What was
wrong
with her?
Not only was she seeing kisses everywhere, but glimpsing male-female contact seemed to super-sensitize her own body. Blood had rushed to the surface of her skin, making her hot and hyper-aware of her mouth, her breasts, the aching spot between her legs. Reed was to blame, she decided.
It was as if
her
first kiss in ages had primed her for sexual thoughts and feelings that she’d long suppressed or always ignored or never had at all.
Turning her mind from that disturbing notion, she made a deliberate study of her environs. The lush landscaping and the over-the-top architecture of the homes were awe-inducing. And suddenly so real. This was the compound of the
Velvet Lemons
, one of the most famous rock ’n’ roll bands in the world. If not
the
most famous, considering they were still performing together.
When they weren’t on the road, they lived here, had lived here for years.
Who had been in that pool and adjacent hot tub?
What kind of players had held tennis tournaments on that court?
How many people had seen the insides of all those mansion bedrooms?
The idea that nine children had been raised at the compound by three fathers known for their outrageous, hedonistic lifestyles was suddenly real to her too.
Along with that came a brand new concern. Reed Hopkins was completely out of her league, wasn’t he? Things he’d seen—and likely done—were totally beyond her experience. A man who grew up here had met the famous and infamous. The women he’d known were certainly far more accomplished and adventurous in the sexual realm in ways that she could only begin to imagine. Her own long-unused skills wouldn’t satisfy him, and surely he realized that as well.
Yes, completely out of her league.
His question—
You don’t think I want to go to bed with you?
—had so derailed her that she’d not considered the obvious. He’d been merely teasing, she thought now. Toying with her for his temporary amusement. She was the unsophisticated bumpkin on the other side of the fence. He was a highly experienced, highly sexualized member of the Rock Royalty. He’d probably laughed himself silly at her stutters and blushes.
A feeling moved through her chest and she told herself it was relief. She could leave now that she’d finished her fact-finding mission. Without even having to come face-to-face with him again, she could head on home and save herself further embarrassment. There, she could banish him from her thoughts and that would also put an end to these new, unfamiliar sensations.
Stepping forward to flag down her sons, a man’s voice halted her movement. “Don’t tell me you’re moving just when I came to say hello.”
Cleo spun around. Yet another gorgeous man was bearing down on her. Tall and blond, he had chiseled masculine features and a close-trimmed mustache and goatee outlined his mouth. She could see him with a surfboard, she thought, or climbing a mountain with nothing but his fingertips.
He smiled, extending a hand. “I’m Payne Colson.”
She paged through what she’d gleaned about the Velvet Lemon kids as they shook. “You’re Ren’s brother?”
“I like to say Ren’s
my
brother,” he said, with another charming smile. “But, yeah. We have a sister, too. Campbell.”
Cleo considered their first names. “Interesting. Ren, Payne, Campbell.”
“It’s Renford, actually. And we think our dad gave us the maiden names of our mamas so he could remember who they were.” There was a twinkle in his eye, like the idea of that didn’t bother him.
She decided that maybe Payne Colson, with his golden good looks and friendly charm, wasn’t bothered by much of anything.
“You’re here with Reed?” he asked now.
With effort, she suppressed her wince. “I’m here with my sons,” she said, pointing them out.
“But you’re Reed’s friend,” Payne said.
How much protest became too much protest? “The building where he does his writing backs up to the house I live in.”
“He’s been complaining about falling behind on his deadline,” Payne said. “Now I can see the source of his distraction.”
He was grinning again, and exuding a decidedly male magnetism. It hit Cleo in a testosterone wave, and she had to steady herself against an answering feminine jitter. Was Reed not to blame after all? Maybe this new sensual responsiveness came from being in Southern California, finally safe to start a new life.
To test the idea, she returned her own smile. “What is it that you do, Payne?”
His gaze drifted from her face and took a leisurely path down her body and then back up. “I own salvage yards for money. I race cars for stimulation.”
“And he runs after women because he’s a dog,” Reed said, coming up behind her. “Are you hitting on Cleo, Payne?”
“Just getting to know her, pal.” He didn’t appear the least bit apologetic. “Cleo looks as if she might like a certain kind of man. Somebody a little more…daring, not a dusty old guy who sits at a desk all day.”
Cleo frowned. “Have you read any of his books?”
Payne’s brows flew up. “Have you?”
“I’ve just started, but already I know they’re full of adventure and excitement.”
The blond man’s gaze shifted to the Rock Royal standing just slightly behind her. “A fan.”
Embarrassed, Cleo ducked her head. “I’m on page forty,” she mumbled. She’d opened his first book as another tactic in her Reed Hopkins fact-finding operation, when she’d thought perhaps he truly did want to take her to bed. When she’d supposed her response to him was unique and not just a general return of latent physical, female urges.
“You’ll have to tell me what you think when you’re done,” Reed said, his tone mild, then he lifted his hand to cup the back of her neck, the gesture at once both casual and possessive. “Can I get you something to drink?”
Cleo had gone still, the sensation of his large warm palm on her bare nape transfixing her. The nerve endings covered by his hand began a bucket brigade, but instead of dousing fire, they spread it from her neck, across her shoulders to her arms, and then down her body. Her breasts felt the heat, her belly hollowed as the flames touched there, she had to focus on standing straight or else the high temperature would cause her to melt right against him.
“Cleo?” His fingers squeezed.
The tighter hold only made her desperate for escape. “Excuse me,” she said, stepping away. “I’ve got to…”
Without finishing the sentence, she strode back to the small house, in search of that snowstorm. Or solace.
Because bumpkin or not, sexual unsophisticate for sure, Cleo couldn’t fool herself. Her reaction to Reed’s touch—his very presence, even the promise of his kiss—set her back on her heels.
Inside the house, she searched for a bathroom, pushing open a half-closed door. On a gasp, she stepped back. Alexa was wrapped in the embrace of a man, presumably her fiancé. Even as Cleo scuttled away, he raised his head, breaking their kiss to meet her gaze. Alexa murmured a protest, then sank her fingers in his hair to drag his mouth back to hers.
He went willingly, a devilish gleam in his eyes.
Swallowing her groan, Cleo put her hands over hers as she strode off, hoping she wouldn’t walk into a wall or interrupt another couple…doing exactly what she was dying to do with none other than Reed.
It wasn’t something general or generic or even possible to feel for some other man. Great. She’d come here today to determine if he was serious and what she’d discovered instead was how seriously she wanted him.
Since he wasn’t making better progress working banker’s hours, Reed had altered his schedule once again. He was attempting afternoon-to-midnight shifts in his office. Today, with some snacks stowed in the small refrigerator in the kitchen, he figured he wouldn’t need to even stop for dinner.
But that didn’t prevent him from smelling whatever Cleo was making.
Damn
, he thought, his head coming up to sniff the air. What was that, fried chicken?
Could be fish sticks, he told himself. Fish sticks and applesauce, the staple of his childhood as it was the first thing his older brother Beck learned how to make for himself and his hungry younger brothers. Each of the other Hopkins boys had in turn been educated on how to prepare the “meal.”
Would Cleo—
No, he didn’t want to be thinking of Cleo at all.
The treasure hunt had been a success, he supposed. Eli and Obie seemed to have a great time and found a pair of brothers to befriend that were close in age. All the kids had gone home with bags filled with small toys, nuts, fruit, and a Halloween-sized midget candy bar or two. Cilla and Alexa had given Cleo hugs on her way out, which she’d reciprocated.
Reed was the one she’d avoided, strolling away whenever he came near.
Payne, on the other hand, was allowed to get up close and personal, wearing that damn smarmy smile on his face and oozing charm as thick as motor oil. Every time he sidled up to Cleo he’d shoot Reed a laughing glance that he’d struggled to ignore.
But he was going to get revenge on the bastard. He was putting his writer’s brain to concocting a proper payback. Payne would learn he shouldn’t poke the bear with the evil turn of mind.
As for Cleo and her sons, Reed had decided a retreat was in order. He still had all those good reasons to be reluctant to get involved and if she wasn’t as interested in him as he’d thought after that kiss they’d shared… Well, easy come, easy go.
The afternoon turned into evening. He paged through what he’d written already, tinkering with certain passages until he knew he was only making them worse. He ate some crackers and cheese, drank sparkling water, and pretended that watching music videos on youtube qualified as research.
If the occasional thought of what was going on over the fence bubbled to the surface, he settled his mind by thinking of the kids tucked in for the night and Cleo curled up with one of his books—wait, that sure as hell didn’t settle his mind.
Gritting his teeth, he returned his attention to his hero Jesse and the hardback he’d found in the library with notations in the margins. According to the old-fashioned card pasted in the front of the volume, it had last been checked out by the cadet that had gone missing the term before. Jesse needed to figure out what had happened to that student before another went AWOL.
Glancing at the clock, Reed saw that it read eleven. One more hour and he’d turn in. More water sounded good, so he rose from his chair, stretched the kinks out of his back, and took his first step toward the kitchen.
At the second, he heard a blood-curdling scream.
His mind instantly made the connection. The noise had come from Cleo’s place. Racing outside, he cocked his head, heard another of those high-pitched, terrorized cries. His hand went to his phone in his pocket, but he realized he didn’t have Cleo’s number.
Why the hell didn’t he have Cleo’s number?
The fence between their properties was too high to scale and he wasn’t sure if he should yell to her or if that might be the exact wrong thing to do. But inaction wasn’t an option, so he took off in the direction of her house and from there to the street. He’d go directly to her cottage and determine the source of the threat.
Thank God the changes at the house where she was staying included new gates. The old ones stood open, already unhinged, and he raced down the driveway, skidding to a halt outside that pink door. From the other side, he heard wild weeping.
“Cleo!” He pounded his fist on the wood. “Is everything all right?”
A few moments passed. The crying sound came closer and then Cleo pulled open the door. Obie was clinging to her, awash in tears.
Both relief and concern flooded him. “You’re all right?” he asked Cleo, then glanced at Obie. “What’s happened?”
Eli peeked from behind his mother and she placed her free hand on top of the boy’s head. “I’m sorry, did we disturb you?”
“Never mind about that.” Cleo’s gilt hair was in a tangle and he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out to comb it in place with his fingers. “Is there a problem?”
“There was a nightmare.”
He could see that the boys were in their PJs and that she had a short robe on over a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. It might as well have been silk and lace or some of that lingerie he’d glimpsed in her laundry area. Willing his cock to behave, he dragged his gaze off the tanned length of her bare legs. “Can I help?”
Obie’s head came off of Cleo’s shoulder. “Z-z-zombies.”
Oh, shit.
At the behest of the brothers who had not wanted to lose their walking-home-alone privileges, on the day Obie had retreated to the treehouse Reed had allowed them to make it the rest of the way by themselves after their chat. Meaning he’d never shared with Cleo Obie’s fears. At the time it had felt right, but now…
“Can I come in and help?” It seemed like he should, since he should have alerted Obie’s mom to the undead issue before now.
“No—”
“Yes!” Obie said. He hiccupped, the crying jag abating. “I want the man, Mommy.”
Reed moved forward, avoiding Cleo’s gaze. “Do people need warm milk? You sprinkle a little cinnamon and nutmeg on top and it’s magic for getting rid of nightmares…and nightmare hangovers.”
“Really?” Eli was too tired to be his usual suspicious self, Reed deduced.
“Of course.” He’d just made up the recipe on the fly, but what good was an imagination if it didn’t save the day—or night—on occasion? “Come on, Eli. This kind of magic’s a man’s job.”
The boy trailed him into the kitchen where together they filled four squat mugs with the concoction. Then he looked for Cleo in the kids’ room, which he discovered was empty. He considered pushing open the door to hers, but finding her in bed seemed like a very bad idea. Rapping on the door with his knuckles, he waited.
Her voice floated from the living area. “We’re in here.”
Going back through the kitchen, he placed the mugs on a tray and, with Eli trailing, followed the voice. In front of the television, a pallet of blankets created a bed of sorts on the floor. Cleo sat on it, cross-legged, Obie in her lap.