The concert after party was already raging by the time I reached my hotel room. The tour manager arranged a massive suite, with each band member getting their own room, along with a common living and kitchen area. I wondered if this was what they called the presidential suite.

Loud electronic music blasted throughout the common area, with two dozen or so people taking up most of the space. The members of Darkest Days I recognized, along with a few members of the opening bands I'd seen hanging around the backstage. The rest were all girls. Pretty, long-legged, and perfectly portioned girls. Fans and groupies I had to assume.

Cameron held court over a handful of young women as they laughed along to whatever story he was telling them. He kept a respectful distance, deftly sidestepping wandering and grabby hands.

Damon had his own gaggle of girls surrounding him. He seemed to have no objection to grabby hands. In fact, his were the ones doing the most wandering, stroking up and down arms and backs, curling around hips and waists. From the eager looks on each girls face, they had no objections, either.

Sticking to the walls, I made my way to the closest bedroom step by step, avoiding the partiers drinking and dancing. I slipped inside and closed the door behind me. I didn't bother turning on the lights. It had been a long day. I kicked off my shoes, shimmied out of my leggings, and tossed my sweater over my head. I took a moment to decide which of the two queen beds to sleep on, before flopping onto the one closest to the door.

Pale moonlight shone in through the window, just enough to vaguely make out the shape of the furniture. This room was almost as big as the common area. There was a big screen television mounted on the wall along with a living room set, complete with coffee table, sofa, and two armchairs. The standard work desk was massive, a dark mahogany, and came with a leather computer chair that wouldn't have been out of place in a CEOs office.

I'd known rock stars lived large, but sometimes I was taken aback by just how much money the label spent on Darkest Days.

Twenty minutes later, I was still half-awake. With the pounding bass vibrating the floorboards and raucous laughter seeping through the door, I wasn't going to find an easy sleep.

I must have closed my eyes at some point. I was lifted out of a light doze, half-awake and half-asleep, by a rustling sound. Brain still fogged, I rubbed at my eyes to rouse myself. The room was dark. The rustling sounds increased. I clicked on the bedside light switch, my eyes squeezing shut reflexively.

"Oh. Hey. Sorry."

I recognized August's low tones. Blinking my eyes open slowly, I started to tell him it was okay, assuming he'd come to get me for some reason, not realizing I was asleep.

August's chest was bare.

His leather pants were half unzipped.

My eyes feasted on the sight.

The broad shoulders curving into strong upper arms made me ache to reach out. The peaks and valleys of his toned torso begged to be explored. A series of indistinct tattoos covered his forearms, urging me to run my fingers over them.

His leather pants were unbuttoned, the zipper down. I couldn't help following that tempting V-shape of his lower abs and hips, leading to…

I realized my mouth was dry, hanging open, gape-jawed as I stared. I snapped my mouth closed, heat flooding my cheeks.

Just as I was staring at him, August was staring at me. I was in my panties and the thin tank top I wore under my over-sized shirt. The hairs on my arms stood on end as I recognized the look in August's eyes. Riveted, as if unable to look away, and full of scorching heat. I'd seen him look at me like this a few times before, but never with this intensity. Never with this much fervor.

"Sorry I woke you."

The taut muscles of his chest flexed as he moved to zip his pants. Disappointment welled up in my chest as the delicious V was covered up.

"It's okay," I said, the words almost a squeak. "It's loud. I couldn't really sleep."

"I can tell them to keep it down."

"No. It's fine. Let them party. I don't want to be a downer."

We stared at each other in silence.

"There isn't another room," August said eventually. "None of the suites had six bedrooms. Noah and I were going to share the one room with two beds."

I looked at the second bed, sheets smoothed and untouched.

"I'm sorry. I just took the first room I saw. I don't mind switching."

"It's fine. I can crash on the living room sofa."

Now that I was somewhat accustomed to the sight of his bare abs, I noticed he carried a cold compress in his hand.

"Did you strain your shoulder again?" I asked, concerned.

"It's just a little sore. It happens."

He held the compress to his left shoulder. He winced as the motion irritated his other arm.

"Need some help?" I asked, surprising myself.

August looked equally surprised. He recovered and sat on the side of the bed next to me, feet flat on the floor. I tugged a sheet to my waist, flushing. He watched me carefully as I took the cold compress from him, pressing it against the curve of his shoulder and neck.

"Performing every night must take a toll on your body," I said. "If you're hurt, you should tell the guys."

"It's not a big deal. Just the usual aches and pains." He met my eyes. "Promise me you won't tell them? They'd only worry for no reason."

"If you promise to take it easy."

"Sorry, can't do that."

"Because you always give one hundred and ten percent to your fans?" I guessed.

He gave a rueful chuckle.

"It's partly that. Mostly it's because I don't know how to take it easy when it comes to music. It's all I know. It's all I care about."

"Have you always been that way?"

"I banged on plastic toy xylophones and pounded away on pots before I spoke my first words. My mom and dad…" His lips turned down as he faltered, eyes downcast, before continuing on. "They were musicians. They got me started early."

I wondered at that slight pause when he mentioned his parents. They were musicians. Past tense. I didn't know anything about August's personal life. I was struck with the need to know more. I wanted to know everything about this man.

"Did they play rock music, too?"

He cracked a smile. "They were folk singers. Old school hippies. Furthest from rock and roll you can imagine."

"How did they react when their beloved son started a rock group full of screeching guitars and screaming lyrics?"

That melancholy expression returned. He turned his head to avoid my eyes.

"They didn't live to see it. They died in a car crash."

"I'm so sorry."

My heart ached for August. Losing your parents was one of the worst things a kid could go through.

"I was in the car with them," he murmured quietly. "I walked away with nothing worse than a few broken bones."

"How old were you?" I asked tentatively.

"Fifteen. My uncle took me in. We got along well, but I still moved out after a year. I'd already started making money songwriting for other artists, so I was pretty independent."

His lips twitched upward, some of the sadness retreating.

"My parents always said I was too mature for my age," he continued. "They wished I was out causing trouble with my friends, not holed up in my room making music."

"I'm sure they were proud of you."

"They were. Mostly. They worried I was growing up too fast. Missing out on my childhood." He craned his neck from side to side and rotated his shoulders, testing the muscles. "Looking at the way Cameron still acts, I don't think I missed out on much."

We shared a small smile.

August's gaze dropped to my lips. Nerves fluttered in my stomach as that heat returned to his eyes. We were sitting so close. The only thing keeping our thighs from pressing together was the thin cotton sheet. A part of me wished I hadn't pulled the sheet into my lap.

Inhaling deeply to calm myself, I breathed in his familiar earthy-sweet scent that now reminded me of black tea leaves.

I focused on the cold pack, pressing down firmly. August placed his hand over mine. I stopped breathing. He repositioned my hand closer to the joint of his shoulder, away from his neck. A few drops of condensation had beaded on the skin of his throat.

I got the insane urge to lean forward and lick those droplets off his skin.

Shocked by my own thoughts, I tried to pull back. August's hand on mine stopped me. His warmth was a stark contrast to my ice-numbed fingers. It spread from that single point of contact, from my hand, up my arm, and down my belly to settle between my thighs.

August shifted, bringing one leg up on the bed until our knees touched through the sheets and we were face to face. Staring into my eyes, he brushed the hair away from my cheek with a gentle touch. He tucked the loose strands behind my ear, the way my mom did when I was a kid. My heart ached at the sweet gesture even as my stomach muscles clenched.

With his hand buried in my hair, his gaze fixated on my lips. One soft thumb wandered to the corner of my mouth. My breath hitched. He slowly drew a line along my bottom lip. My mouth trembled, acutely aware of every swirl of his thumbprint against my now overly sensitive skin.

"What are you feeling now?" he murmured.

My throat tightened. I parted my lips to speak, but couldn't form a single word.

He slipped between my parted lips. The pad of his thumb brushed the flat of my tongue.

I inhaled sharply as a throbbing flared up between my thighs, my insides pulsing with need, with desire.

The taste of salt and earth flooded my senses. He tasted as good as he smelled. I wanted to taste more of him. I wanted to taste every inch of him.

His thumb left my mouth. I mourned the loss of it.

"Tell what you're feeling." His tone was soft yet demanding, coaxing an answer out of me.

"I—" My voice faltered. I cast my eyes down, unable to keep eye contact.

I saw I wasn't the only one in need. The hardening length constricted by his leather pants proved to me he was feeling much the same as me. I was filled with fascination at the size of him, the breadth.

He placed a finger on the point of my chin, tilting my head up.

"Cassie."

The way he said my name commanded me to look him in the eyes. The desire I saw must have matched my own.

I inhaled a shuddering breath and spoke softly, almost whispering.

"I'm aching inside."

The heat in his eyes flared up, turning carnal. The strength of his need was almost too much, too potent. It threatened to overwhelm me, as if he were a tsunami racing towards land, ready to submerge everything in its path.

The door flung open, a laughing couple stumbling in. Flushing hot, I scrambled back against the headboard, putting space between me and August.

"Whoops!" said the laughing girl as she dragged her companion out of the room. I vaguely recognized the man from one of the opening acts. "Didn't mean to interrupt. Continue on!"

They left, laughing and slamming the door behind them.

I put my hands to my face, mortified.

With a regretful chuckle, August stood from the bed. He turned his back and tried to discreetly adjust himself.

"We should get some sleep," he said. "Long day tomorrow."

He headed toward the door. The party still raged on outside.

"Stay here," I said.

He turned to me slowly.

"I have the room with the two queen beds," I continued nervously. "You won't get any rest tonight if you try to sleep on the sofa."

He examined me closely. With a murmured thanks, he crossed the room and settled onto the second bed. He reached for the zip of his pants, intending to get undressed for sleep. My eyes zeroed in on his hands. His length was still half hard.

I flushed and looked away.

After a moment's pause, August flicked the bedside light switch off. Darkness enveloped the room.

I laid back and pulled the sheets to my neck. I listened to the rustle of August getting undressed. Listened to the rustle of his clothes hitting the floor. Listened to him slip under the covers.

Those leather pants had been tight. He likely hadn't been wearing anything underneath them.

I couldn't help but wonder if he was wearing anything at all to bed.

The image of August's nude body in my mind's eye sent that pulse of desire straight back between my legs.

Curling onto my side, I pressed my thighs together, squeezing, trying to alleviate the ache.

An ache I knew August was more than willing to take care of, if I only dared to ask.