Jay settled his hand on her knee and quieted the bobbing. “You have three times the bodyguards right now. After your exposure with the paparazzi last night, the danger is heightened. We’ll follow protocol. They know what they’re doing.”
Nathan smiled his thanks and stepped onto the cracked pavement with Tony on his trail. She split off and traversed in the opposite direction to clear the rear and side entrances. Her jeans were meant to help her blend in, but they did nothing to conceal her alert and professional air.
Storied buildings lined the veritable Greenwich Village thoroughfare. Commercialization occupied the street level flats and residents inhabited the floors above. Jay had never visited this end of the city and his unfamiliarity with the area didn’t help his anxiety.
Her building was four stories, veneered with laddered scaffolding, and surrounded by enormous old trees. Without much traffic, it should be a seamless in and out. Yeah, he’d keep telling himself that.
Colson, his secondary driver and bodyguard, parked in the side lot and stepped out to stand by Charlee’s door.
She turned to Jay. “Is this how life is for you? Bodyguard formations and perimeter sweeping every time you want to go somewhere?”
One of the many reasons he never wanted to leave his safe zone. “I should ask you the same question.”
“Point made.” She looked out the window, her eyes darting between Colson’s post and Tony’s movements around the building. “Though my excursions are a bit more economical.”
Not anymore. She would have everything needed to stay safe.
He patted his wig, hat and sunglasses. Everything was where it should be. The street was calm. The security team was thorough. Then why was his pulse racing?
“You have a look about you.”
How could she see anything behind his sunglasses? “What kind of look?”
“The kind of look your fans have at the ticket booth when they find out your show is sold out.”
Disappointment? Indifference? He shook his head.
“Fear and aggression.”
Jesus, she was perceptive. “I don’t like public places and crowds.”
“Ah. Crowds with hands.” She gnawed the corner of her thumbnail. “How do you deal with concerts and public interviews and red carpet stuff?”
“I avoid them when I can.”
Stillness settled over her. She stared at her hand in his, her eyes weighted with thought. “When you walked into my shop three years ago, you didn’t have security to protect you. How’d you maneuver the crowds then?”
Very carefully. His mouth crooked up. “No one knew or cared who I was then.”
She nodded. “When you came to me that night, you brought me a hopeful vision. Want to hear it?” She looked at him beneath her lashes.
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear to see her face. “Very much.”
“This might sound silly, but I envisioned you on stage in a crowded arena proudly baring your tattoo. The tattoo I hoped you’d grow to appreciate. The one I hope to finish.”
A collision of emotions accumulated in his throat.
“I lost so much the night I met you, but I hung onto that image. It got me through some of the tough parts, you know?”
“Jesus, Charlee.” He cupped her jaw and lifted her forehead to rest against his.
“Someday soon, I want to see you singing at the center of the stage instead of from its darkest corner.”
Could he do that for her?
“With your shirt off.”
He bit down on his tongue to stay the refusal.
“What about the live shows? How do you deal with it? Even if you aren’t visible, you’re there, singing and playing in front of thousands.”
Admit it and fix it. She deserved nothing less. “I use blow, Charlee.”
She removed her forehead from his and replaced it with her lips. “Getting lit on stage is not cool.” Another kiss to his brow and she leaned back to meet his eyes. “I guess we both have our fucked up self-therapies, huh?”
A shudder gripped him. This woman survived slavery and untold abuse and rape. “How did you escape hell with no mental or physical damage?”
She let out a mirthless laugh and released his hand to mime swinging a baseball bat. “Ol’ Roy was proficient at caning. He knew how to hit without scarring.” She dropped her hands and a cold deadness hollowed her eyes, her voice. “And he brought in a plastic surgeon to erase wounding cuts when he slipped.” She touched a spot under her thigh and leaned forward to drag a finger over one butt cheek.
The muscles in his face and neck became painfully tense. Calm the fuck down. She was speaking openly about it. He needed to openly listen.
“And these—” She tapped her front teeth “—are porcelain crowns.”
A red fog clouded his vision and he clenched his hands.
“There are scars you haven’t seen…from the vaginal and rectal tearing.”
His fist slammed into the seat in front of him, again and again.
“Jay, stop.” She twisted her head toward the door where Colson stood, facing the lot and ignoring Jay’s rage like a good bodyguard.
He couldn’t hit hard enough, couldn’t obliterate her words or the images ripping out his heart.