She heard a door slam behind her and every hair on her body stood straight up. She leaned forward, punched at the elevator key like her life depended on it. Logically, she knew it wouldn’t make the stupid thing come any faster, but it made her feel better.

But it wasn’t Jared’s hand that closed around her arm just as the elevator doors finally slid open, wasn’t Jared’s thumb that stroked softly over the veins at the underside of her wrist. “Let go of me,” she said, wrenching her hand out of Ryder’s grasp.

He let go, but stepped into the elevator and hit the stop button.

“You can’t do that!” she growled, as she tried to look anywhere but at him. He hadn’t bothered to put on a shirt before he came after her and all his glorious skin was still on display. Not that she was tempted to touch it or anything.

“Why not?”

“Because people need the elevators?”

He waved a hand dismissively. “It’s the middle of the night. No one but you is going anywhere.”

“It’s nearly seven a.m.! People have to go to work.”

“At this hour?”

“Well, we can’t all be rock stars, Ryder.”

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Jamison. Don’t run away. I said I was sorry—”

“No, you didn’t.”

“Well, I am. Sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“As if.” Tears pressed against the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She hadn’t cried over her car, her boyfriend, or her job. She’d be damned if she’d cry over him. “Look, I really need to go.”

“Fine.” He shoved a frustrated hand through his hair. “But this isn’t over. We’ll talk about it when you come to the concert tonight.”

“First of all, there is no this.” She wagged her finger between them. “And secondly, I’m not coming tonight.”

He looked shocked, and more than a little horrified. “Don’t let what happened between us chase you away, Jamison. I was an ass. I never should have gotten so upset and I sure as hell never should have grabbed you like that. I swear, it won’t happen again.”

“You think that’s why I’m upset? Because you ‘grabbed’ me?” She put the elevator back in service, then hit the button for the lobby. Ryder didn’t move even as the doors started to close.

“Say you’ll come tonight,” he said as they rode down the twenty-three floors to the lobby.

She ignored him. It wasn’t easy—rock stars didn’t get to be rock stars because it was easy to overlook them—but she managed it. At least until the elevator doors slid open and she started to exit.

He blocked her, standing in the middle and spreading his arms so there was no way out. For a second she was pressed up against all that hot, hard, male flesh. Her knees went weak despite her best intentions, but that only made her angrier—and more determined to get away from him. It was like she was an addict—the longer she was in his presence, the more she was willing to do to stay there. Her only hope of escape was to go cold turkey.

Desperate to get away before she started to cry, or gave in, she stepped on his foot. Hard. Then took advantage of his momentary distraction to twist away from him and dart from the elevator.

“Jamison!” He trailed her through the busy lobby. “I’ll leave tickets at will call—”

She kept walking. “I already told you I had plans.”

“Break them.” His voice rang through the lobby. She glanced around, realized they were attracting attention, but for once she didn’t care.

“For whom?” she demanded, whirling on him. “For you?”

He froze, an uncertain look on his face. In that moment, she knew she was—finally—looking at the real Ryder and not the rock god. The knowledge further weakened her resolve. Or it would have, if she had let it.

Silence hung in the air between them for one beat, two, as she waited for Ryder to say something. Anything. But he didn’t—of course he didn’t—so she had to. “I didn’t think so. Good-bye, Ryder.”

She turned and walked away.

“Jamison!” he called after her.

She wanted desperately to turn around, wanted desperately to run back to him and beg him to forget about Jared and his past and everything else that he thought was standing between them. But her days of begging him to notice her, to be with her, were long gone.

So she kept walking right out the spinning glass doors. And she never looked back.

Hours later, Jamison limped into her apartment building with blisters the size of silver dollars on her heels. She’d spent the day pounding the pavement, looking for a job—any kind of job—to fill the gaps until she could find work as a dessert chef. Unfortunately, all the colleges had just gotten out for summer and jobs were scarce as the students had already snapped up most of them.

Which meant she was in trouble, no doubt about it. Unless she got really lucky—something she sincerely doubted would happen—she was completely screwed. Once she got upstairs, she’d log on to the state database and file for unemployment. Then run a job search in the San Diego area—the third such search she’d run in as many days—and see if anything new popped up.

Depressed, pissed off, and more than a little scared—though she hated to admit it, even to herself—Jamison shuffled her way over to the mailboxes, trying not to lift her feet as she moved. She wasn’t sure the blisters could take it. Already, she could feel blood oozing around her heels. It was a testament to just how crappy her neighborhood, and apartment building, were that she hadn’t taken off the damn shoes the second she’d stepped off the bus. But God only knew what there was lying around to step in.

She had just opened her mailbox and reached for the letters inside of it—all bills, she was certain—when Jared’s voice sounded behind her. “Where the hell have you been?”

Spooked at the loud, angry sound, she jumped, bobbled the mail. Then winced as the whole collection of it fell onto the dirty ground beneath her feet. Great. She’d have to remember to wash her hands after she got upstairs. “What are you doing here?” she demanded, squatting down to pick up the scattered envelopes. “Don’t you have a show in a couple hours?”

“Screw the show.” Jared bent and helped her gather the envelopes. “I came here to apologize, but now I want to know what’s going on with you. And I’m not leaving until I get a straight answer.” His eyes were dark and steady on her and for a second Jamison felt like a little kid again. One who could run to her big brother and let him fix everything that was wrong. Because that was who Jared was, who he had always been.

From the time she could walk—and even before then, if their mother was to be believed—Jared was the one she’d turned to when something went wrong. He was the one who fixed her toys when they broke, who made her smile when she was sad, even the one who advised her on boys—though he’d been more than a little uncomfortable with any advice that didn’t begin with “guys are scum and you shouldn’t trust them. And you sure as hell shouldn’t get in the back of a car with any of them. Ever.” Which was more than their dad had ever told her, but still. Not what a girl wanted to hear from her big brother.

Then again, she probably would have been better off if she’d followed that advice. Especially in regard to Evan Schuller and his eight hands.

But this mess was her life. She was a big girl now and she needed to fix things on her own. No more running to her big brother and asking him to make it all better. She was twenty-three years old. It was definitely time to stand on her own two feet…or at least it would be, once she got these damn Louboutins off.

“Sorry I left so quickly this morning, but you and Ryder really pissed me off. I’m a grown-up now, Jared. I sure as hell don’t need my big brother threatening to beat up every guy I make out with.”

“Fine.” He sighed heavily. “I promise not to embarrass you again like that—if you promise to make an effort never to have a make-out fest outside my damn bedroom door again.”