“Why are these here?” He traced the vertical lines between her eyebrows.
Her heart thumped as she looked at him. His beautiful talented lips turned down at the corners. The canvas of his body called to her artist’s fingers. And within all that tanned skin contained an artist too, a brilliant musician and singer. “I’m feeling a little clingy. It’s embarrassing. I don’t want you to go yet.”
He grinned, popping a dimple through the shadow of his whiskers, and turned toward the door. “Clingy is perfect because you’re coming home with me.”
So he meant what he said. She ran to catch up with him. “I can’t just—”
“I’ll work out the details with Nathan and Tony.” He opened the door and hollered, “Where’s the butler? Charlee needs her clothes.” He looked back at her. “Where are your tattoo supplies?”
“At our apartment in the Village.” Could she just pack up and go with him? She and Nathan moved every few months, and he hated New York. But L.A. was so very close to San Francisco—
“Anything else you need to bring with you?”
How dangerous it was to consider going with him. “I can’t just leave. I’ll have to discuss this with Nathan.”
“He’s coming with us.”
“He has a business here. If he wants to go, he’ll have to close it and I’m not leaving without him.” Her excitement to stay with Jay battled with her fear of being so close to the penthouse.
“Trust me.” He was still smiling, but his eyes were quiet and sober.
“I don’t know.”
The smile vanished. “You will.”
Tony knocked on the open door, holding a stack of folded clothes. “Looks like he got the vomit out.” Not a smile cracked.
“I’m going to ignore that comment. Who’s on duty right now?”
“Colson and Vanderschoot.”
“Send Colson to Charlee’s apartment. Tell him to pack what he can.”
Was he nuts? Even if she agreed to go, she’d do her own packing. Besides, he didn’t have her address. “Jay—”
A finger slanted across her lips and pressed. His hand at the back of her head reinforced the gesture. Then his eyes twinkled. Oh, fine, but shushing her like a child? Seriously?
Tony narrowed her eyes. “Are you extending your stay at the Plaza Hotel?”
“No, she and Nathan are accompanying us to L.A.”
She wanted to smack his hand away. Since touching him was off limits, she darted out her tongue and licked the finger at her lips. When his head swung around, his eyes wide on her, she bit down.
“Ow.” He yanked his hands back, holding his finger, his expression wounded. “I’m beginning to grow wary of that mouth.”
“Now that I have your attention, you big baby, here’s my terms, my…constitution.”
His jaw hardened.
“I am going to go pack up my tattoo kit and bring it back here. We can discuss next steps over tattoos and crumpets.” She accepted her clothes from Tony. “And I’m using your shower.”
“Can I pass two amendments to the Charlee Constitution?” His face molded into starchy formality despite the teasing in his voice.
“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.