"Okay. I'm decent." I turn to a smug smile from the man not in the slightest perturbed by the situation. His black jeans rest low on his hips, the v pointing straight to where I attempted not to look a minute ago. "Should've knocked, Smiley."

"I did."

"I was in the shower." He tips his head. "Are you pink? Did my nakedness upset you?"

"No, I'm pink because I'm p.i.s.sed off that I have to deal with your s.h.i.t."

Nate's eyebrows shoot up. "Whoa. I wouldn't call a late check out a major drama."

"Can you please pack up, or at least let housekeeping in the room while you get your a.r.s.e into gear."

The sound of a vacuum cleaner close to the door adds a less than subtle hint to the situation. Nate yanks open the bar fridge and pulls out a bottle of water.

"I feel like s.h.i.t. You got any painkillers?" He holds a hand out.

"No."

"People normally bring me them."

I choke on his arrogance. "I'm not people, and I'm not bringing you anything."

"Claudia did. Anything I wanted, I could've had so much fun with "

"Nate. Get your act together and leave."

We stand off, the usual tension grabbing us both by the throat and flinging us together. Nothing's changed in the time we were apart. This man evokes stronger emotions in me than anybody ever has even Logan. One day I'll unpack in my mind exactly why this happens between us, but it doesn't take rocket science to figure out Paris is one reason.

"I love a forceful woman," he says in a low voice. "People don't dare give me c.r.a.p but you... You enjoy it."

His eyes glint and I run my tongue along my teeth. "Can I tell reception you'll be checked out in five minutes?"

The stand off continues with him silently goading me into a round of Nate versus Riley. I'm not in the mood. Maintaining professionalism around Nate is hard at the best of times, and I already crossed that line once today when I saw him b.u.t.t naked. If I engage, I'll lose my s.h.i.t at him because my stress levels peaked an hour ago. Walk away. Now.

Nate approaches and studies my face more closely. "Are you okay?"

"Are you asking about my well-being?"

"No, wondering why you're not playing."

"Playing what?"

"Or did the awesomeness of my naked body overwhelm you?"

Correct.

Not playing.

I take a deep breath. "Just check out of the room, Nate. Please."

Nate sighs and grabs a discarded tshirt from the floor, allowing me one more surrept.i.tious look at his abs before the material drops into place. Does he have new tattoos?

"Were you going to leave without saying goodbye?" he asks as his head appears through the top of his shirt. "Again."

"I said goodbye to the band last night."

"To me." He steps closer.

Nate's scent dives into my memories of his mouth on mine, skin on skin with him. I hold my ground and look back into his eyes. He's inscrutable, closed off, the way he perfects.

"Goodbye, Nate."

"So, we meet again in another two years?" He murmurs the words as he flicks a look at my mouth, then back to me. My pulse hikes. No, he does not get to do this again. I break away before he decides to touch me.

"Goodbye, Nate," I repeat and hope he doesn't notice my trembling hands as I walk away.

"I'll miss you!" he calls after me.

Me too. Like a hole in the head. I slam the hotel room door.

I return to my spot in the cafe and hide in the corner with my latte and phone. Several calls later, and I'm no closer to locating a car. A few rental places don't hire for one-way trips, and others have no cars or they're not due for return until mid-afternoon.

I place my elbows on the table and hold my head in my hands. What do I do? The train could be my only option and one I'll avoid at all costs. Knowing my luck, the train lines will be blocked and I'll end up halfway home and worse off.

A plate clatters onto the table in front of me and I look up. A slice of chocolate cake. Nate stands with a takeaway coffee in his hands and looks down.

"What's this?" I ask.

"For you. You like chocolate cake."

I stare at the huge chunk of gooey, brown chocolate. "Why would you buy me this?"

"Heard you're having a s.h.i.t day."

Nate polite and thoughtful? Either I'm dreaming or he's had a knock on the head since I left him in his room.

"I am. And no thanks to the cake."

"Should've told me earlier what happened to you." He regards me with what could be concern, but I doubt that.

"We don't really share problems anymore, do we? We already said our goodbyes." I pick up my phone and stare at the screen, as if somehow this would make it ring. I'm vulnerable, and the longer Nate sits here, the more likely he'll realise.

"Yeah, but I heard about your problem."

"You mean stolen cars, snow, and belligerent rock stars who refuse to check out of their rooms?" I ask, eyes remain fixed on my phone. Call. Come on.

He laughs. "Yeah. So, you're stuck, huh?"

"No, I'm waiting for a rental car."

"Cool." He pulls out a chair and sits opposite me. "You were crying."

I snap my head up. "I wasn't!"

"You were wiping your face with a sleeve and your eyes are red." He digs his fingers into the chocolate cake and eats. "You're travelling back to London, right?"

"Correct."

"I'll give you a lift, if you want. I'm heading that way." He licks the chocolate off his fingers. "Long drive. Weather's s.h.i.t. You don't want to leave here late and drive in the dark."

Travelling with Nate for over five hours wouldn't be pleasant but would guarantee I'll get home tonight. Can I? "Um. That's nice of you to ask, but I'm okay."

"No you're not. Why not make the most of my good mood? It's pretty s.h.i.t what's happened to you."

"Yes, it is."

"Let me help out."

Bodys.n.a.t.c.hers maybe? Why is he being nice to me? He has a selfish streak as wide as the Nile; is there some compa.s.sion inside after all?

And still no response from the car rental company.

"When are you leaving?" I ask.

"When I've eaten your cake?" He digs in again. "Surely we can be polite to each other for the journey?"

I waver. "This is kind of you, Nate, but-"

"But you're being stubborn. Suit yourself." He stands and picks up the remaining cake from the plate. "I'll wait at reception in ten minutes. Drop the pride and hitch a ride with me." He pushes the steaming coffee towards me. "I might even be nice."

Nate walks off, with cake, and I stare after his tall figure. Perhaps the Nate I caught glimpses of on the tour two years ago still exists. Deeply buried, but there.

7.

RILEY.

I drag the seatbelt across my lap and buckle into Nate's silver Range Rover. Wild ride? Who knows? Uncomfortable, that's for sure. Nate settles into the driver's seat and adjusts the mirror.

"Just us?" I ask in the vain hope his invitation extended to anybody from the crew left at the hotel.

"Yeah. We're last to leave."

Not looking at me still, Nate shifts to pull his phone from his jeans pocket and slings it next to him into a s.p.a.ce between the seats. He punches a couple of controls on the dash and the car fills with the sound of Ruby Riot. I blink at the a.s.saulting volume as Nate starts the car.

No chance of talk, thank G.o.d.

I pull my phone out too and flick through my messages as the car pulls away. Five hours of this. Fun. At least Nate's seats are comfortable and the drive smooth. The sleet outside turns to snow as the journey continues, the motorway cutting a path through the growing snow either side.

I text Mum to let her know how long I'll be and cross my fingers the weather doesn't worsen.

The hum of the car engine lulls me to sleep. Two nights on tour and I'm ready to sleep for a week. This always happens when I'm stressed. I end up exhausted and spend my free time sleeping. Those are the times the mother-guilt edges in, but I'm doing my best for us all.

A change in car movement and tick of the indicator rouses me and I open my eyes. A sign at the junction as we take an exit from the motorway catches my eye and I straighten in my seat.

"Where are we going?" I ask.

"I'm hungry."

"Can't we stop at motorway services?"

Nate makes a small noise in his throat. "No."

"Why?"

"Food's s.h.i.t." He turns onto the main road, away from the direction we were heading. I twist and look behind as the motorway slides into the distance.

"Where, then?"

"There's a pub I like not far from here."

"A pub? Nate, it's snowing badly and you're heading into the Yorkshire Moors."

"I'm driving. I call the shots," he says gruffly.

I bite back a retort and slump down in my seat. The snow swirls around heavier than earlier and, as we leave the main road for a narrower one, panic sets in.

"Nate!"

"What?"

"Please go back."

"We're almost there."

I rub my head, visions of the car trapped in snowdrifts not helping my anxiety. "You're not invincible. The weather does apply to you too."

"This is a Range Rover and we're hardly off-road driving. Relax."

I have never known anybody so b.l.o.o.d.y-minded and with such an inability to admit they're wrong.