Snapping photos backstage should have been easy. Or at least, it shouldn't have been this difficult.

I was used to pulling out my camera, switching off my brain, and letting my muse guide me. I'd never thought too hard about what I was photographing. The right angles and framing and balance simply came to me.

That was why I hadn't been able to answer one of August's very first questions, when he'd shown interest in my photo. He wanted to know what I felt when taking it.

I had no answer. My thoughts and feelings never came into play when I worked. It all simply came to me.

If I wanted to release my full potential, if I wanted to take my inner passion and hone it into something exceptional, I needed to be more aware. Aware of my feelings. Aware of my emotions. Aware of the passion simmering inside me.

I'd thought I was incapable of feeling anything like passion.

August thought differently.

And he was determined to prove it to me.

A bright light illuminated the darkness of backstage. The light immediately dimmed. Ian stood leaning in a corner, thumbs rapidly tapping on his now-dimmed phone screen.

Though the blue-tinted glow cast his half his face in shadow, the ever-changing expressions on his face were visible. Joy and relief one moment, despondence and worry the next.

Understandable, since he was no doubt texting his girlfriend. Happiness at being able to talk to her. Sadness at the reminder they were so far apart. Although I'd never experienced his situation myself, I sympathized with the pair of lovers.

Sympathy.

Pulling out my own phone, I typed a quick note in a mood tracker app.

I wasn't sure if August was right. Keeping track of my thoughts and feelings and emotions had quickly become tedious, but I'd agreed to try.

I snapped a few photos of Ian. I didn't know if I'd keep them. It was such a private moment, with him looking so open, unguarded.

After a dozen photos, I turned my camera from the guitarist, looking for the other band members.

Damon was running his fingers up and down the wall, the way people teased their friends that a spider was crawling on them. He reached over his head then went back down, lowering into a crouch.

"Can I ask what you're doing?"

"Finger exercises." He craned his head sideways to talk to me, but didn't stop the finger crawling. "Gotta keep my fingers nimble." He flashed a wicked gin and used two fingers to make a come-hither motion. I was confused for a moment. That wasn't how you played guitar. Then it sunk in what he was mimicking. I flushed and cleared my throat.

"It looks like you're playing Spider-Man trying to climb up the wall."

"Sorry, I don't have any super powers."

"Your fans would disagree. They think you're some kind of rock and roll guitar god."

"Do they?" His voice was sly. "And what do you think?"

"I guess you're good."

He winced. "Damn, Cam was right. You are just like August."

I frowned, not knowing if that was a compliment or not.

"How so?"

"Faint praise," he said. "It must take a lot to impress you."

"Is August like that?"

"Oh, yeah. It took us a while to translate August-speak into human-speak. Not terrible means you're doing fine. Acceptable means awesome."

"What does good mean?"

Damon raised an eyebrow. "Did you get a good from him?" He whistled. "Damn, you really must be something special."

"I'm not at the level August wants me to be. Not yet."

"Don't kill yourself trying to impress him."

"How did you do it?"

"Impress August, you mean?" Damon shrugged. "No clue. He walked past me and my brother playing guitar on a street corner one day. I remember he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk so abruptly people rammed into him. He said we had something special."

"Passion."

Damon eyed me curiously, no hint of his previous flirting. "Yeah. Exactly. Is that what he said about you?"

I felt uncomfortable at the turn in our conversation. I didn't want to tell him what August and I had talked about. I was positive the kind of passion Damon spoke of was different from the kind of passion August meant when it came to me.

I held up my camera in both hands.

"Do you mind if I take some photos of you doing that hand thing?"

"Feel free."

As I snapped photo after photo of Damon's hands, capturing the shifting of muscles and the lines of his veins, my mind was somewhere else.

I'd have to add vulnerability to my list when I was done.

I'd taken dozens of photos when a bright red head popped in front of my view screen. Cameron put on a fake-pout and glare.

"How come you haven't taken any pictures of me yet?"

Damon shoved his palm in Cameron's face, pushing him away.

"Because you were off in a closet having phone sex with Lily."

Cameron grinned.

"No reason you can't take photos of that. It's not like she's videotaping with audio."

I blanched at the thought of shooting Cameron while he talked dirty to his girlfriend.

"If you go do something interesting I'll take your photo," I told him.

Cameron's eyes lit up.

"Something interesting, hm?"

Damon groaned.

"Don't challenge him. You have no idea what this idiot can get up to."

"I didn't actually come over here to be a camera hog," the bassist said. "We've got a three-day stop coming up soon. Ian told me Hope is planning to fly out for the weekend."

Damon's mouth twisted, looking disgruntled.

"Great."

"No sulking."

Cameron poked him in the forehead. It wasn't a gentle poke. It was more like a sharp jab.

"I know you hate it," Cameron continued, "but you're not the most important person in Ian's life anymore. It sucks, but that's how it is."

Damon grumbled and went back to doing his finger crawling.

Cameron sauntered away with a shrug.

"Do you—" I hesitated, lowering my camera. "Do you not like Ian's girlfriend?"

Damon stopped in the middle of his exercise, still facing away from me, all five fingers spread out against the wall.

"I don't want to pry," I said. "But I noticed a few times now you seemed…" I wondered how to put it. "You seemed less than enthused whenever anyone mentioned her."

Damon bowed his head. He let out a slow breath.

"It's nothing to do with her, really," he said quietly, voice so low I almost couldn't hear him over the noise of backstage. "Hope's a nice girl." He lifted his head to meet my eyes. He stared at me, as if gauging my sincerity. "The whole situation just sucks."

"Ian getting a girlfriend sucks?"

"Ian getting a girlfriend and ditching me sucks." His eyes were downcast.

"Have you thought about how your brother feels?" I asked.

Damon blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"He finds someone to love and his brother acts like it's the worst thing to ever happen."

He frowned. "It's not like that. We used to be so close. We only had each other to rely on. We took care of each other. And now it's like…"

"He doesn't need you anymore?" I guessed.

Damon stared at me. He nodded.

"I'm sorry," I said. "It must be hard. For both you and your brother. He must feel so torn."

Damon looked puzzled.

"Ian probably feels like he has to choose between you and Hope," I clarified.

Damon's eyes grew wide, as if he hadn't thought of it from his brother's perspective before.

"You're right," he said slowly. "I'm probably making him feel like shit." Damon groaned. "That's the last thing I want to do."

"You should be happy he's found someone who loves him as much as you do."

He took in a heavy breath, then let it out slowly.

"I guess I should stop being such a dick about it," he said, only half-grudgingly. "Stop giving them such a hard time." Damon banged his head against the wall. "Fuck. I'm such an asshole."

Musing on that, I wondered if pity was another emotion to add to my list.

I left Damon to have his emotional crisis in peace. Taking my camera in my hands again, I scanned the backstage area. I saw August off to the side.

My mind flashed back to our kiss. I flushed. It was so innocent, a brief brush of his mouth on mine.

It had still set my body aflame.

I pushed the thoughts down. I was here to work, not to moon over the musician I was working for. No matter how gorgeous, brilliant, and talented he was.

I held my camera up to my face. August was taking a sip of water, tossing his head back to swallow. He winced and put a hand on his neck, right between his shoulder and throat.

I wondered if he did any kind of exercises like Damon did. I imagined he held a lot of tension in his shoulders. I got a sore neck from hunching over my computer too often. Performing every night was no doubt even worse. I supposed that was why they stayed in hotels. Sleeping on a bus would cause even worse aches and pains.

He should probably see a masseuse. Or at least have someone give him a back rub.

Someone. My face continued to burn as I imagined me being the one to lay my hands on that firm, smooth skin.

"I swear to god, Cameron—"

Noah's quiet words were enough to catch August's attention.

Cameron was clinging to the lead singer, an arm around his neck, a bright grin on his face. Noah was trying to shrug out from under it, to no avail.

"I'm just saying, a double date could be fun," Cameron said. "It's not like you haven't seen me and Lily playing footsies under the table before."

Noah's glared. Cameron laughed in his face.

"Cameron. Noah." August's voice rang out clear.

He didn't need to say anything else. Cameron stopped talking. Noah's expression eased into vague disgruntlement. Cameron let him out of the neck hold. Noah grumbled and fixed his messed up hair as he stalked away, leaving Cameron to give August a sheepish look.

Forget minor aches and pains. Dealing with these guys was no doubt a daily migraine in itself.

Distracted by Cameron and Noah, August caught sight of me standing with my camera in my hands. He looked startled, as if not expecting to see me there. The surprise soon softened.

"How's it coming along?" he asked.

The muscles in my belly tightened in response to that low, husky voice.

"Good. Making progress. I think." I didn't know whether he meant the photos or the emotion thing. The answer applied to both.

August nodded. His gaze drifted to the stage, the way it had after his performance at the last concert. His eyes were distant, glassy, as if he wasn't quite in the present. I'd seen that look on him a few times. His mind was no doubt already thinking about the concert, his attention fully on the upcoming live show. Maybe there was no room in his brain for anything else.

He turned back to me.

"Have you been journaling?"

A shot of panic went through me at the thought of August seeing all the silly little notes I'd made to myself. He chuckled at my pale face.

"I'm not going to look. It's just for you. You're not getting graded on it."

"I'm always wondering if I'm doing it wrong."

"There's no such thing as right or wrong. If it helps, it helps. If not, we try something else."

I played with the camera strap, fidgeting. I held it out to him.

"Take a look and tell me if it's helping."

August clicked through the photos I'd been taking. His lips pursed as he made interesting sounds in the back of his throat. I couldn't tell if they were good sounds or bad sounds.

"Better," he said.

My heart lifted.

"Slightly better," he added.

I suppressed a smile. At least I wasn't at risk of developing a huge ego around this man.

"I'm finding it difficult," I confessed. "I'm making note of what I'm feeling, but I don't know if it's what you're looking for."

August placed a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. The heat of his palm burned into my bare skin. I shivered.

"I'm not looking for anything. This is all for you."

That reassuring touch turned into a caress, his finger trailing along my collarbone. I swallowed hard. His gaze was fixated, as if mesmerized, while callused fingertips ran a trail up my throat, along my jaw. His large hand cupped the back of my head, sifting through the dark strands.

He leaned forward. My heart jumped in my chest.

Soft lips brushed my ear.

"What are you feeling right now?"

His voice was low and husky, inflaming every inch of me.

"I don't know," I stammered.

The hitch of my breath, the trembling of my fingers, the flush of my cheeks, told a different story.

Arousal.

Desire.

Passion.

I felt his lips curve into a teasing smile.

"Liar."

He untangled himself from my hair as he straightened.

"Better write that down before you forget."

Hazy blue eyes gave me one last glance, amused, but also glinting with heat, before he left to join the other members of the band, waiting for their turn on stage.

Warmth pooled at the apex of my thighs. Small tremors wracked my body.

I doubted I'd ever forget what August had just made me feel.