Light My Fire Page 5

  And wished like hell he'd ordered himself a big glass of crushed ice.

  The instant the second set was over, he was heading straight for the single ladies' table, he told himself. Goal: at least one phone number.

  Not okay when you touch me, Ren.

  Booting the echo of her whisper out of his head, he forced himself to ignore Cilla's next leg-crossing and the inches of bare, sleek thigh the action revealed. To Ren, the forty minutes crawled by, though Cami performed another spectacular set, concluding it with a cover of Dawes' "Time Spent in Los Angeles." He clapped like hell, then rose from his chair when the lights came up. Not looking back, he strolled over to the land of Short Silky Dresses.

  Ren discovered the natives of that particular country were very friendly.

  It relaxed him enough that he chanced a look in the direction of where he'd been sitting, no longer quite so concerned about a Lemons miniskirt or the track of tears on a beautiful woman's face. Jewel was nowhere to be seen, but Cilla stood, half-turned from him, conversing with a man in slacks and a starched shirt. His arm was curled around a woman whose long blonde hair nearly reached her hips.

  As Ren watched, Cilla gave a jerky nod and then the half of her mouth he could see in profile moved up in faux good humor. He tensed, his eyes narrowing. Why was Cilla faking a smile? The answer to the question seemed glaringly obvious to Ren. Had to be some guy from her past.

  One of the short silky dresses put her hand on his arm to reclaim his attention. He turned back, trying, really, to focus on the words coming from her pretty mouth. They were numbers. Her cell number.

  Instead of feeling gratified, Ren's mind couldn't get past Cilla and the fake, strained smile.

  "Excuse me," he said to Short Silky. "I'm sorry, I've got to check on something."

  In ten strides he was touching Cilla's tense shoulder. She jolted, then he felt a little of the steel go out of her. "You," she said, and he saw the emotional storm brewing in her eyes.

  Cutting his gaze to the couple, he turned to them with an easy smile. "Ren," he said, reaching out to shake their hands one at time.

  "Tad," the man said. "And this is Tracy."

  "Tad and Tracy," Ren repeated. It sounded like a tween series on Nickelodeon TV. He tucked his arm around Cilla's waist and drew her against his body. "You ready to go?"

  The other man's gaze narrowed on Ren, clearly trying to figure out what he was to Cilla. Yeah, keep on guessing, buddy.

  As if he didn't notice a thing, Ren slid his hand up Cilla's spine to bury it in her soft cloud of hair, his palm molding to her scalp. "Baby?"

  "Um. Uh, sure." Her eyes flicked to Tad and Ren felt a tremor roll through her.

  Shit. What was that about? Did this guy scare her? He took hold of her hand with his free one, squeezed. "You all right?" he said against her ear.

  Her lashes swept up and looking directly into his face, she gave a small nod.

  Despite the assurance, those big eyes did him in. And her soft hair that was twined around his fingers. Not to mention the memory of her desolate expression following Cami's song. Motherless children have a hard time. The combination compelled him to do something more.

  As distraction? Comfort? To nullify the apparent unease she felt upon encountering this preppy stiff named Tad?

  Ren couldn't decide.

  So, without a further thought or search of soul, he followed his sudden compulsion and bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

  Cilla's warm lips opened on a gasp of surprise.

  Lust punched into his bloodstream with the instant power of a hypodermic. Jerk away, he thought, disconnect from her, but Cilla had already melted into him and separating their bodies would clearly cause serious harm.

  Mental anguish.

  He sucked on her bottom lip, then took his time with the upper. She clutched at him, one small hand wrapped around his, the fingers of the other digging into his side. It wasn't a lascivious kiss as kisses could go—he kept his tongue to himself—but it was soft and intimate and sweeter than he could have ever predicted.

  "Ren?"

  Cami's voice yanked him back to sanity—and yanked his mouth from Cilla's.

  Hauling in a breath, he stepped back and so did she. Her face was flushed, her lips were swollen and her hand reached up to smooth the tangle he'd made of her hair. Well, hell, he thought, remembering how he'd wanted this to go—and how easily he'd lost this round of the fight.

  Current score: Impulse, 1; Good Intentions, 0.

  Chapter 4

  Cilla sat in the front passenger seat of Ren's BMW rental, grateful they were bringing Cami back to the compound with them. She'd tried to insist the other woman ride shotgun, but Cami had climbed into the backseat with her guitar as if Cilla hadn't said a word. Still, she made an effective buffer between her and the Mighty Kisser.

  Cilla was calling Ren that in her mind.

  He'd slayed her with a single press of mouth-to-mouth.

  Melted her with the soft suction of her lower lip.

  Dizzied her by sipping at the top one.

  Who but a man with beso superpowers could do such a thing? And why had he?

  Swiveling her eyes, she checked out his profile. In the glow from the dashboard, he looked relaxed. Calm.

  While her heart had yet to settle back into place in her chest, fifteen minutes later. It still beat against her throat, making her feel breathless and helpless and not just a little bit gauche.

  If Ren knew what he'd wrought with a ten-second kiss (maybe not even that long!) he'd laugh. Tad Kersley could take some of the blame, though. He'd been introduced to Cami's music through Cilla, so it shouldn't have come as quite so much a surprise to encounter him at the club (he'd enjoyed it that much). But to see him squiring her long-haired replacement...

  She hadn't known whether to slap his smug face or steal the other woman away for a private word of warning.

  Instead of doing either, she'd worked on maintaining her dignity. That's what she intended to do in the aftermath of the Mighty Kiss too. She was rock royalty, wasn't she?

  Cami made a little sound as they drove through the compound gates. The fairy lights that wound through the trees and iced the fence surrounding the tennis court twinkled in the darkness. "Sometimes I forget," she murmured.

  Ren glanced at the rear view mirror. "I know you said you're good with sleeping at Gwen's, but I can get us into Bean's place if you'd rather. Bet it's been a long time since you rode the mechanical bull in the basement."

  She laughed. "Maybe another time. Right now I just want a bed. Thanks for saving me from the long drive back home with my sound check guy. His truck is a bucket of nuts and bolts." Leaning forward, she brushed Cilla's shoulder. "And thanks for letting me crash here."

  "Don't mention it. Gwen would love the idea of you being at her place."

  "You and Ren, too," Cami said. "I think she always wondered if—"

  "There'd be as many as even three of the nine of us in the same place at the same time again," Cilla hastily put in. Not that she thought for a second Gwen entertained the possibility of any...kissing or whatever between Ren and herself, but it sounded like that's what Cami had been about to say.

  Their arrival at the cottage prevented any more dangerous talk. Cilla breathed a sigh of relief as she walked through the small house, turning up the lights. She asked Cami if she wanted tea or something stronger, but the other woman refused and practically zombie-walked down the hall to the room where Ren had slept the night before.

  Though Cilla had insisted she'd fit much better, he'd volunteered to get his shut-eye on the couch in the living room. So she dug out a pillow and some bedding, set them on the cushions, and then escaped to her bedroom while he was still in the hallway bathroom. After going through her own nighttime routine in the en suite, she stretched out on the bed and directed sleep to take her away.

  Sleep stubbornly refused to cooperate.

  After nearly an hour of ceiling-inspection, Cill
a decided to venture out for a cup of herbal tea. She could be quiet and quick if she used the microwave to heat up a mug of water.

  The cottage was dark and quiet as she made her way in slippered feet to the kitchen. She swung shut the door between it and the living area without taking a peek at Ren. The light over the stove gave her enough illumination to prepare her mug. Just as the microwave beeped off, she happened to glance outside the French door to the adjacent courtyard.

  Ren was out there, sitting in one chair, his booted feet propped on another.

  Asleep?

  She hesitated, then decided she couldn't leave the man dozing out there in the cooling air. Turning the knob, she called softly into the darkness. "Ren?"

  He glanced around. "What are you doing up?"

  She raised her mug. "Tea. Would you like some?"

  Shaking his head, he got to his feet and came toward her. She pushed the door open wider, telling her heart to stop pounding like the Lemons' Hop Hopkin's heavy foot on the pedal of the kick drum. Ren came into the kitchen, bringing with him the perfume of fresh breezes, night-blooming jasmine, and a faint but delicious man-scent that she'd been so up-close-and-personal with as they'd kissed. Some sort of rare European aftershave, she supposed.

  The kitchen shrank to the size of her tea cup when he swung shut the door behind him. Cilla instantly made for the one she'd closed that led to the rest of the house. She needed more air and another escape to her bedroom.

  "Cilla." Ren's low voice sent a skitter of chills down her spine.

  Her toes curled in her slippers. "Um, yes?" Thank goodness she'd donned her calf-tickling robe over another vintage T-shirt. Still, she was embarrassingly aware of her breasts, bare beneath the layers of cotton. The lace of her panties tickled in places she'd never noticed before.

  "We should talk," he said.

  Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she tacked on a sophisticated half-smile. "No need. No need at all."

  "Cilla—"

  "Really," she tried smothering the rise of panic. "No need."

  "When you can't look me in the eye," he said, his voice implacable, "there's a need."

  Damn. He wasn't going to let her off the hook.

  So just get it over with, she decided, spinning on her heel. The tea sloshed dangerously close to the lip of her mug and Ren reached over, plucking it from her hand to place it on the counter. "We don't want you to get burned," he said.

  Yes. That exactly. But the back of her neck was already on fire. Inhaling a long breath, she forced herself to meet his gaze. Sophisticated, remember?

  Those pale green eyes studied her until she had to fight off a squirm. "What?" she finally said, pushing at her hair then rubbing her hand over her mouth. "Do I have toothpaste drool on my chin?"

  A sudden grin split his face. "'Toothpaste drool'?"

  "You know what I mean."

  His laugh was that low and quiet one which flipped her belly. "I find you highly entertaining, Cilla."

  She huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. "Yay."

  He shoved his hands in his pockets and lowered his head, shaking it so the glossy darkness caught the low light in the room. Did he have to be so damn beautiful? And the way he kissed...

  His head came up as if he'd heard her thought. "We have to talk about the kiss."

  "Oh, no," she said, lifting her hand and moving it in the air as if erasing the memory. "There's nothing to talk about there."

  He stepped back to lounge against the countertop. His large hand slid from his pocket to lift her mug. He took a swallow of tea, his eyes on her the whole time. "I don't want you to think—"

  "I don't think anything," she hastened to say, as mortification spread the heat at her neck across her face. "Not thinking at all. Not about anything." She tapped the side of her head with the heel of her palm. "Hear that echo? That's the sound of emptiness."

  He was grinning at her again. "Cilla, did you just insist you're an air-head?"

  Whatever it takes. "I'm making clear we don't need to have this conversation."

  "Well, you're wrong," he said, returning the mug to the counter with a little clack. His expression turned serious. "I've got to make sure you know not to worry... Look, I'm not going to push anything, I promise. Believe me, I don't want to take things any further."

  She stared at him, her mind scrambling for some mature, dignified rejoinder. Instead, a question popped out. "Well, why'd you kiss me in the first place?"

  He returned his free hand to his pocket and the look he gave her teemed with frustration. "I can't say exactly. You seemed...a little lost, I guess."

  "Oh, great." Cilla groaned. "I get it now. Thanks for the pity kiss."

  "It wasn't pity," he ground out. "It was..."

  The long pause only made her more humiliated.

  "It was..." He frowned. "Cilla, it was—"

  "Don't bother," she snapped, and kept right on talking. "I don't need an explanation. I also don't need you assuring me you're not going to take anything further either. I know my kissing skills are lacking, like all my skills when it comes to sex. I'm bad at it, and I'm aware of that. Foreplay, afterplay, and all the mortifying middle stuff too. Terrible at every single step in the process."

  Now he was staring. "What, exactly, is 'afterplay'?"

  "You see!" she said, flinging out a hand. "I don't even know. But it stands to reason that if there's a fore, there must be an after. Newton's Law, right? Anyway, I'm bad at all of it."

  "What exactly do you mean by bad, Cilla?" he asked, tilting his head.

  She shrugged a shoulder, feeling defensive and moody and wishing her mouth would stop moving. "I don't ever really feel anything, okay?"

  His eyebrows shot up. "You didn't feel anything when I kissed you?"

  Her good sense finally came alive and started shouting at her. Shut up, girl! Put the brakes on this convo, right now! "Well, we don't have to get into that, do we? Because you've just said it was a one-time thing."

  "Do you really never feel anything?"

  "Can't we just leave this alone?"

  When he merely stared at her in silence, Cilla finally broke. "Look, Tad told me I was a lousy lay."

  Ren's expression turned rock-hard. "What?"

  "Lousy lay." The words didn't get easier with repetition.

  "He said that?"

  "On the day we broke up." Cilla looked down at her nails, inspecting the polish for chips. "Before that he said I needed to loosen up a little or maybe watch some porn before our dates."

  Ren made a noise. "That guy's a dick." There was disgust in his voice.

  It teased a small smile out of her. "I was beginning to think so myself. But he wasn't wrong about me finding it hard to relax."

  "You melted against me, Cilla," Ren said. "In my arms you were sweet and soft and willing as hell."

  She glanced at him. "Gee, thanks. Rub it in."

  "Mercy, please," he said his eyes rolling heavenward. "One minute you're complaining about your lack of response, now you're annoyed when I point out you were plenty responsive to me."

  "Fine." She returned to inspecting her fingernails. "It's possible I'm not quite reasonable on this topic, okay? I'm a little raw about it, actually."

  "Cilla—"

  "Let's drop it. Drop it forever."

  "I don't think I can. My conscience won't allow me to let you wander around with the misunderstanding that you're what...cold, frigid?"

  "Well, I am. And not just with Tad, either."

  Ren was shaking his head. The kind—pitying—expression in his eyes made her want to cringe. "Let it go, please," she begged him.

  "Cilla, you've got some kind of negative feedback loop going on in your head."

  Spare her bedroom advice from the Mighty Kisser, she thought, temper beginning to kindle. "Hey—"

  "Honey," he continued, "it's not that hard—"

  "If you think it's so easy, or if you think I'm so responsive, then why don't you want to do something more
about it?" The words exploded from her mouth. "But that's right, you don't want to take things 'further.'" She put air quotes around the word.

  He grimaced. "Because—"

  "Let it go, Ren. Let it go and leave me be, unless, that is..."

  His eyes narrowed. "Unless what?"

  In the back of her mind, her good sense was shouting again, but Cilla wasn't thinking clearly. She hadn't been thinking clearly since Ren came back into her life and now after the evening she'd had, seeing Tad with Cilla's replacement, and then that unexpected kiss...

  "Unless you want to teach me," she said, feeling reckless and rash. "You're going to be here for another couple weeks. You could do something useful with your time."

  Ren took his hands from his pockets and straightened away from the counter. "Like what, exactly?"

  Cilla slammed her arms over her chest. "Mentor me." Shocked as she was at her own words, they continued to flow from her mouth. "You could be my sexual mentor."

  When she saw him start in surprise, she told herself again to shut it down. But some impetuous part of herself couldn't leave well enough alone. "What do you say, Ren? I dare you."

  Early morning, and Ren was navigating the L.A. traffic, getting his sister to the auto salvage yard where she worked. He glanced over at her, noting the way she was sucking down the coffee they'd stopped for at the Laurel Canyon market. The place had been busy, some business types and entertainment moguls heading into skyscrapers or studios for the day, others looking like they were winding down after an all-night jam session or a frenzy of painting or sculpting. Canyon country contained all kinds.

  Cami must have felt his glance. She looked over. "What?"

  "I'm wondering how you're keeping up with this double life of yours. Salvage gal by day, Lady Music by night."

  She held up her paper cup. "Caffeine, and lots of it."

  "Payne treating you okay? Is he paying you a decent salary?"