Page 115 of Beneath the Burn

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. “Itriggered them.Youshut 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.”

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