Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1) (6 page)

"Great," he confirmed, wondering if Bean had ever seen his daughter perform or even knew she played. Ren regretted this was his own first exposure to her talent.

Then Cami swung into the next song, a cover of Colby Caillat's "Brighter than the Sun." His half-sister smiled as the audience started clapping, taking up the rhythm. At the chorus, she stopped picking and strumming to drum on the body of the guitar while she sang the lines a cappella.

After that, the crowd was hers and the set ranged from country covers, a pop standard she made new with her own little twist, and then a sweet rendition of "Baby, Now that I've Found You," reminiscent of Alison Krauss. As the applause from that died down, Cami stroked her thumb over the guitar strings. "This will be the last number of the first set, but I'll be back for a second."

Ren glanced at the table of single ladies he'd spotted before. The minute his half-sister left the stage, he'd head for them. When he returned his attention to Cami, it was to see her peering through the glare of the spotlight directly at him and Cilla. "This one's an old spiritual that's been covered by a number of artists. I hope you'll enjoy my version."

She started to pick out the notes on the guitar, then leaned into the mic and sang:

Motherless children have a hard time
When their mother is gone
Motherless children have a hard time
When their mother is gone
Motherless children have a very hard time
All the weepin', all that cryin'
Motherless children have a hard time
When their mother is gone

The verses continued and she delivered them in a voice filled with heartbreak and loneliness. As the song's last word faded away, Cami didn't wait for applause, but just slipped through the curtain behind her.

It wasn't until the house lights came up that the audience reacted, clapping wildly. Ren joined in, noting that Jewel was looking over at Cilla in concern. He whipped his head around and caught her wiping away tears. Surprised by the show of emotion, he scooted close and rubbed his thumb over her cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Sure." She pushed at his hand and grabbed a cocktail napkin to blot her cheeks. "I'm an idiot."

"No," he said, pushing back his chair. "Hold on. I'll be right back."

Without a second glance at the table of pretty women, Ren stalked past them to knife into the crowd gathered at the bar. He was back to Cilla in moments, glasses of wine for her and Jewel in hand as well as another shot glass—this one filled with tequila.

"Drink," he said, pushing the hard stuff toward Cilla. "You look like you need it." The tip of her nose was pink and she hadn't let go of the balled-up napkin. In his mind, he could still feel the dampness of her tears against his skin.

"I'm fine," she demurred.

"A sip," he insisted.

With a roll of her eyes, she took the glass, touched it to her lips, then sputtered as a few drops of tequila landed on her tongue. "Gah!" she said, frowning at him. "I only drink tequila when I've been bitten by a rattlesnake."

"Funny." He removed the glass from her hand and downed the rest himself. "And you call yourself a rocker's daughter." Then he rubbed his thumb along her cheek again. It warmed under his touch and Cilla's wary gaze cut to his, her big blues looking at him as if she considered
he
might be a dangerous reptile. Instead of backing off, he caressed her again and leaned closer. "I'll ask again," he said, his voice low. "You okay, baby?"

"No," she whispered back. "Not okay when you touch me, Ren."

And before he knew how or what to respond to that, the lights were extinguished. Cami returned to the stage and Ren was grateful for the excuse to turn from Cilla and give his attention elsewhere. Except he mostly didn't. Throughout the next set he was hyper-conscious of her every move. From the corner of his eye he watched her lift her wine glass to her lips. He saw her fiddle with the neckline of her tank top. When she crossed her legs, he tracked the heights to which her hemline rose.

And wished like hell he'd ordered himself a big glass of crushed ice.

The instant the second set was over, he was heading straight for the single ladies' table, he told himself. Goal: at least one phone number.

Not okay when you touch me, Ren
.

Booting the echo of her whisper out of his head, he forced himself to ignore Cilla's next leg-crossing and the inches of bare, sleek thigh the action revealed. To Ren, the forty minutes crawled by, though Cami performed another spectacular set, concluding it with a cover of Dawes' "Time Spent in Los Angeles." He clapped like hell, then rose from his chair when the lights came up. Not looking back, he strolled over to the land of Short Silky Dresses.

Ren discovered the natives of that particular country were very friendly.

It relaxed him enough that he chanced a look in the direction of where he'd been sitting, no longer quite so concerned about a Lemons miniskirt or the track of tears on a beautiful woman's face. Jewel was nowhere to be seen, but Cilla stood, half-turned from him, conversing with a man in slacks and a starched shirt. His arm was curled around a woman whose long blonde hair nearly reached her hips.

As Ren watched, Cilla gave a jerky nod and then the half of her mouth he could see in profile moved up in faux good humor. He tensed, his eyes narrowing. Why was Cilla faking a smile? The answer to the question seemed glaringly obvious to Ren. Had to be some guy from her past.

One of the short silky dresses put her hand on his arm to reclaim his attention. He turned back, trying, really, to focus on the words coming from her pretty mouth. They were numbers. Her cell number.

Instead of feeling gratified, Ren's mind couldn't get past Cilla and the fake, strained smile.

"Excuse me," he said to Short Silky. "I'm sorry, I've got to check on something."

In ten strides he was touching Cilla's tense shoulder. She jolted, then he felt a little of the steel go out of her. "You," she said, and he saw the emotional storm brewing in her eyes.

Cutting his gaze to the couple, he turned to them with an easy smile. "Ren," he said, reaching out to shake their hands one at time.

"Tad," the man said. "And this is Tracy."

"Tad and Tracy," Ren repeated. It sounded like a tween series on Nickelodeon TV. He tucked his arm around Cilla's waist and drew her against his body. "You ready to go?"

The other man's gaze narrowed on Ren, clearly trying to figure out what he was to Cilla.
Yeah, keep on guessing, buddy.

As if he didn't notice a thing, Ren slid his hand up Cilla's spine to bury it in her soft cloud of hair, his palm molding to her scalp. "Baby?"

"Um. Uh, sure." Her eyes flicked to Tad and Ren felt a tremor roll through her.

Shit. What was that about? Did this guy
scare
her? He took hold of her hand with his free one, squeezed. "You all right?" he said against her ear.

Her lashes swept up and looking directly into his face, she gave a small nod.

Despite the assurance, those big eyes did him in. And her soft hair that was twined around his fingers. Not to mention the memory of her desolate expression following Cami's song.
Motherless children have a hard time.
The combination compelled him to do something more.

As distraction? Comfort? To nullify the apparent unease she felt upon encountering this preppy stiff named Tad?

Ren couldn't decide.

So, without a further thought or search of soul, he followed his sudden compulsion and bent his head and pressed his mouth to hers.

Cilla's warm lips opened on a gasp of surprise.

Lust punched into his bloodstream with the instant power of a hypodermic.
Jerk away
, he thought,
disconnect from her
, but Cilla had already melted into him and separating their bodies would clearly cause serious harm.

Mental anguish.

He sucked on her bottom lip, then took his time with the upper. She clutched at him, one small hand wrapped around his, the fingers of the other digging into his side. It wasn't a lascivious kiss as kisses could go—he kept his tongue to himself—but it was soft and intimate and sweeter than he could have ever predicted.

"Ren?"

Cami's voice yanked him back to sanity—and yanked his mouth from Cilla's.

Hauling in a breath, he stepped back and so did she. Her face was flushed, her lips were swollen and her hand reached up to smooth the tangle he'd made of her hair.
Well, hell
, he thought, remembering how he'd wanted this to go—and how easily he'd lost this round of the fight.

Current score: Impulse, 1; Good Intentions, 0.

Chapter 4

Cilla sat in the front passenger seat of Ren's BMW rental, grateful they were bringing Cami back to the compound with them. She'd tried to insist the other woman ride shotgun, but Cami had climbed into the backseat with her guitar as if Cilla hadn't said a word. Still, she made an effective buffer between her and the Mighty Kisser.

Cilla was calling Ren that in her mind.

He'd slayed her with a single press of mouth-to-mouth.

Melted her with the soft suction of her lower lip.

Dizzied her by sipping at the top one.

Who but a man with
beso
superpowers could do such a thing? And
why
had he?

Swiveling her eyes, she checked out his profile. In the glow from the dashboard, he looked relaxed. Calm.

While her heart had yet to settle back into place in her chest, fifteen minutes later. It still beat against her throat, making her feel breathless and helpless and not just a little bit gauche.

If Ren knew what he'd wrought with a ten-second kiss (maybe not even that long!) he'd laugh. Tad Kersley could take some of the blame, though. He'd been introduced to Cami's music through Cilla, so it shouldn't have come as quite so much a surprise to encounter him at the club (he'd enjoyed it that much). But to see him squiring her long-haired replacement...

She hadn't known whether to slap his smug face or steal the other woman away for a private word of warning.

Instead of doing either, she'd worked on maintaining her dignity. That's what she intended to do in the aftermath of the Mighty Kiss too. She was rock royalty, wasn't she?

Cami made a little sound as they drove through the compound gates. The fairy lights that wound through the trees and iced the fence surrounding the tennis court twinkled in the darkness. "Sometimes I forget," she murmured.

Ren glanced at the rear view mirror. "I know you said you're good with sleeping at Gwen's, but I can get us into Bean's place if you'd rather. Bet it's been a long time since you rode the mechanical bull in the basement."

She laughed. "Maybe another time. Right now I just want a bed. Thanks for saving me from the long drive back home with my sound check guy. His truck is a bucket of nuts and bolts." Leaning forward, she brushed Cilla's shoulder. "And thanks for letting me crash here."

"Don't mention it. Gwen would love the idea of you being at her place."

"You and Ren, too," Cami said. "I think she always wondered if—"

"There'd be as many as even three of the nine of us in the same place at the same time again," Cilla hastily put in. Not that she thought for a second Gwen entertained the possibility of any...kissing or whatever between Ren and herself, but it sounded like that's what Cami had been about to say.

Their arrival at the cottage prevented any more dangerous talk. Cilla breathed a sigh of relief as she walked through the small house, turning up the lights. She asked Cami if she wanted tea or something stronger, but the other woman refused and practically zombie-walked down the hall to the room where Ren had slept the night before.

Though Cilla had insisted she'd fit much better, he'd volunteered to get his shut-eye on the couch in the living room. So she dug out a pillow and some bedding, set them on the cushions, and then escaped to her bedroom while he was still in the hallway bathroom. After going through her own nighttime routine in the en suite, she stretched out on the bed and directed sleep to take her away.

Sleep stubbornly refused to cooperate.

After nearly an hour of ceiling-inspection, Cilla decided to venture out for a cup of herbal tea. She could be quiet and quick if she used the microwave to heat up a mug of water.

The cottage was dark and quiet as she made her way in slippered feet to the kitchen. She swung shut the door between it and the living area without taking a peek at Ren. The light over the stove gave her enough illumination to prepare her mug. Just as the microwave beeped off, she happened to glance outside the French door to the adjacent courtyard.

Ren was out there, sitting in one chair, his booted feet propped on another.

Asleep?

She hesitated, then decided she couldn't leave the man dozing out there in the cooling air. Turning the knob, she called softly into the darkness. "Ren?"

He glanced around. "What are you doing up?"

She raised her mug. "Tea. Would you like some?"

Shaking his head, he got to his feet and came toward her. She pushed the door open wider, telling her heart to stop pounding like the Lemons' Hop Hopkin's heavy foot on the pedal of the kick drum. Ren came into the kitchen, bringing with him the perfume of fresh breezes, night-blooming jasmine, and a faint but delicious man-scent that she'd been so up-close-and-personal with as they'd kissed. Some sort of rare European aftershave, she supposed.

The kitchen shrank to the size of her tea cup when he swung shut the door behind him. Cilla instantly made for the one she'd closed that led to the rest of the house. She needed more air and another escape to her bedroom.

"Cilla." Ren's low voice sent a skitter of chills down her spine.

Her toes curled in her slippers. "Um, yes?" Thank goodness she'd donned her calf-tickling robe over another vintage T-shirt. Still, she was embarrassingly aware of her breasts, bare beneath the layers of cotton. The lace of her panties tickled in places she'd never noticed before.

"We should talk," he said.

Throwing a glance over her shoulder, she tacked on a sophisticated half-smile. "No need. No need at all."