Undeniable Temptation (Reckless Beat Book 5)
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Undeniable Temptation
Eden Summers
Contents
Copyright
Bonus Opportunity
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Bonus Opportunity
Acknowledgments
Also by Eden Summers
About the Author
Inarticulate Excerpt
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Copyright © 2017 by Eden Summers
Content Editing by Lori Whitwam
Copy Editing by L.M. Editing
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the author.
The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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Dedication
To the readers, friends, and family who have joined me along this Reckless journey—thank you.
Prologue
Leah stared at the glossy paint of the door, the heavy wood holding back her dreams and protecting her from stupidity.
“Ryan, let me in.” Fantasies and idiocy be damned, she needed to be in there with him. “Talk to me.”
The response was an eruption of noise—a harsh shout, a smash, a thump. He was going postal, entirely destroyed from the news of his impending divorce.
“Ryan.” She banged her fist against the wood. “Open the fucking door.”
Whispers skittered toward her, the flutter of curiosity coming from other hotel guests who cautiously stepped into the hall to snoop.
If she didn’t smother this outburst it would become gossip column news. All those tabloid bastards needed was a sniff of drama and they’d pounce. There’d be photos, old or new, it didn’t matter, and a provoking headline that lacked an ounce of truth. Then she’d have to deal with more chaos. More than the monumental amount she already predicted with his inevitable divorce.
“Ryan… Please.”
The heavy thud of approaching footsteps made her inch back. Then the door flew open, and before her stood the man she adored, his pain and anger transforming his usual at-peace appeal into something toxic.
“Ryan—”
“What do you want?” he sneered.
His gorgeous ocean eyes tried to belittle her, and the heavy rise and fall of his chest aimed to intimidate. His ferocity would’ve worked if she hadn’t anticipated it. She had already prepared herself for the worst, because this moment was exactly that for him.
It was his time to break, and she had to be the one to pick up the pieces. Not because she hoped it would save their rocky friendship. Not because it was her job to do so. And definitely not because her feelings for him were far from platonic.
Nope. His appeal to her needy senses had nothing to do with this. None whatsoever.
She wanted to fix this because he deserved to be the one who was coddled for once. Every other member of Reckless Beat had stolen the dramatic limelight more than a handful of times over the years. Mason, Sean, Blake, and Mitch had all driven her crazy with moments of melodrama, while Ryan had been the peace and civility. The charmer. The goodness that kept her smiling.
“Get out of my face, Leah.”
OK, so maybe he wasn’t the peace and civility right now. But it was only a matter of time before the restoration of the man she admired.
She raised her chin, meeting his defiance with a dose of her own. “Let me in.”
“Why?” He scowled. “Why do you care?”
Ouch. That hurt. “Don’t take your anger out on me.” She strode forward and squeezed past him into the suite. “We’ll talk this out. It’ll ease the shock.”
She could smell alcohol. Scotch. It was potent, the mere scent like a tranquilizer to her senses. Obviously, she’d made the wrong decision to wait in the lobby for ten minutes so he could pull himself together. The only thing he’d been amassing was a more delirious arsenal for the impending explosion.
He wasn’t himself. She couldn’t see the gentle friend under his wavy shoulder-length hair and the close cropped beard. His fierce scowl washed away his easy charm, making her the tiniest bit fearful for his mental state.
“Yeah, we’ll just talk this shit out and all my troubles will disappear.” His tone dripped with sarcasm. “Then we can hug and laugh and braid each other’s hair. Right?”
“Just get in here and take a seat.” She entered the main room and winced at the opened bottle of Johnny Walker on the coffee table, half the contents already consumed. She hoped, for his sake, that he’d cracked the cap before today, otherwise he’d soon face plant into the carpeted floor.
“Come on, Ryan.” She strolled into the kitchen, retrieved two glasses from the cupboard beside the fridge, and started to fill them with tap water. “Talk to me.”
“About what?” He came into view at the end of the hallway. “You know as much as I do.”
That was a lie. They hadn’t been close for a long time. Not since Australia when she’d made the mistake of keeping the gossip about his wife’s questioned fidelity to herself. Now she was banished from the insider knowledge of his private life. He didn’t confide in her at all.
“I gather you weren’t expecting the process server to show up today?” She turned off the tap and kept her gaze downcast, measuring her dosage to his pain.
The divorce papers had been handed over in a hotel ballroom across the city, while the band had been watching Sean and his dance partner rehearse an upcoming music clip. Ryan’s enraged reaction to his induction into single status had been witnessed by the film crew, along with the security and dance team. All of them possible gossip leaks to the always starving paparazzi vultures.
“No, Leah,” he grated. “I didn’t know.”
“Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to contact your lawyer? Or arrange for a flight back home?” She walked toward him and held out the filled glass.
“No. And I don’t want your damn water.” He shooed her with an abrupt wave of his hand. “You should go.”
“I’m not leaving you alone.”
“Then get Sean. Or Mitch. Or Blake. Or Mason.” He made the distance
to the scotch bottle in three steps, then swung it high to take a long pull. “Hell, get the concierge, for all I care. Anyone else would be better than you.”
Bam. His cruelty made a direct hit to her chest, blood and sinew splattering everywhere.
“That’s harsh.” She kept her tone light, casual, hoping to smoothly transition him into a new headspace. “What have I done to deserve your anger?”
He shrugged. “I expect you knew she was going to blindside me. It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve held back information.”
“Don’t be an ass.” She didn’t care how much alcohol was flowing through his veins, nothing excused such a low blow. Being his support was one thing. Becoming his punching bag was entirely another. “If I made an issue out of every article that claimed one of our group was cheating, or doing drugs, or on the verge of bankruptcy, I’d get no work done. And in the end, those claims about Julie were unfounded, so you need to get over the way I dealt with it.”
He scoffed and took another gulp.
Jesus, he was seconds away from requiring a stomach pump. “Put the bottle down.”
He stretched his arms wide, holding out the scotch, an entirely morphed Ryan standing before her. “Why don’t you come and get it?”
Why? She schooled her expression and came up with a mental list of reasons. First and foremost—being close to Ryan wasn’t a stellar idea. Two—the responding tippy-tap of her heart was a bad sign.
A very bad sign.
But he kept holding out the bottle, taunting her with the opportunity to help.
“Fine.” She maneuvered around the coffee table. “Give it here.”
He grinned, the curve of lips spiteful as he handed over her prize. “I should be happy, right? Now I get to do all those things I missed out on since vowing my life away.”
“Sure.” She searched for the bottle cap, the visual sweep of the floor, table, and couches coming up with nothing. “You’re free to be yourself again.”
“I’m also free to be a player.” His words held the hint of a slur. “All those groupies will be at my disposal. And with the other band members now off the market, I’ll be eating snatch for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”
She swallowed the bile rising in her throat. It was the alcohol talking. No question. Only the thought of him being a sleaze sat like a chunk of marble in her belly. “Getting a divorce doesn’t mean you’re exempt from morality. Separating from Julie isn’t going to change who you are.”
“And who am I?” He stepped toward her, encroaching on her personal space. “Who the fuck knows anymore?”
“I know.” She stood tall, even though his proximity made her nervous. His uncharacteristic cursing, too. “You’re not that guy. You were always faithful to your wife. You never wanted to mess around—”
“Yeah, and look how that paid off.”
She placed the bottle down on the table and looked him in the eye. “Would you prefer if the divorce was your fault?”
“Oh, I know it’s not my fault.” He smiled, a fake, brutal curve of lips. “It’s yours.” There was no humor in his tone, no hint of amusement.
“What are you talking about?”
“Julie hates you. She hated how close we used to be and how every conversation revolved around my infallible band manager. Our friendship was the straw that broke that bitch’s back.”
A frozen knife sliced through her chest, slow and agonizing. “You’re blaming me?”
“Maybe.” He waved the seriousness away with a lazy hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s over now.”
“It fucking matters.” She couldn’t tell if this was truthful catharsis or alcohol-fueled lies. Either way, the news was butchering her. She’d done everything within her power to keep her feelings to herself. She’d refused to make her adoration known and become the other woman. All those years of restraint and she was still getting the blame? “Tell me the truth.”
He shook his head and stepped closer. Too close.
Suddenly, answers weren’t dire. The way the world shrank down to the two of them was apocalyptic. Nobody else existed in that panicked moment. It was only Ryan. Only love smothered in pain and coated in undeniable temptation.
“Do you miss the way we used to be?” He scrutinized her face, from the hair around her ears, to her cheeks, her eyes, and finally her lips. “Do you wish we could return to the way things were?”
“Of course I do.” She swallowed, hard, and shuffled backward. He was crawling under her skin, sinking beneath her ribs, clutching at her heart. “You should already know that.”
He took another step, and another, overshadowing her with his frame, stealing her confidence. The tips of his shoes brushed hers and the universe held its breath until she had the smarts to backtrack a little more.
“Ryan.” His name was a warning. A plea. She was falling. Suffocating. She couldn’t think past his proximity, or the accompanying daydreams. “What are you doing?”
“I can do whatever I want now, remember?” He took another step, forcing her to stumble into the wall. “What if I wanted to kiss you?”
Oh, god, yes.
Oh, hell, no.
She’d fantasized about his kiss for years, had yearned for it, pained for it. But there were infinite reasons why it could never happen. It wasn’t just about his wife. The need for restraint came from Leah’s job, their careers, the possible loss of her best friend even though he’d pretended not to hold the role since the band toured in Australia. If she lost the battle with her heart and slid down the slippery slope of seduction, she’d be in breach of contract. And a tight non-compete clause meant a similar role within the industry was impossible.
“Don’t.” That one, meek, vulnerable word was supposed to slay the threat of his lips and make him retreat. Only she couldn’t summon a stronger complaint. She was speechless at the possibility of receiving her wildest dreams and scared beyond belief at the same time.
Her heart hammered. Her senses became acute. Every inch of her skin tingled with a blanket of goosebumps while her nipples tightened in anticipation. He took the final step, the one that brought them thigh to thigh, hip to hip, and pressed her ass against the wall. The clean cut of his beard was there. Right there. Within her grasp. She wanted to run her hand over it, to cup his cheek and tangle her fingers in his loose hair.
Everything slowed to frozen frames in time, one movement gradually morphing into the next. She had a decade to stop him. A lifetime passed under his advance, and still she did nothing as he encroached, his mouth descending inch by inch until finally those lips were brushing hers in the sweetest glide of dream fulfilment.
The contact was explosive. Her cheeks burned. Her lungs, too. Between her thighs a dull throb formed, spurring her to kiss him back and seize what she’d always wanted. Soft swipes of his mouth transformed into a lick of his tongue, the delicate intrusion parting her lips on a moan. Her hands moved of their own volition, gliding behind his neck, pulling him close, demanding more.
Nothing could break the perfection. Nothing but the taste of scotch on her tongue. The infusion to her palate was a wakeup call that announced he was under the influence of alcohol, while she was merely under the influence of lust.
Fuck. What the hell was she doing?
This was wrong. So horribly, horrifically wrong.
She snatched her hands from around his neck and pushed him away, her chest rising and falling as the intimacy became a mere memory.
He considered her with a frown, his lips kiss darkened, his eyes glassy with intoxication. “Don’t deny you wanted that,” he rasped. “You’ve wordlessly begged for it since we met.”
Air left her lungs in a mass evacuation. He’d hit her right where it hurt, and without thinking she responded with one of her own. A physical one, where her hand slapped across his cheek with enough force to make both of them gasp.
He stiffened at the impact. She was traumatized herself. She’d never raised a hand to anyone before. Never even thought
of it… Well, that was a lie. Anyone who knew Mason Lynch would attest to envisaging bodily harm against the egotistical lead singer. But this was different. This was Ryan.
Ryan possessed by liquor.
His cheek turned a dark shade of pink, the evidence of her carelessness seeping under his beard. Seconds passed in the measure of panted breaths. They stood staring at one another. Both of them in shock. Both of them blinking in slow succession.
She’d anticipated that a kiss between them would be devastating. Yet, none of her fantasies were this unforgiving. None of them tore her apart and left her to wither and die under his stare. Her imagination had always included the man who used to bathe her in compliments. Not this person who inflicted suffering on others in the hopes of lessening his own.
“Listen to me,” she whispered. “You crossed a line. A phenomenally inappropriate line. Don’t ever do it again. Do you hear me?”
He winced and for a second she glimpsed the real Ryan. The man who was kind and charming and sweet. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.” She slid along the wall, not daring to make physical contact as she fled for the hallway.
“Leah, wait.”
Hell, no.
She headed for the door, her steps clipped, her chin standing at a height that spoke of determination even though she was dying inside. Coming here was a mistake. Cataclysmic. And it wasn’t because of her job, or his, or the impending divorce. Her monumental stupidity came from the incessant beat in her chest and the rolling tumbles of her belly that cemented the knowledge that one kiss had changed her forever.
One kiss had destroyed her.
And one was all she could ever allow herself to have.
Chapter One
Months later
Orlando, Florida
Ryan flipped his guitar pick back and forth between his fingers as he followed the bee-line down the backstage hall toward the Reckless dressing room. He was dripping with sweat, from his face to his crack. Every limb was wet and thrumming with adrenaline, just the way he liked it.