Beneath the Burn (21 page)

“And you’re forgetting I lost you once. I won’t let you out of my sight again. I have one of the highest trained security teams in the country. The safest place for you to be is at my side.”

The suggestion was noble. And ridiculous. “Will I stand on stage with you in front of thousands of people while you perform?”

He glared at her and she realized the crater in her argument. Jay Mayard didn’t stand on stage. He sang from the shadows despite his fans’ dismay.

“I owe Nathan Winslow an apology. When I scrape up what’s left of my ego, I’ll give him one.” He interlaced his hands with hers. “He’s a fucking hero.”

Her hackles went up. “Don’t—”

“I’m not being flippant, Charlee. I mean it. He rescued you, and as much as I want to kill him, he’s my fucking hero, too. I got to tell you that’s hard to compete with.”

Why wasn’t he badgering her with questions about Roy? Maybe he wasn’t ready to ruin their reunion by grounding them in her ugly reality. “There’s nothing romantic between Nathan and I.”

Little lines fanned from the corners of his squinting eyes. “I saw you in bed together.”

She sighed. “We’ve been sharing a bed for three years. We’re on the run. We’re scared. We don’t leave each other’s sight, okay? Not even to sleep.”

The disbelief was still there in his eyes.

“As far as I know, he hasn’t been laid in a long damned time.” The reminder squeezed her chest. He deserved so much more than what she’d condemned him to.

“Then I really find it hard to believe that he sleeps next to you without feeling something.”

Her heart tripped. “When we share that bed, Noah’s there between us. Always.”

The tightness in his face ebbed. “Did you love him?”

An ugly mess of emotions balled in her throat. “Not enough.”

28

Jay looked down at their joined hands, his pulse a fuzzy squish in his ears.

Not enough.

He knew Charlee carried guilt over Noah’s death, but if she’d loved him, she would’ve known.

In the years that separated them, he’d written dozens of songs. Every creation bloomed from his memories of her and the emotions those memories stirred. “You can’t control love. It’s like creating music.”

That brought her eyes up to his. “How so?”

“Love is like a series of improbable, lonely notes landing together in meaningful chaos. Where every channel carries a rhythm that conveys an expression of emotion. It doesn’t feel flat or fake or hollow. It’s not exaggerated with overtones. The complexity might feel organized, but the creation is never controlled.”

Her eyes were huge blue portholes. She untangled her hands from his and reached a tentative one toward his face. The movement was a slow climb, allowing him time to welcome it or intervene.

The thought of her touching him produced a clash of feelings in his gut. He wanted to get fucking lost beneath the slide of her hands, but his reaction to touch was involuntary. His trigger would scare her away, even as he wished more than anything it would be different with her.

He caught her hand inches from his face, turned it, and pressed the backs of her fingers to his cheek.

She leaned into his hold, accepting the compromise. “What are your demons, Jay?”

A prickle lit his skin. “That’s a limit.”

“Talking about your demons is a limit?”

For a moment, he couldn’t shake the grip of the old shack. He saw his aunt’s deserted eyes and felt the stiff way she touched him.

The fingers against his face nudged him, pulling him back to the present. “Yeah.” His voice cracked. “That’s a limit.”

“What are your other limits?”

How could he convince them both they could be together when they couldn’t share the simplest thing? “No hands.”

“No hands where?” Her eyes flicked to her own hand resting against his cheek.

He sighed and lowered their arms to her lap. “Anywhere.”

Her auburn brows gathered. “Then how—”

“I had control of the touch. I put your fingers on my face and kept hold of them.”

She sat there, taking it in, becoming infected with it. She was probably jumping to the next logical question. What would sex be like with a man she couldn’t embrace?

She blinked. “Can I touch your toenail?”

He stared at her in stunned silence.

“Or your nose? Can I touch the tip?” She squinted and her lips bowed downward.

So fucking cute. “I don’t know how to respond to that.”

She was so still, studying his nose, her hands cupped in his. “How do you not know?”

His laugh stumbled out, as awkward and confused as he was. “No one has ever tried to touch my nose.”

“You’re making fun of me.”

“Maybe.”

“Then let me touch it. The teensy-weensy tip.”

The challenge in her tone suspended him in a moment of lucidity. Wonderful things were going to happen with this girl. She would push him. Maybe even fix him. If his nightmares chased her away, though, if she ran out the door, his existence would go up in an inferno.

He shook his head. “It could flip a switch. I don’t want to chance it.”

Women fixated on him all the time with intense wide eyes, wanting things from him. Never had a woman stared at him like that, as Charlee did then, wanting things
for
him.

“What would happen if we tried it?” She wiggled the finger laced with his.

He knew she was testing him with that minute movement against his hand, but his trigger was unpredictable. “Remember the guy curled up on the floor in the dining room?”

She pursed her lips. “Yeah. Okay, better not then.” Her eyes lowered to his nose as if she wasn’t ready to let it go.

That decided it. He would confront the thing that made him like this. He would become a man she could hold, despite his tattered and worn edges. First, he needed to know more about the man who hurt her. “Who took you, Charlee?”

She withdrew her hands and squared her shoulders, but the abused girl emerged in the falter of her breath. “Roy Oxford.”

Did he hear her right? “Roy Oxford?”

She slumped in the chair and let her head fall against the upholstery, turning to look out the window. Maybe to watch the haughty metropolis bustling below. Maybe to avoid his eyes.

“Not the Roy Oxford of Oxford Industries?”

“The same.”

“What?” He leapt to his feet. “He’s like the most powerful man in the world. How is that even possible?”

“That’s exactly how it’s possible.”

He walked the circumference of the room in an attempt to work off his overloaded nerves. With the band’s fame and money, he was accustomed to getting whatever he wanted. But Roy Oxford? Fuck.

Heat swelled through his face. He wanted to hit something. He wanted to destroy the dickhead who raped and hurt her. Deep inhale. Focus on the facts.

He turned to her to ask why a billionaire would kidnap a woman, but looking at her, he had his answer. A man could lose himself in those eyes, those sinful lips. He could become, not a man at all, but a thing controlled by possessiveness and desire. Hadn’t he decided himself only moments before that he’d never let her go?

He yanked on his hair and strode to the door. Nathan stood post on the other side.

Fuck him, but he admired the man even more for watching over her like that. “Will you join us? I’d like to have a word.”

“You’ve calmed your cocaine-fried spaz attack?”

He ground his teeth. In truth, the crash should’ve lasted hours. “Charlee might’ve helped with that.”

Their glares collided, and Nathan’s arrogant chin hardened beneath the stubble. “Charlee is a remedy for many of life’s problems. The people in hers have taken advantage of that. If I find you’re one of them, I will kill you.”

The comment hurt, but it was honest and heartfelt. “I expect nothing less.”

“Tell me, Jay, what is it exactly you do expect?” Nathan crossed his arms. “She’s not the kind of girl you fuck and forget.”

A rash of anger pumped through his muscles as he stepped into Nathan, toe-to-toe. At comparable heights, they might’ve touched noses, but Jay seemed to rise an inch taller with indignation alone. “I didn’t have to
fuck
her to never forget her, and you better hope to God you can say the same.”

A flinch jerked Nathan’s head back. “No. I mean yes. Jesus, she’s like my sister.” He dragged his fingernails up and down the back of his head. “You should know that she’s relationship-ignorant. If that’s what you’re after, you’re wasting your time.”

Jay held his position in Nathan’s face. “Insult her again. Do it.” His fists clenched at his sides, his voice shaking. “I fucking dare you.”

Nathan looked away, pushed past him through the door and went straight to her.

Jay tried not to lose his shit when she rose from the chair and they bowed their heads together, whispering and nodding. When Nathan removed a small handgun from his boot and positioned it at the small of her back, Jay’s tolerance pulsated at the end of an unraveling rope. He appreciated the necessity for the gun, but the man didn’t have to shove it down her pants.

The territorial tension taking hold of him didn’t dissuade him, but he worried how she would perceive it.

Nathan studied her hands, her expressions. Not her mouth as Jay would’ve done. There was a measure of closeness between them, united in their suffering and in their need for revenge. He also knew with certainty, as Nathan clutched her arm and patted it, the threshold of intimacy had not been crossed. Finally, their eyes shifted to him.

Jay released a breath of conflicting emotions. Confident their relationship was platonic, his stomach twisted over where he would fit in. Dipping his head, he palmed his nape, unsure how to begin.
Just fucking say it.
He found Nathan’s eyes. “I owe you an apology. I misjudged you. I was an asshole and I’m sorry.” Sincerity softened his voice.

Nathan’s eyebrows shot to his hairline. Then a mask fell over his expression. He nodded and released Charlee’s squirming arm.

She walked toward Jay, her eyes like still lakes, glassy and fathomless. She blinked and they rippled, smiling. She was stunning in her approach, holding her hands out to him, a gentle sway in her hips.

He caught her fingers, pulled her close, and didn’t miss the devilish twitch in her cheek. “What?”

“Come here.” Her gaze dropped to his mouth.

His heart skipped and he lowered his head. A breath away, she shifted her lips up and planted a wet one on the tip of his nose.

She didn’t give him time to recover, spinning out of his arms and disappearing in the closet. The sneaky little—

A cabinet door slammed. What was she up to? “What are you doing in there?”

“I’m commandeering some shorts.” A drawer squeaked. “Oh, for pity’s sake. You wear tighty-whities? With superheroes?” She was louder than she needed to be, and so full of shit.

A chuckle rolled across the room. Nathan reclined in the chair, arms crossed over his chest. Then his smile retreated, replaced with a watchful mien. “You wanted a word.”

Jay bowed his head and looked toward the closet, toward his purpose. “Tell me about Roy Oxford.”

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