“Damn him,” she muttered. “He could have at least had the decency to tell me to my face that he wasn’t interested.”

Determined to have a great day despite the dark cloud that was suddenly obscuring her sunshine from the inside out, Dawn poured herself a cup of coffee and went to sulk—contemplate life—at her piano. She righted the piano bench, which had been overturned during all those wonderfully sensual activities she refused to dwell upon, and plopped down. She dribbled coffee down her bare front when she noticed Kellen’s handwritten note.

She snatched it from the music stand and read it three times before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it on the floor.

“Entertaining evening,” she muttered under her breath. “Was that what it was to you? Because it was magical to me, you ass!” She didn’t know why she was yelling at her piano, but it felt right. “You’re sorry it didn’t work out between us. How could it work out? You didn’t even give it a chance. I hope you choke on your guitar.” She wasn’t sure why he’d have his guitar in his mouth, but she wasn’t thinking clearly enough to come up with better ill wishes.

She turned sideways on the bench and pulled her legs up against her body, hugging both shins and burying her face against her bent knees. She was not going to cry over him. Not going to cry. Those hot, wet droplets coming from her eyes and running down her thighs were not tears. Nope. Not crying for a guy who’d love another woman until the day he died. Not crying over a man who had taken a chance with her but decided he’d rather return to a dead girl. She sniffed. She really wished she could hate him for that, but it just broke her heart.

When she decided she’d wallowed in misery long enough, she turned to her piano and practiced her new song. Kellen’s song. She would always think of it as Kellen’s song, even if she did name it “Dawn.” She began to feel better almost at once. The joyful melody lifted her spirits until her tears were forgotten and she was smiling to herself. She had to call her agent. He had to hear this song.

She dialed his number and had his secretary patch her through. As soon as she had him on the line, she interrupted his usual, “Any luck?” As if luck had anything to do with composing.

“Listen,” she said and put him on speaker phone so he could hear her. She played the piece from beginning to end. When the last note rang out, she stared at the phone, her heart hammering with excitement. The song was wonderful. Perfect. She knew it was. But she had to hear it from someone who would give it to her straight. “Well?”

There was a long pause. “I… I’m speechless,” he said.

What? Speechless? What did that mean? “Thanks for sharing. But is the song any good?”

“It’s phenomenal. I almost hate to hand it over. It’s too good to be closing credit music for some movie.”

“But it will be heard, Wes. Well, by those who stay for the credits, at least. I’m just glad I finally wrote something worth listening to.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Dawn. Everything you write is inspired.”

She rolled her eyes. He thought that because he only ever heard her finished pieces. He’d never heard her bang out angry renditions of “Chopsticks” because it sounded better than the crap she was coming up with.

“So do you think you could get me an extra few days on my deadline? It’s finished, but I haven’t exactly written it down yet.”

“So write it down now.”

“I have something important that I need to do today,” she said and before her impetuous mouth had even completed the sentence, she knew it was true.

“More important than keeping a movie studio happy?”

“Yeah. Much more important than that. Have you ever heard of the band Sole Regret?”

“The metal band out of Austin nominated for best new artist Grammy last year?”

She knew Wes would have heard of them. “That’s them.”

“I don’t know them, but I do have business connections with their manager. Why?”

Wes knew everyone in the music business either directly or by some outside contact. He loved to drop names. “I need to be on the VIP list for their show in Beaumont, Texas tonight. Can you make it happen?”

“Can you fax me a rough draft of your masterpiece in the next hour so I can get this producer off my back?”

She sighed loudly. “Yes, I’ll fax you a rough draft.”

“I’ll make your groupie wishes a reality then.”

“I’m not a groupie,” she said testily.

“Oh. Are you writing music for them now?”

“No, I’m not writing their music. They’re kind of out of my genre, don’t you think?”

“Groupie,” he teased in a high-pitched voice.

“Watch it, Wes. I know where you live.”

“As soon as I have that rough draft in my hand, I’ll get you on the list.”

She grinned because she knew he’d deliver for her. “Slave driver,” she muttered.

“Virtuoso,” he countered.

“You really suck at insults, Bloodsucking Agent.”

“And you really suck at lying, Groupie.”

“Expect a fax in an hour,” she said, already scribbling down notes as fast as her hand could move.

“I’ll pull all the right strings in the meantime. Great work, doll. I think there’s an Academy Award in your future.”

Dawn paused to glare at the crumpled note on the floor. “Yeah, you aren’t the first to make that prediction today. I’m just glad the song is finally done.”

“And I’m glad you’re a groupie.” He laughed, and she could picture his overly white teeth gleaming in his overly tanned face. “We’ll talk soon.”

He hung up before she could reach into the phone and choke him. Groupie? How could she be a groupie if she’d never even heard Sole Regret’s music? She just needed closure or an opening—one or the other and preferably the latter. She wasn’t sure if Kellen would even talk to her, but she had to try. She had to find out why he’d left and if he had any interest in her beyond one amazing night. But first she had to get their song on paper and then she should probably consider putting on some clothes. While she was pretty sure Kellen would understand her need to be naked today, the public probably wouldn’t be so understanding.

“Are you okay?” Sara said as she trotted down the steps, stopping on the bottom one so that it was impossible not to notice her belly. She patted Kellen’s shoulder. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Not Sara, he told himself. Lindsey. The girl Owen had been talking about on the phone before they’d been disconnected. She’s not Sara. Yeah, tell that to all the hairs on the back of his neck, which were standing on end.

He took a deep breath and clenched his shaking hands into fists.

“Where’s Owen?” Kellen asked, staring at her pregnant abdomen and doing mental math. Could it be… Was this what Owen had been trying to tell him about? No. Not possible.

“I think he’s talking to her again,” Lindsey-not-Sara said. He glanced up in time to catch her rolling her pretty blue eyes. “It was good seeing you.” She kissed his cheek and stepped off the final step. “If anyone is looking for me, I’m going to buy some food. I swear, how do you guys live like this?”

Still dumbfounded, he watched her walk over to Jordan, who was taking one of his hundreds of daily breaks, and with a few bats of her eyelashes and rubs of her belly, Jordan was on his feet and escorting her to the rental car he was responsible for returning. Completely transfixed, Kellen watched her get into the car. Lindsey really was a beauty. She definitely rivaled Sara, but was no comparison to Dawn.

Shit. He couldn’t let himself think about Dawn right now.

Kellen climbed the bus steps and spotted Owen sitting at the dining table and staring intently at his iPad. He looked up when Kellen slid into the booth across from him. He smiled.