Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) (22 page)

“The castle is where Cilla, Brody, and Bing grew up,” Cami continued.

Then she started on a path leading to a sprawling, rustic building that looked as if Wyatt Earp might saunter from its front door—upon which hung a long-horned steer skull, natch—at any moment.

“Home sweet home,” she said, approaching an adjacent large outdoor kitchen which sported counters, huge grill, refrigerator, and a long table under an open roof.

There, the two of them were greeted by Cilla, Alexa, Cleo, Rose, Honey, and Ashlynn who were unwrapping cellophane from platters and bowls.

“Where are the guys?” Cami asked, glancing around.

“They’ll be along,” Cilla said.

Eamon took a second look at the woman. He was pretty good at reading people, and the small smile on her face and air of excitement about her made him wonder if she held a secret.

Before he could figure it out, Cami snapped her fingers.

“I forgot to grab those napkins you wanted from Gwen’s cottage, Cilla.”

He started forward. “I can—”

“I have it,” she waved him back. “It will just take me a minute.”

That left Eamon with the other women. Leaning against a countertop, he took them in. Blondes, brunettes, tall, petite, each one of them a stand-out in her own way.

Cleo cocked a brow at him as she pulled open a nearby drawer. “Are you okay?”

He grinned at her. “Just admiring the scenery.”

The woman glanced around, smiled back. “It’s good you’re not intimidated. The first time I saw this group gathered…” She shrugged.

“Maybe because my exposure began with just a single music princess.” Speaking of which… Shielding his eyes with his hand, he directed his gaze toward the groupie’s cottage. “What the hell?”

Cilla turned in the direction he was looking, a salad bowl in her hands.

In the distance,

“Do you know those men?” he asked, though he already guessed the answer.

“Oh, Lord,” Cilla said. “It happens. Lemons fans. They trespass on occasion.”

Eamon was already jogging Cami’s way. She pointed toward the gates, obviously inviting the unwelcome newcomers to leave, but instead of moving off, they moved closer. One got behind Cami, mugging, while the other appeared to take a photo with his phone.

“Shit.” Eamon put on the afterburners and reached Cami while she still held onto some of her cool.

Over her shoulder, she glared at the man behind her. “What did I say? This is private property.” Then she transferred her growing ire to the man taking pictures. “Get that out of my face,” she hissed.

Eamon didn’t bother speaking. With one hand he wrapped Cami’s upper arm and with the other he grabbed the offending phone.

“Hey!” The photographer yelled.

Eamon pulled Cami to him. “You okay,
a ghrá
?”

“We only came for a tour,” the other man said, waving a folded map.

“Hand that over,” Cami said, snatching it from his fingers to give it a quick study. “Great. This time the mapmakers have it right.”

“Rip it up,” Eamon advised, then pushed her behind him. “Now, gentlemen, it’s time for you to get gone.”

They were burly, beer-bellied, and growing belligerent.

“I paid eighteen bucks for that,” one growled, reaching around Eamon to get to Cami.

He moved in to the asshole, his midsection bumping the guy’s soft one. “Time. To. Go.”

The stranger’s bushy eyebrows met over his nose, and he tried crowding Eamon. “Who says?”

Eamon shoved him back. “Cami,” he called over his shoulder, “dial 911.”

“We don’t need cops,” the other man whined.

“No,” Belligerent Bob said, eyes going beady. “You’re going to need an ambulance.”

Then he swung at Eamon.

His forearm flew up to block the blow. “Bad idea,” he muttered, then punched the stupid fuck in the face.

Bob staggered back. Then he lowered his block head and meaty shoulders and charged.

Eamon side-stepped and in trying to change course, Belligerent swung around, arms flailing. One of his half-fisted hands clipped Cami in the temple. She cried out.

The sound of feminine pain and distress triggered Eamon’s rage.

As the searing need to protect raced through his bloodstream like flaming gasoline, each individual motion didn’t register. He was aware of moving, of his hands closing over fabric and fat and bone. Space was navigated. Hoarse protests reached his ears.

Then his vision cleared, and he took in the sight of two bodies sprawled on the dusty side of the road outside the compound’s front gate.

Breathing hard, he stared down at them without a clear recollection of how the enemy had been vanquished.

Then a thought—
Cami
—reached his lizard brain, and he whirled to find her staring at him.

“Baby…” He had to swallow to lubricate his tight throat. “Baby, are you okay?”

She nodded, then held out her hand to him. “Come on,” she said, her voice soft as she drew him inside. “Let’s get you a cool drink.”

“And ice for your head.” His chest eased enough for him to draw in breath. He glanced back as the gate clicked shut, hiding the trespassers from his sight. “Did you call the police?”

“No.” She towed him along the path toward the Colson home. “I called Ren. He’ll be here in just a few minutes and will make sure they’ve slunk off.”

The other women fussed as they returned to the outdoor kitchen, their concerns and questions a low buzz that couldn’t seem to break into logical sequences in his now-logy mind. His body felt still amped up, from the adrenaline flood, he supposed. But when he brushed at Cami’s hair to examine her temple, she winced.

He cursed his clumsiness.

“Rose,” he said, gesturing to the closest of the ladies. “Can you make Cami an ice pack?” Trying to be gentle, he pushed her into a seat. “Sweetheart—”

She caught his hand. “Are
you
okay?”

“Sure.”

“You’re quite the hero. My hero.”

“No.” He shook his head, remembering that long-ago night, the noise, the paralytic horror that had frozen him in place. “Right place. Right time.”

“Right hook,” she said, smiling.

He couldn’t even remember delivering one. With a shrug, he extricated himself from her hold.

“I’m going to have a look around, okay? Just to make sure there aren’t any other unexpected guests on the premises.”

What he needed to make sure was that he didn’t drop to his knees and enfold his arms around her small body. If he didn’t get a hold of himself he’d wrap a chain around the two of them to guarantee she was always safe and never scared—or scarred.

Which showed how fucking upended his world remained. He knew too well that he had no such assurances to offer.

With a final pat to her shoulder, he left to take a quick tour of the property.

The solitary expedition gave his heartbeat an opportunity to slow. Breathing deep and easy, he made his way from the orchard around to the back side of the Colson house. Standing in the shade of a tree, foliage full and spring-green, he paused, looking through the rear windows.

Was that movement inside the house?

He supposed one of the women could be in there, but the shape seemed too tall, too…masculine.

Creeping closer, he kept to shadows. Then, his back plastered to the stucco wall, he peered through a pane of a mullioned French door. A man, yet another stranger, stood beside an immense animal form—the Cape buffalo—his back to Eamon.

Rage didn’t infuse his bloodstream this time, but ice. His skin chilled as he thought of the seven women nearby, innocent of the snake in their midst.

Keeping his breath steady, Eamon tested the door. Not locked. Good.

On the mental count of three, he turned, shoved open the door and leaped inside. “Hold it right there.”

The stranger whirled. “What the fuck?”

“What are you doing here?” Eamon demanded.

“What are
you
doing here?”

The other man stalked closer, a menacing expression on his face. His size was similar to Eamon’s but he looked thinner, more sinewy. In his tanned face, white lines fanned around the corners of his eyes.

“You need to get outside,” he told the guy, and took his arm in a firm grip.

At the touch, the stranger turned ballistic. With a flurry of movement he twisted from Eamon’s grasp and then drew back his fist.

The first punch landed on his cheekbone.

The second hit belonged to Eamon. It knocked the other guy back, and he landed on his ass, taking a small table with him. The crash shook the windows.

Eamon moved to stand over the winded man who stared up at him, gaze burning.

The sound of a door opening and a flurry of footsteps told him the party had been alerted to the intruder. The whole lot of Cami’s tribe entered the room, men included.

He looked at the gathered crowd and their collective stunned expressions, then back at the stranger. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded.

Instead of the stranger replying it was Cami who spoke up. “Um…” She cleared her throat. “It’s Beck.”

Eamon turned to stare.
Beck?
The missing member of the Rock Royalty?

“My brother,” Reed and Walsh said together, as if they couldn’t believe their eyes.

Cilla offered up a half-smile and a limp, “Surprise.”

Ten minutes later they were all around the outdoor table. Both Eamon and Beck had declined packs of ice for their incipient shiners, and some optimistic person had seated them side-by-side. Each of them had accepted cold beers.

“Sorry,” Cilla said. “Beck let me in on his arrival, and I thought it would be great fun to make it a surprise.”

“Great fun.” Ren shook his head. “This is what comes from keeping secrets from me.”

“As if you would have anticipated the situation,” his fiancée scoffed. “Nobody’s to blame.”

“And actually,” Cami said, “after his run-in with the real trespassers, it’s no surprise that Eamon leaped into action.”

“About that,” Ren said, looking over at Eamon. “Heartfelt thanks.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Not a problem.”

“Let’s eat,” Cilla said, with a clap of her hands. “Our guest of honor and our hero of the day, please stay seated and somebody will bring you each a plate.”

Before long food was piled in front of him and everyone had retaken their places. General talk rose around the table. It seemed like Cami’s tribe had decided not to pump the prodigal son over potato salad and cold cuts.

Eamon wasn’t left alone, however, and he fielded questions about his motorcycle, his Malibu place, the vintage bike he was restoring that had brought him to Cami in the beginning. As his belly filled, he found himself relaxing.

Payne made some wisecrack about his lousy taste in bikes—he had two vintage Indians in mid-restoration—and Eamon found himself smiling and delivering a ration of bullshit back. Something new settled over him.

It was his place at the table, he thought. Maybe because they were new to building this tribe thing, but the Rock Royalty seemed expert at putting a person at his ease and making him feel like he was part of them. Because he did feel included, and even welcome now, as he sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Cleo on his left and Beck on his right.

The man shoveled in food, but so far had little to say.

Figuring he might be feeling a little fish-out-of-water at the moment—something Eamon was very familiar with, of course—he figured it was a good time for an apology.

“About before, Beck,” he said. “I’m sorry, man.”

“No need.”

“Really.” He cleared his throat. “I had those other trespassers on my mind and was still feeling a tad protective.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beck set down his fork and glanced over at Eamon, his one eye nearly swollen shut. “I’m just happy you didn’t turn out to be someone I pissed off before I left.”

“What?” From across the table, Cami frowned. Apparently she’d tuned in to their conversation. “Someone you pissed off before you left? That doesn’t make any sense. You’ve never met Eamon, right?”

The table quieted at this last question. Beck picked up his beer, took a short swallow as if his voice needed lubrication. “It’s no big deal, not really.”

“What’s no big deal?” Walsh demanded.

“A little case of amnesia,” his brother said, offhand. “On my…adventure…I sustained a head injury, and I lost a bit of time.”

“How much time?” Ren asked.

The other man lifted his hand to waist-height. “You were about yay-high.”

At the gasp from Cilla, Beck dropped his arm. “I’m kidding.”

“Damn it,” Reed muttered. “Be serious.”

“Okay, okay.” Beck hesitated. “It’s hazy, all right? Best I can pinpoint, I don’t recall anything that happened from several months to a year before I left Los Angeles.”

Chapter 11

Cami handed Eamon one of the mugs she’d carried out to the balcony. He took it with a grunt.

“You’re welcome,” she said in a chirpy voice as she stretched out on the lounger beside his.

He grunted again.

Lovely. While her mood lightened with every passing hour that Eamon’s cousin’s deadline approached—because once it passed, whatever Wick decided she’d be free—Cami’s housemate only became more tense. Living with him was like rooming with a time bomb and its ominous
tick-tick-tick
.

“Oh, look,” she cried, jumping to her feet.

A pod of dolphins gamboled in the water right in front of the balcony. One leaped high, and she clapped in appreciation. Another followed, and then they raced off across the bay, as if remembering a sudden appointment.

Still smiling, she returned to her chair and basked in the morning sunshine. Her mind wandered to the day before at the Laurel Canyon compound and the surprise guest. She sighed.

The sound seemed to get Eamon’s attention. He suddenly looked over, a frown drawing his brows together. “What’s wrong?”

Stifling a second sigh, she took in his male beauty in battered jeans, bare feet, and an old T-shirt. He looked disheveled and bedeviled, and instinct urged her to kiss him and caress him, doing what she could to distract him from the pressure building inside him.

But while he might still want her physically—he’d admitted as much—he didn’t want that emotional closeness she wanted to give as well.