He was also smart. His intensity made her uncomfortable, though she smiled in return and kept her voice light as she answered. “That would be correct.”
“Whereabouts exactly?”
“What is this, twenty questions?” Jake interjected. He was seated opposite them and had taken his eyes off the entrance long enough to join the conversation. Raine had indicated that she might stop in for a drink, and he was noticeably on edge.
Mac glared at Jake. “It was just one question, and for the record”—he turned back to Maggie, a wide grin on his face—“I want to know a little more about the woman who’s turned Cain into the guy who holds hands and fills Jack’s Hut with a freaking boatload of tulips.”
The lights dimmed even more, and a loud growl of approval rushed through the crowd. Cain squeezed Maggie’s shoulder and whispered into her ear. “Don’t mind Mackenzie. He gets a little intense sometimes.”
But she caught the unspoken questions in his eyes. He wondered about her past, and so he should. They were sleeping together. His life was pretty much an open book, but hers…was closed.
There was no way she was opening up that can of worms, not with Cain.
“You all right?” He leaned over and swept his mouth across hers.
She nodded and whispered, “I’m fine.” It was scary, really, how good she’d become at lying.
His dark eyes studied hers until she glanced away.
A man strode onto the stage. He was tall, lean—all legs—and wore a wide-brimmed cowboy hat perched at an angle on his head. His T-shirt was emblazoned with the name Texas Willie in crimson.
He flashed a toothy grin to the audience and picked up his guitar, his arms all sinew and rope. The man looked to be in his early forties, though Maggie had a feeling he was probably younger. He had the look of a person who lived on the edge, and the goatee that adorned his thin, pale face only emphasized the fact.
He glanced in their direction, piercing black eyes crinkling as he smiled, tipped his hat, and bellowed into the mike. “Well, what do you know, Mr. Hollywood is in da house.” The crowd erupted as he strummed a power chord and the rest of the band took their places.
Cain held his beer up in acknowledgment and grinned.
“Just so you know, my friends…” Texas Willie began to play a blues melody that was raw, catchy, and real. “Hollywood isn’t the only one who can rock it!”
Texas Willie’s announcement brought another round of cheer, and the band threw themselves into the first song of what was to be a rollicking, blues-heavy set.
The music infiltrated the space around them. Its infectious melody slid over her skin, and though she tried, Maggie couldn’t relax. Mackenzie’s eyes touched hers a little too often, and she felt as if everyone in the bar was staring at them.
Raine didn’t show, and Jake’s frosty attitude grew colder as the evening progressed, but Cain…he was lost in the music, and it was a beautiful thing to see. His foot tapped to the beat, his fingers thrummed along the top of the table, and his head bopped to the rhythm.
When a slow, seductive melody slid into the dark, Cain grabbed her close and they moved onto the dance floor, her small frame tucked into his. His arms cradled her, his large hands splayed possessively across her back and in her hair.
It was dark out here, and the invisible cloak of anonymity slid over her skin, allowing her to enjoy the moment. She didn’t feel the heat of prying eyes or the unanswered questions that Mac had posed.
They moved together, a sensual shuffle of fluid limbs, straining muscles, and a constant need that was a physical ache. The music was hypnotic: sex and candy rolled into one hell of an erotic number. Cain’s mouth slid down her neck, and the world fell away. In her mind there was no one but him.
His lips skated across hers, and he whispered hoarsely, “Let’s get out of here.”
Suddenly Maggie froze as Bradley Hayes’s words echoed in her mind. What the hell was she doing? Could her heart afford for her to be so selfish?
“What are we doing, Cain?” She stopped dancing, and the two of them stared at each other while all around them bodies moved and slid and touched in the near dark. She licked her lips nervously.
Cain’s hands crept up to cradle her cheeks, his eyes intense and passion filled as he gazed down at her. “What are you afraid of, Maggie?”
“Nothing.” Everything.
“Are you sure?”
She glanced up at him and her heart lurched. His dark eyes studied her intently. She saw his hunger, his desire, his need…for her. In that moment she made a decision. One she prayed she wouldn’t regret. Maggie leaned into his hands as her own crept up, and she threaded her fingers through his.
“I’m not sure about anything,” she whispered.
He bent low until his forehead touched hers. “You can be sure of one thing.”
“What’s that?” His hands were on her ass now, and he held her tight to his hips, his erection resting against her belly.
“You can be sure that I’m going to make you whimper and beg for”—he ground his groin against her, and the ache between the folds of her sex intensified—“this.” He was breathing hard now. “You ready?”
She was so not ready for any of this, but the devil who sat on one of her shoulders took over, and her fear was silenced.
Maggie nodded, and the two of them turned and left without saying good-bye to anyone.
Chapter 24
Cain shifted beside Maggie and didn’t take his eyes from her. He cradled her close, enjoying the warmth of her body and the feel of her in his arms. She was relaxed, had been thoroughly loved more than once, but still a soft frown settled between her eyebrows.
Like the previous night, she’d tossed and turned, mumbled things he couldn’t understand. He knew she was holding back the part of her that was scared, and even though he wanted her to let him in, he was afraid to push. She needed to come around on her own. She needed to learn to trust him with her secrets.
He sure as hell didn’t like it, and every time he thought of the bastard who’d dared to touch her, he was filled with impotent rage. What he wouldn’t give for a chance at this guy’s ass.
He’d been sleeping at her house ever since Jack’s Hut, and that was a few weeks ago. Hell, after that first night together there was no way he was going to sleep anywhere else. They’d fallen into a kind of relationship he couldn’t define—one based on the physical, but there was an ease to the way they reacted to each other. They spent every minute together that they could, and he was more than a little embarrassed to admit that he’d become that guy—the one that sneaked out of her house under cover of night. Like a damn criminal.
Shit, if the guys in the band could see him now. He’d been reduced to skulking around like some horny teenager afraid to get caught with his pants down.
Maggie sighed and nestled deeper into his arms as he pushed back the hair at her temple. He didn’t care. It was worth it.
The window was open, and he inhaled the fresh, cool air that blew in on the breeze. The smell of fresh-cut grass still lingered. Mowing the lawn was a chore he’d been more than happy to do and one that had pissed off Luke Jansen something fierce. Especially when he tossed the shit his dog left behind back onto Luke’s lawn.
He stretched and settled against her softness, content and happy. The sun was making its way upward, and early-morning gray illuminated Maggie’s bedroom.
The clock beside her bed glowed 5:30, and he knew it was time for him to leave. While Michael was an early riser, usually up before seven, this morning Cain was headed to Detroit, and if he wanted to beat traffic, he needed to be on the road by six. Dax Jones, his bass guitarist in BlackRock, had agreed to participate in the fundraiser on July Fourth. His flight from the United Kingdom was due to arrive this morning.
“You’re awake,” Maggie murmured against him. Her arms crept across his chest. Sleep clung to her eyes, their blue depths mysterious and sexy as she looked up at him. “I don’t want you t
o leave.”
He kissed her nose and shifted once more. “Trust me. The last thing I want to do is get out of this bed, but Michael will be up soon, and I’ve got to get my ass in gear and head to the airport.” The silky skin beneath her eyes was smudged, light bruises that signaled either a lack of sleep or something else entirely. “Are you okay? You didn’t sleep well last night.”
She glanced away, and unease slid through him as he continued to study her. She picked at the blanket, her elegant fingers nervous. Something was up.
“I’m fine, I just…”
“Just what?”
“I worry about things that I probably shouldn’t and…” She bit her lip, attempted a smile. “Never mind.”
That got his attention. Cain sat up. “What’s going on, Maggie?”
She pulled the blanket up across her naked breasts and ran fingers across her temple. “Nothing. I said drop it.”
“I’m not going to drop it. Something is obviously bothering you, and I want to know what the hell it is.”
That heavy weight on his chest, the one that had plagued him for the last few days, was back. It had always been Cain’s experience that when his world tipped too far into good, it usually bottomed out and swung back the other way. Like a little slap in the face to remind him that it didn’t matter to the big guy upstairs who the hell he was.
She exhaled and sat up to face him. Her hair hung in crimson ropes around her shoulders, and with sleep still heavy in her eyes, her skin makeup-free, she looked like a damned Lolita. His body hardened instantly. She was like a drug he couldn’t get enough of, and he felt a twinge of anger at the thought of how she affected him.
At the control the woman possessed, whether she knew it or not.
Cain rolled his shoulders and tried to relax.
“I’m just… Michael is getting attached to you, and I’m a little worried about what’s going to happen when…” She paused as if gathering her thoughts, and then she spoke in a rush, as if the words tasted bad. “When you leave Crystal Lake.”
“You’re worried about Michael.”
She frowned. “Of course I’m worried about Michael. I’m his mother. It’s my job to worry.”
Cain stared at her for several moments. “And what about you, Maggie? Would you miss me if I wasn’t around?” He didn’t know how tense he was until he let go of the sheet clutched between his fingers.
Something flickered in the depths of her eyes. She held his gaze for several seconds and then looked away. “Are we really going to have this conversation now?”
“What conversation?” He didn’t like where this was headed and cursed himself for opening a can of worms.
She shrugged. “We both know you’ll be leaving eventually. The question is, when? After the fundraiser? At the end of July? Maybe you’ll stay until August or September. I don’t know. It’s not like you’ve shared your plans with me, but you will leave us behind.”
His mother’s words echoed in his head, and he winced, more than a little pissed because there was truth in her words.
“Maggie—”
“Don’t, Cain.” She shook her head. “Seriously, you don’t have to say anything. It is what it is.” She smiled, a tremulous, beautiful smile. “I have no regrets, if that’s what you’re thinking. None. I just…I don’t want Michael to be hurt when you leave.”
She sounded like she’d already said good-bye, and it pissed him off. How the hell did she know what he thought? What he felt or wanted?
Fuck, he didn’t even know what the hell was going on in his head.
“What if I don’t leave?” he asked, the words slipping out of him before he had a chance to grab them back. He didn’t like this serious turn. The bubble was about to burst, and he had a feeling the next few minutes were going to be a turning point in his relationship with Maggie. Whether it was good or bad was the question of the day.
She looked at him as if he had two heads. “Of course you’re going to leave. You don’t belong in Crystal Lake.”
Her words lit the fuse that had already sparked. “How the hell do you know where I belong? Are you a fucking mind reader now?” His words were harsh. He threw off the covers and slipped from her bed, searching for the jeans he’d thrown off the night before. The floor was a tangled mess of their clothes.
Clothes that had been torn and tossed in haste, because at the time all they could think about was getting naked and having sex. Maybe that’s all he was to her. Wouldn’t that be ironic? He was the quick lay, the rocker stud who would eventually go away.
Maybe that’s what she wanted.
“I didn’t mean anything by it, Cain, I just…” She stared at him, obviously confused. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”
Cain slipped into his jeans and grabbed his shirt off the end of the bed. Once he had his boots on, his anger had tempered somewhat but not enough to take the bite out of his words. “The truth would be a great start.”
Her cheeks flushed pink at that, and she sat up straight, the sheet falling dangerously low. “The truth? What are you talking about? I’ve never lied to you.”
“Because you haven’t had to.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that I don’t know shit about you, and obviously that’s the way you want it.”
Her eyes flashed, and he knew she was angry. She opened her mouth to speak, but he didn’t give her the chance.
“Where do you come from?”
“What?”
“You’re from the South, that’s obvious. The night we met, Rebecca told me you were from Savannah, I think.” Her lips pursed tightly at his words, and she clutched the blanket up tight again. He pierced her with an intense look. “Is she right?”
Maggie stared at him in silence, and the anger inside him festered. It wasn’t rational, what he felt—the resentment that rushed through him—and that fed the frustration even more. He wanted her, but he didn’t know what the future held. Why couldn’t they just enjoy each other and take this thing day to day? Why did everything have to be hard?
“What are your parents’ names? Are they alive? What’s your favorite color? Do you have any siblings? Why do you draw?”
She shook her head, “I…”
He didn’t give her a chance but plunged forward. “Who the hell is Michael’s father? Is he in the picture at all?”
“That is none of your business.” She slipped from the bed, the blanket held tight to her chest. Her face was flushed, and he saw the sheen of tears that filled the corners of her eyes. It killed him to see her like that. To know that he’d been the one to upset her. But hell, all he was asking for was a little honesty. Was that too much to expect?
“I think you should leave.”
“I was already leaving, Maggie, but this isn’t over.” He turned and opened her bedroom door. “Because I’m coming back, and we’re going to finish this conversation.”
He left without another word and slipped out of her house in silence. Luke Jansen was putting out his garbage as he drove by, and the urge to flip his middle finger in the guy’s direction nearly won out. He did, however, manage to keep his cool and ignored the man instead.
He left town and hit the open road, trying his damnedest to clear Maggie from his mind. After a while the silence settled him somewhat, and he cranked the tunes, tried to lose himself in the melodic strains of U2 as he sped down the interstate, but it was no use. By the time he arrived at airport he was wound tight and his mood was dark.
He kept his head down—no sense scaring all the little old ladies with his scowl—and was relieved when he spied Dax Jones with relative ease. He was glad to see him, glad Dax had agreed to play for the benefit, and for a moment his spirits lifted. The tall Brit was among a posse of people who’d just cleared the baggage area, but he stood out like a sore thumb. How could he not? With his shock of midnight-black hair, pale skin, myriad tattoos, and red and white plaid jeans, he wanted to be noticed. His T-shirt pr
oclaimed God Save the Queen, and the Union Jack adorned the top hat that rested upon his head.
“Cain, you look like utter crap, mate.”
Cain smiled, aware that they were garnering a fair share of interest. “Nice to see you too, Monk.”
“Hey, let’s not start up with that bit, eh?” Dax grinned and slung his bass over his shoulder.
Cain said nothing, though his grin said it all as he grabbed the other bag offered to him. Monk was a nickname Dax had earned on their last tour with the Grind. The story was pretty damn funny and a lot raunchy, involving Dax, two strippers, a judge, a principal ballerina from the Prague ballet company, and a monk.
“I’ll go easy.” Cain nodded. “This way.”
The two of them made their way through the terminal, and by the time they’d reached Cain’s truck it was late morning.
“We got time to stop for a drink? I’m fecking thirsty, mate.”
Cain backed out of his spot and pointed the SUV toward the highway. “It’s not exactly happy hour yet, my friend, though I do have a full fridge of beer back in Crystal Lake.” And a woman I need to see.
“But do you have cider?”
“No, but I’m sure we can track some down.”
Dax relaxed in his seat and sighed. “I’m bloody tired, so don’t mind if I close my eyes.”
“Go ahead. Get some sleep. We’ve got a couple hours ahead of us.”
“And Cain?”
“Yeah?” He glanced at the Brit, not liking the sly smile that graced his mouth.
“You look like bloody hell.”
“So you said.”
“I can’t wait, then.”
Cain wondered if he was going to regret asking Dax to come back to the U.S. He’d forgotten how annoying his riddles were.
“I said I can’t—”
“I know what you said Dax, but what the hell did you mean?”
Dax laughed and settled back into his seat. “I can’t wait to meet the woman who’s managed to tie your underknickers in a knot.”
The Summer He Came Home Page 21