God, they looked so much alike. The same angelic blue eyes. The exact same shade of golden-blond hair, long and with just enough waviness to make the bottom edge curl outward. The same heart-shaped face. Same wide mouth. Same skin tone. Same soft jawline. Lindsey’s uncanny resemblance to Sara had Kellen uptight, holding his body so stiff that he ached. And why else would Lindsey-not-Sara show up now, when Kellen had brought a woman on tour with him for the first time? When he’d stuck his dick inside another woman after five years of abstinence? He couldn’t even deny he felt something for Dawn, something deeper than lust. And he’d even come inside her. He hadn’t looked at Dawn when he’d blown his load, and his promises to Sara had echoed through his thoughts the entire time he’d betrayed her, but that didn’t matter. Why else would Lindsey turn up pregnant now—not six months ago? Why now? He knew exactly why.
Sara was there to haunt him and not just in his thoughts this time, but in a physical form. Kellen didn’t believe in coincidence. He believed in fate, in destiny. Lindsey turning up now was not a coincidence. She was a flesh-and-blood reminder of his promises to Sara. Just looking at her ate him alive. And the way she was looking at Owen—the worshipful way Sara had once looked at him—made Kellen want to vomit.
At his side, Dawn lifted Kellen’s hand and kissed his bare wrist. The pulse beneath her soft lips leaped and raced. He forced himself not to pull away, but he watched for Lindsey’s reaction to Dawn’s show of affection. Sara would have been spitting mad and jealous if a woman as beautiful, talented, and accomplished as Dawn O’Reilly had dared to touch him, but Lindsey was too busy trying to catch Owen’s attention to pay Kellen any mind. Owen was the one staring at him with narrowed eyes. Kellen couldn’t blame him for being pissed off. Kellen had been purposely avoiding him for hours. But his avoidance had very little to do with Owen and even less to do with Dawn. In truth, he was avoiding Lindsey so that he didn’t have to feel so guilty about Sara. For the entire bus ride from Beaumont to New Orleans, Lindsey had been Owen’s shadow. Maybe once they reached their destination, they could get away from the woman for a few minutes. He’d like Dawn to get to know his best friend a little better and for Owen to say more than hello to her, but as long as Lindsey was hanging around the guy, Kellen would maintain his distance.
He gave himself a hard mental shake and turned to Dawn.
“You seem distracted,” she said. She lifted a lock of hair from his bare shoulder and ran it between her thumb and index finger.
“Who, me?” He grinned at her. “Must be your beauty. Totally distracting.”
She rolled her eyes at him. “You seem distracted by Lindsey. Do you have a thing for her in particular or pregnant women in general?”
Gabe, who was sitting across the aisle and reading, snorted. “Jacob is the one with the pregnant-woman fetish.”
Jacob backhanded Gabe, but since Gabe was quick, Jacob caught only Gabe’s arm with his fingertips.
“I don’t have a thing for her,” Kellen said. “She just reminds me of someone.”
“And who would that be?” Dawn asked.
“Sara,” Gabe said, making it impossible for Kellen to avoid addressing her question.
Dawn’s shoulders sagged, and Kellen scooped her into his arms, kissing her passionately. That way everyone—especially Kellen himself—would know that Dawn had his full attention.
“It’s nothing,” he assured her quietly when they drew apart. “I don’t want to talk about Sara.” Or look at her pregnant ghost. But the pregnant ghost waddled by and without an invitation plopped down next to them on the sofa.
“Is your father really Theodore O’Reilly?” Lindsey asked Dawn. “The guy who owns all those tropical resorts?”
Dawn groaned. “And don’t forget his seventeen five-star hotels along both the Atlantic and Pacific coasts.” She sounded like a perky salesgirl even when she added, “Because he won’t let you.”
Kellen blinked at her. How had he not made the connection between Dawn and infamous billionaire Theodore O’Reilly? Even Lindsey had figured it out. Dawn had told him that her parents were wealthy, but she was an heiress to a hotel and resort dynasty? No way! She was much too down to earth to be related to that pompous guy.
“When you hinted that you were rich,” Kellen said, “I didn’t realize you were set to inherit millions.”
“Billions,” she corrected with a shrug.
“Billions,” he said flatly.
“Don’t worry yourself about the inheritance tax too much. I’m bound to get myself disowned before he dies,” Dawn said. “He’ll probably leave it all to his beloved wolfhound, T-Rex.” She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes. “Because plain ol’ Rex isn’t a big enough name for his dog.”
Lindsey laughed. “I can’t believe I’m talking to Theodore O’Reilly’s daughter.”
Dawn’s muscles tensed beneath Kellen’s palm.
“You must get to meet lots of famous people!”
“On occasion,” Dawn said vaguely.
“Who is the most famous person you’ve met?” Lindsey asked, looking almost as star struck as she’d looked the night she’d followed Sole Regret’s tour bus up a mountain pass and kept them all warm and entertained throughout the night.
Dawn linked her fingers with Kellen’s and smiled at him. “Mr. Kellen Jamison, guitarist for . . .” She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. “What was the name of your band again?”
Kellen snorted and couldn’t resist kissing Dawn’s pretty lips. “Sole Regret.”
“Oh, that’s right.”
She winked at him, and he realized she was teasing. She knew exactly what the band was called. She’d scored VIP tickets for their show in Beaumont specifically to confront him for leaving her behind in Galveston with nothing but a stupid Dear Dawn letter to explain his absence.
“So how does a woman like you end up in a shithole like Galveston, Texas?” Jacob asked.
Kellen scowled. He liked Galveston. It wasn’t a tropical paradise or anything, but it was an island and it was Texan, so that made it all right by him.
“I like the ocean,” Dawn said. “It helps me concentrate on composing. The cadence of the waves in Galveston speaks to me for some reason.”
“The rhythm is too slow,” Adam said quietly as he leaned against the sofa arm.
Kellen hadn’t realized he was listening. The guy had been on his phone with his girl, Madison, most of the morning. Kellen suspected they were meeting up in New Orleans for the weekend.
“I don’t compose hard rock.” Dawn squeezed Kellen’s hand. “So the rhythm is perfect for me.”
Kellen’s body flushed when memories of the rhythm they’d found together flooded his thoughts. He’d much rather be in Galveston alone with Dawn, rediscovering their rhythm, than stuck on the tour bus with Sara’s ghost giving poor her the third degree.
“So your father owns a resort in Galveston too?” Lindsey asked.
Dawn snorted so loud, she choked. “Uh, no. The water isn’t pristine enough for one of his resorts.”
Gulf water was gray and murky most days, but Kellen had never minded. The rhythm of the waves there connected with his soul. He was pretty sure that Dawn felt that same connection. But he was also pretty sure that wasn’t why she’d chosen Galveston over the Bahamas, Hawaii, or Tahiti.
“You chose Galveston specifically because he doesn’t own a resort there.” Kellen was already starting to understand how Dawn ticked.
“Exactly. I moved to L.A. for two reasons: to start my career as a Hollywood composer and because my dad didn’t have a hotel there.”
“He doesn’t?” Kellen found that hard to believe. Maybe, like Galveston, the beaches in southern California weren’t exclusive enough for one of his resorts, but that seemed unlikely.