Ash and Skye drove to the next town with an airport. After dropping off the rental car, Skye headed for the shuttle that would take them to the passenger terminal. A whirlwind of possibilities swirled in the space separating her and Ash. Time slipped through their fingers as the inevitability of the real world approached.

Ash gripped his guitar. She held her backpack. They each clung to the pieces of their lives.

She followed the other travelers queuing up for the shuttle, but the weight of Ash’s hand on her arm stopped her in her tracks.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“We have a car coming.”

She didn’t even question the why or how. This was no longer Ash but Blaze, lead singer and front man of Angel Fire, whose manager chartered planes on a whim.

A black sedan pulled up outside the rental agency, and a large man climbed out the driver’s side. He looked familiar until she realized he was one of the drivers of the Hummers the day she’d met Ash. The man opened the passenger door. His appraising gaze settled on her, making her hands tremble.

“Mr. Dean”—then, he included her with a fractional nod—“Miss, the jet is waiting.”

Ash hefted his guitar. “Hey, Sam.”

Sam took her backpack from her tight grip while Ash loaded his guitar into the trunk.

Sam gestured to the car. “Have a seat, please. I’ll take care of this.” He lifted her tired backpack and gently laid it beside Ash’s guitar.

Climbing into the car, she heaved a heavy sigh. Sam’s appearance irrevocably erased the carefree world of a mountain cabin, hiking, and waterfall hunts. Ash’s world of rock-star fame, fortune, glitz, and glamour barreled down on them. And she feared she was nothing more than an unwelcome interloper.

Once Ash joined her, she pressed her fingers against his arm, needing contact to galvanize herself against what would come next. “Who is he?”

Ash gave a strained smile. “Sam’s a part of my security detail.” He relaxed into the seat, kicking a heel over his knee and patting her hand. “Don’t worry about him. He’s cool.”

With a sigh, she leaned against Ash, her stomach lurching with nerves. “Maybe I should drive home by myself and let you deal with your band.”

Being thrust in the middle of whatever conversation Ash would have with his bandmates, plus an irate manager, didn’t seem like a good idea.

“You’re not leaving.” He slung an arm over her shoulder, and she snuggled against the hard muscles of his chest.

Sam settled into the driver’s seat and started the car.

“The guys can be a bit over the top,” Ash said, “but don’t let them scare you.”

“I’m not scared.” She resigned herself to the inevitable. “Just concerned.” Like ripping off a Band-Aid, it would be best to get this over quickly.

Ash put a finger under her chin and turned her to face him. Sweeping forward, he brushed his lips over hers. At first soft and delicate, the press turned needful and raw, but she pushed him away, aware of the stern look Sam gave through the rearview mirror.

The sedan wove around the airport, leaving the passenger terminal behind.

“Where are we going?” She craned her neck, curious as to their destination.

“Relax.” Ash’s fingers sifted through her long curls, his eyes following every twist and turn of the strands.

“But look at my clothes!” She gestured to her baggy sweats. “I can’t meet them like this.”

“It’s okay. They’re cool,” Ash said.

Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one facing down a group of strangers who believed she’d stolen their lead singer.

Butterflies danced in her belly, making her nauseous, but soon, the car pulled up to a smaller terminal, and she and Ash were climbing out.

He led her into a building where they passed through a security-screening checkpoint, and her backpack along with Ash’s guitar were sent through an X-ray scanner. Sam then took the lead and ushered them out of the building and onto the tarmac where a full-sized commercial jet waited.

She pulled up short. “I was expecting something smaller.”

When he’d said his manager was bringing the jet, she had imagined a Learjet, not a jumbo airliner. While she knew his band was popular, never had she imagined they had the resources to afford such extravagance.

Ash laughed. “Angel Fire doesn’t do anything small.”

A set of airstairs had been pulled up to the jetliner, and the hatch sat open. As she and Ash approached, a man called out from the open hatch. Moments later, men spilled out of the aircraft and bounded down the stairs.

She gripped Ash’s hand…hard. Vaguely, she remembered the men from the coffee shop.

Ash squeezed her hand. “Bent is the one with the black hair. Noodles has the tribal tats. Spike is the one with the piercings. Not sure where Bash is.”

One thing all the men shared, although distinctly different, was their devastatingly handsome looks. Forest would know their names and faces, but she struggled to get them right. Spike was easy. Metal pierced his flesh. Noodles, tall and somewhat lanky, didn’t remind her of a noodle, but the tribal tattoos curved around his flesh, so she could remember the curves and angles and make a connection with a noodle. Bent was the hardest to find something easy to remember him by—until she took another look at the curled mop on top of his head. Curly hair meant bent hair. With her memory joggers firmly in place, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t make a mistake in their names.

Another man stood at the top of the stairs. With broad shoulders and a bald head, he wore a T-shirt, black to match the color of his jeans, as he stared down at her with a fixed expression.

Ash pointed. “That’s Bash. We went to high school together.”

Even from a distance, Bash’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. His mnemonic was easy. He was the one who wanted to bash in her head.

She grabbed Ash’s arm. “I don’t think Bash likes me.”

“He doesn’t know you.” Ash disentangled her hand from his arm and brushed her knuckles with the sweetest kiss. “We’re like family. Don’t be surprised if they’re a bit overprotective, but they’re going to love you”

A cold wind blew across the asphalt, swirling around her legs and creeping down the back of her heavy coat. It sent a chill down her spine, prickling her skin and setting her teeth on edge. A general hum filled the air, but all the engines had been turned off, and there weren’t any other jets at the private terminal. The air hung with an eerie silence. Odd in a place she’d expect to hear the drone of jet engines.

Ash’s conviction was reassuring. She shivered and wrapped her arms around herself to hold in precious body heat.

A man in a suit joined Bash at the cabin door, the two of them leaning close and looking exactly like they were discussing her.

“That’s our manager, Thomas Tuttle,” Ash said.

And the only man not introduced by first name, like he wore his full name with the same hardness as the dark suit.

Ash pulled her close, wrapping an arm over her shoulder. The warmth of his body soaked into her but did nothing to dispel the chill emanating from the top of those stairs. She leaned in for support and for protection against the imposing group of men advancing upon them…upon her.

Thomas Tuttle’s mouth settled into a scowl as he gazed down from the top of those stairs. She knew what he saw—a threat to his investment and a liability to his cash cow, the lead singer.

Spike reached them first. Her attention latched on to the three rings piercing his lower lip. How did he ever kiss with all that hardware?

“So, this is the chick?” Spike did a once-over, scanning her from head to toe and dismissing her just as quickly.

The man with the curly black hair stepped beside Spike. Bent’s eyes narrowed with disdain. “What’s the chick’s name?” Bent’s gruff tone made her feel inconsequential and unwanted.

Tension coiled in Ash’s body as the glowing reactions she knew he had hoped for failed to materialize.

She sucked in a breath and thrust out her hand, hoping to salvage something of this meeting. Courtesy demanded they shake, and she hoped they would relax amid the common greeting. “Hi, I’m Skye.”

Bent’s eyes cut to her hand, but he didn’t move to take it. His attention focused instead on Ash, something like a threat smoldering in his expression.

She refused to allow them to intimidate her. She’d seen far scarier in the back bay of her emergency department, strong men posturing who would crumble when she stitched up their wounds. She took a step forward, and purposefully reached down to clasp Bent’s hand, forcing the issue.

With her best smile, she shook, using an exaggerated up and down motion. “You must be Bent?”

Spike’s lower lip curved into a smile, lifting the three silver rings.

Bent’s eyes rounded with surprise, but she released his limp hand before he could respond. She then extended her hand to Spike. “And you must be Spike.”

Spike took her hand with a snicker to Bent. “I remember you now. You’re the hellcat from that coffee shop.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a hellcat.” She laughed. “Crazy maybe, depending on the day.”

He smiled. “Well, that is to be determined. We didn’t think much of it when Ash took off to return your bag. At least, not until he came back, all bloodied up. I’m thinking there’s a story to be told.”

She returned Spike’s smile. “Maybe, maybe not.”

“No maybe about it, considering you got him to marry you.” Bent crossed his arms with accusation and stared down his nose, as if he’d solved some great mystery.

Noodles edged Bent out of the way. “No fucking way.” His mouth gaped. “She’s the one?” He slugged Ash in the arm. “What the hell, man?”

Ash’s face darkened several shades of red, turning purple with anger. “Be careful what you say about my wife.”

Wife? Seriously? It was nice for him to stick up for her, but it wasn’t necessary. Not against these men.

“We’re kind of still sorting that mess out,” she offered.

Noodles held up his hands and backed away. “She’s the one the song’s about, isn’t she? ‘Insanity’? And what about ‘Hunting Waterfalls’? That one about her, too? She’s become your fucking muse?”

“I’m standing right here,” she reminded him.

Ash gave a sharp jerk of his chin.

The one who seemed to want to bash her head in finally descended the air stairs and joined Ash’s friends.

Bash’s fingers curled, tightening into an aggressive display. “At least your songwriting hasn’t suffered, fucktard.”

She stepped to the side, worried about how things seemed to be escalating out of control.

“Shame you were thinking with your dick instead of your head.” Bash shoved Ash. “What the fuck were you thinking, letting her trick you like that?” Another shove, and Ash was forced back a step.

Inserting herself between Ash and his friend didn’t seem like the best idea, but doing nothing felt wrong, too. His other bandmates—Noodles, Bent, and Spike—stepped back.

“What the fuck?” The color of Bash’s face matched the same purple hue of Ash’s skin. “She got you smoking? Drinking? You shooting up again?”

Ash stumbled back. Storm clouds brewed in his expression, but he didn’t defend himself against Bash although his fingers curled into fists. Then, they relaxed as he rubbed them against his jeans.

“Stop,” he said. The single word reverberated in the hostile air, ringing like a bell and forcing Bash to silence. “You will not talk about my wife that way.”

Again, the inflection he placed on that singular word had the fine hairs on her nape lifting.

Bash pointed. “No fucking way is that starstruck groupie legit. Tell me you were stoned, high, or drunk as a skunk when you signed on that dotted line. Because no way would you do that. She’s nothing more than a cheap fuck. A mistake—”

Her head whipped at that comment, stunned he would say such a thing.

A throaty growl ripped from Ash’s throat. “Fuck you.”

“It’s all over the papers.”

Bash launched himself at Ash. The punch to Ash’s face knocked him to the ground. Skye tried to run to Ash’s side, but Noodles grabbed her and lifted her off her feet. She twisted, clawing at the tattooed arms of the man holding her.

“Goddamn it, woman,” Noodles said. He dragged her back toward the plane and called out to Bent, “Help me out.”

Bent cursed, “This is a fucking shitstorm. No groupies on the plane. That’s the rule.”

Noodles breathed down her neck as he dragged her back.

“Let me go!” she cried out.

Bash and Ash pummeled one another while Ash’s bodyguard, Sam, made no move to intervene.

This was definitely not what Ash had been expecting, and it was time someone brought order to this mess.

She gritted her teeth, changing tactics. “Put me down, or I’ll press charges. And, trust me, you don’t want to mess with me.” And she didn’t care what Forest would say about keeping a low profile. She’d take these guys to the cleaners.

Noodles was smarter than he looked, or maybe there was just enough crazy in her voice to make him worry. He released her and took a step back, lifting his hands up and out. Even the imposing Bent didn’t move as she rushed to the fighting men.

Her life wasn’t in danger, but Bash was beating the crap out of Ash.

There was only one choice.

She jumped Bash, applying pressure to a nerve bundle in Bash’s neck. Two seconds later, he was out cold.

Ash looked at her, his mouth gaping. “What did you do?”

She rolled Bash into a recovery position and aligned his airway. “Don’t worry; he’ll come around in a minute.”

Sam, who hadn’t moved while the men were fighting, rushed forward. She felt more than saw the large man barreling toward her and braced for impact.

Ash stepped between her and Sam, stopping his advance. “Skye’s a doctor.”

“She knocked him out!” Sam exclaimed.

Sure enough, Bash coughed with the urge to breathe. She lightly placed her fingers over his neck, feeling for his pulse. When his eyes popped open, she gave him one of her biggest smiles.

He blinked, dazed, as circulation returned to his brain.

She spoke slowly, making certain he understood every word, “I’m going to let you get up now, but if you even think of touching Ash, you and I are going to have another talk.”

Bash started to move, but she pressed on his sternum, rubbing her knuckles against his chest. He gasped at the pain of sternal pressure, something she used in her job to determine the responsiveness of comatose patients.

She had his full attention now. “Do we understand each other?”

Bash coughed. “What the fuck did you do?”

“You’re going to be a bit unsteady for the next couple of minutes. I suggest you take it easy. Don’t be surprised if you need help walking.”

She made a quick assessment of Ash’s injuries, but other than a bloody nose, she didn’t see any major damage. “You could pinch your nose,” she said to Ash. “You know, to stop the bleeding?”

His gorgeous eyes regarded her with a mix of emotions—desire, affection, relief, plus something stronger that she wasn’t willing to admit. He dutifully pinched the bridge of his nose to stem the flow of blood.

She needed to leave and let Ash deal with his band. The only problem was, she couldn’t trust him not to chase her down.

She pointed an accusing finger at Ash’s bodyguard, Sam. “Isn’t it your job to protect them?”

“From fans, the press, and you, but not from each other. If they want to go at it like dogs, I’m paid not to intervene.” He waved a hand. “And, here I thought, I was the only one who knew that trick. You’ve got my respect, Doc.”

She ignored Sam and turned to Ash. “What does he mean, paid not to intervene?”

Ash extended a hand to Bash, who grudgingly accepted the help to stand.

Bash wobbled and fell against Ash but answered her question, “We get to beat each other up as much as we want. That’s what it means.” He gathered his balance. “Shit, what the fuck was that? Some juju move?”

“Its jujitsu,” she said. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

Bash put his hand to the back of his neck. “Just wanted to kick his ass. He went back on a promise.”

Ash clapped Bash on the shoulder. “I’ve been sober the whole time.”

“Then, how the fuck did you accidentally get married?”

Clutching at her chest, she took a step back. How indeed?

Ash’s bandmates faced her down as a unit.

How was she going to defuse this tension?

Thomas Tuttle, with his stiff suit, finally found his way to the men of Angel Fire. “You certainly know how to create a shitstorm, Blaze,” Tuttle said to Ash.

Ash’s jaw clenched, and his lips thinned. He tugged her to his side, a place he seemed to like her best.

“There are implications we need to consider.” Tuttle’s cold, hard eyes swept down her body, his lips twisting as he took in her baggy attire.

His dismissive appraisal had her feeling like yesterday’s trash. She hadn’t endured this much scorn in a very long time. She hadn’t liked it then, and she sure as hell didn’t like it now. Tuttle could shove his implications and that fancy suit up his ass.

“I’m not something that needs to be taken care of,” she said.

With a step to the side, she considered taking Tuttle out, but Ash pulled her back under his protective embrace.

“What are you suggesting?” Ash demanded.

Tuttle raised his hands in a gesture meant to soothe. “We must carefully evaluate what needs to happen next.” No threat came from those hands, but his deep-set eyes latched on to her, ready to take her down—or at least pry her away from his star.

Only she didn’t back down from the threat of men like him.

Not anymore.

“Like what?” Ash shifted his stance, tucking her behind him. He’d done the same thing with Spencer, shielding her from what he perceived to be a threat.

Tuttle continued his rasping words, “We’ll discuss this on the plane. You’ve missed rehearsals, and we need to prep for this weekend’s concert. I have an idea about what to do with…her.”

His dismissive wave had her curling her fingers into the muscles of Ash’s arm, digging in with her desire to rake Tuttle’s eyes out of his sockets.

“We’re not doing anything with Skye.” Ash lowered his voice, making his wishes clear. “She’s not a problem that needs handling.”

Although Ash echoed her thoughts, the entire situation threatened to spiral out of hand if she didn’t take charge.

Skye pressed her palm to Ash’s shoulder and whispered, “Ash, maybe we should talk.”

Ash pulled her some distance away, clutching her hand with a desperate hunger. “Don’t listen to him. We might have rushed into this, but that’s no reason to rush out of it.”

“Listen, let’s just cool it for a few days. Go talk to your bandmates and smooth things over. I don’t think I should go with you.” Her gaze darted back to the private terminal. She could catch a flight to Roanoke, retrieve her things from Bob’s cabin, and still make it back to work on time.

He gave her a gentle shake. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t feel this.”

The certainty in his gaze had her heart lurching.

Something existed all right—a nuclear explosive detonation.

She wanted more. Every moment with Ash had brought a profound sense of belonging. She didn’t want to lose that feeling, except there was no way for it to last.

Her gaze cut to the plane and all the promises it held. If she set foot on that thing, entered his world, she’d lose a part of herself.

“We made a horrible mistake.” She rested her hand on his arm. “This whole situation is making me uncomfortable. And I still need to get my stuff from the cabin. I think the best thing is a time-out. We can figure everything out later.”

With Forest’s help, she would fix this mess. Or Tuttle would. That man looked like he was used to fixing Angel Fire’s messes. In the long run, it would be better to gain some perspective. Obviously, she couldn’t trust herself to make rational decisions when Ash was around.

A swipe of the pen had landed them in this mess, and their scrawled signatures would deliver them from it.

“You’re wrong, babe,” Ash said, brushing wisps of hair from her face. “When I hold you, I know exactly where I belong. You’re in my heart. In my soul. You’re in the very air I breathe. Don’t leave.”

How could she respond to his poignant plea?

Time and distance. Time to sort things out, and distance to clear her head.

She’d narrowly missed an engagement to Spencer, and she wasn’t ready to stay in a marriage with Ash.

Ash’s passion and his desperation to hold on had her heart breaking. Splintering from the inside out, she craved every promise he’d uttered. For that reason, she had to free herself from the madness because it was foolish and irrational to continue. Like oil and water, his famous life and her quiet existence did not mix.

Tension tightened the creases at the corners of his beautiful eyes. Or was it fear? Perhaps he sensed her imminent flight. The cords of his muscles stood out on his neck, marring the perfection of his tattoo. The dragon’s talons stretched on the bloody web, caught forever between flight and freedom. Was that what the tattoo meant to him? Had she discovered its meaning on her own?

No matter how much it hurt, it was time to end their adventure.

“Mr. Tuttle is right,” she said with a sigh. “We need to think this through.”

A desperate need for her brother’s strength had her fighting back a flood of tears.

Ash did that thing with his lips. The thin line of determination challenged her with absolute assurance. His shoulders rolled back, and he stretched to his full height, staring down with his jaw clenched tight. His gaze lingered on her lips and then skittered away.

“You’re wrong, babe. You know it, too. But I can’t make you stay.” He took a step back, releasing her from his grip. “I’m willing to give you space, but I won’t give up on us. Someday, you’ll realize how hard this was for me to do.”

His fingers curled and then he shook them out. Despondency rolled off him in waves, leaving her reeling.

She rubbed at the ache flaring in her chest.

This was it—the end.

“At the very least, let me take you home.” His hand opened and closed, grasping at the air and what was remaining of the shreds of time left to them.

But more time in his presence would open her up to changing her mind. Neither of them could afford that.

“I can take care of myself.”

His eyes closed and then slowly opened. “I get that.” He cleared his throat and took a step toward her, his hand stretching out, urging her to take it. “Don’t let it end like this.”

She didn’t trust herself to speak.

Their eyes met, stretched over an impassable gulf even though only a few feet separated them. He held her in a moment of indecision.

Shaking her head, she pivoted and headed for the terminal.

A knife twisted in her chest. She lurched to a stop and turned, expecting him to follow. Instead, Ash’s friends clustered around him, dragging him back toward the plane.

She ran for the sheltering warmth of the terminal. The automatic doors slid open and closed behind her with a hiss of finality. With a swipe to the corners of her eyes, she brushed away the stream of tears.

The employee who tended the hospitality desk looked up as she stumbled to a stop. “Ma’am?” He wiped down his counter. “Can I help you?”

She squared her shoulders. The thick lump in her throat disappeared after three strong swallows. “How do I get to the commercial passenger terminal?”

He picked up a phone and dialed. “Our concierge service will be here shortly. Is there anything else I can help you with?” His eyes darted to the door, to the jet she was not climbing aboard.

“Can you book a ticket?”

A blue glow lit his face as he woke up a sleeping computer screen hidden beneath the counter. “Yes, ma’am. Where would you like to go?”

“Washington National, please.”

She splayed her fingers over the warm wood of the counter while the tapping of his fingers over the keys filled the uncomfortable silence.

“There’s a flight leaving in two hours.”

“Perfect.”

More finger tapping. “Do you have a seat preference?”

“Window.” She unslung her backpack and pulled out her wallet. “How much?”

“Angel Fire’s account will cover the cost.” A printer spit out paper, and he handed her the itinerary.

The door behind opened, bringing with it a gust of chilly air.

Her heart soared. Could it be?

With a smile tugging at the corners of her lips, she pivoted. Then, her heart came crashing back to earth. It was Sam, the bodyguard.

With a grimace, she turned back to the counter and glanced at the itinerary, noticing the first-class seat assignment.

Sam cleared his throat. “Miss, Mr. Dean asks that you join him on the plane.”

“He sent you? Where is he?”

“On the plane, waiting.”

A black sedan pulled up outside.

“You can tell Blaze that I’m not getting on that plane.”

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder, she marched out, heading away from Ash and toward the sedan.

A few hours ago, Ash would have come for her himself. A few minutes surrounded by his band, and he’d become Blaze, the rock star who sent lackeys to do his work for him. She missed the man who shopped in secondhand stores.

Deep in her broken heart, she knew she’d made the right choice.

She slipped into the waiting car and shut the door.

The driver looked into the rearview mirror. “Which airline?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She wasn’t getting on a plane—at least not one at this airport. She didn’t want Ash to track her down because she sensed he might.

She thumbed on her phone and composed a simple text.

Forest! I need you!

She didn’t need her little brother. She needed the man the scrawny boy had become.

His text came back.

Can you make it to LAX?

Yes!

On my way!

Somehow, someway, Forest would be there.