by Cari Quinn
“I’ll be waiting for you.” Before she could say anything, he trailed his fingertip along her jaw and lightly pressed his mouth to hers. “Thank you. I know this isn’t easy.”
“No, but it’s worth it.” Swallowing hard, she gripped his hand against her cheek. “We’re worth it.”
Worth everything, including her honesty. And her trust.
“Damn straight we are. It’s good to hear you say it. See you in a little while.” He took a step away, then turned back and nailed her with that intense, probing stare that always made her pulse go haywire. “Don’t make me come looking for you.”
She traced her fingertip along the modest V-neck of her dress. Her gown wasn’t particularly revealing, but from Ryan’s expression, she might as well have been clad in only Saran Wrap. “As intriguing as that sounds, I think we’ll save those games for when we get back here later.” She smiled as he licked his lips. “After you’ve won that award and dazzled everyone in the audience with your wit and charm.”
“You didn’t mention my devastating good looks. An oversight, I’m sure.” He grinned and started for the door again, then mumbled under his breath. “Fuck it. They can wait another thirty seconds.”
He hauled her up to her toes, driving his hands into her hair. She’d spent time on the loose waves, but he didn’t seem to care. His long fingers speared through them to cup the back of her head, his lips hotly molding to hers as his tongue sought entrance. He didn’t have to wait. She curled hers around his, sucking gently at first. Harder when he made that sound in his throat that always unspooled her at his feet. Lust, longing, love. She could read so much from his smallest reaction.
Before this weekend, she’d been afraid to see evidence of his feelings. It had been safer, easier, to pretend they were just buddies who also liked each other naked.
Now she was beginning to think about having the whole enchilada. Maybe even something like Michael had found. She hadn’t considered anything but this life of emotional abstinence she’d lived for so long that imagining more was frightening as hell.
And exhilarating, especially if Ry was by her side.
“Go,” she murmured, pulling back before she couldn’t. They were both breathing hard, and already she was curling her fingers into her palms to stop herself from hauling him against her again.
“Going.” He pressed his thumb to her lips, leaving behind a delicious little tingle on her skin, and headed for the door.
Once it had shut behind him, she sank to the bed and counted to twenty-five to settle her jangled nerves. Time to get this over with so she could get downstairs to celebrate with the band.
Tonight was their night. She just knew it.
The knock at the door startled her. She bobbled her phone, swearing as it fell to the floor. Shit. She snatched it and tucked it into her bra while she rushed to let Ry back in. He was as off schedule as she was tonight.
Hurriedly, she yanked the door open. “Did you forget your—” She broke off, her heart stuttering to a halt.
It wasn’t Ryan. It was her worst nightmare in the flesh.
“Hello Casey.” Marco smiled slowly. Lethally. “I’ve missed you.”
Chapter Nineteen
Tonight was the big one, in so many ways.
Ryan rode the elevator down to the lobby, smiling at the other guests sporting their formal wear. Glittery gowns winked at him and expensive shoes gleamed. Not all of the patrons of the hotel were rocking such outfits, but enough were that he wondered how many were headed to the awards show.
In Vegas, they could be going anywhere. A million reasons existed to dress up. Just as there were plenty of reasons to be grinning like an idiot. He should know.
There were the obvious ones, of course. They were up for another Best New Artist award. Taking this one would definitely be good for the band’s morale.
Even if Mal was insistent winning another Best New Artist award only meant they’d get on a One Hit Wonder retrospective show that much faster. Whatever. He wouldn’t mind getting an award for his shelf.
Or hmm, maybe he wouldn’t get a personal one. He hadn’t the last time, but every show was different. Perhaps the band would have to share. Pass that sucker around until the embossed lettering grew dull. He’d need to clear a shelf in his and West’s place. At least for now. Lo was there all the time, and third wheels were never fun.
Then again, if Denver wanted to move in with him…
He stopped walking and studied the heavy platinum letters on the glass door in front of him.
Stefano’s Jewelers. For that special moment.
Swallowing hard, he pulled open the door and stepped inside. He was instantly swarmed by two lovely blonds.
“Sir, how may we help you today?”
He blinked, already dazzled by the crystal chandeliers and extremely expensive-looking rugs. For a kid from a modest middle-class home, he still wasn’t used to all…this. He wasn’t even supposed to be in there.
What was he doing?
“I’d like to see rings.” Hearing the words made him clear his throat.
He must’ve gone nuts. Was it the rarefied air in this place? He walked in and suddenly he could see his future, encompassed in a sturdy gold band and a blingy stone. But not too blingy. Den would never go for that.
Hell, he should’ve brought her along. She’d want to pick. He didn’t have the taste for this sort of thing.
One of the blonds smiled brightly. “We have rings. Plenty of them. What are you looking for, precisely? Do you have a preferred gemstone? Is this an engagement ring or other?”
The second blond flanked his other side, ushering him toward the miles of glass-topped counter with muted swatches of velvet fabric inside to cushion all the jewels. So fucking many. He was either going to get a migraine or end up buying a ring he couldn’t afford by the time he walked out of this joint.
“I’d like an engagement ring.” He’d started to say promise ring, but that didn’t feel right either. It didn’t make sense to go halfway when he was ready to go all the way home. She probably wasn’t, and that was just fine. He’d buy the ring, and he’d bide his time.
They had all of it they’d ever need. But he just wanted to have it. Just as he’d purchased toys to use with her right after they’d fought at The Velvet Vault sex shop, this felt like an act of hope. Better, an act of strength. If he bought this ring, there was no going back for either of them. He wouldn’t chicken out and back down just because he was concerned she wasn’t feeling the same way he was. Or her timetable was completely different.
Because he was beginning to think they were synced there too. If she saw he wasn’t concerned about taking a big step, maybe she wouldn’t be either.
And if he was wrong…well, maybe he could sell the rock to West cheap to give to Lo. Which probably was super wrong on a hundred levels, but Lo wouldn’t care. She was the coolest chick he’d ever met, other than Den.
So he was buying a fucking ring. The best fucking ring he couldn’t afford.
The blonds were still talking, blathering on about sizes and cuts and gem weights. He didn’t care about any of that. He scanned the rings they selected for him, trying to goad him into making some sort of specific request, and none of them were right.
They were too ostentatious. Too nondescript. Too bland. He didn’t know how a ring that cost—one of the blonds named a figure—a fucking lot could be bland, but it was.
“This is an entry-level ring,” the blond added, and he gripped the counter for support.
Never mind what it costs. You can’t put a price on love.
Perhaps not, but he could put a price on his sanity. And their future. If they wanted to have enough money to someday get their own place, maybe even a house with a couple extra bedrooms—
Okay, he was officially going way too far. They hadn’t even said they loved each other yet. But he knew.
He fucking knew.
She was his future wrapped up in a big shiny bow. He migh
t not have realized how much he wanted that particular happy ending, but now that it was within reach, he couldn’t stop imagining what it might look like.
They’d have a dog. Big and golden with a huge lolling tongue. And they’d have kids. At least two. Three? No, two. A boy and a girl would be cool, but he wasn’t fussy on varieties. He just wanted a family he could call his own.
His woman, his kids, his dog, his life.
“She’d like an emerald cut,” he said, and he didn’t know how he knew that either. But reacting from instinct had become his goddamn job. “Not a diamond though.”
Blond number one’s face fell, though she recovered admirably. “Perhaps a sapphire. Or emerald. Or—”
His gaze fell on a red gemstone surrounded by pinprick diamonds. More diamonds lined the platinum band on either side of the stone. Some traditional in there to suit him, and something unique to fit her. She was fire and ice to him. So much passion and drive and life cloaked in a cool demeanor that showed she could handle anything.
Anyone. Even him.
“That one.” He pointed, grimacing as he smudged the glass. Couldn’t take him anywhere. “I’ll take it.”
Blond number two frowned. “Don’t you want to see it first?”
“No, it’s right. I want it. She’s a size seven.”
He’d found that out through dubious means. A random conversation about his mother’s wedding ring a few days ago and he’d found himself feeling around for more details. He’d needed her ring size, even without admitting to himself why.
Forget telling her how he felt. He was still getting there himself.
“Can I hold it?”
Blond number one’s eyebrows drew together. “You said you didn’t want to see it.”
“It’s the right ring, I just want to hold it.” He held out his palm and blond number one set it in the center.
For a moment, he just stared. Then he closed his fingers, testing the weight. The feel. And he grinned.
“Yes, this is the one. Is this a seven? Or can it be sized into a seven? I need to take it with me.” He waved off the box that blond number two produced. “No, I’ve got it. I’m good. Here you go.”
He pulled out his wallet and slapped down his credit card. He’d just dumped money on the thing. Thank God for that recent check from Ripper.
You still owe Denver. Shouldn’t you be paying that back instead of buying rings she may not want?
“That ring is a seven, yes. Still, in case you’re wrong about the size—”
“Good enough. I’ll take it. Ring it up, please.” He flashed the blond a smile. “Thank you.”
She didn’t dally. Guess she’d decided her commission was dead in the water, so might as well just move him along. She ended up giving him the box anyway, and he took it and tucked it into his pocket. The receipt went in his wallet, the bag in the trash.
The weight steadied him as he took his time heading to the Event Center. Maybe if he didn’t rush, Denver would already be there waiting for him.
His gaze strayed to the flashing lights that indicated the direction to the gaming floor. Nope. He wasn’t going there. Not that he had a problem, but he’d already gambled once today. Harmlessly. How could he resist? One of the sponsors of tonight’s awards show was The Hummingbird Group, and hummingbirds were a special thing with Denver. So he’d placed a little bet on them. She couldn’t hold that against him.
Besides, he wasn’t hiding what he’d done. In fact, as soon as they met up, he’d tell her about the bet he’d made. Then kiss her senseless, because even being away from her for fifteen minutes felt like a century.
He grinned and cupped the box in his pocket. Yeah, what he’d just done had been reckless. He probably should’ve asked West’s or Michael’s opinion first. They were experts compared to him at this love stuff. But the move he’d made felt good. So did the solid weight in his hand.
Time to keep moving forward.
He found the Ripper Records table in the Event Center in record time. Minus the detour he took to the men’s room to splash water on his face and dry off his damp palms. He hadn’t been nervous about buying Denver’s ring. This stupid awards thing, though, had him churned up.
At least he assumed it was that. Something was unsettling his gut, and he didn’t think it was buying a ring for his girl. That had eased him, not riled him up. Just knowing he could say those words to her whenever he wanted to and not have to worry he didn’t have a ring for her made him happy.
She deserved the ring. The perfect proposal. The fucking gloriously happy life that erased the tension lines around her eyes. Ones he still didn’t fully understand, because he’d wanted to help chase away her ghosts last night, not make her relive her past.
He stopped a few feet away from the Ripper Records table. She wasn’t there yet. Donovan was, but no Denver. And Donovan was talking to Lila and her husband, Nick, and not on his phone.
Fuck. Where was she?
Almost against his will, snatches of their conversation last night filtered through his mind. The whole jam thing Donovan had helped her with that had led to her dropping out of college and basically setting up a new identity with a new first name wasn’t your garden variety situation. He’d wanted to press for more, but she’d been adamant it was in the past and he’d wanted nothing more than to ease her mind.
And her body, yes. He wasn’t a saint. Didn’t claim to be.
But now that he was standing there in the light of day—or evening—far enough away from her that her honey scent wasn’t scrambling his thoughts, he couldn’t deny he needed more information than she’d given him so far.
Love and lust and a whole host of emotions he couldn’t even begin to sort out had pushed him into that jewelry shop, but actually having the ring in his pocket was a reminder that he couldn’t just go with the flow. Not when this was the woman he wanted to marry and build a life with. Definitely not when he wasn’t entirely sure her past wouldn’t come back to bite them.
How could he be? She hadn’t told him the extent of what she’d faced.
Last night, he’d figured baby steps. They’d come a long way, and she’d finally started opening up to him. But if she could still be in danger, even if the chance was remote…
He couldn’t live his life that way, wondering if some asshole out there would come back to haunt them. She was his world. His center. He couldn’t risk her, even if that made her angry at him for rushing things.
She wasn’t alone anymore. He refused to let her deal with things that way.
First, he had to figure out where she was.
Maybe she’d needed a few minutes to sort out her thoughts before she called Donovan. It was a big step for her to make.
But even after Ryan joined his friends at the table, he couldn’t stop checking the time on his phone. Over and over. Until he’d practically worn a hole in his screen from swiping.
And Donovan was still quietly speaking to Lila. His phone was nowhere in sight.
So maybe she’d called her uncle before Ryan had arrived, and it had been a quick call. Neither Denver nor Donovan were ones to belabor a point. But Donovan hadn’t so much as glanced Ryan’s way. Granted, Donovan was an inscrutable sort at the best of times, but Ryan was the guy his niece was in love with—maybe. At least serious like.
Fuck it, she’d better love him. She had to. He couldn’t feel the way he did about her and be in this thing alone.
“You’re focused in the wrong direction, son.” Michael leaned closer to Ryan, and it was only then that Ryan noticed Chloe, Michael’s wife, on his other side. “You’re supposed to be watching the stage.”
“Nothing’s happening yet.”
“The show’s about to start.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” Ryan muttered, leaning around Michael to tap Chloe’s wrist. “Hey you. Great to see you. This one didn’t manage to tell me you’d be here.”
Chloe grinned. “Yes, family vacation. Well, a short one. We had to be he
re to support Michael.” She gripped Michael’s biceps and somehow her grin grew even wider. “We just know he’s going to win tonight. I mean, all of you are going to win.”
“Yes, he might share the award with us. He’s a magnanimous guy.”
Michael shook his head, smiling. “Asshole.”
“Family vacation? Does that mean the rug rats are here running around somewhere?”
“They’re up in the hotel room with Nick and Lila’s twins. The nanny is watching them all during the show.”
“One nanny with four kids under five. God help her.” Ryan sank back in his seat and set down his phone long enough to run his fingertip over the ring box in his pocket.
Michael had his family with him, and the guy was beaming. He’d shown all of them what having a wife and kids could be like.
This whole situation was probably all Michael’s fault. Ryan was normally a level-headed, plan-things-to-the-nth-degree kind of guy. Now he was impulsively buying engagement rings and rushing full speed ahead.
Sort of. He still had one foot on the curb, and that curb was called Denver. She wasn’t nearly as impetuous as he was. Not even about this.
Probably especially about this.
He was glad he’d taken the ring box after all. Maybe he’d be waiting long enough to propose that the ring would get tarnished otherwise.
Maybe she’d say no.
Shit, he was tired of going in circles in his thoughts. She should be sitting beside him, easing his crazy concerns with a roll of her eyes or some snarky quip that helped him to not take everything so seriously.
But she wasn’t there. Ryan was trying to give her space. She wasn’t twelve, so he shouldn’t be texting her to find out where she was as if she’d missed curfew.
Right? Right.
Shit, this relationship stuff was hard. Harder than he’d ever even guessed.
He rolled his shoulders. The show was about to start, and yes, it was a major event in his life, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t take a few moments to process. More than a few now. Perhaps she’d talked to her uncle and now was taking a little time for herself before joining everyone.
