Chased by Love (Love in Bloom: The Ryders): Trish Ryder

by Melissa Foster

  Not a chance in hell. He didn’t care if Trish wanted to be with that guy or not. She was not leaving that bar with anyone but him, and if she thought he’d let some other guy put his hands on her, she was dead wrong.

  When the song ended, everyone clapped, and Trish took a dramatic bow.

  “Thank you.” She flashed a dazzling smile, and her eyes landed on Boone with a look of smug satisfaction. Behind her, a guy with a scraggly beard took the stage and began singing.

  Eastwood reached for Trish, and Boone stepped between them, sliding one arm around her waist and leveling the dude with a dark stare. He’d grown up fighting the good fight with druggies, assholes, and guys who were too stupid to know when they were uncaging a beast they had no business tangling with. He’d never lost a fight, and there wasn’t a man on earth he was afraid to take on.

  “Sorry, man. She’s with me,” Boone said, ignoring the angry glare Trish had locked on him.

  The guy looked at Trish, and she impressively morphed her anger to a mask of sweet apology, driving it home with several flirtatious blinks of her long lashes.

  “I’m sorry. He’s right. I am.”

  “Fucking tease,” the guy mumbled, and turned away.

  Boone grabbed his arm and spun him around. “Unless you want your buddies scraping your pretty-boy face off of the floor, I suggest you apologize to my girl.”

  “Boone!” Trish said with a harsh whisper.

  The guy didn’t respond, and Boone closed the gap between them, staring into his glassy eyes. “What’s it going to be?”

  “Sorry,” the guy growled, then turned and walked away.

  Boone wrapped his arms around Trish’s waist, ignoring her efforts to pull free.

  “You had no right,” she seethed.

  “You’re right. But the way I see it, this was going to end one of two ways. Either you’d walk out the door with that scumbag and you’d whine for the rest of the week about how you’re really not an easy lay, or I could close that door before you had a chance to walk out.”

  Her eyes widened in disbelief. “You thought I was going to have sex with him?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I thought. What matters is what he thought.”

  “You can’t possibly know what he thought. I’m an attractive woman. What makes you think he didn’t want to dance and get to know me, or ask me out like a normal person?”

  “Because you are an insanely hot woman, and while you were shaking your sexy ass out there, he was telling his buddies how he was going to take you out back and fuck you.”

  Her jaw gaped. He guided her arms around his neck. “We’re on the dance floor, so at least pretend to dance. You can thank me later.”

  She was rigid in his arms.

  “Come on, beautiful. Take it as a compliment.”

  He felt the tension in her body slip away, and disappointment rose in her expression, arousing those protective urges again. My strong actress is sensitive after all. He stumbled over my, but one look in her eyes and he knew that even if it was just because they were co-stars, just for tonight, she was his to protect.

  “Did you really hear him say that?”

  “What did you expect? I have to hand it to you, though. You weren’t lying. You aren’t afraid of anything.”

  Her lips curved up with a gratified smile. “Oh, I have fears. I told you singing isn’t one of them, but I didn’t expect the guy to think that.”

  “He’s a guy. He wasn’t thinking. A savvy woman with five brothers should know that.” They both laughed with the tease.

  “I could have handled myself, you know.”

  “Yeah, I’m sure you could have.”

  She ran her fingertips up the back of his neck, her eyes alit with mischief. “There’s a rule in acting you might not be aware of. Never, ever fall for your co-star.”

  “Considering I’ve never fallen for a woman in my life, I think we’re in the clear.” When the song ended, he splayed his hand on her back, holding her tighter.

  “Stay,” he whispered.

  A curious look washed over her face.

  Another singer took the stage and began singing Blake Shelton’s “Sangria.”

  Trish gazed into his eyes, singing the lyrics as if she meant every word just for him. She was an incredible actress, and though he couldn’t tell if she was acting or not, he ate up every word out of her luscious mouth. Gone was her snarky facade and tough-girl demeanor, replaced with a soft, sexy woman who moved like the music was coming from somewhere deep inside her, which was exactly where he wanted to be.

  Chapter Six

  MAYBE THREE BEERS on an empty stomach wasn’t such a good idea after all. Sometime during Trish’s last four dances with Boone she’d gone from clearheaded to pleasantly buzzed. It felt wonderful to be out from under the weight of her thoughts, but she wasn’t used to feeling so uninhibited. Seeing Boone guide that skanky waitress away to talk privately had bugged the heck out of her. And then he’d tried to tell her how much she could drink, like she’d needed a babysitter. She was pissed when he’d come between her and the guy she’d asked to dance, but something in Boone’s eyes told her that he was telling the truth about what he’d overheard. Trish wasn’t proud of how she’d acted, or that seeing him demand an apology from that other guy had totally turned her on. Knowing he cared enough to stand up for her regardless of how she’d acted endeared him to her, just as every minute they danced together was doing.

  He came across as a hard-ass with walls so thick no one could penetrate them. That probably sent most people—other than groupies—running for the hills, but it made her want to get inside those walls and see what made him tick.

  He held her tight as they danced, even to the fast songs. Every inch of his deliciously hard body pressed against her from thigh to shoulder. His arms enveloped her in a way that felt possessive and intimate, confusing and exciting her at once. She felt safe with him, which was a strange feeling, given that he was about as warm and open as a rock. But there was no denying that right this second, nestled in his arms, with her cheek resting against the sure and steady beat of his heart, she felt safe. She felt special. And, she realized with a little shock, she really liked Boone. He intrigued her, and he was willing to put time into rehearsing and had even made her put more time in than she’d intended. And when he was with the kitten—gosh, that sight gave her the highest high.

  His hand slid beneath her hair, sending shivers of heat down her spine. His thumb brushed the nape of her neck to the rhythm of the music.

  You dance like you speak, a little gruff and controlling, with an alluring challenge of seduction. Okay, that last part might be from the alcohol.

  The song ended, and someone called her name through the microphone.

  “Come on, beautiful. We’re up.” With an arm around her waist, he guided her up to the stage.

  “Beautiful?” It took her fuzzy brain a second to remember she’d promised to sing karaoke.

  Boone ignored her question and handed her a mic. “Focus. You’ve got about ten seconds before you need to wow the crowd.”

  She looked out at the expectant crowd and back at Boone, who was also holding a mic. Her stomach tumbled. “You’re singing with me?”

  “You think I’d leave you hanging after you got strapped with me for ten days?” He mouthed, You’ve got this.

  Don’t I wish.

  The music to Gloriana’s “(Kissed You) Good Night” came on, and her heart did a little happy dance. It was one of her favorite songs. Boone sauntered across the stage and gazed into her eyes like she was the only person in the bar as he sang about how he should have kissed her. She was so caught up in the depth of emotions swimming in his eyes, and his raspy voice, she almost missed her lines. But years of training kicked in, and she hit every note. In those few seconds, singing about how he should have kissed her, her emotions rose to the surface, and everything else faded away. There was only her and Boone, and her mind reeled back to the porch, his mout
h brushing against hers—she’d been ready to fall into that kiss.

  His face came into focus, bringing her back to the moment. He stood inches away. Heat sizzled in the space between them, drawing them closer, until they were standing so close she could barely breathe—but she could sing like she was born to do it. She drew deeper into him, into their connection, the last note sailing from her lips like a prayer. The crowd went wild, and without thinking, she grabbed his shirt and went up on her toes as he leaned down. Their mouths came together hungrily. The kiss was deep and wet, and she greedily took and took and took, pressing into his hard, hot frame, fisting her hands in his chest. Her legs felt like rubber, but she didn’t care, because the kiss...It was the type of kiss girls dreamed about their whole lives. The kiss of all kisses, deep and consuming. He wasn’t just kissing her; he was possessing her, body and soul. They were becoming one being. He stroked every dip and recess of her mouth, her tongue, her teeth—and Lord help her, she wanted him to. His hand slid down her back and he cupped her ass, and she was so lost in him she moaned.

  Oh God! She moaned! Onstage!

  She pushed from his arms, her mouth burning for more. He had a soulful, tortured look in his eyes that completely knocked her off-balance. Literally. She stumbled sideways—and it had nothing to do with her buzz. Everyone was clapping and cheering, and she hadn’t even heard them when they were kissing! She was such a fool! He was just doing what he did. He was putting on a show, and she was like a swooning groupie. She’d fallen right under his spell.

  She was wrong—all of this had to be from the alcohol.

  The kiss. The feeling of walking on a cloud. Her inability to hear!

  She tried to force a smile and walk calmly off the stage, but she had no idea how her legs were functioning at all, because she was numb with embarrassment and couldn’t feel them. Boone’s arm circled her waist. His body was like an inferno searing through her clothes as he led her out the door and to the car. The night air stung her cheeks, helping to bring her mind back into focus.

  “What was that?” She threw her hands up and paced beside the car. The gravel parking lot was dark, save for the illuminated Rum Hummer sign over the door. Trucks and motorcycles filled the parking lot. Their shiny silver Lexus sparkled like a crystal among rocks in a riverbed.

  “A hell of a kiss,” he said casually, unlocking the passenger door. “You nailed the song, by the way.”

  “I nailed the song?” She stomped toward him. “That’s all you have to say? I nailed the song? What about the kiss? I can’t kiss you. You have a girlfriend, and groupies, and—” She clenched her fists and groaned.

  “Trish, it was just a kiss.”

  “Yes! And I am not a groupie. You sucked me right in with your amazing stage presence and the way you were looking at me.” She crossed her arms and leaned back against the car. “I can’t believe I kissed you!”

  He shoved the keys in his pocket and walked over to her. His eyes narrowed, and his plump, very kissable lips—the lips she now knew tasted like heaven and sweet, sinful pleasure—curved into a wicked grin. He pulled her from the car and wrapped her arms around his neck, as he’d done on the dance floor, and her heart went wild. It was presumptive and arrogant and she did not want to pull away even though she should, but she fought against that stupid-girl part of her brain.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “You said you can’t believe you kissed me, but that kiss wasn’t the kiss of someone who didn’t want to kiss me.” He pressed his hands flat against her lower back, keeping their bodies flush.

  She felt every inch of his hard body, and he was hard. Everywhere. She was sure he could feel the effect he was having on her because her nipples were poking into his chest and her legs were trembling. Her senses whirled and she tried and tried to force them to a halt, but it was like trying to slow wild horses.

  “Don’t even try to kiss me.”

  “Don’t worry, beautiful. I’m not who you think I am.”

  “Stop calling me ‘beautiful.’ For a guy who says he doesn’t know how to pretend, you’re doing a damn good job of it.” She pressed her lips together, but he smelled so good, and his body—God, his body. She wanted to drag him into the car and feel the weight of him on top of her as they made out like teenagers.

  “You still think you’ve got me figured out.” He shook his head, and she wanted to slap that smug smile off his face, but his eyes were confusing her with their mix of adorable puppy pleas and you-know-you-want-me arrogance.

  “If you’re not going to try to kiss me, then what are you doing?” And why don’t you want to kiss me?

  “Just giving you a chance to decide if you really did or didn’t want to kiss me.”

  “Oh, I know I didn’t.” She looked away, just in case her nose grew with the lie.

  He tightened his grip. “Okay. Sixty seconds.”

  “Huh?”

  “We’ll just stand here for sixty seconds. If after sixty seconds you still don’t want to kiss me, we’ll chalk this up to getting caught up in the moment.”

  “Fine!”

  His hand moved over her, slow and firm, blazing a path up her back. He curled his fingers over her shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, holding her so tight she was sure he felt the frantic beat of her heart. His other arm circled her waist, and his fingers curled around her hip. His whiskey eyes smoldered, as dark and mysterious as the night sky.

  Despite herself, all the air whooshed from her lungs and she arched against him, aching for his touch. Her lips tingled with anticipation, but somewhere in the back of her mind an image shook free of him walking with his arm around the blonde, and the groupies around his trailer. And she managed, “You have a girlfriend.”

  “Wrong.”

  “The blonde?” Guys lied. She knew that. She’d seen him with his arm around the woman, and the scene had been very cozy.

  “Honor West. She’s one of my best friends. Like a sister.”

  A sister? “Usually people don’t sleep with their sisters.”

  “Oh, so now I’ve slept with Honor?” An amused smile lifted his lips. “Very judgy of you.”

  “I’m sure you have a hundred other women going through your revolving bedroom door, and I don’t intend to be one of them.”

  That wiped the amusement off his face and replaced it with a look she wanted to run from. His eyes bored into her, silently sending a message of disbelief and honesty she was afraid to trust. Because guys lied.

  He tightened his grip again.

  A needy whimper escaped, and she clamped her mouth shut. Despite her hesitation, she wanted to kiss him so badly she could taste him, could feel his tongue sliding over hers and the press of those full, soft lips. This was crazy, standing so close to him, but she didn’t want to walk away. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d been as acutely aware of every point where her body touched a man, or every breath another person took. He wasn’t running. He wasn’t deflecting. He was fully present, and she found that so compelling it frightened her.

  He reached up and touched her cheek, still holding her tight with one arm.

  “What are you afraid of?”

  He asked it in such a gentle, caring voice, had she not seen him speak, she wouldn’t have believed it came from him. Her answer came without thought.

  “You.”

  **

  BOONE DIDN’T KNOW what he’d expected to hear, but that wasn’t it. He had no idea what Trish meant or how to take it, but the truth was, she scared him, too. He was used to people bending to his will, covering his tracks, taking his word as gold. She challenged him at every turn, and it irritated and intrigued him at once.

  Forcing his feet to move, he took a step away. “Okay, beautiful. Let’s go.” Beautiful. Where was that coming from? He’d never used the endearment toward any woman before. But hell, she was beautiful.

  She shook her head as if she were confused. “What? Just like that?”

  “You said
you’re afraid of me. What did you expect?” He walked around the car to the driver’s side to put some space between them, because being near her made him want to reach out and touch her. And it bugged the heck out of him that he scared her.

  “I don’t know!” She glared at him over the roof of the car. “Maybe something like, ‘Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.’”

  “Seriously? I don’t even think you know what you’re afraid of.” He climbed into the car, leaned across the console, and called to her through the open door, “You getting in or what?”

  She climbed into the car and crossed her arms, staring straight ahead at the shacklike bar.

  He turned on the radio to fill the silence and drove out of the parking lot.

  “Wait,” she said urgently. “Are you okay to drive?”

  “I’m pretty sure you can’t get drunk on club soda.”

  He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes. “You can wipe that shocked look off your face.”

  He felt her assessing him as they drove away from the bar. Clouds hid the moon from the night sky, making the narrow tree-lined roads pitch-black, save for the headlights beaming in the foggy air. The oppressive sky fit the tension in the car. Why did he care that he scared her? Or that she was judging him? He’d been judged his whole life and had always let it roll off of him like water on a waxed surface, but when it came to Trish, he was having trouble finding his disengage switch.

  He mulled that over as he turned onto the road that ran parallel to the creek.

  “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I thought you were drinking.”

  “You also thought I had a girlfriend and a revolving bedroom door. You’re pretty sure of all the things you don’t know.”

  “Oh, please. Your reputation speaks for itself.”

  He bristled at her comment. “That it does.”

  His reputation did speak for itself. It was another layer of protection between his real life and his public life, and he’d always been okay with that. Until now. He drove up the long driveway trying to figure out how to handle the torrent of emotions jetting through him. When they’d first arrived at the farmhouse, he’d been surprised at its state of disrepair, but after spending the afternoon reading through the script, he could see the old house was the perfect setting for the fictional rock star’s rough beginning.