Crash Into Me (12 page)

Her heart thudded hard against her ribs—once, twice—before kicking into high gear.
She let him pull her to her feet and this time she made it a point to meet his eyes.
He was pissed, no doubt about it, his eyes alight with a wild fury she rarely saw
in him.

Too bad she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not this time. He didn’t want to hang
out with her, fine. But that didn’t mean she was going to give up her friendships
with his bandmates. Like Jared, these guys were her closest friends in the world.
If Ryder didn’t like it, then that was his problem.

Leaning forward with an insouciance she was far from feeling, she patted his cheek
in a deliberately insolent manner. “Thanks for the rescue. But I think I’ve got it
from here.”

Then, taking her time, she turned and sauntered toward the bedroom at the back of
the bus.

It wasn’t much as far as exits went, but then it wasn’t like she had anywhere to go
when the bus was speeding along the interstate at close to seventy miles an hour.

Behind her the guys razzed him mercilessly and for the first time it really hit her
just how difficult the next few weeks were going to be. Being in such close proximity
to Ryder and not being able to touch him, kiss him, stroke him was going to be more
torturous than she had ever imagined possible.

Chapter Twelve

His dick was on fire. Even with worries about Wyatt spinning in his head, he could
barely think through the arousal. Through the need.

Jamison was in the bunk below him—she’d refused to take the bedroom and mess up the
rotation, and they’d refused to let her get on the other bus with the rest of the
road crew—and he could smell the rich cinnamon-and-honey scent of her. Could practically
taste the sweetness of her peaches-and-cream skin.

Muffling a groan, Ryder rolled onto his side. Punched his pillow. And told himself
that he couldn’t—absolutely couldn’t—climb down from his bunk and into her bed. He
couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t lick her to orgasm. Couldn’t fuck her.

Goddammit.

He grew impossibly harder at the images running through his head, bombarding him until
he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe without wanting her. Yet, he couldn’t have her.
Even if her brother hadn’t been sleeping directly across from him, he couldn’t just
roll down there and make love to her no matter how much he wanted to.

And right now, he really, really wanted to.

Beneath him, she shifted, the sheets whispering over skin he knew from experience
was silky soft. He closed his eyes, ground his teeth together. And did his best not
to imagine what it would feel like to be that sheet. Draped over her. Stroking her.
Whispering across her every intimate place.

Double Goddammit.

Throwing his own covers back, he hopped lightly down from the bunk. Refusing to so
much as glance at Jamison—not sure he could withstand the temptation without standing
there watching her, touching her when she was unaware like some kind of skeeze—he
picked his way through the scattered clothes on the floor and went into the small
bathroom they all shared, making sure to close the door behind him.

Flipping on the light, he studied himself in the mirror once his eyes adjusted. Shit.
He looked like a crazy man. Eyes wild, dick sticking out of his pants, body twitching
with a need he had no hope of controlling. He hadn’t been this riled up—with no hope
of relief—since before he’d lost his virginity when he was fifteen years old.

Knowing only that he couldn’t go back out there like this, not if he didn’t want to
jump Jamison right there and to hell with Jared and the others, he turned on the shower.
Stripped down. And climbed in with a curse, determined to let the frigid water do
its work.

Five minutes in, it had barely scratched the surface of his need.

How could it when his mind kept wandering back to the night before, when Jamison had
bit his thumb? When she’d arched into him, her actions a blatant plea for him to kiss
her beautiful, pale pink nipples. When she’d moved against his thigh, the warm, wet
scent of her arousal so fucking sexy he’d almost come down his leg like a schoolboy.

With a groan, he gave up. Turned the water to warm. Braced his left arm against the
cool tile of the shower wall as he fisted his cock with his right. And pretended it
was Jamison touching him, Jamison on her knees before him. Jamison with her beautiful
breasts in his hands and her hot, sexy mouth on his dick.

It didn’t take long before he was, indeed, coming like a schoolboy, with a muffled
shout and an orgasm so powerful it nearly drove him to his knees. And still he wasn’t
satisfied. Still he wanted Jamison. Her touch. Her smile. Her laugh. Her sex.

Fuck. He groaned, once again fisted his cock. And jerked off a second time before
he finally thought he had enough control to go back out there. He didn’t think he
had a chance in hell of actually sleeping, but maybe now he wouldn’t attack her like
a rabid animal. At the moment, it was the best he could hope for.

He’d just pulled his sweats back on when the bus slowed down and veered to the right.
Grabbing a clean T-shirt from the stash they kept in one of the bathroom cabinets,
he headed for the front of the bus, making damn sure to avoid the area where Jamison
was sleeping with the others. Maybe Steve was pulling into a truck stop to get gas.
He could run out, grab a cup of coffee and a pack of the cigarettes he’d given up
two years before.

Desperate times called for desperate measures.

Sure enough, the bus shuddered to a stop under a few bright lights. Wyatt groaned
from his spot on the couch, pulled a pillow over his head. Ryder took mercy on him
and yanked the shades down over the blacked-out windows to block the small amount
of glare that was leaking through. Then slipped his feet into a pair of shoes—he wasn’t
sure whose—grabbed his wallet, and joined Steve where he was getting ready to pump
gas.

“Hey, man, where are we?” Ryder asked, leaning against the bus.

“Artichoke capitol of the world—or at least that’s what the sign we passed a few miles
back said. We’re about three hours from San Francisco.”

Ryder looked beyond the lights, out into the fields of crops that blanketed the area
as far as he could see. “Artichokes?” he asked, nodding to the big, leafy plants that
looked more like weeds than a food source.

“That’s what they say.” Steve started pumping the gas. For long minutes, neither of
them said anything more, until he turned to him. “So, you going to tell me what you’re
doing out here so early, man?”

A million answers ran through his head, but he left it at, He looked across the parking
lot, at the brightly lit grocery store that was the only thing open at this hour.
“I’m going to get a cup of coffee. You want anything?”

Steve smirked, but didn’t call him on his bullshit. “Coffee sounds good.”

He was at the checkout, paying, when Jamison walked in. She was dressed in jeans and
a black hoodie, all her glorious red hair somehow bundled under the sweatshirt’s hood.
Not exactly her sexiest look, but still, one glimpse of her had his dick hardening
and every nerve ending in his body standing at attention.

Cursing his unruly libido under his breath, he crossed to her. Held out one of the
cups. “Want some coffee?”

“No, thanks.” She avoided his eyes as she spoke, which made him nuts considering the
dreams he’d just been having about her.

“Then we should head back to the bus.” He stepped too close, deliberately crowding
her in an effort to get a rise out of her. It was knee-jerk, and a total asshole move
considering he had no right to pursue anything with her. But right now, he didn’t
give a shit. She looked soft and cuddly and half-asleep and he wanted nothing more
than to convince her to climb back into bed—this time with him.

“Actually, I talked Steve into an extra half hour here.” She nodded toward the highway,
still making sure not to look him in the face. “I’m supposed to be cooking for you
guys. And since all I found in the fridge last night was beer and orange juice, I’m
thinking that might be a problem if I don’t get to a store soon.”

To be honest, he wasn’t sure how he felt about her cooking for them as a
job
. It smacked of inequality, something he definitely didn’t want her to feel around
him and the other guys. He didn’t know
what
he wanted to be to Jamison, but he knew he sure as hell didn’t want to be her employer.

“I’m not here for a free ride.” She looked at him then, those damn purple eyes of
hers so much darker and more shadowed than they had been even yesterday. He hated
it, almost as much as he hated the knowledge that he was responsible for at least
some of those shadows. Not to mention the pain she was trying so hard to hide.

Impatience burned in him. “No one would care if you were, Jamison. You earned your
spot with the band years ago.” He still remembered how she’d spent hours, days, posting
flyers on every lamppost in town, not to mention bullying everyone she knew into attending
their early gigs.

Her eyes called him a liar even as she said, “Yeah, but being the band mascot doesn’t
exactly take a lot of time.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“Don’t worry about it, Ryder.”

He
was
worried about it and started to tell her so, but she turned and started toward the
baskets before he could get the words out. Band mascot? That really wasn’t how she
saw herself, was it?

Anger boiled up inside of him at the thought, but Ryder bit it back. Swallowed it
down. After all, it wasn’t Jamison’s fault he’d been acting like an ass for the past
twenty-four hours. No, that was squarely on him. He was the one who’d messed with
their friendship, who had sent her so many mixed messages it was no wonder she was
so confused. And he was the one who was going to have to fix it.

He and Jamison were going to be living together—in very close quarters—for the next
seven weeks. If he had any hopes of making it through with his sanity—and his cock—intact,
he needed to get the hell over this crazy attraction he had for her. Needed to get
their relationship back on an even keel so things could go back to normal.

Anything else didn’t bear thinking about. Jamison was one of his closest friends,
had been for years. She was one of the few people he let see who he really was, one
of the even fewer who he trusted not to screw him over. There was no way he was going
to jeopardize that just because he suddenly couldn’t look at her without wanting to
make her come.

Since just the thought of bringing Jamison to orgasm made him rock hard, Ryder shoved
that shit down deep. Locked it up with all the other crap he wouldn’t let himself
think about Then climbed the bus steps two at a time.

If Jamison wanted to go grocery shopping, he’d take her grocery shopping—and Steve
would just have to wait until she was happy, schedule or no schedule. It’d be a good
chance for him to smooth things over between them, get everything back to normal.
Back to the easy friendship they’d had for so long.

Because no matter how much he wanted her, the last thing Jamison needed was to get
stuck with him and all his fucked-up baggage. He wouldn’t ask that shit of anyone,
let alone a woman as sweet and innocent and deep down beautiful as she was.

…

Jamison was surprised—and not pleasantly—when Ryder grabbed a basket from the front
of the store and pushed it through the automatic doors like he did it every day. Like
it hadn’t been months—maybe more than a year—since he’d last set foot inside a supermarket.
The other guys were still snoring in the bunks, exhausted from the show and their
late night, and she’d half-expected Ryder to crawl back into bed himself. What she
hadn’t expected was for him to walk through a public place so nonchalantly, with not
even a baseball cap or sunglasses in place to keep him from being recognized. Admittedly
it was barely dawn and they were in one of the smallest towns in California, but still.
Rock stars had shown up in stranger places than this.

He didn’t seem aware of her disquiet, though, as he asked, “Where do you want to start?”

“The produce department.” Her voice came out a lot huskier than normal, and she cleared
her throat a couple times to try to get rid of the tear-induced lump in the middle
of it. The last thing she wanted him to know was how uncomfortable it made her to
have him tagging along with her. Or how much it still hurt that he didn’t want her
on tour with the band. That he didn’t want her. “You guys need to eat something besides
pizza every once in a while.”

“Hey, if you do it right, pizza has all four of the major food groups.”

“Yeah, but how often do you actually do it right?” As soon as the words left her mouth,
she longed to take them back. All she’d meant was that Ryder and the others were much
more likely to smother their pizzas in pepperoni and sausage than they were to put
vegetables on them.

But that wasn’t how it had sounded, even to her. And judging from the wicked smile
Ryder was currently wearing, the king of the double entendre had definitely caught
the secondary meaning she
so
hadn’t intended.

Before he could reply, she slapped a hand over his mouth. “Don’t say it,” she warned.

He just shook his head, as he protested his innocence with raised hands and wide eyes
until she began to doubt her instincts. But just as she went to move her hand away
from his mouth, he ran his tongue straight down the center of her palm in a long,
decadent lick that had any thought of his innocence—or anything else, for that matter—spinning
right out of her mind.

Not that she had any intention of letting him know how he affected her. “Nice,” she
told him, making a deliberate show of wiping her hand on her jeans in disgust. But
when he just stood there, grinning at her, she risked a quick glance down at the front
of her hoodie, wanting to make sure the fabric was thick enough to hide her suddenly
peaked nipples.

It was, but deciding she couldn’t be too careful, she put a few extra feet of space
between them. Then, tossing him a careless smile she was far from feeling, she picked
up a large bag of potatoes and slung it into the basket. She also grabbed some garlic,
onions, ginger, and a variety of herbs she liked to cook with, depositing them in
the cart Ryder rolled alongside her.

“So, any special requests?” she asked as she added corn on the cob for Jared, fresh
green beans for Wyatt, and a couple bunches of asparagus for Quinn before reaching
for a few plump eggplants for Jared—eggplant parmesan was one of his favorite dishes—and
a bunch of salad stuff for herself.

Vegetables done, she cruised over to the fruit section, where she loaded the cart
with all kinds of different berries for Ryder, along with apples, oranges, and pears.

“Peaches,” he said after a minute. He reached for one of the plastic produce bags
and began filling it with the sweet, plump fruit. “I’ve been craving peaches for the
last day and a half.”

She had no idea why the thought of peaches left her breathless all of a sudden, but
it did. Maybe it was watching the way Ryder handled the fruit, his long, calloused
fingers gently squeezing each one as he searched for bruises and imperfections. Or
maybe it was the way he looked at them, like they were something else entirely.