Austin’s place in the country was amazing. It looked totally different from his New York apartment, which had been beautiful but sparse. Modern and cold. His house in the woods was practically the definition of cozy. It was nestled into the side of a hill at the end of a long driveway, completely secluded. Everywhere you looked, was greenery, the building itself almost disappearing into the perfectly overgrown forest that surrounded it.

It also was huge. “You call this a cabin?” I stepped out of the truck and just stared at the raw wood and iron.

“My home away from home,” Austin said, grabbing our bags from the back of the truck.

“It’s gorgeous,” I managed, still trying to take all of it in.

“Just wait until you see the inside,” he said, walking past me to the front door.

I followed, my eyes darting all around us, trying to see everything at once. We were totally alone out here—I could remember only passing a handful of houses or gates on our way. It was quiet and peaceful, tucked away from it all.

Shifting the bags in his hands, Austin managed to unlock the door and push it open with his hip. He put down the bags in the entryway, stepping aside to let me pass.

If I had thought the outside of the building was spectacular, then I was left speechless at the interior.

It was a two story building, but the entryway led into a room that was completely open—with a gorgeous, yet modern chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling. There were stairs on either side of the room, clearly leading to the separate sections of the house—one that I assumed was for guests, and the other that was for Austin.

“Wow,” was about all I could muster when I heard Austin come up behind me.

“Thanks,” he said. “Took a lot of work and time, but I’m pretty pleased with the result.”

I turned to face him. “You designed this?” I asked, completely surprised.

“Well, an architect did,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, almost looking bashful. “I just gave them some suggestions.”

“Well, whatever you told them, it really worked, because this place is spectacular.”

“I’m glad you like it,” Austin said, and for a moment I got the impression that he really did care what someone like me thought of his house. “Would you like the grand tour?”

Obviously I did.

Austin showed me the enormous kitchen, the luxurious screening room with plush couches and a giant fireplace, the back deck which had a barbecue and a wood-burning hot tub—I tried not to pay too much attention to that particular part of the house—as well as the four guest rooms, each with their own bathroom.

“This room is yours,” he said, leading me back to the largest of the guest rooms. “Unless there was another one that you liked better. I just think the view is better here.”

I looked out the enormous windows at the lake and couldn’t help but agree.

“I suppose this will do,” I teased.

“Well.” Austin stood in the doorway, some of the tension returning. “We did have a long drive, so if you want to rest a little before dinner, that’s fine.”

Before I could answer, his phone rang. He looked down at the screen and his expression changed. Not a lot, but enough for me to notice. Whatever openness that had been there had quickly retreated.

“I should take this,” he told me, backing out of the room without waiting for a response. “Hey,” I heard him say as he headed down the hallway. “Is something wrong?”

My journalistic ears perked up, but he was gone before I could hear anything else. I was curious, but I also knew that if I pushed too hard too fast, I wouldn’t get anything out of him. He might have invited me here and promised to cooperate, but that didn’t mean he was ready to completely spill his guts.

I would just have to be patient.

I flopped down on the enormous guest bed and sank immediately into the luxurious mattress. It was like lying on a pile of clouds. It also didn’t hurt that the bed was perfectly situated so I got the best view from there. I allowed myself a few moments of indulgence, just lying there, staring out at the woods, the lake, and the bright blue sky.

Even though it had been a long drive—and I hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before—I wasn’t tired. So I decided to give myself a second tour of the house, wandering through the rooms again, taking my time and observing everything around me. It was what a journalist would do. Or a very curious Mia.

The house felt like Austin: raw, and real, and unpretentious. It should have made me feel better about everything, but instead it just made me more confused. Because Austin seemed to have so many sides he brought out at the drop of the hat, switching between personalities so fast I got whiplash. I really didn’t know who I was dealing with, or which of my instincts to trust. Let him in and connect, or keep my guard up and stay the impartial observer?

I kept wandering through the enormous house, eventually finding a closed door. It was the first one I had come across, and curious as I was, I tried the doorknob. I half expected it to be locked, but it wasn’t. Carefully, quietly, I pushed the door open and peered in.

The lights turned on automatically as I entered, revealing a wall with dozens of guitars beautifully displayed. There was a piano in the center of the room, and some recording equipment, along with several other instruments. There was a desk too, covered with paper.

I headed towards it.

The notepad was covered in Austin’s handwriting—a messy scrawl—and it seemed to be lyrics. Pages were covered with different options, some of them crossed out, some of them repeated, some of them edited over and over again. I didn’t recognize any of the lyrics, so I assumed it had to be his new work. The work we had all been promised, but no one had actually heard.

The mystery new material.

I felt a twinge of guilt, like I was reading someone’s diary, so I stepped away from the desk, even though the journalistic side of me was practically begging to keep reading, or even snap some pictures with my phone. Instead, I forced myself to walk away, closing the door behind me.

I wanted to know him better, but I also wanted him to be the one deciding to open up.

Patience.

I found Austin in the library, still on the phone. His face was serious, and he was nodding.

“Yeah, I understand,” he was saying. “Don’t worry about it. It will all be taken care of before the weekend’s over.”

I was about to leave, but just then he looked up and noticed me. He gestured for me to stay.

“I have to go,” he told the person on the phone. “Talk to you later.” He hung up and stood. “Did you get some rest?” he asked.

I nodded, more interested in who had been on the other end of that conversation. But before I could ask, Austin stretched, and I was thoroughly distracted by the strip of skin that was revealed as his shirt parted from his jeans. Tanned, and toned, and delicious.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, unaware of the dirty thoughts spinning through my head.

“Uh-huh.” I managed to tear my gaze away from his stomach.

“There’s a great place in town we can grab a bite,” he said. “Come on, I’ll buy you a beer.”

---

He bought everyone a beer.

From the moment we walked in to Seamus’s Pub, it was clear that everyone there knew each other and that they all knew Austin. He was greeted warmly by patrons, as well as the bartenders. We settled at one end of the well-worn bar, and an older man with a full, gray beard came over to greet us.

“Seamus,” Austin made the introductions, definitely more cheerful now. “This is Mia. Mia, this is Seamus. And this is his bar.” He gestured all around him.

“Nice to meet you,” I said politely.

“Likewise,” Seamus said in a thick Irish accent, before turning his attention to Austin. “Where have you been boyo? Haven’t seen you for months.”

“Missing me?” Austin asked with a grin.

“Sure, sure.” Seamus waved a hand dismissively, sharing a look with me. “Has this one been telling you tales about being a rock star and a lot of other nonsense?”

I stared. Did Seamus not actually know who Austin was?

Then Seamus winked and burst into laughter.

“You should see the look on your face, lass,” he chortled. “Almost like I had told you there wasn’t a Santa Claus.” He pounded Austin on the back. “We’re all proud of this one here. Done pretty well for himself. Now what can I get for the two of you?”

We ordered and then Seamus disappeared to deal with other customers. I turned to Austin, itching with curiosity now.

“Sounds like Seamus knows you pretty well,” I observed.

He gave me a slightly wary look.

“What?” I demanded. “You said if I came here with you, you’d give me some answers. And that was a softball,” I added.

“You’re ruthless,” Austin commented, but it sounded a little like a compliment. He sighed. “And you’re right. I did promise you an interview.”

I was thrilled, and immediately pulled out my phone.

Austin gave it a dirty look.

“What?” I patted it. “This is your best friend, as long as you don’t say something you regret.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” he muttered.

Just then, Seamus brought us over two pints of beer and a bowl of peanuts. Austin popped a few into his mouth and took a long drink of beer.

“So,” I said, once he had come up for air. “You and Seamus go way back?”

He nodded. “I used to come here when I was a kid, actually.”

My eyebrows went up. “Really?”

“Yep.” Austin took some more peanuts. “Seamus gave me my first job.”

“How old were you?”

“Twelve,” Austin told me, and I nearly spit out my beer.

“You were working in a bar at twelve?” I asked, amazed.

“I was sweeping floors during the day,” Austin said with a grin.

“Still, that’s pretty young.” I couldn’t believe it. “And your parents didn’t care?”

“Nope,” Austin said, the grin fading quickly.

Ah. A touchy subject.

And now that I thought about it, I couldn’t remember Austin ever talking about his parents when he visited us for the holidays. I wasn’t sure I knew anything about them—only that they didn’t seem to mind him spending Christmas and summer vacations crashing on my brother’s bedroom floor.

But before I could ask more, our food was brought over. It was standard pub fare, a burger and fries for both of us, but goddamn if it wasn’t fantastic. I let out a sigh of pleasure as I took a bite of my perfectly cooked burger.

When I came up for air, I found that Austin was staring at me.

“What?” I asked, feeling self-conscious.

“I forgot how much I liked watching you eat,” Austin told me, his voice huskier than it had been before.

I got hot all over.

But then Austin cleared his throat and looked down at my phone. Right, I was recording all of this. Probably best that I didn’t crawl across the bar and into his lap. It wouldn’t be very professional at all.

“Got any more probing questions?” he asked, clearing his throat.

“Let’s talk about your time off from music,” I said, wiping off my hands, ready to get right to it.

“What about it?”

“Well, Method of Madness broke up and then you disappeared,” I reminded him.

“I didn’t disappear,” he told me. “I just stepped away from the spotlight for a while.”

“In music that’s the same thing as disappearing. What happened?” I asked gently. “Why the big change?”

He ran a hand through his thick hair. “Let’s just say that things weren’t working out with the band, and when we split, I just needed some time alone to process it.”

It was a reasonable answer, but I could tell that Austin was holding back. I was frustrated. He had promised me the truth and he was still withholding. There was a story there—and it was more than just a “tepid band breakup and some quality time alone in the woods” kind of story.

But I could also tell that Austin was having a hard time with my phone recording everything. He kept looking at it, kept fidgeting with his napkin, kept clearing his throat. He was uncomfortable.

Knowing I wasn’t going to get anything out of him unless he felt relaxed and comfortable, I reached over and shut off the recording app on my phone. “Fine. We can do this your way.”

Austin’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s been a long day,” I told him. “And you can’t exactly go running away from me here. Why don’t we just have a nice dinner tonight? Off the record.”

Immediately he looked more relaxed.

“Another round,” he called to Seamus, “And make it a double.”

---

A couple of hours later, I could see exactly why Austin liked this place so much. Everyone was friendly to him, but no one treated him like a rock star. To them, he was just one of the regulars—stopping by to chat about repairs on his roof, and the flooding further down the valley. And slowly, I relaxed, too. We weren’t on the clock anymore, and there was nothing to stop us from just catching up.

“So, Luke’s in Australia,” Austin said over our third pint. Or was that the fourth?

“That’s what he tells me,” I said wryly. “Though, I wouldn’t be surprised if this whole travel documentary thing is a complete farce and he’s just been calling me from a basement in Detroit pretending he’s been all over the world.”

Austin snorted. “That would be something that Luke would do.”

“When was the last time you saw him?” I asked Austin.

He thought about it for a moment. “Last year, I think. He was in New York for work, and we were able to grab a drink.”

I nodded. “That sounds about right,” I said with a sigh. “It’s been awhile.”

“You miss him?” Austin asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I’m used to having the asshole around, but it’s odd now, we’re grown up. Especially when he’s gone for long stretches of time like this.”

“At least he’s doing something he loves,” Austin said with a sideways glance.

“Is that a dig at me?”

He looked surprised. “What? No, of course not.” Austin sighed. “I’ve been kind of a dick about your job, haven’t I?”

“Just slightly,” I snorted. “But I guess I shouldn’t have expected any less from a big, bad rock star.”

Austin groaned. “Don’t say that. I was an asshole. I’m sorry.”

“No . . .” I sighed. “I mean, yes, you were an asshole, but you were right, too. Just a little. I could be trying harder to get what I want,” I confessed. “ChatBuzz was hiring right as I got out of college, and I thought it would be good experience. A good stepping stone that I could use to get to the next job. Only, four years later, and I haven’t made that step.”

“It’s the hardest one to make,” said Austin, looking sympathetic. “Going from the known to the unknown?” He let out a low whistle. “It’s a big risk.”

“Luke took that risk,” I reminded him. “And you did too. What made you do it?” I wanted to know. “How did you know that going all-in on your band was the right thing to do?” “I didn’t,” Austin said, with a curious smile. “But you did.”

“Me?!”

Austin laughed. “Yeah, you. Don’t you remember that night in college? Where I walked you home from the frat party?”

Of course I remembered that night. Second hottest kiss of my life. First hottest now being the kiss from the parking lot.

But I just nodded and took a sip of my beer. “Oh, right, I guess I can recall.”

“I told you that I wasn’t sure if I wanted to keep pursuing music,” Austin continued, watching me with that smile. “I was ready to give up and try to get a real job, but you convinced me to keep trying.”

I blinked. Was I really responsible for Austin’s life as a rock star?

“Maybe that’s why I’ve been so hard on you,” he said. “Because you were so confident that I was going to make it. That we were both going to make it. I believed you. So, I took that risk. Scariest thing I’d ever done in my life, but it worked out. And I guess I was hoping you had done the same. Because I’m pretty sure you’re a whole hell of a lot braver than I am.”

I didn’t know what to say. Neither did Austin apparently, after his uncharacteristically long monologue. We just sat there for a moment in silence, finishing our beers, but inside, my heart was racing.

He’d thought about me. His work, his whole career, he traced it all back to that night with me?

Austin stood abruptly. “It’s getting late,” he said. “You ready to call it a night?”

I nodded, and got my coat while he said his goodbyes, and then we headed back to the cabin in silence. I could tell that Austin was uncomfortable—that he had maybe revealed more than he intended. But I was glad that he had. Because now I felt like I was getting an idea of who the real Austin was.

And damn, if it wasn’t someone special.

When we got back to the cabin, he let out a big, fake-sounding yawn. “I guess I’ll hit the hay,” he told me. “Prep for my interrogation in the morning.”

“I’ll go easy, I promise,” I said, keeping my tone light to match his. “See you in the morning.”

I went to my own room, staring out at the beautiful landscape, the sky now dotted with stars. It was so beautiful and peaceful here, but I was feeling anything but calm. Instead, I was practically vibrating with pent up tension.

I wanted him. Damn, did I want him.

I still couldn’t explain it, the collision of chemicals and pheromones that put me under his spell, but there was no avoiding the attraction between us. And just how good it would feel to wind up back in his arms again.

Down, girl.

I tried to relax. I went and took a long, luxurious bath in the enormous bathtub, complete with the fanciest of bath bombs and other treats. I put on my pajamas before wrapping myself up in the fluffy white robe that had been left on the back of the bathroom door, then, even though I still wasn’t sleepy, I crawled into the huge bed, burrowing myself under the overstuffed comforter and trying to get to sleep. But I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

Imagining Austin, lying in bed.

Imagining us tangled up there together . . .

Then I heard music.

At first, I though I was just the radio, but as I strained to listen, I realized that it was coming from downstairs. Unable to resist, I padded down the hallway, following the music.

It was a guitar playing, and it kept stopping and starting. I traced it to the room I had found before—Austin’s music room—but this time, the door was slightly ajar. Peering inside, I found Austin sitting at his piano, facing away from it, his guitar in his hands.

He played a few chords, his eyes closed, his forehead scrunched in concentration as his fingers picked lightly over the chords. Slowly, a melody took shape under his expert hands, something slow and melancholy and painfully sweet.

I watched, completely riveted. Was this how he created his songs? I listened as he played some more, experimenting with the chords, humming softly under his breath.

It was, without a doubt, the sexiest thing I had ever seen, and my entire body tightened in response.

I wanted to be beneath those fingertips, feeling the sway of his body, lost in the music.

I leaned too far, and suddenly, the door swung inwards, and I stumbled into the room.

Austin froze.

“Sorry!” I yelped. “I was just, um, getting some water, and I heard you . . .” I gulped. “I didn’t mean to snoop.”

Before he could scold me, I turned on my heels and ran all the way back up to my room. I closed the door behind me, my breath coming fast.

Something told me I wouldn’t be getting any sleep tonight.