Oh God. The past twenty minutes blurred away with the rumble of his words, his breath on her neck, and his hands stretching over her ass.
“Yeah, you’re hearing me. I’m going to be so far up in your business, you’re going to get sick of looking at my ass. You may very well feel like you’ve lost your freedom again.”
She climbed up his chest and hugged his hips with her thighs. She was lucky enough to find her way into his life. Twice. She had to find the courage to keep him. “I’d rather be imprisoned by you than by him. In truth, I’m looking forward to it.” She scattered kisses over his jaw. “And I’ll never get sick of looking at your ass.” She covered his mouth with hers and let him feel the trust behind her words.
60
Filtered light bled through the black canvas behind the main stage. The din of twenty thousand people in the indoor arena energized the atmosphere and hiked up Jay’s blood pressure. Kicking off the tour with a concert in their hometown would reap millions of dollars.
And he could give a shit. He’d rather be at home writing music or in bed with Charlee.
She hadn’t let go of his hand since they exited the SUV and hurried through the backdoor entrance. Her eyes were wide and glittery in the bated light as she took in the racks of guitars and the mayhem of speaker cabinets, amp heads, and sound boards.
They stood in the crossover space, concealed from the view of the audience by the drapery. The crew of roadies, technicians, and sound engineers swung in a fast pace around them, carting and testing equipment. Thankfully, the journalists were sequestered by the arena’s security staff in the backroom, waiting with their slew of intrusive questions. The guys could deal with that.
Charlee passed a thumb over his knuckles. “Don’t you need to be in the dressing room, getting ready, or doing whatever it is you do before a show?”
He needed to warm up his voice, but he wasn’t taking her anywhere near the dressing room. His bandmates would raise hell if he tried to kick the groupies out. No doubt Felica would be there, along with the many other women he used in the past to take the edge off before and after his shows.
She twisted her fingers in her hair and wobbled on her heels. Was the dissonant sound of thousands in wait making her nervous? Or maybe she was worried Roy lurked among them.
A shiver skittered from his neck to his toes. His nerves were common in this setting, made worse by Charlee’s situation. He didn’t want her sharing that fear. He brushed his lips over hers, tried to take it away. “Don’t be nervous.”
Her head jerked back, lips in a heart-shaped pout. “I’m not nervous. It’s just…” She glanced down at her tight tank top, denim mini skirt, and sexy black heels with strappy things that wrapped around her ankles.
Hot damn for the hundredth time that night. He definitely owed Faye a raise for picking out an outfit that bared her gorgeous legs.
“It feels suspiciously like we’re in the one place your groupies aren’t.”
Perceptive brat. “Do you know how beautiful you are?”
“Do you know how…avoiding-ful you are?”
A laugh exploded from his chest. “Avoiding-ful?”
She released the hair around her finger and tugged at the hem of her skirt. She didn’t look comfortable. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so pushy about her wearing something that gave him such a stunning view of her legs. But Christ, they went on and on and on—
She touched his jaw and pushed it closed. “You’ve looked at my legs a lot since we left the house and every time feels like the first time you’ve seen them. That alone gives me the confidence to stare down some bitches.” She lifted a knee and hooked an ankle around him.
Fuck, she was perfect. Compassionate, but she didn’t put up with people’s shit. Mature, yet she glowed with youthful energy. Her inner beauty alone outshone every single woman. His hand flew to the back of her thigh, her skin like velvet under his fingertips. How the hell did she keep her legs so soft? He couldn’t stop from stroking along the toned lines and reaching under the skirt.
Over her shoulder, Nathan tossed him a glare that raised his hackles and brought the cockblockalypse down upon him. They needed a secluded corner, pronto. That spot right there between the double-stack of Anvil cases and the wall—
“Jay! You’re needed in the media room,” Faye shouted from the stage wing. “Meet and greet time. Get a move on.”
His heart pounded, and the hustle of people around him closed in, smothering. Damned pre-show signings. How would he manage without his usual distractions of drugs and mindless lays? Not that he wanted the latter, but the tightness in his throat made him desperate for anything that would spare him the looming panic attack.
Charlee dropped her leg and stepped back, swinging their hands between them. “You going to be okay?”