Crash Into Me (4 page)

“Did Ryder break his damn neck? Because if he didn’t, he didn’t take care of things
to my satisfaction.”

“He wanted to.” She raised her hands to her brother’s, started peeling them off Ryder’s
shirt. As she did, she shifted and her lush ass came into contact with his dick—through
the not-thick-enough fabric of his jeans—for the very first time. It felt better than
it had any right to, especially considering she was his
Jared’s little sister.

Hell, she was practically
his
little sister, Ryder told himself as he worked to tamp down the unexpected flames
the contact had caused. He’d spent so much of his adolescence at the Matthews house
that they were all practically family.

Sucking air in through his teeth—she smelled as good as she felt—he plastered himself
to the door in an effort to get away from all that gorgeous softness. Which might
have worked if he hadn’t already been leaning against the damn thing. Or if Jamison
hadn’t taken advantage of the extra inch he’d managed to eek out by wiggling herself
even more firmly between them.

“Let him go, Jared,” she told her brother firmly. “He’s only trying to protect you
the way he protected me.”

Yeah, Jared, let me go
, Ryder urged his friend silently. Because if he didn’t, in another minute they were
all going to see just how non-protective Ryder was suddenly feeling about Jamison.
The thought only made him feel like more of a bastard. Especially when he remembered
how he’d found her, Max pressed against her, his dick cradled in the very same spot
that Ryder’s was currently resting.

That thought galvanized him like nothing else could have. Out of patience, he shoved
at Jared. Hard. And resisted, barely, the urge to go beat the shit out of Max all
over again.

His friend hadn’t been expecting the push and he stumbled back a little. Not far,
but just enough for Ryder to extricate himself from a situation that was rapidly becoming
unbearable. “I took care of it,” he said as he headed back to the bar, this time to
pour drinks for all of them. “That asshole won’t be bothering Jamison, or any other
woman, for a long damn time.” The words were as much a reassurance to himself as they
were to Jared, and Ryder promised himself he’d have another little talk with Max in
a couple of days—just to ensure he had, indeed, learned some manners.

The fight seemed to go out of his best friend at that. “I can’t stand that he touched
her. I want to make him bleed.”

“Jamison already did that.”

As she explained how she’d bitten the jerk, Ryder tossed back a shot of tequila, then
poured himself a second one. He could still feel her. Still smell her, all peaches
and cream and rich, sweet honey. It should be illegal for a woman to smell that good.
To feel that good.

Jared laughed as Jamison demonstrated the wimpy way Max had screamed when she’d bitten
him. Then he crossed to Ryder and slapped him on the back. “It looks like the two
of you really didn’t need me,” he said as he did his own shot of Patron. “Though I’m
not promising not to deck the bastard the next time I see him.”

“Just let it go,” Jamison implored. “I haven’t seen you guys in almost a year. The
last thing I want to do is spend the rest of the night talking about that jerk.”

“So what do you want to do?” Micah asked, draping a casual arm over Jamison’s shoulders.
Ryder watched him with narrowed eyes for long seconds, then did the second shot. It
seemed to him that lately Micah had been getting way too friendly with women he had
no business getting friendly with. Just last week in Houston, he’d been draped all
over Jared’s fiancée when the guitarist wasn’t around. They’d both had their clothes
on, but still. Ryder hadn’t liked the looks of it—any more than he liked the looks
of this. It took every ounce of concentration he had not to tell the jerk to back
the fuck off.

Jamison obviously didn’t mind, though, as she snuggled deeper into Micah’s embrace.
“What do you think? You guys killed it tonight. I want to celebrate.”

“Hell, yeah!” Wyatt said. “Let’s go get drunk.”

“Not quite what I had in mind,” Jamison told him dryly.

“Oh, yeah? What did you have in mind?” Micah asked, pushing one of her long red curls
back from her face. Ryder fought the sudden, inexplicable urge to plow his fist into
his bandmate’s face. Maybe Micah wasn’t the problem after all. Maybe
he
was, he decided as he slowly relaxed his fist. He had no reason to be thinking like
this.
Feeling
like this. And he’d do well to remember that.

“I want you guys to take me dancing,” Jamison said.

“Dancing?”
Quinn repeated incredulously.

“Yes,
dancing
. There are a ton of great clubs around here. It’ll be fun.” She turned to him for
support, just as she’d been doing since she was ten damn years old. “Right, Ryder?”

“Yeah, sure. Big fun.” He slammed back a third shot. Jared was looking at him strangely,
but Ryder ignored him. If he was actually going to have to get out on a dance floor
with Jamison and all those gorgeous curves of hers—or worse, stand there while she
snuggled up to the rest of the guys
—he was going to be dead drunk when he did it. Anything else didn’t bear thinking
about.

Chapter Three

Sitting at the bar in the VIP section of one of the most popular clubs in San Diego’s
Gaslamp Quarter, Jamison tossed back her third shot of tequila under her big brother’s
watchful eye. She knew the look on his face, knew it was only a matter of time before
he demanded to know what the hell was up with her. While she enjoyed a shot of Patron
as much as the next girl, she’d never been one to down three of them in a row. Never
been one to over-imbibe at all, to be honest.

Which was depressing, now that she thought about it. How had she gotten to the ripe
old age of twenty-three without ever being drunk? She’d gone to college, even dated
a frat guy or two. Not to mention spent most of her adolescence hanging out with a
rock band. How could she not have thrown caution to the wind at least once in all
that time?

She was making up for her teetotaling tonight, she decided, as she gestured to the
bartender for another shot. Jared started to object, but the look she sent him told
him to butt out. If a girl couldn’t get drunk with five of her closest friends in
the world after losing her boyfriend, her job, and her car all in the same week, then
when exactly
was
she supposed to get drunk?

The bartender slid the shot in front of her and she reached for it. But another hand
closed around it first. Highly indignant, she turned around to give whichever of the
guys had stolen her drink a piece of her mind, only to freeze as she found Ryder standing
behind her, his eyes dark and intense as he waited for her reaction.

The club was hot—even back here where there weren’t so many people—and she watched,
helplessly, as a single drop of sweat rolled down his throat. It disappeared beneath
the collar of his simple, black V-neck and for a second she wanted to go after it.
To lick up the salty-sweetness of it before tracing his beautiful chest and abs with
her lips. Her tongue. After so many years of wondering, she was dying to know what
he tasted like.

Ryder’s eyes narrowed, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. Then he shifted
closer, his hard thighs brushing against her hip, his chest mere centimeters from
her own. She knew he was playing with her, crowding her just to see how she would
react, as all of the guys were want to do on occasion. If it had been one of the other
guys who’d stolen her drink, she would have elbowed him in the stomach or bumped him
with her knee as she tried to wrestle it away from him.

But this wasn’t Wyatt or Micah or Quinn. This was Ryder and no matter how much she
longed to touch him, she knew she wouldn’t do it. Not now, when she was so turned
on by his proximity that she was afraid to open her mouth. If she did speak, she knew
she was going to end up revealing just how much she wanted him. Not the smoothest
move, especially when her very over-protective big brother was only inches away.

Under her mesmerized eyes, Ryder lifted the shot to his lips. Tilted his head back.
Slammed down the clear liquid. His throat worked as he swallowed and Jamison was so
tempted to grab him, to jump him, that for a second she thought about sitting on her
hands, just to be safe. But then he was getting even closer to her, his muscular chest
rubbing against her aching nipples and she forgot all about her no touching rule.
Her hands went to his waist of their own volition, her fingers weaving themselves
through his belt loops as he pressed her back against the bar.

Holy shit! Even with her brain muddled with alcohol, she couldn’t believe this was
happening. Couldn’t believe that after all these years, after all this time, Ryder
was doing this here. Now. With Jared only a few feet away.

Not that she cared. At that moment, the only thing that mattered was the fire exploding
between the two of them. Ryder was touching her, was leaning in to kiss her, was—

Her real-life fantasy crashed down around her as he snagged a lime slice from the
glass of them on the bar behind her. Then he was stepping away, biting into the tart
fruit with a careless grin and an off-the-cuff comment to Jared about one of the women
down the bar. Her brother ignored the woman—he was too in love with his fiancee, who
also happened to be his high school girlfriend, to pay attention to any of the women
buzzing around him.

Still, h
eat exploded in Jamison’s cheeks as she realized what an idiot she’d been. All that
fire between them, all that need she’d felt welling up, had been completely one-sided.
He hadn’t been brushing against her because he wanted to, but because he
needed
to reach something.

It was humiliating. And somehow so much worse than if he actually had realized what
was going on inside of her. At least then she would know he saw her as a person, as
someone beyond his best friend’s little sister. As it stood, she felt more like the
band’s asexual mascot than the sexy, desirable woman she so wanted to be for him.
To him. It was doubly humiliating when she considered the fact that that groupie had
been so certain she could get him into bed. That she could satisfy him. What did some
heavily made-up little tart have that she didn’t, Jamison wondered bitterly. Besides
the ability to attract Ryder, that is?

Ryder signaled for another round of shots, then scooted between Jared and her to rest
his elbows on the bar. He was turned away from her, talking to Jared, but suddenly
she couldn’t stand to be close to him. To have his body brushing carelessly, meaninglessly,
against her own when she was still so wound up she wanted to beg him to touch her.
Not that she would ever do that, she assured herself. If Ryder didn’t want her then
there wasn’t a chance she was going to beg for it.

The bartender placed three shots of Patron down in front of them, and before she could
think about what she was doing, Jamison slammed them back, one after the other. Her
head spun as she slapped the last glass onto the counter and she realized Jared and
Ryder were both staring at her, wide-eyed.

Forcing a grin she was far from feeling, she sent them a what’s-the-problem look.
At that moment the DJ—bless his heart—spun out a Beyoncé song from a couple of years
before and she turned toward the front of the club. “I want to dance,” she tossed
over her shoulder as she made her way to the crowded dance floor.

Now that she was walking, the room was spinning like a top, and it took every ounce
of concentration she had not to stumble as she weaved through the crush of bodies.
But she was determined to make a dignified exit—she could feel their eyes on her and
there was no way she was going to look like some stupid kid who couldn’t hold her
liquor in front of Ryder.

Even if it were true.

Micah was leaving the dance floor as she got there, towing a cute blonde in a hot
pink dress behind him. She waved at him, and he wagged a finger back and forth between
him and her—asking if she wanted him to stay with her. She did, but she didn’t want
to cramp his style either. The blonde definitely didn’t look like she wanted to share.

So Jamison just shook her head and burrowed into the crowd on the dance floor. She
didn’t stop until she was practically in the middle, and then she closed her eyes
and started to move. Just because she couldn’t have Ryder didn’t mean she couldn’t
have a good time.

…

“You aren’t really going to leave her alone out there, are you?” Ryder demanded of
Jared. The crowd was thick, especially on the dance floor, but Jamison’s red hair
made her unmistakable. His jaw—and body—clenched as she tilted her head back and moved
to the music. She wasn’t the most scantily dressed woman out there, and he knew objectively
that she might not be considered the most beautiful. But she was to him. He was mesmerized,
couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

She was dancing like the song was meant for her, shoulders swaying and curvy hips
swinging in perfect synchronicity with the catchy lyrics. Her crazy corkscrew curls
were flying in every direction, and the look on her face was sexy as hell. Eyes closed,
cheeks flushed, full, crimson-slicked lips parted invitingly, she looked like a goddess.

When she leaned back, shaking out her hair in time to the music, he realized he wasn’t
the only guy in the place who had noticed. A bunch of the men on the dance floor—even
some who were dancing with other women—were looking at her like she was a shiny present
they couldn’t wait to unwrap. It made him crazy. Nearly as crazy as brushing against
her full, soft breasts had made him earlier.

He shouldn’t have done it. He’d known it at the time, but he hadn’t been able to help
himself. Reaching for the lime had just been an excuse. He’d wanted to touch her,
to feel all that softness pressed up against him if even for a minute. He’d meant
to tease her a little bit, but all he’d ended up doing was torturing himself.

Which was nuts. She was one of his closest friends in the world, not to mention his
best friend’s baby sister, and he had no business noticing how lush her breasts were.
How curvy her ass was. How long her legs were. He’d known her since she wore pigtails
and played with Barbies. Thinking about how much he liked the way she looked was sick.
Twisted.

As was sitting there as a bunch of men lusted after her. She’d already gotten into
trouble once today. He’d be damned if he sat by and watched while it happened again.

“You’re really not going to do anything?” he again demanded of Jared, who seemed more
interested in his drink than he was in keeping Jamison safe.

“And get my ass handed to me?” Jared asked with a smirk. “You know how she gets if
I interfere too much. Besides, Wyatt and Quinn are out there. They’ve got her back.”

Ryder turned around, scanned the crowd near where Jamison was dancing. Sure enough,
his drummer and keyboardist had ditched the women they’d been hanging with and had
started dancing with Jamison instead. It should have made him feel better,
did
make him feel better. At least until the music changed to a slow song and she threw
her arms around Quinn’s neck and whispered in his ear.

Quinn laughed at whatever she told him, then settled his hands on her waist and pulled
her close. Too close, in Ryder’s opinion, but a glance at Jared—who was totally relaxed
as he nursed a beer—told him he might be overreacting a little. The knowledge did
nothing to cool his blood, or the sudden urge he had to break his bandmate’s fingers.
Who cared if they were at the beginning of a worldwide tour? The guy didn’t actually
need his fingers to play the keyboard, did he?

Feeling like an idiot for being so overprotective, yet unable to do anything about
it, Ryder turned to the bartender to order another drink. When the shot came, he tossed
it back, gestured for another. It was going to be a bad night—was already a bad night—and
after years of them, he knew getting shit-faced was the only way he was going to make
it through.

Except, when he turned back to the dance floor, Quinn was making his way back toward
the bar and Jamison was slow-dancing with someone else.

Someone who wasn’t Wyatt or Micah.

Someone who looked like he was seconds away from putting his hands all over Jamison’s
sexy ass. She wasn’t pushing him away, but she’d had way too much to drink tonight,
so it wasn’t like her judgment synapses were firing on all cylinders. Jared might
be too stupid to figure out his sister was in trouble, but Ryder wasn’t going to make
that mistake ever again.

Adrenaline roared through him and he was halfway across the club before he even realized
what he was doing.

The asshole on the dance floor had moved his hands so that they rested on Jamison’s
lower back. It wouldn’t be long before he moved them lower still. Ryder grabbed onto
Jamison’s elbow as soon as he reached her. “My turn,” he said, spinning her to face
him.

“Hey!” The jerk she’d been dancing with started to object, but Ryder didn’t give him
a chance. He snarled, “Get lost!” at the same time he shoved the loser hard in the
chest. The guy’s fists clenched and for a minute, it looked like he was going to come
after Ryder. But a well-placed glare had him turning tail and slinking back into the
crowd he’d come from.

Ryder smiled grimly. Sometimes looking like a badass really did pay off.

And sometimes it didn’t. He turned to find Jamison staring at him, a furious look
on her face. “What are you doing?” she demanded, voice about three octaves higher
than it normally was.

“What are
you
doing?”

“I’m dancing!”

“You’re drunk.”

“So what?”

“That guy had his hands all over you!”

She narrowed her eyes, tossed all of that glorious hair, and it took every ounce of
self-control he had not to reach out and touch it. Not to wrap it around his fist
and tug her closer to him. Not to—

He shifted uncomfortably as his cock grew hard. Damn it. What the hell was wrong with
him?

“It’s called dancing!”

He saw red, even as he shot her a disbelieving look. “Yeah, well it looked like an
invitation to fuck to me.”

She blanched. “You’re being a real jerk.”

“And you’re being careless. You don’t know these guys. You can’t trust them.”

“I just wanted to dance.” Her voice shook a little and her amethyst eyes were nearly
incandescent with rage. And something else. Something that looked a lot like hurt.
It made him feel like a total prick for throwing what had happened earlier in her
face. He’d wanted to protect her, not hurt her. She was his friend, Jared’s little
sister. It was his job to look out for her. Wasn’t it?

He glanced back at the bar, where Jared was deep in conversation with Quinn. But if
Jared wasn’t concerned, why should he be? Jamison was entitled to have a little fun,
wasn’t she? Especially after the evening she’d had.

Of course she was. He stepped back, thrust a frustrated hand through his hair. “Sorry,”
he muttered. “I made a mistake.” Except it hadn’t felt like a mistake. Getting that
guy’s hands off Jamison had felt as necessary as breathing.