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chatting up a leggy redhead."
    "The one he met our first night in town?"
    "Mmm," Dalton sighed. "Since he hasn't sealed the deal, he's sweet talking her into coming to Philadelphia."
    "That sounds like Ashe. When he lays on the Southern charm, women fall from the trees."
    Quinn listened as the men carried on their conversation as though she wasn't there. Her boss had told her over and over again how insular the band was. They didn't welcome outsiders. Especially reporters. To which Quinn threw in that she wasn't a reporter. Her boss didn't see the distinction. He wasn't alone.
    Now and then she would snap a shot. These were the pictures she loved the most. Casual and relaxed. Two friends shooting the breeze. For such a private group, they were awfully at ease around her. Quinn didn't know why, but she wasn't complaining.
    "Where the hell are they?" Ryder checked his watch. "I need to put a fire under Zoe and Ashe. The whole point of meeting before we got on the bus was to introduce you all to Quinn."
    "I'll get them. Stay and keep the lovely Quinn company." Dalton jumped to his feet. For a big man, he was surprisingly quick. He was across the room and out the door, giving Quinn only enough time for one picture.
    "Why did you make your manager think Dalton was…"
    "Fooling around with a groupie?" When Quinn nodded, Ryder sighed. "Alden keeps the band running like a well-oiled machine. But at times he's judgmental. Which is odd for a man who makes his living in this business."
    "Sex, drugs, and rock and roll?"
    Ryder tapped his finger on the table as though the random beat helped him think.
    "There has been plenty of each of those. Especially in the early days. We were a wild bunch of kids. Feeling our oats—so to speak. Alden kept us out of trouble whenever possible."
    "And when it wasn't possible?" Quinn wasn't unfamiliar with how the world of a celebrity worked. But only from the fringes. She was fascinated to hear about it firsthand.
    "Alden has connections, and he isn't afraid to use them." Ryder ran a hand through his hair. In Quinn's opinion, the messy look only made him sexier. "For the most part, my friends and I have calmed down. We gave up drugs. Sex is no longer a full-out competitive sport. All that's left is rock and roll. That—to coin a phrase—will never die."
    "Your fans thank you."
    Ryder smiled. "As for Alden? When he gets his knickers in a twist, I refuse to placate him. He jumped to a conclusion. One I didn't appreciate."
    "So you let him twist in the wind." Quinn was an outsider. She didn't understand the history or the dynamic of the group. But she knew what it was like to have someone judge her actions. It would have been nice to have someone like Ryder—someone who had her back the way he had Dalton's.
    "I prefer he was hoisted on his own petard."
    Impressive reference , Quinn thought. "Now who's the smarty pants?"
    "But I didn't learn it at a fancy college."
    Which made it all the more impressive. Quinn had done her research on Ryder Hart. Not that there was much available beyond ubiquitous press releases and gossip rag crap. But she had found out that Ryder was a self-made man. Beyond a high school education, what he knew he had taught himself. It hadn't taken long to figure out his knowledge was extensive. And eclectic.
    "Dalton was right. You are lovely."
    The change of topic threw Quinn. But just for a second. Realizing where he was headed, she quickly put on the brakes.
    "Keep the sweet talk to yourself." When Ryder joined her on the couch, she wisely moved to a chair.
    "You were serious about keeping this professional?"
    "As a heart attack. No pun intended, Mr. Hart."
    "I want you, Quinn."
    Her eyes widened in surprise. "This is glacial? Maybe Dalton was talking about a different Ryder Hart."
    Ryder grinned. "There's only one."
    "Dim the charm, fella."
    "Does that mean you aren't immune?"
    He looked hopeful. Quinn tried to shoot him down.
    "It means it doesn't matter. Only a fool plays