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“Yes, a few,” he said.

“Have you noticed a change in the crowds there through the years?” Putting her wine down on the table, she leaned forward. “What I am looking at in my doctorate is the sociological impact of rock festivals on society. I believe the type of people who attend seems to have changed as the festivals have become more organised. I suppose, what I mean is, the festivals have turned into more of a moneymaking concern over the years.”

David’s mouth tightened and he stared past her. “Being a musician, I’m focused on the music, and I really don’t know the demographic the festival attracts. But I do believe there always has been…shall we say… a tendency to ‘glorify’ the musicians to sell more records.” He lifted his glass to the light and swirled the wine around. “For me, it’s like this wine. We enjoy drinking good wine…the taste, the physical effect it has on us. That’s how I see my music.”

“‘Records’? That’s an old-fashioned term to use.” Megan tipped her head to the side. “Do you agree that the people who attended the early festivals were more true lovers of music than those who go now? My research seems to indicate that it has become trendy to attend festivals now, and there seems to be a huge commercial push behind it. Geared to selling ‘records’ as you say, rather than just making music like the old days? Musicians seem to be more of a commodity these days—from as far back as the seventies.”

“I’m just a simple musician, sweetheart.” David shook his head. “I play music. I do it for me. The rush I get when the synergy comes together is as good as the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He leaned back in his chair and pinned her with his gaze.

“Speaking of which…”

Chapter Ten

Megan’s questions were straying into territory David didn’t want to enter. He could kick himself for the slip ups he’d made. “Records” and telling her he wrote his own music. Bloody trying to impress her. Jesus, she was damned beautiful and unaware of it. She was sucking him in without even trying. Getting close to her, or any other woman, was the last thing he intended to do.

So he pulled out the macho rock-star act again. It had the immediate effect he expected from her. She sat up straight in her chair and her face closed.

“I think the deal was—you fix the pump and I give you dinner?” Her voice was like ice.

“Can’t blame a guy for trying.” He stood and carried his plate across to the sink. “It was very pleasant chatting with you, but I’ve got some work to do, if I can’t interest you in a bit of fun?”

“Thanks for fixing the pump for me.” Megan walked to the door and opened it. “And for showing me the cellar.”

His words had had the desired effect. Her face was closed and she folded her arms across her chest. David tucked his thumbs into his jeans pockets as a craving to pull her close overtook him. She looked up at him silently, wide-eyed, and if he knew women, the look on her face was hunger.

And not for food.

But she surprised him with her next words. “If you think your resemblance to your uncle is going to have me jumping joyfully into your bed, it will take a lot more than that.”

“What will it take?” he asked softly.

He wasn’t certain who moved first but her lips brushed lightly against his. David groaned, took his hands from his pockets and pulled her hard against him. Soft skin, hot mouth, and the subtle scent he was beginning to associate with her flooded him with wanting. Sounds of pleasure vibrated against his mouth and his body quivered as he felt her heart racing against his. He moved his mouth lower and kissed the spot that was pulsing frantically. Her skin was warm and she relaxed against him, and he closed his eyes, taking pleasure in her soft skin as he slid his lips up the long line of her throat until he pressed his mouth against hers.

Megan drew back from him but still stood within his arms. Her cheeks were flushed. She trailed her fingers across her lips and the blood surged to his groin. The taste of her mouth stayed on his lips.

“You’d better go and do that work you said you had to do.” She stepped back and smiled at him. “I might see you tomorrow. I’m going to wander over and check out the festival.”

***

Megan walked upstairs and crossed to the window overlooking David’s cottage. She watched as his lights came on and she leaned her head against the window. She looked out into the soft moonlight as his music filtered up to her. He was playing his uncle’s songs again. Warmth settled low in her belly and she touched her lips as the music swelled and surrounded her. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath as the fragrance of the garden drifted in through the window. Her body hummed with the music and the sweet smells, and she smiled as contentment filled her.

No man had ever had this effect on her before. It had to be the music. She crossed to the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom and turned the taps on to fill the bath. She quickly went back down to the kitchen and cleared the table. Picking up the glass David had drunk from, she put it against her lips, almost regretting she had sent him home.

But it was too soon. She barely knew him.

##

Megan slept deeply but her dreams were filled with music again, and she woke late the next morning. Determined to go to the festival today, she dressed quickly and hurried down to the kitchen. Making herself a cup of tea, she wandered out through the utility room to the garden, picking up an old-fashioned crocheted hat from the hook beside the door and tucking her hair up beneath it. Her phone had charged overnight, and Megan glanced at the time on the screen before she slipped it into her pocket. It would be late evening at home in Australia. A chat with her sister would settle her. Perhaps it would get rid of these dreamy feelings that she couldn’t seem to shake. And then she’d be in the right frame of mind to talk to Tony and discuss his e-mail.

She walked slowly through the flowers and sipped her tea, allowing her worries at home to take up only a tiny corner of her mind. The bees settled in the centre of the fat yellow roses, and the hollyhocks nodded as the butterflies flitted past. She touched the different flowers lightly as she walked past. She knew the names of them because her maternal grandmother had instilled a love of gardening in her, but it was difficult to indulge that love in an apartment in the city. Lavender, magnolias, delphiniums, and marigolds—the garden was a riot of colour and sweet fragrance. She’d love to be able to afford to live somewhere like this for a while.

As she reached the back corner of the garden, the sound of the creaking gate from the cottage next door caught her attention. Her heart rate kicked up a beat as she watched David stride through the field towards the tents she could see in the far distance. Dressed in tight black jeans and a black T-shirt with his dark curls tumbling over his shoulders, he wore the same signature outfit his uncle used to wear. His guitar was slung over one shoulder and a small kit bag over the other. He looked like he had stepped straight from one of the old posters that had hung on the wall of her bedroom years ago. She kept her gaze fixed on him to see which way he went. If she took that route through the fields, it would be miles shorter than going around the road to Pilton.

As she watched, David stopped by a large stone post that stood in the centre of the field. He reached out to it and it looked as though he was trying to get his balance. He leaned over and his guitar swung around from his right shoulder as he pitched forward and disappeared.

Megan gasped and dropped her teacup to the grass. She ran across to the back gate of Violet Cottage, keeping her gaze fixed on the place where David had collapsed.