Touch Me (15 page)

“You stupid asshole,” Payne said, shaking the boy like a big cat with a rodent. “You don’t treat a girl like that.”

Lucy was still coughing, so Rose held out her hand. “Let me help you out, honey.”

“We were just fooling around,” Maylo whined.

“You’re a fool, that’s sure,” Payne muttered, then pushed the kid toward the steps. “Take a break.”

While she wrapped Lucy in a towel and helped her to a chair, Rose kept one eye on Payne. He appeared to be fuming as he pulled himself from the pool in a rush of muscles cling-wrapped in saturated fabric.

Wow
, Rose thought, swallowing. “Are you all right?” she called to him.

“I’m fine,” he said. Water streamed from him as he brushed past her to grab her cover-up from the chair. Then he shoved it in her hands. “Put this on. I don’t like the way that cocky little pervert is looking at you.”

You noticed that? she wanted to ask, but he was already stalking away. He let himself out of the pool enclosure, slamming the gate behind him.

“Whoa.” Cami walked up, munching on some of the popcorn in the bowl she carried. “Glad I got here in time to catch the show.”

Together, they watched her brother in silence until he was out of sight. Rose turned to the other woman. “He was pissed.”

“His protective side was tapped, I guess.” Then she glanced at the cover-up that Rose still held. “Or, in your case, I’d say it’s his possessive side.”

Rose’s mouth gaped like a fish. She didn’t know how to respond. “Your brother…he doesn’t…”
He doesn’t want me at all.
Not once since that night at the yard had he hinted he was interested in touching her again and finishing what they’d started.
You make me crazy
, he’d said that night. But it appeared that now he was cured.

“Don’t try to tell me different.” Cami munched more kernels. “Poor Dustin. He doesn’t stand a chance, does he?”

“I…I…” Rose was doing her second Nemo-imitation.

After a moment, Cami seemed to give up waiting for an answer and wandered away.

Giving Rose time to ponder. Was it true? Was Payne feeling a bit…territorial? At the idea, an excited shiver worked its way down his spine. Then why would he have been so standoffish this week?

No answers presented themselves before it was time to eat.

The entire crew descended on the food like they hadn’t been fed in years. There was talk and laughter and teasing and you couldn’t slide a piece of paper between the coupled-off Rock Royalty. Cilla perched on Ren’s lap at the table. Bing had commandeered a lounge chair and Alexa sat between his legs to eat, sharing from one plate. Reed and Cleo and her adorable sons had spread a couple of beach towels on a nearby patch of grass to have the meal as a family.

Rose settled at the table between Honey and Cami, with the remaining guys on the other side. “Joining us in the stag section?” Payne’s sister asked, with a cheery grin.

“We would be the does,” Honey corrected absently, her gaze lowered on the phone beside her plate.

“Hell, no.” Cami flicked a hand. “Too passive. I don’t run away from danger, I run right toward it…if it’s what I want.”

Rose thought about Secret Guy, Cami’s biker. And then she thought of the words the woman had said, which had the ring of sound advice.
I don’t run away from danger, I run right toward it…if it’s what I want.

Her gaze sought out Payne. He was across the long table and down a few places from her. Putting distance between them, she thought. In a lazy pose, he sat back in his chair, one arm hooked over the back of it as he sipped a beer.

Very majestic, Rose thought. The prince, surrounded by his royal siblings, at the nightly castle feast. As if he felt her regard, he suddenly looked over.

She fought not to jump at the heat in his blue gaze. It was desire she saw there, she’d swear to it. And if he was the prince then she was the peasant, the servant girl that was his to command. If he ordered her to his bed, it was imperative she join him.

Or lose…lose…

The chance to have her hot night with her years-long crush. She wanted her catharsis, damn it, the entire event. What they’d started and never finished on the salvage yard couch wasn’t enough.

There was no sense in trying to pretend otherwise…or that she didn’t need the full experience to finally liberate her.

From that look in his eyes, she also didn’t believe for a second he didn’t want something more from her.

Then he glanced away. Rose curled her fingers in a fist, frustrated. Okay, so if she was right that he wasn’t indifferent to her, what was causing him to resist?

After the meal, a couple of fire pits were rolled out and logs lit. Reed and Cleo provided the makings for s’mores. As dusk descended, Cami took up her guitar and Bing produced a pair of bongo drums from somewhere. The two of them sat on one end of the long table, their legs dangling, as they jammed. What they played sounded beachy and summerlike, and distracted by the pleasing sounds, Rose set her marshmallow on fire.

She was reaching for the glowing object on the end of her straightened wire hanger when a man came up behind her, big and warm. “Careful, baby,” Payne said in her ear. Before she could move, he plucked the blackened treat off himself. “I don’t want you to get burned,” he added, as he moved away.

The simple act that showed he’d been watching—and caring—caused tender emotion to roll up from her belly, nearly overwhelming her. Tears stung the corners of her eyes as they followed his beautiful body walking away. Again.

Blinking hard, Rose felt desperation grow. Getting over him was a must. She wanted her re-set, damn it! And it was clear to her now why he wasn’t allowing her the chance to have it.

I don’t want you to get burned.

Stupid man believed he was protecting her. Instead, he was only prolonging this strangling infatuation. She glanced over at Cami and in that moment decided to take the bull—stag—whatever by the horns.

Later, as the evening broke up and the group was gathering items and heading toward their cars, Rose sidled toward Payne. He raised a brow. “What?”

She tried looking innocent. “How about I drive you home? I need to get something at your place.”

Holding her breath, she waited for him to agree. It wasn’t as if he could very well say no to her reasonable-sounding request—her offer would save his brother a trip, after all—and he didn’t. “Come along, then,” Payne said.

Fifteen minutes later she followed him into his stylish bachelor pad. Just over the threshold, he turned to confront her. “What was it you wanted here?”

Sauntering close, she smiled with a confidence she didn’t wholly feel. “You,” she said.

Chapter Nine

Payne closed his eyes and tried pretending what Rose said wasn’t real. That
she
wasn’t real. “We shouldn’t have this conversation.”

“Really?” She moved past him, her shoulder brushing his.

He kept his back turned and his eyes closed. He’d seen enough of her today. Though she wore that shapeless sack of a thing over her swimwear, he’d seen her bikini. Her body in the bikini.

Smooth skin. Curvy hips. Sweet breasts—and he’d tasted those—nestled in the cups of the bathing suit top. He’d wanted them nestled in his hands.

It had killed him to realize that the teenage prick that was Lucy’s boyfriend had gotten his own eyeful. Little fucker.

Payne tracked Rose’s movements by ear. She’d gone into the kitchen and now opened the refrigerator, then a cupboard. “Don’t get comfortable,” he called out.

“I’m pouring myself a glass of wine.”

He groaned, then followed her into the kitchen. It was imperative he get rid of her. After an entire week of keeping her at arm’s length, he wasn’t up for another battle with himself.

In the kitchen, he found her regarding the table with dismay. He’d thrown a wad of his shirts there. They sat in a tangled mass of wrinkled prints.

“What’s all this?” she asked.

“I was looking for something,” he mumbled.

“I do the laundry. I don’t remember seeing these.”

“It’s my Hawaiian shirt collection. I keep it in the back of the closet in the spare bedroom.”

She hooked one on her finger, pulling it free. It hung there, swaying in all its obscene glory. Amidst the palm fronds and the coconuts, were naked women in various pornographic poses. “Alo-haaa,” she drawled, examining the back where a well-endowed illustrated female figure lay spread-eagled on a beach.

She dropped that garment to pick up another. Payne winced. “They’re gag gifts.”

“I should say so,” Rose remarked, when a woman on this brightly colored shirt was preparing to fellate an enormous banana.

“Don’t look at the one with Santa, reindeers, and the very flexible female elves,” he muttered.

Her lips twitched. “I find I must ask…do you actually ever wear these things?”

“Would you go away if I said I did?”

She took a sip of her wine, seemed to consider. “No.”

He ground his back teeth. “Rose—”

“Were you considering wearing one to the compound today?”

“They’re not all actually so…”

“Obscene?” She put her hand on another.

“Don’t touch that,” he said quickly, then rushed forward to scoop the lot up in his arms. With quick steps, he hurried to the guest bedroom where he threw them in the back of the closet. Turning around, he found her in the doorway, coolly drinking from her glass.

The light from the hall was filtering through the thin fabric of the cover-up she wore, and he could see the outline of her perfect little body. His cock stirred.

“I’m still wondering why you were sorting through them,” she said.

“Cilla.” He threw out the name, thinking it would cool him down. “Well, Cilla and Ren. Alexa wants to sew them a wedding quilt, with a square to represent each of us.”

Walking past her, he made certain they didn’t touch, and continued on to the kitchen which seemed a safer zone than a room that was four walls and a bed. “I was looking for one shirt in particular. It’s Cilla’s favorite…and perfectly respectable, I might add.”

“Oh.”

He turned to find she’d followed him to the kitchen. As he reached into the fridge for a beer, he couldn’t escape that expression on her face. Her eyes both soft and bright, the color of fog right before the sun broke through.

She wore that crooked smile, the one that somehow arrowed straight to his solar plexus. “That’s sweet,” she said, coming near enough to touch.

“Not my idea,” he told her, backing up a step and clinging to the cold beer. “I’m just going along.”

One of her fingers traced the patch pocket on his plain blue T-shirt. “You could go along with me, too. My idea.”

Desperate, he said the first thing that came to mind. “I can’t.”

Her finger retraced the route. It was a square, boxing him in. “Why not? Don’t you like me?”

Why did he feel at such a disadvantage around Rose? He’d been with women on dozens and dozens of occasions, and never did he feel as if one might take something from him he couldn’t stand to lose.

“You’re dangerous,” he murmured.

“And you’re an adrenaline junkie. See? It’s win-win.”

Taking hold of that marauding finger, he pushed it down and moved away from her again. “It’s just…” What? Why the hell did this seem like such a big deal?

She waited patiently for him to speak, her brows in perfect arches over those clear-seeing eyes. Maybe that was it. Maybe he was afraid she’d see inside him to his corrupt soul.

“I can’t perform,” he heard himself say. Jesus Christ. What a fucking crock. He wanted to bash his brain with a rock.

Rose blinked. “Um…what?”

Yeah, what now, genius?
he asked himself. “I don’t like to talk about it.” Glancing away, he pretended to study the wall as if he was embarrassed instead of feeling ridiculous.

“But…”

Glancing back, he was sure that pensive look on her face meant she was thinking to the times they’d been…close. More than once she’d felt his hardened cock. Hell, even now it was doing that twitching, stirring thing, completely at her mercy instead of trying to help him with his story.

Lie.

God, both he and his cock would love to be buried inside of her.

Her brow furrowed. “Have you talked to the doctors about this?”

“No. Yes.” What would be the true answer if he was having performance problems? “It will get better over time. Maybe when I have possession of my car keys again.”

That sounded good. It had a ring of truth. Once he was cleared to drive, Rose would be out of his house and out of his life. “I’ll feel in more control, then,” he concluded.

“I had no idea,” Rose said. “I’m sorry.”

Her sympathy made him feel low. Like a worm. A vise tightened around the back of his neck, radiating pain to his temples. “It’s all right.” Dropping into a chair at the kitchen table, he set his beer on the top and pushed the heels of his hands to his forehead, trying to alleviate the pressure.

“Let me do that,” Rose said.

“You don’t…I don’t…” But when she stepped up behind him and began to massage his scalp, he groaned.

With a small hand on his chin, she gently urged the back of his head to rest against her midsection as her fingertips continued to rub circles at the roots of his hair. Closing his eyes, he called himself a worm again, a dog, but didn’t move a muscle.

She smelled so good. The tropical fragrance of some lotion combined with the scent of sun on her skin a delicious combination. So Rose. It was the smell of innocent pleasures that a man like him wasn’t made for. But he allowed himself a few more moments of breathing her in.

“I’ve had…a bedroom problem myself too,” she said into the silence.

He froze. Shit.
Shit!
“You don’t want to tell me about that.”

Her fingers halted for a moment, then began again. “Why not? You shared with me.”

This was punishment, Payne decided. He’d thought he’d pay in hell once his life was over for all the ways he’d lived too hard and too fast, but having to sit here, under sweet Rose’s gentle touch and listen to her “bedroom problem” was Satan’s burning fires on Earth.