Chapter 8

Hope clung to Logan's hand as they re-entered the pub's back door. She needed the support, considering her legs hadn't recovered from that pounding he'd given her in the back alley.

Even now, after she'd come down off the high of that earth-shattering orgasm, she felt wobbly and a tad off-kilter.

She'd never had sex in a public place before, had never contemplated it, but this crazy out of control yearning to have Logan had made her lose her mind.

And for the first time in her life, she didn't care.

Despite moving to the other side of the world to escape her parents' overt disapproval, inside she was still the model daughter doing everything right for fear of being judged and found lacking. She never did anything outrageous—force of habit—and discounting her penchant for not wearing underwear, she was conservative to her core.

So what she'd just done with Logan? Left her reeling, but in a good way.

He hadn't spoken since they'd disengaged but he'd taken her hand so she assumed he didn't intend to ditch her as soon as the deed was done. Not that she'd blame him if he did. She'd made it more than clear what this was: a quick screw to satisfy an urge and thankfully, he'd obliged. They'd part ways inside the pub and she'd see him Tuesday morning when he arrived with his crew. No problems.

As they entered the main public bar, she heard the haunting strains of a guitar being strummed. Her feet slowed as the soft melody washed over her. An original song. Untainted by commercialism.

Craning her neck, she spotted the sole guitarist perched on a stool, one leg outstretched, the other resting on a rung. He wore denim and a flannel shirt, sported a buzz cut, and five rings in his right ear, the only unconventional thing about him. When he started to sing, the hairs on her arms snapped to attention.

"What's wrong?" Logan stared at her, confusion creasing his brow.

When she flashed a beatific smile, the creases deepened. "That guy is amazing."

Logan gave a little shake of his head, like he didn't understand what the big deal was about. "Do you want to have a drink and listen to him for a while?"

"I'd love to." Her feet were already moving towards the table and barstools they'd vacated not that long ago.

"What'll you have?"

"G when she wasn't moaning about her imploded relationship, that is.

Harry had known what Willem meant to her, had known what those songs she'd written soon after represented. Yet he'd betrayed her regardless.

Her eyelids grew hot, her throat scratchy, as she quashed the memory of lost love and shattered friendship. Tears burned the back of her eyes and she blinked. This wasn't good and she had to give Logan something so he'd stop studying her so intently.

"There was a guy…"

His lips compressed and his eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment Hope wanted to laugh at the thought of a guy she barely knew being jealous. It was nothing more than a typical male reaction, needing to be dominant and front and centre in her mind considering they'd just had sex.

"Harry was like a dad to me." She bit her bottom lip to clamp down on the urge to bawl. "When my parents said no to me learning drums, Harry taught me on the sly. He was an old rocker who lived in a village near us and his band toured the country playing at pubs like this."

She swallowed, willing the urge to cry to subside. "He got me hooked on the indie movement, the kind of music that doesn't conform, the kind of music that can change things." She thumped a fist over her heart. "In here. It's magic."

She'd been so caught up in the euphoria and the way Harry brought music to life that she hadn't seen him for what he was—a clever liar—until it was too late.

Even now, all these years later, she couldn't fathom how he could do that to her. How he could take four of her original songs and pass them off as his own.

She'd been young, na?ve, and starting in an industry that terrified as much as enthralled. She'd trusted him implicitly, especially after the balls-up of her relationship with Willem, another narcissistic liar.

Those songs after the break-up with Willem had been good. Heck, she could objectively say they were brilliant. Harry had thought so too, enough to steal them and obliterate her trust in people once and for all.

"It may sound corny but music doesn't just inspire me, it's my life," she said, her voice wavering with emotion and she hurriedly cleared her throat.

Logan stared at her, wide-eyed, as the guitarist crooned. He leaned forward to whisper in her ear, "You have no idea how turned on I am right now by your passion."

It was just the distraction she needed from her mawkish thoughts and this time, when she nibbled on her bottom lip, it was to stop from nibbling on him.

"I love what I do," she said, with a bashful shrug. "Not many people understand the dream. They see me as some rich bitch dabbling in music because I can. They don't take me seriously because I have the money to back me if I fail."

His eyes blazed with fierceness. "Don't let the dickheads drag you down. You have a dream, you go for it."

His unexpected protectiveness made her want to snuggle into his arms, so she defused the situation. No good could come of wanting to get closer. "And I will, if your company is as good as you proclaim at getting the job done right."

"I'm the best." He winked, as if sensing her need to lighten the mood. "As I'm sure you can attest to."

"We're not talking about your construction skills anymore, are we?"

"There can be a tool belt involved next time if you want."

She arched an eyebrow, deliberately provocative. "There's going to be a next time?"

"Only if you're lucky," he murmured, trailing a fingertip down her bare arm, leaving a trail of goose bumps.

Their eyes locked and in that moment, with the heat from their earlier encounter still pulsating through her body, the guitarist's soft melody filling her with yearning, and Logan's teasing touch, she really wanted to get lucky again.