When Seth and I—and Flynn, who’d shadowed me to the beach and back—got back to the house, we discovered that we’d picked up a stalker. A photographer with a giant telephoto lens, camped out in the trees just beyond Woo’s property line. He’d made himself comfy on the other side of the low stone wall that surrounded the back yard. As if we wouldn’t notice him there in the shadows.

Flynn spotted him right away.

“Fucking paparazzi,” Joanie muttered, tromping out onto the patio to meet us, where she’d set out our breakfast. Not that the paparazzo was photographing Joanie; Joanie wasn’t famous. But I could see how feeling like you were being stalked could ruin your meal, regardless.

“You want me to evict?” Flynn asked me. Clearly, he was chomping at the bit to bounce the photographer out on his ass. Probably bored out of his tree and jonesing for a little excitement.

I didn’t exactly enjoy being stalked on my vacation, but I’d learned long ago not to take it personally. Not to let it ruin my meal, much less my day.

“Not yet,” I said. Joanie had taken great pains to make crepes, something she’d been working on mastering, and I was determined to enjoy them with my mimosa and the LA Times online. “I’ll give him something. Then maybe he’ll scurry away.”

I had no love for the paparazzi, but I knew how to play the game. It would be best if we just let him get a few shots of us. Doing absolutely nothing. Maybe after we’d finished eating, I’d paint my nails and Seth could trim his beard.

He wanted to invade our personal time? I could waste his like nobody’s fucking business.

After that, I’d let Flynn go tell him to fuck off. Flynn could be very persuasive.

But Seth hadn’t followed us onto the patio; he’d paused at the gate into the yard, and I turned to watch as he strolled back out toward the tree line—straight on over to the photographer. He had his hands in his pockets, and I watched him chat with the man for a few minutes. Once, he looked back at me.

Then he strolled into the yard and over to me.

“What was that about?” I asked him.

He stood in front of me, shielding me from the photographer with his body.

“I made a deal with him,” he said. “Told him we’ll give him five minutes to take photos of us on the beach, and then he’ll leave us alone for the rest of the time we’re here.”

“Sounds like a good deal,” I said. “For him.”

“It’s a good deal for all of us,” Seth said. “That’s Bob Brazer. He pretty much owns this island among the paparazzi. He’ll let the others know they can’t shoot us either. No one will bother us again.”

“You know him?”

“Met him a few times over the years. Decent guy.”

I snorted in disbelief. I couldn’t say I recognized Bob Whatever; I never really looked at their faces. Just saw their camera lenses ogling me, and I usually kept my distance as much as I could. I didn’t care to form relationships with them like some celebrities did. To me, they were all cockroaches. Bottom-feeders. At least, the ones who spied on me from the bushes while I was on vacation sure as hell were.

“I doubt that,” I said.

“Or I can tell him the deal’s off,” Seth said, “and we can leave him to Flynn.”

I glanced at Flynn. Clearly, he preferred that plan.

“But he might come back,” Seth added. “Or someone else might come along. Now that they know we’re here…”

“No,” I said, glancing from Seth to the photographer. “If you take this guy’s word… I’ll trust it.”

Seth nodded. “Okay.”

“After I finish my breakfast.”

* * *

Almost an hour later, I emerged from the house to find Seth and the photographer talking at the edge of the yard. I was glad to see they were standing outside the stone wall; I didn’t want that guy on Woo’s property. At least he’d changed his camera lens. Since we were actually letting him shoot us, he’d removed the stalker lens and replaced it with a slightly less-intrusive one.

I headed over and Seth met me partway. I’d told Joanie and Flynn to hang back, but let Flynn know he could have words with the photographer if he overstayed his welcome. It was really more of a courtesy mention; Flynn would do exactly that whether I asked him to or not.

Joanie settled in on the patio as we went down to the beach. Flynn stayed back near the rocky path as Seth and I headed out onto the pale, crescent-shaped beach in our bare feet, paparazzo at our heels. I didn’t even look at the man; I didn’t want to meet him.

Once we reached the water, Seth followed my lead into the rippling surf. There were a few other people on the sand, but they were pretty far away, on the other side of the crescent. We stood in the water facing one another, the waves lapping our ankles. Seth’s pants were getting wet. He didn’t seem to care. He was wearing those white pants again… and it occurred to me that I was wearing a white dress.

Great choice. Now it probably looked like Seth and I were getting married on the beach.

Technically the dress was off-white, and it was only knee-length, a pretty, flowy, backless sundress. But I wouldn’t put it past the paparazzi to print whatever they damn well wanted to.

“Can’t wait to see what the caption on this one is,” I said, all sarcasm. Mainly because I was nervous. And not exactly about the photos being published. I really didn’t care much about that.

A long, long time ago, a very wise man—my dad—told me, As long as they put my little girl’s picture in there and get her name right, it doesn’t really matter what they say about her in the article.

In other words, any publicity is good publicity.

And while I could argue that point, given what I’d been through in the media, at the end of the day my dad was right. People were going to say what they were going to say, publish what they were going to publish, and believe what they were going to believe. There wasn’t a hell of a lot, in the end, that I could do about it.

But that never made me nervous anymore. It hadn’t in a long time.

Somewhere around Jesse breaking up with me, I’d pretty much given up on caring what the world at large thought about me. That kind of heartbreak had to be recovered from in private, and I’d learned to tune out the voices of the world.

Had to, if I was going to survive it.

But this… this made me nervous, for some reason. Standing here with Seth. So close to Seth.

He was looking at me, and that made me more nervous. I could feel it, even though I could only sort of see his eyes through his shades. But he was inches from my face.

I glanced over at the photographer, who was standing on the sand, just out of the water. He’d started taking pictures as we stood here, awkwardly. Together, not together.

At least, I felt awkward.

Seth seemed perfectly at ease.

“Maybe we should just start going at it,” he said, and I looked up into his face again. He was smiling a little, the dimple appearing in his cheek. “You know, start making out. They’re gonna say it anyway.”

I laughed, but it was a weirdly nervous sound, and I hugged myself like I was cold, when I wasn’t.

Seth’s smile faded, the dimple disappearing. “I’m kidding, Elle.”

“I know.” He was just trying to lighten the mood, to help me relax. I knew that. But I didn’t look him in the eye.

“I’ll tell him to leave if you want me to,” he said.

“Thank you.”

But after the photographer had taken a few more shots, I let my arms drop.

Then I reached out… and took hold of Seth’s hands.

He let me.

We acted like we were just hanging out, standing in the surf together, gazing out across the beach. But then I found myself, instead, looking straight down the barrel of that camera lens. Facing it, head-on. Because who the hell were they, to judge me?

To judge us?

The media… The band… Any of them. They had no right to judge, and I sure as hell didn’t owe anyone an explanation for my actions.

Or an explanation for however I felt about Seth Brothers.

The more they demanded one… I was just gonna have to tell them all to go fuck themselves. It was no one’s business but mine.

And Seth’s.

I held his hands, loosely, as we posed together, sometimes only our fingers hooked together, or our palms sliding over one another’s as we shifted position… but we never let go.

And something happened on that beach.

I wouldn’t even look at Seth’s face. But I could feel him. Solid as a rock. His steady, mellow energy, like a kind of healing balm to my nerves, the rolling tide of my defensive anger. I could feel his steady heartbeat in his fingers. The soft strength of his touch and the roughness of his callouses.

I could smell him; his warm, beachy, manly smell… strangely familiar.

And sometimes, when his face was close enough to mine, I could hear him breathing over the soft hiss of the waves lapping at our feet.

I could feel his warm breath on my skin when he leaned into me and said, “You look beautiful.”

And I felt the fire rip down my spine.

* * *

“I’m gonna go get another round!”

Joanie shouted at me over the music. Despite my hesitancy to leave the peace and quiet of Woo’s house, I’d let her drag me out tonight. We were at the Blue Tide, this tiny little open-air bar that we usually visited when we came to Kauai. Me, Joanie, and whoever we’d brought with us. In this case, it was Seth. And of course, Flynn, who chose to hang just outside and smoke under the stars, even though we’d invited him in for a drink with us.

Joanie vanished in the direction of the bar, leaving Seth and I at the table. The place was crowded, as usual. The house band played amazing local music, and the small dance floor was jam-packed. We were sitting alongside the dance floor, Seth in his linen pants and a soft white button-up shirt that was unbuttoned halfway, the sleeves rolled up. His olive-toned skin had darkened the last few days in the sun, and he looked like he belonged here.

That thought warmed me: that Seth had somewhere to belong again.

Even if it was only for a few days.

On the small table between us, he was cupping a coffee mug in his hands as he listened to the band. And I had to admit to myself that the main reason I’d picked this bar over the others on the island was the fact that I knew they served fantastic local coffee at all hours of the night. It seemed unfair to take Seth to a bar and drink in front of him if he couldn’t even enjoy a coffee.

He looked over at me, suddenly, like he’d felt me looking at him.

Maybe I’d been staring?

I looked away, watching people dance. My legs were crossed and I was swinging one leg to the music, swaying a little in my seat. I only wished I knew the words so I could sing along.

It had been a long, long time since I’d felt this good. This relaxed.

This carefree.

Since before my relationship with Jesse, probably. Before things got all tense and fucked up, and daily life became a struggle.

Just get through this day without remembering that you had your heart torn out.

Even when I was screwing around with Ash, and we were having fun… the shadow of that heartbreak was still lurking. I was still running from it.

I wasn’t running anymore.

I wasn’t sure when it had happened… If it was flying to Kauai, finally getting some time off, or telling Ash he couldn’t come with me, or telling everyone else to leave me the fuck alone for a few days… But at some point, it had all stopped haunting me. My broken heart. My struggles to work with Jesse and the rest of the band as if it never happened. My failed attempts to move on.

I finally felt free of it all.

“We should dance.” I felt Seth’s warm breath on my ear. I turned to look at him; he’d leaned over the table and his face was close to mine. I could see the gold rings around the pupils in his eyes, like fire smoldering through smoke.

And I wanted to dance. With him.

Joanie returned with two ridiculously-girlie pink cocktails in hurricane glasses, setting them down between us. “The waitress will bring more coffee by,” she told Seth.

Seth was still looking at me. I nodded at him, and he stood up, extending his hand to me. I swigged some pink drink, then got to my feet, slipping my hand into his.

“We’re dancing,” I told Joanie. “You wanna come?”

“Nope.” She waved us off. “Not drunk enough.”

I snickered and shook my head; Joanie was never drunk enough to dance.

I followed Seth as he drew me onto the dance floor. The music was upbeat, mid-tempo. Feel-good music; the easiest music in the world to dance to. And the dance floor was just crowded enough that we had little choice but to dance close to one another.

Really close.

And I couldn’t say I minded it. I could feel the heat off Seth’s body. His mellow, easy energy. He guided me as we moved, taking the lead. We danced together, but he didn’t actually touch me. Other than occasionally brushing into me as the crowd shifted and forced us closer, he didn’t touch me at all.

And I was kind of… disappointed.

Because the truth was I kinda wanted to touch him.

But if he wasn’t gonna put his hands on me, I wasn’t gonna make the first move.

Maybe I was just high on the music. Caught up in the dancing. I’d very possibly had a few too many of those giant fruity cocktails with the little umbrellas.

But I wasn’t exactly new to this game.

How many times had I been dancing and drinking backstage or at some party or club and had men—hot, hot men—rubbing all up on me? That didn’t mean I was just gonna lose my shit and spread my legs for every last one of them.

I knew far, far better than that.

I’d always been kinda choosey with men, and I’d learned over the years to become extra choosey. Careful about who I let into my world. And discreet.

Fame had pretty much made that a necessity.

Yet I wasn’t exactly being discreet now. I wasn’t even sure why. Why I felt comfortable enough to dance with Seth in public. Sure, it was just some little hole-in-the-wall bar where everyone was dancing and no one seemed to notice or care who or what I was, but I was comfortable.

I was more than comfortable.

Comfortable enough to start dirty dancing with Seth Brothers. If he wanted to.

The odd thing about that was, Seth wasn’t rubbing up on me. He was very pointedly keeping his hands—and everything else—to himself.

It was so beyond my frame of reference, I almost didn’t know what to do with myself. I was used to dancing as a form of foreplay. A pick-up ritual.

Seth was not trying to pick me up.

He was just dancing with me.

I’d always found it incredibly sexy when a man could dance… and Seth Brothers could always dance. I’d kinda forgotten that about him. Maybe I’d forgotten a lot of things, in the end.

Maybe I’d wanted to forget, so I wouldn’t have to feel so guilty.

But as we worked up a sweat on that dance floor, and he eventually did touch me, swinging me around and even rocking with me, slowly, his hips brushing—just barely—against mine, it all came back to me in a rush.

I used to dance with Seth a lot. Mainly because the other guys in the band didn’t dance. Dylan had two left feet on a dance floor, Zane just wasn’t that into dancing, and Jesse… well, Jesse pretty much preferred to watch.

So I would find myself dancing with Seth at parties and bars when we hung out, because I liked having a man to dance with. Someone who was really good at it, but who I didn’t have to worry was gonna grope me. So I could just be free to lose myself in the music.

Though I never really thought to wonder, until now, why Seth would always dance with me.

I just assumed he loved to dance.

He’d touched me, sometimes, while we were dancing—to spin me around or dip me when we were goofing off, or lead me deeper into the crowd, or whatever. But that was it. He’d never even tried to grope me back then.

Just like he didn’t tonight.

But back then, it didn’t bother me that Seth didn’t try to grope me. The possibility of being groped by Seth just wasn’t on my radar. Maybe it was just me being a slightly naive nineteen-year-old, but I really didn’t think it had occurred to him to be interested in me that way.

Or maybe it just hadn’t occurred to me that he might be.

Back then, it hadn’t occurred to me to try to grope him, either.

Why not?

I had that question stuck in my mind as I danced with Seth now. As I watched his hooded, smoky eyes… the way they moved over me. The way he watched me dance, like he was kinda trying not to. Like he couldn’t resist watching.

Then I remembered.

Because he was a junkie.

And even if he wasn’t… I had that pesky little rule about not getting involved with my bandmates. A rule that, admittedly, Zane had butted up against more than once when we were teenagers and didn’t yet know each other well. When he’d tried to hit that—and failed. But Zane had never been as respectful about such things as Seth.

And then, of course, there was Jesse.

I’d had a crush on Jesse Mayes since pretty much day one. But the same rule I applied to Zane, and Seth, and Dylan, had to apply to Jesse. Until it didn’t… and two years ago, I jumped off that cliff with him.

Bottoming out on that, alone—after Jesse dumped me—hardly felt worth it now.

Would it be worth it in the morning if I jumped Seth Brothers tonight?

My cocktail-buzzed mind had no answer to that.

So we danced and we danced… and then, eventually, we went back to the house and I went to bed.

Alone.