I figured pancakes were a safe bet. Innocent. Wholesome. But Austin was looking at me across the breakfast table like he wanted to pour maple syrup all over my body and lick it off.

Or maybe I was just projecting.

“So what do you want to do today?” he asked. I thought about spending all day cooped up in the cabin with him, just feet away from those comfy beds, and gulped.

“Maybe we should go for a hike,” I suggested brightly.

I knew that if we stayed in the cabin, something was going to happen. Better that we get away from the beds, and any other comfortable surface. But Austin looked skeptical.

“A hike?”

“Unless you’d rather just stay here and have me pepper you with questions all morning.” I offered him a grin.

“A hike sounds good,” he told me quickly.

“Great,” I said, getting up from the table. “Why don’t I get ready—and you can do the dishes.”

He looked around at the mess I had created—no one could ever accuse me of being organized (or skilled) in the kitchen—and gave a slow nod. I headed to my room and quickly changed into as many layers of clothing as possible. Fifteen minutes later we were outside, walking down the long driveway.

“There’s a good trail about a ten-minute walk from here,” Austin told me.

“Sounds great,” I responded, already feeling more in control of my raging hormones.

It was a beautiful spring day, and I was happy to be outside. I loved hiking and being outdoors, but I never got a chance to do much of either in New York. There were, of course, the occasional trips to Central Park when I could manage it, but for the most part, I felt like I spent most of my time at my desk or behind my computer in my apartment or in a coffee shop. There just wasn’t a lot of time to do something like this. A day outside felt like a luxury.

“So . . .” I followed him down the path. “Are you excited about the new release?”

He glanced back at me. “Is this on the record?” he asked.

I held up my hands. “I’m not recording it, if that’s what you’re asking,” I told him. “But I would like to be able to use this in the article.” I gave him a pointed look. “You did promise.”

He let out a sigh. “I know.”

“Why are you so reluctant to talk about your music?” I wanted to know. “Wasn’t this whole ChatBuzz thing your idea in the first place?”

“I only wanted to use ChatBuzz because you work for them,” he corrected me. “I wouldn’t have touched them with a ten-foot pole if you didn’t.”

I didn’t know if I should be complimented.

“Zoey—my manager—convinced me I need to do some sort of press for this album,” he continued. “And I know that even when I disagree with her, she’s usually right.”

“Well, she’s definitely right about this,” I told him. “What good is releasing new music if no one knows about it? And people are excited to hear your new work.”

“That’s what Zoey says too,” Austin confessed.

“Zoey is very smart,” I said, thinking more highly of his manager by the minute.

“She is,” Austin agreed readily. “Way smarter than me.”

“What, like that’s hard?” I asked, channeling Elle Woods a little.

Austin chuckled. “I guess not.”

We had reached the start of the hike, a muddy trail that led up into the hills. It was green and beautiful out, the sun shining and the temperature perfect for this kind of activity. Some clouds—thick and gray—hung around the horizon, but they seemed to be keeping their distance.

We walked in silence for a bit. I was enjoying the scenery—not just the natural beauty that surrounded us, but the occasional glance I dared in Austin’s direction. He was so hot that it almost hurt to look at him—his handsome profile lit perfectly by the sun, his tight T-shirt just beginning to stick to his skin as the hike got more intense and we both started breathing a little heavier. I also didn’t mind the way his jeans showed off his legs—I had never thought much about a guy’s legs, but Austin’s were pretty sexy. Or maybe it was just him.

I tried not to think about it, but after last night, after seeing him in his element, with his instruments, completely in his own zone, I was having a hard time keeping my hormones under control.

“Getting tired?” Austin asked.

“Not a chance,” I told him, even though I was.

It was a tough hike, and no doubt Austin had chosen it because it wasn’t easy to follow the steep trail and talk at the same time. But I wasn’t one to take a challenge sitting down.

“Tell me about the new album,” I said, trying to keep my voice even, though my lungs were straining for air and it took everything I had to keep from huffing and puffing as we climbed.

“It’s twelve brand new songs.” He didn’t sound out of breath at all.

“Same kind of stuff you were doing with Method of Madness?” I wanted to know.

“Sort of,” he said with a shrug. “Not really. I really tried to start over with this album.”

“Bad breakup?” I asked.

“We just decided to try new things,” he responded, giving me the same pat answer that I’d seen him give over the past year.

No one knew why Method of Madness had broken up. All the stories about an amicable split seemed very suspicious, and I knew that if I could find out the real reason it had happened, my article would become a must-read. But I also felt a little bad about forcing Austin to talk about something he clearly did not want to talk about.

Not like he really wanted to talk about anything.

“Can I ask you something?” I stopped and turned to face him.

“Isn’t that what you’ve been doing this whole time?” he wanted to know.

I crossed my arms, hopefully showing him that I meant business. He sighed.

“Shoot,” he said, gesturing towards himself as I might actually shoot him. As if answering questions was as painful as that.

“If you hate talking about your music and you hate doing press, why release another album? Why go to all the trouble of writing new music if you don’t want to promote it? You clearly don’t need to write music to make money. Why not just stay in your cabin and write music for yourself if you hate the spotlight so much?”

He didn’t say anything for a moment, but I could tell my question had caught him off guard.

“I know it makes me seem like a bit of a spoiled brat,” he finally said, clearly choosing his words carefully. “But a part of me wishes that I could have a career in music without the fame.” He looked rueful. “I love making music, and I love sharing it with my fans—and I know that you and Zoey are right, that in order to share it, I have to share myself. I just—” He searched for the words. “I guess, I wish I could avoid all the drama and the gossip that comes with the rest of it.”

He sighed. “I know that I’m really, really lucky to be where I am. And I know that I sound ungrateful to complain about the things that come with that success, but sometimes, I just wish the music could be the focus. I wish I didn’t have to talk about my personal life or my former band, or anything that doesn’t have to do with the music I’m making right now. I wish the music could just be enough. It’s a catch-22,” Austin continued. “And I know I don’t really have any right to complain, but you asked, and that’s my answer—as selfish as it makes me sound.”

“I don’t think you sound selfish,” I told him gently.

He arched an eyebrow. “No?”

“Privacy shouldn’t be a privilege,” I said. “And you’re right, you shouldn’t have to carve out pieces of yourself just because you want to share your music with the world.”

Austin looked relieved. “It’s the trade-off. Always has been.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s right,” I said.

“Those kinds of comments could put you out of a job,” he teased. “Siding with your subject against the media.”

“I’m not on anyone’s side!” I protested quickly. “But a good journalist tries to see everyone’s story.”

Austin smiled. “Of course you do.”

I caught his eye and felt that heat surge between us. Damn. Beds or no beds, I couldn’t escape the chemistry if I tried. I needed a cold shower. And thankfully, the powers that be agreed.

I felt a raindrop, followed quickly by another. And then another.

“Fuck,” Austin swore lowly—the sound way too sexy for my comfort—but he didn’t seem particularly upset about the sprinkle of raindrops. I wasn’t either—I loved the rain—and a rainstorm in spring was always beautiful and refreshing. So at first, I just tilted my head up towards the sky, tasting the raindrops as they fell.

When I opened my eyes, I found that Austin had been watching me again. A combination of raindrops and sweat had his shirt sticking tight to his skin, his jeans equally molded to his body. I shivered a little, but not because I was cold—just the opposite. The look in Austin’s eyes had me on fire. He looked like he wanted to strip my clothes off and lick every last raindrop from my body.

And I wanted him to do that. Desperately.

But it quickly became clear that this was no mild spring storm—nothing like the romantic caught-in-the-rain scene that often played out in romantic comedies. Instead, this was a downpour. The kind that doesn’t look good on anyone. Pretty soon, rain was coming down fast and hard. Within minutes my clothes were soaked, my hair plastered to my head, my feet drowning in my sneakers.

“We should head back,” Austin said, blinking against the rain falling into his eyes.

“Fast!” I nodded, this time shivering from the cold. My clothes were already heavy and sodden, my hair dripping down my back.

We began the long walk down at a fast pace, focusing on staying upright as the path became muddier and more difficult to navigate. I slipped several times, even landing on my ass in the mud twice. Not exactly my finest moment. With mud smeared across the back of my shorts, my shoes nearly unrecognizable after being caked in dirt, and my skin cold and clammy, I was miserable by the time we finally returned to the cabin.

“Wow,” I gasped, hurtling through the door after him as the first boom of thunder rang out across the valley. “That got real!”

“Hold on, I’ll find us some towels.” Austin disappeared into the laundry room, and reappeared with two fluffy ones. I winced at messing up the pristine white—and dripping on his floors—but he didn’t seem to mind as I tugged off my shoes and blotted my face. I couldn’t stop shivering, and I hoped I could get warm before I came down with a chill.

“We need to get you warm.”

I looked up. Austin had stripped off his shirt in the hallway and was toweling himself off. I couldn’t help but stare.

His upper body looked as if it had been chiseled out of marble. It was absolutely gorgeous, each muscle defined, flexing as he lifted his arms to dry off his hair. Droplets of water slid down his shoulders, down his rock-hard pecs, and further still over his six-pack abs. One lucky droplet of water finally disappeared behind the elastic band of his shorts. I wanted to follow that droplet of water with my tongue.

Austin cleared his throat, and I looked up to find that my ogling had not gone unnoticed. That heat was still burning in his eyes, and when I glanced back down, I noticed that there was a very obvious, very flattering bulge straining against his shorts.

My mouth went dry.

He wanted me, too. There was absolutely no denying that.

“You need to get those wet clothes off,” he finally said.

I reached for the hem of my shirt, but he took a step back.

“I should go change too,” he said, clearly trying to put distance between us.

I would have been insulted, if it weren’t for his still-obvious erection.

“You should take a shower first,” he suggested, holding the towel up between us as if he was a bullfighter and I was a bull. Ready to attack.

He wasn’t that wrong.

I almost suggested that we do the planet a favor and share the shower, but he had turned and headed up to his room before I could.

Wrapping my own towel around my soaked body, I went up the stairs to my own room, feeling strangely pleased with myself. Sure, Austin had practically run away when I attempted to strip in front of him, but it wasn’t because he wasn’t interested.

He was interested. He was very, very interested.

Once I reached the bathroom, I stripped off my wet clothes and stepped into the blissfully hot water. Once my clammy skin had been warmed and my body temperature returned to normal, I washed my hair and body with all the fancy bath supplies that were readily available. Smelling sweet, my skin soft, I wrapped myself in another one of the super comfy robes.

As I toweled off, I heard music again, coming from downstairs. This time, I didn’t hesitate.

Austin was sitting at his piano, his back towards the door, which this time had been left wide open. Still, I paused in the doorway a moment, just watching him.

He’d changed into some comfy-looking sweatpants and a soft cotton T-shirt. His hair was damp, the ends of it wetting the neckline of his shirt. He was completely focused on the piano, head bent in concentration as he picked out the notes. It wasn’t a piece I had ever heard before, but it was clearly one that Austin had played over and over and over again.

He played the whole piece, and then when he was done, without looking up or back at me, gestured for me to join him.

How he had known I was standing there, I had no idea.

But I came into the room anyways, taking a seat next to him on the piano bench. “That was beautiful,” I said softly.

He was still looking down at the piano keys, giving me the opportunity to observe him. To take him in. Something I never, ever got tired of doing.

His profile was gorgeous—a strong jawline, a nose that would make a Roman statue weep, and firm, full lips. Lips I desperately wanted to kiss. Again. And again. And again.

And I knew it didn’t matter what I told myself. Rules and professionalism didn’t matter any more. The only thing that mattered was him.

“You have to stop looking at me like that,” Austin said.

His voice was thick with tension, and he still hadn’t looked at me.

“Like what?” I asked, even though I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“Like trouble,” he told his piano keys.

My pulse was racing, but I forced myself to be brave. I moved my hand, and rested it lightly on his shoulder.

Austin swore—this time it was harsher. Sexier.

Then he looked up at me.

His eyes flashed with desire, and fuck, it was more than I could stand. I don’t know who moved first, but the minute our lips touched, I knew this wasn’t going to end the way our last kisses had.

This time we weren’t going to stop.

Austin’s mouth was firm against mine, his kiss demanding and intense. His hands tangled in my wet hair, his tongue thrusting against mine. This was a kiss that meant business. My own hands were fisted in his shirt, making sure that he couldn’t pull away. I wanted him so much that my entire body was vibrating.

His palm cupped my cheek, angling my face so that he could deepen the kiss. I tasted rain and whiskey and Austin. It was intoxicating.

But we were sitting side by side on a piano bench, our legs trapped under the piano together. It made for an awkward angle for both of us.

I shifted my body, trying to turn towards him, but he pulled away.

“This is a mistake,” he said, his voice raspy.

“No,” I told him, my heart catching. “No, it isn’t.”

He looked at me, that inscrutable look making me doubt myself for a moment. But then I saw something flash in his gaze, a truth he couldn’t hide, even if he tried.

“You want me,” I said simply. “Don’t pretend it’s not true.”

“That was never the issue,” he said, sending a thrill through me.

“Good,” I said, moving so I could straddle him on the bench.

The moment my body made contact with his, hard against soft, we both let out a moan. It felt so good that I couldn’t help rolling my hips against his. Austin gripped my ass, his fingernails digging into my skin. For a moment I thought he might push me away, but instead, he pulled my body against his. Hard.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “The things I want to do to you.”

I pressed my mouth against his throat, my lips near his ear.

“Show me.”