I opened my eyes to morning sunlight streaming through a crack in the windows. Yesterday almost seemed like a dream – had I really played table tennis and chess with Finn Donovan?

Yes.

Yes, I had.

A silly grin spread across my face.

I showered and dressed as quickly as I could before hurrying to the kitchen. There was no sign of Finn, and I felt a sharp stab of disappointment. I busied myself with making coffee, then breakfast, and I was halfway through my toast when the living room door opened, and Finn came in, shaking snow from his hair. The basket that usually sat near the stove was balanced on his hip, filled with fresh logs.

"We were running low," he said.

I waited for him to smile or show any sign of the bond we'd started building yesterday, but Finn had trouble meeting my eyes. He set the basket down, banked up the fire, and made himself a coffee without saying a word.

"Did you sleep okay?" I asked.

Cliched maybe, but I didn't know what else to say. A lump of hurt and confusion was forming in my chest.

Finn grunted.

So we were back here, with him treating me like an intruder. His back was to me so he couldn't see the evil look I gave him. Maybe I should throw my mug at the back of his head. That would get his attention.

Finn left the room while I was still considering assault by coffee.

Any other time I'd have called Camden to get her opinion, but I didn't want Jude to end up in the middle of this, torn between his friend and his sister-in-law. I didn't even know what this was.

I couldn't call Lily either, not without telling her everything, and I really wasn't in the mood for that conversation again.

I passed the morning by exploring the games room, dicking around on my phone, and helping myself to more cinema snacks. If I kept this up, I might need to visit Finn's gym after all.

On my way to the kitchen at lunchtime, I heard his voice coming from the room, and irritation bristled beneath my skin. The house was starting to feel suffocating again, as if, no matter how big it was, I couldn't get enough space. I was fed up with walking up and down this hallway, heading from room to room while I tried to occupy myself. After the way he'd acted this morning, I was in no mood to be ignored by Finn again; I was about to backtrack, when the strain in his voice made me pause.

"Yeah, I know," he said.

A few beats of quiet passed. I had no idea who he was talking to.

"I didn't choose to be snowed in," he said.

I really shouldn't eavesdrop, but I crept closer to the kitchen anyway.

Finn sighed. "Mum," he said, and that one word sounded exhausted. "If this snow is still here at Christmas, there's literally nothing I can do."

My irritation softened.

I knew from Camden that Jude didn't have a great relationship with his adoptive parents, and though she'd said it had nothing to do with his fame, I had to wonder if fame did sometimes put a strain on family life. I knew little about Finn's family, only that his parents were still together and he had an older brother. I couldn't remember the brother's name though, and he'd always avoided the limelight.

Finn's voice got louder; he was coming this way.

I scuttled backwards and around the corner.

Finn strode into the foyer, and though I could no longer see him, he must have stopped there, because I still hear his voice, slightly more echoey in that space than it had been in the kitchen.

I crept down the hallway and into the kitchen without Finn seeing me. As pissed-off as I was at his hot-and-cold act, maybe I needed to stop thinking of it in those terms. Maybe Finn wasn't deliberately being a dick, but was instead grappling with problems that I didn't understand.

There was still so much about him that I didn't know, and one thing I had to remember was that Finn wasn't like most men. His life had been shaped by fame since he was sixteen, and by his own admission he hadn't come through that unscathed.

I put together a sandwich, arranged it on a plate, and carried it to the foyer, along with a steaming mug of coffee. Finn was still there, pacing the floor, his jaw tight, and his head snapped up when I came in. Silently, I held up the plate and the mug, then placed them on the nearest surface before sloping off. I'd eavesdropped on him twice now; I wouldn't do it again.

Fifteen minutes later, Finn found me in the living room, cross-legged in front of the fire while I finished my own sandwich.

"Why did you do that?" he asked.

"You act like no one's made you a sandwich before," I said, licking a smear of mayo off my thumb.

Finn continued to stare at me, his gaze penetrating, his mug of coffee clutched tight in one hand.

I got to my feet and carried my plate over to the kitchen. "You seem sad sometimes," I said.

He recoiled a little, as if this was new to him.

"I thought we'd found some common ground yesterday, but maybe I was mistaken." I shrugged and braced my palms on the counter. "Or maybe you push people away because you don't like to need them. But that's not healthy, Finn, so I'll try to take care of you now and then, and maybe you'll let me."

Finn lowered his gaze. "I don't know what to say to that," he admitted.

"You seem a bit shell-shocked that someone might be trying to be nice to you." I tilted my head. "Have I shocked you?"

Finn smirked and raised his mug to his lips. "I don't think anything you could say would shock me."

Challenge accepted.

"I masturbated over you the other night," I said.

Finn spat out his coffee.

I smiled angelically.

Finn stared at me for what felt like forever, his grey gaze drifting down the length of my body and then back up. He moved closer and I got the sense of electricity crackling in the air. My throat went dry.

His face was unreadable as he continued to approach me, each step slow and deliberate, and I automatically backed up until I hit the fridge.

Fuck, what was happening?

Finn was so close that our bodies were almost touching, and the way he crowded me was almost too much, but fuck, I wanted more. He bent his head, lower, lower, until his lips brushed my ear. I trembled.

"I've jerked off thinking about you too," he whispered.

My tongue was dust, my heart was pounding, and I'd never been more turned on in my life.

Finn calmly reached past me and opened the fridge, forcing me to move. He popped a couple of cherry tomatoes in his mouth as if nothing had happened. Meanwhile I was about to spontaneously combust.

"What the hell was that?" I said, when I could speak.

He gave me a wicked grin. "I thought we were being honest with each other."

"So you really . . ." My gaze dropped to his groin.

"I did, and it was fucking fantastic." His voice dropped an octave, vibrating along my skin. "Was it good for you too?"

Sweet Jesus, I wasn't sure I could handle this.

"It was okay," I said, trying to play cool.

"That's why your pupils are dilated as fuck right now," Finn said.

Goddamnit.

I looked away, as if that made a difference now.

"I'm a little confused. You hit on me when we first met, then you said I wasn't your type, and now you're jerking off over me?" I said.

Finn leaned his hip against the counter, arms crossed, one black-painted nail drumming against his bicep. Absurdly, it was almost drumming against his flying dick tattoo, and that filled my head with some seriously steamy images.

"Full disclosure?" Finn said.

I nodded.

"I was attracted to you the moment you walked through my door, with a pink nose and snow in your hair," he said.

"My nose was pink?" I automatically touched it.

"Like the cutest little hamster," Finn said.

"Oh my God, I do not look like a hamster."

He grinned.

"If you liked me, why were you so surly?" I asked.

"Because I don't like journalists. I've had to deal with them for years, and they're all the fucking same."

That seemed a broad statement, but I'd never been on the end of negative press. Camden had developed much stronger opinions about journalists after Elle's death, and none of those opinions were good.

"Why did you even agree to the interview?" I said.

"Because Jude asked me to. Then you turned up, cute as hell, and you were . . ." He paused, weighing his words. "Different."

"Oh God, you're not going to trot out the 'not like other girls' cliché, are you?" I groaned.

"You're not though, at least not in my world. Maybe that's a cliché to you, but to men like me, a lot of women are more interested in what they can get out of us, rather than who we are." He gave me an arch look. "If you don't believe me, go talk to your brother-in-law."

Since one of Jude's long-term exes had wanted to marry him simply to boost her own profile, I couldn't argue with that.

"But you never tried to impress me," Finn went on. "I'm used to girls flashing their tits, falling at my feet, risking their lives to get access to my hotel room, but you had no problem calling out my bullshite. It was unexpected. And really fucking refreshing."

"Then why did you tell me I wasn't your type?"

Finn spread his palms. "Just because I thought you were hot didn't mean I wanted you here. I rarely want anyone here, especially some girl I've never met before."

"But it's not just that, is it? I get the feeling you've had some bad experiences with dating," I said.

Finn's face darkened. "You could say that."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Do you want to talk about your exes?"

"Not right now."

Finn laughed. "Fuck, this is crazy, isn't it?"

"What?"

He spread his arms. "The rockstar and the fangirl stuck together for an undetermined length of time. It's like some cheesy chick flick."

"Who says I'm your fangirl?" I said.

"The way you look at me does," Finn replied, a tiny smirk curling around his lips.

"I didn't peg you as the kind of guy who'd watch chick flicks," I said, deflecting.

"I watch all sorts. Comedies are my favourite, though."

He didn't strike me as a comedy fan either, but I didn't say that.

"Do you have an absolute favourite film?" I asked.

"Duck Soup," he replied.

"The hell is that?"

"It's a Marx Brothers comedy from the '30s."

I really had to stop making assumptions. I'd have guessed something like The Hangover.

"I've never heard of it," I admitted.

"You even heard of the Marx Brothers?"

"Nope."

Finn closed his eyes as if my answer had pained him. It was kind of cute.

"Do you want to watch it with me?" he asked, his voice a little gruffer than normal.

"I'd like that."

Before now, I'd have had no interest in watching an old black and white film I'd never heard of, but I'd watch hours of pure static if it meant spending more time with Finn.

Halfway to the cinema room, Finn paused and glanced at me, tension creeping back into his face. "I know I said this is like some chick flick, but it also really isn't. I'm not Jude Scott and I'm not going to fall in love with you."

"I never expected you to," I replied.

Wanting to spend time with him, fantasising about him, wishing he'd fuck me until I couldn't think anymore – none of them meant that I'd fall in love with him. Lust and love weren't the same thing.

Finn nodded, and continued walking.

***

The film was better than I'd expected. Actually, it was hilarious, and every time I laughed, I noticed Finn glance at me, a small smile on his lips.

When it was over, Finn quietly put on another. Apparently there were thirteen Marx Brothers films to choose from. I fetched some snacks from the fridge, and we tore open the bags and placed them on the sofa between us so we could share.

The date-like feel of this was not lost on me.

At some point during the third film, I must have fallen asleep, because the next time I opened my eyes, my head was resting on Finn's shoulder. He felt slightly tense beneath me, but he didn't move away.

"Sorry," I mumbled, lifting my head. "Why didn't you wake me?"

He gave me a strange look, his forehead furrowed like he was trying to work out the answer. "I don't know."

His gaze drifted to my lips again, then snapped away.

What exactly was happening here?

We'd both admitted to finding each other attractive, to the point where we'd masturbated over each other, so now what? We just pretended that we didn't feel the tension crackling between us?

That couldn't last forever.

Sooner or later, one of us had to break.