Page 119 of Beneath the Burn

Jay grabbed her wrists and pulled her arms around his hips, tucking her close. “She doesn’t leave my sight. If she stays here, I stay here. End. Of.”

The rest of the band crowded close, their faces stretched in shock and helplessness.

Laz shook his head at the floor. “Since you sing from the outfield, she could be riding your cock and fingering your ass and no one would be the wiser.” He looked at Jay. “We can’t perform the show without you, man. I say she goes.”

Wil nodded. “I agree. She goes where we go.” Rio echoed him.

“No, no, no.” Nathan threw up his hands and paced a tight circle. “This isn’t a fucking democracy.”

Tony touched Nathan’s arm and gave him a look. Charlee didn’t know what that look meant, but Nathan dropped his head back and said to the ceiling, “Christ in heaven. Call a fucking meeting with the protective team. We’ve got a lot of preparation to do.”

As everyone parted ways, Charlee stared at the TV’s blank screen. As much as she wanted to go to the concert, her wants now felt so fucking petty.

Jay hadn’t left her side, and she could feel him watching her. A few voices mumbled in the kitchen, but they were otherwise alone.

Her thumb made a swipe over his hip bone beneath his shirt and his trigger remained dormant. “What are you thinking with regard to Roy and your label?”

“I’m not. In fact, it’s the furthest thing from my mind.” His timbre was low, drifting over her.

“Oh.” She followed the indention between his hip and the bricks of his abs. Goose bumps cropped up around the path of her thumb. “And the closest thing to your mind?”

“The 9mm I bought and practiced with this morning. Thinking about how I’d use it without hesitation to protect you.”

His early morning errand was indirectly for her. If she weren’t so grateful, she’d be ashamed he gave up his sleep for her.

“And those black bags on the counter.” He pointed at kitchen. “Thinking about how I’ll use their contents to bring you to orgasm.”

Holy shit, he’d been busy. A sex shop before eleven in the morning? A hum charged her body. It electrified as he wrapped his himself around her, around something inside her that desperately needed him, something she didn’t even know was there.

“The biggest thing on my mind”—his lips brushed the shell of her ear—”is how very, very serious I am when I say you will not leave my sight. There’s a pair of handcuffs in one of those bags.”

Oh God. The past twenty minutes blurred away with the rumble of his words, his breath on her neck, and his hands stretching over her ass.

“Yeah, you’re hearing me. I’m going to be so far up in your business, you’re going to get sick of looking at my ass. You may very well feel like you’ve lost your freedom again.”

She climbed up his chest and hugged his hips with her thighs. She was lucky enough to find her way into his life. Twice. She had to find the courage to keep him. “I’d rather be imprisoned by you than by him. In truth, I’m looking forward to it.” She scattered kisses over his jaw. “And I’ll never get sick of looking at your ass.” She covered his mouth with hers and let him feel the trust behind her words.

60

Filtered light bled through the black canvas behind the main stage. The din of twenty thousand people in the indoor arena energized the atmosphere and hiked up Jay’s blood pressure. Kicking off the tour with a concert in their hometown would reap millions of dollars.

And he could give a shit. He’d rather be at home writing music or in bed with Charlee.

She hadn’t let go of his hand since they exited the SUV and hurried through the backdoor entrance. Her eyes were wide and glittery in the bated light as she took in the racks of guitars and the mayhem of speaker cabinets, amp heads, and sound boards.

They stood in the crossover space, concealed from the view of the audience by the drapery. The crew of roadies, technicians, and sound engineers swung in a fast pace around them, carting and testing equipment. Thankfully, the journalists were sequestered by the arena’s security staff in the backroom, waiting with their slew of intrusive questions. The guys could deal with that.

Charlee passed a thumb over his knuckles. “Don’t you need to be in the dressing room, getting ready, or doing whatever it is you do before a show?”

He needed to warm up his voice, but he wasn’t taking her anywhere near the dressing room. His bandmates would raise hell if he tried to kick the groupies out. No doubt Felica would be there, along with the many other women he used in the past to take the edge off before and after his shows.

She twisted her fingers in her hair and wobbled on her heels. Was the dissonant sound of thousands in wait making her nervous? Or maybe she was worried Roy lurked among them.

A shiver skittered from his neck to his toes. His nerves were common in this setting, made worse by Charlee’s situation. He didn’t want her sharing that fear. He brushed his lips over hers, tried to take it away. “Don’t be nervous.”

Her head jerked back, lips in a heart-shaped pout. “I’m not nervous. It’s just…” She glanced down at her tight tank top, denim mini skirt, and sexy black heels with strappy things that wrapped around her ankles.

Hot damn for the hundredth time that night. He definitely owed Faye a raise for picking out an outfit that bared her gorgeous legs.

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