With tears in her eyes, Charlotte hugged me goodbye one final time while Julian Gage stood by the door with the last of her bags at his feet. Not knowing when I’d see her next, I hugged Charlotte back and prayed to a god I didn’t believe in to keep my best friend safe from harm. I couldn’t live with myself if something happened to her because one of my narcissist ex-husband’s fans had gone off the deep end.

“Promise you’ll check in every day,” she implored, pulling back to stare at me.

Swiping away my own tears, I nodded. “Of course. I’m going to call and message you so many times you’ll be begging me to leave you alone.”

I was only half joking. Alone time wasn’t something I was good at. My last therapist hypothesized my need to be around people was why I’d fought tooth and nail to carve out a career with thousands of adoring fans. It wasn’t that I needed their validation; I simply needed their company. Truth be told, I didn’t like where my mind went when things got too quiet.

“Thank god for unlimited texting plans!” she exclaimed with forced enthusiasm. Then, dropping her voice so Gage wouldn’t hear, she whispered, “You have to tell me everything that happens with Ash.”

I groaned. “I already told you, nothing’s going to happen. He’s my bodyguard. That’s all.”

Charlotte snorted. “With a bodyguard who looks that good, maybe you should have enraged Ford’s fans sooner. Besides, it’s not like you don’t already know what he’s working with.” She waggled her eyebrows suggestively.

Not that she had to remind me. Since he’d left the loft the night before, I hadn’t stopped thinking about his hands on my waist, the way his rough, calloused pinky had caressed the skin just underneath my tank top.

Shaking away my memories, I said, “I’m pretty sure there are rules against that sort of thing. This is his job—and my safety—we’re talking about.”

“I just don’t see why you can’t mix a little business with pleasure while you’re in exile.”

“You know why,” I told her, my voice uncompromising.

I hadn’t been with anyone since I got sober, and the recommendations were pretty clear about when and how a person in recovery could begin a new relationship. Not that I was looking for any type of relationship right now—and certainly not with a man who I was paying to protect me—but physical intimacy was also supposed to be off limits. Recovering addicts sometimes had a hard time separating the physical act from the emotional one, and often fell into using one vice as a replacement for the one they could no longer tolerate. Since my two issues had been alcohol and sex, it made sense for me to stay away from men until I was certain I was strong enough to handle them.

And right now, I was convinced Ash would be too much. Too strong. Too demanding. Too insightful.

“You’ve been sober for eighteen months,” Charlotte reminded me needlessly. It wasn’t like I didn’t count the days like a talisman.

“I have,” I agreed. “And I’ve been celibate for even longer than that.”

Charlotte cast a furtive look at Gage again to make sure he wasn’t eavesdropping on our conversation. The silent sentinel was easy to forget. He was huge and imposing, and yet he seemed to melt right into his surroundings. I didn’t know how he’d come to work for McClintock, but I was sure it was those characteristics that made him such a good guard.

“Not that I’m out whoring it up each night—” When she realized what she’d said, her eyes went wide.

“It’s okay,” I told her. “I know who I am and what I did, and I’ve made peace with all of it. You don’t have to bite your tongue.”

She looked away guiltily. “I know, but I still hate that word. Especially now with all of Ford’s fans picketing your music and calling you all those vile names on message boards.”

I smiled to put her at ease, but the gesture didn’t quite reach my eyes. I set my hand on her shoulder in comfort instead. “It’s okay coming from you. I know what you mean—and what you don’t. It’s just a figure of speech.”

“Right,” she said. “Anyhow, what I meant to say was that I’m not celibate and I’m freaking out about being locked away with Gage for two weeks. He’s kind of hot in a terrifying way.”

I laughed for real this time. I’d sensed their attraction from almost the moment they met, and when I’d learned that Gage had been assigned to Charlotte’s detail, I knew it was only a matter of time until she broke down and admitted she wanted him.

Still, it was fun to see her squirm.

“Terrifying how?”

“For one, he’s huge.”

My voice deadpan, I replied, “I fail to see the problem with that.”

“Yes, well …” she trailed off. “Then there are all of his tattoos.”

“I thought you liked tattoos.”

“I do. Here and there.” She leaned close and whispered in my ear. “He had his blazer off this morning and his sleeves rolled up and he’s covered in them. The ink goes all the way down to his wrists. On both arms.”

“So?” I asked, again failing to see the problem.

Personally, I loved tattoos on a man. As a storyteller, I thought there was no more permanent way to mark a point in one’s life than to put ink to skin. Experience told me that while a lot of people had tattoos that meant nothing, people like Gage—the ones who covered themselves in ink—did so because each piece of art marked a pivotal point in their lives.

I, too, had tattoos emblazoned on my skin to tell my story. When my first album had gone platinum, I’d had a tiny smattering of stars inked onto the back of my bicep, and when Ford and I got married, I’d added the latitude and longitude of our wedding location to the nape of my neck, just below the hairline. Over the years I’d added three additional tattoos to mark specific moments on the timeline of my life, but the largest tattoo I wore—the most important one—was a fairly recent addition. When I’d been sober for six months, I’d had a pair of wings inked across my ribcage, just under my breasts. I might have had a difficult time standing on my own these past few years, but now I knew I could fly.

My mind flashed to that night with Ash as I tried to remember if he’d had any ink, but my memory was hazy. Briefly, I wondered what he’d think of my latest acquisition. Not that I had any intention of getting naked with him again, but I was a red-blooded female and Charlotte was right. We’d already gone there once. My memories of that night resemble looking through a gossamer haze, but I still woke up sometimes dreaming of a man moving over me, his long, hard long cock filling me, my body shivering in anticipation. And every damn time, the man in my dreams was Ash.

“Hello?” Charlotte tapped on my forehead. “Where’d you go, Rae?”

I groaned and covered my face with my hands. Peeking out from between my fingers, I admitted, “I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Do what?”

“Next to getting sober, this forced exile with Ash just might be the hardest damn thing I’ve ever done.”

She chuckled. “I still think you should bone him.”

“We’ve been over this,” I reminded her.

“You’re not giving yourself enough credit, Rae,” she said, her voice turning serious. “You’re so strong right now. Stronger than I’ve ever seen you, and I’ve known you practically your entire adult life. I would never want to undermine your recovery, but I think you should seriously consider it. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Um, I could become addicted to him,” I answered matter-of-factly. “You know how I am with men,” I continued, leading her by the hand to the couch. I knew she and Gage were supposed to have left already, but as far as I was concerned, this was all on my dime so if I needed to speak with my best friend before I didn’t see her for who-knew-how-long, then I was damn well going to have that conversation.

Almost as if he could read my mind, Gage cleared his throat, drawing our attention. Bending down, he picked up Charlotte’s bags and hefted them over his brawny shoulders. “I’ll be outside when you’re ready Miss Jones,” he said, pressing the code into the keypad and exiting almost as silently as he’d entered.

Charlotte’s eyes twinkled as she watched him go, and when she caught me staring, her face sobered. “What?” she asked guiltily.

I shoved against her shoulder playfully. “You claim you’re terrified of him, but you definitely want that dick.”

Unconsciously, she licked her lips and her eyes turned foggy. Letting out a long exhale that fluttered her wispy bangs, she finally admitted it. “Yeah. I really, really do.”

“So, quit worrying about my vagina and focus on your own for a minute.”

“Gage can’t stand me, but I saw Ash’s reaction when he walked into that conference room. Not to mention how he looks at you when he thinks no one’s watching. He wants to rip your clothes off. I’m surprised he hasn’t tried to already.”

For a quick second, I felt a small burst of guilt. I hadn’t told her about when he’d wrapped his hands around my waist the night before, or how it had made me feel. I hadn’t told her what I’d seen in the heat of his gaze.

“One,” I said instead, “Gage does not hate you. Exasperated by you, yes, but I’m sure he’d be happy to put you over his knee and teach you a lesson—” she shuddered in anticipation “—and two, you’re wrong. Ash was surprised when he saw me because I never told him my name. Imagine for a second you slept with … who’s like the hottest rock star you can think of?”

“Of all time or now?” Charlotte asked, quickly getting into the game we regularly played while on the road. It was our version of Fuck, Marry, Kill.

“Either,” I answered.

She pretended to think about it for a second, but I already knew who she’d say. For some inexplicable reason, she’d been lusting after Tom Jones since she was a teenager. I often teased her that not only was she into wrinkled old ball sacks, but with the same last name and her heritage, they were probably distantly related. She hated it when I joked about cousin fucking.

So, imagine my surprise when she answered, “Colt Avery.”

“Wait, what? Is Tom no longer the disgusting apple of your eye?”

As if she was pained by her admission—as if she was somehow cheating on Tom by naming another man she’d imaginarily screw—she replied, “He’s getting a little long in the tooth, to be honest. And he sweats an awful lot.”

“Thank Christ!” I hooted, thrilled that her weird fixation on the Welshman had finally come to an end. I could get on board with just about every sexual fantasy there was, but that was one I did not understand. And for the sake of my friend, I’d tried. Really, really, tried. There was just no understanding some people’s kinks, I supposed.

“Okay,” I continued. “So, say you slept with Colt Avery, but you didn’t know it was him because you apparently lived under a rock. And then you were hired on as an unknown musician’s personal assistant and when you walked in the room, holy fucking Christ, it’s Colt Avery standing there! That’s what Ash’s reaction was.”

“I still can’t believe he had no idea who you were.”

“Yeah,” I said, shaking my head. “Like I said though, under a rock. He swears he didn’t have a TV, and he was pretty much living out of his duffel bag when our paths crossed. He was on his way to a job and it was just a coincidence we were at the same bar at the same time. Neither one of us ever expected to see the other again. I’d hoped I’d never run into any of them.” I shuddered in disgust.

“But you have run into him again! That has to mean something.”

I sometimes forgot that underneath all her cynicism and sarcasm, Charlotte was a romantic at heart. How being by my side these past couple of years hadn’t beaten that out of her, I’d never know. Lord knew I no longer believed in fairytale endings. The best I could hope for, I knew, was building a life with someone who wouldn’t hold my past against me, someone who wasn’t repulsed by who I was or what I’d done. And that meant I was probably going to have to do the same, because the only people who could live with that kind of forgiveness were the ones who’d lived equally unsavory lives. Mutually assured acceptance was what I’d someday strive for. But not yet. I wasn’t ready to take on someone else’s baggage, along with my own. I was strong now, but not that strong.

I slapped my palms onto my thighs and stood. “We can talk about this later. We have plenty of time to analyze the shit out of the way we react to these men and vice versa.”

Charlotte stood too, and enveloped me in another hug. “I’ll miss you, Rae.” She smacked a kiss to my cheek.

“I know, Char. I’ll miss you too.” I squeezed her one last time and then moved away. “Now go find that tattooed beast and bend him to your will.”

She shook her head, but a sly smirk played at her full, red lips. “I’m still afraid he’s more man than I can handle.”

“Ha!” I exclaimed. “There ain’t no man alive you can’t tame, and that includes Julian Gage.”

“From your mouth to god’s ears,” she called over her shoulder before punching in the code and leaving me to finish packing.