FLOWERS ON THE WALL (8 page)

Heeding Ryder's words, Ashe lowered the bottle. "Blowjob?"

"Are you offering?"

"Over half the people in this arena are women. Give Linc the word and he will have a veritable smorgasbord of choices waiting outside your door before you can break the seal on a box of condoms."

"Sounds tempting." The lack of enthusiasm in Ryder's voice said otherwise. He reached for his old, beat-up guitar case. "I think I'll pass."

"I get it. I've lost my taste for the random screw. It was exciting at nineteen. Now?"

"Not so much." Ryder nodded. He couldn't remember his last
random
screw. If he weren't careful,
any
kind of sex would become a distant memory.

"There is always the beautiful Quinn. Unless I'm mistaken—and I never am—the interest goes both ways."

"No."

Ryder didn't want to talk about Quinn. She was light. Her smiles lit up a room, making him feel that hope still existed. Right now, he welcomed the darkness. He took his guitar from the case and plucked seven chords. Ryder took a deep, resigned breath. Instead of running from the acrid fog that always dogged his steps, he stopped to let it swirl around him.

"Not that song." Ashe screwed the lid on the bottle of bourbon. When Ryder casually began to tune the instrument, Ashe slammed the bottle onto the table. "Don't do it, Ryder."

Ryder didn't pay attention. Content that the guitar sounded right, he plucked the first few familiar notes again. Closing his eyes, he began to hum along.

"You promised that number had been retired."

"I promised I would never play it in public." As his fingers warmed up, Ryder increased the tempo. In spite of the words—and the memories they invoked—it was a peppy tune. "We are in goddamned, fucking Chicago, my friend. This song is a given. To quote the legendary Sammy Cahn,
you can't have one
without the other
."

Flowers on the Wall
. Some perverse part of Ryder's psyche insisted that he keep it in his personal repertoire. The old Statler Brothers' song never failed to lower his spirits—and make him want to vomit.

"Am I supposed to sit and watch your version of self-flagellation?"

"You can leave anytime. Or lend me some harmony. Take your pick."

"You are one sick son of a bitch."

But Ashe didn't leave. Ryder knew he wouldn't. Friends don't leave friends to fall into the abyss alone. If he were a sick son of a bitch, Ashe was right behind him, watching his back—as always.

Ryder took the lead and Ashe's voice blended in as smooth as Kentucky bourbon.

"SON OF A bitch."

Dalton stopped outside of Ryder's dressing room. He exchanged worried looks with Zoe—looks that Quinn didn't understand.

"Do you hear that?" Dalton asked.

"Am I deaf? Of course I hear it. Get out of my way."

Zoe calmly walked through the door. She looked at what was happening—Ryder playing, Ashe harmonizing. Without a word, she took a seat next to her brother and joined in.

"Really?" Dalton stood with his hands on his hips, watching the spectacle. "Fuck. This is some messed up shit."

With a resigned sigh, he sat and picked up his part of the harmony.

Quinn watched. She had no idea what was going on or the significance of the song they sang. More than ever, she felt like the outsider. Because she was exactly that. This was a tight circle. They had years of history and unswerving loyalty. She felt a touch of envy, but she didn't resent it.

Quinn was there to do a job. So she picked up her camera and began capturing a moment few people were allowed to see. If they vetoed her using the images, so be it. But she felt compelled to preserve with pictures something she didn't understand yet, felt to her very soul.

Their voices blended perfectly. They were four people becoming one. As the song reached its end, Quinn thought she saw a sheen of tears in Zoe's eyes, but it was gone before the last note faded.

"I love you." Zoe dropped her head onto Ryder's shoulder.

"I know. And every day I am grateful for it." Ryder, his eyes closed, brushed his cheek against Zoe's hair. It was a brief, poignant moment. One that Quinn would never forget.

"Is this the sappy portion of this farce?" Dalton grabbed Ashe's discarded bourbon, taking one long swig before setting it back on the table. "I love all you guys."

"I feel you, man." Ashe punched Dalton on the arm. "To the depths of my bowels."

"That's lovely." Zoe gave Ryder a worried glance, nodded when his eyes met hers, then rolled to her feet. "I can always count on you jokers to reduce a moment to bathroom humor."

"It wasn't me," Dalton protested.

"Not this time."

"I will admit—"

Whatever Dalton was about to say was interrupted when someone pounded on the door.

"Twenty minutes," a brusk voice called out.

"That's our cue." Ashe watched as Ryder put away his old guitar. "Better?"

"I'll meet you on stage."

Ryder's hazel eyes moved from bandmate to bandmate. When his gaze met Quinn's, he lingered for a second, causing a shiver of sexual awareness to shoot down her spine.

Holy crap
, Quinn thought. One second she was worried about Ryder's state of mind, the next she wanted to rip his clothes off
. How messed up was that?

As if reading her mind, Ryder's lips curved into a half smile that seemed to say,
I know exactly how you feel
.

"I say we rock Chicago like they've never been rocked then get the hell out of town," Dalton said.

"Best plan ever." Ashe clapped Dalton on the back. Draping his other arm around Zoe, he opened the dressing room door.

When Quinn started to leave with them, Ashe shook his head.

"He wants to be alone," she whispered.

"Ryder doesn't know what he wants. We need to get ready. Do me a favor and stay with him."

Ashe's tone told Quinn as much as his words. Dalton nodded. Zoe frowned, but she didn't protest.

"I won't leave him alone," Quinn promised.

The door closed quietly behind them.

"You're making a mistake. We shouldn't be alone."

Quinn gasped. She hadn't heard Ryder walk across the room. But his voice and the feel of his breath brushing against her ear told Quinn where he was.

Slowly, she turned to face him. "I don't have anything to do until the concert starts. Want to keep me company?"

"Don't placate me, Quinn." Ryder crowded her until her back was against the door. "I'm not a little boy."

"No argument here." Quinn tried to make it sound like a joke, but her words came out in a breathy rush that sounded more sexy than humorous.

"You want me. I've made no bones about how I feel." Ryder moved as close as possible without touching her. "If you hadn't set a wall of morality and ideals between us, we could be sharing a bed by now."

"That's an arrogant assumption."
True
, but arrogant.

"Normally, I respect a person's boundaries. Especially a woman's. But I'm on the edge, Quinn." Ryder's gaze dropped to her lips. "On a good day, you are a temptation I find hard to resist."

"You wouldn't force me." Quinn had no doubt about that.

"Who said anything about force?" Lightly, but with intent, Ryder touched her cheek with his index finger. Quinn leaned into his caress without a second thought. Ryder gave a low, satisfied laugh. "See? One touch and I can see the pulse at the base of your throat fluttering like mad. There's a lovely flush on your skin. Protest all you want. Your body doesn't lie."

"I'm not protesting."

"Jesus, Quinn." The green flecks in Ryder's eyes almost glowed. "You shouldn't have said that."

Quinn braced for Ryder's kiss, expecting it to be hard and desperate. It was all that, but what she hadn't expected was that her need would be as out of control as his.

It was a kiss like nothing Quinn had known. A wild intensity surged through her blood. She felt fierce. Strong. Invincible. She threaded her fingers through Ryder's dark, wavy hair, pulling him closer—if that were possible. They were fused together, the heat unbearable and beautiful all at once.

How long it lasted, Quinn couldn't have said. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? All she knew was that when Ryder lifted his head, it hadn't been long enough.

"I should go." But Quinn's feet felt cemented in place.

"You should run and never look back," Ryder corrected, his voice was low and husky.

"We both know that isn't going to happen." Reluctantly, Quinn stepped away. Picking up her forgotten camera, she took a shot of Ryder's face. It was perfect. Passionately beautiful. Nobody would ever see it but her.

"I would hate to hurt you, Quinn."

"Then don't."

Amazed by her response, Ryder laughed. "You make it sound easy. It isn't."

"I know." She opened the door, then paused. "We have another week to decide if we want to take this any further."

"I know what would be best for you."

"So do I." Reaching out, she touched his hand. "Something tells me your answer is different from mine."

THE CONCERT IN Chicago hit a high note for the tour. It was the kind of performance that those who were lucky enough to have tickets would talk about for years to come. Fans who had seen Ryder Hart before swore there had been something different about him. He
always
reached their emotions. But that night, he tore at their soul.

Every night was an exhausting experience. But tonight, everyone involved was worn out. They were taking the band's private plane to Los Angeles where they would end the tour with five sold-out concerts. There was little of the usual banter as they took their seats, waiting to be cleared for takeoff.

Ryder entered the plane after everyone else. He didn't look Quinn's way. He didn't look at anyone.

"I'll be in my room. Unless it's an emergency, I don't want to see or talk to anyone."

Nobody commented. Ashe continued his game of solitaire. Dalton was doing something on his phone. And Zoe put on her headphones then adjusted the volume on her iPod. Closing her eyes, she settled her head on the back of her seat.

"That's it?" Quinn asked. "The man poured everything he had into his performance tonight. Shouldn't one of you make sure he's okay?"

"Ryder needs rest, Ms. Abernathy." Alden didn't look at her as he spoke. He sat near the front, sipping from an insulated travel mug.

"But—"

"We have known him a long time. Do you doubt our concern?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then trust that we are doing what is best."

Supercilious asshole
. Thinking nobody was watching, Quinn poked out her tongue at Alden's back.

"Did that make you feel better?" Ashe asked as he placed an ace of spades onto the table.

"Not really."

"Try adding a double-finger salute." When he saw Quinn's skeptical expression, Ashe nodded. "I understand, but trust me, it does wonders. But you have to do it with attitude." Ashe demonstrated. He whipped up his hands, his middle fingers flying high. For good measure, he finished by twirling his arms in a circle. The gesture was aimed at an oblivious Dalton.

With a sigh, Quinn copied Ashe—for good measure, she stood and stuck out her tongue. Ashe was right. It was satisfying. Unfortunately, Alden chose that moment to look over his shoulder. Ashe burst out laughing. Quinn, her face red as a beet, mumbled a quick apology to Alden before rushing to the bathroom.

Quinn locked the door. Turning on the tap, she let the water run until it was as cold as possible, splashing it on her burning cheeks. Every time she let herself get goaded into something, it always backfired. It was forgivable behavior for a ten-year-old. However, she was pushing thirty. She should have known better.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Quinn felt her lips twitch.
The hell with it
, she thought, chuckling. Yes, she was embarrassed that Alden had caught her flipping him off. But she wasn't sorry. It had felt good. When she thought of the look on Alden's face, she let out another round of laughter—this one louder and longer.

Deciding she was recovered enough to face the frowning Alden, Quinn patted her face with a towel. She took some gloss from her pocket and dabbed a touch onto her lips. As she left the bathroom, she glanced toward the back of the plane. Ryder's room was at the end of the aisle.

The fact was, the room didn't belong to any member of the band. It was there if someone wasn't feeling well or simply felt the need for some privacy. Most of the time, they stayed together in the main cabin.
Tonight
, it was Ryder's. No questions asked.

Quinn knew she should respect his wishes. And she wanted to. Honestly. But she had witnessed him firsthand before, during, and after the concert. The others might not have reason to worry, but she did. Alden had been right about one thing. She didn't know Ryder as well as the rest of them. Until she was certain he was doing all right, she wouldn't rest.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn raised her hand and tapped lightly on the closed door.

"Ryder?" There was no answer. "Ryder? All I ask is that you let me know you're fine. I promise after that I won't bother you again."

For a moment, Quinn didn't think that Ryder was going to respond. Then she heard the lock turn. When the door opened, she couldn't see anything. The room was dark, and Ryder stood out of her view.

"Come in."

Quinn hesitated. Ryder's voice sounded like sandpaper—
worn-out
sandpaper. "I don't want to disturb you." She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. "But that is exactly what I've done."

"As long as you're already here…" The door opened wider.

Cautiously, Quinn stepped into the room. She had to question the wisdom of this move—on both sides. But she kept walking. What could happen? The door closed with an almost eerie click. It rattled her more than if he had slammed it.

"Tell me you're okay and I will leave you to rest."

"I'm okay."

Quinn didn't budge. The words were the right ones. However, Ryder sounded like crap. The only light in the room came from the screen of an open laptop. It was near the bed—not close enough to illuminate Ryder clearly.