I barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes I saw Mia. Back in college, so innocent that first time I kissed her. The other night, eyes flashing in the parking lot. But the worst fantasy—or the best—was the one the flooded my brain last night, when I caught her listening in on my songwriting session.

She had been wearing a pair of cute little shorts and a tank top, short enough to show a strip of skin and her belly button. I had always found Mia incredibly beautiful—her lean, athletic body, strong, shapely legs, and silky straight hair. But something about seeing her in those pajamas ratcheted my desire up to eleven. Maybe it was how sweet she looked, a tempting contrast to how badass and tough I knew she was. Or maybe it was because she was still completely off limits. Either way, I just wanted to eat her up.

Slowly.

In my fantasies, I imagined pulling her into the room and dragging her down to the floor. I fantasized about stripping off her tank top and those tiny shorts and feasting on her glorious body, starting at her pert, perfect breasts and making my way to her smooth, flat stomach, before going lower, between those creamy thighs.

Damn, even a cold shower couldn’t help my raging hard-on. I spent half the night trying to relieve the pressure, but nothing was good enough compared to her. When my phone finally rang at six a.m., it was a welcome relief.

“Talk to me,” I said, seeing it was Zoey on the other end of the line.

“You’re up?” She sounded surprised. “I was just going to leave you annoying voicemails.”

“I’m up.” I glanced down at my morning glory. “I’m definitely up.”

“Then we should discuss the release schedule. People are excited,” Zoey told me. “Everyone is desperate to hear the new material. I even posted round-the-clock security at the studio, in case anyone tried to break in.”

“Are you sure this is the best strategy?” I asked, even though we had discussed it dozens of times. “What if it doesn’t live up to the hype? What if people are disappointed?”

“They won’t be,” Zoey said, with more confidence than I felt. “The music is good. And you saw the reaction in Boston—people are excited for you to come back.”

“I just played covers of old songs,” I reminded her.

“But you played them in the style of the new music you’re releasing,” she countered. “And people ate it up. They’re going to go crazy for the new album.”

We talked about it a little more, with Zoey—as she always did—managing to calm me down. Every time I spoke to her, the more reassured I was that I had made the right decision in hiring her as my manager. Sometimes I worried that I had done it in an effort to atone for what happened with Method of Madness—the way the women in our orbit were treated—but the longer she worked for me, the more I realized that even if it had originally been to make myself feel better, Zoey was absolutely the best person for the job, and I couldn’t imagine embarking on this new musical journey without her.

Now if only I could say that for everyone else who had been hurt in the wake of the band’s demise.

My body still humming with thoughts of Mia and her tempting short shorts, I threw myself into another ice-cold shower, hoping that it would calm me down. When that didn’t work, I subjected myself to a punishing three-mile run, forcing my body to focus on something else besides Mia’s body.

Because she—and her body—were completely off limits.

Luke was trusting me to protect his sister. He didn’t know that I was the person who she most needed to be protected from.

But out of all of the tactics I had used to tame my lust, thinking of how hurt and disappointed Luke would be was the most effective of them all. He was like a brother to me, and I wasn’t about to betray that trust.

I would have to keep my hands to myself.

I reminded myself of that when I returned from my run, thinking that it would be enough to keep my dirty thoughts at bay. I was pretty sure that I had it all under control, until I walked into the kitchen and saw Mia.

Making pancakes. In those goddamn short shorts.

This was a fantasy I hadn’t even thought to imagine. And it was my current reality.

She had her back towards me, humming some song under her breath and moving her hips to the beat of the song. Her body was incredible, lean but with the kind of curves that fit a man’s hand—her hips and ass displayed to perfection in those PJs. She had made a complete mess of the kitchen, and I could see flour smeared on her legs and the side of her shirt. There were a pile of burned pancakes on a plate on the counter, next to a pile of pancakes that seemed actually edible. Mia mixed the batter, her hips swaying.

It was without a doubt the sexiest thing I had ever seen.

I cleared my throat and she spun around. She still had the spoon in her hand, so the batter spun with her, splattering across the fridge and the front of my shirt.

“Shit!” she cried, grabbing a towel and moving towards me.

Before she could make contact, however, I snagged the towel from her hand and used it on myself. There was no way I could let her touch me. If she did, it would all go downhill. Fast.

“Breakfast is ready,” Mia said brightly “Do you want to eat now or take a shower first?” She wrinkled her nose. “You should probably pick the shower.”

“I can eat now,” I told her. “Don’t want it to get cold.” If being a stinking, sweaty mess would keep her away from me, then bring it on.

“Suit yourself.” Mia piled both our plates high with pancakes, and took them over to the table.

“I didn’t know I had any pancake mix,” I commented, watching as she slathered butter on her pile and then covered it with a thick layer of syrup.

“You didn’t,” she told me. “It’s my secret recipe.”

“Since when do you cook?”

“Since I preferred to spend my food budget on vintage clothes,” Mia grinned. “I’m nothing compared to Grace, my roommate, but I can make a mean taco spread when I need.”

“These are great,” I said, digging in. And they were. I’d been living off delivery and room service for a while, and I was surprised she’d even found ingredients in the kitchen. “Did you sleep OK?”

“Great!” she responded brightly. “Like a baby. I wonder why they say that?” she added, frowning. “Most babies I know scream all night long. But anyway, that bed is so comfortable, I never wanted to get up. Be careful, I might never leave.”

She smiled at me, sunny and light, and damn, if that thought didn’t sound pretty great. Mia, in my bed, for the rest of the weekend. Or month.

Or forever.

I grabbed another fork of pancakes and stuffed it in my mouth. What was I thinking? Mia was off limits, and had no business in my bed. I just needed to get through this interview and record launch, and we could go our separate ways again.

With any luck, I wouldn’t see her for another eight years.

So why did that idea feel so wrong?