FLOWERS ON THE WALL (5 page)

"Mmm," Dalton sighed. "Since he hasn't sealed the deal, he's sweet talking her into coming to Philadelphia."

"That sounds like Ashe. When he lays on the Southern charm, women fall from the trees."

Quinn listened as the men carried on their conversation as though she wasn't there. Her boss had told her over and over again how insular the band was. They didn't welcome outsiders. Especially reporters. To which Quinn threw in that she wasn't a reporter. Her boss didn't see the distinction. He wasn't alone.

Now and then she would snap a shot. These were the pictures she loved the most. Casual and relaxed. Two friends shooting the breeze. For such a private group, they were awfully at ease around her. Quinn didn't know why, but she wasn't complaining.

"Where the hell are they?" Ryder checked his watch. "I need to put a fire under Zoe and Ashe. The whole point of meeting before we got on the bus was to introduce you all to Quinn."

"I'll get them. Stay and keep the lovely Quinn company." Dalton jumped to his feet. For a big man, he was surprisingly quick. He was across the room and out the door, giving Quinn only enough time for one picture.

"Why did you make your manager think Dalton was…"

"Fooling around with a groupie?" When Quinn nodded, Ryder sighed. "Alden keeps the band running like a well-oiled machine. But at times he's judgmental. Which is odd for a man who makes his living in this business."

"Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?"

Ryder tapped his finger on the table as though the random beat helped him think.

"There has been plenty of each of those. Especially in the early days. We were a wild bunch of kids. Feeling our oats—so to speak. Alden kept us out of trouble whenever possible."

"And when it wasn't possible?" Quinn wasn't unfamiliar with how the world of a celebrity worked. But only from the fringes. She was fascinated to hear about it firsthand.

"Alden has connections, and he isn't afraid to use them." Ryder ran a hand through his hair. In Quinn's opinion, the messy look only made him sexier. "For the most part, my friends and I have calmed down. We gave up drugs. Sex is no longer a full-out competitive sport. All that's left is rock and roll. That—to coin a phrase—will never die."

"Your fans thank you."

Ryder smiled. "As for Alden? When he gets his knickers in a twist, I refuse to placate him. He jumped to a conclusion. One I didn't appreciate."

"So you let him twist in the wind." Quinn was an outsider. She didn't understand the history or the dynamic of the group. But she knew what it was like to have someone judge her actions. It would have been nice to have someone like Ryder—someone who had her back the way he had Dalton's.

"I prefer he was hoisted on his own petard."

Impressive reference
, Quinn thought. "Now who's the smarty pants?"

"But I didn't learn it at a fancy college."

Which made it all the more impressive. Quinn had done her research on Ryder Hart. Not that there was much available beyond ubiquitous press releases and gossip rag crap. But she had found out that Ryder was a self-made man. Beyond a high school education, what he knew he had taught himself. It hadn't taken long to figure out his knowledge was extensive. And eclectic.

"Dalton was right. You
are
lovely."

The change of topic threw Quinn. But just for a second. Realizing where he was headed, she quickly put on the brakes.

"Keep the sweet talk to yourself." When Ryder joined her on the couch, she wisely moved to a chair.

"You were serious about keeping this professional?"

"As a heart attack. No pun intended, Mr. Hart."

"I want you, Quinn."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "This is glacial? Maybe Dalton was talking about a different Ryder Hart."

Ryder grinned. "There's only one."

"Dim the charm, fella."

"Does that mean you aren't immune?"

He looked hopeful. Quinn tried to shoot him down.

"It means it doesn't matter. Only a fool plays willy-nilly with a chance like this. I won't risk my future by sleeping with you, Ryder."

"I appreciate your professionalism. And your ambition. I know all about wanting more." Ryder set his beer on the table. "I won't push."

"It wouldn't matter," Quinn said with more conviction than she felt.

Ryder's lips curved. His smile made her sigh. Did he know the effect he had on her? Of course, he did. Quinn had spent the better part of two hours with a group of women who followed him around the world. He knew why. The smile. The voice. The body. The man was the whole package. Damn him.

"Two weeks."

"Is that code for something?"

"It's a fact." He circled her. Not touching. Not coming within three feet. But Quinn felt a bit like his prey. "I want you. You want me."

"Did I say that?" Quinn searched her memory.
When had she said that
?"

"I can tell. There's a lovely flush to your skin. Your breathing is uneven. And the pulse at the base of your throat is pounding like crazy."

Quinn almost checked. But she managed to keep her hands in her lap—unclenched. She was proud of that. However, it wasn't necessary to touch her throat. She could feel everything Ryder mentioned. Her cheeks
were
unusually warm. Her heartbeat raced. And that spot at the base of her throat. Yes, she could feel that too. Damn,
damn
him.

"What is your point, Ryder?"

"Thank you for not denying the attraction." Ryder took a seat across the room.

"Thank you for sitting down."

His smile widened. "Did I make you nervous?"

"I felt as though you were about to pounce."

Ryder's expression grew serious. "Not unless you ask. I don't force myself on anyone. Ever."

"I believe you."

"Thank you."

Quinn wondered if there was a story behind his vehement reaction. If there were, it wasn't one she was likely to hear. He had made it clear that he didn't share private information. Nobody in the band did. Dalton's revelation about his sister was as much as she could expect to find out.

She told herself she was glad. The less she knew, the less involved she would become. And the easier it would be to keep saying no. No matter the temptation. And Ryder Hart was turning out to be a huge temptation. And yet Quinn couldn't resist asking.

"Here they are." Dalton entered. Zoe was right behind, followed by Ashe. "Spiderman persuaded the fly to enter his web. And the yoga queen has found her Zen—or whatever it's called."

"My center, jerk." As she passed, Zoe punched Dalton in the arm. "With you around, I need all the meditation I can get. Unfortunately, the benefits don't last long."

"And I did not lure Felicia into my web." For good measure, Ashe hit Dalton in the same spot. With much more force than Zoe. "She isn't an innocent victim. She knew the score and is willing to play by my rules."

"Please. Enough with the rules," Zoe groaned. "You're worse than Dalton. Stop obsessing over laying down the ground rules. Lay her. Enjoy. Then move on. I'm certain she will."

"But—"

Zoe cut Ashe off.

"In spite of what the press claims, you and Dalton
and
Ryder are every woman's holy grail. Felicia had a life before she met you. She'll have one after you ride off into the sunset."

"Ouch." Ashe stabbed an imaginary knife into the region of his heart.

"Amen," Dalton echoed.

"The truth can be brutal." Zoe took the scrunchie from her hair, shaking out the long blond tresses. "I feel it's my duty as a friend to finally tell it like it is."

Zoe had changed from her stage clothes into yoga pants and a snug t-shirt that proclaimed her love for leafy greens. Or marijuana. Quinn thought the sprig was kale, but it might have been cannabis. But one thing was certain. Ryder's sister was a long, lean drink of water. And in fantastic shape. Quinn liked to think she took care of herself, but the beautiful Zoe Hart made her feel like a slug.

"Save the inevitable banter for the bus," Ryder intervened. "I wanted to take a minute before we hit the road to introduce Quinn Abernathy. Quinn, this is Zoe. And the hunk of southern hospitality by the fridge is Ashe Mathison."

"We've met." Holding her gaze, Dalton took her hand, raising it to his lips.

"In every bar and dance club I've ever visited."

"Are you implying my line is not original?" Dalton winked, letting Quinn know he wasn't offended.

"Rockers don't need to be original," Quinn pointed out with a twitch of her lips. "All you need to do is walk into a room."

"Oh, she has you there." For the first time, Quinn saw Ryder in Zoe. It was in the smile. "I think I might like you, Quinn."

"When will you know?"

Zoe shrugged. "There is no timetable. A day? A week?"

"Never?" Quinn asked.

"Are you out to make a name for yourself by screwing us over?"

"Zoe!" Ryder sent his sister a warning look.

"It's a fair question." Quinn preferred when things were out in the open instead of stewing under the surface. "The answer is no. However, you don't know me. I don't blame you for your caution."

"There," she said to her brother. Her tone was almost triumphant. "Quinn doesn't need you to champion her. She can take care of herself. One more point in her favor."

"Zoe hates wimpy women."

"I hate
fake
wimps," Zoe corrected Ashe. "The steel magnolia who pretends to be a shrinking violet is the most dangerous kind of woman. Watch your back when
that
one enters the room."

"Well, shit," Ryder grumbled as he checked his phone.

Dalton looked over his shoulder to check the screen. "What's wrong? Ah. Alden is getting antsy all alone on the bus. Tell him to fuck himself. On second thought, give me the pleasure."

"Not with my phone." Ryder moved it out of Dalton's reach. "What the hell is Alden's problem lately?"

Dalton and Ashe exchanged glances. Ryder missed it. Quinn didn't. The list of mysteries was piling up. As much as she loved a good Agatha Christie, Quinn wasn't fond of a story that left her hanging. Ryder and his friends held their secrets close to the vest. That meant she would leave in two weeks with plenty of pictures, but few answers.

"Ready to hit the road?"

Without asking permission, Ryder divested Quinn of her camera bag. He slung it over his shoulder before picking up his guitar case.

Quinn nodded. She followed Zoe from the dressing room. Besides unsolved mysteries, there was something else she would take with her when the job was done. A big, heaping case of sexual frustration. Did the man have to be sexy, charming, smart, and a gentleman?

Damn, Ryder Hart
.

CHAPTER FIVE

RYDER HATED TOUR buses. Always had. Always would. It didn't matter that their current transportation was head and shoulders above the bucket of bolts that had taken them from gig to gig in the early days.

Ryder had been the designated driver. Back then, he couldn't count on Dalton or Ashe to board the bus sober. Zoe was willing to spell him. But the truth was, Ryder didn't like giving up control. Not in his private life. Not on stage. And not behind the wheel.

It was crazy, but Ryder missed that cramped old bus. Not that he missed the broken heater or bald tires. It was the freedom. When they wanted, he, Zoe, Dalton, and Ashe would take off for sights unknown. They would hustle gigs to make enough money for food and gas—often sleeping in the uncomfortable worn leather seats because a motel was too expensive.

Then came the first blush of success. And a newer bus. It hadn't been a lot bigger, but it was reliable. As their fame grew, so did the size of their transportation. Three years ago, they purchased their own plane. But for short trips, they drove. Or rather, the man behind the wheel drove. Not Ryder. Instead, it was Boris—originally from the Ukraine. He was a nice guy. And a capable driver. More than capable. Most of the time, Ryder was resigned to letting someone else drive. However, it had started to rain as they were leaving the New York City limits. It made it harder than usual for him to relax.

"Stop obsessing. Boris hasn't killed us yet."

Ryder's eyes narrowed at Ashe. "I know you think that's funny."

"I do." Concentrating on the game of solitaire he had laid out on the table, Ashe didn't look up. Millions of people downloaded the game onto their phone, but not Ashe. He liked to feel the cards in his hands.

"Am I laughing?"

"Your sense of humor is an ephemeral thing, my friend. One second you're as sober as a judge. The next you're rolling on the floor. I figure if you think about it long enough, you'll get the joke."

Ryder sneered. Ephemeral. Not long ago, it was a word he would have stored in his memory to look up when he was alone. Ashe seemingly came out of the womb with a huge vocabulary. For Ryder, it came later in life. He was still learning. He hoped that never changed. But thanks to a mind thirsty for knowledge, and friends like Ashe, he already had a grasp on ephemeral.

"I get the joke, dickwad. Understanding it does not mean it's funny."

"Ryder is right." Zoe took a seat next to Ashe. "Death is nothing to joke about when the rain is coming down in biblical proportions."

"A bit of an exaggeration."

"Look out the window," Zoe prodded Ashe. "The animals are lining the road two by two."

Ryder threw his head back. He could count on Zoe. "Take note, Ashe.
That
is how you do funny."

"As usual, the Harts stick together."

Ashe said it without rancor. He had known Ryder for over ten years and Zoe almost as long. Blood was thicker than water. But in the case of Ashe and Dalton, not by much.

"Where's our little shutterbug?" Dalton asked as he returned from the bathroom.

He took the seat next to Ryder then leaned over Ashe's game so he would be able to kibitz when the mood struck. It wasn't that he liked solitaire, but he knew that unsolicited help pissed Ashe off. On a long bus ride, needling his friend was Dalton's favorite way to pass the time.

"We were talking fashion—shoes to be exact—when she conked out." Zoe shook her head with a sigh. "Lightweight."