Rough Ryder Page 3

  “Ryder? Are you okay? I sense some anxiety in you.” Her brows crunched together.

  “Anxiety. Right.” First he got no sex, now he had an amateur psychiatrist poking at him? “I’m worried about how they cooked my steak.” He pasted on a grin and led her to the table and two chairs set up against the floor-to-ceiling windows.

  He pulled out her chair and helped her sit as she smoothed the white tablecloth.

  “This is fancy.” She touched the silverware.

  He plopped down in his chair and reached for the thermal cover over her plate. Under it, a steak and lobster tail sat between a baked potato and a pile of vegetables.

  “Wowee.” She rubbed her hands together and smiled.

  He pulled the cover off his plate and set them aside. In front of each of them, small metal bowls filled with butter balanced over an unlit candle. Ryder took his lighter from his pocket.

  “Are you a smoker?” She tipped her head.

  “Nope.” He lit the two candles. Fire always calmed him, and he stared into the flame for a few moments. One of the benefits of growing up on a ranch. Lots of space for him to light a bonfire and ease his thoughts when things got rough for him.

  With her fork and steak knife poised for action, she paused. “Everything okay?”

  He nodded and picked up his own fork. She seemed less affected by the dust-up in the bedroom than he was. “I just wanted to apologize.” He always wanted everything smoothed over in his life, safe and tucked away. It had caused a lot of sleepless nights recently, with thoughts of his newly-found dad and half-siblings. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

  Brooke cut into her steak. “You have a hard time trusting. I get that. We can keep this a business relationship if you’d feel better about it.” That same flash of guilt flitted across her face for a second.

  Despite everything, he was sorely tempted to haul her back into the bedroom. Then his thoughts went to his lawyer again. Maybe, at least until they figured out the song situation, it would be in his best interests not to be sleeping with a woman who could sue him.

  “Hey, do you want more champagne?” He stood to get himself another beer.

  “Sure. It’s not every day I’m waited on by a superstar.” She dipped a chunk of lobster in the butter and swirled it around.

  “Superstar?” It still seemed impossible to Ryder that people thought of him that way.

  The lobster made it to her mouth, a tiny bit of butter dripping onto her chin.

  He took a step toward her, ready to lick that drop all the way up to her sexy lips. He stopped himself and turned toward the kitchen, reminding himself of the possible lawsuit.

  Hauling a beer and a glass of champagne to the table, Ryder watched her dig into her steak. Not the feminine nibbles most women he brought back to his room employed, but big, chewy chunks that puffed out her cheeks.

  He handed her the champagne flute and held up his beer, tapping the two together. “To getting to the truth.”

  She nodded and sipped. “And to getting to other things after that.” Her naughty smile threatened his control. “And getting to them as soon as possible.” She laughed.

  He sat quickly as the swell of desire pushed downward, hardening him in his jeans. Focusing his attention solely on his plate, he took a bite of steak. The flavor burst in his mouth, smoky and tender, seasoned just right.

  The vegetables and loaded baked potato tempted a few bites from him, but he concentrated on the beef and lobster until his stomach protested. Sitting back, he patted his gut. “I’m stuffed.”

  She sipped her champagne. “Me, too. Thank you for the fantastic meal.” She’d eaten all her lobster, but only a fourth of her steak.

  “Not a beef girl?” He gestured to her plate with his beer.

  “I don’t get a lot of lobster.”

  He stood and helped her from her chair, gesturing toward the couch as he refilled her champagne glass. “Have a seat.” From the bottom of the room service cart, he pulled a platter of desserts. And two forks.

  With a fresh beer in hand, he carried everything to the sitting area and sank onto the couch next to her, placing the platter of desserts between them.

  Her eyes went wide as her hand went to her flat stomach. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  Ryder laughed. “Gotta finish a good meal with a little dessert.” He handed her a fork.

  “You’re bad.” She stuck her utensil into a thick, dark cheesecake and nipped off a corner.

  Watching her lips surround the fork tines, then moving softly as she chewed, renewed his bedroom thoughts. He needed to refocus. Fast.

  “Okay, so tell me how you ended up in DC, and why your stepbrother is such a shithead.”

  ****

  Brooke took another piece of the delicious cheesecake, this time dragging the piece through the whipped cream, letting the taste settle on her tongue before washing it down with expensive champagne.

  How had her plans gone so wrong? Her first priority had been to test the hot attraction—no, scalding attraction—between them, and spend the night coming up with wicked new foreplay and kinky new sex positions.

  After that, she’d planned to find a way to get Ryder to help her with McCrae. Now she’d somehow lost her opening for the sex portion of the evening with the man whom the tabloids nicknamed Hound Dog for his exploits. It was enough to make a girl doubt her sex appeal, if she hadn’t seen him hard in his pants more than once.

  Since that wouldn’t be happening tonight, damn it, she may as well spend the rest of the night talking. “I was born in Ohio, but when my father left us when I was three, Mom decided to move closer to the action.” Brooke waited for Ryder to finish his bite of pecan pie, knowing he’d ask the question.

  “Action?”

  “Mom is a political activist. Which means, she’s paid by whichever group needs a protest or a march. And for that job, DC is the best place to be.”

  “Ah.” He nodded. “That explains the sign at the concert.”

  “Yes. I started protesting with Mom at a tender young age.” She took a small piece of bread pudding in a golden sauce and slid it into her mouth. Cinnamon and whiskey burst on her tongue. “So, when I needed to get your attention…” She gave him a sheepish smile.

  “You sure did that.” He moved his fork toward the strawberry shortcake, but she beat him to it.

  She forked up a ruby strawberry, dragged it through whipped cream, and held it up toward his mouth. “Peace offering?”

  He smirked but let her feed him. The act was so sensual, she wiggled to relieve the pressure between her legs.

  His perfect lips pursed as he chewed and his Adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed.

  Brooke had to look away. “So, my stepbrother...he came along with a really good stepdad.”

  “Glad you had a good experience. Mostly.” Something looked off in Ryder’s eyes.

  “McCrae’s mother is very active in society, and he feels entitled to everything, including my songs, evidently. I go out of town quite a bit. He must have snuck in during one of those times.”

  He set down his fork. “I hope you can prove that.”

  She hoped so, too. With a passion. Because she still hadn’t told Ryder the really bad part of this whole thing. She knew it wasn’t right to keep it a secret, but she didn’t want to complicate the search for McCrae. At least, that’s what she’d keep telling herself to hold the guilt at bay. Pushing that thought out of her head, she wiped the frown off her face.

  Ryder stared at her as if he could read her mind.

  “What is it?” She blinked away the unease.

  “Nothing.” He sat back. “Tell me about your life as an activist.”

  They talked for nearly an hour, about her family, his ranch—which he’d converted from a farm to a bucking horse breeding operation—but he cooled when she asked about his family. His mother had died recently, she knew, but there was something more he wasn’t telling her. Which meant it was none of her damn busine
ss.

  When she yawned, he set the dessert platter on the coffee table and pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her.

  She closed her eyes for just a second, relaxing into his strong embrace.

  The sound of a cell phone ringing woke her. She lay facing the windows with Ryder pressed close behind her on the couch, his arms around her, his morning erection long and hot against her butt. Would she have time to do a little seducing? The sun peeked over the horizon.

  He groaned. “That’s my wake-up call.” He got off the couch, barely disturbing her. “Hello?” He paused. “Okay. Come on up.” He ended the call.

  Brooke sat up. “Should I go?”

  He walked toward her and leaned down for a quick kiss. “They’re bringing up radio equipment for my interviews on the morning talk shows. He nodded toward the bedroom. “Go on in and get some sleep. This’ll take an hour or so, then I’ll come in and join you.”

  That sounded encouraging. She smiled. “Promise?”

  “Yep.” He touched her cheek. “Promise. And I’ll bring breakfast.”

  She glanced at the platter of desserts. “Or we could eat the rest of those bad boys.”

  “Whatever you want, cutie.” He helped her up as the buzzer sounded.

  Skittering into the bedroom, she checked out the big bathroom before crawling into the plush, silky bed. Sometime later, she struggled to wake when he climbed in next to her. Turning, she cuddled into his arms. “Where’s my breakfast?”

  “It’ll be here in an hour. Sleep first.” His voice drifted off.

  She woke when he set a tray full of plates on the bed next to her. “Breakfast, as promised. Eggs, bacon, sausage, hashed browns, pancakes, fruit, coffee, juices, and a pile of pastries.”

  “I’m going to have to jog back to DC to work off all this rich chow.”

  After they made it through nearly half the food, he checked the clock. “It’s late enough that I can call my agent.” He headed out the door. “Be right back.”

  She could call her mother, too. She dialed and her stepdad answered. “Hi Dad, it’s Brooke.”

  “Hi, sweetheart, where are you? We stopped by your place last night, but you weren’t home.”

  She loved that they cared enough to checked up on her. “Long story, and I promise to tell you tomorrow, but right now I need McCrae’s address.”

  “Oh yeah? You’re not going to hire someone to kidnap him, are you?” He chuckled.

  “Tempting.” At twelve, McCrae had been a pain in the ass. Now, at eighteen, he was heading for a life behind bars. “No, I just need to talk to him.”

  “Hang on.” Through the phone, the sound of his recliner squeaking into an upright position sounded. In less than a minute, he cleared his throat. “Okay, here’s the last known location of my prodigal son.” Terry gave her an address on the college campus.

  “He’s still in school?” She hadn’t thought he had the patience for it.

  “Far as we know, yes he is. His mother is in charge of keeping him on track there. She’s got connections in the dean’s office, or something.”

  McCrae’s mother was all about appearances. “Thanks. I’ll talk to you soon.”

  “I’ll tell your mother you’re okay.”

  She bit her tongue. Her stepdad’s gentle way of reminding her that even though Brooke had hit twenty-four years of age, her mother worried about her. “Thanks. Bye.” She hung up and typed McCrae’s address into her phone’s GPS.

  Ryder walked into the room, rubbing the back of his neck. “I talked with my agent. There’s a change of plans, Brooke.”

  Chapter Four

  Brooke froze, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the hotel room’s king-sized bed. The gooey-looking pastry she’d been about to bite into lost its appeal, and she set it on the plate. “Uh oh.” Her face felt hot.

  He held up a hand. “It’s not a ‘no,’ from what my agent said. But I have to be careful with this next step.”

  She nodded, feeling a little less anxious. “I understand. So what does he suggest?”

  “Well, she suggests I send someone to scout it out first before we talk about doing any more.”

  “Okay. Who did she suggest?”

  “I’m going to send Schmiddy over there with you.”

  Her mouth dropped open before she could stop it. “Schmiddy. And me. In the same vehicle.”

  He looked like he was trying to fight the smile that curved his mouth. “Schmiddy doesn’t often grunt at people the way he did at you, which means you made an impression on him.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.”

  “Look at it this way, Schmiddy will probably not become your best friend, but if your stepbrother is there, Schmiddy will…uh…compel McCrae to come back here with him.”

  Brooke’s eyes sparkled. “All of a sudden, I’m starting to like Schmiddy.”

  “Yep, I figured you would.” He sat on the bed next to her, leaning back on the headboard. “Let’s plow through the rest of this food, first. Hand me one of them fancy donut things, would you, cutie? And how about a glass of that OJ?”

  She smiled as she handed him a plate with two pastries, and a big glass of juice. “Then we’ll haul McCrae back here and Schmiddy will compel the truth out of him with his fists?”

  Ryder choked on his swallow of orange juice and coughed out a laugh. “You’re just the right mix of sexy and vicious, Brooke. Just right.”

  She blinked a few times. Somehow, this whole situation seemed more than just right to her, and she’d better watch her heart, or it’d get split right in two.

  ****

  Three hours later, Schmiddy opened the front passenger door of the big black SUV for her.

  “I knew he wouldn’t stay in college, the shithead.” Brooke hopped into the truck and looked back at the dorm building where McCrae’s old roommate had broken the news that her stepbrother had dropped out three months ago.

  Schmiddy grunted, closed her door, and hulked away from the truck a few feet, his cell phone at his ear. He had to be reporting to Ryder.

  She pulled out her own phone and dialed.

  “Hello, daughter dear. How nice of you to remember your mother with a call.” Greta’s voice had an annoying sing-song in it.

  “Mother dear, sarcasm will give you wrinkles.” She smiled at her own joke.

  “Don’t be crass.” Her mother sighed. “And what are you up to today?”

  “I need a favor, and fast.”

  Schmiddy turned her way, still talking on the phone.

  “Sorry, Mom. I don’t have much time. Can you or Dad call McCrae and find out where he’s living without letting him know that I’m looking for him?”

  “Oh, sure.” The sarcasm reappeared. “And you’re assuming I’ll do this without hearing the full story from you?”

  Brooke gazed heavenward. “I promise I’ll fill you in later, but right now, time is ticking. Would you please call him for me? Please?”

  “Oh, all right.” The sound of papers flipping came through the receiver. “I’ll call right now and see what I can do.”

  “Thank you. And you’ll call me right back with the address?”

  “Yes.” Her mother’s tone held a world of burden. “I’ll call you right back.”

  Schmiddy opened the driver’s door and hefted himself into the seat.

  “Thanks, Mom.” She ended the call. “Mom’s going to call him right now and get back to me.”

  His hand headed toward the ignition.

  Brooke grasped his wrist, but her hand did nothing to stop the forward movement of the tree-trunk sized limb.

  He gave her a glare.

  She removed her hand. “Can we wait just a few minutes, please? In case he’s nearby?”

  He grunted and set his hand on the steering wheel. Staring out the windshield, he seemed to lose himself in his own thoughts. One of the benefits—or hazards—of standing guard over someone day and night.

  “How long have you been with
Ryder?”

  “’Bout three years.” He still stared out the windshield.

  “Are you from Louisiana, too?” Brooke hadn’t detected an accent, but she’d barely heard him utter ten words.

  “No. California.”

  She wanted to ask how he got into the business, how he met Ryder, and a dozen other questions. But she knew he wouldn’t be too happy to answer, and she didn’t want to make him feel compelled to answer her just because she was Ryder’s special project.

  She liked to dabble in trying to judge people’s reactions, almost like a sixth sense. Even without her unofficial talent, she could tell it would take a whole lot more than the time they’d be spending together today to get Schmiddy to open up.

  “What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen at a Ryder Landry concert?”

  A muscle in his cheek jerked. “Blonde chick with a sign and two flashlights.”

  She snorted out a laugh, stifled it, then giggled quietly.

  That muscle in his cheek pulsed a few more times and small crinkles formed at the corner of his eye. Was that his smile?

  “I admit, it was bold. Maybe even a little crazy, but it worked, and here we are—”

  Her phone rang. Her mother’s number. “What did you find out?”

  “Hello to you, too.” She sighed. “McCrae’s not in school anymore.”

  “And where is he?”

  “He said he’s traveling right now, heading west, and he’ll call us when he puts down roots.”

  Brooke heard her stepfather grumbling in the background. She put her hand on her throbbing temple. “He wouldn’t tell you where he is?”

  “Nope. The little twerp just compared himself to Jack Kerouac.”

  Greta had read some of Kerouac’s poetry to Brooke when she was a child. “McCrae is driving around the US writing poetry? Ha.” The boy could barely put a whole sentence together. It had to be her stepbrother’s way of taunting Brooke. “It’s important I find him as soon as possible. He has something of mine and I need it back right away.”

  “Oh, okay.” Her mother’s voice sounded concerned. “We’ll keep in contact with him and let you know when he settles down to roost.”