Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (5 page)

The traffic wasn’t too bad. He stopped at the corner of Kirkwood Drive and Laurel Canyon Boulevard to pop into the Canyon Country store with its colorful, psychedelic-styled sign. As kids, it had been the Rock Royalty’s go-to for candy bars and soda. Their usual MO was to tag along with whichever party guest was designated to make the late-night run for cigarettes and booze. They’d slide as much as they could carry onto the counter to be added to the compound’s running tab along with the vast quantities of Camels, Cristal, Cuervo, and Ketel One.

Now Walsh bought a selection of deli salads and a spray of bright flowers for Cilla who always acted as hostess for their get-togethers.

Inside the property gates, he parked beside Gwen’s little cottage and meandered through the grounds. The three Velvet Lemons had built individual homes on the land―a castle-like structure for Mad Dog, an ugly-as-sin modern mansion for Walsh’s father, Hop, and something that better belonged on the O.K. Corral for String Bean. The ranch-style lodge included a big outdoor kitchen where they usually gathered for brunch.

Walsh felt some of the past week’s tension ease away as he breathed in the warm air. The band’s decadent lifestyle had never besmirched the beauty of the canyon or this acreage. Eucalyptus trees added their minty scent to the air, and the gardenia bushes were already beginning to bloom. The Olympic-sized pool glistened in the sunlight, the water looking clean and fresh, as if barely-legal ladies hadn’t regularly played dirty, naked water games there night after night.

The stuff of awe in early adolescence.

Following the sound of voices, he continued onward, his bag of food in one hand and the flowers in the other. The men were standing around the double-wide, double-long barbecue, including his brother Reed and the small boys he was raising with his woman, Cleo. Obie and Eli liked hanging out with the guys.

Giving them a wave, he peeled off in the direction of the table and chairs, where he could see crackers and cheese and fruit already assembled. A knot of women were chattering at one end. He paused a moment, taking a second to absorb the changes that had happened during the last months.

For years, each member of the Rock Royalty had avoided the compound, wanting to distance themselves from their careless fathers and their peculiar, sometimes twisted childhoods. But that separation had meant they’d lost each other. Now, though, they were bonding, and their circle was increasing in size as the grown-up children of the Velvet Lemons paired off. Huddled with the two Rock Royalty princesses, Cilla and Cami, were Bing’s Alexa, Reed’s Cleo, and Payne’s Rose.

That dark-haired, gray-eyed woman caught sight of him and gave him one of her charming, lopsided smiles. He grinned back, glad again he’d taken the opportunity to attend the brunch where he could relax for a few hours.

“Walsh,” Rose said, as if to announce him, and the group of women around her turned, unfolding like the petals of a flower to reveal the female in their center.

Honey.

He felt the smile on his face fall away.
Shit.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, aware his tone wasn’t welcoming, even as he was drawn toward her like the proverbial bee.

All the women but Honey sent him sharp glances, which he ignored.

She licked her lips. “Um…Rose invited me.”

Which meant Honey had been unable to refuse even if she’d wanted to. Her conscience would clamor that she owed the other woman for that recent scare at the salvage yard.

“There’s a shopping trip planned after we eat,” Cilla said, her attitude bright and breezy. “What do you have there?”

He pushed the bag of food and flowers into her hands. “My contribution. The flowers are for you.”

“Sweet.” On tiptoe, she kissed his cheek.

“What about this shopping trip?” he asked, wary. “Unless it’s for a car or truck, you know none of the guys are going.”

“Oh, I bet we could draft some male companionship if we put our minds to it,” Cilla said, a smug little smile curving her mouth.

Walsh bet she was right about that. Her fiancé was tightly—and happily—twisted around her little finger. The men around him had been toppling like dominoes, but luck had been on their sides, and they’d fallen for good women, despite the fact that it was foolish, in his mind, for them to let their dicks make the decision for them.

He wouldn’t let sex sway him when it came to something as important as selecting a life partner. He would let intellect be his guide when the time came.

“It’s not a co-ed trip to the mall, though,” Cleo said. “Girls only. We’ve convinced Honey to let us help her select some resort wear.”

His gaze slid to his admin. Fuck. She looked uncertain and appealing, and as he watched, her face flushed. The pretty color tugged at his cock, and he made a rough gesture at her. “You’re fine in what you have on.” Some sort of sacky skirt and matching top.

Cilla gave an extravagant eye-roll. “Honestly. A woman going to an exotic locale needs some new outfits.”

“New outfits,” he echoed.

“As well as a bikini or two.”

Walsh jerked back. “A bikini!”

“A bikini wouldn’t be appropriate,” Honey put in hastily.

Thank God.

Cilla wasn’t having it though. “A bikini is perfectly appropriate on a beach.”

“Um…” Honey began, now looking alarmed.

Cami Colson, who’d been silent up to this point, turned to Walsh’s admin. “Cilla’s right. In a new swimsuit I bet you catch some man’s eye on the sand in Mexico, and before you know it, Walsh won’t be the most important guy in your life.”

What?
Walsh gave Cami a hard stare as he felt a surge of something hot and sharp shoot through his body. His weird response to Tim flirting with her was nothing compared to this reaction. When Walsh thought of a Latin Casanova―or worse, a canny CEO―making time with his admin, he…he wanted to chain her in the supplies closet.

Or to his bed.

No, no. He shoved his hand through his hair as the women started talking about their shopping trip.

“We’ll go to the salon, too,” Alexa chirped up. “Get Honey one of those makeover appointments.”

Walsh’s blood boiled. “Honey does
not
need to be made-over,” he ground out. “She’s…she’s the way she should be.”

Cilla frowned. “We’ll see—”

“No,” the woman in question said, her voice clear and firm. “
I’ll
decide for myself.”

That answer left Walsh frustrated, but it seemed to satisfy the others around her. Cilla, Alexa, Cami, and Cleo exchanged smiles that he couldn’t interpret and which only left him feeling more irritated. Deciding upon retreat, he shoved his hands into his pockets and strolled off to join his brethren, hoping in their company he’d find the peace he’d sought when he climbed into his car to drive to the compound.

It didn’t work. Even when shoulder-to-shoulder with his brother and the other men, his gaze kept wandering to Honey. Everything she did rubbed him the wrong way, even the fact that
she
seemed relaxed. Laughing and chatting with whoever wandered nearby. Eli and Obie snagged her attention with the action figures they’d brought, and those blue eyes of hers sparkled as she watched the plastic superheroes duke it out.

When it came time to eat, he took a seat as far from her as he could, but since she was on the opposite side of the table he could watch her the whole time. Flanked by Brody and Bing, she was engaged in more conversation. Brody, the bastard, seemed especially attentive.

The “good” twin who had a penchant for walking on the wild side better keep his hands off Honey.

Paying attention to his own food became impossible when he saw her start on the fresh fruits piled on her plate. The green grapes had been sugared, and when she popped one into her mouth he could almost feel its plumpness on his own tongue. Her cheeks hollowed as she sucked the grainy sweetness away, and he shifted in his seat and reminded himself he couldn’t get a boner during brunch.

For God’s sake.

But it was a glistening slice of peach that came next. She picked it up with her bare fingers and tilted back her head to dangle it over her face, its running juice dripping into her open mouth. Walsh’s muscles tensed and his cock twitched, and when he saw Brody side-eyeing the innocent show with a smile on his face, a Neanderthal urge roared to life. He jumped to his feet, ready to launch himself across the table.

To seize the other man by the throat.

Or to sling Honey over his shoulder and take her back to his cave for hot, sweaty, rough sex.

“Walsh?”

At his name, his gaze jerked to Cleo, who was sitting beside him. He made a noise. A grunt. A sound as primitive as he felt inside.

Her eyes flared. “Are you all right?”

No.
His heart was pounding, his blood was running hot, he was being piloted by animal urges that hadn’t driven him since he’d been seventeen years old. Then, he’d sworn to smarten up.

He’d
been
smart since then.

But right now his common sense and his intellect had taken a hike, leaving him with a single thought.

To fuck that woman. To fuck that woman who spent her days in his headquarters, the perfect sidekick in his office. The competent, reliable woman who he was pretty confident spent all her nights alone.

She wasn’t a party girl. Not anything close to the know-the-score sex partners he took up with for mutual enjoyment.

Which meant he’d have to stab himself before touching her.

Yet he still wanted her so damn much his hands were shaking.

Sitting back down, he ran them through his hair and tried blowing out the steam that had built up in his lungs. Aware that Cleo was still staring, he flicked her a glance.

“Is there something I can do?” she asked.

Find some—what was it?—saltpeter to act as an antidote to the rush of testosterone coursing through his body. Or maybe she could locate his kidnapped common sense and restore his good judgment.

“You’ve got to do one thing for me,” he said. It was a promise he figured she might be able to deliver on. And one that might go some distance in helping him grasp that elusive peace he’d been seeking.

“What’s that?”

“When you go to the mall this afternoon…”

“Yes?” Her brows rose.

“Don’t come back with any bikinis in the shopping bags.”

The women exited the compound for their excursion, leaving the guys to clean up. They made short work of it, and Walsh found the activity and the absence of Honey resulted in a lessening of his tension. When Cleo’s boys wanted to swim in the pool, they all headed in that direction. He stretched out next to his brother on a lounge chair where they could both keep an eye on the kids.

Payne, Ren, Brody, and Bing unearthed a Cornhole game set and propped the board on the grass nearby. Sighing, Walsh let the sunshine sink into his bones as he tuned out the thunk of the bean bags and the trash talk among the competitors.

Maybe he could truly relax now.

“I got a call from Beck,” his brother said.

Walsh glanced over. “Yeah? You didn’t try to three-way me?”

“He kept breaking up. It was a sat phone and I didn’t want to chance losing him altogether.”

Straightening, Walsh shot his brother a sharp look. “That sounds ominous. Is there something you’re not telling me?” The oldest of the Hopkins brothers, Beck had been exploring the Nile River for an adventure magazine article he was writing when they’d lost contact with him for several months. They’d told themselves it was nothing to fret over—due to their separate lives, long stretches went by when they were out of touch—but after a time even their father had worried.

As they’d expected, however, Beck had finally surfaced.

Reed stacked his hands behind his head and settled into his chair. “He sounded fine, and is planning on returning soon.”

“But…?”

“I don’t know. It was just…odd.”

“Odd in what way?” Beck was the oldest of the three brothers, each named by their father after his favorite guitarists: Lou Reed, Joe Walsh, and Jeff Beck. Their Beck had been the leader of the three siblings, and sometimes the only one who remembered they needed to eat. Walsh would be glad to have him back in town.

“He had lots of questions about Gwen.”

Puzzling. “He knew she’s passed.”

“We’d told him when he first made contact a couple of weeks ago. And he knew about her cancer diagnosis before he left on his trip. But it was as if…I don’t know. As if he’d forgotten the details.”

Beck’s concern was transferring itself to Walsh. Damn, where was that peace he wanted? “That doesn’t sound right. Beck has a mind like a steel trap.”

“Yeah.” Then Reed shrugged. “I guess we’ll figure it out soon enough. He said he’d spoken to Ren and swore to him he’d be back for his and Cilla’s wedding.”

“Well, there you go.” Walsh made a dismissive gesture. “The explanation of the odd. Our brother’s got to be unsettled by the idea that the most entrenched bachelor of our group is engaged.”

Reed laughed. “The ‘most’ entrenched? Like any of us had any example of monogamy to go by. Not one of us believed we were suited for marriage—or were interested in it.”

“Speak for yourself,” Walsh said.

His brother laughed again. “Oh, yeah, you’re such a candidate for husbandhood.”

“I’m not against it.”

Reed stared.

“I’m serious. It would be good for business to show I have a stable relationship—and a family―someday.”

His brother snorted.

“I like kids,” Walsh said, annoyed with the defensive note in his voice. “I would raise them better than what we had here.”

His brother glanced over at the little boys splashing in the shallow end of the pool. “Okay, kids. I get that. And you wouldn’t have to go far to do better than our upbringing. But you’re making it a
business
decision?”

“Describe the alternative. You think I should make a commitment because my dick’s pointing the way like some divining rod?”

“So…what? You’re going to advertise on a dating site? ‘Corporate wife-types need only apply’?”

“I don’t have any trouble meeting women. When the time comes, I’ll make a catalog of the qualities that will work best for me and find the female who ticks off the most on the list.”