Harem’s private jet breaks through the low-lying clouds in its descent and I can see the London skyline through my window. Everyone is beginning to stir again after crashing when the adrenaline wore off while we all celebrated the tour’s end in one of the plane’s bedrooms.

I’m in comfy yoga pants and a T-shirt, having just been awakened by a bright sunbeam streaming in through the window to my right.

Jason slides into the seat next to me and kisses me on the cheek as the plane drops lower.

“Before we land, I just wanted to thank you for everything you’ve done for Harem over the last few months. We all know we pushed your limits at times.”

I love Jason’s occasional moments of humility, because his job as the band’s frontman requires him to be exactly the opposite: brash and cocky.

“Jason, you guys have always been respectful,” I say. “And I never did a single thing I didn’t want to do.”

“And that’s one of the reasons we love you, Kelsey.”

He looks out the window with me. I can feel his contentment at almost being home again.

“Thanks for inviting me to come with you to Wolfshire.”

He turns to me. “One way or another, you would have been with us. If you had insisted on staying in New York, that’s where we would have recorded this album.”

As impossible as it seems, I’m looking into Jason’s eyes and in return I see love, even devotion. I don’t think anyone would believe it if they read in a tabloid that Jason Stone has fallen in love with one woman. The entire band doing so would sound ludicrous.

“Doesn’t this all strike you as weird?” I ask. “The five of you being in love with the same woman? And her returning that love even more? What are the odds that this could have happened between all of us?”

“About the same odds as five working-class kids from Manchester becoming rich and famous, I’d guess.”

He’s got a point.

“None of us saw this coming. We’ve shared women before, but never fallen in love with the same one at the same time, especially not all five of us. This is new territory for us, too, and we’re all trying to figure out where it’ll lead.”

As tired as I am, at this moment I’m tempted to drag Jason right back into the jet’s bedroom.

“There it is,” he says, pointing out the window. “That’s Shottesworth.”

I look out to see Shottesworth Private Airfield. It’s only thirty miles from London, and the band flies in and out of here when they’re hanging out at Wolfshire in order to avoid the press and crowds at Heathrow.

Jason can sense I’m anxious, as I always am when on a plane making a landing. He takes my hand in his and squeezes just as the plane gently touches down.

“Finally!” Nick shouts.

Zilla adds, “Yeah, now we have a full day of vacation before we start recording.”

Everyone laughs. The relief of the tour’s end is palpable as we deplane and say goodbye to Griff, who’s flying on to London to take care of business. Once he’s gone, the band and I climb into a waiting stretch limousine and I squish in between Brandon and Ian.

Wolfshire Court is located near the town of Thornridge, Croyden, about a twenty-minute drive from the airfield. Having been to London a few times on business, the driving-on-the-left thing doesn’t faze me, but the stunning countryside sure does.

Ian sees me staring out the tinted window and opens the sunroof, then joins me in sticking our heads out to watch the sites flash by. He points out old estates and manor homes and gives me a little history of the area. There are some achingly beautiful homes, but one particular manor in front of us catches my eye, a huge gray stone mansion sitting on sprawling landscaped grounds.

“Like it? That’s Wolfshire,” Ian says.

I try to take it all in as the limo pulls into the long drive, stopping at an electronic gate before proceeding in. The stately manor, half-covered in vines, is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“The main house and the lower lodge are both listed on the National Heritage List, and the gardens are on the Register of Historic Parks and Gardens.”

“Who built it originally?”

“Henry Howard, the 7th Duke of Norfolk. It was built between 1685 and 1690.”

“It’s fabulous,” I say, still mesmerized as the limo slows to a stop in front of the huge mansion.

“Wait till you see the inside,” Zilla’s deep voice says as he exits the car. “You’ll never want to leave.”

As the truck carrying our luggage and the guys’ musical gear pulls up, Nick takes me by the hand and we all walk to the large, faded old-wood front door. Brandon and I share a quick “can you believe this?” look.

A moment later, I’m standing in Wolfshire’s great room, my eyes and mouth wide open and my breath shallow. I feel like I’ve been picked up and dropped back down a century earlier in time. The walls are all beautiful dark wood, with exposed beams breaking up the intricately designed ceiling panels. All the wood surfaces have amazing detailed carvings, perfectly lit by the sunlight streaming in through leaded glass windows. Hardwood floors in a chevron design add to the dazzling array of design elements.

As I marvel at the wide stairway to the right of the front door, its gleaming polished wood gracefully curving upwards, my attention is grabbed by a large splash of light on the wall midway up. I follow the source to a huge stained-glass window on the opposite wall of the huge room. It’s one of the most incredible things I’ve ever seen, a coat of arms with a giant white-and-silver wolf in the middle of it, surrounded by red roses.

I suddenly find myself feeling light-headed, almost dizzy.

“Just breathe,” Ian says. “This happens to everyone at first.”

I nod and take a deep breath. Ian slips his hand into mine. “Come on, love, I’ll give you the tour. We don’t have to look at all thirteen bedrooms, but you should see the highlights.”

Brandon tags along and Ian takes us from one stunning room to another. One would expect a rock star to have made ridiculous changes to such a place, adding pool tables, massive TV screens, stripper poles, and the like, but Ian recounts the lengths and expense he’s taken to preserve the manor in all its historical glory.

It’s almost overwhelming as we go from room to room. Compared to my small New York apartment, this place is massive. I begin to wonder what I’ll do to pass the time here, especially with the guys spending hours every day recording. I can’t just walk out and go shopping or hang out at a cafe because we’re out in the countryside.

I alternate holding onto Ian’s arm, then Brandon’s, while we walk. I’m still taking deep breaths, and I feel my chest growing warm. That’s when it dawns on me that what I’m feeling is sexual excitement. Touring this beautiful manor with two such sexy men whom I love so much is actually making me horny.

Apart from the splendor of the great room, the most astounding room of all is the main bedroom, which is situated by itself on the fourth and top floor. It’s a huge room, with floor-to-ceiling leaded glass windows on all four walls, giving an astounding view of the landscaped property. I can see the rose maze with a small stone swimming pool in the center. Not too far from that is a large pond that Ian says is stocked with giant koi. Every direction I look in has something lovely for me to wrap my brain around.

Ian tells me that the top floor of such manors was usually reserved for staff quarters, but a fire severely damaged this one a few decades after it was originally built. Afterward, the good Duke decided to move the staff down one floor and build a private solarium here instead. He eventually had the room converted into his own bedroom because he was so taken by its views of the nearby countryside. The ceiling is also glass, though it’s currently covered by a rich tapestry that Ian says can be pulled aside for a dazzling view of the sky as well.

In the very middle of the main bedroom is a massive four-poster bed, easily the size of two king beds. The thick posts are carved with details, as is the canopy they disappear into. The headboard and footboard are likewise detailed. Descending from the canopy on all sides are intricately designed hangings, deep royal gold with white wolves and red roses woven into them.

“Breathe,” Ian says with a laugh. “It’s quite lovely, isn’t it?”

“I’ve never seen anything like this room,” Brandon says.

“The bed is way too big to move it in or out, so they had to build it right here in the room. The wood was brought up, then the carpenters and woodcarvers did their thing. It’s called the King’s Bed, because supposedly King George IV spent a few weekends at Wolfshire and this was where he slept.”

Staring at the bed as Ian reveals its secrets, I think about the history of this place, of everything that must have occurred under that canopy over its lifespan of three or four centuries.

And I have a sudden burning desire to get my men into that bed as soon as possible.

All of them.