Light My Fire

by Christie Ridgway

  "I'd forgotten what it's like here," he murmured.

  "How did you find this spot?" Cilla asked.

  He glanced down at her. "Good location for getting drunk or high. Or drunk and high."

  Cilla's eyes widened.

  "Baby," he said, laughing. "Come on. I was that kid everyone's parents warned them about."

  "I never thought you were bad."

  "You were too young to imagine how bad I could be."

  She rolled her eyes. "I wasn't so naive."

  "No, you were just a goody-goody," he said. Her expression went disgruntled, and he wanted to kiss her pouting lower lip so bad he had to dig his fingers into the backpack straps instead of sinking them into her hair to bring her mouth to his.

  "Priss is a nickname—it's not me," she said. "And by the way, don't think Ren Colson was the only wild one in the canyon."

  "You weren't, though," he said, certain of that. But something inside him lurched, thinking of what other untamed sorts she might have encountered growing up. With no one looking out for her—Mad Dog and her brothers were apparently useless in that regard—she could have fallen in with a bad crowd.

  Like his old crowd.

  He narrowed his gaze. "There's a rough clique in every school. Did you keep clear—?"

  This roll of her eyes was even more dramatic. "I didn't need to be at school to encounter rough, wild, or bad, Ren. The Lemons? Hello?"

  Shit. That was true, of course. Before he'd been old enough to completely understand, he'd glimpsed drugs, drunks, and the opening acts of full-blown orgies. Later, he'd been called upon to referee naked water polo games in the pool and to judge nude relay races on the tennis court. Once Cami started walking and talking, though, he'd pulled their father aside and pointed out it wasn't safe or sane to subject his young daughter to the same kinds of sights.

  Bean hadn't cleaned up his act, but he had kept it behind locked doors.

  Who had looked out for Cilla? Another uncomfortable pitching in his chest. "Baby." He reached for her, only at the last minute checking the movement so his fingers merely clutched the half-sleeve of her T-shirt. "Jesus, Cilla," he said, still fighting a protective urge that wanted to snatch her close.

  "Don't look like that," she said. "Gwen kept an eagle eye out...and made absolutely sure I understood not to get myself into any precarious situations. I was always on guard, Ren."

  He stared at her. Fuck. Fuck that. Pretty little Cilla, walking around on guard. He'd figured as much, but hearing her say it out loud set his hackles high. No wonder she'd preferred to play in her Rapunzel tower. No wonder she thought she was frigid.

  No wonder he wanted to carry her off somewhere and show her how it could be if she let down her walls.

  "Ren..." Her expression went cautious and she backed out of his hold. "Are you all right?"

  No, he wasn't all right. He was tense and angry and wanted to use his fists. It was years too late, but he wanted to take down any danger that had put itself in her way thanks to their fathers and their crazy rock 'n' roll lifestyle. "Fucking Lemons," he spit out.

  For some reason that made her smile a little. "We've been over that, Ren. Lemonade, remember? Let's make lemonade.''

  Maybe there was some to be had, he decided as he led the way back toward the car after they'd eaten lunch on a low rock by the spectacular view. In this pissed-off mood, he didn't dare touch her. His temper wasn't conducive to the slow and easy seduction he had in mind.

  Instead, he found it put wings on his feet. His strides ate up the dusty trail and as he hiked up the incline to the parking lot, Ren realized he'd left Cilla behind. He glanced back, then turned to watch her gamely making her way toward him, even though the silty, uphill slope was difficult to navigate wearing the smooth-soled shoes she had on her feet.

  She was panting a little as she neared, her face flushed.

  God, she'd grown up beautiful.

  As if she heard him—or maybe she could read the thought on his face—she jolted, and the movement caused her to lose her balance. The wobble started her sliding backward and Ren could see she was a second away from landing on her cute ass. Leaping forward, he circled her bicep with his hand, then hauled her close. Her body landed against his, their gazes colliding as well.

  Fire poured into his bloodstream. His cock twitched, going hard as her quick breaths pushed her breasts against his ribs. He could smell her citrus scent and he hauled more of it into his lungs, wanting to bathe himself in Cilla. Wanting to taste her skin, her mouth, her sex. His fingers tightened on her arm and he watched her eyes widen. Did it look as if he wanted to take a big juicy bite out of her? Because he did. Oh, yeah, he did.

  "Ren..." she whispered, then she swallowed and his gaze dropped to watch her throat muscles ripple. It stayed on the thrumming pulse that drummed against her fragile skin. "Ren."

  He glanced back at her eyes, their blue outshining the sky. "Yeah, baby?"

  "I want this," she said, her voice still low.

  Yes, she did. He could feel her trembling against him but her flesh was heated and she was pliant in his hold, yielding to the powerful attraction that ran between them. It was sexy as hell.

  Ren bent his head to communicate that with a kiss, but Cilla had another thing to say.

  "Just be careful with me, okay?"

  The quiet words made him instantly drop his hold on her. He stepped back, his open hands raised to shoulder level. Not armed, honey. Not a danger to you.

  He shouldn't have put a finger on her yet! Hadn't he promised himself he wouldn't go skin-to-skin?

  But Christ, even without touching her, she was touching him. With her sweet looks and her sweet scent. With her talk about bike-riding and being on guard... Damn. Cilla was finding her way beneath his flesh, rattling his bones...unsettling something that lay even deeper than that.

  Cilla stood at the kitchen counter, mashing avocados in a bowl with the back of a fork while silently cursing herself. Through the open door leading to the adjacent courtyard came the murmur of Ren and Jewel's voices. At Cilla's request, the other woman was joining them for dinner.

  Which only served to stretch her nerves to the breaking point.

  She hadn't considered this when she'd extended the invitation. That had happened following their Mulholland hike, when she'd still been reeling from the sensation of Ren's hard body pressed to her softer one. Once inside the car (which had shrunk to the size of a tuna can) she'd gone on full babble about dinner and decided to make her Mexican casserole. That had necessitated another swing by the market where she'd encountered Jewel and latched onto the idea that dinner with the other woman would stall the commencement of Ren's mentoring.

  Dumb idea.

  One, because Ren's mentoring was what she'd told him she wanted (and she really did, in a breathless, I-can't-believe-myself kind of way), and two, because postponing the start of his lessons was making her walk a knife's edge. One wrong move and she'd fall into full-blown panic.

  Lesson singular, she reminded herself. The start of his one lesson. She shouldn't actively consider it would be more than a lone event, especially if she went into it so tense she'd shatter at the first touch.

  Warm hands slid onto her hips.

  Cilla managed to swallow a shriek, but the fork fell from her hand to clatter against the metal bowl. Glancing over her shoulder, she met Ren's gaze. "Uh, hi."

  His fingers squeezed, a gesture she thought he meant to be reassuring. "Is there something I can do to help?"

  She shook her head. "Casserole is in the oven. I'm just whipping up guacamole. I'll bring it and chips out shortly. How spicy do you like your avocado dip?"

  The corners of his lips tipped up and his hold tightened on her again. "Hot."

  Oh, God. She felt a rush of prickling chills speed over her flesh. Lifting her wrist to her forehead, she blotted suddenly damp skin. "I'll chop a jalapeno."

  He grinned. "Make that two." Then he moved off to the refrigerator, leaving the kitchen
with a beer in one hand and a glass of white wine in another.

  Pursing her lips, she blew out a long breath. Be calm, she told herself. Before the command had time to sink in, Ren was back. He returned to the refrigerator and in moments he held another glass of wine, this one he slid in front of her. The heat of his body soaked through the cotton of her shirt and she stared at that stylized half heart on his lower forearm.

  The fork slipped through her fingers again and smushed avocado bits spattered onto the countertop. With a frustrated sound, she moved for the sponge, but Ren was there first, wiping away the mess with a paper towel. She snatched it from him and shot a glare over her shoulder. "Go away, will you? You're a distraction."

  He tousled her hair as if she were two. "You're welcome for the wine."

  Cilla resisted gnashing her teeth and replied as sweet as could be. "Thank you for the wine."

  His grin flashed and then he was out the door.

  Closing her eyes, Cilla tried to get hold of her galloping pulse. If she couldn't find normal, he was going to run far away from her and her skittishness. And she wanted this. She'd asked for it!

  With new determination, she finished her preparations and then put together a tray that she walked out to the patio. Upon seeing her, Ren immediately rose, taking it from her hands and guiding it to the table.

  "Such good manners," she said.

  "As you'll find out," he murmured in a soft, sly voice. "Ladies first and all that."

  Cilla froze, struck by the seductive rasp. Ladies first, she thought, now succumbing to the panic. Oh, God. A man had never managed to make her orgasm. What if, despite his mentoring, she couldn't with Ren, either? If he intended to hold out for his own until after she climaxed, he might be waiting forever.

  Unless she faked it really well.

  She had a terrible feeling that Ren was good at spotting fakers.

  On slow feet she made her way to the chair he politely held for her. She dropped into it then scooped up her wine glass that sat beside the chips and dip. A long swallow went down cold and bracing.

  It was then she noticed Jewel across the table and remembered her hostess duties. "I'm sorry to be so long," she told the other woman, who was holding a sleeping baby Soul in her arms. "I hope Ren's been entertaining you."

  "He was just about to describe his business for me. I know nothing about tour management."

  Ren grimaced. "If I'd thought more about it ahead of time myself, I might have gone into something easy, like grizzly wrestling."

  Jewel smiled. Cilla noticed the tender brush of her thumb over her baby's cheek. "So, I'm guessing herding a bunch of temperamental artist-types from one venue to another isn't loads of fun?"

  "It's a job that's part travel agenting, part accounting, and more than a little babysitting. We've got a dozen bands we're currently working with and I have forty-five people on staff to keep things running smoothly."

  Cilla stared. "Forty-five employees?" He was the head of an actual company? She'd thought...well, she'd just never considered him doing more than squiring pop and rock stars about Europe.

  "Yeah. There's the people in the London office who do the administrative work and then the big, mean-tempered commando-types that go out on the road with the bands."

  "Rule by intimidation?" Jewel suggested.

  "Nothing gets a lead singer out of bed in the morning quicker than a six-and-a-half foot former college fullback with a three-day-old beard and a no-nonsense attitude."

  "I didn't realize you have an actual staff," Cilla said, still marveling that dark and dangerous Ren Colson was also a businessman.

  He glanced over. "I can't be everywhere at once. My assistant, Raina, says I could stay in London and avoid the road altogether. We have an able group of cruel-looking characters besides myself to motivate the bands."

  "But you'd miss the travel," Cilla guessed. And the action and the music. The women, she supposed, too. Though they wouldn't be hard to find for a man who looked like Ren, wherever he was.

  "I've had my fill of travel," Ren said. "But not sure I want to spend all my time at the offices in Pimlico, either."

  That led to a discussion of London's neighborhoods. Jewel had spent a semester abroad there during college and she and Ren traded anecdotes about their favorite haunts. Cilla sat back in her chair, the warmth from the patio heater and the alcohol in the wine finally dispensing some of her anxiety.

  I'll be your sexual mentor.

  It was a crazy idea, wasn't it? Under her lashes, she sneaked a peek at Ren. He sat at ease in the chair, one elbow braced on the table, his other hand resting on the solid column of his thigh. Her gaze lingered there, at the quad muscle she could see beneath the denim. If she really went through with this, that muscle was going to be naked against hers, she thought, redirecting her gaze to the stem of her wine glass. Those legs would slide between her thighs to make space for his hips and for his—

  A fingertip touched the top of her own denim-covered leg. Despite her quick jerk, it began to draw a lazy pattern just above her knee. Her eyes went wide. Under cover of the table top, Ren was teasing her skin.

  Her temperature spiked like a fever and her inner muscles clenched, then went soft. Oh, God. Oh, my God. The sensation was light and lazy and it conversely put her whole body into a state of painful hyper-awareness. Her lungs shut down on her last breath as Ren continued the languid stroking. His conversation with Jewel didn't let up either, and they chatted with seeming ease while Cilla sat at the table, her hearing gone, her eyes unseeing, her whole being focused only on the sensation of that wandering finger igniting sparks of reaction along her flesh.

  The ping of the oven timer going off took a long moment to register. By the time it did, both Jewel and Ren were staring at her. The other woman grinned. "You were miles away."

  "Mmm. Yeah." She scooted back her chair, sending a quick glance to Ren as he started to get up. "No, no. You stay and keep Jewel and Soul company. I'll be back with plates in just a minute."

  Thank goodness he listened. She snatched up the appetizer tray so quickly the bowl wobbled on its surface, but she didn't let that halt her hurry into the kitchen. Once there, she deposited the tray on the counter, flicked off the timer and slid the casserole out of the oven.

  Then she merely stood, fanning her face with lobster-shaped oven mitts. Gwen, she thought, I bet you didn't suspect your little out-of-this-world encouragement to stay in the cottage with Ren would lead to this.

  He'd agreed to be her sexual mentor.

  Of course, Cilla could back out of the arrangement. No iron-clad promises were in place.

  Reaching into a cupboard, she considered the wisdom of going that route. Just beg off, cry uncle, run away from the whole intimidating idea like a little girl scared of her shadow.

  Never get to know what it was like to caress Ren, kiss Ren, find out if she could be something besides a failure as a woman with Ren in her bed.

  Her inner vixen wailed in disappointment.

  Cilla blinked, astonished. She had an inner vixen?

  While trying to come to terms with that piece of new information, she plated up the food. Then she carried it outside, her gaze sliding over Ren to see that Jewel had put the baby in the stroller at her side. Cilla delivered the three plates and they dug into the meal.

  It was one of her favorites, but it might as well have been beach sand and oak leaves. Jewel didn't seem to notice her preoccupation, but she could feel Ren checking her out from time to time. It only made her duck her head closer to her plate and fork more food into her mouth. Her dinner companions had declared it tasted delicious and she chose to believe them.

  When the last bites were eaten, Jewel excused herself to use the bathroom. Cilla slid into the other woman's chair so she could watch over (and admire) the snoozing Soul. The baby's lids were so translucent she could see the trace of veins beneath them and every few moments the infant would pucker up and make an endearing suckle-face, nursing in her sleep.<
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  "You all right?" Ren's voice rumbled from across the table.

  She flicked a glance at him, then returned her attention to the baby, minutely adjusting the blanket tucked around her. "Sure."

  It was a word she re-thought immediately. Why didn't she tell him the truth? Be upfront about her nerves, her lack of orgasm achievement, the fact that she was ridiculously anxious. Wasn't honesty always the best policy?

  "I—" she began, but Jewel was back before she could get any of that out.

  The other woman took Cilla's seat then sent Ren an impish look. "I think that glass of wine has made me just tipsy enough to pry into your love life," she said.

  "Ren doesn't have a love life," Cilla said, trying to make clear she didn't imagine that would change once he took up his mentoring duties.

  Jewel laughed. "All right, though I don't know what else to call it." There was more mischief in her smile. "It's just that when April and Alana Speckleman have their annual summer party, they always get really drunk and brag about this night when you and the two of them—"

  Ren groaned. "Do not talk to me of the Speckleman twins."

  "The Speckleman twins?" Cilla stared at Ren. "You and both the Specklemans? At the same time?"

  He didn't even have the grace to look embarrassed. "It was a long time ago, Cilla. I told you I was wild back then." His shrug was more rueful than repentant.

  "The Speckleman twins." Cilla tried to wrap her mind around it. She'd been seconds away from confessing her anxiety over being mentored to a man who had apparently banged the notorious sisters at the same time. The notorious sisters who were said to have had an unnatural relationship with their pony, back in the day, not that she'd ever believed it for a second. The Ren story...now that she believed.

  Jewel stifled a laugh behind her hand. "If it makes you feel better, they're always very complimentary."

  The legs of Ren's chair scraped across the patio. "Didn't you say you needed to go soon, Jewel? I can walk you and Soul home now."

  With another smothered laugh, Jewel got to her feet. Then mother and baby were on their way with minimal fuss, Ren pushing the stroller. Cilla did the kitchen clean-up, though he'd told her to leave it for him. Next, she settled onto the cushions of the patio's jumbo, double-wide lounger, a throw wrapped around her, her gaze on the stars in the sky.