Chapter 1

Corey Evans stared into the darkness of the hotel room and wondered if he had even opened his eyes. He didn’t remember waking up. Maybe he was still asleep, and this warmth he felt curled against his back was just part of a vivid dream he would forget in the morning. Then shadows resolved themselves on the far wall, dim light slipped between the curtains and illuminated the blank TV screen, and he knew he was awake.

And the breath that fanned his neck couldn’t be ignored.

He tried to picture her face in his mind and couldn’t. All he saw were the lights from the stage, blinding him during the performance. All he heard was the roar of the crowd, the screams that somehow grew louder every time he opened his mouth or wiggled his hips or flashed his pearly whites in a sincere smile. She had been an anonymous face among a group of anonymous fans, all reaching out to touch him, to hold him, to grab him as if he were Christ and their only savior. She had had the prettiest eyes, a light shade of brown he knew he had seen before but couldn’t place. She had curly hair the color of chestnuts—he remembered that much. And a round ass that screamed to be entered. So he singled her out and let her believe tonight she’d be one of the lucky ones.

He had meant to kick her out of bed when he was finished, and he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. Now she breathed against him, her body uncomfortably warm beside his, and he needed out. He needed to get away.

Just a breath of fresh air, he told himself as he tumbled out of the bed. He tugged on his boxers and a T-shirt, and didn’t glance back as he navigated the dark room, heading for the door. Out in the hall, he squinted in the bright light and stumbled toward the floor lounge and the promise of a stiff drink, something harsh that would steel him when he woke her up and told her to leave. Something, anything, to dull the ache inside him at the thought of seeing her tears. God, how many of them cried when he turned them away? He didn’t know, didn’t care anymore.

They only wanted him because he was pop sensation Corey Evans, one half of 2ICE, the biggest pop duo on the radio at the moment. Pronounced “twice,” they were number one on the Billboard charts this week with their latest single. And number one in download sales, with two albums that had already gone platinum, to hear their manager tell it. And currently on their second U.S. tour, which had sold out stadiums across the nation.

These fan girls didn’t give two shits for who he really was, who he thought he was, who he wanted to be. So fuck them. Fuck them all. He’d get drunk and kick her out, and tomorrow it would be another pretty face, and maybe this time he would remember not to fall asleep beside that one.

The floor lounge was dark and Corey slipped through the doorway, a shadow among shadows. He opened the small fridge and found it empty.

Fuck.

It was late—too late. And he was alone, and cold, with nothing to warm him. A large window ran along one wall, and another nameless city stretched away beyond the glass. Where was he again? Had he ever even known?

Closing the refrigerator door, he stared out at the city lights that sparkled like stars set in the dark buildings behind the glass, as unmoving as a painting. Without realizing it, he moved closer to the window, arms crossed before his chest to still the small shivers running through his body. The night loomed enormous out there, the city huge; in it, he was nothing more than one tiny soul. One person amid the lights and the darkness and the night. He wanted to lose himself in a bottle right now, curl up in warm alcohol, and forget about everything until the sun shone again.

Behind him came a soft cough, and he whirled to find his band mate Ian Coltraine slouched on the loveseat, staring at him with bright eyes that burned like embers in the darkened lounge. In his hand was the bottle of Jack Daniels Corey had been looking for, and from the level of drink left, Corey thought Ian had been nursing it for some time. “You’re blocking my view, sunshine,” Ian said, his deep voice low and more than a little slurred.

Corey sighed. “You want to share that?”

When Ian held out the bottle, Corey sank to the cushion beside him and took it eagerly. Ian’s hand was hot beneath his, and Corey realized how cold his own fingers were from the brief touch. Then Ian let go, and Corey almost dropped the bottle.