Brody’s gaze flicked down her body then back to her face. “You didn’t call.”
“Oh.”
Ashlynn tried shrugging off the pinch of guilt. Before leaving the night before, he’d given her his card and asked her to phone him in the morning. I want to know how you’re doing. I want to know what the Sheriff’s people say.
She’d had the presence of mind not to share her own number, but not the common sense to call him as he’d asked—thus precipitating this visit. It was hard to be mad at someone who was kind enough to worry about her.
“You didn’t need to drive all the way here.”
“I had to check on a job in Malibu and this was on the way back.” Studying her face, he shoved his hands into his pockets. “You look tired. Did you contact law enforcement?”
“I met with a deputy at the trailer an hour ago.”
“And?”
The destruction looked even worse in the light of day. “I made a report. They’re sending someone out to take fingerprints.”
“You explained about the kids you turned away?”
“If they were kids. But I told him about the disgruntled would-be customers anyway. Five young males in sweatshirts and ball caps. Not much of a description.”
Brody didn’t look happy.
“Yeah.” Withdrawing one hand from his pocket, he rubbed his knuckles against the fine grit of whiskers on his jaw.
Ashlynn looked away before she could start wondering what that manly stubble would feel like against the tender skin of her neck. Or her breast.
“Well. Um. Don’t let me keep you.”
Instead of taking the hint, he moved closer and she smelled him—masculine soap and fresh air.
“Ash.”
She swallowed. “What?”
“Promise me.” His hand reached to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “From now on, you let that big bouncer you have mind the door.”
She stepped away from his fingers, away from that touch that sparked prickling heat along her scalp and down her back. Scowling, she took a second step back. “I don’t need advice about running my business.”
“But I hear you need some other kind of help,” a new voice put in.
Ashlynn jumped, then gaped as she saw the man climbing the steps behind Brody. Dark hair, blue eyes, a second muscled figure so like the first.
“You…” Her gaze jumped between them.
“Yeah,” Brody said. “I’m a twin, too. Meet my brother Bing Maddox.” Then he shot his brother a steely glance. “I thought you were going to wait in the car.”
“My bad,” Bing said, without looking the least remorseful. His arm stretched toward her. “Ash, right?”
She was aware of his cool assessment as they shook hands. For the first time since returning to the canyon she wished for her old clothes—a cashmere turtleneck instead of this sliding-again sweater, pants without rips, a pair of sleek boots. When he let go of her hand, she couldn’t help touching the long, rumpled mass of her hair.
In Northern California she’d tamed the waves and usually twisted it up.
“Nice to meet you,” she murmured, not sure what to do next. “Um…”
“Great place,” Bing said now, tilting back his head to take in the three stories.
“I told you,” Brody said, his narrowed gaze on his brother’s face as if he didn’t trust him.
Bing didn’t spare his twin a glance and instead gave Ashlynn a disarming smile. “Can we take a look inside?”
Brody frowned. “We’ve got to—”
“I’m sure Ash would be happy to give us a quick look-see,” Bing said, with another smile. “Right?”
Carol Lexington’s daughter could only answer that question one way.
Still my own worst enemy, Ashlynn thought glumly, as she ushered the brothers through the front door. Her will was so weak she couldn’t even stop herself from inhaling another breath of Brody’s delicious scent as he passed by.
The tour of the first floor was as brief as she could make it. She told them that her grandparents had built the house after a flashflood had destroyed the small cabin they’d been living in on the property.
“The story was they had a sort of barn-raising party, and everyone in the area chipped in with what they had on hand.”
The brothers wandered around the open first floor, looking through the odd-sized and unmatched windows and running their hands over the roughly plastered walls. Bing bent to inspect the pipes under the kitchen sink.
Brody asked her about two scarred sections of ceiling.
Ashlynn shrugged. “It wasn’t like that when I was a kid. The kitchen was closed off, and there was a master bedroom down here. Brae must have gotten rid of the walls to give it a more uncluttered design, I guess.”
Brody looked at Bing, who looked back. Then they both stood where one of the walls had been removed.
“I bet it was load-bearing.” Brody murmured, then glanced at Ashlynn. “Do you think the change was permitted?”
She laughed. “My sister’s changes were always on a whim, and I would imagine rarely sanctioned.”
A feature, in her opinion, not a bug. She’d always loved that about her sister. Had always wanted to be more spontaneous in Brae’s exuberant way.
“Could we look around upstairs?” Bing asked.
Ashlynn hesitated. She’d hardly been up there herself since returning, with the exception of gathering armfuls of her sister’s clothes. Those she’d stashed in a closet on the first floor, taking daily what she needed to the trailer.
Last night she’d slept on the couch in the living area.
The rooms above seemed too much filled with her sister…and memories of the past.
Bing sent her another of those charming smiles. “We’re drawn to hand-crafted places like this one. Spent our boyhoods with hammers and nails and our imaginations.”
That handsome collection of features was difficult to refuse.
“Sure, I guess.” But she’d stay down here counting the seconds until they said goodbye. “Go on up.”
The brothers tramped up the stairs, and she retreated to the kitchen. Still, she imagined them peeking in at the two bedrooms and bathroom and them moving on to the third floor tower and the big room and bath that had been hers and Brae’s growing up. One set of windows opened to the mountains and another had a view down the canyon to the ocean. Their twin beds had been replaced by one king-sized, and there were no signs of the games and toys that had cluttered the space when they were children. But those vistas hadn’t changed, nor had a thousand memories of growing up with a twin.
When she heard the clatter of their feet coming down the stairs, years of manners kicked in as well a healthy dose of chagrin.
“I wish I had something to offer the two of you besides some stale tea,” she said as they entered the kitchen.
“That’s all right.” For his brother’s benefit, Brody explained. “The vandals destroyed the food in the trailer, too.” Then he frowned, stepping closer. “What have you eaten today?”
Ashlynn moved back until her butt hit the edge of the table. “I’m fine.”
“You mean nothing.”
“Not yet.” She shrugged. “I can go to the roadhouse if I want to scrounge something up. And I need to make a run to the grocery store since it looks like I’ll be staying at the house.”
Maybe Brody read her discomfort at the idea on her face.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice softening. Moving forward until they were toe-to-toe, he ran his thumb along her cheek. “Are you going to be all right?”
The pad of that digit continued to stroke her face, a touch that she damn well knew went way beyond the professional. But Ashlynn stayed in place as she stared into his mesmerizing eyes. They were the hot-baked blue of a July afternoon, and his gaze warmed her like summer sunshine. She wanted to bask in it like the cat that lived beneath the porch, stretch and turn in not-so-subtle invitation so he’d run his hand from the
top of her head to her toes.
And then do it again.
“Maybe she’s hungry.”
At the sound of Bing’s voice, Ash jolted, causing the kitchen table legs to screech on the scarred hardwood and breaking the spell weaving between her and Brody.
“What?” His hand dropped, and he slowly turned his head to look at his brother.
Another guileless smile from his twin. “We should take her to the compound for brunch with the tribe.”
Brody let a long moment pass, then said slowly, “That’s an idea.”
“No, I couldn’t.” Brunch? What compound? Sharing a meal would definitely be personal.
“Of course you can.”
Brody’s tone was brisk, and he reached for her again. Even as she leaned away, he adjusted the shoulder seams of her sweater so that it sat squarely on her frame. Then his hands rested lightly on either side of her neck.
“It’s just brunch.”
“I…no…um…” She couldn’t think straight when he touched her.
“Brunch,” he said, again, as if that was the answer to everything.
And then, to prove she was putty in his hands and that she found him—uh, the invitation—irresistible, she heard herself say, “Yes.”
At the Laurel Canyon Velvet Lemons compound, Brody trailed behind Ash, allowing Cami Colson—who was the only member of the Rock Royalty to beat them there—to play tour guide of their childhood stomping grounds. She pointed out the modern monstrosity that was the home of drummer Hop Hopkins, the castle built by Mad Dog Maddox, and String Bean Colson’s lodge that would look more at home on Wyoming ranch land.
Yesterday’s rain had moved off and left the sky blue and the air smelling clean. The bright sun was battling the slight chill and winning.
He’d ridden with Ash from Topanga to provide directions. She’d been quiet on the ride, so he’d filled the silence with some background on the group she was about to meet.
“The Velvet Lemons have nine children, three each,” he’d started, then went on to name Beck, Walsh, and Reed, Ren, Payne, and Cami, then Cilla, Bing, and himself.
“We didn’t spend much time together as adults,” he’d explained, “until my little sister Cilla fell for Ren and he fell right back. Then the two of them decided we should reclaim one another. Make a more tightknit family. We’ve all been working on it.”
“That’s so nice,” she’d murmured.
Had he imagined the slight catch in her voice? Remembering her recent losses, he’d tightened his hands on his knees instead of offering her a comforting touch…and wondered why the hell he’d seconded his brother’s invitation to brunch.
Everything about Ash derailed him from the path he’d set for himself. Months ago he’d been hurtling for disaster. He’d taken to frequent and more frequent benders to silence the guilt and regrets rattling around in his head, and the morning he’d woken with the mother of all hangovers he’d promised Cilla and Alexa he’d change.
That vow meant making rational choices, like avoiding a woman who managed to rock his emotional world. What he needed was to align himself with someone who had herself and her life together. A woman like Rachel.
Whom he’d invited to the brunch that day too. But he supposed that could be a good thing. Seeing the two women together would remind him of what he wanted and what he shouldn’t have.
“This is where it all happened,” Cami was saying now, spreading her arms wide to indicate the three disparate homes of the Velvet Lemons, the Olympic size pool, the pool house, the tennis courts and verdant grounds. “The debauchery, the licentiousness, the crazy.”
String Bean Colson’s daughter said it with a cheer that didn’t hint at the dark shadows their childhood had left on their lives. The two girls, Cami and Cilla, had been shielded somewhat by the live-in groupie who had been their mother figure of sorts, Gwendolyn Moon, but the sons of the Velvet Lemons had seen it all…and ultimately done it all, too.
“You probably think we’re crazy for coming back,” Cami added, leading them toward the outdoor kitchen adjacent to her father’s lodge house where it looked as if many of the others had arrived.
“No, I get it,” Ash said. “You get to be the creators of your own memories now, and you can make the new ones happy.”
“Oh, I think some of the boys’ old memories are pretty happy,” Cami said, with a sly glance at Brody. She rocked her thumb his way. “I hear this one always insisted on holding the finish tape during the nude relays. Think of all those bouncing breasts.”
In retaliation he pounced on Cami, slinging his arm around her neck and jabbing his knuckles into her skull. “Shut up, squirt.”
She squirmed, mock-shrieking. “Ren! Ren! Come save your little sister.”
Though she broke free on her own, she double-timed it to those gathered on the expansive deck. “Come on, Ash, let me acquaint you with the rest.”
Brody stood back as Cami drew the other woman forward. “Hey everybody. This is a new client of Brody and Bing’s.”
Yes, client. The label he’d given her when he’d introduced Ash to Cami.
She indicated the couple who stood hip-to-hip near the barbecue. “And Ash, this is my brother Ren, who is going to marry Bing and Brody’s sister Cilla,” she said. Then she pointed around those gathered in a loose circle near them. “Bing has his engagement ring on Alexa’s finger. We love Rose because she’s agreed to put up with my brother Payne for life. Reed fell for his neighbor, Cleo, who has those two adorable little boys kicking the soccer ball over there. And Walsh finally woke up to notice his admin would make a marvelous wife.”
Though the group scoffed or groaned at Cami’s identifications, they smiled politely enough as Ash made the rounds to shake hands. Then she turned to Cami. “And you? Are you paired-off, too?”
“Yeah, Cam,” Payne chimed in, clearly ready to return a dig. “That’s the million-dollar question we’ve all been wondering about for months. Are you paired-off, too?”
His teasing grin died as Cami’s expression went from warm to wiped-clean.
“No,” she said. “Never.”
Ren’s spine went ramrod straight, and his eyes narrowed.
“Fuck,” he muttered. “Cami, what happened?”
“Not a thing,” she said throwing out a hand. “I need to grab a salad from the indoor fridge.”
As she began to stalk off, Ren called out, “Wait up, Cam.”
Her footsteps only accelerated.
“Fuck,” Ren muttered again and started in her direction, then halted as Cilla put her hand on his arm.
“Let me.”
“She probably won’t talk,” he warned.
“I know my way around moody Colsons,” she said, a little smile playing around her mouth.
Ren’s fierce expression softened. “Yeah, you do,” he said, and kissed the top of her head. His palm patted her jean-clad ass. “Go be sweet.”
In the awkward silence that followed as Cilla hurried away, Cleo piped up. “Hey, Ash. I left some items in my car. Would you mind helping me collect them?”
It got the whole group moving. That pair moved off, Ren turned to fiddle with the barbecue, Payne, Rose, Bing, Alexa, and Honey ambled down the grassy slope to join Cleo’s young sons, Eli and Obie, in their game.
That left Walsh, who strolled over to hand Brody a bottle of sparkling water.
“Thanks, man,” he said. “How’ve you been?”
“Business is good. Honey is better.” Walsh tipped back his own bottle and took a swallow. “What’s up with the woman?”
“Bing invited her,” Brody said.
“A new client.” Walsh looked off into the distance. “You’re wooing her?”
Brody gave the other man a sidelong look. “Like I said, Bing invited her.”
“I bought it for a minute, you know. Especially since it was Cami who was doing all the talking.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Brody muttered, and brought his drink to his m
outh.
“For a second I really thought you’d brought this gal to brunch to shore up her business.”
“Bing—”
“Invited her. I heard you already. But then I remembered where I’d seen her before.”
Brody froze. “You’ve been up to the roadhouse?”
Walsh’s brows rose.
“Satan’s Roadhouse. In Topanga,” Brody clarified.
The other man shook his head. “Never been to the place.”
“Then how—”
“You showed me her picture. On your phone.”
Shit.
“You were hungover like a dog?” Walsh added helpfully. “Or probably still drunk off your ass.”
It had been at the tail end of one of his very last benders.
“Quite the looker, that Ash.” Walsh took another swallow of his water. “Though today she’s more clothed and sober than in that photo you took.”
The one that was still on his phone. In it, she wore a boozy smile and a flesh-toned dress scattered with sequins that had sparkled in the camera app’s flash. The dress had been torn up the middle to reveal her bare legs and that pair of cowboy boots she favored. Her hair had been tangled about her beautiful face, and her pale eyes had been surrounded with heavy black liner and mascara. If you looked up “woman trouble” in the dictionary, that photo would negate the need for further description.
And trouble of any kind was the very thing he’d vowed to give up.
“I told myself at the time that you’d stumbled across a fallen angel,” Walsh continued. “But that picture you took… It also tells me she’s not good for you, Bro.”
Like he could deny it. “I didn’t take the photo. A friend sent it to me.” The same guy who’d led him to Satan’s the first time had returned there…and snapped that shot. “I wasn’t anywhere near her that night.”
Walsh looked puzzled. “But you showed it to me. You told me that the woman in the picture had needed you and I… Hmm. I guess I assumed that you’d gotten roaring drunk with her.”
Wild Child (Rock Royalty #6) Page 8
