Rough Ryder Read online

  “Focus.” This attraction had to wait until after she convinced him to help her find McCrae and serve up some justice. But what did she expect Ryder to do? Demand his money back? Heck, what could she do? How could she prove the song was hers, and not something she’d co-written with McCrae? Or worse, something she’d stolen from McCrae?

  She checked the time on her phone. After midnight. She couldn’t call her mother now, but first thing in the morning, she’d round up McCrae’s address.

  The water stopped and silence filled the dressing room. She could almost picture him rubbing a soft towel over his skin, his chest, his belly, lower, on his…

  She turned and walked as far away as she could from where he was, ending up in the corner near a table that held a platter of sweet snacks, a chafing dish of something spicy-smelling, and ice buckets of beer and water.

  This was what Ryder asked for in his dressing room? Interesting. She lifted the lid on the metal dish. A pile of chicken wings sat on top of a layer of French fries.

  “Hey!”

  Brooke jumped and the cover slammed shut with a clatter. She spun around, ready to apologize.

  Ryder laughed. “Sorry, cutie. Couldn’t resist.” He buttoned the blue shirt he’d pulled on and stuffed the bottom into his jeans. “Go ahead, help yourself.”

  Her gaze landed on the motion of his hands sticking the tails of his shirt into the front of his jeans. She’d love to help him with that, then help herself to the hot sexiness down there.

  “You know, you keep staring at me like that, Brooke, and we’re not gonna get any farther than this couch.” One side of his mouth curved up into the cutest smirk she’d ever seen.

  His invitation had her envisioning them wrestling naked on the couch, but she shook her head. “I want to tell you everything first. Then…” She shrugged and gave him a soft smile.

  “Yep. Then.” He held out his hand toward her.

  She walked over and took it, feeling that zip of sexual tension race through her. Looking up at him this way, she really wished she hadn’t just asked him to wait, wished she could slide her hand to the back of his neck and pull him down for a kiss.

  “Do you want your sign?” He looked like he was ready and willing for that kiss.

  “Sign?” Her brain, so deep in fantasies, didn’t understand what he meant.

  Ryder gestured to the rolled up poster next to the table where her bag sat.

  She felt a blush heat her cheeks. “I’m okay letting it go to trash.” She peeked up at him, expecting censure.

  “Might be a good place for it.” He grinned and handed her bag to her.

  Brooke grabbed her notebook off the couch and let him lead her toward the door.

  She didn’t follow his meaning about the sign, but she hoped he wasn’t belittling her methods. She’d been making signs and holding them at rallies since she’d been a toddler. With a righteous protester for a mother, she’d had no choice, and today, making that sign had seemed like the best way to get her message where it needed to go. “Got your attention, right?”

  He opened the door an inch and gave her a quizzical stare, then he shook his head.

  Ryder wasn’t the first person to give her that look.

  Schmiddy held the door open. “Your limo?” He gestured toward a lighted area to their left.

  “Thanks, Schmiddy.” Ryder let go of her hand, placing his palm on her back.

  “You’re welcome, sir.” The big guy met her gaze and grunted.

  The temptation to stick out her tongue at him almost won out over her good sense. Earlier, when the guy had herded her back to the dressing room, she’d marched along stoically, like Joan of Arc heading to her demise. But when the Neanderthal had taken her bag and pawed through it, she’d pitched a fit.

  He’d stayed silent, despite her well-articulated, legally valid objections, and she’d just flounced to a corner and sat in a chair, watching him sort through her things.

  Now, a man and two women followed them through the backstage area, rattling off the agenda for the next day. It included two radio station interviews, a hospital visit, and a stop at a music store to test out a handmade guitar.

  Brooke couldn’t imagine having her life scheduled out that way.

  At the long, black limousine, Schmiddy opened the rear door and stood back while she slid in. Ryder gave him a few quiet instructions, then jumped in next to her.

  She’d never been in a limo before, but she squelched the urge to take a dozen pictures of herself…and Ryder. “Where are you staying?” The limo left the building and headed toward the freeway.

  “I don’t know.” He laid his arm on the seat back behind her. “Some hotel in the next town over to avoid fans, since we’re playing Hershey again tomorrow night.”

  Turning to face him, she caught a quick glimpse of fatigue in his eyes. “Does this ever get old?” She gestured around the vehicle. “The hectic lifestyle? The fame and the fans?”

  He let out a sigh. “Sometimes. Like now, getting toward the end of a tour, it’s a drain.” He blinked, frowning. His eyes shifted to her and a naughty smile curved those full lips upward. “But when I get lucky enough to meet someone like you…” He leaned in, nibbling his lips on the corner of her mouth. “Tasty.”

  “Mmmm.” Her insides melted. “I am quite the tasty one.”

  He laughed. “You’re just the right combo of sexy and wacky.”

  She smiled. He had no idea how wacky she was. But he was about to find out.

  ****

  Ryder’s fingers snuck under the hem of her shirt. Her soft skin against his rough fingers felt temptingly warm, totally feminine. He’d like to get deep inside her right here, but he knew the hotel was close. Too close to do this right. He concentrated on talking to keep his body under control. “Tomorrow’s my last show this month, then I get a week off before starting up again.”

  When Ryder’s manager had briefed him on the busy day he had tomorrow, he’d damn near cursed out loud. He’d been fantasizing about keeping Brooke in the hotel room all day, or at least until his sound check the next afternoon. But it seemed like that wasn’t going to happen. He’d have to make the best of the few hours they’d have tonight, then say goodbye to the cutie after breakfast.

  “Why do you do it?” She furrowed her brows. “The touring and stuff.”

  “Why?” Hell, that’s what singers did, went out on tour to support their latest release. “Fans want to see me, I guess.”

  “Do you enjoy it?”

  “Yes, I enjoy it. And I guess it makes the time I spend not touring more valuable to me.” Why was he talking about himself? That was not the way to seduce a gorgeous woman. “How about you? Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Washington.” She ran her soft hand over his forearm and he placed his hand flat on her small waist. “DC,” she added. “I took the train up here for your concert.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “Thanks. Glad you went to all the trouble. ” The words came out on a laugh.

  “I’m sorry I had to do it that way.” She sucked in her lower lip for a few seconds. “You know, disrupting your show. But I’ve been trying for a month to contact you through your label and your agent.”

  Ryder slid his hand off her skin, sitting back and assessing his emotions around what had happened tonight. He hadn’t had time on stage. That was all show. Now, it hit him how sad her disrupting his song made him.

  Brooke watched him for a moment. “I can see I made an impression.”

  “Yep. You did.” He needed to get his emotions under control.

  “I’m really sorry it had to be during that song. Especially since you dedicated it to your mother.” She looked away, her body stiffening.

  He’d gotten both of them emotional now. “It’s a beautiful song.”

  Brooke looked at him, her brows curving, a sad smile on her face. “Thank you. It’s been sitting in a drawer for so long, waiting for the perfect moment.” She shook her head. “I can�
��t believe it took that jerk McCrae’s stealing it to bring it out of hiding.”

  She spoke about her songs like they were living things? “Funny, because the way he wrote it with me, I would have sworn I penned ninety percent of the lyrics.”

  “He’s a hustler.”

  “Old boyfriend?” McCrae had looked to be young, maybe twenty. How old was Brooke? He’d guess mid-twenties.

  “Fuck, no!” She stuck her tongue out and hunched her shoulders as if she was barfing. “He’s my stupid stepbrother.”

  “Huh. So, how did he get a hold of your song? You said you live in an apartment.”

  “I do. I moved out when I was eighteen, got a little place near the college I attended. My stepdad is a nice guy, but McCrae is a spoiled little shit.”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t much for holding back her feelings, or keeping her private life private.

  “I got a job at a music store right out of college. Now, I give guitar lessons for extra money, and live a lot closer to the action in DC.”

  “Action?” She didn’t seem like the nightclub type.

  “Um.” Her eyes shifted. “Political. But that’s probably a topic for some other time. Right now, all I can think of is, the shithead must have gotten hold of Mom’s copy of my key and let himself in one day.”

  “You don’t keep your songs on a computer?”

  “No. Just paper. I thought it would be safer.” She pulled a self-deprecating face.

  He hoped things worked out for her. She needed to get a lawyer and figure out the copyright on that song, which right now was registered in Ryder’s name. He wouldn’t fight her for it, but he would bet a billion that her shitty stepbrother would.

  The limo pulled into a dark cavern of a building and stopped. The driver got out and opened the back door. “Mr. Landry. Ma’am.”

  They slid out and a man in a suit welcomed them and brought them through the back entrance of the hotel, up a private elevator to the penthouse.

  “Ryder Landry’s penthouse.” She said it out loud, as if she was trying to convince herself she was alone with him. Wandering through the dark leather living room toward the floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a downtown view, she looked around, taking in everything.

  “Thank you.” Ryder handed the man a hundo and took the keycard from him.

  “Thank you, sir. Your meals will arrive within the next ten minutes. Would you like me to open the champagne?”

  “I don’t know if my guest…”

  “Champagne?” Brooke spun around to look their way.

  “Yep. Guess you can open that champagne.”

  She set her bag on a side table and pointed toward a set of open double doors. “Can I peek?”

  “Go on ahead.” Ryder walked into the all-gray kitchen and pulled a beer out of the fridge. “Just one glass of bubbly.”

  The hotel staffer handed it to him, bowed slightly, then left.

  Ryder carried the glass and his beer in the direction Brooke had disappeared into.

  A short hallway opened up into a huge bedroom with glass walls and dark red curtains standing open, ready to be closed for privacy.

  “This is so pretty.” She stared out the window, then turned and reached for the champagne glass. “Thanks for letting me stay here.” She took a sip and licked her lips. “Mmm.”

  It sounded more like she was moving in than having a one-nighter with a country singer. “We’ll make tonight unforgettable.” He repeated the line he used on all the women he ended up in a bedroom with, just as they were about to jump onto the sheets. Just a reminder to them—and to himself—that this was one night only. He tugged her close for a kiss, tasting the sweet wine on her tongue.

  “And tomorrow, we’ll get busy finding the shithead.” Brooke’s eyes sparkled with anticipation.

  Shit. There was barely room in his schedule for sex with her, and definitely no time for driving all over the east coast looking for her stepbrother. How did he break it to her without ruining what they had going on tonight?

  She ran her hand along his chest, looking so happy, he almost hated to even say the words.

  “Ah, Brooke? You’re not gonna like this.”

  Brooke stepped back out of Ryder’s arms and he sorely missed the contact. Her brows drew down. “But you have to help me find him.” She gestured with her free hand, the other holding her champagne glass, careful not to spill any on the hotel suite’s carpet. “He’s out there somewhere spending your money, which he illegally gained.”

  He looked behind her to where the bed sat waiting. Would he ever get her onto it?

  “Ryder, please.” She sucked in a breath. “If you go with me to confront him, he’ll know this is serious. He’ll see that you know what he did and you’re not going to let him get away with it.”

  He took a long drink from his beer bottle. “About that.” He wandered to the bed and sat. He didn’t want to get in the middle of her family battle, but how could he explain it to her without sounding like a coward? “I can’t get involved until I get advice from my lawyer.”

  “Lawyers are just high-paid bullshitters.” She set down her glass and walked to him, then knelt in front of him. “We don’t need a lawyer, Ryder. Please. Will you just come with me to talk to him?”

  “Aw, cutie.” The sight of her on her knees, looking up at him with those big eyes… “You heard what my schedule is like tomorrow. I can’t push any of that aside.” It would be ridiculously difficult to get one more thing added to his agenda.

  A buzzer sounded in the other room, then the shush of the elevator doors opening filtered into the bedroom. “Room service.” A man’s voice.

  “Leave it in the entry.” Ryder wanted to finish this talk.

  After a few minutes of clattering and rustling, the room service employee called, “Thank you, sir.”

  “Thank you.” Ryder would get him a tip later. He took Brooke’s hand, pulling her up off the floor to stand over him. She looked just as cute from this angle. “Should we eat?”

  Her frown turned into a wicked grin. “Or, while we’re in the bedroom, we could, you know, do what we really want to do.”

  The burst of heat in his groin, the race of blood from his head to his cock, nearly blacked out his brain. “Are you sayin’ what I think you’re sayin’?”

  She nodded and put one knee on the bed beside him.

  Chapter Three

  Sitting on the big hotel room bed, Ryder pulled Brooke onto his lap, her knees on each side of his hips. “Yep, we can do that first. There’s a microwave to reheat…aw, hell.” Too much talking. He cupped her cheeks and brought her face to his for a kiss.

  Her sweet, full lips slid along his, the taste of ginger still on her breath. Their tongues touched and he cupped her tight little ass.

  She ground her hips down against him. There wasn’t a shy bone in her beautiful body. Thank God. Her fingers went to his shirt, unbuttoning, teasing each inch of skin she exposed.

  His hands ran from her bottom to her hips then up under her sweater along her ribs. When he reached her breasts, his thumbs found her nipples through the thin, silky material. Heavy, firm breasts, small, pebbled nipples. She was perfection.

  Tugging his shirt out of his waistband, she broke the kiss. “It’s amazing how we’re so hot for each other. Take this off.”

  He complied, pulling the shirt off and throwing it on the floor. “Like our bodies knew this would be good.”

  She inched back, looking at his chest. “Good. Oh, yeah.” Her hands roamed across his chest, then she pinched his nipples softly.

  Pure lust raced from her touch to his groin. “I should thank your stepbrother for stealing that song.” Tugging up her sweater, he waited for her to lift her arms.

  She did, but a quick flash of something contorted her face. He’d learned enough from that TV show about facial expressions to recognize guilt.

  He stopped the upward progress of her sweater. “What’s wrong?”

  She shook her head,
but her eyes shifted.

  Ryder tugged her shirt down. Distrust hit him hard, and the cooling of his lust made his mouth say the first thing that popped into his mind. “Are you doing this to get me to confront McCrae with you?” Ah, shit. That sounded so wrong.

  Her eyes went wide, her body stiff. “No!” It came out a cry.

  “Sorry. I’m…” An idiot? A fool? A man who has learned not to trust anyone?

  “Ryder.” She slid off him, standing on shaky legs. “I’d never use sex to get what I wanted.”

  “Cutie, I don’t know why I said that.” Yep, he did know why he’d said that. Years of thinking his father had abandoned him, when the man hadn’t even known Ryder existed. Finding out the truth when his mother died, realizing the extent of the lies she’d told him all his life. Then the anger his half-brother Steele had heaped on him, making Ryder nearly turn away from his new family.

  “You don’t know me.” She straightened her sweater. “So I’ll give you a pass on that statement.” Her eyes narrowed. “But no matter what you think of me now, I still want you with me when I talk to my stepbrother.”

  He hadn’t expected that. He’d been waiting for her to explode and storm out in a huff. Ryder stood, the hard length in his pants keeping him from straightening fully. What did it mean that she stayed? More importantly, what was that look of guilt on her face before?

  Now that he’d accused her, he was the one feeling guilty. “I can start with my agent, see what she says, but that’s all I can promise. If she tells me I need to discuss it with my lawyer first, this’ll have to wait until next week.”

  Her face lifted. “Could you talk to your agent? Tomorrow morning?”

  Shaking his head, he took her hand, grabbed his shirt and led her out of the bedroom. “Let’s eat and talk about it, okay?”

  The aroma of expensive beef and spicy side dishes hit him halfway to the kitchen. His desire waned, leaving the bitter taste of regret in its place. This thing with Brooke could have been fun and wild and hot, but he’d had to go and question her motives. Why? He wasn’t looking for anything more than one night. He shouldn’t care what reason she had for sleeping with him.