Page 4 of One More Song

“Damages?” I squeak.

“Smooth, Ash,” Dimples, or rather the guy Ash calledSaintsays.

Who the hell are these guys? And what kind of names are Ash, Saint, Synn, and Dusky?

“We’re not going to cause ye any trouble, lass,” Dusty says, glancing into the sitting room. “And Maryll was right, this place has incredible acoustics. We can set up our gear in here—”

“You’re musicians?” This is getting worse by the second.

That arrogant smirk plays on Ash’s gorgeous lips again, but it’s Saint who places an arm over Ash’s shoulder and gives me a dimpled grin. “You really have no idea who we are?”

“No. But I do know this isn’t going to work. I have a—”

Ash shrugs off Saint’s arm and steps toward me. He’s close enough now that his scent wraps around me, and the energy and heat I’d felt earlier comes back with a blast.

“You signed a contract. Legal and binding.” There’s a hint of a threat in his words. “But if you want us to leave, you can give us the money Maryll paid you...” He shrugs. “Plus compensation for the inconvenience.”

“Compensation?”Why has this man reduced me to one-word sentences?But as I say it, I remember the contract the woman had me sign, some sort of non-disclosure contract. I’d read it quickly because it seemed simple enough.

“Did you not read the contract?” Ash asks, his expression unreadable. But I have a feeling he’s enjoying the way I’m squirming under his intense gaze.

I leave them, rushing into the office, opening drawers until I find the paperwork I’m looking for. I scan it, my heart stopping when I read the fine print. It’s there in italics, so small I must’ve missed it. If I renege on the agreement before the three months are up, I’ll owe not only the monies paid but a two thousand dollar charge.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

This whole thing is turning into a giant nightmare. I don’t know what to do, but I know I can’t have these men living in my house.

But by the time I walk back into the foyer, the guys are already going off in different directions. Dusty has slung his duffle bag over his shoulder and is taking the steps two at a time up the stairs. Saint, whose dimples tell me he’s anything but, has made his way into the kitchen, and I can hear the refrigerator opening, and his curses about there being no beer. And Synn has headed out the front door, leaving it wide open so I can see the two black SUVs parked in my driveway.

It’s Ash who I follow. He seems to be the ringleader of the group. I find him in the front room, sitting at the piano, looking like he owns the place.

“You can’t stay here,” I say, my voice shaky, because I know there’s no way I’ll be able to afford the reimbursement. I already spent a small chunk of the money Maryll gave me on this month’s bills.

With his back to me, his fingers expertly dancing over the keys as he plays the scales. I try not to notice the way his muscles bunch and tense under the fabric of his t-shirt.

“When was the last time you had this tuned?”

“I...uh...I don’t know.” I shake my head, knowing he’s trying to distract me. “Look. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but I’m sure you can find somewhere else to go.” Even as I say the words, I can hear the lack of conviction in them. I need the money.

The music stops, and he turns, straddling the piano bench. And when those gray eyes are on me again, my body betrays me, and I can feel the flush rising to my cheeks.

I try to fight it, the attraction, the heat, the pull, but it’s impossible. And I wonder if he feels it too, or if he has this effect on every woman. I have a feeling it’s the latter because I can’t read anything in those stormy eyes.

“No,” he finally says, his words absolute, like he’s used to getting what he wants. “I like it here.” Those gorgeous lips of his twitch up slightly. “I was worried that this place would be boring. But this could be fun.”

I scoff. “Fun?” That’s one word for it. Millie would find this entire situation hilarious. But I’m not Millie with her heart-on-her-sleeve attitude. I’m Ember - a woman who always has responsibilities.

And as I look into Ash’s eyes, I realize I don’t have a choice.

“Yeah,fun,” he says with a dare in his voice and a promise in his eyes.

A promise.

My track record with promises is fifty-fifty. And right now, I can’t handle another thing in my life breaking.

I have no choice but to try and make this work. Not just for me. But for Cadence.

Chapter Two

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