Drive Me Crazy

CHAPTER Fifteen


Two hours later, Elise was still berating herself for her stupidity when Quinn stuck his head in her bedroom door. “Wanna go out?”

“With the guys?”

He shook his head. “Ryder and Jared just left. I thought maybe I could take you out for a late dinner and a ride around the lake.”

“A ride?” she asked, intrigued.

“Yeah, on my bike. It’s the perfect time of year for it.”

Her heart jumped a little at the idea of being on the back of Quinn’s motorcycle, her arms wrapped around his waist. She really liked the idea of being able to hold him, even when sex wasn’t involved.

But still, a girl who had just humiliated a guy in front of several million people had to watch her back. It was pure logic. “Are we calling a truce for the night?”

Those gorgeous obsidian eyes of his narrowed to slits. “I don’t know. Are we?”

In other words, take your chances. Normally, just the thought would have chills slamming up her spine—she definitely wasn’t the impulsive sort in her day-to-day life. But something about the way Quinn said it, about the challenge he was very obviously issuing, got to her.

Made her hot.

Not to mention determined not to back down.

“How do I know you aren’t just going to take me out to some deserted spot near the lake and leave me for the coyotes and bobcats?” She threw his words from that first night back at him.

His lips twitched. “Guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”

Yeah, like that came so easily. Still, she wanted to go out with Quinn, wanted to see where he’d take her here, in his hometown.

“Sure,” she said after a few moments. “But I need fifteen minutes to get dressed. And access to at least one set of underwear.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Seriously? Are you still playing it that way?”

He shrugged. “Who says I’m playing? You know there are people who do that kind of thing. Who break into the houses of famous people and steal their underwear. Maybe that’s what happened here.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s what happened,” she told him with an annoyed roll of her eyes. “Do you still have your underwear?”

“I do.”

She snorted. “Then I’d say your theory is seriously flawed. Seeing as how this is your house. Not to mention you’re about a million times more famous than I am.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got better underwear.”

“Quinn! Please.”

“Sorry, Lissy. Can’t help you.”

“Then I can’t go!”

“Really? You’re going to let a little thing like missing underwear stop you from having a good time?”

“Yeah, well, we can’t all have rock star sensibilities, you know.”

“Sweetheart, you already have them. You just don’t know it yet.” He started to leave, but then poked his head back in the door. “How’s your hand feeling?”

“Better.” It still twinged, but the constant, steady pain was gone. At least for now.

“Good. Don’t take a painkiller then. I don’t want to have to worry about you falling off the back of the bike.”

Then, with another one of his wicked grins and an absolutely lascivious wink, he disappeared down the hallway.

Elise stared after him for long seconds, wondering what it was he thought she was going to do. And then, even though the idea of going completely commando out into public horrified her, she got up and started looking for clothes anyway. Because, stolen underwear or not, her time with Quinn was getting dangerously short and she didn’t want to miss one second of it.

…

“I think we should play that game again,” Elise said after tossing back her second shot of tequila.

“What game is that?” Quinn asked with a grin. He was both amused and turned on by the way she was looking at him, her big green eyes wide and just a little unfocused, her skin flushed a gorgeous, rosy pink. And her lips…her plump, raspberry colored lips were raised in a smile that was part childlike joy and part sexy invitation. She was all enigma, his Elise, cool and distant one moment, open and warm the next, and always, always thinking. Always a step or two ahead of him, like with the iPod thing. Totally diabolical and completely ingenious. He loved it, and he was more than a little concerned that he was beginning to love her too. Or maybe it wasn’t that he was beginning to. Maybe it was still.

He didn’t know which it was. He’d loved her when he was seventeen and had walked away from her. He loved her now, at twenty-seven. But there was a part of him, a pretty big part, that was telling him he’d loved her all along. Even through the years they weren’t together.

The thought scared the hell out of him.

Because this wasn’t the right time for this. Elise was at a crossroads in her life. Her career was over, her life was a shambles, and to think that they could build anything from that—now—was crazy. And completely unfair to her. She needed time, to heal, to figure things out, to decide who she was now that she wasn’t Elise McKinney, concert pianist. What she didn’t need was a lovesick rock star mooning over her, making her feel uncomfortable and nervous and trapped.

He knew that, he did, and still he wanted her with an intensity that bordered on obsession. Still he needed her, in his arms and his bed and his heart.

F*ck. He raised a hand and gestured to the waitress that he’d like another beer. A little cyanide might be nice too, just to clear his head.

“The question game,” Elise told him, jerking his attention back to her right before she lifted a sliver of lime to her lips and bit into it.

“The question game.”

“Absolutely. We’re sleeping together and aside from the fact that you’re a crazy, rich rock star, I know almost nothing about what’s happened to you in the last ten years.”

“Isn’t that enough? I mean, it has taken up most of my time.”

She laughed, a full, rich sound that was completely at odds with her delicate appearance. He grinned; he couldn’t help himself. Elise’s laugh—when she let it escape—was one of the things he’d always liked best about her.

“Come on,” she told him. “I’m curious.”

He sighed with pretended reluctance. “I get to ask questions, too?”

“Absolutely.”

“Fine. But I get to go first.”

“Okay.” She watched him with narrowed eyes. “But only if you promise not to distract me before I get to ask my question.”

He deliberately widened his eyes, and put a hand to his chest. “You malign me.”

“I know you.”

“Then remind me why we’re playing the question game again?”

She crumpled up her drink napkin and threw it at him.

“Okay, okay. First question. I’ll start with an easy one. Where do you live?”

“Nowhere.” The word seemed to pop out before she could think better of it. But as it hung there, between them, her eyes dimmed a little and she looked nervous. “I mean, I still have a house in Chicago, but I haven’t been back there since my father died and…”

“And?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to go back there. I mean, I know I should since ostensibly that’s where my doctors are, but…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I’ve never really liked it there. It didn’t matter before, because I travel ten months of the year, but now, now I think it probably will matter.”

Quinn wasn’t sure what to say to that. He knew what he wanted to say—to hell with what she should do, it was past time for her to start doing what she wanted to do—but he wasn’t sure that was the best way to go with this conversation right now.

He was spared from having to formulate an answer when the waitress showed up with their food—a steak for him and a pasta dish for Elise.

Quinn watched as she leaned over and breathed in the spicy sauce, a small smile curving her lips as she sighed happily. And he couldn’t help responding, couldn’t help growing hard at the pure, sensual enjoyment on her face. She was just so damn beautiful.

“My turn,” she told him as she twirled pasta onto her fork. “Who’s Wyatt?”

“Wyatt?” He glanced at her in surprise.

“You’ve mentioned him several times and I get the impression he’s in the band, but I’ve never seen him at the house with the others.”


“He’s our drummer. He’s in rehab right now trying to kick a heroin addiction.” He tried to sound matter-of-fact as he answered, but he could tell from the sympathy that moved in Elise’s eyes that he didn’t succeed.

“How’s he doing?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah?”

He blew out a breath, rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I don’t know. He’s getting clean, but…this isn’t the first time. Who knows how long he’ll be able to keep it up once they let him out.”

“That must be rough.”

“It is. He’s been struggling for a long time—”

“Not for him. For you.”

Quinn froze, his fork halfway to his mouth. “Why for me? I’m not the one with the addiction.”

“No, but you’ve never been one to sit by while your friends suffer.”

“I—”

“You think I didn’t know? Why you drew that stupid mustache on me or hid my sheet music or put goldfish in my bathtub or any of the other stupid things you did to me through the years? They made me crazy, but I always knew you were doing it to take my mind off the stage fright. To make things easier for me.”

“You’re giving me too much credit.”

“Am I?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s your fifth question. When do I get a turn again?”

“Sorry.” She gestured for him to go ahead.

There were a million things he wanted to ask her, but the conversation was already way too heavy. He needed to find a way to lighten it up. So instead of asking what he really wanted to know—how she’d let herself get so damn rundown and fragile—he asked instead, “What’s your favorite dessert?”

She laughed. “Blueberry pie. What’s your favorite color?”

“Green.” The same shade as her eyes. And yes, he was aware that he was turning into an incredible sap. He just didn’t give a damn. “What’s your favorite movie?”

“Good Will Hunting. Who’s your favorite band?”

“Oooh, that’s a tough one.”

“No, it isn’t,” she told him indignantly. “You’re supposed to say Shaken Dirty.”

“Well, that sounds a little egotistical.”

She rolled her eyes. “I think you’ve earned the right.”

“I don’t know about that. So I’m going to go with the Eagles instead. Or Led Zeppelin.” He reached across the table, wiped a drop of sauce off her bottom lip. Elise’s eyes darkened and her tongue darted out, licked across the tip of his finger.

He growled low in his throat. “We could forget dinner and the damn question game and go home.”

She clucked her tongue at him. “Always so impatient.”

“When it comes to getting you into bed? Damn right.”

“See,” Elise said with a laugh. “There you go distracting me and I’m not going to get my last question.”

“All right, fine.” He gestured for her to continue. “What’s your last question?”

For long seconds, she didn’t answer, just stared at him with those eyes of hers that seemed to see right through him. Those eyes that got him hotter, made him harder, than anything or anyone ever had.

Just when he was about to say to hell with the question game, and to hell with dinner, she licked her lips and asked, “Why didn’t you ever call me?”