Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Page 21

  He winced. “I tried never to imply—”

  “Oh, you fucking implied.” Tears stung her eyes, as she worried she couldn’t shoo him on his way. “You implied with…with satin and leather and with every second of my trust you took.”

  He closed his eyes in obvious pain.

  She hardened her voice further and lifted her shaking arm, pointing toward the exit with an imperious finger. “Now leave!”

  But the beautiful, stubborn man held his ground. His gaze narrowed, and he seemed to be studying her now instead of feeling real regret. Oh, hell. Did he sense something was amiss?

  Panic churned in Cami’s stomach.

  “Go!” she shrieked.

  When he remained rooted to the spot, his expression now changing from concerned to suspicious, Veronica whipped into the kitchen, her gun at the ready.

  Cami’s fingers curled into fists as Eamon’s his whole body tensed and his expression was wiped clean. Why didn’t you leave when I said?

  And what’s my back-up plan?

  “You bastard,” the older woman said to Eamon, obviously seething, so angry her gun hand was shaking. “Just another man messing with a good woman. If I can’t kill Grant, I should shoot you for getting him that cushy cell in prison. I should murder you for what you did to…to…” Her gaze flicked to Cami. “Who are you again?”

  She swallowed, then made a quick decision, opting for her one and only idea.

  “I’m—” she held up the baggie, an inch of allergy meds across the bottom “—the person who found the V you are after.”

  Then she tossed it in Veronica’s direction, but a little over her head so the woman had to rear back to reach for it.

  As she did, both Eamon and Cami sprang.

  She was closer. She tackled the taller woman, taking her down with heavy thump. The gun discharged.

  Cami froze for a second, the loud noise echoing in her ears. But then, terrified, she scrambled up Veronica’s supine body, determined to get the weapon no matter what.

  Her hand, poised to grab the gun, encountered Eamon’s elegant business shoe instead. The sole, with the help of his weight, pinned the other woman’s wrist to the ground. Leaning over, he plucked the weapon from her slackened grasp.

  His gaze met Cami’s. “Are you okay?”

  Instead of getting to her feet, she decided to take no chances and straddled the woman’s waist to make sure she stayed in place. Veronica blinked, clearly confused by losing her breath or her precious V or her control of the situation.

  “I’m good.” Cami realized she was panting and her pulse continued to race.

  “A request, a ghrá geal.” Calm and unruffled, Eamon poked at his phone, his attention on the screen. Calling for the authorities, Cami supposed. “One time, could you let me take the risk and rescue you?”

  “I was mad,” she grumbled, as a sudden adrenaline-drop made her skin go cold. Her body trembled. “And scared. So I channeled my Real Housewives franchise fatigue and took the leap.”

  The next night, Eamon stalked across the crowded parking lot of Satan’s Roadhouse in Topanga Canyon, ready for a brawl. He’d been in a mood to hit something since the morning he’d left Cami’s, and nothing since then had served to evaporate his temper. Veronica Healy in custody for trespass and weapons charges hadn’t helped.

  Seeing Cami climbing into her car after clearing out her Malibu bedroom hadn’t done a thing for his mood, either. He’d offered to drive her himself if she felt shaky. He’d mentioned calling one of her brothers for escort.

  Instead, she’d brushed him off and sped away.

  Only to leave him alone to replay those moments in his kitchen time and again.

  Watching her launch herself at the crazy woman had made him livid.

  Hearing that gun go off had caused him to lose several years off his life.

  Realizing the threat was neutralized and Cami herself was left unharmed had just barely given him the strength not to tear his hair out and howl.

  Instead, he’d shut down, going into just-the-facts-ma’am mode. But the fucking top of spinning emotions inside him wouldn’t slow down. Regret-alarm-dread-terror. Regret-alarm-dread-terror. Regret-alarm-dread-terror.

  Now he’d been called to another fucking sit-down with Deuce, the son-of-a-bitch Savage Son. Irish had been hazy on the details when Eamon demanded them. Late the day before, his cousin Wick had taken the plea agreement—probably because he figured his customer, Veronica, was prepared to sing her way to a lesser charge by spilling what she knew of her dealer’s operation.

  So that situation was settled, and as far as Eamon was concerned, let the chips fall where they may.

  Yanking open the door, he stepped inside the dimly lit saloon. Chatter, music, and memory assailed him. Did the meet just have to be here of all goddamn places?

  Sure, it was a popular watering hole, and not just with bikers, but it was also the place where he’d publicly turned away from the most lovely, talented, and precious woman he knew. Though he was still convinced she needed more from a man—like commitment, like a guy who wouldn’t expose her to danger just by virtue of his family and his profession—Eamon hated recalling that night. How he’d felt as if she’d reached into his chest and clawed out his heart as she sang “I Can’t Make You Love Me.”

  He’d known then that he’d lost her for good.

  No going back. No do-overs.

  Not that he wanted either, of course.

  Because he couldn’t wish for Cami taking a chance on becoming scarred—outside or inside—like his mother. Irish had confessed he’d told her about the firefight—when Eamon had been unable to save Samantha.

  You couldn’t expect a woman to swear allegiance with that kind of possibility—and past failure—on the table.

  Across the room, his father got Eamon’s attention. He headed that way, noting, thank God, that none of the Rock Royalty or their entourage were in evidence that night, even though the roadhouse was owned by Ashlynn, the main squeeze of prince Brody Maddox.

  Some country-rock tune poured from the speakers, fueled by the famous jukebox near the dance floor. Deuce seemed to be enjoying himself, Eamon thought as he dropped into an empty chair. His toe was tapping along with the beat, and his gaze was glued to the ass of a jean-clad girl bending over a table on the other side of the room.

  “Hey,” he said, acknowledging the others present—Irish, Bart, and Linc.

  They lifted beers his way. Bart filled a spare glass from the pitcher on the table and his dad passed it to him.

  He took a long swallow, then slid his gaze toward Deuce, who’d paid him no mind whatsoever. Eamon set down his beer with a clack loud enough to rouse a few ghosts.

  The bearded man glanced over.

  “You made the call,” Eamon said, lifting his hands. “What’s this about?”

  Deuce’s gaze shifted away, shifted back. “Uh, a favor. A favor got called in.”

  Oh, shit. That could mean anything in the biker world where deals and counter-deals were typical and left people who initially owed Cain fifteen bucks now on the line to Abel for a fishing trip, a case of marshmallows, and a promise to break a rival’s leg.

  Eamon swung toward Irish. “Dad, what mess are you in now?”

  “It’s your problem this time, son.” His eyes looked to Deuce.

  Deuce was ogling prime ass across the room again. Eamon returned his attention to his dad, then jerked his head back to take a second perusal of the prime ass.

  That’s Cami’s ass!

  He couldn’t explain how he’d missed it at first, except that she remained bent, none of her glorious hair in view and that he really, really didn’t want to see her tonight.

  He really didn’t want to see her ever again.

  Regret-alarm-dread-terror.

  But he also really couldn’t go another moment without ensuring himself she was all right.

  Shooting to his feet, he hardly felt the hand on his shoulder.

  “
Whoa, partner,” a man said. “Sit down.”

  Eamon glanced around, only to see Ren Colson a second before the other man shoved him back into his chair. “What the hell?”

  Payne Colson, looking as if he’d just stepped off his surfboard and into jeans and a vintage Hawaiian shirt, appeared behind his brother. “Our sister has something you need to hear.”

  “Fuck me,” Eamon muttered. “She arranged this?”

  “With a little help,” Ren said, looking at Irish.

  “I told her you would need more incentive than dear old dad wanting to share a beer,” Irish added. “So she contacted Deuce.”

  “Owe her for finding Sweet Pea,” the bearded biker said.

  Eamon dropped his head back and pinched the bridge of his nose. At least it wasn’t MC trouble—not for the moment anyway.

  “But you and me are going to have trouble again,” Deuce added, “if you put less than a smile on that girl’s face.”

  “Great,” Eamon muttered.

  Seeing that Cami was strapping on her guitar, he figured she wasn’t going to be beaming at him at the end of whatever she planned. This had to be her public payback for the set-down he’d given her weeks ago.

  It had been a shit thing for him to do, no matter how well-intentioned, and now she needed to sweep away the shame of it by kicking him in the teeth in front of a roomful of strangers, family, and friends. Because he spotted the latter two in the audience now, or maybe they’d just come in—Cami’s entire tribe and each of their romantic partners.

  All of them looked a little bloodthirsty, he decided, as if they couldn’t wait to see him get his comeuppance at the hands of their tribal sister.

  Well, good for them and especially good for Cami. If this would help her recover and move on from him, he was all for it.

  If by “all for it” he meant feeling as if he’d swallowed his motorcycle’s gearbox.

  The song currently playing on the jukebox cut off. The talk around the room dribbled down to silence.

  Cami’s voice carried into the quiet. “Sorry everybody. You’ll be back to your normal scheduled roadhouse experience in just a couple of minutes.”

  Then she pulled her hair out from beneath the tooled leather strap of her guitar and strolled over to face Eamon. He saw her inhale a deep breath, her expression serious. On her feet were her favorite cowboy boots, and she wore them with jeans that clung to her legs with love. A flowing top went next, sleeveless, so he could see the tattoo crawling up her arm.

  She stood near enough that he could make out the curved leaves and flowers with their dew-fresh petals. As before, the tiny bird, surrounded by thorns, tore at his heart.

  He was still afraid he’d caged her spirit.

  But maybe she could find freedom in this last live performance he’d be privileged to attend. He knew he’d never get to watch her face like this as she sang again.

  Her throat cleared. Her fingers began to strum, and she looked down at them, then up at him, her expression wary.

  Don’t worry about me, he urged her silently. You go, girl.

  Do what you’ve got to do.

  Pinning on an encouraging smile, he nodded, ignoring the heavy grind in his belly. A ghrá, don’t hesitate to pull out the mass of metal and grease right through my navel.

  You’re worth bleeding for, he mouthed.

  Her gaze narrowed, and he wondered if she’d read the sentence off his lips, but then she began singing.

  And instead of a revenge song or an eff-you song or a song about the next guy being so much better than the last jackass in her life, she sang Eddie Vedder’s “Longing to Belong.”

  Her gaze was pinned to him when she sang the final words…“to you.”

  His head felt as if it was lifting off his shoulders.

  This was no public declaration of liberation.

  It was a public declaration of love.

  Devotion.

  As the last note died away, he heard Payne say with disgust, “What the hell was that? I thought we were here to watch her knee him in the ’nads.”

  The rest of the audience remained silent, and as she passed off her guitar and stepped even closer to Eamon, he knew all gazes had gone to him. To them. She stopped just inches short of his knees.

  He swallowed. “I didn’t expect…” His hand speared through his hair, and he started again. “You are the bravest person I know.”

  “I refuse to let a little pride stand in the way of what I want.” She gave a shrug. “You already know I’m in love with you, anyway. It was no secret.”

  “I don’t want you to love me.” Lie.

  She lifted her hands, let them fall.

  “I still don’t understand—”

  “Loyalty,” she said. “I’m proving mine. Nothing can shake my steadfastness, Eamon. Not your trepidations, not my fears of being rejected. Not even if you walk away from me again.”

  He closed his eyes. “Cami…”

  “I’ll still be loving you, wanting you, wanting to belong to you.”

  Family. Connections. Ties that bind. She was offering him that, all the things he’d felt for her from the first, when he’d created for them the little world during those dark nights. During those dark nights when the mortal had captured the fairy and held her until dawn, until that hour when everyone knew all fairies were free to fly again.

  Now she was offering him more than evenings. More than mornings and afternoons. A lifetime. A mortal’s forever.

  “I don’t deserve you,” he whispered.

  “Then earn me,” she said, with a challenging gleam in her eye.

  He laughed a little, looking around at their avid audience. “Do I have to take on your brothers? Or Deuce, who’s already started issuing threats?”

  Irish caught his eye. “Don’t blow this, son. Don’t lose her.”

  Like his father had lost his mother…because she had walked away.

  Cami cleared her throat. Eamon’s gaze shot to her. She’d said she wasn’t going anywhere. Nothing can shake my steadfastness.

  “You need to rescue me,” she told him now.

  His body tensed. He’d asked that of her at his house the day before. One time, could you let me take the risk and rescue you?

  “Rescue me from loneliness,” Cami elaborated. “Rescue me from heartache, from that feeling I have of always standing on the outside. We can be our own circle, Eamon. Me and you.”

  God, she was so good at that. Tapping into the emotional crux of the matter. Because he wanted to rescue her from those things, just as he wanted her to rescue him from them in return.

  “Please, Eamon.” Her voice lowered. “I’m longing to belong.”

  His resolve broke. Selfish bastard that he was, he couldn’t turn from all she offered, even if it meant forever worrying about her and forever wondering if he could keep her within the net of safety he cast.

  Reaching out, he grabbed her arms and jerked her to him. She tumbled into his lap with a gasp, but he didn’t let her catch her breath before he was kissing her, kissing her, promising everything in his power to give. Thunder sounded—a storm?—and then he realized it was the room’s reaction to the happy ending.

  Their happy ending.

  He promised that too, in the very next kiss.

  Later, they found a private corner at the roadhouse. They were going home soon, to her place, because Coda the kitten needed attention, but so many congratulatory drinks had been bought for them that they needed sobering time with mugs of coffee and a cheese platter.

  Cami held to his mouth a wedge of swiss on a rye cracker.

  Instead of taking the bite, he used his forefinger to trace the vine on her arm. She shivered a little, and he pressed a kiss to her hair.

  “Eamon…” There was yearning in her voice.

  “We’ll get to that,” he promised. “But first…this new little bird has been bothering me—imprisoned by those sharp thorns.”

  She slid the cracker back to the plate. “I f
inally figured it out myself. It was the old me, locked behind doors at the compound and later, still feeling like things stood between me and everyone else. My performances are like that too, right? Me, up on the stage distant and alone. But then you came along and saw me and—”

  “Had my way with you on the desk in the salvage yard office.”

  She grinned. “And had your way with me on the desk in the salvage yard office. Because of you, with you, I find that I’m ready to soar.” She tucked her hands under her arms, and with an adorable smile, wiggled her elbows. “Flap, flap, flap.”

  This woman. Gutsy. Sassy. Classy. So able to express herself…and so his. Still, he frowned. “If something happens, those thorns—“

  Her kiss cut him off. Then she lifted her head and cupped his face in her small hands and stared into his eyes. “What’s a little risk? You’re worth bleeding for, too.”

  # # #

  Dear Reader:

  Thanks for reading! Cami didn’t give up on her mysterious stranger and Eamon is now dedicated to giving her the happy-ever-after she deserves. This is the seventh book in the Rock Royalty series and I continue to revel in writing these emotional and sexy stories.

  Interested in sharing your thoughts with other readers? I hope you leave a review for the book here.

  The Rock Royalty rock on in the next in the series, Love Me Two Times. Adventurer Beck Hopkins suffered a head injury and lost a chunk of time… Could he have forgotten a woman who found her way into his heart?

  Currently available in the series:

  Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1)

  Love Her Madly (Rock Royalty Book 2)

  Break on Through (Rock Royalty Book 3)

  Touch Me (Rock Royalty Book 4)

  Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5)

  Wild Child (Rock Royalty Book 6)