But the shame gripping her body was no one’s fault but her own. She’d allowed Jay to use her, trusted his sobriety, and depended on him to honor her safe word. So na?ve. “Do not follow me out.”
She turned slowly, deliberately, and schooled her gait as she walked away. The lump in her throat could stay where it was. She was not going to let it burst into a wet mess of emotion.
“Charlee.” A question lay beneath the sternness of Jay’s tone. “Don’t run.”
So he was coherent enough to know he’d given her a reason to run. Deep breath. She stopped, looked over her shoulder. “I’m not hanging around so you can fuck me again while you’re high.”
He looked down at his dick hanging exposed and partially erect. A choke ripped from his throat, and he stumbled back, shoving himself in his pants and zipping up with more force than was needed. “Oh fuck. Oh Jesus.” He raked his hands through his hair, pulled at the messy strands, and jerked his gaze to Charlee. “No. No, no, no. This isn’t…I’m not…Charlee, wait.”
The hitch and wheeze in his voice threatened to melt her backbone. For a flickering moment, the man she thought she knew looked at her, actually saw her. The sag in his eyes and the twist of his face chased her heart to her throat.
She turned away and strode toward the corridor behind the main stage toward Nathan’s back. Passing him, she tapped his hand without slowing her steady stride. “Time to go.”
As if floating out of her body, her feet carried her past the control booth and down the hall.
He was so lit, did he even know who he was fucking? He’d said her name while he was seven-inches in. Oh, but he called all his girls Charlee. Tears welled in her eyes.
Jesus, hold it together. He hadn’t let Felica touch him. It would’ve killed her had he interacted with her. And the horror warping his expression when he finally realized what he’d done was somewhat assuring.
Whatever. The fact that the asshat ignored her safe word was an unforgivable snap of a whip through the heart.
“What happened?” Nathan’s hand settled on her lower back.
“Jay fucked up. Let me deal with it, okay?” She followed the bend in the hall, veering around techs juggling equipment.
“Does this change—”
“Nothing changes. I’ll have it fixed by morning.” And she would. Jay owed her an orgasm, and dammit, he would give her one. A half-baked plan sprouted, soothing her. He wasn’t going to like it, but fuck him.
The protective team’s familiar faces popped up at every corner, bend, and open doorway as she weaved through the flow of roadies with Nathan’s hand a bolster at her back. They formed a comforting perimeter around her, adjusting their formations to maintain a circle of protection as they moved through the back-of-house.
The exit came into view, and a man in a suit flashed through the bustle of crew members rolling crates through the door. The suit and dark hair were familiar. Too familiar.
She skidded to a halt, her pulse thick and distant in her ears.
Nathan stopped with her, hand pressing against her spine. “Charlee?”
The man in the suit looked up, complexion dark beneath a thick mustache. Not Roy. Relief settled through her shoulders. Until he narrowed his eyes on her.
“That man is looking at me.” Did he know her? What the hell did he want? Oh God, he was walking their way.
Nathan pushed her behind him and held up his hand. “Identify yourself and don’t take another step.”
“Alan Patera. Executive Assistant to the CEO of Oxford Industries.”
She locked her knees and gripped the back of Nathan’s shirt.
“What do you want, Mr. Patera?” Nathan’s clipped tone did not invite idle conversation.
A technician in baggy jeans pushed a cart past her, its wheels screeching with each rotation.
Patera extended a thin hand, holding a crisp white envelope. “Mr. Oxford sends his regards.”
Shooting an arm toward him, Nathan grabbed the envelope, but Patera hung onto it.
Patera narrowed his eyes. “A response is expected.” He released it.
Shifting back with an envelope in hand, Nathan grabbed her wrist and led her around the smiling Craig.
“What was that about?” Her heart pounded an impatient tattoo as she glanced over her shoulder. The Craig was gone.
Outside, Colson opened the door to a waiting SUV.
Nathan’s attention swept left to right as he stuffed the envelope into his breast pocket. “Message from Roy.”
A throb erupted behind her eyes. He wrote her a letter? Was he out there, watching her? In one of the hundreds of cars in the lot? Standing behind one of the windows veneering the building? Waiting for an opportunity, for the millisecond of time when all of her guards might be looking the other way?
“Please, get in the car, Miss Grosky.” Colson waited, eyes on the exit behind her, hand on the door of the car.
She shivered and bolted in, sliding across the bench and bumping into Vanderschoot with a screech. “Oh, hi. Sorry.” Damn her out of control pulse.
The seat bounced with Nathan’s weight beside her. He reached for the door handle and pulled.