Touch Me (3 page)

Chapter Two

When the doorbell rang the next morning, Payne gave a little jolt. Of surprise, damn it, not anticipation. The day before he’d run off Rose Dailey for good, right? Certainly she wasn’t coming back.

Still, he walked slowly toward the front entry. The truth was, after the laparotomy—which had left a long, mid-torso scar—that had been used to repair his lacerated liver and his other injuries, he wasn’t yet completely back to his normal ease of movement.

At the door, he checked the reed glass sidelights, but could see nothing. So he took a quick breath and checked the peephole.

It was relief that coursed through him when he took in Walsh Hopkins, another progeny of a Velvet Lemons band member, looking slick, elegant even, in a dark suit. He’d grown up in the same Laurel Canyon compound as Payne.

“Come in,” he said, swinging the door wide.

Walsh stepped over, looking unflappable and in control. As a kid he’d been a mad scientist type, always engrossed in his chemistry or electricity set, and he’d turned that interest into inventing high-tech weaponry so hush-hush that you needed a security clearance to know the name of his company. It caused him to travel far and wide, nearly always accompanied by his trusty admin who Payne wasn’t surprised to find at his heels today.

“Hello, Honey,” he said, greeting the young woman.

She ducked her head, which only gave him a second to appreciate her quick smile. Honey Brooks wore sensible pumps and an ugly gray skirt with a matching boxy jacket. Her thick straight hair, the same color as her name, hung around her face, an effective veil. To camouflage her even further, as long as he’d known her she’d worn glasses with oversized, tortoise-shell frames that magnified her blue eyes in a vaguely fish-ish fashion.

Honey went out of her way to avoid anyone taking a second look at her. Her boss, Walsh, treated her more as a second brain than an actual person, let alone a woman.

Payne wondered if either one of them realized Honey was head-over-heels in love with the man who signed her paychecks.

He directed them into the family room with its glass panels that opened onto a terrace overlooking the pool. Walsh sprawled on a couch while Honey took a chair slightly behind him and to his right. They both seemed to assess Payne as he took his own seat.

“You’re moving better,” Walsh said, then glanced around. “Honey—”

“Already texting the others,” she said, her thumbs moving briskly over her cell phone.

Payne groaned. “So this isn’t a social call?”

“What’s not social about checking on your physical condition?” Walsh asked, smiling with his usual good humor. If Payne had to say, he’d list the other man as the second most well-adjusted of the Velvet Lemons kids, right after him.

Which, come to think of it, wasn’t saying that much. Walsh likely had his own demons. The two of them were just better at hiding them away than the rest.

“Who put you up to it? Ren? Reed?” The nine collective children of the Velvet Lemons consisted of the children of guitarist “Mad Dog” Maddox—Bing, Brody, and Cilla—those sired by bassist “String Bean” Colson—Renford, Payne, and Campbell—and drummer Hop Hopkins’s kids, who were Beck, Walsh, and Reed. As soon as each came of age, the kids had escaped the bizarre world of the compound and went on to mostly separate lives. But then, a year before, Ren had made a visit from his home base in London and found love in the youngest princess of the Rock Royalty clan, Cilla.

That soft-hearted woman had decided her mission was to make a tribe out of them, and between her steely determination and Ren’s insistence on fulfilling her every wish, they were actually becoming that very thing.

Family.

Payne shook his head. “Why am I asking? This has Cilla’s fingerprints all over it.”

“I think it has to do with you resisting the offer of personal assistance sent over yesterday.”

The offer of personal assistance. Rose. He tried to banish the image of her that popped into his head. Her sweet body, far-seeing gray eyes, the lush mouth. “I don’t want Rose.”

Which was kind of a lie. For sure he’d wanted Rose when he was eighteen years old.

Walsh grinned at him now. “You keep telling yourself that, buddy.”

Honey pushed her heavy glasses up her small nose. “We have another purpose for the visit as well.”

Payne shot her a warm look, glad to switch subjects. “Have I told you I love you, Honey?”

Her face colored. “Um, no.”

“Well, I do,” he said, smiling at her.

As Honey squirmed a little in her chair, Walsh glanced back at his admin, then narrowed his eyes at Payne. “Leave the lady alone.”

“You noticed she’s a lady, huh?” He crossed his arms over his chest, enjoying Walsh’s spit of temper. “And an adorable morsel as well.”

“Hey.” Walsh scowled. “Don’t objectify my employee.”

“I don’t mind,” Honey said, her cheeks going pinker.

Laughing, Payne winked at her. Walsh, still scowling, seemed to have lost his sense of humor. Taking pity on the man, Payne stretched out his legs and redirected the conversation. “So about the other purpose of this visit…”

Honey spoke again. “First, I want to thank you so much for giving the twins the job. If there’s ever anything I can do for you—”

“You’ve thanked him enough,” Walsh ground out.

“It’s no problem,” Payne added. “I need all the help I can get. That yard is a disaster.” He’d owned two successful auto and motorcycle salvage yards for several years, but the one he’d bought right before his racing accident was a disorganized mess. The new manager he’d installed was doing his best, but Honey’s twin, high school-age brother and sister spent a few hours there three afternoons a week, trying to do some general clean-up as well as match actual parts with what was listed in the database that had been maintained—poorly—by the previous owner.

“I took a look at the computer records myself,” Walsh said.

“He spent the entire morning there two days ago.” Honey checked something on her smart phone, probably a text coming in.

Walsh wiggled a thumb in her direction. “Ms. Efficient rearranged my schedule and freed a few hours.”

Payne felt both guilty and grateful. While he’d been lying about, the other man had taken time out of his work day to do Payne a favor. “Thanks. I’m frustrated as hell by the situation—”

“It’s going to need more than your manager and a couple of teenagers to straighten out.”

“Don’t I know it. I’m going to get Cami over there, too. And hell, it’s stupid for me to be dicking around here in the house when I’m needed at the yard. If fucking Ren would just liberate my keys, I can take care of it myself.”

Walsh was shaking his head. “You’re not cleared to drive or do eight-hour stints, boyo.”

Payne shoved his hand through his hair, barely noticing that Honey had stood up, crossed to his front door, and was now opening it. “Yeah, but—”

“That’s where your personal assistant comes in,” Walsh said.

And then she did. Rose Dailey, sweeping across the threshold. “I’m back,” she said.

For the second time in two days, Payne stared at her, shocked by her sudden presence. No, this time he was shocked by what she was wearing too.

I’ve always wanted a French maid.

That’s what she was costumed as, from the toes of her black, ankle-strapped pumps to the froth of white frill pinned to the top of her dark head. In the middle was a short, black…something, with a waist cinched by a white apron. Her breasts plumped over the top of the neckline. Sheer white stockings ended at her thighs and were embellished by blush pink satin bows.

Walsh wolf-whistled.

Payne felt his face heat. “Talk about objectifying,” he said, shooting a look at the other man.

But before he could really get going, Rose made a little curtsey. “Where would you like me to begin, sir?”

“I can’t…I won’t…” He couldn’t seem to form a clear thought as she sashayed closer. Walsh tilted his head as she passed him, his gaze fixed on Rose’s pert ass.

Payne glared at the man, then refocused on the French maid. “You, uh…” His hand waved in a vague gesture.

Nothing he said or did communicated “Get out” or “Go away” like he intended
Shit.

Her mouth turned up in a cheeky grin. “I’ll just start in the bedroom, shall I?” Without waiting for a reply, she exited in the direction of the hallway.

Walsh smiled at him. “She’ll just start in the bedroom.”

“Shut up,” Payne muttered. His thoughts were jumbled in his head, twisted and tangled by lust and a distinct feeling of helplessness. She’d
always
fucked him up, even when she was trailing after him and her sister, wanting to know what they were doing and where they were going. He’d found her amusing in a pesky way, a bit like his little sister, Cami. Then, one night she’d found her way into a Velvet Lemons party and he’d been drinking and she’d looked nothing like someone’s younger sibling…

Muttering a curse, he slid forward on his chair. “You gotta help me out, Walsh.”

“I already did,” the other man answered. “I took a look at those records and realized you’ve need to spend some time at that yard.”

“But—”

“And Ren arranged for someone to help you at home and help you get to work and make sure you don’t overdo—all the while looking smokin’ fine in a hot little number.”

Groaning again, Payne put his head in his hands.

“How would you like me to launder these, sir?”

At Rose’s voice, his head popped up again. In her hands was a set of see-through lingerie, a panty and bra set in bold tangerine. The brat held them against her body, just to torture him by allowing him to imagine her dressed in the little-nothings.

“I don’t know where they came from,” he choked out.

“Or who they came off of,” Walsh added, sotto voce.

Payne closed his eyes, trying again to sort through his thoughts. On the one hand, Rose was a willing and able person who could help him with his household tasks, and, more importantly, act as chauffeur to get him back and forth to work. On the other hand…
Rose
.

“I guess I’ll put them through the hand wash cycle,” she said now.

And for the love of God, hand
wash
sounded like hand
job
, and he could see her small fingers wrapped around his cock, slick with suds, as she jerked him toward heaven. His shaft, half-hard from the moment she’d entered his house in that silly—sexy as hell—outfit went full and ready. Raging.

“What am I going to do?” he implored Walsh.

“Take the path of least resistance,” the other man advised. “Accept you have a new woman in your life.”

Rose, a fabric grocery bag in the curve of her arm, let herself into Payne’s house. The day before, under Walsh’s gaze, Payne had grudgingly handed over a set of house keys. It wasn’t completely clear what had ultimately persuaded him to accept her services, but she knew the French maid costume might have had something to do with it. That she’d shown up wearing it had caught him off-guard.

Go, Rose.

But it was so out-of-character for her that she hadn’t had the guts to try the outfit a second day. She needed to have her own wits about her to handle the man who was walking, talking, smiling sex appeal.

Which was why it had been necessary to leave that uniform at home this time. Wearing it as she’d moved about his house, she’d been hyper-aware of the way the apron strings bound her waist. The tight grip of the stockings on her upper thighs. Even the tiny scratch of the pins that held her cap to her scalp.

She’d been a mass of twitching nerve endings by the time she’d climbed into her car for the drive back to Lily’s.

So today she’d raided her sister’s wardrobe yet again and was dressed in a pair of jeans that had masses of flowers appliqued all over the legs and butt. A simple pink sleeveless top that was Lily’s too. It was loose and had two layers, the second, gauzy one she’d knotted on one side at her hip. Ballet flats, in ballet-pink, were on her feet since they’d been screaming at her after a day in those naughty high heels—though she’d decided the discomfort was worth it after she caught Payne staring at her legs a time or two.

Shutting his front door behind her, she heard voices coming from the direction of the kitchen. She paused, wondering what to do. After a night’s reflection on the best way to proceed with Payne, she’d vowed to leave the saucy maid behind and be businesslike and matter-of-fact—like a true employee.

Wouldn’t a true employee give him privacy with his latest guests?

But she had groceries to put away and perhaps it was only Walsh and his admin, Honey, again.

The tenor of Payne’s low laughter as she crossed the threshold into the sunny room told her instantly this was company of an entirely different sort. Seated on either side of him at his kitchen table were two beautiful young women—one a gorgeous Asian and the other another platinum blonde.

All three looked over as Rose approached the countertop and set down her bag. “Good morning,” she said, with a polite, yet impersonal smile.

The guests transferred their gazes to Payne.

He didn’t answer the question in their eyes, instead directing his comment to her. “You decided on a different uniform.”

This one didn’t feel any more comfortable with his gaze one her. It was as if the blossoms appliqued on her ass were heating up due to his stare—at this rate she’d be permanently branded.

“Objections?” she asked, putting the refrigerated items away.

“You can wear whatever you want,” he said.

“Good.” She grabbed the coffeemaker’s carafe and marched toward the three. “Can I top off your mugs?”

The blonde scrunched up her nose. “Who is this?” she asked Payne.

Rose answered for him as she poured the dark brew. “I’m his temporary mommy.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, turning them to hard, bright shards of unworldly blue.

Ignoring the look, she returned the carafe and paid no heed to the murmur of conversation on the other side of the room. Flipping on the faucet, she washed the vegetables she’d brought with her: carrots, zucchini, cauliflower, and broccoli.