I stare at him for a long moment, then slowly rise. “You can be anything you want. It’s whether you’re happy that’s the question.”

“You’re one to talk,” he shoots back, stalking toward me. “Tell me right now that you aren’t hiding from life in this old house. Jesus, you’re a young woman living like an old lady. You won’t even let us talk about your hidden talent. I honestly wouldn’t be surprised if you’d rather I thought you pedaled porn.”

A slow shake starts deep in my belly, cold and hard. “I don’t want to fight with you,” I say quietly. “I just want you to be happy. And I don’t think you are.”

“Yeah, well, right back at you, babe.”

“Okay, now I’m pissed.”

He huffs, his hands on his hips as he glares down at me. “Thanks for the update. I didn’t notice.”

“Fuck you, Killian.”

His jaw pops as he grits his teeth. “You know what? Fuck it. Here’s the truth: I wasn’t happy—until I met you.”

I literally rock back on my heels, nearly blown down by his candor.

His hands fist as he takes a step closer. “I’ve been here for nearly two months. I never stay in one play that long. And why do you think I’m still here? The scenery? No. It’s you I don’t want to leave.”

“I…I don’t. You shouldn’t…” I swallow hard. No, no, no. Never fall for a musician. Isn’t that what Mama always said? They’ll break your heart the way they’re always looking over their shoulder for the next gig.

Killian’s mouth twists. “That too real for you? Shocker.”

I wince at the bitterness in his tone and try to speak calmly. “What you do, how you’ve affected the world, I can only dream of what it must be like.”

He snorts again, but I talk over him.

“I have your albums. I’ve heard you sing. There’s so much life in your music. God, people would kill to have that talent, that power to convey so much emotion. And I…” I shake my head. “Hiding here, or behind our friendship… I can’t pretend that’s right, Killian. I wouldn’t be a friend to you if I did.”

He’s silent for a long moment, his expression stony. Then he gives a short nod. “Understood.” He looks around as if he’s suddenly woken up and doesn’t quite know where he is. His gaze slides over me, not holding on. “It’s getting late. I’m gonna head out.”

Before I can say another word, he leaves. And it takes everything in me not to shout for him to come back.

Chapter Six

Killian

I stay away from Liberty for the next few days. Not sure what to do but keep my distance until I cool down. She hit below the belt when she basically spoke the truth—damn it. The worst was when she claimed she didn’t want me using her as an excuse to stay.

Excuse? The last thing I view Libby as is an excuse to hide. I’d been a breath away from kissing her when she’d looked up at me, her eyes wide beneath that ugly trucker hat. Hell, I’ve wanted to kiss her for days. Every time I look at her. Normally, I wouldn’t hold back, but nothing about my relationship with Libby is normal.

I don’t spend time with chicks. I don’t spend time with anyone. It’s writing-composing, practicing, recording, touring, fucking, sleeping. Same old record spinning round and round. I used to hang out with the guys, but that tapered off once we went Platinum. No free time and too much attention on us when we were in public took care of that.

I’m a twenty-seven-year-old, multimillionaire singer-guitarist in the biggest rock band in the world, and I have no earthly clue how to have a relationship with a woman. I could laugh. But I don’t find it funny.

Because I want Liberty Bell.

Hell, I knew I was in trouble when she stripped down to that plain, black bikini, and I got instant, demanding wood. I swear she’s trying to hide behind the clothes she wears, because her body is banging. She isn’t model perfect; I’ve done model perfect, a lot. And at some point, bodies just become bodies. Attraction is a whole different beast.

Liberty’s plump-but-firm ass, narrow waist, and perky little breasts just do it for me. Jesus, her tits. They’d fit the wells of my palms perfectly, those sweet tips pointing up, just begging to be sucked.

That day at the beach I’d wanted to get my hands and mouth on them so badly, I’d almost run off into the ocean so I didn’t jump her.

So, yeah, I’m in trouble. She got starstruck over who I am, and while I know she still likes me for me, when I try to see her stepping into my world, I fail. Not because she wouldn’t fit. But because everything I know about Libby tells me she wouldn’t want to. When she lets her guard down, I see that she’s into me too. But she’s fighting it, throwing up walls almost desperately. What’s a guy supposed to do with that?

So I’ve put some distance between us in the most literal way I can.

My bike is back from the shop, and I took a long drive along the mainland coast—staying at cheap motels, driving when I get up, eating when I get hungry. It’s beautiful, calming. Lonely. I miss her. Which is weird since I only really just met her. But I know her. After weeks of hanging out, I know all sorts of Libby things.

I know that even though she makes the best damn biscuits in the world and perfect peach pie—food that will have me moaning in pleasure—Libby likes to snack on ramen noodles slathered in BBQ sauce and butter, which is some truly disgusting shit. I know that she loves Scooby-Doo cartoon movies and actually gets freaked out during the “spooky” scenes.

And she knows me. She knows that Britney Spears was my first concert, not The Strokes as the public believes—though how I wish that were true. She knows I hate beans, not because of the taste, but because I can’t stand biting into the nasty skins surrounding them.

We know each other. We can talk about anything, or nothing. It never gets old or boring. Libby is my resonance; when I’m in her vicinity, I’m suddenly amped up, with everything moving at a different frequency. And I don’t care if that’s sappy. It’s the truth.

I can’t stay away any longer. If all I can have of her is friendship, I’ll have to take it.

It takes me all day to get back home. When I turn down the long shared road toward our houses, the sky is fading to smoky blue shot with coral pink. My house sits dark in the shadows. Golden light streams from Libby’s window, hitting the lawn. Her silhouette moves past the kitchen window, and I imagine she’s cooking something awesome.