Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Read online

  “What am I going to do with you, Eamon?” she whispered.

  He stripped off his shirt and began toeing off his shoes. “You’re going to let me do what I want to do with you.”

  Shirtless and barefoot, he joined her on the mattress. Her hips shifted, but her legs didn’t open for him.

  They would.

  His tongue circled her nipples in lazy laps. His lips trailed from the valley of her breasts to the underside of her chin. Her head tilted back, offering more access, and he kissed along her jaw as one hand trailed to the seam between her knees.

  One drew up. Fell open.

  Beautiful.

  His.

  Her sex was hot, a flower in pink and petals and dew. She lifted into his fingertips as he grazed the soft flesh.

  His teeth bit into one nipple, a gentle reprimand. “Should I tie your ankles?” he asked, blowing on the wet tip. “Or can you hold still for me?”

  Her lashes fanned over her flushed cheeks. “I-I can hold still.”

  She wouldn’t, of course, but she’d want to, and watching her battle herself held its own charms.

  To help, he covered her, settling his hips into the cradle of hers as he drugged her with a sequence of deep, slow kisses, all the cinematic flourishes he’d guessed, upon seeing the dreamy bed, that she’d enjoy.

  But with a little bondage and leather on the side.

  They hadn’t gone this route every time, but every time they’d taken this road the destination had been spectacular.

  Along the way he’d figured out why their yearnings dovetailed so handily. Cami wanted to be petted and played with, indulged and spoiled, without allowing those cautions and warnings and worries that he’d just heard about enter into her head. And Eamon…

  Her trust could turn him on like no other.

  His driving need sent him sliding down her body now. His fingers pinched and pulled on her nipples as his mouth traced a line along her torso. His tongue teased the hollow of her navel, then he moved lower, shoving open her thighs with his shoulders.

  Her hips rolled, and he placed one hand on her belly to restrict the movement. Above his head, she whimpered, and he smiled against her flesh as he made his way to her sex.

  Opening her with his thumbs, he settled in for a feast.

  Her taste…if he could write songs he would sing of it, of the honey and heat and the syrupy goodness of it going down his throat. He licked at her lips, flicking them with the edge of his tongue, grazing across the surface of her hard clit, sliding lower to drive inside her opening to draw out more wetness.

  Glancing up, he saw her arms twisting in the bonds. Her half-shuttered eyes were trained his way, and he gave her a show, drawing the broad flatness of his tongue over her sex in lavish, lascivious enjoyment.

  Her hips bowed, her moans and fidgets making him hornier than ever. Reaching down to give his aching boner a little more room, he released his button and zipper.

  At the sound of the metal teeth opening, Cami whispered, “Please. Please, Eamon.”

  So he filled her, but with fingers instead of cock, and thrust in and out of her sleek, tight channel as his mouth drew in her clit.

  For a second, her struggles ceased, then, as he began to suck, she fought the bounds. The sight of her writhing under the pleasure he doled out made his back slick with sweat. He watched her, her frantic movements and helpless noises turning his crank.

  He shoved his fingers deep inside her and flicked his tongue over the crest of her clit.

  Her heels dug in, her back arched, and her sex went even wetter as she came apart, shaking with electric abandon.

  Gentling his movements, he eased her down, taking in each aftershock, until she stretched her legs, and one knee rubbed at his shoulder in affectionate gratitude.

  “Don’t thank me yet,” he said, and dried his mouth with the back of his hand. “We’re not done here.”

  It made her shiver once more, and he crawled up her body to start the adulation all over again. When she was breathless and straining, he shoved his pants and boxers down to his knees. Condom next, then he drove into her, his body primed for possession.

  Maybe he went a little crazy. One more for the road.

  Because as he pumped, each thrust heavy and root-deep, he forgot something of himself. His face buried in her throat, he breathed her in, the smell of her in his nose, the taste of her still on his tongue, the feel of her tight pussy accepting his cock overtaking any other thought.

  Her hips lifted into his and as he reached the crisis, when the feverish ball of pleasure had centered at the small of his back and was almost ready to explode, he insinuated one hand in between them to touch her clit.

  The other found her palm, still bound overhead, and clasped it.

  He grunted into the next strokes, his last chance to take pleasure from his captured fairy. Then he felt her pussy tighten on him and heard her long moan, and now he was coming, too, pleasure shooting down his shaft in heavy pulses.

  For long moments, he lay on her. Then one of her hands was at the back of his head, playing with his hair. The belt, he thought hazily, had loosened.

  Gathering his strength, he made to move off to the side.

  And found himself hampered.

  His gaze flew up and he noted their hands, still entwined. But more, somehow during those last moments of lovemaking he’d insinuated his wrist beneath her bond, tying them both together.

  In the morning, he snuck out for groceries. He returned to find her bleary-eyed and damp from her shower—and dressed.

  “I’ve brought you things,” he announced in a too-loud voice.

  He winced at the sound of it, his inner ears as raw as the rest of him felt. The grocery bags went to the counter, and he returned to his car for a cardboard box.

  Back in the kitchen, she held a plastic dish in one hand and a small bag of kitty kibble in the other. “What did you buy these for?”

  “The coda.”

  The perfect, satisfying ending to their affair. On his short drive, he’d considered bushels of roses or cartons of candy, but then he’d run across some cute kids on a corner with something else he could bring to his lovely, lonely fairy, now freed of his bonds.

  “This,” he said, reaching into the box and bringing out a tiny kitten with pale blue eyes and a fur coat the color of coastal fog that he presented to his former lover.

  Both looked daggers at him.

  And the song ended in a discordant clash of painful notes.

  Chapter 12

  Cami pressed her phone to her ear as she rearranged paperwork on her desk at the salvage yard while speaking to Cilla. The Molotov cocktail had spared that particular piece of office furniture, unfortunately. The scratched and dented metal had a long overdue date with the scrap heap.

  “Was it too awful?” the other woman asked. “Talking to Eamon to remind him you need to get into his Malibu house for your things?”

  The day before, after he’d left her house, she’d been someplace between angry and agonized on the emotional scale. Their “coda” was a cat? So she’d called the closest person she had to a sister and told her—not everything—but enough to know that Eamon had walked out of her life again.

  After a night of shatteringly intimate sex, he’d gone away.

  And left her with a kitten as compensation.

  “I chickened out,” she confessed to Cilla now. “Ren didn’t tell you?”

  “No.”

  “I played the little sister card,” she said, somewhat shame-faced. “I asked if he’d call him and make the arrangements.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, and Eamon had already thought of it. I didn’t realize, but he left me with a key yesterday. And the people at the gatehouse know to let me in his home.”

  “That’s easy then. You can dash in and out while he’s at work. Do you want company?”

  Cami hesitated.

  “I won’t do anything terrible like putting cement in t
he toilets or shrimp shells in the drapery hems, though I want to,” Cilla said.

  “Eeew.”

  “Yeah, I know.” The other woman sighed. “I’ve been spending too much time with our realtor, trying to find a place perfect for Ren and me both. She’s shared with me all sorts of nasty stories.”

  “Eamon doesn’t deserve any of that. And not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll go on my own, thanks.” A final chance to visit his place. To be alone while allowing a few more memories to soak in. “As soon as my helper arrives, I’ll make the run.”

  Two hours later, Cami stood in the entry of Eamon’s Malibu house. Breathing deeply, she took in the lingering morning scents—ground coffee and the eucalyptus and cedar of his shower soap—as well as the ever-present salty note of the ocean. The last drew her to the balcony doors, and she unlocked and slid one open, stepping out to take in that amazing view of Pacific below, sky above, and the hazy line of the horizon in between.

  She gave herself a few minutes to catch sight of her dolphin friends or the playful seals that had showed on occasion, but the only thing she spotted floating on the surface of the water was a tangled skein of rusty-brown kelp and an abandoned red Solo cup.

  It made her smile a little, thinking of Eamon’s father, Irish. She watched the plastic wash close and then out with each wave, until the notion of garbage marring the near-perfect setting made her frown. Should she head down the steps to properly discard of it?

  But she didn’t know enough about the rise and fall of the sea level to guarantee she could manage the task without getting a dunking. So she shut and locked the door, then headed toward the bedroom she’d used at the front of the house. Tossing the duffel she’d left there on the bed, she glanced around the room to determine what she had to collect. A few pieces of clothing, a couple of pairs of shoes, some toiletry items.

  A plastic bag for her shampoo bottle was a must, she decided. She suspected it had sprung a leak.

  As she headed for the kitchen to locate a zippered plastic bag, movement on the balcony caught her eye. With a small shriek, she started.

  A woman stood on the other side of the door. With a wave, she rapped on the glass, then gestured for Cami to come nearer.

  Veronica Healy, her hair windblown, and in another pastel yoga outfit, smiled.

  There was lipstick on her veneers and a large leather purse hanging over one elbow.

  Cami edged the door open a few inches. “Um…”

  The other woman’s hand dipped into her purse and brought out a small, hot pink handgun, which she pointed at Cami.

  “Thanks, I don’t mind if I do,” she said, stepping through.

  Cami shuffled backward, staring at the weapon. “What? Why? How did you get here?”

  “The public access again. The tide tables are accessible by phone, you know.” Veronica tossed her purse onto the couch, but continued to aim the business end of the gun at Cami. “I just made it.”

  “Eamon isn’t here,” Cami said, as if it wasn’t unnatural for someone to come calling on the man, their weapon at the ready.

  “I know. I saw him leave. I’ve been testing the balcony doors every day, trying to find them unlocked. But as I was walking down the beach I saw that you were here.”

  Cami swallowed. “I dropped by to collect a few things.”

  “Me, too,” Veronica said, as if it was a grand coincidence. “You can help me look for what I’m trying to find.”

  Jewelry. She’d been after that before. Then Cami recalled that Eamon’s partner, Spence, had said Veronica’s husband had filed for divorce and there’d been a pre-nup. Was the other woman desperate for money?

  “I really don’t think your—what was it? Rings, a necklace, a set?—is here. You looked before. I did, too.” Not very hard, true, but wouldn’t movers or cleaners or someone have found the items previously?

  Veronica waved her free hand. “The lawyers made me turn over everything now that Grant’s filed for divorce.” Her lip curled. “Weasely prick.”

  “I’m sorry to hear of…your difficulties. But I’m still not getting what you’re looking for here.”

  “The fountain of youth,” Veronica said, with expansive arm gestures that made Cami move another few feet back as she eyed the gun.

  The other woman came closer and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. “When I was in my late thirties I had a doctor who promised estrogen and progesterone would keep me youthful. Then it was HGH—you know, that stuff that professional athletes, their wives, and every other celebrity is prescribed for fatigue or migraines or jock itch. But now it’s V, and V is best. I promise you.”

  “Oh-kay.”

  Veronica wagged the gun like a finger. “And if Grant is going to close down my accounts, I have to keep up my looks. I’m a one-man woman.” She frowned. “I mean one woman who needs a man.”

  “Sure, I see that.” Just be agreeable, Cami, she told herself. “But there’s no V here.”

  “Sure there is.” She glanced around as if it might come from around the corner and tap dance toward them. “Wick told me.”

  Dots started to connect. “Eamon’s cousin.”

  “That’s right. He was my dealer. And word is, he has a supply stashed here…a nice safe place to store the stuff—with his straight-arrow cousin.” She frowned again. “I didn’t have time to find it when I was here last. You two came in and caught me.”

  “Well,” Cami said brightly. “I have a great idea. I’ll head off, and you can take all the time you need—”

  “I need you.” Veronica pointed the gun at Cami’s mid-section. “Two of us will find it faster than one.”

  “Okay,” She put out placating hands. “Sure. But I’m really not a gun-person. Could you maybe put that away?”

  Veronica glanced at it. “Don’t worry. I took a class.”

  “Yay,” Cami said faintly. “Should we start looking right now, or—Wait! I have another idea!” She tried to sell it with every showman gene handed down by String Bean Colson. “We could call Eamon. He’s an officer of the court.”

  Thank you, every cop and lawyer TV program she’d ever watched.

  “So?”

  Veronica clearly didn’t know her Law & Order episodes—which actually might be best since Cami was really winging it. “As an officer of the court, he can get right through to his cousin in jail. Wick will tell him where the…the supply is located, and then he’ll pass that info onto us.”

  Cami hadn’t worked out the details on how this would save her from the demented divorcée, but if she phoned Eamon at least he would know to contact the cavalry. She cast a glance at the ocean. Or the Coast Guard?

  Veronica disapproved of the Eamon angle, however. “No, just us girls.” Her gaze went beyond Cami, then she gestured with her gun. “Let’s start in the kitchen.”

  Cami obediently turned and crossed to open a cupboard door. “What does, uh, V look like?” she asked. “Liquid? Powder? Pills?”

  Veronica scratched her jaw with the point of the weapon. Cami closed her eyes, averse to witnessing even this creepy lady blowing off her own head. Perhaps it was only a toy. Or maybe unloaded, but either seemed overly optimistic.

  “I think it comes in all three forms,” Veronica finally answered. “Before, Wick gave me pills, but I think you can inject a liquid.” Pulling open the refrigerator door, she perused the contents, made a disgusted noise. “Typical man. Don’t they know beer makes you fat?”

  The two of them continued rummaging and ruffling for the next several minutes, while Cami held back her growing anxiety and shuffled through sensible options, trying to think of a safe and expedient way out of this predicament. When she found a supply of various-sized plastic baggies and then a drawer bursting with “junk” that included a bottle half-filled with allergy caplets, she decided a gamble might not be such a bad idea.

  Crouching down, she pretended to inspect a low corner cupboard and the lazy Susan filled with mixing bowls inside, while with sha
king hands she poured the contents of the pill bottle into the plastic bag. Still wondering just how she was going to pass off the over-the-counter medication as the desired contraband, she heard noise coming from the direction of the front door. A lock clicking open. The barely-there squeal of hinges.

  Her heart leaping to her throat, she straightened. Then a familiar voice called her name.

  Eamon. Oh my God, Eamon.

  “Cami!” he called again.

  Her pink firearm still firmly in hand, Veronica sent her a significant look from her crazy eyes, then ducked out of sight around the corner to the laundry room.

  “Cami, where are you?”

  Shoot. Heck. Darn. Then her mind amended the words to real curses. Shit. Hell. Damn. And…

  Fuck!

  What to do? How to warn him away?

  “Cami!” Was that impatience or alarm in his voice?

  “I’m in here,” she managed to get out, hoping she didn’t sound strangled. “The kitchen.”

  He walked in, his gaze snapping to her face. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing.” She scowled at him.

  Today he was dressed as Business Eamon—dark slacks, white shirt, striped tie. No way was he carrying a weapon while in that get-up.

  “I expected to be alone, that’s all.”

  If she acted mad enough, annoyed enough, perhaps he’d go away. Far away from Veronica and her hot-pink gun.

  He forked a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I get that. But I thought…”

  “Really, I’d prefer to do this by myself.”

  “I realize now the kitten was a bonehead farewell gesture.”

  Yes, but she didn’t even bother rolling her eyes because he needed to go. Now. He needed to put distance between him and the cracked lady with her maybe-not-for-play lady gun who seemed to have a chip on her shoulder at the moment. “Eamon—”

  “We didn’t leave things well, I get that. And I get that I can’t make everything right.”

  “No, you certainly can’t.” Desperation added a hard note to her voice. “You swept into my life—twice—and you didn’t even try to act like a responsible human being. Instead, for your own selfish reasons you…you made me promises. Maybe not with words, but in other ways, Eamon. And when things got sticky, you walked out on me. Twice.”