FLOWERS ON THE WALL

by Williams, Mary J.

  Laughing silently, Quinn was glad Ryder couldn't hear her thoughts. Comparing him to a gold strike? She was going to keep that one to herself.

  Ryder ran his hand over her back, coming to rest on her butt. Quinn had just enough energy to wiggle it in appreciation.

  "I need food," he patted his flat stomach. "And a shower. You pick the order."

  "You've worn me out. Food means room service. Which means using the phone." Quinn made a feeble show of reaching toward the nightstand. "Nope. Can't do it."

  "I could move."

  Quinn could hear the smile in Ryder's voice. Her lips curved in response.

  "My body is draped over yours—most comfortably. If you move, I move. Sorry. I can't sanction that."

  "Hold on." Holding her in place, Ryder shifted. Quinn would have protested, but he had the phone before she could summon the energy.

  "Impressive."

  "That's what you said after your… fifth orgasm?" Quinn merely hummed in appreciation, causing Ryder to laugh. "What are you hungry for?"

  "Well…" Quinn reached between Ryder's legs. She found the twitch of response encouraging—and a little flattering.

  "Good, God." Ryder swatted her hand away. "I'm only human, woman. I need fuel before I can pleasure you again."

  Quinn didn't tell Ryder that she was as worn out as he was. Food sounded good. A shower sounded better.

  "Do you want a steak?" Ryder asked, picking up the receiver. "I'm having a steak."

  "With sautéed mushrooms and French fries."

  "Salad?"

  "I don't think so," Quinn snorted.

  Ryder put in their order. After consulting Quinn, he added a slice of apple pie and a piece of cheesecake for dessert. Hanging up, he surprised her by jumping from the bed and swinging her into his arms.

  "I thought you were running on fumes," Quinn laughed, wrapping her arms around Ryder's neck.

  "Just the thought of food has given me a second wind." He headed toward the bathroom. "We have thirty minutes. Want to bet how many times I can make you cry out my name?"

  "Why bother?" Quinn whispered into his ear. "Once? Twice? I win either way."

  "Three times?"

  Slamming the door behind them, Quinn pinched Ryder's butt. "Don't get cocky."

  Ryder reached into the stall, turning the multiple jets on full blast. "Is that a challenge?" he asked, pulling her close.

  "I would be happy with one, Ryder."

  Quinn learned fast that Ryder Hart had a competitive streak in him a mile wide. She hadn't issued a challenge, but he took it as one.

  "Three it is."

  Quinn's laughter turned to moans the second Ryder led her into the shower and dropped to his knees. If the man was that determined, who was she to argue?

  CHAPTER TEN

  IN HER ENTIRE life, Quinn could not remember anything tasting better than the meal in front of her. The steak was perfectly cooked. The French fries crispy brown. Even the broccoli—which she had no say in ordering—was fresh and tasty.

  Quinn chewed a piece of the tender meat. A good meal was fine. What made it great was the company. Ryder sat across from her in nothing but a dark blue robe. His hair, damp from their shared shower, curled around his ears, the ends brushing the collar of his robe. A woman could go a long way before she found a more appealing dinner companion.

  "Stop smirking."

  "Me?" Ryder gave her a not so innocent look. "What would I have to smirk about?"

  "You are perfectly aware." Quinn wanted to sound exasperated—truly she did. But it was difficult when the reason for Ryder's expression had made her feel so good.

  "I admitted that you are a sex god."

  "And…" Ryder urged.

  "Nobody has ever given me so much pleasure in such a short amount of time." Quinn could have said, nobody has ever given me so much pleasure—period. But why should she feed Ryder's already sizable ego? She suspected he knew the truth. That was good enough.

  "I counted three orgasms. Four was in reach, but the food arrived."

  "Thank you, Ryder."

  To emphasize her appreciation, Quinn transferred half of her French fries onto Ryder's plate. He didn't know it, but for a woman who loved a good fry, that was quite the gesture of gratitude.

  "With complete sincerity, I can say, the pleasure was mutual."

  "Is this your usual routine?" Quinn inquired.

  "Crazy sex in random hotel rooms?"

  Quinn shrugged. "That is most people's idea of a rock star's life. But it isn't what I meant."

  "I have some pretty crazy stories I could tell you."

  Now he wanted to share? After two weeks of, my personal life is off limits, Ryder wanted to talk about his sex life? It was possible he was teasing. However, Quinn didn't want to hear it. Now, or ever. If she hadn't been planning on cleaning her plate, she would have tossed the rest of her meal in his lap.

  "I'm certain your many exploits could fill a book."

  "Well…"

  "Save that for when you're old and ready to write a tell-all biography. I wanted to know if your life was this?" Quinn motioned toward their meal. "Hotels? Room service? The life of a nomad? I know from experience that traveling on business—even rock-star business—isn't as glamorous as it sounds. Does it grow old?"

  When Ryder didn't answer, Quinn sighed.

  "I understand I have broken rule number one. No questions. I thought you might bend a little since we've spent most of the day naked. I know very little about you, Ryder—outside of gossip and your official biography. You've been inside of me. Doesn't that entitle me to a little post-coital Q & A?"

  "I agree." Ryder sat back, a thoughtful smile on his face. "The reason I hesitated is that you used the term nomad. I found it ironic. I had described myself the same way just this morning."

  "Is that good or bad?"

  "Finished with that?" Ryder pointed to her plate.

  Surprised to see that she had indeed polished off every scrap, Quinn nodded. Ryder cleared the small table they used to dine. It was near the window, giving them a view of the city skyline as they ate. He stacked the dishes before picking up their dessert.

  "A fork for you." The apple pie smelled fantastic. However, cheesecake was a weakness that Quinn didn't mind admitting. Guessing her dilemma, Ryder smiled. "I thought we could share."

  Quinn didn't wait for him to sit. "Mmm. Extra creamy," she sighed. She held a bite of the cheesecake out for Ryder to sample. "Isn't that luscious?"

  "You seem easily distracted by food."

  Not the least bit insulted, Quinn sampled the pie. It was good. But she went back to the cheesecake. "And sex. Don't forget the sex."

  "That isn't likely." Ryder seemed happy to watch Quinn, taking a bite whenever she fed it to him.

  "It doesn't work unless it's good. The food and the sex. You can't distract me with a mediocre pizza or boring sex."

  "Good to know."

  Quinn took a sip of water, her gaze meeting Ryder's. "Are you laughing at me?"

  "Maybe. A little. But not in a bad way.

  Deciding she could live with that, Quinn offered Ryder more cheesecake. When he shook his head, she set down the fork. It didn't happen often, but she was full. Both her stomach and her libido were wonderfully satisfied. For now.

  "Okay, nomad man, tell me your tale."

  For a moment, Quinn thought that Ryder had changed his mind. Getting him to talk about himself was a big step. Perhaps he was ready. However, after a little while, he began.

  "I have been on my own since I was sixteen—by choice. The foster care system and I didn't see eye to eye."

  Quinn knew the basics of Ryder's background. His mother left soon after Zoe was born—never to be heard from again. His father was a troubled man. He drank. Did drugs. Though there was nothing on record, it was suspected that Ryder had suffered parental abuse. How extensive? Only Ryder could say. It was a subject strictly off
limits.

  When Ryder was thirteen and Zoe ten, their father committed suicide. The rest, like all aspects of his life, was sketchy. To Quinn's surprise, Ryder had handed her a piece of the puzzle.

  "You ran away?"

  "Ran. Was pushed. I suppose it depends on your perspective—and who you ask. The last couple who took me in tried to sell their story to the tabloids. They painted themselves as saintly do-gooders. Loving. Caring. I, on the other hand, had been a nasty handful. They tried to show me love and compassion. I rewarded their efforts by trashing their home before disappearing. They searched. Called the police. But until they saw my picture in a magazine—all grown up and famous—they had lived with the constant worry that I had met a tragic ending."

  "I don't recall reading that story." To prepare for her job following Ryder and his band, Quinn had scoured the internet. As the saying said, forearmed is forewarned. She would have remembered a story like the one Ryder had mentioned.

  "That's because it was never published. Alden slipped them a few bucks and made them sign a non-disclosure agreement."

  "At your request?"

  "No." Ryder pushed back from the table. He threaded his fingers through his hair until his hands cupped the back of his head. When his eyes met Quinn's, a hard edge had entered his gaze. "That was Alden. If I had known what he was doing, I would have stopped him. I don't give a shit about what people say about me. I never have. I'm a musician, not a saint. There isn't much that could tarnish my image. Just the opposite. Chicks love a bad boy."

  It was a cynical outlook. And oh, so true.

  "If you don't care, why all the secrecy?" Quinn frowned. "The first thing you made clear when you agreed to let me photograph you and your band was that your past was off limits. No questions. None."

  "I told you it was up to Dalton and Ashe. If they wanted to talk, I had no problem with that. As for me?" Ryder hesitated. "My past is tied directly to Zoe's. To protect her privacy, it is easier not to say anything."

  "What about Zoe? Does she avoid interviews to protect you?"

  For some reason, Ryder found Quinn's question amusing. "You would have to ask her."

  Quinn chuckled. It was a fascinating maze filled with twists, turns, and dead ends. Ryder. Zoe. Dalton. Ashe. They were such mysteries. Deliberate or not, it added to their public appeal. The foursome was talented, young, attractive, and kept their private lives just that—private. Not an easy accomplishment in this day and age of twenty-four-hour news cycles where there was an easy buck made by anyone peddling half-truths and innuendo.

  "You protect them all, don't you?"

  "With my life—if necessary.

  It was said with such a calm conviction that Quinn knew Ryder wasn't exaggerating. He meant every word. A shiver ran down Quinn's spine. She didn't know how she felt. Unsettled? Disturbed? But there was an emotion she recognized immediately. Jealousy. What was it like to have someone that committed to keeping you, and your secrets, safe? Sadly, Quinn doubted she would ever know.

  "I think we got off the subject."

  "So we did." Ryder took Quinn's hand, leading her to the sofa. He sat, settling her by his side with his arm around her shoulders—holding her close. "I don't often ramble. I guess you bring it out in me."

  "Is that good or bad?" Quinn asked as she relaxed against Ryder.

  This was nice. Almost normal. It would have been easy to forget that she was sitting next to one of the most famous musicians in the world. Quinn was too smart to let that happen. She knew this would end—and soon. However, no matter what tomorrow brought, for tonight, Ryder belonged to her. How many women could say that?

  "Good. I live too much inside my head. The songs. The music. It's profitable. However, it is not always comfortable. You make me laugh. And want."

  Ryder kissed her slowly. It wasn't a prelude to anything. Simply a kiss to be enjoyed for what it was. With a sigh, Quinn sank in. She wanted to have a lasting memory of Ryder's taste and touch and feel.

  "Where were we?" Quinn asked Ryder as he pulled back.

  The smile Ryder gave her could only be described as a smirk. A sexy smirk, to be sure. It was the sexy part that made her smile in spite of herself. She didn't want to add to the man's cocky attitude. But what could she do?

  "I was about to tell you that I'm tired of the nomadic lifestyle."

  "Right." Quinn snuggled closer, her hand resting on his hip. "Tell me more."

  Needing no further prompting, Ryder explained to Quinn about the home he had bought but never lived in. The apartments that acted more like temporary hostels than actual homes.

  Whether he knew it or not, he was giving Quinn an insight she hadn't expected. Ryder Hart had never lived in a real home. A haven away from the world. His childhood had been filled with abandonment, abuse, and the knowledge that he wasn't wanted—any place.

  "I'm ready for a home. The problem is making one."

  "When I was a little girl, I believed the myth that a home meant a mother and a father. They never fought or cheated or left."

  "Or hit," Ryder mumbled to himself.

  Though it made her want to cry, Quinn had a feeling that Ryder wouldn't appreciate it if she wept for the little boy he once was. Instead, she took his hand and linked her fingers with his. Silently, she told him that if he needed her strength, here it was.

  "My parents argued all the time. They didn't try to hide their problems behind closed doors. And maybe that was good. I don't know. I do know they were miserable together. Mom remarried—happily as far as I know. My father remarried. Divorced. Remarried. I have no idea if this one will stick."

  "Hardly Leave It to Beaver."

  "That show was always a myth." Quinn leaned back so that she could look Ryder in the eyes. She reached out, smoothing back the lock of wavy hair that had fallen over his forehead. "I think home is where you want to be. My father didn't want to be with my mother. She made a home with her new husband. He's still looking."

  "What about you?"

  To Quinn's relief, there was nothing but interest in Ryder's hazel eyes. No lingering sadness. No pain.

  "I think of my little apartment as home. I'm comfortable there. My neighbors are friendly."

  "Comfortable would be nice. I've never had that." Ryder sent her a self-deprecating smile. "Poor me. Fame. Fortune. Adoring fans. What do I have to complain about?"

  "I didn't hear a complaint. I heard you wishing for a little peace and quiet."

  "That would be nice." Ryder sighed. Then a slow smile lit his face. "What are you doing when you leave here?"

  "Laundry."

  Laughing, Ryder brought her hand to his lips. It was such a sweet, natural gesture. He had an innate charm that couldn't be learned. If she weren't careful, she could lose her head—and her heart. It was a good thing they would be parting ways tomorrow. The last thing Quinn needed was to start wanting something that could never happen. That would be a major complication and nothing but folly.

  "I'm taking a vacation. Sand and sun. Mountains and trees. It doesn't matter."

  "Sounds like heaven."

  "I'm glad you think so," Ryder grinned. "Come with me."

  Quinn stared at him for a second, making certain he was serious. When he stared back, his gaze never wavering, she realized he meant it. Well, crap.

  "I'm afraid my bank account is on the lean side these days. But I appreciate the invitation."

  "This isn't Dutch treat, Quinn. I'll pay for everything."

  "God, no." Quinn jumped to her feet. "I pay my own way."

  "That's admirable. But what's the harm in letting me treat you to a few days of carefree fun?"

  "Would you agree if our situations were reversed?"

  "Hell, yes." Ryder laughed. "I always thought I would make a terrific gigolo."

  "The equivalent of a male prostitute? What would that make me if I agreed to go with you?"

  "A friend—and lover. Jesus, Quinn. How did this conve
rsation take such a bizarre turn?" Ryder shook his head, clearly puzzled.

  "I'm sorry, Ryder. Money is a bit of a sore spot with me."

  "Really? I never would have guessed."

  "Jeez." Quinn paced back and forth. "My father used money to keep me in line, dangling it like a carrot. Here is your reward, Quinn. Go to law school and I will pay for your education. Promise to join my firm and that new car is yours. When I rebelled by dropping out of school, he cut off his financial support."

  "You survived."

  "Better than that. I thrived."

  Ryder looked her over. "I can see that." He stood, sweeping Quinn into his arms. They began to sway to a silent rhythm. "I'm not asking for anything in return, Quinn."

  Quinn laughed when Ryder spun her in a circle.

  "Nothing?" she asked provocatively.

  "I don't want to buy your body. Or your time. I want you to give both freely—because you enjoy our time together as much as I do. Forget the money for a moment. If all things were equal—financially speaking—would you say yes?"

  Would she? Quinn swayed in Ryder's arms, thinking hard about his question. It was dangerous on so many levels. But, oh, so tempting. Forget the money? Okay. Ryder wasn't using it to manipulate her. It would be fun to take a trip that had nothing to do with work and simply relax.

  "You want to say yes." Ryder began to hum a slow, sultry tune. They danced, their bodies perfectly in tune as though they had known each other for years, instead of weeks. "Would you like separate rooms?"

  "If I go, I want to be with you. Two rooms? Separate beds? That would be a waste of money."

  Ryder nuzzled Quinn's neck with his lips. "Why are you hesitating? Two weeks with nothing to worry about except which bikini to wear."

  Quinn tilted her head, giving him better access. "What makes you think I own a bikini?"

  "Even better. We'll get a bungalow on a private beach and spend all day naked. No tan lines."