JAXON (The Caine Brothers Book 4) (6 page)

Once she’d spent herself, she relaxed and beamed at him. “Wow,” she said, her voice both reverent and filled with joy.

Jaxon couldn’t have been more proud. “Damn right, wow.”

The next morning, Jaxon woke to an empty bed. He rolled over, nervous but excited for Lily’s face to be the first thing he saw on waking, only to find the other side of the bed deserted.

His heart sank.

He flopped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. What did he expect? Some stupid vision of cozy, domestic bliss? Men like him didn’t get that sort of thing, especially not after the way he’d lived his life. His choices had developed a reputation which helped build his career, but not so much for a full heart or contented life.

He could only assume Lily had run away
because
of his reputation. Either everything that went along with being a celebrity had scared her away, or she’d figured given who he was she could take advantage and he wouldn’t care. He deserved either. But if he’d been a normal guy, not a famous rock star, would she have stayed in his bed overnight? Would he have awakened to her adoring smile? Snuggled her close to him?

Throwing the cover off and sitting on the edge of the bed, he shoved those thoughts aside. He didn’t even know if he wanted those things, but somehow after Lily, they seemed more important because sex with Lily had been more than just sex. He’d done “just sex” a lot and afterwards, he had no desire to see any of the women again or wake up in bed with them.

Which had been the primary motivation for the retreat in the first place. He needed to get away from the “lifestyle” and get back to his roots or basics or wherever the hell his muse felt most at home. His conscience approved of that choice. Yet only one day in and he couldn’t even keep his promise to stay away from women.

Hopefully Lily would forgive him. He’d given her something she’d never had before, but should have. Technically, she’d asked him to do it, so really he’d just done her a favor. If he treated the whole situation in that context, maybe it wouldn’t affect the rest of the time he spent there at the estate. At least that’s how he rationalized it. He liked it there so far, and he liked Lily. He didn’t want to have messed that up.

He strolled into the bathroom, hopeful everything would be back on track and he could start the relaxing, refreshing part of being on retreat.

After showering, he went looking for Lily. He headed back downstairs and found coffee brewing in the kitchen, but no Lily. His stomach growled, but he didn’t want to go to the effort of cooking, so he dug around for sandwich-making supplies and grabbed a cup of coffee. The quiet made him twitchy and uneasy. He wasn’t used to being alone, especially in a place as enormous as this house. Even growing up in something similar, it had been filled with brothers and friends and never silent or lonely. Knowing Lily had to be somewhere on the estate compelled him to search for her.

With sandwich and coffee in hand, he wandered the first floor, peeking into rooms and calling for Lily, finding no evidence of her anywhere on the main floor. In the foyer he had three choices—the east wing where he’d come from, out the front door, or the west wing where she’d said her room was and he shouldn’t bother himself with.

“West wing it is, then,” he said, heading for the stairs.

Again, every room looked the same. He about gave up, but then he passed a closed door. Retracing a couple of steps, he stopped in front of it and knocked.

“Lily?”

No answer. He shoved the last of the sandwich in his mouth, then used his free hand to grab hold of the knob. He turned it and opened the door. What he encountered on the other side startled him. Like a lush oasis in an endless desert, Lily’s bedroom was a breath of fresh air. She’d transformed it from the sea of sameness in the rest of the house into a cozy reflection of herself.

Turquoise walls brought the room to life. A quilt in shades of fuchsia, green, yellow, and white, transformed the dark wood bedframe from stark to rich. She’d made the bed, neat and tidy exactly as he’d expect of her. Orange and white throw pillows accented the cover, but so did a handful of stuffed animals.

Jaxon stepped into the room, drawn by the desire to know Lily through her private space. He’d had a taste of her body, but he craved a hint of Lily as a person. Maybe, if he was lucky, they could be friends.

Two dark wood chairs with yellow cushions, and a chocolate brown couch with turquoise piping arranged adjacent to a marble fireplace formed a chic sitting area. She’d tossed a handful of magazines on the coffee table.

Tipping his head to read the covers, he discovered Lily’s reading material consisted primarily of gardening, food, and social politics.

On the other side of the room, huge windows flanked a warm brown desk, littered with papers, a laptop, books, pens and pencils, a calculator, and a dirty coffee cup—the only evidence of sloppiness. An assortment of paper lantern lights in a variety of colors hung over the desk.

Gauzy white curtains pulled back from the windows allowed sunlight to flood the forest of plants she’d placed all around the desk and windows. A lemon tree hung heavy with fruit and gave the air a citrusy scent.

The room told him things Lily’s behavior had hinted at already—boldness, determination, confidence, quirkiness.

He wandered over to the sliding door that opened onto a balcony just like his. As he surveyed the garden space, movement caught his attention. Lily stepped out of one of the sheds, carrying a basket. Jaxon froze, his skin prickling with guilt, hoping she wouldn’t look up at the house, or notice him staring at her from her own bedroom. Nothing creepy about that.

He backed away from the window and left the room, taking one last look from the doorway. He was jealous of this colorful personal space. Not only had he been consigned to one of the bedrooms cloned over and over throughout the house, but it occurred to him that with all the traveling he did, he spent little time in his own condo in Houston, and even then it didn’t compare to this cozy room. He’d thought the design at his place was sleek and modern, but juxtaposed against something as vibrant as Lily’s room, his fell flat and bland.

Retracing his steps, he hurried back downstairs and after following a couple of halls that dead-ended in places he didn’t want to go, he finally found the back door and headed outside to catch up with Lily.

She had a bucket and sat in the middle of the garden, pulling weeds and harvesting stuff. He studied her as he approached. Tendrils of copper hair escaped from the hat she wore and glinted in the sunlight. She wore denim shorts, dark blue Keds, a green tank top with a long-sleeve white gauze shirt over it and knotted at her belly, and a floppy straw hat.

Despite scooting along on a pad of some sort, her knees were dirty, which for some reason tightened things south of his belt. He should quash that instinct, but his thoughts about her leaned less toward lewd, and more toward something new, fresh, exciting. Something he wanted to explore, which shocked him because he hadn’t wanted to spend more time than it took to have sex with a woman in—never.

***

Lily hunched on her knees between the rows of strawberries, shoving a bucket ahead of her as she went. She’d spent the morning focusing her mortified energy on annihilating weeds.

It wasn’t that the orgasm Jaxon gave her hadn’t been worth it. It had been glorious. She’d had no idea what she’d been missing all this time, and now that she knew, she had to agree with Jaxon that men who didn’t see sex as a mutually satisfying act were just assholes. However, she’d thrown herself at him, admitting her pathetic history and practically begging him to get her off.

She plucked a handful of juicy, plump berries and tossed them into the basket trailing behind her.

How would she face Jaxon today? Pretend nothing had happened? She’d slunk out of his room like a guilty thief in the wee hours of the night. She couldn’t begin to imagine their conversation this morning. She’d been up at dawn, nervously puttering in the kitchen. She made and drank coffee. Ate breakfast and drank more coffee. Showered. Now she tried to burn off apprehensive energy in the garden.

Shoving the weed bucket ahead of her, she yanked more weeds and threw them in, trying to focus on listing the things she needed to get done for the day. It did nothing to calm her, though.

She’d made it halfway through the list when she heard footsteps and looked up to see Jaxon approaching.

“Mornin’,” he said.

She jumped and her hand flew to her chest. “Jeez. You startled me.”

“You looked like you were thinking pretty hard about something.”

He squatted down in the row next to her, facing her. He wore shorts and a blue t-shirt and had still-damp shower hair. Having him so close—being able to see the soft, dark hair on his legs and forearms, and a glimpse of the bulge of his penis—seemed painfully intimate. She glanced away. The contradiction of being strangers and yet having been naked together, to have splayed herself open to him and allowed him inside her, then come apart at the seams when he coaxed that amazing orgasm out of her—all after only having known the man for a few hours—forced the heat of a blush into her skin.

She didn’t want to—or couldn’t—look him in the eye. She kept her gaze on the weeds. “Did you find the coffee in the kitchen?”

“I did.”

“And did you find something for breakfast?”

“I did.”

Since she hadn’t looked at him, she heard the humor in his voice. Still, she kept her eyes on the berries and weeds.

Then he cleared his throat and said, “Look, Lily, about last night.”

“I’d rather not talk about it.”

“That bad?”

She shot her gaze to meet his, only to find a smile on his face. She wanted to drown in those scruffy dimples.

Heat crept up her neck and into her cheeks that had nothing to do with Texas summer.

“No.”

“Because you seemed to like it.”

“Oh my God. Okay, yes. It was lovely, but in the light of day I’m feeling the weight of shame so if we could just forget it ever happened, I’d be good with that.”

She scooted and yanked more weeds.

“There’s no way I’ll forget that face you made. Or those sounds. It’s making me hard again just thinking about it.”

Her insides swirled in agreement. Whatever the female equivalent of being hard, her body was doing it.

“Fine. If you’re going to relive it, please do it quietly. I have work to do.”

He scooted to catch up with her as she moved down the row.

“Why are you so uptight about this? It’s only embarrassing if you think of it that way. Why don’t you choose to think of it as a pleasurable experience you deserved? Why would you feel shame over your first real orgasm? That’s sad.”

She stopped her mad weeding, and glanced over at him. He’d plopped onto his butt and wrapped his arms around his knees. His blue eyes sparkled in the sunlight, and the look of sincerity on his face dismissed her hope she could write off his comments as humorous or ironic. The truth was, he actually cared that she’d enjoyed the experience; and she only belittled his efforts.

“You’re right. Thank you.” She cleared her throat. “Is it appropriate to thank someone for doing that?”

He really had done a fabulous job, and if she could get past her own hang-ups, she’d totally go for another one. But it seemed cheap, somehow. Yes, it
felt
good, but she wanted orgasms and intellectual conversations and companionship and laughter and snuggling.

Dear God. She wanted a husband. Or at the very least, a partner. A good one.

When had that happened?

She’d had boyfriends, but never really thought of them as long term. Just as a temporary partner. She’d never met anyone who made her think of the H-word.

Until Jaxon?

She’d known him all of two days. He was a shallow, self-involved rock star who probably had the attention span of a gnat. He gave great orgasms, but that didn’t make him husband material.

At twenty-six, she still had plenty of time to meet the right man, assuming he existed and that she decided to settle down.

He smiled again, making her heart flutter. “It is. And you’re welcome.” He reached up and flicked the wide, droopy brim of her hat. “This is cute.”

“It keeps the sun off my delicate redhead skin.”

“So is this what’s on the agenda for the day?”

“I have a busy schedule for today. This is just the start.”

“Oh.”

The disappointment in his voice was palpable. Did he want to be invited to participate in her day? She’d assumed while he stayed at the estate they’d go their separate ways. She didn’t think they’d be doing stuff together. Other than the sex. One time.

“Did you have plans?” she asked.

“No. Can I tag along with you?”

“You’d probably just be bored.”

He looked away, the rock star charm fading as he ran a hand through his hair. When he looked back, the celebrity had disappeared. “Look,” he said. “When I woke up this morning and you were gone, it reminded me why I’d come here in the first place. Well, one of the reasons, anyway.”

“Which is?”

“Don’t laugh, okay? And no judging. I’m actually very serious about this.”

“Okay.” His sincerity piqued her interest.

“So, I realized recently that I have an unhealthy history with women.”

“Oh really?” She tried to keep the sarcasm out of her voice because her first thought was ‘duh.’ But then she remembered her unhealthy relationships with men, and gave him a break.

“My world is nothing like the real world, and the longer I spend isolated in the land of celebrity, the more twisted the rules become.”

“I can only imagine.”

“Well, anyway, women tend to throw themselves at me—after concerts, at parties, pretty much everywhere. I don’t ask them to, they just do it, and I could choose not to take advantage of that, but I don’t. I haven’t.”

“And you feel bad about that?”

“I didn’t until recently, then it occurred to me the way I saw women is pretty shitty.”

“What does that have to do with coming here?”

He shot her a sheepish smile. “Well, before I got here, I kind of swore off women.”