothers. "Easter's in the spring." He let his primitive urges peek above the surface. "And stay away from my nanny," he said, a warning rumble deepening his tone.

To his surprise, Daniel leaned over, resting his hands on his knees. Guilt rushed in, thinking he'd hit Daniel too hard, until he realized his brother was laughing.

"What's so funny?" He left the _dipshit_ implied to protect little ears.

"Man, I've never seen you this bad. Ever."

"What?"

Daniel managed to straighten up, barely. "I just can't help hanging around. It's so fun to tease you and guesstimate how long before you jump off the deep end."

"Into what?"

"Dude," Daniel said, glancing around, "even I wouldn't say that around all these kids."

Michael narrowed his eyes, contemplating another punch. Without holding back. "It's no big deal."

"Really?" Daniel lowered his voice. "So you're not irritable, sleepless, and one hundred percent horny every time you check out that curvy ass?"

"I don't check—"

"Temper, temper," Daniel said, mimicking their mother's voice and one of her favorite phrases.

A deep breath helped Michael see exactly what Daniel was doing. "Just stop. Nothing's gonna happen." He tried another tactic. "Haven't you ever heard of sexual harassment?"

Daniel shrugged. "Hey, you saw it too, right? I doubt she'd be pressing any charges. She wants it—sub all the way."

"But I don't." And he didn't. Even if memories of her response had been keeping him up long into the night.

Daniel simply raised his brows in a way that would have had women swooning, but simply irritated Michael.

He ground his teeth together. "Daniel, this is my house, my kids. It's too complicated. _Capeesh_?"

They came around the corner in time to see Taylor bend forward over a railing next to Matthew, causing Daniel to mumble under his breath, "Bet it'd be worth it though."

"I'm not playing with my nanny." _Anymore._ Even if the fear he'd seen tempted him to uncover the mystery.

"Why not? She's hot, great with the kids, and nothing like Claudie..."

"How do I know that?" Michael murmured as he moved to follow the rest of his family.

But Daniel heard anyway. He reached out, forcing Michael to pause. His brighter blue eyes met his brother's dead on. "Man. Don't let that bitch tie you up in knots forever."

Michael didn't want that—for himself or the kids. But the longer he was around Taylor, the more he realized how deep the damage reached. He didn't want it to be there, lodged in his gut like a double-edged blade, but hell if he knew how to pull it out.

He distracted himself by looking around the big, open room filled with waist-high displays. From what he could see, they were hands-on exhibits that the kids were taking full advantage of—their advanced ages didn't stop them from acting like little kids every once in a while.

Just then Taylor moved, migrating to the side of the room with her phone to her ear. Her face was tight, and clearly agitated as she talked. One arm tucked across her torso while the other held her phone.

This happened too often. She'd take phone calls, then step out of the room for. She never talked about the caller, never explained. Daniel wondered why Michael worried he didn't really know her? This was a big part of it. What was with all the sneaking around and secrets? Too many doubts, no matter how great she was with the kids...or how luscious she tasted in the middle of the night.

He wouldn't demand she explain. Part of him wanted her to tell him on her own—like his wife never had. Claudie simply hadn't cared enough to tell Michael to his face that she was cheating on him. She wanted the security of their marriage but also the excitement, the rush of the chase. At the expense of her family...and eventually her life.

Taylor definitely had secrets she wasn't sharing with them. Him or the kids. Was this just be a job? A paycheck. Or a payoff? Remembering her long, strained moans had him conflicted.

He forced his feet back into motion. "How can I be sure?" he asked.

Daniel thought for a minute as they walked toward the kids. "You wanna make sure she isn't just a groupie? Even though her behavior has in no way indicated that she is?"

Not even that one night, the one he hadn't breathed a word of to Daniel. Her touch hadn't been needy and focused on giving him what he wanted because of who he was. Instead she had surrendered to the pleasure, connecting with him in the darkness and heat until he thought he'd explode without even being inside of her. Memories of that little bite had remained long after the tiny mark faded from his skin.

Still, he couldn't trust her enough to act.

"I guess so." Stupid as it was. "I mean, this is a woman who lives in our home. Not some casual lay I can forget about the next morning." Why was he even contemplating this? He must be crazy with lust.

A perpetual hard-on would do that to a man.

Daniel's mind seemed to be on the same track. "Man, you haven't had nearly enough sex in the last five years, in my opinion. But okay, you want to test her mettle? Why not expose her to a whole slew of rock stars? She'll have her pick, and you can see if she's fishing for deeper waters."

The thought slowly trickled through Michael's uncertainty, making sense. Was he ready to go further with Taylor? Before he did, he needed to see her in a true "rock star" situation, something outside of the "hearth and home" thing they had going on right now.

"Sounds good." He nodded as they came level with the kids, watching Taylor's approach with the thrill of a challenge racing through his blood. "Speaking of holidays, I think this might be the year to resurrect the ol' Fourth of July barbeque." He turned to Daniel. "What do you say?"

"Bikinis and beer? I say, hell yeah!"

* * *

Taylor lifted her hand to wave to the security guard at the front gate, then sighed in relief as she drove away from the estate. Fear, frustration, and a good dose of anger had mingled in her brain for the last two days.

Ever since Stephen had called to say someone had broken into his office.

He had no conclusive proof that it was Bradley, though he could guess after his run-in with the burglar himself. The silent alarm in the office had rung his cell phone, and he'd made it there before the police. Wanting to protect the personal information of his clients and cases, he'd charged right in.

Taylor had been quietly derogatory of that choice, but men would be men.

His cavalier attitude said it all.

" _Was anything broken?" she asked._

" _Other than my nose?"_

Her gasp was cut short by his manly chuckle. "Don't worry, honey. When they wrap up this investigation, I'll have him on bodily harm charges, too. Not just breaking and entering. That should keep him out of our hair for a while."

The fact that Stephen was so sure of the thief's identity had her even more concerned. She'd been right to hide from Bradley, but she couldn't hide everyone in her life. Michael and his family lived behind some pretty hefty bars, but her grandmother didn't. Realizing how exposed she might be, even under an assumed name, created an urgency to be there with her, to double-check the environment for herself. So she'd taken a personal day to spend at the new nursing home.

Michael hadn't been happy about that. Or anything else since Stephen's first call. By the time he and Daniel had caught up with them at the aquarium, his eyes had turned even cooler than normal, reminding her of icy clouds floating over the gray-blue irises.

She'd schooled herself to act like everything was normal after they'd kissed. After all, she had no other safe place to go. She needed her job, and she'd truly come to care for McKayla and Matthew. The constant reminders had worked pretty well, if she didn't count the gut-churning embarrassment and need she felt almost every time he turned those smoky blue eyes her way.

But he'd been positively glacial when she'd mentioned taking a personal day. She didn't elaborate on why and he didn't ask, but long silences tempted her to fill in details she wasn't willing to share.

Now the house was in a tizzy over the upcoming Fourth of July bash, and Taylor was happy for a few hours away.

Even so, she sat for long moments in her car before forcing herself out into the midsummer heat. She loved her grandmother, but Taylor missed her almost as much as her parents. These visits reminded her just how much she'd lost in her lifetime.

At the nurses' station, she gave her name and was greeted with a warm smile.

"Oh, it's so nice to meet you," the nurse said, motioning her in the direction of a long hallway. "We are so enjoying having Miss Maddie here with us as a patient."

Taylor had to smile at the unfamiliar name Stephen had registered her granny under. It was the name of Gran's imaginary friend when she was a kid. The bit of whimsy took the sting out of the antiseptic smell of the hallway.

When they reached a closed doorway, the nurse paused. "Now, Miss Maddie has been running a little fever today, so she's pretty much stayed in bed."

Taylor's pulse started to pound in her chest, panic setting up shop in her mind. "What's wrong with her?"

The nurse patted Taylor's arm. "Oh, don't you worry. We've given her a good check over, but she doesn't really have any other symptoms. It's probably just a fever virus."

"But—"

"But," the nurse interrupted with a firm tone, "if anything changes at all, we will let you know. Okay?"

Taylor nodded, then followed the nurse into the room. Stephen had indeed made sure her granny was comfortable. All the pictures and trinkets Taylor had decorated her former room with had been transported right over to this one. She hoped, even though the people in the pictures had become strangers, that having them nearby had eased her granny's transition a little.

The nurse left them after quietly introducing her to Miss Maddie as a guest.

Granny turned baleful eyes in her direction. "I don't feel good," she moaned, just like a child who was upset because she couldn't play.

"I'm sorry, Miss Maddie," Taylor said, only stumbling a little over the name. "I bet I have something that will help you feel better."

Granny looked dubious, but her eyes followed Taylor's reach into her purse. A little squeal erupted when she caught sight of the treat in Taylor's hand.

"Lemonheads! Those are my favorite!"

Even with Alzheimer's, some things never changed. The lemon hard candies had been Granny's drug of choice ever since Taylor was a child, and Granny had rarely been without them until she got sick. Taylor had brought extra boxes to leave with the nurses, so maybe Granny could have some each day.

Although if they left the box, she'd eat them all, one right after the other, often forgetting she'd just had a whole box less than an hour ago. It was better to ration them.

They sat together for a while, mostly in silence. Sometimes Granny talked—a couple of times about her mother, then a memory about her brother, both of whom were long dead. Granny thought they'd just gone into town for the day, leaving her behind because she wasn't well. Then after lunch they watched some television. Granny loved the old black-and-white TV shows, especially _Gunsmoke_.

Restless, Taylor let her eyes wander over to the photographs, seeing herself grow up progressively in each picture. But it was the print of her parents' wedding day that finally opened the well of loneliness that only grew deeper since that midnight kiss. Her parents had been so in love, focused on building a strong family even though they'd only been able to give birth to Taylor.

Was she destined to always stand on the outside, alone no matter how many people were in the room?

Her heart urged her to take a chance, and being around Michael every day made her ache for him. The lead guitarist for Solar Uprising wasn't just a hot, sexy musician; he was a good dad and a real man, struggling to do right by his family. That was even sexier than his taut muscles and gorgeous ink work.

But her head insisted she be logical. What if taking a chance meant she endangered someone other than herself? Not to mention having to admit out loud that a man she'd chosen to sexually experiment with had turned into her worst nightmare.

That wouldn't make her look like an idiot... _at all_.

As Granny's eyelids drifted closed about midafternoon, Taylor gathered up her purse to go. Bending low, she kissed a papery-thin cheek and blinked away tears. "Night, Granny," she whispered, then headed out to the nurses' station.

With a quick stop to remind them to let her know if her grandmother's virus got worse and to drop off the candy stash, she headed back out into the muggy Georgia heat.

As she drove away, she couldn't help but think she and her granny were each in a different kind of purgatory.

Only Granny might someday have a chance of escaping from hers.
Chapter Seven

Later that night, Taylor found herself sneaking into the house like a criminal—even though she'd been waved through the security gate without incident.

Maybe it was the lateness of the hour, maybe it was Michael's attitude when she'd left that morning, maybe it was the oppressive sadness of seeing her granny but having nothing to say... It all came crashing down on her as she stepped into the darkness of a house shut down for the night.

The kids were probably still awake but holed up in their rooms with video games and phones. Matthew was more of a sleeper than his sister, usually nodding off around ten thirty even though it was summertime. They both slept in on summer mornings like typical teens—that much at least they could match their dad for. But they were always up and dressed in time for lunch. In terms of Michael's bedtime—it was anyone's guess.

Tonight no one waited up. No one greeted her. The loneliness sunk its claws deep, bringing tears close to the surface.

Shadows crowded in every corner, the only illumination the soft glow of the tiny night-lights plugged in along the hallways. Michael could be anywhere. Snuggled up in bed (no, she shouldn't think about that after her last time in his bedroom), the pool (would he swim naked in the middle of the night), or even the darkened family room. That seemed to be his favorite hangout when he didn't sleep.

She tiptoed across the balcony, even though the only light was from the full moon outside. She stiffened so the shopping bags she held wouldn't bump against anything and make noise.

Which was stupid, except she couldn't stop herself.

No music tonight, which created an eerie kind of silence, even though it shouldn't have. _It's just quiet, that's all._

Then out of the darkness, a voice spoke. "Have fun?"

Now her arm did jerk, and she lost her grip, bags falling around her feet. "Michael, you scared the shit out of me!"

She stepped to the edge of the stairs. The faint outline of his silhouette was visible to the right of one of the windows, as if he was looking out without wanting to be seen.

"What are you doing in here in the dark?" she asked.

"What are you doing sneaking in so late?"

"I'm not sneaking," she insisted even though her earlier thoughts made her words a lie. "Why do you care?"

His long stride brought him too close for comfort. Her stomach tightened but she refused to step back. Even on the steps his height dwarfed hers, something he used to his full advantage.

"I'm the one with the right to demand answers. I have my own reputation, my children to protect. And you—you have nothing but secrets."

His words sliced through to the heart of her. If he only knew how true they were. This day had proven how barren her life was, and all that she could carry with her were memories and fears. With no one to help shoulder the burden.

"I went to see my grandmother."

Her words hung in the air. Michael blinked in the dim light as if he couldn't quite comprehend the change. His body stilled for a moment before he released the tension with a breath.

"Did you have a good visit?"

"No." Taylor shifted on her feet, almost as uncomfortable with this new topic as the previous one. But he'd said he wanted to know. This was the safest part of her to know, so she whispered, "She didn't even realize I was there."

The silence deepened until Taylor thought he must not have caught her words, but then he spoke, his tone soft. "Sick?"

"Alzheimer's." Her pulse thudded a slow rhythm in her throat. "How can your only family not even know you anymore?" Her arms wrapped around her waist for a moment, her only source of comfort when he was too far away. "But I know her." _That's enough._ It had to be.

Emotions pushed at her from all sides: desire, guilt, loneliness, fear... If she didn't lock them away, she just might explode.

The bags lying neglected near her feet provided the perfect escape. She grabbed the handles and swung them into the air. "Then I did a little shopping."

His long reach allowed him to snag a taletale pink bag in midair. How did he manage to spot the one lingerie purchase tucked in the midst of several innocuous totes?

"I see," he said, holding up the bag to study it as if he could determine the feminine secrets hiding within. "If I look inside, will I be surprised at what I see?"

She'd wanted to take this conversation in a light direction, but the words popped out before she could blink. "Depends."

"On what?"

She could barely force out a whisper. "On how you see me."

Without her permission, a single tear welled over her lashes and skittered down her cheek. But she didn't lift a hand to brush it away because that would be admitting the weakness.

"I want to see you how you really are, Taylor. Don't you know that?" She heard his long, slow intake of breath. "But you don't give me much to work with. Why won't you let me in? Not your body. Not your thoughts. It's like you're one big 'Do Not Disturb' sign."

"I want to. I need to, but I'm afraid."

"Of what?" he demanded.

Of losing someone else...of opening up and being judged. "Of pain. Of betrayal—"

"Don't you think I know a thing or two about that?" he asked.

"No, Michael, I don't. You're not exactly free with the information yourself. You might keep me at a distance by assuming I scour the tabloids for your life history, but that simply isn't true."

Her eyes closed, even in the darkness. _Maybe she could stop the tears from falling._ But a stubborn one leaked out regardless of her wishes.

"So you want my secrets first?" He closed in, his presence as dark and heavy as a gothic hero. "My wife died of AIDS."

The bombshell fell so matter-of-factly into the air between them that Taylor almost didn't recognize it. She couldn't speak. Only a murmur of concern slipped out.

"Don't worry," Michael said as if he could read her mind. "She didn't get it from me. We were long past the point of being intimate with each other. If we ever really were." He dropped the bag to the steps. One expressive hand rubbed back and forth through his close-cropped hair. "She wanted Michael Korvello, the rock star she met on the road—the bringer of good times, crazy nights, and hot bodies. She wanted to party every night, not build a family at home." His voice dropped to a murmur. "A soft place to land."

"I'm sorry, Michael." His empty tone made her ache for what he'd been through.

"I'm not. In spite of it all, Claudie gave me McKayla and Matthew. For that, I took care of her to the end."

In that moment she realized the kind of man Michael was. He would have been righteously angry over his wife's stupidity, a stupidity killed her. Uncaring whether her choices would take her away from her children. But he hadn't let that anger dictate his actions. "That was good of you."

One fist pounded into the railing of the stairs. "I didn't do it to be nice. I didn't do it because I had to or I owed her anything. I did it because I didn't want my children to know their mother was a whore."

This time he met her fully, crowding in until the space between them became nonexistent. Close enough for her to smell the musky scent of him. "I did it so the world wouldn't know what she put us through." Close enough for his heat to sink under her skin. "So I do know, Taylor. I know what it's like to have secrets. My own secrets have kept me from writing since Claudie died. Just give me a chance."

She wanted to believe. So much. "I'm afraid."

"Why?"

"Because I was stupid," she sobbed. "I trusted the wrong person, and ended up hurting what's left of my family." Granny. Stephen.

"What about you?"

"That doesn't matter."

"Doesn't it?" He advanced as she retreated until her back met the wall. Only then did he touch her, his palm resting heavy against the crook of her neck. His thumb pressing lightly against her quickening pulse. "Doesn't your hurt matter just as much, Taylor?"

She shouldn't speak, should keep the words inside. Still she felt her mouth move as if his touch compelled her. "If you wanted to know where I was going, Michael, all you had to do was ask." She could have told him a lot. Just not...everything.

He leaned farther into her, imprinting his body onto hers. His heat was a living thing as he pressed close against her. Through his T-shirt and lounge pants it reached out to her, along with the magnificent erection now pressing against her stomach. "I want to know where you're going, what you're doing, who you're talking to. I want to know a lot more than you are willing to give."

He was right. She wasn't ready to tell him everything. It was too humiliating. Too raw. She wanted to forget it all and revel in the nerves Michael set alight in the pit of her stomach.

"Who was he, Taylor? This man who made you afraid?"

"I didn't say it was a man."

"You didn't have to. I can see it every time you stiffen up, even when your eyes show how much you want me. I can hear it every time your mouth says no, even though your eyes tell me yes."

_Oh God._ When would the hell stop so she could experience a little taste of heaven?

The tension pulled between them like the string of a bow, so taut it could break at any minute. _What if one of them got hurt? Michael. McKayla. Matthew._

He leaned down, descending inch by slow inch. An approach she wanted to welcome but didn't know how. At the last minute she jerked back, letting her raw emotions lead her rather than her desires.

She didn't dare tilt her face up lest she melt into him without thought to the consequences. Still she found herself whispering, "Some nights, I just wish I could forget it all."

"Is that what you really need?" he asked.

"I need..." She swallowed, squeezing her eyes closed. She wasn't really sure what she needed. "I don't know."

That dark side of him, tempting her to surrender to his control, to his demands, called like a siren song luring her back to the depths of pain she'd barely escaped from the last time.

She couldn't trust that song again.

As if he could read her mind through the tension invading her body, he spoke against her ear. "I'll never force you to do anything you don't want to, Taylor."

Then his heat was gone. He walked past her to the hallway but looked back over his shoulder. "Know that the choice is yours."

Then he disappeared from view, leaving her with the cold reality of her solitary existence.

* * *

"So, is this the test? Or just an attempt to send Taylor screaming in terror?"

Michael turned a baleful look on his brother, who innocently picked up a stalk of celery and dipped it in cheese dip before lifting it to his smiling lips.

Reprimanding Daniel would get him nowhere.

Nor would it shut Daniel up. "I mean, you haven't done of these little get-togethers since Claudia got bored with this crowd and moved on to _other fish_ ," Daniel continued. "And second, can't you tell what a _good girl_ Taylor is?" His use of air quotes didn't help Michael's mood. "I'm surprised she didn't hightail it to her room after one look at Scooter's piercings."

His shaggy blond hair vibrated with his shudder. "And that Roxie chick Nathaniel brought with him? Bim-bo." His sotto voice was the last straw.

"Shut the hell up."

Michael didn't want to admit that he was testing Taylor. He'd started this whole thing in a moment of weakness, before he'd realized what a bad idea it was. He could see that Taylor was definitely the "girl next door" type, even if she had a little more spunk. And a lot more mystery.

Daniel always had been able to ferret out the things Michael would rather keep hidden. "So I set it up to see how she'd react," he admitted, brushing it off. "If she can't handle it..." _Maybe she can't handle me._

Having wandered around the serving island laden with party food, Michael now faced him from across the bar. Daniel flashed his famous lascivious leer. "Ooh, Michael's gonna get some," he teased before digging into a piece of chicken.

"Shut. It," Michael snapped, looking around for the supersonic ears of his children. Then he mumbled, "I sure as hell hope so."

Daniel laughed, then reached across for a fist bump. But Michael didn't find any of this funny. He couldn't purge the need sitting hot in his gut. Which meant he was probably making a helluva mistake.

"I've left the choice up to her."

Daniel froze. "Whoa. Nothing like applying pressure, brother. Do you think that was wise?"

"No. Yes." He scrubbed his hand over his hair. "Hell if I know."

If whatever this was between him and Taylor didn't work out, if she decided she truly didn't want him, he could be looking for another nanny at the very least. A way to stay out of jail for sexual harassment, at the most. Letting her decide when to come to him was supposed to eliminate the pressure.

But remembering the heat every time their bodies touched made waiting hella hard.

And didn't make the doubts disappear. So he'd jumped on the juvenile wagon and invited his rowdy friends over to make sure she wouldn't—what?

"You think she'll hit on them? Turn into an airhead? Ask Scooter to score her some drugs?" Daniel asked. "Right in front of you and the munchkins?"

"Didn't stop Claudie."

Daniel slapped his shoulder. "Man, I get it. We all have our demons."

Michael knew Daniel had his own. Different ones, that he handled in a different way, but they hurt him just the same. He absently picked up a chocolate chip cookie Taylor and the kids had baked especially for today. It didn't help that being famous almost gave them permission to act out in their efforts to exorcise them.

"But trust me," Daniel continued. "This woman _is_ true." He leaned close to Michael's ear as Matthew wandered in for a cookie, then back out the door. "She makes cookies, for goodness sakes. Loosen up and go with your gut."

Staring across the now empty room, Michael groaned. "My gut is screaming _Take Her Now_. Maybe I should be a little more discreet?"

Like a bad porno, Roxie sashayed back into the room, showing off her teeny tiny thong and barely covered, enhanced tits. Suddenly Daniel's celery stick became an obscene accoutrement. "Discreet isn't really the name of the game around here, bro."

Michael choked on his cookie.

Chapter Eight

Taylor took a deep breath and closed her eyes against the spectacle before her—but only for a moment, because Lord only knew what might happen while she wasn't looking.

The pool atrium had been turned into party central with American flags and red, white, and blue decorations. Pounding music blared from jumbo speakers, but at least it spread enough in the cavernous space that one could still hear another speak. Not that a lot of people were talking to Taylor. She mostly listened to the kids holler at each other in the pool, and the overused, high-pitched squeal of a woman erroneously named Roxie.

The thirty or so other people in the pool or draped over poolside loungers consisted not just of band members but also roadies and various staff. A couple of them had seminormal families and had brought their teens, much to Matthew and McKayla's enjoyment.

The wives and girlfriends all seemed to know each other and mingled accordingly. A few spectacular "eye candy" additions kept things lively, while the male contingent indulged in masculine posturing or outrageous games in the pool.

Taylor felt completely intimidated and out of her element.

Oh, she could handle the men any day—after all, she was used to spending hours with barely civilized teens. These guys were nothing but overgrown kids.

The women, on the other hand, were hard to get a hold on. As was always the case with groups, they gravitated toward the ones they knew, and breaking into those little cliques wasn't a comfortable endeavor. Finding something in common might be a bigger challenge with a select few, which made the approach that much harder.

So she'd fallen back into the "housekeeping" role, even though Michael had told her not to do a thing except enjoy herself. But if restocking drinks and fetching towels made her feel more comfortable, then that was enjoying herself, right?

Michael hadn't given any indication exactly what her role was with him—he didn't boss her around like an employee, didn't touch or defer to her like a lover. She knew what she wanted to be—had made her decision during the lonely hours of the night. But she had no idea how to let him know. That was way outside of her experience.

Their interactions were more along the friend category, but always with an undertone of possibilities...and the possibilities were killing her.

"This crew can be a little overwhelming, huh?"

Taylor turned toward the woman who had managed to sneak up on her while she was quietly freaking out. The stylish, self-possessed redhead inspired a smile with her natural charisma. Michael had introduced her as Becca, their publicist aka wrangler, upon her arrival.

It was easy to see how Becca had gravitated toward her career. She'd put Taylor at ease immediately and could work a crowd without breaking a sweat.

Taylor watched as Scooter picked up a squealing Roxie and tossed her, cover-up and all, into the pool. She emerged from the water with laughter on her face, her spiky blonde hairstyle standing on end. At least she was a happy woman...if she'd just put on more clothes.

"Yeah, this is definitely not Kansas anymore."

Becca chuckled. "Sometimes, you can feel like the only sane one in the crowd."

Taylor turned her eyes away from the sexy striptease Roxie was doing to get out of her wet clothes, and focused on Becca's "girl next door" facade that didn't jive with her knowing look. "You sound familiar with the feeling."

Becca tossed her a knowing look. "Trust me, my parents were actors. We had creative types in and out of the house all the time—but musicians are far, far rowdier than most."

"Well, it's definitely different than the youth-group pool parties I attended as a teenager."

Becca's turquoise eyes widened a touch; then her laughter belted out full force. "I'd say so."

As they watched the antics across the pool in silence, Taylor reflected on just how true her statement was, and yet, in some ways there was no difference at all. She still felt the same awkwardness she had as a teenager, that inane desire to keep covered because her body was bigger than those around her. But a deep-seated need to flaunt something a man would appreciate remained. She was like a kid poised on the edge of the high dive, too afraid to take the plunge.

"How did you become Solar Uprising's publicist?" Taylor asked. "I hope I'm not rude in saying you look a little young. In a good way." Great, the one person who was friendly and Taylor had to insult her. Which just led to more babbling. "Not that I'm criticizing. You've obviously done a great job, considering their success."

Becca waved away her concerns. "I'm not insulted at all. Actually I _am_ young for the job, but Michael had a lot of faith in me and convinced the band to give me a chance. He knew my parents, knew I had a lot of contacts—both in the music and entertainment industries—and thought a lot of those contacts would go out of their way to help me build a name for myself and them." She grinned. "Much as I resented the implication, he was right. I just don't tell him that."

"Did your parents mind that you went into the publicity business?"

"My mother was thrilled, and she got to go with me to see Solar Uprising win a Grammy before she died."

"Oh, I'm sorry for your loss."

"Me too." Becca smiled with a mixture of sadness and light. "But she lived a full life that she was very proud of. I only hope I can accomplish half as much in my lifetime."

"And your dad?"

"Well, I can't say he's thrilled with me hanging out with this crew all the time—" Becca gestured toward Roxie and another cohort rubbing against their dates in the pool. "But we agree to disagree and he supports me in my efforts—and secretly brags about me to his friends."

Taylor chuckled. "Secretly?"

"Yeah, they tell me all about it, but he pretends it doesn't happen. The principle of the thing."

Becca sounded like she enjoyed the little game. Taylor remembered her own "traditions" with her father, but for once the sting of her loss was muted by memories of the good times. "Sounds like a great relationship," she said.

"It is. I'm very lucky." Becca turned a solemn gaze toward Taylor and lowered her voice so it wouldn't carry. "You know, I've been friends with Daniel and Michael for years now, and I've seen a lot of women come through their lives."

Taylor swallowed, not sure if she liked where this conversation might be going. "Yes?"

"Don't worry," Becca said with a grin. "I'm not going to bite. As a matter of fact, I think you just might be the one to keep Michael down-to-earth."

"I'm not sure if he needs that," Taylor said, remembering a dark night and the lonely sound of his guitar. _My arms wouldn't be empty, My heart would be full..._

"Michael's a little different than the others. Having the kids, and being the only reliable parent they have, gives him a more serious outlook on life. I like to think, secretly, he's been searching for someone to settle down with."

Taylor clamped a lid on her excitement before it could even make a peep. She wasn't betting on a forever after with Michael Korvello. He might enjoy the home she was building with the kids, she might provide an option for safe sexual encounters close to home, but one day he was going to walk back out that door to be the rock star he was born to be. And a girl like her would be left in the dust.

So why was she thinking about starting something she knew would come to such a hard end?

Becca's next words echoed her thoughts.

"Don't let them fool ya," Becca said. "Michael's a great guy, but he doesn't exactly have a 'white-picket-fence' lifestyle. Take care of yourself."

She turned at the rebel yells that erupted from the vicinity of the doors to the house. Daniel and Michael ran across the decorative concrete to cannonball into the pool.

They surfaced with whoops and hollers until one of the band members yelled, "Chicken fight!"

Becca wasted no time getting to her feet. "That would be my cue to exit. The annual chicken fight is definitely not my scene." She strode toward the locker rooms, leaving Taylor to face the music.

She turned a wide-eyed gaze toward the rest of the party, which was rapidly dividing itself by groups of two. Even the teenagers. Her stomach started to churn, faster and faster, like a merry-go-round gaining speed.

She stayed put, sort of an " _if I'm very still, no one will notice me"_ move. After all, no one had so far. But she should have known her luck would run out.

Not two minutes later Michael detached himself from the group and swam in her direction. Oh, that hot dog had been a mistake. She just might puke in the pool.

No. No no no. _Please don't make me do this._ The last thing she wanted was for Michael Korvello to try to lift her. She could just imagine the stoic grunt as he realized just how much she weighed. Not to mention having to do it in front of a handful of women shaped like twigs. With boobs, of course.

His head lifted above the water with slick grace, the wetness somehow deepening the smoky blue of his eyes. "I need a partner, Taylor."

She swallowed hard. "No, thanks."

"Come on. You wouldn't leave me hangin', would ya?"

Her expression must have showcased some of her "you bet I would, mister" sentimentality, because the laughter in his ramped up. "Come on. Just a friendly game of _chicken_." His emphasis on the word notated his challenge.

Just like he challenged her every day. Drawing her out, coaxing her to take the leap. But this time she had fear of taking her towel off in front of thirty-some-odd people on her side.

"Not happening." She shook her head to drive her point home.

Above the slosh of people in the pool, a voice suddenly rang out. "I thought you said she was a cool nanny?"

A quick glance revealed the teens looking her way, and not a single soul left out of the pool, except one woman wrangling two toddlers.

And her.

So much for outgrowing peer pressure. Her "okay" got everyone back to their preparations and their eyes off her, thank God. But not Michael's.

He watched with a raised brow as she stood next to her lounger. Her legs shook with the desire to run back to the locker rooms and hide. How could she possibly do this? But some teeny-tiny spark inside insisted she could ramp up that sexy glint in his eyes.

Fake it till you make it.

Sucking in her stomach, she let the towel drop to reveal her new swimsuit. His gaze traveled down the teal one-piece with interest, lingering where it dipped low over her cleavage. Turning, she draped her towel over her lounger. A totally unnecessary maneuver, but his quick intake of breath told her he'd seen the heart-shaped cutout right over the dimples at the small of her back.

Did he like them?

Remembering when those dimples had been the subject of ridicule rather than an intimate secret between lovers, she approached Michael with a touch of caution. When she was within a few steps of him, he breathed, "Damn, woman."

Ah, victory.

A few deep breaths got her through the indignity of climbing onto Michael's muscled shoulders. Thankfully he didn't moan or stumble over her weight. The only thing that eased her self-consciousness was the feel of his wet skin against hers. His hands warming as they curled around her thighs. The flex of his arms as he balanced her securely.

Oh, she was so going to hell for her thoughts.

Luckily no one else seemed to be paying her any attention as one of the men yelled, "Ready. Set. Go!"

She fought to keep her balance as the free-for-all ensued. Then she unabashedly clamped her thighs around Michael's neck and held on for dear life. They both laughed so hard that she was distracted from the overt sexual nature of her position.

They weren't the last couple standing, but they made it into the top five, at least. McKayla and the sixteen-year-old boy who was dazzled to have her on his shoulders came out the winners.

Matthew complained, "They just went easy on you because you're a girl." Didn't matter that any number of "girls" now littered the pool with dripping wet hair.

But Taylor would never forget the final push that sent her falling into the water, bending Michael back with her. He'd released her with ease and was quick to pull her up and out of the way of flailing limbs and laughing people. In the midst of the chaos they'd stood for long moments, bodies touching, eyes locked, until the winners were finally determined.

The signal came naturally then. Holding his gaze, she nestled closer, letting her hands find his hips through the wet swim trunks he wore.

Even if the piercing look in his eyes hadn't clued her in, the hard erection pressed against her belly would have. She had a feeling Michael's days of waiting had just come to an end.

* * *

Michael stalked back into the house after waving the last guest off into the inky-black night. Seeing everyone outside of work had been fun, but now he needed one thing, one thing only. He just had to find the woman who would meet his needs head-on.

He would make sure of it.

As he tracked back through the kitchen, he felt like a lion hunting his prey. Desire roared through his consciousness with single-minded intent. Need pounded in his brain. Now he would have her.

No Taylor to be seen as he did a final walk through the downstairs, turning off lights and locking doors. The security system was alert and secure. The kids had hung out with the adults long after the last teenager left, and had finally wandered off to their rooms around midnight. He hoped they were exhausted. Tomorrow they left for his former mother-in-law's house for the annual two week visit before school started back. He'd spend a few days there with them, then return home.

Where he'd have Taylor all to himself.

Checking over the family room, he shut down the gas logs in the fireplace and made the rounds to turn off all the lamps. The guitars they'd been playing went back into their cases. He'd move them out to the studio in the morning.

Where was that woman? Had she scuttled back to her bedroom, her courage waning? Had she thought he would forget? Not a chance. He'd made his intentions pretty clear today, and he would keep every unspoken promise.

After he'd bound her to him, body and mind, then he'd learn all her secrets. The way he felt right now, there wouldn't be a single place to hide.

Just as he reached for the last lamp, he heard a rustle on the balcony above. A slight smile curved his lips. _There she was._

Clicking the light off, he waited for his eyes to adjust to the moonlight streaming in from the windows, then mounted the stairs. She hovered in the far shadows, inching toward the doorway as if she'd suddenly changed her mind. Thigh-length, silky material flirted over her skin, enticing him forward.

"Stop."

She froze. He prowled forward, crowding her against the wall, surrounding her with his heat. Her long, slow inhale urged him even closer, back to where they'd left off.

One more time—only this time, it would end the way _he_ wanted.

Her hands reached for his biceps, then curled in retreat. Escape wasn't an option tonight. Of their own volition, his hands buried themselves into the thick mass of her hair, soft and springy against his fingers. One touch and the pain, the loneliness that sat like a stone in his gut melted away.

He steered her gaze up to his. Gentle but firm. She wouldn't hide from him tonight.

"I want you, Taylor."

Those long, thick lashes dropped. Her last chance to shield herself. "We shouldn't do this," she whispered.

His grip tightened, massaging against her scalp in a motion that drained the tension from her body. "No more shoulds," he said. His palms slid down to cup the smooth skin of her cheeks. "Tell me you want this."

For several seconds she remained silent, the only sound in the room the quickening of her breath. Then those incredible green eyes met his and she swayed toward him. "Yes," she whimpered, "oh yes."

It was everything he wanted to hear.

Despite the urgency pounding through his body, he slowly leaned forward to take her lips. Soft, smooth skin eased his ache while ramping up his arousal. Like candy, her taste urged him to lick, suck, and nibble in order to consume. Holding the rest of his body under strict control, he joined them at the mouth, compelling her lips to part, her tongue to play with his. The moist slide of sensation was like coming home after a long stretch on the road. He groaned as her fingers dug into his arms, her body arching toward his as she gave free rein to her own need.

Retreating inch by reluctant inch, he spoke into the darkness. "No more waiting, Taylor."

The loosening of her muscles told him her resistance was melting away. Oh, he knew her rhythm, knew what she needed, and he intended to play every note. Bending, he lifted her high against his chest. Her whimper of distress made him smile. Eventually, he'd wash every last worry about her weight from her mind—at least, when it came to him and what he wanted.

Every last, curvy inch.

The hallway to his room had never seemed longer, but finally the door was closed and they were alone. He lowered her feet to the floor, giving her a minute to find her balance. Then he clicked the lock into place, holding her gaze with a deliberation that spoke volumes about his intent. She didn't quail. Her eyes widened, the bright color absorbing every ounce of dim light until he couldn't look away.

His body urged him to hurry, which made his self-control much more powerful. _The first time_.

Two fingers. That's all he touched her with. They hooked under the thin strap of her nightgown, rubbing back and forth as he eased it slowly over the curve of her shoulder to fall against her arm. Just the barest brush of skin against skin had the blood pounding through his veins, centering in his cock until he thought he would explode.

The other strap received the same treatment, causing gooseflesh to pebble along her skin. Her excitement shot a thrill through him, the adrenaline akin to the rush of a live performance.

Despite the lack of support, the material remained stretched across those magnificent breasts. His mouth had been watering all day, with every glimpse of them cupped so tightly in her new swimsuit. The only part she hadn't seemed self-conscious exposing.

His body had been embarrassingly grateful.

But before he could dive into that heavenly gift, they had to get one thing straight. "Taylor?"

"Hmmm?" Her murmur was distracted, as if she didn't quite process the language.

He tipped her chin up so he could see those gorgeous green eyes. Even in the rush of desire, he couldn't ignore the past. Someone had made her very afraid. Fear would never be a part of what they had together. "Taylor, promise me."

That caught her attention. "What?"

"Promise me, no matter what we do together, that you'll tell me if I ever hurt you."

Those eyes widened, something achingly hopeful moving through them. "Yes, Michael. I promise."

With a grin, he proceeded to give her everything he had. Not as a rock star, but as a man.

Slow deliberation revealed everything he'd been fantasizing about since the moment he'd seen her spandex-covered ass in his gym. Firm, full breasts topped with dusky-pink nipples tightened with anticipation. A sculpted Rubenesque body with a defined waist, a satisfying flare to her hips, and dark blonde curls between firm thighs. She shivered under his scrutiny.

She might worry about her size, but he'd know she worked out even if he hadn't seen it. All that muscle made him imagine those legs contracting as she rode him, hard. His hands guiding her hips in a steady rhythm. All the—

But not tonight.

Leaning forward, he whispered, "Hold still."

Starting at the top, he brushed the backs of his fingers along the picturesque landscape, returning to tantalize her nipples until she whimpered. His control cracked, urging him to give in. Stepping away, he met her gaze. "Undress me."

Excitement flared in her eyes at his command. He would enjoy teaching her everything she needed to know to please him. But first he'd teach her just how much he could please her.

Her hands shook as she guided the hem of his T-shirt up over his abs and shoulders. No sooner had his head cleared than the garment disappeared to the darkened floor. The button of his cargo shorts resisted her fumbling for an extra second of torture before slipping free and showcasing just how naked he was underneath.

Her breath stopped for long seconds, along with her movements. His cock gave a jerk of approval, as if to scream _oh yeah, look at me_. Fire settled at the base of his spine.

Without urging, she pulled the shorts down, sinking to her knees to let him step out of them. Staring down at that blonde head gave him all kinds of ideas.

Next time.

With a firm hand, he guided her to the bed. Not trusting himself once he got inside her, he addressed the first order of business. Commit every inch of her delectable curves to his memory, so he could carry the scent of her, the feel of her with him when he left.

The firm muscles of her shoulders and arms. The ribs guarding panting lungs. The gentle slope of her stomach. The more rounded pitch of her hips. Pressing his thumbs right above her pubic bone, he smiled to hear the moan coming from those parted lips. _The best kind of music._ She lifted against him, then stiffened as if she'd done something wrong.

"Don't stop, baby," he murmured in the hushed intimacy of the room. "I like to see what you want. What you enjoy."

She remained taut for long moments more, then whimpered. "What if it's not—"

"Never, sweetheart." He leaned forward to press a kiss right above his thumbs. She quivered under his lips, urging him to return. "I'm gonna like it. I'm gonna want it too."

Again that lift of her hips, bringing attention to a place he couldn't wait to visit. He let his breath warm her skin. Another tilt. This time he used his palms to press down, trapping her between him and the bed.

A mewl escaped her throat. Her body struggled in his grip. Still his breath teased her. Her legs fell open— _now that's what he wanted_. Taylor, so aroused, so excited, that nothing mattered. Not her weight. Not her past. Only him and what he made her feel. So desperate for him that she couldn't hide.

Circling his thumbs, he traveled lower, rewarding her surrender. Soft curls invited him in. Her own unique smell was stronger here, making his mouth water and his cock ache.

As he slipped lower, her thighs jerked, then clamped tightly closed. He raised his head to find her hands now closed over her breasts, her body protecting herself from his invasion. Her face turned toward the door.

What had spooked her?

Standing tall, he abandoned the siren playground for a moment, intent on setting their tone. His movement caught her attention. Turned her focus back to him. Reaching forward, he clasped each wrist like he had that first time he'd touched her and squeezed. Her back arched as she moaned. A betrayal of her need. Despite resistance, he drew the flesh covering flesh away from her body until she lay in unabashed glory against his navy bedspread.

He pressed her hands firmly against the bed. "Stay." Her fists dug into the comforter, but as soon as his hands returned to her thighs she twitched as if to cover herself again.

"Don't make me tie you down," he warned.

The shift of fear on a face illuminated by moonlight had his gaze narrowing, but her hands returned to the position he'd shown her. Her body's ambivalence was plainly written in the stiffness of her shoulders and arms, but her tits quivered, as did her thighs. _She wanted it, but didn't want to want it?_

With a hand under each knee, he used his standing position to his advantage, lifting up and out to expose her completely. She whimpered, but the glistening flesh between her thighs spoke of deep hunger.

How could he not dive right in? He'd waited too long for this particular fantasy. A steady, forceful slide of his thumb over her hard clit and wet lips prompted the first moaning cry. Her juicy flesh had him breathing deep, subduing the urge to drive himself home. By the time he'd explored virgin territory and returned to torture the hard nub, she was practically screaming behind the hand she'd moved to hold her mouth closed.

He couldn't let that slide, now could he? Crawling back over the top of her, he buried his face near her ear. "Taylor, did I tell you to move your hand?"

As if she'd just realized what she'd done, she jerked her hand back into position. Shuttering breaths disrupted her words. "No...no, Michael."

"You stole something from me."

She yanked her head up. "What?"

He growled, crowding closer to force her down. "You stole from me." He brushed his lips across hers. "I want every moan, every cry. They're mine." He pulled back. "And you will give them to me. Understand?"

Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to show her.

He once more brought his mouth to those quivering breasts. Starting at the outside, he nibbled wide, round circles around the flesh. Sometimes sinking hard enough to bring an edge of pain, sometimes whispering his tongue along silky skin. Always letting his lips and goatee brush against her...except where she wanted it the most.

This time, music filled the air. Moans, cries, whimpers. He could have sworn his ears were connected straight to his dick. Each sound made him throb, building the pressure in his balls.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her other hand lift toward him. He froze, growling his displeasure. Immediately the hand returned to the bed, clenching in the comforter as he knew she wanted to do to his hair. Not yet. He rewarded her by taking one ultrasensitive nipple in his mouth, giving it the same treatment as he had the flesh surrounding it.

Again her hips lifted, the soft hair of her pussy brushing against his abs. "Please, Michael," she moaned, his name candy sweet on her lips.

"I know, baby," he said. Reaching out, he brushed her hair back from her forehead. "You taste so good. You'll come, I promise. When I'm ready for you to come."

His hands moved back to her hip bones, anchoring her to the bed, pressing into the sensitive hollow where thighs met hips, forcing her away from him. Her cries flowed without end. Her body jerked, desperate to get closer. But he fed the fire by holding her still while he moved from one breast to the other, torturing her elongated nipples until his control cracked like glass under pressure.

"Touch me now, Taylor," he said, needing to feel her hands on him.

Eagerly she squeezed along his arms, then trailed her nails down his chest.

He groaned. "Harder."

This time she didn't hold back. Marking his chest, then his back before digging in at his waist to urge his hips closer. He could no longer deny what they both wanted, needed.

Within seconds he had the condom on and her ankles on his shoulders. She would not deny him. Her whimper as he pressed into her sent a storm of electricity through his body.

Her moisture only eased her tightness a little, her body retreating under his force slower than he'd expected. He should have known his shy girl hadn't been with anyone lately. Compared to—No, he sure as hell wouldn't bring his ex into what was happening between him and Taylor.

Finding her hard little nub with his thumbs, he massaged, groaning at the tiny spasms that tightened around his cock. Her cries shortened. Her hands grabbed and pulled at the comforter. His head fell back as her body started to engulf him. _Pure feeling._ Shifting her hips a little gave him an angle that pressed against the front of her passage. So tight. So hot. Finally, his pelvis met the wet flesh of her thighs.

Heaven and hell all wrapped into one unexpected package.

He held still for long moments, rubbing her clit, savoring the connection. _So good_. She twisted, her body demanding her due. Gathering what little control remained, he released her legs, then moved his body over hers, pinning her down at the wrist.

Her pussy tightened in one long, slow pull, making him question who exactly was in control. One second. Two. Finally he let himself go, pounding into her, each thrust so much pleasure it was pain. On the edge of his consciousness, he heard her cries break free. Louder. Stronger. She pulsed around him, over and over, until her body bowed up in ecstasy. He thrust hard, once, twice, his hands pulling her against him with a grip that would have hurt if they had noticed.

One more heartbeat, then his world exploded, leaving him shattered in the aftermath.

Chapter Nine

The insistent ring of a phone dragged Taylor from her satisfying sleep. Not the sleep of the innocent, if she remembered her dreams correctly. But drifting into dreamland was so enticing when a naked Michael Korvello waited instead of nightmares.

She patted around the bedside table for her cell phone, only to realize the house's landline was ringing. Was it Michael? Was something wrong? He and the kids had left yesterday for Kentucky, so who else would be calling at one a.m.?

"Yes?" she asked, struggling to jump-start her sleepy brain.

"Um, hello," a hushed male voice said. "I'm calling on behalf of Daniel Korvello."

"What?" She sat upright, pushing her hair back from her face. "Who is this? Is Daniel all right?"

"Yes, ma'am. At least, I think so. But I need to talk to his brother."

"He's not here."

"Oh." A long pause ticked by until she wanted to yell at him to get on with it. "I really need his brother."

"He's not here. Now tell me what the hell is going on. Right. Now."

Ten minutes later she was waving good-bye to the night security guard as she pulled out of the estate and headed into Atlanta. The voice on the other end of the line had explained he was a night manager in an Atlanta hotel. Responding to noise complaints, he'd gone into the room and found the singer passed out, clothes and booze everywhere, and some damage to the room.

Daniel had been alone.

Concerned about the obviously drunk singer, the manager had called the emergency number listed in Daniel's cell phone. The house line. But Michael was too far away, so Taylor was heading down there to see what she could do before any reporters caught wind of the situation.

The manager—he said his name was Max—had gotten Daniel to respond, but he was drunker than Cooter Brown and the man was good enough not to want to leave him alone. Taylor told him she would hurry, and she'd sped into the night after dragging on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt.

She hadn't had time to call Michael, though she probably should have. A shiver of awareness shot along her nerves despite her anxiety over Daniel. Michael would return the next evening, and she couldn't decide if she wanted to pick up where they left off or lock herself into her room like a terrified teenager.

His control had been nothing like Bradley's. He'd dominated her subtly, not grinding her body or self-esteem into dust. The things he'd insisted on doing had been about pleasing her. They had pushed her outside of her comfort zone but not too far. Exposing her, building her need, forcing her to express herself. He hadn't ignored her needs and desires in favor of his own. Michael had taught her what a man in control was capable of making a woman feel.

The experience had been incredible.

Perversely, she wasn't sure if she wanted to repeat it. She'd felt too much. The experience had left her raw, exposed. Now she feared Michael for a different reason—for what he could make her feel.

Could she risk letting him manipulate her body when it might lead him to her heart? She'd drifted off to sleep with him spooned against her back, safe and satisfied. Then woken early the next morning to rush around getting them all ready to go to the airport. Besides heated glances, Michael's only indication that they'd been together had been a hard, sensual kiss after the kids were out the door. His whispered words, "When I get back, we'll do it right," had set her body on fire and her mind into a panic.

How much more "right" could she handle?

Pulling into the hotel parking lot gave Taylor a good reason to rein in her thoughts for the moment. Not eager to look conspicuous, she parked her car near the front door but in one of the few parking spaces instead of under the overhang. The well-lit lobby blinded her for a moment as she entered, so she paused to get her bearings.

As a moderately high-end hotel, it was well-appointed, with casual seating and colorful artwork. Oddly enough, there were a few other people milling around—a group of late-night partiers, a middle-aged man helping himself to a complimentary cookie, and a younger man talking to a staff member at the concierge desk.

A sweep of the registration desk revealed a couple other employees. No manager, but an assistant manager stood on the edge of the group. Taylor gave her a small smile.

"Hi, I'm Taylor Jackson. I'm looking for Max."

"Yes, Taylor. He told us you would be coming," she said with a professional smile. As she spoke, her gaze flicked sideways to subtly indicate a man several feet away at the concierge desk. Not turning to look, Taylor cocked her head to catch a bit of the conversation.

"Come on, man. You can tell me. I heard he came in late. You couldn't have missed Daniel Korvello..."

Yikes. Was he a reporter? The thud of her heart picked up speed, nerves on edge. She didn't want to mess this up. While she might not know him well, Daniel had been nothing but nice since she'd moved onto the Korvello estate. And she knew more than most how hard friends were to come by.

Whoever it was, the assistant manager was as intent on avoiding him as Taylor was. She directed Taylor toward a set of double doors just past the elevators. "I'll call Max to meet you on your way," she said. The doors slid closed without the man looking in her direction, thank goodness.

Continuing down the corridor, she saw a man in a maroon vest speeding her way. She tensed but then spotted his manager's tag with relief. He looked slightly young to be in charge, his stocky build topped with full cheeks and longer-than-businesslike hair. His earnest brown eyes reminded her of a puppy she'd had as a kid. Max nevertheless wore a suit and turned a professionally assessing eye on her approach.

"Hi," she said, keeping her voice low. "I'm Taylor Jackson."

Max gave a small, welcoming smile. "Yes, Miss Taylor. Let me show you to the room."

The pounding in Taylor's chest eased a touch, but not nearly enough. "Is Daniel okay? Do you think he needs a doctor?"

"Yes and no," Max said as she followed him around a corner. "I'm sorry for the sneaky switch at the desk, but I didn't want the reporter to think anything was up around here."

"Couldn't you just tell him to leave?"

"That would be like admitting guilt," Max said, a grimace twisting the boyish roundness of his face. "He hangs out with Roberto on the night shift a couple times a week. Telling him to leave would have handed Daniel to him on a platter."

His steps slowed. "We encourage the contacts because it's free publicity for the hotel. But that's not what I wanted for Daniel."

He pulled out a key card but fiddled with it for a moment. "How well do you know Daniel Korvello?" he asked.

Taylor narrowed her gaze on him, suddenly suspicious that he was pumping her for information. "We're not close or anything. I've worked for the family for a couple of months. Why?"

His frown wasn't reassuring, but he swiped the card without further hesitation. "Brace yourself."

His words didn't prepare her for the chaos when she walked through the door. Clothes littered the carpet. A woman's skirt, some sequined tops, and several pairs of heels. A pair of men's black denim jeans and a white T-shirt. A comforter lay pooled at the end of the bed, and various decorative pillows were scattered throughout the room. Along one side of the bed lay a mostly naked Daniel. With a gasp, Taylor let her gaze skitter away from the boxer briefs cupping his ass and zeroed in on the back of his head. Which was all she could see with him lying on his stomach.

Skirting the king-size bed, she knelt on the opposite side and brushed the shaggy blond hair back from Daniel's face with trembling fingers. "Daniel," she prompted when he didn't move. "Daniel, wake up."

What if something was really wrong?

Further prompting only got her a crack of his eyelids before they closed again, but it was enough to tell her he wasn't in a coma of some kind. Maybe they could get by without a hospital. She looked at Max. "How long has he been like this?"

"Since I came in about two hours ago. The neighbors complained about the noise, so I came to check it out."

"What kind of noise?"

Max's gaze flicked to a spot behind her. "Glass shattering."

Turning in that direction, Taylor spotted an open door. A few quick strides had her in the doorway. Her throat tightened when she flicked the light on.

"Careful," Max said from behind her.

As well she should be. Someone, or something, had shattered one of the gilt-framed mirrors above the double sinks, leaving shiny shards littering the counter and floor like deadly sparkling crystals. "Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," she breathed.

"Why? You didn't do it."

"I know, but..."

"Don't worry. It can be fixed. I'll have to charge Daniel's credit card for the damages, though."

She turned back toward him. "Where is the woman?"

Max shrugged. "I never saw her."

Afraid to leave anything to chance, Taylor searched every inch of the suite, including under the bed and the closet. No purse. No ID. "Where did she go?" she mused.

"I don't know. I assume she'll be back eventually, since she left all her stuff. The phone on our records is Daniel's, and I didn't want to leave him alone, especially after having trouble waking him and finding this."

Taylor turned to find Max's hands filled with an empty Jack bottle, a wine bottle, and some other kind of bottle she wasn't familiar with. She glanced back and forth between them and the man passed out on the bed. "Is he just dead drunk?"

"I'm not sure. He seems awfully out of it for a man who used to drink like a fish."

"How do you know?" Was that something she'd missed, not reading the tabloids? Was Daniel an alcoholic? He hadn't seemed like one, only drinking a couple of beers at the party the other day.

"I used to go to high school with Daniel and his brother. We've lost touch through the years, of course, but the guys would occasionally come to events here and we'd catch up. Daniel's always been a nice guy, but he hit a rough patch about five years ago and gained a reputation as a heavy drinker." He gave the bottles in his hands a bemused look. "But I talked to him later that year, and he said he'd gotten that all straightened out, whatever that means. I assumed it meant he wasn't hitting it heavy anymore. Or had done some hush-hush rehab. This doesn't seem like the guy I talked with over the last few years." He gave the bottles a little shake, then set them back down on the low table.

She shook her head. She hadn't seen any signs that Daniel was an alcoholic. And heard nothing about him being a recovering alcoholic around the house. The guys had a beer every so often and there had been alcohol at the party, but that was it. No big deal.

She glanced back at the bathroom. This didn't seem like the Daniel she'd been getting to know at all. "Look, I know you are probably busy and all, but is there any way you can help me get him up, moving, and in my car? I'd rather have him back at the house than leave him here."

"Hey, I don't care how busy I am. Daniel and Michael have always been good to me, not acting like I don't exist just because they're überfamous and I'm in the service industry." He gifted her with a slight smile and sincere look in those puppy-dog eyes. "I'm more than happy to help. Otherwise I'd have spilled my guts to the guy downstairs and we'd be on the front page of tomorrow's rag mag."

Striding to the bed, she knelt at the side and brushed the hair back from Daniel's face again. "Daniel," she said, "time to get going, buddy."

After a few strokes, the heat from her skin must have gotten through, because those baby blues cracked open once more. "Sylvia," he whispered before his eyes closed again. "I'm so sorry."

"What, Daniel?" She patted his cheek a little. "Wake up, hon." He must have thought she was the woman who had been here.

It took some coaxing and a little more force to her pats to get him awake. Max helped her sit him up and fetched some coffee, though Daniel never did get really steady on his feet.

"I thought coffee was supposed to sober him up," she complained as they struggled to get clothes on his solid body. Drunk people were a bit outside of her puritanical existence.

"It usually does," Max said, huffing a little as he tried to hold his old friend steady for her to get his shirt pulled over his head. "Man, those clothes reek."

"I thought they drank the stuff, not poured it all over themselves."

"That's usually the plan with alcohol, but judging from this room, who knows?"

Taylor looked up at Michael's brother, listing on the bed, not tracking their conversation, while she got his shoes on. He just seemed odd. Had he been drugged? She hadn't seen any kind of drug paraphernalia. Not that she would know what to look for. The closest she'd ever been to drugs was what she'd seen on television and the antidrug films she'd watched in high school.

He'd known Michael was out of town. How could he let himself get into this condition? Although he probably hadn't planned on being left alone...

"I'll go pull your car around to the back service entrance so we can avoid the lobby."

"Thanks so much, Max," she said to his retreating back. She had to remember to thank Michael for being such a good guy, not one of those people who got too big for their britches when they achieved stardom. This could have been a publicity nightmare if Max had been a different kind of person. Becca would have been far better equipped to handle this situation.

While she waited, she made one more sweep of the room, looking for evidence of the woman who had left. No toothbrush, no blood, no wallet. Why had she left like that? If she'd been hurt, why hadn't she asked for help instead of disappearing?

The trip down to the car was probably comical if seen from an outsider. Neither she nor Max were quite tall enough to support such a big man, especially with Daniel unsteady on his feet. But they made it to the back door without anyone falling or crashing into something besides each other.

"Grab the door," she told Max as they approached the car. He pulled the door open, and she attempted to maneuver Daniel into the passenger seat. A major stumble and she found herself pinned between the car and a half-dead rock star. He slumped, burying his face into the crook of her neck, and she grabbed him around the waist, afraid he'd hit the ground.

Daniel groaned, his breath hot against her neck.

"You okay, big boy?" she asked.

He groaned again, then pulled back a touch and whispered into her ear, "Please, please don't tell Becca. She'll be so pissed at me."

"Aw, Daniel," Taylor teased. "Are you afraid a little bitty girl will spank you for misbehaving?"

He mumbled something, but she caught the end of it. "If she finds out, she'll never let me spank her."

Taylor froze for a moment. Um... She should have known Daniel might have some of Michael's dominating tendencies, but hadn't seen any evidence of it in his teasing banter.

Although this could explain Becca's abrupt departure the day of the party, the hint of panic in her eyes. Taylor had chalked it up to the same uncomfortable feeling she'd had about riding someone's shoulders. Considering Daniel's worried tone, maybe it had been about avoiding something more.

She patted his shoulder awkwardly from her trapped position. "Don't worry, big boy. Your secret's safe with me."

Max stepped in and helped free her, then guide Daniel into the car. She only hoped he sobered up some before they arrived at the estate, or getting him inside without anyone seeing just might be hell on her back.

* * *

"Scrambled eggs?"

Was it wrong of her to take secret delight in watching Daniel's face turn green? Considering that she needed a nice hot bath today to ease the strain in her shoulders and back, she didn't have an ounce of sympathy.

"Michael didn't mention you had a sadistic streak," Daniel said.

She flashed what she hoped was an evil eye. "Just remember that the next time you decide to hook up with a vanishing woman and get drunk in a hotel room."

Instead of pushing back like she expected, Daniel frowned in silence, rubbing the back of his fingers over the stubble along his jawline. If he thought she was going to apologize for being frank, he was sadly mistaken. She sat across from him at the bar to eat her eggs and toast.

"Something weird happened," he finally said.

No shit, Sherlock.

"I can't remember anything about last night."

She sat up straighter. "What do you mean? Like after you got drunk and passed out?"

"No." He stumbled over to the fridge and pulled out some Dr. Pepper, frowning at it for a moment before popping the top. "I mean, I don't remember anything at all. Who the woman was. How we got to the hotel. What happened there... I remember going to the club, though."

Her face must have told him what she was thinking.

"Give me a break, Taylor," he scoffed. "I've been drinking in some form since I was thirteen years old. It would take a hell of a lot more than what Max said was in that room to get me shit-faced, I assure you."

"You called him this morning?" she asked, raising her hand to cover her chewing mouth while she talked.

Daniel nodded. "I had him tell me everything he remembered. The woman hasn't returned to the hotel. No one has seen her or an abandoned vehicle." He shrugged muscled shoulders. "I wanted to make sure he understood how much I appreciated his help. He could have just tipped off that reporter and left me to face the music whenever I was conscious again."

"That wouldn't have been pretty."

"Don't I know it."

Daniel's suspicions shed a whole new light on last night...and the trouble he could have been in. "You need to be more careful, Daniel."

He cocked his head at her. "Aw, Taylor, I think you might care about what happens to me."

"Of course I do, you dimwit."

"As long as you care about what happens to Michael and the kids, that's all that matters."

The serious turn of his voice had her doing a double-take. Daniel cared about his family as fiercely as Michael. He just showed it in a different way.

She wanted him to know she appreciated the precious gift. "I promise you, they are safe with me."

Those long fingers of his, so reminiscent of Michael's, fiddled with the can in his hands. "I need a favor."

"Another one?"

"Boy, you are bitchy this morning," he said with a laugh.

"That's what interrupted sleep will get ya."

"But I'm not the only one interrupting your sleep, am I?"

Her body flushed from head to toe as memories of her last night with Michael blew through her brain.

"I see you passed the test," he said, a smirk appearing on those full lips.

"What test?"

The smirk changed to a smile in seconds. "Nothin'. I better head out. Michael won't be interested in an audience when he gets back."

And neither was she. A week and a half without the kids or anyone else in the house. She might just be entering a whole new dimension, but fear still trembled inside her. Uncertainty. _She wanted this._ With Michael, she wanted it. She wasn't going to let some nerves stand in the way.

Daniel turned to leave the kitchen, but she stopped him. "Daniel? That favor?"

He nodded, though he only twisted part of the way back, leaving his face shadowed and sketchy. "Would you mind keeping what happened last night quiet?"

"You mean, from Michael?"

"Yeah...I'd rather him not know how bad I screwed up."

The way he drew out that first word intrigued her. "And?"

"Could you not mention it to Becca if you run into her around here?"

She studied him from behind, her gaze tracing the tense set of his shoulders and the angled clench of his jaw. He'd asked her this the night before but probably didn't remember. "Any particular reason she shouldn't know?" Not that it was any of Taylor's business. She was simply...curious.

"Let's just say, her image of me is twisted enough as it is."

She nodded even though he didn't look back, and repeated her words from the night before. "Sure," she said, "your secret's safe with me."

With a quick wave he was gone, leaving her to ponder her questions and anticipate Michael's arrival.

Chapter Ten

If Michael had been any more eager to be inside Taylor, he doubted he could have appeared even close to stable when his driver picked him up at the airport after a four-hour flight delay. Not that he didn't get a few questioning looks, but he managed to hold himself together pretty well. And keep his hard-on at half-mast.

Until he found her asleep in his bed.

The moonlight shone in a concentrated shaft across her sleeping body, causing the wisp of a nightgown she wore to shimmer in the dark. It looked just like what he imagined she would wear—sheer and stretchy across her breasts, holding them high and firm enough to make his mouth water. The fullness of the bottom draped lovingly over curves to brush against her midthigh, hiding the parts that made her self-conscious while revealing the mouthwatering muscles of her petite legs. His body throbbed its approval.

She might look like a sexy angel lying there, but his plans for tonight made her more tempting than the devil.

She didn't stir as he eased onto the bed. His cock throbbed as he straddled her. Whatever her dreams, he intended to invade them, transforming her world into a place of sensual sensations where she gave him control and he pushed her every button to the extreme.

He crouched forward, clasping her wrists and pulling them toward him. He was careful to hold his weight in his thighs, not wanting her to awaken and be afraid because she was pinned down. Whatever had happened to her in the past to develop those fears and insecurities, he didn't want it having any part in their time together.

Just him and Taylor and the pleasure they could bring each other.

Steadily he increased the pressure on her wrists, drawing her to consciousness, into awareness of him. She pulled back a touch, letting her feel the simple restraint. Then her body arched against his, her barely conscious mind reaching for what it wanted. She settled after a moment, and he started again, easing her from dreamland to waking.

When her lashes flickered, he bent to tantalize her mouth with his. He played around the edges until her lips parted, coaxing her where he wanted her to be. Then the kiss deepened, stealing his breath with its intensity. How could this woman make him feel more with one kiss than all of his partners throughout a lifetime? Within seconds she had him shaking.

Incredible.

In his excitement he crowded closer, rubbing his groin against the softness of her lower belly. She stiffened. After a moment, she pulled hard at his hold, struggling to break free. The nightmares had come out to play.

She simply confirmed what he'd suspected all along. Someone, somewhere, had made her afraid of the very thing her body wanted, her mind needed. Taylor's submission was about stepping outside of her worries, her fears, shutting them off so she could only feel. Some asshole had taught her that letting go, turning that control over to someone else, led to pain.

Well, she'd learn differently with Michael. He spoke to her in the dark. "Taylor, be still."

She froze, her chest rising and falling with her panting breath. He could almost feel her mind come online, fully awake and afraid.

"Who am I, Taylor?" He didn't release the clasp around her wrists, wanting to anchor her to the present.

She blinked at the insistence in his voice, giving him his first glimpse of her forest-colored eyes in the darkness. A few deep breaths, then he sensed her attention zeroing in on his face. He held still, letting her look her fill, measure the feel of his body against hers.

No shadows between them tonight. No mistakes.

"Michael," she breathed.

Of its own volition, his body rubbed against the silk of her nightgown once more, rewarding them both for her answer.

"Again," he growled.

"Michael."

He bent closer, his mouth sucking along her collarbone, down to the bound treasures. "Again," he demanded against her skin.

"Michael," she cried as his mouth found the erect tip of her breast through the stretchy lace.

He groaned, the feel of her trembling beneath him building his own need. But he wasn't giving in. Not this time. Their first night had come and gone too quickly. Tonight he would make her feel every second.

Every inch.

Slowly he brushed his body along hers, absorbing the silky slide of the gown, the softness of the skin at her thighs, the slight rasp of the lace. Her body heat burned him through her clothes, enticing him closer.

He returned to her mouth. She opened immediately. _Good girl._ Slipping his tongue inside, he played, coaxing her to follow him, teaching her how to please him. He explored the landscape of textures. He sucked her full, moist lips, then once more skimmed his tongue along the inside.

His excitement built like their first time. Their first kiss. He growled in frustration, needing his hands. He would touch every inch of her before the night was through, inside and out.

Raising her arms above her head on the mattress, he pressed firmly. "Stay."

His movements choppy, he retrieved the straps from his bedside table and secured her spread-eagle in the middle of his king-size bed. This time she didn't struggle but instead watched him through wide eyes that seemed to absorb every ounce of moonlight in the room. Walking from one side to the other, he studied her from every angle.

He'd never seen anything sexier.

The light tan of her skin faded to pale cream in the dark, even creamier against the bright blue of her nightgown. The material shimmered as she moved, drawing his eye to all the secret places it settled. Places he couldn't wait to revisit in more detail.

Finally pausing at the end of the bed, he waited, knowing how badly she wanted him to move. Not yet. "Baby, you are so sexy like this." Slowly, he fisted his cock with his hand, giving her a chance to watch it all.

"Look what you do to me." Stroke by tight stroke. He grew harder under her avid gaze. Her hips shifted on the mattress as best they could while strapped down, need overriding her fear of exposure.

"Do you want me to play with that pretty pussy, Taylor?"

Her legs strained again, but silence reined.

"Tell me, Taylor," he said, hardening his voice.

Finally that soft whisper in the dark. "Yes, please."

Inside, he smiled. Only a good girl would say "please". After long moments he moved, kneeling in the V of her legs. Her smooth skin called to him, distracting him from the momentary relief of his hand around his cock. Instead, his aching palms quested over the hills and valleys of her sculpted legs. A trembling sigh escaped her lips.

"Oh, Michael."

That's right. It's me touching you.

He squeezed and kneaded the muscles, loving the firm resistance. Down to her toes, where he massaged each foot until those precious moans filled the room. Then meandering up to the heat radiating between her thighs. His fingers skimmed beneath the edge of the silk, which he'd left on to give her an illusion of modesty. Now he forced it back until it lay in a bright line across her belly button, exposing the vulnerable juncture of her legs, the gentle curve of her lower abdomen, and every inch in between.

Every bare inch. _Holy shit._

She jerked, trying to pull her thighs together. To hide from him.

"No."

She stilled, breathing for long moments. Wanting the decision to obey, to submit, to be hers, Michael waited. Seconds ticked by. Taylor's thighs trembled, then widened a little. A little more. What leeway the straps gave her he compensated for by claiming the space between her legs with his body, crouching forward until his lips met the rounded top of her mound. So soft, just like the squeak that escaped from her lips. He brushed back and forth, his cock pounding at the smoothness.

"Oh, baby. What have you done?" he asked against her skin.

Her voice whispered through the darkness. "I wanted you to like it."

"I do," he growled, his tongue sneaking out to play. "I really do." Now his palms forced her wider so he could sample the glistening wetness along her labia. Placing firm lips around her proud little nub, he sucked hard, marveling at her responsiveness as she bucked beneath him.

He listened to every hitch in her breath, every moan from her lips as he ducked and discovered. They evoked the same high as drawing a complicated rhythm from his guitar. His body started to shake, but he refused to cave.

"Taylor, let's make you a little more comfortable." This time, he wielded his lips with intent.

Her warmth and spicy scent engulfed him as he pressed his tongue inside, then back up to flick over her pulsating clit. One arch of her hips and he was lost, nipping, sucking and pressing her to her first orgasm, though he kept his hands anchored at her thighs as a reminder.

He wouldn't give her the fullness she ached for until he gave it to her the old-fashioned way: cock-first.

Her cries filled the room, then drifted into heavy pants. They breathed in tandem for a minute, Michael reestablishing his control breath by breath. The bedroom had been his first show, the place where he'd trained to direct the mood of his audience, always guiding his partners where he wanted them to go with a cool head no matter his level of excitement. With Taylor, he felt on the verge of shattering every second. Not like him at all.

But every second of the conflict told him his own end would be that much sweeter.

* * *

For once Taylor was too worried about swallowing her tongue to obsess about the size of her stomach and thighs. She should be petrified to be strapped down like this, but only one thought had pounded through her brain from the moment he made her say it: _It's Michael_.

Nothing else mattered.

Even now he inched closer, covering her body with his hard heat. He balanced on his elbows as he reached for the neckline of her gown. Slowly, oh so slowly, he ripped it down the middle until he had clear access to what he sought.

She couldn't stop him, even if she wasn't tied down. The mere sound of tearing fabric, the subtle brush of cool air against her breasts, the look on his face as he peeled the ruined gown away—everything combined to reawaken a body she'd thought was done.

His large hands massaged her breasts, forcing them to overflow in a way that had her watching every stroke. She literally couldn't look away. Then those strong fingers whispered across nipples that begged for more. But he didn't forge ahead, instead taking long seconds to coax them to standing with delicious friction and focus.

She might just die before this was over...

With unerring accuracy his knee nudged forward, settling his firm thigh directly over her open, wet pussy. A rapidly dwindling part of her wanted to cringe away, hide how wet and open she was. The part reveling in his precise play of her body drowned out any complaints.

His two-pronged attack had her panting again in seconds, straining to be free. The resistance only heightened her pleasure. Being tied down, and only tied down, would have been way too vanilla for Bradley.

Taylor thought her whole body would explode.

Good thing the kids weren't here, because that wicked tongue soon had her screaming—when it wasn't blocking the sound against her mouth. He laved her neck, her collarbone, her nipples, and even farther to her pussy. He remembered every secret spot to touch, and just how to touch it. Hard, soft, slow, or a slight sting. Every second bringing her to the heights of arousal, as if her first orgasm had never been.

When she was shaking and hoarse, he covered himself in a condom. She wanted to marvel at the sight of him, but he'd returned her to the place where sensation ruled. She needed him, pounding inside of her, making her complete.

But first...

"Michael, please," she gasped, trying to form the words she wanted.

He leaned forward to nuzzle her neck, bringing his cock directly in alignment with the part that needed him most.

"Are you okay, hon?"

A sensuous tilt of his hips and she gasped her approval. He slid through her juices, letting her feel every inch of what he had to offer. Root to tip, no surface left untouched. It was almost a relief when he pulled back to enter her, but she didn't expect him to stop. _No, don't stop._

"Did you need something more?" he asked.

A nod was all she could manage.

"Ask."

That hard command actually loosened the constriction in her throat. She obeyed, drawing in a long breath and some semblance of sanity. "I want to touch you."

His head cocked to the side as he studied her, his body still working down below. Oh God, would he just enter her already?

Without another word he undid the cuffs around her wrists, freeing her to dig her fingers into his muscled shoulders and flexing ass. He left her legs tied, the illusion of being trapped, held down for her lover's pleasure. _Too much._

Inch by slow inch he worked his way inside. Sometimes he'd pause, others he'd ease back and start again. She almost choked with desperation, but he wouldn't be hurried.

Finally, he settled fully within her. Holding himself still, he returned to her breasts, sucking as she ran her fingers through his short hair. Long moments lapsed as she floated into a fog of electric eroticism. Michael played her body like a master; she was more than willing to submit.

Between one moment and the next, the urgency caught up with him and he raised up on his knees. His sure hands lifted her hips, positioning her just the way he wanted. Taylor's pussy tightened in anticipation. A few strokes from tip to top, pushing all the way in with devastating effect. A few strokes gathering speed, searching for just the right angle. Then a divine race to the finish.

He beat her by mere seconds, the pulse of him inside her detonating the heavy tension in her core. A flash of light behind her eyes, then every cell in her body flew apart. Her screams seemed to echo forever. Then a slow slide back to awareness. A heaving man burying his face in the crook of her neck. Gently she soothed the slight tremble from his back, whispering everything and nothing into the darkness of night.

He pulled back to brush his lips across hers, making her aware that they were still joined, that he hadn't softened. "Michael?" she gasped as his hips started to move again.

"Once more, baby."

As her body gathered to meet his demands, only one thought remained... _heaven help her_.

Chapter Eleven

"Mmmm, mmmm," Michael murmured as he nuzzled the crook of her neck.

Taylor shivered even though it wasn't cold in the pool. The electricity of his touch was enough to excite her all over again, despite how many times he'd had her in the last three days.

She'd discovered he was an opportunist, taking advantage of any and every situation to make her body sing as beautifully as his guitar. The laps she'd just finished in the pool should have exhausted her—had, in fact, left her gasping for breath against the side of the pool. And who should sneak up but Handsy Man?

Not that she was complaining.

Mr. Handsy quickly distracted her by introducing her to the joys of underwater foreplay. Kissing, letting their bodies drift together and apart, wet skin against wet skin. Then he started peeling her swimsuit from her shoulders.

Panic rocketed through her. Up until now they'd been in the bed. In a shadowed room. Not in broad daylight, out in the open.

"No," she squeaked, trying to pull the straps back up her arms before they could get away from her.

"No?" His eyes narrowed. He paused—not pushing further, but also not letting her pull back. "Why?"

She shook her head, then glanced around the atrium. Her gaze landed squarely on the door into the house. "What if someone comes in?"

"Like who? Susan's on vacation."

"One of the security guys. Or Daniel. Or—"

"Then they should have enough sense to quietly walk away. Don't worry. I won't let anything embarrass you."

If only she could have stopped the grimace before it appeared...

Michael wasn't about to let that pass. "What was that?"

Even though her body hummed just with him near, she couldn't bring herself to get naked in here. What if she didn't appeal to him once he saw her in some real light?

"Taylor, look at me."

She prevaricated a moment or two, watching the water lap against his muscled abs. Just like she wanted to do. _In the dark._

"Now."

The dark undertone had her gaze skittering upward. His hands didn't force her. His voice compelled her to obey. Just the simple act of looking at him when he commanded it had her body softening, her core aching with need.

Once he had her compliance, his long fingers reached out to trace her jawline. "What's the matter? I told you, you don't have to worry about anyone coming in. I can go lock the inner door if that would make you feel better."

He wanted to make her comfortable. She knew that, and was grateful for it. But this he couldn't fix. She held still, unsure what to do.

He studied her for long moments. Those fingers glided back and forth, applying just enough pressure for her to feel him. When she thought she might melt into the pool water, he finally said, "Tell you what...let's play a game."

Her eyes widened. She knew from the laughter invading his face that he could read her well.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Don't you trust me?"

"Not an inch."

He pressed closer, rubbing the hard thrust of his cock against her stomach. "You should."

"That just proves you'll do anything to get what you want."

"Oh, I'll get what I want. That defiance will not go unpunished, babe. Now, play with me."

Who could resist those beautiful misty blue eyes and the dark hair shining with water droplets like diamonds? "What do you want me to do?"

"Not much." To her relief, he pulled the straps of her suit back onto her shoulders. "A better question is, what am I gonna do?"

She swallowed hard as she watched his hands hook into the waistband of his trunks and strip them down, leaving him naked in the translucent blue water. She dimly heard the splat as his swimsuit landed in a soggy heap on the poolside concrete. Her eyes were glued to his strong legs, now planted a foot apart, and the jut of his cock only feet away from her. He _so_ didn't play nice.

"I'm going to ask you a few questions. If you are a good girl and answer me, I'll reward you very well."

She certainly couldn't look away as his hand fisted his heavy member, stroking it slow and easy in its watery habitat.

"If you refuse to answer me, it might not go so easy for you."

His hand released, floating, empty, up into the water. The same way she felt inside. Empty, in need of being filled. She gave a quick nod and braced herself for whatever he had in store.

"Who gave you your first kiss?"

She smiled. This one was easy. "Actually, he didn't give it to me, I stole it. Jimmy Davies, on the playground behind the monkey bars."

"Ah, aggressive. I'm not sure how I feel about that."

_Don't worry about it._ "Well, considering he shoved me into the dirt after having his way with me, I think I learned my lesson." Taylor was very afraid all the gumption might have been beaten out of her. Her mood dropped like a stone in the water. How could she ever live up to the expectations of a rock star? Even if that rock star was the Michael she'd come to want so much.

Pushing through the water, he reached her within a few strides and cupped her face, guiding it up as he loved to do, holding her captive for his kiss. Ah, her reward. Slow but thorough. He seemed in no hurry to move away or continue the game. She sank into the feel of his lips against hers. Kissing Michael was like the Mexican hot chocolate she'd had once. Sweet, with a hint of dark spice.

He stepped back, once more depriving her of his touch. "When was your first sexual experience with another person?"

She swallowed hard, almost as afraid of revealing her sexual history as she was of exposing her body. At least he hadn't asked her about her first experience, period. Talking about masturbation would have been even more embarrassing.

"I slept with a guy I'd been dating for a while after dinner one night." It had been as uninspired as it sounded.

"That wasn't what I asked."

Her gaze shot up to connect with his, taking in his stern expression and imposing stance. How could simply crossing his arms over his chest be both intimidating and arousing all at once?

"I...I..." _I don't want to answer._

Apparently he already knew that. He approached her once more, managing to stalk, even in waist-high water. He set his hands firmly on her shoulders. "I don't like it when you hide things from me." Then his hands started to pull down the straps he'd so recently replaced.

She struggled, oh, how she struggled, but in the end strength won out. When he was done, the top half of her maillot was bunched around her waist, her full breasts floating on the top of the water. Michael tweaked her nipples, pulling a moan from deep in her throat. This was supposed to be punishment, but the embarrassment mingled with a desire for him to touch her even more.

"Now," he murmured, his gaze on his teasing fingers. "I asked _when_ did you have that experience."

Guess he wasn't going to let her out of that. Fearful that his punishment would be to stop touching her, she whispered, "I was twenty-three, my last year of college."

"No interest or lack of opportunity?"

She didn't want to go there. "It's a long story."

He didn't even warn her this time. He simply dipped beneath the water and pulled her legs out from under her. By the time she came up for air, he had her naked. She dived for the side, intent on reaching her towel, but he caught her halfway there. "Oh no you won't. And if you don't want to be on display on that rock over there, you'll tell me the truth."

Yikes! Guess her actions had given him the very ammunition he needed to get her to do what he wanted. Damn him. The last thing she wanted was to be "on display".

The rock Michael referred to was a natural slab horizontal to the pool's shallow end. What hadn't already been smoothed out by nature had been worn down by the continual stream of the man-made waterfall that fed into the pool. And while making love in a waterfall sounded scrumptious, she'd have to actually be out of the water and laid out for his viewing pleasure. On her back. Near the door. Bare thighs and all.

She sank back under the minimal covering of the water. So not happening.

"Look. I had a very conservative upbringing, typical of many families here in the Bible Belt. Premarital sex was firmly against our religion. I very much wanted to please my parents." Especially considering the kinky nature of her hidden desires. "Then I went to a religious college. Not as many keg parties as at a normal school." She crossed her arms over her chest, trying to take control of the parts of her floating to the surface. "It just took awhile, that's all."

She sensed him move closer, even though she refused to look.

"Very good, Taylor. I think you deserve a reward, don't you?"

His gray eyes didn't hold the judgment or amusement she expected from someone so much more experienced. Just heat, like her words had somehow lit a flame deep inside.

Reaching out, he firmly pulled her arms to her sides. A slight pressure indicated they should stay there. Then he made his way back across her ribs to her breasts, engulfing them in his palms.

"What's your favorite sexual position?" He spoke so casually it almost took her breath away. "No wait let me guess. Being tied down?"

This time she met his gaze head-on, the "yes" ready on the tip of her tongue. But she didn't need to speak. He read the answer in her eyes and rewarded her accordingly.

Sinking neck-deep in the water, he brought his mouth to the nipples so enticingly prepared for him. She moaned, her head falling back, her eyes drifting closed as the warmth and suction engulfed the tip.

The water flirting underneath them only heightened the sensations, making her forget how exposed she was. Physically and emotionally. He pulled hard enough to weaken her, shooting sparks deep into her core. One side, then the other, until her nipples were cherry red and proud of it.

Maybe this game wasn't so bad after all.

Standing, he let his chest brush against her as he rose, abrading the abused flesh with delicious sensation. This time her knees did give out, but he caught her. Her body felt like it was on stimulation overload. The roaring in her ears covered his next question. When she simply blinked at him, he asked again.

"What was your best sexual experience before meeting me?"

Immediately her mind filled with images of her first night in a BDSM club. The same club she'd met Bradley in. Some of the things she'd seen made her flinch, but some...some of them had her creaming where she stood. She'd been completely unprepared. Light bondage, spanking, toys...not that she wanted to be on display, but watching had hit all the good parts for her.

The stranger she'd hooked up with in the back had set off some fireworks of his own. It had been incredible...and left her feeling incredibly dirty. Her biggest step outside of her religious upbringing had resulted in some heavy guilt, but she'd known then that she needed something a little more adventurous than the normal marriage and two-point-five kids her church encouraged young people to find.

Apparently she took a little too long to answer—not that she wanted to share the mixed feelings that came with something Michael would have found infinitely tame.

"Wow," he said, "I thought this would be easy. We seem to be hitting all the sore spots today."

She barely resisted the drag across the pool before he lifted her onto the rock under the waterfall. A firm hand secured her face-down, perpendicular to the falls so the water washed down against her side.

Mortification burned as she realized her ass was now bare to the air. But she didn't have long to think about it as his palm made sharp contact with her backside. _Was he really spanking her?_ Sure enough, the wet slap of water and sting of flesh meeting flesh had her body opening in invitation. She couldn't decide whether to squirm away or raise her rump.

Her hands curled against the rock under her shoulders as if to push herself up, but in the end she simply dug in and moaned. Pathetic. But necessary. Finally the smacks slowed, transforming into rubbing strokes, hot against her throbbing skin. She took several deep breaths, struggling to orient herself.

Looking up at him over her shoulder, she returned to the question. "There was nothing really good before you," she said, utterly exposed, utterly open.

His smile was only the beginning of her reward. With a firm touch he pulled one of her knees toward him, then inched his fingertips along the inside of her thigh until he met her swollen lips. He went straight for the hidden nub, coaxing it from beneath its hood, then milking it with brazen intent. She went from panting to gasping in seconds, gasping to moaning in minutes. Less than five and she was screaming out her release, vaguely aware of the sound as it echoed around them in the cavernous space.

"Now that's what I like to hear," Michael said, those piercing eyes sensuously sadistic.

He deftly maneuvered her into his arms. She rested secure, letting the force of the flowing water push her against him. Despite the massive erection trapped between them, he didn't rush but let her relax and recover in his hold. Finally he leaned down to brush his mouth against her ear. "One last question: what was your last sexual encounter?"

Even before a thought could form her body stiffened, pulling out of the sensual haze he'd created as fear poured in. Her heart raced, quickly outdistancing her control. It all came rushing back: the bruising hold she thought she'd never break free of, the punishing kiss that split her lip, the force of Bradley's thigh grinding between her legs. She whimpered. It hadn't been sexual for her, but it had been more than sexual for him.

"Taylor!"

The firm shake jerked her out of her nightmare, bringing back her awareness of the water, the warm air, and the man standing next to her.

"It's okay, Taylor. I'm right here," Michael was saying.

She watched his lips move, grounding herself in the moment. A deep breath slowed the pounding in her chest. She blinked to force back tears. Fear had no place in her time with Michael.

He'd never given her a reason to be afraid.

He lifted her with ease, settling her once more on the smooth outcropping of rock. For once she couldn't bring herself to care about sitting nude in front of a rock star built like a god come to life. He held her gaze with nothing more than his authority, not forcing her into anything she didn't want. "Taylor, you know I would never hurt you, right?"

She nodded.

"I want you to trust me to make the pain go away."

She wanted that more than anything. She wanted him. She wanted to be free.

Leaning in, he guided her back until she lay flat on the rock, her arms above her head. Half her body lay inside the little cave created by the rocks and the fall of water. Running his hands along her arms, Michael guided her hands up until they touched some kind of bar. He curled her fingers around it. "Hold on tight."

No insistence this time. No pressure, but it didn't matter. She wanted this.

He pulled back and she gasped. Without his body guarding hers, the waterfall splashed down in a gentle line directly across her breasts. The trickling stream tantalized the quivering flesh and beat against her sensitive nipples in a constant flow of sensation.

"Don't move," she heard him say.

Why would she want to?

Then his hands guided her knees up, placing her feet directly on the edge of the rock, spreading her wide. She wanted to care but couldn't break through the growing haze of her need. The water afforded her a semblance of privacy, yet she could see Michael's wavering image on the other side. She could feel the sensation of him pressing inside of her, but wasn't so exposed she wanted to cringe.

Perfect, just like all the other times.

Soon she was lost to the push and pull of his body inside hers, the press of his skillful fingertips against her clit, and the overwhelming rush of her release. This time it was Michael's groan echoing off the walls. Her body sagged, her fingers slipping free of the bar so she could reach through the water and pull him to her.

Lying there, together in their own private space, she found the courage to tell herself the truth.

She'd fallen in love with a rock star.

Chapter Twelve

How could I love someone who would cheat on me with my own brother?

Michael stared at the photos spread out before him, oddly aware of the silence permeating the room. It was as if Becca was afraid to even breathe. Then another sound, one he didn't realize burst from his throat. A growl, animalistic and possessive, a warning issued to all within earshot.

"I'm sorry, Michael," Becca murmured. "I knew I couldn't keep this to myself."

"Where did they come from?"

"Anonymous mail. Jane Doe name and fake rural-route return address. I just couldn't believe—" A choked sound of distress filled the room.

_Neither can I._ He wouldn't have believed the woman he'd come to know over the last week so much as looked at anyone but him. But the pictures showed it all. Daniel, practically naked on the bed. Taylor leaning over him. Taylor helping Daniel get dressed. Daniel pinning Taylor against her car in the dark, kissing her neck. A beast Michael didn't know was living inside of him roared.

This betrayal was far deeper than Claudie's, more embarrassing than the hundreds of men she must have slept with. At least his brother had never looked twice at Claudie. Michael had never before been betrayed by his flesh and blood. And Michael never had to face losing a woman he truly loved.

But now he did.

And so did his kids.

That thought stirred more anger and he cultivated it with the skill of a master. Anger was a weapon to be used, whereas pain was simply an emotion he felt. He could have sent Taylor quietly away if he'd been the only one involved, but she'd gone too far when she'd taught his kids to love her, then got caught fuckin' his brother.

It was on.

Dimly he heard Becca say something, then another voice. "See you later, Becca."

"Bye."

"Hmmm..." Michael heard Taylor's voice behind him. "She was acting odd. Is something wrong?"

He turned to find her looking so sexy, so right. Fitted yoga pants that hugged her curves, and a pale pink tank top that set off her subtle tan. How could betrayal look so fresh and innocent?

"Was it all a game for you, Taylor? Is that it?"

She stopped, her bare toes peeking out from under the hem of her pants. "What are you talking about?"

He kept his voice low, afraid if he let loose, his volatile temper would get the best of him. It took a lot to push Michael to the edge, but this time he'd left the edge about a mile back. "Did you think playing the shy, scared card would be different enough to keep me interested? Tempt me to teach you some wild and crazy shit?"

For a moment she seemed to shrink in on herself, her arms wrapping tightly around her ribs. In his mind she only managed to emphasize the assets beneath her top, but he would not be distracted. Then she straightened and met him head-on. "I don't know what's going on here, Michael, but you will not talk to me like I'm some kind of tramp. You were the one who pursued me, remember?"

"At least that's what you wanted me to think."

"What _are_ you talking about?"

"These." He scooped up a handful of the pictures from his desk and tossed them at her feet. Right on top was one showcasing Daniel's backside, her hand inches away where it rested in the middle of his spine.

Bending, Taylor picked up one, then another, the angle of her head hiding her facial expression from him. He fully expected her to deny it. That's what women did. Deny anything happened with wide, innocent eyes and expect you to believe them. Take them back to bed.

Until it happened again. And again.

Not this time. "You want to tell me what these are all about?"

She glanced up, but her eyes weren't innocent. She knew what they were; knowledge was written all over her face. "Michael..."

He stalked closer until he towered over her, suddenly aware that his crotch was right in line with that voluptuous mouth. Why he would think of that in this moment he didn't know, but the shot of arousal only made him angrier. "What? No explanations? Not even a convenient lie?"

Her gaze trailed away, and she stood. "Have you talked to Daniel about this?"

"No. But I will." _With my fists._

She didn't move. Didn't speak. Simply stared over his right shoulder like she'd already shut him out completely. He remembered another woman, other silences, other secrets.

He grasped her upper arms to pull her against him. "Tell me the truth, Taylor."

She shook her head, not lifting her gaze above his collarbone. Her entire body shut down before his eyes. The very light that she had always exhibited disappearing behind a blank façade. "I can't."

"I suppose I should be grateful that you aren't lying to me, huh? Sorry, babe. I don't work that way."

"Michael, please. Just talk to Daniel—"

"Don't say his name," he yelled with a little shake. "Don't say it."

Without thought his mouth pressed to hers without permission. His hands took their rightful place in her hair, holding her captive for his kiss. She resisted for long moments, stiff and still; then those sweet lips parted for him. The last time, he'd explored. This time, he conquered.

He told himself he didn't care when she refused to soften, but satisfaction came long moments later when she moaned under his lips. They strained together, bodies aching for the same connection as their mouths. But even in this, he couldn't find the peace that usually flowed with one touch. It was simply a reminder of how much he had to lose.

Breaking away, he placed sucking kisses from the base of her neck up, resting in the hollow beneath the sweet curve of her ear. His hands tightened; then he forced the words out. "What are you hoping for, Taylor? To have both of us together? Why don't I call Daniel right now? I'm sure he'd be more than accommodating."

Instead of more moans, Taylor froze in his grasp. For the very first time, her hands found his and she pushed him away, releasing herself from his hold. Still her eyes didn't meet his. She simply turned and walked out the door.

* * *

"Dude, what's with the 911 text, then not answering your phone? Are the kids okay?"

It took a moment for Michael to unhinge his jaw before he could respond. "The kids are fine."

"That what the hell is going on? You scared me."

Daniel just kept talking while Michael felt the anger build. He knew it would get out somehow, but he still tried to lock it down, keeping his back to his brother while he attempted to breathe deep. After all, they were family. He'd lost enough for one day. He couldn't lose Daniel too.

"What's going on? Is it Taylor? Or Becca? It's her, isn't it? Some new crisis. That woman drives me crazy." A small silence fell; then Daniel's voice exploded into the room. "What the hell are these?"

Just like that, a switch flipped. Michael turned, gunning his brother down and letting his fist fly. One minute Daniel stood staring at Michael's desk. The next he didn't know what hit him.

The sound of Michael's fist connecting with Daniel's jaw was satisfying, but not as much as seeing Daniel laid out flat on his ass. "I told you to leave my nanny alone."

Daniel worked his jaw for a minute. Looking a little stunned, he studied Michael from the floor. "Bro," he finally said, "you seriously need to get laid."

"I'd prefer it not to be with the same woman as you. She was mine."

"What?"

"Oh, she denied it. Isn't that what they all do?"

"Nooo." Daniel drew out the word as he struggled to his feet and looked down at the desk once more. "Only the skanky types. I don't think Taylor qualifies."

"So you're telling me these are a lie? Photoshopped?"

Michael couldn't bring himself to look at the photos again. Instead he studied his brother. Daniel frowned over the pics, his hand holding his jaw steady. _I hope that hurts like hell._

Finally Michael couldn't stand the silence anymore. "Why would you do this, Daniel? You knew I wanted her. Couldn't you, just once, keep your pecker in your pants—"

This time it was Daniel turning on him with anger brightening his blue eyes. "You know, it would be nice if, for once in my life, someone gave _me_ the benefit of the doubt."

That was the last thing Michael expected. Excuses, rationalizations maybe. Definitely not pissy attitude. "What are you talking about? It's right there in the pictures."

"What is? Me and Taylor having full-on sex? 'Cause I'm not seeing it, dude. She's nowhere near naked." His accusing gaze bored into Michael's brain. "Or is it Taylor helping me out when I really needed someone? Someone who wouldn't condemn me. Wouldn't judge me. Or maybe I just see it that way because I know the truth."

_Shit._ Michael's stomach sank to the ground. "What happened?"

"Why do you want to know now?"

"Stop—"

"Oh, I'm sure you do. The question is, do I really want to give you and Becca more ammunition for your 'bad-boy rocker who can't behave himself' rationale?"

This was worse than he'd thought. Daniel was the easygoing, fun-loving brother. It had never occurred to Michael that he thought they treated him like a screwup. "I'm sorry, Daniel. Please tell me. Let me help."

His brother sighed, then gestured at the pictures. "Those were taken last week. Taylor helped me out of a jam."

"What kind of jam?"

Daniel shot him a baleful look, then dropped his lean body onto the sofa. "Long story short? I got wasted. The hotel manager—you know Max—was worried. He called the emergency line for someone to quickly and quietly remove me from the premises."

Michael had a feeling there was more to the story than that, but he let it go. For now. "Why didn't she just tell me? It's not like I didn't her ask for the truth."

_Or had he?_ Did he really remember half of the accusations he'd spewed while she just stood there and took it? No, not really. More like raising complete shields to protect herself from his accusations. The last few minutes proved exactly why Daniel hadn't spilled his guts. Would Taylor have done it either... _especially after he'd offered to screw her with his brother_?

"I asked her not to—and for once found a woman who could keep her word."

Even while Michael had tried his best to humiliate her. She hadn't defended herself because it would have meant giving away Daniel's secret. Instead she'd urged him to talk to his brother first. "Oh man," he groaned, rubbing his face over his hands. "I. Am. So. Fucked."

"You bet you are, buddy."

First things first. He had to make this right with his brother. He crossed to the sitting area and dropped into the chair opposite Daniel. They'd been friends all their lives, watching each other's backs through all kinds of crazy shit. Daniel had been wild as a buck until four, maybe five years ago. It had been a crazy time with Claudie dying and trying to get the kids adjusted. Michael wasn't sure what toned his brother down, but he still got into the occasional bar fight or love triangle that made the papers.

Michael should have paid more attention to his brother.

"I'm sorry, Daniel. I never wanted you to feel like you had to hide things from me. That you couldn't ask for help."

Daniel shrugged. "The bane of the professional screwup."

"You aren't a screwup. You just like living on the wild side. Always have."

For once Daniel didn't respond with _always will_. He just looked sad before shaking his head. The change in his expression—from lost soul to teasing brother—couldn't have been more deliberate. _How long had Daniel been living a lie?_

But Michael let the moment pass as Daniel spoke. "You know what it means—flying off the handle like this?"

"I'm in love with her," Michael murmured, letting his head drop into his hands.

"And you're in for one major groveling session. Do you own a set of knee pads?"

* * *

Taylor heard nothing over the sound of her tears. Fear, anger, and a loss she refused to acknowledge built deep in her chest. She didn't even realize anyone was in the room until arms encircled her from behind. Startled, she jerked away, but he held her fast.

"Sh, love. Just let me hold you," Michael said.

She wanted to refuse, to rage against his right to touch her after his earlier words, but in truth, she'd been alone for so long she couldn't resist. It took several minutes until she finally got herself under control. Embarrassment returned, along with her awareness of the piles of clothes covering her bed and the suitcase open nearby.

Taylor twisted out of his arms to break his hold. She stopped a few feet away. "Why are you here, Michael?"

"To say I'm sorry. Daniel told me what happened at the hotel, that he asked you to keep it secret." He did look contrite, but that wasn't enough for her.

"Okay. You've said it. Now if you don't mind, I have to pack." She wouldn't think about the blinding panic of being out on her own again. Of leaving Michael and Matthew and McKayla behind. She would simply do what she had to do.

"Don't go."

She paused midstride, unsure she'd heard him actually say the words. He might be sorry, but she hadn't expected him to backtrack that much. Staring at him, she asked, "Why?"

Michael looked so surprised she almost felt sorry for him.

"What do you mean, why? I want you here. With me."

"And again I ask, why? You obviously don't trust me. You're only giving me the benefit of the doubt because Daniel told you the truth. I can't believe you would let me near the kids now." She grabbed a hair tie from the dresser and yanked the curly mass on her head into a low ponytail. "Is it the sex? I guess you don't have to trust me just to have sex with me."

Thunderclouds moved across his expressive face. "That's not why at all."

"Then tell me what is?" She couldn't quite believe she was pushing him this far but the hour she'd just spent experiencing abject grief meant he wasn't getting off easy.

Especially after tearing her heart apart.

She'd rather end it now than entangle herself in yet another nightmare mistake. The panic rumbled deep inside, pushing at the lid she kept on her memories.

She didn't want to leave but knew deep down that she had to.

"I won't be used, Michael."

"And I don't want to use you. I made a dumbass mistake."

"So I overlook this time, but what about the next and the next? I'm not a toy."

"What?" Part of her noticed his confused expression, but the pain was leaking through the cracks in her facade. Images of another time, another man, grew in her mind until the past and present fused into one agonizing burst of agony. "I'm not something to play with when you're happy, then slap around when you're not."

Michael spoke, but she couldn't hear him over the roar in her ears. Her anger gained momentum until she was yelling the words. "You're always sorry, every time, but the pain is always there. It never stops."

He advanced toward her, but she saw someone else. Anguish burst forth like a solar flare. As he reached out she dropped to her knees. Then reality disappeared in a storm of tears and trembling.

When awareness returned, it was Michael's arms that sheltered her, his solid chest that supported her, and the murmur of his voice that comforted her.

"It's okay, Taylor. Whatever it is. I'll make it all right." His voice soothed and settled her, brushing away her anxiety.

_Michael was nothing like Bradley._ That man had never attempted to comfort her, never wanted to drop his controlling persona enough to understand her fear. To Bradley, she was an object. To Michael, she was a woman.

But she wouldn't be a weak woman.

Pulling away, she forced herself up and into the bathroom, where she washed her face and pulled all the little pieces of herself back into some semblance of normal.

She returned to the room to find Michael leaning against the dresser, his long legs braced in front of him, his arms crossed over his lean chest. Why did he have to look so good?

She made her way carefully to the clothes-covered bed and perched on the edge.

He didn't wait to break the silence. "Want to tell me what that was all about?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to take it out on you. It wasn't—"

"We all have pasts, Taylor. Me especially."

She simply stared, afraid to ask, afraid not to.

"Yeah, I overreacted," he said, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "You know my wife was not...faithful, to put it politely. She pretty much nailed anything that moved. The only guys who held out were Daniel and the band. Not for her lack of trying. That was the most embarrassing part."

"Michael, I'm sorry."

"I'm not making excuses. I'm not saying I don't have issues. I'm human. But next time, just tell me what a misguided jackass I am and we can move on a lot quicker."

"Next time?"

"I'm not twenty. I realize we'll probably have more than a couple of misunderstandings in this relationship."

"You want it to last that long?" The words slipped out before she could stop them.

His blue eyes met her green ones squarely across the room, nothing held back. "I really hope so."

The trembling started again, but she was able to get it under control much quicker this time. She felt like reality and fantasy were colliding in an effort to cause a massive headache. When she'd imagined their next conversation, this had not been it.

It took her several minutes to admit, "You might change your mind when you hear about my own hang-ups."

He smirked, all cocky, masculine security. "Try me."

"I can't." Her heart pounded. The thought of making herself even more vulnerable produced nausea in the pit of her stomach.

He stalked closer. "Taylor, I need to know what's wrong. Don't you think I know about the phone calls? The secrets? What is it that makes you afraid of letting me in?"

She hadn't even been able to tell Stephen the full extent of that last night. How could she admit to Michael that she'd made such a dangerous mistake? She shook her head.

"Okay, then," he said, moving closer. "I guess I could always coax it out of you, step by step."

She didn't understand quite what he meant until metal flashed in his hands. She eyed the neat little handcuffs. "Where did those come from?"

"I'm pretty resourceful." His grin was wicked as he closed in, then he paused. "There's only one problem with that," he said.

"What?" she murmured, her gaze glued to the cuffs.

"Everything can't be a game, Taylor."

One minute they were facing each other, the next her world turned sideways. He swept back the comforter, dumping clothes onto the floor, then settled her on her back. Somehow he ended up pressed close to her side, his leg twined through hers to hold her in place.

Without volition her hips lifted against him, betraying her need.

"I know, love." His lower body inched closer, barely resting his weight across one side of her lower pelvis, then settled his palm atop the skin of her stomach, his fingers sneaking beneath the hem of her tank top. "I've been aching to touch you all morning, to fuck you," he moaned, his hands flexing against her. "But I won't. I can't until you tell me, Taylor."

She wanted to ignore him, wished she could claim indifference and have it be the truth. But from day one he'd gotten under her skin. She desperately wanted him grazing on top of it now. The words rushed out. "I was involved with a man I broke up with about eight months ago."

He rewarded her by smoothing his palms up over the curve of her stomach, calculating her every breath. But he paused right below the bottom edge of her bra.

"That's nice, baby, but it essentially tells me nothing." He rubbed his thumbs back and forth along the barrier. "What happened? How did you meet?"

Closing her eyes, she allowed his touch to mesmerize her, to take away the pain.

"I met him about a year and a half after my parents died. Granny had settled fully into the Alzheimer's by then. Probably a good thing. To her, my mother never existed, so she didn't have anything to grieve."

Those wicked fingers stroked along the outer edges of each mound.

Somehow, the telling became easier. Especially with her eyes closed. "I, on the other hand, had lost everything close to my heart. My students, teaching got me through the day, but the nights were very, very long."

His touch, cradling her breasts, massaging them, pulling down the cups of her bra—it all kept her talking, even if her desire was muted by the memories.

"The first summer after their deaths, I gathered my courage and went to a club I'd heard about. Um...a BDSM club. Dangerous, I know, but I'd been curious for a long time. Not about the pain, but..."

He gave a gentle squeeze. "You're interested in submission."

She nodded. "Guess it's pretty obvious, huh?"

"From the moment I first touched you." His thumbs swept across each nipple, teasing with the barest of touches.

"Guess it was to Bradley too."

"You met him there."

"Yeah, he was new to the scene too. The first of my many mistakes."

"When did you realize it?"

If his hands were still moving, she didn't notice. All that penetrated the blackness behind her eyelids was the warmth of his body along hers.

"It slipped in gradually—a too-hard pinch here, an aggressive slap there. Every time he'd be sorry, say he'd misjudged his own strength." Her words gained momentum, gathering speed with each confession. "Later I realized he was simply warming up for the main show. I'd been completely fooled. Thank goodness I got away with only a few bruises."

Michael's shudder transmitted to her and back again. She arched into his heat, desperate for human contact. No, not just any contact.

Michael's.

"I'm so sorry." He scooted closer, whispering against her ear. "I don't even know what to say. I don't want you to think of me in the same breath as him, but I don't know how to tell you that. For once, I have no words."

More than anything she wanted to embrace him, but she couldn't. Rolling away from his heat, she curled into a miserable ball. "Don't. Don't be sorry."

"Why, Taylor?" He followed her, his front curving around her back as if to protect her.

She'd thought she had no more tears, but they continued to roll down her cheeks. "I was so stupid."

"How?"

That lonely ache throbbed in her chest once more. "I was alone. Scared. Sad. I just wanted someone to hold me, to make it all better." She drew in a shuddering breath. "Even though I knew Bradley wasn't right for me, I still stayed. The longer I stayed, the more depressed I became. It took me a long time—too long—to fight my way back. Then I had to fight him too."

When Michael's arm snaked through her defenses, sneaking under her barriers to rest along her stomach and between her breasts, the cold sorrow finally started to dissipate.

"But you did fight him, Taylor. You were very brave. You won."

_I wish I had..._ "That bravery cost me a lot. More than I had the energy to pay. Some days I think I'm still paying for it." _The mistake that haunted her day in and day out._

"I'm sorry, babe," he said, nuzzling his lips into her hair. "I wish I could make it all disappear."

But if it did disappear like it never had been, she wouldn't be here with Michael now—loving him, holding him. Maybe she wouldn't change it after all.

"It's okay," she said after long moments of simple warmth. Two hearts beating in rhythm. Two bodies in need of comfort. "You aren't to blame for my reactions," she said, "just like I'm not to blame for yours. We both have pasts we can't simply walk away from."

She couldn't bring herself to tell him how true that really was.

He softly stroked along her jaw. "What did I do to deserve such a wise, caring woman like you?"

"Probably nothing," she teased, trying to lighten the mood with a cheeky grin, "but I certainly deserve you."

With a wicked smile, he lifted up to sitting position, his hands returning to the disarray of her shirt.

"What are you doing?" Well, she knew what his hands were doing—picking up where they'd left off. She moaned.

"I have a lot to make up for."

And when he set out to make up for something, Michael gave it his all. Over half an hour of petting, squeezing, pulling, and stroking found her naked and soaked—and his mouth hadn't even joined the party yet. He'd simply touched her, and she'd already forgotten what he'd done to upset her.

Such a bad, irresponsible girl.

For once she didn't care. She gave herself up to the sensation of being Michael's sole focus. When his mouth finally settled into the crook of her neck, she moaned and twisted to the side, baring the vulnerable skin for his possession. Her body writhed beneath his, eager for him to race to the finish but enjoying every minute of the journey.

Slowly he meandered south, in no hurry of his own. He bypassed her breasts with a little sigh, murmuring against her dewy skin. "Oh, Taylor, you smell so good." His tongue traveled around her rib cage. "I want to taste every inch of you." His breath tickled her belly button. "I can't get enough." He sank low between her thighs.

Her modesty evaporated beneath his skilled touch. She let her thighs fall open, and her pelvis lift to get harder pressure from his mouth on her clit. One slow draw and her eyes rolled back in her head. Another suck and stars appeared. One more and her body went supernova.

She didn't hear the echoes of her scream until the pounding in her ears subsided, but there wasn't time to dwell on whether anyone might have heard her. When her eyes peeked open, Michael was tearing at the zipper of his jeans. Seconds later he pushed his way inside, her body spasming around his in delight.

Fully seated, he crowded over her once more, kissing her with a taste all his own. She lost herself in the dark push and pull until he moved to her breasts. His hips pistoned, filling her, then retreating, while his lips suckled the stiff tips of her nipples. The combination created a tight coil of tension low in her belly, sparks of electricity feeding the frenzy, until another release hit her with the speed of a runaway train. She screamed as Michael reared back, securing her hips with his hands and driving himself to his own shout of release.

As he curled protectively around her in the bed long moments later, she melted into him, safe in the protection of his arms.

Chapter Thirteen

"Do you have an obsession with sex in water, or just the water itself?"

Michael quickly smothered the laugh that would totally negate his "take control" demeanor and grumbled, "Be quiet," as he finished securing Taylor's hands behind her back.

He was developing an obsession with tying his little hottie up, both because it gave him a chance to do whatever he wanted to her and because she couldn't protest out of that mistaken sense of modesty or inadequacy she seemed to carry like spare luggage.

He wanted her. All of her. And he wasn't taking no for an answer. He stepped back to view his handiwork—the muscled lines of her lightly tanned legs fading into the pale skin of her ass. She'd gotten a little color on it from a week of him coaxing her into swimming in the buff, but it was still paler than the more often exposed parts.

Right where the dimples at the base of her spine and the little heart-shaped shadow of tanned skin rested, her wrists met, tied together with flexible coil restraints. The cushion-covered wire ties anchored her wrists, then wrapped up her forearms in a sexy snake-like imitation. His erection throbbed in appreciation. Especially when he took in the blindfold covering her eyes. He was hitting all her buttons tonight.

The combination made the curve of her spine seem more vulnerable, the tilt of her shoulders an attempt at bravery. It could have been. He'd discovered all kinds of hidden insecurities in Taylor, probably exacerbated by that asshole she'd left in the dust. But she was a smart woman—eventually she'd learn he loved her just the way she was, not for what she looked like or how much she tried to please him.

Even though both were sexy as hell.

As he slid his knuckles down that vulnerable trail, he marveled that he could admit to himself that he loved anyone besides his kids and Daniel. He'd thought that part of him was broken. But during a week of long, satisfying nights of holding her, he'd reveled in the passionate emotions she evoked in him—even though he wasn't ready to speak the words to her.

There were still a few secrets yet to explore.

She shifted on her feet. He smiled even though she couldn't see him. "What's the matter, babe?"

"How long are you going to hang around back there, staring at my fa—um, ass?"

_Good catch._ The first and last time she'd called herself fat in front of him, he'd spanked her ass until it glowed. Lots of fun. He slid his palm over one cheek, watching gooseflesh break out along her shoulders as his thumb traced her yummy crease. "Anxious to get started?"

"We haven't started already?"

"Not even close."

He guided her through the doors into the spectacular indulgence he'd had installed in his bathroom. He'd forgone a bathtub for a rain shower but had chosen one with walls made from swooping curves and valleys that combined to give the illusion of waves. Luckily for them, one wave in particular was the perfect height and slope for Taylor—he'd been dreaming of laying her over it almost from day one.

Standing together in the middle of the shower, Michael adjusted the water and turned on the sprays, making sure the little nozzles in the shower walls hit Taylor in all the right places. She jumped when he directed one right over that delectable mound between her thighs.

"Cold?" he murmured.

"No," she whispered.

"Good girl."

He took his time soaping her down, rinsing her clean, enjoying the slickness of the water between their bodies. His fingers explored every crevice, ignoring her moans and sighs. Even her muffled squeaks of embarrassment. He ached for there to be no more secrets between them.

No more vague details about her grandmother and her life away from here, no more phone calls and texts she left unanswered—at least while he was nearby.

He'd told her he would trust her, and he wouldn't back away from that. But it didn't mean he wasn't curious, questioning the motive behind the mystery.

Standing before her, he sandwiched his erection between their bodies. Her skin was pale in the soft glow of the shower lights, her hair a pile of golden curls secured on top of her head. "So sexy." She panted between open lips, her need displayed for him to see clearly on her face.

He bent closer. "Now you will do something for me."

She moaned her acquiescence until he started to bend her over the biggest curve. Resistance straightened her spine. "Michael," she whined.

His slap on her ass sounded harder than it was, echoing off the walls, stinging his palm. "Do it," he said, eager arousal deepening his voice. He'd quickly discovered her dislike for this position, avoiding it in every way possible unless the room was pitch black. Then the shy schoolteacher transformed into a sexed-up porn star.

Another reason he'd blindfolded her. She could pretend the room was dark if she wanted, but he would enjoy every breathtaking sight.

With a firm hand at the nape of her neck, he guided her over the curve where water ran down to warm her breasts. The sight of her alabaster skin against the copper curve was art in motion.

He followed the water to where it pooled in the bowl made by her bound arms, then lower to the curves of her ass. With a hand on each cheek, he spread her wide, ignoring her mews of distress. "So beautiful."

His cock fit perfectly between the globes and he slid through the narrow valley, the head nudging her knuckles where her fingers tangled together. Her slick skin was heavenly. He could watch as he thrust against her ass, squeezing her flesh around him, seeing his dickhead turn from red to dusky purple as his excitement rose.

Within a minute she was arching back against him. "Please, Michael, please."

"Are you wet, Taylor?"

She choked, then a strangled "yes" emerged.

"Good girl. I'll just check for myself, okay?"

He reached between her trembling thighs with questing fingers and found her naked lips plumped and slick with juice. "Ah, baby, I bet you'd taste sweet."

Another strangled groan had him grinning. She was so easy to torture. What idiot would think a woman like Taylor would thrive under the lash of pain? A little love, a little force, and a little control were enough to shoot her off like a firecracker.

Michael didn't need to torture her with whips and chains; words and withholding were more than enough.

Finding the hard little nub of her clit, he flicked back and forth. _His favorite game._ Her breathing changed, faster than before. Cries mingled with the tempo. She played better than his favorite Les Paul guitar. Her clit hardened even more. Her juices slipped over his fingers with the water.

"Do you need some relief, baby?" he asked. Taylor was incredibly multi-orgasmic, which had been a surprise to them both. One to take the edge off. Two to have her screaming. Three to leave her limp and sated.

She whined low in her throat, encouraging him to do his worst. Or best. Grasping the little nub between his fingers, he squeezed while keeping the friction steady.

Her body bowed with her release, but her breath only eased a little. He smiled. She never demanded more. Never complained about not getting enough. And he found it a joy to see just how far he could push her, to learn just when she needed him to stop.

Now was not that time.

Lifting one of her legs, he bent his knees and found her core with his cock. He slid all the way to the hilt in one smooth motion, pausing to let her body adjust. Man, he felt the ripples around his hard flesh all the way to his balls, dragging his own orgasm closer and closer.

After long moments, he slowly guided her leg back down. The tightness surrounding his cock almost blinded him—so snug and juicy. He breathed through the moment, willing himself not to go down in flames too soon.

Then he moved, and heaven descended right in the midst of his shower. He pounded her in hard, short bursts, listening to her cries as he hit the perfect spot. The sound of her moans and his groans echoed off the walls and in his ears.

When she reached the highest note, he forced himself home. Her milking muscles clamped down, and he barely managed to keep from sliding into oblivion as an incredible orgasm engulfed him from head to toes.

When he opened his eyes, the edges of reality were more than a little fuzzy.

Locking his knees, he held on until he could orient himself. Then he withdrew and folded her into his arms. She didn't protest as he washed them both this time then dried her and carried her to bed.

When he returned from turning off the lights, she opened her eyes a bare inch and spread her arms wide.

Settling his head against her naked breasts, his arms around her waist, he heard the faintest of notes in his mind. The song she inspired every time they were in the same room together. As he drifted off to sleep, he smiled.

Taylor wasn't just sexy, capable, and loveable. She was his next number one hit.

* * *

"Taylor, why the hell wouldn't you answer my calls?"

Taylor glanced around the car even though she knew Michael wasn't with her. Still, she couldn't stop herself. The man had peeled back her armor layer by layer. Even though he knew the most intimate details about her, she couldn't bring herself to admit her mistakes had gained her a stalker.

"I'm sorry, Stephen. I've just been busy."

"What if I'd been calling about Bradley? Or your granny?"

She knew Granny was okay, because she'd checked in with the nursing home every day. The fever her grandmother had run before kept returning on and off, so they were monitoring her closely.

"I texted you back. What more do you want?"

"I'm worried. Bradley made bail for his latest stupidity and has disappeared. My nose is grateful, but that doesn't make me worry less. Even the PI I use for my client work hasn't been able to find him. And he's the best there is."

She thought for long, silent moments. "But this could be good, right? Maybe he left town? Maybe he didn't want any more trouble with the law?"

"Maybe. But I don't trust it. I just want you to stay at the house for now."

_Guess she shouldn't mention where she was._ "How am I supposed to do that without explaining my refusal to leave?"

"You haven't told him yet?"

"No."

"Why not?"

She wasn't entirely sure why she couldn't bring herself to tell Michael the truth, but she mumbled, "Maybe I don't want him to know how bad it is...how crazy Bradley is. What if he sends me away, because he thinks I'm a danger to him or the kids?"

Stephen sighed. "It's not safe, Taylor. You have to tell him."

Not a conversation she looked forward to having, even with a man who had learned to play her body like a true musician. "Okay. I'll do it tonight."

"Wait, are you in your car?"

"Well, yes. Today's my day off, Michael's jamming with Daniel—whatever that means—and I've got errands to run. Don't worry, I haven't seen anything weird."

"I don't know, Taylor—"

"Look, I just have to check my PO box and then I'll be back to the estate. Easy-peasy, okay?"

"Good Lord, you are as hard to control as my four-year-old."

"Well, it isn't my fault she uses her Shirley Temple curls and blue, blue eyes for evil and not for good."

Stephen groaned while Taylor laughed.

"Just take care of yourself, okay?" he finally said.

"Sure thing."

That's exactly what she planned to do. If only life didn't have other plans. She knew as soon as she picked the envelope out of the mail in her post office box a few minutes later that it was bad. Very bad. She sat trembling in her car, afraid to open it. The block letters on the front didn't disguise Bradley's handwriting.

Maybe she should take it to Stephen?

Then she remembered the anxious tone in his voice. She'd caused enough trouble at this point. Whatever it was, she would handle it herself.

YOU THINK YOU'RE SOMETHING ELSE, RUNNING AWAY. DON'T YOU, TAYLOR? BUT ONLY BAD GIRLS RUN SCARED. BAD GIRLS WHO NEED TO BE PUNISHED.

Taylor's heart pounded in the base of her throat, leaving her feeling like she couldn't breathe.

THOSE ARE SOME CUTE KIDS THAT ROCKER HAS. BET THEY'RE WORTH A PRETTY PENNY. AND THAT GIRL, SHE MIGHT BE RIGHT UP SOME GUY'S ALLEY. WOULDN'T MIND A TASTE OF TAMING THAT ONE MYSELF. AFTER ALL, YOU CAN'T STAY BEHIND THOSE WALLS FOREVER...

No no no. Would this nightmare never end? Taylor bent her head, tears welling up, but then fear struck again. Was Bradley here? Had he hung around the post office to catch her? He had to have tracked down location somehow.

A quick scope didn't show his car or him skulking around, but she wasn't taking any chances. She pealed out of the parking lot and drove to nowhere in particular, watching carefully for anyone following her.

Sure she was alone, only then did she head back to the estate. Then laughed at her hysteria. Obviously Bradley knew she was living with Michael Korvello, he just couldn't get inside.

The tension draining from her shoulders as she passed through the gates was incredible. But Bradley was right. She couldn't stay locked up here forever.

Neither could the kids.

School would start again in two weeks. Other than drop-off and pickup, she wasn't sure how tight security was at the upscale private school. Bradley no longer had a clean record, but there were probably ways to lie about it. He could show up with a cleaning crew, sneak onto the soccer field after Matthew's practice. Ambush them at the mall. She couldn't keep them safe 24-7.

Michael had been both father and mother to those kids from the moment they were born. He wasn't a perfect parent, but who was? He tried, way more than his late wife had. It would kill him if anything happened to Matthew and McKayla.

And it would be all her fault.

She'd often thought about the danger she might put the family in since she'd come to work for them, but lying low for a few months should have been enough to kill this problem. With this threat, Bradley had gone off the deep end—he was obviously mentally unstable if he could threaten a child. He'd risen to a whole new level of crazy.

She'd never be able to face Michael if she brought harm to Matthew and McKayla. Hell, she'd never be able to face herself either.

But how could she leave the family she'd come to love as her own?

Chapter Fourteen

Michael held the door open for Matthew and McKayla to roll their luggage through, all the while hearing the house phone ring over and over. It went blessedly silent just as he entered the kitchen.

"Taylor? Where are you?" he called, but nothing stirred.

"Isn't she here, Dad?" McKayla asked. She'd been really disappointed when Taylor hadn't been with him at the airport, but he'd assured her they would see Taylor when they got home.

"She should be," he mused.

"Her car wasn't in the garage," Matthew said.

Michael automatically asked, "Are you sure?" but Matthew would know. He noticed everything about the cars in the garage, even the very end stall where Taylor's little economy sedan had taken up residence.

"Wonder where she went?" Michael said. "Maybe to get something special for dinner since Susan is off. Why don't you two go put your stuff in your rooms while I give her a call? K?"

The inevitable whining started. "Do we have to unpack now? We just walked in the door."

"I didn't say unpack," he playfully groused. "I said pull the mess to your rooms so I don't have to trip over it. Capeesh?"

"Capeesh," they said in unison before trudging off with suitcases in tow.

A quick call to Taylor's cell phone didn't get answered, so he walked up to his room. She'd all but moved in—at his insistence. He wanted her there at night, and when they woke up in the morning. Heck, all day wasn't a bad deal either. He couldn't believe how much he'd wished she was with him while he stood outside security, waiting for the kids to deplane. And they had missed her too. He had a feeling his announcement that he wanted Taylor to be more of a family member than paid employee would go over very well with these two.

Glancing around his room, Michael spotted a folded card on the dresser. Good. It just wasn't like Taylor to leave without letting him know, and for some reason anxiety had settled at the base of his spine.

There was probably a perfectly logical explanation—

Dear Michael, I know it's the coward's way out to say good-bye this way, but I'll admit I didn't have the courage to face you with the truth.

No. Not his Taylor.

This just isn't the best place for me right now.

All those nights. How could it not be right?

You're such an incredible man. Your kids are very lucky to have you as a father. One day a woman will be lucky enough to have you in her life too.

But not you, huh, sweetheart?

I'm so sorry, Michael. I wish it didn't have to be this way, that I didn't have to go. But it's the best move for everyone.

As he heard his kids in the hall, he sneered. Best for everyone? Or best for Taylor?

But then he thought back to everything they'd done, everything they'd said to each other. All the guidance and encouragement she'd given him as a father. All the intimacies she'd trusted him with as a lover.

This wasn't right. Something was very wrong. He'd listen to his heart this time...not his past. He started reading the note one more time.

When his cell rang, he snatched it out of his pocket. To his disappointment the screen didn't say _Taylor_ , but maybe Stephen could help him instead.

"Where is she?" he barked into the phone.

"Um, Michael?" Stephen asked.

"Yes. Where is she?"

The other man's words sped up. "She's already gone?"

"What the hell is going on, Stephen? I'm having a really hard time buying the 'it's me not you' crap she left me in this Dear John letter."

"If it doesn't include the name Bradley Sandoval, it's a whole crock of bull anyway."

"Bradley? You mean that guy she was involved with after her parents died?" He dropped onto the edge of the bed. Where had she gone?

"That's the one. I was afraid when he got out of jail something would happen—"

"He went to jail for hurting Taylor?" She hadn't mentioned that part.

"Yes, but that was only the first time. He went to jail most recently for breaking into my office, but he was released on bail."

Whoa, wait a minute. "Come again?"

"Hmm." Silence reined on the other end for a moment, grating on Michael's nerves, then Stephen asked, "What exactly did Taylor tell you about Bradley?"

"Just that she dated him not long after her parents died." He decided to keep the sexual details to himself. "And that he ended up being scary abusive before she broke it off."

"I was afraid of th—"

"Afraid of what?" Michael ground out through clenched teeth.

Stephen suffered from some frustration himself. "If you'd quit interrupting, I could explain."

The first unprofessional words Stephen had ever spoken to him shut Michael up quick, because he wanted answers.

"Taylor did break it off with Bradley," Stephen explained, slowly down for a minute. "Then the son of a bitch decided he owned her and wasn't going to let her get away."

_Owned her?_ What kind of crazy whacko was this guy?

"He stalked her for almost six months before I got her to your place. Showed up at her job at the middle school. She had to change her cell phone number several times. But it was him breaking into her apartment... holy shit, that was scary. It was the last straw."

He broke into her—God have mercy on this man's soul, because Michael sure as hell wouldn't once he got ahold of him.

"We only had a short time to hide her before he got out on bail. I helped. I moved her grandmother to a new nursing facility and changed her name. Then I got Taylor the job as your nanny, because I knew she'd be safe there."

"You knew her all along?"

"We grew up together. What Bradley did to her—tearing her down, criticizing her weight, her teaching—he didn't care who heard him. But it wasn't until he got physically rough that she found the courage to get out. Of course, that was only the beginning."

"Sounds like."

"I'm sorry, Michael. I know I didn't give you all the facts, but she was perfect for the job. I just wanted her to be safe."

So did Michael. _Please God, let her be safe._ "I understand," he said.

The tension in Stephen's voice ramped up again. "She left me a message saying she'd received a letter from Bradley in her PO box. He's been watching her come and go from your estate, and he threatened her."

"Why didn't she just tell me? We have bodyguards—"

"He didn't just threaten her, Michael."

He swallowed, hard.

Stephen continued, "He threatened your children. Bastard knows exactly where to hurt her."

Michael, too. He'd die if anything happened to his family.

"She couldn't risk it, Michael. You know the kids aren't under surveillance all the time, and it would have devastated her if something happened. She said her only choice was to go away."

That had him straightening. "She's left? For good?"

"I don't think so. Not yet. Her message said she was going to visit her grandmother one more time. She has this idea that if she drops off the radar, then Bradley will lose interest."

"I just want her here, where I can protect her."

"I was hoping you'd feel that way," Stephen said, proving Taylor had shared something their time together with her friend. "She's been trying to hold everything together on her own for so long, I don't think it even occurs to her to ask for help anymore."

Michael rushed back down the hall, trucking for the garage. "Give me the address." He paused in front of McKayla's room. "And Stephen, thanks."

"For once," Stephen said, "I'd like to see Taylor get the knight in shining armor she deserves."

* * *

Michael rushed through the nursing home doors. _Please let her still be here. Please._ Images of Taylor alone, needing his help, burned through his brain.

He would not let that happen.

He paused at the nurses' station, giving the name Stephen said he'd used for Taylor's grandmother.

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse said. "Miss Maddie hasn't had any visitors all day."

"Can I check her room, just to be sure?"

He tried to curb his impatience as the nurse insisted he sign in, reminding himself it was her job to keep the patients safe. But a quick search room 402 revealed no one but the frail woman bearing a resemblance to Taylor lying in the bed. Pausing out of respect, Michael bent low and whispered in the sleeping woman's ear. "I promise I'll take care of her." Then he kissed her paper-thin cheek and walked slowly back out to the parking lot.

Now what? Would Taylor stop here? He knew she would. There was no way she'd leave without seeing her last living relative. But had she come and gone? Or had she not gotten here yet? Had Bradley found her before she could get away?

As he stood in the late summer heat, trying to decide what to do, his gaze caught on a maroon sedan at the other end of the parking lot. His pulse sped up. Maybe Taylor was sitting in her car?

Sprinting over, he was disappointed to find the driver's seat empty. Where had she gone? He bent to look in the window. In the backseat he saw Taylor's tote bag and purse. Where was she?

Walking back to the sidewalk, he swept the front lawn with a thorough eye. There, in the shade of the hydrangea bushes, lay a flip-flop with a bright yellow sunflower on it.

The same kind he'd seen Taylor wear back and forth to the pool several times. Running over, he picked it up. The strap was broken. Taylor was here...and somehow Bradley was here too.

Dropping the shoe, Michael raced around the side of the building, listening closely for anything that might lead him to her. How long had she been here? He found himself facing a wooded area bordering a privacy fence that protected the nursing home inhabitants. He slowed down, not wanting to miss anything in his rush.

He paused on the edge of the tree line and pulled out his cell phone. A quick call to 911 put him in touch with an operator in seconds. "This is Michael Korvello. I'm at Sandy Ridge Nursing Home. I need assistance. There's a woman who has been kidnapped from her car and taken into the trees to the left of the building. Please send the police immediately."

"Sir—"

Michael didn't wait for her instructions; he simply left the phone open and laid it on the ground. Plunging into the trees, luckily clear of most undergrowth except ferns, he kept his gaze moving as he jogged. His emotions urged him to sweep back and forth in case he missed her, but his instincts urged him to take a methodical approach. He had to be sure he covered every inch. He'd follow the perimeter first.

He had run about five minutes along the front, then side edge when he heard a noise. Pausing, he listened closely. Sure enough, a voice. Easing in, careful not to give himself away, he stalked in the same direction.

"I told you I'd find you, bitch."

Michael's muscles tightened in warning, but he kept control. He needed to know what he was walking into first.

"You are mine, Taylor. Only mine. I will not share. And I'm pretty sure you'll need to be punished for breaking that rule. Am I right?"

Taylor's whimper broke his heart, but Michael eased into the line of sight with caution. About fifty yards away, Taylor rested on her knees, her back facing him. He couldn't see her hands, though he suspected they were tied, just like the gag around her mouth. Michael could see the knotted ends right below the fist clenched in her hair. But it was the glint of sunlight off metal that ratcheted up Michael's nerves.

Bradley was holding a knife.

"No one's going to help you out here, Taylor," the man said as he crouched over her. "Bet you didn't tell anyone you were coming, huh? Not a smart move, even for you."

Michael had the advantage of surprise, and he'd definitely need it. Bradley had a weapon; Michael had nothing. The other man was beefy, the muscles in his arms thick and defined. Even though Michael worked out, he suspected this guy had him by about fifty pounds of muscle or more. He'd have to hope he had all the smarts in this equation.

Fingers crossed the police were on their way, but he couldn't risk them writing the call off as a prank and take their time getting here. They'd probably question the staff first rather than searching the grounds. Any number of things could happen.

He wouldn't let Taylor be hurt any more.

He studied the situation for long moments, noting Bradley's shaking hand, high emotions, and the rest of the cord hanging out of his back pocket. Perfect. Turning his back, he searched the ground around him, gathered what he needed as quietly as he could, then turned back.

He winced as Bradley jerked on Taylor's hair extra hard, then did something to her side that made her whimper and squirm away.

"Stop whining, bitch. You know you like it," Bradley said, causing Michael to see red.

He breathed a few times to calm himself before he put his plan into action. He tossed a couple of pine cones in a direct line back from him, rustling up the forest floor. The talking behind him stopped for a moment. Bradley had heard the sound.

So Michael threw another, and another, each one a little closer to him. Then he started to whistle very softly.

He heard Bradley's lowered voice from behind him. "Damn it—I bet some old fart has wondered off from the loony bin. Guess I'll have to take care of him."

Protesting noises erupted from Taylor's throat, but then Michael heard a dull thud.

"You just keep quiet like a good girl, or there'll be more where that came from."

Michael struggled to maintain a steady whistle, as if he'd heard nothing. He had to focus, for Taylor's sake.

He lowered the whistle, then stopped as Bradley approached. The big oaf walked right past him, not expecting someone to come along to save his victim. Bradley certainly didn't expect someone like Michael.

Without warning Michael swung the heavy branch he'd picked up, aiming straight for Bradley's knee. There was a grunt when it connected, but it didn't cover up the crack of bone. Michael didn't know if he broke it or simply dislocated it—and didn't care.

Bradley fell like the Giant did for Jack, giving Michael the chance to drop his knee—right in the middle of Bradley's back. Snatching Bradley's own rope, he had the bastard hog-tied in less than fifteen seconds.

Working on that pig farm as a teenager had finally been worth something.

Rushing over to Taylor, he brushed her hair back and gently worked the bandanna out of her mouth. "It's okay, Taylor. I'm here."

"I'm so sorry, Michael," she said, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I just didn't know what to do."

"I realize that. You should have called me. First. Always. Got it?"

She nodded, though her eyes looked a little dazed. Bruises were already forming along one cheekbone.

"Everything is going to be all right," he said, aching to brush the pain away. "I promise."

She melted into him within seconds. But everything he'd witnessed warned him he had his work cut out for him to keep her there.

Chapter Fifteen

Taylor waited until the house was empty before she made her effort to repair things with Michael.

She'd been home for a week. At least, what she considered home. Hanging out with the kids, helping them get ready for school. It had been both heaven and hell.

Michael hadn't touched her. Not even casually. He didn't talk about what had happened either. He'd simply driven her home after the doctor had released her from the emergency room with some medicine for the cuts and bruises, but none of them had required stitches. Even the lacerations on her knees from being dragged along the forest floor. Her arm had needed an X-ray, but there weren't any fractures. It had turned a brilliant purple the next day, though.

Still Michael hadn't touched her.

Having him visit her bed had been too much to ask, she guessed. Still the ache in her chest kept her restless at night. His rejection hurt more than the wounds Bradley had inflicted. Loneliness and darkness—that wasn't what she wanted. She thought she'd caught a glimpse of desire in his eyes a time or two. Her own need made her yearn for it to be true...but what if it was just that? A reflection of what _she_ wanted to see there, not what actually was?

She'd argued with herself all week but, this afternoon, had finally made a decision. She had to risk it. Had to. Even if it meant giving up the kids. Giving up the chance to see Michael at all. She couldn't go back to living as his nanny now that she'd learned what it was to be family, what it was like to be loved by him.

Knowing the kids would be gone to friends' houses until lunchtime tomorrow gave her courage. She moved through the empty house, conscious of the drizzling rain that echoed her tears. It wouldn't stop her.

In her room she stripped and showered, then dressed in nothing but a thong and black lace stockings. She waited until she was in Michael's bedroom, the door closed enough to only leave a slight glimpse of her, before tackling the soft handcuffs. Using a fluffy pillow to cushion the still healing bruises on her knees, Taylor knelt beside the bed and waited.

A little while later, she heard the distinct sound of Michael's truck coming up the drive. Relief flowed through her like a calming river. She had worried he might avoid coming home, since he knew she would be alone.

She heard nothing more until his footsteps thumped on the stairs. Leaning forward, she let the soft, loose waves of her hair fall to cover her face. The veiling effect protected her pride just a little. She was having a hard enough time facing him. If he rejected her outright—

She wouldn't think that way. Couldn't.

The door squeaked softly as it opened. _Well, at least he didn't turn away at first glance._ His quick, indrawn breath. His approach across the floor.

Please don't reject me.

Then he bent to one knee on the floor next to her. "No, Taylor," he whispered, his voice soft and heartbreaking. "You don't have to do this. Never will I ask you to do this for me again."

Her breath stilled. She pushed the fear aside to ask, "Why?"

"I just can't ask you for this after—I don't want to see you that vulnerable again."

"But I want to." She peeked at him through her hair.

Reaching out, he brushed one side of the waves back. Just like he used to. "You do?"

"I do want it," she said, bowing her head again, with embarrassment this time. "But only with you, Michael. I love you."

He stood tall, his weight shifting for a moment before he settled at her side. His knuckles soothed over her bare shoulder and down her back. "Please don't say it out of obligation, Taylor. I couldn't handle that."

That brought her head around quick. "Is that what you thought? That I would only come to you because I was grateful?"

"I was afraid of it. Yes. I never want you coerced into doing something that hurts you, shames you, or makes you afraid. You deserve to be happy."

"Loving you makes me the happiest I've ever been."

"I will make you even happier. For a lifetime, baby."

"And what about you?" she asked as she watched his eyes drift to the soft mounds of her breasts. Her nipples tightened, bare before his searching gaze. "What makes you happy?"

"My kids. My music." Finally his eyes rose to hers. "But you are what makes it all complete, Taylor. I love you."

She gifted him with her beautiful smile. "Then show me."

He did...and it was the performance of a lifetime.

Also Available From Dani Wade

SNOW BOUND

The last thing Damon West wants is a trip to his bookish neighbor's house in the midst of the worst snowstorm Cadence, TN, has seen in a decade. Still, his military instincts warn him that Miss Priss could use a little help. His arrival is met with an attack by an unknown assailant and the sight of Miss Priss in a sexy wisp of nothing-much, confidently wielding a double-barreled shotgun.

Tori Anderson carefully portrays herself as a responsible bookstore owner and capable young woman to anyone willing to look twice. But two men grappling in her backyard called for speed more than decorum. That's how the guy she'd been secretly lusting after since he'd bought the house next door sees her in a silky robe and panties—with nothing in between. Damon's sudden interest thrills her, but she can't help worrying about the unknown threat scared off by her shotgun blast.

Trapped in her house, snow blocking the roads and no way to reach the outside world, Tori finally has the chance to indulge her wildest fantasies. But she isn't sure which is more daunting—the abusive boyfriend back to punish her for helping convict him of murder or her desire to have more than one night with the town's most unavailable bachelor.

**************

Snow Bound

Smashwords:

<https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/251508>
About the Author

Author Dani Wade started her writing journey in a childhood spent in the rural south where her favorite form of entertainment was imagining herself in the roles of romantic heroines. She now juggles her writing obsession with a patient hubby, two lively kids, and a day job. Life is crazy, but she attempts to navigate the potholes with her trusty To Do List and half a brain.

Dani Wade loves to hear from her readers! She can be contacted via email (readdaniwade @ gmail.com) or through her website http://www.DaniWade.com .For more information about her books, check out her website at www.DaniWade.wordpress.com/books/ . She also enjoys blogging weekly at www.DaniWade.wordpress.com/blog/ .

She can be found on Facebook <https://www.facebook.com/dani.wade.1?ref=tn_tnmn> and Twitter as @daniwade1.

