My phone blares out, abruptly waking me. I almost knock over a lampshade on the nightstand as I turn to my left to reach for it. One missed call from Monica, quickly followed by a text before my eyes can readjust from sleep:

Shit.

I look down at Jay. He’s fast asleep.

My heart beats in that familiar hyped rhythm every time I see him, only now it’s magnified by the realization of what’s just happened.

Jay Tyler.

His kiss . . .

His touch . . .

The masterful climax he gave me . . .

The warmth of his naked, Adonis-like body snuggled against mine.

This is all so surreal. I can’t help thinking this must be one of those dreams within a dream type of thing. Quite literally I have to pinch myself to make sure it’s not. Squeezing an inch of skin between my thumb and forefinger, I yelp. Yep, this is real all right.

Jay’s body is turned away from me. His head is nestled into a plump pillow and his breathing is calm and regular. As I hover over him to take a closer inspection, I see a slight smile ride across his lips—just a hint of contentment perhaps?

I could stay here—in this hotel, in this bed—with him forever.

I text Monica back:

I sigh and switch my phone off. I could do without her calling back and giving me an interrogation. My head is clouded enough from the craziness of the last few hours.

Resigned to the fact we have to make tracks, I place my palms gently upon on Jay’s muscular shoulders and try to rouse him from sleep. “Jay.”

Slowly turning his head toward me, eyes still closed, his faint smile now stretches into a full blown one. “Morning . . .”

“Jay,” I whisper. “We’re late for sound check.”

He half opens one eye and reaches for me. “Fuck sound check.” Before I can reason with him, he pulls me down. His hard, taut body feels sensational against my curves. I feel a second wave of excitement build in the pit of my belly, as he presses his groin to mine.

I heat, desperate for him to consume me again . . . own me . . .

No. One of us has to be sensible.

Somehow, I manage to find the willpower to pull away from his warm embrace and roll out of bed. Using a pillow to shield as much of my body as I can, I scoop up my clothes, which lie in a sorry heap on the floor, and run to the bathroom to quickly freshen up.

“I’ve seen it all before,” he calls out, chuckling. “No need to be shy, baby.”

Baby?

I can’t believe Jay Tyler—rock star and sex god—just called me baby!

* * *

“Oh my god,” Monica enthuses. “You guys actually—?”

I nod, chewing the inside of my mouth just thinking about it.

“Holy shit!” she shouts, her eyes widening.

I grab the cuff of her shirt and pull her in close to stop her drawing attention to us. She swats my hand away. “Uh-uh. I want to hear every sordid detail . . . you bad girl!”

A goofy smile explodes across my face. “Well, we—”

“FUCK! THIS!”

We both snap our heads toward the direction of the stage. Jay paces up and down the length of it, looking like a rabid animal.

Monica frowns. “What’s up with him?”

It’s soon clear that Jay’s outburst was directed at Greg. Jay squares up to Greg behind the drum kit. “This sounds like shit. What the fuck are you doing?”

The rest of the band hangs back, looking on at their temperamental front man giving Greg a bucket load of grief.

Monica and I are standing in the shadows at the back of the empty venue. Doors don’t open for another hour. The reason sound check is even more important tonight is due the size of the place—it’s a small club. Seeing that the band are more used to arenas and amphitheaters, getting their instruments to sound just right seems to be proving an issue. Tonight’s show is part of an intimate leg of their tour, a way to connect with fans on a more personal level.

As Jay continues to rant at poor Greg, who’s supposed to be off today—bet he wished he would have stayed away now—Monica folds her arms tight across her chest. “Jesus. What’s up his ass?”

I shake my head. I’m in disbelief myself. This isn’t a side I’ve seen of Jay before and it’s all the more confusing considering how sweet he was at the hotel.

Practically growing up with his music, I’ve heard rumors online that he was always a bit of a control freak. I never pegged him as a diva, though. I always thought it was just that slightly unhinged ‘artist’ thing. The way he’s acting now, though, has me well and truly perplexed. He stalks and stomps across the stage like some petulant kid.

Monica glares at me. “I know Greg’s on the payroll but there’s no need for Jay to be such a prick. Have a word with your boyfriend before I lose my shit.”

My face heats. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Then your fuck buddy.” She rolls her eyes.

“It’s not my fault, Monica.”

“Whatever.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Tell him you won’t sleep with him again until he picks up his dummy.” She pushes me along, urging me on.

I take a deep breath and start toward the stage. As I approach, Jay jumps down from the four-foot high stage rise and runs past me without acknowledging me. He storms off to the dressing rooms, shoulders jammed to his neck.

Glancing back at Monica, I shrug.

“Hey, Krissy,” Greg calls down to me.

I look up at him. He’s messing around with an Marshall amp stack.

“Are you okay?”

He smirks. “It’s cool. He’s always like that. He’ll calm down soon.”

I look at the rest of the band who don’t seem too phased. They’ve seen it all before, I guess.

Me?

I don’t like it. Rock god and awesome fuck aside, I need to confront him.

I follow him backstage. Before I enter his dressing room he charges back out, clutching onto a bottle of beer and blowing out breath.

“Stop,” I shout, before he disappears again.

He breaks and slams his back into the brick hallway wall, chugging back beer.

“Why did you just ignore me out there?” I ask him.

He looks sideways at me, his jaw setting.

“It’s just a sound check,” I say. There is an uncomfortable pause. I look down at my feet. “Sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t know . . . making you late, wasting your time.” Despondent, I begin to walk away.

“Wait,” he calls out.

I turn to face him.

“Come here.”

I’m a little mad about how rude he was to my friend—his number one member of the crew—but like a moth to a flame, I can’t resist him. I slowly shuffle back over, stopping just a few inches from where he’s stood. My gaze drops to the floor.

Brushing his thumb over my cheek, he uses the tips of his fingers to lift my chin up. Looking deep into his green gaze, my heart trips.

“I’m a grown man,” he says. “I knew what I was doing?”

I pull my head away from his hand and squint at him. “What, shouting at Greg like he’s some piece of shit?”

Jay laughs. “No silly . . . the hotel. Us.” His hand finds the side of my cheek again and I lean into it. “I knew exactly what I was doing in that room.”

“You . . . you don’t regret it?”

“No way. I should apologize, Krissy.”

I sigh. “We’ve talked about this. It’s fine.”

“I’m not talking about the first night we met. I’m talking about my little hissy fit on the stage. I’m just tired. I hate things not being right.”

I scoff. “So the rumors are true.”

He narrows his eyes.

“You are a control freak.”

He closes the space between us, his face now an inch from mine. “Maybe.”

I lurch forward and our lips meet. My eyes close as our mouths tenderly move together—just a little tongue, more gentle and sweet than before. I can feel my center warm and my nipples peak beneath my bra.

A loud cough soon breaks us apart. “Don’t mind me.”

We both look down the dimly lit hallway. Mike, the band’s drummer, has his hands to his hips. He’s grinning.

“Busted,” Jay says with a smile.

Slightly embarrassed, I smooth my hair down and shuffle a few steps away from Jay. “I better let you guys get ready.”

Before I walk off, Jay takes my hand and pulls me back in. “See you after the show, angel.”

I stare into his eyes and excitement floods me.

So the hotel room wasn’t a one off.

“Good luck,” I tell him.

He kisses me gently and smiles. “I have all the luck I need.”