Adam leaned back in the airplane seat and closed his eyes. These would be the last few hours of peace, he knew, before he hit the ground in LA. He'd just cancelled a full day of appearances to be in New York, and he'd gotten an earful about it from his publicity team.

They were just going to have to get used to it, he thought with a satisfied smile, because he was going to be spending a whole lot more time in New York.

He wished he was still there now, but he'd already stayed until the last possible moment. He hadn't slept at all last night – just laid in the bed next to Jane and watched her slow breathing, in and out, willing time to stand still. It hadn't. Now he was on a plane, and all he could think about was her.

"You do make me feel beautiful," she had said this morning as he packed. "Thank you for a lovely couple of days."

There was a finality to her tone that he hadn't liked.

"It was fun," he'd replied, careful to keep his voice casual. "Can I call you up next time I'm in town?"

She'd put her number in his phone, and he'd snapped a photo. "To keep you straight from all the other Janes," he'd told her with a wink.

His phone was set to airplane mode now, but he picked it up and scrolled to her name. Jane. The stab of pleasure he felt, seeing it there in his contact list, was so intense it was almost painful. Did she realize he'd been waiting 11 years to get that number? He should tattoo it on his other arm.

He wanted to call the moment the plane hit the ground, just to hear her voice again, but that was absolutely out of the question. He had to be careful now. Casual, that's what he had said to her. "Let's just keep it casual."

He couldn't tell her what he really wanted. She'd been back in his life for a grand total of two days. He'd known exactly where he stood, though, after that first night. Obsessed, craving her like an addict who'd just fallen off the wagon after 11 years of sobriety. It was the same way he'd felt after the weekend they first got together. The moment he let her out of his sight, all he could think about was seeing her again. Back then, he hadn't made it 24 hours before he needed another fix. It had to be different now. He couldn't let her see how much she affected him. He couldn't tell her what he knew with a frightening clarity: that he was in love with her, that he'd never really stopped. It was way too soon to talk about love.

He took out the pages he'd torn this morning from the hotel phone book. He'd been scribbling fragments of song lyrics again last night while she slept.

Wake you up

In the middle of the night to say

I will never walk away again.

I'm never gonna leave this bed.

It would make a good chorus, but he couldn't write the rest of the song just yet – just as he couldn't confess to her how many other songs she had inspired over the years. No, he had to take it one step at a time. He'd crafted his strategy as he lay awake, watching her sleep. First, he would come up with excuses to be in New York as often as possible.

He ran through his schedule again now, shifting things around in his mind, calculating the soonest he could come back. Could he manage it next weekend? He didn't think he could last two weeks. Hell, he didn't think he could last two days, but he was going to have to. He absolutely could not call her, under any circumstances, until at least Thursday.

He would try to see her next weekend, but then no more than twice a month after that. That's what she'd said about her relationships these days with other guys. Twice a month. He could work with twice a month. He would win her over slowly. Wine her and dine her. He would make her fall back in love with him. After all, she'd never truly been subjected to Adam Levine in full seduction mode before. Give it six months. She wouldn't know what hit her.

He looked at her picture on his phone again. She'd been laughing, one hand up to ward him off as he'd snapped it. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, opening the tray table in front of him to cover his lap. How on earth was he going to wait until Thursday? OK, maybe Wednesday night.

He had to distract himself. Sleep, that's what he needed. He'd barely slept at all the past two nights, and he knew he must look like hell. He pulled a black eye mask out of his carry-on bag. He was slipping it on over his head when he froze, changing his mind, looking down at the picture on his phone one more time. With a sudden urgency, he reached forward and pulled the in-flight magazine out of the airplane seat pocket, jotting down words on the back cover as fast as he could write:

Hey you, don't wanna love you on the telephone.

You hang it up and I am all alone.

Baby, you got me doin' dirt, doin' dirt, doin' dirt.

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