Touch Me

by Christie Ridgway

  It was why she shrieked when warm fingers skimmed her cheek and yanked one device free.

  “Let me know when you get to the good part,” Payne said, his face much, much too close. His lips had a wicked curve to them and his blue eyes flashed bright. “Like when the duke’s latest expedition causes him to launch his canoe up the tunnel of love.”

  The remark made her want to laugh and her skin was still tingling from his touch, so she glared at him instead and snatched the earbud back, reinserted it, closed her eyes again. His own laugh came over the sound of the narrator’s voice.

  When he stroked her cheek once more, she had to dig her fingernails into her palms to remind herself not to react. Damn him! He was just too expert at this—his good looks, teasing voice, light touch all making it so easy for him to invoke a sexual response.

  He didn’t need a thriving business or even a quasi-clean one…one crooked finger and women would give him everything he ever wanted or needed.

  A short time later, the manager showed up, a skinny, nervous guy who seemed eager-to-please. But he was apparently new and clicked around on the computer and aimlessly shuffled papers as Payne peppered him with questions.

  After a while, Rose needed fresh air and she wandered out to the car cemetery where the weeds grew out of rusty, propped-open hoods. As she walked among the vehicles, she stepped over broken beer bottles, the occasional disintegrating rubber flip flop, and more used condoms than she wanted to think about.

  Were couples copulating on the ripped and moldy back seats?

  The idea prompted her to dig out the bottle of hand sanitizer from her purse and slather the gel on her hands.

  Her head was down, but still, Payne must move like a cat because she didn’t hear him come up behind her until he placed a cold bottle of water against the side of her arm. She jumped and swung around to face him.

  “Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

  “This is a perfect place for ghosts.”

  “I don’t want to guess at their cause of death.” Grimacing, he kicked dirt over the rotting remains of a prophylactic and then offered her one of the two bottles he carried. “Water?”

  She eyed it suspiciously.

  “I took it out of the office fridge, which was new as of last week. And note, the seal’s intact.”

  The plastic top gave a reassuring crack as she twisted it off and the liquid went cool and sweet down her throat. Payne took a swallow from his own water, then surveyed the yard with an air of resigned distaste.

  “Bad, huh? The state of the records are even worse.” He slid a look at her. “Bet you think I’m a shit businessman.”

  Stalling, Rose took another long drink, then studied him from beneath her lashes. It wasn’t his fault he looked like that, she decided, trying to push away her earlier resentment. He hadn’t asked to be born a rangy, lean-muscled blond. He stood, long legs braced apart, blue eyes slightly narrowed against the midmorning sun. His nose was perfect, his jaw square, his mouth the only soft part of him.

  And she couldn’t help but begrudge all that testosterone-edged beauty.

  Still, he’d brought her water so she tried summoning the right thing to say. “Not everyone can be a success at business. We all have different talents.”

  He turned to her now, a half-smile on his lips, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Now Rose, what do you suppose I might really be good at?”

  Sex.

  His hands, his mouth, his tongue would take a woman past her limits.

  They’d seek out the wet groove.

  Surge into intimate clefts.

  Command unbridled responses with single-minded intent.

  Nothing would be beyond boundaries, out-of-reach, too private.

  He’d move into a woman’s space with confidence, certain of his skills, a knowing glint in his eyes as she arched on the mattress, opening her thighs and spreading her arms to take all that he wanted.

  He would batter her restraints with the flick of his tongue. He’d bite and suck and leave marks so that she’d remember the next day that Payne Colson had used her for their pleasure…and she’d exalt in every moment of it.

  At fifteen, she’d sensed that, though she hadn’t the language to speak of it. Newly awakened to her body, she’d gone to him, a moth with translucent, still-damp wings, just out of the cocoon but pulled toward the flame nevertheless.

  Now, his eyes narrowed. “Rose…” One hand framed her cheek, his thumb pressing into the sensitive skin beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his.

  For a second she froze, then, terrified he could read her mind, she stepped away. “It’s time to get you back.” Her voice sounded raspy.

  His watchful gaze stayed on her face, then he shrugged. “You’re the warden.”

  But he talked her into making a short stop at another of his salvage yards first, which was less than five miles away, in another commercial zone. But this business looked to be in much, much better shape and Rose went wide-eyed as she followed him into the freshly painted office that fronted the property.

  Her jaw dropped when he directed one of several uniformed—khaki pants, knit shirt with “Colson Car Salvage” embroidered on the pocket—employees to give her a quick tour while he checked in with the manager.

  After passing a large, clearly labeled map, she learned that they called this an “auto recycling and salvage facility.” The vehicles brought to the premises were drained of gas, oil, and coolant that was re-used or recycled. Then they were moved to the well-ordered and very clean back lot, where they sat for thirty to forty-five days. Patrons paid a dollar to tour the vehicles and were allowed to remove any parts they could retrieve with their own tools. A month or so later, after a new arrival had been “boned out,” it was crushed, shredded, then sold for scrap.

  Payne had built the business from nothing, she was told.

  He had a smaller yard a few miles away solely for motorcycles that was managed by his sister, Cami. His plan for the newest business was to clear out the junk and use it as an exclusive repository for salvaged muscle cars. He’d sell them as is to high-end collectors or the hard-to-find parts to avid restorers.

  “Gonna be another success,” her guide said, obviously proud of his association with the owner.

  With Payne, the rock prince who, she realized now, was so much more than a pretty face.

  A tingling sensation at her back made her turn. Payne prowled toward her, golden and self-assured.

  Sexy. Successful. Now more difficult to dismiss.

  Which made him even more dangerous.

  Chapter Four

  Payne was stretched on a lounge chair by the pool, shaded by an umbrella. A headache pounded at his temples, not that he’d admit it. But going into work had taxed him more than he’d expected. Maybe it was the concussion coming back to haunt him. Maybe it was the mess that was the newest yard.

  Rose had looked upon the place like it was shit on the bottom of her shoe, and she hadn’t been wrong. But he had plans for it.

  He’d showed her what he was capable of by taking her to his flagship yard—CCS, Colson Car Salvage. The extra half-hour had probably been his physical undoing and it served him right for caring what she thought of him.

  For years, he’d gone his own way. Did his thing without worrying about anyone’s judgment of him. He knew exactly where he came from. Who he was and what he could never promise to anyone.

  Sex had been out and loud at the Velvet Lemons compound as long as he could remember. Cilla and Cami had been shielded better than the princes of Rock Royalty. After the boys hit double digits, String Bean, Mad Dog, and Hop hadn’t sheltered their sons from what went on at the parties, in the pool, beneath the bubbles in the hot tub. No one had blinked when, in their early teens, he and the others had been boozing and boinking with enthusiasm.

  Even then Payne had realized it wasn’t the kind of atmosphere or activities approved by school counselors and child protective services. But it wa
s their normal.

  Then Lily Dailey had caught his eye senior year. She’d walked into school trailed by an adorable mini me, and the wholesomeness of the two sisters had turned his head.

  By then going to class with a hangover and the smell of some starlet’s perfume on his skin had been a standard way to start his day. But those Dailey girls—Lily! Rose! God, even their names suggested health and freshness—seemed a chance for Payne Colson to know something clean. Good.

  “Can I get you something?”

  He opened his eyes, taking in adult Rose. She wore gray jeans, a black T-shirt, and a pair of black, ankle-length boots. The forays to his yards hadn’t put a single smudge on her.

  “Iced tea?” She held out a glass.

  Sitting up, he took it from her, his mind still preoccupied by the teenager she’d been. Big eyes, serious expression, that fleeting smile that he’d learned to tease out of her.

  “Why did you change schools that year?” he asked.

  “The year we met?”

  “Yes. I don’t remember why, if I ever knew, your family moved to Laurel Canyon.”

  She dropped to the neighboring lounge chair, seating herself on it sideways instead of reclining. “My parents were attempting yet another of their ‘fresh starts’.” Her fingers air-quoted the last two words.

  “But it didn’t work out.”

  “No. They weren’t suited. My mom was—is—dramatic and emotional. My dad’s a numbers guy. Totally unnerved by the expression of human feeling.”

  “And yet you followed him to Washington.”

  “I liked rules. I liked order. My mom and Lily, they reveled in big splashes of emotion …felt comfortable with them. I felt comfortable with my dad who kept to schedules and rigid lists of expectations.” She shrugged. “I was a daddy’s girl.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m a grown-up girl.” Placing her hands behind her, she leaned back, bracing on them. “How was your parents’ marriage?”

  “They never had one.”

  “Oh?”

  “Bean’s never been hitched. There’s a reason why we kids are Renford, Payne, and Campbell—those are our mothers’ last names. He put them on our birth certificates so he wouldn’t forget them.”

  “Practical.”

  Payne snorted. “I’m not sure I’d call Bean practical.”

  “But you stayed with him.”

  “My mom was nineteen when she found her way into my father’s bed—absented for the weekend by Ren’s mother, who was twenty at the time. Still, she thought she might have a lifetime chance with him…or so she says now.”

  “Which is why she stuck around…”

  He nodded. “Until it was clear that he was and always would be a faithless philanderer. According to her, she was so crushed when the truth finally dawned that she had to go off alone to rebuild her battered sense of self. I saw her some weekends every year. She called more often than that.”

  “Well.” Rose glanced away. “Um…”

  “Yeah. Between you and me, I think she was an irresponsible featherhead who hooked up with a careless libertine. But she actually wised up about a decade ago, started volunteering for good causes and got herself a husband. She seems to have a decent enough life.”

  “She took care of you out of the hospital.”

  “Yeah, and it was as if she wanted to make up for leaving me behind. She actually cut my food and commandeered the TV remote control so I wouldn’t watch anything that might elevate my blood pressure. Thank God she and her man had a vacation scheduled.”

  “So now I’m here.”

  He swallowed some tea. “So now you’re here.”

  “It’s a nice house.” She looked down, then up at him through her lashes.

  He was transported to high school again. Lily had been in his second period class. He’d asked her out the first week of school. If she wasn’t new, she’d have known about his reputation or someone would have warned her about him, but that didn’t happen. So Payne found himself with a virgin on his arm. And a little sister sidekick trailing behind.

  He hadn’t minded about either.

  Sex was easy to come by.

  Decent, not so much.

  Rose had tagged along often, whether they went to the movies or out to eat. He supposed he could have matched her up with some high school swain her own age, but he hadn’t done it. Instead, he’d enjoyed teasing the hell out of her, making her poke her nose out of her shy shell every once in a while.

  There’d been the shine of hero worship in her eyes and no one had ever looked at him like he was the good guy before.

  It had all gone to shit, of course, thanks to the Velvet Lemons. Lily had found out her father had been visiting the compound after midnight on the weekends—likely lured there by rumors of the juicy goings-on—and Payne had made sure she wouldn’t happen by.

  But one night she had, and found her father snorting coke off some female guest’s bare tits.

  He had a feeling Rose still didn’t know about that.

  The situation had soured Payne’s relationship with Lily, who thought he should have told that her father was partying with the Lemons. Maybe he could have convinced her not to dump him, but then he’d done something…well, felt something…that sealed the deal on their June break-up. He hadn’t fought it.

  “You have a nice business going too,” Rose continued. Her lashes lifted and her gaze met his. “I…didn’t expect that. Sorry.”

  “You don’t need to apologize.” Christ! He didn’t want her to think too highly of him.

  “Yeah, maybe I do.” Rubbing her hands on the legs of her jeans, she looked down again. “I shouldn’t have doubted you could create a success.”

  Payne wanted to groan. Her admiration could take him down hazardous paths, he already knew that. “Rose…”

  She hopped to her feet, then crossed to a pot that held a dwarf lemon tree. “This looks thirsty.”

  “The gardener will—”

  “I can water a pot.”

  It wasn’t so easy, though, because the hose wouldn’t reach. With a grimace, she bent to reposition the heavy clay container.

  Payne gave himself three seconds to admire her ass, then he began to get to his feet just as she started tugging on the pot in earnest. “Be careful,” he cautioned, seeing the hose stretched right behind her.

  The warning came too late. Rose tripped, her legs going out from under her so she landed, hard, on her behind.

  “Oh, crap,” he muttered, and hurried over. “Are you all right?”

  She looked up, and he caught the sheen of tears in her eyes.

  His heart seized. It was the same way they’d looked when she was fifteen and he’d peeled her off of him and shoved her away. Shaking off the recollection, he reached down to haul her up by the elbows.

  Then memory swamped him again, with her this close, their bodies aligned.

  Her shampoo, he thought. It had to be the same from before with that light, flowery scent. It had been swirling around his house the past three days, which probably explained why his thinking was muddled. The fragrance messed him up.

  Made him remember things that had gone bad.

  Reminded him of things that he’d wanted so very, very bad.

  “I’m okay,” she said, trying to move out of his hold. He sensed the tension in her body and her pulse was ticking fast against the thin skin of her throat.

  “Maybe I’m not,” he whispered, and bent his head.

  His tongue touched the spot on her neck. She flinched, but was held, as enthralled as he, he supposed, by the thrum of her heartbeat against the hot, wet muscle of his tongue. Breathing deep, he took Rose into his lungs, her scent and her heat.

  He licked upward and felt her shiver. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her light weight against his body and pressed a kiss to the hollow behind her ear.

  Her nipples tightened, he could feel the hard bead of them pressing against his chest through their shirts. His co
ck pulsed, trapped in the denim of his jeans. Groaning, he wanted to reach down and adjust himself, but no way was he letting go of her now.

  His lips traced the delicate line of her jaw and her small hand found its way beneath the hem of his T-shirt to the bare skin at the small of his back. He shuddered at the brush of flesh to flesh. Her fingers slid beneath the waistband of his jeans, lighting him up. His hands flexed into the skin on either side of her spine and he bit her chin.

  At the nip, she froze. Then, frantic, she backed out of his hold.

  “Rose—”

  “Guests,” she hissed, throwing her arm in the direction of the side gate.

  Crap. She was right. Two friends of his waltzed through, each bearing a six-pack of beer and a bag of chips.

  “I’ve got to get a lock on that thing,” he muttered, then forced himself out to swim out of the sexual fog. “Hey, Randa, Patrice.”

  Their enthusiastic greetings gave him time to get his shit together. He even managed to make the introductions with a cool that didn’t reflect the turmoil inside him. Why had he touched Rose? Stupid, stupid. Rose wasn’t cut out for his kind of indulgences. She was exactly the kind of woman he avoided.

  The kind who wanted rings. Kids. A decent kind of man who could keep his promises.

  When she made noises about bringing out some snacks to go with the beverages, he volunteered for the duty himself. “Sit down, Rose. Chat it up with Randa and Patrice.”

  He needed a breather.

  Bustling about the kitchen, putting a tray of olives and cheese together, he realized the women’s voices carried over the water in the pool and directly into his ears. Rose explained she knew him from their Laurel Canyon days.

  Randa told her about meeting Payne years ago in a class designed for small business owners.

  For a moment he wondered how surprised Rose might be to hear that he’d actually put some effort into educating himself. I shouldn’t have doubted that you could create a success.

  Ridiculous how those simple words had struck him with an almost-pain directly above the high point of his scar. What a sap.

  And then he’d kissed her…