When I was growing up I had my own room, acknowledgment of my exalted status as oldest and only girl. But it was tiny, no larger than a walk-in closet, which is exactly what it was before my Dad remodeled the upstairs. To maximize the space, he lofted my bed, bolting it to the wall and setting my desk underneath it for me to do my homework.

Since it was originally a closet, the walls were paper thin. I'm not sure my father ever considered that my room's location - practically in the center of the upstairs - combined with the lack of soundproofing, meant that I could be sitting in there out of sight but still know everything that was going on in my family. The low conversations my parents had after they sent us to bed. The whispered shouting matches Leo and Cabot would have late at night. I spent many hours eavesdropping on my brothers living their private lives on the other side of those thin walls, learning their secrets.

And of course, using the information against them.

My mother always wondered how I always knew what was going on in her sons' lives better than she ever could., but I never told her it was because I could hear everything. My room gave me powers. For a while I had Simon actually believing I was telepathic because of those thin walls.

But I also heard everything at night too. Every snort, every snuffle, every furtive sneeze. And Tate was, and probably still is, a violent sleeper. His bed was right up against that shared wall my bed was bolted to, so I had to learn to sleep through the bangs and thumps as he fought off various nighttime monsters. On some nights, when it was really bad and his hands and feet were knocking over and over again, I'd knock back. "Hey Tater Tot," I'd whisper, knowing my favorite brother could hear me through that thin wall. "You're okay, buddy. I'm right here."

I hadn't lived at home since I was eighteen, but when I heard the knocking, then the pounding, that was my first instinct. "Tater, I'm right here," I mumbled sleepily, reaching up to knock at the shared wall.

My hand fell through space and smacked into something hard. The memory of my tiny old room faded as I blinked myself awake and sat up.

I was in the cabin. And the pounding was coming from the front door. I grabbed my robe off the side chair and knotted it as I raced down the stairs and flung open the door. Jules stumbled over my threshold, fist still in position to knock again.

"What the hell? Are you trying to wake the dead?" I clutched my robe more tightly closed and gaped at him for a second, unsure of what the hell to do.

And that's when I saw the cut on his face. My drummer was bleeding from a gash on his forehead, blood oozing down in two little rivers down the side of his face. His bloodstained shirt was balled up in his hand and his bare chest was covered in goosebumps from being naked in the cool night air.

I swallowed hard and looked out the door into the darkness. Distance, a little voice in my head whispered. Boundaries.

But he was hurt and instinct was already kicking in. "Get in here!" I ordered.

I stepped back and held the door open. Jules swayed on his feet for a second, and then staggered inside.

"Were you waiting' up for me, love?" he slurred, slumping against the wall. "

"You're bleeding," I pointed out.

He reached up and gingerly pressed his fingers to the oozing cut over his eye, then looked at them for a long time. "Right. So I am." he muttered.

"Are you gonna tell me what happened?"

"Some bloke at the bar with anger issues."

I clenched my fist and then released it. "You got in a fight?" I hissed.

"Weren't much a fight, love. I know it's a cliche, but - " he grinned and then winced a little. "You should see the other guy."

I rolled my eyes. "You smell like a distillery and you look like death. Go," I pointed at the bathroom. "Sit down."

He blinked for a second and then ducked his head and silently slumped over to the cramped little bathroom. "Sit," I commanded again.

He wavered there for a second. "What are you waiting for?An invitation?"

"I don't want to sit on your loo," he protested.

I let out an exasperated sigh. "What are you, suddenly squeamish? Sit on the edge of the bathtub then, I don't care."

He glanced at me with slitted eyes. "You gonna drown me like a cat?"

I knelt down and reached into the cabins under the sink where I'd stored my bag. "Why the hell do you know anything about drowning cats, you psycho?" I muttered, pawing through it until I found the first aid kit.

His eyes widened slightly. "Well. Aren't you prepared..."

"I have four brothers," I reminded him as I selected one of the butterfly bandages.

"I know."

I looked at him. He shrugged. "You told me. On the bus up here."

"And you listened for once?" I laughed. "Since when do you do that? You never listen."

"Aye, that's a true statement. Oy!" he pulled back with a wince, smacking my hand away.

I grabbed his wrist. "Stop being a baby. If I don't close this up, you're gonna bleed all over your hotel sheets and the label's gonna be pissed."

"'S rock and roll, baby," he slurred.

"It's not the seventies anymore, Jules. And you're not a big enough name to pull shit like that."

"I'm Jules fucking Spencer. I was in Wrecked for fuck's sake, show some goddamned respect."

"You're not in Wrecked anymore, are you? You guys have to prove yourself all over again. I don't think you understand that."

"Oh, aye, I understand I gotta prove myself to you."

I froze and then turned away to run a washcloth under tap. "You don't have to prove anything to me, I'm your manager, I work for you."

He leaned forward, just a fraction of an inch but it was enough that I could feel the heat rising off of him. "That's a lie, ain't it love? You don't work for anyone. You're the one in charge."

I swallowed and lifted my chin, trying to project an air of confidence I wasn't feeling. "I try to represent the band's best interests - "

"You're the boss. You tell us what to do. I'm in your bathroom, half-naked and vulnerable now. Tell me what to do."

"You wouldn't listen."

"Try me."

My heart beat faster and I wondered if he had been play-acting before, because he sure as hell didn't seem drunk any longer. His eyes were so, so dark, almost black in a way that reminded me of lying on my back at night and looking up, feeling like I could fall up into the sky. "Hold still," I said and it came out more like a whisper.

He sat like a statue. I brushed the washcloth back down his jaw, washing away the small rivulet of dried blood that had collected there. I brushed it down again and he closed his eyes and let out a long, slow breath, and that's when I realized that I'd been holding mine and exhaled too. He opened his eyes when he heard me sigh, and a flicker of a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. "See love?" he murmured. "I can follow directions just fine."

I pressed my lips together. "You're a fast learner."

"I have an inspiring teacher."

"Wish you'd be this good at doing what you're told all the time."

His eyes gleamed. "Aye, but you like the challenge, don't you love? Gets you excited."

"Gets me angry," I corrected.

He leaned forward a fraction of an inch. "What if I like you when you're angry? So I piss you off on purpose?"

I pulled the washcloth back. "Then you must really like me."

He nodded and let his eyes flutter closed."Aye," he said with a soft sigh. "I guess I must."

This time it was my turn to hold perfectly still. "You wouldn't know what to do with me," I heard myself say. As if I was trying to talk him out of it. Convince him otherwise.

But her opened his eyes again and this time there was no mistaking that light in his dark eyes. "I have a few ideas," he said slowly, letting his gaze drop down my body.

I stood up. I have no idea why, but I think it was so he could see more of me. "Yeah?" I said, lifting my chin in challenge. "Tell me."

He stood up too. Tall and dangerous, he seemed to take up the entire space. He lifted his hand and I flinched a little, but didn't pull away. Even thought he was invading my bubble. Even though we were crossing every boundary I'd try to set. When his fingers brushed my chin, tilting it upward, I closed my eyes rather than see how dark his were. "Thinking I'd rather show you," I heard him murmur.

I opened my eyes again to see his lips parting. His breath was coming faster now. And so was mine. "Right here is fine," he went on. "Or we can move it over to the bed if you like to be comfortable."

"You think I want you to fuck me?"

"I think you need me to fuck you."

Being this close to him was messing with my senses. I stepped back and took a deep breath to recover my dignity. And my resolve. Nice guys. I dated nice guys now. No more musicians. "I don't need anything from the likes of you," I reminded him. "That's for sure. You rockstars all think you're god's gift to women."

He looked me dead in the eye. "I don't think I'm god's gift," he said. Not cocky. Just quietly confident. "I know."

Something fluttered in my stomach and then clutched at my core. No guy had ever looked me in the eye with such self-possession before. So instead of shutting this conversation down, I was instead filled with curious. "So how would you do it?" I wondered.

"What's that, love?"

I went up on my tiptoes. "Fuck me."

His eyes widened and then narrowed. "You want to know how I'd fuck you?"

"I do." I gestured to the bandages. "I'm a planner you see. I want to make sure it'd be worth my time."

He chuckled low and slow. "I think," he leaned forward until there were only a few millimeters of charged air between our lips. I fought to hold still and not close the distance between them, feeling like I was somehow getting drunk by osmosis. "I'd start like this."

"This," I echoed, still frozen in place.

His lip curled up. "You want to see if it'll be worth your while, love? How about we start here? Kiss me."

I licked my lips. "Aren't you supposed to kiss me first?"

"That's the second time I fuck you, love. When I pin you down and make you scream my name." His dark eyes darted across my face and whatever it was he saw there made him grin even wider. "The first time though, I'm gonna take my time. Let you figure out exactly what you like."

"I know what I like."

"Aye, I'm sure you do. And I'd let you take it, love. I'd push you to the very brink, take you to the edge of sanity."

"You talk a good game."

"Aye, I do. But I play it even better."