Love Me Two Times (Rock Royalty Book 8)

by Christie Ridgway

  Beck tried reasoning with himself as he continued moving forward. So the lady had snagged his interest. Made him hot. But what was he planning to do about it? Knock on her door and ask for a shag?

  While the direct approach had its appeal, he knew better than that. She hadn’t appeared all that comfortable around him, not with that wary set to her shoulders and her beautiful eyes saucer-sized as she looked up into his face. Maybe it was the sexual awareness sparking in the air between them that had spooked her. She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when he’d touched her, and he could still feel a lingering tingle on his own palm.

  Her guardedness meant he’d have to adopt a low-key, reassuring manner. Tell her he was making contact again because he had an ongoing concern about possible vandals in the vicinity. And, hey, he had been worrying about that.

  Worrying about her.

  The last couple of nights, he’d slept with all the windows open in order to hear approaching cars. Several times he’d taken the path along the compound’s rear fence to check on her house from above. He’d strolled down the street more than once to get a different view, though he’d always kept his distance and had seen nothing to cause alarm.

  But today he was going to knock on her door and gaze on her beauty. Talk to her. Maybe ask her out for coffee, a drink. Dinner. If that led to bed, well, yeah.

  But he’d keep to himself this compulsion he could no longer deny. This crazy, wild desire to touch her, to taste her.

  Cherry, so sweet…

  No, no. An ache in his temple started to pound. That had been a redhead…right?

  Redhead? There’d been a redhead?

  Frustrated once again by his confusion, he quickened his steps and focused on the house ahead. It was right to check in with the woman there, he assured himself. Just being a good neighbor. Responsible. Thoughtful.

  Exactly the type of man he’d never been.

  What the fuck? What the fuck, you stupid little shit? How did you let this happen? How could you have been so damn careless?

  Old, foul voices ran through his head. Beck shook it to disrupt the repeating loop then breathed deep of the warm canyon air, releasing the ugliness of the words when he exhaled. If his presence here dredged up that ancient history, maybe it had been a mistake to return to LA. Maybe it was a mistake to stay.

  But there were gaps in nearer times gone by, and he hadn’t given up on filling them in. In the meantime…

  The sexy brunette.

  With luck, she’d prove a happy distraction that would satisfy his too-long-neglected libido and keep other trouble at bay.

  But fortune wasn’t yet on his side, he knew, when he spied a different woman in the front yard of the house next door. A gray-haired lady perched on a rickety ladder, wielding gardening shears and attacking a thick branch of bougainvillea drooping from the braided mass against the stucco bordering the double-wide garage door.

  Beck hurried forward, loathe to be witness to another fall. “Ma’am,” he called, hoping he didn’t startle her.

  “What? Huh?” She craned her neck, and the ladder rocked.

  Cursing under his breath, he made a leap in order to steady it. “Are you all right?”

  “Oh.” The lady put a gloved hand to her chest. “You saved me.”

  Well, that was a first. “Can I help you down?”

  “I need to get rid of this,” she said, slapping at the offending branch.

  “Let me,” Beck offered.

  “Well, if you’re sure…”

  “I’m positive,” he said, watching in relief as she moved backward down the rungs. He took her elbow and helped her off the final one.

  The elderly woman beamed. “What a nice boy.”

  Another first.

  Taking the clipper from her hand, he made short work of removing the bough, and once back on the ground, cut it into smaller pieces, avoiding the lethal thorns.

  “You’re good at that,” the woman said.

  “I grew up next door. I learned early to avoid painful objects in the Canyon.”

  She showed him to the bin where he gingerly deposited the green refuse. “Thank you, Mr. Hopkins,” she said as she let the lid drop.

  Surprised, he turned to her. “It’s Beck,” he said. “And how did you know…”

  “Lived right here for the past forty-seven years,” she said. “I’ve seen it all and watched you kids grow up too. I was friendly with Gwen…I’m sorry she’s gone.”

  “Me, too.” Beck rubbed a hand through his hair. “You’re…”

  “Alison Malone.”

  “Yes…” he said. “Mrs. Malone. Do you still keep goats and chickens?”

  She shook her head. “Got too much for me to care for. But now that Jewel is living here with me again…”

  Jewel? “Not Julie?”

  Mrs. Malone gave him a puzzled smile. “I’m old, but surely I know my own granddaughter’s name. It’s Jewel.”

  Beck swallowed his groan. Smooth, Hopkins, smooth. He was pretty sure he’d called the sexy brunette whom he wanted to get naked in the worst way by the wrong name.

  Just then, a car approached. Not the van…it was parked on the street. And not the old Caddie. Instead, it was a newish and sedate four-door sedan.

  “Here she is,” Mrs. Malone said.

  The younger woman Beck had come to see climbed from the driver’s side. She wore a simple, shoulder-baring dress, with stripes and a hem that landed south of her knees. Low-heeled sandals were on her feet, and she wore an unusual cuff bracelet around her left wrist. Loose waves of her dark hair tumbled to her shoulders, and as he watched, she pushed up oversized sunglasses onto the crown of her head, revealing all her pretty features.

  His head spun in a dizzy reel, but his body didn’t waver. All its muscles hardened, each one coming to strict attention. Attention to her.

  The temperature jacked up thirty degrees and then another ten when her pink tongue peeked out to wet her lips. Her mouth was a dream in itself, the upper half shorter than the heavy bottom so it looked already swollen by kisses.

  His kisses.

  “Jewel…”

  She flushed a delicate pink, the color high on her elegant cheekbones. “Y-Yes? What are you doing here?”

  His polite excuses were at the ready, but why waste so much damn time? Her big eyes and her obvious blush told Beck this lustfest was attended by a party of two. Her gaze drank him in as if he was champagne and she was thirsty for the taste of bubbles and sin.

  He opened his mouth while trying to decide on what exactly to say. Let me take you somewhere. Let me take you home. Let me take you straight to bed and bury my mouth between your long, lovely legs.

  “Oh, Gavin.” The voice of Mrs. Malone. Jewel’s grandmother. “How are you today?”

  Who? What? Then Beck noticed a man was climbing from the sedan’s passenger seat. Blond. Handsome, he supposed. The guy from the other day.

  He opened the back door behind him and leaned into the opening only to emerge with a dark-haired—baby? toddler? Beck knew shit about kids.

  Jewel hurried around the car to take the child from the other man, and the little one collapsed against her shoulder, obviously asleep. Jewel’s hand moved to the tiny back, rubbed in gentle, maternal possession.

  Blond Gavin stood looking down at the pair, a fond smile on his ugly mug.

  Strange, unfamiliar emotions coursed through Beck. His palms itched to grab Jewel away from the other man and bring her to his side. Bind her to him, with cuffs, chains, fuck him, maybe even a ring.

  Wait—what the hell?

  It wasn’t right to feel this way, deeply disappointed and highly frustrated and fine, just plain, fucking, green-eyed jealous, when she was a mere stranger he’d met only once before. When she belonged to someone else.

  “Beck?”

  His gaze shot to hers, and he realized she must have asked him something and he’d missed it. But anyway, he could only answer with another question. “You’re married?”


  Murmuring “no, not married,” Jewel brushed past Beck on her way into the house. She pushed down her panic by reminding herself that Soul came first and needed to be settled in her bed for her afternoon nap. As she crossed the threshold, she heard her grandmother invite the two men to follow her inside for some lemonade and cookies.

  In the small nursery painted the palest yellow, Jewel laid the eleven-month-old on the crib’s mattress and covered her with a light blanket. Then she stared down at her child, running the back of her fingers along a plump, flushed cheek, and whispered aloud the promise she’d made to her every day since her birth.

  “I will be a good mother. I will be everything you deserve.”

  It would have been wonderful to lock herself behind the bedroom door and spend the afternoon watching Soul sleep, but there was another deserving person in the house.

  Someone who was owed the truth.

  Panic rose again, tightening her chest and squeezing her throat. Since her encounter with Beck two days prior, she’d procrastinated. Instead of doing what was right immediately, she’d stewed over the way he’d pretended they’d never met.

  The way he’d pretended they’d never fallen asleep in each other’s arms after private, heated hours in bed.

  But now it had to be done. She had to knock down his pretense and tell him there were consequences from their past affair that couldn’t be ignored.

  Do it. Do it fast. Do it now.

  Steeling herself for the confrontation, she exited Soul’s room, snicking the door shut behind her. As she turned, she found herself face-to-face with the solid form of a man. Jewel squeaked, her breath catching, then she realized it was Gavin and relaxed.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He carried two cardboard boxes which he now shifted closer to his chest. “More finds from the grandmas. Shall I take them to your workroom?”

  On tiptoe, she peeked over the sides to see jumbled tangles of costume jewelry. “Wow. There might be treasures in there.” Doubtful. The older ladies were magpies, drawn to glitter and shine, which didn’t necessarily mean the kind of quality she used for her custom work. Stifling a sigh, she gestured for him to follow her. “This way.”

  Gavin trailed her around the corner to the space that had become her workroom. To the right of the door, a block of utility shelves sat against the plaster wall. He gazed on their emptiness. “Last time I was in here, there wasn’t a free shelf.”

  “I rented a storage space,” Jewel said. “The grandmas have brought me so much plunder that I needed to clear out some of it in order to have room for my imagination.”

  He smiled at that, then slid the boxes onto a shelf. “You didn’t just toss the stuff?”

  “Oh, no,” Jewel said. “For all their trouble, I feel obligated to at least sort through their hauls.”

  “I’m not sure it’s trouble for the grandmas,” Gavin said. “Their junking keeps them busy and having fun.”

  Now it was Jewel’s turn to smile. “You’re right. And if I didn’t already, let me thank you for giving them the ride back from the train the other afternoon and for going with me to look at that used van today.”

  “My pleasure.” He hesitated. “You know, if you’re trying to keep your workroom less cluttered I could take these boxes to your storage locker for you. Save you a trip.”

  “Oh, I couldn’t ask you. It’s not far, that place on the corner of Melvin and Richter, but—”

  “It wouldn’t be any trouble. It’s right on my way.”

  “Still—”

  He held up a finger as his cellphone rang. Pulling the device from his pocket, he half-turned away from her and listened intently before thumbing off the call. When he turned back around, sweat had broken out on his upper lip.

  Jewel stared. “Are you okay?”

  “Sure, yeah.” He slid his phone back into his pocket then blotted his skin with the back of his hand. “Just a deal that’s heading south. I have to get going.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll tell Grandma you had to leave.” At the front door, she patted his back as he departed. “I hope everything works out.”

  His distracted “Me, too,” made her frown again.

  But then she heard the low murmur of another man’s voice and knew it was time to come clean to Beck Hopkins.

  Hauling in a breath, she marched into the living room.

  Her grandmother looked up as Jewel entered. She sat in a chair by the fireplace with Beck’s large form sprawled in another. They both held glasses of lemonade.

  “Something to drink, dear?” her grandma asked.

  Jewel shook her head. Her throat had closed again.

  “Beck was telling me he’s a writer. Isn’t that amazing? And he’s just returned from Africa. A trip on the Nile.”

  Jewel nodded, not meeting his gaze, and tried to gather her courage. She could feel him studying her. Had he really presumed she’d found herself a husband and then had a child? Marriage and conception would have had to occur the instant he’d left the country.

  “I always wondered what would happen with you children next door,” Grandma said now. “You sure ran wild.”

  “We did,” Beck agreed. “Kids should have better examples than what we had.”

  Grandma sipped from her glass. “Whatever became of those twins who built all those treehouses in the canyon? They swung through the branches like monkeys.”

  Beck smiled at that. “They actually became real builders. They have a very successful construction business.”

  “And the others?”

  “They’re all doing well.” He stretched out his long legs and crossed his feet at the ankle. “Ren Colson has a business that handles all the logistics of bands on tour. His brother Payne owns several auto salvage yards, and their sister, Cami, works for Payne and is also a singer-songwriter.”

  “A singer-songwriter,” Grandma echoed, as if she’d never heard this before, even though Jewel had told her about it after seeing the other woman play a couple of times in local clubs. “How wonderful. And the others?”

  “Cilla—she’s the youngest—makes costumes for all kinds of performers. Her brothers are the twins, Brody and Bing. Then there’s my two brothers, Walsh and Reed. Walsh is a businessman and inventor. My younger brother Reed writes books for middle grade children.”

  “Such a creative bunch. Don’t you think so, Jewel? Don’t they all sound so very interesting?”

  “Yes, Grandma,” she agreed. “But I’ve told you about them before, remember? I know them. I’m friends with Cilla and Cami.” It wasn’t clear to Jewel if the older woman’s memory was going, or if she enjoyed hearing stories more than once. She certainly enjoyed telling her own countless times.

  “You know them?” Beck looked at her sharply. “You’re friends with them?”

  Heat crawled up Jewel’s neck. Would he think she’d reached out to the others as a way to get tight with him again when he returned? “About a year ago, after I moved to the Canyon to live with Grandma, I ran into Cilla at the Canyon Country Store.”

  He nodded, murmuring, “Where the creatures meet.”

  The reference to The Doors song “Love Street” made her smile. “We got to talking, and she remembered me from our old school days.”

  He blinked. “You lived in the Canyon then too?”

  “Of course she did, with me,” Grandma put in. “From when she was ten years old. And she had quite the crush on you, you know. Used to look for you over the compound fence.”

  “Grandma!” Jewel put her hands to her hot face. “He was much too old for me.” But the crush part was true, and the peering over the fence bit as well. So humiliatingly true, that she’d not told him about any of it when they’d been together. They’d met at a local bar one night, and in the weeks they’d had, she’d never shared about her childhood.

  “And now you’re all grown up,” Beck said. “With a baby.”

  It was time, Jewel thought. It was time to tell him. She glanced
over at her grandmother. The older woman didn’t know any details. Bless her, when Jewel had showed up on her doorstep, already showing, she’d not hesitated to invite her pregnant granddaughter to live in her home, no questions asked.

  Needing support, needing care from the only person who had ever given her unconditional love, Jewel had gratefully accepted.

  More gratitude welled in her as her grandmother got to her feet, obviously preparing to exit. “Oh, excuse me. I’ve got to check in with my media. I had three comments this morning wishing me luck on my junking! I need to report what we found.”

  “Your…media?” Beck asked.

  “Social media,” Jewel answered for the older woman. “She has accounts at all the usual places.”

  “It’s like chatting with friends all day long,” Grandma said, and sailed out of the room.

  At her exit, an awkward silence grew between them. Jewel felt the air go thick with tension, and she told herself to stop stalling. It was time to make her move. But as she opened her mouth, Beck rose from his chair and started prowling about the space, peering out the window, glancing at the book on a table, running a finger over the clay sculpture she’d made in summer camp when she was twelve. Then he paused by the mantel and picked up one of the framed photographs there.

  He glanced at Jewel. “She looks like you. Your mother?”

  “Yes.” In the shot, with her face lifted to the sun, Madeline looked fresh and sweet and innocent. No hint of her other side. “We’re not close.”

  Instantly Jewel wished to snatch back the words. If he asked why, if he found out more about her maternal example, he might think she wouldn’t do right by Soul. That she wouldn’t be a good enough mother.

  She fought the sudden urge to rush to her daughter’s side. There were monitors in every room, so she knew the child remained sleeping, but how much she wanted to feel that little warm body against hers. The perfect antidote to loneliness. To heartache.

  Beck returned the frame to the mantel and then turned to face Jewel. “But you’re close to Cilla and Cami.”

  “Yes. And—”