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remorse. She’d been thinking about it for days, wondering what it would be like if he touched her. The incident in the bathroom hadn’t helped matters any.
    Arnold said something and the others laughed. Hilary’s gaze drifted to him. He was warm and witty and fun. He made her laugh and helped her to forget the hurt she’d carried with her most of the day, but she wasn’t attracted to him. Her blood didn’t grow hot when she looked at the violin player. How she wished it did. How she wished she could stop thinking about Sean. He didn’t want her, he’d said so himself. He was a man who didn’t mince words. What he said he meant. She was a complication he chose to avoid.
    When he moved away, even if she never saw him again, she’d always be grateful. He’d taught her about herself, awakened for her an area that had lain dormant far too long—her own femininity.
    For the first time in her life, she was more than Louise Wadsworth’s daughter. More than a talented musician. She was a woman, one with a heart ripe for love. Sean had gently proven there was nothing wrong with her; he’d shown her how wonderful the physical aspect of loving between a man and a woman could be. How could she be anything but grateful?
    By the time Hilary arrived back at the apartment, it was nearly one. The porch light was shining, illuminating the empty parking space in front of the duplex.
    Sean was gone.
    Hilary’s heart constricted with uneasiness. She feared he’d been so disgusted with her that he’d decided to move out, to leave her. Biting into her bottom lip, she unlocked the front door and let herself inside the apartment. Several lights were on. The kitchen. The hallway. Sean’s bedroom.
    â€œSean?” she called out hesitantly. He might have loaned out his car. She walked down the hallway and noticed his bedroom door was wide open. His bed was untouched.
    She had just returned to the living room when the front door opened. Sean roared into the center of the living room like a firefighter at a three-alarm blaze. His eyes narrowed when he saw her.
    â€œSean?”
    His features didn’t soften. “Just where the hell have you been?”

CHAPTER SEVEN
    â€œW here have I been?” Hilary repeated, shocked that he didn’t know. “I was at rehearsal, the same way I am every Thursday night.”
    â€œUntil one o’clock in the morning?” The question was shouted with enough force to rattle the windows.
    She motioned with her hands, not understanding his anger. “I went out for coffee with some friends afterward.”
    â€œFor three hours?”
    â€œYes.” Still she was at a loss to fathom his strange mood.
    â€œDid it ever occur to you that I might have been worried? You could have been in a car accident or been mugged. For all I knew you might have been kidnapped.”
    â€œOh, come on, Sean,” she said, making light of his concern. “I’m a big girl, I carry Mace. You don’t need to worry about me.”
    Sean rammed both hands through his hair as though he wished it were her neck he was throttling. He closed his eyes in a blatant effort to compose himself.
    â€œI hate to say this, but you’re beginning to sound like my mother,” she told him.
    â€œMaybe that’s because your mother cares about you. Did that ever cross your mind?” he demanded. “Can you imagine what I was thinking while I drove the streets looking for you? Have you any clue of what I was feeling?”
    Chagrined, Hilary shook her head. Although he was practically shouting at her, his anger tangible, she couldn’t help being warmed by his words. “Does this mean you care, too?” she asked in a soft, low voice, almost afraid of his answer.
    â€œYes, dammit, I care,” he admitted with a heavy sigh. “Just don’t ever pull a stunt like this again. You want to go out with your friends after the