Taking her hand, Caleb led her up the stone steps to the rear of the house. A breeze rustled the leaves of the ornamental trees and a patio curved around to the double back doors, but any patio furniture had been removed for the winter. A fountain lay quiet and dry, and Kira could imagine it gurgling in the spring season. The eyes of six white Roman goddess statues seemed to follow Kira as she trailed after Caleb, as if she was about to explore a miniature-sized Hearst Castle.

After unlocking the doors, Caleb ushered her into a dusky vestibule. Marble floors swept away into the dim hallway ahead. High ceilings with carved medallions held the chandeliers in place.

Caleb brushed a hand against the drapes and switched on the overhead hanging lamps. Light flooded the wide hallway. Just beyond a columned breezeway was the living room with columns standing at each corner. Plush crème-colored sofas were placed in strategic conversation groups. Italian rugs of the softest wool lay on the parquet floors.

Inlaid tables of cherry wood and lamps finished off the comfortable room. Kira pictured herself curled into one of those oversized chairs with a book, afternoon sun streaming through the overhead skylights fifteen feet above her.

“It’s a gorgeous room,” she whispered. The house was so quiet, whispering seemed like the protocol. No voices or sound, not even the hum of a heater or refrigerator.

“This house needs to be lived in,” Caleb stated.

“When do you hope to move in?”

“I have an appointment next week with the tax revenue board. My lawyer is fighting for a fair rate. The state wants to charge me triple what the property is actually worth. When they learned I was the owner of DREAMS, they assumed they could bully us into it. I’ll pay my fair share of taxes, but it’s overboard, believe me.”

“Isn’t that making a big assumption about your income?”

“Yeah,” he said briefly.

Talking about money seemed to make him uncomfortable, but Kira was curious. She suspected Caleb was a millionaire, but just how many millions. And was that millions with a “b” instead?

“I can see the question in your eyes,” he said, teasing her as they turned down a second hallway.

“I’m not thinking anything!” she protested.

“The answer to your question is yes. Yes, I am. And believe me it’s not as fun as you might think. It comes with a whole lot of trouble, actually. I have to hire a platoon of attorneys. The IRS is constantly auditing me. Just for the heck of it.”

Kira tried not to sputter out a hundred questions. Was he serious? He WAS a freaking billionaire?

So why wasn’t Caleb Davenport rubbing shoulders with the wealthiest models and land barons of New York City? Or jetting to Hollywood to date the rich and beautiful actresses. What in the world did he see in her?

She tried to steady her erratic heart just as Caleb opened the doors to a room at the end of an adjoining third hallway.

He gave Kira a gentle push from behind. “This is the secret room I’ve been dying to show you for years. Ever since our group won the bid to gut and restore the house I thought about creating a room like this.”

He didn’t need to turn on any electric lights. It was situated on the southwest side of the house where a bank of large picture windows streamed light into the room. Two sofas had been placed under the windows, along with tables and lamps for reading or conversation. But standing in the very center of the room on a thick, enormous rug that must have been at least twenty by twenty feet, filling most of the space, was a grand piano. At least eleven feet long. Shiny black gloss.

Reverently, Kira moved toward the magnificent instrument. The word, Steinway, was etched across the black lacquered wood above the keys. The piano wasn’t even dusty, she mused vaguely, trying to take in what she was seeing.

“Open it up,” Caleb told her.

She lifted the lid and felt tears in her eyes at the sight of the perfect, ivory keys.

“I had it delivered last week after Celeste Delorios’ concert.”

“No,” Kira whispered. The word came out hoarse as if her voice had suddenly stopped working.

Caleb frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

“I mean you shouldn’t have. You don’t play the piano.”

“What’s a big old house without a music room? Did I get the right piano?”

Kira laughed then. “You got the perfect piano.”

“I want you to play it.”

“I haven’t played in front of anyone in far too long.”

“Oh, I’m not going to stay and make you self-conscious. I’m going to go clean up our picnic, do the dishes—remember that kitchen I was telling you about—and you can close the door and play for the rest of the afternoon.”

Kira’s legs turned weak as she stared at the gorgeous piano sitting in front of her like a glistening summer day.

Never in her wildest dreams did she think she’d play on a full grand Steinway again in her life. The piano for concert halls. And here it was; hers for the taking. Or borrowing. The incongruent thought made her smile.

“I detect a bit of delight in your face,” Caleb said in her ear, standing behind her.

“You detect most brilliantly. But I’d feel like I’m cheating playing your piano. Even being here in this beautiful, graceful old home. Especially after I was so angry at you—telling you to get out of my life. I don’t even understand why you put up with me. I’m not explaining this very well,” she added lamely.

“You had every right to be hurt and upset, but it doesn’t matter to me. You matter. You always have. Playing my piano that’s sitting here collecting dust is a gift to me.”

“I haven’t played in so long. I’m not sure I can.”

He caught her fingers with his to guide her across the room, indicating a cardboard box on the floor. “I bought a bunch of sheet music just in case. Hope I got some pieces you like. And now, I’ll get out of your way. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen or outside. But don’t feel obligated to talk to me the rest of the day.”

“I—you’re—” Kira tried to speak, but when she turned to thank him, he was already slipping out the carved door and disappearing into the hall.

The door shut behind him with a whisper of air.

Tears pricked at her eyes. The piano—the house—the picnic—his astonishing thoughtfulness.

Pushing the other doubts about Caleb from her mind, Kira tentatively sat down on the piano bench. The familiar feel of the seat was like an old friend. Her feet resting lightly on the pedals sent tingles up her legs. Emotion filled her throat when she placed her hands on the keys.

Afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, creating the perfect natural lighting. The music room was the perfect size. Not too big, not too small. The tall, airy ceilings showcasing the sound when she tried out the first chords of Edvard Grieg’s Concerto in A minor. It was one of the simpler concertos, but her favorite. Her mother always thought Kira was “pounding” the piano instead of playing it when she practiced this piece.

She stopped after the first dramatic run down the piano, from the high notes to the lower bass notes. The sound reverberated dramatically.

A long-suppressed joy sprang up from her chest and she wanted to cry from the ecstasy of such a perfect instrument. And then the wash of homesickness for the instrument she loved swept over her and Kira was off, playing the last piece she’d memorized two years ago. She surprised herself by how much she remembered. Ignoring the sections she stumbled on, she kept moving forward to see if she could get to the end.

She was twenty-one again, relishing every lesson with her professor, exercising her fingers until she could make them run up the piano at a fever pitch of speed, allowing the music to swirl around her and take her back to her dreams.

Kira was blessed to have the ability to play quickly, her fingers tumbling over the ivory and black keys like they were made for her.

Digging through the basket of music Caleb had provided, she extracted and played through a few Chopin Preludes and a sweet Polonaise, a Haydn Sonata that laughed and tumbled along like a waterfall. A Mozart Concerto, and finally she ended with one of her favorites; Rachmaninoff’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Soulful and romantic with lovely crashing chords in both hands working their way down the keyboard.

When Kira glanced up again, the sun was setting. Golden light played off the room’s paneling and paintings. Pink hues shot off the towering mountains and landed on her shoulders, as if caressing her.

Rising from the bench, she held her breath, caught at the stunning beauty of the world outside the picture windows. Feeling off kilter, as if she was returning from a dream, Kira stumbled to her feet. She shuffled the music back together and placed it back in the box.

Grabbing her cell phone, she saw that it was nearly five o’clock. “What will Caleb think of me?” She’d been at the piano for nearly three hours.

Closing the lid to protect the strings and keyboard from dust, Kira moved toward the door. She was supposed to be at her parent’s house in an hour. She’d promised to sit with her father and help him to bed while her mother went out with an old college girlfriend who had moved to Reno a few years earlier and was passing through town. Kira was glad the old friend had called. Perhaps it would help to put her mother back on an even keel of normality.

At the door, she glanced back at the room, the overhead chandeliers glittering under the setting orange skies, and felt the familiar tug at her throat.

For the first time in a couple of years, she’d forgotten herself and everything around her when she’d immersed herself in the music. The problems and worries of life had receded.

A sense of optimism came over her. Love for the beautiful things of her life. Somehow, someday, she’d find a way to return to her music more fully. She had no idea how, but she needed to. If only to survive the rest of life. Because that’s what music did for her. Helped her cope and heal. Released the stress and tension. Strengthened her to face the grief and challenges.

“Life isn’t over,” she whispered when she opened the door she’d seen Caleb use three hours earlier.

He was standing a few feet from her and gave her a smile. “No, life isn’t over. I hope it’s just beginning again for you, Kira.”

She gave a self-conscious laugh. “You sound like an old wise philosopher.”

He lifted his shoulders. “Maybe I’m getting curmudgeonly.”

Heat rose up her cheeks. “So, have you been listening at the door all this time?”

“Not exactly. Well, sometimes.” He laughed. “Okay, guilty as charged. But most of the time, I was puttering around taking care of a few things while I listened from afar.” He paused for a moment. “Your playing is—magical. Stunning. Emotional. All of the above and so much more.”

She laughed his words off. “You’re biased.”

“Maybe, but that’s why a creepy geek like me came to your Christmas concert eleven years ago.”

“Ah, yes, the fateful Senior Christmas concert.”

“I shouldn’t have reminded you,” he said. “I’d never heard anything like it before in my life.”

Kira frowned at him. “You mean there was no old-fashioned classical music at your house, or on the radio when your parents changed the station insisting you expand your horizons?”

Caleb gazed at her and silently shook his head. “I didn’t come from that kind of a home. I knew nothing about your world. But you’re wearing the necklace right now and it made me think of it.”

Kira glanced down, touching the red stone with her fingers. “You’re right. I am.”

“It’s where it belongs again. That’s all I ever wanted. Can I tell you how very sorry I am once more?”

“You can—but you don’t have to. I don’t understand why you did it, but I wish you would tell me more about yourself.”

“What’s to tell?” he asked vaguely.

“I need to go,” she said abruptly, wishing he would just talk to her, frustrated that he shut down when certain topics came up. She didn’t understand what was hidden behind those eyes of his. If he wanted a relationship—even just a friendship—with her, he needed to let her into his world.

“You mean we can’t have dinner?”

She shook her head. “I promised my father—”

“Right,” he said quickly. “This way.”

He reached out and grasped her hand in his. An unexpected warmth flooded over Kira once again. The sensation of being comforted came over her, despite the lack of response over her questions about his past.

That made no sense, but there it was.

He led her through the main rooms of the house, out the front door and down the granite steps of the entryway to the circular drive. Gravel crunched under her feet. The setting sun had disappeared and dusk was filling in the landscape with shadows.

“What’s that building over there?” Kira asked on the way to the car.

A round building shaped like a squat tower stood just inside the main gates to the property. There was a gray front door and shuttered windows.

“It’s a gatehouse.”

“It looks cozy. Do you have security that lives here?”

He shook his head, opening the car door for her. “It was built as a guest house. For the privacy of visitors. That’s the idea at least. My architect convinced me it was a good idea not to raze it to the ground, but to keep it and rehabilitate it, too.”

Kira slid inside the car, twisting in her seat to watch him walk around the car while she puzzled him out.

Before he reached the driver’s side, his mobile phone rang and she heard his voice answering. And then nothing. Peering through the windshield, she could see him listening, his face turning into a deep frown. Something was wrong.

The next moment she heard Caleb give a long, frustrated sigh. “You sure?” he said, his voice unhappy and resigned. “Okay, okay. I’ll be there in an hour. Gotta make a stop first.”

When he slid into the driver’s seat, Kira said, “I’m sorry it’s a pain to take me home. I wish I’d driven my own car.”

Caleb stared at her like she was speaking a foreign language. “It’s no trouble at all. Of course, I’ll drive you home. You’ve been my guest. I’m—” his tone softened. “I’m really glad you came. I hope you are, too.”

She gazed at him, wanting to brush her fingers across the stubble along his jaw line, but keeping her fist tight in her lap. One part of her wished he’d sweep her up in his arms and hold her tight, but the other half desperately held back the gnawing worry in the pit of her stomach.

What is your secret? She pleaded with her eyes. Don’t you dare hurt me, Caleb Davenport.