Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) Page 3

  His nostrils flared. “Cami…”

  Surely he couldn’t scent her arousal? She pulled her purse against her chest like armor. “I should—”

  “Go get a can of WD-40,” he said, turning to give her his back as he bent to inspect the lock. “Do you have some? We need lubrication.”

  Lubrication? A bubble of hysterical laughter welled up in her throat, nearly choking her.

  “Never mind, I remember where I saw it,” he said, straightening to brush past her then head down the short, narrow hallway toward the kitchen.

  “Hey…” she protested, taking after him. But he was already moving items around on the bottom shelf of her narrow pantry when she arrived.

  Cami crossed her arms over her chest and frowned. “Go ahead, make yourself at home.”

  He unbent, one eyebrow rising, the can he’d sought in his hand. “Is everything okay?”

  “Dandy. It’s just…been a while since you were in my kitchen.” Play it cool, Cam. Don’t let on you remember making waffles right at that counter, wearing only his T-shirt. How he’d come up behind you and run his fingers up your thighs and over your bare bottom.

  The waffles had burned.

  Then, short weeks later, he’d burned her.

  He turned to take in the small space, as if recalling his own memories. “I’ve always liked this house.”

  “I guess so, since we never visited yours.” Though she’d not complained or questioned that when they were together.

  The bungalow had come to her after a distant great-aunt had passed away and was a happy place for her. While others were scraping similar homes from their Santa Monica real estate to replace them with structures larger—and often less charming—she’d kept the bones of the original house and brightened and lightened with new windows and fixtures. The original handcrafted built-ins and the garage space she’d converted to a music room gave her endless satisfaction.

  Eamon looked back to her. “My place isn’t as homey as this.”

  “Where is it, exactly?” Cami asked. “You never said.”

  She also didn’t exactly know what he did for a living or where exactly he worked. A law firm, he’d told her, but she was certain he wasn’t a litigator—he didn’t seem to have the disposition to wade through legalese. Nor a limo driver for the bigwigs, either—his clothes, car, and confidence had been evidence of a certain degree of wealth. But again, she’d never pressed for details, always half-drunk on pheromones in his presence—too intoxicated by his company and his kisses to wonder much about what he did when they weren’t in each other’s arms.

  Silly dreamer.

  “I have a two-bedroom in Malibu,” Eamon told her. “Traffic’s shit, especially in the summer, but the view makes up for it.”

  Malibu, huh? Beachfront, from the sound of it. Pricey. But none of that mattered to her. She clapped her hands together. “Well, we need to get you back there, don’t we? It’s late.”

  He flashed her a grin. “Trying to get rid of me, a ghrá geal?”

  The words robbed her of breath. No matter that the Gaelic endearment was uttered with casual charm, just like every time he’d used it before—when they were together. Now it felt like a punch to the stomach, and her belly literally hollowed as she spun away from him. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

  “Cami. Cami, wait.”

  Had he seen the pain on her face? Damn it! She double-timed down the hall, then almost stumbled over the sleek creature that darted from the direction of her back door with an annoyed “meow.”

  She made herself slow, taking deliberate breaths until she reached the foyer once again.

  Eamon followed, still holding the can of lubrication, though he kept glancing over his shoulder. “You have a cat? When did you get a cat?”

  About the time you dumped me and I sometimes needed a warm body to hold. “It’s not mine.” Her eyes now were thankfully dry. “It belongs to my new neighbors.”

  “You’re pet-sitting?”

  “Floyd just shows up on occasion.” She shrugged. “We’re friends.”

  And that sounded pathetic. She’d become a woman who was chummy with a neighbor’s feline as a piss-poor substitute for the two-legged man who’d left her. Though, actually, Floyd was pretty cool when all was said and done. If he deigned to spend the night with her, he didn’t hog the pillows and didn’t outwear his welcome the following morning. He’d head right back to his own place for breakfast after tolerating a few sleepy cuddles.

  Eamon gave a little shake to his head, but then he applied himself and some of the WD-40 to the recalcitrant lock. In minutes, the device was working smoothly again, and he tested it three separate times with the key he’d yet to return to her.

  Finally, he seemed satisfied. But then a frown drew his brows together. “You know, you should have an alarm system.”

  She waved that away. “My brothers have been yammering about that, too—Ren worst of all. That task is on his To Do list, he tells me.”

  “Sounds like you’re seeing a lot of them.”

  “Yeah.” The shining spot in her life.

  The nine children of the Velvet Lemons had disappeared one by one from the compound as they came of age, some fatigued and others jaded by what they’d seen and/or done during their largely unsupervised childhoods. The boys had been sucked into the profligate party scene during adolescence, and though she and Cilla had been sheltered from firsthand experience of the full-on sleaze, they’d been affected in their own way.

  Ren had disappeared to Europe for years, but when he’d returned at the death of the band groupie who’d been almost like a mother to them, he’d found Cilla…and found the kind of love that had him changing his life. And the lives of the other members of the Rock Royalty.

  “It’s really great to have him in L.A.,” she continued. “I’d arrange for installation of an alarm system myself since he thinks it’s so important, but I know he’d rather be in charge. He’s making up for lost time in the big brother department.”

  “So I noticed that night at Satan’s.”

  The back of Cami’s neck burned again. The memory shamed her now. She’d leaped onto a tabletop and belted out all her longing and heartache in front of Eamon and everybody else at the roadhouse. She might still be there, frozen forever, if Ren hadn’t come to stand below and lifted up his arms. She’d jumped into them and let him whisk her away.

  For that semi-graceful retreat she’d be eternally grateful.

  “I’ve worried about every dark alley I’ve passed since,” Eamon added. “I have the idea Ren would be happy to set up a private ‘chat’ between us.”

  “I wouldn’t rule out Payne,” she said in a light voice, trying to make it sound like a joke. Trying to make it sound as if the break-up was not something she or anyone else had dwelled upon.

  A shadow crossed Eamon’s face. “Cam…” he said softly. “A ghrá geal—”

  “Don’t call me that,” she said, the words quick and fierce and giving way too much away.

  The phrase meant “bright love” or something close to it, and she’d thrilled to hear the exotic phrase on his tongue when they’d been together.

  Now they weren’t.

  “You should go.”

  Dropping his head, he closed his eyes on a sigh and pinched the bridge of his perfect masculine nose, the picture of fatigue and frustration.

  Cami wouldn’t let it soften her. “Look. You’re tired. I’m tired.” From down the hall, in the direction of her bedroom, she heard the cat’s meow. “Floyd’s ready for bed.”

  Eamon’s chin lifted. “If he’s your neighbor’s cat, how does he get in here?”

  “How does he get in?” She shrugged. “I leave the back door open.”

  “What?” Eamon was already on the move, long legs eating up the hallway toward the rear room that had a sliding door leading to the back yard. “That’s a security nightmare.”

  Cami hurried after him. “Keep your pants on. I have a stic
k in it.”

  When she reached the small den, she found him with his hands on his hips, staring at the sawed off broomstick that left an opening sized for a sleek feline.

  “See? Too narrow for the boogey man.”

  He whirled, his expression thunderous. “Jesus Christ, Cami. I could pop that stick out of place in three seconds flat with a bent car antenna.”

  Her mouth dropped. “How come you know how to do that?”

  “Misspent youth. Evil intentions. A criminal mind. Take your pick. Or take them all.”

  “I…” Before she could think how to respond, the cat dashed into the room then escaped through the opening.

  Without a by-your-leave, Eamon shoved the door shut behind the animal and set both the lever lock on the handle and the one at the base of the door.

  Cami frowned. “But Floyd—”

  “Can he get into his own house?”

  “They have a pet door,” she muttered. But now she wouldn’t have a companion to share her bed for the night.

  “No more doors left open,” Eamon declared, “even if it’s only inches.”

  His commanding tone made her bristle. What she did was no longer any of his business. That had been his choice.

  “And no more advice from you,” she countered, shooing him toward the front door with her hands.

  Once there, she looked up at the maddening, beautiful man who still seemed inclined to linger. Narrowing her eyes, she fixed him with a stubborn stare. “Time to say good night, Eamon.”

  His lips twitched. “Good night, Eamon.”

  “I mean goodbye,” she said, cursing herself for the mistake.

  That had been her intention when he’d followed her up to the house, right? This was going to be the goodbye he’d remember, not that other pitiful last moment when she’d thrown her feelings at him and had to be rescued by Ren and the others of her tribe.

  “I don’t expect we’ll see each other again.”

  “I don’t suppose we should,” he said.

  She nodded. The goodbye he’d remember, she whispered to herself, then reached past him to pull open the door.

  But suddenly she was in Eamon’s arms. He yanked her against his hard body, pulling her up to her toes.

  “So let’s be sure we share a goodbye kiss,” he murmured, then pressed his mouth to hers.

  Her body betrayed her. She moaned at the first taste of him, at the frantic surge of her heart in her chest. His tongue speared between her teeth, and she welcomed him inside. Her hands slid into his hair, her nails biting his scalp. His fingers tightened on her, one at her hip, one sliding lower to knead her butt.

  He angled his head, changing the depth of the kiss, and she twined her tongue around his even as she looped one ankle around the back of his leg. His erection was steel, an insistent, glorious pressure against the mound of her sex.

  “Fuck,” he groaned into her mouth, and she wasn’t sure if it was a command or an exclamation.

  Her head was too muddled by lust to decide.

  And her clothes were too hot to be worn. She dropped one hand to reach for the hem of her shirt even as Eamon boosted her higher in his arms. Now she had no choice but to wrap her legs around his waist as he whirled her about. Her shoulders pressed against the door and his mouth slid to her throat.

  Pleasure shot through her. He said something, his voice dark and needy, and then he bit her neck. Sucked.

  Cami’s head shot back, her skull cracking against the mullioned upper half of the door.

  The sound paralyzed them both.

  “Oh hell, oh fuck, oh damn,” Eamon said, his big hand carefully moving into her hair to explore the back of her head. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” Stupid, but fine.

  She struggled in his hold, and he allowed her to slide down his body, though he kept her caged by his arms.

  He stared into her face, concern etching his. “A ghrá, how many of me do you see?”

  Her palms found his chest, shoved him back. “One. And that’s one too many.

  His expression eased. “Okay, then.”

  “Yeah. Okay, then.” Without more ado, she groped for the door’s handle and pulled it open. “Go.”

  “Going.” He stepped over the threshold, then turned back. “I’ve always liked your kisses, too.”

  Then the jerk had the audacity to grin.

  In response, Cami slammed the door in his arrogant, appealing, too-handsome face. She told herself it wasn’t laughter she could hear coming from the other side.

  But she couldn’t convince herself that the goodbye she wanted him to remember hadn’t turned into a goodbye she was certain she’d never forget.

  Silly dreamer.

  Cami’s brother Payne adjusted one of the two vintage motorcycles they’d brought to the Classic Bike and Muscle Car Show being held at the rodeo grounds on the eastern edge of the county. The idea of buying a booth at the event was the brainchild of his fiancée, Rose, and now she used a rag to buff the shining paint while fussing over the fingerprints he’d—allegedly—left behind.

  Cami glanced over from where she was stacking flyers that listed each of her brother’s salvage yards. They sat beside one of the two laptops they’d use to access the database of available parts for purchase if a potential customer enquired.

  “Looks good to me,” she said. “As a matter of fact, I think you’re a genius, Rose.”

  Besides the two gleaming vehicles they were using to attract attention, they’d hung huge photos of some of the high-performance automobiles that had been restored with parts from Payne’s businesses. A couple he owned, another three belonged to a friend. The photographer had captured them in lusty, loving detail.

  “I’m telling you, they’re the automotive equivalent of a lingerie shoot a man booked for his mistress.”

  Payne took a long look at them over his shoulder, then shot Cami a grin and Rose a sly side-glance. “You’re right. Maybe I can get Christopher to set something up for this beautiful brunette I know…”

  His fiancée was already shaking her head. “In your dreams.”

  “Every night, darlin’,” he said, then snagged her wrist to pull her close for a kiss. “But anyway, Christopher doesn’t deserve to see my sweetheart in that little pink number with the—”

  “Stop!” Rose swatted Payne, then pushed him away. “You’ll embarrass your sister.”

  “Yes,” Cami said, clasping her hands under her chin. “Please don’t upset my delicate sensibilities.”

  Payne grinned again, unrepentant, then checked his watch. “I gotta go, ladies. Anything else you need?”

  Rose shook her head. “Gates will open to the public in fifteen minutes, and we’ve got two other pairs of hands scheduled to help out then, too. You’ll return late this afternoon for the reload?”

  “I’ll never let you down,” Payne promised. Then he stepped up to his fiancée, and despite her sputters, drew her body against his. “Give me some sugar to get me through until then.”

  “Payne…”

  He smothered her protest with his mouth. The kiss was the kind Cami should be accustomed to witnessing by now—passionate and deliberate—but she looked away after a second, busying herself with the flyers.

  Then she heard the smack of a masculine hand on a denim-covered behind.

  “Ouch,” said Rose, but she didn’t sound the least bit hurt or upset.

  Next, Payne breezed past Cami, ruffling her hair. “Bye, kid.”

  “I’m not ten!” she yelled to his retreating figure.

  “Then keep an eye on my wife-to-be!” he called back and disappeared around a corner in the direction of the exhibitors’ parking lot.

  She and Rose exchanged glances.

  “Sorry about that,” the brunette said.

  “Because he sometimes acts like I’m still putting on tea parties for my stuffed animals, or because the two of you were playing tonsil hockey right in front of my innocent eyes?”

 
“I really do apologize,” she said, looking shame-faced.

  “Please don’t. I’m kidding.” Cami pulled out one of the chairs at the table and dropped into it. “It tickles me seeing you two and everybody else over-the-moon in love. Given the terrible examples we had of sex and intimacy at the compound, I think we all believed the whole pair-bonding thing was not a possibility for the Velvet Lemons kids. So I think we closed down our hearts. Not Cilla, but the rest…pretty much all romantic pessimists.”

  Rose frowned. “Not you, either. Your music—”

  “Fairy tales.” Cami said, logging in to one of the laptops. “It started with the stories I made up for myself and my teddy bears when I was putting on those tea parties. Later, I continued to tell stories and started setting them to music.”

  “Payne feels guilty, you know,” Rose said, taking the second chair as people started trickling down the aisles. The gates must have opened. “He said you were left alone too often.”

  “The downside of keeping a buffer between me and the worst of the debauchery. I had the people in my head for company, though.” Which included, as she grew, the knights, the warriors, and the virile mysterious strangers. In her imagination, there’d been plenty of romance, starring men who were nothing like the careless degenerates who spent nights, days, and sometimes weeks at the compound. “That’s where I keep my emotions these days. In my head and in my songs.”

  “But Eamon—”

  “No,” Cami said swiftly. “Let’s not go there.” She suspected Rose was ready to point out that Cami had fallen for the man. “We’re declaring today and this place an Eamon-free zone.”

  The other woman looked about to object, but then a couple approached one of the vintage bikes and began asking questions. From there, they had a constant stream of people to deal with. Rose had chosen the event well, because obviously it attracted a clientele interested in vehicle restoration. They spent time looking up specific parts as well as discussing what else could be found at Payne’s various salvage yards.

  The other exhibitors surrounding them seemed busy, too. They showcased or offered for purchase everything from custom leather car interiors to flashy motorcycle helmets. Clothes and jewelry were for sale as well, and the delicious smell of street tacos and deep fat-fried dough floated on the breeze. Even once their helpers arrived, though, there was no chance to explore until the very late afternoon when the crowd thinned.