by Pam Godwin
She sat upright, straddling him, her jeans hanging from her bony hips. “Let’s go inside.” Climbing to her feet, she bent over the bike.
“Leave it.” He missed her weight instantly, slight as it was, and desperately needed it pressing against him to validate his sanity.
As they walked back to the cabin, he intertwined their fingers, staring at her, unable to look away for fear she would disappear. “You haven’t answered me.”
A smile lifted the edges of her mouth. “Colson didn’t know about the custom hatch in the bus?”
He tripped over something beneath his feet, his eyes locked on hers. “No one knew.” It was a hiding place for his gun, and no one outside of the security team carried one. “You hid in the storage compartment?”
“I escaped through it with a gas mask, thermal imaging goggles, and a fire extinguisher.” She held up her arms, his hand still laced with hers. “Didn’t even get a burn.” She smiled, lowered her arms. “Though I wouldn’t have minded matching scars.” She brushed her ear where the bullet had grazed her. Then she reached for the backdoor and held it open. “I worried if Colson knew about the hatch, Roy would figure it out.”
He followed her inside, the tingling in his body residing, though he was far from lucid. “The remains…they removed a body.”
“Wasn’t the first time I framed her death.” Nathan stepped out of the kitchen and walked through the living room, approaching Jay slowly with his hands in his pockets. “Borrowing a charred cadaver was one of the easier tasks, especially since it didn’t need to be placed at the crime scene. Its existence was for you and Roy only. Though I may never be able to repay all favors I owe from this little venture.” He shrugged.
Jay’s emotions rocked from confusion to elation, landing in a blood-boiling rage. His teeth snapped together, and his muscles quaked. “You knew? You fucking knew all this time?”
She slipped between them and held up her hands. “Jay, calm down. This was my idea. It was the only way to end it.”
A red haze swarmed his vision. “Am I the only asshole who was excluded from this brilliant plan?”
“No.” She stepped into him and settled her hands on this chest. “Nathan was the only one who knew, and I didn’t call him until I made it out.” Her lashes fluttered over her hollow cheeks. “You couldn’t know. Roy would’ve seen right through you.”
Fuck Roy. His heart pounded as he sifted through all the risks she took, all the ways it could’ve gone so horribly wrong. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let go. And he would, after he sorted out all the hurt battling through him. “Go to the bedroom. I’ll deal with you in minute.”
She huffed and balled her hands on her hips.
“Now!” He thrust a finger at the hallway.
Charlee’s shoulders shot to her ears, and she took off in the desired direction.
He dropped his hand, flexing it at his side, and glared at Nathan. “You’ve lied to me about her death not once, but twice. Never. Again.”
The skin around Nathan’s eyes tightened. “There won’t be an again.”
“No, there fucking won’t be.” He nodded to Tony, who lingered in the kitchen doorway. “Call that pilot, ask him to come back. You and Nathan have the next three months off. A paid vacation. Go on a trip, practice drills, fuck each other’s brains out, do whatever it is bodyguards do.”
He pushed past Nathan and followed Charlee’s sweet scent down the hall. Two weeks of pain lifted little by little with each step. He breathed clearer. His feet moved steadier. It was funny how a passing of time could rip you apart, and all it took was one freeing moment to solder the pieces back together.
Closing and locking the bedroom door, he turned to face the incarnation of his universe. She was a goddess in a way, wielding the power to destroy and rebuild him at will. His blood pumped with appreciation, respect, longing. It also thrummed with the need to balance that power. “Take off your clothes.”
A flicker lit her eyes, and she scrambled to follow his order. When her shirt, boots, jeans, and undergarments thudded to the carpet, she straightened her back and raised her gaze.
He circled her, his fingers trembling over her collarbone, down her spine, and around the dip of her waist. “Why have you lost weight?”
“I couldn’t eat.” She cleared her throat and whispered, “I missed you.”
His heart flipped. “You have two weeks to put the weight back on. If you don’t, you’ll be spending a lot of time eating off the end of my fork.”
She nodded, smiled.
He continued his circuit around her, trying like hell to maintain some semblance of composure. She was alive. Right there, beneath his hand. “How did you escape the hatch unseen?”
“The smoke hid me when I slipped from the compartment on the driver’s side and out the back door of the hangar. I found an unlocked shed a few rows down and waited there. Roy didn’t leave the passenger door, and luckily, his guards stayed with him.”
The blazing innards of the bus would forever be burned into his mind. She’d been right down the road while he’d crumbled apart in that hangar. “Luckily. That’s exactly right.” He stopped before her, glared down into her wide eyes. “I’m infuriated over the risks you took with your life. Our lives. Did you consider what your death would do to me?”
“You’re so strong.” She dropped her eyes to the floor. “I watched the concert on the Internet. You were amazing.” She looked up, didn’t flinch from his hard glare. “There were a lot of flaws in my plan, but your resilience was never a doubt.” Her chin trembled. “Still, I deeply regret putting you through that.”
The conviction in her words settled over him. His heart skipped through his chest, thumping to the beat of effortless chord changes. G. D. E…D.
Christ, he loved her. He moved to the bed, sat on the edge, and pointed to his bent knees. “Come here.”
She sank her teeth into her lip and closed the distance.
Gripping her wrist and thigh, he bent her face down over his lap. Her legs and arms dangled on either side of his knees, and her gorgeous ass rose up, filling his view and rushing a pulse of heat to his groin. “You will never put your life at risk like that again.” He let his palm fly, sending a smack through the room as it landed on one cheek.
When she wiggled, he leaned in and bit the flush his palm left behind.
What had the forums said about domestic discipline? Be mindful of the depth of her emotions and pain threshold, monitor her arousal, and make her count it out. He curled his fingers between her legs, and they slid smoothly between her wet folds. His dick jerked. “That was the first of twenty. Count them out.”
“One,” she breathed, and fuck if her voice didn’t send him hurtling toward a quick finish in his pants. Nineteen more. Good God.
As he pommeled her ass, each breathy count tested his restraint. When the last slap rippled over her perfect pink bottom, he spun her, tossing her face up on the bed, and climbed between her legs. The mattress groaned as he thrust against her mindlessly, eating at her mouth, hands tangling in her hair.
She laughed against his lips. “Jay, your jeans?”
Fuck. He launched off the bed and shoved his pants past his ass, not bothering with the boots. With his ankles shackled by the jeans, he crawled over her, gripping his dick, and buried himself inside her wet warmth.
“Fuck, fuck. Oh, God, Charlee.” The sensations waved through his body, heating him from head to toe. He flexed his hips, panted against her mouth. “I’m going to last about two point two seconds.”
She flung her arms around his neck and rocked against him. “Me too.”
Her lips slid over his, and her fingers dug into his nape. He pulled her in, as close as they could be, and spread his legs to open her wider. He sank into her over and over, grinding against her, speeding up and slowing down.
Energy crackled between their slick bodies, and her pussy clenched around him. Eyes locked on his, she arched her back and found her
release. The bedding wadded in his fists as her climax crashed over him, gripping him with quaking shocks.
His thrusts increased in rhythm and intensity, and an inexpressible emotion exploded inside him, a desperate feeling that had nothing to do with his building orgasm. He wanted to crawl inside her so violently, he crushed her body to his. He wanted to meld her to every cell of his being. He fucked her harder, slamming his hips between her thighs. He was buried in his universe, and still, he wanted more of her, wanted her so entangled with him, they could never be unraveled.
The drum of his heart thumped in time with his lunges. Ecstasy frenzied through his mind and body. He powered in and out of her until his release tore from him with a ragged shout.
At length, he lifted his weight from her chest and kissed her deeply, running a hand over her heated face. There was nothing he could say, no words he could utter, to voice the immense relief washing over him. Loathing the idea of separating their joined bodies, he stayed put, softening inside her, relishing the intimacy. “Have you been here the entire two weeks?”
She nodded, her lips curving. “Thomas has been very accommodating.” She whispered, “I don’t think he gets any visitors.”
God, he missed that smile. “Guess I need to talk to Thomas about the hazards of letting strangers move in. How did you know I’d come here?”
She shrugged. “We’d decided our future would be here, and I knew you wouldn’t give up on that.”
Hadn’t he? He must’ve been frowning, because she poked her index and middle fingers in the corners his lips and shoved them upward.
She grinned. “Maybe you didn’t consciously acknowledge the reason, but you boarded that plane and came to me, nonetheless.” She shoved his shoulder. “Now feed me. I’m withering away here.”
He kissed her lips, rolled to his back, and decided they—whoever they were—didn’t know what they were talking about. The only thing certain in life was Charlee.
96
Six months later…
“Thanks, Fredrick. See you next week.” Charlee waved to the pilot and raced up the dock, the bitter chill in the air biting her nose and stinging her eyes. After a twelve-hour day at her tattoo shop in the only town on the other side of the lake, bent over back-to-back customers, she should’ve been exhausted.
But vigor danced through her limbs. The absence of Roy’s shadow was so fucking liberating, the need to look over her shoulder dwindled with the Canadian temperature.
Breathing in the crisp air, she wrapped her coat tightly around her, bounded to the ice-covered shore, up the path, and burst through the backdoor. “Jay?”
The muffled vibration of his electric guitar floated from the basement. She tossed her coat on the couch and swung into the stairway, heart pounding, her hands slick with sweat.
He’d asked her to marry him. Woke her that morning with his mouth between her legs, his teeth pinching her clit, and said, “Marry me.”
She told him to buy her a ring and brush up on his charm, but neither of those excuses were the reasons for her non-answer. She’d anticipated his proposal for weeks and needed the day in town to accomplish the response she’d planned out.
At the bottom of the stairs, she tugged off her boots and slipped into the music studio.
He squatted on a stool at the center of the room, his shirtless back to her, and a guitar in his lap. “Roll it again. Pick it up from the third verse.”
The rest of the band flickered across the widescreen on the wall, moving in and out of camera shot. The angle showed the L.A. estate’s basement studio, the drum set, and the couch where she’d spent numerous hours watching them practice.
Laz rose from the couch and shuffled to his amp, clicking it off. “We’ve got this. Let’s call it a night.”
Will fidgeted with the tuners on his bass and rubbed his furrowed forehead. Behind him, Rio scooted away from the drums, twirling a stick in his hand, grinning at whatever Laz was doing off camera.
“Let’s take a break, then we’ll roll through it a couple more times.” Jay seated his Les Paul in the guitar stand beside him and straightened his back, flexing his shoulders and thrusting his elbows behind him in an upper-body stretch. “You’re consistently a half beat late into the segue between the chorus and the second stanza.”
His leather pants sagged an inch or more below his narrow hips, exposing a tantalizing panorama of sculpted lines over his lower back and the ridges of his ass. She licked her lips, her nostrils flaring to accommodate her heavy breath.
He bowed forward, forearms on his spread knees. The ambient lighting accentuated his sexiest muscles, the contour of his V-shaped torso beneath the animation of black, red, and brown ink.
The pads of her fingers tickled to worship him. She covered the few feet between them and rested her palms over his scars.
The tightness in his back melted away beneath her hands and he leaned back until he was looking at her upside down. “Mmm. Practice is over, guys.”
The faces on the screen glanced up and a chorus of ‘Hi Charlee’s’ bounced back. She gave them a chin lift. “Hey. You taking good care of Nathan?”
Rio shook his head. “That’s Tony’s job. Besides, we rarely see them. They don’t leave the bedroom.”
She pressed her lips against the soft vertical grooves between Jay’s eyes, giddy and content that Nathan had found happiness. “He is, after all, a very rich man. He can do whatever the hell he wants.”
Sure, Roy’s money was tainted, the means by which he accumulated it questionable. When Jay refused to touch his share of the inheritance, she reminded him the fucker stole nine years of her life and was responsible for putting Jay through her death. Twice.
Point made, they spent the money indulgently, donated to charity, and gave an ample sum to the family of the murdered guard and his niece. It also funded the elaborate dungeon in the room next door. The irony of that was bitter sweet.
Wil stepped so close to the camera, she could count the follicles of his eyelashes. He fluttered his eyes, his cheeks puffing up. “We’ll see you in a couple weeks? And you’ll give me the tat I emailed to you?”
The mermaid with a skeletal face and huge tits? What a goofball. Damn, she missed those guys. “Yep. Two weeks.” They would spend the rest of the winter in L.A. while The Burn recorded their new album.
“Good deal.” Wil’s arms reached up, and the image on the screen shook as he wiggled something on the camera. “Signing off.”
The screen blinked to black.
Jay reached back, grabbed her waist, and shifted her until she stood between his legs. Wrapping his arms around her hips, he tucked her belly against his chest. The gold in his eyes gave way to darkening shades of brown as he stared up at her. “How was your day?”
“Crazy busy.” She touched his dimple, lost in his heavy-lidded eyes. “I really need to go in more often to keep up with the schedule.”
“Nonnegotiable. I fucking dread the one day a week separation as it is.”
No sense arguing it. They were leaving in two weeks.
He walked the fingers of one hand around her waist and inched up her thermal shirt. “Any memorable tats today?” His lips shimmied over her naval.
“Mm.” She closed her eyes, shivered against the smooth texture of his mouth. “Some guy from Montreal asked me to ink the letters S E X E. One letter on each finger.”
“Sexe?”
“Sex in French, I think.” When he arched a brow, a laugh bubbled out of her. “True story, I swear.” She pushed her hands through his hair and circled her thumbs over his scalp.
He closed his eyes and moaned. “I’m still waiting for my answer from this morning.”
A thrill trickled through her. “I gave myself a tattoo today.”
His head jerked back, and his wide eyes collided with hers. “Where?”
She shrugged, biting her cheek and squirming with the itch to blurt.
He searched her face and lowered his gaze to her neck, lingeri
ng there, heating her from the inside out. His eyes burned over her breasts, her belly, all the way to her toes, as if he could see through her long-sleeved shirt and cargo pants. He pursed his lips. “Remove your clothes.”
Emptying her expression, she did, fumbling as excitement sparked her pulse. When she stood in only a pair of red cheeky panties, he ran his hands over every inch of her flesh, spinning her around and lifting her arms.
He looked at her panties, her eyes, back at her panties, and shoved them down her legs. With a nudge of his toes on the insides of her ankles, he spread her stance apart, hesitated, and sat up. “You’ll give me your answer to my proposal, and you’ll tell me where the tattoo is.” His jaw tightened, and his chest lifted. “Go to the dungeon. Put your back against the tower.”
Turning toward the door, she let her smile stretch so wide her cheeks ached as she dashed down the hall and into their playroom.
At the center of the room, a wood beam rose from the concrete floor and disappeared into the ceiling. She backed against it until her ass touched one of the two horizontal bars bolted to the tower. She positioned her feet at either end of the lower bar, buckled the shackles around her ankles, and rose to her full height.
His soft, steady footfalls announced his approach in the hall. She gripped the bar at her back, her breath rushing out in noisy pants.
Clad in only his too-tight-to-be-legal leather pants, he didn’t look at her as he padded into the room. Her heart skipped a beat. Master Jay carried his authority with a confidence that quickened her pulse and fluttered her stomach.
Pacing along the wall of implements, he dragged out his decision, torturing her as he fingered every flogger, butt bruiser, whip, and cane. Finally, he removed the well-used leather belt, his favorite impact toy, the sandpaper long peeled away.
In three long strides, he stood before her, top button undone at his waist, belt dangling from his hand, masculine vitality heaving in waves from his rock hard body. “What’s the answer?”