Break On Through Page 8

  “Cilla’s looking over a design of my mother’s and should be finished in a few minutes.” She drew him over to some feminine chairs set around a glass-topped table that held a plate of cookies and a selection of bridal magazines. “Sit down. Alexa will be along shortly too. She’s with a client right now.”

  “Sure,” Reed said, gingerly taking a seat on the striped satin cushion. “And you go on and do what’s needed. I can entertain myself until they’re free.”

  “Such a good boy,” she said, beaming. Then she patted his cheek and went on her way.

  Leaning back in the chair, he stretched out his legs and tried not to feel completely out of place. Consider it a research trip of sorts, he told himself. Though when Jesse and the rest of the regulars from his books would have occasion to visit such a boutique, even Reed couldn’t imagine.

  A little girl wandered into the room, a doll’s bare ankles in one fist, its long blond hair trailing on the carpet. She stopped short when she saw Reed, and she blinked at him, her lashes almost as long as his pinkie finger. Her dark curls and golden complexion caused him to assume she was one of the Alessio cousins. As a matter of fact, he thought he recognized her from a recent barbecue in Patricia and her husband Art’s back yard.

  As she continued to stare at him, he shifted restlessly in his seat. Was it that weird to see a man in the environs?

  Then she moved again, this time coming straight for Reed. Without a word, she handed him the doll.

  He looked at it. The plastic features were dirty and she was wearing a shift made of a scrap of fabric that had been inexpertly stitched…perhaps by the child herself. Was it safe for someone so small to hold a needle? She couldn’t be more than three, he decided.

  The little girl wandered away and he continued to hold the toy. What else was he supposed to do? He tried setting her on the table, but its legs awkwardly splayed and since the Barbie or whatever she was didn’t have any underwear beneath that dress, he snatched it up again. Perched on his knee, he was able to keep her modestly covered.

  The kid came back with a basket of odds and ends in her arms, items, he figured, left over from the dressmaking trade and kept around for this child—and maybe others—to play with. Pieces of ribbon and lace and short lengths of fabric were jumbled there, along with some tattered silk flowers.

  The kid placed the container on the table and when she rummaged through and grabbed a few items, he figured she was going to embellish the doll’s outfit.

  “Here,” he said, holding out the doll.

  But she ignored the gesture and came closer to drape one of the lengths of fancy fabric around Reed’s neck. He reared back, but she didn’t seem to notice. Instead she kept fussing with the material, her chubby little hands beneath his chin. With her every exhalation, he smelled the candy-sweet scent of her breath.

  Without moving, he swiveled his eyes around, looking for some adult aid.

  What was the girl doing? And why had she targeted him for her ministrations? Now she was tucking some other stuff in the pocket of his dress shirt.

  Considering the two boys who had been in his yard the day before and now this tiny Italian designer working on his person, he wondered what about him had changed…and how. The detached writer usually kept people at a distance. Had unseen radiation or some sort of alien laser beam created a radical mutation of his very cell structure and turned him into a child magnet?

  He would have shuddered at the thought, but that might disturb the designer’s work.

  She was fiddling with his hair now, but since he’d yet to make it to a barber, he figured she couldn’t do anything really bad to the disordered layers.

  “Reed.” Cilla’s voice was full of amusement.

  Rescue! He shot her a beseeching look and made to get to his feet.

  “No, no,” she said. “Don’t stand up. I can see Jolene’s busy with you.”

  When Cilla bent to kiss his cheek, he grabbed her hand. “Help,” he whispered.

  Instead of answering him, she spoke to the little girl. “He looks charming, Jolene. I saw your mama in the kitchen. She has juice for you there.”

  With a nod, the kid turned and took off at a trot.

  Reed expelled a relieved breath. “Thank God,” he said, reaching for the neckwear she’d created.

  Cilla stayed his hand. “Don’t. She’ll be back and be very disappointed that you disturbed her creation.”

  Rolling his eyes, he groaned. “Really?”

  “Really,” said a new voice.

  He glanced up to see Alexa joining them. “Indulge Jo Jo a little, will you? She rarely gets a willing male model and we’re trying to encourage her creative instincts.”

  “Willing is questionable,” he muttered, but decided to comply. Quid pro quo and all that. He had his own request. If they agreed, he was more than willing to look foolish for a short time. It was only Cilla and Alexa, and they were like sisters to him.

  The brunette kissed the cheek the blonde had missed and they both took seats, scooting their chairs nearer his. “What’s up?” Cilla asked.

  He’d thought this part through. There was no need to tell them about his, ahem, interest in Cleo. Nor tell them about the reaction her young sons had at the mention of their father—which bothered the hell out of Reed. No, he’d just explain that her boys had dropped by and were looking for some friendly sorts to hang with on Halloween and that Cleo could use a pal as well. They’d take it at face value.

  Once he got all that out, he glanced at Cilla. “Could you invite her out for coffee or something?” Then he turned to Alexa. “Don’t you have some cousins with kids that might be the right age match in my neighborhood? I think I met them at the barbecue.”

  The two women glanced at each other then grinned at Reed. “Wow, you’re gone on Cleo,” Cilla said.

  “What?” He told himself he didn’t squawk. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is just friendliness.”

  Lex hooted. “Reed Hopkins, suddenly ‘friendly.’” She did that air quote thing with her fingers.

  “Payback,” he said through his teeth. “For sharing her, uh, cupcakes.”

  Cilla wiggled her brows. “Cupcakes,” she said to Alexa, hovering her hands over her breasts and flexing her fingers. The other woman snickered.

  Reed scowled. “You two have dirty minds. Ren and Bing are bad influences.”

  “That’s surely so,” Alexa acknowledged, smiling shamelessly. “So you’re trying to tell us you don’t want her in your bed?”

  It didn’t seem good karma to lie when he had a request on the table. Especially not when he needed their cooperation. Sure, he still had the urge to screw his neighbor, but he took this Halloween promise to Obie seriously too. “C’mon, ladies. Can you help me out here?”

  “Well…” Cilla tapped her forefinger on her bottom lip. “We actually have something fun in the works for the little Alessios at the compound. All the younger kids are coming over for a treasure hunt on Saturday.”

  “One of my teen cousins is in charge,” Alexa explained. “It’s a school project for her Psychology class—on teamwork, I believe. Cleo’s boys could join in and meet some potential friends.”

  Relief poured through him. “That sounds great. Do you think she’ll agree?” If she did, then he could wash his hands of the Halloween problem and his worry over her boys. With that solved, he had hopes his next retreat to his writing cave would be more successful than the last several. “She’s got to agree,” he murmured.

  “Let’s find out,” Cilla said, then looked over his head. “Hey, Cleo, do you and your sons want to come to the canyon on Saturday? We’re hosting a treasure hunt for kids.”

  Reed whipped his head around, then came to his feet as his gaze landed on Cleo Anderson.

  “We already invited her to coffee,” Cilla said, sotto voce. “Today.”

  His gaze didn’t leave Cleo, her hair as bright as the sun, a casual turquoise dress swinging at her knees to show off
tanned legs. Sandals with turquoise beads wrapped her ankles.

  He’d never seen her in a dress, which was probably why he was staring.

  She was staring too. Odd that, until he happened to catch his reflection in a nearby mirror. A length of apple green lace was twisted around his neck, another bit of red fabric was tucked in its folds. His pocket brimmed with two silky bits of pink and blue material.

  There was a tired-looking flower tucked behind his ear. And in his hand, was the scruffy Barbie, who, in her barely-there shift appeared—well, it had to be said—slatternly.

  “I should be able to explain this,” Reed said. “But I don’t know where to start.”

  Her lips twitched, then she laughed, and God, he liked the sound of it. Yeah, he wanted her in his bed. But first, there was that promise he’d made to her boys. The one he’d just successfully pawned off, thank God. His Saturday, he decided, would be a successful, solitary writing day.

  “So,” he said to Cleo. “You up for that treasure hunt?”

  “Sure,” she answered. “As long as you’ll be there.”

  Chapter Six

  The day was beautiful for a treasure hunt or anything else a person might have in mind. Cleo was on a kind of hunt herself. At first she’d agreed to the invitation to the Laurel Canyon compound because her boys needed more opportunities to make friends and because Reed had looked so unthreatening draped in dressmaker’s castoffs. Afterward, though, she’d hit upon the idea of using the afternoon to figure out Reed—and just how serious he might be.

  You don’t think I want to go to bed with you?

  She wasn’t sure. And she really didn’t know how serious a mistake it might be for her to consent if that was, indeed, his desire.

  “You guys know to use your very best manners today, right?” she asked, glancing at her sons in the rear view mirror. She’d opted to drive herself and the boys, making some excuse about errands when Reed offered to take them. Her hybrid might be a little worn around the edges and there was a grape juice stain on the carpet that would never come out, but it was reliable.

  And given the circumstances, she liked being under her own steam. At the first sign of danger, she could grab up Obie and Eli and be on her way.

  Neither one of them had made a response to her manners remark. At the next stoplight, she took another look at them. “You know what a treasure hunt is?”

  “Like pirates,” Eli said. “Aarrr.”

  She grinned at him. “That’s right. Aarrr.”

  “I’m not going to be a pirate for Halloween,” Obie piped up. “I’m thinking of a zebra.”

  He’d been considering lots of options in the last few days. “Um, okay. But we’ll have to decide in time for me to get a costume together for you.”

  It wasn’t long before they were turning onto Laurel Canyon Boulevard, which she knew to be—thanks to scouting on the internet—a main thoroughfare between West Hollywood and the San Fernando Valley, crossing the equally iconic Mulholland Drive. Side streets jutting off the long road snaked into the hills, providing secluded spaces of a decidedly rural nature just minutes from the urban streets of L.A.

  It was woody and green and immediately she caught onto the hippie vibe when she was stopped behind cars waiting to turn into the parking lot of the Canyon Country Store. The sign labeling the place was multi-colored and psychedelic-styled and Cleo peered at the doorway with interest. Would a boy-sized Reed Hopkins have ventured there for sodas and candy?

  Later, maybe he’d have dropped in to buy…

  Her attention snagged on a young couple just visible around the side of the building. The female half of the pair was leaning against the wall. Her partner was pressed close to her, one forearm braced on the wall above her head, the other doing something between their bodies. Heat washed up Cleo’s face as she watched him bury his mouth against the young woman’s throat. Her eyes closed and one of her legs wrapped around the back of the young man’s.

  Squirming on her seat, Cleo licked her lips, unable to look away from the show.

  Then a horn behind her blasted and she twitched, yanking her gaze from the lustful couple. Minutes later, she was still hot and the cotton of her dress felt scratchy against her skin as she pulled in front of the gates that led into the Velvet Lemons compound. Anticipation fluttered in her stomach as they began to open and she chalked it up to her first glimpse of the home of the famous band…not because she was going to see Reed again.

  She did, in fact, gape as she braked beside some other cars on a gravel lot. The surroundings were like a combination of a theme park and a vacation resort, she thought, exiting her car and then moving to help out the boys. A small cottage was situated nearby, but beyond it she could see paths winding through tall eucalyptus and flowering shrubs. There was a huge pool and pool house, a tennis court, an orchard that crawled up a steep hillside, and three distinct homes. Mansions.

  One looked like something out of a Western, complete with steer skull on the massive front door. Another was a castle, and included a tower worthy of a fairy tale. The last was a glass-walled modern structure, which looked as if it had been plucked from the future and incongruously set down amidst emerald grass and matching sycamore trees.

  Just then, the cottage’s side door swung open to reveal Cilla. “This is treasure hunt HQ,” she said, waving Cleo toward her. “Welcome.”

  She was glad to move into the smaller home instead of one of the bigger places. Ushering Eli and Obie forward, she matched Cilla’s smile. “This is charming,” she said, entering a spacious, sunny kitchen. Teens sat at the table with lists all around them, deep in conversation.

  “It belonged to Gwen, who was the closest thing to a steady mother figure we Lemon kids had,” she explained. “We lost her to cancer last spring.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Cleo said.

  “It brought Ren back to L.A.,” she said. “Gwen would have loved our happy ending.”

  “What’s that?” A big man with long dark hair and distinctive green eyes strolled into the kitchen. “Did I hear my name?”

  “I was telling Cleo that Gwen would be thrilled we’re together.” Cilla beamed up at him. He visibly softened at the smile, his eyes tender as he gazed on her face.

  “I’m thrilled we’re together,” he said, stooping to brush a kiss against her temple. Then he straightened, holding his hand out to Cleo. “Ren. Cilla’s fiancé.”

  His grip was firm and friendly. “I’m Cleo. Cleo Anderson.” She indicated her sons, who were sticking close to her side. “This is Eli and Obie.”

  He nodded at them. “Eli. Obie.” Then he glanced back at his bride-to-be. “Shall I find Reed?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Cleo said quickly, embarrassed that they’d apparently been paired off by the couple. “I’m fine on my own.”

  “Okay,” Cilla said. “Why don’t you take the boys outside then? A bunch of kids are fooling around in the front until we’re ready to get the show on the road. Go through the house and out the other door.” She pointed.

  Following directions, Cleo moved through the kitchen, then glanced back to say a quick “thanks,” only to see that Ren had taken Cilla into his arms and his mouth was fastened on hers. The kiss wasn’t particularly lascivious, but there was something so very intimate about it, maybe because she could see that their hands were entwined and the tattoos on their wrists matched up to form a heart.

  Her own beat just a little bit harder and her face flamed when Ren’s lips moved to Cilla’s neck. Cleo suddenly needed a breeze, ice, better yet, a snowstorm, something to cool the odd heat in her blood.

  Ordering her eyes forward, she herded the boys to the front door. Outside, they immediately joined some children about their ages kicking around a soccer ball. She took in a deep breath, more than a bit embarrassed how the second kiss of the day she’d inadvertently witnessed was affecting her. Stripping off the cardigan she wore over her simple shift dress, she was grateful it was sleevele
ss, though even the air moving over her bare arms felt too much like a caress.

  What was wrong with her?

  Not only was she seeing kisses everywhere, but glimpsing male-female contact seemed to super-sensitize her own body. Blood had rushed to the surface of her skin, making her hot and hyper-aware of her mouth, her breasts, the aching spot between her legs. Reed was to blame, she decided.

  It was as if her first kiss in ages had primed her for sexual thoughts and feelings that she’d long suppressed or always ignored or never had at all.

  Turning her mind from that disturbing notion, she made a deliberate study of her environs. The lush landscaping and the over-the-top architecture of the homes were awe-inducing. And suddenly so real. This was the compound of the Velvet Lemons, one of the most famous rock ’n’ roll bands in the world. If not the most famous, considering they were still performing together.

  When they weren’t on the road, they lived here, had lived here for years.

  Who had been in that pool and adjacent hot tub?

  What kind of players had held tennis tournaments on that court?

  How many people had seen the insides of all those mansion bedrooms?

  The idea that nine children had been raised at the compound by three fathers known for their outrageous, hedonistic lifestyles was suddenly real to her too.

  Along with that came a brand new concern. Reed Hopkins was completely out of her league, wasn’t he? Things he’d seen—and likely done—were totally beyond her experience. A man who grew up here had met the famous and infamous. The women he’d known were certainly far more accomplished and adventurous in the sexual realm in ways that she could only begin to imagine. Her own long-unused skills wouldn’t satisfy him, and surely he realized that as well.

  Yes, completely out of her league.

  His question—You don’t think I want to go to bed with you?—had so derailed her that she’d not considered the obvious. He’d been merely teasing, she thought now. Toying with her for his temporary amusement. She was the unsophisticated bumpkin on the other side of the fence. He was a highly experienced, highly sexualized member of the Rock Royalty. He’d probably laughed himself silly at her stutters and blushes.