Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1) (14 page)

Pulling out of the parking lot, he asked it again. "Cilla, is that guy okay?"

Something pulsed in the silence and that cold prickle slid down his spine again.
Shit
. "Cilla?"

She cleared her throat. "Professionally, he's on the up-and-up. Very successful at what he does."

"But personally?"

"Personally?" Cilla repeated. Then she twisted in her seat and gripped his forearm with fingers that bit into his skin. "Would Cami be interested in him in that way?"

"Doubt it, sweetheart." Ren was getting an ugly vibe from Cilla's sudden concern. He no longer wondered if she was still hung up on the ex, that was sure. "Is there something more about him I should know?"

Her grip on Ren's arm relaxed and she sat back in her seat. "Just that personally...he's not so great."

Double shit,
Ren thought, as resignation rolled over him. He glanced at Cilla's profile, her expression unreadable in the darkness of the car's interior. "When we get back to the compound," he muttered, "I'm going to make every last thing about you my business."

Chapter 8

I'm going to make every last thing about you my business.

Those ominous words echoed in Cilla's brain as she preceded Ren into Gwen's house. Even the familiar surroundings and the warm memories she had of the place couldn't prevent the shiver that rolled down her back. She didn't want to talk any more about Tad and Ren seemed determined to get additional information from her about him.

"Well, I guess I'll head off to sleep," she said in a bright voice, her feet taking her toward the bedroom. "I'll see you in the morning."

He hooked a finger in a belt loop at the back of her jeans, halting her forward movement. "I think we should talk for a while instead."

"We've talked all day, Ren. All that chat when we strolled the stars. Didn't we converse at the Roosevelt Hotel bar? Then we had words, I'm sure we did, when we visited my house." Her voice was getting higher as he used his hold to tug her toward the living room. Her feet encountered the carpet there and she dug in her heels. "Seriously, Ren. I'm tired."

"And I'm tired of you trying to slither out of whatever it is you should be telling me." He towed her another foot, then pushed her to the soft couch with a gentle hand. "C'mon, Cilla."

She glared up as he towered over her. "I don't know why you think you get to pry into me, Ren. If we're going to communicate some more, it should be a two-way street."

"Start a dialogue, you mean?" he asked, a hint of a smile turning up the corners of her mouth.

Her arms crossed over her chest. "Why not? What are you trying to hide?"

"Not a thing." He sat on the next cushion and stretched out his legs, crossing them at the ankle. "We can play this your way if you'd like. Ask your questions, I'll answer. But remember, I reserve the right to do the same."

Cilla scooted to the far end of the couch, pretending she wanted the corner as a place to prop her back. There was nothing holding her here, of course. Nothing to keep her from eluding his presence and his questions by escaping to the bedroom. But he'd given her an opportunity to do her own prying and it was a temptation impossible to resist.

She'd just stick to her corner while doing so, delaying her escape a short while. The minute he insisted on mining her secrets, she'd high tail it away from him.

"Well?" Ren asked, lifting his hands. "What is it you want to know?"

Swallowing, she ran her gaze from the black hair tumbled over his brow to the dark shadow of beard at his jawline and around his mouth. What she wanted to know was how she was going to get over this stupid crush she had on him.

As she watched, he moved to strip off his leather jacket and toss it on the adjacent easy chair. That left him in faded jeans and a knit shirt that fit tight to his muscled chest and biceps. On the hem of the short-sleeve was stitched a small British flag.

"Why London?" she blurted out. "Why did you choose to make that city your base?"

He was silent a moment, then one corner of his mouth kicked up. "Because of a man."

Her eyes flared wide. First a threesome, and now... "A
man
?"

Ren's laughter rang out. "You should see your face. God, you're adorable. You're making me want to kiss you again."

"No more kissing," she said, scowling at him. "We agreed."

"We could always revisit that agreement."

She ignored the soft-spoken remark. "I'm guessing I took the 'because of a man' comment completely wrong."

"Yeah." He started laughing again. "Your sexual instincts are crap."

"Hey," she protested. "That's why I was so surprised. I took you for...for straight-up hetero. Not that there's anything wrong with a man who likes other men or a woman who likes women or a person who likes both kinds or more than one at once—"

"Not the Speckleman twins again," Ren said, and there was more laughter dancing in his eyes. "Though from what I heard they also were the kind of women who liked their pony—"

"Stop teasing." Cilla scowled at him once more. "Enough about them. Now...London? The man?"

"My grandfather," Ren said. "On my mother's side." The laughter was gone now, replaced by an expression of fond affection. "I looked him up the first time I was doing security for a Lemons tour."

Before he started his own business. "What did he think of the tough guy-grandson with long hair and piercings who appeared on his doorstep?" His mother had been less than welcoming. Had her father been any different?

Ren shook his head. "He didn't ever really understand who I was. He was living in a facility for disabled World War II veterans. Alzheimer's."

"Oh."

"He was a great guy, though. We—the people who cared for him and I—figure he saw me and thought I was one of his old mates. 'Reggie!' he'd yell out every time I came for a visit. 'We survived another day!'"

Ren's faked British accent made Cilla smile. "Ren...Reggie."

He nodded. "His hearing wasn't the best. But he was a talker. Told me about his childhood, his war experiences, his love life. Apparently he had quite a way with the ladies."

"The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," Cilla murmured.

"He enjoyed my visits so much, that when it came time for me to go out on my own, I decided to headquarter my business nearby. It gave me the chance to check in often. Fed him when I could—that man loved his bean soup but couldn't manage the utensils himself."

"He's gone now, though," Cilla said, catching up to all the past tense references.
Bad boy Ren had spoon fed the elderly man?

"Yeah." Ren nodded. "He slipped away in his sleep almost a year ago. But while he lived, we had good times."

Good times that his grandfather had never understood were with his grandson, and not some old friend.

Ren frowned. "Now what's put that sadness on your pretty face?"

"He never knew it was you." Cilla slid down the cushions so she could place her hand on his thigh. "I don't like that he never knew you, Ren."

His hand covered hers. "I didn't mind being Reggie."

But she minded, because it was clear Ren wanted to have
family
. Surely it was so. This was the man who'd turned all moody when he'd failed to recognize his brother on the street. The man who'd gone "a little wild and a lot remote" when his mother hadn't brought him into her fold with open arms. Cilla's gaze caught on that half-heart on his wrist. He was
so
not Mr. Solitary, despite everything he'd been telling her.

"Cilla?" His fingers squeezed hers. "You're still wearing that sad expression, baby."

"I don't like you being sad either." She couldn't look away from his silver-green eyes framed by their spiky black lashes and her wish whispered from between her lips. "You should always get what you want."

"So sweet," he whispered back, and his eyes changed, going darker as the pupils dilated. His fingers tightened on hers and then he tugged, bringing her closer. One big palm cupped her cheek and his mouth descended toward hers. "I know what I want right now," he murmured, "and I know I'm lousy at resisting when I really want like this." His lips touched hers.

When it came to Ren's kisses, she had no defense. His tongue brushed her bottom lip and she opened her mouth so he could claim more of her. When his palm slid around her back to urge her nearer, she pressed against him, bones gone and muscles as pliant as warm candle wax.

Her hand curved around his neck and the silky strands of his hair tickled her fingers. He made a sound, low in his throat, and then he pushed her back, into the cushions, coming over her with his delicious weight. Her breath stuttered in her lungs as he lowered between her parted thighs. One leg pressed into the back of the couch, the other she wound over his hip.

His mouth lifted and he stared down at her, his hands brushing the hair away from her face. He shook his head, a small smile curving his mouth. "What you do to me."

What
he
did to
her
. Her heart was pounding, her breathing was shallow, and she couldn't look away from his lips.

They dipped lower and he pressed them to her chin, his tongue touching the very center. Then he drew his mouth along her jaw, so his burning breath tickled her ear. She shivered, a hot tremor that sent goose bumps tumbling over her skin. Her hips lifted into his, all on their own, and he groaned, the sound muffled against her neck. But she felt it all the way to her belly and beyond.

Between her legs she was already hot and swollen. Wet and needy.

"Ren," she whispered.

Raising his head, he gazed into her eyes once again. "What, baby?"

She hesitated, unsure of anything beyond how good it was to be this close to him.

He ran the back of a finger along her flaming cheek. "You want to talk now? You ready to give up your secrets?"

Anything but that. So when he moved to straighten away from her, she tightened the leg wrapped around him and pulled his mouth to hers once more. "Kiss me again," she demanded against his lips. "That's what I want."

With another low groan, he complied, taking over just as she liked. His tongue thrust against hers, the wet friction causing the muscles at her core to clench. She tilted her hips and he ground against her there, the heat building between them. When his hand palmed her breast and then moved to the buttons of her blouse, she was desperate for the fabric to part. He ended the kiss to glance down as he pushed aside the edges of her shirt.

She looked too, not surprised to see her breasts quivering in the lacy cups of her bra.

"So pretty," Ren murmured, then he drew his mouth down her neck. Her fingers clutched at his shoulders and she closed her eyes, squirming on the cushions to bring his mouth lower.

His tongue swept over a hard, lace-covered nipple. She gasped, then gasped again when he tucked a finger in the fabric and drew it down. He stared at her bared breast, his half-lowered lashes hiding his expression. Then he drew her into his mouth, sucking in long, tender pulls.

She thought she would lose her mind.

One hand tangled in his hair, the other clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Ren didn't appear to notice her desperate groping. He continued with that delicate suction, all teasing and zero relief.

Her back arched, offering more of herself, and his only response was to tuck the stretchy fabric beneath the other breast. When his lips merely brushed over the neglected peak she swallowed a frustrated moan. The place between her legs throbbed with a fervent ache and when he finally, finally suckled the nipple, she felt another rush of wet there.

Her fingers scrabbled at his shirt and she managed to yank up the hem to find the sleek, hot skin of his back. At her touch on his bare flesh, the pressure from his mouth became greedy, and she groaned in relief as her hips lifted against his.

He kept sucking, his heavy body and the hard bulge in his pants just more provocation. Still lifting into him, she squirmed, pressing denim to denim. His big hand curled around her breast, plumping the swollen flesh and feeding it between his lips.

Her neck arched as she rubbed against him, the friction beautiful and almost right, almost there, and then she felt the sharp pain-and-pleasure edge of his teeth.

Ecstasy exploded like a glitter bomb, detonating low in her belly then expanding outward, sparkling sensation spreading through each cell. Her toes curled into the soles of her boots and she cried out, her fingernails digging into Ren's scalp and skin as she rode out the waves of hot delight.

That moments later washed back, bringing with them a flood of embarrassment.

Which Ren didn't make any better. "So now I know your deepest secret of all—maybe one you've even been keeping from yourself," he said, his expression bemused as he gazed down on her.

Cue more mortification. "What's that?" she had to ask, closing her eyes.

He pressed his forehead to hers. "Honey, you're as hot and ready as a firecracker."

Ren stared down at Cilla, her eyes closed, her cheeks flushed. "And sweet," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. "A sweet, sexy little firecracker."

Without lifting her lashes, she struggled in his hold. "You should let me go now," she said.

"In a minute." He pushed up, bringing her with him, then holding her close until they were seated upright on the couch, Cilla in his lap. She still wouldn't look at him.

Smiling to himself, he went about adjusting her clothing. Bra back in place, he re-buttoned her blouse then took her hands in his, squeezed. "Hey, squirt," he said, trying not to laugh. "Though you can't see me, that doesn't mean I'm not here."

"Please. Have it be that
I'm
not here, okay?"

Now he did laugh, and hoped it didn't sound as smug as he felt. "You're here, I'm here, it happened, babe." He leaned close to her ear. "You know, the big
it
."

"Just kill me now," Cilla moaned.

He lifted a hand to draw his knuckles over her hot cheek. "What's the problem?"

"First I was a no O-er and now I'm a premature O-er."