JAXON (The Caine Brothers Book 4) (4 page)

He stuck his head into a theater—impressive for a private residence—and stumbled on the music room next door. Standing in the doorway, he considered stepping inside. The room had a piano at its center, a harp—of all things—a guitar case in the corner, a stereo setup, shelves full of albums, sheet music, tapes, and CDs—he didn’t know people still collected those things—a couch and some chairs, and the ever-present neutral palette. He’d brought his guitar on retreat just in case he got inspired, but right now this room spooked him. His muse still hadn’t shown his ugly face.

He left the music room behind, haunted by it, to continue his search. After doubling back through the gallery and dining room, he finally found the kitchen, and Lily.

He watched her for just a moment before she noticed him. She hummed something under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch, and she’d changed into a pale yellow dress with some kind of floral print on it. The neckline gathered too low over her breasts and tied in a dainty bow that he immediately wanted to untie with his teeth. The hem of the dress rode too high on her thighs for his comfort. She didn’t have the pale skin of a redhead. Instead—probably because she spent a lot of time outside in the garden—she had a light tan that made her skin glow.

Fuck. Why did she have to be adorable?

He stepped into the kitchen. “Hi.”

She started, putting a hand to her heart. “You snuck up on me.”

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to. What’s for dinner? It smells amazing.”

“First of all, I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon, and I want to apologize again about the pepper-spray. I feel horrible.”

He waved her off. “I understand. You didn’t know I’d be here. No woman wants to come home to find some strange guy lurking in her house. You did the right thing, even though it hurt like hell.”

The skin of his face and his eyes were still tender, but had mostly returned to normal. He hoped to never encounter pepper spray again. Once in a lifetime was plenty.

“Hopefully dinner will start to make up for it,” Lily said. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I made a skillet of cheese ravioli and veggies sautéed in herb butter, and some crusty French bread to go with it.”

He sidled up beside her at the stove while she pulled the lid off the simmering meal. His stomach growled at the sight and smell of it. “Oh my god, that looks perfect. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything that wasn’t restaurant food or out of a sealed container.”

Her pleased expression warmed his insides.

“You want something to drink?” She asked. “I have red wine, beer, soda, juice, water, iced tea.”

“Beer’s good.”

“It’s in the fridge.”

He grabbed a beer, popped the top, and took a long drag, then leaned back against the counter. “So why do you have such a huge garden?” he asked. “You can’t possibly eat that much.”

“Of course not. I freeze and preserve what I’ll need for the off-season, but I donate most of it to food pantries, homeless shelters, or farmer’s markets. Summer uses only fresh, locally-sourced ingredients so I give her a lot of what I grow.”

“Seems like a lot of work to give stuff away.”

She shrugged, dismissing the idea. “My uncle pays me to take care of this place, so I don’t need any more money. I like to help other people. And food’s an important issue to me.”

“Why?”

She turned the skillet down to low, stirred it one more time, then replaced the lid. “Because it’s the most basic part of survival. Before you can be a rock star or mechanic or doctor or anything else, you have to be able to survive, and that includes feeding yourself.” She looked him in the eye. “You and I have always taken for granted there will be food on the table, regardless of where it came from or how much it cost. Some people don’t have that luxury.”

“True.” She was right. It had never even occurred to him. As long as he had something to eat, he didn’t think about it.

“Have you ever wondered where the food on your plate or fridge or cupboards came from?”

“No.”

She went to the fridge and poured herself a glass of wine. “Most people don’t.”

“Why would they? It’s just food.” On some level he knew that wasn’t really true, and when he thought about it, it seemed weird not to have any idea. Food just came from a store or restaurant. Before that, he figured it started on a farm or ranch somewhere. Beyond that, he didn’t even consider it.

Lily used her free hand to gesture as she spoke, and her face came alive with expression, her passion coming through loud and clear. “A lot of people don’t even cook for themselves anymore. We aren’t connected to our food like we used to be when people grew their own.”

“Why is that so important?”

“Having a stake in what you eat and where it comes from makes people more aware of waste, and more responsible stewards. The disconnect between Americans and their food is because they don’t know anything about it.” She opened a cupboard and pulled out a couple of plates.

She glowed with conviction, her cheeks rosy with it. It had been forever since he’d encountered anyone with that kind of selfless commitment. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time.

“You’re very…” he paused, searching for the right word.

“Devoted to my cause?”

“Well, yes. But I was going to say enthusiastic.”

The delicate freckles that sprinkled her cheeks and the bridge of her nose stood out against her blush and left him breathless.

“I am. Food activism is what I do. It’s who I am. I figure someone has to do something to fix the problems of the world. I can’t fix everything, but I can do this in my little corner of it.”

“You’ll have to show me.”

A shy smile curled her lips, and she folded her arms over her chest which pushed her pert little breasts up so they swelled above the neckline of her dress, creating the most delicious cleavage. He had no idea what was wrong with him that this intelligent, capable woman had shared her life’s work with him and he could only think about burying his face in her chest. He really did need to get a grip.

“I’d be happy to,” she said, looking up at him from under her copper lashes. Had she just flirted with him? Played a double entendre with his ‘you’ll have to show me’ words?

It didn’t matter because, he reminded himself with a mental finger-wagging, he’d taken a break from women, to get his head together and maybe lure his jealous muse back.

Lily had collected the plates and moved to the stove to dish up dinner. “Is anything important to you?” She handed him a plate full of food.

“What?” he asked.

“You say I’m enthusiastic, but it’s because food issues are important to me. Is there anything that’s important to you?”

The fact that his muse had abandoned him and he couldn’t write songs for another album seemed kind of trivial compared to people not being able to eat every day. Sure, he cared in a general sense about a lot of the same issues most Americans did, but he didn’t have a pet issue that he actually did anything about. He’d just kind of drifted through life on music.

“Music,” he said. “Music is important to me.”

He’d spent his entire life skating by on first his dad’s money, then his own talent. Nobody had been more surprised than Jaxon when after years of goofing off as a child it turned out he could sing, and he took to instruments and music like the proverbial fish to water. As a teenager he’d been way too cocky to discover he could immerse himself in music and make it his life. That it brought with it money, fame, women, and stuff, only made it better.

Until his muse had taken off without so much as a fuck you.

Lily lifted a skeptical brow as she handed him a fork and headed for a table by the window. “What about it?”

“Music is my life,” he said.

***

Lily had chosen her dress because it was cool and comfortable. At least that’s what she told herself. The fact that it showed off her breasts and thighs may have been a not-so-subconscious nod to Summer’s suggestion of a fling.

But as she sat down with Jaxon for dinner, she felt exposed. And ridiculous. She didn’t do this kind of thing. She didn’t throw herself at men whose sexual presence overshadowed everything else about them. Those men terrified her.

Yet she sat across the table from one, watching him eat her ravioli and make extraordinarily sensual sounds of appreciation.

“Oh my God, Lily, this is amazing,” he said. His groan reminded her of what she imagined good sex sounded like.

She couldn’t say she recognized the sound since she was pretty sure she hadn’t experienced good sex. She’d had sex, but of the mediocre and disappointing variety. If she hadn’t read romance novels and listened to Summer go on and on about mind-blowing orgasms, Lily would have assumed sex to be a perfunctory act that women tolerated in order to…what? Now that she thought about it, what was the point of a relationship with a man if it wasn’t an equal partnership in every way, including satisfying sex? They didn’t live in medieval Europe where women were traded from father to husband like property; where women found their only economic security under the roof of one man or another in exchange for keeping his house, warming his bed, and bearing his spawn. She didn’t need a man to survive in life, so what did she want from one?

“Glad you like it,” she said.

Watching Jaxon inhale her raviolis, she appreciated his looks. Usually looks weren’t important to her. Okay, she did want desperately to run her hands through Jaxon’s wavy hair and stare into the mesmerizing depths of his blue eyes. She had difficulty not staring at his square jaw and pretty face. Glancing at his hands—strong, nimble, and wearing an assortment of leather and braided bracelets at his wrists—she acknowledged the clenching of her female parts at the thought of those hands on her—holding her hips as he plunged into her. But she still wanted all the same things she’d always wanted from a relationship—a smart, kind man with a conscience. Someone who would treat her as an equal partner.
And
gave her breathtaking orgasms. Was that so much to ask?

Given her experience so far, apparently the answer was yes.

So why not have a little fun like Summer said? Why not take a break from the same men she’d always gone for and try something completely different? Jaxon wouldn’t be looking for anything long term, so there would be no strings attached. Just some really good sex. Which she deserved, right?

The logic made sense sitting across from a man who oozed pheromones like a summer sprinkler. Or maybe it was just her. Maybe she’d just finally become so horny she projected it on the first attractive male she came across.

Either way, if she didn’t act now, while she had a modicum of courage and a lot of raging libido, she never would.

It was now or never.

She cut a ravioli in half, stabbed it and a chunk of zucchini with her fork, and rubbed it around in the sauce on her plate. “So, what’s it like to be a rock star?” she asked.

He glanced up at her, a moment of wariness in his eyes before he covered it with nonchalance. He shrugged. “You know. About what you’d expect.”

“I think most people expect it to be a pretty good life.”

“It is.”

“And yet when I asked, you shut down.”

He frowned, his fork halfway between the plate and his mouth. “I didn’t shut down.”

“Oh, please. You totally brushed me off. You said music’s your life, but when I asked you about it, you pushed me away.”

He used the fork to gesture as he talked. “True. I did say music is my life. But you asked me about being a rock star, not about music. There’s a huge difference.”

“Okay, you’re right. So tell me about the music.”

She sipped wine while she watched emotions war on his face. At first, the mention of music seemed to make him happy. A peaceful bliss flit across his features, followed quickly by tension and fear before he clamped it all down.

“I’ve been writing and singing and playing since I was a kid. I can’t remember ever wanting to do anything else. Music sustains my soul. It’s what keeps me alive, makes life worth living. At least it always has been.”

He broke eye contact and looked down at his plate, stabbing a defenseless ravioli with more force than necessary.

Something must have happened that forced him to add the qualifier at the end of his comment.
At least it always had been
. What did that mean? She wanted to ask, but didn’t feel like she knew him well enough, and his attitude certainly didn’t invite deeper conversation.

“How’s that different from being a rock star?”

He looked up at her again and the change to his expression was breathtaking. Suddenly, a charming, charismatic, provocative celebrity sat across from her, a sexy glint in his eyes, and a delicious grin on his face—showcasing those irresistible dimples.

“Being a rock star is pretty fucking amazing. People pay money to pack an auditorium to watch you get on stage and sing and dance. It’s the most euphoric experience ever.”

She lifted an eyebrow. She could just imagine how much it stroked his ego. “Mm-hmm.”

He considered her for a moment, those blue eyes piercing her composure. “You know that feeling you get when you help people?”

She blinked, taken aback. “Yes. But what I do is…” How could she say what she did was more relevant and had more impact and meaning without sounding like a pretentious asshole?

“More important?”

“Well, I don’t know.”

He snorted. “Okay, helping to ensure people eat is very important, yes. But what would a world without music be like? Music connects people, it feeds the soul, it breeds creativity and intellectual curiosity. If nothing else, it gives people a break from the stress of their lives—even if that stress is trying to figure out where their next meal is coming from. It renews our strength and determination. All the perks of being a rock star are just extras—fun extras, but still extras. But I’d still make music, even if I wasn’t a rock star.”

He held her gaze for a moment, that bit of honesty floating between them. She had to admit, he’d impressed her with his conviction. She’d assumed him to be nothing more than a shallow celebrity. Discovering he had some depth made it both terrifying and exciting to try to seduce him. Terrifying, because some lightweight celeb wouldn’t be tempting in any way other than physically. It was easy to keep things impersonal if she thought of him as a pretty boytoy she could use for an orgasm or two and then leave behind. Discovering he had a heart and things that were important to him, it became difficult to see him in that light. It also made him a lot more tempting because although she really wanted some good old-fashioned sex, she also couldn’t resist a man with depth.