After I'd shrivelled to a prune in the hot tub, I changed into a dry T-shirt and shorts, then arranged my wet clothes and bra on the radiator in my bedroom.

When I got to the kitchen, in search of lunch, Finn was already there, putting together a sandwich. He glanced down at something when I came in, and an expression that I couldn't read flashed across his face, before he quickly looked away again.

I headed for the fridge.

"Have you been in the hot tub?" Finn asked.

"Yeah. How could you tell?" I asked, helping myself to sliced turkey.

"Your hair's wet," Finn said, gesturing with the hand that held his sandwich. A small slice of tomato fell out and landed on the counter. Finn picked it up, popped it in his mouth, and licked his fingers clean, and I felt a visceral tug deep in my core.

Neither of us spoke while I buttered bread and started layering turkey and veggies, then Finn said, "I heard you singing."

I froze, a slice of bread clutched in my hand. "What? You heard that?"

I'd been so busy trying not to think of Finn that this hadn't occurred to me, and now mortification stained my cheeks. Fuck, what if he thought I'd been singing about him? Doubly fuck, the man with a voice that was pure sex had overheard me singing.

My voice wasn't pure sex.

My voice wasn't even disappointing sex.

"I didn't know you could hear me," I muttered, slapping the bread onto my sandwich and pushing down with more force than was necessary. Mayonnaise squished out of the sides.

"Sound really carries in that room," Finn explained.

"Oh good, that must have made my terrible singing even worse."

Finn didn't respond.

"See, a gentleman would reassure me that it wasn't that bad," I said.

Finn smirked. "I'm not a gentleman, and you're not a very good singer."

I sighed. "I know."

"I liked your song choice though," Finn said. "That was the Chris Cornell version, right?"

"Yeah, it's my favourite song. One of the few times when the cover version was better than the original."

Finn leaned one hand on the counter, interest filling his eyes. "You think Cornell's cover is better than O'Connor's?"

"You don't?"

"Actually, I agree with you. But most people treat it like blasphemy to suggest that the original might not be the best version," Finn said. "Although, it's worth pointing out that Sinead O'Connor's version isn't even the original."

"Wait, seriously?"

Finn nodded. "Prince wrote and composed it, and it was first sung by his side project, The Family. O'Connor's version is the most famous and recognisable, but it's also a cover."

"How the hell did I not know that?" I said.

Finn shrugged. "Most people don't, same as most people don't know that "I Will Always Love You" was written and sung by Dolly Parton before Whitney Houston made it her own."

"Ah, now that one I knew. Another case of the cover beating the original," I said.

"Agreed."

"But if you knew that Sinead O'Connor wasn't the original singer, why did you bring her up?" I said.

Finn shrugged again, and finished the last bite of his sandwich. I hadn't started mine. "I didn't think you'd know she wasn't the original."

"I'm glad I know now."

Finn dumped his plate in the sink. "What other covers do you think are better than the original?"

I considered it. "It's not better, but Johnny Cash's version of "Hurt" is as good as the Nine Inch Nails original, in a very different way."

"Yeah, he completely reimagined that, and it was brilliant," Finn agreed.

"Disturbed's rendition of "Sound of Silence" is a thing of genius, even though I still love the Simon and Garfunkel original," I said.

"The acoustic version? Or the remix?" Finn asked, studying me intently.

"I know the remix made the song popular, and it is catchy, but to me it doesn't compare to the melancholy of that acoustic original," I said, warming to the subject.

Interest sparked in Finn's eyes. "I completely agree with you. The original is so fucking haunting, isn't it?"

"Beautiful," I said. "Equally, Disturbed's version was so powerful and raw."

Finn nodded. "When I was a kid, I imagined doing my own cover of that song, but there's no chance of that now. David Draiman made it his own."

His eyes flicked down again, then back up, but I still didn't know what he was looking at.

"A really underappreciated cover is Mourning Ritual's version of "Bad Moon Rising". Have you heard that one?" I asked.

"Fuck, yeah, I love that version," Finn said.

I couldn't stop a beaming smile. "No one else I know has even heard of it."

"It definitely deserved more recognition. I'm biased though, I always thought the original was overrated."

"Really?" I said. "But that opening riff is so iconic."

"I know, but the song never did it for me. I think "Fortunate Son" is the only Credence Clearwater Revival song that I actually like."

"They're not my favourite, but "Have You Ever Seen The Rain?" is another good one by them," I said.

Finn's expression cleared. "Good call, I'd forgotten about that one."

He glanced down again. Had I spilled something on my – his – T-shirt?

"Plus Joan Jett did a pretty good cover of it," I added.

Finn screwed up his mouth. "I like Joan, but she could have done something more ambitious instead of just singing the song in the same arrangement."

"Fair point."

Finn was leaning forward, resting his weight on his elbows, enthusiasm making his face bright and open, and the breath caught in my lungs. I wasn't sure I'd ever seen him look like this, even before I'd met him. It was as if the cynicism and the snark had been stripped away, and I was getting a glimpse of the real Finn.

I don't think he had any idea he was doing it.

Then, suddenly, he did realise, and all that openness slammed shut. He drew back from me, and the space between us felt colder, harder.

"Anyway," he muttered. "I should go. I've got stuff to do."

He strode out of the kitchen, and I swallowed a thick knot of disappointment. Our conversation had been brief but I'd enjoyed it, and I'd happily have talked more. Music was a passion for both of us, albeit in very different ways. I didn't get why Finn had clammed up.

And what the hell had he kept looking at?

I glanced down, and a tiny squeak slipped out.

I'd hoped that Finn's too-big T-shirt would hide the fact that I was currently braless, but my nipples were begging for attention, perkily pushing against the thin cotton in a way that was impossible not to notice.

Part of me was fucking mortified.

Another part was hornier than I'd been before getting in that hot tub. The mini-breakthrough we'd just had didn't help.

Maybe I should douse myself in a cold shower.

I glanced out of the living room windows. A cold shower probably wasn't enough – stripping off and rolling around in the snow might do the trick though.

A text came through from Camden, asking how I was getting on. I sent her a vague reply about the amazing hot tub, carefully avoiding any mention of Finn.

Nola still hadn't opened my last message.

I sighed and shoved my phone in my pocket.

What to do with myself now?

I didn't fancy going back to the cinema room, the games room wasn't much fun on my own, and even if I had any experience with the gym, I didn't know where it was.

My gaze drifted back to the windows. Maybe a walk in the snow would do me good. Finn's house was huge, but I still felt cooped up somehow, and some fresh air might be just what I needed.

I hurried back to my room and layered up some more clothes, swapping Finn's shorts for my jeans. My coat was still draped over a chair in the living room; I slung it on, buttoned it, and shoved my feet into my boots.

Hopefully the grounds around the house were big enough to keep me entertained for a while; it didn't seem like a good idea to venture beyond the fence and into the woods.

The door that led out of the living room blended with the floor-to-ceiling windows, but I'd been through it several times now that I knew where to look for the subtle door-handle.

Only when I turned it, the door didn't open.

I tried again, and gave the door an experimental rattle, but nope, it was locked. Where was the key?

"What are you doing?" Finn asked.

I jumped. For such a tall guy, he sure could move quietly.

"You've got to stop sneaking up on me," I said. I wiggled the door-handle again. "I wanted to go for a walk."

"You're not planning on going into the woods, are you?" he asked.

I shook my head.

Finn crossed the room and held out his hand. "Give me your phone."

"Why?"

"Just give it to me."

I handed it over.

Finn tapped at the screen a couple of times, then gave it back. "I've added my number, in case you run into any trouble."

"What trouble do you think I could run into?"

"Humour me, okay?"

"Okay." I slid my phone in my pocket. "Thanks for caring."

Something flickered in Finn's eyes, a hint of warmth that vanished as quickly as it came.

"I'll make sure you delete that number before you leave here," he warned.

I rolled my eyes. "What makes you think I want to keep it?"

There was that flash of warmth again, like a light winking on, then off again.

Finn fetched a key from a drawer in the kitchen, unlocked and opened the door. "Don't be too long. It's fucking freezing out there," he said.

"Aww, are you worrying about me?"

His lips twitched.

I stepped outside, and Finn closed the door.

Holy shit, he wasn't kidding. The cold sucked the breath out of my lungs, and needled my face like tiny blades. The snow was so deep that even walking would be a mission, but it was beautiful too, stark and white and sparkling under the sun. Everything felt quiet and muffled, like a great blanket had been thrown over the world, and the branches of trees sagged under the weight of it.

Shoving my hands in my pockets, I started to trudge.

The grounds sprawled around the house, and the more I walked, the more I realised that maybe 'mansion' was the right word to describe Finn's house. It was even more huge than I'd realised, and I wondered at all the parts of it I hadn't seen. The security fence ringed the entire property, with cameras every few feet. Was that normal for celebrities, or was Finn paranoid?

After I'd completed two circuits of the house - both times avoiding where the ground sloped downhill to the gate and my poor abandoned car - I stopped, panting slightly. Slogging through the snow was harder than I'd thought, but I felt better for it, and getting my body moving, getting fresh air in my lungs, outweighed the tiredness. Plus, the snow really was beautiful, even if it was the thing that had trapped me here.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, and hesitated at the unfamiliar number on the screen, before answering.

"Am I speaking to Amy Smith?" said a woman's voice I didn't recognise.

"You are," I said.

"Amy, this is Louise Hoffman."

Oh, fuck me.

I fumbled and almost dropped my phone. At any other time, a personal call from Clash's editor-in-chief could only have meant the best news, but Louise Hoffman couldn't be calling me about the internship because I hadn't even submitted my interview. Unless Izzy fucking Rollins had somehow snagged the spot already.

"Hi," I said, hoping I didn't sound too breathless.

"Great to catch you. How's the Finn Donovan interview coming along?" Louise said.

My throat closed up.

Without revealing my true name, it hadn't been easy persuading anyone at the magazine to take me seriously when I'd told them I could get this interview, and now I wished I hadn't said anything. I'd thought it would put me ahead of the other candidates, even before I talked with Finn, and that was backfiring now, because not only had I failed to secure a decent interview, but that failure would be associated with my name if I reapplied for the internship in another two years.

Good job, Tash. Really fucking smart.

"Uh, I'm still working on it," I said, and immediately wanted to punch myself in the face.

"Do you know when it'll be ready?" Louise's voice was pleasant but there was an undertone of impatience too.

"I just need a little longer," I lied.

"All right. Let me know when you've finished." Louise hung up without saying goodbye.

Tears built behind my eyes as I stared down at my phone. This should have been my big break, the thing that would kickstart my entire career, and it had crashed and burned before even getting off the ground. Izzy would fucking love this.

Tonight I'd mourn my loss with good food and good music. Some of the songs Finn and I had discussed earlier were a starting point –

I froze.

Had I lost my goddamn mind? Here I was, crying over the failure of my interview, when an even bigger opportunity had dropped into my lap. I was living with Finn Donovan. I could find out things about him that no one outside his circle of friends knew. Instead of that single interview, I had the chance to collect material for countless articles – hell, I could write one based on his opinions of cover songs alone.

Something inside me felt like it was unknotting.

I lifted my face to the sky and took a calming breath. It was only midafternoon, but already the sun was sinking low, casting shades of pink and yellow across the snow.

It wouldn't be easy getting past Finn's prickly exterior, but if I was serious about a career in rock journalism then I'd have to get used to sullen stars and their diva attitudes.

For the first time since arriving here, I felt a great swell of hope.

Okay, Finn Donovan. Let's find out what kind of man you really are.