A tribe without Ren. Looking down at her plate, she swirled her fork in the syrup. "The rest are interested in that?"
"I think so," he said. "Everyone respects it's what Gwen wanted. And the idea appeals to them, it seems. It's the least we can get out of being the damn Lemons' kids."
The "we" that wouldn't include him. "What about you? Who'll have your back?"
"I've got my office manager in London. She keeps me on my toes."
They finished their breakfasts in relative silence. The notion of more rock royalty reunions warmed her, but it couldn't distract Cilla from the knowledge that Ren had little more than a day left in L.A. And that he'd never be part of the new closeness she and the other Lemon kids would (hopefully) establish.
As they left the café, across the street she noted a man on the sidewalk whom she'd been watching from her window seat. He'd started at the florist, moved on to the candy store, and now was approaching the lingerie boutique with bags from the other places in hand. He looked slightly harassed around the eyes, but his mouth was turned up in a faint smile. She imagined it was a big day for him—his partner's birthday? an anniversary?—and he was going to turn up tonight with pretties for the woman he loved.
"Ready?" Ren asked, as she paused to watch the shopper disappear into the small store. He gave a cursory glance in that same direction then refocused on her. "Did you want to do some shopping?"
Hadn't he realized the kind of merchandise sold there? In the boutique's front window, a trio of headless forms were dressed in skimpy lingerie sets: one black satin, one peach lace, another outfit was leopard print with risqué cutouts.
As if she'd shop there with him! Why, she, of her pastel-colored, cotton-knit underwear would be mortified, and he....
An earlier snippet of Ren's conversation replayed in her mind. Yeah, baby, and I think you can handle him. You're tougher than you look.
Maybe she should give a try at handling Ren, too. Low at her side, Cilla made a scissors movement with her two fingers. It had been good to deliver Tad's final comeuppance. Would it work again? Would she bring up her mood if she meted out a little revenge? Surely she was tough enough to make Ren squirm.
Of course she was.
Beaming him a brilliant smile, she tucked her hand into his elbow and steered him toward the lingerie boutique. "Well, if you really wouldn't mind..."
She figured he felt so guilty for going to bed with her and then going bye-bye that he'd agree to just about anything. "Sure, baby."
It might not be a way to reclaim her heart, but perhaps she could prove (to them both) she still retained her pride.
As he sipped an after-dinner cup of coffee, Ren reminded himself he only had to get through this last night in Gwen's cottage. Tomorrow at this time he'd be gathering his belongings in preparation to fly free of Cilla and return home to London.
Except London had never been home.
It had been his base. But now that he'd returned to L.A., he realized it was his true native soil. During that hike near Mulholland he'd taken in a view—mountains to ocean—that encompassed land to which he felt he truly belonged. At the party the night before, he'd experienced that same sense of connection to the other Lemon kids.
There'd been pain attached to it though, the source of it something he couldn't put his finger on; something buried deep in his soul. He'd recalled his deep unease when studying Gwen's photos and heard again that sinister voice whispering in his head.
You can never speak of this. You can never speak to each other about this.
The tightening vise around his temples had made him withdraw into the shadows.
Hurting Cilla by the distance he put between them.
But it had to be done!
He dropped his mug to the kitchen countertop and ran his hands through his hair, trying to scrape away the guilt and gloom he felt at the thought of leaving her.
It was what he did, he reminded himself.
Detachment was what he did best.
"Ren!" From somewhere in the house, he heard Cilla's voice.
"Yeah?" he called back.
"Can I get your opinion on something?"
He closed his eyes, thinking of the other times she'd appealed to his judgment that day. His mind mostly elsewhere, he'd agreed to go into that shop with her. He'd actually suggested it himself. Idiot! Not until they'd stepped through the door had he paid attention to the kind of store it actually was.
His body would have beat an instant and hasty retreat, but Cilla still had hold of his arm and she continued sending out that blinding smile that made him stupider than usual. So he'd sat his ass on the upholstered chair she'd shoved him into, then survived an hour of torture as she flitted about the racks of filmy negligees and scandalous bra-and-panty sets.
"What about this?" she'd asked, holding up something made mostly of strings. "Or this?" In her other hand was a flesh-colored see-through corset that made the skin of his scalp prickle and heat pool in his groin.
"Why are you asking me?" he'd said in a hoarse voice.
"For the male point-of-view, of course," she'd replied, more smiles and good cheer. "What would a man—I mean, my next man—like to see me wearing?"
He groaned, just remembering the way that question had tied his gut in knots. Her next man.
Fuck.
"Ren?" She was getting closer now. "Where are you?"
"I'm in the kitchen," he said, in an unfriendly tone. "And busy."
She came around the corner. "Too busy for this?" she asked, striking a pose.
Ren stared at Cilla, now dressed in one of the little-nothings that had gone into her overstuffed bag from that boutique. Curling his fingers around the cool granite countertop, he tried telling himself it wasn't that revealing. The one-piece, slip-like garment was of midnight-blue lace and reached a couple of inches beyond the top of her thighs. But the neckline was a deep V, exposing the rise of her breasts and the valley between. Swallowing, he tried to think of something to say beyond Go away, don't tempt me like this.
Because he wasn't going to take her to bed again...or do it with her anywhere else for that matter.
It wouldn't be fair to Cilla.
And he was self-aware enough to know it would only make it harder to get his goddamn libido on that plane tomorrow night. He wasn't the one for Cilla—for any woman, long-term—but his sexual hunger for her apparently didn't concern itself with right and wrong.
She gave a small bounce on her bare heels. "I guess this doesn't make much of impression," she said, then spun on her way back out again.
He nearly swallowed his tongue. The reverse side of that sweet little number was lethal. There was a strap at the back to keep the bodice in place, then a long, low dip that nearly met the crack of her ass. From there to hemline it was row after row of lacy ruffles, sending the nightie straight into naughty territory.
Sweet Jesus. His hands tightened on the countertop instead of reaching out to halt her departure.
She came back while he was still clutching that unyielding surface like a lifeline. Ren instantly closed his eyes, rejecting the sight of her in another alluring piece of lingerie. Its image was already burned onto his retinas, however. Another shorty gown in lilac-colored fabric, another V-shaped neckline, and then a fall of tiny pleats. A big satin bow of the same soft color tied right below her breasts. She looked like spring. Like sex.
Sexy Cilla.
He was so screwed, because he wasn't going to screw her.
"It's a pretty color, don't you think?" she asked.
Steeling himself, he opened his eyes and focused no lower than her face. But damn, that wasn't any better because her blue eyes were like jewels against her flushed skin. Her mouth was rosy too, as if he'd been at it already.
He wasn't going to go at it at all.
Fuck.
"What do you think you're doing?" His voice sounded rough. Almost mean. Because he felt that way. Rough and mean. And desperate, damn it.
"I want
to model them for somebody," she said, apparently unfazed by his surly tone. "And you're convenient. You're here, and you're kind of like a brother—"
"I'm definitely not your brother." It came out like a growl.
Her eyes widened and he saw the first sign of nerves. "Um, well... I have another."
She escaped.
He thought he should too. The best course of action would be to grab his keys and go out like he had the night before. Have some drinks. Attempt to drown the clamoring voices in his head and the insistent lust in his body.
Turning, he got as far as reaching for his keys in his pocket when he smelled her scent in the room. It waved through the air, the delicate citrus-blossom-and-water fragrance that drifted from her hair whenever she was near. His senses went on high alert as he detected a note of yet another captivating perfume. Her personal perfume. Female arousal.
Cilla was turned-on.
His dick went instantly hard. "What do you think you're doing?" he asked again, his back still to her.
"I want to know I have something my future lover will like."
Future lover.
Ren spun to face her.
His head did a second spin as he took in what she was now wearing. "Fuck me," he muttered. "Fuck me."
It was the flesh-toned, see-through corset, which boosted her breasts and cinched her narrow ribcage. The hem of it was a flirt of narrow ruffles that met the matching panties. Through the transparent fabric, Ren could see her bare pussy, the dainty line of her lips a shadow behind the sheerness. A pair of pale pink stockings were snapped to frilly garters.
His dick throbbed and he promised it that no one, no one beside him, was ever going to see her in something so decadent and so delicious.
"Get that off," he ordered.
Her eyes went wide. "What?"
"Get that off. I have to burn it."
Glaring, she slammed a hand to her hip. "You are not burning this."
Ren advanced a step. "I told you. Take it off."
Her eyes narrowed. "Then I'd be naked, Ren."
That halted him. "Right. Can't get you naked."
A sly smile turned up her mouth. "Unless you want to."
"I don't," he lied.
"It could be a goodbye fu—"
"We're not going to say goodbye. I don't do those."
She rolled her eyes. "You go, it's goodbye whether you say the word or not."
Her logic was making no sense to him, not when he was battling his lust and his agitation. Future lover.
"You can't wear that for anyone else," he said, adamant.
A sassy expression overtook her face.
Shit. Cilla. Sassy. He was done for.
"I'm not letting this go to waste," she said, drawing her fingertips from her cleavage to her mons. She rested her palm over the slight mound.
Ren's blood burned as it raced through his system. "Why are you doing this?"
Her brows rose. "I thought that maybe, just maybe, you might have something left to teach me."
He groaned.
"Do I take that as a no?"
Ren wasn't aware of moving. One moment he was standing there, resisting taking her into his arms, and the next she was up against his body and he was bending her over his arm so he could string kisses from her breasts to her throat to her dimpled chin. He tongued her there, hearing her moan as she trembled in his arms.
Then his lips met hers and his tongue slid inside the heated wetness of her. When he lifted his head to allow them breath, he looked into her half-closed eyes and read the triumph there. Temper joined the flames of desire licking over his skin. "Damn you," he whispered. "Damn you for this."
Cilla's hands speared into the hair at the back of his head and dragged his mouth back to hers. "You have all night to make me pay for it."
Fine. He would. And his anger would prevent any other, more dangerous feelings from finding their way in. He turned her, his hands hard on her shoulders. "Get to the bedroom," he said, and when she hesitated, he reached down to snap one garter against the back of her thigh.
She yelped, but the look she sent him over his shoulder was mischievous.
He didn't let it soften him. "When I get in there, that outfit better be off."
Breathing deep, he gave her a five-minute head start. Okay, he was going to do it one more time. Give it to her because she was asking for it and because his goddamn cock was clamoring for it and because tomorrow night he was leaving and London was so many miles away that his detachment would be guaranteed.
Still, he felt furious with himself and with her as he stalked down the hallway. Then he saw her, stockings off, panties off, as she struggled with the fastenings that brought the two halves of the corset together at her midline. She glanced at him standing in the doorway. "This is easier to get into than out of," she said. "Don't be mad."
But he had to be. So he stalked toward her and brushed her hands away. "I've got this," he said, taking over the task.
Once undone, he tossed the garment onto a nearby armchair and stood staring down at her bared body. "God, Cilla," he said, stunned by her beauty all over again.
"Are you angry?" she asked, a playful gleam in her eye.
"Yeah," he said gruffly. "How're you going to make it up to me?"
Her hands went to the sides of his waist and she steadied herself there as she dropped to her knees. "I have an idea," she whispered.
His head fell back while her fingers worked to unbutton and unzip his jeans. His cock practically leaped out as she bared him, pushing down the denim and his boxers before she drew her fingertips over his heated skin. He gritted his teeth against the delicate pressure, and his own hand came out to sift into the hair at the side of her head.
She gave him a kiss then, a string of them, wet and sweet from hip bone to hip bone. Pursing her lips, she blew air along the damp line, causing him to shudder. Next she tickled his navel with the tip of her tongue and then the devilish instrument brushed the swollen head of his dick.
His pulse leaped and his fingers flexed against her scalp. She tortured him with gentle flicks and long licks and slow swirls that made his muscles tense and his balls draw close to his body. She touched him there as she took him into her mouth, running her short nails over the tight flesh. Then she sucked, bobbing up and down on his shaft. Ren felt another flash of fire roll over him and he almost lost it when he glanced down to see her eyes trained on his face.
Those big blue eyes, that tousled blonde hair, her rosy mouth pulling on him, pulling on him, pulling on him—
He yanked out, almost coming at the sight of his engorged flesh wet from her hot mouth. "Get on the bed," he ordered. "I have things I want to do to you."
For the last time.
And he was going to do them, all of them, without attaching anything sentimental or romantic to his performance. That way, in the morning he hoped his libido would be so exhausted that it wouldn't have the energy to make an argument when he left.
So he went to work.
Cilla soon lost any vestige of playfulness. Her mischief was nowhere to be seen. As he tasted her, touched her, opened her, had her, her face took on a drugged expression. Her body moved as if in a dream, her limbs acquiescent to where and how he moved them. He arranged her for his pleasure and then made sure she experienced it too.
Finally, he could take no more foreplay. Cilla had come twice already and it was his turn. Working quickly, he positioned her on her hands and knees, not even thinking why he chose to finish this way until he pushed inside her and she turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. He'd wanted to avoid her eyes, he realized. He'd wanted to avoid this exact look on her face.
Sticky.
That's the only way he could think to describe it. That expression—willing, yielding, open, giving—was going to stay with him beyond the night. He braced one hand on the small of her back, the other buried in the bedclothes as he powered into her, thrusting, with each plunge trying to make himself believe t
his was just a body, a wet, heated glove of any woman. It was just an ordinary climax that gathered low in his belly then exploded, bursting from his cock in powerful spasms that rocked his world.
Afterward, he lay in the dark, Cilla spooned in his arms, the covers pushed to their knees. She breathed, soft and even, and he ran his hand over her flank, committing her shape to memory as she slept on.
She was like no other woman, and a wash of shame went through him that he'd even tried to convince himself otherwise.
Cilla was his sweet, passionate, rock princess and he'd had her for a time. For a time, she thought she loved him.
Lucky Ren.
Undeserving Ren.
Her feelings wouldn't last, of course. He'd leave and she'd realize she could have a man who could give her everything... His hand swept over her hip again and even in the darkness he could make out the black shape tattooed on his wrist. Yes. She'd find a man who could give her it all—including a whole heart.
He buried his face deeper into the pillow beside her, her scented hair beneath his cheek. "Baby, I'm not good enough for you, okay?" he whispered, knowing she didn't hear him. "But think of me...fondly, yeah? And I'll think of you always."
Chapter 14
Cilla lay naked and still beside Ren in bed, keeping her breathing even, as his words echoed in her head. Baby, I'm not good enough for you, okay? But think of me...fondly, yeah? And I'll think of you always. He was stroking her with his warm hand and through her half-closed eyes she watched his fingers caress her, that dark, partner-less tattoo on his wrist the reminder of something else he'd once said.
I suck at anything other than solitary.
But that just wasn't true! He wasn't a loner by nature—those photos from his childhood were testament to that—but then there'd been a change. Some occurrence, or simply the strain of growing up with such disreputable and infamous fathers perhaps, had made him turn inward.
If anything, she decided, Ren's need for bonds was greater than for the rest of the nine, as proven by his reaching out to his mother and then to his grandfather. Yet he'd been cut off from true connection with them in both instances. No wonder he'd stopped seeking out such ties.
Light My Fire Page 19
