Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (11 page)

Dayna’s eyes flared. “The stories…”

“I get the impression they’re all true.”

The other woman’s voice lowered. “Sex, drugs, and rock ’n’ roll.”

Honey glanced around and spoke in a whisper, too. “I’ve been to the Laurel Canyon compound, though.”

“The scene of the scandals,” Dayna breathed.

“And I’ve met all the Rock Royalty a number of times.” Instantly, heat rose up her neck. “Well, that makes me feel like a bragging five-year-old. Sorry.”

Dayna laughed. “That was going to be my next nosy question.”

Lifting her hands, Honey fanned her face. “Hot guys. The two princesses are great. Cilla’s engaged to Ren—”

“I read that at the hair salon!”

“—and Cami has an indie music career.”

“That’s the only musician in the group?”

“Professionally. Bing Maddox can set drumsticks on fire, though.”

Dayna shook her head. “You live an exciting life.”

“You already know that’s not true. And when I’m with them…”

“Yes?”

“I feel like a colorless peahen beside the peacocks.”

“You need a better appreciation of peahens,” Dayna said, and putting her wrist on top of her head, wiggled her upraised fingers. “They have these lovely little crowns.”

Honey smiled.

“I’m serious. We need to make an appointment for you at the resort’s salon.”

Self-conscious, Honey touched her mass of hair. “Oh my God!” It felt five times bigger than normal.

“Humidity,” Dayna pronounced, “plus natural curl. The right cut will take care of that…and do wonders.”

Honey made a face. Everyone always wanted to do something with the heavy stuff. “I don’t know.”

Her new friend pulled her ponytail holder out of her own hair. “In the meantime…” She held it out and used her other hand to dig into her pocket. “I’ve even got pins for your bangs.”

“I must look scary.”

“You’re going to look amazing.” Dayna grinned. “Which means you’ll definitely get a chance to see the monkeys.”

Honey could only laugh and use the band and pins to tame her suddenly exploding haystack of hair. Then their path took a turn and opened into a clearing. Her breath whooshed out as she gazed at the beauty spread before them.

It was Paradise. Eden.

Ahead, rose a wall of rock. Over its top, water fell in a delicate curtain as lovely as a bridal veil. It splashed into a clear, deep pool.

Honey swallowed, then glanced at Dayna. “Wow.”

“Wow,” her new friend agreed. “That could be seeing the monkeys all in itself, you know?”

She did. The spectacular view seemed like a celebration of nature. Of life. That sense of renewal infused her again, and she straightened, feeling stronger, buoyant, more confident than ever before.

Movement in Honey’s peripheral vision caught her eye. Walsh had just come around the bend and he stood, too, his gaze fixed on the exotic beauty in front of them.

The skin of his naked torso gleamed with sweat. He’d rolled his T-shirt into a band that he’d tied around his head. A savage, primitive look and not like Walsh-of-the-boardroom at all.

Right now he didn’t appear anything like her no-nonsense boss. Honey’s heart began thumping wildly against her ribs, and she didn’t look away when he turned his head and caught her staring. The old Honey would have blushed and hurried off.

This new Honey continued to appreciate the sight of this new man.

It almost felt as if they were strangers seeing each other for the very first time.

Walsh collected several bottles of cold water from the cooler and carried them to one of the woven Mexican blankets that had been spread in the shade of the leafy tropical trees surrounding the clearing and pond. Boxed lunches were stacked in the middle of the striped fabric and he joined Honey, Dayna, and York Featherstone there. A second opportunity to make contact with the other CEO should gratify him, Walsh thought. Keep him focused.

Instead, he felt strangely distracted. So many diversions―the soft air, the lush greenery, the showery sound of the waterfall. It seemed to fog his brain. Then there was Honey, her hair pulled up and away, her bangs pinned back, displaying every engrossing line and hollow of her lovely face. The instant he’d seen her like that, he’d been unable to look away.

In bright clothes and with those bare limbs she appeared a world apart from his quiet and capable assistant.

Now their entire California existence seemed a world away.

Dayna passed out the boxes as the four settled onto the blanket. Walsh took a spot that put York on his left and Honey on his right.

As they began to eat, they only broke the quiet for compliments about the food. The boxes included sandwiches of sliced chicken, avocado, and tomato, as well as cups of cut-up fruit chunks, including a half-lime to squeeze over them for added zing. There were thick brownies as well, the chocolate spiced with a kick of cinnamon.

With her lunch finished, Dayna tossed down her napkin and dropped to her back with a satisfied groan and stretched out her legs.

“Taking a nap?” Honey asked.

“Yep. I have to store up energy for the walk back, not to mention our time in the spa later this afternoon.”

Honey’s hand went to her hair. “It doesn’t have to be today.”

“Of course it does,” Dayna’s eyes peeled open, and she sent Honey a significant look. “There’s a fancy cocktail party tonight. You’ll want to look your best.”

Walsh’s brows rose, and he glanced over at Honey.

“I hope they’ll have delivered my suitcase by then,” she muttered.

“No worries,” Dayna said, closing her eyes again. “I’ve an extra fancy dress or two.”

“Or go to the boutique,” Walsh suggested. “Charge what you want to the room.”

“Perfect,” Dayna answered for her. “See? All bases covered.”

Honey fingered one of the straps that emerged from beneath her top to tie around her neck. “I didn’t thank you for the things you already sent over,” she said to Walsh.

“You’re welcome.” Though what the hell had he been thinking? Not only all that underwear, but he’d picked out swimsuits for her too.
Bikinis.
Unfortunately, there hadn’t been a selection of flesh-covering one pieces to look through. Those racks held scanty or nothing.

Because of that blue strap around her neck, he knew beneath her tank and shorts had to be the two-piece that was the most modest he could find…and even then, the word started with the tiniest
m
. The bottoms were tiny, too, a stretch of fabric that tied at the hips. The top consisted of two twisted bands of fabric that he hoped would adequately cover her breasts.

Now that he knew their shape and firmness first hand…

Gah! What was he doing? He was supposed to be making a connection with York instead of daydreaming about his admin’s upper anatomy.

When had he turned into his own worst enemy?

Resolute, he shifted to give Honey one of his shoulders and York his full attention. “Did you enjoy the hike?” he asked the other man.

“I did.” He sipped from his water bottle. “I saw you were partnered with Fred Wiggins. I was glad to see him moving about so ably after that heart attack.”

“Fred and I go way back. He actually gave me my first job.”

“Did he?” York seemed interested by that.

“Yes, I was on his R&D team for about eighteen months before I decided to strike out on my own.”

“With your tactical pen that has simultaneous encryption.”

“You’re aware of that?”

“Of course. The military’s still buying it, right? The user jots a message on any surface― paper, his hand―and it’s stored encrypted in the pen’s memory. The user destroys the original and then sends off the coded version via satellite.”

“It’s proven useful in combat. We have something similar with a mini-keyboard, but a lot of the older officers aren’t as good with that device.”

York lifted his fingers, wiggled them. “My generation isn’t as dexterous as you youngsters.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” And not for an instant did he think York considered himself aging. Take the way he’d been entertaining Honey on the hike. The other man had been widowed for five years, and it wouldn’t be a huge surprise to imagine him in the market for another—younger—wife.

The thought had Walsh glancing around. Honey was gathering up their discarded boxes and balled napkins. He frowned at her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I thought I’d go for a walk.” Her gaze lifted to the waterfall.

Now he could see that people were picking their way to the top of the wall.

As he watched, a man stripped off his shirt and yelled like Tarzan before leaping off the edge and landing in the pond with a forceful splash. Another followed behind.

Looking more closely, Walsh realized that other hikers had found their way to the site. These weren’t people from the consortium group, but a rowdier crowd who were now peeling off one by one to fling themselves over the side then splash about in the pond.

“I don’t know…” Walsh began, uneasy.

For the most part, the jumpers were young and male.

Honey made a face. “You don’t know if I can walk?”

“I mean, maybe I should accompany you—”

“Don’t leave yet, Walsh,” York put in. “I’m enjoying our conversation.”

Which meant, of course, he had to let Honey go on without him. The purpose of this trip was making these business connections, after all, not tying himself to his admin.

Still he watched, distracted once more, as she meandered toward the path that led up to the top of the waterfall.

York cleared his throat. “Tell me what it’s like to come from such a famous father.”

“What?” Walsh glanced at the man. “Oh.”

“Is it an uncomfortable subject?”

He supposed he could say so and hope to avoid the topic altogether, but he knew he’d have a better shot at making an alliance with the other man if he came clean about the Velvet Lemons and that life. York had reason to ask beyond curiosity, Walsh knew. His upbringing had informed him as a man…and as a businessman. If in York’s place he’d be seeking the very same answers.

“It’s not uncomfortable,” he said now. “But you’re probably aware, through the news and tabloid accounts, of what went on at the compound where I grew up. Our fathers…”

“Are brilliant and talented songwriters and performers.”

He couldn’t deny that. “But not interested in much else besides doing what feels good in the moment.”

“So you became the opposite?” York asked. “You use logic and reason instead of relying on emotion and passion?”

“That pretty much nails it.” Walsh nodded. “My brothers and I—all the children of the Velvet Lemons, actually—left the compound as soon as we could and went about building our own lives in our own ways.”

“You can’t totally turn your back on it, I suppose.”

“No,” Walsh admitted. “Growing up with the Lemons has had its long-lasting effects on me, what I do, and how I deal with other people. I’m determined not to be like my father.”

“For example?”

“I’m honest. Forthright, even when it’s not diplomatic.”

York smiled a little. “I’ve heard that from some of our mutual friends at the Pentagon.”

“And I’m extremely focused. I’ll stay at a problem until—”

A female-sounding shriek jerked his attention from the other man. He looked up to see some of the newcomers were throwing their companions off the waterfall. It looked like all good fun, but you never knew…

And Honey was on her way there.

“Excuse me,” Walsh said, jumping to his feet. All thoughts of work and business alliances fled from his mind. Skirting blankets and sunbathers, he ran toward the path where he’d last seen Honey.

He found her near the top, perched on a boulder, one leg propped on the other knee as she frowned down at her bare foot. Her athletic sandal lay discarded nearby.

Equal parts relief and concern jolted through him. “Are you all right?”

She glanced up. The sun had colored her face a slight pink, and her eyes stood out like big blue jewels. “It’s nothing.”

“Nothing…what?”

“A rock, a thorn. I don’t know.”

He crouched in front of her. “Let me see,” he said, reaching for her bare foot.

She lurched back and covered it with protective hands.

Frowning, he sat back on his heels. “It’s that bad? I’ll be gentle.”

“I…” Hesitating, her mouth pursed. Then her shoulders slumped. “Fine, then. I can’t really see it myself.” Her hands retreated to her lap, and she lifted her foot toward him.

It was small and delicate like the rest of her. He cupped it in one hand. “What’s exactly the matter?”

“It hurts. Near the middle.”

“Tell me where it’s tender.” Slowly, he dragged the pad of his thumb along her arch. She shivered.

He glanced up with new concern. “Are you cold? That might mean sun-poisoning, too.”

“I’m not cold,” she said, sounding peeved. “I’m ticklish.”

“Ah.” He continued his inspection, and she twitched when he discovered a small barb of plant material embedded in her skin. “Thorn. Hold still.”

“I hate this part,” she muttered.

Walsh wanted to laugh. “Who knew you’d be such a whiny patient?”

“I don’t like your hands on me,” she muttered.

He looked up, and their eyes met.

She’d liked his hands on her in the plane. She’d liked that very much. And he remembered the way she’d looked at him when he’d arrived at the pond. She’d liked what she’d seen then as well.

Her pretty mouth turned down in a scowl as if she could hear what he was thinking. “Just get on with it,” she said.

“Whiny,” he repeated, hoping her annoyance with him would override the small pain he was about to cause.

As he pinched her skin, pressing out the spike, she made a muffled sound.

“Done,” he declared, looking up again to see there were tears in her eyes.

“I’m fine.” Clearly embarrassed, she brushed at them with the back of her hand.

“I’m sorry it hurt.” Then, thinking to make her laugh, he bent his head to touch the tiny wound with his lips.

“Don’t,” she said quickly. “Don’t kiss me again.”

Walsh went still.
Fuck.
This wasn’t good. She remained skittish—meaning their brief post-kiss conversation was a fail when it came to settling things between them. Their long, shared exchange of glances earlier hadn’t helped, either.