I stare at him, trapped in a storm of warring emotions, and then I burst out laughing.

Alan smiles. “I like you. That’s why you’re here.”

I roll my eyes. “I haven’t made up my mind about you just yet.”

His eyes soften. “Oh yes you have, Chrissie. You never know what you want, but you always know how you feel.”

From light spirited to all-knowing asshole again. “Now that we’ve got that settled, can I go back to sleep?”

He shakes his head and his eyes glow wickedly. “I’m glad you’re awake. I never sleep through the night.”

And before I can focus, he grabs my hips and pulls me back against him, angling my body until I’m tucked into the bend of his groin.

I try to wiggle away. “Stop it. I’m not having sex with you. I don’t like you right now.”

“That’s fine. You can just lie there and let me have you,” he whispers, the rasp of his voice stirring me deep inside even though I don’t want him to. He is kissing my back and I can feel him adjusting my body into his erection.

He eases into me slowly, exquisitely, filling me. My fingers curl around the sheets and I am pulsing in anticipation.

He kisses my shoulder lightly. He doesn’t move. “Do you want me to stop?” he breathes, his words a warm tickle against my flesh. He flexes his hips, forward, once, slowly and then stops.

I groan, closing my eyes and I revel in the feel of him. Want him to stop?...how could he ask me that? I try to move and he stills me.

“You have to say it, Chrissie,” he orders. “You have to say it or I won’t move.”

“I want you.”

He moves deeper in me and stops. No! Jesus what does he want? His hands and his lips are moving across me and my flesh is all sensation and his touch is all consuming. I try to move again and he won’t let me. Peeking over my shoulder, I find him watching me. He looks so serious, his breathing is ragged and his perfect white teeth parted. I don’t know why he’s looking at me that way. I don’t know what he wants.

He moves and I moan into the pillow, feeling my body melt away into the feel of him. He starts to move faster and faster, holding my hips, and it’s so unexpected, so wonderfully filling to be taken like this. I am close. I am starting to understand the delicious signals of my body.

Oh god, I am completely absorbed with Alan: with his body; his meanness; his tenderness; his mess; his unpredictability.

“You are here, Chrissie,” he breathes, “because I’m in love with you,” and I have a startled moment of reaction before his arms tighten around my middle as he releases himself into me.

* * *

I curl on the edge of the bed, facing away from Alan, naked, awake and not talking.

“There are clubs open. Do you want to go out?” Alan asks. I ignore the question. He refills his cocktail glass, lights a cigarette and waits. “Do you want to sleep?”

Into my silence he just stares, beautiful, enigmatic, and frustrating.

“Nope. I’m not tired.” My voiced is clipped. “I want to talk.”

“OK. About what?”

I turn in bed to face him. “You being an asshole.”

He grins. “Not my favorite topic, but nothing new.”

“You’re an asshole.”

He watches me, unruffled. “Are we finished?”

“Not exactly.”

“There’s more?”

“I was referring to you saying that you love me. Don’t mess with my head, Alan. Like you said, I’m already a pretty fucked up girl. Don’t say things you don’t mean.”

Those black eyes swivel and fix on me. “Don’t ever tell me how I feel.”

“You can’t love me. You don’t even know me.”

He closes his eyes and starts to laugh. “Oh, Chrissie. I know you. I know you better than you know yourself.” He reaches up and gently wipes away a tear with his thumb that I didn’t know had fallen. “We are so alike it’s scary.”

I push his hand away. “I’m not like you at all.”

He runs a hand through his hair in frustration. “Fuck, I’m playing the honesty card first. I’m not messing with your head, Chrissie. Cut me some slack if I haven’t done it well. I’ve never done it before. It seems necessary with you.”

“It is totally unnecessary. I don’t want anything from you other than what we’re doing.”

Now his eyes are burning. “And what exactly is that, Chrissie?”

The words clog in my throat, my thoughts jumble in my head, and I can feel her, the little girl inside of me who can spout meanness on a moment’s notice.

“Fucking until I go home.”

He closes his eyes and exhales. Then in a flash I am wrapped in a sheet and scooped from the bed. He is carrying me toward the door, but he keeps his eyes on me, unblinking. I can feel the tension in his body, and while nothing is showing on the surface, the anger is jolting through him.

Jesus Christ, we’re in the hallway. “What are you doing?” I scream in panic.

“I don’t think you’re worth the effort,” he whispers calmly.

“Then I’ll go, but if you put me in the elevator naked in a sheet I swear to god…” I grab hold of the doorway and try to stop him. “Put me down.”

“What the fuck do you want, Chrissie?” he growls.

Oh no. There is something in his face that warns me that I could blow this very easily. Fuck—truth or dare? Would he really dump me on the streets of New York undressed?

“I don’t want to go,” I whisper haltingly.

“I don’t want you to go either,” he counters, his voice raw. “Tell me why I should let you stay. You’re a fucking pain in the ass most of the time.”

And now I know. I know why he’s angry. I know why I am here. “Because I’m a messed up girl and you care about me.”

We stand together like this by the door for ages. He just holds me and very gradually relaxes, and I relax.

He lets out a shuddering breath. “You can trust me, you know. I saw it on your face. The uncertainty. I would never have put you out naked in a sheet.”

I nod. “I know.”

He kisses my forehead. “You don’t trust anyone, Chrissie, and that’s not a good thing. I want you to trust me. Not for me, Chrissie. For yourself. I think you really need to start trusting someone very soon.”

Everything in my body goes cold and numb. The way he said that, the look in his eyes. I’ve never had anyone stare at me with such knowing worry in their eyes. Not Rene. Not Jack. Not anyone.

* * *

I am alone in Alan’s bed when I wake. I roll over to check the clock. Holy crap, it’s two in the afternoon.

I settle back against my pillow and lift his pillow to my face. The smell of him is there. The smell of us. And the smell of sex. How funny that I can smell that now. The smell of sex.

I turn onto my side and stare at the closed door. Alan never closes the door when he leaves the room. He also never leaves me when I’m asleep. He is always here watching me when I wake.

I go into his bathroom to pee. I finger his things on the counter. It is all so neat and organized. My bathroom doesn’t look anything like this. My bathroom is a wreck, but there is a precision to everything in his world.

Alan is not your typical musician, not by a long shot.

Strange, but I haven’t heard any music since I’ve been here. I see the instruments. They are all throughout the apartment. He never picks them up. One of the world’s greatest guitarists and he never touches an instrument. I have never seen him play.

Weirdly, he is pathologically tidy. It isn’t just the apartment that is in perfect order. Alan is a creature of perfect order. If he cooks, he cleans. If we toss our clothes on the floor, he later takes them to the hamper. If he pulls something from a drawer or a shelf, he returns it to its exact place.

Unexpectedly, he is like a symphony in bed: at times quiet and slow; then passionate and building; then haunting and intense; then gentle and peaceful, but totally, all consuming. Every emotion can be unfurled in a single event.

I didn’t expect that. Not with his reputation. I expected a hard fuck and a harder goodbye. And I definitely never expected him to say he loves me. I’m still blown away by that and unable to get my head around it. If it is nothing more than typical Alan theatrics, I definitely don’t want to find out. I already have enough emotional overload without trying to navigate that one.