Текст книги "Crash Into Me"

Автор книги: Tracy Wolff

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 13 страниц)

Chapter Seven

Jamison watched, heart in her throat, as Ryder’s eyes darkened from black to oblivion. She didn’t know why she’d done it except that there were so many emotions roiling around inside of her that she hadn’t known what to do with them all. Pity, sorrow, nervousness, affection, lust…

She knew she should have heeded his warning, knew she had no right to push him the way she had. But he was drowning and he didn’t even realize it. She’d had to say something. Then, when he’d backed her up against the wall—like that would do anything but turn her on—he’d been so beautiful and so angry and so sexy that she’d just snapped.

Now it looked like Ryder was the one on the brink of snapping. She expected, was prepared, for him to back off. To yell at her or threaten her or storm into his bedroom and slam the door, effectively ending their conversation once and for all. But in the end, he did none of those.

Instead, he leaned forward, pressing his body against hers. His chest to her breasts. His hips to her stomach. She could feel him everywhere, hot and hard and haunted. Her lids grew heavy, threatened to close, but she kept them up with sheer force of will. She’d been waiting so long for him to look at her like this, to touch her like this. No way was she missing a second of it.

Then his other hand slid from her shoulder to her jaw so that he was cupping both sides of her face, and her knees went weak.

“Ryder.” It was more a whimper than a word.

He closed his eyes, rested his forehead against hers. The tightness in his shoulders, the look of anguish on his face, was almost unbearable. She wanted—needed—to soothe him.

“Tell me to go to bed,” he whispered, sounding anguished. “To leave you alone.”

“No.” She wouldn’t do that. Not now, not ever. She wrapped her arms around his waist, held him to her. He was shaking, but then again, so was she. How could she not be when his lips were only an inch or so away from hers?

“Do it.”

“No.” She tightened her hold.

He groaned, a low, tortured sound that ripped through every part of her. And then he was lowering his mouth, tilting her chin. Pressing his lips gently, softly, to hers.

In those early, unbelievable moments, Jamison’s first thought was that Ryder really knew how to kiss.

Her second thought was that this kiss, which she had longed for for at least a decade, had been more than worth the wait.

Her third thought– Oh, who was she kidding? There was no third thought. There was nothing but desire, pleasure, need as his mouth claimed hers. As his tongue swept along the seam of her lips, exploring the corners of her mouth and scrambling whatever brain cells she hadn’t killed off with her drinking binge.

“You taste so good,” he murmured, then sucked her lower lip gently between his teeth. She gasped at the sensation, at the soft, repetitive suction that sent chills skittering up and down her spine. Ryder laughed quietly at her reaction, his fingers tightening on her hip and in her hair—not enough to hurt but definitely enough to remind her that he was there. And that he was calling the shots.

“So do you,” she whispered against his mouth, licking her lips in an effort to get more of him. He tasted just like he smelled—like tequila and limes and warm, salty ocean breezes.

From the moment she’d moved to San Diego, she’d been drawn to the beach. To the smell and taste and sound of it. She wondered now if what she’d liked most about the water was that, subconsciously at least, it had reminded her of him. Of Ryder.

His hand tugged on her hair, calling her back to the present even as he tilted her head to the angle that would give him the best access. And then his mouth was on hers again, drawing her lower lip between his teeth so he could nibble softly on it before soothing the small hurt with his tongue.

She moaned a little, brought her own hands up to bury them in the cool silk of his hair. He felt so good, tasted so good, that she wished she could live in this moment forever. Wished she could freeze time so that there was no tour to take him away from her, no job issue for her to worry about, no groupies to flaunt themselves in front of him.

So that there was nothing and no one but her and him and the electricity that arced between them.

It was a silly wish, and a dangerous one. The tiny part of her brain that was still functioning screamed at her to stop this, to stop him before she got in too deep, but it was hard to hear the warning over the ragged edges of her breathing, the loud pounding of her heart. She wouldn’t have heeded it anyway, not at that moment when she had Ryder exactly where she’d always wanted him. In her arms.

He tilted her head back a little more and whatever small amount of rationality she had deserted her. But how could it not when he was devouring her, his mouth and body and tortured soul enveloping her own until all she could think of was him. She moaned low in her throat, tangled her fingers in his hair, and yanked. The time for gentleness, for the subtle build of desire, was long gone. Need was a wild, wanton thing between them, rising like a tidal wave until it all but swamped her.

It was her turn to nip at his mouth, to run her tongue over his teeth, the roof of his mouth, the sensitive skin between his gum and his upper lip. He groaned, sucked her tongue deep into his mouth, and she gasped. She’d never been kissed like this before, never felt such brutal, beautiful carnality for any other man. She wanted to hang on to this moment forever, to savor it—and him—for as long as she could.

For as long as he would let her.

His fingers swept beneath the hem of her T-shirt, skimmed up her rib cage to softly stroke her stomach and lower back. She shivered—it felt so good—then slid her hands slowly up his back.

He was lean but muscular from all those hours of guitar playing and working out when he couldn’t sleep . She’d seen him without his shirt on a million times through the years—in person and on-screen and in photos—but she’d never realized how good it would feel to touch him. To run her hands up his spine and over the taut muscles of his upper back. To slide her fingers over the sexy ink of his tattoos.

He was hard and hot and so inviting she wanted to lick him up right there in the hallway. She would do it, too, just as soon as she could bring herself to stop kissing him. Which, now that she thought about it, might not be for a while. He tasted too good.

His fingers were on the buttons at the front of her shirt now. Then they were tracing along the line of her bra, his warm palms resting on her stomach. A shiver of desire worked its way through her, and Jamison clutched at his shoulders for support.

He smiled against her lips, pressed her more firmly into the wall as he continued his exploration. Her loss of control hadn’t even fazed him, but then he was probably used to women going weak-kneed around him.

The thought pulled her out of her Ryder-induced sex stupor. Not completely, but enough for her self-consciousness to rear its ugly head. She turned her head to break the kiss, covered his hands with her own. He stopped instantly, like she’d known he would.

Of course, the second he did, she could have kicked herself for stopping him. What was wrong with her? Ryder had been with dozens of women, hundreds of women probably, in the last few years. But she wanted this, wanted him—badly—so why had her conscience picked this moment to bombard her with second thoughts? Why had she stopped him when he’d obviously been into it? Into her?

Because, she acknowledged with a grimace, she didn’t want to be just another notch on his bedpost, another girl that he forgot as soon as he’d zipped his pants. She wanted to know that she mattered to him. If not in the same way he mattered to her, then at least enough for him to choose her and not just sleep with her as a means to stop the pain she knew he carried deep inside himself.

When she didn’t say anything, or make any move to disentangle herself from his hold, Ryder murmured, “Jamison, baby? Are you okay?”

He was breathing hard, even panting a little, and his obvious arousal made her feel a million times more secure. As did his concern for her. Even if it was just for now, just for this short moment of time, Ryder wanted her, cared about her. It was enough.

She lightly pushed on his shoulders. When he stepped away, looking wary and more than a little confused, she grabbed onto his hand and continued back down the hall to the bedroom she had woken up in. Once he realized where she was going, Ryder stiffened. Stopped.

Jamison froze, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She’d been wrong. She’d assumed too much. Ryder didn’t want her after all. “I—I—”

His mouth fastened on her shoulder before she could apologize, his tongue licking over the curve where her neck met the smooth line of her shoulder. The slow, wet circles had her eyes crossing and her sex clenching with desire and relief. He did want her. Thank God.

She tilted her head back, rested it against his chest to give him better access. Her eyes fluttered closed even as she fought against it. She couldn’t help it. It felt so good, he felt so good that she didn’t even register the sound of a door opening at the beginning of the hall.

At least not until Jaredyelled, “What the hell is going on here?”

…

At the sound of his best friend’s voice, the sensual fog that had enveloped Ryder from the moment he first touched Jamison fell away. He blinked a couple of times, took in the fury on Jared’s face. Then looked down at Jamison in an effort to figure out just how bad it looked.

Shit. They were fucked. Or at least he was.

The top of her shirt was open, her full, luscious breasts spilling over the top of her black lace bra. Her pale, redhead’s skin was flushed pink with arousal and her lips were swollen from his kisses. Not to mention the fact that the second she stepped away from him it would be obvious to Jared just how hot Jamison had gotten him. His dick was hard enough to pound nails, even with Jared looking at him like he wanted to rip him limb from limb.

“It’s not—”

“What it looks like?” Jared’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

As did Jamison’s, who had turned around to stare at him in disbelief even as she buttoned up the top of her shirt. Damn it, there was no way for him to win this.

He threw up his hands. “Okay, so it��s exactly what it looks like.”

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that. Asshole.”

Jamison turned to glare at Jared. “Why don’t you go back to sleep? This isn’t any of your business,” she said.

Jared gaped at her, his mouth opening and closing as he thought of—and discarded—what looked like a hundred different things to say. He finally settled on, “You’re my sister!”

“Yes, I am. Sister, not daughter. I’ve never gotten in the way when you were with someone. I’d appreciate the same courtesy.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder in a gesture loaded with indignation, then slipped through the doorway into Ryder’s room. “Are you coming?” she asked him over her shoulder.

It was his turn to stare at her, mouth opening and closing like a trout as he tried to find his way through the minefield that had just sprung up in front of him. A quick glance at Jared told him his friend would kill him if he so much as moved an inch in Jamison’s direction. And while Ryder wasn’t known for walking away from a fight, he wasn’t about to throw down with Jared. Not when he was clearly the one in the wrong here.

Shit. What the hell had he been thinking? How had he gotten so pissed off, freaked out, and turned upside down that kissing Jamison had seemed like a good idea? He knew what had happened after he’d kissed her—she was so sweet, so hot, that he hadn’t been able to think about anything but being inside of her. But why had he kissed her in the first place? With his past—and present—he had no business going anywhere near a woman like her, and he knew it even if she didn’t.

“Look,” he finally said to her. “Why don’t you get some sleep? We can…talk more later.”

“Talk?” The word dripped with sarcasm. “Is that what we were doing?”

He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. “Jamison—”

“Don’t strain yourself thinking up an excuse,” she told him, nose in the air. “I get it.”

She didn’t get a damned thing and he didn’t know how to explain it to her. Not right now when his brain was still fuzzy with desire and his cock still ached with the need to bury itself inside of her.

He would never be able to do right by her—even if he wanted to. There was too much darkness inside of him, too many things he’d done that he couldn’t take back. The chemistry between him and Jamison might suddenly be off the charts, but that didn’t mean there could be something between them. Because there couldn’t be. He wouldn’t allow there to be.

Now if only he hadn’t let his dick do the thinking for the last ten minutes, none of this would have happened. He wouldn’t be sick to his stomach, Jared wouldn’t look like he wanted to rip out his vocal cords and Jamison…Jamison wouldn’t look so damned hurt as she slammed the bedroom door shut behind her. Forget Jared, if he could have reached it, he would have kicked his own ass. He sure as hell deserved it.e He sHe

The sound of the door slamming echoed down the hallway and seemed to release Jared from whatever shock-induced stupor he’d been thrown into. Three seconds later he was in Ryder’s face, shoving him down the hall. “What are you doing?” he demanded, low and vicious. “What the fuck are you doing?”

He didn’t have a clue. And with Jamison’s taste still lingering on his lips, it was hard to think. Hard to breathe.

“It’s not—” He stumbled over the words, forced himself to stop and take a deep breath. Then he tried again. “I didn’t mean anything—”

“You were practically doing my sister in the hallway and it didn’t mean anything?” Jared interrupted, pushing him.

It was the straw that broke the camel’s back, and this time Ryder shoved back, hard. He watched with absolutely no satisfaction as Jared stumbled a little at the unexpected blow. “Stop putting words in my mouth.”

“Well, start coming up with your own, because what I just saw was bullshit, Ryder. Total bullshit, and if you were sober and thinking clearly, you’d see it, too.”

He was sober and he did see it, though he was the first to admit he wasn’t thinking clearly. That was the problem. He hadn’t been able to think clearly since he’d seen Jamison in the audience the night before. But how did he explain that to Jared, when he’d just been caught pawing his sister with all the finesse of a fifteen-year-old with his first girl?

Head down and gut burning, Ryder turned and headed back toward the living room—and away from the bedrooms. If they were going to do this, the whole suite didn’t need to know about it.

He grabbed a couple of bottles of water out of the mini fridge, tossed one at Jared. For a second it looked like his best friend was going to fire it back at him—straight at his head—but eventually he uncapped the thing and took a long drink.

Silence hung thick and expectant between them until Ryder finally said, “She came out here because she couldn’t sleep. I think what happened with Max affected her more than she wants to admit.”

“So, what? You decided a little time between the sheets with you was what she needed to stop thinking about what that bastard did to her?” Jared asked calmly. Too calmly. Sixteen years of friendship and bitter experience had taught him that the quieter his lead guitarist got, the angrier he was. Judging from just how low his friend’s voice had become, Ryder figured Jared was pretty damn close to ripping his head off, even if he had stopped trying to shove him around.

Ryder gritted his teeth, hung on to his own temper by his fingertips. “We had waffles, watched a movie. And then…”

“Yeah, I saw the and then,” Jared snarled at him. “Stay the hell away from Jamison, man. She’s off-limits and you know it.”

There was a part of him that wanted to argue, but he couldn’t. Not really. Jamison was off-limits, and kissing her had been all along. Trying to change that now was crazy. Especially when all he could do was hurt her. “I know she’s off-limits, man. I made a mistake. It won’t happen again.”

“Damn right it won’t. You don’t need to go anywhere near her for the rest of our time here.”

Normally, he’d be damned offended that his best friend thought he couldn’t be trusted around his little sister. But seeing as he’d been caught in the middle of stripping her naked—not to mention the fact that he’d had a raging hard-on for the last twelve hours, totally courtesy of Jamison—Ryder was having a hard time working up any righteous indignation. He had no intention of touching Jamison again—ever—but that didn’t mean he didn’t want to. Which pretty much made this whole damned conversation unbearable.

Jared finished his water. He tossed the bottle into the nearest trashcan, then crossed the room. He didn’t stop until he was right up in Ryder’s face. “I asked if you heard me. She’s not one of your legion of groupies. Don’t screw around with her.”

“I’m not.”

“She’s my sister, man.”

“You think I don’t know that?”

“I don’t know what to think. Hell, most of the time I don’t have a clue what’s going on in your head. If someone had asked me yesterday if I trusted you with her, I wouldn’t have thought twice. But after what I just saw…” He shook his head. “We both know Jamison’s had a thing for you for a decade.”

Jared’s words sent a dark thrill through him, had his dick twitching all over again. When he was in his early twenties, he’d known she had a crush on him. But she’d been in high school at the time. The idea that she still felt something for him…it made him– He put the brakes on, locked that shit down tight. Now was not the time to think about how easy it would be to get Jamison into bed. “Have I ever done anything about it?”

“Not until now.”

He growled low in his throat. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m sorry? That it won’t happen again?”

They stared at each other, stale-mated for long seconds. Then Jared closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths, and all of the aggression seemed to flow out of him. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m not trying to bust your balls, Ryder. I’m really not. But, dude, you go through women like you go through condoms. Like they’re cheap, disposable, and mean nothing more than your next fuck.

“Which is fine. I get it. I really do. If I had all your shit to deal with, I’d probably do the same thing. But you know Jamison deserves better than that.”

“Don’t you mean she deserves better than me?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“No, but it’s what you meant. Isn’t it?” He waited for Jared to protest, to tell him he was being stupid. Taking things out of context. But, in the end, his best friend didn’t say a word—and Ryder couldn’t blame him. He knew Jared was right, even as he felt the weight of the other man’s disapproval all the way inside of himself, deep down in the spots he worked so hard to pretend didn’t exist anymore.

He ignored the twinges of pain, refused to even acknowledge them. Instead, he smiled the cocky, lead singer grin he was known for all over the world, and said, “You don’t need to worry about me taking advantage of Jamison. After all, she’s not exactly my type.”” The implication was that the fault was with her, not him.

Nothing could be further from the truth—he’d always been fascinated by Jamison’s deep waters, by the complications and contradictions that made her different than the other women he knew—and he waited for Jared to call him on his bullshit. But before he could, Jamison walked into the room, shoes and coat on. Shoving her crazy, sexy curls out of her eyes, she snarled, “And who exactly said that you’re my type?”

Ryder’s stomach sank at the anger Jamison didn’t try to hide. And the hurt that she did. Once again, he’d screwed up and once again, he had no one to blame but himself.

Chapter Eight

She wanted to hide.

Wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.

Wanted to crawl under the couch and never, ever come out.

Or, barring any of those scenarios, she at least wanted to bury her face in her hands and pretend the last hour and a half had never happened.

Why, oh why, hadn’t she stayed in her room? Why had she woken Ryder up? And why had she stayed with him, pushed at him, when it was obvious that he wasn’t interested in her? That he would never be interested in her?

It had been humiliating to stand there listening to Jared talk about the crush she’d had on Ryder. Had been even more humiliating to listen to Ryder dismiss that crush—and her—as nothing. As not being his type—which she knew was just another way of saying she wasn’t sexy enough for him. Wasn’t pretty or glamorous or skinny enough for the rock star he was. One would think she’d have learned her lesson by now. It wasn’t the first time she’d been rejected, after all. She’d thrown herself at Ryder at seventeen and he’d turned her down. hard. What had made her think that things would have been any different tonight?

He was talented, smart, gorgeous, rich. And she…she was just the chubby, uptight, ridiculous younger sister of his best friend.

Ignoring the way they were both watching her—Ryder warily and Jared with remorse—Jamison crossed the room and picked up her purse. She recognized the looks and she wasn’t going to fall for them. Not this time. No matter how much she wanted to crawl into a hole and hide, she was going to see this conversation all the way through. She’d walked away from more than enough this week.

She started with her brother. “Really, Jared?” she asked, pushing to her feet.

He held his hands up in a very obvious gesture of surrender. “We were just talking, Jelly Bean.”

“I get it. You live in this weird-ass world where you’re rock gods.” She swept her gaze over to Ryder, making sure he understood her words were for him as well. “Where you get anything you want with the lift of a finger. Where women beg you to sign their breasts or sleep with them or do any manner of sexually deviant things. Which hey, is great work if you can get it.

“But all that sex and fame and rock and roll has a tendency to skew how you see the world. It warps you, makes you forget you’re just people like everyone else. People I knew long before you were rock gods and long before you were—” She popped her fingers in the air, made air quotes– “two of People Magazine’s ‘sexiest men alive.’

“I grew up with the whole group of you. I saw you screw up with girls, crash your cars, fail tests, get grounded. Hell, I saw both of you cry over guitar lessons and GI Joe dolls. And now you’re all grown up, bad-ass rockers who can have anything and anyone they desire. Whoop-de-do. All that means is I spend an inordinate amount of time worrying you’ll drink yourself to death.” She forced herself to look Ryder over with distaste. “Or come down with some horrible, untreatable STD. Now why exactly would I want a piece of that?”

Tossing her hair over her shoulders, she made a grand exit, making sure that she closed the suite door softly behind her. She wanted to slam it, but there was no way in hell she was giving either of them that satisfaction. Nothing like giving a speech that made her knees knock together and then blowing it all by showing them just how much they’d gotten to her.

She walked swiftly down the hallway to the elevator, determined to get the hell out of there before Jared came after her. She couldn’t afford it, but she would totally eat the cab fare back to her apartment if it meant getting out of there with the last vestiges of her pride intact. She loved her brother and the other guys, but she couldn’t face Ryder right now. Couldn’t look him in the eye and behave normally when the derision in his voice was still ringing in her ears.

She’s not exactly my type. Like his could-be-disease-riddled ass was such a good catch?

She’s a little too much. Like she needed an announcement to tell her that? It wasn’t like she’d spent the night trying to get into his pants, for God’s sake. He was the one who had backed her up against that wall. He was the one who had kissed her. After you bit him, her conscience reminded her.

Ryder had made it abundantly clear that he would never be interested in her. She wasn’t going to waste the next ten years of her life the way she’d wasted the last—pining away for a man she could never, ever have. It might not have looked like it last night, or this morning, but she had more self-respect than that.

Determined not to think about it—about him—any more, Jamison punched the down button and prayed that the elevator would come quickly. It wouldn’t take Jared long to throw on a T-shirt and come after her. She needed to be gone by then.

She heard a door slam behind her and every hair on her body stood straight up. She leaned forward, punched at the elevator key like her life depended on it. Logically, she knew it wouldn’t make the stupid thing come any faster, but it made her feel better.

But it wasn’t Jared’s hand that closed around her arm just as the elevator doors finally slid open, wasn’t Jared’s thumb that stroked softly over the veins at the underside of her wrist. “Let go of me,” she said, wrenching her hand out of Ryder’s grasp.

He let go, but stepped into the elevator and hit the stop button.

“You can’t do that!” she growled, as she tried to look anywhere but at him. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt before he came after her and all his glorious skin was still on display. Not that she was tempted to touch it or anything.

“Why not?”

“Because people need the elevators?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the middle of the night. No one but you is going anywhere.”

“It’s nearly seven a.m.! People have to go to work.”

“At this hour?”

“Well, we can’t all be rock stars, Ryder.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jamison. Don’t run away. I said I was sorry—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I am. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“As if.” Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She hadn’t cried over her car, her boyfriend, or her job. She’d be damned if she’d cry over him. “Look, I really need to go.”

“Fine.” He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. “But this isn’t over. We’ll talk about it when you come to the concert tonight.”

“First of all, there is no this.” She wagged her finger between them. “And secondly, I’m not coming tonight.”

He looked shocked, and more than a little horrified. “Don’t let what happened between us chase you away, Jamison. I was an ass. I never should have gotten so upset and I sure as hell never should have grabbed you like that. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

“You think that’s why I’m upset? Because you ‘grabbed’ me?” She put the elevator back in service, then hit the button for the lobby. Ryder didn’t move even as the doors started to close.

“Say you’ll come tonight,” he said as they rode down the twenty-three floors to the lobby.

She ignored him. It wasn’t easy—rock stars didn’t get to be rock stars because it was easy to overlook them—but she managed it. At least until the elevator doors slid open and she started to exit.

He blocked her, standing in the middle and spreading his arms so there was no way out. For a second she was pressed up against all that hot, hard, male flesh. Her knees went weak despite her best intentions, but that only made her angrier—and more determined to get away from him. It was like she was an addict—the longer she was in his presence, the more she was willing to do to stay there. Her only hope of escape was to go cold turkey.

Desperate to get away before she started to cry, or gave in, she stepped on his foot. Hard. Then took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist away from him and dart from the elevator.

“Jamison!” He trailed her through the busy lobby. “I’ll leave tickets at will call—”

She kept walking. “I already told you I had plans.”

“Break them.” His voice rang through the lobby. She glanced around, realized they were attracting attention, but for once she didn’t care.

“For whom?” she demanded, whirling on him. “For you?”

He froze, an uncertain look on his face. In that moment, she knew she was—finally—looking at the real Ryder and not the rock god. The knowledge further weakened her resolve. Or it would have, if she had let it.

Silence hung in the air between them for one beat, two, as she waited for Ryder to say something. Anything. But he didn’t—of course he didn’t—so she had to. “I didn’t think so. Good-bye, Ryder.”

She turned and walked away.

“Jamison!” he called after her.

She wanted desperately to turn around, wanted desperately to run back to him and beg him to forget about Jared and his past and everything else that he thought was standing between them. But her days of begging him to notice her, to be with her, were long gone.

So she kept walking right out the spinning glass doors. And she never looked back.