Light My Fire

by Christie Ridgway

  Except it actually hadn't felt like romance, per se. Instead, it had felt the opposite of anything dreamy and idealized. To her, that moment had throbbed with raw power. Raw sex. Making clear to her that going to bed with Ren would mean she'd be stripped bare of more than just clothes.

  Oh, it had to be all in her head!

  The phone in the pocket of her hoodie buzzed. She stilled. Ren? But she'd left him—presumably—still sleeping back at Gwen's, and anyway, she hadn't told him how to reach her.

  How could she be thinking he wanted to swap bodily fluids when he didn't care about swapping cell numbers?

  The screen read "Jewel" and Cilla quickly took the call. She'd run into the other woman at the Canyon Country Store a few days before. Under the photos of The Doors and The Lemons, beside the shelves of expensive liquor and the section of English foodstuffs stocked for the famous expat Brits who lived in the canyon, the two women had re-connected.

  Or maybe connected for the first time ever. Jewel had been a couple of years ahead of Cilla in school and they'd never been more than nodding acquaintances even though they lived on the same street—Cilla in the compound and Jewel at her grandmother's funky rambler down the road where chickens roosted in the trees and a couple of goats lived and were loaned out to help with weed abatement.

  But their chat had been friendly and Jewel had promised to stop by one day soon and introduce Cilla to her newborn baby daughter. That day, apparently, had arrived.

  Hurrying to the narrow side gate where Jewel said she was waiting, Cilla was grateful for the distraction. Jewel was a willowy brunette, already slim at the waist though her baby was just a few weeks old. She slipped through the now-unlocked opening, an infant wrapped in a soft pink blanket in her arms.

  Cilla peeked at the small face revealed between the folds of the blanket and a bow-topped pink band circling a nearly bald head. "Oh, she's precious."

  "This is Soul," Jewel said, then made a wry face. "I know, I know, it's horribly Laurel Canyon of me to choose such a hippie-dippy name, but there's an old song...'Heart Full of Soul,' that means a lot to me."

  "I love the name Soul," Cilla assured her. "What's her daddy think of it?"

  A flush crawled over Jewel's face. "Soul's father is...not around at the moment."

  "Oh, I'm sorry." In the store, the subject hadn't come up. "I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable..."

  "No, of course not—" She broke off, her gaze shifting over Cilla's shoulder. Her body went still. "Has Beck come back?"

  Cilla craned her neck, and saw the tall, dark-haired figure in the distance. "No. That's Ren. Ren Colson," she said as he seemed to spot them and began heading in their direction. Crossing her arms over her chest, she tried appearing calm and collected, as if a simple kiss had not caused her an inner riot. "Do you know him?"

  "Just by reputation," Jewel said, and then she was smiling in response to the dazzler that Ren directed her way as he strode up.

  A glance was flicked at Cilla. "Company?" he asked, and Cilla swore she saw him checking out the other woman's bare left finger. Telling herself that was good news, she pasted a smile on her face and made the necessary introductions.

  Ren shook hands, gave the baby a quick look, then smiled at their neighbor again. "So, Jewel and Soul?"

  The brunette shifted her daughter to her shoulder and laughed. "And I actually make jewelry for a living. What can I say? Native of the canyon."

  "Me, too," Ren said. "We've got that in common."

  Was that an interested gleam in his eye? Cilla stared at his face, trying to determine if he was truly flirting with a woman he'd met just this minute—who was also a brand new mother to boot.

  "What are you frowning at me for?" Ren asked, glancing her way.

  "I'm not frowning."

  "Yes, you are." He pointed at a spot between her eyebrows. "It's giving you a furrow right there."

  Cilla resisted the urge to iron the spot with her fingertip. "I don't furrow."

  "Well, you glare pretty good," he muttered.

  Turning away from him, she addressed Jewel, who appeared to be biting back an amused smile. "You said on the phone you had something to ask me."

  "That's right." The baby began making snuffling noises and her mother started swaying while rubbing the tiny back. "My grandmother is after me to get out and I wondered if you want to visit one of the music clubs on Sunset with me tonight. I know it's short notice, but I've been wanting to hear," she glanced over at Ren, "someone you both know. Cami Colson."

  "Cami!" Cilla snatched at the chance. Not only did she like Jewel and also Cami's music, but going out for the evening would free her from Ren's unsettling presence. "I'd love to."

  "Count me in," the man on her right added.

  Cilla let loose her glare once again. "Did I hear her invite you?"

  "It's my sister," he pointed out. "I'm curious. And by the way, you're furrowing again."

  Jewel laughed over Cilla's humph of outrage. "Of course you're invited, Ren," she said. "Meet you there at eight o'clock?"

  "Eight o'clock it is," he answered.

  How could Cilla protest? Under what pretext could she say she didn't want another evening in Ren Colson's company? So she stood there, stewing over her helplessness while a few minutes of wind-up conversation transpired. Then Ren held the gate open for mother and child to exit through. "Cute little thing," he said, watching the two walk away.

  "Jewel's nearly six feet tall," Cilla objected.

  He sent her a weird look. "I was talking about the baby."

  "Oh. Well." Still, wasn't that just as strange? Did Ren actually have an opinion on infants?

  "Were you headed into the gym?" he asked, nodding toward the pool house. "I was thinking of taking a spin on one of the treadmills."

  He was dressed for it, in running shoes and a pair of long shorts and V-neck shirt in a quick-dry fabric. "Um..."

  "At dinner last night you mentioned there was a pair of them." He gave her a grin. "We could race."

  It was that white smile that undid her. It was relaxed, confident, and...not the least bit sexual. It had all been in her mind!

  And so, she and her pride decided there was no good reason for not following through with the work-out she'd intended all along. With luck, it would help alleviate the sudden bad mood that had dropped on her out of nowhere. Already unzipping her hoodie, she strode off.

  Of course there was no racing on a treadmill. And she didn't even try matching Ren's pace, because with her shorter legs she didn't have a prayer of keeping up. Now, maybe if she had Jewel's height...

  "You seemed surprisingly interested in baby Soul," Cilla heard herself say, her feet thumping a regular rhythm.

  He glanced over at her, a question in his eyes.

  "Is that a sign you want kids of your own?" Maybe the exercise was loosening her tongue as well as her muscles.

  "What would I know about raising a kid?" he asked, his response as easy as his gait.

  "That doesn't mean you don't want any," Cilla pointed out, then heard her mouth keep running on. "Do you have a significant other in your life at the moment?"

  He adjusted the treadmill's speed, upping it a little. "Told you I do better solitary."

  "Pretty sure that isn't the same as celibate," she said drily.

  His lips twitched. "No."

  She hesitated, then thought, in for a penny, in for a pound. "So, is there a regular casual visitor to your London bedroom?"

  He glanced over, his lips twitching again, as if he was enjoying this little game. "I haven't seen the inside of my flat there, Cilla, for over three months."

  Her face must have given away her frustration, because he laughed.

  At the low sound, she went a little breathless, but she'd been jogging for approximately five minutes, so it was likely anaerobia kicking in. "Never mind," she said, lifting her nose. "It's none of my business."

  Another of his chuckles rolled down her spine. "Don't get in a huff. No, b
aby, there's nobody 'regular casual' at the moment."

  She glanced over to see him grinning at her again. When their gazes met, he wiggled his brows. "But maybe I'll meet some lucky lady tonight."

  Her eyes rolled. "Lucky to meet you, I suppose you mean."

  And he just laughed harder.

  Yep, he wasn't looking at her sexually. He was laughing at her. So that moment of mutual lust must have all been in her head. What a relief.

  It was!

  And...it wasn't.

  Ren held the door open for Cilla so she could proceed him into the music club located on Sunset Boulevard, wondering how hard he should try keeping his gaze off her ass. Sure, he'd gawked when she'd traipsed out of her bedroom in the outfit-of-the-evening, but he'd had time to get used to it by now.

  His eyes drifted and he quickly jerked them up again. No, not used to it.

  Couldn't forget about it either. The image was burned on his retinas. She'd made a mini-skirt out of a black Lemons' tour T-shirt, of all things. She'd explained the process while he'd been rolling his tongue back into his head. Something about cutting off the sleeves and neckline and using a sewing machine to create new, hip-skimming seams. An elastic waistband. A hem that hit right where she wanted.

  Mid-thigh, damn it.

  And the design was engineered so that the silk-screened image of an open, full-lipped red mouth dripping multi-colored flowers was on the front. The list of the band's 1978 tour dates stamped over with "SOLD OUT" lovingly cupped the curve of her butt.

  She wore it with a black tank top and a pair of strappy spike heels. Her blond hair was a mass of waves and half-curls and her lips were painted a ripe raspberry.

  His libido had taken one look at the whole package and declared, Yeah, desperate to tap that.

  He'd sicced his good intentions on the impulse and the two had wrestled during the short drive from the compound to the club. But no matter which ended up on top, Ren was determined to keep his hands off the titillating blend of innocence and sex appeal that was Cilla Maddox. To that end, he was planning to do just as he'd told her.

  Find some other woman on whom to focus his attention.

  He had some early luck. Once he'd paid their cover and they'd made their way inside, it was to find Jewel sitting with Ren's half-sister, Campbell "Cami" Colson at a four-top near the small stage.

  She jumped up to hug Cilla, then stood back, her gaze sliding over him. He sized her up too, shaking his head as he took in her slight figure wearing a loose white blouse dripping delicate lace tucked into torn jeans with motorcycle boots. Even though the lights were somewhat low, he could see her eyes were still the same grayish-green as his own. Her hair, though, was a combination of auburn and gold and brown. She self-consciously fussed with the long, side-sweeping bangs and the blouse's cuff slid to reveal a tooled leather cuff on her wrist and the beginning of a trailing vine tattoo on her inner arm.

  "Looking good, Cam," he said.

  "It's been five years." There wasn't a shred of condemnation in her words.

  He nodded. "You and Payne met me in Paris for your twenty-first birthday."

  She grinned. "Bean sent us a case of champagne and that dance troupe as entertainment."

  "'Dance troupe'." Ren winced. "It was a handful of male and female strippers who weren't averse to offering extras after the music ended."

  Her eyes bugged. "I didn't know that! You and Payne hustled them out before a single zipper came down." She looked a little miffed.

  "One of the few times we were good brothers to you, Cam."

  A smile lifted a corner of her mouth and he recalled that sweet lopsided grin from her babyhood. Something moved in his chest and he reached out to pat her awkwardly on the shoulder. "It's music for you now, huh?"

  She glanced toward the stage. "Yeah, and I gotta get to it. Maybe we can talk between sets?"

  "Sure. Look for me by the bar..." But she was already gone.

  He was about to do the same, his gaze roaming over the single women milling about, when a cocktail waitress came by with a loaded tray of drinks that she set on the table. "From the talent," she said, nodding toward where Cami was setting up.

  So what could Ren do but sit between lovely Jewel and his sexual nemesis Cilla?

  He sipped at the whisky with beer chaser his sister had bought and kicked out his feet as he surveyed the club. A good crowd for a weeknight, he decided. Lots of men dressed in jeans and tails-out button downs like he was. The women were in everything from do-me heels to sheepskin boots. His gaze wandered to a table of females in short silky dresses who were also looking his way. With a smile, he toasted them with his glass. Two returned friendly waves.

  On the verge of shoving back his chair to test his chances with them, Cilla leaned close, her citrus sweetness tickling his nose. "They look nice," she said, her whisper blowing warm air against his ear. "Perhaps even lucky."

  Brat. To put distance between him and her, he twined his fingers in the back of her hair in order to draw her off. Mistake. The fine strands clung to his skin like cobwebs, trapping his touch. Instead of moving her away, it made him want to bury both hands in the stuff and bring her closer.

  Without thinking, he tilted back her head and turned his, aligning their mouths—

  And the room went dark.

  The surprise made him release his grip. He huffed out a breath and dropped his hand to his lap. When a spotlight shown on the stage, highlighting his half-sister, Ren spun his chair around, careful to create more space between him and Cilla.

  Cami sat on a simple stool, a guitar cradled in her lap, her focus on her fingers as they began to pluck a rhythm on the strings. The crowd went quiet. Ren had worked with musicians for over a decade and he recognized when one was comfortable in their skin while at the same time supremely aware of their audience. His half-sister snuck a short look in the direction of the table where he sat with Cilla and he wondered if their presence made her nervous.

  Then she started to sing and he no longer thought at all.

  Her voice, throaty yet pure, was perfect for the folk/bluegrass vibe of the first song about a wandering lover. As the last chord was strummed and the crowd broke into applause, he shared a glance with Cilla. She smiled at him. "I've heard her before. Great, huh?"

  "Great," he confirmed, wondering if Bean had ever seen his daughter perform or even knew she played. Ren regretted this was his own first exposure to her talent.

  Then Cami swung into the next song, a cover of Colby Caillat's "Brighter than the Sun." His half-sister smiled as the audience started clapping, taking up the rhythm. At the chorus, she stopped picking and strumming to drum on the body of the guitar while she sang the lines a cappella.

  After that, the crowd was hers and the set ranged from country covers, a pop standard she made new with her own little twist, and then a sweet rendition of "Baby, Now that I've Found You," reminiscent of Alison Krauss. As the applause from that died down, Cami stroked her thumb over the guitar strings. "This will be the last number of the first set, but I'll be back for a second."

  Ren glanced at the table of single ladies he'd spotted before. The minute his half-sister left the stage, he'd head for them. When he returned his attention to Cami, it was to see her peering through the glare of the spotlight directly at him and Cilla. "This one's an old spiritual that's been covered by a number of artists. I hope you'll enjoy my version."

  She started to pick out the notes on the guitar, then leaned into the mic and sang:

  Motherless children have a hard time

  When their mother is gone

  Motherless children have a hard time

  When their mother is gone

  Motherless children have a very hard time

  All the weepin', all that cryin'

  Motherless children have a hard time

  When their mother is gone

  The verses continued and she delivered them in a voice filled with heartbreak and loneliness. As the song's last word faded a
way, Cami didn't wait for applause, but just slipped through the curtain behind her.

  It wasn't until the house lights came up that the audience reacted, clapping wildly. Ren joined in, noting that Jewel was looking over at Cilla in concern. He whipped his head around and caught her wiping away tears. Surprised by the show of emotion, he scooted close and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. "Are you okay?"

  "Sure." She pushed at his hand and grabbed a cocktail napkin to blot her cheeks. "I'm an idiot."

  "No," he said, pushing back his chair. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

  Without a second glance at the table of pretty women, Ren stalked past them to knife into the crowd gathered at the bar. He was back to Cilla in moments, glasses of wine for her and Jewel in hand as well as another shot glass—this one filled with tequila.

  "Drink," he said, pushing the hard stuff toward Cilla. "You look like you need it." The tip of her nose was pink and she hadn't let go of the balled-up napkin. In his mind, he could still feel the dampness of her tears against his skin.

  "I'm fine," she demurred.

  "A sip," he insisted.

  With a roll of her eyes, she took the glass, touched it to her lips, then sputtered as a few drops of tequila landed on her tongue. "Gah!" she said, frowning at him. "I only drink tequila when I've been bitten by a rattlesnake."

  "Funny." He removed the glass from her hand and downed the rest himself. "And you call yourself a rocker's daughter." Then he rubbed his thumb along her cheek again. It warmed under his touch and Cilla's wary gaze cut to his, her big blues looking at him as if she considered he might be a dangerous reptile. Instead of backing off, he caressed her again and leaned closer. "I'll ask again," he said, his voice low. "You okay, baby?"

  "No," she whispered back. "Not okay when you touch me, Ren."

  And before he knew how or what to respond to that, the lights were extinguished. Cami returned to the stage and Ren was grateful for the excuse to turn from Cilla and give his attention elsewhere. Except he mostly didn't. Throughout the next set he was hyper-conscious of her every move. From the corner of his eye he watched her lift her wine glass to her lips. He saw her fiddle with the neckline of her tank top. When she crossed her legs, he tracked the heights to which her hemline rose.