FLOWERS ON THE WALL (4 page)

It didn't take Ryder long to stop thinking and simply feel. The hell with his nightmare childhood. Fuck the doubters and the haters. This was where he was free. Where he could fly. And for two and a half hours a night, he soared.

When the song ended, Ryder was in the center of the darkened stage. One light illuminated only him. Eyes closed, his head fell back. His arms dropped to his sides. And the stage went black. A split second passed. Then, as always, the audience erupted. It was crazy. Bedlam. And Ryder reveled in it.

"Show off." Dalton chuckled as Ryder grabbed a towel from behind the drum set.

There was a small table filled with bottles of water. During the concert, nobody went near it except Linc, the band's longtime roadie. For two and a half hours, Linc had one job. Watch the table. Nobody except the band was allowed near it. They learned their lesson on that score the hard way. They were in Atlanta, about three years ago. Ashe drank from a bottle that had been doctored with roofies. He had passed out halfway through the concert and was rushed to the hospital. Ryder, Dalton, and Zoe had some bad moments until they found out Ashe would be all right.

Linc took his job seriously. He was devoted to the band. And he guarded the table with the ferocity of a Doberman pinscher.

Ryder nodded toward Linc. He was a wall of a man. Thick and sturdy with muscles on his muscles. If he liked you, he was a pussy cat. If he didn't? You didn't want to find out.

"I'm not a show-off, asshole." Ryder chugged down the water, pouring the last bit over his head. "I'm an artist."

"Fuck you."

"Not in this lifetime."

On the run, Ryder detoured around the back so he would enter the stage from the side. As Zoe played the introduction of the next song on her classic Gibson. She made the guitar sing. And Eric Clapton bow at her feet. Literally. Ryder had seen it happen. His little sister played like an angel. Or the devil. It depended on the song. And her mood.

The stage manager tossed Ryder his guitar, and as he did every night, Ryder caught it without breaking stride.

"Are you ready for something hot?"

The audience went wild.

"I said, are you ready for something hot?"

Somehow, the volume of the crowd increased.

Ryder looked over his shoulder. First at Zoe. Then Ashe. And finally, Dalton. As one, they nodded. In perfect four-part harmony, they began the chorus of
Hot Summer.
It was the last song of the night. Not counting an encore. Or two.

He wasn't tired. It was one of those nights when Ryder felt he could have played for hours. And by the look of his bandmates, they felt the same.

Back to back, Ryder and Zoe played the song they knew by heart. But they made it sound as if it were the first time. Fresh. Alive.

He used to tell her that nothing could bring them down. Not as long as they stuck together. The world could be a cold, merciless place. But here—on stage—it was always perfect.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE BACKSTAGE ATMOSPHERE differed greatly after a concert compared to before. Instead of the frantic rush to get everything set up, there was a determined rush to tear it all down and make sure it was loaded on the trucks. The next stop was Philadelphia—day after tomorrow.

The crew chief, his assistant, and the roadies who worked under them had the vital task of making sure that all the equipment arrived and that it was in perfect condition. Not an easy job considering the size and scope of
The
Ryder Hart Band—Hartbeat Tour
.

"Careful." Alden Christopher pointed toward the large stack of boxes. "The easiest way to get hurt is to not be aware. You never know when something might fall on you. If you don't keep your eyes peeled."

Why did that sound more like a threat than a warning
? Suddenly wary, Quinn followed behind Ryder's manager. For a man who arranged with Rolling Stone for her to be here, he wasn't the friendliest person she had ever encountered.

"Is there a problem, Mr. Christopher?" Quinn skirted a roll of cable. "Ryder informed me that the band was on board with me taking pictures."

"It was a close vote."

Close
? Ryder had told her that unless everyone was on board, she was out. That meant the vote had to have been unanimous. How was that close?

"I appreciate their faith in me. I know this is the first time they've given anyone this kind of access."

"Remember. As quickly as you were let in, you can be let out again."

Okay. Alden Christopher was not a fan. Perhaps he had expected someone else to get the assignment. Someone with more experience. Quinn understood. To a point. She was used to proving herself. But she hadn't expected Ryder's manager to be her first obstacle on this job.

"I'm very good."

Alden paused outside Ryder's dressing room.

"That may be." Looking her up and down, his expression was skeptical. "But keep this in mind. Ryder never plays with one toy for very long. You have two weeks. Make the most of it."

Before Alden could knock, Quinn grabbed his arm. "Hey. I'm a photographer. Period. Not a toy. Or a plaything. My lack of a dick doesn't mean I will automatically flop on my back with my legs spread."

"There is no need to be crude, Ms. Abernathy."

This time, it was Quinn who looked at him. Long and hard. "I agree."

Quinn's meaning wasn't lost on him. She was saying,
you started it. I have no problem finishing it. When it comes to my job? Back off. Or else.
Quinn had dealt with one or two schoolyard bullies in her day, making it easy for her to recognize one when she saw him.

"As long as we understand each other." Alden stood his ground. Though the animosity in his eyes had been joined by a touch of caution. He wasn't dealing with a pushover. And now he knew it.

"You are clear as crystal, Mr. Christopher. Ryder is lucky to have such a fierce protector."

"He doesn't think so," Alden mumbled.

"No. But you and I know the truth."

Quinn didn't expect Alden to become her bosom buddy. But if he believed she wasn't interested in Ryder, he might back off just a bit. Of course, it wasn't true. Quinn was more than interested. But there was no reason Alden needed to know.

Besides, she
had
been telling him the truth when she said she wasn't here for Ryder's pleasure.
His toy? Really?
Even if it weren't about her career, Quinn did not fly that way. She was not any man's plaything. Ever. For her, sex had to be about mutual respect as well as attraction. She had thought Ryder felt the same. Had she read him wrong? Maybe. Ryder Hart was a rock star. The world—and its women—were his at the snap of his fingers. She had spent a few hours with him. Assuming that she understood him—or his proclivities—would be a huge mistake. If for no other reason, she owed Alden a thank you for reminding her of that.

"Ready?" Alden asked as he knocked.

"Have camera, will travel."

Alden gave her a blank look. She didn't know if he hadn't gotten the reference or he had no sense of humor. When his upper lip curled into a slight sneer, Quinn voted for the latter. The dressing room door opened, making it a moot point. The chances of her spending much time alone with Alden in the next two weeks was slim to none. His lack of humor was his cross to bear—not hers. Thank goodness.

"There you are." Ryder moved aside so they could enter. "I was beginning to wonder if you were swallowed up by the crowd."

Ryder had showered. Still damp, his dark hair curled slightly. Quinn was only human. She wanted to touch it to see if it were as soft as it looked.

"No. Considering the frenzy you worked them into, I found your audience surprisingly well behaved."

"Good." Ryder took her hand. He didn't take it any further. Not so much as a hug or a kiss on the cheek. However, when Quinn tried to pull away, he held on. "Thanks for escorting Quinn to my door, Alden."

Ryder had dismissed his manager. Not in his words. In his tone. Quinn heard it clear as day. So did Alden.

"Where are the others?"

Alden seemed reluctant to leave Quinn and Ryder alone. She rolled her eyes. For Pete's sake. What did he think would happen? Oh. Right. How could she forget so quickly? Alden Christopher had sex on the brain. At least when it came to Ryder.

"Zoe is in the middle of her post-concert meditation. Dalton poked his head in a minute ago. A young woman wanted some advice. He'll be in his dressing room—with her—for a while."

"What kind of advice?"

Ryder sent her a
are you kidding me
look.

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed." Alden sighed. "Can't he keep his pants zipped for one night?"

"Dalton has a fear of celibacy."

"For Christ's sake. He's been out longer than he was in. Tell him to get over it."

Eyes narrowing, Ryder released Quinn's hand, then turned to face Alden.

"You tell him, Alden. I dare you."

Alden turned white. Literally. Quinn had heard of such a thing happening, but she had thought it was a myth. Not anymore. Alden's healthy olive complexion lost every ounce of color. To add to the phenomenon, he repeatedly swallowed as though he was trying not to vomit. It seemed the threat of pissing off Dalton was enough to make Alden lose his cool demeanor.

"Dalton is an adult."

Ryder nodded. "Given a little time, I thought you would see it that way." Ryder crossed his arms over his chest and waited.

"Was there something else?" Alden's color returned, but he still looked a little nauseous.

"You didn't ask about Ashe."

"Ashe is the last of your group to cause me any worry."

Ryder laughed. Quinn didn't know why—she had no idea what kind of sub-text floated around the room—but she had to smile. The gleam in his eyes. The exasperated way he looked at Alden. It was funny. Though from the expression on Alden's face, he didn't agree.

"You don't know us at all, do you?"

Alden stiffened, his nose twitching as he raised it slightly. "I take umbrage at that."

"Umbrage." Ryder turned his head, his hazel eyes locking with hers. "Do you know what that means?"

"I do." So did Ryder. Quinn was certain of it.

"College girl." He winked before addressing Alden. "Give us an hour. We'll meet you on the bus."

"But—" One glance at Ryder had Alden wisely dropping his argument before it started. "We should be on the road by midnight."

"We will be."

With a nod, Alden left. But it seemed he couldn't resist another look at Ryder. Then at Quinn. It didn't take a mind reader to figure out what he was thinking.

"Does he carry the key to your chastity belt?" Quinn was a lousy locksmith. Ryder's virtue was safe with her.

"No."

"But he would like to." Dalton Shaw had slipped into the room without Quinn noticing. He was a big man. His dark hair was cut short, emphasizing the chiseled lines of his face. If Ryder were drop-dead gorgeous, Dalton had a more rugged look—but not less charismatic. The blue eyes didn't hurt. "Alden is petrified that some wily woman is going to get Ryder in trouble."

Quinn hid her smile. "In trouble. As in pregnant? Is there something you haven't told me, Ryder?"

"Yes. Dalton is a jackass." Ryder leaned closer until his breath caressed her ear. "As for me? I'm all man."

"No hidden lady parts?"

Dalton barked out a laugh. Taking a beer from the mini-fridge, he sprawled out on the black leather sofa.

"I like her, Ryder." He patted the cushion next to him. "Come and tell me all about Quinn Abernathy."

"Down, boy." Ryder kicked Dalton's foot as he walked by. "Would you like something to drink, Quinn?"

"Water would be great." She shook her head when Dalton quietly patted the seat again. "I admire your stamina. Weren't you
occupied
a little while ago?" Quinn put air quotes around occupied.

"Who said?"

She dipped her head toward Ryder as he handed her the water.

"Tattletale." Ryder tapped his beer against her bottle. "Cheers. I told Alden about Maggie."

"Did you now?" Dalton said it slowly. He appeared calm, but his teasing had been replaced by an underlying tension.

"I may have forgotten to mention her name."

Dalton relaxed. "I had Linc take her to the airport. She'll be in Buffalo before we get to Philadelphia."

"Did I miss something?" Quinn asked.

"That depends. Are you asking as a reporter or an acquaintance?"

"I'm not a reporter." Quinn had the feeling she would be saying that a lot in the next two weeks. Dalton simply looked at her.
Damn
, she thought.
These men had the steady stare down pat.

"Acquaintance. Maybe, if you don't get sick of having me around, future friend."

"Fair enough. You heard that, Ryder. This is off the record." Dalton invited her to join him, but this time, he didn't leer. "I doubt any of us will get tired of you, sweetheart."

Before she could correct him, Ryder did it for her.

"The name is Quinn. Not sweetheart. Not honey. But on occasion, she answers to
hey, you
."

"Now I'm the one who missed something." Interested, Dalton looked between them.

"You had to be there."

"When were
you
there?" he demanded of Ryder. "You met twenty-four hours ago, and you already have in-jokes?"

"I'm a fast mover," Ryder shrugged.

"Ashe is a fast mover. You, my friend, are a glacier." After another speculative look, Dalton turned to Quinn. "Maggie is my sister. We don't get to see each other very often. She could only get away for the day."

"If that husband of hers weren't such an S.O.B., Maggie wouldn't have to sneak around to see her own brother."

"Norris believes he's protecting his wife." Dalton's expression was unreadable. "He's a good husband."

"Are you certain?" Ryder didn't sound convinced.

"Yes."

The one word, spoken with conviction, seemed to be enough for Ryder.

"Did you catch a glimpse of Ashe on your way in?"

Sipping his beer, Dalton nodded. "He was chatting up a leggy redhead."

"The one he met our first night in town?"