His voice had been colder than she’d ever heard it, so much anger in it that she’d felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck. Maybe it was just a flash of temper, but maybe it was a side of Terrence she didn’t know—and his extreme possessiveness was especially troubling when they’d only gone on three tentative dates.

 Kit’s mind had suddenly filled with the stalker’s letters. He’d used the word “whore” liberally too, though always in relation to Kit. Chilled, she’d snapped at Terrence that he had no right to speak to her that way, and that if they hadn’t been over before, they were now.

Afterward, she’d felt guilty at suspecting Terrence of being her stalker, but she couldn’t shake off the chill, not even after he apologized via text message since she refused to answer his calls.

“Hey,” Noah said, voice quiet. “I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”

“I did,” she admitted, dropping her head back against the wall. “But don’t feel bad. The way Terrence reacted to the news about us, it made me realize that maybe the man I know from work wouldn’t be the same man in private.”

Noah rose into a seated position, one knee raised, his arm braced on it. Gently gripping her chin in his fingers, he said, “Gates touch you?” Danger glinted in his eyes, deadly intent in his voice.

“No. We spoke on the phone.” The shields around her heart pounded to nothing by his proximity, his protectiveness, and driven by a wave of love that simply would not die, she closed her hand over his wrist. “Fox told me you haven’t been sleeping.”

He dropped his hand from her face, broke her hold.

No major change in his expression, but she knew him, had spent hours studying his face over the years when they’d circled around each other… and in the months when they’d been more than friends. She knew before he spoke that the shutters had come down, that he was about to give her an answer that told her nothing.

“I’ve always had trouble sleeping.” A shrug. “I don’t want to take sleeping pills, so I catch naps when I can—like today. I make up the sleep.”

No, she thought, he didn’t. He was always wired. For a while, way back at the start, she’d thought he might be using, but she’d come to know that Noah didn’t do drugs. He just didn’t get enough sleep, turning jittery and almost too “bright” when the lack came to a head.

He appeared okay right now, but she knew Noah was adept at putting on a persona. “Noah,” she said. “Are—”

“I’m fine,” he bit out, then seemed to consciously force himself to relax. “I’m fine,” he said in a less sharp tone. “Just a few nights of insomnia. I’ll probably crash tonight.”

The emotional shutters had turned into a wall in front of her eyes. She wanted to shove at that wall, to batter it down, but battering against it when Noah didn’t want her inside would gain her nothing but broken bones. “I’ll have to spend the weekend in this bus,” she said as the butterflies finally went still, curling inward in an effort to protect their fragile bodies.

“That’s sorted.” Noah grinned, no tension now that she’d backed off. “I have a sleeping bag over there and I snuck in a single airbed I can pump up.” He pointed to the right, and she saw the neat package of the airbed—so compact he could’ve easily brought it and the small air pump next to it into the bus without anyone being the wiser.

“I’ll even pump it up for you,” he said with a straight face.

She should’ve said they were friends, could share the bed, but she couldn’t. She wasn’t that strong. If Noah was in a bed with her, she’d either curl into him or scream at him while pounding her fists on his chest.

Why don’t you want me?

Why all those other women but not me?

What do I lack?

Her anger was as powerful as the other emotion inside her heart, the one that whispered he was hers. Despite everything, it kept saying he was hers. Delusional heart.

Falling back on a mask that wouldn’t appear a mask, she arched a single eyebrow. “Haven’t you heard? Kathleen Devigny does not do airbeds, darling.”

“Well, I’m not too important for it.” A grin as he shoved a hand through his hair. “It’ll fit in the living area with a little maneuvering so you can have the bedroom. Just chuck out some clothes for me to change into after my shower.”

Kit rolled her eyes and kept her mind resolutely off the fact Noah would be wet and stripped to the skin bare yards from her. “It’s not like I’m going to lock the door and dance naked in here. You can come in.”

She must’ve been a really good actress because he laughed at her quip, and for one instant, they were simply two friends who happened to be sharing a joke.

Nothing more.

It was still light when Schoolboy Choir got ready to take the stage, the sky streaked red and orange and indigo with sunset. Noah found himself in the unfamiliar position of preparing to head out to the stage with a woman by his side. He was used to picking up women after shows, but he never had anyone with him before a concert.

It had always seemed as if that would be an intrusion. He liked to get his head in the game, fully into the music preshow. He didn’t want to talk to anyone except the guys sometimes. He certainly didn’t need a groupie coming on to him, expecting him to be happy about it.

So after grabbing a bite once he got up properly and showered to wash off the sleep, he’d been itchy for alone time. Except the media jackals were out, their cameras trained on the bus. Kit couldn’t leave so soon after their “romantic reunion,” as described online, so they’d been stuck together.

“Noah,” Kit had said ten minutes into it, “I’m going into the bedroom to read. Do what you need to do.”

Then she’d disappeared.

He hadn’t believed it for at least five minutes, but she hadn’t come back out, and when he’d peeked in at her, he’d found her sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading a script and marking it up as she went. Returning to the front room, he’d grabbed his iPod, his headphones, and settled in.

Often he played the guitar preshow, but today he’d just listened to stuff. Some of it was their own, some of it sung by his favorite bands, a scattering of it classical. No one expected him to listen to that last, but he liked the purity of it at times, liked figuring out the meaning behind the music. When the music beat in his blood, it cleared out everything else.

Too bad that didn’t work while he was asleep. He’d tried it more than once.

Now, bare minutes before showtime, he was getting ready to walk out the door with a woman. It was strange… but good strange. He’d been complaining to Fox about not having a girl of his own, and here she was. Just for a weekend, but she was his, and she got him; she understood that he needed the music and she wasn’t threatened by it.

When he’d finally come out of the music and gone looking for her, she’d been frowning at her script. Glancing up with an absent look in her eyes, she’d said, “Is it time?”

“Ten minutes.”

She’d taken those ten minutes to change into skinny black jeans that hugged her ass in ways Noah really shouldn’t be noticing, paired with black ankle boots and a silky red T-shirt that faithfully caressed her form. The vee in front barely exposed any cleavage, and the design was simple, but the way the fine material hinted at the possibility of a lacy black bra beneath…

Blow-off-the-roof sexy wasn’t an adequate description.

She’d also done something to her hair so that it was all tousled and rolled-out-of-bed hot, her lips plump and red, her eyes smoky.

“Holy hell,” he’d said, enjoying the look but missing his Kit. The woman who stood in front of him was Kathleen Devigny.

Then she’d winked at him and there she was, his Kit. “What do you think we’ve been doing in the bus all this time, Casanova? Gotta give the right impression.”