Sweat formed behind my neck under all the heat, the chatter around us echoing through the cabin, while the blanket covered us in our own cocoon of bliss.

Hawke’s stubble tickled my chin. “We’re here.”

He had thrown the blanket over our heads, so no one could see us making out like teenagers. Sometimes, it was too much to take, and I wanted to rip my clothes off and have him take me, but his hands never went under my clothing.

His words from earlier rang in my head—about how we didn’t have to have sex on our European adventure. I was most definitely not on board with those plans.

“Where are we?” My voice was groggy and soft and horny as Hawke skittered tiny kisses across my jawline. My arms wrapped around his neck, and the heat of his body pressed against mine.

“Paris, Sunshine. The City of Love.” He met my lips, but I turned, afraid that my morning breath would scare him away. He gripped my jaw to prevent me from moving and kissed me hard. “My lips,” he said. “No one kisses these lips, except for me.”

“Not even Chloe?”

He laughed. “Fine, but I’m going to be a little concerned if Chloe kisses you the same way I do.”

“Hawke, we’ve landed. Quit fucking around until we get back to the hotel.”

I recognized AJ, the bass guitarist’s, voice.

Hawke kept me covered but peeked up from the blanket. “Shut up. We’re just taxiing in.”

I removed the blanket off my head, flattened my bed head, and smiled at the guys.

“And there is Miss Sunshine herself,” Cofi cooed.

The girl from last night was on his lap, and they reeked of weed. Wasn’t that illegal on a plane and highly dangerous? It wasn’t like they even cared.

He squinted and inhaled deeply, and then he extended the blunt toward my direction.

“No, thanks. I quit,” I joked.

Everyone laughed at my sarcasm.

Hawke pulled me closer. “Listen to me. When we land, it’s going to be crazy. Crazy like you’ve never seen. I need you to stick to Tilton at all times,” he said, his gaze alert, eyebrows wrinkled.

The seriousness in his tone made my stomach clench with worry.

“Okay.”

He gripped my chin and ran his thumb along my bottom lip. “I’m going to have to leave you with him and meet you at the hotel.”

I reeled back and searched his face, unaware that we’d be making separate departures. “Where are you going when we land?”

His eyes flickered toward my lips, as though he were debating if he should kiss them again. “Back to the hotel. We can’t leave together. This is how it always goes down because the photogs are nuts.” He bit my chin. “Stick to Tilton. He has strict orders to watch over you.”

The plane pulled to a stop, and when the doors opened, a broad male stepped in, wearing designer jeans, a gray button-down shirt, and sunglasses.

“How are my boys?” His tone was loud, menacing, and authoritative.

By the way he stood, I somehow assumed he was their manager.

His eyes glazed over us women. No cares. No greeting. No acknowledgment. “All right, we need to go over our schedule today. I’ll brief you in the limo on the ride to the hotel. We won’t have a lot of time to get settled in. We’ll need you guys to get changed, and then we’ll be off to our first interview at the radio station. Then, we’ll have press at the studio. Don’t worry; they’ll have translators. Chop-chop, kiddos. We’ve got a long-ass day ahead of us before the concert.” He pointed to Cofi. “Let’s try to keep this European tour out of the papers, okay, Cofi?”

“Yes, Daddy Alan.” Irritation was heavy in his tone, like a teenager tired of getting reprimanded.

Yep, he was the manager. I’d heard the guys toss Alan’s name around before.

The boys laughed, Hawke included, and then two burly men stepped into the plane, making the narrow fuselage feel even more cramped.

Alan pointed to their bags.

When Hawke stood, he laced our fingers, and with his free hand, he pointed to my backpack. “That one, too.”

Alan’s forehead wrinkled, and he rubbed one aggravated palm down his face. “No girls on the trip, Hawke.” His jaw tensed, and his vision focused on our joined hands.

“Says who?” Hawke linked an arm around my neck and walked toward the exit, about to bypass Alan.

Alan gripped his forearm, jerking him to a stop. “What did you want me to do, Hawke?”

He shrugged Alan off, his eyes tight. “Quit fucking paying off the devil.”

“So, she can run off her mouth to the press? Ruin your name?”

“She’ll come back. She always does.”

“And you make more than enough to keep her silent for years.”

“That’s not the fucking point.”

Alan stepped in front of him and tipped his head in my direction. Through his flat, cold eyes, his thoughts were readable. He thought of me as cargo that needed to be dropped off in the dumpster or anywhere that wasn’t on this tour.

Hawke only pulled me in tighter against his side. “She’s not any girl. This is Sunshine.” He walked out with me attached to his hip but not before I saw the muscles in Alan’s jaw jump.

When his eyes widened, I knew he recognized my name. The most disgusted look crossed his features, but Hawke was no longer paying attention.

I pushed down the unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach as we stepped outside. I was here with Hawke, not their manager.

Two Hummer limos and an SUV were waiting in the distance. Another private jet similar in size to ours was taxiing in.

Hawke drew me in and kissed the top of my forehead. “I’ll see you soon.”

He tipped his head toward Tilton and released me. I swore, they could communicate with only a tip of their chins and a squint of their eyes.

I watched Hawke’s retreating back and gripped my stomach, already missing the warmth of his body next to mine. Cofi bum-rushed Hawke and threw him a playful punch. AJ threw an arm over Hawke, the other holding his guitar in its case. The whole band reminded me of brothers. The sight of them walking toward their limo, strolling against the sun, was a picture-perfect poster.

“Ms. Clarke.” Tilton motioned to the car with his hand.

“Oh, sorry.” I’d forgotten that the big, bad bodyguard was behind me.

He opened the door, and I slipped in, bouncing onto the black leather cushion. The stickiness of the seat stuck to my jeans, but the first thing Tilton did was blast the air on high.

As soon as we were on the busy road, chaos erupted. Hawke hadn’t been exaggerating. My pulse accelerated with fear, taking the scene in. Hundreds of girls with signs lined the entire street, all of them crying and yelling and trying to see inside the darkened windows. Cars were unable to get through even though multiple law enforcement vehicles with sirens were directing traffic.

I jumped back when the women pounded on our car, looking through the pitch-black windows. Even the cops couldn’t stop rowdy women from jumping on the hood of our moving vehicle.

Through the crowd, I had lost the SUVs in front of us.

Tilton drove slowly through the chaos of people, and when there was a small path for the car to squeeze through, he pressed his foot to the pedal, taking off.

“Hawke wasn’t kidding. That was crazy.” My whole body turned, so I could get a glimpse of the women chasing after our car in a full-on sprint.

“You haven’t seen crazy yet,” Tilton mumbled in his deep monotone voice.

And I hadn’t.

The closer we got to the hotel, the worse it got. I still couldn’t see past the herd of people. The screaming and disorder caused me to pull my knees up and curl into myself. I closed my eyes to dim the noise. It was sensory overload—the air blasting, the hollers, and the pounding on the windows. I swore, the impact of their fists would smash through the glass.

And then…silence.

I opened my eyes, and pure darkness engulfed the car. Fear threatened to choke me.

“Til-Tilton?” I was unable to hide the quiver in my voice.

“We’re in the garage of the hotel. You’re fine now.”

I wondered if anything shook him. Given his large stature and the steadiness in his eyes, probably not.

Once we were in the hotel and I was able to stretch my legs, my whole demeanor changed. I didn’t realize how tense my body had become until I walked out of the car, needing the air and the space to move.

An elegant elevator took us up to the grand hotel lobby. Marble floors spanned the massive hotel lobby. In the center stood a tall bouquet of cream roses and orchids cascading over the porcelain vase. The scent of fresh flowers filled my nose, and the rush of the water in the fountain calmed me. I had never stepped into such an immaculate place before.

I tapped Tilton’s shoulder. “Where are we?”

“Paris.” The side of his mouth tipped up into an almost smile at his own wry joke.

Of course I knew I was in Paris, but my face brightened because I felt like I’d cracked a safe, chipping at his cold, hard demeanor. “Har-har,” I replied. “No shit, Sherlock. What hotel are we in?”

“The Four Seasons.” The hard lines in his face were back.

I shrugged. It was fun while it’d lasted.

My eyes scoured the area as Tilton moved double time in front of me.

“Stay put.” His eyes meant business as he proceeded to the check-in counter.

I stared openly at the people around me, taking in my surroundings. It was fascinating to hear them speaking the beautiful French language, the language of love. I watched a couple and took in the cadence of their words and the inflection in their voices. The women seemed to hum in agreement.

In that moment, I wished I were worldly and knew other languages. In another life, at another time, where I was loaded and lived in luxury, I would’ve gone to school in France. France was the world-renowned place of cuisine, especially pastries. I had always dreamed of coming here, tasting the delicacies, immersing myself in the culture. It was surreal to finally be here.

Tilton tapped my shoulder, which broke me out of my trance. With some papers and key cards in his hands, he led us down the hall, past the normal elevators, and stopped in front of a pair of even more elegant-looking elevators at the end. Once inside, he inserted a key card and punched in a code, and then the elevator took us higher.

“Where are the guys?” My ears popped on our ascent. We must be going pretty high.

“They had to take a detour to lose the crowd.”

After the elevators opened, I followed Tilton to another set of double doors where he punched in another code. When he opened the door, my mouth dropped to the ground, kept going, and stayed open.

Goodness gracious, the things money could buy, I swear.

It was as if I had stepped into some modern architecture magazine. The space was open and airy with a motif of cream and winter whites.

The beautiful cream-white marble floor was etched in gold and complemented the simple satin curtains against the walls. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the scent of fresh flowers that accented every corner of the room on every glass table.

The door shut behind me, and when I turned, Tilton was gone. The only item left in his place was my backpack on the floor.

My fingers pressed against my plain lime-green T-shirt. I suddenly felt underdressed and overwhelmed by my situation.

I, Samantha Clarke—born in Carbarny, Illinois, population 2,300—was in Paris, staying at the Four Season’s penthouse suite. And all I had brought were jeans and some brightly-colored shirts.

I fisted my hand against my mouth and silently screamed, and then I proceeded to jump up and down, like I’d won the lotto.

I had to share my excitement with someone who would get just as excited as I was, so I pulled out my phone from my back pocket and called Chloe.

“Hey. Did you make it?” Her voice oozed with concern, exactly like it had before I left.

“I did! I’m going to FaceTime you.” When the picture came up, her face was caked with green goo, and I reeled back, not prepared. “Oh.”

“Exfoliation.” She shrugged. “It’s a seaweed mask. Where are you?”

My frantic elation was back in full force. “In Paris.” I turned the phone so she could see the room. “At the Four Seasons, in a penthouse suite!”

“Ah!” she yelled. “Omigodomigodomigod!”

And then we were both jumping until I started getting dizzy by the motion of her phone. God, I loved my best friend. It took a few seconds for both of us to calm down, and I made my way to the couch, plopping down, back-first into the billowy cushions.

“Where did you fly in?”

“I dunno. We were on Def Deception’s private jet.”

“Omigodomigodomigod!” she squealed again.

I melted against the cushion as I thought of Hawke. “Chloe, we made out like teenagers on the plane.”

“Omigod!”

I flinched at her loudness.

When the door flew open, I sat up, feet planted on the ground, and composed myself freaky fast, my smile dimming from my face.

Maintain composure.

Two bellmen walked through the door with a cartload of luggage, followed by Hawke. The look on his face when his eyes met mine lit up my insides like a Christmas tree in the middle of Times Square.

I waved at him and whispered into the receiver, “Chloe, I have to go. I’ll call you later.”

But she must not have heard me because she kept going with her nonstop, “Omigod!”

“Chloe! I gotta run, babe.”

“Take pictures. Lots of them. Text me often. But, most of all, be safe, baby girl!”

“But of course.” I grinned at her. “Love you. Bye.”

Hawke paid the attendants, but his eyes never left mine.

When I hung up the phone, he stalked toward me like a stealthy cat sneaking up on its prey. “How do you like the place?” His simple question brought goose bumps to my skin.

I straightened on the couch, ready for him in case he was going to pounce. “It’s all right.” My voice was oddly calm, opposite to my pulse beating irrationally against my wrists. Little did he know, just a few seconds ago, I’d been screaming at the top of my lungs.

“Just all right?” He dropped to his knees and got nose-to-nose with me. He leaned in and dropped a kiss on my lips. “I ordered room service. Fries and nuggets.” His crooked smile made my heart pitter-patter pop. “Is that okay?”

He remembered that from our first night together. I wanted to grab him by the ears and pull him closer, but I maintained my composure.

“Yes, that’s fine.” Gah! I was a better actress than I had given myself credit for.

“I’m about to leave in a second. Make yourself at home, and walk around the hotel. I’ve started a tab for you. I have press to do, but I’ll be back.”

He pulled my thighs apart and cupped the side of my face, brushing his nose against my chin and stopping right below my ear. “I’m going to make up for those weeks I didn’t get to see you.”

He scented my neck, and then he bent down and bit the tender part, just before my neck met my shoulder. My body was hypersensitive to his touch, hypersensitive to his voice, hypersensitive to his advances.

When I pulled back, he went in for another kiss on my lips, deeper this time. He opened the seam of my mouth with his tongue. My breathing was labored as he laid me against the couch, flush against him.

But then the banging on the door had him slowly moving off of me.

“No,” I whined, wrapping my legs around his waist.

“You don’t know how bad I want to stay here with you.”

“Then, do it.” My big puppy-dog brown eyes begged him to stay.

“Duty calls, Sunshine. And Daddy’s gotta bring in the dough.” He kissed my chin. “I promise, we’ll have tonight to spend time together.”

With one last kiss, he jumped off me and walked out the door, not before throwing me one last crooked smile.

With a heavy sigh, I pouted and pushed myself up.

I guessed if he had work and I was on vacation, I needed to make the best of it. My feet padded through the plush carpet that led to the master bedroom. A California king-size bed was situated in the center of the massive room. The curtains matched the bedspread in cream-colored velvet with swirls of gold.

I walked past the sitting area, and for the second time since I’d entered, my jaw dropped to the ground and stayed there because there was a Jacuzzi the size of a tiny swimming pool in the master bathroom.

I lifted my head to the ceiling and thanked the heavens for this experience.

I needed to enjoy this alone time.

Grabbing a robe from behind the door, I grinned.

It was time to get acquainted with the Jacuzzi.