Playing For Keeps (The Alpha Brotherhood #3)(24)
Author: Catherine Mann

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

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

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

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

Jayne continued, “And overwhelming.”

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

“Ask what?” Jayne answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hillary chimed in, “Serious.”

“Not clingy,” Jayne continued.

Hillary added, “Literate.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He sang “Playing for Keeps.”

Eight

The strains of “Playing for Keeps” echoed in his head even after he’d finished the last encore, reminding him of a time when he’d actually believed that idea. The audience ate up the simple melody and sappy premise.

Exiting stage right, he began to doubt the wisdom of rolling out that old tune to soften up Celia. He couldn’t read her face in the shadowy wings, but he damn well knew his insides were a raw mess. Thank God his Alpha Brotherhood buddies were backstage with her, a wall of protection behind her while a couple of the wives kept her company. So his pals had her back—and his—until he could get himself on level ground.

This whole trip down memory lane was a double-edged sword, but he wouldn’t lose sight of the goal. He and Celia needed to see this through. To settle the past before they could move forward with the future. The applause and cheers swelling behind him meant nothing if he couldn’t find some resolution with Celia.

God, she was gorgeous in a silky sapphire dress with a hint of ruffle teasing her knees. And the plunging neckline—he couldn’t look away, especially as throughout the concert she’d toyed with those tiny strands of pearls twisted together. Her feminine curves had always driven him to his knees and drained him of the ability to think. But holy hell, he could feel.

Turned on and turned inside out.

He wanted to have her naked in his arms again more than he wanted air. More than he wanted another concert or even another assignment. Getting into her bed again had become his mission of the moment. She was, and always had been, the woman he wanted more than any other.

As he drew closer to her, though, he realized he’d made a big, big mistake with the song. Her lips were tight, her eyes sparking with anger and something even worse.

Pain.

Crap. The sight of her distress sucker punched him. He’d meant to tap into her emotions, not hurt her.

Stepping into the backstage shadows, he reached out to her. “Celia—”