“Penthouse A is the last door at the end of the hallway,” says the hotel employee who is escorting me to the restricted penthouse floor. He gestures through the opened elevator doors. “Do you require an escort all the way to Mr. Knobhopper’s door, miss?”

We smile at each other about Lucas’s ridiculous pseudonym. “No, I’m good,” I say. “Mr. Knobhopper is expecting me. Thank you.”

I begin walking down the short hallway, my knees wobbling and my mind racing. Does Lucas truly expect me to interview him today or could it be, please God, that today is finally one day?

I reach the door of the penthouse.

Oh, lord, my heart is pounding.

I stand and stare at the door for a ridiculously long amount of time, feeling sick to my stomach. If I’m seriously here to interview Lucas and nothing more, if he hasn’t summoned me here because he’s been aching for our one day as much as I have over the past year and a half, I’ll be heartbroken.

I take another deep breath.

Well, crap, no matter how scared I am, I can’t stand out here forever.

I rap softly on the penthouse door. Ten seconds later, lo and behold, Nerd Guy, who checked Lucas into The Rockford a lifetime ago, is standing before me.

I put out my hand. “Hi there. I’m Penelope Pleasure. Abby Medford, actually. I’m here to interview Mr. Ford, at his request.”

It’s clear from Nerd Guy’s expression he doesn’t recognize me in the slightest. “Yeah. Come in.” He widens the door to reveal a penthouse suite that blows the one from The Rockford out of the water. “Luke will be out in a minute. He’s on the phone in the bedroom.” Nerd Guy motions to a sitting area. “Can I get you something to drink while you wait? Water? Beer? Booze? Wine?”

“Water would be great,” I say. “Thank you.”

I settle myself onto the couch, trying desperately to breathe.

There’s a woman talking on the phone at a little desk in the corner, and from the professional but firm tone of her voice, it sounds to me like she’s very calmly kicking someone’s ass. There are a couple of extremely large dudes sitting in a far corner. Bodyguards? And there’s another nerdy dude sitting in an armchair a few feet away from mine. But no German supermodel, as far as I can see. Huh. Maybe “Lucas is talking on the phone in the bedroom” is code for “Lucas is busy fucking a German supermodel up the ass in the bedroom.”

I smile politely at Nerd Guy Number Two sitting a few feet away from me in the sitting area. “Hi there,” I say. “I’m Abby.”

His face lights up with some sort of recognition. “Jeremy.” He leans forward and shakes my hand. “Luke’s manager. He told me about you. Nice to finally meet you.”

The hair on my arms stands up. What did Lucas say about me?

Nerd Guy Number Two motions to the woman on the phone in the corner. “That’s Luke’s publicist. I’m sure she’ll want to talk to you about the ground rules for the interview when she gets off the phone.”

My chest squeezes. Crap. Does that mean I’m really here to do an interview?

The original Nerd Guy returns and hands me a glass of ice water.

“Thank you,” I say. I look at Nerd Guy Number Two. “I only just found out about the interview an hour ago, so…um…I was just planning to talk to Lucas organically. But, of course, I’d be happy to ask, or refrain from asking, whatever you guys want. I didn’t make a pitch to get the interview. Lucas called my boss and…” I trail off and stand abruptly. Lucas has just come out of the bedroom, and every single cell in my body is physically straining toward his beautiful frame.

Oh, dear lord, he’s stunning. Ten times more gorgeous than he ever was when he pretended to be my boyfriend. He looks like a new man. He looks…happy.

Lucas strides toward me, his eyes blazing, his cheeks flushed. But before he reaches me, his publicist, who just happened to get off her call as Lucas appeared, is standing in front of me, her hand out.

The publicist introduces herself to me, seemingly oblivious to the fact that she just cock-blocked her famous client.

I take the publicist’s hand and shake it, but I’m focused on Lucas’s handsome face.

“So, let’s talk ground rules for the interview,” the publicist barks. “Have a seat.” She motions to the couch.

“Let’s not,” Lucas says behind her, looking like he’s about to explode. “In fact, you can all clear out. I think this particular interview should be done one-on-one.”

Lucas’s entourage looks at each other, obviously taken aback.

“Bye, everyone,” Lucas says, still looking right at me. “Thanks.”

The publicist looks me up and down, clearly surprised, and then looks at her client. “You sure, Lucas? I’d like to—”

“I’m sure.”

Slowly, everyone around us gathers their stuff and shuffles out the door, all of them glancing at each other as though they’re deeply offended by Lucas’s request.

The door clicks softly.

And everyone is gone.

I look at Lucas, unsure what to do. Of course, the only thing my body wants to do is hurl myself into his arms. But I refrain. For all I know, Lucas’s supermodel girlfriend is in the bedroom and I’m here to do a freaking interview.

“Sit,” Lucas says.

I sit on one end of the couch and Lucas sits on the other.

“You look gorgeous,” he says, his eyes burning.

“Thank you. So do you. Better than ever. I’m so proud of you.”

Lucas looks me up and down again, his eyes on fire. “You were always pretty, don’t get me wrong, but wow, Abby, with that hair and those clothes, you actually look like an assassin now. I love it.”

I bite my lower lip and run my fingers through my hair. “Thank you.” I wink. “I’m Penelope Pleasure now, you know. And she’s sassy.”

Lucas laughs. “Yes, she is.”

I shift in my seat. My God, my heartbeat is absolutely pounding in my ears. For the life of me, I can’t read Lucas’s body language. Is he keeping his distance over there on the other end of the couch because his girlfriend is in the bedroom? Or because this truly is a professional opportunity he’s extending to me? I truly have no idea what’s going on. But suddenly I can’t contain the tidal wave of emotion rising up inside me. “Thank you so much for the money,” I blurt. “I didn’t have your phone number to thank you, so I sent a card to the return address on the FedEx envelope. I had no other way to contact you. You’ve changed my life. I’ve been dying to thank you.”

Lucas smiles. “I got your card. It was sweet. You’re very welcome.”

Tears prick my eyes. “I’ll never be able to thank you enough for what you’ve done for me. Lucas, you saved me.”

“All I did was return the favor after you saved me.”

“But Lucas, you had no favor to return. You’re the one who wrote those amazing songs, not me. I did nothing. I don’t deserve thanks. But you? Your generosity and belief in me changed the trajectory of my entire life.” I swallow hard. “You saved me from what was sure to be a life of misery and extreme lack of fulfillment. You saved me, Lucas. And now I’m genuinely happy.”

Lucas’s face melts. “I’m so glad to hear it. But Angel, trust me. You saved yourself. I just gave you a tiny nudge. You did it yourself.”

“A tiny nudge? No, Lucas, you pushed me off a cliff. You gave me an insane amount of money. I guarantee you, I wouldn’t have taken a leap of faith without that money. And even more so, without you telling me I was talented.”

“I just spoke the truth. You’ve got a gift.”

“But you backed up your belief in me with so much money.”

“It was nothing. I’ve got more money than God these days. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but since we last saw each other, I’ve had a couple hit songs.”

I chuckle and wipe my eyes. “Really? No, I don’t think I’ve heard about that. Congrats.”

He smiles. “So how’d your parents take it when you quit law school?”

I glance toward the bedroom, trying to figure out if a certain German supermodel is holed up in there, but I can’t see inside the cracked door from here. “My parents freaked the fuck out, actually,” I say and he laughs. “They thought me quitting school was a sign I was flying off the rails and ‘making unhealthy choices’ again.” I roll my eyes at the memory. “They wanted to check me into some sort of rehab facility when I first told them my plans. But now that I’m gainfully employed and there are no signs I’m a human grenade, they’re vaguely tolerant of my life choices. Maybe even a tiny bit proud. Sort of.”

“You still talk to them?”

I nod. “It’s strained, to be honest. But at least they’ve recently stopped trying to convince me to go back to law school.”

“And your demons? How are they holding up?”

Why aren’t we in each other’s arms, kissing the hell out of each other? Why is this conversation so…polite? “They’re my little bitches,” I say. “I’ve been in therapy with this amazing woman in the city for a while now, and I’ve never been better. Honestly, I do what I want and I don’t feel like I have any issues anymore. It turns out, being happy and honest about who I am in all aspects of my life has worked some sort of exorcism on those pesky little demons. Who knew honesty and happiness were the magic bullets?”

Lucas smiles broadly. “Fantastic.” He pauses. “So…speaking of pesky demons, did you get a chance to listen to my song ‘Abby’?”

Boom. Here we go. Finally. “Only a couple…billion times,” I say. “I listened to it four times this morning, actually.”

Lucas looks nervous. “And?”

And what do you think, motherfucker? I’m wondering if today is finally one day!

“And…it ripped my heart out while simultaneously giving me hope,” I answer honestly. “It made me wonder if maybe, one day, we might get to connect again.”

“And now here we are,” he says.

I open my mouth and close it. What the heck does that mean? Is this our one day or not? If I don’t find out what’s going on soon, I’m seriously going to lose my mind.

“So, hey, whatever happened to you hating paparazzi?” Lucas asks. His jaw muscles pulse. “I keep seeing photos of you coming out of restaurants and bars with Brandon Hard-on. What’s that about?”

And suddenly this strangeness between us makes perfect sense. Lucas thinks I’m in love with Brandon Hanover! “I’m really glad you brought that up,” I say. “I actually have a confession to make about that.”

Lucas looks like he’s holding his breath.

“Remember that time I told you I hated paparazzi? That was a bald-faced lie. I’m a famewhore of the highest order, Lucas. Fame, fame, fame! That’s all I care about. I crave it like a junkie craves smack.”

Lucas laughs. “I knew it!” He bites his beautiful lip and looks at me ruefully. “So I presume you’ve been rocking that fucker’s world, the same way you rocked mine?”

My heart leaps. I rocked Lucas’s world? “Yeah, I rocked Brandon’s world,” I admit. “But not emotionally. Only physically. Our relationship, such as it was, was about as deep as a puddle.”

Lucas’s face lights up. “Was? You’re not with him anymore?”

I grin broadly. “I officially ended things with him last night. Right after watching the Grammys, as a matter of fact.”

He looks absolutely electrified. “Really? Why’d you do that?”

“When you thanked me in your first speech, something clicked inside me. I realized I deserve more than being someone’s glorified fuck buddy. I realized I want something real.”

The look Lucas is flashing me could melt the polar ice caps. “What’d Brandon Hand Job say when you told him you were done with him?”

“He said, ‘Okay.’”

Lucas laughs. “Wow. Deep thoughts from Mr. Action Hero.”

“Well, in his defense, he also generously offered to buy me an apartment in the city as a parting gift.”

An unmistakable shadow crosses over Lucas’s face. “And what’d you say to that offer?”

“I said, ‘No, thank you.’ I didn’t want him assuming he had any sort of claim over me going forward. I wanted to be completely free.”

We stare at each other for some time, the sexual tension between us thick.

“Speaking of fuck buddies,” I say, “whatever happened to you never dating supermodels?”

He smiles wickedly. “Oh, you saw me with Bridgette last night, did you?”

“She was your date at the Grammys, Lucas. Literally half the world’s population saw you with her.”

He smirks. “Were you jealous?”

“I’ll put it this way. I would have been quite pleased if there had been a vat of acid on the red carpet last night and she had tripped and stumbled into it.”

Lucas throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, me too. She’s such a bitch, you have no idea. God, I hate that woman.”

I might explode with happiness. I want to throw myself at him, but I just can’t be sure I won’t be rejected.

Lucas sighs. “Come here, Ass-kicker.” He pats the couch next to him and I warily scoot closer. He grabs my hand and electricity shoots throughout my body, straight into my crotch. “Angel,” he says. “Remember what I told you? I show up places with models and actresses sometimes for publicity. Bridgette and I made for good TV last night, didn’t we? I’m told by my publicist we’re ‘the perfect couple.’”

The weight of the world just lifted off me. “So you’re single?”

“I’m single. Just like you. Free as a bird.” But still he doesn’t make his move the way I’m hoping he will. He simply begins stroking my forearm gently. “Why didn’t you write that hit piece about me, Abby?” he asks softly. “I kept checking your blog, and then Maxim, looking for it. I kept waiting for my lawyer to call and tell me there was something really embarrassing I needed to see…but it never came.”

I shrug.

“Why didn’t you write it, Abby?”

“Because I’d never do that to you,” I say simply. “Never.”

He touches my cheek tenderly. “Why not? Everybody uses me. And I gave you permission. So why not you, too?”

I look into his glistening eyes. He truly doesn’t understand why I didn’t want to use our magical time together for personal gain? Well, then I guess I’ll just have to explain it to him in unambiguous terms. “I didn’t write it because I love you, Lucas,” I say. “I genuinely love you. I’d never use you or the way I feel about you to get something for myself. The only thing I want from you is for you to be happy, whether that includes me or not.”

And that’s it. A dam visibly breaks inside him. He grabs my face and kisses me so passionately he takes my breath away.

I throw my arms around him, straddle his lap, and return his kiss, surrendering myself to him, letting my lips and tongue and body tell him everything my paltry words can’t. I love him and I always will. I love the fantasy of him. The reality of him. The artist. The man. I love him whether today is one day or just a sweet chance for closure. No matter the circumstance, I’ll love this man until the day I die.

In a frenzy of heat and want and near-desperate need, Lucas breaks free of my hungry kiss and begins frantically pulling the hem of my dress up while I begin feverishly unbuttoning his jeans in response.

Lucas’s hard cock pops out of his jeans, its tip shiny and beautiful. He sits up slightly, tossing me off him so he can pull off his jeans and shirt, and I finish getting my dress off.

I peel my bra and undies off in a flash.

He yanks off his briefs with a grunt.

Finally, we’re both naked, our skin covered in goosebumps, our eyes blazing.

He scoops me up and carries my naked body in his arms toward the bedroom.

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you in all this time,” he breathes. “I’ve been with so many women since you, trying to forget you, trying to convince myself what happened between us wasn’t real, but nobody’s made me feel the way you did.” He lays me onto the mattress. “You’re the only one who makes me feel completely alive, Abby. The only one.” His mouth is on mine. His naked body is hulking over mine. His forearms are on either side of my head on the mattress as he presses himself against me and juts his hard-on into my entrance. “You still on the pill, Angel?”

I nod and grip his face, my body already on the cusp of release. In seconds, I feel the delectable sensation of his body burrowing inside mine, and then the feeling of his hard shaft thrusting deep, deep, deep inside me. His lips are on mine. His tongue is in my mouth. His hard chest is smashing into my breasts. And all of it is sending me into ecstasy.

“It was real,” Lucas whispers into my ear, almost inaudibly. “Now I know. It was real, Abby. And one in a million.”

I throw my arms around him, grind my hips into his, and lose myself to waves of pleasure rippling throughout my core.

He makes love to me at first, whispering words of adoration into my ear. But soon we’re fucking like wild animals, both of us growling and groaning and screaming each other’s names. When he finally comes, he comes hard and inside me, a mangled cry of release and relief escaping his beautiful lips.

When we’re both spent, we lie in the bed together for a long time, stroking each other, kissing and laughing.

“So is this one day?” I whisper.

“Fuck yeah,” Lucas says, nuzzling his nose into mine. “I’ve lived and learned my way to you and now I’m stroking your wings and being your man.”

My heart leaps. “You’re my man?”

“All yours.”

My heart is physically palpitating. “I should warn you,” I say. “I don’t want a fling, not even with you. I want something committed and exclusive or nothing at all. Anything less will be torture for me.”

Lucas grins broadly and strokes my arm. “As far as I’m concerned, I’m not letting you out of my sight from here on out.”

I flash him a shy smile. “You’re not?”

“Hell no. You’re mine. You’re coming to LA with me tomorrow. And from there, in a couple weeks, you’re joining me on my world tour.”

“You’re going on a world tour?”

“For a year. And you’re coming with me.”

I’m suddenly anxious. “But I’ve got a job, Lucas. A job I love.”

Lucas shrugs. “So do your job on the road. You’re a writer. Write about the tour or me or whatever you see on our adventures, just as long as you don’t leave my side.” He nuzzles his nose into my hair and inhales deeply. “I fucked up when I let you go and I’m not gonna do that again.”

“But what about my apartment? I signed a year’s lease.”

“Have you heard a word I’ve said? You don’t need an apartment because you’re going to live with me. Where I go, you go. I’ll pay off your lease.”

I kiss his beautiful lips. “But what about when the tour is over? Maybe I should keep my apartment for when we get back, just in case I need it?”

“Abby, listen to me. Get it through your head. After the tour, you’re going to live with me. You’re mine. I’m yours. It’s you and me from now on and no one else.”

I bite my lip, overwhelmed.

Lucas suddenly looks anxious. “You’re on board for all that, right?” He pauses. “Abby, seriously, you’ve got to say yes or I’m gonna be crushed.”

I touch his cheek. “Yes.”

Lucas exhales loudly. “Jesus. You scared me for a second there.”

“Oh, please. You had to have known I’d say yes.”

“I had no idea what you’d say. You’re Penelope Pleasure, dating that asshole. And I knew ‘Abby’ had to be a bit of a mind-fuck for you.” He shrugs. “I honestly thought it was fifty-fifty you’d tell me to fuck off.”

I stroke his face. “I’m all yours, baby. I was yours the minute you walked into The Rockford. I’m yours now.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Lucas says, sitting up abruptly in the bed. “The muse is back!” He leaps out of bed and lurches toward the living area but abruptly stops short and lopes back to me, laughing. “You’re not allowed to leave my side, remember?” He scoops my naked body off the mattress and carries me into the living area, where he places me gently on the couch with a kiss. “Now don’t move a muscle. You’ll be my Kate Winslet and I’m your Leonardo DiCaprio while I write this kick-ass song.”

I laugh and adopt Kate Winslet’s reclining pose from Titanic as Lucas settles himself on the other end of the couch with his guitar.

He plays a catchy little riff. “Oh, man, this is going to be a good one,” he says. He plays the riff again.

“What’s it called?” I ask.

“‘I’m Yours.’”

I cringe.

“No?”

“I’m pretty sure Jason Mraz has cornered the market on that song title.”

“Fuck. I forgot about that motherfucker. Damn.” He plays his riff again, looking thoughtful. “Well, shit. That would have been the perfect title for this one, seeing as how I’m yours and all.”

“Well, thank you for the sentiment. I appreciate it. But Jason beat you to it.”

Lucas smiles as he strums. “Okay, no big deal. I’m really good at this songwriting thing, remember? I’ve won Grammys and everything.” He strums for a moment. “Okay, I’ve got a badass new title for it, just that fast. ‘Tiny Dancer.’”

I laugh and shake my head.

“No?” Lucas asks with a devilish grin, his strums taking on increased enthusiasm.

“No.”

“Already taken?”

“Already taken.”

“Damn it. All the good ones are always taken. Hmm.” He strums for another long beat. “What about ‘Purple Rain’?”

I giggle. “Taken.”

“Shit.”

“So where are we going on tour?” I ask.

Lucas plays an extended version of his riff. “Easier to tell you where we’re not going.” He grins. “And you know where we’ll be staying while on tour?” He winks. “Lots and lots of penthouse suites.”

I bite my lip. “Sounds delightful.”

“Oh, it will be, I assure you.” He hums a melody along with his strumming, clearly working something out in his head. “You and me are gonna have fun together like you wouldn’t believe. All over the world.”

“And what about when we get back from tour?” I ask, suddenly wary. It’s just too good to be true. There’s got to be a catch.

“The fun will continue,” he says simply.

“But where will I live?”

He sings a little line of gibberish as he strums, like he’s got the melody line of his new song, just not the actual lyrics yet. “Well, let’s see. When we get back from tour,” he says, “you’re going to live with me at my place in LA. But we’ll make lots and lots of visits to New York or wherever else you want to go to make sure you stay nice and happy and never get sick of me.”

Elation floods me.

“How’s that sound?” he asks. “If that doesn’t sound good to you, speak up and we’ll make it work. I’m not going to fuck this up.”

“It sounds perfect.”

Lucas strums and hums for another long moment, his wheels obviously turning. “And then at some point we’ll go on tour again. And then we’ll come back again for a while. Sprinkle in some awesome vacations, just because we can. Where’d Hand Job take you on vacation? I saw a photo of that fucker on a tropical beach somewhere and you were in the background in a bikini, trying to be invisible, and I knew right then and there you were rocking his world.”

“You saw that?”

“I’ve been stalking you. Where was it?”

“I don’t know. It could have been Jamaica. Maybe the Bahamas. Possibly the French Riviera. He took me a few places.”

“Motherfucker,” Lucas says. “Bastard. Fuck!” He plays his riff again. “Well, wherever that bastard took you, I’m going to take you to way better places. Places that are a thousand times better, I swear to God.”

I laugh. “I don’t care where we go. I just want to be with you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“Well, you’re going to get what you want, and then some.” He plays an extended version of his guitar riff again, his eyes boring holes into my flesh as he does. “Okay, Ass-kicker. Don’t move a muscle. Looking at you is making this song crash into me like a ton of bricks.” He plays an even more elaborate riff followed by a bunch of strumming and humming. “Okay, I’ve got it now. It’s fully formed—just waiting for me to transcribe it.” He beams a huge, earnest smile at me that melts my heart. “God, I missed you, Abby.”

“I physically ached for you,” I say.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean to mess with your head. I just had some shit to work out.”

I press my lips together, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. I swallow the lump in my throat. “There’s nothing to apologize for. So, do you have a title for your latest masterpiece yet?”

“I sure do. A great title. ‘Abby.’”

I burst out laughing. “Taken.”

He strums for a long moment again, a wicked smile on his luscious lips. “‘Thriller’?”

“Perfect. I’m absolutely positive that one’s never been used before.”

He winks and begins playing his extended riff again, this time alternating between strumming and picking his strings, filling the room with the kinds of sounds only Lucas Ford can make. “Okay, baby, seriously now, I’ve got the perfect song title. Something no other bastard has used in the history of time. It’s completely original.”

“Is it ‘Stairway to Heaven’?” I ask.

He chuckles. “Nope. It’s way better than that.”

“‘Stayin’ Alive’?”

He chuckles. “Nope.”

“Okay, I give up,” I say. “What’s the ‘completely original’ title of your new song, Lucas Ford?”

“‘I. Love. You.’”

My heart stops.

Lucas abruptly stops strumming his guitar and puts his hands over the strings. “I love you, Abby. I truly do. I love you and I’m positive I’m not going to want anyone else, ever.”

I take a deep, steadying breath. “I love you, too.” I crawl to his end of the couch, put my palms on his cheeks, and kiss his delectable lips. “And, my love, there’s no doubt in my mind I always will.”