For all that Noah talked a good game, he obviously wanted this song to be different from his usual work.
I was resolved. I was going to get to know this man, no matter what. Even if he tried to shut me out, I was going to crash my way through those guarded walls and find out what he was truly like.
"You want it to sound like a Noah Hart song. I can help with that."
"How?"
I sat next to him on the piano seat. He didn't shuffle over to make room for me. We ended up pressed hip to hip. My inner muscles clenched and throbbed as our thighs brushed together. The rough scratch of his jeans against my leg nearly had me reeling. I could smell him, leather and spice. It was intoxicating.
I snuck a glance at Noah to see if he was as affected by our closeness as I was. His gaze was turned in the other direction, not looking at me. His lips were pressed together firmly.
I took a moment to breathe deeply and compose myself. I only succeed in breathing in more of his scent. I felt myself flushing. I scooted away as far as I could on the piano bench, putting distance between us.
"We want your song to sound unique," I told him, proud that my voice was smooth, not giving away my inner struggle to contain myself. "So why don't you tell me about yourself?"
He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. "Why would I want to do that?"
Despite his bad-tempered personality and penchant for needling me, there was something about the way Noah Hart looked at me that made me want to swoon. Those rare moments of curiosity, like he was trying to figure me out. Those heated moments when he would zero in on my lips.
I inhaled and exhaled deeply to calm myself. I couldn't get so worked up. Yes, I wanted Noah Hart to tear off my dress and take me on the piano right then and there. No, I wasn't going to let that fact affect my work. I could be professional.
I picked up the sheets of music notes he'd been working on, avoiding his gaze before I did something stupid.
"If we're going to be working on a song together, then I'm going to need to get to know the real you. If we want this song to sound authentic to your fans, it needs to sound like something you wrote. I've listened to your lyrics millions of times—"
"I knew you were a fan, but millions?"
I ignored him. "I feel like I know the Noah Hart who wrote those words, but that's not the Noah Hart I'm sitting next to right now, is it? You're a different person."
"You mean I'm an asshole."
"No."
He snorted.
"Okay. Yes. You're an asshole sometimes. But that just makes me want to get to know the real you even more. You're not an asshole around everyone, right? What about your bandmates? Your friends?"
He stiffened. "Friends? You mean the people who come out of the woodwork once you get famous, trying to sponge off you and use you? Yeah. Some friends."
"What about your family?"
He shot me an almost panicked look, eyes wide and nostrils flaring. The look was soon replaced with a scowl. "We're not talking about this."
His family must have been a sore spot. I filed it away as something to explore later.
"We don't have to talk about anything you don't want to. But I think it would be good if I got to know you."
"And what about me? Don't I get to know you?"
I shrugged. "There's not much to know."
Noah 's dark eyes held that same spark of interest I'd seen before, as if I were a puzzle to be solved. What was it about me that made him so curious?
"And what exactly do you want me to talk about?" he asked.
If I'd known as a teenager I'd have the chance to ask Noah Hart anything I wanted, I would have been ready with a list of questions. Now that I was actually in front of him, I was at a loss.
"Maybe you can tell me how you first got into music?"
