FLOWERS ON THE WALL

by Williams, Mary J.

  "If she's as professional as Rolling Stone claims, it won't be an issue. Quinn Abernathy doesn't sleep with anyone she photographs. It's practically written on her résumé."

  "Ever?"

  "No! Goddamn it, Ryder. I wasn't issuing a challenge."

  Ryder grinned, the green in his hazel eyes seemed to gleam brighter than usual. "Isn't that a gauntlet I see on the floor?" With a flourish, he made a production of picking up the imaginary item. "Challenge accepted."

  "I thought you didn't treat women as trophies." Alden's only hope was to appeal to Ryder's sense of chivalry.

  "I won't sleep with the lovely Quinn unless she knows the rules." Ryder patted Alden on the back. "Relax. I've been celibate too long. A little fun under the sheets might be just what I need."

  "But—"

  "It's been a long tour, Alden. And I've been a very good boy." There was a knock at the door. "Don't I deserve a treat?"

  This was not a discussion Ryder wanted to have with Alden. Or anyone. Except Quinn. And wasn't he going to enjoy that conversation? When the time came. But he planned on enjoying the dance. Let Alden think what he wanted.

  "Ms. Abernathy. Right on time." Ryder stood back so Quinn could enter the room. "This is my manager, Alden Christopher. I believe you've spoken."

  "Mr. Christopher." Quinn nodded as Ryder took her bag. "Careful. You have my livelihood in your hands."

  "I will treat it as if it were one of my guitars."

  Quinn relaxed. She had read that Ryder's guitars were his babies. She knew how he felt.

  "I suppose I should leave you to get acquainted."

  "Yes, you should." Ryder carefully set Quinn's bag on the sitting room table. "Make sure Paul is here to pick us up by five. The sound check was iffy last night, and I don't want to leave it to the last minute."

  Alden nodded, sending Ryder one last look before he exited.

  "Doesn't the show start at eight?" Quinn asked.

  "That's right."

  "Do you always get there three hours early?"

  "Wine?" Ryder picked up the bottle.

  "Please."

  "I like to think of myself as a perfectionist. My bandmates aren't as complimentary." He handed her a filled glass. "But we agree on one thing. We want to put on the best show possible. Every night. The fans who shelled out their hard-earned money don't care that we've been touring for a year. This could be the only time they see us live. It has to be perfect."

  "That's admirable. Do all entertainers feel the same?"

  "I can only speak for myself. But I hope so."

  Quinn knew the answer. It was a big fat no. She had been at performances where it was obvious the artist phoned it in. Last night had been her first Ryder Hart concert. It was a dazzling experience. She looked forward to seeing them again tonight. And hopefully every night for the next two weeks.

  "How is your knee?"

  "It's kind of you to ask." Ryder was surprised by the genuine concern in her voice.

  "Better. A couple of Advil and some ice fixed it right up." There was a time he would have chased that with a snort of cocaine, but thankfully those days were over. "Are you hungry?"

  "Famished." Quinn wasn't a breakfast person. That meant she usually ate lunch around noon. One o'clock meant her stomach was past ready to be filled.

  "Lobster? I ordered the chicken in case you had an allergy to shellfish."

  "Lobster is fine. Great. Thank you."

  This was not what she had expected. Ryder held her chair, sitting her at a table with a spectacular view of the New York skyline. White linen. Expensive plates and silverware. Quinn would have been fine with pizza, beer, and paper plates. Though she had to admit, she preferred lobster and cold white wine.

  "You smell amazing."

  "Excuse me?"

  Quinn had been so busy taking in the view and the table service, she had almost forgotten Ryder. Almost. He wasn't a man one could ignore for long.

  "What is that fragrance?"

  Ryder didn't sniff at her like an overly friendly dog. He simply breathed in without touching her. It was a strangely erotic moment.

  "It doesn't have a name. Just a mixture of soap, shampoo, and body lotion. Unscented."

  "Then it's you."

  "I guess so."

  Without further comment, Ryder took the seat opposite her and began serving lunch. Quinn quickly forgot about the city view. Her attention was focused on him.

  Ryder Hart photographed like a dream. She knew because she had closely studied everything that was available. Poses or candid, the man didn't have a bad angle. But as she discovered last night as she watched him perform, pictures didn't do him justice.

  A photo could capture his rugged good looks. It could show off his dark wavy hair that just brushed the collar of his shirt and his long, lean body with arms that looked like sculpted bronze. Ryder was a staggeringly good-looking man. Sexy as hell. Those qualities were easy for a photographer to capture. It was the animal magnetism they missed.

  On television and in videos, he reached out and grabbed you. Pulling you in. Forcing you to listen as his voice completed the seduction. But in person, it was even more intense. Ryder Hart bombarded you non-stop with his charisma. Was it any wonder his concerts sold out in seconds?

  Quinn's hands itched to pick up her camera. She knew she could do what nobody else had been able to accomplish. She was determined to capture Ryder's sexual energy.

  "I recognize that look on your face," Ryder said with an easy smile.

  "You do?" He caught her staring. How embarrassing. And unprofessional. Quinn hoped the floor would open up and suck her in.

  "It's a spectacular view, isn't it?" Ryder turned his head toward the window. "The first time I saw New York from here, it blew me away. It's a lot different than at street level in the Bronx."

  "That's where you grew up?"

  "Until I was twelve."

  Something flashed across Ryder's eyes, but it happened so quickly, Quinn couldn't be certain what it was. Pain? Anger? She knew his story. Or part of it. His childhood hadn't been an easy one.

  "I try not to take it for granted." He looked Quinn directly in the eyes, his lips curving slightly. "It's easy to forget that all of this isn't the norm. Most people will never see that view. Not in person. Now and then, I have to remind myself of that."

  "I grew up staying at the best hotels. Eating in the best restaurants." Quinn sipped the cold wine, sighing with pleasure. "Now that I have to watch my pennies, I finally appreciate what I used to take for granted."

  "Did your family lose their money?"

  "No. My father pulled his support when I chose photography over the law."

  "I'm sorry."

  "It was the best thing that could have happened to me. This poor little rich girl had to learn to stand on her own two feet." Quinn raised her foot, showing off the black leather boot. "It's amazing what you can get on eBay."

  "You and my sister will have a lot to talk about. All through high school, she dressed like a trust fund princess while making minimum wage at Dairy Queen."

  "I'll look forward to trading stories." She didn't push her luck. Just because Ryder mentioned his sister didn't mean Quinn had the job.

  "You mentioned that you gave up the law for photography? Why?"

  "Why do you write songs? Or perform?"

  Ryder nodded. "It's in your blood. So this job isn't about the paycheck?"

  "Not entirely," Quinn laughed. "Don't get me wrong. I like to eat. And having a roof over my head is a must. But I would swallow my pride and move in with my mother before I gave up taking pictures. It's who I am."

  "Do you always eat like that? Or is it the excitement of a free meal?"

  Quinn looked at her plate. She had practically eaten off the pattern. Rather than feel embarrassed, she took another helping. "This is me. I was blessed with good genes and a fast metabolism. I can eat most men under the table."
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  "If you like, I can get you a doggy bag for later."

  "You think that's funny, but I won't say no. When midnight rolls around, a roll piled with lobster will hit the spot."

  "I won't caution you to save room for dessert."

  Ryder lifted a silver cloche to reveal two pieces of chocolate cake.

  "Oh, heaven help me. I think I'm in love."

  "THE DECISION IS up to you—as always."

  Ryder looked from face to face. These people were his friends. His family. He would trust them with his life. And there wasn't a thing in the world he would hesitate to do for them. He wanted Quinn to photograph the waning tour. But if they said no, he would respect their choice.

  "You want to say yes."

  "That's my vote," Ryder nodded.

  Reading Zoe wasn't as easy as when they were kids. She used to have an open expression. Now, he had to look hard to figure out what she was thinking. Right now, it could have been anything from what she had for lunch to who she was backing in the next presidential election.

  "Are you hot for the photographer?" Dalton asked. Reading him was easy. He believed in letting people know how he felt. It was a trait that Ryder appreciated in a bandmate. But in the past, it had gotten his friend into a lot of trouble.

  "Fuck, son. Why didn't you say so in the first place? You've been flying solo for too long. A duet is exactly what you need."

  "Jesus, Ashe." Zoe slung a magazine at his head. She had a good arm, but Ashe knew her moves. He ducked just in time. Dalton wasn't as fortunate.

  "Hey." Dalton rubbed the side of his face. He picked up the magazine ready to throw it back, then changed his mind. "At least you tossed me the latest Sports Illustrated. I haven't read this one yet."

  "Are we done, children?"

  "Is Dalton right?" Zoe's dark brown eyes narrowed on Ryder. "Is this about sex?"

  "Not everyone is happy living like a monk, Zoe. Or in your case a nun."

  "It's better than screwing everything that moves."

  Unconcerned by the accusation, Dalton shrugged. "I'm making up for lost time."

  "That was an excuse two years ago." Zoe pinned him with her gaze. "Now? It doesn't fly. You screw around because you can. Not because you went without."

  "She's right." Always happy to egg on any argument, Ashe nodded.

  "Enough! All I wanted was a vote. Our various sex lives—"

  "Those of us that have them." Dalton was unable to resist one more jab at Zoe.

  Rather than explode, Ryder calmly picked up his guitar. "You know what? Figure it out yourselves."

  He walked out of the room without a backward glance. Sometimes he wondered why he put up with their shit. Sitting on an equipment case, he slowly picked out some random chords. Liking what he heard, he added a few more.

  "I'm sorry, Ryder." Zoe rushed out of the dressing room. She ignored the guitar, throwing her arms around him. It was a spontaneous gesture that she only showed to him. "I acted like a child. Why do you bother?"

  "Because I love you."

  "You have to. I'm your sister."

  On the outside, Zoe looked about as tough as spun sugar. Her long blond hair, delicate features, and slender build suggested an easy mark—a woman who would cave at the slightest push. However, looks could be deceiving—and dangerous.

  More than one man had made the mistake of thinking he could take what he wanted from her. His sister was no shrinking violet. If her sharp tongue didn't do the trick, he had better watch out for her right cross. It was a dandy. Ryder knew. He taught it to her.

  Zoe's tough exterior seldom showed a crack. Dalton and Ashe rarely saw her softer side. Only Ryder understood that under her armor, lurked the remnants of a scared, vulnerable little girl. He had tried his best to shield her, but it was impossible to deflect that much ugliness.

  "Love has nothing to do with the blood that runs through our veins. Or shared DNA. We know that as well as anyone."

  A shadow zipped across Zoe's dark eyes. Ryder recognized it. He had seen it enough when looking in the mirror. To their credit, they had gotten pretty good at shaking it off—as Zoe demonstrated when she smiled. She didn't do it often enough, but when she did, it lit up her entire face, turning her from beautiful to stunning.

  "It isn't fair that you have to play peacekeeper."

  "More like zookeeper."

  "I wish I could argue, but we do behave like wild animals."

  "On occasion. Then again, on occasion, so do I."

  Zoe chuckled. It was a good sound. One Ryder wished he heard more often. "I guess we do belong together."

  Ryder gave Zoe a reassuring squeeze before letting her go. "None of us had it easy growing up."

  Zoe raised her eyebrows. It was Ryder's turn to laugh.

  "All right. Ashe had an unblemished childhood. But he's been knocked down a time or two. The point is, we came together and made a family. Right?"

  "At the moment, I would like to disown Dalton. But I agree." Zoe sighed. "And as a family, we have decided to let your girlfriend play shadow for the next two weeks."

  "Not my girlfriend. Her name is Quinn Abernathy."

  "Dalton wasn't far off, was he?" Zoe gave him a speculative look. "She must be gorgeous. I've never known you to let your dick do your thinking for you."

  "My dick has nothing to do with it." When Zoe shot him another unconvinced look, Ryder sighed. "I like her. She's smart. And ambitious."

  "And attractive."

  "Yes," he conceded. "And attractive."

  "Gorgeous?"

  "In the right light." Or the wrong one. From what he had been able to ascertain during their two meetings, Quinn was gorgeous—period. But he didn't want to add any more fuel to Zoe's speculation. "You'll like her."

  "I'll make up my own mind," Zoe bristled. "But I will try to keep an open mind."

  "She shops eBay."

  Ryder could tell he had piqued his sister's interest.

  "Don't try to sweeten the pot, Ryder." Zoe tapped her temple. "Open mind. That's all I can promise."

  "Sounds fair." Ryder stood. "Tell Dalton and Ashe to get their asses in gear. We have a sound check in fifteen minutes."

  Knowing he could count on Zoe to put a flame under their bandmates' feet, Ryder headed toward the stage. He wouldn't admit it to anyone—not even his friends, but he was relieved. He wanted Quinn around. Maybe he would charm her into bed, maybe he wouldn't. However, it had been a long time since he had gotten excited about any woman. Perhaps it was because Quinn wasn't a sure thing. Or maybe it was the fact that he enjoyed her company.

  Ryder smiled to himself. Why couldn't it be both? Two weeks. Just enough time to have some fun. But not long enough for her to get any ideas. He was in the mood to play. Light and easy. No expectations. No strings. That was how Ryder Hart rolled. Quinn might be the perfect playmate. As long as she understood the rules.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE EXCITEMENT GREW with each passing minute. The opening act had done a nice job of warming up the crowd, but they hadn't paid their hard-earned cash to watch an up-and-coming band from Kentucky. They were here to see the headliner. The rock god with a voice like spiced Tupelo Honey. They were here to see Ryder Hart.

  The spiced Tupelo Honey reference was one that Quinn heard while standing in line. A group of heavily made-up female college students had gushed non-stop as they inched their way toward the entrance.

  Ryder this. Ryder that. Occasionally, one would throw in a sigh over the drummer or the hunk on the keyboard. Dalton Shaw and Ashe Mathison had their followers. But far and away, the women were here to see Ryder Hart.

  Quinn still had a bit of a buzz herself. Lunch had been a revelation. Okay. Maybe that was a bit of an overstatement. But she hadn't expected Ryder to be such a laid-back, down-to-earth man. And funny. It wasn't as if he were on all the time. He was witty. And smart.

  And, oh, boy. She was in trouble. It was one thing to find Ry
der attractive. The world was with her on that score. But a sense of humor to go with his killer smile? It wasn't fair. The man had been blessed with too many irresistible qualities. Quinn wasn't an undisciplined fool. She wasn't ruled by her hormones or the twinkle in a man's eyes. Even eyes like Ryder's. No was a prominent word in her vocabulary.

  If Ryder asked—and she was almost positive he would—she was capable of turning him down. She was a professional. And she was determined to remain friendly but not too friendly. Flirting was fine. After last night, and this afternoon, she would say it was mandatory. Why did it have to progress beyond that?

  Because deep down you want more? Quinn groaned. That kind of thinking won't help. Stop. Stop now.

  "Did you say something?" The woman in the seat next to hers sent Quinn a questioning look. She was in her mid-twenties with bright red hair and lipstick to match.

  "Nothing important," Quinn smiled. One of the reasons she had chosen to watch the concert down here instead of backstage was so she could get a feel for the crowd and the fans. This woman with her I love Ryder t-shirt was a great place to start. "Is this your first time?"

  "At a Ryder Hart concert?" the woman scoffed. Though to give her credit, she managed not to sound insulting. "I follow the band. At least, as much as I can. I try to get to twenty or thirty concerts a year. When they're touring."

  "That's amazing. Just here in the U.S.?"

  "I've followed them to Japan and Australia. And Canada, of course. That was a breeze. I would have loved to see them in Paris last week, but my international budget was tapped for the year. I can get around the U.S. on the cheap." She pointed down the row. "The eight of us travel together. We share expenses."

  "I bow to the über fans." When the woman laughed, Quinn held out her hand. "I'm Quinn, by the way."

  "Ren."

  "Like the bird?" Names fascinated Quinn. Hers had been a mistake. It was supposed to be Queen. Thank God there was a miscommunication between her parents. Her father loved the regal moniker. Her mother swore she misunderstood what he had said. Whatever the truth, Quinn was grateful. Queen. She shuddered at the thought.