Touch Me (28 page)

He looked back at Rose as the rest of the people he loved gathered around him. His fingers squeezed hers. “I’m in love with you,” he told her. “I think I’ve been in love with you since that day you pressed the most innocent of kisses on me.”

A blush colored her face. “You didn’t think…you didn’t think you had it in you.”

He nodded. “Yeah, I had a lot of thoughts. All this time, I thought I couldn’t be faithful, I thought there wasn’t room in my heart for a woman. But it turns out there wasn’t room because you were already there, and I’ve been faithfully letting you claim that space for all this time.”

“What if I hadn’t come back?”

“I don’t know. I only know that you did. I only know that I found you once and I won’t lose you again.”

One tear traced down her cheek. “Oh, Payne.”

“Will you accept my promise? Believe me when I say I won’t need to break speed limits any longer because my final destination will be right by my side if I have you?”

“I don’t know.” She smiled as another tear fell. “I kind of like it that you’re fast.”

He laughed, and brought her hands to his mouth to kiss them. “Together we’ll figure out our perfect pace.”

“I love you,” Rose whispered.

The words fell into his heart that he now knew was as wide as the sky and as deep as the ocean. “I love you back.”

As he leaned close to kiss her mouth, the orderly behind Rose spoke for the first time. “Is this a Hollywood thing?” he asked, a note of excitement in his voice. “Are we in a movie? Is this some kind of reality show? Who are you people?”

“Lucky people,” Payne said, looking into Rose’s gray eyes as happiness overtook him, so much better than any shot of adrenaline, any second of thrill. “Lucky in love.”

Rose reclined on a lounger by Payne’s pool, her eyes closed, wallowing in the warmth of the sun and in the goodness of her life. Suddenly, a pair of earbuds were tucked into her ears. A male voice narrated a few sentences before she opened her eyes to see her man standing over her, wearing a sly grin and a pair of boardshorts.

They hung so low, she could see the padlock heart hanging from the end of the dragon-headed double helix tattoo. The beast’s fire could never keep her away. And despite that lock, the man had opened himself and discovered his true nature.

He was a one-woman man.

And her lover. Her very committed lover, as was declared by the very big rock on her engagement ring finger. Infidelity and abandonment were issues they’d discussed and put to rest.

She listened to a little more of the story, then narrowed her eyes and popped one of the buds free. “I don’t think is a romance,” she said, her tone scolding.

“It’s meant to be titillation,” he replied, mischief—or lust, or maybe both—in his eyes.

“Titillation?” She tried suppressing her smile.

“Yeah. The romance comes later, when we get dirty in the vegetable garden.” He sat beside her on the lounger and took her mouth in a thorough kiss. “I finally nailed the side gate shut,” he said against her lips.

“Well if that’s the case…” She pushed the bud back in her ear, closed her eyes, and settled back to enjoy the dirty story. “Go away.”

Payne nuzzled her neck then kissed her again. “Never ever ever.”

The End

Dear Reader:

Payne and Rose are happily turning his bachelor pad into a house suited for a couple with a forever future together. Though Payne didn’t believe he could commit, it turned out it only took the right woman to (re)enter his life. This is the fourth book in my brand new Rock Royalty series and I’m finding these emotional and sexy stories a blast to write.

Interested in sharing your thoughts with other readers? I hope you leave a review for the book.

Can you guess which member of the Rock Royalty stars next? There’s nothing more delicious than a boss-secretary story (in this case boss-admin) and I can’t wait to see what happens to Walsh Hopkins when the usually amenable Honey Brooks decides to look up from her smart phone and start doing things her own way. Walsh thinks he’s got everything under control from the boardroom to the bedroom, but when he begins to see Honey in a new light, the world will turn wobbly under this rock prince’s feet. Look for My Eyes Have Seen You coming soon!

To not miss out on its release and to get other information about upcoming books, sign up for my newsletter. You can also follow me on Facebook, Twitter, or visit my website.

Below, find excerpts to other titles and links to buy books you may have missed.

Enjoy!

Christie Ridgway

Excerpt: Light My Fire

Rock Royalty #1

Christie Ridgway

© Christie Ridgway 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Years ago, Rolling Stone magazine dubbed the nine collective children of the most famous band in the world “Rock Royalty.” Now all grown up, the princes and princesses are coming back to L.A.’s Laurel Canyon to discover if love can be found among the ruins of a childhood steeped in sex, drugs, and rock ‘n’ roll.

World-weary band tour manager Ren Colson leaves his London business behind for a stay in Southern California, never expecting to wake up beside Cilla Maddox. Cilla Maddox—who in the years since their last meeting has turned sexy as hell. But she deserves more than a man hardened by long nights, dark roads, and too many faceless women.

Cilla Maddox not once imagined she’d see the bad boy of her dreams again. But then he’s sharing her air, her home, her bed. Though he claims he has no heart, she wants it to be hers. Can she convince him that the flames that leap between them might signify forever?

Chapter One

The children of America's premier rock band learned early to sleep through anything. Late night jam sessions, liquor (and worse) -fueled arguments, raucous parties raging from dark to dawn that were peppered with wild laughter, breaking glass, and the squishy thud of fists against skin. At twenty-four, Cilla Maddox had not lost that skill, though she'd recently come to view it as something less than a gift.

Still, she didn't stir from her curled position on the edge of the king-sized bed when a tall, broad figure entered the room in the middle of the night. No streetlights disturbed the darkness this deep in Laurel Canyon and the newcomer found the bed only by deduction. When, at his sixth cautious step, his shin met an immoveable object, he dropped the motorcycle boots and duffel bag he carried to the plush carpet and took a leap of faith by tipping his long body forward. Finding firm mattress and feathery pillow, he instantly fell into sleep.

Hours later, Cilla came awake to the sound of birds tweeting and chirping their odes to another Southern California morning as they flitted through the shrubbery and tall eucalyptus trees that grew inside and outside the canyon compound where she'd grown up. Eyes closed, she breathed in the country-scented air, such a surprise when the famous Hollywood Boulevard and its twin in notoriety, the Sunset Strip, were less than a mile away. Flopping to her back, she stretched to her full five-feet, five inches. Then she pushed her arms overhead and swept them back down until her fingertips met—

Something solid. Warm. Alive.

On a gasp, her eyes flew open and her head whipped right. She yanked her hand from a man's heavy shoulder to press it against her thrashing heart.

As it continued to beat wildly against her ribs, she stared at her bedmate. Though his body was plastered to the mattress belly-down, his face was turned toward hers and it only took another instant to realize he was no stranger. But recognition didn't calm the overactive organ in her chest that continued sending blood sprinting through her body.

She blinked, just to make sure her eyes weren't deceiving her. They apparently had told the truth, she decided. After years of adolescent fantasies, she was actually sharing a bed with
him
. With Renford Colson.

No mistake, it was her teenage fantasy man. His glossy black hair that tangled nearly to his shoulders. His days'-old stubble of beard that made his mouth look softer, fuller, more kissable if that was even possible. Those were his spiky lashes resting against his sharp-angled face.

Yet...was he really here? To make herself believe it, she mouthed his name.
Ren
.

As if he heard the silent syllable, his eyes flipped open.

She started, their distinctive color—a silvered green, just like eucalyptus leaves—jolting her to the marrow.

Dark brows met over his straight nose and she watched the drowsiness seep from him as his gaze sharpened. "Priss?"

She frowned. He was the only one to call her that nickname and it had annoyed her since she was old enough to understand it telegraphed something about the way he viewed her. "Excessively proper," she remembered reading in the dictionary. "Prim."

"Cilla." Her voice sounded morning-husky as she made the correction.

One corner of his mouth kicked up. "Priscilla."

Ugh. That was worse. To her mind, Priscilla was the name of some old-fashioned china doll that was deemed too nice to play with and so grew dusty on a high, forgotten closet shelf. As the youngest "princess" of rock royalty (an article in
Rolling Stone
had described the nine collective children of the Velvet Lemons in just such terms), she'd often been overlooked. Likely Ren hadn't given her a single thought in the nine years since she'd last seen him.

"Why are you here?" she asked, sitting up.

His gaze dropped from her face to the size XL T-shirt she wore, an authentic Byrds concert souvenir, one of the several such clothing items she'd collected (read: purloined from her careless father) during her lifetime. "Priss," Ren remarked with a note of mild surprise, "you've grown up."

Grown-ups didn't react to the red flush they could feel crawling over their skin. Grown-ups didn't check out their chest to determine if it was a modest B-cup that led him to such a conclusion. So ignoring both compulsions, she repeated her question. "Why are you here?"

"Couple reasons." Ren flipped over then jackknifed on the mattress to face her. Both palms rubbed over his eyes and down his cheeks, his beard making a scratchy sound. He'd fallen asleep in his worn jeans and wrinkled dress shirt. On the floor near him were a pair of battered boots and a leather bag, both as black as his hair. His hands went to the buttons marching down his chest.

She swallowed. "What are you doing?"

"I've been wearing this damn thing for—Christ, who knows?—it's got to be a couple of days. However long it took me to get here from Russia with a fucking long layover in Paris."

Her gaze didn't leave his nimble fingers as they continued unbuttoning to reveal a stark white undershirt beneath. "You didn't stop off in London?" That was where he was based. Ren had started as a roadie for the band, then moved into concert tour planning and security. When he'd left the employ of the Velvet Lemons, he'd set up shop across the pond and continued doing the same thing—but for other bands.

Cilla couldn't blame him for giving up working with their fathers. The three Lemons might as well have been named the Odd Ducks. They'd achieved superstardom in the 1970s and when they were nearing forty, somehow decided they wanted more than sex, riches, and scandalous reputations. Each had produced three kids before declaring their paternal urges satisfied. No mothers came attached to the children they'd fathered. They'd been bought off or wandered off and as long as Cilla could remember the nine rock progeny had spent their childhoods in the expansive Laurel Canyon compound that consisted of three separate houses and then this smaller cottage where she and Ren had chosen to sleep.

Inspecting the hand-tied quilt covering the bed, Cilla ran her fingers over the psychedelic-inspired design. "You know about Gwen?" she asked, referring to Guinevere Moon, an original Velvet Lemons groupie who'd been the closest to a mother figure the band's offspring ever had. This had been her house.

"Of course," Ren replied. "I couldn't get here for the memorial service, but I came as soon as I was able to make arrangements for my replacement."

As head fixer for some other band's tour, Cilla supposed. "Her real name was Donna Carp," she said, her heart squeezing to think that the spiral-curled, caftan-wearing gentle soul was now gone. "Gwen's, that is."

There was a short silence, then Ren laughed. "Baby, you didn't think she really had Guinevere Moon on her birth certificate?"

Mortification spread heat over Cilla's face once more. Okay, so she had. "Thanks for thinking I'm a fool," she said, glancing up to glare at him.

The spit in her mouth dried.

Ren had tossed his shirt over the side of the bed and then stripped free of the undershirt he'd worn too. Beneath that...

He was cut. Ripped. His abs were perfectly defined above the waistband of his jeans. His pecs were slabs of thick muscle that drew the eye to broad shoulders that led to arms that were sinew, bone, and more muscle. Over his left pectoral began a primitive-yet-elegant tribal tattoo that swirled in black ink over the cap of his shoulder to reach as far as his elbow. Though most of his forearm was unmarked, on his wrist was a lone, stylized half-curve. She stared at it and then his long fingers, unwilling to let her gaze wander back to that beautiful chest.

She'd been fifteen when she'd last seen him. He'd been twenty-two. Then, she'd only dreamed of his kisses, chaste kisses at that, and hadn't wondered about his body or his hands or what he could do to a woman with them.

It was what consumed her thoughts now.

That, and how they were sharing a bed.

Buy Light My Fire

Excerpt: Love Her Madly

Rock Royalty #2

Christie Ridgway

© Christie Ridgway 2014

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED