Look at him with the cardigan sweater and hair. He resembles a sexy professor. She couldn't help but smile.

"You look good, Byrne. More relaxed than I've ever seen you. This button-down college thing works for you."

"You think? It will do for now." Byrne grinned.

He appeared the furthest thing from a rock star. In fact she couldn't think of him as Byrne any longer. He was Brogan. Always Brogan. He made no move to embrace her. Instead he held out his arm to escort her. She took it. Her skin started to sizzle as it always did when she touched him, even through the damned wool.

Brogan led her into a large living room. The wall facing the ocean consisted of windows, and the scenery was breathtaking to observe. The furniture was sparse and the decoration minimal. It was obvious he didn't spend much time here. The room was tastefully furnished in a modern look with black leather sofa, chairs, and silver space-age lighting. A solitary framed gold record hung above the gray stone fireplace.

Carly sat on the plush leather sofa, and Brogan sat next to her. She clasped her hands as they started to shake, not like her at all.

"I've missed you."

His words were stark, affecting, and honest. How tempting to say the words right back but her cautious heart wouldn't allow it. Carly crossed a line. She had sworn she would never become personally involved with her clients. One touch, one kiss from the Irish rock god, and she had melted. She would ask Nigel to assign her elsewhere. She should have done it right after the tour. Hell, she should have done it the first time they kissed.

"You have? You even missed all the bossy nagging? I can scarcely believe it." She tried to keep her voice light and teasing, but it wasn't working.

"Maybe I need your bossy nagging. I like a lass with spunk."

"You really do look good, Brogan. Healthy, vigorous, and calm. Definitely at peace."

"Ah, so I am Brogan now? I like that. Not sure about the peace part, but I'm working on it. I've been in therapy these last months."

Really? What a surprise… but, it was the fashionable thing. "It's helped, then?"

Brogan gazed out the window toward the gray, overcast skies and tumultuous ocean. "Aye. I carry a shite load of guilt. I am learning to deal with it and forgive myself. I want to tell you, but I know I'll wind up sounding like some weak-arsed wanker."

His honest, deeply felt words cut clean to her soul. So much for remaining detached, professional, and for trying to guard her heart. With two fingers she touched under his chin and turned him back to face her.

"I want to know."

Brogan grasped her fingers and laid a warm kiss on them. He clasped her hand tightly as if she were a lifeline. "It's a long story. I was in Belfast in the summer of seventy…"

She listened. Carly was riveted and moved to tears.

"Tarrah died because of me. She stepped in front of me and took the brunt of the knife attack. Then she died in my arms. I loved her, and I couldn't protect her. I can't live with her sacrifice. I'm not worth her giving up her life for."

"So you let your life become worthless."

"Aye, I used the sex and stimulants as an excuse not to feel and to sink into a rubbish life. It is what I deserved. Pathetic, I know. The drug arrest was the final straw."

"Did Nevan go with you to Toronto?"

"Aye, and Reese and Abbie."

Abbie? The Malibu Barbie girlfriend? He was back with her? An ice pick slid into her heart. The pain was intense, and she struggled to hide the devastating ache.

"I see," she said coldly.

Brogan smiled. "No, darlin', I don't think you do see. Abbie and Reese are dating. It's very serious. She will be going back to Dublin with him in January. They've both forgiven me and Nevan as well. It's more than I deserve. Abbie and Reese are better suited."

The relief made her giddy. A couple of hoarse giggles escaped her lips. "Sorry," she whispered. "Brogan, why am I here?"

He reached for her other hand and held them both tight. "You understand why I needed this time to be alone, to regroup and to heal?"

She nodded. The warmth from his touch singed her skin, like a Zippo lighter with the flame turned on full tilt.

"I want you to also understand, there's been no women in my life since the tour. I've been living as a Benedictine monk. I've been abstaining from a variety of vices, and it's helped with my healing process. I wrote some music too. I have five songs completed. The lads were here last week, and we had a few jam sessions. I worked things out with them as well. Derek even has a song he wrote. It's all good, Carly. For the first time in four years my life is back on the rails, and I'm in control."

"I'm so glad, Brogan."

He let go of her hands and stood. "I want to play one particular song for you."

Brogan strode to the corner of the large living room. In a stand were three guitars, a Gibson Les Paul 55, an acoustic Yamaha FG 160, and a classic '60s Fender. She recognized quality rock equipment. Next to the stand was a desk covered with notepads and sheets of music. Brogan reached for the Yamaha, turned the desk chair to face her, sat down with his leg crossed, and then cradled the guitar in his lap.

Carly's heart sat in her throat. He was going to sing for her. If only Brogan knew what his voice did to her—perhaps he did know. From the opening strums of his guitar she was aware the song would be a ballad. His voice wrapped around her like a lover's caress.

As this day follows the night.

Know that you are my only light.

Let me start my life anew,

My sins are plenty, forgiveness few,

As seed becomes flower,

Your love gives me power

To break this heart of rock, this heart of stone,

All bitterness has flown.

Joy, peace within my reach,

I implore you, teach,

Break this heart of rock, this heart of stone

My love for you has grown

Because only you can break this heart of rock…

Carly could not stop the tears from spilling down her cheeks. The song, his words, and his damned glorious voice smashed down the last of her stubborn resistance and the last of her doubts. She was in love with Brogan Byrne.

Brogan set the guitar back in the stand and walked toward Carly. She was crying.

She stuttered the word 'beautiful.' Carly covered her face with her hands. Her shoulders heaved as she continued to sob.

He sat next to her and pulled her into his embrace. Damn, he didn't want to upset the lass like this. "Don't cry, darlin'. I wrote the song for you. I love you with every feckin' part of my broken heart and soul. You heal me, Carly."

She cried harder, so he just held her close until the tears stopped. He had known in Montreal that he loved her, but he'd spoken the truth: He needed the time to piece his life together. He had to be sure of his emotions and also be sure he could stay sober. In the grand scheme of things, three months was nothing. He would struggle with sobriety the rest of his life. With Carly, he could face anything. With his trembling hand he lifted her chin. She had stopped crying and gazed at him with wide, shocked eyes.

"Do you think you could love this damaged man, be my partner in business, life, and in my heart? You are all the woman I want or need. It may not always be easy, but I promise you this, love: It won't be boring."