Overture (North Security #1)(2)

LIAM

The doorbell rings at exactly noon. I like punctuality, but I’d like it even better if members of the press never spoke to Samantha Brooks again. I’ve limited their access to her greatly—maybe even to her detriment, considering press helps her get concert invitations and recording contracts.

I never planned to have children, and at the age of twenty-eight I had hardly been in a position to be the father of a twelve-year-old girl. That’s exactly what happened when a judge signed the papers giving me guardianship of Samantha. Her mother had been long gone. Her father had just died. Her brother had no interest in a sister he’d never known.

Somehow the two of us, complete and utter strangers, became a family.

The sweet strains of the violin follow me downstairs. She practices every day before school. Every day after school. Every weekend. It’s become the dew that coats every part of my life, a fresh breath of daylight in a world of dark.

It’s hard to believe that in only a few weeks the house will be silent. I steel my expression into remoteness. It isn’t the stodgy old reporter’s fault that I resent the tour that will take Samantha away from me—and the press that’s naturally a part of it.

“Hello.” A woman in a sleek suit gives me a slow smile. “You must be Liam North.”

My eyebrows rise. This isn’t an aging gentleman with white hair and a plaid sweater vest. Maybe the magazine thought a woman would be able to connect better with Samantha. The thought gives me pause. Maybe she’s been missing a female influence in her life.

Dating has been the last thing on my mind the past six years.

“That’s me.” I shake her hand. “I’m going to sit in on the interview.”

She purses ruby-red lips. “Why?”

Already this interview is going differently than the last one. The older gentleman had spent more time reminiscing about meeting Fritz Kreisler to ask too many questions. When he remembered to do the actual interview, he asked the kinds of standard questions Samantha remembered at breakfast. What routine do you have to warm up? What’s the hardest piece you’ve played?

The man hardly noticed that I was in the room except to send me a reproving glance when he asked about her schooling. Why not attend a performing arts school? Did she want to move to New York City or London where she could have more exposure to professional musicians?

“Because I’m her legal guardian,” I say, not bothering to hide the steel beneath the words.

“Does that mean she isn’t allowed to speak her mind?”

Christ. I have half a mind to slam the door on this reporter’s face. I don’t trust her as far as I could throw her. If this were six years ago, I would do just that.

It could risk Samantha’s involvement in the tour, though. She earned the right to do this. I may be her legal guardian, but not for much longer.

“It means it’s my job to protect her from members of the press who are more interested in a juicy story than the privacy of an underage young woman.” I keep my voice level, but there’s no mistaking my meaning. If she tries to pull anything in front of Samantha, she’s gone.

The reporter smiles. “I’ll be on my best behavior then. And if I step out of line, maybe we can meet up after and you can teach me a lesson I won’t forget.”

I stare after her as she heads into the house, following the sound of the violin without knowing the way. That’s how rusty I am at dating—that it takes me a second to realize she was flirting with me. I have a feeling it’s more than flirting. An offer. She would be in my bed tonight if I wanted her.

So why don’t I want her? She’s a beautiful woman, there’s no doubt. And it’s not like I have an abundance of options spending my days here at the compound. I don’t date any of my employees or anyone who lives in Kingston. It might lead to complications. Come to think of it, I’m in the middle of a dry spell that’s pretty damn long.

I already know that I’m not going to take the pretty reporter up on her offer. It has something to do with the violinist she’s here to interview. Because I don’t want anything to distract from my duties as her guardian. At least that’s what I tell myself.

Samantha’s face in rapture as she takes the first sip of her hot tea flashes through my mind. I’m afraid my reasons for abstaining may be something far more base.

No, that can’t be right. Samantha is my responsibility. I’m sixteen years older than her and in a position of power. I absolutely cannot think of the small moan she made.

My body reacted to the sound with instant carnal hunger.

I grit my teeth and follow the reporter to the music room because I’ll be damned if I’m going to let this interview get out of hand. Something tells me this reporter is eager enough to push her luck. No one messes with Samantha Brooks—not even me.





CHAPTER TWO




A single violin is made from over seventy individual pieces of wood.


SAMANTHA

I can tell from the moment the reporter steps into the room that everything will be different. She has hair so glossy and curled—I didn’t know it could look that way outside of a magazine. Her eyebrows belong in some kind of YouTube tutorial. And she’s dressed like we’re in a New York City high-rise instead of a small-town ex-military compound. The house is large and expensive, with marble floors and crown molding—but it’s clearly designed to hold men.