Page 87 of Hard Rock Fling

He leaned forward to rest his forehead against mine. "You know why I agreed to a fling?"

"Because you wanted me."

His lips curved upward. "That, too. But the real reason? I wanted time to prove myself to you."

"Prove what?"

He looked into my eyes. "I wasn't lying when I said you were special."

My heart clenched. Before, I'd brushed his words off. I'd thought they were just something he said to all the girls.

"It's like I said," he continued. "I don't want you to just be another notch on my bedpost. I thought, this girl is the first person to see me. To really see me. I thought maybe, we could have something real." Ian searched my eyes. I don't know what he saw in them, but he leaned backwards, closing his eyes and thumping his head against the wall. "You don't believe me.Damian'sreputation makes you doubt whether I'm telling the truth or giving you a line."

I swallowed hard. I wanted to believe his words. I did.

He cracked open one eye. "You know, I don't even sleep with that many girls."

"What do you mean?" I asked, taken aback.

"All that stuff in the media about The Twins. It's almost all my brother. But since no one can tell the difference, they think we're both sleeping around."

"Ian, I've seen you flirt with anything that walks."

He gave me a small smile. "I never said I didn't use my charm to get my own way. But it's almost always Damon who's getting blowjobs backstage and taking girls back to the tour bus." He met my eyes. "I don't want you thinking I'm going to cheat on you or leave you for someone else. I don't do that kind of thing."

My heart melted in my chest a little at his reassurance.

"I have something to show you." Ian stood from the sofa and held out his hand. "Will you come?"

I hesitated for a moment before taking his hand.

Ian brought me to a room that housed a small recording studio.

"I was sort of lying in that interview." He sat me on a chair, facing him, only inches away. Our knees almost touched. He slung a guitar strap over his shoulder. An acoustic guitar, not electric. He played with the strap, adjusting it, and fiddled with the tuning before letting out a self conscious laugh.

"I don't know why I'm so nervous," he confessed.

"Did you write your own song for the album?" I guessed.

"Kind of. I wrote a song, at least. It's not going to be on the album. I wasn't going to show it to anyone. But…" he trailed off, piercing me with his gaze. "I think it might help you understand."

He put pick to strings and began to sing.

I knew how well he played, but I hadn't known Ian could sing as well. It was different from Noah. Not as gravely, not as passionate and fiery. His voice was softer. Steady yet sensual, like a slow burn.

It's alla masquerade

Can't stand the pressure

Ineedan escape

Need to run for shelter

Iwas so entrancedwith his voice, I wasn't paying attention to the words at first. Then their meaning drifted in.

Your searching eyes

They see what's real