FLOWERS ON THE WALL (17 page)

"You don't know that Cora will hit on me. And if she did, I wouldn't act on the offer."

"I trust you completely."

"You do?" Ryder sounded surprised. And pleased.

"Yes. But saying no to Cora will only set in motion another problem. She'll be insulted. And my father will be upset because she's upset. And all of it will be my fault because I put temptation—namely you—in Cora's path."

"That is fucked up reasoning."

"That is my father."

"You don't want to go back?"

"Nope."

"Not even to say goodbye?"

Quinn sighed. "I think my father already took care of that."

"Then we won't go back."

"But—"

"Our luggage is in the trunk. I put it there before we left. Just in case."

As gestures went, it might not have been grand, but it was pretty damn close. Quinn threw her arms around Ryder's neck, peppering his face with kisses.

Ryder slid down Quinn's body, leaving a warm trail with his lips. He ended up with his knees on the car floor, her legs spread to accommodate him. Leaning close, he blew a puff of air on her sensitive flesh. Smiling, Quinn brushed her fingers through his hair.

"If that is a
thank you
," he said, kissing the inside of her thigh. "Here is my
you're welcome
."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DECIDING WHERE TO spend the next two weeks had been relatively easy. Quinn named three places. Ryder did the same. They put the destinations in a hat and pulled out the winner.

Ryder and Quinn were on the private jet. One call had set the pre-flight arrangements in motion and by the time they arrived at the airport, the wait for takeoff had been surprisingly short. Now that they were in the air, all that remained was deciding on their final destination.

"This isn't set in stone." Ryder watched as Quinn reached her for her floppy sun hat. It had been that or a fedora Ryder had acquired a few years ago while in New York. He wore it once before leaving it on the plane. And here it had stayed.

"Weren't these places you wanted to go?"

"Yes." Ryder laughed when Quinn flashed the paper at him, too fast for him to read. "However, this was a fun way to choose. If deep down you are disappointed, pick again."

"I want to go someplace where we can play, and you can relax. Private but not too isolated." Quinn looked at the scrap in her hand. "Aruba."

"Look at this."

Taking out his phone, Ryder pulled up a website. The resort had plenty of options for the budget conscious or those looking for a place to hide away from crowds—and fans.

"Is that bungalow over the water?"

Instead of taking the phone, Quinn snuggled under his arm to get a better view. She smelled so good Ryder briefly lost his train of thought.

"Ryder? The bungalow?"

"Meals are delivered. Or we can go to one of four restaurants. If you feel like sightseeing, there are plenty of options. We can scuba dive, deep sea fish, laze on our own private beach. There is a dance club. And—"

"Sold." Quinn covered his mouth with hers. "Are you part owner of the resort? Or simply a fan?"

"I took the band there two years ago for Christmas. We had a great time."

"Is that the only time you've been there?"

"If you are asking me if I've taken another woman there, the answer is no."

"I didn't ask." Quinn poked her tongue out at him.

"Not in so many words." Ryder teased.

"I…" Quinn sighed. "Fine. I was curious. Now I know. Please shelve the subject permanently."

"I don't mind a touch of jealousy, Quinn."

In fact, Ryder liked finding out that Quinn's feelings for him ran deeper than a few good fucks and some laughs. It had always been enough. Plenty. Ryder had never wanted more. However, Quinn was different. She made him think of where they would be beyond the next two weeks. Beyond Aruba.

Did Ryder want a relationship with Quinn?
Yes. No. Maybe
. He chuckled to himself.
That was clear—as mud
.

"I wouldn't say jealous," Quinn said.

"No?"

"A touch."

"A touch is just the right amount. Anything more gets sticky."

"Tell me about it." She took a drink from the bottle of water the air hostess had given her before takeoff. "My mother was jealous of my father. My father is jealous of my mother's happy marriage. Cora is jealous of everybody. I try not to follow in my family's footsteps. And yet, here I am."

"If I thought you were anything like Cora—or your father—we wouldn't be here."

Ryder could tell that his words pleased Quinn. Unable to resist, he placed a kiss on her smiling lips.

"Where would we be?" she asked.

"You? San Francisco, I imagine. Me?" Ryder shrugged.

"Trolling for a new bed partner?

Ryder caught the teasing light in Quinn's eyes.

"Hey, I haven't trolled since I was a teenager."

"No need when you're a certified rock god. The groupies fall from the trees."

"
I don't sleep with groupies
." Ryder started the familiar refrain, Quinn finished it. "Smartass," he growled, pulling her onto his lap.

Ryder's lips were magic, leaving a trail of electricity in the wake as he kissed Quinn's neck. "I don't believe
sleep
was the word you used."

"But accurate. I used to fuck groupies—in my misspent youth. But I never slept with them. I rarely
sleep
with anyone."

He slept with her
. Quinn didn't let herself linger on the dangerous thought. However, this time, the shiver that coursed through her body was caused by more than Ryder's expert touch. Whether he knew it or not, he had placed Quinn in rare company. She let herself believe she was special. What woman didn't want that—no matter how temporary the relationship.

Thank you
, Quinn whispered to Ryder. Though she said it in her head—and never planned to raise the subject aloud—it was no less sincere. She would hold this time with him dear for the rest of her life. A precious memory. A vignette. Bittersweet. Beautiful.

Not because of his fame. Quinn and the rock star? She didn't care about that. It was the man she was slowly growing to know. The man she admired as well as desired. He could be a plumber. A lawyer. A ditch digger. Or a deep sea diver. Those were jobs. Quinn knew without a doubt that she would have been drawn to Ryder—the kind, caring man—no matter his profession.

Quinn could hear the advice her mother had given her years ago.
Outside trappings are nice, but it's a man's character that counts.

Outside, Ryder Hart was gorgeous. Top to bottom perfection. Quinn should know, she had explored every inch with unrestrained delight. However, impossibly, he was more beautiful on the inside. The protective brother. The fiercely loyal friend. A man of integrity with a shadowed past. She wept for the little boy he had been and cheered the man he had made of himself.

Yes, Ryder Hart was the real deal. And if Quinn weren't careful, she could lose her heart to a man who had no use for it.

"Are we off to Aruba?" Ryder asked, blessedly unaware of Quinn's guarded thoughts.

Aruba. Ryder. And their moment out of time. Quinn could live with that. She couldn't protect herself from him. If she declared their affair over—here and now—what good would it do? The feelings were already there. She had a choice. Leave and make herself miserable for ending things before she had to. Or embrace the moment—the hell with tomorrow. Or next week. Or a month from now.

Quinn wanted to be with Ryder. If that meant dealing with the eventual emotional fallout, so be it. A chance like this didn't come along every day. In fact, it might never come again. They were young, free, and they wanted each other. Desperately. It was enough. It had to be.

Wrapping her arms around Ryder's neck, Quinn brushed her lips against his and smiled.

"Aruba sounds like heaven."

ARUBA TURNED OUT to be a dream. No, that wasn't right. A dream had a hazy quality to it. No matter how real it seemed, there was always the feeling that everything that was happening was just out of reach. Frustratingly unreal. This was happening. Every beautiful, memorable moment.

Fun in the sun didn't begin to describe the week. Quinn enjoyed every second, not letting herself feel the slightest twinge of guilt. Yes, it was Ryder's money that paid for everything. From the elegant, richly appointed room, the scrumptious meals that looked like little works of art.
Lifestyles of the Rich and
Famous
. Not her world even when her father paid for everything. This was uncharted territory for Quinn, and she found it was not a hardship to fall into its seductive lure.

A perfect example was the bathing suit she donned that morning. The tiny scraps of bright red material had been waiting on the king-sized bed when they arrived. When Quinn sent Ryder an enquiring look, he had merely shrugged, stating that it was his vacation. He had the right to look at her in the swimwear of his choice. As arguments went, that one was thinner than tissue paper. However, Quinn didn't make a fuss. It
was
his vacation.

There was nothing to the suit, but Quinn would have laid even odds it cost more than a month's rent on her apartment. Checking the label, she let out a silent whistle. Okay, make that two months. Her lofty principles said that she should protest. Still, it was her vacation too. If he wanted her in the beautiful bikini, and if she wanted to wear it, she couldn't think of a single reason not to.

"Red looks good on you." Ryder swam up to where Quinn floated aimlessly in the impossibly blue water. "You should wear it more often."

"Are you saying that red
suits
me?"

Admittedly, it was a lame pun. However, Quinn's brain, like the rest of her, was in sand-and-surf mode. Lame was the best she could manage.

"I will excuse your groan-worthy comment, just this once because you look so incredible, the water is in danger of turning to steam. But watch it. Next time I won't be as lenient."

"Please." Deliberately, Quinn used her hands as paddles, pushing herself through the water. Away from Ryder. "What are you going to do, you big pussycat?"

"You're right," he said with an exaggerated sigh. "I'm all talk and no action."

Quinn quickly discovered that Ryder was a dual threat. Talk
and
action—he made it a wonderfully sexy mix. She was particularly fond of his action. They had drifted toward the shore, making it easy for him to stand, grab Quinn, and hoist her over his tanned, powerful shoulder. Rather than fight the pleasure-filled inevitable, Quinn relaxed and enjoyed the view of Ryder's fine, firm trunks-covered ass.

What happened when they reached the beach left them gasping for air—with big grins on their faces.

"This is why I love a private beach." Ryder took a deep, calming breath.

"Sex in the open air?"

Naked and fantastically satiated, Quinn rolled onto her back. Her brand new—outrageously expensive—bathing suit was somewhere in their general vicinity. The top had gone in one direction, the bottoms in another. She had been so distracted by what his hands and mouth were up to, Quinn had no idea when Ryder had shucked his trunks. Or where they ended up. Nor had she cared. And she was fine with that. In her opinion, Ryder could stay naked for the duration of their time in Aruba. Who in their right mind would argue?

They lay side by side, the hot sand feeling like the best spa treatment ever. The heat seeped into Quinn's bones—deep and delicious. Her little finger brushed against Ryder's. Though she didn't feel like moving, she needed the connection with him now that his body had left hers.

"You have to admit it is one of life's little pleasures."

In Quinn's opinion, it—this—was only a pleasure with the right person. She couldn't picture doing what they had just done, with anyone but Ryder. Not that she was going to share that piece of wisdom. Instead, she kept her response light.

"I have sand in my hoo-ha."

Ryder snorted. "Since I have become very fond of your hoo-ha, I promise to help de-sand you—later. Right now, all I want to do is lie here and let the world pass by slowly—gentle and serene. No concerts. No writing deadlines. No songs to record. Nobody clamoring for my time. Just the sand, the sun, the sea, and you."

A woman could live her entire life and never hear the right man say something so off-handedly sweet. Ryder had no agenda or ulterior motive. She was already sleeping with him. And Lord knew, there were plenty of guys out there who became aloof oafs as soon as they sealed the deal. Ryder was not one of them.

A little part of Quinn—the unreasonable optimist—wanted to believe he spoke from the heart. However, she had promised herself she wouldn't go down that road. Her feelings were one thing. Ryder was having fun. He enjoyed her body and her company. Nothing more. She wasn't going to start hoping for the impossible.

"What do you say we have dinner at that little Mexican place the bellhop told us about when we checked in? A cold beer and a ton of guacamole sound like heaven."

"Add some tamales to the mix and you've got a deal."

"I love an easy woman."

When Quinn opened her mouth to protest that statement, Ryder stopped her with his hand on her lips. He had the good grace to wince.

"I heard the words as I said them. It didn't come out the way I intended. I retract my statement with a sincere apology."

"I knew what you meant."

"You were going to give me hell."

"Naturally." Eyes sparkling, Quinn kissed Ryder's palm before lacing her fingers with his. "As a woman, it is my duty to call foul when the situation arises. You saved us both the trouble."

"I bet you are something when you get on your soap box."

"I
am
a lawyer."

Ryder smiled. Then, just as Quinn realized what she had said, he had the same realization.

"You
are
a lawyer? I thought you dropped out before you finished."

Quinn sighed, flopping back onto the sand.

"Well?" Ryder urged, leaning over her. "What's the deal?"

"Fine." Quinn tugged Ryder's arm until he lay beside her. If she had to confess, she didn't want to do it with him hovering over her like an avenging angel ready to pass judgment for her misdeeds. "I have a quirk."