by Eden Summers
“Yeah, we’ll just talk this shit out and all my troubles will disappear.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “Then we can hug and laugh and braid each other’s hair. Right?”
“Just get in here and take a seat.” She entered the main room and winced at the opened bottle of Johnny Walker on the coffee table, half the contents already consumed. She hoped, for his sake, that he’d cracked the cap before today, otherwise he’d soon face plant into the carpeted floor.
“Come on, Ryan.” She strolled into the kitchen, retrieved two glasses from the cupboard beside the fridge, and started to fill them with tap water. “Talk to me.”
“About what?” He came into view at the end of the hallway. “You know as much as I do.”
That was a lie. They hadn’t been close for a long time. Not since Australia when she’d made the mistake of keeping the gossip about his wife’s questioned fidelity to herself. Now she was banished from the insider knowledge of his private life. He didn’t confide in her at all.
“I gather you weren’t expecting the process server to show up today?” She turned off the tap and kept her gaze downcast, measuring her dosage to his pain.
The divorce papers had been handed over in a hotel ballroom across the city, while the band had been watching Sean and his dance partner rehearse an upcoming music clip. Ryan’s enraged reaction to his induction into single status had been witnessed by the film crew, along with the security and dance team. All of them possible gossip leaks to the always starving paparazzi vultures.
“No, Leah,” he grated. “I didn’t know.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to contact your lawyer? Or arrange for a flight back home?” She walked toward him and held out the filled glass.
“No. And I don’t want your damn water.” He shooed her with an abrupt wave of his hand. “You should go.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Then get Sean. Or Mitch. Or Blake. Or Mason.” He made the distance to the scotch bottle in three steps, then swung it high to take a long pull. “Hell, get the concierge, for all I care. Anyone else would be better than you.”
Bam. His cruelty made a direct hit to her chest, blood and sinew splattering everywhere.
“That’s harsh.” She kept her tone light, casual, hoping to smoothly transition him into a new headspace. “What have I done to deserve your anger?”
He shrugged. “I expect you knew she was going to blindside me. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve held back information.”
“Don’t be an ass.” She didn’t care how much alcohol was flowing through his veins, nothing excused such a low blow. Being his support was one thing. Becoming his punching bag was entirely another. “If I made an issue out of every article that claimed one of our group was cheating, or doing drugs, or on the verge of bankruptcy, I’d get no work done. And in the end, those claims about Julie were unfounded, so you need to get over the way I dealt with it.”
He scoffed and took another gulp.
Jesus, he was seconds away from requiring a stomach pump. “Put the bottle down.”
He stretched his arms wide, holding out the scotch, an entirely morphed Ryan standing before her. “Why don’t you come and get it?”
Why? She schooled her expression and came up with a mental list of reasons. First and foremost—being close to Ryan wasn’t a stellar idea. Two—the responding tippy-tap of her heart was a bad sign.
A very bad sign.
But he kept holding out the bottle, taunting her with the opportunity to help.
“Fine.” She maneuvered around the coffee table. “Give it here.”
He grinned, the curve of lips spiteful as he handed over her prize. “I should be happy, right? Now I get to do all those things I missed out on since vowing my life away.”
“Sure.” She searched for the bottle cap, the visual sweep of the floor, table, and couches coming up with nothing. “You’re free to be yourself again.”
“I’m also free to be a player.” His words held the hint of a slur. “All those groupies will be at my disposal. And with the other band members now off the market, I’ll be eating snatch for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. It was the alcohol talking. No question. Only the thought of him being a sleaze sat like a chunk of marble in her belly. “Getting a divorce doesn’t mean you’re exempt from morality. Separating from Julie isn’t going to change who you are.”
“And who am I?” He stepped toward her, encroaching on her personal space. “Who the fuck knows anymore?”
“I know.” She stood tall, even though his proximity made her nervous. His uncharacteristic cursing, too. “You’re not that guy. You were always faithful to your wife. You never wanted to mess around—”
“Yeah, and look how that paid off.”
She placed the bottle down on the table and looked him in the eye. “Would you prefer if the divorce was your fault?”
“Oh, I know it’s not my fault.” He smiled, a fake, brutal curve of lips. “It’s yours.” There was no humor in his tone, no hint of amusement.
“What are you talking about?”
“Julie hates you. She hated how close we used to be and how every conversation revolved around my infallible band manager. Our friendship was the straw that broke that bitch’s back.”
A frozen knife sliced through her chest, slow and agonizing. “You’re blaming me?”
“Maybe.” He waved the seriousness away with a lazy hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“It fucking matters.” She couldn’t tell if this was truthful catharsis or alcohol-fueled lies. Either way, the news was butchering her. She’d done everything within her power to keep her feelings to herself. She’d refused to make her adoration known and become the other woman. All those years of restraint and she was still getting the blame? “Tell me the truth.”
He shook his head and stepped closer. Too close.
Suddenly, answers weren’t dire. The way the world shrank down to the two of them was apocalyptic. Nobody else existed in that panicked moment. It was only Ryan. Only love smothered in pain and coated in undeniable temptation.
“Do you miss the way we used to be?” He scrutinized her face, from the hair around her ears, to her cheeks, her eyes, and finally her lips. “Do you wish we could return to the way things were?”
“Of course I do.” She swallowed, hard, and shuffled backward. He was crawling under her skin, sinking beneath her ribs, clutching at her heart. “You should already know that.”
He took another step, and another, overshadowing her with his frame, stealing her confidence. The tips of his shoes brushed hers and the universe held its breath until she had the smarts to backtrack a little more.
“Ryan.” His name was a warning. A plea. She was falling. Suffocating. She couldn’t think past his proximity, or the accompanying daydreams. “What are you doing?”
“I can do whatever I want now, remember?” He took another step, forcing her to stumble into the wall. “What if I wanted to kiss you?”
Oh, god, yes.
Oh, hell, no.
She’d fantasized about his kiss for years, had yearned for it, pained for it. But there were infinite reasons why it could never happen. It wasn’t just about his wife. The need for restraint came from Leah’s job, their careers, the possible loss of her best friend even though he’d pretended not to hold the role since the band toured in Australia. If she lost the battle with her heart and slid down the slippery slope of seduction, she’d be in breach of contract. And a tight non-compete clause meant a similar role within the industry was impossible.
“Don’t.” That one, meek, vulnerable word was supposed to slay the threat of his lips and make him retreat. Only she couldn’t summon a stronger complaint. She was speechless at the possibility of receiving her wildest dreams and scared beyond belief at the same time.
Her heart hammered. Her senses became acute. Every inch of her skin
tingled with a blanket of goosebumps while her nipples tightened in anticipation. He took the final step, the one that brought them thigh to thigh, hip to hip, and pressed her ass against the wall. The clean cut of his beard was there. Right there. Within her grasp. She wanted to run her hand over it, to cup his cheek and tangle her fingers in his loose hair.
Everything slowed to frozen frames in time, one movement gradually morphing into the next. She had a decade to stop him. A lifetime passed under his advance, and still she did nothing as he encroached, his mouth descending inch by inch until finally those lips were brushing hers in the sweetest glide of dream fulfilment.
The contact was explosive. Her cheeks burned. Her lungs, too. Between her thighs a dull throb formed, spurring her to kiss him back and seize what she’d always wanted. Soft swipes of his mouth transformed into a lick of his tongue, the delicate intrusion parting her lips on a moan. Her hands moved of their own volition, gliding behind his neck, pulling him close, demanding more.
Nothing could break the perfection. Nothing but the taste of scotch on her tongue. The infusion to her palate was a wakeup call that announced he was under the influence of alcohol, while she was merely under the influence of lust.
Fuck. What the hell was she doing?
This was wrong. So horribly, horrifically wrong.
She snatched her hands from around his neck and pushed him away, her chest rising and falling as the intimacy became a mere memory.
He considered her with a frown, his lips kiss darkened, his eyes glassy with intoxication. “Don’t deny you wanted that,” he rasped. “You’ve wordlessly begged for it since we met.”
Air left her lungs in a mass evacuation. He’d hit her right where it hurt, and without thinking she responded with one of her own. A physical one, where her hand slapped across his cheek with enough force to make both of them gasp.
He stiffened at the impact. She was traumatized herself. She’d never raised a hand to anyone before. Never even thought of it… Well, that was a lie. Anyone who knew Mason Lynch would attest to envisaging bodily harm against the egotistical lead singer. But this was different. This was Ryan.
Ryan possessed by liquor.
His cheek turned a dark shade of pink, the evidence of her carelessness seeping under his beard. Seconds passed in the measure of panted breaths. They stood staring at one another. Both of them in shock. Both of them blinking in slow succession.
She’d anticipated that a kiss between them would be devastating. Yet, none of her fantasies were this unforgiving. None of them tore her apart and left her to wither and die under his stare. Her imagination had always included the man who used to bathe her in compliments. Not this person who inflicted suffering on others in the hopes of lessening his own.
“Listen to me,” she whispered. “You crossed a line. A phenomenally inappropriate line. Don’t ever do it again. Do you hear me?”
He winced and for a second she glimpsed the real Ryan. The man who was kind and charming and sweet. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She slid along the wall, not daring to make physical contact as she fled for the hallway.
“Leah, wait.”
Hell, no.
She headed for the door, her steps clipped, her chin standing at a height that spoke of determination even though she was dying inside. Coming here was a mistake. Cataclysmic. And it wasn’t because of her job, or his, or the impending divorce. Her monumental stupidity came from the incessant beat in her chest and the rolling tumbles of her belly that cemented the knowledge that one kiss had changed her forever.
One kiss had destroyed her.
And one was all she could ever allow herself to have.
Chapter One
Months later
Orlando, Florida
Ryan flipped his guitar pick back and forth between his fingers as he followed the bee-line down the backstage hall toward the Reckless dressing room. He was dripping with sweat, from his face to his crack. Every limb was wet and thrumming with adrenaline, just the way he liked it.
Nothing compared to the high of a live crowd, especially when he’d been living his life in the gutter lately. The fans kept him going. They pushed him to forget about the single lifestyle he wasn’t accustomed to and the estranged wife who was still trying to bleed more money out of him with the divorce settlement.
Julie was destroying him, one instigated lawyer interaction at a time.
“Great show, guys.” Leah’s voice came from the dressing room door and nudged at places in his chest that shouldn’t be accessible.
Her sapphire eyes were bright, her flawless lipstick clinging to sultry lips while she grinned at their approach. He wasn’t sure how she did it. The days were long, her tasks arduous, but she never appeared anything less than unstoppable. Even now, after a twelve-hour day, her short-sleeved dress was wrinkle-free and clinging perfectly to every inch of her body, all the way to her calves.
He’d rarely seen her in a state of anything less than excellence. It was how she worked, how she liked to be perceived. Strong. Sure. Capable. That was why his admiration for her had never wavered, even though she still found it hard to look him in the eye.
Not even his drunken kiss had unsettled her. Yes, initially she’d flipped out and skipped town, but her return had been uneventful. The only thing that changed was the cold shoulder she always had pointed in his direction.
“What are you doing here?” Mason asked from the front of the group. “You’re usually hiding in your hotel suite by now, sleeping like a baby.”
“I am not.” She scowled. “I just refused to meet up with you after a concert because your ego resembles a needy five-year-old.”
“I don’t have a needy ego. I merely like to hear the details from a viewer’s perspective. It’s performance appraisal.” Mason stopped at the door, holding the rest of the band from entering the dressing room. “I did look good on stage, though, didn’t I?”
Leah rolled her eyes. “Thanks for proving my point.”
Ryan withheld a smile. He missed her playfulness. That sarcastic edge and mischievous spark. One day soon he’d get it back. He just had to keep telling himself—right time, right place. The right time wasn’t the middle of a tour when they were tired and lacking patience from all the sterile hotel rooms and cramped nights on the sleeper bus. And the right place wasn’t a packed dressing room where there’d be an audience to his groveling.
But soon. He’d get them back to where they once were. Soon.
“Hurry up and get inside.” She jerked her head toward the room. “We’ve got an impromptu meeting to get through before you can call it a night.”
“With?” Sean shoved Mason inside and followed after.
Leah’s expression tightened. “The label.”
Someone from Grander was here? On tour? In the middle of the night?
Ryan stepped past her and into the dressing room, Mitch and Blake at his back. The sight of Scott on the sofa at the side of the room made his muscles tense. The guy sat like he was made of gold and sprinkled in silver. His suit was immaculate, his arms outstretched along the head rest, his leg crossed over the other knee.
“Where’s my warm welcome?”
“Welcome, Scott.” Leah pulled the door closed behind her. “Now can you tell me what was so important that you had to fly across the country instead of calling?”
Ryan spared her a quick glance to find her standing tall with a fake curve to her lips. She was nervous, or angry. He could never tell the difference with that expression.
“Things have been quiet on the publicity front lately.” Scott gave them a sinister smile. “I thought I’d drop by and have a quick catch up to determine the problem.”
“Problem?” Mason shook his head. “There’s no problem. We’ve settled down and learned not to cause trouble.”
“I think your significant others may have been responsible,” Leah murmured.
“True.” Mason inclined his head. “We’re not looking for dr
ama. We’re done with that.”
“See, that’s a problem.” Scott leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “No drama equals no free publicity, which then means Grander has to hand out more money to promote you guys. Money that currently isn’t in the budget.”
The room fell quiet under the threatening tone. Ryan looked to Sean for guidance, who glanced to Blake, the domino effect hitting each band member until they were all staring at Leah, silently asking for permission to put this asshole in his place.
“I would’ve thought our ticket sales gave us the luxury of more paid publicity.” Her words were tight, clipped, yet her enticing lips were still curved in that friendly charade. “The tour’s almost sold out.”
Damn, he admired her. She always knew how to act—what to say or what to do—to make people pay attention and take her seriously.
For the duration of his marriage, it had bothered him to contemplate her qualities. He’d already been committed to Julie when they met, and thinking of another woman didn’t feel right, no matter how platonic. Now things were different. So devastatingly different his chest reacted whenever they were in the same room. His wife was gone, or soon would be, and he no longer harbored guilt for admiring Leah the way he’d wanted to for years. She deserved his appreciation. Only problem was, she’d made it clear she didn’t want it.
“Yes, you’re right,” Scott agreed. “Tickets are almost sold out. But Grander has decided those sales aren’t as high as they could be.”
“Greedy much?” Blake drawled. “The sales are through the roof.”
“And the label wants more.”
“How much more?” Ryan asked.
They hadn’t pulled the tours dates out of their ass. A lot of Leah’s blood, sweat, and cursing had gone into determining a schedule that would fit in with each band member, along with the venues. The most important requirement had been working around Blake and Gabi. The bass guitarist demanded the tour be wrapped up before the birth of his first child, with the rest of the band happy to oblige because they all wanted to be there, too. The two of them had already been through enough with the loss of their first pregnancy. More tour dates wouldn’t keep them apart; it would only break Blake from the band.