Light My Fire (Rock Royalty Book 1) (26 page)

He was packing.

Of course, he was packing.

The sharp breath she inhaled must have alerted him to her presence. He looked up, his hands around a stack of T-shirts. "There you are," he said.

She couldn't immediately find her voice. Though she'd known he was planning on leaving that night, to see him collecting his belongings, actually preparing to walk away from everything they'd had...it stole her very breath.

"You've been gone nearly all day," he said, his brows drawing together as if he disapproved.

"I—" She coughed to force out the words. "I left you a note."

"It's my last day."

"Yes." That it was, made her miserable. That he said it in a disgruntled tone—as if he thought she should have been nearby during the remaining hours—gave her hope.

She wasn't supposed to have hope, though. She was supposed to be giving, not expecting. But she was a member of rock royalty too, the youngest princess, the one abandoned by all the others, and it was hard to blast through her own guarded nature.

"Ren—"

"Hand me that sweatshirt, will you?" He gestured to the bureau just inside the door.

Automatically, she picked up the folded garment. She squeezed the soft, thick cotton and paced toward him. He stepped forward to retrieve it from her, then cocked his head, his hand falling to his side. "I smell tequila."

"Um..." She'd been shaking when she'd taken the last shot and spilled a little on her shirt.

"What have you been doing?" he asked, pinning her with his gaze.

"Uh...I was with Cami." She was the one who'd suggested the booze.

Ren's expression turned dark. "She took you out to get drunk?" Rubbing his hand over his forehead, he looked away. "Cilla, I'm sor—"

"No! It's not what you think." Embarrassment joined all the other emotions pooling in her belly. He thought she'd resorted to drinking to get through his last day? Stepping closer, she pushed the folded sweatshirt against his chest. "Here."

His gaze shifted down. "What's that?" he asked, his focus on the large bandage covering the lower half her forearm. "Did you hurt yourself?"

It had hurt, all right. But the pain had been toward a higher purpose and she'd born it pretty stoically, if she did say so herself.

"Cilla." Ren grabbed the sweatshirt from her hand, tossed it down to the bed, and took a firm grasp of her fingers. "How'd you get hurt?"

"Um..." She hadn't thought this part through well enough, she realized. Her gaze darted to the tattoo on the wrist of the arm that was holding hers. His tattoo. Then she glanced back up.

Ren had frozen, his gaze riveted to the bandage. A long moment passed. "What have you done?" he asked, his tone...

She couldn't decide what word described it best. Icy? Angry? Forbidding?

"
Cilla
?"

Oh, God. The moment was here. It was really here and it should have a soundtrack of strings and woodwinds, but instead the only accompaniment was his harsh breaths as he lost patience with her and he began picking at the edge of the adhesive. She thought about jerking out of his hold, but the whole point was for Ren to see the statement she'd decided to make.

The permanent declaration.

His expression stony, he peeled the dressing partly away, exposing the new tattoo. It was surrounded by a faint cloud of pink that she'd been assured would diminish as the skin healed. His grip on her tightened. "Fuck," he muttered, staring at her marked flesh.

The inked design was a stark black point that started at her wrist then rose to curve along her forearm, the image the reverse of the one he'd gotten so long ago.

She cleared her throat. "I got a—"

"I know what it is," he said, his voice rough. "Just tell me it's temporary."

Her stomach twisted, but she soldiered on. "You know it's not. This morning I...I took a photo of your design with my cell phone when you were sleeping. Then Cami drove me to this artist she knows."

Squeezing his eyes shut, he groaned. "Cilla..."

She sucked in a breath. It was scarier to think of saying these words than facing a hundred needles wielded by a dozen shaven-headed, multiply pierced tattoo men. But it had to be done.
Not owning up to it won't make it any less true
. "I love you, Ren," she said, her voice quivering just the slightest. "I'm in love with you and I wanted you to know...I wanted to show you I'll feel this way forever."

"God damn it." He dropped her hand, then spun to stare out the window. "You little fool."

"I'm not—"

"You can go back. Get the artist to turn it into a Winnie-the-Pooh or something."

Now there was insult added to injury! "I'm not a child, Ren," she said, her voice sharp. Then softening, she placed her fingertips on the small of his back, ignoring his flinch. "Please listen. Please know."

"Know what?" He practically barked the question.

He was being deliberately obtuse, but she didn't let that stop her. "It's right here, written in black-and-flesh. You're...you're the other half of my heart."

"God! You have no idea—"

"I know I'm right."

He spun back, glaring at her. "I'm the wrong man, don't you understand?"

"You think that, but—"

"Solitary is what I do best. Detachment is what I'm good at." One finger rose to point at her. "I'm no good at being with you."

Tears pricked the corners of Cilla's eyes. What had she expected? That one look at her new tattoo (her only tattoo) and his resistance would melt? That he'd fall into her arms with his own profession of undying love?

Yes, she admitted to herself. And yes.

Brisk knocking on the front door had them both jolting. "What the hell?" Ren said.

Cilla glanced at the alarm clock on the bedside table. Was it that late already? "I'll get it." She started toward the sound.

Ren caught her elbow before she'd taken a full step. "What's going on?"

"I don't—"

"
Cilla
."

"Fine," she said, frowning up at him, his gorgeous face set in furious lines. Her whole plan was crumbling around her. "The rock royalty is coming over for another party."

"Christ, Cilla." He let go of her to run his hands through his hair. "Why?"

Her eyes were stinging again. "Even if you don't want me, you're still part of the Lemon kids. You could be part of our tribe."

He shook his head.

She decided to give him the rest of the bad news. "Your other siblings are coming over too. Nell and Clark."

"Damn it," he said, his voice hot. "You haven't heard a word I've said, have you? You haven't learned a single thing about me."

Now her own temper kindled. A breaking heart was good fuel for a fire, she found. "I suppose you're right, because I didn't realize how stupid and stubborn you can be. I told you I'm in love with you, but you didn't even consider it for a second."

"Consider what?" he ground out.

"Us. You didn't for a second consider there could be an us."

"Us?" His eyes narrowed and he said the word as if it tasted bad. "I suppose that means I don't get you either, Cilla. What the hell is up with that tattoo? With talk about an 'us'? After the way we were raised, I never imagined you could somehow tangle up emotions and sex. The fucking Lemons should have been good for teaching how little one relies upon the other."

His snide tone clawed at her insides and his dismissal of her grand gesture made her feel like a fool.

Pounding renewed at the front door. "Tell them all to go away," Ren ordered.

She whirled to exit the room, her throat clogging with a choking combination of misery and disappointment and deep, unfulfilled yearning. Still, she hung onto her mad, because that was what would keep her upright until he was gone. "You're going to have to reject them yourself," she said over her shoulder. "Don't worry though—you're very good at it."

His parting shot was more deadly than hers. "Damn you, Cilla. I'm never going to forgive you for what you've done."

In Gwen's kitchen, Ren gripped his beer, held tight a plate of the food that had been brought by Cami, and told himself he just had to endure a couple hours of rock royalty togetherness before it would all be over. Forever.

I'm in love with you and I wanted you to know...I wanted to show you I'll feel this way forever.

Remembering Cilla's words, the dread that had hung over him like a dark cloud the last several days dropped like a net and tightened viciously, making it nearly impossible to breathe. He coughed, trying to force open a pathway for air.

Payne looked over, his fork, laden with Mexican rice, halfway to his mouth. "You okay?"

Hell, no. By succumbing to temptation and having sex with Cilla, Ren had screwed up everything. He'd told her that he'd never thought she'd tangle sex with sentiment, but he'd known she'd fancied herself in love with him.

Still, he'd counted on that infatuation popping like a flimsy soap bubble once he took off. Instead, she'd be left with a permanent mark in the shape of an incomplete heart.

He didn't want that for her. He didn't want her to view it as a grim reminder, the way he viewed his.

He
wanted
her to fall in love.

Just not with him.

"Ren?"

Stalling, he took another sip of beer and ran his gaze about. This time they'd congregated at Gwen's cottage. Cami had provided trays of street tacos and other Mexican food and the rock royalty princes had lugged in beers and sodas—enough food and drink for an army.

The only good news was that his mother's other kids, Nell and Clark, hadn't made it to the gathering. Homework, maybe. Second thoughts about hanging with a half-brother they'd never know. Whatever.

Anyway, the cottage felt overcrowded as it was. He didn't see Cilla, but the rest were draped over every available surface. Walsh, Brody, and Reed were gathered around the kitchen table playing some intricate dice game.

Playing
.

Ren set his untouched plate on the counter and turned to his half-brother. "What do you remember about growing up here?"

Payne's gaze slid to him and he frowned. "What do you mean? Are you talking about the Lemons and their wild parties?"

Trying to ignore the new throbbing at the base of his skull, Ren shook his head. "I'm not talking about the band. I'm talking about us."

His brother shrugged. "I don't know what you're getting at."

"I just think we should have been a closer unit. You, me, and Cami. And the three of us with the other Lemon kids. Why didn't that happen?"

"I don't know." Payne shrugged again. "Because dysfunction makes a shitty glue? Maybe that's why we're anti-social."

"I'm the anti-social one," Ren pointed out. "You have a relationship with our sister. You run a successful business. You don't break laws or lie."

"I do fib about my marital status," Payne said, grinning. "I've got this completely fake ex-wife who I claim has shut down my ability to commit—though I must admit about half the women I meet take that as a challenge when I tell them about her."

Ren stared at the other man. "You've actually made someone up?"

He shrugged again. "I call her Lily."

Huh. Lily was the name of Payne's high school girlfriend. There was some story to why they'd broken up, one that Ren had never bothered to uncover.
Because
dysfunction makes shitty glue.

Shaking off the distracting thought, he returned to the original subject. "What's your first childhood memory?"

"I feel like I'm at a shrink's," Payne complained, digging into his food again.

"Just answer."

"I don't know. Six? Seven? Turning somersaults on the grass by the tennis court."

"Nothing earlier? Christmases? Halloween?"

"Holidays? Bean never was big on those, right? Gwen brought us a cake on our birthdays, though."

Ren ran his hand through his hair. It seemed as if Payne was as hazy about their early years as he. "What about your dreams?" At times his were strange. Full of frantic whispers and wild weeping. "Anything weird there?"

"I sleep like a baby," Payne said quickly. "Just like all the other sinners in the world." Then he moved off, joining the dice-players a few feet away.

Ren rubbed at his neck, trying to erase the tension gathered there. Shifting his gaze to the clock, he began calculating how much longer before he found peace.

Bing entered the room, brushing past Ren on his way to the refrigerator. Seeing Cilla's brother only brought his guilt to the forefront, and to escape both, he started edging backward.

Before he'd made it four steps, he was pinned by a pair of Maddox-blue eyes. "Don't go anywhere," the other man said. "I need to have words with you."

Damn
.

They found a semi-private spot on Gwen's front porch. Though small, it offered a sweeping view of the compound. Ren's gaze snagged on the windows of the Castle's tower, where he thought he detected movement.

"What the hell's going on with my sister?" Bing demanded. "She's in a mood."

"Uh..." Ren mulled how to answer. She'd pulled on a sweatshirt to cover the bandage—he needed to let her know both should come off soon, the new tattoo needed air—and had busied herself helping Cami set out the food then dishing it out for everyone. A while back he'd lost sight of her. "You'll have to ask her."

What else could he say? He wasn't about to share their last conversation. Ren didn't want to
think
about their last conversation. His head hurt, his chest ached, and he wished like hell he'd never returned to Laurel Canyon.

"Women," Bing muttered now.

Ren glanced over, then followed the other man's gaze. Across the compound, Alexa Alessio was walking alone through the citrus orchard, her sleek hair a dark flag against the back of her red sweater. "What's going on with her?" Ren asked.

"Huh?" Bing switched his attention to Ren. "Who?"

Christ, as if an idiot couldn't see his fascination with the woman strolling between the lemon and orange trees. "Alexa. I see she came with you two again."

Bing grunted, then refocused across the compound. "She's having some issues. It's good for her to get out."