Chapter 6
Three days. Three whole, long days, and Owen was still angry. And hurt. When he’d seen Marc—no, better to think of the man as “Dr. Elias”—standing on the front porch, he’d been so sure his champion had arrived. And what a prize champion he was: attractive, intelligent, and, judging by the dilated pupils and the gush of pheromones spilling off him, intensely interested. Just about the perfect man. Owen had instantly dropped his guard and, finally feeling safe, welcomed the traitor into his home. And into his heart—if the number of hours Owen had spent thinking about the bastard was any indication. So much so he hadn’t written a single note of music since that night. Nor could he rid himself of the memory of those capable hands with their long, slender fingers expertly gentling th
