When he returned, she was going to renege, she decided. There were a million good reasons why that was a good idea—honestly, the Speckleman twins!—but a new one had just occurred to her.
While she had that ability to sleep through anything, she'd never been able to fall asleep with a man in her bed. Whether it was a privacy issue or a trust issue, either way, she always had to sneak away from the sheets and take a pillow to the nearest couch (if at her place) or drive home (if at his). She just couldn't see herself explaining that embarrassing situation to Ren.
As if thinking of his name conjured him up, there he was. "Move over," he said, and slid onto the cushions without waiting for her to comply. Putting several inches between them, she glanced over. "Ren..."
He groaned. "Can we have a few minutes of silence, please? That baby started squalling when we were a quarter mile from Jewel's front door and my ears are still ringing."
"Hmph." Cilla crossed her arms over her chest. "Ren—"
"Five minutes, Cilla."
Wiggling, she put another two inches of space between them. Okay. Fine. She'd give him the requested quiet and then she'd tell him in no uncertain terms that she was letting him off the hook. So what that he'd think her...well, whatever he'd think of her. It didn't matter.
Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the cushions. The quiet was soothing, she discovered. It was the right decision to back out of the whole mentoring deal.
She yawned. The fact was...
She had...
Trust issues...and...and...
In her dream, she was on a boat, its gentle rocking motion peaceful. In a few moments the boat changed to a cloud and she sank into it. Angels surrounded her, as sweet as baby Soul, and they carried away her shoes, then the rest of her clothes. One of the angels had an incongruously growly voice and it settled onto the cloud beside her. She patted its naked baby chest (it was one of those cherubs with the loose diapers) then snuggled up to it as sleep swamped her again.
From far away, she thought the grouchy cherub made another noise of complaint or frustration, but Cilla patted the baby again and settled her head onto its shoulder (that was now strangely adult-sized, as could happen in dreams).
In the morning, she awoke thinking of that peevish, cranky angel that had visited in her sleep. Weird! Then her brain registered the pillow beneath her cheek wasn't a pillow. Her lashes fluttered open. The pillow beneath her cheek was a man. Specifically, his chest.
Ren's chest.
Whoa.
She sat up slowly, striving not to jar the mattress. That's when she realized she wore only her bra and panties and that under the sheets and blanket her legs were tangled with those of the man who'd offered to be her sexual mentor.
She hadn't done the deed with him, though, she knew that.
Her stomach flipped, pancake-style, anyway. Because falling asleep beside him now seemed even more intimate—and more dangerous?—than sex.
Chapter 6
Through the pool house windows, Ren could see Cilla in the workout area. He saw her jump as he swung open the door and that sign of nervousness only served as fuel for his already crappy mood. "I'm not going to bite you," he said. It came out like a snarl.
Instead of answering, she climbed onto one of the treadmills. He took the other, hoping a challenging run would sweat the aggravation right out of him. They both started warming up at a fast walk.
"A good morning to you, too," he said, glancing over at her. Her tight body was wrapped in black-and-pink exercise gear that clung to her round ass and her high breasts. He'd been aware of both all night long. With her plastered so close against him he hadn't slept a wink until after dawn.
Instead of answering, she adjusted her speed and began an easy jog.
Frowning, he did the same. "Is there something wrong?" Unlike him, fatigue couldn't be her problem. Her relaxed breaths had bathed his chest throughout the night.
"Not a thing," she said, in that way women did when much was, in fact, wrong.
He ground his back teeth and depressed the button to kick the machine into gear. Let her have her mood. His own was enough to deal with.
They ran side-by-side, the thump of their shoes on the moving belts the only sounds. The room needed a TV, Ren decided, or he should have brought some music with him. Looking around to see if there was a distraction to be found, he stumbled and had to catch himself on one of the handrails. "Shit," he muttered.
Cilla glanced over. "You don't get to be in a bad mood."
"What?" He stared at her.
"You're not the one who woke up to find yourself undressed and with an unexpected bed partner."
He continued staring.
"Well?" Her glare could melt steel. "Your explanation?"
"I don't know what the hell you're so mad about."
"Undressed? Unexpected bed partner?"
Considering she'd asked him to be her mentor in a realm that involved beds and undressing, her ire didn't make sense. Particularly since the bed and the undressing had stayed remarkably G-rated—except in his head—which was why he'd been mainly sleepless and woken up totally frustrated. "Cilla..." He shook his head. "You make me nuts."
"You made me naked."
"For Christ's sake. Semi-naked. And I was doing you a favor."
"So that's what they call it," she said, with a roll of her eyes.
He wrapped his fingers around the handrails and squeezed. "What's gotten into you?"
"I didn't expect to wake up next to an unclothed man."
"I was wearing my boxers. Did you even check?"
"I wouldn't look," she said, clearly on her high horse. "Not that I bet you can say the same."
"Oh, no, I'm not going to be made to feel guilty about that," Ren said. "Yeah, I didn't undress you with my eyes closed." All that sweet skin, pale and fragrant. "But you were dead to the world. I did it so you could be more comfortable."
"Or so you could crawl into bed beside mostly naked me."
"That was not my intention, sweetheart." Now it was his turn to glare. "I was planning on heading to the other room when you latched onto me."
Her head swung his way and her eyes went wide. "Um, what?"
"Yeah. I was pulling up the covers when you yanked me down to the mattress. And sorry, as your proposed sexual mentor, I didn't think that meant I had to sleep in my clothes for a second time this week." He gave her a hard look. "Not that I got any rest."
"Um, what?" she said a second time.
"You're a clinger, Cilla."
She looked shocked. "I am not."
He shrugged. "You were last night. A dead-to-the-world clinger, and because of that I scrounged up some gentlemanly scruples and lay there beside you playing platonic pillow for the most fucking miserable night of my life."
"It was so bad being my platonic pillow?"
"There's other ways I'd planned to spend a night with you."
"Oh." Her eyes were round again. "About that."
Something in her tone put him on alert. "Yes?"
A long moment passed, their feet a synchronized thump thump thump. "Um..." she finally said.
He tried to dredge up some patience. "Cilla—"
"I've rethought everything." Her words came out in a rush. "I don't want you as a sexual mentor."
Ren stared at her. Then he reached over and yanked out the red safety cord on her machine, halting the belt. Her feet stuttered to a stop and by the time she'd climbed down, he was on the floor too. "Say that again."
Her face was flushed from more than exercise and her gaze was trained over his shoulder. "The mentoring thing. That was a crazy idea." Her big blues shifted to his face. "Don't you think?"
He'd convinced himself it wasn't, so much so that now he felt...what was it? Disappointed? Wait, that was a crazy notion.
"Ren?"
"It was what you said you wanted. If that's no longer the case..." He shrugged, as if it didn't matter to him one way or another.
She worried th
e fingers of her hands. "It's just... I know you better now and it makes it weird."
"I see. You'd be more comfortable being sexually mentored by a complete stranger."
"No!" Her palms slid over her thighs. "It's that..."
"What?" He crossed his arms over his chest. "It's that now we're better acquainted you're no longer attracted to me?"
"Of course not. And how do you know I was attra—" She bit off the rest of the sentence as another blush bloomed on her face. "You're tying me in knots."
Seemed fair, after those long hours of torture the night before. But her embarrassed expression made him relent and he leaned near. "FYI, baby, you've got to know I'm attracted right back."
Cilla froze. "Um... Well..."
"But it's all good. You don't want my mentoring, it's fine by me."
"Ren..."
"Lady's choice," he said, and chucked her under the chin.
She swallowed. "So you're fine?"
"Perfectly." Or he would be, once he found some way to get rid of the sexual frustration pulsing in his blood. The anticipation of getting down and dirty with sweet Cilla had been building inside of him from the moment she'd mentioned it.
Or perhaps from the second he'd woken up and glimpsed her nipples pressing against a black cotton Byrds T-shirt.
"I wonder what the Speckleman twins are doing tonight," he mused.
"Ren!" She slapped at his chest with the flat of her hand and he caught it, holding it against him.
He had no idea why. Just as he had no idea why the thud of his heart against her palm made her gaze fly to his. They stared at each other and then her fingers were curling into his shirt, taking the fabric into her fist so she could drag his head toward hers.
Then they kissed.
At the first press of her lips to his, he felt that fire surge through him again. But he stayed still for the burn, allowing it to sweep through his bloodstream as Cilla's mouth moved on his. When her tongue delicately touched his bottom lip, Ren moved, curling his arm around her, sinking his fingers in the hair at the back of her head, sliding his tongue into the wet, heated cavern of her mouth.
She went boneless again, melting into him as she had before. He drew her closer, his arm sliding down to her hips to tilt her against the growing stiffness of his cock. Her free hand clutched at his shoulder and her tongue tangled with his as he deepened the kiss. A tremor ran through her and it made the flight of the blood in his veins more urgent. She was shaking with desire and something as simple as that unpeeled a layer from his hard, jaded soul.
His fingertips slid beneath her tight top at the small of her back and when he found her damp, heated flesh, he groaned into her mouth. Just that small touch made his cock throb. She squirmed in his hold, her belly rubbing against his hardness. With another groan, he angled his head to change up the kiss, this time sucking her tongue into his mouth.
Cilla moaned, her fingernails digging into his shoulder.
He shoved his hand farther up her shirt, so his entire palm covered the small of her back. The skin was silky beneath his rougher flesh and he pressed the heel of his hand into her spine, forcing their bodies closer as the kiss went wild.
Finally needing air, Ren tore his mouth away and lifted his head for a breath. Movement over her shoulder caught his attention. "Hell," he said scowling. Through the windows he could see the pool guy and his assistant, both of them staring through the glass in apparent fascination.
Cilla glanced back, saw what he did, and broke away from him. "Oops." Her face was pink and her clingy top was askew, giving him a glimpse of a slice of her pale belly.
He reached over, tugged it straight, then grabbed her hand. "Let's get out of here."
The morning air felt cool against his heated skin. He gave a nod to the pool people, noting that Cilla was thoroughly inspecting the toes of her running shoes. She kept her gaze on them until they reached the entrance to Gwen's cottage. Inside, she broke free of him again and made her way straight to the kitchen where she filled a glass with water and immediately drained it down.
Ren leaned against the door jamb and watched her fill it a second time. Her gaze slid to his. "Uh..."
"Yeah," he said. "My sentiments exactly." He didn't know what to say or think beyond that. She didn't want a mentor, meaning she didn't want sex with him. No doubt it was a crazy idea. It would be weird. He got all that. But then why moments later were they going at it like they were horny teenagers?
"Really." Cilla set her glass on the countertop and turned to face him, her back to the granite bullnose. "It's better if we don't."
"Your decision."
Her fingers curled around the counter behind her. "Do you mean you want to?"
As she said, it would be better to forego it. He was leaving in less than two weeks, she didn't want a mentor now, and he couldn't be anything more than something so casual. Yeah, he'd considered he'd be doing her a favor, but now that he thought it over further, the idea of having him teach her about sex so she could find happiness with another man seemed arrogant. Or maybe asshat-ish. Definitely no longer to his taste.
He strolled forward to pick up her abandoned glass and suck down its contents. "You're right," he said. "We shouldn't."
When he set the tumbler down, his hand brushed her forearm.
Then they were kissing again. He had her hips pinned to the lower cabinets with his, her face caged in his fingers, his tongue in her mouth. Lust had him by the balls and he gasped for breath even as his lips moved to her throat. She tasted salty and sweet at the same time and his fingertips tingled, remembering the feel of her damp flesh against them, anticipating the pleasure of the wet flesh between her legs.
It was going to happen, he was sure of it.
Until the loud whine of a leaf blower had his head jerking up. "What the—?" He stared out the mullioned French door to the courtyard, where a short man in a straw hat was sending leaves scurrying across the cement. The little guy waved with his free hand.
Ren looked down to see that Cilla was waving weakly back. "Is the universe trying to tell us something?" he asked.
She moved, and he instantly dropped his hands and stepped back. "Seems that way. I guess we really shouldn't do this."
"Yeah. Really." Ren pushed his hands through his hair. "Shit."
"Is this going to be awkward?"
"No," he said, instant and adamant, in case she thought again of kicking him out of the compound. He hadn't forgotten the two strangers scaling the wall. Gwen would have his ass for leaving Cilla alone with the empty houses and the deserted grounds. "Not for me."
Her chin lifted. "Not for me either."
He shoved his hands in his pockets. "We'll be friends."
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Exactly."
They stared at each other for a long moment, then Ren shifted his focus to the gardener just outside. "We should get out of here." The whine of the leaf blower was giving him a headache. "Go somewhere."
She eyed him. "Together?"
"Why not?" He took another step back from her. "Somewhere with lots of people. And action. Things to look at."
"Hmm." She seemed to be thinking, then a smile broke over her face. "I have just the place."
"Good."
Her mouth pursed as she continued to eye him. "You're sure? You're sure this is okay? That we're friends. And that your mood...it's better now?"
"Friends." And fuck no, his mood was three-million times worse.
Cilla breathed a silent sigh of relief as she exited the passenger seat of Ren's rented Beemer and stepped into the late morning sunshine. Getting away from the compound was good. This time out would provide an opportunity for any residual strangeness from the nearly-naked-night, the mentoring-that-wasn't-to-be, and the-kisses-that-shouldn't-have-happened to fade. That attraction they'd both admitted to in Gwen's kitchen could slide from a boil to a simmer to a friendly warmth because that's the way they both wanted things to be.
By the end of the day
, relations between them would be normalized. They'd be just a couple of pals.
As Ren rounded the car to the sidewalk, she sneaked a glance at his face. An unfortunate move, because then the memory of those kisses hit her like a sledgehammer. His mouth had been demanding, and she could still feel the burn of his whiskers around her lips as well as the imprint of his thumbs on the edge of her jaw. Champagne bubbles started speeding through her blood again, just thinking of that.
"Cilla?"
Her gaze jerked to Ren's and she realized she'd been standing, frozen, for some embarrassing number of seconds. Ordering herself to get a grip, she started walking, away from the side street where she'd instructed him to park and toward their destination. "Close your eyes," she said as they neared a corner.
"What?"
"Close your eyes. I'll lead you, but I want this to be a surprise."
With a shrug, he did as he was told, which was when she realized that "leading" likely involved touching—not such a great idea. They'd taken time to shower and change out of their exercise gear, so he was now in jeans and a chambray shirt, sleeves rolled up, tails out. To avoid skin, she grabbed the side of the shirt at his waist and tugged him forward for half a block, then stopped at the corner. "Ta-da!" she said.
His eyes opened and he looked out at the car-crammed intersection of Hollywood Boulevard and Vine Street, then back at her. "Uh...?"
"You wanted a distraction, right? Action, things to look at." She spread her arms in both directions. "The Walk of Fame."
He blinked and looked around again, this time his gaze traveling over the sidewalk crowded with people streaming by, some moving purposefully, others pausing every few steps to take note of the star-studded squares at their feet. "I've never stopped here."
"Just as I guessed," she said, grinning. "I brought an out-of-town friend to the Walk for the first time last summer and everybody from L.A. I've told about it since say they've never strolled the stars."
Light My Fire Page 8