His scent devours me once again. I place the phone in my bra and pull it over my head, slowly enjoying the delicious scent that is Finn Beckett as the shirt warms my body.

I look back, hoping he hasn’t caught me, to see he is pulling a double chaise lounge toward me.

“Have a seat,” he says in a rough voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Sit or go inside, Sonya.” He sounds frustrated, annoyed.

I need this job, and not just for the paycheck, so I sit, and he sits next to me. Draped over his shoulder is a blanket, black and red plaid. He sits down and covers himself, then me.

“What else do you need to know?”

Everything. Everything and why, I think to myself.

“Did you go to college?”

He looks at me with raised eyebrows. “No, not everyone is afforded that privilege.” The way he says it is like he is judging me.

“I didn’t, either.”

“No?” He sounds shocked.

“Uh-uh,” I say, wishing I hadn’t given him that information.

“Huh.” He chuckles.

“What’s huh mean?”

“I pegged you for the spoiled, little, rich girl: Daddy’s money, Mom’s good looks, ivory tower, and an Ivy League education. I’m rarely wrong.”

“Self-confident,” I say as I type borderline arrogant and totally wrong in his phone.

Seeing what I typed, he huffs, shaking his head.

“I’m rarely wrong,” I mimic him, and he chuckles.

“You are dead wrong,” he says with humor in his voice.

“Tell me why.” I look up into his eyes. Please, I plead inside.

He looks away, grabbing the Jack Daniels bottle that sits next to the chaise. He takes a drink then hands it to me. “Have a drink with me.” It’s not a demand; it’s a request.

I grab it from him then take a drink, and its burn coats my throat.

“You want to know this for your article or so you can make a decision on how to answer my question?”

“Both,” I say then regret it immediately, so I take another drink.

She hands me back the bottle, and I take a long gulp.

It’s not like she can’t find out the answers if she wants to. With the way she seems to be around every turn, I highly doubt she will give up until she finds out.

“Like many musicians, music is an escape. It gives me a high. And as arrogant as it may sound, I’m damn good at what I do. If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be doing it. Unlike most, I don’t do it for the crowd. I play for me.”

She takes the bottle from my hand, drinks, and then hands it back. “So your band mates play for the crowd?”

“They’re talented as hell. They love rock and roll. They catch a buzz when we are in woodshed mode, but they like the rush the crowd gives them.”

“So you’re saying you don’t like the spotlight, or the rush, as you call it?”

“I like that I can make a living doing what I thrive on.”

“What would you be doing for a living if you couldn’t make a living at it?”

“Probably be back in Canton, turning wrenches at my dad’s garage.” My hometown slips out, but oh well.

“For the money?” she asks.

“Because I enjoy that, and if I have to make a living any other way, that would be my second choice.”

“Are you close with your father?”

I shrug. “I suppose. Haven’t seen a lot of him lately, but yeah.” I take another drink, thinking for a second that I should make a trip home. “You?”

She shakes her head.

“Your mother?”

She laughs, taking the bottle from my hand, and drinks down the biggest chug I have seen her take so far.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

Complicated relationships build walls. I know this firsthand.

She hands me the bottle. “How about your mother?”

“Junkie, and I don’t see her,” I say without thinking. “Please don’t put that shit in your report or whatever.”

“It’s a bio—your bio—Finn. If you don’t want it in there, it doesn’t happen.” She leans back in the chaise and takes a deep breath. “I’m working for your label. That means I am working for you. If you say not to put it in there, and I do, I’m pretty sure I’ll be unemployed.”

“True,” I say, leaning back.

I get lost in my head as I listen to the breeze and ocean sounds. The sky is clear, and despite the unsettled feeling inside of me, the storm is hidden by my buzz right now and a girl who seems far less a threat. It’s still there, though.

“Answer a few questions for me.”

“I’ll do the best I can.”

“How did you get a job with Stevie, with Forever Four, if you aren’t educated?”

“You’re not educated,” she points out.

“No, but I have talent.”

“So do I,” she says, taking another drink.

“Right.” I can only imagine what that talent is. Right about now, I would like to find out, both sexually and to ease my foolish curiosity about what should be none of my business.

“I have a very big social media following.”

I take the bottle she hands me. “How?”

“How did I get a big following?”

“Yeah. If you aren’t musical or in entertainment, how the hell does that happen?”

“It’s a secret.” There is a playful tone in her voice, and I look over to see her smirk.

“I’ve told you mine. Now tell me yours.”

“I never liked that game,” she says, biting back a smile.

I turn to face her. “You play it a lot?”

“No,” she says quieter.

“I think the game you’re talking about is I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She turns toward me. “Isn’t it the same thing?”

“No, Sonya, not even close.” I lean closer. Her scent mixed with the evening ocean air is alluring. Then she wets her lips, and smelling her isn’t the only thing on my mind. I wet mine then lean in as she closes her eyes.

As soon as my lips touch hers, another storm, one inside, consumes me. Her lips are warm and inviting, but her body stiffens. I run my hand up her arm then up her back. I then take the back of her neck and position her head so I can better explore the cause of my desire. Running my tongue over her lips, I part them and feel her shoulders slump, her muscles relax, and her mouth open. I taste Jack Daniels mixed with a clean, minty taste that makes me immediately hard.

I stroke her tongue with mine, slowly testing the dangerous waters I know damn well I have no business testing. I can’t stop, though. The noises she makes deep in her throat are full of pleasure, but she isn’t giving me back what I want so fucking badly right now.

I pull back and hold her face in my hands. “I don’t know what the fuck it is about you. I do need an answer. You wanna fu—”

“I’m a very complicated person, Finn. I’m not looking for a good time or to be a notch on—”

“God help me, I’m not asking that from you. I want to know what the fuck it is about you that has me so messed up. Who the hell are you?”

“I should go.”

“No, dammit. You should tell me, just fucking tell me, why you look at me the way you do. Why you—”

“I’m sorry. This was a bad idea.” She starts to get up, but I pull her closer.

“You want me. I know damn well you do. Make no mistake about it, you’ll have me. You’ll have me so fucking deep inside of you I will be fucking you from the inside out, just like you are me right now.”

She trembles, shaking under my hands.

“Are you afraid of me?”

She shakes her head.

“You understand, when this happens, you won’t be a notch? I’m about the music, not everything else this business fucking brings.”

“Why?” she gasps. “Why me?”

“I have no fucking clue, but I can assure you that you started this, and I’m not gonna let it end until I can figure it out.” I let go of her and stand up. What the fuck is wrong with me?

“Don’t go.”

I look down at her. “Tell me why I should stay.”

She shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t know, either, Finn. I want to hate you—”