There was no sign of Finn when I went inside, but the key was still in the lock, so I turned it then put it on the kitchen counter. The fire in the stove was dying down, but the living room was still warm – almost too warm after hours in the freezing cold. I stripped down to jeans and a T-shirt, and settled on the sofa to check the news. Maybe there'd be something more positive about the weather.

Nope.

Apparently more snow would arrive tonight. In some parts of the country, it was already nearly four foot deep. I skimmed the fun social media posts about people building snowmen in the streets – including an epic creation by one of my best friends, Lily – walking on frozen lakes, starting snowball fights with their neighbours. Then there were the serious posts about water pipes freezing, farms losing livestock, people in rural communities worrying how they'd get supplies, and a jolt of fear shot through me.

Finn and I were at the top of a big fucking hill – it'd be a pain in the ass to get supplies at the best of times, but in these conditions, we didn't stand a chance. What happened if we ran out?

As if he knew I was thinking about him, Finn came into the room, and I noticed he walked with a heavier tread than normal, as if he was trying to avoid creeping up on me.

"Good walk?" he said.

"Yeah."

"You were gone a long time," he noted.

It felt a bit shitty to say that I felt cooped up in his mansion, so I shrugged and smiled.

Finn opened the stove, and banked up the fire with small logs from a nearby basket. He stirred the embers with an iron poker, helping the flames catch onto the new wood, and I noticed his fingers tapping the handle in a discordant yet insistent rhythm.

What did he do with himself all day? Was he writing music somewhere? Or passing the time some other way? Exploring Finn Donovan's hobbies was another potential article.

"You okay with that leftover pasta sauce for dinner?" Finn asked, closing the stove.

"Yeah, but I'm a bit worried."

He brushed sawdust from his hands. "About what?"

"We're pretty cut off out here. What happens if we run out of food?"

"We won't."

"How do you know though?" I asked. "What if we really are stuck here for months?"

"We still won't run out of food."

"Why, have you got some survivalist stash hidden somewhere?" I said.

Finn stared at me for a long moment, his eyes slightly narrowed, like he was thinking something over, then he gave a small nod. "Come with me."

He led me out of the living room, and to the second door on the right in the hallway. "I promise you, running out of food won't be a problem," he said, opening the door and ushering me inside.

"Whoa," I said softly.

Shelves lined the walls on either side, packed with nonperishable foodstuffs – pasta and rice, tinned beans and vegetables, powdered milk, peanut butter, crisps and crackers, dried fruit, I couldn't take it all in.

Directly opposite me was a massive chest freezer, and when Finn opened the lid, I was confronted with frozen fruit and veg, fish and meat, stacks of ice cream tubs.

I'd been kidding about the survivalist thing, but maybe I'd hit the nail on the head. Another article in the making?

"Why do you have all of this?" I said.

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared," Finn replied.

"I guess not, but it's a bit weird. You must have a year's worth of food in here."

Finn closed the lid with a dull thud, and fixed me with an intent look. "I keep all of this in case I ever want to completely cut myself off from the world," he said.

I stopped myself from pointing out that that was weird too. In the couple of minutes that we'd been in this room, Finn's body language had become diminished somehow, like he'd left the cocky rockstar the door and suddenly I was with someone more vulnerable. I wasn't entirely sure how to handle this Finn, but sarcastic comments wouldn't help.

"Why would you want to do that?" I asked, and not because I was probing for material to write about. It baffled me that someone as successful, wealthy, and talented as Finn could want to become a hermit.

Finn's eyes darted around the room, and he gave a stiff shrug. "People suck sometimes."

"I can't argue with that, but wanting to completely isolate yourself is quite extreme," I said, as gently as I could.

Finn tensed. "Maybe, but you have no idea what it's like to be me."

"Do you mean to be famous, or do you mean you personally?"

Finn's eyebrows drew together, as if that wasn't what he'd expected me to say. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"I know it can't compare to all the years you've spent in the limelight, but I've had a better understanding of the shitty side of fame since Camden married Jude."

Finn didn't say anything, but his head was slightly tilted, as if he was waiting for me to continue, so I did.

"People that didn't like me back in school are suddenly rewriting history and pretending we were friends all along. Friends that I trusted are fishing for gossip about Jude or the band or anyone else he knows. I've had to change my number three times to keep so-called journalists from harassing me for dirt," I said. "It's not as bad as Camden has it, but there are always people who think they can get to her, or Jude, through me."

"Jude said you were angling for an internship with Clash to help pursue a career in journalism," Finn said.

"That's right."

"Your sister marrying him must have opened a lot of doors for you. Why not use them?"

I winced. "Because I don't want to rely on having a famous brother-in-law to get anywhere in life. I need to build my career on my own merit."

"You used Jude to snag an interview with me," Finn pointed out.

That earned another wince. "It's the only time I've let him do anything like that. I'm not proud enough to refuse every lifeline, but I don't want to rely on them. I even applied to the internship under a false name, so no one knows my connection to Jude."

"Most people would have milked that connection for all it's worth."

"That's not how I want to go through life."

Finn nodded. His eyes were narrowed, but his expression was speculative rather than hostile, like he was seeing me for the first time.

The ice was thawing again, like it had earlier, but it still felt fragile, like one wrong step would crack it.

I grabbed the nearest bag of pasta and rattled it. "Shall we make some dinner?"

***

While Finn heated up the leftover sauce, I boiled water for the pasta, and as we skirted around each other in the small kitchen space, I couldn't help giggling.

"What?" Finn said.

"This." I gestured from him to me. "Us."

"I don't get it," Finn said, but there was a half-smile on his lips.

"A couple of days ago we didn't know each other and how we're making dinner together."

I didn't add how strange the domesticity of it felt. Obviously rockstars did regular things like cooking or laundry, but I'd never thought about it before, and if I wasn't in a kitchen with a rockstar, I couldn't have imagined it.

Finn drummed his fingers on the counter. It wasn't quite the same beat as he'd drummed onto the poker handle, but it was clearly musical rather than a display of impatience.

"I'll admit, I never saw this coming," he said.

I tipped pasta into the boiling water, but a few pieces missed the pan and I bent to pick them up.

Finn's sharp intake of breath made me spin around, just in time to see his gaze snap upwards.

Wait, was he – had he been checking me out?

When he'd hit on me a couple of day ago, it hadn't been genuine. It had been a guy hitting on the nearest woman because he was bored, horny, or both, and at the time I hadn't appreciated it.

I wasn't sure I felt the same now.

Once the pasta was cooked, I drained it and divided it between two bowls, then moved aside so Finn could spoon on the sauce. He lifted his bowl, turned towards the door, and I realised he was taking his dinner somewhere else.

"Stay and eat with me," I said.

Finn paused. His back was to me, I couldn't see his face, but the set of his shoulders was tense. He was going to refuse; I was sure of it. The ice was forming again.

"Please," I added. It was worth a try.

Finn turned. His jaw was clenched, his forehead furrowed, and for a long pause neither of us moved or said anything.

"Okay," Finn said at last.

We headed into the living room, then Finn waited while I chose one of the padded seats before he sat on the sofa, like he didn't want to be too close to me. I tried not to take it personally.

At first we ate in silence, with only the clinking of forks against bowls interrupting the growing tension.

"Tell me about your house," I said, when it became clear that Finn wasn't going to initiate the conversation.

"What about it?"

"It's so unusual. Did you buy it or was it built for you?"

"Built for me," Finn replied.

"Did you design it?"

"Yes and no. I had lots of ideas about how I wanted it to look, but I needed an architect to organise those ideas."

I swallowed a bite of pasta. "What made you decide to design a house rather than buy one?"

"I like having control of my own life," Finn said.

That didn't exactly answer the question, and yet it spoke volumes.

"I don't know where I'd even begin designing a house," I commented.

Finn moved his pasta around with his fork but didn't lift any to his mouth. "Where do you live?"

"London."

"A house? a flat?"

I laughed. "I can barely afford my flat, let alone a house."

"You got a job outside the journalism thing?"

"I work in a local clothing store."

"Do you like it?"

"It's kind of boring, but I'm lucky to have a job, and if I don't land this internship, then I'll have to keep saving every penny in the hopes of affording university one day. If I get the internship, I might be able to skip the uni step," I explained.

"Couldn't Camden and Jude lend you the tuition fees?" Finn finished his pasta and set the bowl on the floor.

"They've offered, but I know that if I accept, they'll never let me pay them back."

"So? Jude can afford it."

"That's not the point. I can't rely on him just because he's rich and famous, remember?" I said.

"Will you be able to afford university without taking out a loan?" Finn asked

"Not any time soon."

Finn reclined on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair, making it messier than ever. "So your sister and her husband are happy to foot the bill, but you'd rather stay in a job you don't like and save for a degree that will still land you in pretty fucking serious debt? I've got to be honest, Tasha, that doesn't make a lot of sense."

When he put it like that, I wasn't sure it did either.

"It's okay to need help sometimes," Finn said, but his voice was so subdued that I wasn't sure he was referring to me.

"You and Jude are pretty close, aren't you?" I changed the subject.

"I've only known him a couple of years, but yeah, he's one of the few people I'd call a friend."

"What about the guys in Incarcerated? You toured with them, didn't you?"

Finn nodded. "And Cole Roth too."

"I pity the hotels you stayed in." I gave him a mischievous grin. "I've heard the stories."

"They're not all true," Finn protested.

"You don't even sound like you believe that."

He pulled a wry face.

"Camden said she gets on really well with Darius, but Rhydian's a little harder to get close to," I said.

"Rhydian's a prickly bastard at the best of times," Finn said, but there was affection in his voice.

"Do you get on with him?"

"I do now, but we clashed at first, and it definitely took me longer to warm up to him than it did to Darius, Cole, or even China."

"I didn't realise you and China were friends," I said.

Finn shifted position, resting his chin on his palm. "I'm not as public about being friends with her as I am with the guys because it invites bullshite media speculation about whether anything's going on between us."

China Rose was one of the few female rockstars riding the wave of 80s-style rock resurgence. Formerly the frontwoman of Cherry Pie, she'd broken away from the band a couple of years ago and was busily carving out a successful career as a solo artist.

"Were you friends with Elle too?" I asked.

Finn stiffened, something between hurt and anger sparking in his eyes. "Yeah."

"I'm sorry," I said.

Finn gave me a sideward look. "I'm surprised you don't hate her."

"I do hate her," I said. "She terrorised my sister, and then tried to murder her – if Elle was still alive, I'd want to punch her teeth down her throat. But I feel sorry for her too, because she wasn't well, and maybe I'm only capable of that pity because she's dead and can't hurt anyone anymore, but I'll never know for sure."

Finn was quiet.

"Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's the truth," I said.

"I appreciate your honesty. If I can be honest with you too, then –" Finn broke off, scrubbed his palm across his mouth.

I waited.

"Part of me hates her too," Finn said. His voice was low, rough. "In this industry it's fucking hard to find people you can trust, and we all trusted Elle. Darrell trusted Elle, and then she killed him."

The journalist in me should have jumped at this goldmine of material, but strangely, the tentative trust that Finn was showing me seemed more important.

"Do the guys come and visit often?" I asked, trying to shift the topic to less painful grounds.

"Not much, but I don't blame them. It's a pain in the arse getting out here."

I gave him an arch look. "You didn't mind me making the journey."

Finn grinned back, and a bolt of heat shot straight through me. That wasn't his rockstar smirk, that was a real smile, and it was a thing of fucking beauty.

"I'll never miss the chance to dick around a journalist. Plus, I needed to see how serious you were about this," he said.

"I hope I proved myself."

His smile softened. "You did."

"Do you ever get lonely up here by yourself?" I asked.

I expected a glib response, but Finn lowered his gaze. "Sometimes, yeah," he said.

"You could always get a pet."

Once Camden's baby arrived, she wouldn't have time to miss Jude when he wasn't around, but until that day, she was kept company by Digger, the rescue dog that Jude had got her. I'd get a dog myself if I had room.

"Most of my time in Momentum were spent on a tour bus, so pets were out of the question, and even though I'm not much of a party animal these days, I still have to tour and travel. It doesn't seem fair to have a pet if I'll have to leave them alone," Finn said. "Although, Cole seems to manage it. I think his PA takes care of his cats when he's away."

"I didn't know he had cats."

"He's got two – Alice Cooper and Marilyn Manson. He fucking adores them, but he doesn't talk about them much."

"Why?"

Finn pursed his lips. "Sometimes he gets super paranoid that someone will steal them and hold them for ransom, but I'm never sure if he really believes that or if it's the drugs talking. Other times I think it's that those cats are too important for him to share with the world."

"I can understand that," I said.

Camden was forever posting cute photos of her and Digger to social media, but despite being married to one of the world's biggest rockstars, she wasn't in the public eye as much as Cole. The fans and the media probably took enough from the poor guy without dragging his cats into it.

I met Finn's eyes and my breath caught. His gaze was warmer than I'd ever seen it, and though I'd never forgotten that he was one of the goddamn hottest men on the planet, I hadn't been prepared for him becoming exponentially hotter once he let his guard down.

Every dirty dream I'd ever had about him flashed through my mind, and a blush heated my cheeks. I looked away.

Something had shifted between us tonight. The tension and hostility had softened, changed shape, becoming something that was still fragile and new, but glittering with possibility. And throughout our whole conversation, it hadn't once occurred to me that I could use everything Finn was telling me to help further my career. I was just enjoying spending time with him.

Fuck.

Was I developing feelings for this guy?

Fuck.

***

That night I couldn't sleep.

Finn rolled around and around in my head – the half-naked Finn I'd seen this morning, water gleaming on his skin, and the warmer, more open Finn I'd had dinner with. Both were facets of the same man, and the more I got to know him, the more my old fantasies reared their heads.

My clothes felt too tight, despite how baggy they were, and my nipples were so sensitive that every time I rolled over, they dragged against my T-shirt, sending sparks through me. I couldn't stop imagining that that sensation was from Finn's clever fingers, or better yet, his tongue. How would that tongue stud feel rolling against my breasts?

Fuuuuck.

I rolled over again, trying to push Finn from my mind, but the stubborn, sexy bastard wouldn't leave. This wasn't entirely new to me, since my panties had been wet from the moment I'd first seen him breaking into song, muscles clenching in his tattooed arms as he clutched the microphone – hell, I'd even touched myself to some of his songs – but my feelings had never been this intense.

Then, it had been a celebrity crush, the daydream longing for someone I knew I could never have. I still knew I couldn't have Finn, but living with him blurred the line between hard, cold reality, and fairytale fantasies.

Suddenly he wasn't a fantasy anymore.

Frustrated, I punched my pillow. Worse than my sensitised nipples was the throbbing between my legs, that primal urge for satisfaction.

It wasn't going away on its own. If I wanted relief, I'd have to do it myself.

I licked my thumb and forefinger and trailed them down my chest, pausing to squeeze one peaked nipple, before continuing over my stomach and past the waistband of my shorts until I reached the warm wetness between my legs.

Oh, God, yes.

It would have been better if it was Finn's hand – or his mouth! – but I'd take what I could get.

I stroked myself with one hand, my fingers sliding through my own slickness slowly at first, then faster, and cupped one breast with the other hand, rolling my nipple. If I closed my eyes, I could imagine Finn was here, his weight pinning me to the bed, his voice rough as he whispered all the ways he was going to fuck me.

My back arched, my shoulders pushing down into the mattress, my breath coming sharp and fast. There was little chance that Finn would hear me, but I clenched my jaw anyway, forcing back the groan that was building.

Sweet fire broke over my skin as I imagined Finn's bristly jaw scraping my neck, his lips nipping my earlobe, the thick head of his cock nudging against me.

God, I was getting close. A wave was building, gathering speed, and I plunged two fingers inside, picturing Finn sinking deep, the husky groan he'd make when he did.

So . . . close . . .

I slid my fingers higher, circling my own wetness around the sweetest spot on my whole body, and that wave finally crashed over me, ripping a strangled cry from my throat.

Heart hammering, I sagged back on the bed, sucking in deep breaths as aftershocks rippled through me. Fuck, I'd needed that.

And yeah, it still wouldn't compare to the real thing, but it had taken the edge off that bone-deep ache and, hopefully, was enough to get Finn out of my system.

Maybe by tomorrow, my very unprofessional feelings towards him would be gone.