How had I thought I’d be able to talk to him like nothing had happened? Every time I looked at him, all I could think of was what it had felt like to kiss him, to touch him. The memory of his hands on my body, his mouth…it made every cell heat up, every nerve buzz with electricity.

Maybe coming here hadn’t been a complete mistake, but reading that book had been. The moment I realized what I’d been reading, I should have stopped. Not because there was something wrong with it, but because being turned on right now was making things even more difficult than usual.

“I talked to some people from work about forty minutes ago, and they’ve been analyzing the coverage of you and the kids. You’re trending in the right direction, but that alone isn’t going to turn things completely around. What we need to do is show people that the negative press is the fluke, not this. They need to see that you’re a good guy who did something stupid.”

“And you have some ideas of how to make me a good guy?”

The question should have been flippant, especially considering he’d essentially been teasing me from the moment he’d come into the living room, but something under his words told me he wasn’t being as glib as he tried to sound.

Despite the fact that looking at him made me feel things I didn’t want to feel, I turned toward him. He needed to know this. “I don’t need to make you into a good guy. You already are one. I just need to get others to see it.”

He gave me a puzzled look. “You think I’m a good person? Even after–”

I sighed, my resolve to keep things professional already being put to the test. “You made some bad choices after your break-up, and did some stupid things, but that doesn’t make you a bad guy.”

“Yeah, but the other night–”

I held up a hand to stop him. “We don’t need to talk about that. It was impulsive, and the result of spending time together in a…charged environment. Neither of which will be happening again anytime soon.”

“I’m sorry I called you an ice queen and then joked about the whole virginity thing.”

I’d never really thought of myself as a person who was easily embarrassed, but this was getting to be a habit. “Reb, seriously, it’s okay. Let’s just get to work.”

He opened his mouth like he was going to argue, then closed it again when I glared at him. He nodded. “All right.”

“Good.” I turned away so he couldn’t see the relief on my face. Rehashing things would only make working with Reb more awkward. “The key to keeping the press on your side rather than them spinning things into a negative light is to make the experiences personal.”

“And how do we do that?”

“By figuring out what matters to you.” I did my best to fix on my professional face before I turned back to him. I would’ve used the same strategy with any client in a similar situation, but asking these questions of Reb felt a lot more intimate than it should have. “Obviously, music, but that’s the part of you people already know. We need to show them the man behind the music.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, flicking little droplets of water down onto his shirt. “What if music is all I am?” He gave me a sideways glance. “I haven’t been able to write for more than six months. What if I can’t ever write again and that’s the legacy I leave? A stalled career and bad decisions?”

“I’m going to make sure that doesn’t happen.” I crossed over to him and put a hand on his arm. “I can’t help with the music, but we’re going to fix it so that these past couple months are only going to be a blip in an otherwise reputable career.”

“How?”

I took a step back and let my hand fall to my side. “Tell me about yourself. The things you like. What you’re passionate about.”

His eyes locked with mine for a moment, and I swallowed hard at the intensity I saw there. Then he was moving, turning away so he could walk over to the couch and take a seat. I stayed standing.

“I thought you did your research on me.”

“That can tell me facts, not beliefs.”

He studied me for a moment before answering. “My mom was a teacher’s assistant when she was married to my dad, so I’ve always had a weak spot for educational charities.”

“I’ve heard your mother talk about her time as a TA,” I said. “She doesn’t explain though why she was working when her family is certainly well-off enough that she doesn’t need a regular job.”

“My grandparents didn’t approve of her marriage to my dad,” he explained, his tone casual, as if this was something he’d gotten used to saying. “They eloped, actually. He was getting ready to be shipped overseas, and he wanted to make sure she was taken care of if something happened to him.”

“He was military?” I hadn’t been able to find much about Reb’s father, only that he was dead.

Reb nodded. “Special Forces. We weren’t allowed to know much about what he did, and even after he died on an assignment.” His mouth quirked in a sad smile. “I was sixteen.”

My heart squeezed, and it was hard not to go to him then. To comfort him. To make him think of only me. “Oh, Reb, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said. “Losing him almost destroyed my mom. She’s always been proud of him, but she can’t talk about him much. Even after all this time, she hasn’t gotten over him.”

My heart broke even more for him, and for his mom. My mom had raised me alone, and my father had never been more than biology and a cautionary tale. She’d never dated anyone, barely showed any interest in romance, and she sure as hell hadn’t pined over any of the ‘rock gods’ she’d slept with.

I couldn’t imagine loving someone so much that the loss of them changed my world forever. Well, I loved my mother, but that was different. Kids expected to outlive their parents. But when someone made a vow to love someone until death parted them, they never wanted to think that they’d have anything other than a lifetime to fulfill it.

“My older sister is terrified that her daughters will join the military someday. My younger sister works with Doctors Without Borders in some of the worst places in the world because she thinks that’s what my dad would have wanted.” He stared down at his hands thoughtfully. “A few months after my dad died, I talked to a recruiter. I started working out so I’d be physically ready as soon as I turned eighteen, but I kept it to myself. I didn’t want to hurt my mom, but I felt like this was how I could honor my father.”

I moved closer but resisted the urge to touch him.

“Two months before my birthday, I was driving home from a party, and a drunk driver ran a red light. The crash didn’t do much damage, but I was stuck in the car. There was a fire, and I couldn’t get out. A guy driving by stopped and pulled me out before the car caught fire, but because he had to rush, he accidentally dislocated my left shoulder.” Reb’s hand rubbed his shoulder as if he could still feel the pain. “It was bad enough that it ended up keeping me from enlisting.” He looked up at me. “I’ve never told anyone that.”

I tried not to feel warm at the admission. It didn’t mean anything more than he found me easy to talk to. Like how someone might feel comfortable talking to a therapist. Nothing more.

I brought the conversation back to the matter at hand, not wanting to risk things going from personal to intimate. “I think I have enough to work with. I’ll have something set up for the end of the week.”

“Oh, okay. Good.” He stood, a troubled expression on his face for a few moments before disappearing. “I’ll keep the weekend free.”

“Friday too,” I said. “I’ll let you know as soon as I have something scheduled.”

He walked me to the door, opening it partway before stopping. “We should do something this weekend. Something besides work. I’d like to take you somewhere. A club. We can have some drinks. Dance. Loosen up some.”

I started shaking my head as soon as I realized what he was asking. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. Professional, remember?”

“Think of it as a reward for hard work.” He gave me that irresistible smile. Not the plastic one he threw out to reporters, or even the polite one he had for fans. No, this was the smile that had made me melt into a puddle of malleable goo.

I sighed. “Let’s see how things go first.”

He beamed, and I mentally cursed myself for not being able to say no to him. As I left, I wasn’t sure if I wanted him to do well on his next project or not. One option was definitely safer for me, but rooting for him to excel wasn’t only for professional reasons. It wasn’t even all because I wanted him to do well.

Even though I’d given myself repeated warnings, I still wanted him.