Free Who Do You Love (Rock Royalty Book 7) by Christie Ridgway Page B

he’d thought—still thought—it was for the best.
    “You humiliated me that night at Satan’s Roadhouse.”
    “I know.” It had seemed the safest thing to do for her, turning his back. That way, if anyone happened to be watching, they’d be convinced she meant nothing to him. “But still, if you came across me and I had a problem—”
    “If you were on fire, I wouldn’t waste my spit.”
    Ouch.
    Her voice rose. “If you were starving, I’d put my leftovers down the garbage disposal.”
    She really had it in for him.
    “If you…if you…” She jumped to her feet. “If you were cold, I’d send you ice cubes. If you wanted water…”
    Her rant continued, but he didn’t hear a word, because Si had come to the kitchen doorway, one of Cami’s guitars in his fist. Eamon had seen it cradled in her arms dozens of times, her partner in imagination and in her art. If truth be told, he had almost been jealous of it on occasion, because he’d wondered, if given the choice, whether she’d choose the instrument over him.
    Staring at what had happened to it, he lost all pretense of cool and control as rage burned in his gut and a freezing hand closed over his beating heart. His eyes going dry, he ran his gaze over the wooden body, taking in each of the holes some shooter had drilled into its surface. They were ragged and splintered and ugly.
    The symbol of Eamon’s life touching Cami’s. The symbol of him caring too much for her.
    It was ruined, the guitar, and no longer a rival for her attention.
    Instead, it was the message. For him.

    Cami shuffled out of the hotel bathroom wearing baggy sweat pants and an oversized flannel shirt she’d grabbed from her closet at home. As she tugged at the hem, she belatedly realized that it was one that Eamon had left behind. Damn. What had possessed her to grab the thing?
    She should have torn it into shreds once he dumped her, she thought, glaring at the man in question, who sat propped against the headboard of one of the two queen beds in the room.
    He ignored her as she made her way past him to the other white duvet-covered mattress, his attention on his phone. The room was illuminated only by the light she’d left on in the bathroom and the screen of his cell, its glow accentuating the masculine bones of his face.
    If he felt her gaze on him, he ignored that, too. All night he’d found a real talent for disregarding her—her wishes anyway.
    From the instant he’d seen the destruction of her guitar, he’d turned into a force of nature. His body rigid and a muscle ticking in his jaw, he’d grabbed her arm with implacable fingers, towing her from the kitchen toward her bedroom.
    “Pack a bag,” he’d ordered. “You’re not staying here tonight.”
    Unnerved by his reaction, she’d found herself obeying and soon enough she was hustled into the passenger seat of his car, her small tote tossed onto the rear seat.
    “I guess it’s okay,” she’d told him, sneaking a glance at his stern expression as he settled behind the wheel. “Until I get that glass installed tomorrow.”
    He’d pulled away from the curb, his gaze focused out the windshield, driving as if he was alone in the vehicle with no company other than his dark mood.
    She’d tried once again to cut through the tension. “You can take me to Ren’s. He stays up late.”
    His eyes had slid her way for a moment, but he still hadn’t said anything.
    Wrapping her arms around herself, she’d gone ahead and given Eamon directions to her brother’s, which he hadn’t acknowledged except to adjust the controls on the heat blowing out of the dash. Her leather seat must have been heated, too, because all of her became pleasantly warm…and pleasantly sleepy.
    A stomach full of Mexican food and tequila followed by an adrenaline chaser had done a number on her. She’d already been crashing, half-asleep in a kitchen chair, when Eamon arrived at her house. Though she’d rallied upon his appearance, now