The bartender slid my drink across the counter. I caught it with one hand and brought it to my mouth, taking a sip. It wasn't as strong as I would have liked, but it was alcohol, which was all that mattered.

I never needed alcohol to soothe my nerves before a performance, but tonight was different. This was the first concert my band Cherry Lips was headlining since launching our first professional, non-indie album. This was the first night we'd play our new songs in front of a live audience. Tonight had to go well. There was no room for nerves.

Leaning against the bar, I rested my back against the rail. I surveyed the room, taking in the faces of my soon-to-be audience. Almost no one was paying attention to the band on stage. For good reason. They were less than impressive.

As I scanned the room, I caught a flash of wavy, longish, brown hair — a head I’d definitely seen before. It wasn’t one of my bandmates or one of my friends coming to support me tonight. That hair was familiar in another way. I knew this guy from somewhere, but I couldn't place it.

He turned his head. I caught a glimpse of his face. A glimpse of his green eyes. My fingers went numb. I clenched my fist to keep from dropping my glass.

Liam Knight.

The green-eyed man was Liam Knight. The former lead singer of Forever Night.

The man who inspired me years ago to keep going after I'd given up on singing forever.

Cold liquid splashed over my trembling hand. I wiped it on my shirt absentmindedly, not taking my eyes off him.

I'd been staring at him too long. I was going to get caught. I had to look away.

I couldn't make myself.

I owed that man my career. My voice. My sanity, even. I hadn't had nightmares since starting Cherry Lips.

I owed him everything.

I could never let him know.

Darting my eyes to the side, I focused intently on the stage. The last thing I needed was for Liam to find me staring him.

I found myself picking at the nail polish on my left hand. I rubbed my palms against my thighs to stop myself, the leather skirt smooth under my hands. The cherry red lacquer of my nails complimented my hair, and I didn't want it ruined the same day I'd put it on, especially before our set.

I tried to concentrate on the band playing, but my mind wandered back to the first time I'd ever met him.

Would he remember me the way I remembered him? That was unlikely. We only met the one time, years ago, and it wasn't like I was the famous one back then.

I was so absorbed in my thoughts, I didn't notice the crowd parting next to me, or see the person approaching me through the sea of people. I only noticed someone coming up beside me when a firm hand touched my arm.

My shoulders tensed. I made a motion to slap the hand away. I wasn't going to let those handsy club guys think they could get away with pawing at me without my permission.

I stopped, hand still in the air, when I saw who it was.

Liam was next to me, green eyes sparkling with good humor.

"Hey there, Cherry Lips," he said, mouth curling into a smile.

He remembered who I was. That was impossible. A five minute encounter years ago shouldn't have meant anything to a man like him.

But it had.

My left thumb scratched at the nail polish on my index finger. My musical idol was standing right in front of me. I wanted to play it off. Oh, are you a fan? I could say.

But from the glint in his eyes, he knew I recognized him.

"Hey," I said, my voice faltering. "Are you here to watch the show?"

"I'm here to watch you."

My thumb slipped, sharp nail jabbing into skin.

"You've done well for yourself," he continued. "A professional recording contract? Impressive."

I inhaled sharply. "You know about that?"

"Of course," he said, amused. "An indie band shows up on the scene called Cherry Lips and you think I wouldn't take notice?"

"I didn't think I'd made that much of an impression on you," I said.

"You did."

My heart reacted the same way it had years ago.

It fluttered.

Back then, that flutter had been the first time I'd felt anything in a long time.

This moment was only the second time. I'd never felt it since.

But the feeling wasn't unfamiliar — just long forgotten. I'd had those feelings when I was younger. Much younger.

Back when I didn't know any better.

Someone bumped into me from behind. Liam put his arm around my waist, steadying me. The heat of his palm pressed against the small of my back even through my black lace shirt.

Despite my better instincts, I allowed his arm to stay around my waist. I even let myself lean into him. He tightened his grip, hugging me to his side.

"So tell me about that contract," Liam said. "That's a pretty big deal."

"We really scored with that one," I nodded. "But I always knew Cherry Lips would make it."

"Did you?" he asked, amused.

"It's my band," I said. "I'm the driving force behind it all. I won't settle for anything less than world domination."

"Sounds like you've got big dreams," he said.

"They're not just dreams," I said confidently. "I'm going to make it happen. We're already well on our way with our new album and tour."

"You're going on tour?" Liam asked. "That's a big push for a new band."

"Well," I hedged. "It's a local tour. Only cities within a few hours drive. And only for a few weeks." I straightened my back. "But if this goes well, I don't see any reason why they won't sign us on for a second album. That's why tonight's performance is so important to me. It's our first headliner since we went pro. This is the first night we play our new songs in front of a live audience. We're going to blow everyone away."

The amused smile on Liam's face could have been considered condescending, but the glint in his eyes told me something different. He liked that I was boasting. He liked that I was confident.

He bent forward, putting his mouth to my ear so I could hear him over the noise of the club.

"I'm proud of you," he said. "You're really strong up there."

I took in a slow, shaky breath. Not because of lips brushing my skin. Not because of a hand wandering from my back to my hip. I was enjoying the physical sensations, yes, but that wasn't the reason I was so taken aback.

It was the words that were important.

Liam Knight thought I was strong.

The faintest sensation of tears threatened to burn the back of my eyes. I refused to let them fall. I refused to let him know how much those words meant to me.

It shouldn't have affected me that much. I was Cerise Moreau. I was the co-founder and lead singer of up-and-coming, soon-to-be hit rock band Cherry Lips. I was a fucking rock star.

And yet something inside of me, some small broken piece of me, began to mend itself. Sharp fragments began stitching themselves together.

"I should probably get ready," I said. "We're on next." Even I could hear the hesitation, the reluctance in my voice. "Will you be sticking around after the show?"

"I don't normally," he said.

"Oh."

"But maybe this time I will." He winked at me. "I'm going to start shoving my way to the front. I want a spot front and center for this performance."

I watched him disappear back into the crowd. Women everywhere threw lust-filled looks in his direction.

I brutally stamped down on any hints of jealousy threatening to take hold of me.

I headed to the far end of the club and climbed the stairs to go backstage, pushing through the doors. The bodyguard didn't give me a second look. The rest of my band members stood off to the side behind the curtains, waiting for the sign to take the stage. The opening act had filed out and our instruments were already set up. I had almost missed my cue.

My thoughts should have been on my upcoming performance, but I couldn't stop thinking about Liam being out there in the audience, watching me.

"Do you hear that?" My brother Gael, Cherry Lips's bassist, cocked his head towards the audience and cupped his ear in a comically exaggerated motion. "They're calling for us."

I turned my wandering thoughts from Liam to the crowd. Gael was right. The audience was cheering and chanting. Chanting for Cherry Lips.

Elation filled my chest. My veins began to buzz the way they always did before a performance. Our fans were out there, waiting for us. We were going to give them the show of their lives.

One of the crew members nodded, giving us our cue to take the stage.

I closed my eyes. Deep breath in through the nose. And out though the mouth. Again. Then again.

I opened my eyes.

I was ready.

Throwing my shoulders back and exuding confidence, I walked toward the dark stage. I grabbed my guitar with one hand from a waiting tech and I swung it around my shoulders.

I scanned the audience. I wanted to take a look at the faces of the people who so adored me.

I paused.

Off to the side, near the front of the pit but close to backstage, stood Liam. He was speaking to a bodyguard, his lips moving silently to my ears.

But his eyes were on me.

My heart jumped a quick beat. Then another. I almost missed my cue for the first song.

But I was a professional. I quickly and smoothly returned my attention to the stage, intending to put Liam out of my mind for the rest of the night. As long as I didn't look to the side, I could do that.

We finished our performance without any mishaps. The band didn't notice anything was off.

Before we left the stage, we threw guitar picks, water bottles, drumsticks, and other tokens to the audience. It was an ego boost, watching people fight over who got to leave with my guitar pick.

As I left the stage, I rubbed at my wrist.

"Is it bothering you again?" my brother asked.

"A little."

"We can always try to find someone else—"

"I'll be fine," I said. "We don't need any more members for the band. We're good the way we are. I'm just a little overworked."

"There's nothing wrong with hiring a session guitarist to go on tour with us," Gael replied.

"Can we not fight about this now?"

Gael put his arm around my shoulders and tugged me close. "Isn't everything always a fight with you?"

Before I could push my brother away, Nathan called out for him, getting his attention. With one last concerned look, Gael took off to join our bandmate.

Maybe my brother wasn't one hundred percent wrong. Maybe it wouldn't be bad to have someone else play guitar while I sang. I'd be able to have more fun running around on stage if I didn't have to worry about playing. But the band dynamic was great the way it was. I didn't want, or need, anyone else coming in and ruining that.

Now that the performance was over, I made my way back down the stairs, to the pit. A small glimmer of hope sparked inside me. I didn't want to get my hopes up, but maybe…

I pushed through the set of doors. The bodyguard nodded at me. The audience was slowly making their way to the exit. I scanned the room, looking for wavy brown hair. Nothing.

Disheartened, I returned to the backstage. Gael waved at me.

"Nate says we're heading up to that VIP lounge to party," he called out to me. "You joining us?"

"I will in a minute," I said.

First I needed to find the artist lounge and change out of my sweat dampened clothes.

The backstage of the club was like a maze, but since we'd played here a few times, I knew where to go. I maneuvered my way through the chaos, deftly avoiding crew members and equipment. I reached the closed door with a placard announcing it was the artist lounge.

I expected to find the room empty of people, with a few sofas, tables and dressing room stands, along with bottles of water and some snacks for the band members before the show.

I put my hand on the door, opening it.

I took in a sharp breath.

Liam stood in the middle of the room.

I stopped, frozen in the doorway.

The bodyguards and staff had let him through. They must have known who he was, just as I had.

He was waiting for me.

"You were great out there," Liam said. He quirked a half-smile, as if to say great wasn't the word he'd planned on using.

My hearted thumped madly. "Thanks," I replied numbly.

Liam scanned me up and down, gaze lingering in certain, more intimate, places. I was acutely aware of every drop of sweat soaking through my clothes, every stringy piece of hair clinging to my cheeks. I was a mess.

Judging from the heat in Liam's eyes, he liked that mess.

"What did you think of the show?" I asked, aiming for composed and utterly failing. At least I could chalk my labored breath up to the performance. I could pretend it had nothing to do with the way his searching eyes bore into me. "Was it up to your standards?"

"You blew the roof off. I've rarely seen a crowd go that wild for a brand new band."

"We've been hot in the indie scene for a while," I said. "We've got fans from our old days still following us around. They were really excited when we got a record deal."

"The fans sounded like they wanted a second encore."

"Not tonight. The guys are already upstairs on the second floor lounge getting trashed."

"Are you going to join them?" he asked.

"I need a change of clothes first," I said, slowly picking up my bag tucked away in the corner.

Liam's eyes narrowed, turning a dark forest green.

"You need some help with that?" he asked.

I knew exactly what he meant.

The tips of my fingers dragged against the rough texture of my chipped nail polish. I wet my lips, tasting the slick gloss coating them. I considered Liam's offer.

I was bold when it came to the stage, when it came to music.

I wasn't bold when it came to… this.

Liam seemed to sense how awkward I was feeling.

He stepped up to press against me, radiating warmth, his firm chest hot against mine.

I took a deep breath in to steady myself. A warm, woodsy, masculine scent filled my nose.

Damn. He smelled even better than he looked, which should have been impossible.

Forget the fluttering in my stomach. This was a swirling cyclone. A raging storm. This was the beginning of an armageddon ready to destroy every last inch of my resistance.

He tilted his head at me with a knowing smile.

I nodded.

He placed both hands on my arms. I felt every indentation of his fingertips, every whorl, as if it were branded into me. His palms ran up and down in a sensual, soothing motion, from my shoulders to my wrists.

I shivered, my insides turning hot and achy.

He took both my hands in his, lacing our fingers. I curled my fingers around his.

He placed a soft kiss on my neck.

My fingers clenched, squeezing his hands tight. "Wait."

I was surprised to find my voice was steady. No hint of the tempest racing through me.

Liam stopped, his lips still on my skin. I pulled away, untangling our hands. My heart jackhammered in my chest.

"I'm sorry," I said, avoiding his eyes. "I don't think I can…"

"Don't be sorry," Liam said. He tilted my chin up to meet his gaze. He studied me carefully.

"It's just—" I started.

He put a finger to my lips.

"You don't need to explain," Liam said. With a gentle smile, he pressed a kiss to my forehead.

I closed my eyes, breathing deeply.

It was just what? All I knew was that my fight or flight instinct had kicked in and I couldn't figure out why.

"I should go meet up with my band," I said weakly.

Liam nodded. I made a motion toward the door. I stopped.

"Will you be at our next concert?" I asked.

I couldn't just leave. I couldn't let it end like this.

Liam's expression turned regretful, as if he understood the true meaning behind my words.

Will I ever see you again?

"I'm only in town for a short gig," he said.

I could have invited him up to the lounge to party with us for the night.

I could have invited him back to my place.

I didn't.

"I'm glad I ran into you tonight," he said. "I'll be able to say, I knew her when, after you've taken over the world."

"You sound so sure that will happen."

"It will," he said confidently. "Just don't forget about us little people when you're rich and famous." He threw me a crooked smile.

My heart thumped. I quickly slipped out the door, closing it behind me. I rested my back against it. My chest felt tight, like I couldn't get enough air into my lungs, like all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

I was attracted to Liam. He was obviously attracted to me. I wasn't opposed to a random hook up, although it wasn't really my thing. I supposed a one-night stand could be fun. I had no reason to pull away. There was no harm in fooling around, no strings, no attachments.

But there were attachments, weren't there?

He wasn't some random guy I'd picked up at a club. He was Liam Knight, the man who'd saved me from myself. A crush didn't begin to describe the tangle of feelings I had inside me when it came to him.

If I had given in to him, if I had allowed myself to drop my guard…

Turning him down had been for the best, I decided.

All I had to do now was get my heart to agree.