Lucas presses the button for Penthouse A while I stand as far away from him inside the elevator as possible. I’m pretty much crapping my pants. Lucas Ford wrote a song about me? And now he’s going to play it for me privately…in his suite? My fifteen-year-old self would need the crash cart.

“I really am sorry I was such an asshole to you,” Lucas mumbles. “It had nothing to do with you. I’d had a particularly rough show that night and I guess I took it out on you. Sorry.”

I nod, acknowledging his apology. “We all have bad nights. Nobody’s perfect, not even rock stars.”

“Especially not rock stars.”

“Yeah, well, hotel clerks aren’t perfect either, so don’t feel too bad.”

“What?” Lucas says, feigning shock. “Miss Indoor Clean Air Act of 2007 isn’t perfect?”

“2006. And no, I’m not. I’m actually more fucked up than you could possibly imagine.”

The elevator doors open and Lucas politely motions for me to step outside first, which I do, and then we walk down the short hall toward Penthouse A.

“You couldn’t possibly be more fucked up than me,” Lucas says as we walk. “I signed a four-record deal with my label at seventeen. A deal that gave those cocksuckers full creative control.” He sighs. “I’ve just got to get them to green-light the songs for my fourth and final album and I’ll finally be free.” He sighs. “Unfortunately, that’s a whole lot easier said than done.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re ‘fucked up,’” I say. “It just sounds like you’re creatively fucked.”

“Same thing. If I’m not the master of my own creative destiny, there’s no point to any of it. Trust me, being creatively fucked has led to me being royally fucked up.”

We reach the door to the penthouse and Lucas opens the door for me, and the moment we’re inside, he strides to the couch and grabs his acoustic guitar. “Have a seat, Assassin,” he says, indicating a chair a few feet away.

I sit and immediately notice two sets of sandwiches and side dishes on the coffee table.

Lucas begins tuning his guitar. “I assume you like BLTs? That’s what you ordered the other night.”

I feel my cheeks coloring. “They’re my favorite. Thank you. That was thoughtful of you.”

“It’s the least I can do. Or, hey, that’s what this cute little ass-kicker assassin told me is the least I can do. And thank God for that. When you left the other night after spectacularly kicking my ass, this song flowed out of me like lava from a volcano. It was like it was already written in some secret code and I just needed to unlock it.” His eyes are on fire. “Man, it felt incredible to have a song pour out of me like that again. It’s been a really long time.”

My heart is racing. “I’m elated for you.”

“I’ve had pretty severe writer’s block for about three years,” he says. “I haven’t been able to write a damned thing. At least not for myself. I’ve written a ton of junk-pop bullshit for plenty of other artists. Tons and tons, actually. But no ‘Lucas Ford’ songs. After a while, it seemed pointless to try. My label owns my soul and they kept vetoing the songs I sent them. Why bother?”

“Don’t they want to release the fourth and final album of your contract as much as you do?”

“Only if it’s filled with the kind of songs they want me to release. Only if I’m ‘on brand.’” He shakes his head with disgust. “And if not, that’s fine with them. I can stay in artistic purgatory forever as far as they’re concerned. Honestly, I think it gives ’em a raging boner to keep me locked in the tower.”

“But that’s against their own economic interest.”

“Welcome to the music industry, sweetheart.” He begins strumming his guitar as he speaks. “I’ve been a pretty big dick to those cocksuckers for the past five years, so it’s become personal. They’ve deserved my wrath, no doubt, but it’s only recently dawned on me it doesn’t matter if they deserve it. Being an asshole to them is ultimately the same thing as being an asshole to myself. At this point, I’ve decided to grow up once and for all and do whatever I’ve got to do to get out from under this fucking contract, even if that means writing whatever ‘Lucas Ford’ songs I’m contractually obligated to write. But that’s easier said than done. Creativity doesn’t work on command. I mean, you know, writing bullshit songs for another artist? Pfft. Like falling off a log. But writing songs that resonate emotionally? The kind those cocksuckers will approve for a Lucas Ford album? Yeah, that’s really fucking hard.” He flashes me a huge smile. “Until the other night, that is. Right after I met you.” His smile broadens. “Abby the Ass-kicker kicked my ass without holding back and bam! The most badass song in the history of the universe popped out like I’d ordered it from a vending machine.” He laughs. “It was the damnedest thing ever.” His strumming of his guitar has become more and more energized. “Okay, enough talking, Assassin. You ready to hear my song?”

I nod, every molecule in my body feeling like it’s buzzing.

“Okay, here it is. It’s called… You guessed it… ‘Assassin.’”

Without further ado, Lucas launches into an upbeat, catchy song about “a girl who looks like a slice of the sun” but who, it turns out, “is an assassin, son. She makes her way as a hired gun, taking shit as she goes from no one. Assassin kicks your ass so hard you cry, tells you the truth, makes you wish for the lie. When she’s done with you, it’s your turn to die. She’s a killer, son, an assassin. Fall in love with this girl as she walks out the door. But she leaves you for dead, leaves you begging for more. She’s a killer at large, a femme fatale. Don’t fall in love with this one, she’s an assassin.”

Lucas’s voice is oozing with sex appeal as he sings. His song’s melody is instantly memorable and addictive, and his guitar playing is swoon worthy. In short, I’m in heaven. This is the Lucas Ford I’ve always adored. The sexy troubadour who burst onto the scene a decade ago with “Shattered Hearts” and stole the entire world’s collective heart.

When Lucas is done performing his new song, he looks up from his guitar and beams a sexy smile at me, his eyes smoldering. “So what do you think, Assassin? You dig it?”

I clap and swoon. “I dig it,” I say, feeling light-headed. “It’s amazing.” I clutch my racing heart. “I think this is one of the most exciting moments of my life. Gimme a minute. I seriously can’t breathe.”

Lucas chuckles and puts down his guitar. “I’m glad you like it.”

“No, no, I love it. It’s going to be a smash hit. I’m positive your label’s going to approve it for your album.”

“Yeah, they already did. I recorded a quick demo of it on my iPad and sent it to the warden earlier. He and the rest of the cocksuckers went apeshit over it. Finally, after four fucking years, we’ve got a mutually agreed upon first song for my final album. Hallelujah.”

“Wow, congratulations.”

Lucas’s eyes are positively sparkling. “Thanks to you. I couldn’t have written it without you.”

“Me? I didn’t do anything except call you an asshole.”

Lucas grins. “You did quite a bit more than that. You spoke the truth, which allowed me to peek inside your soul. Just for a split second there, but it was enough. Exactly what I needed, as it turned out.” His eyes are burning with sexual heat. “You inspired me, Abby.”

Arousal whooshes between my legs. “Oh…well…whatever I did, I’m glad it helped you. Anytime.”

Lucas shoots me a wicked smile. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

My clit is pulsing, just that fast. Something really dirty just flashed across Lucas’s mind. I could see it in his eyes.

“You hungry, Assassin?” he asks.

I look at him sideways, trying to decipher the expression on his face. “Um, sure,” I reply. “Thanks.”

Lucas hands me a full plate from the coffee table and we both begin tearing into the food he’s ordered for us.

“So where are you from, Abby?” he asks politely. But before I can answer, he batters me with more questions. “Tell me a bit about yourself, Abby. What are your goals and ambitions, Abby? What’s your favorite color, Abby?”

I return his snarky expression with one of my own. “You’ve got a good memory.”

“Just making sure I don’t get my ass kicked again by a certain assassin.”

We share a smile.

“Seriously. Tell me a bit about yourself,” he says. “You’re an enigma to me. I can’t quite figure you out.”

“That makes two of us,” I say. “I can’t quite figure me out, either.”

Lucas chuckles. “It’s now abundantly clear to me you’re not at all what you seem.”

“You said that before.”

“But this time I mean it in a whole new way. Now I can physically smell it on you.”

I’m mortified. “You can smell what on me?”

He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. “Your aroma. Your body’s unique perfume.” He opens his eyes and stares me down. “It gives you away.”

I look at him like he’s crazy.

“You know what I’d call your aroma if I were going to bottle it and sell it as a perfume?” he asks, his eyes positively smoldering.

“What?” I manage to ask.

“‘Secretly Dirty.’”

My clit flutters. I hold his gaze. “Good name.”

Lucas smirks. “So tell me about yourself, Abby. Let’s talk like actual human beings…for a bit.”

Oh, Jesus. I know where this is headed. He’s following the exact blueprint I gave him, after all. And I must admit, I’m not sad about it.

I stammer through some boring basics about myself and he listens intently like what I’m telling him is endlessly fascinating.

“And what do you do for fun, Abby Medford?” he asks.

“I don’t have time for fun, Lucas Ford.”

“No?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Believe it.”

“Bullshit.” He squints at me. “What’d you do last night when you had the night off?”

“I went on a date with this guy from school.”

“Well, that sounds fun.”

I shrug.

“Was the guy good in bed?”

“I didn’t sleep with him.”

“No?”

“No. He bored me to death so I cut our date short, right in the middle of making out with him. I wasn’t trying to be a tease. I was genuinely testing the waters to see if I could force myself to feel attraction to a guy like him, but I couldn’t.”

“A guy like him?”

Our eyes are locked. My heart is pounding in my ears. “A nice guy.”

“You don’t like nice guys.” It’s a statement, not a question.

I nod. “I’m trying to change that about myself. I know I should. But it’s easier said than done.”

Lucas purses his beautiful lips. “What’d you do after you left Mr. Nice Guy last night?”

“I went back to my apartment.”

“And?”

“And I put on ‘Shattered Hearts’ at full volume on my headphones so I wouldn’t hear the loud buzzing sound of my vibrator.”

His eyes ignite. “And?”

“And I watched your sex tape and used my vibrator and listened to your voice. And within thirty seconds I made myself come so freaking hard I left a puddle on my sheets.”

Unmistakable sexual desire washes over his features. His guitar is covering his crotch, but by the look on his face I’d bet any amount of money he’s hard as a rock right now.

“Did you watch the edited or unedited version of my sex tape?” he asks.

“Edited. I tried to watch the unedited version, but it had been taken down everywhere I searched for it.”

“Ah. My trusty lawyers, hard at work.”

“I thought you said the blonde leaked the video with your permission.”

“She did. But it wouldn’t have done her any good if the whole world thought I didn’t give a shit about it, now would it? For her to get the most mileage out of the video, it had to be ‘the sex tape Lucas Ford doesn’t want anyone to see.’” He shrugs. “We’ve all got our parts to play.”

“What mileage is she trying to get?”

“She’s got a hard-on to star in a reality TV show, so I said I’d help her as a favor.”

“Who is she?”

“My best friend’s girlfriend.”

“You had sex with your best friend’s girlfriend?”

“As a favor, like I said. She and my friend figured a leaked sex tape with Lucas Ford was the quickest way to get her a show.” He reaches for a box of cigarettes. “It was just sex. No biggie. My buddy would have done the same for me, I’m sure. And it certainly wasn’t traumatizing to me, as I’m sure you observed.”

I’ve been rendered speechless.

He puts a cigarette between his lips and lights it. “So do you have any ‘fangirl’ questions for me, Abby? You mentioned you might have a couple the other night. Lemme guess, you want to know the story behind ‘Shattered Hearts’?”

“Yeah, actually. I get the feeling there’s more to the lyrics than what’s on the surface.”

He takes a long drag off his cigarette and studies me. “I never tell anyone the full story behind that song. I tell a modified version. Boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy never gets girl back and he’s brokenhearted.” He takes another hit off his cigarette. “But you know what? Just because you were so damned honest with me the other night when you ripped me a new asshole, I’m going to tell you the whole truth in return.”

My heart leaps.

“Hang on. I got to get comfortable for this conversation.” He carefully sets his guitar down next to him and strips off his T-shirt, making my jaw hang open.

“I hate clothes,” he says by way of explanation. “Okay, so ‘Shattered Hearts.’” He takes a deep drag off his cigarette. “Do you remember my original drummer from my first album? Cole Larchmont?”

“No, I, uh…” I fight staring at his abs. I want to lick them. “When I, uh, went to your concert way back when, I don’t think I noticed anyone or anything onstage but you.”

He smiles. “Cole was my first drummer. He wound up quitting my band right after the first tour because he decided no amount of money could possibly be enough to make him want to be in the same room with me, let alone make music with me.”

My stomach seizes.

“Cole and I had been best friends our whole lives. Grew up together. I’m an only child and he was the brother I never had. When we were seventeen, about six months before I got my record deal, Cole fell in love with this pretty, sassy, girl-next-door type named Winona. Winnie. You remind me of her, actually.”

Goose bumps erupt on my skin. Did Lucas just indirectly call me pretty and sassy?

“Man, did Cole fall hard for Winnie,” Lucas continues. “He wanted to marry her and take her on tour with us one day if we became big rock stars and maybe even have a little baby with her and a white picket fence. Damn, was Cole in love with that pretty, sassy girl.”

There it is again! Lucas just indirectly called me pretty and sassy! I’m not making that up, am I?

“So, of course,” Lucas continues, “since Cole was like a brother to me, that should have made Winnie like a sister to me, too, right? But it didn’t.” He sucks on his cigarette. “Because, unfortunately, I was head over heels in love with Winnie, too.”

My breathing hitches. Ten seconds ago he said I remind him of Winnie!

“No one knew how I felt about Winnie,” he continues. “I acted like I didn’t give a shit about her and said dicky things to her all the time and never said a word about her to Cole. In fact, once or twice, Cole begged me to be nicer to her.” He looks at me pointedly. “I’m pretty sure his exact words were ‘Come on, Luke, treat her like an actual human once in a while, would you?’”

My heart stops.

He smiles at whatever he’s seeing on my face. “But I couldn’t be sweet to her. I couldn’t be anything but an asshole to her. Because she owned me. And I knew that wouldn’t end well for me. But after a while I couldn’t help myself. I was obsessed with her. Couldn’t eat or sleep. Thought about her night and day. Dreamed about her. As far as I was concerned, she was perfect in every way.”

I can’t breathe. I can’t think. I can’t function. A moment ago he said I remind him of Winnie, didn’t he? Was I imagining that?

“I thought about her when I fucked someone else,” Lucas continues. “I jacked off to fantasies about her. I was tortured. And you know what tortured me the most? The way Cole and Winnie were always macking down on each other around me. Like I wasn’t even there. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. So, of course, that just made me want her more. It made me covet her. But I stayed strong. I knew Cole would never forgive me if I laid a pinkie on his beloved Winnie, so I stayed away from her and treated her like shit as best I could to make her hate me… All the while fucking any girl who even remotely reminded me of her. And then…” He exhales a long, dejected breath. “One day, I lost my willpower. Cole was off doing something one night and Winnie and I were alone, watching a movie or whatever, and I just stopped giving a shit about consequences. I wanted her. Nothing could stop me. Not even my loyalty to Cole.” He shakes his head mournfully. “So I made my move and Winnie and I wound up fucking like animals. It was unbelievable. Like, the world shook for me, you know? So we became addicted to each other and started fucking around behind Cole’s back every chance we got. Chickenshit thing to do, I know, but neither of us wanted to hurt him, and we thought we could get it out of our systems and then everything would return to normal. Honestly, we both really did love Cole and thought for sure a nice girl like Winnie was supposed to wind up with a nice guy like Cole, not an asshole like me.” He looks wistful for a long moment. “Well, needless to say, the story didn’t end the way we thought it would. In fact, it ended with three shattered hearts.”

I stare at him for a long moment. He’s stunning right now. Absolutely breathtaking. Truly, the most beautiful man I’ve ever beheld. “Do you still love her?” I ask softly.

“I don’t know if I ever did,” he says, surprising me. “I’ve thought about it a lot and I think it’s fifty-fifty I just wanted what I couldn’t have. Maybe my stupid seventeen-year-old brain confused envy for love? I dunno.”

“But you said the earth shook when you had sex with her,” I say.

“Oh, it did.” He sighs. “Shit, maybe I did love her. I sure thought so at the time. Maybe nowadays my memories of the way I felt are tainted by how much pain my actions wound up causing. Winnie didn’t start something with me. I made a move on her. I’m positive she never would have betrayed Cole if it weren’t for me.”

“Winnie was just as culpable as you were. It takes two to tango.”

Lucas shakes his head and stubs out his cigarette hastily. “Fuck, I don’t know. I’m the last guy to ask about love these days. You’ve got to be an actual human to feel love, right? And I haven’t been human for a good four or five years. I’m nothing but a dancing monkey.”

“Lucas,” I whisper, my heart panging for him.

Lucas slaps his hands on his thighs, signaling the emphatic end of this particular topic of conversation. “So you got anymore fangirl questions burning a hole in your pocket, Ass-kicker?”

I shake my head.

“Cool. So now I’ve got a question for you. Would you be willing to do me a huge favor?”

“Anything.”

“Would you watch my sex tape while I watch you? Ever since you told me you touched yourself after watching it and made yourself come, I haven’t been able to stop fantasizing about watching you do exactly that.”

I’m shocked and I’m sure my face shows it. I glance down at his crotch. He’s most definitely sporting wood behind his jeans. My face feels hot. I open my mouth and abruptly shut it.

Lucas shifts his position on the couch, obviously relieving pressure on his hard-on. “I want to show you the unedited version. The one where I come all over her tits.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. “I want to watch you touch yourself. I want to see your facial expressions as you watch me fuck her. I want to hear the noises you make as you get yourself off. And then I want to see you come so hard you wet my fucking sheets.”