As he put it back to rights, an idea occurred to him for his manuscript-in-progress. Maybe Jesse would find a key to the book notations left beneath his pillow. As Reed started considering the possibilities, he looked around for paper and pen. He didn’t take notes on his phone as the tiny keys seemed to inhibit his creativity.
Distracted, thinking only of his story and not about Cleo’s privacy, he yanked open the drawer of her bedside table. “Ah-hah!” he muttered, finding a pen right away. His fingers then encountered paper…a smallish manila envelope, he realized, pulling it out. “Can’t write on that.”
As he went to shove it back in the drawer, the flap caught, and photos slid out. Reed froze, staring down at them.
They were Polaroids—who the hell had such a camera these days?—and they were of Cleo.
Her shirt off.
Her bra remained, but that didn’t do anything to disguise the bruises. On her cheekbone. Over her ribs.
Man-sized, black-and-blue fingerprints circled one arm.
Bile rose in Reed’s throat. The last time he’d been sick at the sight of violence like this he’d been fourteen years old. Then, he’d gone hot-cold-hot.
Now he just went icy, his blood stalling, as if his heart had stopped.
Trying to touch them as little as possible, he inserted the photos back in the envelope. He slammed the drawer on the sight of it. But the images remained in his mind, indelibly etched, like those pale, matchstick legs and small shoes, illuminated by nothing but moonlight.
He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. Fuck.
It was dangerous to feel this much.
Reed was staring off into space, ignoring the omelet in front of him, when Payne tapped his fork on his own plate. “Hey.”
“Huh?” Reed blinked, remembered where he was, and started forking up his own food. The café had been a recommendation of Bing’s, and yeah, the omelets were epic.
“I asked, ‘What’s on your mind?’” Payne said. “You must have been dreaming up some grisly scene of mayhem and macabre-y.”
“Macabre-y is not a word.”
“Gee, thanks, Professor.” Payne shoveled in a bite of hashed browns. “So, back to the original question. What’s on your mind?”
“Nothing,” Reed said. “Why does something have to be on my mind?”
“You called me,” Payne replied. “That’s a first. I figured you had a reason.”
“The reason is, I want to get away from what’s on my mind,” Reed muttered, and tried thinking of how to deflect the conversation. “How about those Lakers?”
Payne stared. “We’re coming to the end of baseball season, friend. Basketball hasn’t started yet.”
“Oh. Yeah.” Reed downed coffee. “I’m logy. New schedule.”
“Better leave some slots in it open. Cilla and Ren are talking about a Halloween get-together.”
Zombies. Reed hadn’t stuck around Cleo’s to find out if thoughts of them was what had sent Obie home early from his sleepover. After shutting the drawer on those photos, he’d gone straight home.
“What do you remember about trick-or-treating?” Payne asked now.
“Huh?” His fork halfway to his mouth, Reed paused. Was Payne reading minds these days?
The blond man shrugged. “It’s something Cilla told me about. There’s evidence—Gwen had it—that once upon a time we were all dressed up in matching skeleton costumes.”
“I don’t remember trick-or-treating or any costumes like that.” Reed frowned. “The canyon isn’t the kind of place to go door-to-door anyway.”
“Yeah. I guess it makes sense that we don’t have a memory of it. She said we were little. Not much more than toddlers.”
“The only thing I remember about Halloween are the parties the Lemons threw.”
Payne shook his head. “All those fucking parties.”
“I seem to recall you enjoying your fair share of naked pool volleyball.”
“I was a teenage boy. How was I supposed to resist all those wet, bouncing breasts?”
Reed shrugged. “We didn’t.”
“At what price?” Payne muttered.
Hmm. Reed straightened in his chair. “Is there something on your mind?”
Before he could answer, a woman approached, a wide smile on her face. “Payne Colson! I haven’t seen you in ages!”
“Janey.” Payne shoved out of his chair to kiss the attractive brunette on the cheek. “Still beautiful.”
“You too,” she said, looking him up and down, seeming to appreciate him in his beat-up jeans, black T-shirt, and a pair of motorcycle boots that might have been older than he was.
“How’ve you been?” Payne asked with a smile.
Lifting her left hand, she wiggled her fingers in his face, a diamond ring flashing. “I’m engaged.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Payne said, still grinning. “It’s a shame to have you off the market, Janey.”
“Phoo,” she said, and shoved him in the chest. Payne’s solid form didn’t rock. “As if you were in the market for more than some casual fun.”
His smile didn’t fade. “I know. I suck.”
“Of course you don’t, darling man.” She rubbed his arm, a gesture of comfort. “Still hung up on your ex-wife, Lily?”
“Oh, well…” Sobering, Payne shifted his gaze to his toes covered in scuffed leather.
It was Reed’s turn to stare. Payne didn’t have an ex-wife, and it sure as hell wasn’t Lily, who’d dumped his ass right after high school graduation. While it had been a blow, and maybe still stung, Payne hadn’t spent a lot of time nursing a broken heart. He’d been back in the compound’s hot tub with two strippers less than a week later, enjoying the hell out of their impromptu dance, nipples-to-nipples.
Reed should know, he’d been right there with him.
Janey was murmuring for Payne’s ears only now. Reed caught only a few words. “There’s someone for you,” and “Don’t harden your heart.”
Payne must have wanted to put a halt to the pep talk, because he suddenly turned to Reed. “Where are my manners?”
“Don’t bother looking,” Reed said. “You’ve never had any.”
“Janey, this is Reed Hopkins,” Payne said, ignoring his comment. “Reed, Jane Mather.”
Reed began to get to his feet, but pretty Jane waved him back into his seat. “Don’t let me interrupt your breakfast. I’ve got to get going, anyway.” Then she gave both men a sly glance. “Have I mentioned my little sister…that is if either of you are interested?”
Payne shook his head. “Reed’s got a lady on the line, Janey. As for me… you know.” In an Academy Award-worthy effort, he managed to drum up a downcast expression.
On a sigh, Jane Mather kissed his cheek and after a few more platitudes was on her way.
Payne dropped into his chair and took up his fork, continuing to eat as Reed studied him. “What?” the other man said, glancing across the table.
“Ex-wife?”
“It’s nothing,” Payne said. “Just shit I say if someone like Janey is too persistent. I have this tale about my ex-wife destroying my ability to commit.”
Reed shook his head. “First of all, you’re a dog.”
“I’ve heard that before.”
“Second of all, you’re a dog.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Payne said, appearing not the least bit insulted. “I’ve known it for years.”
“Third, how would Lily feel about being your romantic ghost?”
“Romantic ghost? Only you would describe it like that.” Then Payne shrugged. “What does it matter? She hates my guts anyway.”
Reed settled back in his seat, intrigued. “I’m always up for a good story. What was the cause of that break-up anyway? You seemed pretty tight, and then, wham.”
Another shrug. “Coupla things.”
“Coupla things…what?”
“Really?” Payne narrowed his eyes at him. “Are we going to do each other’s nails next?
/> This was exactly why he’d called the other man, Reed decided. Instead of sitting at home, staring at his computer screen, stewing, he was being diverted from his own thoughts by Payne and his now-prickly mood. “The benefits to reaching out are coming clear to me.”
“You want me to entertain you by giving up some old crap from my sordid past.”
Reed tried out a winning smile. “In a word, yes.”
Shaking his head, Payne laughed. “Fine. The abbreviated version is this. Fucking Velvet Lemons.”
Unsurprised, Reed nodded. “What’s the less abbreviated version?”
“Those damn parties.” He threw down his fork and pushed his plate away. “When we were together, I tried keeping Lily clear of them. I kept clear of them.”
Multitudes of men and woman had flocked to the compound, drawn by the free booze, drugs, and the chance to brush up against fame. Sex had been easy to come by and the sons of the Velvet Lemons had been favorites of the nubile beauties wandering the halls and grounds. Most nights, you couldn’t get from the kitchen to your bedroom without being propositioned a time or two.
“That was noble of you,” he told Payne.
“Only temporarily,” he muttered. “Anyway, Lily showed up one night unexpectedly.”
“And you were entered in the submarine races at the pool?”
“Hell, no. I was doing Calculus homework in my bedroom.”
“Shit, Payne, way to give my expectations the old heave-ho.”
The other man ignored him. “Lily got quite the eyeful…including running into her old man in the dining room, snorting coke off the bare tits of some chick on the D-list.”
Reed grimaced.
“Yeah,” Payne said. “And maybe we could have weathered that…her parents were divorcing and she knew her dad was a dick, but I didn’t lie when she asked if I’d seen him there before. She thought I should have told her earlier.”
“Wouldn’t that have been, well, over-share?”
“I thought so. And then, to make matters worse, a couple of weeks later… No, that’s the extended version.”
“I like bonus material.”
“The bottom line,” Payne said, “is that Lily hates me.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Reed glanced up as the waitress walked past and slipped her his credit card and the bill. “When I saw her with her sister—Rose, isn’t it?—they asked about you.”
“You saw, uh, Lily?”
“I told you I did. Ran into her and her sister at the Farmer’s Market near the beach. Cilla had sent me out for heirloom tomatoes when I went to one of her command-performance dinners.”
“How does she look?” Payne asked, his tone casual.
“Like someone about a million months pregnant.” He hoped the other man knew she was married and ready to pop. The waitress returned with his receipts and he signed one, pocketed the other along with his card. “I didn’t want to linger in case she went into labor while we were exchanging pleasantries.”
“Not how Lily looks,” Payne said, arranging his discarded fork and knife on his plate with careful precision. “I meant Rose.”
Surprised, Reed blinked. “You meant Rose?”
Payne shoved to his feet so abruptly the table wobbled. “I didn’t mean anything,” he muttered. “Are you coming to the desert with me or not?”
“Sure.” That had been the plan all along. When he’d called Payne, the other man had suggested breakfast then a ride out to the desert in his off road-ready Jeep. A race was coming up that he’d entered and he wanted to check out the course. “You still feel like it?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s my way of getting my mind off things.”
Perfect, Reed thought. Because his mind was still mired in memories of Cleo’s taste, the sound she made when she came, the flush on her skin…
Those bruises.
Payne’s speed and impatient driving style on the way to the desert served to put survival at the front-and-center of Reed’s thoughts. The vehicle was open to the air, a roll bar the only thing between them and the blazing sun. They flew along the highway, and hot wind whipped his hair around him. Once they reached the desert, coarse grains of sand scoured his face. He’d have to buy a new pair of shades, he decided, because the ones he had on were bound to be scratched by the end of the day.
Finally, after leaving the highway to travel a narrow paved road and then another track that was nothing more than a path through desert scrub worn by other tires, Payne braked. The back end of the Jeep shimmied and Reed braced himself on the dash as they slid to a stop.
“Well?” Payne asked, his smile bright against his face, dusted with the reddish-brown sand. He was clearly exhilarated. “We’re here.”
Reed ran his tongue over his teeth, making sure none of them had been dislodged during the rattling journey. “Yeah.”
“Ready to check out the course? I’m going to race my UTV, but today in the Jeep we’ll take it a little slower.”
“How safe is it?”
“Safe?” Payne scoffed. “If you wanted safe, you should have stayed home and played with the imaginary friends in your head.”
Except he’d been unable to get lost in his imaginary friends, instead pre-occupied with gilt-blonde hair, wet flesh, the way her body had gripped his fingers…
Those fucking bruises.
“Let’s do it,” he told Payne.
The other man didn’t need further encouragement. They took off, Payne steering around scrub and up hills and down them. Reed grabbed the roll bar with one hand as his ass bounced on the molded plastic seat. Jesus.
Payne increased their speed. Reed ate a bug or two, felt his belly go weightless when they went airborne, and then found himself grinning. The desert stretched out before them, a vast space in which to lose oneself…or one’s problems. Adrenaline slid into his blood, a steady drip of thrill. His mind emptied and his body became one with the vehicle. They were both machines, built to live on octane and excitement.
“Big turn ahead,” Payne shouted, then he let out a warrior’s wild cry, as he yanked the wheel a sharp left.
Reed’s muscles seized as the vehicle’s tires lost their grip on the track. They were sliding on the sand, running over the ragged clumps of weed instead of avoiding them. The vehicle hit a boulder, went on two wheels, and fell back to four before bumping across deep ruts in hard-baked earth. They hit another boulder, and that’s when it happened.
The Jeep toppled to its right and then they were sliding along the desert floor, riding over thorny brush that caught at Reed’s arms and face. “Shit!” he yelled, because if he was going to die, he was going to die cussing. Adrenaline punched into his system now and the sky turned a brighter blue, the earth more red, his regrets deepened. “Damn!”
He was going to die, without ever seeing Cleo again. Without tasting her mouth once more, without sliding into her pussy with his cock, without being able to hear her cry his name as they both orgasmed. “Fuck!”
Then, maybe because the devil was on the side of the sons of the Velvet Lemons, the Jeep slowed. Stopped.
Breathing hard, Reed took a moment to absorb the fact he wasn’t in a billion pieces. Then he looked over at Payne, who was hanging by his seat belt and grinning like a loon. “What’d you think?” he said, turning off the ignition.
“That we almost died!” Reed unlatched his own belt and then crawled out of his seat, more thorny brush snagging on his clothes. His legs shook as he rose to a stand.
Payne pulled himself out, still wearing that wide smile.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Reed demanded. Good thing the vehicle was between them, because he felt like strangling the guy.
“You wanted to get your mind off your neighbor, didn’t you?” Payne asked. “You didn’t say so, but I could tell. Bet you weren’t thinking of the lovely Cleo when we were doing doughnuts in the dirt.”
“Like hell. I was thinking about her and how my dead dick was going to be very sorry for mis
sing out on its favorite activity.”
“Well, then I clarified things for you.”
Reed glared at him, then looked down at his arms, studded with thorns. He began plucking them from his skin. “Shut up.”
“Face it. You want the lady.”
“I don’t want to want the lady. I’m not what anyone would consider good relationship material.”
“Still.” Payne leaned against the overturned Jeep. “Take it from me, pal. She’s going to be stuck in your hide just like those stickers unless you dig her out.”
Reed looked up and narrowed his eyes. “Dig her out how?”
“One good fuck will get her out of your head, Reed. Take the mystery out of it, then walk away clean.”
Chapter Nine
Early Monday morning, Cleo stood in her kitchen and wondered if it was wrong to be thinking about sex while making chocolate chip cookies. Except she wasn’t making them for her boys—who were now at school. The jar on the counter was already to the brim with their favorite Snickerdoodles.
She was making the cookies for herself.
Scratch that. She was making dough. And then she was going to eat it, raw.
It was in celebration of the best climax of her life, delivered with raunchy talk and by the experienced hands and mouth of dark and deep Reed Hopkins.
All weekend she’d been unable to get him out of her mind. Of course, she’d had all the mother things to occupy her: laundry, new-sneaker shopping, a birthday party to which Eli had been invited. She’d stood with the other mothers when it was time to pick him up, the goodie bag swinging in her hand, chatting as if the day before a man hadn’t changed her status from celibate single mom to fully sexual being.
It was as if she’d finally come of age.
She suspected she’d been glowing because one of the other women asked her if she’d changed her hairstyle and another wondered aloud where she’d gotten her make-up makeover.
She’d been wearing only a single swipe of lip balm and her hair had been treated to its usual scrunch-and-go.
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