FLOWERS ON THE WALL (12 page)

"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 conversation 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."

Ryder described paradise, and Quinn wanted to quibble about money and her pride? If she said yes, all she had to worry about was Ryder stealing part of her heart. Honestly, that had already happened. If she said no, there was no doubt in her mind that she would regret it for the rest of her life.

Why
was
she hesitating?

"Ryder—" Quinn groaned when her phone rang. She knew the ringtone.
What Have You Done For Me Lately
? "That would be my father."

Ryder pulled her closer, his wandering lips finding the curve of her ear. "Let it go to voicemail."

"I would." Reluctantly, Quinn slid from Ryder's embrace. "Unfortunately, my father doesn't take a hint. He will call again. And again. And again. If I turn my phone off, he'll send the police."

"You're kidding?"

Quinn smiled at the disbelief in Ryder's tone. The phone stopped ringing. She had just enough time before the next call to explain. Though she didn't think Ryder would understand. Quinn had lived with her father's massive ego all of her life, and she had yet to figure him out.

"Michael Abernathy, aka my father, never takes no for an answer. When I don't answer his call, he considers it a personal affront. The police thing only happened once—just after I left law school. However, it taught me to call him back. When he gets in a mood, there is no telling what he will do."

Ryder tensed, his eyes narrowing. "Is he abusive?"

"No," Quinn assured him. "Dad is pushy. Opinionated. And doesn't hesitate to freeze me out when I don't follow his dictates. But he seldom raises his voice. And never hits anything but a tennis ball."

As witticisms went, the tennis ball reference was pretty lame. However, Ryder didn't call her on it. He relaxed, obviously trusting that she wasn't covering for her father.

"There he is again," Quinn said, picking up her phone.

"Do you want some privacy?"

It was sweet of Ryder to ask, but Quinn shook her head. Her conversations with her father were sometimes frustrating, but nothing was said that she would mind if Ryder overheard.

"Hello, Dad."

"Do you know what day it is?"

As always, her father began every conversation without a greeting.

"Sunday?"

As though Quinn hadn't spoken, her father barreled forward. "It is two days until Cora's birthday. When are you arriving?"

"I—"

"Tomorrow would be best. It will give you time to visit with your Aunt Pinney and Uncle Titus."

Quinn didn't know where to start so she jumped into the middle.

"Pinney and Titus are not my aunt and uncle. They are friends of yours I haven't seen since I was eight—and I didn't like them then. I doubt that will have changed."

"They've talked of nothing else since they found out you were coming."

"Really?" Quinn was slightly appalled. "Pinney and Titus need to get out more."

"Cora wants to talk to you."

"No! Dad, don't you dare—"

"Quinn. I can't wait to show you all the changes I've made to the house." Cora's sugarcoated, little girl's voice made Quinn wince. "Michael tells me you'll be here tomorrow."

"That is still up in the air. Would you put my father on, Cora?"

"What did you say to Cora? She ran out of the room in tears."

And the drama queen strikes again
. Unconsciously, Quinn massaged her temple. Ryder moved behind her, took away her hand, his fingers magically making her threatening headache disappear. With a grateful sigh, Quinn leaned back. Solid and warm, Ryder's body was there to support her.

"I have plans, Dad."

"Aren't you finished photographing that ridiculous rock band? I don't know what all the fuss is about. Ryder Hart," her father snorted derisively. "He has nothing on the singers of my generation. Give me David Lee Roth any day."

Quinn made a silent prayer, hoping her father's voice wasn't as loud as it sounded to her. When she heard Ryder chuckle, she knew her prayer had gone unanswered.

Covering the phone, she whispered, "Sorry about that."

"I'm a Van Halen fan." Ryder's warm breath against her ear made Quinn shiver. "Though I preferred them with Sammy Hagar."

"Quinn?" Her father sounded impatient. But what else was new?

"I'm going away for a few weeks."

"By yourself?"

"No. With a friend."

"Your friend can't wait," Ryder whispered.

"I'm not a young man, Quinn."

"Fifty-seven is hardly ancient, Dad."

"My cholesterol is high. My blood pressure could be better. Who's to say it won't catch up with me sooner than later?"

Quinn took a deep breath, counted to ten, then slowly exhaled. It didn't help. Her father, the manipulative bastard, had won.

"I will see you tomorrow."

"Text me your flight number. I'll send a car."

Knowing better than to push his luck, her father hung up without a goodbye or a kiss my ass. Actually, that would have been Quinn's parting shot.

"He's good." There was a trace of admiration in Ryder's voice.

"He should be. He's had a lifetime of practice." Quinn put down her phone. "I'm sorry, Ryder. It looks like you'll be flying solo on your vacation after all."