“Fine. When they get here we’ll clear this up. In the meantime, I’m going to clean up. You’re welcome to stay and help, or go wait for the cops. It’s up to you.”
He couldn’t see her expression, but her energy buzzed in the air between them—disgruntled, offended, confused, and…remorseful?
It didn’t matter. He only wanted the pain to stop. He fumbled around in the kitchen, his hands substituting for his eyes, and finally found a dish towel, a gallon of milk, and the sink. He plugged the sink, dumped the milk in, and drenched the towel, then held it to his face. He may have sighed, or groaned as it cooled the burn.
“Where’d you get a key?”
He jumped at the sound of her voice. He’d assumed she left because of the silence. It creeped him out that she’d stood there and watched him grope around the kitchen.
“Shit,” he said. “You startled me.”
“Well?”
“My manager, Mike Adams, is friends with your uncle. He had a key and cleared it with Dixon for me to stay here a while.”
“Mike manages a band.”
“Yeah, mine.”
“So you’re a rock star or something?”
“Something like that.” Assuming everything his fans, the media, record sales, and Mike told him was true, calling himself a rock star was an understatement.
“What are you doing here?”
That was none of her damned business, especially since she’d attacked him with pepper spray. He understood it, but it still incensed him. Suffering from writer’s block was like admitting to artistic deficiency—very personal and not something to be shared with just anyone. She’d have to earn that information, if he ever shared it.
“Vacation.”
She snorted. “Assuming you really are a rock star, why would you come here for a vacation?”
He dunked the towel in the sink full of milk to refresh it, then applied it to his face again. It occurred to him while under the towel, that she may not recognize him. That didn’t happen much anymore. He could take advantage of that for some privacy. Some normal human interaction. If he explained to her who he was and she went all fangirl on him, his time at the estate could be a miserable game of hide and seek.
“Why wouldn’t I? It’s a nice place—what I saw of it before you liquefied my eyeballs. And I can use the peace and quiet. Hang by the pool, sleep in, go to the club and golf, catch up on my reading.”
“We don’t have a pool. And you hardly seem like the golfing or literary type,” she said.
“How would you know? You didn’t even take the time to ask my name before attacking me. And what kind of mansion estate doesn’t have a pool?”
“I didn’t attack you.” Her voice sounded indignant. “I defended myself.”
“Against the nice man who opened the door to say hi?”
“You’re not a nice man.”
“You don’t know that. As it turns out, I’m a very nice man.”
She harrumphed her disbelief, but the scrape of a stool on the stone floor indicated she’d relaxed enough to have a seat.
“So, if you’re a rock star, where’s your entourage?”
“I dismissed them for the time being. Vacation, remember?”
***
Lily gnawed on her lip, trying to shove away the guilt eating at her. Whoever he was, he looked like a cooked lobster at the moment. She’d reacted on instinct. Finding someone inside her house justified shooting first and asking questions later. At least she’d thought so.
But if he knew Mike and Mike had given him a key and her uncle had approved him being here, he was probably okay.
“Can you call off the cops?” he asked.
“I still don’t really know who you are. You could be anybody.”
“As soon as I can see again, I’ll show you my ID. You can call Mike. I’ll give you a blood sample. Whatever you want.”
“There’s no need to be sarcastic,” she said, pulling out her phone.
He barked a laugh. “If any time calls for sarcasm, being shot in the face by a ginger devil is it.”
He turned on the faucet and stuck his head underneath, flushing his eyes with first a pained grunt, then a relieved groan as the pepper oil washed away.
While he did that, she dialed the police and wandered into the dining room to explain the misunderstanding, apologizing repeatedly that she didn’t need assistance after all. The dispatcher didn’t sound amused, but said she’d recall the units they’d sent. Lily apologized again before hanging up.
She headed back to the kitchen where Jaxon had finished flushing his eyes and had a towel over his face. She should probably apologize to him, too, though she couldn’t quite bring herself to do it yet. She still felt violated to find a strange man in her house, and it pissed her off that nobody had bothered to let her know he’d be there at all.
She made a mental note to call her uncle and explain the results of his lack of foresight.
Jaxon dropped the towel and opened his eyes, only to blink a lot and close them to a squint. “How do I look?”
“Puffy and red.”
“That’s what she said.” He grinned like an idiot. Despite the condition of his face, he was still adorable, and she felt even more awful for spraying him.
“Hey, I can almost see,” he said. “You’re a blurry ginger blob.”
“Aren’t you the flatterer?”
“Everyone in my entourage says so.”
“Oh, I’m sure they do.”
“I’d like to shower, now, and scrub all this shit off. But I still can’t see well enough, and I don’t know what room you want me in. And my stuff’s still out in the car.”
“Is that your way of asking for help?”
“Yes, please. If you’re finished maiming me, I could use a good nurse to take care of me. But to take care of me, you’ll have to touch me, and I’m not sure if I’m ready for that yet.”
The words sounded innocent enough, and nothing in his expression suggested otherwise. But the tone pulled her up short.
“Did you just flirt with me?”
“What? No.”
“It sounded suggestive.”
“I’ve recently sworn off women. Maybe I haven’t figured out yet how not to flirt.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re a rock star, which means in addition to an entourage you presumably have groupies?”
“Yeah. So?”
“And you sleep with a lot of them?”
“I guess.” He shifted from one foot to the other, fidgeting under her questioning.
“But now you’ve sworn off women?”
“Not permanently. Just for a while. I’m regrouping.”
“Um. Okay,” she said, not sure how to respond to his odd confession. “Let’s find you a room and get you cleaned up, then I’ll fetch your things from the car. Follow me,” she said, heading toward the east wing. She’d put him on the opposite end of the house from her. May as well make use of all the space by putting a lot of it between them.
“Wait. I still can’t see and I don’t know the house like you do.”
He reached out a hand, waiting for her to take it and lead him. She retraced her steps until she stood in front of him, considering his hand. His long fingers looked both sturdy and agile. Good musician hands.
She glanced up at his face, still red and puffy, but fading. His smoky blue eyes sparkled despite the spider web of red capillaries, and the smile crinkles around them did unacceptable things to her belly.
She’d been so focused on the situation at hand, she hadn’t paid any attention to what he looked like. Not that swollen and inflamed did anything for her. Now, hints of his normal looks peeked through and she worried she might be in danger of swooning. If women did that sort of thing anymore.
His wavy, shoulder-length locks reminded her of Jon Snow’s hair, if it was dark blond instead of black.
Far end of the east wing for Jaxon.
Instead of taking his hand, she gripped
just above his elbow and led him across the kitchen and out to the stairs in the foyer.
“I didn’t mean it when I said I didn’t trust you to touch me,” he said.
“You didn’t say you didn’t trust me, you said you weren’t sure if you were ready for it.”
“Yet.”
“What?” she asked.
“I think I said yet.”
That was fine for him, but her growing uneasiness around him dictated no touching.
“I have no desire to touch you,” she said, exiting the stairs on the second floor and heading down the hall.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“If I hadn’t sworn off women, I might take that as a challenge.”
Her heart stuttered in her chest. “Well, thank goodness for small favors, then.”
“Yeah. Thank goodness.”
She stopped at the door of one of the suites in the east wing. “Here we are. There are fresh sheets and blankets on the bed, fresh towels and toiletries in the bathroom. Is your car unlocked? I can go collect you bags.”
“You don’t have any staff?”
“A housekeeper comes once a week, and a gardener every two weeks. I do most of the gardening myself, in between.”
“So you rattle around this mansion by yourself?”
“I do. I like it that way. Anyway, I’ll go get your things and leave them on the bed.”
Jaxon stepped into the room, holding his arms out in front of him and shuffling like a zombie, ultimately rapping his knee on one of the corner posts of the bed, yelping when he did.
“You’re not going to stay and help me?” he asked, rubbing his knee.
She blinked, unsure how to answer that. “With what?”
“Finding stuff. Getting oriented.”
As he talked, he stripped off his t-shirt and her mouth went Sahara dry. What the heck was he thinking? Miles of muscular ridges and planes, coupled with a sprinkling of dark hair had her backing away in panic, mostly because she had an overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. The impulse scared the crap out of her.
“What in the world are you doing?” she asked, her voice climbing to a panicked squeak. It earned her a quizzical glance.
“Undressing? I’m going shower. Most people do that naked.”
“How about you wait until I’ve left the room.”
“What’s the matter, never seen a naked man?”
“Well, of course I have.” The stammered words didn’t even convince her. “I’m just not used to strangers stripping in front me so casually.”
The seductive grin that unfurled on his lips made her shiver in anticipation. Of what, she had no idea, but whatever it was had to be really good.
“You haven’t.”
“Haven’t what?”
“Seen a naked man.”
“I have too. Not that it’s any of your business. I’m not a virgin, you know.” She snapped her mouth shut. What an idiot. Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and focused, trying to calm her fluttery mind before releasing the air on a controlled sigh. “I’m sorry. That was too much information. I’ll go collect your things.”
“When you’ve left, how am I supposed to find the bathroom? Towels? Soap?” His voice sounded sincere, but an edge of teasing snuck in.
“You really can’t see well enough?” she asked, exasperated.
“It’s clearing up, but still blurry. Hurts, too.”
“Oh good grief.” She marched up to him, reluctant to touch his skin for fear it would inflame her budding desire for him, but determined to get this scene over and behind her. She propelled him toward the bathroom. Once inside, she grabbed a towel and washcloth from the cupboard and placed them on the counter, then snatched his wrist and placed his hand on the linens. “Here are towels. Soap and shampoo are in the shower. I absolutely will not stay and help you shower.”
Spinning on her heel she marched to the door before turning to regard him. His smile should have pissed her off. Made her indignant and embarrassed. Instead, it touched off a corresponding conspiratorial spark inside that she squashed with alacrity. The last thing she wanted was to reward him for teasing her.
She lifted her chin and gave him a dismissive sniff. “And I’m sorry I sprayed you. But you really should be more respectful of people’s space.”
Then she made an emphatic exit.
CHAPTER 3
While Jaxon showered, Summer showed up to pick up some produce from the garden.
Lily hauled a box of sweet potatoes out to Summer’s van. She spent a lot of her free time at Summer’s restaurant, Houston Fresh, delivering surplus from her garden, and helping out. Maybe for a chance to eat Summer’s cooking, too.
Summer picked one out of the box and wiped the dirt off it. Holding it up to her nose, she took a long whiff of it. “Ah,” she said. “These will make amazing soup. And pie.”
“Mm-hmm,” Lily said, but her thoughts lingered on the man upstairs.
“Whose car?” Summer asked.
“House guest of Uncle Larry.”
“Isn’t Larry in Europe somewhere?”
“He is, but this guy’s a friend of a friend, and Larry said he could stay for a while.”
“It’s a guy?” Summer asked, her smirk suggesting her interest.
“I’ve never had sweet potato soup,” Lily said, changing the subject. “I can’t wait to taste it.”
Summer shot her a skeptical look. “Fine. Ignore my question. I’ll cook dinner for just the two of us next week. It’s the least I can do to pay you for all the food you donate. If you think you can fit me into your schedule, that is.”
The fact that Lily stretched herself too thin had been a sticking point between her and Summer for a while. They’d been best friends since high school and knew each other better than either of them knew anyone else. That Summer—who owned and operated her own restaurant and pretty much worked herself into the ground—accused Lily of overwork, really said something about Lily’s life.
“Well, now that James and I have broken up, I’ll have more free time.”
Summer looked up from examining a basket of green onions, surprise written all over her face. “You finally dumped him?”
“We came to a mutual agreement.”
Summer snorted. “That sounds about as stiff and boring as your entire relationship with him.”
Lily stiffened, folding her arms across her chest in what she recognized as a classic defensive posture. Yet, she couldn’t help it. Her hackles always went up when anyone criticized her choices in men. Maybe that reaction should have been her first clue. “It wasn’t stiff and boring. It was respectful and intellectual. We had a lot in common.”
“Uh huh. Stiff and boring, just like I said. Your taste in men is horrible. They’re all the same.”
“I like nice, proper, non-threatening men.”
“You treat romantic relationships like a job, or a mission, or another one of your causes. What happened to the romance in romance?” Summer paused from sorting the pallet of snap peas, a look of epiphany on her face. “Have you ever just let go and had a fling?”
The man upstairs in the shower came unbidden to Lily’s mind. She pushed him out. “Why would I do that? It seems like such a waste of time.”
Summer laughed. “Lily, I love you dearly, but you are the most uptight person I’ve ever met. Not everything needs to be planned and calculated. Maybe just once you should let loose and have some fun just for the sake of having fun.”
Flinging her hands up in frustration, Lily said, “And what am I supposed to do, throw myself at the first man who comes along?” Jaxon excluded, of course. The first man after him.
“Not the first one, but maybe the first sexy one,” Summer said. She placed a hand on Lily’s shoulder and looked her in the eye, kindness softening her features. “You work so hard at helping other people. Instead of trying so hard to find the guy who checks all your ‘perfect man’ boxes on paper, maybe you need to just do som
ething for yourself.”
Lily harrumphed her doubt. “It’s not like I have a lot of experience with men. I wouldn’t know how to have a fling.”
Before Summer could answer, the sound of the front door opening drew their attention. Jaxon stood barefoot on the porch wearing only jeans, the end of a white t-shirt tucked into the waistband, the rest of it dangling down his leg, for later use. Gorgeous didn’t begin to describe him. The redness and swelling had disappeared. His wavy dark blonde hair fell to his shoulders still damp from the shower, a few days’ dark scruff dusted his square jaw, and when he saw them and smiled, dimples framed his lips.
And then there was his body.
A wicked chuckle nearby broke the spell. “Ask and ye shall receive,” Summer said.
Lily cleared her throat and tore her eyes from Jaxon. “Hush.”
“This is your uncle’s house guest?” Summer asked.
“Yes.”
“He is h-o-t, hot. I’d totally do him for fun.”
“Well, he’s a houseguest.”
“And that precludes having sex with him?”
“That and my conscience.”
“Pfft.” Summer waved away Lily’s conscience as if it meant nothing.
“Ladies.” Jaxon waved from the porch, an air of casual grace about the way he moved.
“Hi,” Summer said. She waved and headed for the porch. Lily followed along behind, helpless to stop the scene from playing out. “I’m Summer Trevino.” Summer offered her hand to shake.
Before Summer made things a lot worse, Lily stepped in and said, “While you were in the shower…”
Summer made an amused snorting sound. “In the shower?”
“Never mind,” Lily said. She had no desire to recount the entire incident. It would only prolong this incident, and refresh her guilt. “While you were in the shower, I spoke to my uncle. He confirmed your manager, Mike, had called and asked if you could stay for a while. We had words about forgetting to tell me and how it would have prevented the earlier situation. I’m sorry again, Mr. Caine.”
Jaxon shot them one of those dimple-grins again and something twitched in Lily’s belly. “Mr. Caine’s awfully formal. Just call me Jaxon.”
JAXON (The Caine Brothers Book 4) Page 2
