When Hawke promised me a good time, he fulfilled.

After his morning interviews, we hit the town, rock-star style.

We left the hotel incognito—hats, sunglasses, and total tourist wear. Even Tilton had his own getup—a Hawaiian shirt and straw hat. It was hard not to laugh at the way Tilton’s hat fanned over his face.

I was sitting in the Suburban, windows down and summer wind blowing my hair in my face. Because of logistics and safety and because Daddy Alan wouldn’t allow it, there were some things I could only see from the comfort of the leather seats of the Suburban, but it didn’t matter because my smile could not be dimmed.

We saw the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, Champs-Élysées—Clemenceau, and Notre Dame—drive-by-style. I stuck my head out the window, camera in hand, and snapped enough pics to fill two scrapbooks. I wanted to spend my vacation with Hawke, and that was what we were doing. Every time I turned his way, his crooked smile had lit up his face.

The sightseeing from the car was enough for me. Eating takeout in the car was enough for me. Spending time with Hawke was enough for me.

But he had planned so much more.

“Where are we going next?” I asked, shutting my window, as Notre Dame passed our view.

He shrugged. “Don’t know.”

I waved an accusatory pointy finger his way. “You’re such a liar.”

“I really don’t.” He shrugged again.

“And the worst thing is, you are so good at it. I wonder if I should believe anything you say at all.”

He ran one hand through his wavy locks. “We’re almost there, Sunshine. You’ll just have to wait for your last surprise.”

My eyes flew to my phone in my hand, searching for the time. It was two in the afternoon, and my stomach churned as the minutes ticked by. Our time together was dwindling down. It was like sitting on your favorite ride at a theme park, knowing that it was going to end. I didn’t want our adventure to stop.

Hawke sensed my sadness because he said, “Don’t worry. I’ll bring you here again.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, joking with him. “Empty promises.”

When would we have free time? When would he be on tour in Paris again? When would we have another opportunity to tour the City of Love?

Probably never.

He scooted over and pulled me into him, and my heartbeat picked up at his nearness. He gripped my chin to face him. “Next time, it’ll be just you and me. No band. No bodyguards. Just the two of us.”

Impossible, I thought to myself.

But, from the determined look in his eyes, I knew he meant it. He wanted it to be just the two of us as much as I did.

When the car stopped, I leaned over him and squinted through the tinted window to try to make out where we were. When Tilton held the door open to let us out, I took in the sign, and my eyes flew to Hawke’s.

“No.” No way. No way. No way. My voice shook with disbelief. “Cordon Bleu?”

Le Cordon Bleu was a well-known culinary school with branches worldwide. I planned to apply to the one in Chicago. But here, in Paris, the culinary capital of the world, this was where it’d all begun. The original school had been founded in Paris in 1895.

“Sunshine, did you want to admire the school from the car?”

“What?”

“Because I have a private tour scheduled with their head chef. He said you could use his kitchen.”

My mouth fell open. A swarm of flies could’ve flown in and out.

And then it happened.

I couldn’t hold in my excitement. I bounced up and down in my seat like a total lunatic, clapping my hands like I was five, squeeing like I was a teenager. Usually, I was able to hold it together in front of the rock star and keep my cool, but not today. Not when this was the best day ever.

“Oh my God,” was all I could say on repeat.

His crooked smile widened. “Relax, Sam.”

And then I did.

I brushed my hair from my face, totally embarrassed that I had lost my calm and cool demeanor.

He reached for the door and extended his hand. “Let’s go. We’ve got exactly an hour and a half until we’re out of this place, and I have to get to the stadium for sound check.”

I stepped out of the car, and before we walked in, I went up on my tiptoes and pulled back his baseball cap, tenderly pecking him on the lips. “Thank you,” I said.

His signature smile slowly left his face, and lines on his normally smooth face creased his forehead. An unfocused gaze filled his vision, and with a light touch of his hand, he rested his palm on my cheek…but in the next second, the vulnerability I’d witnessed was gone.

He tipped his head toward the entranceway. “Let’s go.”

I let him take my hand as I half-skipped into the entrance of Le Cordon Bleu, hand in hand with Hawke Calvin, rock-star extraordinaire.

* * *

The ride back to the hotel was filled with my nonstop chatter about Chef Alain Pepin and his gifted technique in making croquembouche, a traditional French wedding cake. In the US, we would call it a tower of cream puffs. The culinary master had instructed me on how to perfect the crème puffs decorated with caramel and spun sugar. We had filled half of the crème puffs with chocolate and half with vanilla. Then, we’d spun caramel and dipped the puffs in the caramel concoction. The chef had taught me how to stack the puffs in a circular motion and maintain balance and symmetry so that the tower would not fall.

Hawke sat back and listened as I rambled on about Chef Alain’s technique and perfection in the kitchen until we were interrupted again by the ringing of his phone.

He held up a finger and began talking to someone, seemed like Cofi. I could tell Cofi was giving him the rundown, and Hawke said that we’d meet them at the concert.

When he hung up the phone, my happy-happy-joy-joy moment was gone.

Hawke immediately spit out directions, “Tilton, head straight to the stadium. Alan’s shitting himself because I’m not there.” He leaned back, unaffected, and then turned my way. “I’ll have Tilton drop me off first, and then you can get ready and meet me there.”

I glanced down at my stained shirt. Caramel had spilled on the middle of my white baby tee when I was decorating the crème puffs. I didn’t want to part from him, but I looked like a slob next to his perfection, and I needed to change.

“Did you have fun?” he asked.

I nodded, but my smile from earlier was absent because the hourglass of sand that indicated our time together was quickly dwindling down. “I had a great time,” I said, my tone sullen to match my mood.

When he pulled me onto his lap without warning, my heart jumped to the middle of my throat. His fingers pressed against my back, so lightly at first that I didn’t feel it and then increasing with pressure until I felt it everywhere.

“I’m glad you had fun, Sunshine.” A devilish smile graced his face. “I think I had more fun watching you in action.”

I gasped when his velvety tongue outlined my lips.

“Can I hire these hands?” He put one said hand on the thickening bulge between us. “For cooking?”

I laughed because he was not talking about food. The privacy barrier began to lift from the middle of the limo, blocking my view of Tilton, causing my internal temperature to rise twenty notches.

“I think it’s time for my midday snack,” he said, his tone husky with desire.

His touch was hypnotizing, and my whole body tingled under his fingertips.

He guided me to my back while his fingers worked the button of my jeans. Everything with Hawke was a first. First one-night stand. First Paris experience. Now, the first time having sex in the back of a limo. Check, check, and check.

“Are you on birth control?”

“Yes.” My arousal could be sensed through my voice, and my whole body flooded with warmth.

“Because I don’t have any condoms,” he breathed.

I wiggled beneath him, and my knees fell to the sides. I wanted him so badly, needed him with a passion so strong, I didn’t care anymore.

A moan escaped my mouth when his fingers pierced me, and my wetness met where he touched, my desire for him increasing twofold. There was no doubt I would give him what I very much wanted myself.

“Are you clean?” I asked, unable to control my hunger for him any longer.

My hands moved to the buckle of his pants, unzipping him and reaching for his hard length. The feel of him against my fingertips had my mouth watering, and when my fingers wrapped around his cock, his loud intake of breath sent a thrill right through me.

“I get tested every month, and I’ve never been without one.”

And I decided that I trusted him. Because I did and I couldn’t wait any longer, I positioned him at my entrance, and in one swift movement, he filled me. I gasped at the fullness of him.

A fiery fever rushed within me as my fingers threaded through his hair. His eyes locked with mine before he kissed me deeply. Tongue against tongue. Skin against skin. The electrifying magnetism between us was palpable.

“You feel…you feel so good, Sunshine.” His words came out in broken, husky puffs.

He moved above me with raw, animalistic passion that I had never experienced before—not like I had a lot to compare him to, but still. I wondered if he was like this with everyone or just me. I wanted to believe it. I wanted so badly to believe I couldn’t compare to the rest of the women he’d been with.

When the car parked, his movements quickened, and his deep breathing accelerated. I knew he was close. Close to ecstasy, and I was, too.

The tingling started at the base of my spine, creeping up my legs and to my core. He gripped my ass tighter, indenting his fingers in my skin, as he drove deeper, deeper, deeper inside me.

“I love how you feel. I love you,” he moaned as we both climaxed.

We came together in blissful rapture with me biting down hard enough on his lips to prevent myself from screaming.

And, just as I came down from my high, his words registered in my ears.

Did he just utter those words? Was he for real, or was it only in the heat of the moment?

I held on to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped around his waist. And I decided I never wanted to let him go.

“Tell me, it’s only ever going to be me.” I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t stop the words from flying out. My grip tightened around him.

Sadly, a knock on the limo window had him pulling out of me so abruptly, I felt cold and empty. Our eyes locked, and he cupped the side of my face. I read an intensity in his eyes that was mirrored in mine.

“It’s only ever going to be you.”

I leaned into his touch, but then the knocking on the door heightened, and he straightened and tugged up his pants. After he pulled me up, I readjusted myself in my seat, and after one peck on the lips, he opened the door.

“I’ll see you later. All right, Sunshine?”

And then he was gone.

I blinked at the door he’d slipped through and wrapped my arms around myself to bring back the warmth in my body.

With Hawke, when I was with him, I was on the highest of highs, but when we weren’t together, I was in the lowest of lows.

I knew I had to take control of this situation. Put myself more in the driver’s seat. I needed to take care of myself because no one else would.

* * *

The night passed by me in a blur. In one moment, I had entered the stadium, and in what seemed like the next minute, I had left and was in the limo, heading back to the hotel after the concert.

I could feel the high of the boys as they chatted away. I assumed this was how it was when you went on tour—the excitement of being in a new country, the new material, the screaming fans.

Hawke stayed close beside me, his knee touching mine, but he seemed distant. Not to the rest of his band, but to me. He hadn’t looked at me when he entered the room or touched me or kissed me on the lips.

He just bent down, and with his crooked smile, he asked, “Did you like the concert?”

I answered with pure honesty, “It was amazing!” Because it had been, and if my departure tomorrow hadn’t been weighing on me, I would’ve been just as excited as all the fans who had filled the stadium.

That seemed to satisfy him, and he turned to Cofi and talked about their last song of the night, the closing of the concert.

I exhaled a shaky breath.

This was it. The end.

With Hawke, I never knew where I stood. He had said, when he was with me, he was with only me, but tomorrow, he wouldn’t be with me.

So, it made me wonder, Will he be with someone else?

But he’d said…he’d said he loved me, and it was only me. Those were the words I wanted to believe.

My stomach churned, as though food were stuck in my intestines, but I shook my head, forcing the feeling away. There was nothing I could do. This was the nature of his life. This was how I had met him.

Hawke intertwined our fingers when we exited the limo and entered the hotel. That touch was all I craved. All I longed for. It was my last night with him, and I was determined to make every second matter. But I hadn’t expected the whole band to follow us to our room.

A forced smile was stuck on my face. Funny how I’d mastered the fake face over the years—during my cooking final at culinary school when the chefs had to taste-test our food to the aftermath of my mother’s death to now where our hotel room was filled to the corners packed with people.

When I stepped into the main living area, it was as if I were on the set of a music video.

The music blasted on high in the background, the bass of the song thumping against my skin. Half-naked women swayed around the room, like puppies in a crate.

Who let these people in?

The band dispersed, greeting the strangers in Hawke’s penthouse. What I hadn’t counted on was Hawke doing the same. He left me standing in the middle of the room, alone, while he walked across the living room area to greet a couple I didn’t know. One guy had his hair slicked back into a short ponytail with a beautiful blonde pressed up against one side and a leggy brunette on the other. A group had formed around Hawke, waiting for their turn to greet the rock star.

After five minutes, I plopped my butt on the closest thing next to me, which was a low circular couch by the television. Over the next hour and a half, I experienced the true life of the rich and famous. The bar was covered in bottles of expensive hard liquor, while the center table of the room was loaded with joints and powder and pills. I was straight-up in my own theater, watching the scene unfold before my eyes.

I wanted to raise my hand, call a time-out, and retreat to my apartment in Chicago, but I couldn’t. My only savior was Hawke, who had come over twice to ask if I was okay, but he was beyond inebriated. I’d been watching him closely. He hadn’t taken anything, but he kept pounding back the drinks, as if it were water and there was going to be a drought.

After an hour of no Hawke, I stood. I’d had enough. My flight would be leaving at eight in the morning, meaning I needed to be at the airport at six, meaning I needed to get some sleep. I staggered into our bedroom and was shocked to see multiple people having their own personal party in the room.

Two girls in Daisy Dukes were on our bed—fully clothed, thank goodness—making out in front of a stranger who seemed to get a kick out of getting the two girls to kiss.

I rushed to retrieve my backpack from the closet and slipped one strap over my shoulder. My eyes searched for a safe haven, anywhere, but there was nowhere to go.

Even our balcony was occupied, crammed with at least a dozen people in a space made for six. I padded across the plush carpet, my Converse indenting a path to my decided destination where I could get some peace and quiet—the bathroom.

I shut the door and locked it. Then, I chucked my backpack on the floor and threw some towels inside the massive tub. Once I had a good amount of cushion, I stepped into the cloud of towels and laid my head down. That was when the loneliness hit.

Highest of highs and lowest of lows—that was how I felt when I was with Hawke.

Heat formed behind my eyes. I wondered if he’d even remember to wish me good-bye. My eyes shut, and I forced myself to sleep and dream of when I’d had the best time of my existence, just hours ago.

Numerous times during the night, people banged on the door, wanting to use the bathroom. I refused to answer. There were three other bathrooms in the penthouse; they could use one of those.

When the doorknob jiggled and the door unlocked and creaked open, I jumped up in the tub.

“Sunshine.” Hawke had one arm slung over Tilton’s beefy shoulder. It was as though Tilton was keeping him upright.

I hopped out of the tub and rushed over to grab Hawke’s other side.

“I think I partied way too hard, Sunshine. Not…feeling well.”

He reeked of alcohol and smelled like cigarettes. I stripped him of his wet shirt—maybe from sweat or, more likely, someone had spilled something on him.

“You’re going to take advantage of me now?” His crooked smile made my heart hurt, like pins being jabbed into a pincushion. Then, he passed out.

I stared up at Tilton, about to freak out. “Did he take anything? I mean, is he on anything?” God, I knew nothing about hard-core illegal drugs. In that aspect, I was totally out of my element. There was a first time for everything, but I wasn’t about to jump on board with this first.

Tilton shook his head, and my whole body relaxed.

“He just needs sleep.”

“Hawke.” I patted his cheek.

His head lolled from side to side.

“Hawke, do you want water?”

I glanced at the door behind me, hearing loud laughter, which only meant the party was still going on, full force.

Hawke was out cold, so I nodded to the tub where Tilton lifted his almost six-foot frame into the oversized basin.

When Tilton shut the door behind him, I ran over to make sure it was locked, and then I glanced down at my watch. Only three more hours until I had to head to the airport.

My feet shuffled against the cold marble floor, and I sat against the edge of the tub.

Hawke’s chest lifted when soft breaths escaped him. He stirred in his sleep, and his eyes fluttered open and shut. “Sunshine?”

He extended his hand, and I intertwined our fingers. I decided, for the few hours that I could, I would lie next to him, so I slowly got into the tub filled with towels instead of bubbles and nestled against his warm skin.

“Mmm,” he muttered, pulling me close.

His skin was clammy to the touch.

I pulled back and studied his face. “You okay?”

“Too much,” he slurred.

I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I doubted he did either. He seemed incoherent, and his words made no sense, even when they were strung together.

“Too much,” he whispered.

“Too much what?” I brushed his blond hair away from his face. Too much alcohol, work, life?

“Do you want water?” I asked.

He didn’t respond.

“Stay, Sunshine.” His facial features scrunched together. “Please.”

He was dreaming. He had to be.

I put one finger on his lips. “I can’t.”

The lines in his face eased, and I snuggled close to his chest. It wasn’t the most comfortable of poses, but I was determined, hugging him tightly.

“Stay,” he said again, repeating the word he had said earlier.

“Why?” I whispered against his neck.

His forehead creased again, and my stomach clenched as I watched him.

“Lonely,” he whispered. “Need you.”

I held my breath at the intensity of his words. He was adored by millions, could have anything with one word, yet he was lonely?

And, finally, I understood.

He didn’t trust the people around him, and in the brief amount of time I had spent with him, I realized why. He was the bank, bringing in money, fortune, and fame. Everyone around him received the same by association. Nothing was as it seemed; no one was genuine.

“I’m trying…” he said, his words muffled.

I threaded my fingers through his hair, feeling his silky blond locks slip through my fingertips.

“Trying to what?”

“Trying to stop…be better.”

I strained my ears to listen. He was mumbling, and I couldn’t make out what he was trying to say. But then I made out the words that caused my heart to swell.

“Better…better for you.”

When his whole body relaxed, I knew he was out. I tried to readjust his arm, so I could get into a more restful position, but he was dead weight, so I settled for uncomfortable so that I could stay near him. With one long exhale, I kissed him on the lips.

I fell asleep on a bed of clouds, nestled against the chest of a man I was falling for.

Who was I kidding?

I had already fallen. Hard.

* * *

The banging on the door woke me from my sleep. I rubbed my eyes and jumped to a sitting position.

My watch said ten o’clock. “Omigod!” I leaped from the tub and opened the door, surprised that I hadn’t tripped over my own feet.

Tilton’s seven-foot frame stared me down, his face stoic.

“I missed my flight,” I said, my pulse beating in my throat.

By the look on his face, he already knew. His response? He turned around and walked out of the room. Typical Tilton move.

When a strangled-animal sound came from behind me, I turned. Hawke was hunched over and had his hands over his eyes. I approached at a slow pace.

With one eye open and the other one squinted, he stared up at me. “Morning, Sunshine.” His crooked smile made an appearance, even through his hangover pain.

“I missed my flight.”

He stood, still shirtless. The sunlight coming in through the window highlighted the black art against his toned tan chest. He stepped out of the tub, rubbed his face, and said, “I’ll call in the jet.”

“Aren’t you guys leaving today?”

They were going to head on to their next leg of the tour—London.

“Another jet,” he answered, reaching for his phone in the back of his pocket.

And, just like that, my crisis was averted. Money knew no limits.

The next hour moved like we were on fast-forward. Hawke had scheduled the jet to leave at the same time they would be leaving from Paris—Le Bourget, the private airport we had flown into. There was nothing for me to pack. Everything I had brought was in my one large backpack.

When I exited the bathroom and stepped into our suite, my eyes widened, taking in the scene. I had expected a trashed hotel room, given the amount of people partying and jumping on the bed last night, but no, the place was immaculate. In our room, the bed was made, and all the pillows were placed where they should be. Fresh flowers were back on the tables. The only remnants of last night were five large garbage bags in the foyer.

Chaos followed these boys everywhere, but I guessed there was damage control trailing right behind them.

Cofi strolled into the room, followed by AJ, the bass guitarist, and Max the lead guitarist.

“Sunshine, you ready for London?” Cofi asked.

“No, she’s going home.” Hawke shut him down quick as he bent down to zip up his suitcase. “She’s leaving when we leave.”

“Are you bored with Hawke already?” The guys laughed behind Cofi. “Because, if you need a change of scenery…”

Hawke jerked upright and shoved at Cofi’s chest. “Quit it. Let’s go.”

The action was so sudden, I flinched.

Hawke grabbed my hand in a possessive manner—one that had my insides singing because, for a moment, I felt like I belonged to only him.

The boys trailed behind Hawke, and once we hopped back into the limo, the chaos of the crowd erupted again. I swore, these fans never took a day off. Police cars surrounded us and escorted the limo the rest of the way to the airport.

Alan was in the car this time, reciting the band’s itinerary for when they landed in London. AJ seemed like the only guy paying attention while the rest of the men sat back, uninterested. When I tried to meet Hawke’s eyes, they were fixed outside the window, as though he were thinking deeply.

When Tilton opened the door and it was time to say our final good-byes, my heart sank like an anchor in the ocean. This hurt. To look at him hurt. To breathe the same air hurt. Everything hurt.

Since we were not officially together, there was no guarantee that he was going to ever call me again. I could just ask him, but I was afraid of rejection, afraid to seem too needy, afraid to show him that he affected me in ways I didn’t want to admit.

Laughter erupted from the band, including Alan. Cofi must have cracked a joke, but I hadn’t heard it.

“All right, so…” I dug my feet into the gravel and inched toward my rock star. “I just want to thank you for yesterday and for bringing me to Paris.” So much emotion leaked from my voice that I felt self-conscious, so I stared intently at the ground, unable to meet his eyes.

What Hawke did next surprised me. Without warning, he lifted my chin, wrapped one arm around my waist, and kissed me—mouths closed, no tongue. No words needed to be said as a strong emotion passed from him to me, one where I knew I would be missed.

All I could hear was the roar of the airplanes’ engines in the background and the beating of my heart in my ears. And all I could smell was Hawke’s scent, his musky, masculine cologne and his unique signature.

The kiss was long. He didn’t release me until the guys started clapping.

And, when he did, he said, “I had the best time, Sunshine.” Then, he stepped back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away.

I didn’t know if he was saying good-bye. He hadn’t asked for his phone back, yet he hadn’t said he was going to call this time. I waited and waited for him to turn around, but he didn’t. I finally let out a low breath and turned toward my destination, my own private jet.

I had a lot to think about during my flight home. Putting my racing thoughts on pause, I fell into a deep sleep.

When I awoke, we were already pulling into Schaumburg Regional Airport, a private airport in a suburb about forty-five minutes outside of the city of Chicago. I’d had the craziest dream—one where I was in Hawke’s arms, and it was just the two of us, sitting in the open at an outdoor café.

I sighed loudly. Only in my dreams.