She stopped long enough to enjoy the gentle waves lapping on the shore, watched the light from the building twinkle on the water.

She understood why Val would live where he worked. The view, the temperature of the air and water, was perfect.

The piano used to entertain guests outside stood covered for the night. Meg approached it, touched the edges of the covering briefly before pulling it back.

There was something about the sound of a baby grand that no other piano could capture. For an instrument that spent many days outside, it was tuned to perfection. Meg looked over the water, let a few chords of the song she’d sang earlier play.

She wondered if Val enjoyed her performance, and wondered even more why she thought about him now.

Meg slowed her fingers and lent her voice to the song of desire and want. It was sultry and a little sad, and fit her mood. When she finished she let the piano fade and heard a lone clap.

Val leaned against the railing, his tie loose on his neck.

The man was too delicious for his own good.

Meg offered a smile and nodded a tiny bow. “Well thank you, kind sir.”

“You were brilliant tonight,” he said from the shadows.

His approval warmed her. “I enjoyed myself.”

“Everyone could tell.” He pushed away from the rail and leaned over the piano. “How long have you played?”

Not knowing what to do with his attention honed in on her, Meg plucked at the keys softly. “My parents always had instruments in the house. They were too young for Woodstock, but if they could, they would have run around naked with a guitar covering their goods.”

“They taught you?”

“More like I taught myself. Formal education wasn’t important to them.” She played a few notes of Bach, switched to Pink Floyd.

“Can you read music?”

“I get by. My high school choir teacher said I had a talented ear.”

“And voice.”

She smiled, caught the scent of Val’s skin. “That and an open guitar case might have made me a few bucks on a city corner.”

“You weren’t willing to risk a roof over your head for the dream of a singing career.” His observation was on-target.

“My parents live week by week, Masini. I didn’t want that.” The music coming from the piano started to sound dark. Meg purposely switched it to something quick and lively. “What about you? Ever want something different in your life that you didn’t go for?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she glanced up to find him studying her.

“Not yet.”

“Sounds like there’s something.”

He brushed the side of her face with the back of his hand, moved closer.

Meg stopped playing, felt her pulse jump.

“Where’s Michael?” Val whispered.

“Michael?” The name didn’t register.

Val lifted his left eyebrow. “The man you’re here with.”

Right. “He’s a . . .” Damn, he smelled edible.

Val’s palm captured her neck and guided her to her feet. “He’s just a friend, isn’t he, Margaret?”

The way Val’s lips moved drew her closer. The need to taste them, feel them on hers was impossible to walk away from. “If I told you we were more than friends . . .”

Val’s eyes traveled from her lips to her eyes. “Then I’d have to let you go.” He loosened his fingers on her neck, but instead of moving away, Meg leaned in.

“Sounds like you might regret that decision.” She laid a hand on his firm chest. The man wasn’t soft under his stuffy suits.

“I don’t pursue another man’s woman.”

He wasn’t moving away.

“Good to hear, Masini.” She lifted her lips close to his, felt his breath mix with hers. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

Val hesitated for a nanosecond, and then took her lips. His closed-mouth kiss started off soft, like a hesitant man worried about rushing. Yet when Val wrapped his free hand around her waist, and his body fit against hers, Meg opened for him, encouraged him to taste.

When he did, she lost it. He tasted of bourbon and sex. God help her, she wanted to crawl into his kiss and explore it for hours. The man kissed like he was on a mission. And maybe he was. Who knew if Val Masini made it a weekly occurrence to kiss a new woman? Somehow, she didn’t think so. He was too reserved most of the time.

Not now . . . not with his tongue exploring hers and his strong hands pressing the small of her back closer. Every hard ridge of the man met with every soft curve of hers.

The kiss went on until she found her chest tightening with a familiar warning. Sexual excitement had to be paced or she might find herself in a full-blown asthma attack. A frustrating fact of her life in the last few years. One that kept her single most of the time, her encounters lukewarm at best.

Val was threatening the air in her lungs with just a kiss.

A heated knock her on her ass kiss, but a kiss nonetheless.

She eased away and Val chased her lips.

She tried to slow her breathing, couldn’t catch a deep breath. “Wait,” she managed, pulling away.

“Too much, cara?”

You have no idea.

She reached out, felt her head spin a little. Her inhaler was in her purse. Her next two breaths didn’t satisfy the need for air. Instead of trying to fake her way out of his arms, she gave him a tiny shove. “Can’t. Breathe.”

He smiled, then the smile fell when he realized she wasn’t being cute. “Are you OK?”

“Purse.”

He guided her to the bench and handed her the clutch.