The woman stared at her hand then jerked her gaze up. Dull as her eyes were, they were cruel in their perusal. “Well, that’s convenient. Did he actually find one named Charlee?”
Charlee dropped her hand. The woman knew Jay’s unnerving habit of saying her name during sex. The realization of what that meant cut her like a cane. How had he taken this woman? With the same rough passion he’d shown Charlee just a few hours earlier? A snarl of jealously seethed through her gut. Such an unfamiliar ache and her mind repulsed at the way it made her feel.
“That explains where Jay was last night.” The woman smirked. “Hope you enjoyed it, because he won’t need you again. He prefers blondes.” She flicked her hair off her shoulder. “And it takes more than one woman to handle his brand of loving.”
Charlee’s teeth were gnawing so viciously she could feel the enamel grinding off. “You’re being very rude.”
“I’m being honest, honey. I see that starry look in your eyes. I recognize it in all the girls who come from his bed—or the couch, the pool table, and oh, right there on the rug.” She flicked a manicured nail at the sheepskin in front of the fireplace. “You want him to love you, to let you touch him, to be his favorite girl. Jay Mayard is the most sought after man on the planet, and it takes more than one woman—at the same time—to get him off.”
A white-hot burn fired in Charlee’s cheeks. She knew it was crawling down her neck, her discomfort a red glowing beacon against her pale skin. As much as she wanted to, and could, dispute the woman’s claim, goading her would only agitate her further. And her own self-restraint was unraveling by the second.
“Go away, Felica.” Faye’s voice was a low vibration at Charlee’s back.
“Soon’s you accept that…” Felica winked. “You might be able to join the girls and me next time Jay strings us up.”
The front door slammed.
“Shut your fucking face, Felica.” Jay stormed through the room, black bags swinging from his fists, and a portrait of pissed-off twisting his expression. “Get out of my sight.”
Felica’s jaw dropped. “Jay…baby? We had a date with a hot tub, remember?”
“Out!”
The wine glasses rattled overhead.
“Felica?” Laz walked in from the pool area, his arms spread open, bare-chested, his trunks hanging low on his hips. “Where’s my beer, babe?” He looked at Charlee. “Oh hey, Charlee. Go get your suit on. Join us.”
The band could call on the most beautiful women in L.A., and the estate’s floor plan was designed for entertaining. It was easy to imagine all the sex-charged parties that went on day and night. Behind him, half-naked women lounged and giggled on the veranda, soaking the California sun into their golden skin. Charlee was a scrawny pale comparison to their beauty. How many of those women had Jay fucked?
She looked at Laz, shook her head.
Felica returned from the fridge with an armful of beer bottles and flashed Charlee a Hollywood smile filled with too-white teeth. Why wasn’t Jay asking her leave the property? Probably because he couldn’t chase away all the women he’d slept with. The thought was sobering. And unproductive. She straightened her spine and swallowed past the mass of crap in her throat.
He set the bags on the counter and approached her. Dark circles outlined his eyes, his handsome face haggard beneath his scowl. “Charlee.”
“It’s okay.” She reached to cup his jaw and remembered she couldn’t. Her fingers curled back. “You need to eat and get some sleep. I didn’t know you had a show tonight.” She stepped back. “I’m just going to…uh, walk the property. I haven’t explored yet.”
All yours. Had the superstar whispered that to other women while he was fucking them? Damn her sappy wanton heart, but she believed him when he’d said it to her. Still did, and she didn’t want to scare him away with the surf of jealous emotions burning the backs of her eyes.
56
Charlee made a beeline past Jay and slipped out the front door. Definitely not the way he planned to reunite with her after missing her so goddamned much all morning.
Fucking Felica. He strode out to the veranda and found Felica straddling Laz on a lounge chair, pouring beer on his nipples and lapping it up.
“Stay away from Charlee.” His voice was low, pulsing with anger.
“Who? The redhead?” She rounded her I’ll-fuck-anything eyes and shoved her tongue through the hoop on Laz’s nipple, watching Jay as she pulled the string free on her bikini bottoms.
Had he really stuck his dick in that? Dozens of times. An itchy wave of disgust spread over him. He needed a fucking shower.
Five other women lay around the pool in various stages of undress. Quick glimpses of their faces—and some of their tramp stamps—confirmed he’d fucked all of them. No wonder Charlee had high-tailed it away from him.
He returned his attention to Felica. “You will not talk to Charlee or look at her again. In fact, everyone out. Pool’s closed.”