He clenched his fist. "Don't try to psychoanalyze me. We're working on a song together. That's it."

"I know you're a literary genius, but I'm sure the guys don't expect you to be some master composer as well." I tried to reassure him, as if the words of one fangirl would ever hold meaning for him.

Noah shot me a look, almost unbelieving for a brief moment. He stalked towards me, making me back up. He got right up in my face. It would have been intimidating, if it weren't for the fire in his eyes.

I suppressed a shudder as that now familiar heat hit my gut, centering between my legs. It wasn't because he was famous, or because he was talented. This man was capable of setting me aflame, in a way that had nothing to do with his status and everything to do with the way his dark eyes pierced me down to my very bones, threatening to scorch me from the inside out. Like he was seeing inside my very soul. Like he could see parts of me that had been buried deep and hidden for years.

Because of his lyrics, I always felt like I knew Noah Hart, even though we'd never met.

When he stared at me like that, it felt like he knew me, too.

"A literary genius? Is that really how you think of me?" He leaned closer, tilting his head.

"Doesn't everyone?" I bit my lip to keep from saying any more. He didn't need to know exactly how I felt about him. He didn't need to know I worshipped him like a god.

He didn't need to know I wanted to lick every inch of his body right then and there.

His eyes fell to my lips. His own eyes darkened, pupils dilating. "No wonder you're so eager to work with me." He flicked his eyes up to mine again. "You got a fangirl crush?" I could tell he was trying to sound sarcastic, but it came out sounding almost curious.

"Crush is a juvenile word," I said, my voice shaky. "Teenagers have crushes."

"Then what exactly do you have?"

"Professional admiration."

He leaned closer, his lips nearly touching mine. "Is that it?"

"Y-yes." I stammered. "What else would it be?"

His eyes were bright and burning. It reminded me of that first moment when I'd seen him sitting at that piano, furiously scribbling down notes on his music sheet, trying to compose but somehow unable to.

My heartbeat raced. That look was the same one I'd seen on stage dozens of times. The passionate poet Noah Hart. That was the man I wanted to work with. That was the man who ignited such desire inside me. The cold Noah I'd seen in that meeting was nowhere to be found in those eyes. I could only see the fire burning inside of them, matching the fire burning inside of me.

His gaze trailed down my face, pausing on my lips again. I wet them unconsciously. His fire raged even brighter. He placed a hand beside my head on the wall, boxing me in.

"Don't get any ideas." His words were low in his chest. "You're going to play music. I'm going to write down lyrics. That's it."

A shiver went through my body. The difference between the coldness in his words and the heat in his eyes had me trembling.

I couldn't keep reacting like this. I steeled myself, locking my shaky knees and straightening my back. I looked him straight in the eye.

"And what kind of ideas do you think I'm getting?"

"The kind all fangirls get when they come face to face with their idol." He gave me a dark smirk. "You're wondering if my cock is as big as you've heard. You're wondering what it would be like to have me fuck you."

I nearly whimpered at his words. Warm, wet heat flooded my body.

But despite my inner feelings, I was going to act professional if it killed me. I cleared my throat, trying to steady my voice.

"Don't you get any ideas. I'm here to do a job, not throw myself at some rock star."

"Don't lie." The warmth of his breath caressed my lips. His narrowed his eyes at me, dark and glinting. "You're thinking about spreading your legs for me right here and now."

God but he was right. I ached inside, throbbing and empty. The fact that we were in the middle of a hallway in public meant nothing to me. If he made a move right now I had no doubt I'd succumb.

I took in a shallow breath and forced myself to meet his eyes. Despite the longing between my legs, I wasn't going to fall at his feet like all the other girls.

"I'm here to work, not to play groupie." I placed a hand on his chest, putting some distance between us. The heat coming off his body was incredible. I felt every firm muscle of his chest under my palm. My brain threatened to fog up. I filed the sensations away to examine later.

He let me push him away, slowly backing off. I leaned against the wall, trying to fake a casual pose. In reality, I needed something to keep myself upright on shaky legs. He studied me, a curious look despite the heat of his eyes.

"Fine then," he said. "If you're here to work, meet me at eight tomorrow."

"In the morning?"

"Yes, in the morning," he said impatiently.

"Don't rock stars party all night and sleep until noon?"

"Not when they've got an album deadline, apparently," he muttered. "The room you found me in was on the fourth floor. I'll be there working tomorrow." He gave me one last heated look. "Don't be late."

He strode off, leaving me reeling. Leaving me wanting. The quivering in my stomach wouldn't abate.

Noah was so prickly, but those looks he gave me, the words he spoke to me, only caused the simmering tension between us to rise higher with every encounter. He knew exactly what effect he was having on me. He knew I was lusting after him.

And despite his words to the contrary, I had a feeling Noah Hart didn't mind in the least.

Chapter Four.

Laying in bed on my back, earbuds in my ears and an unopened letter in my hand, I listened to my favorite Darkest Days album on repeat. With blistering dual guitars and heavy on the bass, the song was at once aggressive and melodic. It was the lyrics, though, that stood out to me.

The singer's voice, soft and full of longing, crooned words of devotion for the first verse, then deepened into a low growl, dripping with rage for the chorus. The dichotomy of the two, the switch from loving to loathing and back again, sent shivers up my spine.

I extend my hand Our fingers touch Music was supposed to touch you, to make you feel, but not a single musical artist affected me the way Noah Hart did. Whenever I listened to him, my heart always fluttered in a near swoon. His performances on stage were awe-inspiring. His lyrics told a story in such a way that you felt every word, every syllable, in your very bones. The audience didn't just listen to his songs. In those moments, the audience lived his songs.

I ached for the ability to do the same.

I despaired at the knowledge I never would.

I'd never be good enough. I didn't have that kind of talent. I especially didn't have the talent of Noah Hart. Coming from any other person's mouth, the lyrics might have rang false, written solely to capture the attention of a fickle audience.

From this singer's mouth - from the mouth of Noah Hart, lead singer of Darkest Days, I never had any doubt those words came straight from his heart. Straight from his soul.

Cold and damned You crumble to dust These were the exact same feelings I'd been having since I was in my late teens when Darkest Days exploded onto the music scene with their debut album. It had changed my life. It had saved my life.

Now, years later, I was getting the chance to actually work with a member of the band. My favorite member of the band. Noah Hart, the lead singer. The one person who dragged me out of the darkness and into the light. The one person who understood me.

Rolling over onto my stomach, I stared at the letter I held in my hand. My stomach clenched as I turned it over. My name was written in a familiar, delicate handwriting on the outside. I'd lost count of how many times I held this letter, willing myself to open it, but unable to do so. I'd thought, maybe now that I'd gotten this job, I might have the strength to read the words inside. But I could still only stare at it.

Only two remain In innocent eyes I grabbed my purse from my nightstand and shoved the letter inside a small side pocket. Perhaps another day.

But holding that letter had reminded me I'd believed Noah Hart might be someone who understood my pain.

Now I had my doubts. After meeting Noah and seeing what he was like in person, I didn't know if he could understand me at all.

Listening to their album again was my way of getting a better read on Noah. I couldn't reconcile the two men. One was so passionate and romantic and sensual. The other was so caustic and harsh.

I couldn't deny he was still sensual, though. The thoughts that ran through my mind when I was in his presence, the feelings that ran through my body...

I shivered as heat pooled in my core. Of course I'd imagined a dozen scenarios where I would meet Noah Hart. Of course some of those fantasies always ended up with us in bed. What fan of a hot rock star didn't think about stuff like that?

Still, I liked to believe my attraction to Noah was more intellectual. I was attracted to his brain, to the part of him that wrote such heartfelt lyrics, words full of such meaning.

I'll take you away Beyond the lies What I had found was a completely different person. He resented being forced to work with me. I consoled myself with the fact that he resented working with anyone. It had nothing to do with me in particular.

The fact that I was a fan seemed to be a sticking point. He hadn't seemed able to get over it. I wondered if he'd had bad experiences with fans before. As a rock star he'd obviously encountered fans all the time, during concerts and backstage and at other events. But none of the rumors said anything about Noah being this much of a jerk.

I knew I had to steel myself against it. If I let Noah affect me I'd never be able to work with him. He had been right. The first time I'd met him in person I'd been speechless, an overwhelmed fangirl who hadn't been able to string two words together. I wasn't going to let that part of myself out again. I was going to be professional, even if it killed me.

If Noah didn't kill me first. Somehow I had the feeling that if I didn't impress him, or worse, if I ended up annoying him, I'd be sent packing the exact same way all the other "consultants" had been.

I'd never forgive myself if I had the most perfect job within my grasp and I ended up losing it. I'd never forgive myself if I lost the chance to put my demons to rest. I had to impress him.

I only hoped I was good enough to work with someone like Noah Fucking Hart.

Chapter Five.

Finding my way back to the fourth floor room with the piano the next day wasn't too difficult. I'd only gotten lost twice, taking wrong corridors, but I'd calculated that into my time, and I'd planned to leave half an hour early so I could make sure I didn't leave Noah waiting.

I ended up waiting for him. Noah strode in an hour later as I was sitting at the piano, playing a little melody I'd been up all night composing.

He looked as delicious as he had the day before. Dark hair falling over his face and dressed all in black like an angel of death. Morbid, but accurate. His cheekbones could have been chiseled by the gods themselves.

I tried to hide my attraction, but some small part of my reaction must have been obvious, whether it was my flushed cheeks or the way my breathing sped up. I'd worn a tank top under my blouse this time to make sure my peaked nipples wouldn't be noticeable.

I had no doubt they'd be stiff after an entire day of working next to this man.

"Thought you didn't have a fangirl crush," he said. "You're practically panting after me already. Try to restrain yourself."

"I'm not panting after you," I replied. "I'm pissed off that you're late when you made such a big deal about me being on time."

"I'm the rock star. You work for me, not the other way around."

"Wow, you don't have much of an ego at all, do you? What a change it is, to be around someone who has such a good head on his shoulders. What a difference from working with pompous jerks who have an overly inflated sense of self esteem."

I bit my tongue at the end of my rant, chastising myself for going off on him.

Noah snorted, but instead of looking upset, his lips twitched upward, almost seeming to crack a smile. "I take it you've worked with my type a time or two?"

"When you go to one of the best music colleges in the country, you tend to run into people with big egos."

He raised an eyebrow. "So how did you manage to stay so level headed?"

"Good upbringing." I immediately changed the subject. "How do you want to do this? Do you already have some sort of idea of what kind of song you want to write? Any beginnings of an idea?"

"I was working on something yesterday. I thought I was making progress until a certain person interrupted me." He gave me a pointed look.

"As I recall, you threw a temper tantrum and tossed all your papers to the floor before you even noticed I was in the doorway. You can't blame your frustrations on me."

It did leave me wondering though. Before Noah had noticed me, he had seemed different. Much more open and expressive. He'd been that passionate, emotional person I recognized from concerts. He'd only shut down when he realized someone was watching him.

Surely there had to be more to Noah Hart than met the eye. If I wanted this song to be a true reflection of the man, I needed to get under his skin and uncover the real person he was underneath it all.

I'd been up half the night worrying about whether or not I'd be able to come up with something worth playing for someone like Noah. I shouldn't have worried. The moment he sat down, Noah grabbed my sheets of music from my hands and tossed them in the garbage bin.

"Hey!" I protested. "I worked hard on that."

"Don't care," he said curtly. "Forget everything you learned in college. Nothing your teachers taught you is going to help you write a song with me."

"And how do you know? You don't know what I did or didn't learn at in school."

"Nothing I do can be taught in a classroom." As he spoke, his eyes burned with an inner fire. "It comes from the heart. From the soul."

"Is this how you write all your songs?"

He shot me a look, the fire in his eyes fading. "Just follow my lead."

He sat down next to me on the piano bench. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, every sense now tuned into Noah's presence. I could smell him. Something spicy, with undertones of leather. The masculine scent threatened to make me lightheaded. I let out a shuddering breath.

"Are you even paying attention?" he asked. "Or are you too busy having sex daydreams about me?"

"Don't flatter yourself."