FLOWERS ON THE WALL (6 page)

Ryder knew that Zoe wouldn't have changed her life for anything. But she spent most of the time surrounded by men. The band. The crew. The only women were usually trying to get laid by a man in the band. Or, if that didn't work, a member of the crew.

Having Quinn around for a while would be good for his sister. Though Ryder would never say it within earshot of Zoe. She objected to anyone telling her what was good for her. Especially her big brother.

"Quinn isn't a child of the night. When she wakes up to greet the sun, we'll finally be ready for bed."

"Are you calling us vampires?" Dalton queried.

Ryder grinned. "You know how Ashe likes his steak."

Zoe and Dalton answered together. "Blood rare."

"And what is wrong with that?" Ashe demanded.

Leaving them to their inevitable sibling-like banter, Ryder drifted toward the back. Zoe hadn't exaggerated. Quinn was out like a light. Her head rested on the back of the bench seat near the window. Rain splashed against the window, the only light coming from the front of the bus where Alden, still in a snit, rested in his usual spot in a chair behind Boris.

"I promised not to push," Ryder said to a sleeping Quinn. "But what is the harm of me saving you from a stiff neck?"

Carefully, Ryder slid next to her. With impressive ease, he urged Quinn to move her head to his shoulder. She obliged, rubbing her cheek against the soft brushed cotton of his shirt, her lips curving upward in a small, sweet smile. When she sighed, Ryder rethought the wisdom of his move. Keeping his hands to himself was the honorable thing to do. When she snuggled closer, grazing his arm, Ryder gave a silent groan. Hell, he wasn't made of stone. He was tempted to gather her close so he would know what it felt like to have her body pressed against his. Without a doubt, he was certain it would be worth breaking his self-imposed code of honor. Two things kept him from caving.

First? Calvin Hart had considered all women fair game—no matter their state of consciousness. Ryder's father was an example that helped him keep a multitude of bad behavior at bay. All it took to stop him was the thought,
is this something Calvin would have done
? It stopped Ryder in his tracks every time.

Second? The look he imagined he would see in Quinn's eyes when she woke to find that Ryder had broken his word. It was a fine line, and it would be up to Quinn to interpret whether he had crossed it. But Ryder refused to make it an issue—one way or the other.

Taking on the mantle of a saint, Ryder closed his eyes and settled in—content to play pillow for Quinn. The bus contained every luxury available, yet he wasn't able to relax enough to rest. Not while it was moving. Until now. Slowly, his body relaxed. His mind unwound. His spirit calmed. Before he knew it, Ryder closed his eyes and slept.

ALDEN CHRISTOPHER STARED at the sleeping couple. No. They
weren't
a couple, and he refused to begin thinking of them that way. Quinn Abernathy was transitory—like every other woman in Ryder's life. The itch would be scratched, and she would disappear. Her name forgotten. Her face fading to nothingness.

Alden had witnessed the process for almost ten years. There was no reason to think this time would be different. Except… What? A feeling in his bones? The fact that Ryder looked at this one differently? Whatever it was, it made Alden uneasy.

Eyes narrowing, he watched as Ryder shifted toward Quinn. It was a mere inch or two, but irrationally, Alden felt it was significant. In sleep, Ryder's body sought out Quinn's. That couldn't be good.

"You have to stop, Alden." Ashe took the seat across the aisle.

"Stop?" Alden gave Ashe a cool look. "What do you mean?"

"You want to play it that way?" Ashe shook his head. "Fine. I will give it to you straight—no pun intended."

"I don't take everything personally."

"Yes, you do."

Ashe patted his knee. Alden knew it was meant to be comforting. Instead, he found it, and Ashe's tone, condescending.

"Don't get me wrong," Ashe continued. "As our manager, it is one of your best qualities. As Ryder likes to say, the devil is in the details. You care so much that you never miss a detail. It makes our lives easier knowing you will never drop the ball."

"I did this time," Alden mumbled, his gaze returning to the back of the bus. "That woman is trouble. And I'm the one who brought her here."

"Which brings me back to you, my friend. Ryder is never going to give you what you want. He can't."

Alden stiffened. This was not something he wanted to discuss. "I'm aware."

"Are you? Your attitude says differently. Ryder commented on it."

That made Alden sit up. "What did he say?"

"Relax. Ryder made an off-hand comment that you seemed out of sorts. But if you keep glaring at Quinn, it won't be long until he figures it out."

"She's inexperienced. That's all. I expected Rolling Stone to send a name photographer."

"You expected a man. Or an older woman. Quinn must have come as a shock. She's very beautiful."

"I suppose she is." Alden hated to admit the truth. "If you like that type."

"She may not be your cup of tea, but speaking as a heterosexual man, Quinn Abernathy is a head turner. Ryder's human, Alden. And straight." Ashe's gaze pinned him to his seat. "As an arrow."

"That isn't exactly breaking news."

"And yet you keep the hope alive that Ryder will what? Realize he's played for the wrong team all these years?"

"Of course not." Alden knew the chances were slim to none. But his heart wouldn't let go. Hope—slim as it was—wouldn't die.

"He's out of your league."

"I—" Alden tried to grasp what Ashe had said. "Pardon me?"

"The brutal truth is this. If Ryder were gay, you wouldn't stand a chance. He's a rock god, Alden. He would have his pick of the world's hottest homosexuals."

"And I don't qualify?" Alden knew it wasn't Ashe's intention to insult him. Yet that was exactly how it felt. Like a slap in the face. No. More like a punch.

"You're attractive."

"But?"

"You want me to make a list of your shortcomings? Hell no." Ashe stood, his expression somber. "You are a smart man, Alden. You know what I've said is true. Take my advice. Find a nice man. Settle down. And forget your Ryder fantasies. It's getting old."

Alden didn't comment. However, sitting alone as the bus traveled through the rain-drenched night, his brain began to analyze the conversation. Everything Ashe had said was true. Not that it made the pill any easier to swallow.

The first time he heard Ryder sing, Alden had known he was looking at a star. Though still a teenager, Ryder had the stage presence of a seasoned performer. Raw and powerful, he commanded the small stage. The crowd was rowdy, which was to be expected. It was Saturday night in a popular honky-tonk. However, Ryder made them pay attention with sheer talent and magnetism.

It was not the kind of place Alden normally frequented. But he had heard murmurings of a young man and his band. Alden's sources told him that with the right management, they had the potential to be something special.

It hadn't taken Alden long to decide he was what they needed to take the next step. Then the one after that. He hadn't expected to fall in love. To compound the first unfortunate mistake, he made a second that could have spelled disaster. He told Ryder how he felt.

It was why Alden didn't drink. It never ended well. Never. He could count on one hand the times he had over-imbibed. One had gotten him a chipped tooth. Another time he woke up in a pool of his own vomit. And the last time? Alden found the memory bittersweet. It was the first—and last—time he kissed Ryder.

They had only known each other for six months, but the band was already getting noticed by the right people. To celebrate, Alden popped the cork on a bottle of champagne—then proceeded to drink most of it himself. Ryder, Ashe, and Dalton preferred beer. Zoe rarely drank at all.

Naturally, Alden got sloppy. When he found himself alone with Ryder, he gave into his feelings. The kiss had been raw and passionate. On Alden's side. To his credit, Ryder didn't overreact. He easily shoved Alden away, wiped his mouth—that was a memory Alden could have done without—then calmly stated that he was flattered but not interested.

The incident was never mentioned again. Ryder treated him the same as always. As his friend as well as his manager. It had left Alden with two choices. Quit. Or hide his feelings. The answer had been obvious. Ryder Hart was on his way to superstardom—and Alden was going to be there every step of the way.

It turned out to be bad luck that Alden's feeling hadn't changed. Instead, they had grown stronger. Unrequited. God, he hated that word. It sounded strangely romantic. Romance had no place in his relationship with Ryder.

However, Alden was content to love from a distance. Women came and went without a hint of permanence. There was no reason to think Quinn Abernathy would be different. And yet…

Alden snuck another look. There was something that bothered him. He had made a study of Ryder Hart. Perhaps he read more into it than there was. Perhaps it would fizzle before it began. It was day two of what could turn out to be a very long two weeks.

Keep your eye on them
, Alden told himself. It was all he could do. Alden knew Ashe was right. Ryder was out of his league on every level. But in his heart, Ryder belonged to him. And he wasn't ready to let go.

QUINN HAD AN odd feeling that someone was watching her. Like a fleeting dream, it didn't stay with her long after she opened her eyes. She frowned, trying to remember where she was and why she was sleeping sitting up. Then it clicked. She was on Ryder Hart's tour bus. With her head on Ryder Hart's shoulder.

"This is disconcerting." She mumbled the words but didn't move away. Disconcerting wasn't necessarily bad.

"Is it? I like waking up with you in my arms."

"No arms involved." Quinn sat up, surreptitiously checking to see if she had drooled on Ryder's shirt. To her relief, the answer was no. "How did this happen?"

"Don't worry. Your virtue is intact. You used my shoulder as a pillow. That's as innocent as an ice cream social."

"How many ice cream socials have you attended?"

"None. But I have a terrific imagination."

Quinn couldn't fault Ryder's words. But the way he said them made her want to squirm. In a good way. It went to prove that she shouldn't spend this much time with him in such close proximity.

"I need to brush my teeth." Quinn skirted around the seated Ryder.

"Everyone is asleep, so the bathroom is empty," Ryder smiled as though enjoying a private joke. "We'll be in Philadelphia within the hour. There's a diner where we go first thing, no matter the time. I hope you're hungry."

Quinn's stomach felt hollow. When was the last time she had eaten? Between the excitement of starting the job and meeting the band, the impossible had happened. Quinn hadn't thought of food since yesterday at lunch. "How are their pancakes?"

"The best I've ever tasted."

Quinn rummaged around in her suitcase, trying to find her toiletries bag. "That is a lofty claim. I'm a bit of a pancake aficionado."

"Me too."

"There you are." Triumphantly, Quinn waved the bag over her head. "Why is it the one thing you need is always at the bottom of the pile?"

"A question for the ages." Ryder took her suitcase, replacing it on the rack. "You look pretty."

"I've been downgraded from beautiful?" Quinn laughed. She doubted Ryder's eyesight. Her hair hadn't seen a comb since before the concert. Who knew what kind of morning gunk lurked in the corner of her eyes. But it was nice of him to say. Even if, technically, it violated the no-flirting agreement. Or had they agreed to that?

"Did you promise me you wouldn't flirt?"

Ryder's hazel eyes took on a thoughtful expression. "I don't remember. I said you had a two-week no-seduction window. Flirting is innocent enough. Isn't it?"

Depends on the perpetrator
.

"Like an ice cream social?"

"There you go." Ryder reached out. For a second, Quinn thought he was going to touch her hair. He seemed to hover, then dropped his hand to his side. "Better grab the bathroom while you can. I see Linc stirring in his bunk. If he gets there first, it will be uninhabitable without fumigation."

"Lovely."

"That is the last thing I would call it."

Quinn didn't stand around quibbling. Linc's bare feet hung over the edge of his bunk.

"And Quinn?" Ryder called out before she closed the door.

"Yes?"

"I don't know what I was thinking. Pretty doesn't begin to describe you. Beautiful is better. I'll give it some thought and get back to you."

Exasperated, Quinn shut the door. The man was incorrigible. And fun. Her mother liked to tell the story of when Quinn was eight, and she declared that if she ever met a man who loved pancakes as much as she did, she would marry him. That was going a bit far. However, she had met a few men who turned their noses up. Carbs and empty calories. Jeez. Get over yourself.

Turning, Quinn froze. This was a
tour bus
bathroom? It was nicer than the one in her father's remodeled guest suite—and Cora had gone all-out fancy. This one boasted marble countertops and a shower with multiple jets. The black-and-white tile floor gleamed. As did the antique brass fixtures. And the towels. They were wonderfully thick and soft.

"Ryder and his band certainly like to do it up right."

Quinn stood before the mirror, slowly brushing her teeth. First class all the way. It was how she had grown up. Never wanting for anything. Never worrying about paying her bills or budgeting for food. Not that Quinn was living in poverty. Hardly that. She made enough to live comfortably. But not luxuriously. It would be nice to live in this world again—for a little while.

There was a small but comfortable apartment waiting for her in San Francisco. When she moved to something bigger and better, it would be paid for with her money. Earned by her talent. Quinn dreamed of that day. However, she was content at her slow and steady pace. She would make it. Eventually. And it would be all the sweeter because she made it without her father's help.