A memory surfaced. Make me come, Ash, he’d said, his voice guttural. Harder. Rough strokes.
Oh, yeah, what a charmer. So smooth.
He cleared his throat. “And Ashlynn was there. The thing is, we…we have a past. From before I met you.”
“Ah.” Rachel flicked him a glance, then returned her attention to her coffee. “She’s very beautiful.”
“As are you,” he assured her. “It’s not that…it’s…”
It’s that Ash had some power over him. But that wasn’t fair. It was his fatal flaw, that rescuer impulse that drove him to those who were hurting. Then there was that blind spot he had, the one that wouldn’t let him fully recognize truths until it was too late. Truths like his mother was never going to stay. And that the owner of Satan’s Roadhouse would very likely be his downfall.
His hand tightened on his cardboard cup.
“I want to be honest with you. Though I won’t be calling again, I still think you’re great. Everything about you is great.”
A long moment of silence ensued. When she finally looked up, her expression was composed. “I understand.”
His surge of relief didn’t completely clear out his guilt. “Rachel—”
She held up her hand, halting him. “I can’t claim I’m not disappointed that we won’t further explore what we might have had, but clearly you feel some kind of a prior…commitment.”
He tried not to wince. Commitment wasn’t even close to the right word. Commitment implied something long-term, and though he might be flawed and he might be blind, he was certain that what he had with Ash was going to flame fast and then burn out.
He’d lose her, just like he’d lost his mother. Just like he’d lost Lynn.
It was beyond his power to hold them, so the only question was how long would be the fall and how deep would be the wounds left behind.
“Thank you, Rachel.” What else was there to say?
She apparently thought they’d exhausted the subject, too, because she stood.
“Take me back to my car?”
“Sure.” The short return trip was silent. He drew up right next to her driver’s door so she wouldn’t have much chance to get wet while switching vehicles.
With her fingers on the inside handle of his, she turned to him. “You know, there was a reason I was cautious about getting too serious right away.”
“Oh?”
“I never really thought you were a decent bet.”
Okay, that stung for the supposed “good” twin, but he hid his grimace.
“Not under the circumstances,” she continued.
“The circumstances?” he asked, walking right into it.
“You being Mad Dog’s son and all.”
Brody froze. As Rachel exited, he transferred his gaze out the windshield. The rain was coming down in earnest again, the wipers unable to keep up with the drops, so that the world beyond the glass was obscured. But his comprehension was crystal clear.
He had that blind spot. Also the fatal flaw. To cap those two off, he carried inside him a fucked-up childhood which was an ugly and unwieldy set of baggage that he could never set down.
You being Mad Dog’s son and all.
Was that why he just kept screwing up? Could he blame it all on dear old Dad?
As he drove away from Rachel’s school, he didn’t know what to do with himself. His mood meant he shouldn’t chance a meeting with his brother, any of their construction crew, and certainly not clients. Topanga was on the agenda at some point in the next few days—the whole reason for the break-up with Rachel was because he knew he was incapable of keeping his hands off Ash now—but he hoped to get his head on a little straighter before another visit.
His lust needed to be controlled. With a short cooling-off period, he thought he might be able to neutralize the more irrational and dangerous of his feelings for her.
While turning this over in his mind, he found himself a block away from the wedding salon owned by the Alessios—the family of his brother’s fiancée, Alexa. Lex could be nosy, but she couldn’t read his thoughts like Bing.
If he didn’t feel like talking, he figured she’d be content to chatter about her day—an excellent distraction. The cookies always available there were a draw, too.
Bella Bridal was located on a side street off a main thoroughfare, and was housed in a historic Craftsman home. He parked in the small lot beside the shop and then strolled to the front door and let himself inside.
The immediate open space was the bridal showroom. Fabrics and laces draped dressmaker dummies. From wrought-iron racks bent in fancy designs hung white wedding dresses and the more colorful gowns for bridesmaids. On shelves lining the walls were baskets piled with accessories. His eye caught on a set of glittery hair pins, and his mind shot to Ash, those sparkles on her beautiful face shimmering. Dazzling him even more than usual.
There was no woman like her in the world.
“Brody!”
His head turned and he saw his sister-in-law-to-be coming toward him, her dark hair swinging, her warm brown eyes alight with pleasure. Reaching him, she went on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.
He curled an arm around her and squeezed her in an impromptu hug.
Better, he thought, as she embraced him in return. That’s better.
When he let her go she gave him a quizzical glance. “Everything okay?”
“I had an urge for cookies,” he said.
“We’ll bring a plate of them to my office,” she said, grabbing his hand.
After loading up in the kitchen, they went to the small room that was her workspace. Each wall was painted a different color, and nearly every surface was piled with paperwork. On the display of her desktop computer was a beaming bride and groom. As an offshoot of the family business, Lex built websites for nuptial couples.
On a bulletin board, he saw several new baby announcements.
She’d recently expanded into sites for expectant families.
Plopping the plate in the middle of a small table, Lex indicated a free chair as she took a second one. He added the two paper cups that he’d filled at the water cooler.
“Am I interrupting?” he asked belatedly.
“No, that would be one of my brides who just sent a desperate text to hold everything for her site as she’s decided to change her wedding colors.”
“I know what those are,” Brody said, “to my everlasting chagrin—Cilla can’t shut up about the topic. But I still don’t know why there are wedding colors.”
“Like women, it’s a mystery.” Lex picked up a vanilla-and-chocolate pinwheel, bit in, then chewed and swallowed. “By the way, have I mentioned how much I like Rachel?”
Shit. Why had he thought Lex might leave well enough alone? “She’s a nice woman.”
Instead of adding any more, he applied himself to his own cookie, munching with vigor. Once it was consumed, he tried redirecting the conversation.
“How about your wedding colors? Have you made a decision?”
Her eyeballs nearly fell out of her head. She choked on her bite of cookie. Concerned, he shoved her water closer, and she lifted it to her mouth for a big swallow. Then she wheezed a couple of times, her face red, her fingers still wrapped around the cup.
After a few more sips, she looked at him with watery yet suspicious eyes. “Did you just ask me what colors I’ve chosen for my wedding? Your brother, the bridegroom, hasn’t asked me that.”
He shrugged. “I’m the good twin.”
“You’re the better bull-shitter.” Her gaze narrowed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
Brody considered his options. The thing was, if he spilled the truth to Lex, she’d do the dirty work of getting out the info to the rest of the Rock Royalty. If he played it right, she’d also pass along he was in no mood to discuss the break-up. No one would know what precipitated it.
The situation with Ashlynn could remain his secret.
Because he didn’t need any of his tribe to wei
gh in on his decision to stop seeing the wholesome kindergarten teacher in order to engage in an incendiary and ill-fated affair with the woman behind the bar at Satan’s Roadhouse.
You being Mad Dog’s son and all.
Ignoring the bitter aftertaste of those words, he looked at Lex. “Rachel and I… Well, it’s over.”
His twin’s fiancée turned sympathetic.
“Oh, Brody.” She reached out to squeeze his hand. “Are you all right? What happened?”
He cast down his eyes, then looked up again. “It just wasn’t the right romance. Not everyone can find that special someone.”
But his thoughts cast back to Ash’s hot mouth, the sweet clench of her pussy on his fingers, her small hands wrapped around his “manroot.”
Christ, even now that word made him want to laugh again.
Clearing his throat, he brought his mind back to the present. “And Lex, if you could maybe spread the word… I don’t feel much like talking about it.”
Lex sat back in her chair. “Okay.”
Grateful for the reprieve, he picked up another cookie.
“We could talk about your new client Ashlynn instead.”
The treat crumbled as his hand suddenly spasmed.
Without comment, Lex passed him a napkin.
His gaze on the sugary detritus, he busied himself corralling the mess.
“I didn’t know you were that interested in the business, Lex.”
“I’m interested in your business.”
He glanced up to find a small smile curving her lips and an unrepentant light in her eyes.
“Lex,” he said, in a reproachful tone.
“Oh, come on. Really? You bring a strange woman to brunch and try to pass it off as ‘business?’” She notched her fingers in the air. “Of course I’m curious.”
“Bing invited her!”
“He worries about you.” Lex turned down her eyes and applied herself to pleating her napkin into a fan. “So I had a nice chat with her that day. She’s interesting.”
The maddening woman didn’t elaborate. Brody tried telling himself she could keep her insights to herself. When it came to Ash, he was supposed to be simmering down, and talking about her would only keep her on the front burner of his thoughts.
But Lex’s “interesting” was a devious itch under his skin.
Shit. Already the new path he’d veered onto was uncomfortable. Rubbing at the back of his neck, he sighed. “Fine. You win.”
Lex glanced up, one eyebrow arching.
He frowned. “Tell me what you think. About her. About Ash.” How deep in hell will she send me? “What did you find so interesting?”
“That she went from running a non-profit to running a roadhouse.”
He stared at his brother’s wife-to-be. “A non-profit? What kind of non-profit?”
“It supports art education in public schools. A pet project of her mother and stepfather.”
The only art he’d associated with Ash was that sprinkle of glitter beneath her starlight eyes. “I had no idea.”
“It’s headquartered in the Silicon Valley, and she was raising a lot of funds from the high-tech sector… It sounds as if her stepfather made his money there.”
“Money?” Brody knew he sounded stupid but he was trying to envision Ash, the girl who danced on bars and didn’t protest being part of pool table tricks, as a raiser of funds from the wealthy. For art education in public schools. Huh.
It didn’t fit. She wore torn stockings, skirts hemmed to indecent, and bad girl cowboy boots.
Dressed like that, she made his mouth water.
“Yep,” Lex said. “Big money, I think. It sounds as if she had a ritzy upbringing. Private schools, luxury vacations in Europe, that kind of thing.”
Blinking, Brody tried taking it all in. “Are you sure? How’d you learn all that?”
“Really?” With a tsk, Lex shook her head. “This is me you’re talking to. I just kept asking questions.”
While he’d used his mouth in entirely different ways.
“Well.” His mind still reeled, trying to reconcile the two sides of Ashlynn Childe. “I…”
Want to see her.
He shoved off that thought. Supposed to be simmering down! Supposed to be cooling off! The new path should be trod slowly, carefully. No headlong rushes back to her…and her bed.
“If you want to know the truth, I got the impression that before now Ashlynn lived a very sheltered life.”
Sheltered? Brody snapped straight.
“So the roadhouse thing,” Lex continued, “must be a bit of a surprise. You know, going from seven-course fancy fundraising dinners to…”
Shit. To delinquents, drunks, and motorcycle gangs.
Brody shot to his feet. The girl’s environment—Satan’s Roadhouse, for God’s sake—had dangers all around, and she was a wet-behind-the-ears, sheltered neophyte. A fundraiser. His hand went to his pocket and he nabbed his keys.
“I’ve got to go,” he said, his protective instincts clamoring at him.
So loudly, he nearly missed Lex’s murmured, “I’m sure you do.”
But when Brody got stuck in traffic, he put the mental brakes on as well. He’d promised himself a couple of days away from Ash. Mad Dog Maddox was an impetuous hedonist, and Rachel hadn’t been wrong—as his son, Brody had the same propensities. He’d fought it from age eighteen on, and though his success had been limited, he still had enough control not to make a mad dash to Topanga and Ashlynn.
Breathing in then breathing out, he reminded himself she’d been managing the place for months. There was staff that had her back. And if he blew into the roadhouse in this mood, it would only be to haul her out again and take her straight to the nearest mattress. He had the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate the gesture.
But there was another woman who would value his visit.
He took the next turn-off and used his in-dash system to make a call. She sounded delighted at the prospect of him stopping in, and seeing her would have the by-product of checking his most reckless impulses.
Time spent with Lynn’s mother, Cheryl O’Shea, always served as a sharp reminder of his mistakes.
Minutes later, he strode up the brick steps that cut through the well-manicured landscaping to her front door. It swung open as he reached the portico, and she stood in the foyer light, wearing loose pants and a tunic that were elegant in style but almost overwhelmed her thin frame.
Her hair gleamed, silver and short, the way she’d worn it since her bout with breast cancer.
“What?” she asked. “No smile?”
He pinned one on, and moved over the threshold to bend and kiss her cheek. “How are you, Cheryl?”
She reached up to brush his hair, the gesture warm and so fucking generous he felt his gut twist. “Very happy to see you, Brody.”
“Thanks.”
What else was there to say? It humbled him to be welcomed into her life. After her daughter died at the compound of a drug overdose on his and Bing’s eighteenth birthday, she and her husband had divorced. The man had moved out, and she’d kept the house. Four years ago, Brody had found himself parked at the curb one day, driven there by his demons.
When he’d rung the bell, unsure what he would say but needing to somehow express his remorse, she’d opened the door, her face pale and drawn, her head wrapped in a turban.
It was during her first round of chemo.
Now taking him by the arm, she led him into her spacious kitchen.
“I’ll pour you an Arnold Palmer, of course,” she said. “Would you like a snack to go with that?”
He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearing six o’clock. “Oh, hell. Am I interrupting your dinner?”
“No, no. You know I eat late.” She went to a cupboard and then to the refrigerator as she made him an iced tea and lemonade.
He leaned against her countertop to sip it.
“It’s good to see you.” The truth, though now, as that f
irst time, it also twisted a rusty blade in his belly. He was continually stunned by the fact that while he might hold himself responsible for what happened to her daughter, Cheryl did not.
She was beaming at him. “That’s nice to hear. Have you been busy?”
“Not so busy that I shouldn’t have visited sooner. I hope you have some tasks for me to do.”
That’s how it had started. She’d allowed him in that first day, and right away he’d noticed that one of the balusters on the nearby staircase was unfastened at the base.
From fixing that he’d gone to accomplishing other minor home repairs whenever he stopped by. Later, he’d picked up grocery items for her on occasion and even driven her to her chemo appointments once or twice.
“Well,” she said, “you could hang the ladder back up on the hooks in the garage. My neighbor borrowed it again.”
Brody set down his glass and made for the nearby door. She followed him into the meticulous space that housed tools, boxes, and her long white Cadillac.
“I think your man-next-door must be sweet on you, Cheryl.” Brody lifted the ladder back into place.
She laughed. “I think he just likes seeing a woman on occasion, now that he’s a three-time widower.”
Frowning, Brody noted the pristine state of her car. Last time he’d been by, two weeks ago, he’d washed it for her. It didn’t look as if she’d driven it since.
“The Caddy running okay?”
“Just fine,” she said, taking the two steps back into the kitchen.
As he trailed her, he managed a quick peek through the half-open pantry door. The shelves appeared to be well-stocked.
“I should have asked if you needed me to pick up something at the grocery store on my way.”
“I have plenty.” She sat down at the kitchen table and gestured for him to do the same. “Now tell me what’s been going on with you. What’s the latest on the wedding plans?”
Cheryl had taken an interest in the Rock Royalty, and the recent marriage proposals among them.
“Everybody has decided that the first up at the altar should definitely be the first who fell. As soon as Beck gets back from his latest adventure, my sister Cilla and Ren will tie the knot.”
Wild Child (Rock Royalty #6) Page 11
