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Derek Kane was currently the hottest thing going in rock. And not just because his band had three singles currently in the top 20, with ‘If There’s A Next Time’ poised to hit number one in the next week or two.
No. He was also the most gorgeous guy to front a rock band since Jim Morrison.
Six feet tall… black hair… chiseled face… cheekbones to die for.
Most rockers outside of Death Metal are scrawny little dudes with pasty bird chests and no muscles. Not Derek. He looked more like an underwear model, with a muscled chest, incredibly strong arms, and abs you could scrub laundry on. Broad shoulders, muscular legs, and an ass that made you want to tear off his pants. Some women at his concerts occasionally did.
He also had the most intense, gorgeous green eyes you’ve ever seen. Like emerald ocean water warmed by the sun.
Of course, not many people knew that, because he never let himself be photographed without sunglasses on. Never performed without them. Every candid shot in every gossip rag always had him with his trademark Maui Jims wrapped around his face, his beautiful eyes hidden from the world.
I only knew what they looked like because I had met him four years ago. Back before he was a Rock God.
I had known him for exactly two weeks.
The last time I saw him, we’d spent the night together. I’d told him I loved him… and then I got in my car and drove away, tears streaming down my face.
I never saw or heard from him again.
But it’s not what you think.
However, walking away from him that day was probably the single worst mistake of my life.
Now I was afraid I was going to make an even bigger one.