“I should go,” I say.
“Yeah,” Ryder breathes.
“Ryder …”
Something in his heated gaze snaps. He shakes it off and steps back.
Ryder’s blue eyes lose their brightness for the first time since I’ve known him.
I leave the studio and go to get my bag from the nanny’s quarters. Ryder’s footsteps follow me, but I need him to stop.
“I can walk myself out. Have been doing it for a while now.”
“Right. Sorry. Habit. I always walk my artists out, and I guess I’m still in producer mode.”
“Goodnight.”
“Wait,” Ryder says, and I freeze immediately.
My strength snaps with one fucking word.
One.
In that voice I’ve heard a million times, but he’s changed the way I hear it with a single song. I can’t stop the visceral reaction, the need to obey whatever comes out of his mouth.
I slowly turn back toward him.
“It’s late.”
I deflate faster than a balloon.
“You should take my car instead of the bus.”
“What if there’s an emergency and you need to take Kaylee to the hospital or something? You’ll need the Tesla.”
“I know. I’m saying you should take one of the others. I have plenty.”
My mouth drops open. “You want me to take one of your toys? The toys you haven’t even shown me yet because, in your words, they’re your babies? And no matter how many times I’ve said you trust me with your actual baby, you insist it’s different?”
“You make it sound like I think my cars are more important than Kaylee.”
I cock a brow at him.
“Just follow me before I change my mind,” he grumbles.
Ryder leads me out the front and to the warehouse of cars that sits under the house. On the outside, it looks like a usual three-car garage, but open that sucker up, and it’s like his very own Batcave.
I practically trip over my own feet. “Ferrari. Definitely taking the Ferrari.”
“You’re fired,” Ryder jokes, but the panic in his tone is very, very real.
“I’m kidding. I’d probably drive it twelve miles an hour because I’d be too scared to crash it.” I walk along the squeaky floor. “Mustang at the back looks nice. This little roadster is cute.” I run my hand over the hood of the BMW.
Ryder grabs a set of keys off the wall. “Take the Pontiac.”
I sigh dramatically. “The GTO? If I must. This job has the worst perks.”
“I’m the most terrible boss ever.”
“Right? You almost kiss me and then make me drive your fancy-ass car.”
Ryder purses his lips. “When you put it that way, it sounds wrong.”
“You making sure I get home safe is so wrong.”
“You know what I mean. From the outside, everything that happened tonight now kind of sounds skeevy and gross. Like I’m trying to pay you off or something.”
Our hands touch as I take the keys from him, and I have to remind myself to let him go. “For the record? I’ll never think you’re skeevy and gross. Nothing actually happened. You just have a hard-on for music, I guess.”
“Sure. It was music making my dick hard in there. Nothing else.”
I burst out laughing. “Exactly. It had nothing to do with my long golden locks or my winning smile. Not to mention my sunny disposition and nonjudgmental attitude.”
“You know, you think you’re being sarcastic right now, but apart from your stubborn pretentious streak, you’re practically a Teletubby.”
“Fuck off.”
“A Teletubby with a dirty mouth.”
I wince. “Swear jar?”
“Yep.”
“Back in nanny mode, then.” I take out a dollar from my wallet and shove it at him. “Fine. Now, I’m going to go before it gets any worse and I end up having to pay you to employ me.”
“We’ll record more tomorrow night.”
“O-okay. So, the recording thing is still happening?”
“Yes, Lyric, I still want to record your demo. Sex was never a condition of that offer.”
“No, I know that. I just … it might be awkward.” And I don’t know if I’ll be strong enough to walk away again.
I need to find a way to work with him without drooling all over him.
That task might be harder than a guy on a double dose of Viagra.
“We can keep professional distance,” Ryder says. “I’ve been doing it since you started working for me.”
I pull back. “What?”
“Please. You’re gorgeous. I wanted to jump you the day we met even though you insulted me.”
I don’t know what to say to that, but everything inside me wants to make a joke or reply with something witty. The notion that Ryder wanted me when we met is absurd.
The notion this is even being talked about is weird. And wrong.
We stay, standing close enough to breathe each other in, but there’s something more than just a foot of air between us. Feels like finality when it should be a beginning.
“Go home and get some sleep. I’ll see you back here at nine.”
I hold up the keys to his car. “Thanks again for this.”
“You should look at getting a car of your own now that you have income.”
“I’ve been thinking about it.”
“Well, until then, if you ever need one …”
My chest warms. Damn him. “You might need to stop being so nice.”
“Why?”
“Because that professional distance thing? So not gonna happen if you keep this up.”
I walk away from him before we do something we’ll both regret.
Only, as soon as I’m in the car, I regret not doing something even more.
I can’t help wondering what he tastes like.
If he’s sweet and tender or rough and take-charge.
I shiver at the thought. At either of those scenarios.
I should’ve kissed him.
Ideally, he’d kiss with all tongue and bad breath, and then I’d be so turned off by him I’d be satisfied with ending my curiosity.
Instead, I spend the whole drive home thinking of his big, pouty lips and the smell of his spicy cologne.
I fantasize about how hard he’d kiss. If he’d back me up against a wall or throw me down face-first.
Stop it, Lyric.
I need to forget about Ryder Kennedy.
These blurred lines aren’t good for either of us.
And speaking of blurred lines, my dick didn’t get the memo about Ryder being off-limits. No, it keeps sending messages to my brain. Clear images of Ryder in his bed right now. Maybe staring up at the ceiling and having the exact same thoughts I am.
Even though it’s a fantasy, I can’t help wishing it were real. And even though I know I should stop, I don’t.
By the time I pull into my brother’s driveway and kill the engine, I’m hard as fuck and begging for relief.
My hand unzips my jeans and takes my cock out.
This feels wrong, doing this in Ryder’s car, but it also feels so hot.
Images of Ryder tossing and turning, unable to sleep because his thoughts are full of me, my songs, my voice, keep filling my head.