FLOWERS ON THE WALL (10 page)

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."

"If not Los Angeles, where?"

"I like New York. Or Seattle. They have a great music scene there."

"If you like the rain," Alden sneered.

"I do, as a matter of fact. Seattle isn't set in stone, Alden. I told you, I haven't decided."

"Then hold onto the house until you do. What's the hurry to sell?"

"You appear to be more attached to the place than I am. Should I get Shayla to find a realtor?"

"There is no need to trouble your assistant. I'm certain the realtor who sold it to you will be more than happy to take the listing. There will probably be multiple offers before you get back from your vacation." Alden stood. "I suppose that's it. Unless there's something else, I'll be going."

"It was a stellar tour, Alden." When Alden would have shaken his hand, Ryder laughed, pulling the man in for a hug. He knew why Alden hesitated. But it did neither of them any good to tiptoe around it. They had been friends a long time. He wasn't going to start holding back his affection because Alden couldn't get past his feelings.

"Right." Awkwardly patting Ryder on the back, Alden cleared his throat. "I will see you in a few weeks."

"Take care, Alden."

"Always."

Alden opened the hotel room door just as Quinn was about to knock.

"Oops," Quinn laughed. "I almost rapped you on the head."

"Hello, Ms. Abernathy."

"Will it ever be Quinn?"

"I doubt it. I spoke to your editor this morning. It seems your submission was satisfactory."

"So I understand." Quinn wondered if Alden planned on barring her from the room. "You will get an advance copy for approval."

"I would hope so."

"Is that Quinn?" Ryder called out from the bathroom.

Quinn heard Alden's sigh. He moved aside to let her enter. "Goodbye, Ms. Abernathy."

It sounded so final, as though Alden expected this to be the last time their paths crossed. Perhaps it would be. Quinn decided to leave it open ended. Partly because she didn't know if this was the end. But mostly because she knew it would rankle Alden.

"See you around, Mr. Christopher."

To Quinn's satisfaction, Alden's mouth tightened. She closed the door behind him before she broke out laughing.

"I like the sound of that."

Quinn looked Ryder up and down. It didn't matter how many times she saw him, it always made her glad she was a woman who liked men. Especially one who looked like Ryder Hart. "Hello, handsome."

"Hello, beautiful."

Ryder didn't move toward her. And for now, she was happy where she was.

"Have you had any thoughts about us?" Seeing no need to be subtle, Quinn cocked her head in the direction of the bed.

"When it comes to us," Ryder repeated her gesture, "that's all I
have
thought about. In graphic detail."

"I like that." Quinn's clothes and other personal items were packed and waiting in her room. But when she wasn't home, she never left her camera unattended. Setting the case on the floor, she removed her jacket. "I would love to hear all about it."

"Do you like dirty talk?" Ryder circled her, getting a little closer with each pass.

"I might. If the right man did the talking."

"Dalton?"

"I beg your pardon." Appalled, Quinn's eyes narrowed. Whatever she had missed, she didn't think she would like it.

Ryder laughed. "Before the concert last night, Dalton hinted that he had his eye on you."

"That is news to me."

"I suspect Ashe was behind it. He knew I hadn't decided if this," he motioned toward the bed, "was a good idea."

"And what? He thought if it seemed as though Dalton were sniffing around, it would turn you into a jealous fool?"

"Something like that. I knew what was up right away. Not that I didn't believe that he could be interested in you," Ryder quickly assured her. "But I know my friends. There is a line we don't cross."

"You don't poach each other's women?"

"Never."

Quinn liked that they thought of her as Ryder's woman. Temporary as the title might be.

"Their machinations didn't work?"

"Nope."

"Where does that leave us?"

"Here." Ryder pulled down the covers on the bed. "If it's what you want."

"I made it clear what I wanted." Quinn moved until she and Ryder stood only inches apart. "My editor loved my pictures. We fiddled with the layout for a couple of hours this morning until we were both satisfied. That means," she ran a finger over the top button of his shirt. "As of twelve-thirty this afternoon, I am officially off the job."

"That's all I've been waiting for."

CHAPTER NINE

RYDER COULDN'T REMEMBER the last time he wanted something—anything or anyone—as much as he wanted Quinn. Perhaps it was the anticipation. Two weeks was not a long time. However, Ryder was not used to waiting. When he desired a woman, she was his. Any woman. Any time. That wasn't his ego talking, it was fact. Part of it was him—the way he looked. But mostly it was the musician thing. Ryder had learned long ago that women liked a man who played an instrument. When he did it on stage
and
sang? From the time he played his first gig until today, finding a willing sex partner had never been a problem.

In Ryder's often misspent youth, he wasn't picky. He used condoms and took his chances. He had been damn lucky—all things considered. No transmitted diseases and nobody showed up pregnant. Though one woman tried a paternity suit just after he hit it big. Thank God for DNA testing. Ryder could have sworn on a stack of bibles that he had never slept with the lady—which was the truth. However, nobody could argue with science. He was not the child's father.

Sex used to be a way to make himself feel better. A way to connect with another human being. Ryder was no longer a randy, needy teenager. When he took a woman to bed, it was about desire. Instead of a quick fuck in the parking lot of a seedy bar, he took his time. There was finesse, style, and skill that he had deliberately cultivated. No more wham, bang, thank you, ma'am.

Ryder considered himself to be a mature, thoughtful lover. So why did he want to rip Quinn's clothes from her body and take her with all the skill of an untried virgin?

"Is there a problem?" Quinn asked.

"No."
Yes
. But it was difficult to explain without fear of scaring the crap out of her.

"I feel a little desperate." Slowly, Quinn unbuttoned his shirt. "I feel as if I've been waiting for this moment a long, long time."

"Two weeks." Ryder took a deep breath. Quinn's fingers brushed against his chest, making him swallow. If the lightest of touches made him burn, how would he last?

Quinn's lips curved into a smile. "I promised myself I wouldn't do this. That lasted about a day. Then I told myself it was okay to lust after you. Why should I be any different than every other woman in the world."

"Not
every
woman." Though Ryder liked knowing Quinn thought so.

"Close enough. It could be intimidating." Quinn's smile grew wider when she finished her task, folding back the ends of Ryder's shirt to reveal his bare chest. "That would be worth tackling a thousand buttons." She met his gaze. "What was I saying?"

"It could be intimidating?"

"Right. I don't shy away from a challenge. I plan on making this memorable for you, Ryder Hart. No matter how many women come after, you
will
remember me."

"I don't doubt it for a second."

The pleasure his words gave her sparkled in Quinn's lovely blue eyes. Ryder gave into his need to touch her. But he did so tentatively, placing his hands on her hips.

"You could kiss me," Quinn said, leaning closer.

"
You
could kiss
me
."

"Or…" she began.

"We could kiss each other."

The second their lips met, Ryder wondered what the hell he had been waiting for. Quinn tasted like heaven—and felt even better. With his tongue, he traced the outline of her mouth. He didn't ask for her to open; she did so on her own with a welcoming sigh.

Ryder loved kissing—another thing he had learned the joys of as he grew older. There had been a time when any kind of foreplay seemed like a waste of time. Now, he savored the pleasure of a woman's soft lips against his. And Quinn's? He could have gone on kissing her for hours.

Maybe another time. Today, Ryder wanted more. He craved everything.

Impatient to feel her skin against his, Ryder pulled Quinn's top over her head.

"That is a very pretty bra."

"Why, thank you." Quinn traced the top of a lilac-colored lace cup. "It's new."

Ryder's finger joined Quinn's, following right behind. "How new?"

"I bought it yesterday," she whispered, her eyes following the path of his finger.

"Were you thinking about me?"

"Yes."

Lord, Quinn's honesty made his blood heat. She didn't play coy or bat her eyes. She told him straight out that she purchased the sexy underwear with him in mind. In Ryder's opinion, there was nothing sexier than the truth.

Ryder slipped his hand up Quinn's side, sliding to her back. "May I take it off?"

"This morning when I put it on, I was hoping you would."

Years of playing the guitar had made Ryder's fingers nimble. With one hand, he easily unclasped her bra. He smiled when Quinn let out a happy sigh. The teasing banter had calmed him a bit. The urge to take her hard and fast had lessened—though not by much.

Easing the straps off Quinn's shoulders, Ryder kissed her neck before returning to her mouth for a long, heated kiss. His hand cupped her breast, the nipple hard against his palm. Ryder squeezed gently, flicking the straining peak with the calloused pad of his thumb.

"You like that?" he asked when Quinn gasped. Before she could answer, he did it again. "The guitar strings make the tips of my fingers rough."

"Another reason women go crazy for musicians."

Ryder chuckled. Quinn had a quick mind, and he found it damn sexy. Along with her taste. And the feel of her breasts. And her smile. Hell. Quinn was sexy top to bottom—inside and out.

"Let's find out what else drives you crazy."

Ryder licked the side of Quinn's neck—that sweet spot just below her ear. When she gasped, Ryder did it again, adding his teeth to the mix. Quinn grasped his shoulders, her fingers biting into his flesh.
Oh, yes. A sweet spot indeed
.

Falling to his knees, Ryder looked up. The view was spectacular. Quinn's flushed face, her lips parted slightly. The underside of her breasts that were topped by dark crimson nipples. Ryder nuzzled her belly button before laying a line of kisses just above the waistband of her pants.

Quinn's fingers slid into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp. This time, it was his turn to groan. When he looked up, her blues eyes met his. Bright. Blazing. And yet, strangely tender. Ryder swallowed. Something changed in that instant, though he couldn't have said what it was. It was fleeting. Dancing out of his grasp before he could fully comprehend what had happened. Then Quinn smiled, and he stopped worrying about anything else.

"You should be naked," she told him in a matter-of-fact manner—as though she spoke those words every day.

"Funny. I was thinking the same thing about you." Ryder unbuttoned her pants. "Do your panties match your bra?"

Quinn's lips twitched. "Will it be a major mood killer if they don't?"

"At the moment, this mood could survive anything. Even granny panties."

When Ryder began to lower her zipper, Quinn stayed his motion.

"What if they are big and white and made of that slippery satin?"

Ryder laughed. "Since I'm not having sex with your undies, I couldn't care less what they look like."

With a provocative wink, Quinn let him continue. Slowly, Ryder moved the zipper down inch by inch until he found a scrap of lilac-colored lace.

"Disappointed?"

"I think I can muddle through."

In one quick motion, Ryder had Quinn's pants at her ankles. Without prompting, she kicked them and her flats to the side with an impressively smooth move.

"Beautiful," Ryder murmured.

"My panties?"

"You. All of you."

Quinn put her hand under his chin, tipping his face toward hers. "Right back at you."

There it was again. That odd feeling Ryder couldn't identify zipped along the base of his spine. Gone in an instant. Perhaps it was never there. Rather than dwell on something he couldn't name—or control—Ryder turned his full attention to Quinn. With one finger, he toyed with the lace at the top of her leg.

"Mind if I rip these off?"

Quinn took in a quick breath. However, when she spoke, her voice was steady, light, and teasing.

"I would rather you didn't. They
are
new. Besides, I wouldn't have anything to match my bra."

"Very practical." Before Quinn could react, Ryder tore the lace in two, tossing the scraps over his shoulder. "I'll buy you a new pair. With a bra to match."

"Damn straight you will." But there was no heat to her words. If anything, the arousal in Quinn's voice had deepened.

"This is pretty." Ryder touched the tiny tuft of hair between her legs.

"I had it done after I bought the underwear. It's a heart." Quinn paused as though waiting for his reaction. "It was a silly whim. Was it too much?"