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  "I haven't been avoiding you."

  "Oh, yeah, right. It's just coincidence that you're never in when I call, and you never come to the club anymore or show up at the rec hall or any of the other places you usually go."

  "I've been busy." Her insides were shaking, but she managed to infuse her words with cool indifference.

  "Busy, hell. No one's that busy."

  "Think what you like." She slammed the trunk lid and sidestepped around him.

  Scowling, he followed at her heels. "What's wrong with you, Meghan? Why are you acting so cold?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm in a hurry." She tried to open the car door, but he gripped the open window frame and slammed it shut again.

  "Dammit, Meghan, we have to talk."

  "No. We don't." She looked at him fully for the first time, and she was proud of her cool composure. "What happened between us was just one of those things. It was no big deal. Anyway, it's over and done with, so let's just forget it. Now I really do have to go."

  Rhys narrowed his eyes, but he allowed her to open the door. Once she was safely seated behind the wheel with the motor running, she looked up at him with what she considered admirable poise and said, "Oh, by the way. I heard you got that record contract. Congratulations."

  "Thanks," he murmured, still watching her.

  She put the car in gear, and as she stepped on the gas she smiled and waved". "Goodbye, Rhys. Have a good life."

  * * *

  She had always been proud of that exit line, Meghan thought as she dragged herself off the bed and turned back the covers. Of course, it had been pure face-saving; two blocks away she had stopped the car and bawled her eyes out for half an hour.

  She set the alarm clock for six, climbed into bed and turned out the light. Lying on her side, she stared through the darkness. In her mind's eye she could still see Rhys as he had looked in her rearview mirror when she had driven away, standing there in the middle of the road, staring after her with a bewildered look on his face.

  Until he had walked into the studio the previous week, she hadn't seen him since. And now, of all the rotten luck, she was going to be traveling with him for the next three months.

  Meghan raised up and punched her pillow viciously. All right. She'd go on this assignment, and she'd do a good job, but she darn well meant to keep as much distance between herself and Rhys Morgan as she possibly could.

  ChapterFour

  An almost reverent hush gripped the audience. Everyone in the theater sat entranced, their gazes locked on the solitary figure on stage.

  Standing in the wings, Meghan listened pensively to Rhys's mellow voice caress each note of the song. The poignant tones and lyrics sent a tingle feathering over her skin and brought a sharp, sweetly painful ache to her chest.

  She gazed at Rhys's chiseled profile. His phenomenal appeal was easy to understand. With the dark good looks of his Welsh and Irish heritage, those sexy pale eyes and that undercurrent of mystery and danger he exuded, his physical magnetism was potent all on its own. When he sang of love and heartache and hope in that deep, sexy voice any woman with an ounce of blood in her veins was bound to turn to jelly.

  Rhys Morgan had been the cause of the most painful and humiliating experience of Meghan's life, yet even with their history, he still mesmerized her. Exactly as he had eight years ago.

  That she still found him attractive was unsettling. And annoying. Meghan had not expected that. Thank heaven this time she was not a foolish eighteen-year-old with her heart on her sleeve.

  This time her heart was in no way involved. She had gotten over Rhys years ago. Unfortunately, however, it seemed that the physical attraction was as strong as ever. She could deal with it objectively now, though. He was simply a good-looking and talented man who possessed a potent animal magnetism. She could appreciate that much the same as she appreciated a fine piece of art or music. It was that simple.

  Head back, eyes closed, Rhys sat centerstage on a high stool, bathed in a single spotlight, the hand-held microphone close to his lips. The heartfelt emotions of the song were etched in his expression and after two hours under the harsh lights his skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. The immaculately cut tux jacket hung open. His black tie dangled loose. He had removed the top three studs from his shirt and the frilly garment gaped attractively, exposing his throat and a spattering of chest hair.

  The song was his finale. The curtain would come down as the last note faded away, but Meghan knew she had several minutes before she would need to duck out of sight. After a thunderous ovation, Rhys would be called back for numerous curtain calls.

  "Careful, Ms. McCall," a nasty voice whispered in her ear. "You've got a hungry look on your face."

  Meghan turned her head slowly and gave Quincy a cool stare. "That's merely because I missed dinner," she said in a bored voice, and returned her gaze to Rhys.

  "Uh-huh. Right. Just don't forget what I told you."

  Meghan did not bother to reply. Strangely, though she knew perfectly well that aiding her was not his intention,

  Quincy Westfield had been, and continued to be, her biggest ally in her efforts to avoid Rhys.

  The tone for the relationship between Meghan and Rhys's manager had been set that first morning, three weeks ago, when Rhys and his road crew had arrived at her apartment to pick her up for the short drive from Dallas to Fort Worth. It had been Quincy who had rung her doorbell, and when she had looked surprised he'd sneered, "Disappointed, Ms. McCall? Surely you didn't think Rhys would come upstairs in person to fetch you, did you?"

  "No. No, of course not."

  His nasty smile said he didn't believe her. "Good, I'm glad to hear that. Rhys is a superstar. He doesn't fetch and carry for anyone. Besides, he couldn't take the chance of someone recognizing him. When that happens there's usually a mob scene. He and the others are downstairs in the limos."

  "I understand. Really. Won't you come in, Mr. West-field?" She opened the door wider and stepped aside. "As you can see, I'm ready to go."

  Quincy did not bother to even glance at the three suitcases neatly lined up in the entryway. Folding his arms over his chest, he studied Meghan insolently. "Normally, I would have sent one of our roadies up to get you," he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "But I wanted to have a private word with you before you saw Rhys."

  "Oh?"

  "Yes. I feel the wisest course of action is to spell things out in plain English, right up front. Don't you agree, Ms. McCall?"

  "Well, yes. I suppose so."

  "Excellent. Then you'll understand what I'm about to say." He paused for effect, giving her a cold look. "I want you to stay away from Rhys. In fact, I insist on it. You're going along on this tour to work. That's all. So if you're harboring any secret hopes of attaching yourself to Rhys, I'd advise you to forget them."

  "Mr. Westfield, I assure you—"

  Quincy silenced her with a raised hand. "Spare me your denials, please. Just remember, I'll be watching you. If I even suspect you're trying to take advantage of your position you will be out on your ear in a New York second. And I can personally guarantee that Jacobson and Howly will never handle another major star. I do hope I've made myself clear."

  "Abundantly."

  Arguing with Quincy would have been futile, and Meghan had not bothered. The irony of the situation stirred up an odd welter of feelings though. She had every intention of staying as far away from Rhys as possible, but she did not like being warned off by his obnoxious manager. Meghan even wondered, resentfully, if Rhys was behind the warning.

  When Meghan and Quincy had arrived downstairs it had been obvious that Rhys expected her to ride in the first limo with him, but his manager had adroitly sabotaged that plan by insisting that he had business to discuss with his client and they needed privacy. Rhys had grumbled, but to Meghan's relief Quincy had installed her in the second vehicle with Rhys's pianist, Allen Stenner, and the two roadies, Sean O'Neal and
Joshua Hillerman.

  That inauspicious beginning had not only defined Meghan's relationship with Rhys's manager, it had set a pattern that had been repeated in various forms over the past three weeks.

  Through devious maneuvering and manipulations, Quincy had done everything in his power to insure that Rhys was never alone with Meghan. Every chance he got he also made it abundantly clear that he resented her and was merely tolerating her presence because he had no choice.

  Whenever Rhys was around, Quincy was polite and pleasant to Meghan, but he still managed, with looks and subtle jibes, to constantly remind her of his warning not to get too chummy with Rhys.

  At times his relentless animosity and antagonism got under Meghan's skin, but for the most part she ignored him. After all, they both wanted the same tiling.

  The whole situation was awkward, but she coped by diving headlong into her job. She put in long hours, handling the myriad details associated with touring with her usual single-minded efficiency. Usually she arrived at whatever concert hall in which Rhys was performing long before he and the others, and invariably she was the last to leave.

  They were making a wide loop around the state, and after Texas they would move on to Louisiana and the other southern states, gradually making their way back to New York.

  From Fort Worth, they had gone to Amarillo, Abilene, Lubbock, EI Paso and Austin, and now they were in San Antonio. In each town Meghan dealt with the hotel staff, the local promoters and stage crews, ran interference and coordinated events, saw to it that everything was perfect and all Rhys's needs were dealt with. She met with the hordes of news people, scheduled interviews, arranged photo sessions, screened Rhys's calls and accepted or tactfully declined the numerous social invitations he received wherever they went.

  Meghan's flair for organization and details kept things rolling along smoothly and the heavy workload usually provided her with ample excuses to avoiding Rhys's company.

  Even when she had to deal personally with him, they were almost never alone. During their daily morning briefing sessions, which, at Rhys's insistence, were held in Ins suite over breakfast, Quincy was always present, and when they traveled from booking to booking the whole crew was with them on the jet.

  At first Meghan had thought she was imagining it, but she'd gradually begun to realize that Rhys was trying to establish some sort of relationship with her. Hardly a day went by that he did not ask her to have lunch or dinner with him, or to share his limo when he left a theater. Those few times he had caught her alone he always tried to engage her in conversation.

  Meghan had no idea why he was making such a determined effort. She certainly was not foolish enough to think it was because he had suddenly fallen head over heels for her. Whatever the reason, she wanted no part of it.

  Meghan did not hate Rhys. Nor did she harbor any angry feelings toward him; she knew full well that a great deal of the blame for what had happened between them rested squarely on her own shoulders.

  However, the experience with Rhys had been the most degrading and hurtful of her life. Afterward it had taken her years to rebuild her pride and self-esteem—primarily by pretending that the whole sordid episode had never happened—and she would prefer not to be reminded of it in any way. She especially did not want to discuss the encounter, which, she suspected, was what Rhys had in mind.

  The song ended to explosive applause and the heavy velvet curtain descended. Instead of remaining in place for his encores, as he usually did, Rhys strode offstage in their direction. Caught off guard, Meghan experienced a flutter of panic and turned to scurry away, but she was too late.

  "Meghan, wait. I want to talk to you."

  She halted, grimacing, and turned back slowly. "I—"

  "Rhys, you've got a curtain call," Quincy butted in. "Besides, Meghan is snowed under with work right now."

  Rhys shot his manager an annoyed glance. "Nothing that won't wait a minute, I'm sure. Meghan, I want you to wind up things here fast. You're having a late dinner with me tonight, and this time I don't want to hear any excuses."

  "But-"

  "Rhys, for Pete's sake, listen to that applause. Will you get out there?"

  "All right, all right, I'm going." As he allowed Quincy to propel him back onstage, Rhys looked back over his shoulder at Meghan and ordered, "Don't you budge from that spot until I'm through."

  The curtain went up again, and as Rhys moved to center-stage and took his bows Quincy returned to Meghan's side. The cordial expresion he had worn while Rhys was there had vanished; he looked furious.

  "You aren't having dinner with him. You got that? I don't care what excuse you use, just get out of it."

  "Don't worry, I will."

  "See that you do."

  He looked at Rhys and his mouth compressed. "I don't know what the devil has gotten into him lately. Everywhere we go I set him up with gorgeous actresses and models and society babes. Not only do they help rake in the publicity, they're all hot to trot for him. But for all the interest he shows in them lately, they might as well be chopped liver."

  Meghan gritted her teeth. Until she started this tour she had believed all the press about Rhys's womanizing, but she had quickly learned that the ladies' man image was one that Quincy deliberately fostered. She deplored the practice. At times she suspected that Rhys did, too, though she was more comfortable believing otherwise.

  "He acts like it's a punishment to go out with a gorgeous babe," Quincy continued to mumble. "Yet he's knocking himself out to score with a ordinary looking little nobody like you. It doesn't make sense. Unless..."

  Quincy turned a jaundiced eye on Meghan. "What have you got on Rhys?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "Do you know some secret from his past? Something you're holding over his head?"

  "Don't be ridiculous!"

  Rhys's return baited whatever reply Quincy had been about to make. He had to content himself with a dagger look before turning his attention to his star client. "What're you doing back so soon? Listen to that applause. They love you, Rhys, boy. Get back out there and take another bow."

  "Six is enough," Rhys said impatiently, and fixed his attention on Meghan.

  "I meant what I said. I've ordered dinner for us in my suite. You finish up whatever it is you have to do here while I change, then we'll go back to the hotel."

  "Rhys, I'm sorry, but we can't do that. Don't you remember? You have that party tonight at Mrs. Amboy's."

  "Ah, damn. I'd forgotten about that. Can't you get me out of it?"

  "I'm afraid not. Mrs. Amboy is a social leader in this town and she's putting on this party just for you. She's also chairwoman of several charities, including the children's cancer fund. When you visit the children's ward at the hospital tomorrow afternoon she will be acting as your guide, so I don't think you want to insult her by not showing up at her party."

  Rhys grimaced, and Meghan bit back a smile. She had known that would do the trick; when it came to children's charities, Rhys was an easy touch.

  "All right, all right. I'll go to the party." He started to stalk away, then turned back. "You're going, too, aren't you?"

  "Yes, of course," Meghan said with a coolly professional smile. "It's my job to control the press at these things."

  "Good. You'll ride with me." It was not a request but a command, and when it was delivered he turned and marched away.

  Quincy opened his mouth, but Meghan forestalled him.

  "I'm way ahead of you. When he's ready to leave tell him that I forgot my dress for the party and had to go back to the hotel to change. And that I'll take a taxi from there."

  The house lights were dimmed. The elegant auditorium of Houston's Jones Hall lay shrouded in darkness and an eerie, yawning quiet. A few stagehands were striking the set but almost everyone else had left. Meghan's high heels tapped against the wooden boards and echoed hollowly through the cavernous backstage. She stopped beneath one feeble pool of light to consult the checklist on her clipboard a
nd crossed off an item just as Allen Stenner called to her.

  "Hey, Meghan. You about done here?"

  She looked up, surprised. "Allen. I didn't know you were soil here. I thought you and the others left with Quincy over an hour ago."

  "Naw. He was heading to some fancy place for dinner and we decided we'd give it a miss. Me'n Josh and Sean are going out for a pizza. You want to come with us?"

  "Thanks, but I've got a few more things to take care of before I leave."

  "Hey, Red, you work too hard. Sure you can't just blow it off and come with us?"

  She chuckled. "It's tempting, but I'd better not."

  "Suit yourself." He started to turn away, but she stopped him.

  "Uh, Allen... Do you know if Rhys went with Quincy?"