Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) (13 page)

“The house is stupendous,” she said. “You know that. But I’m going stir-crazy.”

“You need something to do,” he said slowly.

“I organized the cleaning products in your laundry room. They’re now in alphabetical order.”

He frowned. “I didn’t bring you here to do shit like that.”

“Then let me go home.”

His expression turned stubborn. “Come on, Cami. It’s just until the end of the week.”

Yes, and she’d agreed to be under house arrest for that long. With a few vague emails she’d managed to cover her shifts at the salvage yard and explain to her brother and boss, Payne, that she was taking a few days off with a friend for R&R. In his pre-Rose life, he might have been suspicious of her sudden absence, but with his fiancée as a high priority he’d let Cami’s uncharacteristic bid for a last-minute vacation slide.

“But we still can’t be certain I’m in any danger,” she pointed out. “And I’ll tell you what, if I don’t get a break I’m going to do harm to myself or to that ugly, overstuffed couch in your living room.”

It was actually a handsome piece of furniture, but in her current mood also a target of her ire.

His lips twitched. “Is that right?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You think I’m joking. But besides the organizing I’ve been pacing the floor all day and then I did twenty-five push-ups, just like a convict preparing for a break-out or a prison riot.”

“
A ghrá
,” he said, laughter in his voice and eyes. “You amaze me. I’m shuddering in my boots.”

“You’re not wearing any,” she grumbled and when he laughed out loud, she felt the anger she’d built up against him since he’d left that morning seeping away.

The damn man was her weakness. He’d dumped her, and her heart still fluttered when he smiled. Yesterday on their beach walk, she’d been desperate to lighten his saddened expression.
I know what it is to be on the outside
, she’d said, and the way he’d looked in response had stirred her to dole out a spontaneous hug.

Or maybe she’d been looking for some excuse to touch him. Any excuse.

Yeah, that was it. He was definitely her weakness, she thought, glum.

His lips still curved, he swung out of his chair and padded toward her. His big hand cupped her cheek. “Stir-crazy, huh?”

Or just plain crazy because her mouth had gone dry and her thighs were clenching and she was supremely aware of that big bed just a few feet away. No matter that he’d made her care for him then stomped all over her feelings. No matter that he’d explicitly told her there was no future for them. With his clean scent in her lungs and his body so close…she swayed toward him.

Then snapped straight.

You’re supposed to be protecting your heart.

If he noticed her near-swoon, he didn’t comment upon it. Instead, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone.

“Are you up for a drive? Perhaps we could collaborate on a little P.I. work this evening.”

She stared up at him. “Are you serious?”

“Halfway up the coast between here and Santa Barbara. This little resort I know. You and me and—” his voice lowered, “—some clandestine surveillance.”

Her breath hitched and her eyes went wide. “You make that last sound like an indecent sex act.”

One corner of his mouth curled up. “Yeah? And did I mention we’ll need to stop and shop, unless you packed something fancy to wear.”

Her whole being brightened. “Did you say shopping? That’s better than any sex act I can think of.”

Eamon stilled. A raw energy suddenly hummed in the air between them, sending a flush of heat over Cami’s skin. She swallowed, reminded of his intensity in bed. She’d led him there willingly, in her relative naiveté not guessing at what his experience and sexual drive could demand from her. With knowing hands and rough whispers, he’d revealed a dominant side that she’d yielded to without question. His touch had been like a drug, leaving her hung over and in a half-daze after each protracted session of physical passion. The only cure…another night in his arms.

His hand dropped from her cheek and he stepped back, but the burning look in his eyes didn’t abate.

“Baby,” he chided. “Really? Have you so soon forgotten everything I taught you? Everything we did together?”

Her breath vanished from her lungs as a dozen images flashed through her mind. In her memory, two dozen sensations were evoked. Especially the delicious agony of him making her wait to come until she lost all sense of dignity and begged him to release her. She swallowed again, then turned, determined he not notice the fever he’d instigated inside her. There was her pride to consider.

“Oh, you,” she managed to strangle out, the words sounding lame even to her own ears. “I’d better find my purse so we can leave.”

Six hours later, her composure remained ragged around the edges as they were shown to an intimate table by a window in the low-lit restaurant. Not long before they’d driven through the gates of the resort, its adobe architecture and tiled rooflines oozing understated California elegance.

Eamon had reserved a suite—he’d said they’d stay the night and return to Malibu in the morning—and she’d been charmed by its terracotta floor tiles, cream-colored stucco walls, and covered terrace outside the living area’s French doors that revealed the view from a bluff over the ocean. There, a loveseat and chairs sat grouped around a clay chiminea, its bulbous belly already stuffed with firewood waiting for a match.

“Later,” Eamon had said, catching the direction of her gaze. “We need to buy you something for tonight.”

The resort’s boutique carried only a short rack of dresses, and Cami had spied the one she wanted immediately. It was basic black with a scalloped eyelet hem and beautiful black embroidery on the skirt and on the vee-neck bodice and narrow shoulder straps. When she’d ducked out of the dressing room, flushed with success, the saleswoman handed over another bag before ringing up the new sale.

“Shoes and such,” Eamon explained about the first bag, ignoring her efforts to pay herself. “And my idea, so my purchases.”

Then it had been back to their rooms. She told herself she wasn’t worried about the overnight. He could take the bed behind the double doors and, obviously, the couch in the living area folded out. No problem.

But he dropped the new things on the middle of the wide mattress. “Go ahead and get ready in here.”

She’d shrugged. If he insisted on the fold-out later, who was she to protest?

The toiletries in the walk-in shower were luxurious and the towels fluffy. She’d wrapped herself in the spa robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door and then blow-dried her hair and applied a light amount of makeup. A little smoky eyeshadow, a little blush, a tinted lip moisturizer on her mouth.

Then she’d gone into the bedroom and shook the things out of the extra bag. Strappy black sandals. A wide, beaded jet-and-silver bracelet, a thousand times more feminine than the tooled leather cuff she so often wore.

And underthings.

Cami had stared at them. In truth, she was more a cotton boy shorts kind of gal, but she couldn’t take her gaze off a strapless bra and panty set of the palest gray, like moonlight, the lace as sheer as spider-webs.

She’d glanced over her shoulder at the closed doors. Eamon had picked out lingerie for her to wear. Even as pleasure and embarrassment mingled in her belly, she told herself it meant nothing. A courtesy only. They’d run away for a night out, and he’d included some extras in case she needed them. The fancy boutique’s stock would only run to decadent.

But had he imagined what she’d look like wearing the garments?

She’d taken a peek in the mirror herself once she’d pulled them on. Barely-there little nothings that made her feel beyond female. Then Eamon had called her name from the other room, hurrying her because of their restaurant reservation. She’d rushed to slip into the dress and shoes.

His eyes had widened when she’d walked out of the bedroom.

“Nice,” he’d said, and then his expression had closed down.

She’d been grateful he’d neutralized the moment because she was feeling a little overwhelmed herself as they left the suite. His tie was knotted once more and his suit jacket and socks and shoes were in place, turning him into a dark stranger again—not
her
dark stranger, the one who’d appeared at the motorcycle salvage yard—but a new stranger, whose smoldering good looks made her stumble in her new shoes.

Now sliding into the chair at their table, she found herself supremely aware of the lace panties beneath her dress and resisted the urge to squirm.

To get her mind off her underwear, she leaned close to him. “When does the P.I.-ing begin?” she whispered.

His gaze dropped to her cleavage then he lifted it to meet her eyes.

“Already doing it,” he said. “We have a nice dinner and see if we find any evidence of marital infidelity.”

“Oh.” She made a face. “We’re trying to catch someone in an affair. Do you do that kind of thing often?”

“Never.”

Whatever might have come next was interrupted by the server who took their drink orders. Eamon suggested martinis and then ordered appetizers for them to share. In no time, they both were served stemmed glasses filled with vodka, a splash of vermouth, and a couple of olives. Cocktails suitable, she decided, for the man in the tie across the table, who tapped his glass against hers.

“To alleviating your boredom,” he said, that dark note in his voice reminding her he’d ordered his martini dirty.

This time she did squirm. Sipping her drink, she again tried thinking of something else. “So you don’t usually take divorce cases.”

He shook his head. “Too depressing. But this is for an old college buddy with a suspicious mind. He used to regularly accuse us of stealing the cookies from the care packages his mother sent.” Then Eamon’s lips twitched. “Bad example. We did regularly steal the cookies from the care packages his mother sent.”

She laughed. “I suppose cookies are fair game. Sometimes Gwen—Gwendolyn Moon, the band groupie who lived at the compound—would bake homemade cookies for us. There was no honor among Velvet Lemons kids under those circumstances. No fair shares, no saving even a single one for a sibling. In that case we looked out for Number One.”

Then she made a face. “I guess in most every case we were taught to look out for Number One. Comes from growing up in Hedon Eden.”

“What?”

“One of the names I made up for the Laurel Canyon compound.” The second sip of vodka didn’t have the bite of the first. “Profligate Paradise. Licentious-landia.”

He shrugged. “Well, an MC knows how to have fun, too. Loyalty to family is the only quality more valued.”

“We’re different there. Bean—my dad—didn’t inspire any fidelity, that’s for sure.” She showed him three fingers. “This many baby mamas.”

Eamon reached for her hand and rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “That must have been…confusing.”

The tender gesture and his steady regard made her want to squirm again. But alleviating boredom didn’t mean baring her soul!

“There are other words I’d use,” she said lightly, then pulled away from him and downed a large swallow of her drink. It burned a pleasant path along her throat.

“Like…?”

“I think I should have another.” Catching the attention of their server, she lifted her near-empty glass.

Eamon waited until her second martini arrived before he spoke again. “We didn’t talk much about personal matters…before.” He looked at her, his gaze expectant.

Her belly jittered. “We probably shouldn’t start now.”

The time had passed for him to get a full glimpse of what lay inside her. Before, she would have given him anything, including all her secrets, but he’d lost that chance. As much of the heart that she’d exposed to him then had been scored and slashed when he’d left her. It still bled. Common sense decreed she steer clear of a repeat.

Because obviously her crappy upbringing made her vulnerable to imagining someone cared simply because she wanted someone—anyone—to care so very much.

That mistake wouldn’t happen again…though it hadn’t happened any other time, actually. With previous men she’d been careful. Circumspect with her time and with her body. Damn it, why had he been so different?

Maybe she was glaring a little, because he held up both hands in surrender and sat back in his chair.

“Okay, okay.”

Under the table, he straightened his legs, and the light wool of his slacks tickled the bare skin of her calf. She yanked her own legs away even as goosebumps crawled toward her inner thighs.

“Tell me about your tribe instead,” he continued as if he hadn’t noticed her jerk of reaction. “You said they’ve paired up. Seems like I read they’ve all become engaged.”

That
Times
gossip column.

“Oh, yeah.” Cami pinned a wide smile in place. Happy, happy. “It’s awesome.”

No need to mention the selfish fact that the pairing-off sometimes served to make her feel more lonesome.

Dinner plates arrived along with a bottle of wine and as they continued to eat and drink she regaled him with lighthearted tales of the Rock Royalty finding romance, from Cilla’s statement of love with her half-heart tattoo to Brody’s discovering his fallen angel in Topanga Canyon.

“At Satan’s Roadhouse,” Eamon said.

Mention of the bar made Cami set down her fork. The night he’d publicly rejected her there remained fresh in her mind. When she’d happened upon him drinking with some friends, not only had she pleaded with him to reconsider their break-up, but then, at his refusal, she’d sung “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” pathos dripping like tears from her voice. Where had her dignity been? Her pride?

Now Eamon rested his utensils on his plate as well then pushed it away.

“I’m really sorry.” He hesitated. “I thought it for the best, but I am really sorry it played out that way.”

“Yeah, well you played me pretty damn well,” Cami muttered.

He winced.

She placed her napkin on the table, done with eating any more of her meal—but on second thought not done with the subject at hand. Since they’d found themselves at it again, anyway, maybe a little more air-clearing would prove beneficial.