The flight to Los Angeles wasn't long, but I bounced my feet, played with my guitar-shaped necklace, and worried my lip the entire time we were in the air. I even tried writing a little, but I couldn't concentrate enough and eventually put my notebook away. I just wanted to be with Kellan already. My heart was hammering in my chest when the plane touched down, and I think I was breathing harder when we finally taxied into position. Anna snorted and told me, "Calm down, horn dog." But I couldn't calm down. And I wasn't horny or anything, I just . . . needed him.

It was a free-for-all to exit the plane, so I grabbed my bag and darted for the door before Anna had even stood up. Even though we were seated near the middle of the plane, I was the second person to leave. Nerves skittered around my belly as I sprinted up the ramp. I wasn't sure how I'd spot Kellan in the sea of travelers and visitors in this massive airport. I supposed I could text him if I didn't spot him right away in baggage claim.

I burst through the corridor toward the waiting area for visitors. I took one brief sweep of the crowd eagerly waiting for friends and loved ones, then I started laughing. Kellan was standing front and center with his arms extended into the air like John Cusack in Say Anything. Only, he wasn't holding a boombox blaring Peter Gabriel. No, Kellan was proudly holding a sign that read-in embarrassingly large black letters-MRS. KELLAN KYLE.

I should have known that Kellan wouldn't be hard to spot. Even without the sign, he stuck out.

I let out a strangled laugh-sob as I rushed over to him. I just couldn't believe I was finally with him-and I wasn't leaving this time. Kellan barely had time to drop the sign and catch me as I leapt into his arms. I buried my head in his neck, wrapped my legs around his waist, and held on as tight as I could. His masculine, clean, intoxicating scent hit me as his warm hands caressed my back. My jittery nerves instantly evaporated. I was there. We were together.

I pulled back when I felt low laughter vibrating my chest. Kellan was beaming as he stared up at me. Maybe it was my imagination, but his midnight blue eyes seemed to be even deeper in color, his lashes longer. Even the curve of his amused smile was more sensual than I recalled. I didn't know it was possible, but he'd become even more attractive in my short absence.

"Miss me?" he murmured, leaning up in a gesture that clearly said, I want to feel your lips.

Grinning, I obliged him. Even his mouth was sweeter, more tender. When his tongue flashed against mine and his hand sneaked down to my backside, I suddenly remembered that we were in a very public place, a place swarming with young, innocent eyes.

Squirming, I broke free from his grasp and set my feet on the ground. He frowned at me; if it was possible, his pout was even more adorable than his smile. "Hey, I was enjoying that."

"Yeah, I know." I rested my hand against his stomach, and he reached up to grab my fingers; his frown instantly disappeared. He chuckled and bent down to pick up his welcome sign. I had to resist the urge to run my fingers through his impossibly sexy, shaggy, bed-head hair. When he straightened, I pointed to the ostentatious placard in his hand. "I like your sign."

He grinned. "I thought you might."

Reading it again as it dangled by his hip, I frowned. "But, just so you know, I'm not going by Mrs. Kellan Kyle. It's too old-fashioned."

Kellan glanced at the poster board by his thigh, then looked back up at me. "What? It's endearing to take your husband's full name, isn't it?" His thumb reached up to brush my wedding ring as he said husband, and the pride he felt at me being his wife was clear on his features.

"It's sexist, Kellan. I have my own name. I don't need to assume yours." I smoothed my hand over the soft, black cotton covering his pecs. To make my point, I traced the scripted letters of my name along the hidden tattoo above his heart. Kellan shuddered and his eyes started to blaze. "Just your last name," I whispered.

Kellan's sultry gaze drifted to my mouth. His lips parted, and as I watched, enraptured, he flicked his tongue over his bottom lip, then slowly dragged his teeth along the plump skin. It was distracting, to say the least.

Just as I was wondering how much PDA we could get away with before being carted off by the TSA, a loud voice erupted over the cacophony of the airport din. "Thanks, Kiera! I nearly gave birth trying to get my carry-on down!"

Kellan and I both looked back at my red-faced sister. As she stomped toward us, she huffed at a stray strand of hair that was dangling close to her eye. It was an exaggerated expression that screamed to everyone around her that she was put out. Kellan dropped my hand and took a step toward her. "I guess I should help."

"Is Griffin here?" I whispered, looking around for the bassist. I was sure he knew Anna was coming with me.

Kellan paused and ran a hand through his hair. "He . . . decided to wait at the house." He shrugged in apology.

I was irritated at first, but then I let it go. Griffin had never been an attentive boyfriend. Hell, Griffin had never been an actual boyfriend. He was an f-buddy. He'd said so himself. I thought he'd change once he knew Anna was pregnant, maybe grow up a little bit. But, as Kellan was always telling me, Griffin was . . . well, Griffin.

It took a while to get all of the luggage, but eventually we wrangled every piece and made our way to Kellan's car. The record label was letting him drive one of theirs while the band stayed at the house. It was a shiny silver Audi convertible. Anna openly fawned once she saw it, but I wasn't too impressed. Kellan looked much better in his solid, sleek Chevelle. Kellan let out a soft sigh as he got behind the wheel, and I could tell he felt the same way about the flashy car.

Anna was nearly buried in luggage in the backseat, since the trunk in this thing wasn't overly spacious. But she didn't seem to mind as we sped with the top down along the sun-soaked streets of Los Angeles. Her smile was huge as her hair whipped around her. "I could definitely get used to this," she murmured, resting her head back on the seat.

It had been a drizzly, overcast day in Seattle, which the residents there had actually been happy about-less risk of your house catching on fire by a stray firework if everything was a little sodden. Here, the skies were a clear, bright blue. Well, I suppose the blueness was a bit tainted by the layer of smog hovering over the city, but it was brilliant and beautiful nonetheless.

The air running through my fingers as I held them in the breeze was also different than back home-warm instead of cool. I took in the expansive, sprawling city in absolute awe. Everywhere you looked, cultures and ethnicities were blended together. The lacing freeways and highways were more complex than any I had ever seen before, but Kellan seemed comfortable traversing them as he led us to the heart of the city. My eyes were everywhere as I tried to take it all in. Kellan laughed at my wonderstruck face. I couldn't help it, though. Los Angeles was iconic, legendary. The size and scope of it was intimidating. There was a reason people were drawn to L.A.-dreams were made there and they were destroyed there. You could almost feel the pulse of life in the tepid air.

Moving away from downtown, we began approaching residential districts. As we kept going, it was clear from the neighborhoods that we were getting into one of the more affluent parts of town. The properties were spacious, the houses absurdly large, the lawns ridiculously green and plush; they were even nicer than the yards in Seattle.

As the houses became farther and farther apart, we turned onto a street that was closed off by a gate. There was a paunchy, older man in a booth overseeing the gate, and for a moment I had the strangest feeling that we were crossing the border into a foreign country. If the man asked to see our passports, I wouldn't have been surprised.

Kellan reached into his back pocket as he stopped the car. "Afternoon, Walter," he said as he handed the man a card.

"Back already, Mr. Kyle? That was fast. And I see you picked up two beautiful young ladies while you were out." He tipped his hat to me as he handed Kellan back his card and raised the gate.

Kellan grinned as he revved the engine. "Careful, Walter. I might think you're trying to make a move on my wife."

Walter seemed abashed. "Wouldn't think of it, sir." He winked at me as he indicated the now-cleared path. Kellan was shaking his head good-naturedly as he pulled forward. Laid-back in his sporty car with dark sunglasses covering his eyes, he already seemed comfortable in his new place. Then again, Kellan had lived in Los Angeles for an entire year after high school, although he probably hadn't lived quite so nicely.

As we drove past monolithic homes that probably cost more money than most people made in their lifetimes, I hoped Kellan didn't want to settle down here. True, I'd follow him anywhere, but this city just didn't hold the same appeal to me that Seattle did. Everything here was just a little too flashy for me.

Like the house Kellan finally stopped at, for example. It was a contemporary, three-story home, with sandblasted white walls. There were large decks jutting out from the home, one on the right side, one on the left, so each floor received the most unobstructed sunlight as possible. All of the balcony railings were frosted glass and shiny chrome, and even from the parking area I could tell that the top floor had a pool on its deck.

It reminded me of a "party house." The kind that you would see in a crude comedy about spoiled teenagers throwing a rager while their well-to-do parents were "abroad." The fact that dozens of beautiful, scantily clad people were milling about the property-with drinks in hand, despite the fact that it wasn't even noon yet-didn't deter that image either. I frowned over at Kellan as a woman in a teeny weeny bikini walked past the front of the car.

He answered me before I could even ask him who all these people were. "It's the record label's house. Any artist on their label is welcome to come here,and some of them invite guests. Actually, almost all of them invite guests . . . at all hours of the day and night." He rolled his eyes.

That made me frown even more, because I'd always pictured him tucked away in a quiet, secluded spot, dutifully working on his album. I hadn't pictured him staying at a frat house while I'd been finishing up school. And I'd really thought that Kellan and I would have some much needed privacy here. It looked like I was wrong.

Giving me an apologetic shrug, Kellan returned his sunglasses to the clip attached to the visor. He hopped out of the car and started grabbing Anna's bags from the backseat. I helped him while my sister looked around with approval in her eyes; she was in seventh heaven. With a wide smile, she locked her eyes onto a blond, blue-eyed man sporting an eight pack. "Oh, yeah, I definitely could get used to this."

My eyes zoomed in on the blond man's counterpart. She was wearing a triangle top bikini that barely held in her curves; curves that were too round and perky to be natural. As she walked past the car, the curvy woman gave my husband a onceover and husked out, "Hey, Kellan."

Kellan nodded at her, then cast me a quick glance. By great effort, I kept my face smooth. It didn't matter if he knew a bunch of beautiful blondes. I was the only woman who would be sharing his bed. I did wish I couldn't see her entire ass as she walked away, though. I mean, really, with how little she was wearing, she shouldn't have even bothered with clothes at all. She obviously wanted to be nak*d, and I was sure she probably would be at some point today.

Loaded down with luggage, the three of us made our way inside the spacious home. Everything was first class-the overpriced art on the walls, the leather couches dotting the room, the Persian rugs lining the hardwood floors. Everything screamed money, and as a result, I was a little scared to touch anything. The half-dressed couples lounging around the home like it was their own didn't seem to share my reservations. They draped their bodies across armchairs, used coffee tables without coasters, picked leaves off of impossibly manicured trees. One was even smoking in the corner. Rebel.

Ignoring them all, Kellan led us upstairs. There was loud music blaring outside. But it was much more subdued the farther into the house we got. Large panes of glass in the curving staircase gave me a view of the central pool in the backyard, where the bulk of the people were loitering. I couldn't be sure, but I thought I saw Griffin in the mix . . . and that he had a bikini-clad ass on his lap. Too distracted by the fineries around her, Anna didn't notice where her boyfriend was. Not that she would care. Well, I didn't think she would care, anyway.