One Night with Sole Regret 05 Tie Me (2 page)

“I think leather is biodegradable,” he said now, knowing she wouldn’t approve of him throwing junk into the water. It just felt like a fitting burial for the thing, giving Sara to the sea she’d loved so briefly. He knew she’d wanted to spend more time there before she’d passed. Knew he was responsible for not fulfilling that want because he’d been terrified of letting her leave the hospital. He hoped there was an ocean in the afterlife and that she was always dancing in the waves.

Kellen rubbed his bare wrist, trying to work the feel of the confining leather from his skin. As with her memory, he couldn’t seem to lessen its effect by simple effort. After a moment of kneading his wrist, something bumped into his bare foot. He looked down and caught the reflection of two metal buckles in the sand.

“Back so soon?” he said and released a sigh. He bent and retrieved the bracelet, stuffing it into the front pocket of his jeans. A circle of wetness blossomed over his hip. He’d carry the cuff a while longer, but he silently swore that he wouldn’t put it back on his wrist. That wasn’t going back on his promise that he would remove it tonight. Not exactly. He
had
removed it. Yet while it wasn’t on his wrist, he was still very conscious of its presence in his wet pocket.

The soft tinkle of piano music competed with the roaring waves. Kellen glanced behind him, seeking the source of the sound. Most of the houses along the deserted Gulf beach were dark, but a soft yellow glow lit an open window in the house next to his. The southwestern end of Galveston Island was far removed from the tourist attractions of the city. Down here, late at night, one could pretend to be the only person for miles. Yet he didn’t mind the intrusion of the poignant melody. In fact, he was pretty sure he needed something unexpected to draw him back to the present.

A strong gust of wind slapped his hair against his face. Thunder rumbled overhead.

The piano melody built—an inspiring crescendo—soaring higher. Higher. Drawing him out of the darkness. Clearing his thoughts. Freeing his heart. Washing him with elation. If only for a few seconds.

The string of notes ceased suddenly. A loud
blam
on the keys ended the piece.

A moment later, an angry rendition of “Chopsticks” drifted from the open window and drew a smile to Kellen’s lips.

A bolt of lightning split the darkness, followed by a loud crash of thunder. Kellen squinted as the rain began to fall in fat droplets. He was instantly soaked, water coursing over his face and bare chest. His hair stuck to his neck in thick chunks, but he didn’t run for shelter. The melody had started again. He didn’t realize he’d approached the neighboring house until he found himself standing beneath the open window, which was shielded from the deluge by a wide, overhead deck. Again the melody built. He held his breath, waiting for the next note. One more beyond the first time he’d heard the amazing piece of music. Just one more note. One more.

Blam!

“Argh!” he heard a woman’s frustrated cry right before another bolt of lightning flashed and a rumble of thunder snapped him back to his senses. He turned his gaze to his beach house next door, trying to muster the courage to go inside and out of the rain. Without Sara.

“Nice night for a walk,” a voice called down to him. The woman’s words were muffled by the downpour and the churning surf. He looked up and saw her standing against the deck railing. He couldn’t make out her features, as the light was at her back, but he could make out her curves when the wind blew her flowing white dress against her body.

A familiar and unwelcome heat stirred low in his belly.

It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman. Too damned long. And it was going to be a damned while longer if Sara’s memory had a say in the matter.

Chapter Two

The last thing Dawn had expected to see on the beach behind her rented vacation house was a soaking wet, shirtless hunk. She was too surprised to feel threatened by his presence. Had Neptune—lord of the sea—washed up on the shore? With that hard body and water dripping from every inch of his taut skin, the tall, muscular man sure resembled an immortal god.

“Are you lost?” she yelled.

Really, Dawn? The sea gifts you with this gorgeous, tail-less merman and you ask him if he’s lost?
Of course he was lost. Why else would he be standing half-naked on the beach during a thunderstorm? She doubted he was rescuing sea turtles.

He shook his head. “No,” he shouted up at her. “I live next door. I was just enjoying the”—with an outstretched hand, he indicated the churning sea behind him—“view.”

“Normally, I’d believe you, but the view is a little
violent
at the moment,” she yelled back.

Thunder crashed overhead, and the wind blew cold rain against her. She stepped back from the railing. The storms here didn’t mess around. Palm fronds slapped against tree trunks, rattling like a nest of angry snakes. The surf slammed into the beach with increasing retaliation as the storm advanced ashore.

The man cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Was that you pla—”

Lightning broke the darkness, announcing another rumble of thunder. Dawn could see the man’s lips were still moving, but the wind robbed her ears of his words.

“What?” she yelled.

“That melody I hear—”

She shook her head and pointed to her ear. “I can’t hear what you’re saying!”

He scowled and glanced around before turning and running for the wooden walkway that had been built over the sand dunes. Soon she couldn’t see him at all and wondered if she’d imagined him. At least he’d found the sense to get out of the rain, even if it was rude for him to dash off without so much as a
see ya
.

Dawn shrugged and went back in the house. Perhaps that little interruption would wake up her muse. The lazy twit wasn’t cooperating with her at all tonight, and Dawn had a deadline to meet. She had to find the rest of this song by morning or she was in deep, professional trouble.

She flexed her aching fingers and had just sat down at the piano when the doorbell rang.

Had Neptune come calling? Her heart rate kicked up. She was here in this strange house by herself, and she was pretty sure the nearest cop was ten miles away. What if that soaking wet hottie was a psycho? He had to be a little crazy to be standing out in a storm in the middle of the night, didn’t he? That was the curse of having an overactive imagination. It served her well in her song writing, but damned if it wasn’t a burden whenever something a little out of the norm came her way.

She hesitated for just a moment and then went to the door, drawing the shade up so she could look through the glass pane. The shadow of a broad-shouldered figure loomed outside. She switched on the porch light. Yep, there standing on her deck, dripping water and looking sexier than any drowned beast had a right to look, was her Neptune.

“Can I help you?” she yelled through the door. She wasn’t about to unlock it. She’d seen a lot of horror movies in her day, and she knew what happened to women alone on dark, stormy nights who were stupid enough to open doors to strangers. Real killers didn’t warn you of their intentions by wearing frightening masks and revving a chainsaw on your doorstep as they asked for entry.

“I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice muffled by the glass door. “I hope I didn’t scare you. I just wanted to know the name of the song you were playing when the storm hit. I won’t trouble you further.”

“The song I was playing?”

“Yeah. It really spoke to me. I was hoping you could tell me what it’s called so I can look it up.” A particularly loud crash of thunder caused him to flinch. “This is stupid. I’ll go. Sorry for bothering you.”

He took a step back, his gaze trained on the staircase that led to the ground. Like all houses along the shore, the rental was perched high on thick wooden stilts to keep it above the flood zone. Dawn reached for the lock. She no longer cared that he might be a little crazy. He’d complimented one of her songs at a time when she was feeling pretty down about her talent. She tore open the door and stepped out on the damp deck. Her feet found a puddle Neptune had left behind, and she curled her toes to avoid the cold.

“I’d tell you what the song’s called, but I haven’t named it yet,” she said.

He paused at the top of the steps and turned. He’d been gorgeous at a distance in the dark, but up close and in the light, he stole her breath. Strong, rugged features—so masculine, it should be a crime—surrounded captivating dark eyes that captured her gaze and refused to allow her to look away.

“You haven’t named it?” His voice was deep and as smooth as silk. It played on her nerve endings like a bow drawing magic from a violin.

“I haven’t named it because I haven’t finished it. Do you really like it?” she asked. “I was about to scrap it and start over.”

“Don’t do that,” he said. “It’s amazing. You composed it?”

“I’m trying to. It just isn’t cooperating with me.”

The lights flickered as another bolt of lightning snaked from the clouds to the ground. Dawn glanced at the open front door with longing. Neptune might not mind being caught in the storm, but she wasn’t so hardy. The skirt of her dress whipped around her legs in the gusting wind. She hugged her arms around her body for warmth and started to creep back toward the threshold.

“Sorry for taking up your time,” he said. “I’ll just go… home.”

Something about the way he said
home
made her heart twist.

“Do you want to come in for a cup of coffee?” she asked accidentally. Sometimes her impulsive mouth said stuff she immediately regretted. She wasn’t sure if she regretted this particular outburst or not. Maybe if he accepted, she’d wish she’d gone mute. But if he refused, she knew she’d be bummed.

He bit his lip and stared at her with the darkest eyes she’d ever seen. She could drown in those eyes and wouldn’t even fight sure death.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

She hesitated as they stared each other down. “Turn around first.”

He lifted a slim, black eyebrow at her, but turned slowly, arms extended at his sides, to show her his back (and perfect ass). An amazing tattoo covered the left side of his back and shoulder. The black-and-gray-toned rearing stallion looked so realistic, she half expected it to kick her with one of its flailing hooves. Even the feathers braided into the horse’s mane seemed to be dancing on the breeze.

When he’d completed a three-sixty and his eyes met hers again, she said, “I was just making sure you aren’t hiding a giant ax back there.” She didn’t mention she’d enjoyed his gorgeous ass, muscular back, and the magnificent tattoo decorating the expanse of smooth, bronze skin while checking for deadly weapons. She might be a lot of things, but tacky wasn’t one of them.

“I assure you,” he said, “I’m not an ax murderer. Or any kind of violent criminal.”

“Yeah? That’s what
all
the soaking wet, ax-wielding, violent criminals say.”

A corner of his sensual mouth turned up, and he traced one eyebrow with a fingertip. “I can only imagine what you must think of me, standing outside your house in a storm. I swear it was your pretty song that drew me to your window.” His smile widened, softening his strong features, and every shred of Dawn’s apprehension vanished. “What kind of soaking wet, ax-wielding, violent criminal would admit to that?”

She offered him a return smile and stepped into the house. “Come in. You must be freezing.”

“Thank you for your concern, but I’m okay. The cold doesn’t bother me.”

“Then you must not be from around here,” she said. She’d only been in Texas for a few months and had already acclimated to the warm climate. Sixty degrees felt cold to her these days.

“Not from Galveston, no. I’m from just outside Austin—born and raised.”

“Then you must be naturally hot-blooded.”

Her Neptune chuckled. “Maybe a little.”

He entered the house and stepped to the side while she closed the door. Water dripped from his body and left quite a puddle on the tile floor.

“Stay there,” she said. “I’ll grab a towel.”

“I don’t usually make such an ass of myself,” he said, and then chuckled. “I leave that to Owen.”

“Owen?” she called as she hurried toward the hall closet, which held a stock of beach towels.

“Friend of mine.”

“Is he a god too?”

“A god?”

“You’re Neptune, right?” she asked. “Lord of the sea who washed up on the beach during the storm? Do you perform miracles? Because I could use a couple of them tonight.”

He laughed again and took a towel from her to dry his straight, black hair. It was a bit longer than shoulder length and dripping water down the hard contours of his chest and belly. Dawn dropped a second towel on the floor to collect his puddle and forced herself not to gawk at his body.

“Sorry to disappoint you—I’m not a god. Just a man who sometimes loses his way.”

“I’m trying to get you to reveal your name without asking directly,” she said to his thighs as she squatted to collect more water.

“I seem to have misplaced my manners,” he said, drying his chest and arms. “I’m Kellen Jamison. And you are?”

“Dawn O’Reilly.” She slowly rose to stand straight and found that even though at almost six feet she towered over many guys, Kellen still had a couple inches on her.

“Your name sounds familiar.” Gnawing on his fingertip, he examined her face thoroughly.

“I’m sure there are plenty of people who share my name.”

His eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. “But not any other Grammy-winning composers. You wrote the music that won for best movie theme song last year. Am I right?”

She flushed. He knew who she was? No one knew who she was. Well, a few people knew who she was, but composers didn’t have fans. Pop stars had fans.

“It was actually the award for Best Instrumental Composition, but yeah, one of my works happens to accompany the rolling credits of a certain blockbuster movie. How do you know who I am?” Her suspicions were coming to a head again. Maybe he was one of those creepy stalkers who saw someone on TV and trailed them to the ends of the earth. Except no one knew she was here but her family, closest friends, and her agent. It wasn’t public knowledge that she’d rented this beach house for a couple of months, hoping to spark her creativity. After her Grammy, several producers had contacted her to write music for them and like the star-struck novice that she was, she’d accepted every job that had come her way. Big mistake. Huge! Apparently her creativity was completely quashed by any sort of pressure or expectation.