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.
"Let me see your face."
"I'm not suicidal, Quinn. That has never been my problem." With a resigned sigh, Ryder turned on the overhead light. It was a shock to her eyes, but Ryder fixed that by dimming the brightness to a pleasant glow. "There. Satisfied?"
"Not even close." Quinn stepped closer. "You look like you've been through the ringer. Twice." She felt his forehead.
"Jesus, Quinn. I'm tired—not sick," Ryder protested, but he didn't move away from her touch.
"Did you take some aspirin? And plenty of water?" Worried by his pale complexion, Quinn took his hand and led him to the bed. "Sit." When she saw he was about to protest, she softly added, "Please?"
Ryder sat. "This is ridiculous."
"Aspirin?"
"In the bathroom cabinet."
Quinn retrieved the pills. "And water?"
"I have a bottle by the bed."
She handed Ryder three tablets and the water. Tapping her foot when he hesitated, Quinn held his gaze until he gave in and downed the aspirin.
"Finish the water. You need to replenish the fluids you lost on stage."
"I do that during the performance," he told her, draining the bottle.
"I noticed you didn't take as many breaks as usual tonight. Dehydration can land you in the hospital. Is that what you want?"
"Did you drop out of medical school as well as law school? What is with the good nurse routine?"
Quinn hid her smile. Annoying Ryder hadn't been her goal, but she would take it. The color was back in his face, and there was renewed energy in the tone of his voice. Her job here was almost done. Leaning close, she brushed her lips over his forehead, then let her lips linger for a moment.
"Definitely no fever," she said as she drew back.
When Quinn would have moved away, Ryder caught her hand in his.
"Kiss me again. It won't take long for the heat to rise."
"If you can hit on me while looking like death warmed over, I know you're feeling better." Quinn tried to pull away. Reluctantly, Ryder let her go. "That line needs some work. Rising heat? Really?"
"I'm not at my best. Try me again tomorrow."
"One week, remember?" Quinn teased. "In seven days, you won't need a line. I will be a sure thing."
"I haven't made up my mind about that," Ryder said.
His eyes drooped. Finally, Quinn thought. He's ready for what his body needs most. Sleep.
"Yes, you have." Quinn pushed him back onto the bed. "We will be lovers, Ryder Hart. It's our destiny."
"You don't believe in that crap."
"Not even a little. I determine my future." He let her arrange him so his head was on the pillow. "Since it is my choice, I choose sex. With you."
"What if I say no?"
Removing his shoes and socks, Quinn pulled the covers up to Ryder's chin. "Will you?"
"Probably not." He smiled when Quinn gently tugged on his ear. "Kiss me good night."
"Please?" Quinn urged teasingly.
"Please."
Quinn meant to keep it light and friendly. However, Ryder had more energy than she anticipated. But the time she pulled away, both of them were breathing heavily.
"That was…" Quinn struggled to find the proper words. Wow pretty much covered it.
"Yes, it was."
Quinn waited until Ryder closed his eyes, then turned to leave.
"Thank you, Quinn."
Ryder's voice was groggy, but his words sent a warm burst of pleasure through her.
"Anytime."
Closing the door behind her, Quinn realized she meant it. Any time. She had to be careful. Fun and games—with a helping of friendship thrown in—was one thing. But she would be a fool to think there could be anything more. The second she let herself forget that, she would be in trouble.
You'll know when it's time to walk away, Quinn assured herself. She didn't fall easily. She didn't cling. Or dream of rose petals and forever after. And she certainly was not going to fall in love with Ryder Hart.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DRAMA OF Chicago seemed a distant memory on the last night of the tour. Ryder had returned to his old self—or at least the one that Quinn had gotten to know. Admittedly, it was a small sample size. But if she could believe Zoe—plus Ashe and Dalton—most of the time, Ryder was a well-adjusted, happy person.
When his demons caught up with him, it could be ugly. And frightening to witness. But when he shook them loose, he recovered quickly. Thank God.
"The show in Chicago may be the stuff of legends, but I'm content with great over legendary. It's easier on the nerves."
Ashe unpacked his saxophone while Quinn took pictures. Of the group, he was the most comfortable with her impromptu shots. Zoe rarely put up with it. Dalton tended to tense up—though he was better than when she first joined the tour.
As for Ryder, he couldn't take a bad picture—something Quinn would have sworn was impossible. However, she checked the digital shots e
very night and the man never looked bad. Some were better than others. None were perfect. And that was Quinn's goal. Perfection was boring. And there was nothing boring about Ryder Hart or his band.
However, Ryder came close. It didn't matter if he were a sweating mess after a concert or catching a nap on the bus. His good looks and sex appeal made every shot magazine ready. He made her job easy—something she didn't plan on sharing with her employer.
"Do you ever get tired of looking at life through the lens of a camera?"
Surprised by the comment, Quinn stopped before she took the shot.
"This is my job, Ashe. My livelihood. And my passion. But I don't live with a camera glued to my face."
"That's good. There is a lot to see when you look with both eyes." He nodded toward the stage. "Ryder, for example."
Quinn glanced to where Ryder was talking with one of the lighting technicians. Whatever he said had the other man laughing.
"Do you want to give me a hint as to what I'm supposed to see?"
"He's a good man. One of the best."
"I'm sure he is." Quinn was afraid she knew where this was going. She decided to stop Ashe before he crossed over into potentially embarrassing territory. "I like Ryder. I like all of you."
Ashe didn't get the hint. "And we like you."
"Even Zoe?"
"Even Zoe," he laughed. "Much to her surprise. It's different with Ryder."
"Ashe—"
"Calm down. I'm not saying he's in love with you."
"Good." Quinn's heart rate had spiked. Relieved, it began to lower. "Tell me what you are saying."
"Ryder never takes a break. In all the years I've known him, his idea of a vacation has been songwriting or recording. Or working with other artists. I love the guy like a brother, but he's become a bit of a bore. He needs to cut loose. With you."
"What makes you think I have that kind of influence?"
"Maybe you don't. But would it hurt to try?"
"I'll think about it."
Satisfied that he had planted the seed, Ashe took out a new reed for the mouthpiece of his sax.
"I can't believe you gave Quinn that poor Ryder routine," Dalton said, shaking his head. He carried his drumsticks in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. "Ryder has no problem leaving work behind. Last winter. In Figi? By the time we left, he had closed down every bar and nightclub in town."
"I wanted to give Quinn a little nudge."
"Quinn isn't the problem in this equation. Ryder is the one dragging his heels. For some unfathomable reason."
Ashe sighed. "Our friend has something called a conscience."
"A conscience? What's that?" Dalton asked, tongue in cheek. There had been a time when he ignored his. But maturity and the influence of a few good friends had turned him into one of the good guys. At times, Dalton found himself on the fence as to how he felt about that.
"You know. Most of the time." Ashe swung an arm over Dalton's shoulders. "Ryder needs a nudge—and you are just the man to give it to him."
"Short of dynamite, how do I move a mountain?"
"The green-eyed monster, my friend."
Dalton's eyes widened. "No. Absolutely not. I like my pearly whites. The last thing I need is for Ryder to knock them down my throat."
"It won't come to that," Ashe assured him. "Probably. All you have to do is express interest in the lovely Quinn. Ryder won't knock your teeth out over that."
"Says you," Dalton grumbled. However, they both knew he would go along with Ashe's plan. Dalton owed Ryder everything. He would never be able to repay his friend, but he would never stop trying.
"Now is a good time to start. A few well-chosen words should get Ryder thinking."
"Before the show?"
"Yes." Ashe gave Dalton a hefty shove. "And be subtle."
Behind his back, Dalton flipped Ashe off. But he kept going. Ashe watched as Dalton struck up a conversation with Ryder. Casual, Ashe thought. That's good. He grinned when he saw the expression on Ryder's face change. Not exactly angry. But not pleased.
"Good, boy," Ashe said to himself as Dalton walked away, leaving an annoyed, thoughtful Ryder in his wake. "If that doesn't give you the kick you need, nothing will."
"Talking to yourself again?" Zoe asked. She was dressed and ready for the show.
"I'm a fascinating conversationalist."
"Since when?"
"Smartass." Ashe gave Zoe a brotherly hug. "Come on. It's our last night. Let's go be brilliant."
"Aren't we always?"
Picking up his sax, Ashe ran his fingers up and down the keys in an impressive display. "No argument here."
THE LAST PICTURE she took, on the last night of the tour, turned out to be Quinn's favorite. The four band members, Ryder, Zoe, Ashe, and Dalton, stood at the edge of the stage, arms around each other. After a long tour, they were tired. But the audience didn't see it. They had treated their fans to the best they had to give.
Flushed with success, they took one last bow. Quinn caught the moment when Ryder said something only his friends could hear. Something that made them laugh. She couldn't be certain, but something told her this would be the cover of the magazine. The shot represented the band perfectly. Ryder might be the front man. But they were a team. Together. No matter what.
Quinn didn't stick around after the curtain fell. She had everything she needed to submit her story. In fact, she could have sent if off that afternoon. It was ready—and the pictures were some of the best of her career. But something had told her to hold off. It turned out she had been right to follow her gut.
Taking out her phone, she sent Ryder a text explaining that she had found a ride and would be at the hotel. As it turned out, getting a cab was an adventure. But she managed. Excited to begin, Quinn let herself into her room and got to work.
Quinn stretched her arms over her head. Glancing at the clock, she was amazed to see that it was almost dawn. As it always did when she immersed herself in her work, time flew by.
Typing in her editor's email address, Quinn took a deep breath before hitting send. She doubted the story would be published as is. However, she was confident it wouldn't need more than a few tweaks. It was good. Borderline great—if she did say so herself.
Yawning, Quinn pulled off her clothes and crawled into bed. She didn't feel particularly sleepy, but she needed to rest. Ryder wasn't leaving until tomorrow afternoon. She had given her conversation with Ashe a lot of thought. The band was at the end of a long, exhausting tour and Ryder needed a vacation. He hadn't asked her to go with him. However, if he did, she planned on saying no.
They had today. A few hours to enjoy each other. Good old-fashioned sex. Then goodbye. It was for the best. Quinn had to concentrate on her career, and there was no room in her life for Ryder Hart.
As for Ryder? He didn't need Quinn. Ryder had the world at his feet. That was more than enough for anyone.
"THE PROFITS FOR the tour are significantly above what we projected. Overhead came in under budget and concessions sales were through the roof. The exclusive stadium t-shirts might become collectors' items. They sold out. The online version is getting close. Though we can get more of those printed."
"That's great, Alden. Have the report sent to everyone. I know that Dalton doesn't bother, but Ashe and Zoe like to go over the numbers."
"Mmm." Alden made a note so he wouldn't forget. "Now that you've added to everyone's sizable wealth, what are your plans? Besides getting into the studio next month."
"That's it." Ryder double checked the closet before zipping up his suitcase. "I am going to sleep late and eat whatever I want."
Alden scoffed. "How long will that last? A week at the most."
"A week is good." Depending on a certain photographer, he might stretch it to two. "What about you? The Bahamas? I know you prefer the Caribbean."
"I haven't decided. Perhaps I'll do a staycation. The renovations are finally complete on
my house. I should take some time to enjoy it."
"Sounds like a winner. After months on the road, home is a nice concept."
One that Ryder had yet to fully grasp. He had a house purchased when Alden had insisted it was a good investment. And it had been—according to Alden. It was worth almost twice what he paid for it. Tucked up in the Hollywood Hills, Ryder had been there exactly twice. Once to approve Alden's choice, and again when he had to decide where he wanted to put the swimming pool.
Ryder assumed the pool was finished—Alden showed him pictures. But he couldn't work up the enthusiasm to see it in person. Perhaps it was time to cash in on his investment before the market made its inevitable periodic downswing.
"I want to sell my Hollywood Hills place."
"What?" Caught off guard, Alden almost choked on his own spit. He coughed, sending Ryder an appalled look. "Why? It's a beautiful home."
"It's a beautiful house," Ryder corrected. "I've never lived there."
"But—"
"And I never will, Alden. Los Angeles is fine to visit, but it isn't where I see myself. After spending most of my life as a nomad, I want to try settling in one place between tours. Apartment living has gotten old."
Ryder had apartments in Los Angeles, New York, and Miami. Between touring, recording, and everything else involved in being Ryder Hart, he rarely spent time in any of them. When he did, they felt cold and generic. Hiring an expensive decorator only went so far to make a place a home. Ryder hadn't figured out the exact equation. Whatever it was, it was time to find it.
"Wasn't that the point when you bought your house—five years ago?"
"I thought so." Ryder couldn't explain except to say, "I wasn't ready."
"What's changed?" Alden's eyes grew wide. "Don't tell me this is because of the photographer. You've only known her for two weeks, Ryder."
"It has nothing to do with Quinn. I've been thinking about this for some time. I decided to wait until after the tour to mention my plans."
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