Then there was her father's custom-made Gibson. The absolutely plain,

working man's guitar with its simple black strap. Not a frill, not a

flash. But the wood gleamed, pale gold. And when the strings were

plucked it had a tone that brought tears to your eyes.

Lowering her camera, Emma stroked a gentle hand down the neck.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed it back quickly when she heard the music. For an instant,

she'd thought her touch had brought the guitar to life. Feeling

foolish, she glanced stage left. There was music, and it did indeed

sound like magic.

Quietly, she crossed the stage, and followed it.

She saw him sitting cross-legged on the floor outside a dressing room.

The music echoed, haunted the hallway. His long elegant fingers

caressed the strings, slid over them like a lover while he sang softly,

for himself "While you slept I lay awake / Moonlight streamed across

your face, played in your angel hair / While I watched you sighed my

name and wishes did I make / That I could creep into your dreams, stay

forever with you there."

His voice was warm and soft. As he bent over his guitar, his dark blond

hair dipped to hide most of his face. She didn't speak, afraid to

disturb him, but she crouched and lifted her camera. When he glanced up

at the click of the shutter, she lowered it.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt."

His eyes were gold, like his hair. They met hers, and held. His face

suited his voice. It was poetically pale, smooth, the gold eyes longly

lashed. His full, sculpted lips curved, shyly, she thought.

"No man's going to think of you as an interruption." He continued to

strum the guitar as he studied her. An absent caress. He'd seen her

before, of course, but this was the first chance he'd had for a good,

close look. She'd pulled her hair back into a careless ponytail,

leaving her face unframed so that the delicate features stood on their

own. "Hi. I'm Drew Latimer."

"h.e.l.l h, of course, I should have recognized you." And would have, Emma

realized, if she hadn't been so dazed and breathless. She stood to move

over and offer a hand. "Lead singer for Birdcage Walk. I like your

music."

"Thanks." He took her hand, kept it until she knelt beside him. "Are

pictures a hobby or a profession?"

"Both." Her pulse began to scramble as he continued to stare at her. "I

hope you don't mind that I took yours. I heard you playing and wandered

back."

"I'm glad you did." More than he wanted to say. "Why don't you have

dinner with me tonight and take a few hundred more?"

She laughed. "Even I don't take that many while I'm eating."

"Then leave the camera behind."

She waited until she was sure she wouldn't stutter. "I have work."

"Breakfast then? Lunch? A candy bar."

With a chuckle she rose. "I happen to know you've got time for little

but a candy bar. You're opening for Devastation tomorrow night."

He didn't release her hand, had no intention of allowing her to slip

quietly away. "How about I get you into the show and you have a drink