The Summer He Came Home (10 page)

It
has
everything
to
do
with
Jesse. And you. And Jake.

“Jesus Christ, Cain, what the hell happened last night?” Mac staggered to his feet, effectively cutting into an awkward conversation, and Cain winced at the sight of his beat-up face. It looked much worse this morning—the swelling and mottled bruising was harsh in the early-morning light. He could only imagine what it felt like, considering Mac’s head must be pounding as badly as his.

“I have no clue what happened to your face, Mackenzie, but the alcohol didn’t help.” Raine shook her head in disgust. “What did you do? Get all jacked up and pick a fight with someone bigger than you?”

“Nope.” Mac smiled at her, though his eyes remained frosty. He pointed to his face. “This would be courtesy of my father.”

Shocked silence fell on the room, and Raine glanced down at Cain. “Dammit, Mac, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Mac winced as he stretched his arms. “I’m sure I look like absolute shit, but Ben’s hurting worse than I am. At least I hope he is.”

Cain looked at the ground and exhaled. Somehow he doubted that. Mac was in pain, and it had been building inside him for years, layer upon layer. It’s just that his scars, the deep ones that mattered, lay beneath his flesh, hidden from view.

“Well, guys, I have an appointment I can’t miss, so if you want a ride…”

Cain stood and nodded. “Sounds good, and thanks for coming to the rescue, Raine.”

Her eyes never left Mac. “No problem.” She turned then, her eyes questioning. “So, Sal was saying you’re doing the big benefit concert over the long weekend?”

Cain stopped dead in his tracks. “What?”

She laughed, her glee echoing into the silent house. “The football field is in dire need of a redo complete with a new stadium, so they’ve organized a big event on the Fourth of July. Salvatore said you agreed to headline.”

Christ, he must have really tied one on the night before.

“I can’t…” he began, and then stopped. Why couldn’t he? He was in no rush to get back to LA.

“I’m thinking about hanging around for a few weeks.”

Cain turned to Mac in surprise. “How’s that gonna work with your job?”

“That’s the beauty of computers, my friend. I can work from remote locations and get my stuff done.” He shrugged. “Truth is, my load is light this summer, and I haven’t had a proper vacation in years. I’ve got weeks coming to me. I might take them now.” His eyes narrowed. “See if I can’t convince Mom to leave, maybe come back to New York with me.”

“The Booker’s cottage is for rent,” Raine offered. “You know, if you were serious.”

Mac looked at Cain, and a grin split wide across his sorry-ass face. “You in?”

Maggie crossed his mind just then, and that familiar tightening in his chest followed suit. He was in no hurry to leave, but renting a cottage? Hell, he hadn’t thought that far ahead, but if he stayed…the possibilities were endless.

Maggie O’Rourke just might be the distraction he needed.

A smile split his face, though it was followed by a wince as pain radiated along his skull. He didn’t hesitate.

“Hell, yeah.”

Maggie entered Lauren’s home with some trepidation. She assumed Cain was gone—his truck wasn’t in the driveway—but still she was wary. The thought of running into him wasn’t one that pleased her.

It was early Friday, just before noon, and God help her, but she’d thought of nothing but him since Wednesday evening. It wasn’t all good either. She didn’t know what stung more, the fact he’d ditched her so easily or that she’d been obsessing about it like a fifteen-year-old. She’d been riled up ever since and filled with a truckload of emotion.

She’d cut off
those
kinds of feelings so long ago that at first she didn’t know what the heck they were until it hit her. She’d
wanted
to spend the evening with him. Not because he’d taken her son out and treated him to a day on the lake. Not because he was easy on the eyes and had a killer smile. She wouldn’t even go near the six-pack of abs he sported. It was more than that.

Maggie liked the way he made her feel. She liked how his eyes darkened to a deeper shade of chocolate when he looked at her. It made her belly curl with heat, and that was something she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

Of course she realized nothing would come of it. Musicians, especially rock musicians, didn’t mix with women and children. Everyone knew that, right? But still, for those few moments when her body reacted in that way—hot, filled with awakening need—she knew that she was still alive. She knew that somewhere, buried beneath the layers of pain, hurt, and betrayal, there was a part of her that thrived, a little bit of the old Maggie.

And it felt wonderful. It gave her hope.

Maggie issued a soft hello, but there was no answer. The house was silent, empty. On Fridays, Lauren volunteered at Shady Oaks, the retirement home near the lake, so depending on what time Maggie arrived, there was a pretty good chance she wouldn’t see her.

If
you
see
Cain, tell him I said he
y,
and can you please remind him he promised to show me how to clean those fishes?

Michael’s excited chatter rolled around her head as she busied herself putting away the fresh linens Lauren had left for her. Her son had slept the entire night after Cain brought him back and hadn’t stirred from his bed until nearly eight the next morning. Since he was a boy who was up with the birds most days, she knew he’d been exhausted.

She smiled. Exhausted, yes, but in a good way, and as soon as he’d woken, it was nonstop chatter.

She’d heard every minute detail of his day with Cain. About how he’d taken Michael out on the lake to a “secret” fishing hole he used to go to as a little boy.

It was a secluded stream where the fishing was particularly good.

It was the most awesome place he’d ever been.

Cain was one of the coolest dudes he’d ever met in his whole entire life.

Even cooler than Tommy’s dad, who was a sports broadcaster in Detroit.

Her smile faded as she crept down the stairs that led to the basement. It was damp, as basements are, and she rubbed her arms rapidly, trying to spark a bit of warmth in her blood.

Lauren had left a note indicating she didn’t need to clean downstairs, but she had towels to put away.

Maggie crossed to the small office, the scene of the crime, so to speak, and knocked rapidly—just in case. There was no answer.

She opened the door and was hit by the scent of pine cleaner, an intense odor that tingled her nose sharply. She flipped on the light, and her eyes swept over the newly cleaned carpets. They looked brand new. There was no blood, no evidence of her unfortunate header into the corner of the desk.

The room was tidy, nothing out of place. There was no luggage, no clothes or personal items that spoke of a guest. There was…nothing.

She’d already been upstairs and knew the guest rooms hadn’t been used. Cain must have left for LA after all without so much as a good-bye. Michael would be disappointed, but he would get over it and as far as she was concerned, it was probably for the best.

Maggie crossed to the bathroom and stowed the towels on the shelves and paused, her fingers trailing along the soft blue material as she glanced around. She caught a whiff of
him
—a subtle caress of his scent that lingered in the air.

She whirled around, but there was no one there. Maggie swore under her breath and turned out the light.
Get
your
head
out
of
the
clouds.
She still had the kitchen to deal with, and if she didn’t get a move on, Michael would get home before she did. His friend Tommy was back from sleepover camp, and Michael had been invited to Tommy’s house for the afternoon.

The computer monitor on the desk flickered, and she glanced at it as she walked past. Her hand reached for the door, but then a thought popped into her head, one that had her turning back toward the desk.

No, you don’t need to torture yourself.

But what was the point of common sense if you couldn’t ignore it?

Before Maggie could stop herself, she’d crossed the room and stared down at the computer screen. She didn’t have one at home—she just couldn’t afford the extra cost of Internet and all that went with a computer. Michael hadn’t complained, and quite frankly, if he needed to work on one they went to the library.

She tapped the mouse, and the screen flickered once more before the Google home page appeared. Maggie bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder like a four-year-old about to put her hand in the cookie jar—for the tenth time. What the hell was she doing? She exhaled and before she could change her mind clicked on Images and typed “Cain Black BlackRock.”

The monitor flooded with pictures of the band—studio shots and live ones as well. One stood out. An image of Cain. He was shirtless—skin glistening and sweat soaked—a guitar in his hands and jeans impossibly low. Maggie clicked, and the photo filled the screen.

Her cheeks flushed fast and hard as if a shot of fire had erupted across them. Her heart leaped in her chest, beating against her rib cage in quick, heavy falls. That a picture could get such a reaction from her was startling, but nevertheless it had.

The shot was incredible. Cain’s eyes were closed, his fingers spread out along the fret board. The tattoo on his forearm was sexy. It lent an allusion to danger, and for some reason she liked that. Behind him, blues and purples lit his body in an eerie glow as mist curled around his legs. It was beautiful, fantastical, and yet it was his face that riveted her attention.

He looked like he was in ecstasy. As if everything he’d ever wanted was in the gold-top instrument that he was making love to.

She studied the angles of his face, the strong jaw and incredible lips. His hair was wet, curled across his brow, and hung in wild waves around his face. It wasn’t fair. That so much masculine beauty was packaged into one man.

Maggie’s palms were damp, and she swept them across the front of her T-shirt before clicking on more photos. A thought struck. She refreshed Google Images and typed “Cain Black Natasha Simmons.”

There were a ton of Cain and his wife, or rather ex-wife, Natasha, intimate moments stolen from public events and even more from his everyday life. At the grocery store, Starbucks, walking along the sidewalk, and kissing her neck as they ate dinner at a café.

They made her uncomfortable, and she closed the image window, heart in her mouth as she searched articles.

Page after page loaded of items related to Cain Black, his music, his women, and his purported wild sex life. Something about Barcelona popped up, but Maggie had no desire to read about his sexcapades with some beautiful Spanish model or socialite. One article claimed he’d been engaged to a relative of the queen. Maggie clicked on it and several pop-ups filled the screen, all of them images of Cain shirtless, sweaty—sexy as all hell. Every time she tried to close one, another would appear.

“Shit.” She bent over, and panic hit her in the chest as she clicked in rapid succession, but nothing happened. At this point there were at least seven windows open.

“You’ve got to be kidding.” The screen was frozen. “Dammit!”

“Anything I can help with?”

Maggie swallowed and closed her eyes.

This. Could. Not. Be. Happening.

“No, I’m good.” If only she could click her heels together and disappear. “Don’t come close…I’m, ah.” She sounded like an idiot.

What the hell was he doing here?

She opened her right eye, and her heart sank. It didn’t just sink, it fell into her gut, and a wave of nausea followed suit.
Oh
God.
The screen was plastered with photos of Cain, yet one line glowed neon green. It flashed over and over and over: “Naked shots of Cain Black, click here
NOW!
”

Frantically she searched for the power button, but it was too late. He was there, beside her, his tall body bent forward, his eyes seeing what she saw.

“I…” She shook her head and wanted to die. If the floor had opened up and sucked her into the bowels of hell, she’d have been happy.

He moved closer still, so close she felt the heat of him against her clammy skin. Her insides were on fire, yet her teeth chattered crazily from the cold that racked her frame.

Or it could have been the abject humiliation that riffled through her body with all the subtlety of a steam engine that left her shaky.

“Here, let me.” She inched aside, hung her head, and glanced away. “It’s my old computer, and the damn thing freezes all the time.”

No
shit.

“Best thing to do is a reboot.”

Cain cut the power and turned to her, his eyes glittering pools of liquid ebony. He leaned against the edge of the desk, legs spread, and Maggie blushed, realizing she stood between them. She moved, wanting to step back, but his arm shot out, and his hand—those long, warm fingers—closed along her forearm.

“Don’t.”

With that one word, underlined by a huskiness that tugged at her insides, Maggie froze. All sorts of feelings rushed through her, physical and emotional. Hot and cold. Fear and anticipation. Crazy and even crazier thoughts twirled through her mind. Images of tongues and skin and heat and those damn eyes.

An ache formed in her gut and spread, infiltrating every single cell in her body until she trembled.

She stared at him in silence, but he was too intense, and she lowered her eyes, watched the beat of his pulse at the base of his neck instead. It seemed safer somehow.

The air was thick like molasses. It had to be—she couldn’t breathe.

“What do you want to know, Maggie?” His voice was like butter, thick and silky at the same time. She shuddered as his fingers slid along her arm to pull her in closer.

Danger lurked in the air, encircling her in a mad embrace she couldn’t escape. Maybe she didn’t want to. But that would be crazy, wouldn’t it?

They were inches apart, and she inhaled the rich aroma that was all him. Wrong thing to do. It was incredibly male, tangy, full of spice, and it got her head spinning the way one too many glasses of wine did.

“Ask me anything,” he challenged. “I have nothing to hide.”

Her mouth was so dry, Maggie didn’t know if she could speak. She cleared her throat, very much aware of the fingers that caressed the delicate area between her palm and her wrist. Each time his forefinger rubbed there, a little piece of her liquefied, melted, and burned. She felt she should push away and get as far from Cain Black as she could.

What was she doing? This road she was on was dangerous, she knew this, but Maggie felt unable to get off.

“I don’t…” She shook her head, not knowing what to say. On one hand, she was mortified that he’d found her online, ogling pictures of him like a freaking teenager. On the other, his abrupt dismissal the other night stung more than she wanted to admit.

Then there was Michael.

She was confused and felt impotent with her inability to act. She’d kept her feelings locked away for so long now that it was foreign, this deluge of emotion. She was afraid to follow her wants and needs. Those kinds of things led to a dark place.

Her head shot up as a sliver of clarity cut through the fog. “What do
you
want?”

Cain remained silent, but something changed. She felt it. His pulse was faster, and his breaths fell in shorter, quicker spurts. Danger solidified and wrapped itself around her tight as she struggled to make sense of her emotions and get words out of her mouth.

“You said I could ask you anything,” she started in a rush. “Why are you…?” She shook her head, felt the burn in her stomach surge as a wave of anger thrust through her. “Why are you doing this?”

“This?” he asked silkily,
dangerously
. His gaze swept along her arm from where his hand held her still and up to her chest, where he lingered a little too long. She felt her nipples harden, felt them strain against the tight confines of her T-shirt. A shiver rolled over her body, and she exhaled shakily as he slowly lifted his eyes and looked directly into hers.

He moved again and tugged on her gently until she was against him, tight between his legs with her hands upon his chest.

At that moment Maggie was aware of many things. The length of his lashes as he stared down at her. The golden flecks that shimmered behind the dark brown of his eyes. The accelerated beat of his heart beneath her fingers.

The thick bulge that filled his jeans and burned against her hip.

“Why am I doing this?” he asked once more, his voice husky as he lowered his head. His warm breath tickled across her flesh as ripples of desire rolled through her trembling form.

Maggie closed her eyes. She stopped breathing. And maybe the world stopped spinning, because it felt like the ground had shifted beneath her and she was falling.

His hands claimed her hips, and he turned her so that she was flush against him. So that every inch of her from the waist down was pressed into his body.