Текст книги "Crash Into Me"

Автор книги: Tracy Wolff

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So did that mean they were going to be friends with benefits now? she wondered. And if they were, how did she feel about that? Could she keep her feelings for him at bay long enough to indulge in that kind of relationship? Or would the fact that she was crazy about him—or just plain crazy—preclude them from being anything more than what they were at this very moment?

“Hey.” Ryder lifted his head. “I can practically see the wheels spinning in your head. Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forced a breezy tone she was far from feeling. “Are you kidding? That was fabulous.”

“It really was.” Jamison heard the smile in his voice, and smiled in return despite her misgivings. It was hard to stay freaked out when Ryder laid on the charm.

She waited for him to pull out, to move away, to make some excuse about needing to get back to the bus. He did none of those things. Instead, he put a hand under her chin and tilted her head back and to the side until she had no choice but to meet his eyes.

It was hard, harder than she would have imagined possible considering he was still inside her. Somehow, though, these quiet moments with him felt more intimate, more frightening, than letting him into her body had.

But she wasn’t a wimp, wasn’t some little girl to run away from her fears or the consequences of her actions. So, instead of shrugging him off or wallowing in her own insecurities, she put on her big girl panties and forced all the conflicting emotions down deep inside of herself. Chose instead to focus on the practical. “We should probably get back to the bus soon.”

“What if I don’t want to go back?” He shifted a little, angled his hips so that he hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of her. “What if I want to make love to you again?”

Jamison gasped, arched back against him as she felt her body respond. She couldn’t help it. Despite the fears and doubts that had taken up residence inside of her, she knew she wouldn’t turn Ryder away. Not when he was in this playful mood. And not when he wanted her. It might not be the same way she wanted him, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did at that moment but him and the pleasure they could bring each other.

“God, you feel good.” He thrust against her, groaned when her still sensitive sex clenched around him. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“So don’t.” The words slipped out before she could stop them.

He laughed and she felt the vibration of it deep inside of herself, in her heart as well as her body. Ryder didn’t laugh nearly enough. “I’m sure that would go over well. I could just see Jared’s face if I walked onto the bus with you riding me like this.”

“It’s not Jared’s business what we do.” She tightened herself around him, stroked him from the inside.

“Do that again.” His voice was deeper, huskier than it had been even a moment before.

She did and his head fell forward until his forehead rested on her shoulder. “God, you feel good, Jamison.”

She lit up a little, thrilled deep inside that he’d used her name. That he hadn’t called her baby. “So do you, Ryder.”

He didn’t say anything more, just reached between their bodies and stroked a soft thumb over her clit. She was still sensitive from all her previous orgasms—not to mention the hard, driving rhythm he’d set while he’d fucked her—and still she responded to him. She couldn’t help it. There was a part of her that believed she would respond to him forever. That wherever or whenever he wanted her, she would come running.

The thought terrified her all over again. So that even as she teetered on the brink of a brand new orgasm, she reached a hand behind her, pushed at his hip. “Stop.”

She sounded so turned on, so breathless, that she wouldn’t have blamed him had he ignored her. It wasn’t like she could disguise how much she wanted him, after all.

But she’d underestimated Ryder. He stopped immediately, not just the stroking of his thumb but everything else as well. “Sensitive?” he whispered against her damp skin as he pulled out of her in a warm rush that left her feeling immediately bereft.

She squeezed her eyes shut, fought back the tears as she nodded against the trailer. If only he knew just how much.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come at you like that.”

“I wanted you to. It was—” She turned her head so that her eyes met his for the first time since he’d slipped inside of her. “Wonderful.”

He smiled then and her heart stuttered a little in her chest. Because it wasn’t the smile he gave the hoards of screaming fans, wasn’t the smile he gave the other guys or his friends or even the women he slept with. She’d seen all those smiles a hundred—a thousand—times through the years. No, this was his Jamison smile. The one he kept just for her, and the fact that he was giving it to her now helped settle her like nothing else could.

After all, who was she to complain about the way things had played out? Wasn’t this what she’d wanted all along? For Ryder to see her like a woman? For him to hold her and love her, if only for a little while? When they’d first started making love, she’d sworn to herself that she would take whatever he had to offer without strings or complaints. She wasn’t planning to go back on that promise to herself within minutes of fulfilling it, was she?

Because it wasn’t like she was looking for happily ever after with him—hell, she was smart enough to know that wasn’t going to happen. Not with Ryder. Not with his background and not when he didn’t believe he had a happily ever after in him.

She disagreed, thought he would one day make a woman a fabulous husband—once he came to understand that a lot of the shit in his life really wasn’t his fault. She’d spent years trying to prove it to him—as had Jared—but neither of them had ever gotten through to him.

And then Carrie had come along and he’d been better. For a while. Right up until she’d been attacked at one of the band’s shows. Ryder had been onstage singing while she’d been raped in the dressing room, and the guilt and rage had nearly killed him. How could it not, when Carrie had constantly blamed him for what had happened to her? Even her suicide note had been a fuck-you to him, a cacophony of hatred and pain that blamed him for everything bad that had happened to her.

And Ryder had believed her. No matter what Jamison or Jared or any of the other guys had said, he’d never again been able to see past the villainous view of himself.

Blinking back the tears that came every time she thought of what he’d suffered, Jamison traced the art on his left arm. Like the phoenix he’d had tattooed on himself, he’d risen from the ashes of his nightmare of a family. Had reinvented himself. But was still so locked inside his own perceptions of himself, still such a victim of the damage his family—and Carrie—had dealt him, that he couldn’t see past the bars.

That didn’t mean she was going to quit trying to convince him of his worth. Ryder was too wonderful of a person—strong, talented, protective, not to mention deep down good. He didn’t deserve to suffer for the sins of those who had failed him.

And neither did he deserve her condemning him for what he couldn’t change. Here she was, still glowing from the most incredible sex of her life, and she was doing everything she could to put distance between them. That wasn’t fair to either of them.

So why couldn’t she have him—even if it was just for a little while? She’d taken a leap of faith when she’d jumped on the tour bus and fled San Diego and the mess her life had become. Had given up control of her destiny while she struggled to write a cookbook she had no guarantee would ever go anywhere.If she could do that in her professional life, why couldn’t she do it in her personal life as well? Not forever, but for the duration of this tour? Why couldn’t she just say to hell with love and responsibility and happily ever afters and just enjoy being with Ryder as long as he wanted to be with her? It wouldn’t last forever—it might not even last the week—but that didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy every second, and every orgasm, he was willing to give her.

Decision made, she slipped away from Ryder. Felt a tug deep in her heart at the loss of his warmth around her, inside her. But she shut that down quickly, determined to make the next few minutes about what he needed.

Turning to face Ryder, she threw her arms around him. Hugged him to her as tightly as he’d allow. And tried not to notice the way he stiffened against her. It was a subtle thing, but she’d had a lot of years to get used to it. Ryder could fuck her brains out, could go down on her until she screamed and then do it all over again, but he couldn’t handle the simple affection of a hug.

She held on an extra second anyway—if she could give him nothing else in their time together, then she wanted to give him this. The ability to touch and be touched in a way that wasn’t only sexual. He deserved it. Then again, so did she.

But the tension continued to build in him, so she pulled away and shot him a casual smile as she bent down and retrieved her shorts and underwear from where he’d dropped them on the ground. Then did her best not to tremble as she pulled them up her legs. The only way this was going to work was if she acted completely nonchalant.

She wasn’t ready to give him up. Not yet, not when she’d just gotten him. If that meant she was going to end up heartbroken later, she’d take it. For once, the woman who tried to control everything was saying to hell with that and giving herself up to the chaos. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

…

As he shepherded Jamison back toward the bus, Ryder wasn’t sure what to think or how to act. Part of him was happier than he could ever remember being—which was crazy, he knew. After all, he hadn’t been in a real relationship since Carrie, hadn’t been looking for one now. But Jamison wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of girl, wasn’t even what he’d call a one-week– or one-month-stand kind of girl. Not just because she was going to be on the road with him for the next few weeks, thus making a one-night stand impossible, but also because she meant more than that to him. A lot more.

When Jared had asked him to, he’d promised he would stay away from Jamison. And when he’d made that promise, he’d had every intention of keeping it. After all, she was sweet and smart and funny and innocent—or maybe not so innocent if he considered all of the things they’d spent the last hour doing. Still, she was too good for the likes of him—way too good.

He knew she had a whole life to get back to anyway, one that didn’t involve fucked-up rock stars and fucking up against an equipment trailer. Trying to change her future, to weigh her down with all his bullshit baggage, wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Least of all her.

And maybe it was the really great sex or maybe it was the way she’d hugged him afterward—like he mattered as something more than bragging rights to her friends—but either way, he wasn’t ready for it to stop. Wasn’t ready for the pleasure, any of it, to end. Before Jamison, sex had always been just a means to get out of his head. Even with Carrie, he’d used it for the momentary pleasure instead of the emotional connection. That had never bothered him before, because he hadn’t let it.

But now Jamison mattered more than the pleasure and the surcease. She mattered more than all the shit that haunted him from his past. And while he knew he wasn’t good enough for her, knew he couldn’t keep her, he wasn’t ready to give her up. Not yet. Not when the need for her was still a fire torching him from the inside out.

Reaching over, he grasped her hand. Laced her fingers with his own. And stroked his thumb over the back of her hand.

She started a little, looked up through her lashes. Then smiled at him shyly. In that moment she looked as different from the woman who had begged him to fuck her as he was sure he looked from the clean cut guys she was used to dating. Alarm bells went off in his head.

There was a part of him that wanted to ignore them. He wanted her, more badly than he could ever remember wanting anything or anyone. But at the same time, he didn’t want to hurt her. He wanted to make love to her, to feel her arms and legs wrapped around him, to see her smile at him just like that over and over. But he didn’t want to lead her on. He couldn’t let her build castles in the air about the two of them and what they could mean to each other. Even though she meant more to him—even though the sex had meant more to him—than anything had for a long, long time, he couldn’t let her think there was more to them than what he was able to give.

“Jamison.” He said her name softly.

“Yes?”

He started to speak, to tell her everything he’d just figured out. That he wanted her but didn’t want to hurt her. That he wanted to keep making love to her but didn’t want her to fall in love with him. But when she looked at him like that, eyes wide and bright and curious, he couldn’t get his tongue around the words.

“That was…”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand before bringing it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles. Heat spread through him where her lips touched and for a second he wasn’t sure he could stop himself from taking her again, right there in the middle of the back parking lot. Only the fact that he didn’t have a condom stopped him. That and being within sight of the band buses.

“You know it’s okay, right?” she said as she slowly lowered their joined hands.

Actually, he wasn’t sure anything was okay. He felt unsettled, topsy-turvy in a way he usually avoided like the plague.

When he didn’t answer right away, she continued, “You don’t need to worry about me falling in love with you. I know what we’re doing here.”

He was glad one of them did, because he was in uncharted territory. But that was what he loved about Jamison. She’d always understood things without him having to tell her.

“You know I care about you.”

She rolled her eyes. “God, don’t get all sappy on me, Montgomery. Let’s just relax. Enjoy ourselves. And when it’s done, it’s done.”

He felt his mouth drop open. “Who are you and what did you do with Jamison?”

“I’m sick of being the good girl and want to have fun for a while.” She kissed his shoulder, ran her tongue over the top curve of his tattoo. “I can take care of myself.”

The last of the tension in his stomach dissolved. If she knew what he was offering and wanted it anyway, who was he to argue? Besides, maybe he’d been nuts to think a girl like Jamison would want anything else from a guy like him.

He pulled her in close, licked a slow path across her collarbone. Enjoyed the salty-sweet taste of her, especially when she moaned a little. Lifting his head to look at her, he teased, “And here I thought you enjoyed the way I took care of you.”

“Oh, I do,” she answered, arching into him so that her breasts brushed against his bare chest. “And I look forward to you taking care of me again soon.”

God, so did he.

Chapter Sixteen

Three weeks later, Jamison luxuriated in the feel of Ryder against her as he pressed soft kisses to her spine and shoulders and lower back. “Mmm,” she told him as she leaned in to his touch. “Do that again.”

“You’re a greedy thing, aren’t you?” But she could feel his smile as he trailed his lips over her shoulder and down her bicep to the side of her breast.

“Why shouldn’t I be? I’ve got Ryder Matthews in my hotel room, all to myself. It’s pretty much a prerequisite that I be greedy.”

He stiffened against her for just a fleeting moment, but by the time she turned her head to look at him—to see what had bothered him—the stiffness was gone. Or at least most of it was, she thought with an inner giggle as he rolled her onto her back and underneath him in one smooth move.

They were face-to-face now, a position she’d found out Ryder wasn’t particularly fond of. At first it had stung a little, the way he always seemed to turn her away from him before slipping inside of her. But then she’d realized it was his way of keeping his distance, of putting a little bit of space between them. And while that had hurt a little bit more, she’d understood that he was trying to protect both himself and her. But still she couldn’t help wondering—who did he think needed the distance more?

Reaching up, she brushed her hand through all that wild hair of his. He preened a little, pressed into her touch like a hungry cat would. So she stayed where she was, loving the feel of the silken strands as they slid through her fingers.

Loving the fact that he was allowing her this intimacy when he was usually so careful about who he let touch him—and where.

Just loving him.

Oh, she knew it was stupid. Knew if she let herself love him that she was going to end up with her heart broken, no matter how many assurances she’d given him to the contrary. But she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not now, when she was underneath him, all that intense sensual energy of his focused exclusively on her. And not when they were out in the world and he was so damn thoughtful, so sweet and charming and caring, that she wanted to wrap herself around him and hold on forever.

But that wasn’t possible, she reminded herself even as she twined her arms around his neck and pulled his lips down to hers. Happily ever after was just a pipe dream for her. But happy for now? She was so there.

Ryder kissed her slowly, thoroughly, his tongue exploring the corners of her mouth and the curve of her bottom lip before sliding inside of her mouth and exploring her there, too. She tilted her head, opened for him. And reveled in the low groan he made deep in his throat.

Then his hand was in her hair, fisting her curls while the other held onto her hip in a grip that was proprietary to the extreme. If another man had held her like that, even in such an intimate situation, she would have bristled. Moved out from under him. But this was Ryder and everything he did to her felt right and good and sexy as all hell. Besides, wanting to belong to him was a primitive, all-consuming desire inside of her. One she fought back on a daily basis, but one she knew was there nonetheless.

Not that she for one second would ever let him know it.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growled, lifting his head to look her in the eye. “I can’t get enough of you.”

Those were huge words for him, but she refused to read too much into it. He was hot and hard and horny as hell. That didn’t mean once they were out of bed he would say the same things, or even think them. In fact, she was pretty sure he wouldn’t.

“Ryder, you—” He slid inside of her then, stealing her ability to talk, to think. She could only feel, her body completely in his thrall as he rocked gently against her.

It was the first time he’d ever taken her like this, face to face, and she loved it. Oh, she loved everything he did to her—he was a wildly inventive lover who had made her come more times in three weeks than she had in her entire life, but she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t wanted this.

Being able to look into his eyes, to kiss him and wrap her arms and legs around him, to hold him, while he slipped inside of her was a different pleasure than the others he’d given her. But then, this was a different loving.

Normally he was intense—all wild heat as he took her body places she’d never imagined she could go. Powerful places where the pleasure was so overwhelming it drove her close to insanity.

But this time was different. This was slow and sweet and breathtaking in a whole different way.

She wanted to touch him, to give him half as much pleasure as he was giving her. But every time she tried, every time she smoothed her hands over his back or up his chest, she got distracted—by the look in his eyes and the slow, steady rhythm of his thrusts.

He was touching every part of her inside and out, even those ones he didn’t want to know about and that she worked so hard to keep hidden. Deep inside, she knew it was dangerous, masochistic, to just surrender herself to him like this. But right now, she wanted this loving to go on forever, wanted to wrap her arms around Ryder and keep him inside her until she no longer had the strength to continue. But the tension inside of her kept building, stacking higher and higher and higher until she was right back where she always was when he was inside of her—clinging to sanity with battered fingertips.

And still she tried to hold on. This felt so good, so right, that she wasn’t ready for it to end.

Ryder must have sensed her reluctance, because he held himself back. Kept his strokes slow and gentle even when she knew he had to be dying to come. His breathing was growing more labored, sweat was pouring off of him, and his body was growing more and more taut. And still he didn’t rush her. Still he held on. For her. She knew it was for her.

Tears bloomed in her eyes before she knew they were even going to form, and she turned her head, not wanting him to see. Maybe he wasn’t the only one who liked the safety of making love with her back to his front. In this position, she felt so much more open. So much more vulnerable.

But, to her confusion, Ryder was having none of it. He brought his hand to her chin, tilted her face back so that she was looking straight at him—swimming eyes and all. And then he kissed her and it was sweeter, hotter, and more profound than anything that had come before it.

She was trembling by the time he pulled away—a combination of excess emotion and the strain it was taking to hold her release in check. And that was when Ryder had enough. “Come on, baby,” he whispered in that low, dark voice she loved so much. The one that had sold millions of songs and broken nearly as many hearts. “Come for me, Jamison. I need to feel you.”

His words pushed her right up to the edge of climax. She teetered there for long seconds, until Ryder swept his thumb over her clit at the same moment he dropped his head and bit softly at her nipple. With a muffled scream, she went flying.

He followed her moments later, and like the build-up that led to it, their orgasm went on and on in slow, gentle waves that left her feeling warm and soft and boneless.

Ryder must have felt the same, because when he finally stopped coming, he collapsed on her, burying his face in the vulnerable curve where her neck met her shoulder. Thrilled at the feel of him on top of her, surrounding her, Jamison wrapped her arms and legs around him and held tight. She didn’t want to freak him out, but she couldn’t let him go yet. Not without trying to give to him some of the same warmth and security he gave to her.

Amazingly, he let her.

She didn’t know how long they lay there, wrapped up in and around each other.

Long enough for their hearts to stop racing.

Long enough for her skin to cool and the sweat to evaporate from their bodies.

More than long enough for her to wish things could be different.

It was this realization more than anything else that had her whispering, “We should probably get up.” Time was ticking away and though she wanted to stay, to bask in the easy affection he showed her only when they were making love, she was conscious of overstaying her welcome. Which might sound ridiculous considering this was her room—the few times they’d spent overnight at a hotel in the last few weeks, Ryder had always made sure she had her own room.

He’d never made her feel like she was a bother or that he didn’t want her around. And she needed to keep it that way. Maybe if she could avoid asking too much of him, she could keep him, at least a little longer.

“Tired of me already?” he asked, a frown flitting across his face.

“A little bit, yeah.” She grinned to show him she was teasing. “But seriously, I do have things other than you to do today.”

“Now that’s a shame.”

“It is, isn’t it?”

He dropped a kiss on her nose, then slowly pulled out of her. As he rolled to his feet, she tried not to feel empty. It wasn’t his fault that she wanted more than he had to give her.

“Wanna take a shower with me?” he asked, after he’d walked to the bathroom and disposed of the condom.

“Is that code for water games?”

“It could be.”

“Now that’s a non-answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

He held his hands up in front of him in the universal gesture of innocence. And looked hotter than any man had a right to while doing it. “Hey, I’m just hedging my bets, trying to figure out which answer has the best shot of getting you in the shower with me.”

She gave him a stern look—or tried to. But it was hard to seem intimidating when one of the sexiest men in the universe was smoldering at her. Especially when that smolder was in total jest.

“You should have tried the whole we-need-to-conserve-water routine. We are in Texas, after all.”

He snapped his fingers. “I knew I forgot something. Would it work if I tried that now?”

She walked into the bathroom and tossed a towel at him. “Not a chance, buddy.”

“You sure about that?” He came up behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her back against his front. Then he started kissing her neck, soft, steamy little nibbles that had her responding to him despite the fact that they’d spent the last three and a half hours in bed together.

She wondered if it would always be that way for her. If she would spend her life wanting him no matter how many times he made love to her. It was a terrifying thought, especially considering she went into this thing with her eyes wide open. Wanting the rules to change in the middle of the game wasn’t fair to Ryder or herself.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered as his lips skimmed across her ear.

“Yeah, right.” Jamison had never been one to undersell herself. She knew she was smart, savvy, a talented writer, and exceptionally organized, just to name a few of her good points. But she also knew what beautiful was and she wasn’t it. She was decently attractive, but in Ryder’s world that didn’t really count for much.

But it was hard to keep her head out of the clouds when Ryder’s strong musician’s hands slid up her stomach to cup her breasts. When his thumbs brushed over her nipples and his hot breath made the little hairs at the nape of her neck stand straight up.

“Look,” he said, nodding his head toward the mirror they were standing in front of. The mirror she had very deliberately avoided looking at.

“I’d rather look at you,” she answered, turning toward him.

But he banded an arm around her hips and another over her breasts, forcing her to stay facing the mirror. Then he used his chin to nudge at her cheek until she reluctantly lifted her head and met his eyes in the mirror.

“Look at you,” he told her in a voice gone husky with desire. “Just look at you.”

She could deny him nothing when he asked like that, so she did. And saw the same Jamison she’d always seen staring back at her. Crazy red hair, too pale skin, a smattering of freckles on her arms and chest. And hips and thighs that needed about eight consecutive weeks on a Stairmaster before they could ever be considered toned.

“What do you see?” he asked.

She didn’t know how to answer him, what to say to make him understand. So in the end, she just told him the truth. “I see you.” She couldn’t keep the reverence out of her tone as her eyes traced his gorgeous muscles and even more gorgeous tattoos.

He sighed in frustration, shoved a hand through all that glorious, silky hair of his. And said, “Baby, I love the way you look.”

He moved a hand to her face, stroked his fingers down her cheeks. “Your eyes slay me. All violet and mysterious—I never quite know what you’re thinking. Even when that frustrates me, I get off on it.”

He moved lower, rubbed his thumb over her lips. “And your mouth. I love the color of your lips. Love this little dip right here.” He paused at the deep bow in the center of her top lip. “You’d be shocked if you knew how much time I’ve spent these last few weeks fantasizing about your mouth wrapped around my cock.”

She shuddered, her head falling back against his chest and her eyes drifting closed as she lost herself in the sensual promise of his words.

“Open your eyes,” he commanded, a dark note in his voice that had her instinctively following his directions.

“I love your skin. How soft and sweet it is. It’s why I kiss you so much, because I love to taste you—all peaches and cream and warm, rich honey.” He leaned forward, trailed his tongue over her shoulder. Played connect the dots with the scattering of freckles there.

It tickled and she giggled a little despite the spell Ryder was weaving all around her. “I also love your laugh,” he told her with a wicked grin. “Almost as much as I love these.”

He moved his right arm back down so that it once again banded her breasts. He cupped her left breast in his hand, stroked her nipple for long, breathless seconds.

“And this.” His left hand slipped down to cup her sex, his middle finger sliding through her folds while his bent index finger circled round her clit.

Heat licked through her, made her knees tremble and her skin ache with sensitivity. Again she started to turn in to him, and again he stopped her with his ragingly possessive hold.

“Look,” he urged, his voice somehow, impossibly, deeper than before.

And she did, for the first time seeing shades of what he was talking about. She didn’t look beautiful standing there, but she did look hot, sexy. Her hair was tousled, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire. Between his spread fingers, she could see her nipple, dark red and hard with need. Her legs were spread, her hips moving sensuously against his hand as he teased her toward yet another orgasm.

“Do you see?” His voice was pure gravel now.

She nodded against his chest. Her voice had deserted her.

“Say it. Tell me you understand.”

“I see.” Each word was a razor blade slicing the inside of her dry, tight throat. “I understand.”

“Thank God.” He turned her around, sank to his knees. “Keep watching,” he urged as he spread her legs and licked his way through her already drenched folds. He nodded to the second mirror, which was directly across from the one she was now leaning against.