Copyright © 2026 by Nichole Rose

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Cover Elements by Q'Amber Emporium

Contents

About the Book

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Author's Note

The Goalie Game

Book of Love Series

Also Set in Wine Country

Connect with Nichole

About Nichole

About the Book

Being rescued by a rock god only happens in books…right?

Loralei

I always thought being rescued by a rockstar only happened in books. Until Ash Kilborne showed up in the middle of a storm.

He isn't supposed to be here. He's definitely not supposed to want me. And I'm absolutely not supposed to end up stranded in a cabin with the gorgeous rockstar I've been crushing on since I was a kid.

But Ash isn't anything like the man I imagined. He's sweeter, hotter, and more broken than I ever could have guessed. And when he looks at me, I forget that we're from completely different worlds.

I know his life is about to pull him back into the spotlight.

I know this will only end in heartbreak...

But I fall for him anyway.

Now, my heart is on the line, this is turning into something neither of us imagined...and I'm terrified walking away might hurt more than staying.

Ash

I came to Santa Maria to escape my life.

I didn't plan on almost mowing down a librarian in a storm. I definitely didn't mean to take her back to my cabin. And lying about us having no way out wasn't my finest moment.

But the second I met Loralei Grey, I knew I was in trouble. A few hours with her was enough to make me want things I've spent years convincing myself I don't need.

She thinks this is a temporary escape, and that we're from two different worlds. She's right.

My life is a disaster, and I've already almost lost everything once.

I'm not about to lose her, too.

I'll do whatever it takes to convince her that what's happening between us isn't the storm talking.

Because the only thing more terrifying than falling for her… is knowing she might be the first thing in my life I can't afford to lose.

Chapter One

Loralei

"Put the penis back on the wall, Olive," Lilah says without even looking up from the register where she's seated, a pencil tucked behind her ear and a furrow between her brows. "It isn't a lightsaber."

Olive smirks, whipping it through the air exactly like, well, a lightsaber. "I don't know," she says, her green eyes shining with humor. "It could be. It even lights up like one. Look." She presses a button on the side. Only, I don't think it was the one she intended to press, because it vibrates so hard, she squeals, nearly dropping it.

I feel the air from Lilah's exasperated sigh all the way across the counter. "I'm going to murder Jazz for ordering that," she grumbles under her breath. "Literally no one asked for a vibrator that lights up, spins around, and will launch your uterus into the next century."

Sarah clamps a hand over her mouth, trying to choke off a laugh. When Lilah looks up at her, she loses the battle. "Sorry!" she squeaks before darting into the back room with a stack of books, still giggling.

"I heard that!" Jazz's shout floats from behind a shelf on the opposite side of the bookstore.

"You were supposed to hear that!" Lilah shouts back, a self-satisfied curve to her lips. "We're never selling your possessed vibrator."

"Lies!"

"Women want to get off, not get destroyed, Jazz."

"Speak for yourself, Lilah Davis!"

"Olive, tell her that she's delusional," Lilah demands.

"Leave me out of this," Olive mutters, still fighting with the vibrator. "I've read way too many kinky books to pick a side in this argument."

Lilah immediately glances at me for backup.

"No way am I getting involved," I say, covering my face with my hands, trying to contain my laughter.

Had anyone told me a year ago that I'd spend most of my free time in a spicy romance bookstore, listening to three of my best friends argue about vibrators, I would have laughed. But that was before Lilah Davis and Jasmine Knudsen moved to town and turned this place into the Book of Love, the most popular bookstore in town.

People don't just come here for the books. They come for this—the camaraderie, the hilarity, and the absolutely unhinged conversations that are never in short supply when Jazz and Olive are involved.

Believe me, it's a lot less boring than the public library where I work. I wouldn't dream of openly discussing vibrators there. Here, there's a whole wall of them proudly displayed. No one even bats a lash, either. It's just part of the charm of this place.

I love it.

"You could just give it away," I suggest when I manage to compose myself, watching Olive fighting to turn the thing off. She manages to cycle through four new settings instead, each one increasingly more violent than the last. Maybe Lilah is right. That thing is possessed. There's no way anyone actually uses a vibrator that big or powerful…right? You wouldn't be able to walk for days!

Lilah looks at me in horror. "I'd be run out of town if I tried to give it away, Loralei!"

"Make it a quirky pièce de résistance in a dark comedy book box," I say with a shrug. "Someone will find the humor in a giant, possessed vibrator in a box of dark comedies."

"That's…" She pauses and then blinks. "Actually, that's not a terrible idea. I think I know exactly what books to add…" She's already on her feet, hurrying across the store.

I just shake my head, watching her go.

"How the heck do you turn this thing off?" Olive grumbles, stabbing another button.

A loud clap of thunder shakes the building, rattling the large windowpanes all along the front of the store. Olive squeals again, her feet leaving the floor. The vibrator leaves her hands at the exact same moment, flying through the air.

Bzz. Bzz. Bzz!

It lands on the floor a few feet away, still happily vibrating away.

"Jesus Christ," Olive whispers, her hand over her heart as she gapes at it. "I thought it shocked me."

I laugh so hard my stomach cramps. And then another loud clap of thunder rattles the windows. "Crap!" I jump to my feet, scooping my bag from the floor beside the stool. "I need to go. I'm supposed to take Mr. Johnson his books."

"Doesn't he live in the middle of nowhere?" Jazz asks, stepping out from behind a shelf with her arms loaded down with books, her nose scrunched.

"Tepusquet Canyon," I murmur, sliding the strap of my bag over my arm. It's as close as you can get to the middle of nowhere in Santa Maria, but Mr. Johnson was gored by a bull last year and broke his spine. He's been bedbound ever since. He was a regular at the library until his accident. I try to take him new books every few weeks to help keep his spirits up.

Jazz glances toward the windows, her blue eyes narrowed in assessment. "You better hurry," she says. "That storm doesn't look like it came to play."

"I'll be fine," I promise, waving her off. Tepusquet Canyon is a good half an hour from town, with no cell service in places, but I've lived in Santa Maria my whole life. I know every nook, cranny, and backroad through ranch country.

Jazz just shrugs like it's my funeral. She's from Tennessee, home of tornadoes and weather hellbent on murdering everyone. It's not that bad here. "Don't die," she advises. "I still need your help hunting down River Jamison so he can speak at Dirty Book Club."

I laugh in response, heading for the door. "I'm not helping you stalk the man, Jazz."

"Yes, you are!" she shouts as I wrestle the door open, fighting a gust of wind.

My hair immediately whips into my face, blinding me. I battle it back, duck my head, and make a mad dash for my car. The storm is still a little ways off, but the scent of rain is strong in the air. So is that electrified tension—you know, the kind that says the storm is probably going to get ugly.

"Don't fail me now," I whisper, patting the dashboard of my ancient Civic before cranking the engine. Truth is, I needed a new car two years ago, but I keep putting it off. There are a million things I'd rather do than go car shopping. Actually, I'd rather do basically anything than go car shopping. I hate car shopping. It's far easier to drive mine until the wheels fall off…which might actually happen if I don't stop stalling and get a new one soon. Something important and more expensive than the car has been cracked for the last four months.

I plug my phone into the charger, latch my seatbelt, and then head out, smiling when Midnight Mayhem immediately begins blasting from the speakers. I've been listening to their last album on repeat ever since they announced that a new one will be coming later this year.

When I was younger, I used to swear I was going to marry Ash Kilborne, their lead singer, one day. The man has been gorgeous for as long as he's been famous. And I've been a sucker for his blue eyes and playful smirk for just as long.

He's still my fantasy, but I'm older and wise enough to know a fantasy is all he'll ever be at this point. I'm a twenty-seven-year-old nerdy librarian. He's a literal rock god with legions of fans. We are not the same. Hell, we've never been the same.

Even if we were in the same room, he wouldn't notice me. He's used to being surrounded by beautiful people. I'm not an ugly duckling, but I'm not a supermodel, either. I'm just…normal. Quiet. Boring. The most interesting thing about me is the books on my shelves and the sheer number of movie quotes I've memorized.

He has Grammys, platinum albums, and magazine spreads.

I still dream about him sometimes, though. That secret will absolutely die with me. At this rate…I'm probably going to die alone, anyway. The only man in town even remotely interested in me is, well, old enough to be my grandfather, honestly.

Mr. Dennison is nice enough, but I'm just not into octogenarians. No, thank you.

But men like the naughty librarian fantasy. They aren't really into the reality when the reality is shy, plus-size, and relates to books more than people.

Most of the time, I can pretend it doesn't bother me that my dating life is non-existent. But it's been harder to do lately. Lilah, Sarah, and Olive have all found love. I'm ecstatic for them. I guess seeing them happy just reminds me how…lonely my own life is sometimes. I wake up alone, go to sleep alone, live alone.

Maybe I need Jazz's possessed vibrator.

"Ha!" I mutter, taking the turn leading out of town. "A possessed vibrator and a trip to the ER is exactly what I need in my life, said no one ever."

I need something, though. Spice, variety…a single night to pretend I'm not just the boring town librarian. At this point, I'd take anything but another night of watching TV in my faded PJs until I fall asleep, as alone as ever.

Chapter Two

Ash

"What do you mean, you aren't in town?" Jess Matheny, my publicist, practically shouts, her voice crackling through the car speakers like the voice of God. "You're supposed to be here, Ash!"

She isn't wrong. And that's precisely why I'm not there. Every minute of my day has been scheduled for too goddamn long, from the time I get up until the time I go to sleep. Everywhere I go, everything I do, and everyone I see is on a fucking list. I'm tired of it.

I'm tired of smiling for the cameras. I'm tired of playing the game. I'm tired of being the perfectly trained little monkey. I'm just…fucking exhausted.

So I did the only reasonable thing I could do. I told the band to figure it out without me for a while, rented a cabin, and drove away.

A bolt of lightning slams into a tree a few yards up the road, followed immediately by a massive clap of thunder. Even from inside my SUV, I feel the electricity crackling in the air.

I don't regret my decision, but if this storm is God's way of telling me that he's unamused with my decision to ditch the band and the album for a few weeks, he's going to have to get in line. Jess has dibs on murdering me.

I hit the button to turn the windshield wipers to turbo mode, but they don't do much to improve my line of sight. It's raining too hard.

"Jess, I'm going to need you to—"

"Ash Kilborne, I swear to all that's holy, if the next words out of your mouth are calm down, I'm going to crawl through this phone and choke the breath out of you," Jess growls in that terrifying voice she reserves for moments when I've managed to thoroughly piss her off.

"That's not what I was going to say," I mutter, not above lying to her. If it gets her off my ass long enough to give me a break? Oh, I will absolutely lie to her today, tomorrow, and for the rest of eternity. She's been my publicist long enough for me to know that some truths are better left unspoken.

"Oh, really?"

I cringe at the way she emphasizes really, like she knows I'm full of shit. She probably does. Jess knows me better than anyone. The woman practically raised me. I was green as hell when I stumbled into fame at eighteen, and she already had fifteen years of dealing with rockstars, actors, and industry professionals under her belt back then.

Everything I know about surviving in the spotlight, she taught me. And she's stuck by me every moment since, even when she probably shouldn't have. Believe me, she knows me. Too fucking well.

God, those twenty years feel like a lifetime. Sometimes, like right now, I feel every damn year.

When did this shit get so hard? Juggling it all used to be a breeze. It didn't feel like a chore or a job. When we first hit it big, I felt like I was on top of the world.

I don't even know when it stopped feeling that way.

"What were you going to say?" she asks, her tone only slightly less hostile.

"That I'm not coming back right now. I need a break, and I'm taking it. You can feel however you want to feel about that, but I need you to call me back later to bitch about it," I say. "It's storming like a motherfucker right now, and I'd really prefer if you didn't have to write my obit anytime soon."

It's a lie that isn't really a lie. It is storming like a motherfucker at the moment. And I'm in the mountains outside of Santa Maria, on a road I've never driven, heading to a cabin I've never seen. I'd prefer not to die trying to do it. But that's absolutely not what I was going to say.

I'm smart enough not to tell her that, however.

"Fine," she sniffs. "But don't you dare think we aren't going to disc—"

The woman in the roadway comes out of nowhere. One second, there's nothing but rain. The next, I meet the terrified gaze of a pale, soaking-wet woman through the windshield. She's frozen still damn near directly in front of me, little more than a blur in the sheeting rain.

"Fuck!" I shout, slamming on the brakes. I yank the steering wheel to the left, trying desperately to avoid hitting her. The SUV fishtails wildly, kicking up gravel.

I don't know where she went…but the car comes to a stop without hitting anything solid.

Thank you, God.

"Jesus," I whisper, my voice shaking. "Jesus fucking Christ."

"What?" Jess asks, her voice distorted like I'm losing signal. "What hap-pened?"

"I almost hit someone."

"Wh-at?"

"There was a woman in the road. I nearly hit her."

"Je-sus, Ash. Is s-he o-kay?"

"I think so." I scrub a hand down my face, trying to find her in the rearview. "I'm getting out to check on her, and I'm losing signal."

"C-all me b-a-ck," Jess demands, no nonsense even with the distortion.

"Yeah, I will." I launch myself out of the SUV into the storm. Rain immediately soaks through my shirt and jeans, far colder than expected. Jesus Christ. How long has the woman been out in this?

She was out here, right?

I know I've been tired, but not tired enough to hallucinate a woman in the storm…right?

For a second, I'm not entirely sure. And then I see the faint outline of footprints in the mud.

"Hello?" I shout into the wind.

"I'm so sorry!" a soft voice cries from behind me.

I spin around.

"Jesus." I blink, wipe my eyes, and then blink again. She's real, all right, huddled at the back of my SUV in a thin blouse and a skirt, both soaked to her skin. Her shoulder-length brown hair is plastered to her head. Even soaking wet and shivering, she's beautiful, with big doe eyes, a button nose, and the softest, sweetest curves. She's also pale…too pale.

"I…um…" She's staring at me like she's looking at a ghost.

Fuck me.

Does she recognize me? Maybe. Or maybe she's just frozen and in shock.

"What the fuck are you doing in the road?" I ask, not intending for the question to come out in a frustrated growl. But it's too late to take it back now. "I nearly ran you over."

"I was d-delivering b-b-books," she says through chattering teeth. "My c-car d-died."

"So you decided to walk?"

"There's a h-house…" She points back the way I came. I turn that way, but it's not like I can see anything. And if I passed a house, it was raining too hard to see it. "A m-mile or s-so…"

She was going to walk a mile in this? She'd be lucky to make it half that distance.

As if to prove my point, another bolt of lightning splits the sky open, arcing toward the ground. The woman jumps when the unmistakable crack of it splintering a tree echoes down the road.

The gravel at my feet vibrates when the tree falls with a muffled boom somewhere in the distance.

"We can't stay out here," I mutter, my heart thudding against my ribcage. "Get in."

She nods solemnly, her eyes wide with fear, and then scurries to the passenger side of my SUV. I jump back into the driver's seat, slamming the door closed. She climbs in a second later, dropping into the seat like she's afraid a tree is going to fall on her if she isn't fast enough.

"Here." I crank the heat, turning the vents to face her.

"T-thank you," she whispers, wrapping her arms around herself. Her teeth are still chattering. Her lips are tinged blue. If she doesn't warm up soon, she's going to end up with hypothermia.

I fish around in the console for anything to help her dry off a little, but only come up with a handful of takeout napkins. They aren't nearly adequate, but they're all I've got at the moment.

"Here." I press them into her shaking, frigid hands. "Use these. My cabin is up ahead somewhere. I'm taking you there."

"Okay," she says, not even arguing.

I pull back out onto the road, sitting upright to keep my eyes on the road. But every few seconds, my gaze drifts to her. She's using the napkins, trying to dry as much of herself as she can, but they're already soaked through and falling apart in her hands. And she's still drenched.

"How long were you out there?"

"H-half an hour, maybe?" Her nose scrunches, a cute little furrow appearing between her brows. "I t-tried to wait it out in the car for an h-hour, but I was w-worried a t-tree might fall on me."

"No cell phone?"

"No s-service in the canyon."

I glance at my navigation screen for confirmation. Sure enough, there's a slash through where the reception bars should be, indicating that I'm shit outta luck on service.

Awesome. Jess is going to love that.

We drive in silence for several minutes, my eyes darting from her, to the road, and then to the navigation screen every few seconds. After a good five minutes, we still haven't come across her car, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe it isn't out here at all.

"What's your name?" I ask, carefully navigating the SUV around a massive fallen branch blocking half the roadway. Guess we know what got struck by lightning now.

She makes a tiny, distressed sound beside me.

I open my mouth to ask what's wrong…but I don't have to ask. I spot the trunk of a car—her car, judging by the shaken look on her face—sticking out from beneath the branch, and my jaw clenches.

Jesus Christ.

I glance over at her again. Her face is pale, her eyes terrifyingly wide. She's trembling, but I don't think it's entirely from the cold this time. She was inside that car half an hour ago. If she hadn't decided to walk to safety…

A weird pang shoots through the center of my chest, right where my goddamn heart is.

Fucking hell.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, trying to shake off the feeling. It means nothing. It's how anyone would feel realizing how close someone came to dying. Except…maybe I'm lying. Maybe.

"What's your name, sweetheart?" I ask again, trying to recall her attention so she stops thinking about her car lost beneath that branch. Hell, maybe I want to stop thinking about it, too.

What the fuck?

Get it together, Kilborne. Just, fucking get it together, man. You can't afford to crack right now.

"Loralei," she whispers after a moment. "Loralei Grey."

"Loralei," I repeat, and then hesitate. "I'm Ash. Ash Kilborne."

She turns those big doe eyes on me, glancing at me from beneath her lashes. "I know who you are," she whispers.

Well, fuck.

Chapter Three

Loralei

The entire way to Ash's cabin, I steal glances at him, trying to decide if I was crushed by a tree falling on my car, if I got hit by a car trying to walk to safety, or if I got struck by lightning.

As far as I can figure, it had to be one of the three, because nowhere outside of books does a librarian get rescued by the rockstar of her dreams. So either I'm the luckiest librarian on the planet—three times over since I escaped death twice today, too—or I'm actually dead, and this is all happening in some weird version of heaven.

I haven't made up my mind on which is most plausible before his GPS tells him to take the next right. I don't even see the turn before we're on top of the gravel path leading deep into the woods.

He idles just off the roadway, looking over at me. "You ever been out here before?"

"Yes."

"Is there actually a cabin out there, or are we going to get stranded in the middle of BFE with no way out?"

"There's a cabin," I whisper, my teeth still chattering. Even with the heat blasting, I can't seem to get warm again. "It belongs to the Brothers in Arms. They rent it out sometimes."

One dark eyebrow lifts toward his hairline. "Brothers in Arms?"

"The MC."

"MC." He processes this and then mutters a curse. "You mean a motorcycle club?"

"Yeah."

"Jesus Christ." He peers into the woods, looking a little like he's thinking about turning around.

"They're not that kind of MC," I say softly. "They're mostly former military, federal agents, and cops. They help people." When law enforcement needs to hide someone before a trial, or a woman needs help disappearing, they call the MC. Very few people around town know what they do. Those of us who do know don't make a habit of talking about them. I only know as much as I do because I sometimes deliver books to their ranch for the women and kids who stay there.

Ash doesn't look entirely convinced, but he slowly lets off the brake, easing the SUV forward down the dirt path. It's so narrow, branches scrape the sides as we pass through the trees. But after about a mile, the path widens into a clearing, with the cabin at the far side, nestled on the banks of the creek.

It's bigger than most of the cabins around here, made more for actual living than rustic off-grid survival. The MC mostly uses it as a source of income. I guess when you don't get paid to be heroes, you have to diversify somehow. Checkered curtains hang in the windows, and there are rocking chairs on the massive porch.

"Not bad," Ash mutters, almost like he's surprised.

Has he not seen it before?

I decide not to ask. It's not really my business, and I don't want to pry. He's been quiet since I told him that I know who he is. If this is reality and not some coma or death dream, I'd prefer not to come across like some crazed fangirl.

I'm guessing he gets enough of that already. And truthfully? He seems…different in reality. On camera, he's always smiling, always laughing, always playful. He hasn't done much of that today. He's quieter, more reserved.

There are deep shadows under his eyes that say he hasn't been sleeping much, and lines around his mouth that his beard doesn't hide. He's even more beautiful up close and in person, don't get me wrong. The cameras never get the exact shade of his eyes right. They're this mix between sky and midnight blue, as if an artist mixed shades and his eyes were the result. He's also bigger than I always thought he'd be, taller, more muscular.

"Come on," he says, pulling to a stop in front of the cabin. "Let's get you inside and get you warm."

"I…um…" It only just dawned on me at this exact moment that I'm going inside his cabin with him. Alone.

Gulp.

"I don't bite, Loralei," he says, a teasing smirk on his lips.

I duck my head, avoiding his gaze. He probably thinks I'm a disaster. Awesome.

I hope I never need rescuing again. It's entirely too much work.

I reluctantly slide from the SUV, grimacing when I'm immediately pelted with frigid rain again. By the time I make it the few feet to the covered porch, I'm soaked to the skin again, and even colder than before.

Ash grabs a duffle and a couple of shopping bags from the back of the SUV and then rushes up the steps after me, shaking water from his overly long, dark hair. If he's bothered by the rain, he doesn't show it. He just stomps mud from his boots and hurries to the door, unlocking and then holding it open for me.

My body brushes against his as I pass by. I try to hide the way I shiver, but it's impossible. If he notices, he doesn't say anything, though. He just follows me inside, dropping his bag right inside the door. He tosses the shopping bags on the coffee table and then hits the light switch, flooding the room with light.

The cabin is nice, with dark, comfortable furniture, plush rugs, and plenty of space. Tiny dust motes hover in the air, as if it hasn't been used in a while, but it smells fresh and clean. Windows along the back overlook the creek.

Ash immediately heads down the hall on the left, poking his head into the first room on the right before going into the one on the left. He materializes a second later with a towel slung over his shoulders and another in his hands.

"Here," he murmurs, stepping up in front of me to wrap it around me. His hand brushes my shoulder in the process, and another shiver rips through me. He definitely notices this time. His eyes tangle with mine, this look in them that says he isn't quite sure what to make of me.

I want to tell him I feel the same damn way. This isn't what I expected of the day. I'm still not even convinced this is reality. But with him standing in front of me, it's hard to believe this is anything else.

Ash Kilborne is staring into my eyes right now.

He's touching my shoulder.

What is even happening right now?

"Loralei," he says…whispers, really.

I don't know why I sway toward him. I don't even recognize the soft, needy sound I make. It's like I'm in one of my dreams, where he's in my room, telling me he can't live without me. My whole freaking soul wants to reenact that right this second and fling myself at him the same way I do when my sleeping mind conjures him up.

Except…I'm more sure than ever that this is reality. And in reality, I've never been that girl—the one who just throws herself at anyone. I don't even know how to be that girl.

"I…um…bathroom," I mumble, rushing around him before I say or do something I'll absolutely regret, like, 'please fuck me on that fancy rug right there.'

I practically catapult myself through the bathroom door, slamming it closed behind me. My back lands against it, my breath a ragged pant in my throat. I bury my face in the towel, groaning to myself.

My face is on fire, my heart beating a million miles a minute.

Did I seriously just flee from Ash Kilborne? Yes, yes, I did.

"What the fuck, Loralei? What the actual fuck?"

I drag the towel down, meeting my wide-eyed gaze in the mirror. I look like a drowned rat. A pale, shivering, oversized drowned rat. And my whole bra is visible through my shirt.

"Awesome," I growl, furiously drying myself with the towel. Not that it helps much. There is no helping this. Absolutely none at all. I just met my idol looking like I'm auditioning to be the girl who crawls out of the TV in that one horror movie that scared the ever-living shit out of literally everyone.

Jazz is going to love this.

Fifteen minutes later, I'm still stalling in the bathroom when Ash knocks on the door.

I freeze before spinning that way. For a split second, I contemplate shoving myself through the tiny window and disappearing into the storm. I can be a figment of his imagination, something conjured up by stress or exhaustion or whatever it is that brought him to a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

"I'll be right out," I say instead.

"I've got dry clothes for you," he calls through the door. "And I found the dryer. If you'll pass yours out, I'll put them in for you."

I strip at lightning speed. At least until I get to my bra and panties, and then I hesitate. Do I really want Ash to have his hands all over my mismatched bra and panties?

Why is that even a question?

I strip out of them, dropping them onto the pile with the rest of my clothes. At the last second, I shove them between the shirt and skirt, trying to hide them. Mostly because I might die if he sees the label and realizes panties come in that particular size.

If the press is to be believes, he's used to dating models who have never been more than a zero in their lives. My panties ate a zero.

I'm not ashamed of who I am or my body. I work out. I eat as well as I can. It is what it is. That does not mean I want one of the biggest rockstars in the country to know what size panties I wear, either.

"Here," I say, shoving the pile through the tiniest crack in the door while trying to hide behind it at the same time.

He grabs my pile and hands me a dry one, but before I can close the door, his foot is wedged between it and the jamb, stopping me. "Is everything okay in there?"

"Yes, fine." I push against the door, trying to close it on him. "Just trying to dry off."

"Feel free to use whatever you need. You're welcome to anything while you're here," he says, his gruff voice soft.

"Thanks." I nudge the door again, but it still doesn't budge.

He's just standing there, like he's waiting for me to say something, and I have no idea what I'm supposed to say. Come fuck me right now isn't an option, right?

Right.

"Um…"

"Oh. Shit." He yanks his foot away so fast, I pitch forward, accidentally slamming the door in his face.

"Jesus Christ," I groan, resting my forehead against it. "Could you possibly be more awkward, Loralei?"

"Sorry!" he shouts through it, laughter in his voice. He heard me. Awesome.

I dress slowly in the t-shirt and sweats he brought me, trying to forestall the inevitable for as long as possible. I have to do it eventually, though, right? I can't hide out in the bathroom forever.

Why is he hiding out? No one just rents a cabin in the middle of nowhere for no reason. Last I heard, his band was working on music for their next album. They're supposed to be in the studio.

Clearly, I heard wrong.

I run my fingers through my hair, trying to tame it, and then step out into the hall. Rain is still coming down in sheets outside, falling loudly on the tin roof. But it feels a lot safer in here than it did out there.

Did I really almost get smashed by a falling tree today?

I hurry down the hall, not prepared to think about that right now, only to stop in the living room when I spot Ash kneeling in front of the fireplace, carefully placing logs. He's changed into a faded blue t-shirt that stretches across his muscular back and a pair of black sweats.

"Hey," he says, turning to look at me. "I started a fire. Figured you might still be cold."

"I…thank you," I whisper, my heart twinging. "Um, for everything."

He shoots me a tiny smile, dusting his hands off before rising gracefully to his feet. His gaze drifts down my body. "They fit you."

"Yes. Um, thank you. Again."

"Looks better on you than they do on me."

My cheeks heat.

"You hungry?" He nods toward the coffee table before I can even process the comment. "I cut up some fruit and cheese. It's not much, but I thought…" he trails off awkwardly, clearing his throat.

I gape at him for a long moment, caught off guard. He seems nervous, like he doesn't know what to say or do now that I'm in his space, wearing his clothes. And then realization dawns.

"I promise, I won't tell anyone that you're here or that you helped me," I blurt. "And as soon as the storm passes, I'll get out of your way."

He stares at me for a long silent moment. "Who says you're in my way, Loralei?"

"I…I…."

His lips curve, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "It's all good, baby. I'm not worried about it."

Ash Kilborne just called me baby.

That settles it. This is definitely not reality. This is way better than that.

"Come on," he says, holding out a hand to me. "Come eat."

I glance at his hand for a split second before slipping mine into his, my heart beating like a freaking war drum.

Chapter Four

Loralei

"You're the town librarian?" Ash asks, grinning at me from the opposite end of the couch where he's sprawled with his hands on his stomach and his feet on the coffee table. The plate of cheese and fruit is all but gone between us. The cabin is nice and toasty. Unfortunately, it's also still storming outside. It hasn't let up at all.

"Yes. I have been for the last four years."

One dark brow arches. "There's no way you're old enough to have been the librarian that long."

"I'm twenty-seven."

"Really? I thought you were twenty-one or twenty-two."

"Nope. Twenty-seven."

"And already lording over the literary scene in town," he murmurs. "Impressive."

"Book nerds start early," I say with a shrug.

He just chuckles in response, stretching his arms over his head. His t-shirt rides up, exposing a strip of skin right above his waistband. Jeez. Do his abs have abs? And am I allowed to ask if I can lick them? Probably not, right? "What's your favorite thing to read?"

"Romance."

The way he smiles at me makes my heart flip. "Yeah? What kind?"

"Just romance," I mumble, avoiding his gaze. There's no way I'm telling him that I read filth of the highest order. Some things, rockstars do not need to know.

"Uh-huh."

"Do you read?"

"I used to," he says. "When I was younger, I read all the damn time."

"You don't anymore? Why not?"

"No time." He sighs, his shoulders drooping. "I have no fucking time for anything anymore."

I stare at him for a moment, noticing the weary look on his face. He doesn't just look tired. He looks exhausted, the bone-deep kind that slowly erodes at your soul until there's nothing left to give.

Is that why he's here? Because he has nothing left to give? Because everyone always wants something from him and this is the only way he can get five minutes of peace?

I reach out instinctively, placing my hand over his. He blinks, his gaze meeting mine. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "I can't even imagine how exhausting it is to do what you do every day, to always have people who want things or need things, or to always have somewhere to be or something that needs your attention."

"I chose it," he says, one corner of his lips lifted in a sardonic smile.

"Doesn't mean it isn't allowed to be heavy sometimes, Ash," I murmur. "Or that you aren't allowed to be human or need a break. People can only carry so much, you know."

He tilts his head, eyeing me silently. "I appreciate that, baby. More than you know."

I smile, settling back against the sofa. But when I go to pull my hand from his, he flips his over, catching my wrist.

"Tell me something else about you," he says.

"What do you want to know?"

"Is your man going to worry about you being gone for so long?"

A loud laugh erupts from my lips before I can stop it. "I'd have to have a man in order for him to worry about me. The only people likely to notice me missing are probably still…you know what? Nevermind."

"No, tell me."

"Arguing over a possessed vibrator," I whisper, staring at a loose thread on the sofa.

Ash chokes on a laugh. "Come again?"

I just had to say that, didn't I?

"My friend owns a spicy bookstore. They also have a selection of vibrators," I quickly explain, stumbling over the word. "We're pretty sure one of them is possessed."

He stares at me with wide eyes.

"It's a whole thing. Don't ask," I say, waving him off. Are my cheeks actually as red as they feel right now, or is that just my imagination?

"Oh, I'm asking." His eyes crinkle at the corners. "Please, tell me more about the possessed vibrator."

"You're never going to forget this, are you?"

"Absolutely not. Why is it possessed?"

"Because the only settings it has are destruction, annihilation, can't-walk-for-a-week, and call-an-ambulance. It also spins and pulsates. And, allegedly, it lights up. But we can't find that feature. You don't decide what setting you want. The vibrator basically decides for you."

He's wheezing now, his fingers laced through mine. His index taps along my knuckles like he's playing some melody only he hears. It's surprisingly soothing. "Please tell me that you haven't tried this thing."

"Me? God no. It's like a foot and a half long. Orgasms are supposed to be little deaths, not actual permanent ones." I blink wide eyes at him. "We decided to give it away."

"So…you want someone else to die, huh?"

"What? No!" I cry. "It'll be a shelf piece for someone. Join the mailing list, win a possessed cock to show off to your friends." I slap my free hand over my mouth. "Um, I meant vibrator."

Ash grins at me, his eyes light. "I'm so fucking glad I almost ran you over today, Loralei. This is the most interesting conversation I've had in months."

"We're done talking about this. Tell me something about you," I say quickly, pretty sure I'm going to turn into a freaking volcano if I get any redder. Maybe this is why I don't date. When I do finally start talking, it's never about anything appropriate. Why in the world did I bring up that vibrator?

"Me?" He pretends to think about it. "I think you're cute as hell when you're embarrassed. And you're fucking adorable when you're rambling about plastic cocks."

"Silicone."

"My mistake. Silicone," he corrects, grinning. "You're fucking adorable when you're rambling about silicone cocks."

"You're not making me feel any less embarrassed, Ash."

"Wasn't trying to," he whispers, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "You just came alive for me. I like it."

I swallow hard, pretty sure he can hear my heart beating because it's so freaking loud. And then I realize that's because rain is no longer hitting the roof. "It stopped raining."

"What?" His brows furrow.

"It's not raining." I scurry up from the couch and rush to the windows, peering out. If I don't, I might actually throw myself at him. "Ash! It's not raining!"

Maybe it's my imagination, but I think he mutters a curse behind me before I hear him shuffling around. A second later, he steps up beside me, so close his arm brushes against mine.

"Huh," he mutters. "Guess it's not."

My heart plummets a little. "I guess, um…can you give me a ride? I would walk to my car, but…" I trail off, figuring he doesn't need me to remind him that there's currently half of a tree sitting on it. He saw it with his own eyes.

"No."

I blink at him, shocked.

"I mean, why don't you stay here for right now, and let me go check things out first? Once I know if we can even get through, I'll report back," he says.

"Okay…" I say slowly.

"If we can't get through, I'll try to get signal to call out to get someone out here to clear us a path." He saunters toward the table by the door, shoving his feet into his shoes. "Wait here for me."

"Okay," I say again. "Be careful."

He turns to me, his eyes lingering on my face. "Always, baby."

I swear, every damn time he calls me that, my heart does a flip and my uterus starts singing hymnals. That's probably not normal, right?

Somehow, I doubt it.

"Dammit," I groan fifteen minutes later, dropping my phone onto my lap when it fails to pick up a signal for the fifth time in a row. At this point, I might as well face facts. We're in a dead zone.

"Still no service?" Ash asks, ducking through the front door. His gaze comes to me, droplets of water running down the side of his face. He lifts a hand, wiping them away.

"You're back!" I cry, bolting to my feet to face him. I try to tell myself I'm only relieved he's back because that means I'm one step closer to getting out of here, but that's a lie. I was worried about him. I think…well, hell. I think I even missed him.

What the fuck is even happening? If you'd have asked me yesterday, I'd have said it was impossible to miss someone you met only hours ago. Ash has me reevaluating that belief.

He has me reevaluating a lot right now, actually.

"I have bad news."

"Please don't tell me that my car is a lost cause," I plead, though I'm pretty sure that ship sailed even before the tree landed on it. I'm going to need a new car. It's probably for the best, but…damn.

"No idea," he says with a shrug. "I didn't make it that far. There's a tree down half a mile up the path leading out of here."

I gape at him in shock. "Seriously?"

"Yep. We're not getting out of here until tomorrow at the earliest." He holds up my tote bag. "I tried to get a signal to call out, but couldn't do that, either. I'll have to walk out tomorrow to call for help. I did find this on the floorboard of the SUV, though. Figured you might need it." He drops it onto the table beside the door.

I plop back down onto the couch, burying my face in my hands. "This is a disaster."

"Damn. Am I really that bad?"

"What? No, of course not. I just…" I huff out a breath. "I feel bad for intruding, that's all."

"Loralei." He stomps toward me and then crouches at my feet, prying my hands away from my face. Once I meet his gaze, his lips quirk slightly. "You aren't intruding. The cabin has two bedrooms, so there's plenty of room here for both of us. We'll ride it out for the night, and then I'll walk out tomorrow to call for rescue. It'll be fine."

"I still feel bad," I whisper.

"Yeah, well, don't," he says, tipping my face back. "That'll only piss me off. You aren't bad company. Stop acting like you are, okay?"

I bite my lip and then nod. "Okay."

He stares at me for a long moment, like he's checking to make sure I mean it, and then he relaxes slightly, his fingers brushing my cheek.

I don't mean to do it, but I lean into his touch anyway.

And maybe it's my imagination, but I swear his eyes darken a little, his gaze dropping to my lips. Does he want to kiss me?

God, I want him to, so freaking badly I'm ready to crawl out of my skin.

Instead, I pull back, pulling a little space between us.

Do not throw yourself at him, Loralei. Do not.

It's going to be a long night.

Chapter Five

Ash

"Fuck," I grunt, one hand planted against the wall of the shower. My other is in a tight fist around my cock, stroking. Loralei's face flashes behind my eyes, and I grip myself tighter.

She'd probably kill me if she knew what I was doing right now, but I can't help it. Every time she looks up at me through her lashes, I want to haul her onto my lap to see if she tastes as good as she smells. I want to hear her make that same fucking sound she made earlier—before she ran off to the bathroom like she was fleeing for her life.

I'm an asshole for telling her that we're stranded. I know I am. But she was ready to walk out of my life, and I panicked. I need to keep her here a little while longer. Just long enough to…what? Convince her to give me a chance? Figure out what the fuck is happening to me? I don't know.

All I know for sure is that today is the most fun I've had in a long time. She's the first person who has looked at me like a person in even longer. She hasn't asked a single question about the band, my career, who I know, what it's like to be a celebrity, or any of that. She looks at me like I'm just a man.

I forgot what that was like. I forgot how it felt to sit beside a beautiful woman and just be a normal fucking dude.

And Christ, she is so pretty. Every damn time I look at her, I feel stupid. Anyone can grind at the gym until they have the perfect body. They can hire whatever surgeon they want to perform whatever miracles they want. None of that will ever make you glow from the inside the way she does.

It won't change the light in your eyes or the unguarded way you laugh, or the sweet way you smile, either. There's just this softness about her, this realness, that's rare. It's so fucking perfect.

"Loralei," I groan, my thumb running over the head of my cock when her big doe eyes flash behind my eyes. Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, the sound of her laughter echoing in my head. My stomach muscles contract, my balls drawing up.

I come with a groan, my seed spilling down my hand and spraying across the shower wall. I grunt, locking my legs to keep myself upright. My heart pounds, every muscle in my body going loose at the same time.

"Fucking hell," I pant, my head drooping forward. I watch as my cum swirls down the drain, my cock softening. For long moments, I just stand there, trying to figure out what the hell I'm doing.

I'm too young for a midlife crisis. But maybe that's exactly what this is. I ran away from every responsibility I've ever had to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. I lied to Loralei just to keep her here. To what end? What do I really expect to happen here?

My whole life is paparazzi, stadium shows, and a never-ending parade of parties, public appearances, commitments and obligations. Hers is her books. I saw the way her entire face lit up when she talked about the library. That's where she belongs. It's what makes her happy.

My world would make her miserable. But some part of me wants to slot myself into her life like I have a right. I don't. I'm just the motherfucker who nearly ran her over.

For her sake, maybe that's all I should be.

"Dammit," I mutter, grabbing the soap to scrub up as frustration churns through me. I don't want to be a story she tells years from now. I don't want to be the rockstar she thought she was stranded with once upon a time. I want her to know me—really know me. And I want to know her, too.

It makes no fucking sense, but I want some piece of her to belong to me, some piece no one else has. And maybe I want her to have some piece of me that no one else has, either. I want to carry some part of her with me when I leave here.

And eventually, I have to leave here. I can't hide forever.

Truthfully, I'm not even sure why I came. I just knew if I didn't leave, I was going to snap. I was staring at a bottle of whiskey, thinking how nice it'd be to drown myself in it. That's a problem. A big fucking problem.

I don't want to be the guy who trips down that path. I've been there once, nearly lost everything because I let myself get so out of control, and I swore I wouldn't do it again.

So…I called the band, told them I was taking a hiatus, rented the cabin, and left. Now that I'm here, I feel calmer, less like I'm one sleepless night from throwing everything away just so I don't have to carry the shit any longer.

Loralei has a lot to do with that. Doesn't matter if I just met her. She excites me in a way nothing has in a long goddamn time. That means something. At least, it should.

I turn off the shower and grab a towel, wrapping it around my waist before I step out onto the fluffy rug. The mirror is fogged over, steam still swirling around the small bathroom. For a moment, I just stand there silently, trying to hear her moving around in the cabin, but it's quiet. Too quiet.

Did she slip out while I was showering?

A bolt of anxiety shoots through me at the thought.

I rip the towel off, stepping into a pair of sweats. I barely even drag the towel through my hair to dry it before I'm stepping out into the hall, eager to make sure she didn't disappear into the night while I was showering.

"Loralei?"

No answer.

I peek into the bedroom across the hall, but she isn't in there.

The light is still on in the living room, so I stalk that way, only to freeze in the doorway when I see her curled up on the end of the sofa nearest the fireplace. She's got her feet tucked up underneath her, her head resting on one hand. There's a book in the other, her eyes scanning across the page.

She's so absorbed in what she's reading, she doesn't even notice me watching her. I stare shamelessly, just drinking her in. Every few seconds, her lips move like she's mouthing lines to herself. After a minute or two, her cheeks turn pink, and she shifts restlessly, her thighs pressing together.

Interesting.

"What are you reading?"

She startles, her eyes darting to mine. The guilty expression on her face is fucking cute. So is the way she tries to hide her book behind her back, like if I can't see it, it doesn't exist. "Nothing," she lies. "I thought you were in the shower."

"Finished five minutes ago, baby." I prowl toward her, more intrigued than ever about what the fuck she's reading. "You were lost in your book. What's it about?"

"What book? I don't know what you're talking about." Her cheeks are bright pink now, her eyes darting from mine like if she doesn't look at me, she can keep living in her own version of reality where, apparently, there is no book, and I didn't just catch her reading something dirty.

"Uh-huh," I smirk, stopping in front of her. "So…I just imagined you getting all hot and bothered over whatever you were reading?"

"Yes."

"And I suppose I'm just imagining the paperback sticking out from behind you right now, too?"

She makes an adorable little squeaking sound, trying to shove the book beneath the cushion of the couch to hide it entirely. I'm quicker than she is, though. Mostly because I'm a curious motherfucker now.

What turns her on? What makes her thighs clench and her panties wet? I'm dying to know.

I bat her hand out of the way, snagging the book. I hold it up in front of me, reading the first line that comes into focus. "Get on your hands and knees and show me that pretty little p—"

"Give it back!" Loralei squeals, launching herself off the sofa. She hits me like a meteor, all flailing limbs and indignant squeaks, trying like hell to wrestle the book from my hands.

I turn slightly, but her leg catches the back of my knee. We go down like falling dominoes. I drop the book, grabbing onto her instead. Somehow, I manage to twist, but not enough to ensure she lands on top of me.

We land in a heap on the rug beside the coffee table, with me sprawled halfway on top of her, most of my weight on my arms.

She gasps beneath me, going completely still.

I mean to roll off her before I squish her. Really, I do. But she's so fucking soft, and she smells like vanilla and woodsmoke.

I freeze instead, a surge of desire firing through every nerve ending simultaneously.

Her body shudders slightly, and I feel her breasts against my chest. Fucking hell, I feel her everywhere, the burning heat of her pussy nestled right against my cock, her breath against my lips, her legs tangled with mine.

"Ash."

I groan, burying my face in her throat to breathe her in. At least, that's what I tell myself I'm doing. But my tongue dances down the tendon in the side of her throat, my teeth scraping her skin.

She whimpers, her hands fisting into my shirt. Her fingertips graze my skin, and rational thought spirals away.

"Tell me to stop," I rasp, dangerously close to doing something I can't take back, something neither of us can take back. I want to do it, so fucking badly I can't think straight. I don't want her to tell me to stop. I don't want to let her up. I want to stay right here, with her cunt against my cock until she's soaking me through her sweats.

"D-don't," she gasps, her head falling back. "God, Ash. Don't stop."

I don't. I can't. She's beneath me, begging me, and I can't fucking stop. I growl her name, my teeth raking down the side of her throat. One hand slides down her side, yanking her leg up over my hip to open her up to me.

She cries out softly, rocking into me.

Christ, she's so hot, so sweet.

I grind my cock against her, sucking and biting at the soft skin of her throat. "Jesus, Loralei," I hum against her skin, kissing my way to her mouth. "You feel perfect beneath me, baby."

"Ash. Ash, please!"

One small hand claws at my side. The other slides into my hair, pulling insistently, trying to get my mouth on hers. I give us both what we want, slanting my mouth down over hers.

The way she sobs against my lips is heaven. So is the way she rocks against me in response, grinding her cunt against the head of my cock in search of relief.

My tongue twines with hers, pulling it into my mouth to suck on it. I want to ruin her with my mouth, make her forget whatever she was reading and remember only this—the way she feels beneath me, how perfectly we fit. I want her addicted to me, the same fucking way I think I may be addicted to her.

"This pretty little thing is aching for me, isn't it?" I groan, shoving my hand into the waistband of her sweats. Her stomach trembles beneath my palm. "Can I touch it, Loralei? Tell me I can touch it."

"Yes. God, yes!" Her nails dig into my side again, urging me on. Her legs spread further in invitation.

My hand dips between her legs, precum spilling into my boxers when I feel her—not panties, but her. She's dripping for me already, bare and burning hot.

"Fucking hell." I bite her bottom lip. "You're so wet, baby."

"I know!"

"You want to come on my fingers?"

"Yes. Please, yes. Please."

If she keeps begging like she is, she's going to be coming on my tongue, my cock, and every surface in this cabin.

I part her slit, my eyes locking on her face. I want to see her expression the first time I touch her. I want to watch the pleasure take her as she unravels for me. And I want her to know it's me making her feel this way.

"Eyes on me, beautiful," I murmur, waiting until they flutter open, so dark they're nearly black, before my thumb touches her clit.

Her lips part on a moan, her body trembling.

"Rock against me, Loralei. Use me for your pleasure," I order her, my thumb rolling against her clit. "Let me watch you, baby."

She whimpers, her cheeks turning pink like she's shy or embarrassed, but one palm lands against my chest, giving her leverage. She moves tentatively at first, rocking into my touch, grinding against my cock.

She's stunning below me, her body rolling, her eyes dilated, her lips parted. I think I could watch her like this forever and find some new little detail to focus on—like the way she bites her lip to try to stifle her moans, or the way her eyes roll wildly every time the head of my cock presses against her hole through our clothes. Or the way she whimpers endlessly, like she can't stop the sounds of pleasure I eke out of her.

"Just like that," I croon. "Christ, I fucked my fist in the shower, thinking about you, and you still have me so hard, I'm ready to explode right here and now, Loralei."

"Do it," she begs, her nails digging into my chest. "L-let me see."

Fucking hell. This woman is going to be the death of me.

"You want to watch me come?"

"Yes. Please."

"So fucking polite," I chuckle through a groan. "Take my cock out, then."

She doesn't even hesitate before reaching for the waistband of my sweats. I'm not sure either of us breathes as she lifts slightly before tugging them down, freeing my cock. The hard bastard immediately springs free, all hard and angry.

"Ash," she breathes, stroking one shaking finger down my shaft. "You're beautiful."

I groan, throwing my head back. And then she touches me again, her thumb swirling around the head.

I growl, leaning back slightly so my cock falls from her perfect hand. "If you want me to come for you, you have to come for me first, Loralei. That's the rule," I say, spreading her wide. My thumb presses against her clit, my finger circling her perfect hole. "You going to make a mess in those sweats for me?"

"Y-yes," she pants, rocking against my hand again. "I'm so close, Ash."

I groan, pressing two fingers inside her. She's so tight around them, her inner muscles already clamping down. "Jesus, beautiful. You're going to make me work to get in here, aren't you?"

"I…I…" A tiny flare of panic dances through her gaze, there and gone so quickly I might have thought I imagined it, except I know damn well I didn't.

She isn't ready for this to go any further.

"You don't owe me anything," I promise, meeting her gaze. "If this is the only piece of you I get, I'll die happy, Loralei."

She bites her lip and then nods, relaxing beneath me again.

I wait until I'm certain she knows I mean it, and then I curl my fingers up. "Come for me, beautiful. Let me feel it."

"Ash!" One hand clamps down on my wrist, her eyes going wide. "Ash, I…"

"Let me have it, beautiful," I whisper again, stroking her G-spot. "Come all over my hand like a good girl."

She chokes on my name, her body arching. Her inner muscles clamp down, and then she's shattering, her juices soaking my fingers. I work her through it, my eyes locked on the way pleasure chases pleasure across her face.

She's so fucking hot.

I wring every last quiver from her body before slipping my hand from her pants. My fist wraps around my cock, my grip tight as I use her juices to jerk myself off.

She whines my name, her gaze locked on the sight of my hand on my cock, of her juices smearing across it.

It doesn't take long to get me there, not with her beneath me, looking like a dream. Not with her juices all over me and her smell permeating the room.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," I grunt, my balls drawing up.

Her teeth sink into her bottom lip, and then she shocks the hell out of me by yanking her sweats down slightly. "Right here," she whispers, her fingertips brushing across her pussy. "Do it right here."

I lose it at the sight of her bare mound and wet, puffy pussy lips. At the sound of her begging me to come on her—to mark her.

I grunt a curse, spilling all over her cunt.

She moans, arching toward me, her eyes riveted to the sight. Mine are, too. I can't look away. I can't stop myself from reaching out and smearing it into her skin, either. Part of me—a frighteningly large part—wants to push it inside her just to mark her there, too.

The only thing that stops me is the reminder that, come tomorrow, she may never speak to me again.

I drop down on top of her, burying my face in her throat. "Want to keep you," I murmur, unable to stop the words. It's the truth though, isn't it? I want to keep her. Even though I shouldn't. Even though she deserves better. Even though our worlds are nothing alike…I want to keep her.

When she wraps her arms around me, sighing softly, I kinda hope that means she wants to keep me, too.

Chapter Six

Loralei

"Shoot," I whisper, my body freezing like a deer in the headlights when the front door creaks unnaturally loud as soon as I open it. I strain in the predawn light, listening for any hint that Ash heard the sound, but save for the crackle of the logs on the fire, the cabin is silent.

I exhale a tiny breath and slip out onto the porch. I cringe when I close the door, and it creaks again. Did Ash hear it that time? I don't know.

I also don't plan to stick around long enough to find out. For the record, I'm not running. I'm self-rescuing. There's a difference. I fully intend to come back. I'd just like to do it after I get help. You know, before we have to have the awkward conversation about how I can never tell anyone what happened last night.

Last night was the best night of my life—aside from the nearly dying part, anyway. I'd really like to hang onto the memory for a little longer before we ruin it with a painfully awkward conversation about how it was only a one-time thing, how I can't ever tell anyone, or, worse, with discussions of NDAs and whatever else rockstars demand after coming all over you on the floor of a rented cabin.

I'm sure there are rules for things like this. I'd rather not know them right now.

Frankly, I'd rather not know them at all. I want last night to be a great memory, one not tainted by whatever logistical conversation needs to happen now. But I'm enough of a realist to know that's probably not a desire rooted in reality.

He's a freaking rock God, and I'm a nerdy librarian. He's supposed to be with someone rich and famous who gives him more star power and perfect photo ops. I'll never be that, even if he did say he wanted to keep me.

I troop down the steps, my head tucked against the wind, and then scurry past his SUV, heading across the clearing. The sun is just cresting the horizon, so there's a little light—enough for me to see, anyway. The storm left branches, leaves, and twigs all over the property. It looks a little like a war zone, if the enemy was Mother Nature.

When I reach the treeline, I pause, glancing back at the cabin. It looks softer in the inky morning light, a lot like the haven it was last night, instead of a remote cabin isolated miles from town. Part of me—a big part—wants to run back, climb back into my bed, and pretend I was never out here. But then I remember the way Ash buried his face in my throat and whispered that he wants to keep me, and my heart clenches.

I want to hang onto that memory for as long as possible. When I'm alone in my own bed at night, I want to drag it back out and remind myself that, for one bright, shining moment, I knew what perfection felt like.

Am I being a coward, trying to get myself rescued before the aforementioned awkward conversation has to happen? Yes, absolutely. Am I willing to live with that? Also, absolutely.

I was a coward last night, too. He wanted to sleep with me, not get me off, but fuck me. And I just…panicked a little. Not because I didn't want to, but because I was freaking worried that if we actually went that far, I'd never be able to leave today. I was afraid I'd turn into a miserable facsimile of myself…one who probably burst into tears every time I heard him on the radio.

The funniest part? I think I might turn into her anyway. I haven't even left yet, and I already miss him. I already don't want to go. I already don't want to go back to the reality where he doesn't even know I exist, and the only things I know about him are what gossip sites print.

I should have slept with him.

"Too late now," I mutter, reluctantly turning away from the cabin to begin the long trek down to the main road. I stick to the very center of the path as much as possible, trying to avoid the worst of the mud from rain accumulating in tire tracks along the sides, but by the time I'm halfway there, the sun is up, my shoes are an earthy, muddy brown, and my feet are wet.

I make it all the way to the roadway before I stop, partly because I'm wheezing for breath, and partly because there is no tree blocking the way.

"What the fuck?" I turn, peering back down the path. There's no way I missed a tree blocking the path. There's one way in and out. I would have seen it, right? "Maybe it's actually on the main road?"

I step out from beneath the trees, peering as far down the road as I can see, but there's no downed tree blocking the way. There are plenty of leaves and smaller branches that have been blown all over the place, but there's nothing that even indicates a tree was down at any point last night.

I know I didn't imagine him saying he didn't even make it as far as the main road because of a downed tree. He didn't say it was on the main road or somewhere down the main road. I'm positive he said it was half a mile up the path before the main road.

"What the fuck? Did he lie to me?" I mumble, trying to wrap my mind around the possibility.

"Don't be mad."

A startled scream erupts from my lips before I can stop it. I spin around, my hand over my heart, to see Ash standing beneath the trees alongside the path, his hands in his pockets. His hair is a mess, a pillow crease across one cheek. He's wearing a Midnight Mayhem t-shirt, with mud splattered along the bottom of his sweats. Somehow, there's far less of it on him than there is on me.

"There's no tree."

"I can explain," he says, looking like a little boy who knows he's in trouble.

"You can explain," I repeat, crossing my arms. "There's no tree, Ash. How can you possibly explain that?"

"I lied."

I stare at him levelly, unsure if I'm pissed or not. Not entirely sure what's going on. "You lied?"

He nods, swallowing nervously. "For the first time last night, I felt…good. Normal. You didn't look at me like you wanted anything from me or expect anything from me. You didn't treat me like a celebrity or ask me a million questions. It was…nice," he murmurs, taking a step toward me. "It was really fucking nice, Loralei."

"So you lied about being stranded because I made you feel normal?" I blink at him, not entirely sure how we've gone from me being the neurotic person here to, well…this. "That's not rational, Ash."

"I know." He grimaces, taking another step toward me. "But as soon as it stopped raining, you were ready to go. I wanted you to stay, so I made up the tree."

And I'm back to thinking maybe this isn't reality. At least, it's no reality I'm familiar with. Because, in my world, rockstars don't lie just because they want to spend more time with me. Rockstars don't want to spend more time with me, period.

"Don't be mad," he says again. "I'll take you wherever you want to go if you want to leave. I just…" He stalks toward me, stark lines of anxiety painted across his face. "I wanted you to stay."

I'm not mad. Honestly, I think I feel…bad for him, maybe? How lonely is his life that he faked us being stranded just to spend time with a small-town librarian? A lot lonelier than mine, I think. And that's fucking sad. He's one of the most well-known men in the world…and he's happier in a damn cabin in the woods with me than he is living his fancy, fabulous life.

All this time, I've been thinking that we're worlds apart. But maybe we aren't so different, after all.

"I'm not mad," I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose when he's standing in front of me, looking like he's torn between snatching me up to hold me hostage and begging me to stay. "But did you ever consider just asking me to stay?"

He seems surprised by the question, and then he laughs a little, the sound rueful. "Would you believe me if I told you that the thought never crossed my mind?"

I tip my head to the side, studying him. "Why not?"

"You were so eager to go." He shrugs. "Guess I just assumed you were desperate to get the fuck out of there."

"I wasn't," I whisper. "I…" Gotta say, listening to his confessions is way better than making my own. "Maybe I was just nervous I'd say or do the wrong thing and embarrass myself."

"Nothing about you is embarrassing, Loralei."

"Ask me what I was listening to on my way out there."

A tiny smile plays at his lips. "You're going to say Midnight Mayhem, aren't you?"

"Yep. I, um…Jesus." I hide behind my hands. "Maybe you'll be glad to be rid of me after I say this, but since we're having confession hour, I might as well just say it, right?"

"Oh, absolutely," he says, a smile in his voice.

"I may have had a tiny crush on you when I was younger," I admit in a rush. "And I might have been worried I was going to throw myself at you or do something stupid last night."

His deep laugh bounces back from the trees in distorted echoes, scaring a flock of birds into flight.

"It's not that funny," I grumble.

"You're right." He wraps his hands around my wrists, dragging my hands away from my face. When I meet his gaze, he's grinning at me. "It's fucking hilarious, Loralei."

"No, it's not."

"It is," he says, tugging me up against his chest. His lips brush my ear. "I'm the one who threw myself at you, baby. First chance I had, I was jerking off in the bathroom, thinking about you. I had my hands in your pants, making you come all over my fingers the first chance I had, too."

I groan at the reminder, my core clenching.

He nips the shell of my ear, one hand sinking into my hip. "You were a perfect angel. I was hard as a rock outside the bathroom, knowing you were naked on the other side of the door."

"Ash," I groan.

"I kept hoping you'd forget and open it a little wider so I could see you." He bites the shell of my ear again before soothing it with a swipe of his tongue, his beard scraping my skin. "You had me desperate, baby."

"Ash," I whimper.

His hand tightens on my hip, his body pressing to mine. "I'm hard right now."

I don't know what comes over me. Really, I don't. But as soon as he says the words, it's like every single ounce of desire he made me feel last night comes roaring back into screaming focus. All I can think about is how much I want to feel how hard he is right now. And how much I want to finish what I wish I'd been brave enough to finish last night.

I push him backward with a hand on his chest, backing him down the path toward the cabin until I'm fairly confident we're no longer visible from the road.

"What are you doing?" he asks, a cocky smirk on his face when I start pushing him toward a tree.

"Finishing what you started last night," I say, meeting his gaze. I have no idea where this new confidence came from, but I'm not questioning it, not when he's looking at me with enough heat banked in his eyes to start forest fires. "You got a problem with that?"

"Just one," he growls, spinning us at the last second, so I'm the one who ends up pinned to the tree with him looming over me. His lips come down on mine in a hard kiss, his hands grasping at mine to pull them up over my head. "I never got to taste you last night."

I moan so loud, the whole damn canyon probably hears me. Ask me if I care.

Spoiler Alert: I don't. I really, really don't.

I want to be wild and carefree and fuck this man against a tree after he has his mouth on me. I want to say to hell with the rules and just dive headfirst into whatever madness this is. For once, I don't want to be Loralei Grey, boring librarian. I want to be the woman reflecting back in his eyes when he looks at me.

He kisses me like my mouth is life-sustaining, one hand sliding down my body, between my breasts, down my belly, and then between my legs. "You going to let me eat you right here against this tree, Loralei?"

"Yes," I gasp, arching into him. He could ask for anything right now, and I think I'd agree to it.

"Good, because I want the whole canyon to hear my name breaking on your lips," he croons, nipping my throat before his hand slips inside my pants. He freezes and then grunts. "You're wearing panties today."

"They were dry."

"Pity," he says, twisting his hand in the crotch of them.

"Ash, don't you da—"

Too late. The fabric gives with an audible rip, shearing away from my sex.

"Those were the only pair I have out here," I complain, biting his lip hard.

"Good. Problem solved then," he says with an unrepentant grin.

"You…oh," I moan, losing the threads of whatever complaint I was going to lodge as soon as his thumb touches my clit. I lose the ability to think at all when he drops to his knees in the mud in front of me, yanking my sweats down.

"Stay just like that," he murmurs, his eyes locked on my center. "Christ, look how pretty it is, baby."

"Ash," I whimper, loving the way he looks at me like I'm the best thing he's ever seen. There's no artifice to the way he stares at me, no bullshit. He isn't putting on a show, saying what he thinks I want to hear, or just going through the motions. The truth is painted into every stark, starving line of his face. He's ravenous. For me.

His tongue swipes across his bottom lip before he splits me open with two fingers. "Jesus, Loralei," he groans, his eyes locked on the sight of my swollen clit. "You're dying for me, aren't you?"

"Yes!" I sob. "Ash, plea—"

He moves like lightning, burying his tongue inside me. As soon as it swipes across my clit, a bolt of pleasure rips through me, and my legs threaten to buckle. I cry out, grasping at his head to keep myself upright.

He wraps one arm around me, anchoring me to him as he kisses my pussy like it's my mouth, making love to it with his tongue. I sob his name, certain I'm ripping out entire chunks of his hair, and equally as certain that I can't stop.

"So fucking good," he grunts, forcing the tip of his tongue into my hole to fuck me with it. With my legs still pressed together, trapped by the way he holds me and my sweats, he has to fight to get it inside me. But I think he likes the fight.

He snarls, his nose grinding against my clit, as he forces it deeper. His beard chafes my thighs in the most delicious way. I throw my head back, staring up at flashes of the sky through the canopy of trees overhead, feeling like I'm flying and falling and fucking all at once.

I splinter apart with a sharp cry that echoes around us, my hands clamped in his hair, my pulse clattering in my ears. My whole body detonates before surging to fire.

Ash just grunts and keeps eating me, not letting up until I'm practically climbing the tree to get away from his mouth. Only when I'm begging—a litany of pleas spilling from my lips—does he lean back on his heels, wiping his hand across the back of his mouth.

His eyes are midnight blue, his cheeks flushed. He looks like sin incarnate on his knees, staring up at me with fire in his eyes. "Goddamn," he breathes, his chest heaving. The look on his face is all devil and sin, somehow deadly and beautiful at the same damn time. "If you don't want me inside you, you better run, beautiful."

"What?"

"If you don't want me inside you, run."

I stare at him, trying to process. And then I see the glint in his eyes, and realize he wants to chase me. He wants to catch me. He wants the thrill and the chase and the wildness of it all.

My entire body ignites again.

I yank my pants up and take off, knowing there isn't a chance in hell that I'm getting away. I'm not even trying to outrun him, not really. It's the thrill of being caught that has my blood pumping wildly. It's the sound of him crashing through the trees behind me that has me ready to fall to the muddy ground just so he can do whatever he wants to me.

But I run anyway.

He catches me far sooner than I'd hoped, but I'm not really surprised. He's built like an actual God. The last time I ran, a chihuahua was chasing me. Believe me, it was more terrifying than it sounds. You try being chased through an alley by Cujo's angrier little brother.

The breath leaves my lungs in a whoosh as my feet leave the ground, Ash's arm around my waist. He manhandles me up against the nearest tree, my chest pressed to the bark, his body caging me in. We're both covered in mud, but it doesn't even matter when I feel his erection against my ass.

I sob, pressing back against him.

"You love this shit, don't you?" he growls, ripping my pants down to my ankles.

"Yes." I'm not going to lie to the man. I love everything about this.

"I know." He nips the side of my throat, his breath hot against my skin. "I read your book after you went to bed last night, Loralei. Every fucking word."

I sob his name, choking on a whimper.

One thick finger presses into me, stretching me. My head falls back against his chest, a moan tumbling from my lips.

"I was hard all night, thinking about you getting yourself off, reading the things you do." He groans, biting my shoulder. "Fucking hell, Loralei. I'm so hard for you."

"Then d-do something about it."

"Plan on it," he growls, spinning me around. Our eyes meet for a split second before he's boosting me up. My legs wrap around his waist, my arms around his shoulders. He kisses me sweetly, so much softer than I anticipated. "Let me in, sweetness."

"Ash," I whimper, writhing against the rough bark as he lines up at my entrance and then pauses, meeting my gaze again.

For a long moment, he just lingers there, watching my face. There's so much softness in his gaze, so much sweetness that it's unexpected. He just chased me down, and now he's being gentle. It's too much and not enough at the same time.

"Stay with me," he whispers, a plea in his voice that's more vulnerable than I expected. "Don't leave today."

I don't even hesitate. I can't, not when he's looking at me like his whole world might hinge on my answer. "Yes."

His forehead drops to mine as he lowers me onto his cock. My body stretches to accommodate him, my nails digging into his shoulder blades. He's so fucking big. God, he feels like he's splitting me in two in the best way.

He lowers me little by little, inch by perfect inch until I'm flush against him, his cock buried to the hilt inside me. And then he pauses, his breath shaking on his lips. "You good, baby?"

"Perfect," I whisper.

He just grins in response and kisses me again.

And then he moves, lifting me up slightly before dropping me again. I gasp, clutching at his shoulders.

"More?" he asks.

"Yes, more."

He groans, burying his face in my throat, and gives me exactly what I asked for. He fucks me like he means it, lifting me almost all the way off his cock before dropping me. I bounce every time I land, forcing him a little deeper.

He growls every time, one hand digging into my hip. "Goddamn, you look so fucking good wrapped around me, Loralei. I might keep you on my cock all day, just so I can keep watching that perfect face."

"Ash, please."

"What do you need, baby? Tell me, and you've got it."

"Harder!"

"Like this?" He slams into me, driving me back against the tree.

I shout his name, clawing at his arms.

"I'll take that as a yes," he says through a chuckle, then does it again and again. Within seconds, he's fucking me too hard to talk. And I'm too far gone to do anything but take every perfect, savage thrust.

"The canyon sounds beautiful when it's full of your pleasure, Loralei," he murmurs, his lips at my ear. "Keep singing for me."

I sob his name, and then scream it when he hits some spot inside that has me unraveling instantly. I come so hard I lose track of everything except the sound of his voice in my ear, whispering praise and filth in equal measure.

When I come back to myself, he isn't done with me. He just kisses me and keeps going, driving me right back up the ledge. But this time, I beg him to go over with me. I want to feel it. I want him inside me, spilling out of me. I don't care if it's dangerous, reckless, or stupid. I want it anyway.

"I almost pushed it inside you last night," he groans, fucking into me again and again. "I wanted you marked inside and out so fucking badly."

"Do it now," I beg. "I want it, Ash."

"Christ," he groans, slipping one hand between us to grind perfect circles around my clit. "You want me to fill you up, baby? Want me to breed this perfect pussy?"

"Yes!" I sob, already unraveling around him.

He growls my name, slamming me down on him again and then again. I detonate with a sharp cry, coming in powerful waves that leave me boneless on top of him. He plants himself deep, snarling my name, and then I feel him spilling into me.

I choke on his name, collapsing forward against his chest. He catches me, holding me tightly. And for one split second, I let myself hope that he never lets me go.

Chapter Seven

Ash

"Can I ask you a question?" Loralei asks over lunch, peeking at me from beneath her lashes from the opposite side of the small kitchen table. Sunlight streams through the large windows all around the room, catching on lighter strands of her hair. She's dressed in her own clothes again. There was no other choice. By the time we made it back to the cabin, her borrowed sweats and t-shirt were covered in mud. So was she.

I regret nothing. I'll fuck her against a tree any day of the week.

But as soon as the question leaves her lip, I tense on instinct before forcing myself to relax. Whatever she wants to ask, I doubt it's any of the nine thousand asinine questions everyone else always asks me. That isn't Loralei. I may not know everything about her, but I've learned enough about her to know that much.

"Ask away," I say, leaning back in my chair with my hands clasped behind my head.

"Why are you here?" She grimaces as soon as the curious question bursts from her lips. "I'm sorry. That came out way ruder than I meant it. I just mean…"

"Why the fuck am I hiding out in a cabin in the middle of nowhere?"

"Yeah," she says, shrugging apologetically.

"Good question." I frown at a tiny divot in the wooden tabletop, still not entirely sure I know the answer to that question or that I'm comfortable with the answer, rather.

"You don't have to tell me," she whispers after a moment. "It's not really my business."

I'm not so sure that's true, not anymore. I think it might have become her business the second I found myself outside of the bathroom yesterday, hoping she'd let me in.

When I woke up this morning and she wasn't in the cabin, I panicked. I keep telling myself that this can't last, that we're too different. Truth is, even if that's what she needs—for me to be a fleeting moment in her life—it's not what I want.

I don't want this to be over when she goes back to her life tomorrow. I want to keep seeing her. I want to keep feeling the way I do right now. I want her, goddammit. Any way I can have her.

"I had a problem with alcohol fifteen years or so ago," I admit, my hands flat on the tabletop. "I was young, dumb, and didn't have enough people around to tell me no, and I spiraled out of control. My publicist managed to keep the worst of it out of the press, but it got really bad for a while." I swallow hard. "She found me passed out behind the wheel in my driveway after missing a recording session. She sobered me up, and told me that I either get help or she was firing me as a client."

"You got help?" Loralei asks.

I nod. "I knew I could have killed someone had I actually managed to take off that night. I didn't even remember getting in the fucking car," I rasp. "That scared the shit out of me. So Jess, my publicist, had me in rehab in a matter of hours, and I haven't had a drink since. But I've been working my ass off for the last five years straight. We've put out two albums, gone on a stadium tour, and have another album in the works. A few days ago, I found myself sitting in the dark, staring at a bottle of whiskey, thinking about how nice it'd be to just…drink the whole goddamn thing."

Loralei makes a soft sound of distress, reaching across the table to place her hand in mine. I link our fingers together, grateful as hell.

"I knew I couldn't do that shit, so I told the band I was taking a hiatus, rented the first cabin I could find, and took off," I say, brushing my thumb across her knuckles.

"You needed a break," she says softly, empathy painted across her face.

"I've needed one for a while, but when everyone is counting on you, it's easy to put it off, you know?"

"I'm glad you didn't pick up the bottle, Ash."

"Me too."

"Do you still want to? Drink, I mean."

"You want the truth?"

She nods.

"It was never about the alcohol, beautiful. It was everything you find at the bottom of a bottle that was so fucking tempting—the silence, the numbness, the escapism." When you're too drunk to function, shit doesn't feel so heavy, at least for a little while. But when you come out the other side of a bender, it's always heavier than when you started.

I don't think I even realized when I started drinking back then why it appealed to me so much. It wasn't until I was two weeks into rehab that I figured that part out—it wasn't the parties or a lack of self-control that led me there. It was how fucking heavy everything had become.

I never intended to end up right back in the same goddamn place, carrying the same weight. I thought if I just worked hard enough and kept myself busy, I'd be fine. It's a fucking stupid thought to have when working so goddamn hard all the time doesn't silence the noise. It only adds more on top of it.

"Is it still?" she asks.

I stare at her for a moment, not entirely sure she's ready to hear the whole truth. And then I say fuck it and give it to her anyway. "Not since I almost ran over this sexy little librarian who likes to read filth and talk about possessed vibrators."

Her cheeks turn bright red, but the way she lights up tells me she's just as thrilled as she is embarrassed, and I can live with that.

"I mean it, baby. I feel better since meeting you than I have in months." I tip my head to the side, studying her. "You don't treat me like everyone else does. I'm allowed to just fucking be Ash for five minutes. That's some powerful shit right there."

I haven't been allowed to be him in a long time. I'm always performing, always putting on a smile, or a show, or faking my way through it for the sake of the press, the fans, or the band. There's someone in my ear, every minute of the day, asking for more, more, more.

"You want the truth?" she asks, and then waits until I nod before continuing, "I've been listening to you since I was a little girl. I wasn't really sure what to say, do, or how to act at first. I'm still not entirely sure I've got it right. But most celebrities who come through here act like celebrities. Those who don't, don't for a reason." She shrugs. "You rented a cabin in the middle of nowhere without an entourage. I figured that meant you just wanted to be ordinary for a while. And if there's one thing I know, it's how to be ordinary."

"There is absolutely nothing ordinary about you, Loralei."

Her smile is wistful. "I'm just a boring librarian. Unless we're talking about books, I usually don't say much."

"You aren't shy."

"I am."

"You aren't."

She quirks a brow at me. "I talked to like four people my entire first two years of college. And my freshman year was nearly over before I realized one of them was the janitor." She shrugs self-consciously. "I've never been very good at making friends, dating, or talking to people."

"You talk to me."

"You're easy to talk to," she whispers, glancing down at our hands. "You make me feel…like what I have to say matters, even when it's not important."

My heart does this weird clenching thing, and I suddenly feel a little bulletproof.

"I like knowing that," I rumble, stroking her knuckles again. "I want to be someone you aren't afraid to talk to about anything, whether it's books, possessed cocks, your fantasies, what you're dealing with, or the goddamn weather. Listening to you isn't a hardship."

"Thanks," she whispers.

"Can I ask you a question now?"

She nods, her expression still soft and open.

"Why the library?"

"Books," she says simply, lighting up just like she did yesterday. "My whole life, I've wanted to be surrounded by books. Now, I am." A tiny laugh escapes her lips. "It's my happy place."

"I've always felt that way about music," I murmur. "Didn't care what I did, so long as it involved music."

"And now, look at you." She beams at me. "I guess we both got our dreams, didn't we?"

"Yeah, I guess so," I say, a little uneasy.

We subside into silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine are worrisome as fuck. The library is her dream…and it's about as far removed from my life as you can get. She's shy, content with her life here. Is it really fair for me to insert myself into it and fuck it all up for her? To force her to face public scrutiny and a constant barrage of attention just because I like the way I feel with her?

I don't know. I really fucking don't. But the thought of letting her walk out of here tomorrow twists my stomach into knots, too. Whatever this is between us is big, it's important, and it fucking matters.

"If I asked to keep seeing you, would you tell me to fuck off?" I ask, praying she doesn't tell me no. Maybe she should. Maybe that's what's best for her. But I'm selfish enough not to want this to end yet.

She glances up at me, startled. "You want to keep seeing me?"

"Hell yeah," I rasp, holding her gaze. "For as long as you'll let me."

"I…"

My heart clenches, convinced she's going to shoot me down.

"I'd like that, Ash," she whispers.

"Yeah?" I grin at her like an idiot.

"Yeah." She shoots me a tiny smile I feel in my heart. "I think I'd really like that."

I climb to my feet, circling around the table toward her. Before she can say anything, I lift her to her feet, pulling her into my arms. She burrows into me with the sweetest little sigh.

"You're going to change my whole life, aren't you?" she asks, her voice soft.

I don't know, but I'm absolutely positive that she's already changing mine.

"Maybe," I murmur, tipping her head back to take her mouth in a deep kiss. "Or maybe I'll just invite myself into it and never leave, baby."

She moans against my lips, melting into me, and I think, maybe, she wouldn't hate that at all.

Christ, she's perfect. So fucking perfect.

I scoop her up into my arms, striding out of the kitchen.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm going to get you naked. You're going to sit on my face. We're both going to come until we can't move."

"You should read more," she says with a soft moan, shifting restlessly in my arms. "Books give you all kinds of fantastic ideas."

I chuckle, dipping my head to claim her mouth in another deep kiss.

Chapter Eight

Loralei

Ash and I spend half of Sunday dealing with my car. As suspected, there's no saving it. I'm not entirely surprised, but I am sad about it. I loved that car. Actually, I loved that I didn't have to go buy a new one because of that car.

He offers to buy me a new one, but I shoot that idea down flat. There's no way I'm letting him buy me a car when my insurance will help cover at least some of the expense, enough to put a little down, at least.

I do let him help arrange a rental until the insurance adjuster can take a look at it, though. By the time the fire department gets the tree off it, and a tow truck hauls it to a shop in town, the day is half over.

We spend the rest of the day in bed, talking, laughing. He spends a good portion of the day trying to see how many times he can make me come. Turns out, it's a lot.

That's not a complaint, just a statement of fact.

By the time Monday morning rolls around, I'm not ready to leave. I want to stay forever. Unfortunately, I can't. The library won't open itself.

"Do you think…?" I hesitate, not sure if I'm allowed to invite him to my place. Maybe he wants to hide out here where no one knows where to find him.

"That you should stay here today? Absolutely," he says, grinning at me. "Who really uses the library anyway?"

"Approximately 155 million people per year in the United States."

He startles, gaping at me. "No shit?"

"No shit."

"Jesus. That's a lot more than I thought," he mumbles, making me smile. "Ask your question."

"Um, I was just going to ask if maybe you'd want to have dinner with me at my place tonight?" I say, avoiding his gaze. "You can say no. I'll understand if you'd rather no—"

He silences me with his lips on mine. "Fuck yeah, I want to come over tonight, Loralei. I will never say no to more time with you."

I melt against him, relieved. "I'm usually finished by five." I pause. "Well, I need to go by the bookstore afterward, so maybe seven?"

"Text me your address, and I'll be there."

I smile. Who knew getting a rockstar to agree to a date would be so easy? Not me.

"I wish you could stay," he murmurs, cupping my cheek. "It's going to be too fucking quiet here without you."

I bite my bottom lip, suddenly worried. "Will you be okay? I mean, if you think you aren't ready yet, maybe I can…"

He places a finger over my lip, smiling softly. "That's not what I meant, beautiful. I'll be perfectly fine. There isn't a single drop of alcohol in the cabin. I'm just going to miss having you here, that's all."

"Oh."

"Yeah." His smile grows. "Oh."

"I'll miss you too, Ash."

He groans loudly, pressing his lips to mine in a hard kiss. "You better get out of here, Loralei. If you don't, I'm not going to let you go. I'm going to recreate that thing in your book where he used sheets to tie her to the bed to keep her there."

My core clenches, a moan tumbling from my lips.

He chuckles, gently nudging me toward my rental. "Go, baby. I'll see you tonight."

"See you tonight, Ash." I practically dive into the car before I decide no one really uses the library anyway.

"Here you go, Lexi," I say, sliding a stack of books across the counter to the adorable little blonde in pigtails and chunky glasses. "You're all checked out."

"Thanks, Ms. Grey," she chirps, stretching to try to reach them. She's not quite tall enough, though. Or, rather, her stack is a little too tall for her.

"I've got it," her mom, Cora, says, scooping them into her arms. "Thanks, Loralei."

Lexi beams at her, skipping in place.

I just smile as they head for the exit, certain Lexi will be back by the end of the week for a brand-new stack. She reads as much as I did when I was her age.

They pause at the doors, stepping aside to allow someone inside. I grin when I see Lilah stepping through the doors, her arms loaded down with books. She pauses to speak with Cora and Lexi for a moment before heading my way.

"Brought you something," she says, dropping her stack of books on the counter. "These are damaged, so we can't sell them. Figured you could use them for the next basement sale here."

"Thanks." I grin, poking through the stack. Twice a year, we hold a big basement sale, where members of the community can buy the books no longer in circulation or books donated by others in the community. The funding helps us purchase new materials. Lilah is great about contributing damaged copies from the bookstore to the sale.

"A couple of those are signed."

"Seriously?" I lift the cover of one of Cassia Murphy's newest books to see her signature scrawled across the title page. "Oh, nice. You're my favorite bookstore owner, you know that?"

Lilah makes a noise, propping one hand on her hip. "I better be," she sasses. "I provide you all the smut your dirty little heart desires, and I only make you work for it sometimes."

I laugh quietly, moving the books beneath the counter.

"Speaking of which…have you seen Jazz?"

"Yes." My lips twitch. "She was here earlier, trying to convince me to disappear into the back for five minutes while she looked up River's home address."

Lilah groans, covering her face with her hands. "That girl is going to wind up in jail."

"Yep," I agree with a little laugh. "And I am not aiding and abetting. I told her to come back Wednesday. She can harass him in public like a normal person. Figured it'd be safer for everyone that way."

Lilah pulls her hands away from her face, sighing heavily. "You do not know her nearly well enough if you believe that, Loralei. She's going to drive the man up the damn wall until he agrees to talk to Book Club."

"He's not going to agree." I don't know River well, but he's been coming here every other week since he moved to the area. Frankly, he's a grump with a bad attitude. There's not a chance in hell Jazz is going to talk him into coming to talk to Book Club. But she's determined, so I'm going to let her find that out the hard way. It's all I can do at this point. Well, that and hope she doesn't actually get herself thrown into jail. Because he will absolutely call the police on her if she annoys him enough.

"We'll see," Lilah says with a shrug. "You coming to the bookstore tonight?"

"Um…maybe for a little while. I have some stuff to do."

"What kind of stuff?"

Dinner with my favorite rockstar.

"Just stuff," I say, carefully avoiding her gaze. I'm not a very good liar…and I'm also not entirely sure Ash wants everyone to know that he's in town. Lilah is one of my closest friends. I trust her with my life. But this is different.

For starters, I don't even know what to say. I spent the weekend in bed with Ash Kilborne, and he wants to keep seeing me doesn't exactly roll off the tongue. Truthfully, I'm not sure I'm ready to share it yet. I want it to be just mine for a little while longer. Is that so wrong? No, of course not.

But I feel the weight of Lilah's gaze boring into me.

"Why are you blushing?"

"What?" I grab a book from the stack waiting to be checked in. "I'm not blushing. It's just hot in here."

"Uh-huh," she says, still staring at me. "You look funny, too. All…glowy."

"New makeup," I lie.

"Right," she says, drawing the word out to make it clear she thinks I'm full of shit. "Well, whatever you're busy doing, be safe, okay? And I'm here if you want to talk about it."

I swallow hard, suddenly intensely grateful for her. My gaze tangles with hers, a swell of gratitude lodged in my throat. "I will," I whisper. "Thanks, Lilah."

She stares at me for another long moment, then shrugs, waves, and strides toward the doors.

I droop against the counter as soon as she's gone, my heart hammering. I'm not good at this, at sneaking around and pretending everything is normal. It's not normal.

"What am I doing?" I groan, burying my face in my hands. I'm not entirely sure I have an answer…but I do know I don't want to stop whatever is going on with Ash. The thought alone feels a little like it's crushing the breath from my lungs.

"Excuse me, ma'am," a scratchy voice says from the opposite side of the counter.

I drop my hands, glancing up. And then I snort, trying to contain laughter. Ash is standing in front of the counter in a baseball cap, oversized sunglasses, and a leather jacket, clearly trying to remain incognito. He sticks out like a sore thumb.

"Do you have time to help me find the most private part of the library?" he asks in that same scratchy falsetto, one brow arching above his sunglasses. The wicked smile on his face makes my stomach dip and spin.

"That'd be the basement."

"Yes, the basement."

I hesitate, glancing around. There are a few patrons scattered around, browsing shelves or working at the computer station. The part-time librarian, Mena, is shelving books in the nonfiction section.

"Yeah," I decide, grabbing the sign alerting patrons that I've stepped away and plunking it down on the counter. "I can help you."

Ash grins as I grab the stack of books Lilah brought in and then hurry around the counter, motioning for him to follow me. He takes the stack from me before falling into step behind me, his hand brushing my hip.

I fight a groan, trying to act casual, like he's just any other patron. I'm not sure if I succeed or not, but we make it to the elevator with only a few curious glances.

As soon as the doors close behind us, Ash is on me, pressing me back against the wall. "Fuck, I missed you," he growls, his lips brushing mine in a hard kiss. His beard feels like heaven against my skin. "I couldn't wait until tonight to see you."

"Ash," I moan, my hands fisting in the sides of his jacket to anchor him to me. The edge of a book digs into my ribcage, but I don't even care. His mouth is on mine, his scent swirls around me. I'm right where I want to be.

He grunts, biting my bottom lip.

The elevator shudders to a stop in the basement. For a long moment, neither of us moves. We just keep kissing, too caught up in one another to care. And then he pulls away with a groan, his sunglasses knocked askew on his face.

"You ever fucked in a library, beautiful?" he asks, his voice a deep, deadly rumble.

"What?"

"You ever fucked in a library?" he asks again.

"N-no."

"Good." He taps my hip, tugging me away from the wall of the elevator. His lips brush the side of my throat. "Then I'll be the first."

My entire body ignites, my knees trembling. I stumble off the elevator after him, only to run into his back when he comes to a dead stop just beyond the elevator doors.

"What the fuck?" he rumbles, glancing around. "This is part of the library?"

"It's where books go to die," I say softly, trying to see it through his eyes. I've been down here so often, the chaos is normal to me. But I guess it probably does look a little wild to anyone who has never seen it before. There aren't really any shelves. There are just long tables and heaps of battered books stacked everywhere. A few broken shelves litter one corner, with old computer equipment stacked in another. "We use it to store books donated by the community for our semi-annual basement sale."

"Ah," he says. "Where do these go?"

"That table," I say, pointing to the long table that houses the romance section.

He stalks that way, carefully depositing the stack on top before turning toward me. I watch, my stomach fluttering when he rakes the sunglasses from his face and then crooks a finger at me.

I don't even realize I'm moving until I'm standing in front of him, so close, I see the way his nostrils flare when he looks at me.

He hooks an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against his body. "Been thinking about you all day today, Loralei."

"M-me, too," I whisper.

"Yeah?" His lips quirk in a grin. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just you."

"Were you thinking about how good I felt inside you this morning?"

"Maybe."

His hand rakes down the back of my thigh, cool air brushing my skin as he lifts it. "Did you think about how badly you need me inside you again?"

"Yes," I moan, pressing my thighs together.

"Good." He angles my head, his lips inches from mine. "Because I haven't thought about anything else all goddamn day, beautiful. Every time I close my eyes, I see you falling apart for me. I hear you crying out for me. I'm losing my mind."

"Ash," I whimper, my fingers digging into his sides like that's going to hold me upright. It's not, though. Not when he's got his hands on my body, one already slipping between my legs.

He groans when he feels how wet I am. "Christ, baby. You're drenched for me." He spins me around, pressing against my shoulder to lean me over the table.

My hands flatten across the top, my fingers curling around the edges of two books, trying to keep myself upright. My legs nearly buckle anyway when he kneels behind me, tapping my thigh.

"Spread for me."

I do, my whole body shaking when I feel his breath on my sex from behind. And then his mouth is there. I fall forward, crying out softly as his tongue swipes through my folds, swirling around my clit.

My fingers claw at the cover of one of the books, leaving gouges across the title. I should probably feel bad about that, but his tongue is inside me, wreaking havoc on my body, and I don't feel bad. I feel like I'm flying and falling and fucking all at the same time again.

"Ash," I gasp. "Oh, God."

He fucks me with his tongue, grunting and snarling curses. His hands spread my cheeks, opening me up, allowing him to get closer, deeper. I writhe, choking on his name.

And then his tongue rolls over my back entrance, and I sob.

"Let it happen," he growls, flicking his tongue right there.

And God, I do. I push back against him, shocked and reeling. Delighted.

He pushes the tip of it against my entrance, thrusting two fingers inside me at the same time.

I come with a soft cry, my knees buckling as waves crash through me in a tsunami of pleasure. It's more intense than anything I've ever felt, a sky without end.

He growls behind me, and then he's on his feet, his chest to my back, his lips against my ear. "Fucking perfect," he growls, working desperately at the fly of his pants. "Even that little hole is fucking perfect, Loralei."

"Ash," I whimper.

My whimper bleeds to a moan when he notches at my entrance, pushing his way inside. I clench around him, clawing at the books, at the table, at anything in an attempt to root myself to reality. But it's useless. He's already inside me, fucking me hard enough to rattle books off the table. Hard enough to knock the air from my lungs every time he bottoms out.

I push back against him, loving the way his body covers mine and the way he kisses me everywhere he can reach. I love everything about the way he feels over me, inside me, like he's eclipsing the entire world, replacing it with him.

"That's it," he groans, his teeth sinking into the hollow of my throat when I splinter apart. "Come all over me, beautiful."

I do. God, I come so hard, nothing else exists. It's just me, him, and the books beneath my hands.

He follows me over the edge, chanting my name like it's the only thing he knows. Part of me, a part that's grown so impossibly large it's almost terrifying, kind of hopes it is the only thing he knows.

Ash helps put me back together with gentle, reverent hands and sweet words. Once I'm as presentable as I'm going to get, he pulls me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest.

I burrow into him, my head against his chest. Part of me wants to stay right here, hidden in the basement, surrounded by him and books like the rest of the world doesn't exist. Except…it does.

"I need to get back to work," I say regretfully, tilting my head back to look up at him.

He sighs, scanning my face. "Do you still want me to come to dinner tonight?"

"Yes." I bite my lip. "Unless you don't want to?"

"Oh, I want to, Loralei." He rests his forehead against mine. "I want it enough that it should scare the shit out of me."

"Does it?"

He hesitates for a moment, and a tiny sliver of my heart breaks from the rest. "Not as much as it should," he finally admits.

I'm not entirely sure what that means, but I think I can guess. He didn't come here looking for this anymore than I went out to the canyon looking for him. Neither of us expected to meet the other or to feel the way we do. And yet…here we are anyway.

What are we supposed to do about that? Eventually, he has to go back to his real life. And his real life isn't sex with a small-town librarian in the basement. It's not a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It's sold-out shows, an endless barrage of media attention, publicity, and commitments. Does he even have a place in it for me?

I don't know, but I think I want him to. It's selfish and wrong, but I want him to want me to belong in his life, even if it's a pipe dream.

But it's never that simple, is it?

A chill rips through me, the sudden certainty that he's going to break my heart. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but some day soon, he's going to rip it right out of my chest. Whether he means to do it or not, he will.

I think maybe that's the only way this can end.

"I should go," I say, stepping out of the circle of his arms.

He catches my fingers at the last second, his gaze somber. "See you tonight?"

For a split second, I hesitate, wondering if this is the part where I'm supposed to protect myself and my heart. If this is where I'm supposed to step back and put up walls, build a buffer to mitigate the damage I can already see coming my way. And then I see the hopeful, pleading look on his face…and I think maybe it's already too late for that.

So I do the only thing I know how to do. I nod.

Chapter Nine

Ash

Loralei's place is a cute little bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac, with massive rosebushes growing beneath the windows and pink shutters. Inside, one entire wall is dominated by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Her furniture is gently worn, the color scheme soft and inviting.

"Dinner is almost finished," she says, leading me into a small kitchen overlooking the backyard. My stomach growls as soon as I step over the threshold and catch the mouthwatering hint of garlic butter in the air.

"What can I do to help?"

"Mm. Set the table?" she calls over her table, her hips swaying as she hurries to the stove to deal with a bubbling pot. "I just need to finish the noodles."

"Spaghetti?" I ask hopefully.

"I hope you don't mind," she says, almost like she expects me to be offended. "I didn't have a lot of time."

"Loralei." I wait until she meets my gaze. "You worked all day, spent time helping out at the bookstore, and still made time to cook for me," I murmur. "Believe me, baby, I'm grateful."

A tiny, pleased smile twists at her lips.

"Where can I find plates?"

She points me in the right direction, and I get to work. "Have you lived here long?" I ask, laying out silverware beside our plates.

"Not really. My grandma left the house to me when she passed a couple of years ago."

I pause, startled. "It was your grandma's house?"

"Yeah," she says quietly. "I'm her only grandkid, so she left it to me. I lived in an apartment closer to downtown before."

"Were you two close?"

"We were." A wistful smile tugs at her lips. "She's the reason I got into reading. When I was little, she took me to the library every week to pick out books."

"I love that," I murmur, leaning a hip against the counter to watch her. She moves around the kitchen efficiently, mixing the sauce, then testing the noodles before turning off the burner and transferring them to a strainer in the sink. As soon as they're in a bowl, she's pulling bread out of the oven, then returning to the sauce.

"Your dad raised you, right?"

I arch a brow and then chuckle when she blushes. "Keep forgetting you're a fan," I mutter ruefully. "We never talk about any of that shit. Makes it easy to forget."

"I like this better," she whispers. "Meeting you as a person instead of a celebrity. It feels more real, you know?"

"For me too," I admit, not sure she has any idea just how real she makes me feel. I've thought about nothing else all day. With her, I'm not Ash Kilborne, lead singer of Midnight Mayhem. I'm just Ash, the motherfucker lucky enough to get to touch her, hold her, kiss her. That's more addictive than alcohol could ever be.

I've thought about that a lot today, too. When you've been through addiction, there's always this fear that you'll replace one addiction with another. I think maybe I've been doing that for a long time, working myself so goddamn hard because if I'm working all the time, there's no time for temptation. At least, that's what I thought until I was staring down a bottle of whiskey, realizing that maybe I'd worked myself into the very problem I'd been trying to avoid.

Now, I've met her, and a little part of me worries that, maybe, I'm trying to use her to replace all the other shit. Except…that doesn't feel right. This feels different than anything ever has. I don't feel like I'm running from anything with her. I feel like I'm running to something, like I'm precisely where I'm supposed to be.

And the longer I'm here, the longer I'm with her, the less I want to go back to the other shit or introduce her into it. I don't know what I'm supposed to do about that. I don't know what I should do about it. But I know I need to decide. Soon.

I glance up and realize she's staring at me, still waiting for my answer. "Yeah." I clear my throat. "My dad raised me. At least, I guess that's what you call it."

"He wasn't a good dad?"

"He tried. Here." I step forward, grabbing the bowl of pasta from her hands to carry it to the table. "He just had his own shit. He spent a long time in the military, had his own demons. He did his best, but a lot of the time, I feel like music raised me more than he did."

"He died right after your first album, right?"

"Yeah, cancer."

"I'm sorry," she says, placing her hand on my back. "Even if you guys had issues, I can't imagine losing him was easy."

"It never is," I murmur, turning to brush my fingers along her cheek, just to touch her. Just to watch her shiver and sway toward me. "What about you, baby? Where are your parents?"

"On a cruise ship somewhere in Alaska," she breathes, staring up at me with this look that makes me want to say fuck dinner, fuck conversation, fuck everything but her and the way I want to spread her out and devour her.

Christ, if this is an addiction, it's the best goddamn one I've ever had. But I don't think it's that. I think the tightness in my chest is something else altogether.

It's love, and it's burning a hole straight through me.

"Have you come to your senses yet?" Jess asks as soon as she picks up her phone on Tuesday, her tone rife with annoyance.

I smile despite myself, leaning back against the headrest, my eyes locked on the doors to the library. I can't see Loralei inside, but just knowing she's in there has my body lit up like a fucking firework. It's taking everything I have to keep from finding an excuse to head inside, just to see her again.

I stayed at her place last night, slept in her bed with her in my arms. Letting her leave for work this morning was hard as hell. Would she lose it if she knew I followed her here?

"I never lost my senses, Jess," I say.

"Could have fooled me. You realize you're supposed to be recording an album right now, right? Instead you're…where even are you again?"

"Santa Maria," I remind her, even though we both know she knows exactly where I am. She helped me secure a rental for Loralei on Sunday. And we talked again briefly yesterday.

She grunts. "You're in Santa Maria, doing god only knows what. I swear, if you're drinking again, Ash…"

"I'm not," I say quickly.

"Well, that's a relief," she mutters into the phone as an elderly man stumbles through the doors of the library, a book tucked under his arm. "Because when you failed to call me back on Friday, I was convinced you were on a bender."

"I haven't been on one of those in fifteen years," I remind her softly. "I just didn't have cell service."

She snorts again, clearly still bent out of shape. I don't really blame her for it. Jess acts tough as nails, but we both know it's only because she worries. And skipping town without a word has given her plenty of reason to do that.

I think I'm about to give her more.

"I need a favor," I murmur.

"What kind of favor? Because I already helped you find a rental, even though you wouldn't tell me why."

"It was for the woman I almost hit."

"The woman you…" she trails off and then groans. "Jesus Christ, Ash. What are you doing?"

I hesitate, not entirely sure I know how to answer that question. "I'm taking a break," I say carefully. "I came damn close to downing a bottle of whiskey last week, Jess."

Dead silence rings down the line.

"Figured that meant it was time for me to get the fuck out of town and get my head on straight."

"You could have told me," she says. "I would have cleared your schedule before it came to that."

"You know I'm a stubborn bastard."

"And that's precisely why you shouldn't be alone right now. If your sobriety is at risk, you need to be in treatment, not alone with your own thoughts. You can't rawdog your way through it."

"That's the thing…"

"What?" she growls.

"I'm not alone. I, ah, hell." I chuckle ruefully, shoving a hand through my hair. "The woman I nearly ran over has been staying with me."

"Jesus Christ," Jess groans.

"It's not like that. You know me better than that." For all my sins and excesses, that's never been one of them. I'm no saint. No one in Hollywood is. But I don't blow through women, either. I can't even remember the last time I was with anyone. Hell, I don't even remember the last time I was on a date that wasn't some PR bullshit. I've spent the last five years just trying to hold it together.

Until now, until Loralei.

"I could use some advice."

"Get into treatment," Jess says immediately. "You can't bury an addiction in a woman."

She's right. Except…I'm more convinced than ever that's not what I'm doing. I haven't thought about drinking a single time since I met Loralei. I haven't wanted to escape, haven't wanted to be numb. Haven't felt stretched thin or like being blitzed would be preferable. I've felt…more at peace over the last few days than I have in years, more excited than I have in longer than I can remember.

"What would retirement look like?" I ask. It's not the first time I've thought about it lately. But it is the first time I've asked the question out loud.

Judging by the silence echoing down the line, Jess is shocked to hear it. Or, hell, maybe she's not. I don't know anymore. The last five years feel like some fucked up, never-ending dream. Maybe my entire career feels that way.

I'm tired.

Eventually, Jess sighs. "I'd ask how long you've been considering this, but I know you well enough to know this isn't a recent development, is it?"

"No." I pause. "But maybe recent developments have added a little urgency to the desire. Loralei doesn't belong in my world."

"You think she's the one?"

I hesitate, and then bark out a laugh. "Hell, I think maybe I knew she was the one five minutes after I met her. But she deserves a helluva lot more than the kind of life I can currently give her." The way I've been living is no kind of life for anyone, let alone a woman like Loralei. If I want to keep her, shit has to change. I have to change it.

"You want to stay, don't you?"

"Yeah." I swallow hard, my eyes locked on the doors of the library again. Is it too soon to admit that shit? Maybe. But when you've lived like I have, you learn to grab onto the good shit and hang on tight. If you don't, it's gone before you can blink.

I'm not willing to let Loralei be one of the things that disappears from my life. I've had the music. I've had the fame. I've checked off every goddamn thing on my list of dreams. Maybe I'm finally realizing I have new ones now, and those new dreams don't involve working myself to exhaustion or playing for sold-out crowds anymore.

They involve more nights like last night, where we talked for hours over her dinner table before she let me carry her to bed and make love to her until we were both too exhausted to move. They involve her falling asleep on my chest, and me doing my best to fuck up her hair and makeup before she even had both finished this morning.

I don't want to be relegated to the parking lot of the library, unable to stroll in to see her unless I'm in a disguise because I'll cause a scene. I want to be able to waltz the fuck in and openly monopolize her time.

"I can't get you out of the album," Jess warns me. "You have to finish it. But I can talk to the label, let them know this will be your final album. We can spin it as a farewell album. I'm sure that'll drum up plenty of publicity on its own." She pauses. "What does the band think?"

"They don't know yet, but I don't think they'll be entirely surprised." I tip my head back, glancing up at the ceiling liner. "Frankly, I think Jett and Rhodes will be relieved to hear it. They want more time with their families."

"I'll miss the hell out of you, kid," Jess sighs.

"It's not a done deal yet."

"Maybe not, but your mind is already made up," she murmurs. "All that's left to do is make it official."

Well, that and talk to Loralei. What will she say? Will she even want me here permanently? I think I know the answer to that question. It's written all over her face every time she looks at me. But…maybe I should wait until the pieces are in place to have that discussion with her.

If shit doesn't work out the way I want it to, I don't want to break her heart by promising her something too soon. When I tell her, I want her to know that it's not a maybe or something I'm considering, but a done deal. I want her to know that, out of every possible future I can imagine, I've chosen the only one I can live with. The one where I fit into her life as if I were always supposed to fill that empty spot in her heart.

Chapter Ten

Loralei

"How did you find this place?" I ask Ash, spinning in a circle in a small meadow a mile or two from his cabin. Everywhere I look, wildflowers grow in riotous clumps, turning the entire meadow into a shock of bright color. With the trees looming on either side and the sky directly ahead, it feels a little magical.

"Went for a run while you were at work yesterday," he grunts, spreading out a blanket in the very center of the clearing before placing a basket on top of it.

"Gross." My nose scrunches.

He glances at me over his shoulder, a question in his eyes.

"Running," I say, still grimacing. "Last time I did that, it wasn't by choice."

His lips curve into an amused grin. "You were forced to run?"

"Yes. Cujo's baby brother got loose. He chased me through an alley, trying to eat me," I explain, settling onto the edge of the blanket. "I felt like Pumba, running through town, screaming for my life."

Ash's loud laughter booms across the clearing. "Cujo's baby brother?"

"A chihuahua. Trust me, he was more vicious than he sounds," I mutter primly.

"Oh, I believe you." He lowers himself to the ground beside me, reclining back on his hands, his legs extended in front of him. "Jett has a chihuahua. That little fucker hates everyone except his daughter."

I laugh because I can believe it. "Olive has one, too. Well, I think hers is a yorkie or a chorkie, or whichever is part chihuahua. She named him Oscar because she found him in a garbage can and he's a grump. He doesn't like anyone except her." I pause, thinking about it. "Well, I guess he likes her hot neighbor and his parrot."

"Her hot neighbor?" Ash quirks a brow, a hint of jealousy flashing in his gaze.

"Um, Mason. We didn't know his name at first, so we just called him her hot neighbor," I say with a shrug. "I guess the name stuck. They're basically living together now."

"You still think he's hot?"

"You're hotter."

His eyes heat, his expression downright feral. "Right answer, baby," he practically purrs, pushing himself up to his knees to prowl toward me across the blanket. He stops when he's inches from me, his face blotting out everything. "Don't think I like you talking about other men."

"I'll make you a deal," I whisper breathlessly. "You never mention any of the supermodels you've dated, and I'll never talk about hot men."

"Fuck supermodels, Loralei," he says, hooking an arm around my waist to drag me closer. "There is no competition, and you shouldn't believe ninety percent of what you read. Most of the time when I'm photographed with someone, it's for PR, or it's fabricated bullshit. The only one I want is right here in front of me."

My stomach clenches before bottoming out, mostly because the way he looks at me when he says it makes it clear he isn't lying. As far as he's concerned, I'm the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. I think I could die happy knowing that.

He kisses me hard on the mouth, not letting up until my hands are in his hair and both of us are panting for breath and his beard has chafed my skin. And then he leans back, a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

"Bet you aren't thinking about other men now, are you?"

I roll my eyes at him. "You are such a guy, Ash."

He shrugs, unrepentant, and then starts emptying the basket onto the blanket. I watch him for a long moment, trying to work up the nerve to ask him an important question. I've been trying to do it for the last week straight, but I keep finding excuses to avoid the subject.

Everything has been good between us.

Every night, he's been at my place, or I've been at his. I spend every day at work with my head in the clouds. I know Lilah and Jazz have noticed. But they aren't really asking many questions. I think that's mostly because Jazz is preoccupied with stalking River, and Lilah is preoccupied with worrying about Jazz stalking River. As expected, jail was involved. Unexpectedly, I think River might be a little obsessed with her.

"Can I ask you a question?" I finally blurt, before I lose my nerve.

"You can ask me anything," Ash says, the same way he usually does.

"I…" I hesitate and then huff out a breath. "I have a thing on Monday. It's a gala meant to raise money for a big literacy program in the county. Since I'm the head librarian and they do a lot at our branch, I'm expected to attend. Um…would you…?"

"You want me to go with you?" he asks.

I nod, grateful I didn't have to ask.

"I don't think that's a good idea, beautiful," he says, his voice soft.

"Oh." I duck my head, staring at the checkered blanket at my feet. "Of course. You're right," I hear myself say. Except, it doesn't sound like my voice. Maybe that's just the lump in my throat or the sting of rejection burning in my stomach. I don't know.

But that feeling from last week, the one screaming that he's going to break my heart, is suddenly back. Does he not want to be seen with me? Is that why we're out here today? Not because he wanted to show me this place, but because he wanted to keep me as far from other people as possible?

Part of me automatically rejects the idea as impossible. Ash wouldn't do that. But another part, the same part terrified he's going to break my heart, isn't nearly as certain about that.

In all the time he's been here, he's never hinted that he wants to make whatever this is between us public. He's never asked to take me anywhere. The few times he's come to the library to see me, it's been in full disguise.

Maybe I was naïve in assuming that was for his own privacy. Maybe the truth is a little bit sadder than that. I was never meant to be part of his plans. We're just…what? An interlude? A way to pass the time until he's ready to face his real life again? I don't know, but I feel like an idiot.

Even knowing he might break my heart, I let myself fall for him. Even knowing this would probably end in devastation, I kept going. And I feel so stupid for not seeing what was right in front of me the entire time. I was never going to fit into his life, not when he's made every effort to ensure no one even knew I was a part of it.

"Hey." He inches across the blanket toward me, grabbing both of my hands. "No one even knows I'm in town, baby. If I show up at a gala on your arm, the whole event is going to turn into a shitshow. I don't want to make something that should be about the library into a circus surrounding me."

"I…" I study his face, wondering if he means it. And I hate myself a little for doubting it, for doubting him. But maybe that's the cost of hiding. It feels fun and exciting until you realize there's all this fine print you never meant to sign up for.

"I'd go if I could," he says.

"It's fine, Ash," I finally whisper, but it's not okay. Somewhere over the last couple of weeks, I fell in love with him, not with the rockstar I had a crush on, but with the man I've gotten to know.

And I think I just realized that there is no separating the man from the rockstar, not really.

We're back at the cabin before he stops me with a hand on my arm. "What time is the gala on Monday?"

"What?" I blink at him.

"What time is the gala?" he repeats.

"Ash…"

"What time, Loralei?"

"You don't have to go," I whisper, shaking my head. I feel a little like I might cry, which is stupid. We never put labels on this. He never promised me anything. "I shouldn't have asked."

"Don't," he says, pinning me against the side of my rental. His face is stark, emotion bubbling in his eyes. "Don't do that."

"I'm not doing anything," I lie. "I'm just trying to go before I'm late. I have Book Club this afternoon, remember?" By some miracle, Jazz actually convinced River to speak. I don't know how. I assume by sleeping with him, but that's not my business, so I'm not asking.

"Fuck Book Club," Ash growls, pressing his body up against mine. His lips come down on the side of my throat in a punishing bite. "I'm not letting you leave here, thinking I don't want to be seen with you."

"I don't think that."

"Liar."

"Maybe I'm just realizing that we're from two different worlds, that's all."

"Fuck that," he grunts, biting me again. "If you want me to go to the gala with you, I'll go. I'll go anywhere you want me to go, anytime you want me to go."

"That's not necessary, Ash. You don't owe me any—"

"It's not about owing you, beautiful. I want to go." He tips his head back, meeting my gaze. "Do I need to fuck the attitude out of you, or are you going to tell me what time the gala is?"

"I don't have an attitude."

His lips quirk into a soft grin. "Yeah, you do. I hurt your feelings, and you're doing your damnedest to hide it behind that cute fucking attitude. But all you're really doing is making my cock hard. So, are you going to tell me, or am I bending you over the hood?"

"You can't just use sex to get whatever you want, Ash."

"Yeah? Is that what you think?"

"Don't you dare," I hiss, but I might as well be waving a flag in front of a bull. The wicked gleam in his eye says plainly that he is going to dare. So does the way he spins me around like I'm his ragdoll, caging me against the side of my car.

I want to fight him. I want to be mad at him, and hurt. I want to storm away and lick my wounds and get my head together. But I also want him so badly, I could scream. And I'm mad as hell that he knows it. He always knows it.

"You're so fucking cute when you're pissed, Loralei," he breathes, his lips at my ear as he shoves his hand into my pants, ripping them down my legs. Cool air washes across my sensitive skin, and then his palm is there, grinding against my center like he owns it.

"You're an asshole," I moan.

"You love it." He bites the side of my throat, already working me open with two fingers. I bite my tongue, trying to stifle my cries, not willing to give him the satisfaction of hearing them, but it's no use. As soon as he curls his fingers inside me, I sob out loud, my body melting against the side of the car.

Within seconds, he has me in his arms, tossing me down over the hood. "Spread your legs," he demands, gathering my hair up in his fist. "Wider, baby. Make room for your man."

My man. God, he has no idea how much I want that. How damn badly I want him to be mine, not in secret, not just for a little while, but forever.

"That's it," he croons, the head of his cock brushing my folds. "You're such a good girl for me, Loralei." He slams inside me, bottoming out in one thrust.

"Ash," I whimper, writhing against the cool metal.

"Shh," he breathes, kissing all over the side of my neck. "I've got you. I'll take care of you."

He fucks me slow and deep, and then hard and fast, not letting me get used to the rhythm before he changes it up, leaving me hovering on the edge until I'm sobbing and begging, desperate to go over.

"What time is the gala?" he asks when tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I can't take any more.

"Seven!" I cry, giving in because I need to come so badly, I feel like I might die. "It's at seven."

He presses his lips to the side of my throat in a sweet kiss. "Good girl," he breathes against my skin, his voice so soft, a tear rolls down my cheek. "Now, come all over me."

He starts moving again, slow and deep, his lips still against the side of my throat, as if he's tasting the beat of my heart with every thrust.

"I love you," he says.

I splinter in his arms, shattering into pieces with those three little words ringing in my ears.

When I can breathe again, I wriggle out from beneath him, spinning to face him. "What did you say?" I ask, pretty sure I look like a wild woman.

"You heard me, Loralei," he murmurs. "I didn't stutter."

"I…" I press a hand to my forehead, my mind spinning.

"I love you."

Okay, so I did hear him correctly. He's in love with me.

"You think we've been hiding because I'm ashamed of you or something, but that couldn't be further from the truth," he says, tucking himself back into his pants. "Maybe we've been hiding because I don't want you to realize how fucked up my life is before you decide you feel the same way about me."

"Ash…"

"I can't give you all this," he says, motioning around us. "This isn't my life right now." His throat works convulsively. "But I want it to be. I want to be the man who gets to waltz into the library and take you to lunch without causing a scene. I want to be the one who can take you to dinner without every fucking camera in the vicinity invading your privacy. I'm not that man, Loralei."

"I never asked you to be him, Ash," I whisper.

"You didn't have to ask, beautiful. My world wasn't made for you."

I cringe, taking a step away from him. "What does that mean?"

"It means you deserve better," he says simply. "You shouldn't have to deal with the bullshit that'll come your way if I don't have everything sorted out before…"

"Before what?" I ask, watching the way his jaw clenches. "Before you decide it's okay to love me openly?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Isn't it, though?"

"Hell no," he growls, his blue eyes flashing. "You've always been good enough, Loralei. But I don't want you walking away from me when you realize that my world isn't good enough for you."

I stare at him for a long moment, and then shake my head sadly. "God, you're such an idiot," I whisper, wrapping my arms around myself. "I never needed your world to be good enough, Ash. The only thing I ever wanted was you. You think I care if they shove cameras in my face or plaster me all over the freaking papers? I never cared about that. The only thing I've wanted since I met you was you. I fell in love with you. And I was willing to hide because I thought we were protecting your privacy. But I never signed up to be the damsel in your story, Ash. I never asked to be infantilized like that."

"Loralei, I…" He takes a step toward me, looking stricken.

"I have to go," I mutter, backing away.

"Loralei, wait."

I shake my head quickly, the whole world blurred by tears. "No, Ash. I think I'm done waiting," I say, climbing into the car. I think I've spent my whole life waiting to be brave enough or strong enough or to feel like I was good enough. And the truth is, I always have been. It just took meeting him to realize it.

But I can't wait for him to realize that I don't need him to protect me from his world. I just need him to let me into it. If he can't do that, then maybe there is no future for us. Maybe all we were ever meant to be was two people who met in a storm and realized that we were too different, after all.

I don't need to be a rockstar or a supermodel. I just need him to realize that I'm not a little girl who needs to be protected from the big, bad world, either. I might be shy, but I'm a grown woman, capable of making my own decisions.

Right now, I'm not sure he's ever seen me that way.

"Hey," Sarah says, stopping beside my car in the parking lot after Book Club, worry on her face. "Are you okay, Loralei?"

"Fine," I lie, tilting my head down so my hair falls in my face to hide my eyes. Truth is, I'm a liar. I'm not fine. I spent most of Book Club on the verge of tears, just trying to hold it together. Part of me wants to rush right back to the cabin and take back everything I said. The other part is still mad as hell.

Ash doesn't want to choose me. He wants to choose for me.

A miserable sob chokes me.

Sarah gasps, hurrying around the side of the car to pull me into her arms.

"I'm sorry," I choke, fanning my face. "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Yeah, you do," she says softly. "You fell in love with him, didn't you?"

I blink, her face blurred by tears. "What?"

"Ash Kilborne," she murmurs, her eyes locked on my face. "I saw you two sneaking away at the library the other day. I didn't realize that's who he was until I spotted him getting into his SUV in the parking lot. He accidentally dropped his sunglasses, and I recognized him. You've been seeing him?"

"I…" I nod miserably. "For the last two weeks."

She hugs me again, empathy written all over her face. "Want to talk about it?"

"There's nothing to talk about," I mumble, staring at the stained cement. "I thought we were hiding to protect his privacy. Turns out, we've been hiding because he doesn't think I fit in his world."

Sarah makes a sound in the back of her throat that's part shock, part anger. "He said that to you?"

"Pretty much," I sniff, swiping at my eyes. "He tried to play it off like he thinks I'm too good for his world, but we both what he was really saying, and it wasn't that. And you know what? Maybe he's right," I whisper. "Maybe I don't fit in his world. But it's not like he didn't know that to begin with, you know? It's not like I pretended to be someone else. So why let me fall in love with him if he was just going to keep me in some compartment that is never allowed to touch the rest of his life? Why let himself fall in love with me if he was just going to decide that I couldn't handle who he is?"

"I don't know," Sarah says softly. "Love makes you stupid sometimes."

I snort because she isn't wrong. It turned me into an idiot, didn't it? Even knowing he was going to break my heart, I kept going. I kept letting myself fall. I can stand here and blame him all I want, but at the end of the day, I made my own choices, too. That's not on him. That's on me.

And I hate how much I miss him already. I hate how much I wish I hadn't asked him to go to the gala with me. I hate everything about this.

"This sucks," I whisper, my bottom lip quivering.

"What are you going to do?" Sarah asks, squeezing me in another hug.

It's a good question. And right now, I don't really have an answer. I just know that, no matter how much I love him, I can't be with someone who looks at me and sees someone he has to hide. I can't be with someone who can't love me openly unless it's on his terms.

Maybe I am a boring librarian, but I deserve better than that.

If he isn't willing to give me that…what then?

Chapter Eleven

Ash

Idon't hear from Loralei after Book Club. I don't hear from her on Sunday, either. When I try to call her, my calls go straight to voicemail. When I stop by her place, she doesn't answer the door. And for the first time in my life, I think I know what dying feels like. It's this—it's realizing how fucking wrong you were…while simultaneously realizing that you might already be too late to fix it.

She's right. She's right about everything. I've spent all this trying to convince myself that she didn't belong in my world. I told myself that she deserved better, that my world was too much for her.

The truth is, it was never about her. It was always about me. My world—my life—has been too much for me for a long goddamn time. I feel at peace here because the stress is gone, and the constant need to be somewhere, to be doing something, is no longer a factor. There aren't cameras in my face at every turn. There aren't ninety people wanting ninety different things.

I got addicted to how that felt, and I've clung to it with both hands. I told myself that we could stop hiding once all the pieces of my retirement were in place, when no one would care about me anymore.

And I told myself that it's what she needed if I was ever going to be good enough for her. But I never really considered what hiding was doing to her or how it made her feel.

I was building a future, one that felt like home. She was crumbling, feeling like a secret. And I'm the one who made her feel that way. I told her she wasn't strong enough or good enough in a million different ways, without ever realizing that's what I was doing.

Every damn time I showed in disguise, every damn time I failed to take her out, every damn time I kept her hidden, I failed her. I broke her heart over and over, all while hoping she'd keep giving pieces of it to me.

"You are an idiot," I mutter to my reflection in the mirror early on Monday morning. I look like hammered shit. But I'm a little proud of myself too. Despite how I feel and despite how hard yesterday was, I never even considered reaching for a bottle. I never thought about escape.

That's Loralei's doing.

Because I've already hurt her once. Because I won't do it again. She needs me to step up and fix what I've broken, to prove that I can be the man she deserves, instead of the prick who decided he knew what she wanted and tried to write her future without ever consulting her.

I can do that. Hell, I'll kill myself trying if that's what it takes.

A little after nine, I hop into my SUV and head downtown. I want to head straight for the library, but I'm not going to cause a scene while she's at work. She may kill me for that, and I've already done enough damage.

Instead, I search for the bookstore she talks so much about, locating it a few blocks from the library.

I pull into the parking lot, and then hop out. I'm not sure if her friends are willing to help me, but it never hurts to try, right?

I take a breath, heading for the entrance.

As soon as I step over the threshold, the giant wall of vibrators catches my attention. I smile despite myself, shaking my head. I guess Loralei wasn't joking about that.

"Welcome to Book of…holy shit," a blonde behind the counter says, gaping at me. "You're Ash Kilborne."

"I am," I say, shoving my hands into my pockets.

"Lilah!" she shouts. "Ash Kilborne is in your store."

"Jazz, I swear to God, if you're lying just to get me to stock shelves, I'm telling River about that time you…" A brunette steps through a door behind the counter, blinking. "Holy shit. Ash Kilborne is in my store."

"Told you so," Jazz says.

"Um, hey," I say, with a little wave.

They both stare at me with matching expressions, and then the blonde cackles loudly. "If he's here because he reads smut, I'm going to lose my shit."

"I'm actually here about Loralei."

"What about her?" Lilah asks.

But I think Jazz already knows. She's looking at me like she's doing complex mathematical equations in her head, her blue eyes growing wider and then wider. "Shut the front door!" she finally shouts, leaping to her feet. "You're fucking!"

The fact that Loralei hasn't even told her closest friends about us bothers me. I fucking hate that she's felt like she's had to hide it. I hate that I made her feel that way. I hate knowing just how little I deserve her right now.

"I'm in love with her," I say, not willing to diminish what this really is. It's not fucking. Sure, there's been a lot of that. But it's never been just that.

Lilah staggers to the stool Jazz just vacated and plops down, looking shell-shocked. Jazz, on the other hand, looks a little pissed.

"You're the reason she was crying at Book Club, aren't you?" she practically growls, crossing her arms.

"She was crying at Book Club?" I ask.

"Yes," Jazz says.

Fuck. I'm such an asshole.

"Yeah," I whisper, swallowing hard. "I guess I am."

"What happened?" Lilah asks, looking a little less like she wants to murder me than Jazz does.

I hesitate for a moment and then decide I might as well tell them everything. If I'm going to recruit them to the cause, they deserve to know. "We've been seeing each other since I got into town two weeks ago. I…fuck, I've been an asshole who made her feel like she wasn't good enough, when that couldn't be further from the truth." I scrub a hand through my hair. "She asked me to go to a gala with her, and I said no."

"So you don't want to be seen with her," Jazz says flatly.

"My life is a shitshow," I explain. "No matter where I go, someone wants something—photos, autographs, a quote. I walk down the fucking street back home, and I'm in the paper the next day. I thought if no one knew I was here, we could skip all that. I could convince her to fall in love with me, and she never had to see firsthand how insane it gets."

"If you want to be with her, she's going to see it eventually," Lilah says.

"I had a plan."

"Oh, this should be good," Jazz mutters. "Let's hear it."

I sigh heavily, pretty sure she's going to crucify me when she hears it. I see it written all over her face. "The plan was to wait until after I announced my retirement to be seen publicly. I figured by then, no one would give a shit, and they'd leave her alone. But I never bothered to ask her what she needed. I just decided for her that it was better for her that way."

Jazz and Lilah exchange a glance that says I'm an idiot. Which…fair. I am an idiot. We've already established that. Now, I need to fix it.

"You're retiring?" Lilah finally asks.

"Yeah."

"Does she know?"

I shake my head. "I might have fucked that up too."

Jazz sighs, rolling her eyes. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Be nice," Lilah mutters.

"He made her cry. I don't have to be nice."

"I'm trying to fix it."

"How?" Jazz asks, still looking at me like she's trying to decide how best to make my life hell.

"I need a tux, for starters. And a ticket to the literacy gala tonight."

Jazz and Lilah stare at me and then look at each other.

"Should we help him?" Lilah finally asks Jazz.

"Depends." Jazz turns back to me. "You love her?"

"More than anything."

"Are you going to make her cry again?"

"Fucking probably," I groan, already hating the thought. "As we've already established, I'm an idiot."

"Well, at least you're smart enough to admit it," Jazz sniffs. "Are you ashamed of her?"

"Hell no," I growl. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

"Maybe you aren't a complete idiot if you're smart enough to know that." Jazz cracks a tiny smile. "I don't care how famous you are. She is the best thing that ever happened to you. And if she decides to forgive you, it'll be more than you could ever possibly deserve."

"I know," I rasp. "Believe me, I know."

They exchange looks again.

"Fine," Jazz finally says. "I guess we'll help you. But just so you know, if she doesn't forgive you, I'm going to spend the rest of your life torturing you." Her lips curve into a diabolical smile. "And when you finally drop dead, with my help, of course, I'm going to dig up your bones and bury them in the backyard of her house so you have to spend eternity watching her be happy with someone who actually deserves her."

Jesus Christ. Loralei told me Jazz was a handful. She did not tell me that Jazz was legitimately terrifying. I'm honestly impressed.

"If she doesn't forgive me, you have my full permission to torture me to death," I say, meaning it. Frankly, if Loralei doesn't forgive me, I'm not going to fucking care what happens after that. My whole world is going to crumble because the one thing that matters—the only thing that matters—will be gone.

"I'll call Lincoln," Lilah says, pulling her phone out of her pocket.

"I'll call River," Jazz says.

I'm not entirely sure who either of those people are, but if they can help me get a tux and get into that gala to show Loralei that there's nothing I won't do for her, even if it means begging on my knees in front of half this town, then I'll gladly accept the help.

Whatever it takes.

Chapter Twelve

Loralei

Whoever scheduled this gala for a Monday is lame. No one is in a gala mood on a Monday. I'm certainly not when I walk through the doors of the ballroom of the hotel to find everyone who is anyone in town already inside, sipping champagne from crystal flutes, dressed in their best attire. A jazz band plays in the corner, soft strands of music floating through the room.

I brush my hands down the side of my dress and surge forward, looking for my table.

Lilah halts me before I make it that far, stepping in front of me.

"You look beautiful," she says, flinging her arms around me in a fierce hug.

"Thanks," I whisper, glancing her up and down. "So do you."

She grins at me, doing a half pirouette. Getting her into a dress usually takes an act of Congress. She'd live in jeans and t-shirts if she could. But her dress tonight is a floor-length black cocktail gown that hugs her curves. It looks incredible on her.

"Do you know where our table is?" I ask. "My feet are already killing me."

"It's at the front. Second from the left," she says, eyeing me sideways. Concern flickers in her eyes, and I briefly wonder if Sarah told her what's going on. "Are you okay?"

No. I feel like I'm dying, but if I talk about it now, I'm going to cry. It's been two days since I last saw Ash. Two damn days since he had his arms around me, since he kissed me, since I heard him laugh.

He's left me nineteen different voicemails.

I'm a coward who only managed to get through the first one before I ended up sobbing in my bed. I didn't call him back. I didn't even know what to say.

This feels like the end, and I don't know how to deal with that.

How do you say goodbye to the man who stole your entire heart? I don't know. How do you go back to your life and pretend you didn't spend two weeks living a fairytale that has suddenly turned into an excruciating nightmare? I don't know the answer to that question, either.

I just know that I miss him. It hurts to breathe without him. And somewhere over the last two days, I've started wondering if maybe I'm asking for too much. Maybe asking a rockstar to invite a librarian into every facet of his life is a ridiculous expectation. I don't know anymore.

"I don't want to talk about it," I whisper, a dangerous quiver in my voice.

Lilah squeezes my arm, sympathy on her face, and then she nods. "Then I won't ask," she says, and yet again, I find myself intensely grateful for her. She never pushes for more than I can give, never demands details I'm not ready to share. She just…quietly checks in. I appreciate that more than she knows. "I'm going to go find Lincoln and all the wine you need to drown your sorrows. You head to the table."

"Thanks," I say. "Um, for everything."

Her lips curve into a sweet smile. "It's what friends are for, Loralei. Good luck."

I'm not entirely sure what she means by that until I near the table and two members of the city council step aside, revealing a familiar head of dark hair seated at the table, with dozens of people crowded around him.

I stumble to a stop, blinking.

He came.

He actually freaking came.

My heart thuds against my ribcage, tears burning up the back of my throat. I'm rooted in place, fawning when I want to flee.

He murmurs something to the mayor and then glances up as if he senses me there, my desperate eyes locked on him. His gaze connects with mine. For a second, all the air gets sucked out of the room. Everyone else disappears. It's just me and him again, like we're back in his cabin, the whole world hidden by sheeting rain.

I sway slightly, stumbling back a step.

I can't do this. I can't sit beside him, smiling, pretending everything is fine when it feels like my heart is being ripped in two. When I don't even know why he's here or what it means.

"If you'll excuse me," he says, interrupting the mayor midsentence, his deep voice rumbling above the noise of the crowd as he stands. "My beautiful date has arrived."

No, please, no.

But no amount of pleading is going to stop the inevitable.

He steps around the mayor like the man doesn't even exist, his eyes still locked on me. He doesn't look away a single time, not until his hand is on my arm, his chest pressed against mine. His lips brush my ear.

I'm acutely aware of everyone watching us like this is a stage play instead of my actual life. But they don't matter, not really.

"Loralei," Ash breathes, his voice shaking.

I whimper. I don't mean to do it, but there's no stopping the sound. I'm so goddamn miserable without him that it's pathetic.

"Loralei," he says again, pulling me closer.

"Ash," I choke, pressing my face against his throat.

"Christ, I've missed you, beautiful," he rasps, the tip of his tongue touching the side of my throat.

I make a sound that's half surrender, half frustration. And then my hand is on his arm, practically dragging him through the gala. Everyone watches us go, avidly curious, but I don't care. We aren't doing this in front of the whole town.

I drag him out of the ballroom, down the hall, and into an empty conference room. Only when the door is closed behind us do I spin to face him, breathing hard.

"You look stunning, baby," he murmurs, leaning against the door, his hands at his sides like he's trying his best to behave himself. "I wish like hell I'd been there to see you getting into that pretty dress."

"What are you doing here, Ash?" I ask, crossing my arms in the hopes that'll help me keep my hands to myself. He's in a full tux, his beard neatly trimmed, looking edible. I'm too damn weak for this.

"Fighting for what matters." He looks nervous, the way he did the very first day we met, like he isn't sure what to make of me. "You matter, Loralei, more than anything ever has."

"Please don't," I whisper.

"I know you're mad. I know you probably don't ever want to see me again," he says, taking a step toward me, "but I can't live with that, beautiful. If you're kicking me out of your life, I want you to know the truth first."

"What truth, Ash? Because I think you told me enough of it on Saturday," I mumble, fighting not to cry. "You made it pretty clear that I don't fit into your world."

"It's not you who doesn't fit, Loralei," he says. "It's me."

"What?" I blink at him. "What does that even mean?"

"It means that I've been telling myself that I need to change everything to protect you because you're too good for my world, but the truth is…" He blows out a breath, mumbling a curse. "The truth is, when I look at you, I don't feel good enough for you. You're fucking perfect. And I'm a recovering alcoholic who damn near tossed his sobriety away just a few weeks ago."

"Ash, that's not true," I protest. "You are good enough."

"It was never about you not being able to handle the scrutiny and pressure and bullshit, baby. You can handle anything. It's me who can't handle it anymore. I think I've known for a long fucking time that I can't do it anymore, and I'm fucking worried that if I drag you into my world and expose you to all that bullshit, I'm going to slip. I'm going to fail." He blows out a shaking breath. "I'll fuck up and lose you, trying to be something I'm not just because it's what people expect."

"But I realized something recently," he murmurs, holding my gaze. "There's no rule saying I have to keep doing it. I don't have to keep grinding every fucking day until I'm stretched so thin, hitting the bottle feels like the best escape. There's no rule that says I have to keep chasing this fucking status I don't even want."

"Ash," I whisper, my heart clenching for him. "Of course you don't have to keep doing it."

"It was never about hiding you or being ashamed of you. I was trying to cut ties with the shit that has been dragging me down so you'd want to make a place in your world for me. Look around," he says, holding his hands out. "You have a fucking amazing life here. You have a job you love. You have memories you've built and friends who would, quite literally, kill for you. I wanted to be the guy who could fit into what you've built without fucking it all up because that's what you deserve. You deserve someone willing to do whatever the fuck it takes to make your life easier." He ruffles a hand through his hair. "And maybe I was fucking worried that if the press showed up, you'd realize the only thing I do is make it harder."

"Ash," I whisper, my heart in my throat. "You've never made it harder, not a single time since I met you."

"I made you cry."

"Okay, fine," I grumble. "Maybe that part was hard."

His lips quirk, but it's not a smile. It's more a grimace, like it physically pains him to know I cried over him. Frankly, I don't love it, either. But I don't love this any better—knowing that he feels like he's not good enough, knowing that he's worried he has to prove himself worthy of me. He's always been worthy.

"I don't care about the press," I say, reaching for his hand. "I don't care about the fans or the gossip or any of the other stuff. I knew who you were before I ever got into the car with you. I knew who you were before I slept with you or fell in love with you. I knew what the risks were, and I was fine with that. But I'm not fine with you trying to keep me in some compartment or choose for me. You can't invite me into half of your life, and then lock the other part away so it never touches me. You are who you are, and that man has been a rockstar for the last twenty years. This will never work if I'm only allowed into the parts of your life that you decide are good enough for me."

"I'm retiring," he blurts.

I blink at him. "What?"

"I'm retiring," he repeats. "Not because of you, but because it's time. It's been time for a long time, but everyone was counting on me, and I didn't want to let anyone down. I can't keep living that way, though, Loralei. I don't want to keep living that way. I just… Christ." A frustrated growl tumbles from his lips before he tugs on my hand, yanking me up against his chest. "What we've had for the last two weeks is what I want."

"You can have both," I whisper.

"I don't want both," he growls. "And I need you to believe me when I tell you that this isn't me choosing for you and that it has nothing to do with you. This is me deciding what's best for me. If I'm going to stay sober, this is what I need, okay?"

I search his face, looking for any little hint that he's not being entirely honest, but there is none. There's just…peace, as if he's made the only decision he can live with. And I can't fault him for that. Had he told me on Saturday what was really going on, maybe the last couple of days would have gone differently. But he didn't tell me. I wish he had. I wish we could go back and redo it.

We can't. All we can do now is move forward. I want to do that with him. I don't care if he's a rockstar. I don't care if he's a hermit in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. It was never about his fame. I just want to be let into his life, regardless of what his life looks like. And I want him happy and healthy, whether that's in front of thousands of screaming fans or right here in Santa Maria.

"Promise me that you won't give up music," I murmur, knowing how much that means to him. I've seen it a thousand times in a thousand different ways since I met him. It's in the way he's constantly tapping a melody into my skin, humming some tune, or scribbling lyrics on any scrap of paper he comes across. Music matters to him. It's part of him, even if the fame isn't.

"There will always be music," he promises. "But that doesn't mean there needs to be a whole fucking Hollywood lifestyle to go with it, beautiful." He cups my cheek. "I love you. Even if you aren't ready to hear it again right now or say it, I fucking love you, Loralei."

"I love you too, Ash," I whisper. "That was never a question."

He groans softly, resting his forehead against mine. "I hate that I made you cry. I hate that I made you feel like you weren't good enough. I'll show you off to the press any fucking day of the week if that's what you want. I just…I needed you to fall for me, and I was fucking worried that'd never happen if you knew exactly how chaotic shit has really been in my life. I didn't want to fuck it up and lose you."

"It was never your life I fell in love with, Ash. It was you."

He groans, pressing his lips to mine. I think he means it to be a soft kiss, but there's nothing soft about him, not really. Not when he's desperate. And after two days, he's desperate.

His tongue swirls with mine, his hands tightening on my hips, and I realize he isn't the only one desperate. So am I.

I moan against his lips, pressing closer.

"Christ, Loralei," he growls, stumbling back against the wall when I reach for the fly of his pants, eager to touch him again, to remind myself that this man is mine and that I'm his. "You need me, baby?"

"Always," I gasp, ripping his zipper down before delving my hand inside to eagerly wrap around his cock.

He groans, his eyes at half-mast when I pull him out, my thumb swirling around the broad head. He tries to get his hands on me, but I quickly sink to my knees in front of him, my eyes on his cock.

"Fucking hell, baby," he growls, his head thumping against the wall. "You going to put me in that perfect mouth?"

"That's the plan." I lick around the head, loving the way his taste bursts on my tongue. I'll never get tired of it. I'll never get tired of the way he growls, or his hips buck impatiently, either.

By the time I take him into my mouth, he's panting above me, a litany of curses and pleas tumbling from his lips. They only grow louder and more insistent as I suck, trying to wreck him.

I don't get far before I'm in his arms with my legs around his waist.

"You're too fucking good at that," he growls, kissing me hard on the lips as he rakes my dress up my thighs. A second later, my panties are in ruins, and his thumb is right there.

"Ash!" I claw at his wrist, practically climbing the wall.

He bites my lip, slamming me down on his cock.

If anyone is outside, I know they hear me. I'm not quiet. I try to be, but it's impossible when he's inside me, fucking me like he's trying to carve out a space in my soul shaped like him.

"That's it," he croons against my lips, his thumb still riding against my clit. "Just like that, beautiful. Come for me."

"I love you!" I gasp, clawing at his jacket as my head falls back, the orgasm rocketing through me. "I love you, Ash."

He shudders around me, burying his face in my throat. His hips jerk, and then he's spilling into me. "Love you. God, I love you so fucking much," he groans against my skin, his hands clamped so tightly around me, I know I'll have bruises.

I don't mind. He's marked me every which way there is to mark me, claimed every piece of me there is to claim. A few bruises shaped like his fingerprints are just further proof that this isn't a dream.

It's reality, messy, complicated, perfect reality.

Chapter Thirteen

Ash

"Ican't believe you went to Lilah and Jazz for help," Loralei says, staring up at me with wide eyes as we cuddle in bed at the cabin after the gala. Well, I guess the gala is over. I don't fucking know. I made a big donation, then we snuck out early.

Turns out, even when you're done hiding, nothing beats being alone in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Truthfully, I'll take every moment alone with her that I can get. I know the press is going to show up sooner or later, eager to pry into my new life here, especially once the retirement announcement drops.

They'll piss me off, drive me up the fucking wall…but eventually, they'll leave. I'll get the future I've been dreaming of since meeting Loralei—the one where I fit into her life like I was always supposed to belong there. The one where she comes home to me every day. The one where, for once, the only person I have to worry about is her.

I called Jess today to ask her to find me a group here to help me get from point A to point B. I don't think I'll need it, but I'm not going to risk it, either. If attending meetings and guarding my sobriety like a fucking hawk means I get to point B with Loralei, then that's what I'm going to do.

She only just forgave me for hurting her. I will not be doing that shit again anytime soon.

"I did," I murmur, running a hand down her bare hip. "We need to talk about Jazz, by the way."

"What about her?"

"You told me she was a handful. You failed to mention that she's terrifying, Loralei."

She buries her face in my chest, her body shaking with laughter. "That's something you have to learn for yourself, Ash."

"She threatened to torture me until I died and then bury my bones in your backyard so I had to spend eternity watching you be happy with someone else," I murmur.

Loralei stops laughing, pulling back to meet my gaze. "Really?"

"Yep."

"I love her," she says, beaming.

"I love that you have friends like her." I brush my thumb along her bottom lip. "You deserve that."

She smiles sweetly, her lips curving against my thumb, and then she settles against my chest again. "What happens next?"

I think about it for a moment. "I still have to finish the album. There's no getting out of that. But I guess I move here," I say. I've talked to the band about it at length. None of them were surprised by my decision. In truth, I think they were all relieved by it. They're ready to be done with all the bullshit, too.

"To the cabin?"

"I suppose I buy a place…or move in with you."

Loralei freezes and then gasps a little, lifting her head to meet my gaze again. "You want to move in with me?"

"Well, yeah," I chuckle at the shocked look on her face. "We've pretty much been living together for the last two weeks already, baby. At some point, when you're ready, I'd love to make that official."

"You'd really move into my place?"

"Your grandma left it to you. It means something to you, so yeah, I'd move in."

The way she smiles tells me that's the right answer.

"How about tomorrow?"

I grin, my heart beating wildly. "You want me to move in tomorrow?"

"Well, you said we've basically been living together already," she says with a shrug. "Why not just make it official?"

"Yes," I groan, hauling her up my body to kiss the fuck out of her. "But I have conditions."

She moans against my lips, straddling my thighs. "What conditions?"

"You let me put a ring on your finger."

Her whole body goes still, her expression stunned. "What?"

I tip her head back, forcing her to meet my gaze. "Marry me. I don't care if it's next week or next year, but I want my ring on your finger when I'm in our bed next to you tomorrow night."

"You really want to marry me?"

"No," I whisper, tipping her over backward to spread her out beneath me. "I don't want to marry you. I desperately need to marry you. I need you tied to me in every conceivable way. I need my ring on your finger, your name on my bank account, my kid in your belly." I hook her leg over my hip, sliding into her with a groan.

She's already soaked for me. Christ, she's always so fucking wet for me. I bury my face in her throat, nipping at the sensitive skin above her pounding pulse point.

"I need your future so tied to mine, you forget there was ever a time you weren't mine," I rasp, driving into her.

She melts beneath me, her back arching on a moan.

"Say yes."

"Yes!" she sobs almost instantly. "Yes, Ash."

Her answer rips through me like a blast. I feel it in my heart and in that deeper place, the one that belongs to her and her alone. The one that will only ever belong to her.

This woman is my soul. She's my purpose and my salvation.

"Christ," I whisper, my body shuddering. "Christ, baby. I love you."

"Ash," she whimpers, clinging to me like she's never going to let me go again. "I love you, too."

I send up a silent prayer to whichever god listens to motherfuckers like me, more grateful than ever that I ran, that I ran into her, and that she was brave enough to give me her whole heart.

I'm going to spend the rest of my fucking life ensuring I deserve it.

Epilogue

Loralei

Four Years Later

"Dums!" Demi shouts, stomping her foot and glaring at her daddy like she's two seconds from a screaming tantrum if he doesn't listen to what she's saying to him.

"Baby girl," Ash says, kneeling in front of her with a book in his hands, desperately trying to convince her that books are more her speed. "You'll love this book. It's about a giant red dog. You love dogs."

It's a familiar argument. It's also one she isn't buying.

No matter how many books he puts in front of her or what they're about, she always chooses the drums. And no matter how many times she chooses the drums, he always tries to change her mind.

My husband does not want his baby girl to grow up rock n' roll. Unfortunately, his baby girl has different plans. At three, she's already strong-willed and fiercely independent. And she has no problem laying down the law. And the law, according to Demi, is simple: Books are for bedtime, and drums are for every other moment of the day.

"No dog!" she cries. "Dums!"

Ash looks to me for help, misery glinting in the depths of his eyes. He hates when they argue. He hates when she's mad at him. And I know, deep down, he's afraid she'll grow up to follow in his footsteps, facing the same problems he faced when the whole world was screaming his name.

But that isn't his story anymore. It hasn't been in four years. He writes music now instead of performing it, and he's happier than ever. On the rare occasion when he does hop up on a stage, it's for a good cause.

It's funny. Before I met him, when I only knew him through interviews and photos in magazines, I always thought he was happy. He smiled all the time, laughed all the time. And then I got to know him—really know him.

Turns out, people hide a lot behind fake smiles.

The real ones are the ones that count.

There's a difference you'd never notice with his smiles unless you knew him. I didn't back them. I do now. His eyes crinkle when he's genuinely happy. His laughter booms. His fingers tap out melodies only he hears.

They aren't tapping right now. His eyes aren't crinkling either. My man is not a happy camper. But his story changed a long time ago. He wrote a new one. And his story won't be Demi's either.

She's three. Who knows what she'll love when she's sixteen? Or eighteen? Or thirty?

Sooner or later, he'll figure that out.

Right now, he's just trying to hang on to his baby girl for as long as possible. And God, I love him for it. I love the way he loves us, and the way he wants to protect us from every hard day he ever faced.

Once, I thought that was because he didn't think I was capable of handling it. I know better now. Ash knows what it's like to struggle. He knows what it's like to wake up, staring at rock bottom. And he never wants me or our kids to ever face the kind of pressure that led him there.

He loves us in a way that steals my breath every damn day.

I'll love him the same way forever.

"Sweetheart," I murmur, stepping into the fray before it gets ugly. "We can't play the drums right now. Your baby sister is sleeping, remember?"

Demi narrows her little eyes on me, and then huffs loudly. "Dums amorrow, Mama?"

"Yeah, baby," I promise, rubbing her head. "You can play the drums tomorrow."

She considers my promise carefully for a long moment, then huffs again, shoots her daddy another dark glare, then plucks the book from his hands and scurries out of the kitchen.

"Fuck," Ash mutters, his head drooping. "If the baby isn't a bookworm like you, I'm going to lose it, Loralei."

"You won't," I say softly, stepping up beside him to sink my hand into his hair. "You're just worried, Ash. But you aren't going to lose it."

He tips his head back, his wide eyes meeting mine. "She's already too fucking talented, baby. And she's headstrong. And stubborn."

"She's just like you."

"Yeah," he groans through a laugh. "I am not prepared for her to take the world by storm."

"She's only three, Ash. You have plenty of time to prepare her not to make the same mistakes you did if she decides music is a future she wants to pursue." I tug on his hair, smiling at him. "And I know you'll do it because you love her too much to let her risk passing out behind a wheel with no memory of how she got there."

He swallows hard, regret glinting in his eyes. "I still hate that I ended up there."

"I know, but you aren't there now. You're here with us. You've been sober for nineteen years." I tug gently on his hair again. "You have me, and Demi, and Gage, and a whole future of writing music, arguing with Jazz, and stalking me at the library. You're good now."

He's been good for a long time. Sometimes, I think that's what scares him. He loves every minute of his life, and he never wants to do anything to screw it up. He works hard to ensure he never does, but I know he still worries about it, the same way anyone who has ever drowned themselves at the bottom of a bottle worries.

He stares at me for a long moment before hooking his arms around my waist and slowly lowering me down until I'm straddling him right there in the kitchen. "You're so fucking smart, baby," he breathes, his lips brushing mine. "How'd I get so lucky?"

"Simple." I loop my arms around his neck, clinging to him. "You almost ran me over in a storm, kidnapped me, then held me hostage in a cabin."

He buries his face in my throat, his body vibrating with laughter. "Is that how we're telling the story now?"

"Yep," I whisper, nipping at his throat. "Sounds way dirtier this way, doesn't it?"

"Mmhmm." He grabs my ass, grinding me against him. "Especially if you leave in the parts about chasing you through the woods, fucking you against a tree, and licking that tasty little asshole on top of your rental…"

"Those are my favorite parts," I moan softly, pulling his hair to get his mouth on mine.

"I know," he chuckles against my lips. "But you're my favorite part, Loralei. Always will be."

I melt against him, my whole body going soft.

God, I love this man. More and more every damn day.

Author's Note

Thanks so much for reading Loralei and Ash's story. If you enjoyed it, please consider leaving a review!

We'll be back in Wine Country this winter with the Wine Country Heroes series!

In the meantime, prepare to meet Sadie and Dacen in The Goalie Game, a LOL hockey rom-com, coming in November!

The Goalie Game

He's playing for keeps. She's playing keep away.

Dacen
I've got a net to defend and games to win.
Love isn't on the roster.
Until I find it sitting in the driver's seat of my SUV, flustered and cursing like a sailor.
Sadie Albright swears she thought my car was hers.
She also can't wait to be anywhere I'm not.
I don't have an ego, but…ouch. That stings.
So I do the only reasonable thing.
I steal her phone and hand her mine.
Now, she can run all she wants…but she can't get rid of me.
And I intend to turn that "absolutely not" into "don't stop".

Sadie
It's not even six in the morning…and I just tried to steal a goalie's car.
Not my best moment.
But Dacen Reaper doesn't get to judge.
The infuriatingly hot man intentionally stole my phone.
And then spent all day digging through every dirty secret it contains.
Now, he's looking at me like I'm something he wants to keep.
Too bad for him, I don't have time for a cocky goalie with boundary issues.
I have promises to keep. Lives to save.
And absolutely no time for distractions.
Except somehow…I end up in his bed anyway.
Somehow, I start to fall.
And just like in the lab, the stakes have never been higher.

COMING NOVEMBER 5, 2026!

Book of Love Series

Good girls need spicy books. At least, that's the philosophy at this small-town bookstore. But the group of bookish friends who call the store home never planned for the feral men willing to fall at their feet...or for the lengths they'd go to secure their own happily-ever-afters.

Now, they're up to their elbows, in over their heads, and the only experience they have with navigating love comes from the books they read.

What could possibly go wrong?

Book of Love is a small-town rom-com series set in Wine Country that's high on heat and laughter, and low on drama.

War of Words – Out Now

Between Her Pages – Out Now

Reading Him Wrong – Out Now

No Shelf Control – Out Now

Libraran and the Rockstar – Out Now

Also Set in Wine Country

Find links to my books, audiobooks, the suggested reading order, and a downloadable map of how books connect on my website at http://authornicholerose.com!

Book of Love

War of Words – Out Now

Between Her Pages – Out Now

Reading Him Wrong – Out Now

No Shelf Control – Out Now

Libraran and the Rockstar – Out Now

Her Alpha Series

Her Alpha Daddy Next Door

Her Alpha Boss Undercover

Her Alpha’s Secret Baby

Her Alpha Protector

Her Date with an Alpha

Her Alpha: The Complete Series

The Second Generation

A Blushing Bride for Christmas

Dripping Pearls

Come Undone

Wine Country Alphas

Whiskey Promises

Hold Me Closer (spin-off)

Ambrosia Kisses

Bourbon Wishes

Absinthe Dreams

Connect with Nichole

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About Nichole

Five-time award-winning author Nichole Rose writes deliciously dirty and hilariously flirty rom-coms, sports and small-town romance, featuring relatable curvy women and the devoted alpha men who can't live without them. From obsessed billionaires to over-the-top hockey players to the firefighter next door, no one is safe from the hilarious, sassy women she sets loose on the world. She loves delivering relatable characters, hilarious banter, and enough heat to make you squirm.

Nichole also writes dark romance as Nichole Fallon.

When not writing, Nichole enjoys fine wine, cute shoes, and everything supernatural. She is happily married to the love of her life and is a proud ringleader in the world’s most ridiculous chihuahua circus. She and her husband live in central Arkansas.

You can learn more about Nichole and her books at authornicholerose.com.