“Wait,” Summer said. “You’re Jaxon Caine? From Raising Caine?”
His grin got bigger, but something about it seemed fake. Sure, charm oozed from every pore, but it came across as artificial. Or forced. She might have been wrong, but she caught a tiny hint of panic flash in his eyes.
“I am.” He took Summer’s hand to shake, but then leaned in as if he had a secret to tell her. “But I’m here for a retreat, so don’t tell anyone, okay?”
Summer patted his hand. “No problem, handsome. As long as you do me a favor.”
She shot Lily a conspiratorial look that drove Lily’s stomach to drop into a chasm of humiliated fear. She jumped in to prevent disaster. “Summer, you can’t be asking him for favors. He probably gets that all the time. Leave the poor man alone.”
The poor man in question watched the exchange with a bemused smirk on his face, but he seemed to be grateful that Lily had saved him from having to dodge a favor. If he only knew what favor he’d dodged. If nothing else, Lily was certainly grateful.
“At the very least, you’re welcome to come be my guest at the restaurant,” Summer said.
“Restaurant?”
Summer pointed to the side of the van that said Houston Fresh and sported her restaurant logo. “My place. You’ll love it.”
“I look forward to it.” Jaxon said.
“Okay, we’re going to finish loading up this produce, Lily said. “Be right back.”
Lily grabbed Summer by the elbow and guided her back to the van. They loaded the last couple of baskets into the back, and Summer shut the door. She leaned in to hug Lily. “Don’t forget what I said. Do something for yourself.”
Summer glanced in the direction of the porch, and Lily followed her gaze. Jaxon still stood there, unwilling to follow them barefoot into the gravel driveway. His naked chest called like a siren song to some animal part of her, and his jeans hugged his thighs perfectly. She usually went for men who wore suits and slacks. The country club set with Ivy League educations and trust funds. Men with stable, dependable futures. They were safe and predictable and allowed her to throw all her passion into the causes that were important to her. Jaxon was anything but stable, dependable, safe, or predictable. As far as she knew, anyway. However, his broad shoulders tapering to narrow hips spoke to all her baser human instincts. The parts of her never touched by the men she usually chose.
“We’ll see,” Lily muttered.
Summer stood back and bounced on her toes, clapping her hands. “This is going to be epic.”
“I never agreed to anything.”
“But wouldn’t it be a great story to tell for the rest of your life, about the fling you had with a sexy, famous rock star?”
CHAPTER 4
Jaxon followed Lily back into the air-conditioned house. He’d been taken aback by her out in the driveway. Getting his first good non-maced view of her petite form, fiery copper hair, and hazel eyes, she’d surprised him with her cool businesslike demeanor. It was nothing like the spitfire from earlier.
But her jeans covered in dirt, white tank top, black Keds, the pink bandana around her neck, and the gardening gloves sticking out of her pocket suggested down to earth, at the very least.
Summer—a tall, lanky brunette with a sexy sparkle in her eyes—was easy to figure out. He was more used to her reaction. Women usually gushed over him. Lily swung between attacking and dismissing.
Watching Lily’s pretty little bottom sway through the door in front of him didn’t help his determination to stay away from women. A luscious, round metronome, it begged for an accompanying rhythm, maybe something that involved nudity and thrusting.
He shook his head to rid himself of the enticing image.
“Where’s your room?” he asked, mostly so he’d know where to avoid.
In the midst of the foyer, she turned and frowned at him. “In the other wing. But you don’t need to worry about that. Just stick to your wing,” she gestured to the stairs leading up to the east side of the house. “And the public rooms on the main floor.”
He flicked her a quick salute. “Yes, ma’am.”
An adorable little smile ghosted her lips before she glanced away. It could almost—almost—be called coy. “Anyway, go ahead and get settled. Dinner will be at seven.”
She headed to the stairs for the west wing, while he took the steps to the east. It took him a few minutes to find his room. He didn’t recognize it compared to all the other rooms except for his bags spread out on the king-sized bed. The dark wood head and footboards and white bedding, a dresser, night stands, and desk in the same wood as the bed filled the room, along with a beige couch and arm chair, and white carpet. White drapes completed the décor. It screamed neutral impersonal tax write-off.
He hadn’t taken the time to explore after he’d showered, just headed downstairs, but now he went to the window to check out the view. When he realized he had a sliding door and deck, he stepped outside, despite the Texas August heat. The view gave him a better appreciation for the scope of the estate. While he couldn’t see the entire property, in the near vicinity outbuildings included a garage, a small barn with fenced areas outside it, a good-sized greenhouse, and several nondescript shed-type buildings. The garden area impressed him the most, though. Practical rather than ornamental, tidy rows of vegetables marched up and down the plot. Behind that, yellow, orange, and red bits peeked from the green of a small orchard.
Lily was a woman of many layers, each of them more interesting than the last—pepper-spray ninja, cool and aloof estate manager, gardening earth mother.
At six-thirty, Jaxon left his room for the kitchen. Heading out into the hall, he looked left and right into the same dark wood and whiteness. The sameness of everything confused him. Left, the hallway ended at a large window a few doors down. Right headed off into the bowels of the house. He turned right.
Most of the doors along the hall were open. The purpose of the room didn’t matter—bedroom, bathroom, library, office—they all looked the same.
At the end of the hall, he descended the stairs, wondering if he’d ever locate Lily. Dark wood, white, black, and beige filled the main floor, too, from foyer to living room, gallery, and dining room. He couldn’t remember a more boring palette. Every room was interchangeable. Stately, reserved, expensive, imposing, and boring as fucking hell. He’d seen more exciting hotel interiors.
He hadn’t had much time to explore before Lily arrived home earlier in the day and pepper-sprayed him, and after having wandered the east wing some, he’d confused himself sufficiently he didn’t remember where the kitchen was.
He stuck his head into a theater—impressive for a private residence—and stumbled on the music room next door. Standing in the doorway, he considered stepping inside. The room had a piano at its center, a harp—of all things—a guitar case in the corner, a stereo setup, shelves full of albums, sheet music, tapes, and CDs—he didn’t know people still collected those things—a couch and some chairs, and the ever-present neutral palette. He’d brought his guitar on retreat just in case he got inspired, but right now this room spooked him. His muse still hadn’t shown his ugly face.
He left the music room behind, haunted by it, to continue his search. After doubling back through the gallery and dining room, he finally found the kitchen, and Lily.
He watched her for just a moment before she noticed him. She hummed something under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch, and she’d changed into a pale yellow dress with some kind of floral print on it. The neckline gathered too low over her breasts and tied in a dainty bow that he immediately wanted to untie with his teeth. The hem of the dress rode too high on her thighs for his comfort. She didn’t have the pale skin of a redhead. Instead—probably because she spent a lot of time outside in the garden—she had a light tan that made her skin glow.
Fuck. Why did she have to be adorable?
He stepped into the kitchen. “Hi.”
She started, putting a hand to her hear
t. “You snuck up on me.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. What’s for dinner? It smells amazing.”
“First of all, I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, and I want to apologize again about the pepper-spray. I feel horrible.”
He waved her off. “I understand. You didn’t know I’d be here. No woman wants to come home to find some strange guy lurking in her house. You did the right thing, even though it hurt like hell.”
The skin of his face and his eyes were still tender, but had mostly returned to normal. He hoped to never encounter pepper spray again. Once in a lifetime was plenty.
“Hopefully dinner will start to make up for it,” Lily said. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made a skillet of cheese ravioli and veggies sautéed in herb butter, and some crusty French bread to go with it.”
He sidled up beside her at the stove while she pulled the lid off the simmering meal. His stomach growled at the sight and smell of it. “Oh my god, that looks perfect. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything that wasn’t restaurant food or out of a sealed container.”
Her pleased expression warmed his insides.
“You want something to drink?” She asked. “I have red wine, beer, soda, juice, water, iced tea.”
“Beer’s good.”
“It’s in the fridge.”
He grabbed a beer, popped the top, and took a long drag, then leaned back against the counter. “So why do you have such a huge garden?” he asked. “You can’t possibly eat that much.”
“Of course not. I freeze and preserve what I’ll need for the off-season, but I donate most of it to food pantries, homeless shelters, or farmer’s markets. Summer uses only fresh, locally-sourced ingredients so I give her a lot of what I grow.”
“Seems like a lot of work to give stuff away.”
She shrugged, dismissing the idea. “My uncle pays me to take care of this place, so I don’t need any more money. I like to help other people. And food’s an important issue to me.”
“Why?”
She turned the skillet down to low, stirred it one more time, then replaced the lid. “Because it’s the most basic part of survival. Before you can be a rock star or mechanic or doctor or anything else, you have to be able to survive, and that includes feeding yourself.” She looked him in the eye. “You and I have always taken for granted there will be food on the table, regardless of where it came from or how much it cost. Some people don’t have that luxury.”
“True.” She was right. It had never even occurred to him. As long as he had something to eat, he didn’t think about it.
“Have you ever wondered where the food on your plate or fridge or cupboards came from?”
“No.”
She went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine. “Most people don’t.”
“Why would they? It’s just food.” On some level he knew that wasn’t really true, and when he thought about it, it seemed weird not to have any idea. Food just came from a store or restaurant. Before that, he figured it started on a farm or ranch somewhere. Beyond that, he didn’t even consider it.
Lily used her free hand to gesture as she spoke, and her face came alive with expression, her passion coming through loud and clear. “A lot of people don’t even cook for themselves anymore. We aren’t connected to our food like we used to be when people grew their own.”
“Why is that so important?”
“Having a stake in what you eat and where it comes from makes people more aware of waste, and more responsible stewards. The disconnect between Americans and their food is because they don’t know anything about it.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a couple of plates.
She glowed with conviction, her cheeks rosy with it. It had been forever since he’d encountered anyone with that kind of selfless commitment. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time.
“You’re very…” he paused, searching for the right word.
“Devoted to my cause?”
“Well, yes. But I was going to say enthusiastic.”
The delicate freckles that sprinkled her cheeks and the bridge of her nose stood out against her blush and left him breathless.
“I am. Food activism is what I do. It’s who I am. I figure someone has to do something to fix the problems of the world. I can’t fix everything, but I can do this in my little corner of it.”
“You’ll have to show me.”
A shy smile curled her lips, and she folded her arms over her chest which pushed her pert little breasts up so they swelled above the neckline of her dress, creating the most delicious cleavage. He had no idea what was wrong with him that this intelligent, capable woman had shared her life’s work with him and he could only think about burying his face in her chest. He really did need to get a grip.
“I’d be happy to,” she said, looking up at him from under her copper lashes. Had she just flirted with him? Played a double entendre with his ‘you’ll have to show me’ words?
It didn’t matter because, he reminded himself with a mental finger-wagging, he’d taken a break from women, to get his head together and maybe lure his jealous muse back.
Lily had collected the plates and moved to the stove to dish up dinner. “Is anything important to you?” She handed him a plate full of food.
“What?” he asked.
“You say I’m enthusiastic, but it’s because food issues are important to me. Is there anything that’s important to you?”
The fact that his muse had abandoned him and he couldn’t write songs for another album seemed kind of trivial compared to people not being able to eat every day. Sure, he cared in a general sense about a lot of the same issues most Americans did, but he didn’t have a pet issue that he actually did anything about. He’d just kind of drifted through life on music.
“Music,” he said. “Music is important to me.”
He’d spent his entire life skating by on first his dad’s money, then his own talent. Nobody had been more surprised than Jaxon when after years of goofing off as a child it turned out he could sing, and he took to instruments and music like the proverbial fish to water. As a teenager he’d been way too cocky to discover he could immerse himself in music and make it his life. That it brought with it money, fame, women, and stuff, only made it better.
Until his muse had taken off without so much as a fuck you.
Lily lifted a skeptical brow as she handed him a fork and headed for a table by the window. “What about it?”
“Music is my life,” he said.
***
Lily had chosen her dress because it was cool and comfortable. At least that’s what she told herself. The fact that it showed off her breasts and thighs may have been a not-so-subconscious nod to Summer’s suggestion of a fling.
But as she sat down with Jaxon for dinner, she felt exposed. And ridiculous. She didn’t do this kind of thing. She didn’t throw herself at men whose sexual presence overshadowed everything else about them. Those men terrified her.
Yet she sat across the table from one, watching him eat her ravioli and make extraordinarily sensual sounds of appreciation.
“Oh my God, Lily, this is amazing,” he said. His groan reminded her of what she imagined good sex sounded like.
She couldn’t say she recognized the sound since she was pretty sure she hadn’t experienced good sex. She’d had sex, but of the mediocre and disappointing variety. If she hadn’t read romance novels and listened to Summer go on and on about mind-blowing orgasms, Lily would have assumed sex to be a perfunctory act that women tolerated in order to…what? Now that she thought about it, what was the point of a relationship with a man if it wasn’t an equal partnership in every way, including satisfying sex? They didn’t live in medieval Europe where women were traded from father to husband like property; where women found their only economic security under the roof of one man or another in exchange for keeping his house, warming his bed, and bearing his spawn. She didn’t need a man to survive in life, so what
did she want from one?
“Glad you like it,” she said.
Watching Jaxon inhale her raviolis, she appreciated his looks. Usually looks weren’t important to her. Okay, she did want desperately to run her hands through Jaxon’s wavy hair and stare into the mesmerizing depths of his blue eyes. She had difficulty not staring at his square jaw and pretty face. Glancing at his hands—strong, nimble, and wearing an assortment of leather and braided bracelets at his wrists—she acknowledged the clenching of her female parts at the thought of those hands on her—holding her hips as he plunged into her. But she still wanted all the same things she’d always wanted from a relationship—a smart, kind man with a conscience. Someone who would treat her as an equal partner. And gave her breathtaking orgasms. Was that so much to ask?
Given her experience so far, apparently the answer was yes.
So why not have a little fun like Summer said? Why not take a break from the same men she’d always gone for and try something completely different? Jaxon wouldn’t be looking for anything long term, so there would be no strings attached. Just some really good sex. Which she deserved, right?
The logic made sense sitting across from a man who oozed pheromones like a summer sprinkler. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she’d just finally become so horny she projected it on the first attractive male she came across.
Either way, if she didn’t act now, while she had a modicum of courage and a lot of raging libido, she never would.
It was now or never.
She cut a ravioli in half, stabbed it and a chunk of zucchini with her fork, and rubbed it around in the sauce on her plate. “So, what’s it like to be a rock star?” she asked.
He glanced up at her, a moment of wariness in his eyes before he covered it with nonchalance. He shrugged. “You know. About what you’d expect.”
“I think most people expect it to be a pretty good life.”
“It is.”
“And yet when I asked, you shut down.”
JAXON (The Caine Brothers Book 4) Page 3
