SLOW PLAY (7-Stud Club #4) - Christie Ridgway Page 0,82
doubt that. “Gwen’s passing, the wild circus the Lemons made of her memorial service before they rushed back out on tour, and then there’s the Beck situation.”
“Beck?” Ren frowned. “What about Beck?”
The Velvet Lemons’ drummer had named his three kids, Beck, Walsh, and Reed—all boys—after musicians he admired: Jeff Beck, Joe Walsh, and Lou Reed. Ren’s father had given all three of his progeny, two boys and a girl—Renford, Payne, and Campbell— the surnames of their long-gone mothers. Cilla never got a straight answer from her own dad. She figured he didn’t remember why he’d picked out Priscilla, or why he’d chosen Brody and Bing for her twin older brothers.
She took in a breath, stalling. Beck was the oldest of the nine and Ren was the next closest in age. How would he take the news? “He’s missing. Nobody told you that?”
Ren went still. “I don’t have regular communication with anyone.”
The princes and princesses of rock royalty had scattered as each came of age, but she hadn’t realized how out of touch Ren had been. “You don’t talk to Payne or Campbell?”
Ren was shaking his head. “Not very often.”
“Beck hasn’t been in steady contact with Walsh or Reed either. That’s why we don’t really know exactly how long he’s been missing.”
“Missing,” Ren repeated.
“He took a freelance assignment to do a long piece on the Nile for one of the nature magazines. About nine months ago. No one has heard from him since.”
“Hell.”
“His dad and the magazine put feelers out, though it’s not clear whether Beck is actually lost or merely following the story. It just seems weird that he’s been silent for so long.”
Ren relaxed, and ran his hand through his hair, giving Cilla another glimpse of that interesting, incomplete-looking tattoo on his wrist. “I’m sure Beck’s fine.”
Cilla wished she had his certainty. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am.” He half-turned to punch the pillows behind him then settled back, crossing his arms over that magnificent chest. His biceps bulged.
Gathering the covers closer, Cilla pretended she didn’t notice them. “So…you’re just, uh, passing through on your way back to London?”
“Moscow to London via Paris and L.A.? I know we had shitty upbringings, Pri—Cilla, but our schooling wasn’t so bad. Pretty sure you’d see there’s no logic in that.”
There wasn’t logic in anything at the moment. Particularly how she was absolutely electrified by the presence of Ren who was gazing on her like she was a ditzy puzzle and not a desirable woman.
Though she’d been doubting the desirable part for months already. Her fingers wandered again to the shorn ends of her hair.
She forced her hand to her lap. “So what exactly does bring you home?”
He drew up his knees and rested his wrists on the top of them, his big hands dangling. “I got a package from Gwen’s lawyer, telling me about some box she left me, as well as a key to this place. Then Bean tracked me down. That was a first.”
“String Bean” Colson, the band’s lead guitarist and Ren’s father. “What did he have to say?”
Ren shrugged. “The gist of it was he wanted me to come to the canyon, look things over at the compound since the band’s been gone for months. That, coupled with Gwen’s death…” Looking down, he ran a finger over the tattoo on his wrist. “I decided to check in.”
His gaze lifted to her face. “What are you doing here, Cilla?”
Hiding. Licking my wounds. Trying to resurrect my sense of self in the one place where I always found comfort. “I received my own package from Gwen—including a key as well. So I decided to leave my place at the beach and move to the canyon for a while. She left me her costume collection and I thought I might sort through it from here.”
A brief smile gave her a glimpse of Ren’s straight white teeth. “You always liked to play dress-up.”
Didn’t that make her feel five years old? “It’s my business now,” she said, bristling a little. Cilla’s career had been seeded by Gwen. The older woman had left home at sixteen and become an infamous band groupie. Over the years she’d amassed a vast number of costumes from the most renowned rockers in the world and Cilla had always been fascinated by them. “I make custom clothes for professional dancers, skaters, and yes, even music stars.”
“We really have been out of touch,” Ren said. “I had no clue.”
Cilla lifted a shoulder. “Every Lemon kid left the compound as soon as he