Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1) (11 page)

The morning air felt cool against his heated skin. He gave a nod to the pool people, noting that Cilla was thoroughly inspecting the toes of her running shoes. She kept her gaze on them until they reached the entrance to Gwen's cottage. Inside, she broke free of him again and made her way straight to the kitchen where she filled a glass with water and immediately drained it down.

Ren leaned against the door jamb and watched her fill it a second time. Her gaze slid to his. "Uh..."

"Yeah," he said. "My sentiments exactly." He didn't know what to say or think beyond that. She didn't want a mentor, meaning she didn't want sex with him. No doubt it was a crazy idea. It
would
be weird. He got all that. But then why moments later were they going at it like they were horny teenagers?

"Really." Cilla set her glass on the countertop and turned to face him, her back to the granite bullnose. "It's better if we don't."

"Your decision."

Her fingers curled around the counter behind her. "Do you mean you want to?"

As she said, it would be better to forego it. He was leaving in less than two weeks, she didn't want a mentor now, and he couldn't be anything more than something so casual. Yeah, he'd considered he'd be doing her a favor, but now that he thought it over further, the idea of having him teach her about sex so she could find happiness with another man seemed arrogant. Or maybe asshat-ish. Definitely no longer to his taste.

He strolled forward to pick up her abandoned glass and suck down its contents. "You're right," he said. "We shouldn't."

When he set the tumbler down, his hand brushed her forearm.

Then they were kissing again. He had her hips pinned to the lower cabinets with his, her face caged in his fingers, his tongue in her mouth. Lust had him by the balls and he gasped for breath even as his lips moved to her throat. She tasted salty and sweet at the same time and his fingertips tingled, remembering the feel of her damp flesh against them, anticipating the pleasure of the wet flesh between her legs.

It was going to happen, he was sure of it.

Until the loud whine of a leaf blower had his head jerking up. "What the—?" He stared out the mullioned French door to the courtyard, where a short man in a straw hat was sending leaves scurrying across the cement. The little guy waved with his free hand.

Ren looked down to see that Cilla was waving weakly back. "Is the universe trying to tell us something?" he asked.

She moved, and he instantly dropped his hands and stepped back. "Seems that way. I guess we really shouldn't do this."

"Yeah. Really." Ren pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."

"Is this going to be awkward?"

"No," he said, instant and adamant, in case she thought again of kicking him out of the compound. He hadn't forgotten the two strangers scaling the wall. Gwen would have his ass for leaving Cilla alone with the empty houses and the deserted grounds. "Not for me."

Her chin lifted. "Not for me either."

He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We'll be friends."

She crossed her arms over her chest. "Exactly."

They stared at each other for a long moment, then Ren shifted his focus to the gardener just outside. "We should get out of here." The whine of the leaf blower was giving him a headache. "Go somewhere."

She eyed him. "Together?"

"Why not?" He took another step back from her. "Somewhere with lots of people. And action. Things to look at."

"Hmm." She seemed to be thinking, then a smile broke over her face. "I have just the place."

"Good."

Her mouth pursed as she continued to eye him. "You're sure? You're sure this is okay? That we're friends. And that your mood...it's better now?"

"Friends." And fuck no, his mood was three-million times worse.

Cilla breathed a silent sigh of relief as she exited the passenger seat of Ren's rented Beemer and stepped into the late morning sunshine. Getting away from the compound was good. This time out would provide an opportunity for any residual strangeness from the nearly-naked-night, the mentoring-that-wasn't-to-be, and the-kisses-that-shouldn't-have-happened to fade. That attraction they'd both admitted to in Gwen's kitchen could slide from a boil to a simmer to a friendly warmth because that's the way they both wanted things to be.

By the end of the day, relations between them would be normalized. They'd be just a couple of pals.

As Ren rounded the car to the sidewalk, she sneaked a glance at his face. An unfortunate move, because then the memory of those kisses hit her like a sledgehammer. His mouth had been demanding, and she could still feel the burn of his whiskers around her lips as well as the imprint of his thumbs on the edge of her jaw. Champagne bubbles started speeding through her blood again, just thinking of that.

"Cilla?"

Her gaze jerked to Ren's and she realized she'd been standing, frozen, for some embarrassing number of seconds. Ordering herself to get a grip, she started walking, away from the side street where she'd instructed him to park and toward their destination. "Close your eyes," she said as they neared a corner.

"What?"

"Close your eyes. I'll lead you, but I want this to be a surprise."

With a shrug, he did as he was told, which was when she realized that "leading" likely involved touching—not such a great idea. They'd taken time to shower and change out of their exercise gear, so he was now in jeans and a chambray shirt, sleeves rolled up, tails out. To avoid skin, she grabbed the side of the shirt at his waist and tugged him forward for half a block, then stopped at the corner. "Ta-da!" she said.

His eyes opened and he looked out at the car-crammed intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street, then back at her. "Uh...?"

"You wanted a distraction, right? Action, things to look at." She spread her arms in both directions. "The Walk of Fame."

He blinked and looked around again, this time his gaze traveling over the sidewalk crowded with people streaming by, some moving purposefully, others pausing every few steps to take note of the star-studded squares at their feet. "I've never stopped here."

"Just as I guessed," she said, grinning. "I brought an out-of-town friend to the Walk for the first time last summer and everybody from L.A. I've told about it since say they've never strolled the stars."

"So that's your plan? We'll stroll the stars?"

"Yep." She started forward. "C'mon, breathe deep of the auto emissions and breathe in all the Hollywood glamour you can handle."

Glamour was a bit of an exaggeration. The fact was, there was more kitsch than elegance to be found on the blocks that made up the Walk. Besides eateries and bars and Starbucks there were a zillion souvenir shops that sold
I Love LA
T-shirts, facsimiles of Oscar statues that ran from the size of a finger to the size of a Doberman, and maps that promised purchasers directions to the exclusive homes of actors, musicians, and supermodels.

Still, it made for an entertaining amble. Ren kept at her pace, even going along with the game of who could spot the stars awarded to fictional characters, the first to find three being declared the winner. Each of them had spotted two (Cilla scored with Godzilla and Donald Duck; Ren with Bugs Bunny and Shrek) when she saw him hesitate, glance down, then keep moving.

Cilla's gaze dropped to the star he'd dismissed. Another point! "Hey buddy," she called out. "You missed Tinker Bell. I win, three to two." When Ren turned back, her eyes narrowed in sudden suspicion. "Wait. You saw her, didn't you?"

He shrugged.

"Oh my gosh." She laughed. "What, do you think you're too macho to acknowledge Tink?"

"I don't just
think
I'm macho, squirt."

She stared up at him, the sun limning with gold the disordered darkness of his hair. It didn't surpass the brightness of his easy smile. Her last breath caught in her lungs and she had to cough to dislodge it. He was that beautiful.

"Anyway," he continued. "Tinker Bell isn't fictional. Don't you remember
Peter Pan
? 'I believe in fairies. I believe in fairies.'" He clapped three times, then reached for Cilla's hands. "Repeat after me," he said, his warm fingers guiding her palms together. "I believe in fairies and I didn't win the game. I believe in fairies and I didn't win the game."

"I didn't win the game," Cilla whispered. Oh, my. It really looked like she was losing the game, big time. Because Dark and Dangerous Ren, the bad boy of her dreams, had an entire other dimension to him. That would be Charming Ren, who teased about fairies and smiled at her in the sunlight and who could make her think "squirt" was as wonderful coming from his lips as "sweetheart."

His smile died and he dropped her hands. "What's up, Cilla?"

What's up was she was in trouble if she didn't get Charming Ren out of her head and Bad Boy Ren out of her fantasies and find Friend Ren in the next five minutes. "I'm hungry," she said. "I need food."

They settled along the rail of the outdoor seating section of a noodle bar. It was nearing the end of the lunch hour, and the people-watching was at its finest. There were business types returning to offices and the hucksters out hustling clients for the convertible tour buses. Superheroes—young men and women dressed like them anyway—stalked the sidewalks ready to pose for photos in hopes of a couple of bucks in tips. Families of tourists streamed by in their Disney-the-day-before sunburns and mouse hats.

Cilla and Ren used chopsticks to scoop up their noodle concoctions, from time-to-time idly pointing out the more outrageous-looking characters. She'd just drawn his attention to a buxom woman wearing a plush unicorn head and a braided tail when a man halted in front of them on the sidewalk.

"Ren," he said, with a big smile. "What the hell, Ren Colson." The stranger was thirtyish and wore casual slacks, a silk T-shirt, and beat-up loafers. He reached out a wide hand.

Grinning, Ren gave it a hearty shake. "Jaz. My God, how long has it been?"

"I ran into you in Amsterdam...three years ago, I think?"

"That's right. We went out that night and—" Sliding his gaze to Cilla, Ren put the brakes on the reminiscing. "Uh, let me introduce you. Cilla, this is Jasper Reyes, a buddy of Payne's. Jaz, Cilla Maddox, my, uh..."

Before he could say something close to "sister" (which she'd never been and never would be) Cilla reached her hand across the rail. "I'm Ren's friend."

Jasper Reyes ran his gaze over her. She had on her favorite cropped jeans, a waist-length blue cotton sweater, and a pair of striped platform espadrilles. A double-hairband kept her mess of half-curly, half-wavy hair off her face and she wore dark, celebrity-style sunglasses. His voice turned soft as he squeezed her fingers. "Hey, Ren's friend."

She gave him her best smile as he hung onto her hand. That is, until Ren cleared his throat in a somewhat-ominous fashion. Jaz's smile grew wider and he released her fingers as he looked back at the other man. "Speaking of Payne, I just finished up lunch with him."

"Yeah? I haven't had a chance to schedule a meet yet."

"He's doing good. Playing with his car parts, making money hand-over-fist, breaking hearts all over town."

Cilla was unsurprised by this last piece of info. Like all the rock royalty, word was Payne didn't have a steady lover, but that didn't mean women wouldn't wish to be his. Where Ren was dark-haired and Cami auburn, Payne was golden-haired and with a surfer's body.

Then Jaz turned to her. "While I, on the other hand, am looking for that one woman to end my sad, single existence."

From her right a sort of non-human growl emanated from...Ren's throat? She glanced over at him, but his gaze was on Jaz. The other man was smiling again, mischief in his eyes. "But I guess I'll move along on my search to find that special female."

They said their goodbyes, then Jaz was striding away. Several women he passed turned their heads to give him a second look. Ren snorted. "Looking for that one woman to end his sad, single existence, my ass," he muttered.

"I thought he was nice," Cilla said.

Ren slid a look at her. "Not nice enough for you."

He snorted again when she rolled her eyes at him.

Lunch finished, they started star-strolling again. They found the terrazzo-and-brass square dedicated to the Velvet Lemons and their long pause at it caught the attention of one of the sidewalk hucksters. When he extolled the virtues of the Magical Musical Mystery Tour to all the famous local music landmarks, their gazes met and Ren reached for his wallet. Two tickets later, they climbed into a ten-person convertible passenger van. Soon they were motoring down the Sunset Strip where various clubs were highlighted and then they traveled to home turf. As they wound through the skinny streets of Laurel Canyon, the guide pointed out homes purported to be the one-time (or current) residences of artists like David Bowie and Mick Jagger, Graham Nash and Joni Mitchell. Other homes he said were lived in by more recent musical stars like Ke$ha and Katy Perry. On a street narrower than any before, the tour bus paused in front of a Mexican villa-styled monstrosity. To their surprise, the guide informed them they were looking at the home of the Velvet Lemons and then he went on to relate several salacious anecdotes about lavish parties and rowdy weekends.

Ren whispered in her ear. "Stories true, address wrong."

Cilla couldn't help but like that address-wrong part—they didn't need any more unexpected fans showing up. And, if she was honest, she also liked Ren's warm presence beside her and his breath blowing against her ear. But she put that from her mind by starting up an inner chant,
FriendRenFriendRenFriendRen
, until the tour completed and they were strolling on the sidewalk again, moving down Hollywood Boulevard toward the car.

She pointed out a Marilyn Monroe lookalike across the street, the hem of her dress wired into a permanent subway-breeze upswing. As Ren half-turned to follow her finger, another tall man bumped into his shoulder.

"Excuse me," he said.

"No problem," Ren answered, giving the person a cursory glance before both men continued on in opposite directions.