As I left the interview room, Noah was still bickering with Naomi. She had asked me to step out of the room while she and Noah discussed a few details. I wanted to get out of there before I snapped at him again. What a great way to start our working business relationship.

Relationship. I could feel my cheeks heating up. Not exactly the word I wanted to use when thinking about Noah Hart and myself. We would be working together. That was all.

Of course, my body was showing interest in Noah in ways that it hadn't in a long time.

I was torn between terror and excitement. Putting aside the way my insides gushed when I was near him, there was more than one reason why I should feel worried.

It wasn't so much that Noah clearly resented being forced to work with me. I could deal with that. In college I'd been forced to pair up with fellow students who I had nothing in common with, people I might not have chosen to work with, people I might have clashed with in previous years. Still, I'd managed to be professional and had learned to work with people of all sorts.

Working with a lyricist who was dealing with the musical equivalent of writer's block wasn't all that bad in comparison.

It was that I was supposed to be writing a song for Noah Hart, lead singer of Darkest Days. Noah Hart, the soulful, romantic poet whose lyrics spoke to my very soul. I was supposed to be writing a song with the man who made me the person I was today. The man who saved me during my darkest days.

It was cliched and dramatic, but it was also true.

And I was supposed to write a song with him.

No way. There was no way in the world I was good enough to do something like that. As far as I was concerned, Noah was a god. I was a student barely out of college. Sure, I was pretty good when it came to composing, but I was nowhere near the level it took to work with someone like Noah Hart.

Why had I said yes? Why had I even bothered to show up for this interview? I should have told my professor no. There were dozens of other students I could name who would be a million times better than me for this kind of job.

I gave my head a vicious shake. I couldn't let my insecurities get the best of me. This was the opportunity of a lifetime.

But Noah was right. I was a fangirl. I'd been able to hold my own against him so far, but what if I broke down and panted at his feet like my body wanted me to? What if I couldn't control my arousal and embarrassed myself in front of him? What if Noah knew exactly how much I wanted him, and used that against me?

No. I wasn't going to let that happen. I was going to take this chance and I was going to excel. I was going to write the best goddamn rock song the world had ever heard.

All the emotional whiplash was beginning to give me a headache when Noah and Naomi walked out of the room.

"Thank you for waiting, " Naomi told me. "Everything's been sorted. I'll leave you with Noah to work out the details." She shot him a look that clearly said behave before leaving.

Noah stared at me with his arms crossed over his chest. "Congratulations," he said. "I suppose you get to live the dream."

"Excuse me?"

"Doesn't every fangirl wish she could sink her claws into Noah Fucking Hart?" he said, using the nickname fans had come up with.

My cheeks flushed, half in anger and half in shame. He wasn't exactly wrong.

"I'm not sinking my claws into anything. I'm here to do a job. I'm going to work with you whether you like it or not."

His eyes were dark and intense. "I don't like it."

"Gee, I couldn't tell. Maybe you should try to be a little less subtle. Maybe try telling me straight to my face that you resent me being foisted upon you. I really had no idea up until this very moment."

His eyes burned with irritation. I bit my tongue. Why had I mouthed off? At least that was better than melting into a puddle at his feet.

"This is my first real job in the music industry," I told him. "I want to do well. You may not want to work with me, but in this case being a fan is a help, not a hindrance. I love your music. I'm going to do my best to fulfill your vision."

"I suppose it might work," he said grudgingly. "You can't be worse than any of the others."

"Why?" I asked with trepidation. "What was wrong with the others?"

"Everything," he shot back. "They had no talent. They were hacks."

"I promise I'll try to live up to your high standards, then."

"Good." He looked away, eyes sliding away from mine to gaze up at the ceiling. "Because Naomi says I have to work with you or else."

"Or else what?" I couldn't imagine anyone trying to tell Noah what to do. Then again, he had listened to her in the meeting. As his manager, she must have had something to hold over his head.

Noah's mouth twisted in distaste. "Or else she'll tell August," he said, referring to August Summers, the band's drummer, main composer and founding member.

"Would that be so bad?"

"Hell yes."

"Why don't you want your bandmates to know?"

He didn’t saying anything, his expression awkwardly self-conscious.

Noah was trying to hide his problems from the rest of the band, but I didn't know why. Now it made sense.

"You don't want them feeling sorry for you? Or are you worried they'll think less of you?"

He clenched his fist. "Don't try to psychoanalyze me. We're working on a song together. That's it."

"I know you're a literary genius, but I'm sure the guys don't expect you to be some master composer as well." I tried to reassure him, as if the words of one fangirl would ever hold meaning for him.

Noah shot me a look, almost unbelieving for a brief moment. He stalked towards me, making me back up. He got right up in my face. It would have been intimidating, if it weren't for the fire in his eyes.

I suppressed a shudder as that now familiar heat hit my gut, centering between my legs. It wasn't because he was famous, or because he was talented. This man was capable of setting me aflame, in a way that had nothing to do with his status and everything to do with the way his dark eyes pierced me down to my very bones, threatening to scorch me from the inside out. Like he was seeing inside my very soul. Like he could see parts of me that had been buried deep and hidden for years.

Because of his lyrics, I always felt like I knew Noah Hart, even though we'd never met.

When he stared at me like that, it felt like he knew me, too.

"A literary genius? Is that really how you think of me?" He leaned closer, tilting his head.

"Doesn't everyone?" I bit my lip to keep from saying any more. He didn't need to know exactly how I felt about him. He didn't need to know I worshipped him like a god.

He didn't need to know I wanted to lick every inch of his body right then and there.

His eyes fell to my lips. His own eyes darkened, pupils dilating. "No wonder you're so eager to work with me." He flicked his eyes up to mine again. "You got a fangirl crush?" I could tell he was trying to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding almost curious.

"Crush is a juvenile word," I said, my voice shaky. "Teenagers have crushes."

"Then what exactly do you have?"

"Professional admiration."

He leaned closer, his lips nearly touching mine. "Is that it?"

"Y-yes." I stammered. "What else would it be?"

His eyes were bright and burning. It reminded me of that first moment when I'd seen him sitting at that piano, furiously scribbling down notes on his music sheet, trying to compose but somehow unable to.

My heartbeat raced. That look was the same one I'd seen on stage dozens of times. The passionate poet Noah Hart. That was the man I wanted to work with. That was the man who ignited such desire inside me. The cold Noah I'd seen in that meeting was nowhere to be found in those eyes. I could only see the fire burning inside of them, matching the fire burning inside of me.

His gaze trailed down my face, pausing on my lips again. I wet them unconsciously. His fire raged even brighter. He placed a hand beside my head on the wall, boxing me in.

"Don't get any ideas." His words were low in his chest. "You're going to play music. I'm going to write down lyrics. That's it."

A shiver went through my body. The difference between the coldness in his words and the heat in his eyes had me trembling.

I couldn't keep reacting like this. I steeled myself, locking my shaky knees and straightening my back. I looked him straight in the eye.

"And what kind of ideas do you think I'm getting?"

"The kind all fangirls get when they come face to face with their idol. You're wondering if I’m as big as you've heard. You're wondering what it would be like to have me fuck you."

I nearly whimpered at his words. Warm, wet heat flooded my body.

But despite my inner feelings, I was going to act professional if it killed me. I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice.

"Don't you get any ideas. I'm here to do a job, not throw myself at some rock star."

"Don't lie." The warmth of his breath caressed my lips. His eyes were dark and glinting. "You're thinking about spreading your legs for me right here and now."

God but he was right. I ached inside, throbbing and empty. The fact that we were in the middle of a hallway in public meant nothing to me. If he made a move right now I had no doubt I'd succumb.

I took in a shallow breath and forced myself to meet his eyes. Despite the longing between my legs, I wasn't going to fall at his feet like all the other girls.

"I'm here to work, not to play groupie." I placed a hand on his chest, putting some distance between us. The heat coming off his body was incredible. I felt every firm muscle of his chest under my palm. My brain threatened to fog up. I filed the sensations away to examine later.

He let me push him away, slowly backing off. I leaned against the wall, trying to fake a casual pose. In reality, I needed something to keep myself upright on shaky legs. He studied me, a curious look despite the heat of his eyes.

"Fine then," he said. "If you're here to work, meet me at eight tomorrow."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, in the morning," he said impatiently.

"Don't rock stars party all night and sleep until noon?"

"Not when they've got an album deadline, apparently," he muttered. "The room you found me in was on the fourth floor. I'll be there working tomorrow." He gave me one last heated look. "Don't be late."

He strode off, leaving me reeling. Leaving me wanting. The quivering in my stomach wouldn't abate.

Noah was so prickly, but those looks he gave me, the words he spoke to me, only caused the simmering tension between us to rise higher with every encounter. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me. He knew I was lusting after him.

And despite his words to the contrary, I had a feeling Noah Hart didn't mind in the least.

* * *