She gave me a considering look, mulling me over. “There’s nothing like family. You’re luckier than most.”

“Yes.”

She let out a sigh. “The truth is we’re selective about who comes in to work with our kids, but I like your story—and your sincerity. I also think the kids would love to hear you speak to them—maybe play a song. We’ve had a few musicians come in for little concerts, mostly classical, so you’d be quite the treat.”

“I’d be honored.” An idea struck. “Maybe I could teach some classes on how to play the guitar—kinda like my dad taught me. Sorry if I’m being presumptuous, I’m not even a real teacher, but I think I’d be good.” I leaned forward and smiled broadly. “I do have a sparkling personality, Mrs. Smythe.”

She let out a laugh and blushed. Score.

I settled back. “Or, if you just need a volunteer to work the lunch line one day or clean the hallways, I’d be proud to do whatever you need.” Truth.

She tapped her fingers on the desk. “Just so you know, we don’t cater to the media here. No reporters are allowed inside our facility and we don’t link our names with celebrities. Whatever work you do here will be confidential.”

I nodded. I got what she was saying. “I don’t have an ulterior motive for this. I can assure you, this isn’t about me putting on a show or getting attention. This is for me alone. I could have been one of those kids.”

She seemed to come to a decision about me and stood. “Great. I’ll give our calendar a look and see where we can fit you in. No doubt, you’re going to cause quite a stir here. I’ll call you and let you know.”

We shook hands and for the first time in a long time, maybe since I’d left Dallas behind all those years ago, I felt like I was home. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what stirred my heart—maybe it was holding Violin Girl’s hand or maybe it was knowing that I was doing something worthwhile that wasn’t about me.

Whatever it was, it felt damn good.

A FEW DAYS later, I woke up at one in the morning.

Violin Girl was on my mind. Constantly. She hadn’t played for me since the ice cream fiasco, and frustration rode me. I’d spent three wasted nights out on the patio waiting for her to appear. Spider had even tried to get me to go clubbing with him and Mila, but I’d stayed home. Blair had insisted I take her to dinner, but I’d made up an excuse about working on some music. I was obsessed with hearing her play. Seeing her.

I thought back to the ice cream shop. There was no doubt Violin Girl had been angry with me when she stomped out. The question was—why? Was it because she was attracted to me and was jealous of Blair? Like me, did she feel the current between us—as if some invisible, electric wire connected us? I shoved a hand through my hair.

Did I want her or her music? I didn’t know.

The sound of music caught my ears, and I immediately shot out of bed and headed for the window and pulled back the curtains. I opened the window. Shit. Had she been playing late at night so I wouldn’t see her?

I picked up the binoculars from my nightstand and put them to my face.

What I saw made me groan.

Bathed in moonlight, she stood with her violin in hand. Her red robe swished around her body as she manipulated the strings with her bow. Staccato yet delicate notes reached my ears, the sound heartbreakingly beautiful as if an ethereal creature was whispering in my ear. Inhaling sharply, I strained forward, recognizing Verve’s “Bitter Sweet Symphony”, one of my all-time favorite songs. Her music captured me, wrapped me up, and I stood there wishing she were in front of me, wishing I could just touch her.

She angled her body to face my house, the small part in her robe teasing me. Her pale skin gleamed, the soft rise of her breasts visible. I immediately took a step back from the window. Dammit. I’d been deluding myself. This may have started out as music, but I realized it was so much more. Cloaked in her dark sounds, she was everything I never knew I wanted, but I didn’t like how it made me feel.

Out of control. Yearning for something that wasn’t safe.

Yet, as if my feet had a life of their own, they took me back to the window where I watched her end the piece with a long slow note.

She took her bow.

She flourished her hands.

I held my breath, waiting to see what was next.

She didn’t tease me. She threw her shoulders back and dropped the robe, letting it pool at her feet as blood rushed through my veins. Like a beautiful, life-sized alabaster statue, she was fucking mesmerizing. My eyes went over every inch of her skin, imagining the cool air hitting her nipples, imagining that she said my name, even though she didn’t even know it.

I clutched the binoculars so tight I was afraid they’d snap in two.

Naked.

Without boundaries. Without shame.

With my necklace on.

Beautiful. Defiant.

She’d wanted me to see her. And part of me thrilled at this little game we played.

Then she raised her head and stared across the shrubs, straight into the darkness where I waited.

She’d set out to torture me. Her breasts looked heavy as she cupped them, her fingers drifting over her tits. She tossed her head back and in my head, she moaned, imagining me with my fingers between her legs, entering her, teasing her. Lust hammered into me at the image, and I growled in my throat, hard, ready for her. I shoved my hands in my underwear and fisted my cock, but the action was cold. Empty. I wanted nothing but the kind of release that came from driving into her.

That’s it. Enough.

I tossed down the binoculars and grabbed my jeans and slid them on, dashing out of the room without a shirt, although I did put my feet in flip-flops.

I ran out the back patio door and made it halfway to her house before it hit me.

What made me think she wanted to see me?

Better yet, what was I going to do with her after I coaxed her into my bed? There’d be a fallout because she was my neighbor; there’d be no walking away from her the next day, and the scary part was I didn’t know if I’d want to.

Even though being with her might be the end of me.

I came to a stop, indecision riding me as I battled myself. Images of her flitted through my head, the arch of her neck, the curve of her waist, the way her hands had moved over her body—

But she was a fantasy. She could practically be in another dimension for all it mattered. Sure I wanted to have the soulmate kind of love that Leo and Nora had—that was part of the reason I wanted a real home—but my dreams came first. Not this need for a girl.