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completely different? Jaxon wouldn’t be looking for anything long term, so there would be no strings attached. Just some really good sex. Which she deserved, right?
    The logic made sense sitting across from a man who oozed pheromones like a summer sprinkler. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she’d just finally become so horny she projected it on the first attractive male she came across.
    Either way, if she didn’t act now, while she had a modicum of courage and a lot of raging libido, she never would.
    It was now or never.
    She cut a ravioli in half, stabbed it and a chunk of zucchini with her fork, and rubbed it around in the sauce on her plate. “So, what’s it like to be a rock star?” she asked.
    He glanced up at her, a moment of wariness in his eyes before he covered it with nonchalance. He shrugged. “You know. About what you’d expect.”
    “I think most people expect it to be a pretty good life.”
    “It is.”
    “And yet when I asked, you shut down.”
    He frowned, his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. “I didn’t shut down.”
    “Oh, please. You totally brushed me off. You said music’s your life, but when I asked you about it, you pushed me away.”
    He used the fork to gesture as he talked. “True. I did say music is my life. But you asked me about being a rock star, not about music. There’s a huge difference.”
    “Okay, you’re right. So tell me about the music.”
    She sipped wine while she watched emotions war on his face. At first, the mention of music seemed to make him happy. A peaceful bliss flit across his features, followed quickly by tension and fear before he clamped it all down.
    “I’ve been writing and singing and playing since I was a kid. I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else. Music sustains my soul. It’s what keeps me alive, makes life worth living. At least it always has been.”
    He broke eye contact and looked down at his plate, stabbing a defenseless ravioli with more force than necessary.
    Something must have happened that forced him to add the qualifier at the end of his comment. At least it always had been . What did that mean? She wanted to ask, but didn’t feel like she knew him well enough, and his attitude certainly didn’t invite deeper conversation.
    “How’s that different from being a rock star?”
    He looked up at her again and the change to his expression was breathtaking. Suddenly, a charming, charismatic, provocative celebrity sat across from her, a sexy glint in his eyes, and a delicious grin on his face—showcasing those irresistible dimples.
    “Being a rock star is pretty fucking amazing. People pay money to pack an auditorium to watch you get on stage and sing and dance. It’s the most euphoric experience ever.”
    She lifted an eyebrow. She could just imagine how much it stroked his ego. “Mm-hmm.”
    He considered her for a moment, those blue eyes piercing her composure. “You know that feeling you get when you help people?”
    She blinked, taken aback. “Yes. But what I do is…” How could she say what she did was more relevant and had more impact and meaning without sounding like a pretentious asshole?
    “More important?”
    “Well, I don’t know.”
    He snorted. “Okay, helping to ensure people eat is very important, yes. But what would a world without music be like? Music connects people, it feeds the soul, it breeds creativity and intellectual curiosity. If nothing else, it gives people a break from the stress of their lives—even if that stress is trying to figure out where their next meal is coming from. It renews our strength and determination. All the perks of being a rock star are just extras—fun extras, but still extras. But I’d still make music, even if I wasn’t a rock star.”
    He held her gaze for a moment, that bit of honesty floating between them. She had to admit, he’d impressed her with his conviction. She’d assumed him to be nothing more than a shallow celebrity. Discovering he