“Owen, please, we need to talk. I didn’t mean—” He cut off his own lie. He had meant it. Maybe not at first, but once their lips had met, he’d meant every caress, every shred of lust swirling through his body. What he hadn’t meant to do was hurt Owen, not in any way. “I’m sorry. Please, just . . . We need to talk.”
The door opened, but it wasn’t Owen who faced him. It was Caitlyn. He wasn’t sure what to expect from Owen’s new girlfriend. Would she be furious? Upset? Hurt? Strangely, she seemed sad. Was his ability to read people slipping?
“Bad timing, Kellen,” she said. “He’s devastated over his brother, and you pick that moment to finally be honest with him?” She shook her head. “I think you should leave. He might forgive you later, but right now? He feels betrayed.”
“He told you?” And why wouldn’t he? Owen hadn’t done anything but accept Kellen’s advance until he’d come to his senses enough to push him away. “I want to talk to him. Apologize. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
“I don’t think he’ll talk to you right now. He’s got a whole lot of anger brewing inside him over Chad, and you gave him something to direct that anger at.”
“That’s fine. He can kick my ass if that’s what he needs to do, but I couldn’t stand it if we leave this as it is. If he shuts me out.”
“I’ll talk to him on your behalf,” she said, but Kellen wasn’t sure if she’d say the things that needed to be said. What if she made the situation worse? Right. How could anything she said be worse than what he’d done?
“I—” Kellen licked his lips, searching for words. He should apologize. Not just to Owen, but to Caitlyn. And to Dawn. Oh God . . . Dawn. What was he going to tell Dawn?
“Just so you know, I’m not letting you have him,” Caitlyn said, and before her words had sunk in, she shut the door in his face.
Chapter Seventeen
Prague had always been one of Dawn’s favorite cities. The red rooftops and countless spires puncturing the skyline were pleasing to the eye, and the Czech people were kind and patient—if not perpetually amused—as she struggled to communicate in their language. She’d always been better at understanding foreign languages than speaking them, so while she caught most of what was said to her, she was pretty sure she’d told the taxi driver that her cat liked yellow pillows. Dawn didn’t even have a cat.
Though she adored the local beer—in her experience, the best pilsner on the planet—touring the mix of ancient attractions and the art nouveau buildings of downtown, and gawking at the amazing workings of the astronomical clock for an hour or two, what really cemented Dawn’s link to the city was the music. String quartets accompanied by flutes often entertained passersby right on the street. Live classical music could be heard in ordinary bars as well as more formal venues. The entire area had a healthy obsession with Mozart. Every time she visited, she felt she’d found the city of her heart. Well, that title was a toss-up between Prague and Warsaw. She loved both cities dearly. She’d been in Prague just a month ago for the Spring International Music Festival, but had jumped at the chance at a repeat performance. She wished Kellen had come. Even though he was a rock musician, she felt that every music lover should experience Prague at least once in their life. If this had been a leisure trip, she’d have taken in several concerts, an opera or two, and maybe even a ballet, but she was short on time and still not sure if she was signing that contract to compose for Hollywood. If she was, she’d have to be in Venice by the end of the week. Would she even have time to sneak in a few days in Texas to comfort Kellen about his band breaking up?
She’d never meant for her stint in Hollywood to become permanent. Truthfully, she wanted to compose the type of symphonies that musicians would still be playing in Prague and around the world a hundred years in the future. But the money Hollywood offered was hard to pass up. No starving musician truly wanted to starve; she was proud to be able to wring out a living with her creative work. Then again, no musician wanted to be a sellout either. As she browsed a farmers’ market for lunch, her mind churned her worries into a hot mess. How could she follow her head or her heart when neither part knew what it wanted, much less what she wanted?
Her walking and sightseeing did a lot to clear her head, easing her into the right frame of mind to perform that evening. If she’d cloistered herself in her hotel suite all day, she’d have become a pacing basket case; she’d learned that the hard way long ago. Dawn was accustomed to being alone before her shows, so it was probably a good thing that Kellen wasn’t with her. He would have undoubtedly destroyed her focus, and focus was truly what she needed before a performance. She arrived at the concert hall a few hours early to give herself time to get to know the piano she’d be playing.
“Miss O’Reilly, we have refreshments for you in the green room,” said a helpful staff member who spoke perfect English. “My name is Bridget. I am here to offer any assistance you require.”
Refreshments would be nice, but Dawn wanted to get in a practice run of her set list before concertgoers arrived. Now that she was at the venue, her belly was aflutter with nerves. She doubted she could keep a cracker down.
“I’d like to check my instrument before the performance.”
Bridget stiffened slightly, as if Dawn’s comment was a personal affront to her ability to properly do her job. “The tuner just left and assured us that the piano is ready to go.”
Dawn smiled, figuring her nervousness was coming across as haughtiness. She was sure it wasn’t the easiest job in the world to deal with demanding virtuosos on a regular basis.
“I’ve no doubt of that,” Dawn said. “I know it sounds odd, but I like to become acquainted with an instrument before I perform on it.” She leaned in closer and whispered, “I also want to make sure I remember how to play.”
Bridget laughed, her tense expression melting into a smile. “Of course, Miss O’Reilly. This way.”
Dawn followed her to the backstage area and into the wings of the elaborate stage surrounded by gleaming wood carvings and lavish golden curtains. A magnificent mahogany grand piano set center stage, and Dawn felt an instant connection with the gorgeous instrument. She was pleased to recognize the same piano she’d played the month before. It had a beautiful, resonating sound. They played well together.
“I’ll get someone to turn up the lights,” Bridgett said.
“It’s fine. I like to play in the dark.”
The stage wasn’t completely dark. The dim lighting added to the subdued mood she’d soon banish from the theater—from pit to rafters. She would bring the place alive with sound.
“Won’t you need lights to see the scores?” Bridgett asked.