I kiss the crest of his cheek, the corner of his eye. “How did you picture it?”

He rubs my back as he continues to explore my neck and shoulder with his mouth. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot, actually.”

“You have?” I try to pull back to face him, but he won’t let me.

His hands drift back to my butt and squeeze. With a sigh, I rest my head on his shoulder, and he gives my cheek a kiss. “Yeah, I have.” For a long moment he stills, just cradling me against him as if he’s reveling in the act. And I do too. He’s strong and warm, his heart a comforting beat in my ear.

Its rhythm picks up as he takes a deep breath. “Libs… Come with me.”

“What?” I sit up straight.

Killian’s hands fall to my thighs, slowly rubbing them as he meets my gaze head-on. “Come with me on tour.”

“No.”

“No?” His short laugh is incredulous. “Not even a moment’s thought? Just no?”

“You’re reuniting with your band after a year. No way in hell am I showing up on your arm like some countrified Yoko.”

He laughs again, this time with more humor, though his expression is strained. “You know, the whole Yoko thing was wildly exaggerated. The Beatles were already drifting apart.”

“The fact that you called it a ‘Yoko thing’ proves my point. Truth doesn’t really matter. Perception does. And your bandmates will not appreciate me showing up in tow.”

His fingers grip my thighs. Not hard, but firmly enough to show his agitation. “You don’t know that. You haven’t even met them.”

“I know people.” Using his shoulders as leverage, I rise off him and sit on the couch at his side. “Mr. Scott looks at me like I’m a problem he needs to take care of.”

“Call him Scottie, and he looks at everyone like that.” Killian turns to face me. “Besides, I don’t want you to come with me as arm candy. I want you to play with me.”

I think my mouth falls open then. I know I can’t do anything more than gurgle like a fish out of water as I stare back at Killian’s expectant face. It takes me a minute to find my voice, and it’s a pathetic squeak when I do. “Play? As in, go on stage with you?”

“Of course.” A wrinkle forms between his straight brows. “What else would I be talking about? I’ve been writing those songs for us.”

“Killian…I’m not…” I lift my arms, searching for the words. “Were you even listening when I told you about my spectacular failures? I am a stage fright queen.”

“Lots of people have stage fright.” He doesn’t blink, doesn’t waver. “And if I hadn’t seen the regret in your eyes when you told me those stories, I might be inclined to let it go.”

I ball my fists, wanting to stomp my foot. “Never mind I’m an amateur. I play music on my porch in my underwear, not in front of eighty-thousand people. People,” I add, when he tries to talk, “who wouldn’t be there to see me anyway.”

Killian crosses his arms over his chest. It isn’t fair that he hasn’t put a shirt on. All that raw strength ripples under his golden skin and makes me want to cave just so I can touch him again.

“Are you finished?” he asks.

Ogling him? Never. But I realize he means my rant. I give him a sour look, which he returns with a raised brow.

“First,” he says, “if you played in your underwear, eighty-thousand people would definitely be watching you.”

He ignores my eye roll.

“Second, this is rock. All of our success is part talent, part luck, and crazy determination.” His lip curls. “Jax used to joke that we’re all amateurs up there. Lucky-ass dilettantes.”

A sigh leaves me, and I slump against the couch. Outside, Brenna is marching around, ordering moving men. Scottie stands on the porch across the way, his gaze on my house. I know he can’t see me, but it feels like he can. It’s a matter of time before he comes back over here.

Killian’s deep voice is low, persuasive, pulling me back to him. “All I’m asking for is three songs: ‘Broken Door’, ‘In Deep’, and ‘Outlier’.”

The songs I’ve worked on with him. They’re beautiful, relying on harmony and vocals over power. And they’re nothing like Kill John’s usual sound.

“How do you know the band will even like those songs?”

He won’t meet my eyes. “They will.”

“Which means you don’t know.”

“It’s my band.”

“It’s theirs too.”

The man actually growls. It would be kind of hot if I wasn’t so annoyed with him. Killian surges to his feet and spreads his hands out wide. “Why are you fighting this? The truth. Not the excuses.”

“Because I’m not impulsive like you! I need to think things through.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “You tell me you dreamed of this life. You tell me you tried but were encouraged to walk away. You asked me how it felt to perform in front of an audience, to be adored. Let me show you. Let me give you the world, baby doll.”

If anything, I feel worse now. A horrible, crawling sensation invades my belly, and I have the urge to run to my room to hide. I pick at the fray on my jean shorts. “That was just…pillow talk.”

“Pillow talk?” He blanches.

I wince. “You know, tell me about your life. Getting to know you.”

His cheeks flush. “You were humoring me?”

“No. I wanted to know you. What your life is like outside of here.”

“But not see it for yourself?” His eyes narrow, that flush running down his neck.

“Exactly.”

Silence grows so thick, the sounds of truck doors slamming ring out in the room. The movers are done. And I’m guessing we are too. A lump swells in my throat. But I don’t move. I stare up at Killian, who looks back at me with disgust.

“Bullshit,” he whispers.

Someone lays heavily on a car horn. I’m guessing Brenna.

“They’re waiting for you,” I say.

His nostrils flare. Then he’s moving. I’m in his grip before I can blink. He hauls me up and gives me a hard, biting kiss. I welcome the sting, biting back. The idea that I won’t get to feel him or taste him any more rips my heart apart. His kiss turns softer, but not sweet. No, he’s molding and shaping my lips with his, savoring.