#Moonstruck_A #Lovestruck Novel

by Sariah Wilson

  None of that sounded particularly entertaining to me, but I was not a guy.

  Speaking of guys and weird things, despite their usual overprotectiveness, my brothers didn’t seem to have any problem with Ryan.

  Whether that was because of who he was as a person or because he was the guy allowing us to live out our dreams, I didn’t know.

  We all went to our respective rooms to shower and change. I felt strangely nervous. Like I was about to be on a different kind of stage and nobody at that party would buy the lie that Ryan and I were together.

  Just as I finished fixing my hair, there was a knock at my door. I grabbed the key to my room and joined my brothers for the walk down the hall. They were still on that performance high, laughing and jostling one another. I, on the other hand, feared I might puke from this new kind of stage fright.

  Ryan’s door was open, with one security guard posted there. He recognized us and waved us inside. The main living room was already full. I saw Ryan’s band, and Diego had a group of pleeches surrounding him, vying for his attention. I didn’t see Ryan. But I got to meet his three backup singers as well as the lighting supervisor and two other bodyguards.

  Then a door opened, and Ryan walked out, his hair wet from a shower, the dark-green shirt he wore turning his eyes that shade. Multiple people murmured his name when he appeared, and I knew they would all want his time and attention. I wasn’t sure if I should approach him or wait for him to come over and find me.

  His gaze landed on me, causing goose bumps all over my forearms. He smiled—a dashing, brilliant, charming smile—and headed straight to me.

  I started to say something when he got close enough, but he grabbed me, pulled me into a hug, and twirled me around. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  He smelled amazing. Like soap and oranges and something masculine that was just . . . Ryan. My heart pounded in my throat as he set me down. “I’m glad I’m here, too.” Strangely enough, I meant it.

  “Come with me.” He took me by the hand and led me to an empty sitting room. I saw the women who had been with Diego start toward us, but Fox stood in the doorway, not letting anyone inside. Ryan sat us on a white-quilted love seat.

  I wondered whether I should sit really close to him or try to retain control over my reaction by keeping some distance between us. I settled on the second choice.

  “How was your first show?” He shook his head as if he’d misspoken. “I know it wasn’t your first show. I mean, how was it playing to an audience that size for the first time?”

  “Pretty amazing, actually. I couldn’t stop grinning for half an hour after it was over.” I curled my legs up underneath me while Ryan spread out in every direction, legs askew, arm behind me on the couch.

  “You played more covers than I was expecting.”

  “We wanted the audience to enjoy themselves. That’s why you brought us along, right? To entertain and warm up the crowd for you. We wouldn’t have been doing our job if we’d bored everybody out of their minds.”

  He looked surprised and then smiled again. “Most opening acts don’t do anything like that. They care only about their own self-promotion.”

  I propped my elbow on the back of the couch and let my head rest on my hand. Super aware the entire time of just how close our arms were now. “I guess we’re not like other people.”

  “I already knew that,” Ryan said with a quiet smile, reaching over to play with the ends of my hair. “Your hair is so soft.”

  My own fingers itched to touch his hair in return. Especially since a song had literally been written about it by reigning pop princess Skyler Smith. If I remembered correctly, they’d dated at some point. I wondered if she was the one serious girlfriend he’d mentioned.

  The surge of jealousy I felt bothered me. This was fake. We were pretending. Which made me think of our earlier conversation that afternoon. “I never thanked you.”

  “For what?”

  Out of the comer of my eye, I watched as he wrapped a tendril around his index finger. I gulped. “Specifically for the money to help my mom. But there’s a lot I haven’t thanked you for. Thank you for bringing us on tour with you. Thank you for listening to me earlier. Thank you for putting up with my brothers.”

  “I should probably get a medal for the last one,” he teased, and that sparkle in his eye made me want to sigh. “But everything else? It was my pleasure.”

  That he was so gracious in accepting my gratitude made me feel guiltier that I hadn’t thanked him before. His hand moved closer to the side of my head, and I fought the urge to lean into it. I was glad we were alone. “I also need to thank you for making this a pleech-free zone.”

  His hand stilled. “A what?”

  “The night we met, you had this mob of women, and they were these plastic, peacocking leeches. Pleeches.”

  “Now you’re just making up words?”

  “I am a lyricist, thank you.”

  “Is that how you write? More lyric-centric?” Musicians didn’t write songs with just the lyrics or just the melody. The two came together, but one might come easier than the other. For me it was always the words.

  “Yep. What about you?”

  “Usually the music first. Sounds like we’d make a great songwriting team.” He paused, letting the word “team” sink in. As if we could be more. “I’ve been working on something. Do you want to hear it?”

  “Sure.”

  Several guitars stood in the corner next to a black baby-grand piano. Like this was his own personal music room. Ryan grabbed one of the Martin guitars and sat down again. This time he twisted his body to face me, and our knees touched. I sucked in a deep breath, ordering my pulse to calm down and my lungs to start working again.

  He began to play. It was not so long ago that I’d thought he was a poser and pathetic for holding his guitar like it had a force field that could protect him. But now, as he sat there and played a beautiful tune, solely focused on making his music, I realized it was the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

  My heart beat slow and hard in time to the rhythm of his song.

  “What do you think? I’m considering calling it ‘Maisy Is Jealous of Pleeches.’”

  Ryan laughed when I shoved his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve confused my disdain for jealousy. Although, to be fair, you’ve probably made a lot of women very jealous.” Not wanting to think more about that, I changed the subject. “I bet your fans love it when you sing ballads.”

  “Do you love it when I sing ballads?”

  I probably would. “I have no opinion on you singing ballads.” I wanted to say I wasn’t a fan, but at this moment that wasn’t exactly true. “Do you want help with the lyrics?”

  “I’m doing okay, thanks. They’re probably not very good, though. Lyrics have never been my strong point.”

  “Duh. ‘Hashtag My Heart’ wasn’t exactly profound.”

  “Ha. I would bet the rest of my savings that you know every word of that song.”

  He was right. I did. “Sort of speaking of money, you said you were going to tell me what was going on with your financial situation tonight.”

  Ryan set the guitar down. “It’s a pretty simple story. My manager made a lot of poor investment decisions and wiped me out. I still have assets but not much else.”

  “Did you fire him? Her?”

  “Him,” he confirmed. “And I can’t fire him because he’s my dad.”

  “That . . .” What could I say? “That sucks. How are you paying for this tour?”

  “I took most of what I had left for the initial costs, and we make a lot of money every night in ticket sales and merchandise. I think tonight they cleared almost half a million in merch alone.”

  Half. A. Million. Dollars. I couldn’t even conceive of earning that kind of money in one night!

  “This tour will pay off the few debts that remain and help get me back on the right road financially. I’ll be okay.”

  It made me realize what a big risk he�
�d taken in choosing us as his opening act. If he had hired a more famous band, one that could bring in more fans, it would have helped his bottom line. “Does everyone know?”

  He looked alarmed. “Nobody knows. No one on this tour besides you.”

  The fact that he trusted me with this information filled me with a glowing lightness not unlike what I had felt onstage earlier. “Why not tell people?” I was poor. It wasn’t that big a deal.

  “When a musician goes broke, it destroys people’s perceptions. Think about a musician who lost all of his or her money—that’s all you remember about them. Not how many hits they had or how much you liked their music, just that they went bankrupt. It would ruin my endorsement deals. Who would buy clothes from my fashion line or pick up my perfume if I can’t even hold on to my millions of dollars? No one would ever take me seriously again. Perception is everything in entertainment, unfortunately. It’s also why I had to sign a new three-album deal with my label. I needed the money. Now I’m stuck making the music they want me to make. Although I guess I can’t really complain.”

  “Have you tried?” I asked. “It’s literally like the easiest thing in the world to do.” That got me a small smile, but I could tell how upset the whole thing made him. I hoped he’d told his dad to get lost. “Does your dad still handle your finances?”

  “No.” He let out a short, sardonic burst of laughter. “I hired a business manager, but my dad doesn’t know about it. His job is pretty much title only these days. Not that he cares. As long as he can convince barely legal girls to go home with him to the house I paid for, that’s all he cares about. That and his hair plugs.”

  The bitterness was evident in his voice, and I couldn’t blame him.

  Not able to help myself, I reached out, laid my hand on top of his, and squeezed it gently. “I’m sorry. I know what it’s like to have a crappy, selfish father.”

  Then I did something that surprised both of us. I leaned over and kissed his cheek, letting my lips linger longer than what was probably normal. I heard his breath catch when I did it, felt his jaw tighten.

  When I started to pull away, he reached out and grabbed my face to hold me in place. “Maisy.” He said my name like a plea. As if he was asking permission. The air thickened around us, making my limbs feel heavy, my vision hazy.

  He was going to kiss me.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  “Ryan, wait.”

  He went still. Waited.

  I tried to ignore the lava that bubbled in my stomach, the chills that ran up my spine to my neck and spread out from there.

  “I’m not . . . I’m not ready for you to kiss me.”

  “Why?” The word was strangled, as if it took every bit of restraint he possessed to hold back. He rubbed his thumb against my lower lip like it was some kind of substitute for what he really wanted. The feeling of that slightly calloused skin leaving puddles of fire on my mouth was almost my undoing.

  “Because . . .” What could I say that wouldn’t make me look like a total fool? That I was afraid of the fact that I was starting to have feelings of the not-hatred variety for him? That I knew the more physical we became, the faster I would fall? That this was supposed to be fake? Pretend. Not actual life. It was a business transaction. That I didn’t want to see the look of pity on his face when he realized it had become real for me? Because I knew, deep in my gut, that if we kissed it would be totally real for me.

  I didn’t want to be the girl who was, as he’d said earlier, convenient. Sure, he thought I was pretty and wanted to kiss me, but that didn’t mean I should let him. I had to protect myself. Because the more time I spent with him, the more I got to know him, the more I suspected that if we kissed, I would do nothing but spend all my time thinking about him and wanting to be with him. I would stop caring about everything else that mattered to me in this world—my mom, my brothers, my music. I knew Ryan De Luna would be all I would see. Already, I could barely resist his charm and magnetic pull.

  If he kissed me? I’d lose myself completely.

  Much as my brothers wanted the job, the only one who could protect my heart was me.

  “Because I can’t. Not yet.”

  He swallowed. Hard. “Okay. You tell me when you’re ready.” He pressed his forehead to mine like he couldn’t bear to let me go. That sweet gesture made my heart thump even faster.

  This isn’t real. This isn’t real. This isn’t real.

  No matter how many times I reminded myself, it didn’t seem to sink in.

  When we did pull apart, it was slow and gradual.

  And totally awkward. “I thought after-parties usually included, you know, an actual party. With other people.”

  Yep, that didn’t make things worse.

  Sigh.

  “I thought it would appear more meaningful that I wanted to be alone with you.”

  Because it was me, I had to make it about a thousand times more stupid. “In that case, I’m surprised you didn’t bring me into your bedroom.”

  I could feel the blush start in the general area of my chest, claw its way up my neck, and then settle onto my cheeks, hotter than any California wildfire.

  Please don’t let him notice.

  “Well, I would hate to have to pay for your brothers’ medical bills. Because once they kicked the door in, Fox and the others would be all over them.”

  Whew. He must not have noticed.

  “Why are you blushing?”

  Oh crap. Yes, he had.

  He briefly brushed his cool fingers against my reddened cheek. “You burn so hot.”

  I did the only thing I could. I laughed.

  “What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “Do you know what my nickname was in high school?”

  “Hot Babe? Ryan’s Number One Fan?”

  “Ice Queen.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “Why? I haven’t noticed anything frosty about you.”

  “Not even my sarcastic retorts and glares?”

  His gaze pierced me with its intensity, making even my toes quiver. “I see only fire.”

  Because you make me burn.

  That was about all I could take for one evening. “Let’s join the others.”

  I didn’t want to see if he followed me or not. I didn’t want any more embarrassment or to say stupid things or want stuff I couldn’t have.

  When I went back into the living room area, I noticed a bunch of tables set up with food that I hadn’t seen before. Including a multilayered chocolate cake. Which I needed more than I needed my next breath.

  Ryan came to stand beside me. I grabbed a piece and inhaled the first bite. It was rich, moist, and totally delicious. The second the sugar hit my bloodstream, I instantly felt better. “I take back what I said about that pumpkin pie. This is the best thing that has ever happened to my mouth.”

  “I offered to show you something better. You’re the one who stopped.”

  There was no way I could retain my composure if he kept saying stuff like that while staring at my lips. “Did it occur to you that I don’t want to date a serial kisser like yourself? With multiple victims?”

  “You mean multiple prizewinners?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me, and I had to laugh.

  This could work. If I just kept it light and breezy and fun, nothing bad would happen. I wouldn’t really fall for him, and nobody’s heart would get broken.

  I saw a flash in my peripheral vision. “What was that?”

  “Usually the security guys collect cell phones from outside guests and then return them at the end of the evening. But I figured the best way to spread gossip like this was to allow them, so the word could spread. Quickly and naturally. Since that’s the goal . . .”

  Ryan again invaded my space. My stomach flipped over; warmth spread all over my skin.

  Then he reached up to touch his thumb to my mouth again, taking me back to where we’d just been. I didn’t want the tingles of excitement that gathered at the base of my neck.


  “There was some frosting on your mouth.” He licked the chocolate off his own thumb, and needy fire burned through me so quickly I almost collapsed.

  Words were not a possibility.

  “Have you rethought the kissing thing yet?” His words were husky and sounded like they were laced with want.

  “You mean in the last two minutes?”

  “Has it been only two minutes? It feels like a lifetime. Are you sure I can’t kiss you?”

  I was sure, right? There was a good reason for it. At least, I thought there’d been some reasons why we shouldn’t do that. I just couldn’t remember them. When he looked at me like that, with hazel fire burning in his eyes, I couldn’t remember my own name. I was pretty sure I had one of those.

  What I did know was that I couldn’t stay. I needed some distance from him, and that, hopefully, would give me some perspective. “I should probably go.”

  “Okay.”

  My feet weren’t cooperating, and neither was Ryan. He stood there, immobilizing me with his hotness.

  “So, uh, thanks again. Especially for earlier with the shoulder. And for, you know, letting me cry all over it.”

  “My shoulders are available anytime you want. I’ve got two of them.”

  He sure did. Two amazingly broad, well-sculpted shoulders.

  That were totally distracting me.

  “Right. I’ll see you tomorrow, probably.”

  “Tomorrow,” he agreed.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I moved across the room and felt his gaze on me with every step. Like he was touching me even though he was twelve feet away.

  As I walked down the hallway, I had a serious conversation with myself. Rule #1—never date a musician. That hadn’t changed. I wouldn’t actually date Ryan. I could pretend to, for the sake of his career and my mother, but I wouldn’t let it be more than that. Nothing deep or real. Just a light, mutually beneficial friendship.

  I had to stay strong. Remember my rules. Not fall in love.

  And never, no matter what I wanted, let him kiss me.