Beneath the Burn (45 page)

With an army of highly-trained bodyguards, that was how. He sure as hell couldn’t guard her with sixteen weeks and hundreds of miles between them. “I’ll deal with Nathan.”

That earned him a smile that made him want to make more rash promises.

“I’d like to make an amendment to the Charlee Constitution.”

He arched his eyebrow, waited.

“The amendment states that I go with you tonight. You know, as a practice run, see how the team guards both of us.”

Anything. Anything at all to keep her smiling like that. “I’m finding it very hard to say no to you.” He dropped to his knees and wedged his body between her legs, gripping her hips. “Amendment approved.”

She searched his face, her eyes a soft stroke everywhere they rested. “Let me touch you.” Two fingers hovered over his mouth, waiting.

The need for her touch was as a strong as his fear of the things it might rouse. Fuck it. He nodded.

Keeping her fingers at a teasing distance, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “If the bad stuff creeps in, sing to me, okay? I’ll hear you.”

57

The flutter of fingers tickled Jay’s mouth. Charlee’s lips joined the sensation. Then her breath. The flutter moved over his cheeks and down his throat. His pulse picked up and the edges of his mind curled away, taking the sunlit garden with it.

He focused on the heat of her lips, the fragrance of her skin, but there was a flame at his back and it burned. Oh God, it burned.

“Sing to me.”

A lulling voice in the dark. Where was he? Not the shed. Not with the fingers trailing all too gently down his arm. Not with the sweet voice humming from the mouth pressed against his.

He blinked, tried to displace the darkness, couldn’t. So he sang. He could smell charred skin. He sang louder, let it pour out from deep within him.

Lay still. Stop sniveling, boy.
He wanted to put his clothes back on. Aunt El wouldn’t leave if he fought her. He pressed his face in the musty mattress, tried to suppress the tears she hated, tensing as the bed springs shook beneath her weight.

A light, graceful peal shattered the dark. Someone laughing. He reached for it, sang along with the blissful sound. More laughter. He followed it out of the shed and into the blinding sun. She was there, inches away. Oceanic eyes, pale smooth skin of a pearl, cheeks rosy with the glow of amusement.

He held himself still, wishing he’d never have to leave the center of her dancing gaze. “Something funny?”

Her hands slid up his chest and rested on either side of his throat. She shook her head at him, smiling, still laughing. “I’m your oyster?”

The remnants of his nightmares rippled off him as he pulled her from the bench to straddle his lap. Her hands went to his back, circling over his scars.

“Tell me I wasn’t singing the oyster song.” He tucked her head under his chin.

“You’re mine oyster, which I…with tongue will open…and suck out your juices.” She half-giggled, half-sang the lyrics he’d drunkenly written one night while fantasizing about her. “Who did you write that for?”

“You’re my muse, Charlee. All of my songs are inspired by you.” His bandmates might’ve been annoyed with his three-year infatuation, but
The Burn
didn’t hit the charts until he started embedding her into their music.

Her fingers moved up his spine, flirting with the hair at his neck. “I don’t know what to say to that except…how exactly do I inspire oysters?”

“You’re shaped like one.” Bottling the laugh blooming in his chest, he couldn’t see her face tucked below his chin and forced himself to wait for her reaction. When she didn’t say anything, didn’t even pull his hair where her fingers toyed, he said, “You’re smelly, too. And you definitely don’t have any feelings.”

She yanked his head back by the hairs on his nape and shoved his chest until his back hit the grass. As she followed him down, his horizon filled with her beautiful smile, his body tightening beneath her.

“And here I thought it had something to do with my hidden pearl.” Her voice was smoky, pure seduction. She licked her lips.

Eyes locked on the glide of her tongue, he swallowed. “That, too. I also like Shakespeare’s analogy.
The world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open
. The oyster is wealth. Opportunity. Possibility. You’re my oyster.”

With her bent over him, her face so close, he could make out the pale dust of freckles on the arches of her cheekbones.

She traced his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, his lips. “And your tongue is the weapon in which you acquire the opportunity. Not just in the obvious sense. Your tongue, through music, acquires the oyster, doesn’t it?” Her lashes fluttered downward. “It had this oyster three years ago when
Huntress
replayed over and over in Roy’s penthouse.”

He lifted his head, used that weapon to part her mouth and delve inside. She welcomed every lick and nip with matching intensity. Their legs twined together and their thighs rubbed, her toes sliding down his jean-clad calf and digging into the leg opening. She clung to his shoulders and his fingers bit into her hips.

He cracked his eyes and hers were squeezed tight in concentration. She could kiss him with a passion that arched his back and wrenched him from his memories with the mere sound of her laughter.

It was a known fact that every great song slipped in a riff where the chords went to a unique, unexpected place. She was that song, those non-scale chords. Fuck, did he love this girl.

Too soon, she broke the kiss and pushed up on her elbows where they perched on his chest. “I triggered your memories, huh?”

He tucked a fiery lock of hair behind her ear, the soft ends slipping over his fingers. “
I
triggered them.
You
shut them off.”

She stroked the stubble on his chin, studied his face. Then her gaze turned inward and her nose scrunched.

“What are you thinking?”

She shook her head, eyes flicking away.

He curled up to a sitting position, adjusting her legs around him, groin to groin, chest to chest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just throw you over my knees and spank it out of you.”

She straightened her back, eyes wide. “I think I just creamed those pretty white panties you picked out for me.”

It was his turn to squeeze his eyes shut. “Jesus, Charlee.” Could he take her right there? Lay her out between the hedges and slide between her legs? Who was manning the cameras? Could he block their view? He glared at her. “You’re distracting me. Tell me what had your face all scrunched up.”

An irritated hum vibrated in her throat and her little bounce in his lap didn’t help his swelling erection.

“Oh fine. I was wondering how many women it takes to get you off on a normal night. Maybe I just lucked out last night. Maybe you were thinking about orgies with big-boobied blondes while you fucked me.” She blew out a breath. “There it is. I said it.”

An onslaught of vertigo slammed into him. His cologne suddenly smelled pungent rather than exotic. His jeans cut into his groin, vulgar in their tightness. She wasn’t suggesting he was shallow and repulsive, but the feeling hit him with dizzying regret.

He searched for the right thing to say and couldn’t grasp it. An apology was just words. His anger with Felica would distress her. Action would prove his devotion, but that took time.

Gathering her against him, he nuzzled his face into her neck, breathed her in, memorized the soft curvy feel of her. There was one thing he could clear up. “You were blonde when I met you.” He let that sink in, felt her lift her hand and move it over her scalp, probably imagining the shorn blonde hair she wore that night in her tattoo shop.

“Oh.”

Not enough. He raised his head. When her eyes idled on his, he said, “I didn’t want intimacy with them. More than one…”
Just say it, fuckhead
. “More than one woman at one time guaranteed no intimacy. It’s a disgusting reason, but it’s the truth.”

As if in slow motion, a swallow bobbed in her throat, weighting the delay in her response. “I want intimacy.”

A surge of relief washed away some of his unsteadiness. “Me too. Only with you.”

She nodded and it seemed to be more for her sake than his. “Okay.” She jumped up, offered him a hand. “Nathan has something to tell me about Roy. It won’t be good. Will you join me?”

His head was still spinning around her last declaration. He reached for her hand, but stayed where he was. “Those women are vicious. Almost as bad as the tabloids. Stay away from all of it, Charlee, and I’ll protect you from it as much as I can.”

Her eyes turned to frozen lakes. “I assure you, I’ve endured worse. I’ll deal with those women. You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

He rose and used his height to punctuate his stance on this. “I do and I will.”

A muffled titter floated up. He angled his head and glimpsed a twitch in her lips. The little brat was chuckling. He reared his hand back to swat her ass, and she darted. In a flash of red hair, she disappeared around the wall of bushes. Fuck, she was fast. He chased her, his own lips pulling away from his teeth.

Up the path and through the front yard, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sway of her ass through her strides. He tripped over the curb of the sidewalk. Righting himself through a forward lurch, he picked up his pace and caught her at the front door.

She was frozen, muscles tense beneath his grip. He followed her gaze to the entertainment room, where Roy Oxford’s face stretched across the sixty-inch widescreen.

Nathan stood before it, a hand on his hip, the other pointing the remote, adjusting the volume.

“Your sources are accurate, Meredith.” Roy’s smile oozed from the screen and crawled over Jay’s skin. “Negotiations began this morning. Oxford Industries will acquire Windsor Records.”

58

“Dickless psychopath.”

Charlee realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud when Jay and Nathan swung their heads toward her. Their faces held the same shock that had arrested her at the front door. Roy’s retaliation was expected, but beginning acquisitions of
The Burn
’s label in less than a day? That was one hell of a quick play.

The clatter of silverware pulled her attention over her shoulder. Faye slid a plate of eggs, sausage, and cantaloupe across the island to Tony. The aroma of fried pork seasoned with red pepper hung over the counter in a cloud of lip-smacking spiciness. A reminder she hadn’t eaten since the flight the prior night.