Beneath the Burn

by Pam Godwin

  “I’ll hear them.”

  “First Amendment. I join you to collect your supplies.”

  Could they get in and out without a celebrity circus? He did have a top-notch protective team on his payroll. “The fourth clause in the ninth section of the first article states that at no time will paparazzi or screaming women waving camera phones accompany me in on this mission.”

  “Done. Second Amendment. Can we have pizza instead of crumpets?”

  A snort escaped before she could catch it. “Approved.”

  He called after her as she shut herself inside the bathroom. “What the hell is a crumpet anyway?”

  “A tasty little muffin.”

  Silence. Then his voice muffled through the door. “Does it have red hair and blue eyes?”

  Her cheeks puffed with contained laugher. The cheesy bastard didn’t need encouragement.

  Something thumped the door. Was that his head?

  “I’ve changed my mind.” His voice vibrated the wood between them. “I want a crumpet.”

  Her laugh escaped, echoing around her, and for the first time in a long time, she felt free.

  30

  A survival skill Jay picked up early in his stardom was his efficiency in quick disguises. He adjusted the long blond wig over his short brown hair until the fake bangs brushed the top of his big plastic framed sunglasses. A frayed Alice Cooper ball cap completed the concealment.

  The bathroom door opened with an exhale of steam. Charlee padded out, straightening her black top over the waistband of her jeans. “I’m keeping your Dead Milkmen tee—” She tripped, staring at him with a slack jaw. “Shit. Garth Algar?”

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.” She inspected his body from hat to Chucks with an amused cant to her eyebrows. Then she circled him, wrapping him in a sweet natural scent that was uniquely Charlee.

  When she came back around, she was grinning and chewing a fingernail. “Jay Mayard’s sexy ass is still back there, but the rest of him is incognito.”

  Just thinking about her noticing his ass made his dick jerk against his zipper. “This disguise hasn’t failed me yet.”

  “Then you haven’t tried to pick up women wearing that wig.”

  A laugh erupted from deep inside him. Dear God, it was so easy to want her. The way her cheeks glowed. The challenge in her eyes. The catch in her breath when he returned her stare. All the countless fucking reasons he never stopped craving her after she was gone. He dipped his head and brushed his lips over hers. “I’ve only tried to pick up one woman.”

  A wall of silence descended between them. He searched her eyes, unsure how to interpret her mute response. “Has it failed me?”

  “Not yet.” The level of resistance in her voice only fortified his resolve to scale her walls. He suspected she wanted to fight it, but maybe she was as drawn to him as he was to her.

  A fist rapped on the door. “Charlee?”

  “You can come in, Nathan.” She didn’t unlock her eyes from his glasses.

  Nope, he was certain she couldn’t ignore the pull. That’s right, baby. Don’t fight it.

  Nathan strode in and dismissed the disguise with a brief smirk. “Tony and I worked out the drop-off and pick-up points and the best evacuation routes at the apartment. We’re ready when you are.”

  The absence of bulges in Nathan’s nondescript pants and button-up shirt meant his weapons were hidden. That kind of unobtrusiveness combined with his constant awareness of Charlee and her surroundings made him an ideal bodyguard. No doubt he’d piss in a store trash bin before he’d leave her unattended.

  However, it was the instinctual way he placed himself between her and everything else that made him the only man Jay wanted leading the team he would hire to protect her. “I want to offer you a job.”

  Nathan glanced at her and back at him. There was no surprise in that gaze. “I have a job.”

  “This one would be the same. Just better paid.”

  Nathan’s current income from odd PI assignments couldn’t possibly be enough to fund his crusade in revenge.

  The tic in Nathan’s cheek confirmed it.

  A toe poked the back of Jay’s knee, her nudge teetering his balance. “I know what you’re up to, Jay Mayard. The three of us will discuss this later.”

  Small, sexy, with her honeyed lips pouting, she refused to be managed. He tried not to think about the events that made her so defiant, but he respected the hell out of her for standing against him if he slipped in his efforts to not control her.

  “Mr. Mayard.” Tony poked her head in. “I summoned the car. It’s waiting at the elevator in underground parking.”

  A ripple of panic bit along his spine. Time to leave his safe environment. His disguise hid his face, so there wouldn’t be any grabbing and touching.

  What if a gusty wind disheveled it and someone saw through? The mobs would rain down upon them and endanger her.

  Would it be safer for her if he stayed behind? Too many things could happen to her. What if she didn’t return?

  Nope, she wasn’t going anywhere without him. Still, the urge to sneak a couple snuffs off the inhaler in his pocket consumed him. Could he face the clutch of the crowds and the lurking unknowns without the numbing lift of coke?

  Charlee clapped her hands and sashayed her heart-shaped ass to the door. “Let’s go get some ink.”

  Yeah, he could do it…for her.

  31

  The SUV stopped at the entrance of Charlee’s building and sent Jay’s heart hammering into the red zone. He squeezed the warm anchor in his hand.

  Charlee curled her fingers around his, returning the squeeze. “You okay?”

  A woman on the sidewalk slowed her gait to look at their car. He stopped breathing. Could she see through the windows?

  Moments later, she turned her head and strode into a boutique two doors down.

  Gah. The windows were blacked-out, for fuck’s sake. He needed to calm down. “Everything will be fine.”

  “Is that response for me or you?”

  “For you.” His worries, his hopes, his fears were all for her. “Always, Charlee.”

  She opened her mouth and he muffled it with a quick kiss, surprising a smile from her.

  Nathan twisted in the front seat to face them. He glanced at Tony, who perched on Jay’s other side then rolled his gaze to Charlee. “Just like we discussed, okay?”

  The protective team’s extensive security precautions would be implemented first. Nathan would sweep the flat for intruders, tampering, and bugs. Once he deemed it sterile, he would radio to Tony to escort Jay and Charlee to the residence.

  Charlee tapped the heel of her Doc Martens on the floorboard. “We should go in together. We always go in together.” Her nerves pulsed through Jay, echoing his own.

  Jay settled his hand on her knee and quieted the bobbing. “You have three times the bodyguards right now. After your exposure with the paparazzi last night, the danger is heightened. We’ll follow protocol. They know what they’re doing.”

  Nathan smiled his thanks and stepped onto the cracked pavement with Tony on his trail. She split off and traversed in the opposite direction to clear the rear and side entrances. Her jeans were meant to help her blend in, but they did nothing to conceal her alert and professional air.

  Storied buildings lined the veritable Greenwich Village thoroughfare. Commercialization occupied the street level flats and residents inhabited the floors above. Jay had never visited this end of the city and his unfamiliarity with the area didn’t help his anxiety.

  Her building was four stories, veneered with laddered scaffolding, and surrounded by enormous old trees. Without much traffic, it should be a seamless in and out. Yeah, he’d keep telling himself that.

  Colson, his secondary driver and bodyguard, parked in the side lot and stepped out to stand by Charlee’s door.

  She turned to Jay. “Is this how life is for you? Bodyguard formations and perimeter sweeping every time you wa
nt to go somewhere?”

  One of the many reasons he never wanted to leave his safe zone. “I should ask you the same question.”

  “Point made.” She looked out the window, her eyes darting between Colson’s post and Tony’s movements around the building. “Though my excursions are a bit more economical.”

  Not anymore. She would have everything needed to stay safe.

  He patted his wig, hat and sunglasses. Everything was where it should be. The street was calm. The security team was thorough. Then why was his pulse racing?

  “You have a look about you.”

  How could she see anything behind his sunglasses? “What kind of look?”

  “The kind of look your fans have at the ticket booth when they find out your show is sold out.”

  Disappointment? Indifference? He shook his head.

  “Fear and aggression.”

  Jesus, she was perceptive. “I don’t like public places and crowds.”

  “Ah. Crowds with hands.” She gnawed the corner of her thumbnail. “How do you deal with concerts and public interviews and red carpet stuff?”

  “I avoid them when I can.”

  Stillness settled over her. She stared at her hand in his, her eyes weighted with thought. “When you walked into my shop three years ago, you didn’t have security to protect you. How’d you maneuver the crowds then?”

  Very carefully. His mouth crooked up. “No one knew or cared who I was then.”

  She nodded. “When you came to me that night, you brought me a hopeful vision. Want to hear it?” She looked at him beneath her lashes.

  He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear to see her face. “Very much.”

  “This might sound silly, but I envisioned you on stage in a crowded arena proudly baring your tattoo. The tattoo I hoped you’d grow to appreciate. The one I hope to finish.”

  A collision of emotions accumulated in his throat.

  “I lost so much the night I met you, but I hung onto that image. It got me through some of the tough parts, you know?”

  “Jesus, Charlee.” He cupped her jaw and lifted her forehead to rest against his.

  “Someday soon, I want to see you singing at the center of the stage instead of from its darkest corner.”

  Could he do that for her?

  “With your shirt off.”

  He bit down on his tongue to stay the refusal.

  “What about the live shows? How do you deal with it? Even if you aren’t visible, you’re there, singing and playing in front of thousands.”

  Admit it and fix it. She deserved nothing less. “I use blow, Charlee.”

  She removed her forehead from his and replaced it with her lips. “Getting lit on stage is not cool.” Another kiss to his brow and she leaned back to meet his eyes. “I guess we both have our fucked up self-therapies, huh?”

  A shudder gripped him. This woman survived slavery and untold abuse and rape. “How did you escape hell with no mental or physical damage?”

  She let out a mirthless laugh and released his hand to mime swinging a baseball bat. “Ol’ Roy was proficient at caning. He knew how to hit without scarring.” She dropped her hands and a cold deadness hollowed her eyes, her voice. “And he brought in a plastic surgeon to erase wounding cuts when he slipped.” She touched a spot under her thigh and leaned forward to drag a finger over one butt cheek.

  The muscles in his face and neck became painfully tense. Calm the fuck down. She was speaking openly about it. He needed to openly listen.

  “And these—” She tapped her front teeth “—are porcelain crowns.”

  A red fog clouded his vision and he clenched his hands.

  “There are scars you haven’t seen…from the vaginal and rectal tearing.”

  His fist slammed into the seat in front of him, again and again.

  “Jay, stop.” She twisted her head toward the door where Colson stood, facing the lot and ignoring Jay’s rage like a good bodyguard.

  He couldn’t hit hard enough, couldn’t obliterate her words or the images ripping out his heart.

  “Stop, stop, stop.” Her voice chanted through him.

  He reared back for another hit and glimpsed her out of the corner of his eye. She curled against the door with her eyes closed. Oh, Charlee.

  He shoved his hands beneath her thighs and back and dragged her into his lap.

  Her arms hugged her belly and her face lowered to his neck. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “You didn’t, Charlee. He did.”

  She burrowed her shoulder into the curve of his and pressed her lips to his throat. “My instinct is to bury it all, but I know how damaging that is.” She leaned back, narrowed her eyes at him. “So I’ve disciplined myself to keep it exposed…with Nathan anyway, since I can’t talk about it with anyone else. I guess I just unloaded on you.”

  He wanted to be her confidant, not hero-fucking-Nathan. The urge to demand that from her tensed his muscles and tangled in his throat. “Does it help? To keep it on the surface?”

  “Sometimes.”

  He envied her. She was incredible. If he freed his shadows from their hiding places in his mind, they would devour him.

  “I have other…therapies.”

  “Tell me.”

  A deep breath. “Are you familiar with the fetish communities?”

  Fetish? Like leather crops and ball gags? He wasn’t aware of wearing a meaningful expression, but it incited her to lean away and look out the window.

  “Shouldn’t Nathan be radioing in by now?” She chewed on a nail and tapped her boot. Her eyes fixated on a car parked across the way, but they were unfocused, lost in her head.

  He gathered her closer in his arms, cradling her small frame with his thighs. It was an impregnable feeling, like hugging his Martin hollow body guitar, only this sensation was fuller, warmer, and to his surprise, more complete. She was meant to be there. “Their perimeter preparations take thirty to forty minutes. They usually arrive ahead of me to do it.” He raised her chin with his knuckle. “Tell me about the fetish thing.”

  She glanced at the dents in the seatback in front of them. “Promise me you’ll let me finish what I have to say before you react.”

  A swell of adrenaline surged through his veins. Fuck, this was going to piss him off. “I promise.”

  She reached up, careful not to let her fingers brush his face, and removed his sunglasses. “And no more fists. Got it?”

  He nodded, unsure.

  “I hire professional—”

  Knuckles rapped on the window and the door opened. Tony ducked her head in. “We’re ready.”

  A shout seethed in his throat. He drew it into his lungs with a deep inhale and leveled his voice. “Wait outside.”

  “Yes, Mr. Mayard.” She shut the door.

  Charlee bent forward to move off his lap, and he stopped her with an arm across her waist. “We’re not done.”

  A frown wrinkled the sweet little spot below her lips. “We should—”

  “They’ll wait. You hire professional…”

  She slumped against him with a sigh. “Dominants.” She raised her eyes, holding his captive. “I pay experienced BDSM players for sessions in private and rented dungeons.”

  His heart rammed against his ribs. Let me finish what I have to say before you react.

  He had a damn good idea what dungeons were, but he wanted to be very clear what they meant to her. “What happens in your sessions?”

  “I pre-negotiate the boundaries each time.”

  His face heated and his breathing sped up. “And those are?”

  “It would be easier to list the limits, but if you’re not familiar with the lifestyle…” Her smile quivered then fell when he didn’t return it. “My typical scene includes shackles, crops, paddles, whips, ch…chains, clamps, and oral and vaginal intercourse.”

  Every word stabbed his heart anew, slicing away piece by bleeding piece. “You let these…men have sex with you?” The question tore fro
m his burning chest.

  She held his gaze. “They’re simulated rape scenes.” Her voice was so soft he tilted his head to hear her, wishing he hadn’t.

  His composure was slipping, his volume elevating. “Why would you do that?”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her face in his neck. “To reenact the things Roy did to me. I set up the scene and have control of it every step of the way. I know I’m damaged, Jay. I get that, but—”

  “Charlee.”

  “Let me finish.” Her jaw hardened against his shoulder. “Those scenes help me restructure my feelings about what happened. They allow me to be in charge of the things he did, the punishments…the rapes. I always end the scene before the Dom does.” She let out a breath, warming his throat. “I use my safe word like a weapon.”

  It was a harsh and penetrating moment of comprehension. How many times had he relived his first trip back to his land in the Canadian Boundary Waters, when he burned down the old shed and the cruel shadows within? Contracting a cabin to be built in its place, one with sunny rooms and walls of windows, had given him a sense of control over his memories. Someday, he’d have the strength of will and mind to live there.

  Hired bondage was Charlee’s cabin. In a fucked up way, her methods made sense, but the risks were glaring. “How do you trust these people? I can’t believe Nathan would—”

  Her head shot up, her eyes like blue flames. “He doesn’t like it, but he’s supportive. He investigates every person I hire. And after three years and a dozen cities, I’ve accumulated a very reliable portfolio of references.”

  Images of calloused kinky men beating and fucking her corroded his ability to identify with her solution. She had options. She had him. “I get it, Charlee. I do. And I want you to trust me.”

  A startled look softened her jaw.

  “Hang on. I know for that to happen, I need to prove to both of us that I trust you.” He removed his arms from her waist and stretched them along the back of the seat. Maybe he was delaying exiting the car. Maybe he was out of his mind, but he wanted her wrapped around him in a way he’d never allowed anyone before. “Straddle me.”

  32

  Silence. So dense it weighted the air in Charlee’s lungs. Straddle him?