up. The muscles she’d felt ripple beneath his shirt were all the more magnificent uncovered. Damn it all, why couldn’t he have gone paunchy and bald? Or why couldn’t he have at least become a totally arrogant jerk?
All right. He was a bit arrogant, but not at all a jerk. And the six-pack abs didn’t show the least sign of paunch. His hair was so freakin’ magnificent his fans named that signature lock of hair over the brow—calling it “The Malcolm.” Men everywhere were letting their hair grow long over their foreheads because their girlfriends begged them to. Malcolm’s fans.
His fans.
Damn. Not two minutes after vowing not to let the attraction derail her, she’d failed. She’d been so caught up in gawking at his naked chest that she’d forgotten about the sold-out audience on her lawn. Celia knelt by the sofa, her hand falling lightly on his shoulder.
His warm skin sent sparks shimmering through her.
She snatched back her hand. “Malcolm? Malcolm, you have to wake up now—”
He shot upright off the sofa. His arm whipped from under the blanket, a gun clasped in his hand and pointed at the ceiling.
A gun?
“Malcolm?” she squeaked. “Where did that come from?”
“It’s mine, and it’s registered. I keep it for protection, which seems appropriate given the threats against you. Probably a bit more daunting to an intruder than if I bash them over the head with a rolled-up music score.” He placed the black weapon on the coffee table with a wry grin. “It’s best you don’t surprise me when I’m asleep.”
“Do you get creepy fans waking you up often?” She rubbed her arms, suddenly chilled.
“When I first hit the charts, a fan managed to get past security into the house. But since then, no. That doesn’t mean I’m letting down my guard, and my security detail is an impenetrable wall between me and overzealous fans.”
“Then why sleep with the gun?”
“Because your life is too precious to trust to anyone else. I have to be sure.”
Her heart squeezed in her chest, and it was all she could do not to caress his face, kiss him, claim that perfect mouth of his all over again.
Clearing her throat, she nodded to the living-room window covered with simple white shutters instead of curtains. “Check out the lawn.”
His eyes narrowed, muscles along his chest bunching. He strode across the room and opened the shutters just a crack.
“Crap.” He stepped to the side, out of the sight line. “Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I was afraid this might happen. I should have insisted we leave last night before they had time to rally.”
Her misgivings churned again. “About leaving together for Europe. I’m …”
“Yeah, I agree.” He snagged his button-down shirt off the back of the chair, tucking his feet back into his loafers. “We need to go right away.”
She toyed with the tie of her bathrobe. “I’m not so sure about that.”
He glanced up from buttoning his shirt. “We don’t have a choice, thanks to the folks on the lawn with cameras.”
“So you more than suspected this might happen?”
“I couldn’t be certain.” He tucked his tablet computer into a leather briefcase. “But I had to consider it and plan accordingly.”
“What kind of plan?”
“A way for us to leave before it gets worse.” He strapped his gun into a holster and stowed it in the briefcase, as well. “As soon as you get dressed.”
“It can get worse than that? There’s no more room on the lawn.”
“There’s always room,” he said darkly. “Get dressed, and I’ll pour some coffee into travel mugs. We’ll have to eat on the road.”
“What if I decide to stay here and let you leave on your own?” So much for her resolution to face her fears. Chicken.
He stood still. Waiting. Leaving her time to realize—she really didn’t have a choice anymore. Once the press saw him leave, they would stay on her lawn until she walked out the door or until they somehow managed to break in. She needed to tuck her head and get out of here quickly.
“Right.” She sighed. “I’m going with you. But why so soon? What about packing?”
“Arranged.”
“Of course.”
He could order anything now, thanks to his money and power. And at the moment, she wasn’t in the position to turn that down. His guards had the crowd contained, but for how long?
“God, this is getting complicated.” She scraped back her tangled hair in her hand. “I have an end-of-the-year concert tonight and grades to file.”
Malcolm held a phone in his hand. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll make it happen. I can have an army of guards around the entire school if that’s what you need.”
As much as it pained her, she knew there was only one solution. “That sounds frightening and dangerous. I’ll call the high-school chorus teacher. She can conduct the concert if I send her the lineup, and I can file my grades online. Given the circus out there, I imagine the school will understand my decision to take a personal day.”
He reached out a hand. “Celia, I’m so damn sorry about—”
“Uh, really, it’s okay.” The last thing she needed was his touch scrambling her thoughts again. “You were just trying to help.”
Spinning on her heel, she raced back down the hall to her room. She yanked a sundress and sandals from her tiny closet before peeling off her pj’s.
She couldn’t help but wonder, if Malcolm suspected this kind of fan fallout, then why had he made such a public appearance? Had he been trying to force her to fall in line with his plan? If so, why? What did he have to gain from stepping in to protect her from the stalker?
None of this made sense.
She tugged out fresh underwear and didn’t stop to think about why she bypassed simple white cotton for lemon-yellow lace. It shouldn’t have mattered, and she shouldn’t have noticed her choice.
But it did matter, and she had noticed. That made her angry with herself all over again. It had been tough enough tamping down her runaway attraction after a night spent dreaming about him and that dang kiss. Now she had the additional memory of chiseled abs and his formidable male chest etched in her brain.
She yanked on her clothes and jammed her feet into sandals while the scent of hazelnut drifted into the bedroom from her kitchen. She took a valuable thirty more seconds to brush her teeth and hair, before racing back into the living room, grabbing her floral tote bag along the way so she would have her wallet and computer. “I guess it’s time to put your guards to work helping us run the gauntlet to your limo.”
He passed her a travel mug of coffee. “We’re not using the limo. We’ll go down the inside stairs to the garage.”
“My car is still at the school.” She shrugged her bag over her shoulder, nerves singing freaking arias in her stomach at the thought of all those fans outside. “I really should give my dad a call. And damn it all, Malcolm, just because I’m going with you does not mean we will be sleeping together. You have to understand—”
“Celia, stop. It’s okay. I hear you. Now hear me. I had a vehicle delivered last night in case we needed to make an escape—since the limo wouldn’t fit in your garage. You can call your father and the other music teacher once we’re on the road.” He slipped his fingers down her arm in a shivery caress then clasped her hand. “Trust me. I will not let anyone—including myself—hurt you.”
With