Touch Me

by Christie Ridgway

  It would be a reset. A reboot. Rose, 2.0.

  Under Payne’s hands, she would be Rose in bloom.

  Every instinct she had knew that to be true.

  “There’s no future in it, though,” she said. “It would only be temporary.” But maybe her transformation from a woman with petals tightly furled to a female in full blossom would be permanent.

  “Temporary,” Lily agreed. “And also no problem if you go into it aware of that fact.”

  Good Lord, Rose thought, pushing her hands through her hair. Is it possible? Could I have him?

  Chapter Five

  From the passenger seat of her piece-of-shit sedan, Payne slid Rose a glance. Her focus remained out the windshield, her attention on the winding route taking them from his place in Nichols Canyon to the Lemons compound off Laurel Canyon Boulevard. Her dark hair was smooth, her expression serene, but for the past couple of days he’d sensed something simmering beneath her calm façade.

  More than once, he’d caught her looking at him from beneath her dark lashes, the small curve of her crooked half-smile alerting his instincts. Yeah, something was up.

  She hadn’t asked him a thing about what Randa and Patrice had said about Lily. Not that he wasn’t damn glad about that—how the hell would he have responded?—but her silence on the subject only made him wonder what the hell was going on inside that busy brain of hers.

  Well, he had plenty to occupy his own. He’d been spending a couple of hours a day at the new yard and was just starting to match up the inventory with the existing data base. They’d located the records that supposedly cataloged the boxes of parts that he was certain would prove a gold mine if only he could get them sorted, identified, and marked.

  Rose had pitched in to help, lugging cartons and wielding a shop rag and generally getting her hands dirty, though he’d told her it wasn’t part of her job description. She’d only shrugged, but surely she had to be sick of dealing with his messes.

  Which was why he couldn’t understand her volunteering to act as chauffeur on a Sunday, when she should be taking a well-deserved day off. But here she was, dressed in a pair of red print shorts that, ridiculously, were edged in white pom poms. She wore them with a loose red T-shirt and a pair of distressed, ankle-high, round-toed boots that almost looked like something to wear for construction or combat. The incongruous combination of flirty outfit and rugged footwear only served to make him more aware of every feminine thing about her: the smooth skin of her legs, the shiny sweep of her hair, the lushness of her lips.

  Scowling, he shifted on his seat, his big frame cramped by the narrow confines of her tin-can car. “We should have taken my Jeep.”

  “I can’t drive a stick,” she said.

  “You didn’t need to drive at all. Ren would have picked me up. Reed, because that SOB owes me, big time.” It was he who had reintroduced Rose into his life.

  “You’re crabby today. Didn’t you sleep well?”

  When he didn’t answer she flicked a glance at him, eyebrows arched over her smoke-colored eyes.

  As if he’d tell her that somehow that sweet fragrance of her hair had transferred itself to his sheets. It was on his towels. In the down of his pillows. He couldn’t even jack-off in the privacy of his own home without feeling as if she was there, witnessing the rough strokes of his hand and the spurts of semen erupting over his fist.

  That morning he’d groaned out her name as he came.

  The night before, too.

  “Are you hurting, Payne?” she asked, her voice now filled with concern. “I have pain relievers in my purse.”

  “You don’t have anything in your purse that can fix this,” he muttered, and stared out at the tangle of vegetation on the side of the road. February, and it looked like summer. “I still don’t understand why you agreed to come to lunch today. You have to have better things to do.”

  She shrugged. “I could stand to get out and meet people. Since I haven’t lived here in years, I’m essentially new to the area.”

  Which reminded him he didn’t know exactly why she’d left Seattle. She’d mentioned wanting a life change, but those were prompted by an event, right? Looking her way, he opened his mouth to inquire, then closed it. His questions might invite her questions which might circle back to the Lily lie.

  Let her keep her secrets.

  Noting her phone and attached earbuds set in the console between them, he snatched it up without asking permission. Tucking the small speakers into his ears, he tapped the audio book app.

  The duke had turned bolder.

  His tanned hand trailed down Annalise’s pale, smooth belly. The springy curls at the apex of her thighs was no protector of her virtue. Through the fine screen of hair he could see the flushed lips of her sex. He touched her there, opening the delicate folds so her arousal bathed his fingertips. She squirmed on the sheets and he flattened his hand over her mons, feeling the jut of her pearl, hard and pulsing, against his palm.

  “Be still, darling,” he ordered. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

  Suddenly Rose snatched the buds from his ears and dropped them and the phone into her own lap. “Do you mind?”

  No. Because another ten seconds of listening to her romance novel might have him making his own demands. Is that how you like it, Rose? Do you want a man to take over your body in bed?

  He wasn’t going to get personal.

  At the compound, he breathed a sigh of relief. Their group looked to be in full force, eight of the Velvet Lemons kids along with the significant others who had lately entered their lives. That included Reed’s fiancée Cleo and her two sons, Bing’s Alexa, and Walsh was there with Honey and her twin siblings, Lucy and Jeb.

  Tribe, indeed.

  Each member of the Velvet Lemons band had their own house on the property. A castle-like structure where Mad Dog Maddox lived, the modern monstrosity that Hop Hopkins had built, and the Western-styled home where Payne, Ren, and Cami grew up. As usual, Cilla had set up a buffet in the outdoor kitchen and dining area near there.

  He trailed Rose in that direction, noting the healthy state of the lush landscaping. Hibiscus bushes were bright with red, yellow, and pink flowers, their innocently ruffled petals circling unapologetic, upthrusting staminal columns. Citrus trees were beginning to bud and their sweet scent floated on the warm breeze that tickled the ends of Rose’s hair.

  Her booted feet made barely a dent in the thick carpet of grass as she cut across the expanse. She carried a bowl of some kind of salad, of course, because she was the kind of woman who didn’t go empty-handed to a get-together. As Cilla greeted her and exclaimed over the offering, Payne saw Reed Hopkins and his squeeze, Cleo Anderson, standing nearby, under the cantilevered overhang that provided partial shade. As he approached them, Reed leaned down and laid a whopper on his woman’s mouth.

  Payne clapped his hand over his eyes and raised his voice. “Gah! The PDA! It burns, it burns!”

  “Shut up, Payne,” Reed said, laughing.

  Dropping his hand, Payne grinned at the pair. The fact was, he was happy the man had stepped out of the dark and into the light of day to be with Cleo and her sons. A writer of horror novels for children and teens, for too long Reed had lived in his dark imagination instead of out in the world.

  “Good to see you, Professor,” he said, slapping the other man on the back. He dropped a kiss on the top of Cleo’s short blonde hair. “You too.”

  Her eyes were bright and they darted toward Rose. “You brought your…”

  “Warden. Housemother.” He glanced her way himself, noticed how those little pom poms danced around her toned thighs. Temptress. Torturer.

  “Now, Payne—” But Cleo broke off to address her sons who ran by with water guns nearly as big as they were. “If you’re going into the pool, I need to be watching!” Then she hurried in the boys’ wake.

  Reed followed more slowly, and Payne joined the other man, waving a hand or lifting a chin to other members of the tribe
as he passed.

  “How are you feeling?” Reed asked.

  “Sick of recuperating. Tired if I do too much,” he admitted.

  “So calling Rose in was a good idea after all?”

  It was a terrible idea. She’d invaded his house, his dreams, his fantasies.

  Be still, darling,” he ordered. “Or I’ll have to punish you.”

  Instead of confessing any of that, Payne shrugged. They came to a stop on the other side of the tempered glass enclosure surrounding the pool. Teenagers Lucy and Jeb were in the heated water, watching Cleo’s Eli and Obie cannonball off the side. At a round table nearby sat Honey and Walsh, both engrossed by their smart phones while Cleo kept her eye on the children.

  Reed gestured toward his brother. “All work and no play. Walsh is getting very dull.”

  “So says the man who used to work vampire hours. Sleeping during the day allowed you very little social time.”

  “Now I have Cleo.” He smiled in her direction. “Thank God.”

  At the sound of footsteps, he glanced over his shoulder to watch Bing and Alexa approach. They were hand-in-hand and wore self-satisfied smiles. “They just got them some,” he muttered to Reed.

  The other man shifted his gaze, spotted the pair. “Oh, yeah. Probably in a closet. Or up in the Maddox castle’s turret.”

  Payne ignored his sudden surge of envy. He could get some himself, if he wanted. All he needed to do was make a phone call.

  Or sniff his pillowcase and take his dick in hand.

  Spinning around, he set off for a short solo walk around the compound, his gaze taking in the place of his wild childhood and his decadent adolescence. Upon leaving the place he’d doubted he’d ever return, but it was Cilla’s idea for them to reclaim the space. Build new, better memories, she said.

  Cilla, maybe the only one of them with a true open heart.

  Laughter in the distance caught his attention and he glanced over to the dining area. A knot of the Velvet Lemons kids were there, smiling, plates in hand. They looked like any normal group of people enjoying a meal and each other’s company.

  Except they weren’t—probably even Cilla—what they appeared to be on a sunny, Southern California afternoon. Each of them was shadowed.

  Payne knew he was tainted with a darkness that could never be removed. There was no substance strong enough to bleach the stain, no way to alter the fundamentals of his character.

  Now his eye caught on Rose. Cozied up with Cilla, she had a glass of wine in hand. Her head was ducked as she listened to what the other woman said. Her hair was pushed behind her small ear and it gave him a view of that half-hitch smile. Knowing her better now, Payne realized it revealed something about her he’d not been aware of before.

  She was always holding a little something back, he decided. Not just joy, but passion, too.

  And that didn’t stop him from wanting her in his bed.

  He wanted her bad enough that he didn’t trust himself not to cheerfully, willfully, lie and deceive her. A man like him might say anything to get her under him, over him, her small fingers on his dick, his long ones spearing inside her wet, clasping heat.

  His groin tightened and he thought about diving into the pool, clothed, but it would too warm.

  Beer, he thought. Cold and bracing.

  The direct route to the outdoor beverage refrigerator meant passing Rose and Cilla, so he circled around instead, coming behind them to reach the brew he craved. Eyes on the back of the head of his nemesis, he reminded himself of how unsuited they were. He was reckless, she was wedding rings. He was a fast ride, she was a forever promise.

  Bending low to grab a beer, he knew they couldn’t see him behind the half-wall they had at their backs.

  Still, Rose’s low voice traveled to him. Something about wanting a change. Needing a shake-up.

  He froze, now avid to hear her secrets. Fuck, he thought, shaking his head. He wasn’t even faithful to his promises to himself.

  “I want a fling,” she told Cilla. “If only I can find the right man to make it worth my while. No strings. No thought of a future or anything permanent. Just hot sex.”

  Damn, Payne thought now, an idea electrifying him. Fling, no future, hot sex. Is it possible? Could I have her?

  At the end of the next week, Payne sat at his kitchen table, one eye on his laptop and the other on Rose as she moved about the room, making dinner. Because of her nephew’s pediatrician appointment that day, she’d stayed with Lily and the baby and accompanied the pair to the doctor’s office in morning. Around noon, she’d called to say she wouldn’t make it until late afternoon because the child was fussy with a slight cold and she wanted to spell her sister.

  He’d told her to skip the day altogether, but she’d insisted.

  One thing he knew about Rose, she followed through on her obligations.

  Whether or not she truly was after a fling—hot sex!—he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he’d dreamed up that part. Because she didn’t look like a woman who needed some kind of sexual jolt.

  Instead she looked damn lovely, in a floral skirt, a loosely woven sweater pushed up to her elbows, those clunky boots. Her hair wasn’t its usual smooth sweep. Instead, it hung in loose, beachy waves and he thought the bohemian style suited her well. She looked young and fresh and like the hippie girls who’d come to Laurel Canyon decades ago, seeking enlightenment, excitement, freedom.

  But no-strings sex? Rose?

  He tried returning his attention to work. He had handwritten inventory sheets, newly scribbled by his manager at the new yard and Payne had taken it upon himself to enter them into the database. The records needed updating and he could hunt and peck as well as anyone.

  Rose approached, sliding a plate of cheese and crackers in front of him.

  The scent of her broke his concentration. He followed her return to the countertop with his gaze. Her spine didn’t give away a hint of what was going on inside her head.

  An unfamiliar spurt of frustration rose from his gut. Women didn’t confound him like this. Women didn’t transfix him like this.

  Without thinking, he rose from the chair and stalked toward her. Maybe she sensed him, because she glanced over her shoulder then immediately walked toward the pantry in the corner. There, she retrieved a roll of paper towels and crossed back toward the sink, ignoring his presence.

  When he moved to stand behind her, she froze for a moment, then continued replacing the roll of towels on the holder. His breath stirred her hair and then she was on the move again, this time to rummage through the refrigerator.

  He followed her there, too, because her reaction to him gave away that he was getting beneath that calm exterior she’d been wearing for the past week.

  It had been as if she’d been shutting him out.

  As she pulled carrots from the crisper, he reached over her shoulder for a bottle of juice, deliberately allowing the inside of his forearm to slide along her shoulder. Her head turned and she looked at him through those magnificent eyes, smoke surrounded by a thicket of long, dark lashes. They narrowed.

  “Is there some reason you’re hovering?” she asked.

  “Is there some reason you’ve been absent?” At her puzzled look, he tacked on a few more words. “Mentally. It’s as if you’re not here.”

  She slipped away from him, sidestepping so that he was no longer close. “I’ve a lot on my mind.”

  Thinking of that hot, no-strings fling? She’d said she was looking for the “right man.” Did she have a particular one in mind? If not, how about him?

  Why not him?

  After all, hot, no-strings sex was his specialty.

  Shutting the refrigerator door, he stepped close to her again. “What kind of things are on your mind?”

  She strode toward the sink. “My future.”

  What? Flings didn’t have a future. That was the whole point. Was there actually something else going on inside her head besides the desire to get fucked?

  Of c
ourse there was, you dolt, a voice inside him said. She hadn’t relocated from Seattle to L.A. just to get shagged. He’d come to that conclusion before.

  Something else entirely had sent her running from her life there to her sister here.

  She’d been hurt, he had to guess

  And the thought of that had his temper edging up. What had happened? Who was responsible? How could he get her to tell him?

  But shit, he thought, retreating once more to his chair. That was none of his business. He’d been considering offering himself as her temporary sex partner, nothing more. She was welcome to hold her private thoughts close.

  He didn’t get personal. It wasn’t one of his talents.

  If a woman didn’t get that—and why wouldn’t she, when he banned kissing on the mouth?—he quickly moved on.

  But hell, his…curiosity wasn’t stifled. It wasn’t concern, he assured himself. It was just that he’d been stuck in this broken body for months, with no outlet for his energies. It made him bored. Inclined to wonder about what was going on with his cuddly little caretaker.

  He leaned the chair back, balancing it on two legs to prop his feet on the table. She glanced over, then returned her gaze to the carrots she’d begun to chop.

  “So…” he began.

  When she didn’t look up, he had to accept the truth. Clearly she wasn’t planning to just up and take him into her confidence.

  Lacing his fingers behind his head, he studied her again, trying to understand his fascination. Was it mere proximity? But when she was a girl, he recalled she’d always tapped into his streak of protectiveness, usually reserved for his little sister, Cami. But then one night Rose hadn’t felt like a little sister at all, when she’d pressed against him in high heels, her breath scented with peppermint. And instead of feeling protective, what had welled up was possessiveness.

  Christ, had that never gone away?

  An unsettling thought.

  The sound of a cat’s meow had him setting his feet and the chair legs back on the floor. Rose glanced around as he made his way into the pantry and came out with a small bag of kibble. He grabbed a small dish on his way to the back door.