Page 74 of Beneath the Burn

Unseen commotion bumped and rattled the apartment door. Charlee stood before the looming thing, fingering the bandage on her ear, waiting to be escorted into chaos.

Dread gurgled in her stomach and tried to rob the strength in her legs. Her outlook wavered by the minute, so she distracted her nerves by perusing a mental checklist.

Five-man protective team plus Nathan? Check. Bodyguard 380 wedged in her butt crack? Check. Paparazzi vultures gathered outside? Check. Hot rock star with more balls than sense?

She bent her neck to look at him. He rocked on his heels beside her, clutching her hand and humming the tune he’d written in the bathroom, though the undercurrent to this rendition was darker, more subdued. His hand was sweaty and trembling, but his balls were present, outlined in his spray-on leather pants. Check.

What else would she need to accompany an agoraphobic-ish celebrity into the sights of cameras and sniper rifles?

Courage? Any bravado she was trying to hold onto would be left behind with their luggage in the melee of the evacuation attempt. “I can’t believe you called in the paparazzi.” Her voice choked on a mass of fear. She swallowed. She understood why exposing her to the paparazzi might work. The public eye would protect her a hell of a lot better than the dark corners she’d been hiding in. But as she stood there, preparing to walk into it, she was shaking in her Doc Martens.

He kissed the top of her head. “Yeah. I’m starting to second guess myself. How will I be able to protect you while they’re blinding me with flashbulbs? Especially when the beautiful girl at my side works them into a frenzyfuck.” He flashed a cheeky grin.

Beautiful girl.How many times had she recoiled when Roy called her that? Yet as it filled her ears in Jay’s deep timbre, it recreated itself. “Will I have my own Wikipedia page after this?”

The sexy rumble of his growl lifted her up on tiptoes and into the solidarity of their joining lips. She drew the flavor of his mouth into hers, drinking him in, and whispered against his exhales. “Thank you for doing this.”

Eyes round and thoughtful, he shook his head and stroked his thumb over her jaw. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me, Charlee, but whatever it is melts everything else away. It’s the best feeling in the world.” A quiet seemed to collect around him. He straightened to his full height and his hand in hers stopped shaking. “Tony?”

“We have alternate evacuation plans lined up if riots break out.” Tony positioned herself beside Jay. “And the chartered jet will be ready for our arrival. We’re waiting for your visual signal.”

Jay captured Charlee’s lips in a quick kiss and patted his left shoulder with his right hand.

The sudden formation of bodies boxing them in wound up her nerves to the utmost point of tension. When the forward two bodyguards—Tony called them Vanderschoot and O’Neil—moved to the door, she thought her veins might snap from over-pumping.

He put his mouth at her ear. “Deep breath, baby.” Then it was gone with the push of the door and the flashing of bulbs.

Click. Click. Click.

Vanderschoot, the guard in the lead, held back the mob for O’Neil to exit. In the next heartbeat, the two bodyguards barreled through the throngs in a choreographed attack, each pushing back photographers and carving a path through the crowd.

The vultures bumped into one another. Equipment clanked together. “Watch it. Back up. Back up.”

“Clear.” Tony held the door for Jay.

He released Charlee’s hand, locked his arm around her shoulders, and guided her into the hallway. Edison, Colson, and Nathan brought up the rear.

“Go. Go. Go.” The mobs shuffled with them, squatting to snap pictures and tripping over themselves.

“Jay Mayard. Look over here.”

Click. Click. Flash. Flash.

What kind of hell had she walked into? Paparazzi crammed every inch of the hall. What if the Craigs prowled amongst them? How would the guards spot them? Her heart drummed a frenzied rhythm.

“Is that your girlfriend, Jay? What’s her name? What happened to your ear, miss?”

She cupped her injury and blinked against the assault of blinding lights. Man, oh man, if he dealt with this every time he went out, no wonder he never wanted to leave his hotel room. She pressed closer into the mantle of his body, and his heart knocked against her cheek.

“Give them space. Give them space.” The photographers’ questions never slowed.

The cameras darted in and out of her face. There were so many of them. No way could the bodyguards hold them all back. Remarkably, the photographers didn’t reach out, didn’t try to touch.

She kept her eyes on her Doc Martens, scuffing them slowly along the concrete landing to the stairs. Jay’s Chucks dragged alongside hers.

A photographer shoved another into the wall and shouting interrogations pursued.

At the top of the stairs, she and Jay waited behind the bar of Tony’s outstretched arm while Vanderschoot and O’Neil cleared a passageway. Their eyes swept up and down, passing over the paparazzi as if they weren’t there.

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