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Nothing. Not even a tea bag. Beth had said the cottage was rented out for the odd weekend, and she thought there might have been some coffee or tea bags, at least, in the cupboard. It looked like a walk into the village for some essentials was her first task for the day.

No, the second. First job was to collect her suitcase from next door and then, even if she couldn’t wash, she could at least put on some clean clothes.

The sunshine was bright and warm at her back, although nowhere near as warm as summer in Sydney. Megan appreciated the fresh air and the sweet smell of the grass and the bluebells lining the path. Her heart beat a little faster as she walked slowly through the gate and along the footpath to the cottage next door, but there was no sign of life. The door was closed and all the windows were shut.

Great. He’d gone out or he was still in bed.

She quickly retrieved the suitcase and turned to go back to her cottage.

The door behind her creaked open and she put her head down and kept going, determined to ignore him.

“Morning, sweets.” She stopped walking and turned around. The posh accent was at odds with the sight of the laid-back man leaning against the doorframe who lifted his cup and nodded at her.

Megan’s breath caught in her throat and she stared at him unabashedly. Tight, low-slung black jeans were unbuttoned and his chest was bare. Her mouth dried as her gaze rose from his bare feet, up his legs, and skittered past the dark V of hair running into the top of his open jeans, and farther up to sleep-rumpled hair, with sexy dark stubble covering his strong jaw. He was a dead ringer for his uncle. He could have stepped straight from one of the posters that used to cover her walls.

“Cat got your tongue?”

Last night she hadn’t noticed what a beautiful speaking voice he had. Deep and smooth with a melodious hint of a Welsh accent, but the hard line of his jaw and his closed expression didn’t quite fit with the sexy voice. She held his gaze and drew a quick breath. Dark-blue eyes surrounded by long dark eyelashes stared back at her. His unsmiling gaze was fixed on her face but she still self-consciously tugged her crumpled T-shirt down over her bare midriff without speaking.

“Ah, she has lost her voice.” He said to no one in particular before tipping the mug to his mouth and taking a sip. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted across and Megan’s nose twitched. She put her suitcase down and pulled herself up straight, meeting his gaze.

“No, I haven’t lost my voice,” she said. “I was wondering if I could speak to you without getting another crude proposition.”

He laughed. “Up to you, sweetheart. But it wouldn’t be a bad way to start the day, if you are interested. Guaranteed to get the blood pumping.”

His gaze pinned her and as his lips tipped up, she realised he was teasing.

She knew she needed to lighten up. Her life for the past few months had made her way too serious.

“I came for my suitcase, but I wouldn’t say no to one of those.” She looked at the coffee cup in his hand. “I haven’t had time to shop, and I thought there might be something in the cottage, but there’s not even a stray tea bag.”

“Not surprised. No one’s been there all summer,” he said. His intent gaze stayed on her face and Megan’s neck prickled. There was something about this man that unsettled her. She’d come across arrogant musicians like him as she’d interviewed them for her research, but his resemblance to his uncle unnerved her.

“I suppose I can stretch to some coffee.” He stepped through the door and she stepped forward, about to follow him into his home, but he stopped her with a curt command over his shoulder. “Wait there.”

Megan did as she was told, stayed on the porch and looked out over the green fields. If he didn’t want her inside, that was fine by her. The less she had to do with the rude musician, the better for her peace of mind.

And God knows she needed peace, and nothing more to stress her.

The air was still and the sound of the bees buzzing in the roses in the cottage garden drifted across to her. A couple of minutes later, David appeared at the door with a different mug in his hand and passed it to her.

“Cream and sugar. You could do with fattening up.”

Maybe, just maybe, there was a kind person beneath that aggressive exterior. He’d brought her coffee and in Megan’s books that was one way to get in her good graces. Undeniably, there were good looks and a kind of charm…or rather a dangerous attraction. He stepped back inside and turned to her. “Keep the cup. Consider it a welcome gift.”

The door shut in her face and all was quiet, apart from the bees and the occasional mooing of a cow.

Okay, take back the thoughts of him being kind or having basic manners.

No. No charm at all. The less I see of him, the better. Bemused, she shook her head and took a sip of the hot coffee before grabbing the handle of the suitcase and dragging it along the path back to her cottage.

Chapter Seven

David was tired and still in a filthy mood. The last thing he’d wanted to see was the Aussie woman on his doorstep again. The last two days had been a total loss as far as rehearsals went. First, the electrical setup had failed and then the stage had collapsed and they’d had to pull the pin on a full rehearsal for the second day in a row. He was worried that they were going to look like fools at the concert on Saturday night. They were opening for Bowie and the crowd was predicted to be huge for this second festival.

Then Holly had presented him with that bloody newspaper. She’d jumped around in excitement, telling him what great media coverage it was, and how she couldn’t have set up anything better if she’d tried.

“It’ll pull the crowds in, Davy.” Her face was lit up in a grin beneath that stupid red hat she thought made her look like a hippie. “They so love a bad boy.”