A motion sensor clicked somewhere above us, and the hallway light buzzed on.

I squinted up at him.

And my stomach turned over.

Dark hair. Sharp jaw. That same little dip in the upper lip I'd kissed on the forehead-only nights when Evan finally let me get close enough.

It was Evan's face. Exactly Evan's face.

I jerked back so hard my shoulder smacked the wall.

"Don't." My voice shook. "Don't touch me."

He let his hands fall. "Relax. I'm not him."

"You're—"

"Eli." He tilted his head. "The other one. The one nobody puts on posters."

I'd heard the name maybe twice in three years. *My brother and I don't talk*, Evan had said once, and changed the subject so fast I'd never asked again.

Now I knew why. Looking at Eli felt like looking at a photo of a car crash. Same eyes. Same mouth. The same mouth that had just been all over Celine Marchetti.

Bile rose in my throat.

"Good for you," I said. "Excuse me."

I pushed off the wall and turned toward the exit.

He stepped sideways. One easy step, and he was in front of me again, hands in his pockets like he had all night.

"Move."

"In a second."

"I said *move*."

"And I asked you a question." His eyes flicked down to my wet cheeks, then back up. "Are you going to let it end like this? You crying in a hallway while he's in there with his tongue down a violinist's throat?"

I flinched. "How do you know that?"

"Because I was coming to see him." He shrugged. "Family business. I heard the door. I heard *fan*."

Heat crawled up my neck. "So you came to laugh at me."

"No." For the first time, something sharp cut through his calm. "I came to make you an offer."

I folded my arms across my chest so he wouldn't see my hands shake. "I don't want anything from a Rourke."

"You'll want this." He leaned one shoulder against the wall. "One month. Be my girlfriend."

I stared at him.

Then I laughed. It came out cracked and too loud, bouncing down the concrete.

"You're insane."

"Probably." He didn't smile. "Think about it, Ivy. Three years he kept you in a closet. No photos. No dates. No touching. Because his *image* mattered more than you did."

"Stop."

"The golden boy of classical music. Clean. Untouchable. The label loves him because he's never had a single scandal." Eli tapped his own cheek. "But this face? This face can give him one."

I went still.

"Pictures," he said quietly. "You and me. Close. Intimate. Leaked in all the right places. Nobody will know it's me. They'll see Evan Rourke wrapped around the secret girlfriend he swore never existed."

"While he's out parading Celine," I whispered.

"While he's out parading Celine."

My pulse thudded in my ears. I thought of the cufflink lying on that vanity like garbage. *Close the door on your way out.*

"Why?" I asked. "What do you get?"

His jaw ticked, then smoothed out. "That's my business."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only one you're getting tonight." He pushed off the wall. "So? Yes or no?"

I should've walked away. I knew that. Any sane woman would've shoved past him and called a cab and cried into a pint of ice cream for a week.

But I'd been sane for three years. I'd been patient. I'd been good.

Look where good got me.

"One month," I said.

"One month."

"No feelings. No funny business. When it's over, we never see each other again."

Something flickered in his eyes. Amusement, maybe. "Deal."

"Then yes."

He held out his hand. I hesitated, then shook it. His palm was warm and rough. Not like Evan's at all. Evan's hands were soft. Pianist's hands, he always said, too precious to risk.

"Car's out back," Eli said. "We start tonight."

---

His apartment was on the twenty-third floor, all concrete and glass and almost nothing else. No photos on the walls. A single coffee mug in the sink.

Eli pulled a camera out of a drawer and screwed it onto a tripod.

"You just *have* that?" I asked.

"I take pictures for a living."

"Of what?"

"Things people don't want photographed." He adjusted the lens without looking at me. "Take off your jacket."

My fingers froze on the zipper. "Excuse me?"

He glanced over. "The jacket's from a department store in Midtown. Evan's people know he'd never date a girl in that jacket. They'll pick the photos apart. Every detail has to sell it."

Slowly, I peeled it off and draped it over the couch. Underneath, I wore a thin black camisole. Goosebumps rose on my arms.

Eli set the timer. A small red light blinked.

"Ten seconds," he said. "Come here."

I didn't move.

He crossed the room instead. He stopped close enough that I could smell cedar again, and he looked down at me with Evan's eyes.

"You flinch on camera, this doesn't work," he said.

"I'm not flinching."

"You're shaking."

"It's cold."

"Liar." The light blinked faster. "Pretend I'm him."

"That's the problem," I snapped. "I don't want to."

He paused. Then, oddly, his voice went soft.

"Then don't. Pretend I'm someone who actually wanted to touch you."

Before I could answer, his hand slid into my hair and he kissed me.

The shutter clicked.

I stiffened. His mouth was warm and patient, nothing like the dry peck Evan used to press against my forehead. My hands were fists against his chest.

*Click.*

He pulled back an inch. "Again. Hold onto me this time."

"Bossy."

"Effective."

The timer reset. I gritted my teeth, grabbed his collar, and dragged him down to me.

*Click.*

His arm locked around my waist and lifted me against him. I gasped into his mouth. He walked me backward until my legs hit the arm of the couch.

*Click. Click.*

Somewhere in the middle of it, I stopped counting. I stopped thinking about the camera. My fingers curled into his shirt, and his thumb traced the line of my jaw like he was memorizing it.

*Click.*

When he finally stepped back, we were both breathing hard. My lips felt swollen. His shirt was half untucked, and I didn't remember doing that.

Neither of us said anything.

He walked to the camera and scrolled through the screen. His face gave away nothing.

"Well?" I asked. My voice came out hoarse.

He turned the screen toward me.

There I was, tangled up in a man's arms, my eyes closed, my hand fisted in his hair. And the man holding me was Evan Rourke. Anyone on earth would swear to it.

My throat went tight. "It's perfect."

"Almost." Eli scrolled to the last shot and zoomed in on my bare shoulder, then on his own wrist.

"What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing yet." He set the camera down and looked at me for a long moment. "But Evan has a scar right here." He touched the inside of his left wrist. "I don't."

"So?"

"So someone's going to notice." His mouth curved, slow and dangerous. "Unless you help me with one more thing."

"What thing?" I'd asked him.

"Tomorrow," Eli had said. "You've had enough for one night."

He was right. I'd had enough of everything. So when he went to take a phone call on the balcony, I found the whiskey in his kitchen cabinet and poured myself a glass. Then another.

By the fourth, Evan's face had stopped hurting so much.

By the sixth, I couldn't tell which brother I was looking at.

---

Sunlight woke me. It was sharp and white and stabbed straight through my eyelids.

I groaned and rolled over. The sheets were gray. Soft. Not mine.

My eyes flew open.

A bare back rose and fell beside me. Broad shoulders. A scratch, red and fresh, curved down from one shoulder blade.

I looked at my own hand. My nails.

Oh, God.

I lifted the sheet an inch. Nothing underneath. Not the camisole, not my bra, not a single thread.

The night came back in pieces. My mouth on his neck. His voice saying *Ivy, you're drunk* and me saying *I know what I want*. His hands, careful at first, and then not careful at all.

I clapped a hand over my mouth.

Slowly, I slid one leg out from under the covers. Then the other. The floor was freezing against my feet. My camisole was hanging off a lamp. My skirt was halfway across the room, inside out.

I grabbed it. I grabbed the camisole. I couldn't find my underwear and decided I didn't care.

*Get dressed. Get out. Never come back.*

I was tugging the skirt up over my hips when someone pounded on the front door.

Three hard knocks.

"Eli."

Every muscle in my body turned to stone.

That voice. I'd fallen asleep to that voice on the phone for three years. I'd know it through ten walls.

Evan.

The skirt slipped out of my fingers and pooled at my ankles.

Behind me, the sheets rustled.

I didn't turn around. I didn't have to. Warm arms wrapped around my waist from behind and pulled me back against a hard, bare chest. His skin was hot. Mine was ice.

"Morning," Eli murmured.

"Let me—" I hissed. "He's *here*."

"I noticed."

"Why is he here?"

"No idea." His chin settled on my shoulder like this was nothing. Like his brother wasn't fifteen feet away. "But you've got two choices, sweetheart."

His breath brushed the curve of my ear. My knees went weak, and I hated myself for it.

"You can open that door right now and walk out like this," he whispered. "Give him the shock of his life."

I shook my head hard.

"Or," he went on, "you stay right here. Quiet. In my arms. And you do what I say."

Another knock. Louder this time. The door rattled on its hinges.

"Eli, I know you're in there. Your car's downstairs."

I pressed my lips together until they hurt. I didn't dare breathe.

Eli's hand drifted up my stomach, slow, until his fingers settled under my chin.

"Smart girl," he said.

He turned my face toward him.

I saw his eyes for one second. Evan's eyes. But not Evan's. There was heat in them that Evan had never once aimed at me.

Then he kissed me.

I froze. I tried to pull back, but his palm cradled my jaw and held me there. The kiss wasn't rough. It was slow, almost lazy. Like he had all the time in the world and no brother pounding on his door.

The door was so thin I could hear Evan shifting his weight on the other side.

I curled my fingers into Eli's forearm. A warning. A plea.

He smiled against my mouth and kept going.

"Eli." Evan's voice cut through again, flat and impatient. "Open the door. We need to talk about last night."

My heart slammed into my ribs.

*Last night.*

Did he know? Had someone seen us leave the concert hall? Had someone seen *me*?

Eli broke the kiss just long enough to look at me. His thumb dragged across my bottom lip.

Then he lifted his head toward the door and raised his voice. Loud. Clear. Every word crisp enough to carry into the hall.

"Can't right now. I'm kissing the woman I love."

My stomach dropped through the floor.

I stared at him. He didn't look at me. He kept his eyes on the door, calm and steady, his arm locked around my waist.

On the other side, nothing.

No knock. No voice. Not even the creak of a floorboard.

The silence stretched so long my lungs started to burn. I could picture Evan standing there, one hand still raised, that perfect face going blank.

*The woman I love.*

Eli didn't even know me. Two nights ago I'd been a stranger crying in a hallway. Why would he say that? Why say it to *Evan*?

Then I heard it.

A footstep. Then another. Moving away from the door. Slow at first, then faster, until the ding of the elevator echoed down the hall and the doors slid shut.

He was gone.

My whole body sagged. If Eli hadn't been holding me, I would've hit the floor.

"You're insane," I breathed. "You're completely insane."

"You said that already."

"Do you have any idea what you just did?" I twisted in his arms and shoved at his chest. He didn't budge. "He'll come back. He'll ask questions. He'll want to know who—"

"He won't come back today."

"How do you *know* that?"

Eli finally looked down at me. His face was unreadable, but something was moving under the surface. Something I couldn't name.

"Because I know my brother," he said. "He's not angry."

I blinked. "What?"

"Did you hear his voice?" Eli brushed a strand of hair off my forehead. "He's not angry, Ivy."

A chill crept down my spine.

"Then what is he?"

Eli let go of my waist. He crossed the room, bent down, and picked something up from the floor beside the bed. Something small and silver that caught the sunlight.

A cufflink. Shaped like a tiny piano key.

My cufflink. The one Evan had left on the vanity like trash.

He turned it over so I could see the engraving. *E & I.*

"He's scared," Eli said quietly. "Because last night, he sent someone to bring this back to you. And they followed you here."