Crash Into Me (2 page)

She shuddered, pressed her legs together to stop the burn even as she crossed her
arms over her suddenly aching breasts.

No
, she thought as Ryder continued to sing. The need was nothing new. But this brutal
intensity—that had come when he’d thrown that I-want-to-fuck-you look her way and
made it impossible to do anything but feel—sure as hell was.

After clawing her way through a mob of crazed fans and flashing her backstage pass
at the security guys working the side entrance, Jamison slipped into the small crack
they’d opened for her. As the door slammed shut, she couldn’t help the feeling of
unreality that overwhelmed her.

All those screaming fans in the audience had been for Shaken Dirty.

All those frantic girls clawing at security—and each other—had been for her brother’s
band.

It was beyond bizarre. Oh, from the very beginning, the guys had had girls, lots and
lots of girls, sniffing around them. More than once she’d had to push her way through
them to get to the guys. It was part and parcel of the shaggy-haired, rock and roll
band thing. But that had been at dingy little clubs when they were just getting their
start, back when she’d tagged along anywhere they were willing to bring her. But this,
this was different. It was out of a movie—or a
Rolling Stone
article. The band had hundreds upon hundreds of groupies, all desperate to be shaken.
Dirtied.

It was going to take a little while for her to adjust to the new reality, especially
when that new reality left her a little bruised and battered. Nothing like battling
through a throng of screaming women to take it out of a girl.

Glancing around, she tried to get her bearings. She was at the end of a long, windy
hallway. There were a bunch of doors on each side, but none of them were labeled,
so she had no idea if one of them was her brother’s dressing room or not. And considering
there were four other bands on tour with Shaken Dirty, it probably wouldn’t work for
her to just start knocking on random doors. The last thing she wanted was to be kicked
out for disturbing “the talent.”

Behind her, the door opened again and two girls squeezed through. They were young,
barely nineteen or twenty if she was to hazard a guess, and very, very excited.
“Omigod!” squealed the one with the shortest skirt and heaviest makeup. “I can’t believe
that worked!”

Her friend grinned. “I told you. Now remember, you can have anyone you want—except
Ryder. He is
all
mine.”

“I know, I know. I like Micah anyway. He’s sooooo cute and nowhere near as kinky as
Ryder.”

“Hey, kinky can be good. The more you let them do to you, the more they like you.
And Ryder can do
anything
he wants to me. All that dark sexiness really turns me on.”

Jamison stiffened at the proprietary note in the girl’s voice. She didn’t even know
Ryder yet she was talking about him like she was aware of his every little secret.
Even worse, like she knew he and the other guys would be more than willing to use
her in whatever way she’d let them—and that apparently Ryder had a kinky side Jamison
had never even imagined.

The thought sent a little shiver of awareness down her spine, but she ignored it.
Ryder had already rejected her once and if he’d sunk to one-night stands with teenagers—
teenagers,
for God’s sake—she didn’t want him anyway.

But even as she was selling herself on that, her traitorous mind couldn’t help going
back to that moment when he’d stared at her. Snarled at her. Made her want him more
than she’d ever wanted anything. If that was the look he gave all the girls, no wonder
they were back here, desperate to get to him. No wonder they thought they had a chance
with him.

More bothered by that realization than she wanted to admit, Jamison decided to hell
with it. Groupies or not, these girls seemed to know so much more about the band than
she did right now. It probably couldn’t hurt to follow them—maybe they could get her
to the right dressing rooms, at least.

But they hadn’t gone very far before one of the doors opened and a guy she didn’t
recognize, but whom they obviously did, drawled, “Hello, girls.”

They squealed loudly enough to break the sound barrier, and then the one who had claimed
Ryder for her own flipped her hair back for all she was worth. “Hey, Simon!” She sounded
so breathless it was a miracle she’d been able to get the words out at all.

“Hey.” He nodded to her, then stepped back and held the dressing room door open. The
girls grabbed onto each other’s hands—out of nervousness or excitement, Jamison wasn’t
sure—then darted through the door like the hounds of hell were after them. Or like
they thought he was going to change his mind when something better came along.

Simon continued to stand there after they’d disappeared behind him and it took her
a minute to realize that he was watching her, a quizzical look on his face. “You coming?”
he finally asked.

Her cheeks caught fire. “Uh, no. Thanks.”

“You sure? We’re having quite the party in here.” He let the door fall open a little
more and she got just enough of a glimpse inside to realize he wasn’t exaggerating.

“Actually, I’m here for Jared Montgomery. I’m his sister.”

“Cool.” Simon smiled then, and it lit up his face from within. Made him look like
a little boy instead of a rocker who’d been around more blocks than she’d even walked
on. He also backed off so quickly she knew that damn pact had struck again. Back in
high school she’d figured out pretty quickly that there was an unspoken agreement
among most rock gods—
thou sister shall be off limits, whether she wants to be or not
.

Jamison didn’t know if that was what had kept Ryder away from her all these years,
but she knew it had worked on a bunch of other guys. And since she’d spent most of
high school hanging at her brother’s gigs, it had meant her social life had been particularly
dismal.

Not that that had changed much, even when the guys weren’t around, but still. It was
a valid theory and she was sticking to it.

“Jared’s a good guy,” Simon added with a clumsy pat to her shoulder.

“He is,” she agreed. “You wouldn’t happen to know which dressing room belongs to Shaken
Dirty, do you?”

“I think they’re on the other side of the stage.” He gestured vaguely to the left.
“Past the entrance to the sound booth.”

They weren’t quite the explicit directions she’d been hoping for, but they would have
to do. Especially since he was already closing the door, his attention very obviously
somewhere else.

Pulling her cell phone out of her pocket, Jamison pulled up Jared’s number and headed
off in the direction she thought Simon had gestured. She’d hoped to surprise her brother
by coming tonight instead of tomorrow, but that obviously wasn’t going to happen.
Backstage pass or not, she couldn’t just wander around all night knocking on doors
and hoping she ran into him.

Stopping for a second at the end of the hallway, she fired off a quick text, then
waited impatiently—and in vain—for an answer. Shaken Dirty had been off-stage for
fifteen minutes now. Surely Jared should be back in possession of his phone by now.
Unless he was in the shower. Or having mad phone sex with his fiancée, something she
didn’t want to think about but that was completely believable.

The thought made her a little sick, not because of Jared, obviously, but because that
girl’s words kept replaying in her head.
Ryder, kinky. Ryder, all mine.
Was he even now tying up some barely legal teenybopper and having his dark and wicked
way with her? Ugh.

She texted Jared again, more emphatically this time. The last thing she needed was
to walk into the middle of
that
.

She waited a few more minutes, watching as dozens of girls streamed past her, all
in groups of two or three. Most of them wore enough makeup to single-handedly supply
a MAC store and so few clothes it was a wonder they hadn’t developed hypothermia waiting
for their turn to come in. Others were fresh-faced and thrilled to be there and reminded
her so much of her high school and college selves that it was painful to look at them.
Some days it felt like she’d spent half her life waiting for Ryder to notice her.

Seconds later, Darkness began to play onstage, and Jamison finally decided to hell
with it. She crossed the bustling backstage area, doing her best to stay out of the
way of the working roadies. A couple of times she’d started to ask for directions,
but everyone had looked so busy that she hadn’t wanted to bother them. Plus, the music
was so loud back here that they probably wouldn’t be able to hear her anyway—especially
since they all wore earplugs.

She was just wishing she’d thought to bring her own set when she stumbled upon a long,
winding hallway much like the one she’d entered from. Figuring this was the area Simon
had been gesturing to, she headed about halfway down and then knocked on the door
that mirrored his. Nothing happened, but she didn’t know if that was because the dressing
room was empty or because of the level of sound pouring off the stage.

She pounded again, and this time Darkness wrapped up their opening song at the same
time her knuckles were rapping on the wood. They began to banter with the crowd, giving
the eardrum-splitting music a rest for a few moments. Thank God.

Seconds later, the door flew open and Max Casey, lead singer for Oblivious, stood
there, a grin on his way-too-handsome face. He was shirtless and barefoot, with the
top button of his jeans unfastened and a look on his face that screamed trouble.

Jamison knew it was stupid, juvenile, but for long seconds, she couldn’t find her
voice. This was Max Casey, singer of one of her favorite bands
ever
, and he was staring at her like he wanted to go a round right here in the middle
of the hallway. She wasn’t tempted in the slightest, but still, all that angst and
intensity was nearly palpable. What was it with lead singers anyway? It was like they
shot out pheromones that turned every woman within smelling distance into a blithering
idiot.

“Come on in,” he said, stepping backward and gesturing her inside.

“No, thanks,” she answered, proud of the fact that she’d managed to untie the knots
in her tongue and actually speak in something that resembled English. She wasn’t interested,
but she
was
female, and she’d be lying if she said he hadn’t had an impact on her. “I’m looking
for Shaken Dirty.”

“What do you want with them? I promise, we’re a lot more fun.” A chorus of laughter
sounded behind him, seeming to underscore his point.

“I’m sure you are, but Jared—”

“Forget Jared. I’m better in bed—and out of it, too.”

What the hell? She tried to picture Ryder or Jared saying something so douchey but
couldn’t manage it. Maybe she
was
more naïve than she thought.

Or maybe Max Casey was just a really big sleaze. Disgust replacing some of her involuntary
excitement at meeting him, Jamison took a couple of steps backward. “If you could
just point me in the right direction…”

A flicker of anger crossed his face but was gone so quickly that she decided she had
imagined it. Especially when he said, “I can do better than that. If you really want
to see Jared, I’ll take you there. Things can get pretty confusing back here.”

That was an understatement. Still she hesitated as, behind him, two girls called his
name in pouty voices. “I don’t want to take you away from who you were doing.” As
soon as the words were out of her mouth, she wanted to take them back. Talk about
a Freudian slip. “What! I meant
what
you were doing.”

But Max just laughed and pulled the door closed behind him. “They’ll keep.” He stepped
closer, put a hand on the small of her back as he guided her farther down the hallway.

Jamison stiffened at the proprietary touch, and the bitter scent of scotch that clung
to him. But when she tried to move away, he wrapped his hand around her waist and
pulled her into his side.

“Seriously,” she told him as alarm bells went off in her head. “Jared’s my brother.
If you’ll just point me towards his dressing room—”

“Lighten up. I told you I’d take you there and I will.” The hand around her waist
grew tighter and that’s when she went from being slightly alarmed to seriously starting
to freak out.

Still, she couldn’t imagine that she had anything to worry about from Max freakin’
Casey. Especially not when a bunch of people were only about thirty feet away. At
the same time, though, she was a big proponent of better safe than sorry.

“Really. I’ve got it.” She moved away, this time shoving at his restraining hand until
he was forced to let her go. Then she pulled out her phone. “Jared just texted me,”
she lied. “I know where I’m going now.”

“You don’t need to run off so quickly. Stay and talk to me for a few minutes.”

“Jared’s expecting me.” Which wasn’t exactly true,
but it wasn’t like she planned to hang around and argue with Max. Not after getting
her first good glimpse of his eyes. He was high on a lot more than scotch—and it didn’t
look like a particularly nice high, at that.“Thanks for the help,” she told him, starting
down the hallway at a fast clip. She’d only gone a few steps when he grabbed her from
behind.

Pushed her face-first up against the wall.

Covered her body with his own.

“What are you doing?” she demanded, feeling once again like she was trapped in an
alternate reality.

“You’re going the wrong way.” He leaned forward and pressed his mouth to the back
of her neck.