Any hope that I'd had about getting Finn out of my system was crushed as soon as I saw him the next morning, preparing breakfast. If anything, masturbating over him had made things worse.

I was more acutely aware of him than I had been before, my gaze lingering on the way his jeans hugged his ass, the sculpt of the muscles in his arms as he buttered a bagel, the way his fingers curled around the knife . . .

I swallowed.

This was going to be hard.

"Morning," I said, as chirpily as I could.

Finn glanced back. "Morning."

My mood deflated.

Finn's expression was tight and unhappy, his eyes dark. Did he regret opening up to me last night?

"You okay?" I asked.

"Fine." Finn took a bite of his bagel, drumming his fingers on the counter. It was a completely different rhythm than yesterday, harder and more aggressive. The air around him crackled with tension.

I edged around Finn to make myself some coffee, and he didn't move, though I don't think he was trying to make me uncomfortable. Judging by the distant look in his eyes, he barely registered I was here.

"Fuck," he snapped suddenly.

He threw the uneaten half of his bagel in the bin and stalked out of the kitchen.

"Rockstar diva," I muttered, stirring my coffee.

I bolted down a quick toast breakfast and washed my plate, trying to ignore the sinking sensation in my chest. It looked like last night's breakthrough had been a fluke.

My phone rang, and my heart jumped into my throat as Louise Hoffman's number appeared. I answered the call.

"Amy, how are you?" she said, and though her voice was cheery, I still noted that same undercurrent of impatience.

"Um, fine, thanks. Sorry, my interview still isn't ready yet though," I said.

"Not a problem, but if you could send me a summary of it, that would be great."

Fuck.

I'd hoped for a little more time before my lie was exposed.

"There's been a snag," I said.

"Oh?" Louise's voice sharpened.

"Finn was a little uncooperative, so I didn't get the material I needed for the interview. But I think I've got something better."

There was a heavy pause.

"I'm listening," Louise said.

I explained to her how I'd become trapped here, and my idea for multiple articles based on everything I found out about Finn.

"You're living with him?" Louise exclaimed.

"Yes, but –"

"This is fantastic," she cut me off.

It was, but something about the way she said it needled me. "So I'm still working on ideas –"

"Is he allowing you free run of his house?" Louse interrupted again.

She was the woman I wanted to impress most in the world, but I still gave my phone a glare.

"He's given me a partial tour," I said.

"Only partial? What about the rest of the place?" She didn't give me a chance to answer. "You'll never have an opportunity like this again, Amy, and you need to make full use of it. Snoop. Now."

I swallowed. Of course I'd known this was something I might have to do, but hearing Louise command it left a bad taste in my mouth. This was Finn's home. But I'd never achieve anything with my career if I wasn't prepared to make some tough choices. If Finn had taken the interview seriously, maybe I wouldn't be in this position.

But he hadn't, and I was.

"Amy?" Louise didn't even hide her impatience this time.

"I'm still here. I was just thinking."

"Less thinking, more action." Louise chuckled, but it sounded false. Clearly she wanted me to get off the phone and start snooping already.

"Right."

"Get photos too. As many as you can," Louise said.

"Okay."

Louise hung up.

I slid my phone into my pocket, trying to ignore the uneasy knot in my stomach. A worried little voice in my head warned me that if Finn hadn't shown me around the rest of the house it was because he didn't want me to see anything else, and I should respect that. The part of me that was desperate to see my dreams achieved told the little voice to shut the hell up.

Louise was right – this was a once in a lifetime opportunity and I couldn't lose it.

I left the kitchen and ventured into the foyer. There was nothing of interest in the big white space, so I continued through it to another hallway, which turned sharply right. On one side, I discovered Finn's home gym, well stocked with weights and bars and machines I didn't recognise, and next to the gym was a completely empty white-walled room. On my other side was another empty room, larger than the first.

That seemed a bit weird.

As far as I knew, Finn had lived here for at least two years, and he wasn't exactly short of cash, so why were multiple rooms still unfurnished?

When I came to a fork in the hall, I hesitated. Left or right?

Right won out. It led further into the depths of the house, until I found myself facing a dark grey door. The hallway continued to my left, but the grey door intrigued me since the others I'd seen so far were white.

I opened it and peeked inside. The room that greeted me was a soft blue, and though the floor was wooden, it had been painted white, a contrast to the varnished boards that made up the floors throughout the rest of the house. A rack of electric guitars stood in one corner, while two acoustics hung on the wall. There was also a keyboard, some sort of mixing console, and a small desk covered with papers. I couldn't read what was on them, but I glimpsed a mix of words and musical notations, and my heart gave a huge thump.

This must be the studio where Finn wrote and created music, and some of the papers on that desk were likely to be future releases. There was a strange, shuddery feeling in my chest, like I'd been pumped full of adrenaline, and I inched forward, my fingers itching with the urge to pick up those papers and read them.

I couldn't do that. I'd agreed to snoop and take photos, but stealing any aspect of Finn's music crossed a line. Louise Hoffman might not agree, but I had to have some limits.

I backed out of the studio, and opened the door next to it.

As soon as I'd stepped through that doorway, I froze.

Oh.

Shit.

The bed, the covers still slightly rumpled, the industrial lamp next to it, the wardrobe – I was standing where a million fangirls would have committed bloody murder to be.

This was Finn Donovan's bedroom.

I shouldn't be here.

A rumour had been spread by a couple of Finn's exes, that he had some sort of phobia about people being in his room, and wouldn't even share his bed with his girlfriends. One of them had put it down to rockstar diva-ness, and Finn had always refused to talk about it, so people happily made up their own theories, but there was no way of knowing how much of that was bullshit.

I really needed to leave. Louise would view this as the Holy Grail of the house, and I could practically hear her voice in my head, ordering me to snap as many photos as possible, but I couldn't do that, not in this private space.

It was only then that I realised I hadn't yet taken a single picture – of anywhere.

My golden opportunity was slipping through my fingers, but for some reason I wasn't making any effort to catch it.

Footsteps sounded behind me, and I whipped around, already searching for an excuse when Finn walked in.

He stopped dead, and genuine panic darted across his face. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I . . ."

His panicked expression hardened into anger. "No, seriously, Tasha. Why the fucking fuck are you in my room?"

He strode forward, and I instinctively backed off, because the rage he brought with him was like a physical cloud, darkening the air.

"Give me your phone," he snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"Phone. Now."

I backed off again, but Finn was faster. He grabbed my wrist with one hand and pulled me towards him, while retrieving my phone with the other hand.

"What are you doing?" I cried.

Finn let me go and scrolled through my phone. After a few moments, the thundercloud on his face cleared slightly, and became a puzzled frown.

"You didn't take any photos," he said.

"No, and you could've just asked me that." My temper was starting to spark.

"I wouldn't have believed you unless I'd seen it for myself."

"I didn't come in here to take secret photos of your bedroom, Finn," I said, trying to ignore a sharp stab of guilt, because I had initially planned to, when I first started snooping on Louise's orders. The fact that I hadn't gone through with it didn't change that.

The storm was gathering in Finn's eyes again. "Then what are you doing in here?"

"I was exploring and –"

"Who the fuck gave you permission to explore my house?" Finn sharply cut me off.

I knew I was in the wrong, I really did, but my temper was spiking, making me defensive.

"Hey, I said I was sorry. It was an accident," I said.

"Sneaking around other people's private spaces isn't a fucking accident," Finn snapped.

"I was just trying to give myself something to do."

"You've got a cinema, a games room, a pool, a hot tub, and a sauna. What fucking more do you want?"

"I want to be back at my own home," I shouted. I was making it worse, but I couldn't seem to stop myself. My pulse was racing and my eyes burned. "I didn't want to be here in the first place."

"And I didn't fucking want you here, but we don't always get what we want," Finn shouted back.

It was no more than I'd guessed, but hearing him say it hurt more than I'd thought it would.

"No," I said. "We really don't."

I shoved past him and stalked out of the room. I don't know where I thought I was going, but my feet automatically took me back to the living room, and before I knew it, I was slinging on my coat.

"Where the fuck are you going?" Finn asked behind me.

"I'm leaving."

"Don't be so fucking stupid. There's nowhere to go."

"I'll take my chances trying to get my damn car to work."

Finn shouted something else, but I was already out of the house by then, kicking up sprays of snow as I waded through the deep white towards my abandoned car. There had to be a way to revive it, maybe Google or a YouTube tutorial would help or –

Oh.

I stopped.

I was pretty sure the huge lump ahead of me was my car, now almost completely buried under snow. Even if I could get it working, how would I dig it out?

Fresh tears stung my eyes.

I slogged closer and used my elbow to sweep snow off the windscreen. The wipers were frozen in place, in the middle of the screen, and when I tried to loosen them, one broke off in my hand.

The crunch and shuffle of snow sounded behind me, but I didn't turn. Clarity was setting in, and now I felt like a complete fucking idiot. I didn't want to face Finn after stomping out like a kid having a tantrum.

"Even if you could get the car working, how would you get past the tree?" Finn said. His voice was softer than I deserved.

Well. I was even more of an idiot that I'd realised.

"You forgot about the tree, didn't you?" Finn said.

"Maybe," I muttered. I swiped my hand across my eyes.

"Are you crying?" Finn sounded incredulous.

"Apparently so."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Because you're my favourite artist but you don't want me here and it makes me feel like shit?" I said.

"If I promise to tone down my douchiness, will you come back to the house?" Finn asked.

I sniffled and nodded.

"Come on then," he said.

He didn't take my hand like he had when we'd first made this journey, but he stayed close to me and somehow that made me feel better.

We didn't speak again until we were in the house, boots and coats off.

"I'm sorry," I said, as Finn crossed to the kitchen and bent to rummage in a cabinet.

Now that I'd had a moment to calm down, my face burned with shame. "I was completely in the wrong there, and I had no right to freak out like that. I shouldn't have been in your room."

Finn straightened, a bottle of Johnnie Walker whisky in one hand, two glasses in another. "So why did you freak out?" he asked.

I sidled closer to the kitchen.

Finn grabbed an ice tray from the freezer, chucked a couple of cubes in each glass, and followed with a generous slug of whisky.

"I have more of a temper than my sister," I admitted. "Even when I know I'm wrong, sometimes I react badly on instinct. It's one of my flaws, and I am working on it, but obviously I have a lot of work still to do."

Finn scrutinised me. "That's the only reason?"

My stomach knotted with nerves. "No, but I'd rather not discuss the other reason because it'll sound I'm trying to shift accountability and that's not what I want to do."

Finn nudged one of the glasses towards me. I wrapped my hand around it.

"Spill," Finn ordered.

I took a sip of whisky for courage. "I guess I'm feeling a bit confused. I've always known you don't want me here, and I understand that, because honestly, who would be happy with a complete stranger moving in like this? But sometimes it seems like you don't mind so much, and we have a nice conversation and things feel like they're getting better, but then you pull back again and I never really know where I stand with you. Like, this morning you were really off with me and I have no idea why. That's no excuse for me flipping my shit, but I wish we could decide whether we're okay to be around each other or not."

Finn made a thoughtful shape with his mouth. "I wasn't off with you. I was having a bad day, and I'm not used to anyone being here."

"If you'd rather I stay completely out of your way, tell me now, and we'll work out some sort of schedule so we never have to even see each other," I said.

I had no idea how he was going to react, and I found myself holding my breath, waiting for him to decide.

"I don't want that," Finn said in a low voice.

I felt a little surge in my chest. I'd been ready for him to say he'd prefer to avoid me entirely from now on.

Finn leaned across the island unit, and clinked his glass against mine.

I took another sip, and cradled my glass against my chest. Finn had almost finished his.

"Can I ask you something?" I said.

"Go ahead."

"I know I shouldn't have been in your room and you have every right to be pissed at me, but I obviously also crossed a line that I didn't realise was so serious. I know some of your exes have talked about how you don't like people in your room –"

"I don't want to talk about that," Finn interrupted.

His voice was short, but that wasn't what got to me. It was the sudden vulnerability in the way his shoulders hunched slightly, the way he pulled his hands towards his torso, like he was trying to protect himself from something. It was the way his eyes darted around the room, and the memory of how panicked he'd looked when he'd found me in his room. He hadn't just been angry. Part of him had been scared.

That made me feel even worse about my freak-out.

I don't think he even realised that he was showing those signs of vulnerability, and my heart gave a sharp pang.

Why had he designed such a large house when he didn't want anyone here? Maybe one day he'd feel comfortable enough to tell me, but now wasn't the right time to even ask.

"Do you want to play table tennis?" Finn abruptly asked.

I blinked, thrown by the change of topic.

"Uh . . . sure?" I said.

"We might as well do something to pass the time." Finn nodded toward the windows. "It's snowing again, so we're obviously still going to be here for a while."

I looked over my shoulder. Fat flakes were drifting through the air, and though there weren't many yet, the greying of the sky suggested more was on the way. Would I even be able to find my poor car once this was over?

"Looks like it," I agreed. "Okay, let's play some table tennis."