Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Who was Faye? Jay’s note had mentioned her—

  “You must be Charlee.”

  Charlee turned toward the soft voice and was met with a bright smile of a woman in her sixties. Her hair, clipped close all the way around her head, spiked in random tuffs of gray. Huge round hoops of silver adorned her ears and matched the glittering color of her eyes. She slapped a kitchen towel over her slim shoulder and held out her hand. “I’m Faye.”

  Charlee grasped it, surprised by the strength of her grip, given the woman’s small stature. “Charlee. Nice to meet you.”

  Faye spun toward the long island, which separated the kitchen from the entertainment room. An eye-catching wine glass rack hung over the counter like a chandelier, tinkling as Faye glided past it.

  She stopped at the stove, her Boho skirt licking at her ankles in a kaleidoscope of colors. “Are you hungry? I was just scrambling up some eggs for the pigs outside.”

  By pigs, did she mean Jay’s bandmates? Charlee leaned against the island. “Are you the—”

  “Manager extraordinaire. From band contracts to the hired help, I manage everything for these boys. But I’m not their cook.”

  Charlee’s expression must have matched her confusion, because Faye said, “Since they have a concert tonight, I want something sticking to their ribs besides sugar and alcohol. And with the floozies distracting them out there—”

  “A concert tonight?” Jay never mentioned a concert. A thrill of excitement kicked through her, but quickly evaporated. Would she have to stay at the house because of the danger Roy posed?

  The topless blonde sauntered in from outside and sidled up beside her. “Faye, I need a beer.”

  “No, you need a shirt.” Faye’s eyes were piercing slivers of ice. “Get your tits off my counter and put some clothes on.”

  The woman huffed. “This isn’t your kitchen or your house, much as you like to pretend.”

  Faye crossed her arms, ticking the spatula back and forth. “Yes it is, bitch, and it certainly ain’t yours. No shirt, no booze. Get out.” The chill in her eyes sent a shiver down Charlee’s back.

  The overlarge boobs didn’t bounce as the woman stomped to a bag leaning against the couch. Nor did they sag when she bent and pulled on a tight tank top. They seemed to be as hard as her eyes, glaring at Charlee. “Who are you?”

  Charlee had limited experience with women, but when her tough, tattoo-seeking clientele hit her with attitude, she retaliated with kindness. She extended a hand toward the woman. “Hi. I’m Charlee.”

  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.

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  ‡

  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.”

  A chorus of disapproving moans rumbled back.

  Rio tossed the packet of Fun-Dip he was licking and jumped up from his lounger. “Let’s go inside and have a little chat.” He bumped his barrel chest into Jay’s, bullying him into the house with the sheer size of his body, careful to keep his hands up and out.

  Jay wasn’t about to throw down with his drummer. For the first time, he questioned the wisdom of all them living together. Too many egos under the sa
me roof. But if they could endure sixteen weeks crammed in a tour bus, they could share a thirteen-thousand-square-foot mansion.

  “Is this about your little red snatch?”

  So much for not throwing down. Jay swung his arm, put his whole body into it, and hit the brick wall of Rio’s chest. The man looked down at Jay’s fist dropping uselessly away and grinned.

  “Call her that again and I won’t be above breaking your fingers while you’re passed out.” Jay spun toward the front door and shook out the throb in his hand.

  Rio beat him there. “My life is a haven of tight cunts and tighter drumbeats. You cannot and will not change the way we live just because your little Huntress can’t handle it. Look at me.” Rio rarely showed anger, but when he did, it boomed. “Nor can you change your past.” He lowered his voice. “Does she know what you gave up after you met her? No sex. No drugs or alcohol. You lived like a fucking monk.”

  “I’m drug-free now.”

  One brown brow climbed toward Rio’s bald head. “Good for you.” His tone was dry, disbelieving.

  “Fuck you.”

  “Straighten out your fucking head, Jay. Feel me?”

  Rio’s voice rattled louder than the door slamming between them. Jay followed the path around the estate and through the manicured front lawn. Palm trees fringed the property, but they were aesthetically placed. The true barrier was the eight-foot privacy fence behind them.

  Straighten out his head? Fuck if he could. Charlee had it spinning around so damned fast, he didn’t know which way was straight.

  Yeah, he did. It was whichever way she was headed.

  Shouts hurtled from the edge of the garden. Following the voices, he found her shoving Nathan in the chest. The man’s stiff posture didn’t ripple beneath her hands.

  “I’m going.”

  “No. You’re not.” Nathan propped his fists on his hips and stared down at her.

  She circled him, hands balled at her sides, and shoved his back. “I am. You can’t stop me.”

  Jay froze. She wanted to go? She’d only just arrived. Seeing her so fired up to leave roiled his stomach, keeping his feet rooted and his presence silent.

  Nathan sighed. “Charlee, beating on me won’t change my mind.”

  She punched him low in his back, and he chuckled. “Now you’re just behaving like a bratty teenager.”

  “Arrgh.” She flopped down on one of the stone benches. “Maybe because I never got to be a teenager.”

  Nathan rubbed his eyes. “I’m not falling for that one again.”

  She pressed her forehead to her knees and held up her middle finger. Nathan stepped toward her toe-to-toe and twined his finger with the one she held up. Jay swallowed back his jealousy and forced himself to watch.

  “Why do you have to go so badly?” Nathan squatted before her.

  “Because, all the—” She stomped a foot, her head bobbing on her knee. “You wouldn’t understand. Just go away.” Despite her slumped posture, her tone was fierce.

  Nathan released her hand and shoved her head up with the press of his fingertips on her brow. Much the way a guy might handle a bothersome little sister. Jay’s shoulders relaxed.

  “What wouldn’t I understand?”

  She looked up, blinked those huge blue eyes. “There will be women everywhere tonight. Women he’s fucked.” She glanced away, blinked again. “They’ll be pawing him, and he doesn’t do well in those situations. I want to be there to protect him, to support him…and I want to hear him sing.”

  Oh, Christ. She didn’t want to leave. She wanted to go to the concert. Jay’s heart raced, as did his feet. Around the hedges and along the path to the corner where they huddled. He skidded to a stop behind Nathan. “Let me talk to her.”

  Nathan stood, dug in his pocket. “Be my guest.” He pulled out a phone and handed it to Jay. “This is hers. Tony had a spare. I’ve programmed the numbers of the protective team and the household staff. Will you look over them, make sure I’m not missing anything?”

  Jay nodded and pocketed the phone.

  With a tap on Charlee’s head, Nathan said, “When you’re done here, I need to talk to you. I’ll be up at the house.”

  When Jay could no longer see Nathan beyond the privacy of the garden, he joined her on the bench. She cast a worried look at him then focused on her fingers twisting on her lap.

  He settled a hand over hers and stilled the movement. “For a minute there, I thought you were begging Nathan to take you away from here. Away from me.”

  She jerked her head up, the depths of her eyes gleaming an unfathomable turquoise hue in the sunlight. “Oh no, that’s…No, I don’t want to leave.”

  The skin between her fingers was as soft and soothing as a classical guitar riff. He wanted her velvet touch gliding effortlessly over his body. Probably not an appropriate time to want such a thing, but it didn’t stop him from imagining it. “Going to the concert is a bad idea, Charlee.”

  Her face crumpled, but she still managed to clench that stubborn jaw. “When do you leave for your next tour?”

  Motherfucker. He hadn’t even thought about that. “In two weeks.”

  “Two weeks.” She stared across the garden. “And what? I stay here and wait for your return? For how long?”

  No fucking way. “It’s a sixteen-week tour.”

  She nodded, swallowed, and maintained her faraway stare. “That’s a long time.”

  Too long. “You’re going with me.”

  A little noise squeaked in her throat. She looked at him with so much longing, her eyes burned with it. So did his. She didn’t ask him to repeat what he said. Hell, he wasn’t sure he could. Taking her on tour with him was dangerous and selfish, and Nathan would stab him before he allowed it. And the groupies…Christ, the groupies would eat her alive. How the fuck could he protect her on the road?

  With an army of highly-trained bodyguards, that was how. He sure as hell couldn’t guard her with sixteen weeks and hundreds of miles between them. “I’ll deal with Nathan.”

  That earned him a smile that made him want to make more rash promises.

  “I’d like to make an amendment to the Charlee Constitution.”

  He arched his eyebrow, waited.

  “The amendment states that I go with you tonight. You know, as a practice run, see how the team guards both of us.”

  Anything. Anything at all to keep her smiling like that. “I’m finding it very hard to say no to you.” He dropped to his knees and wedged his body between her legs, gripping her hips. “Amendment approved.”

  She searched his face, her eyes a soft stroke everywhere they rested. “Let me touch you.” Two fingers hovered over his mouth, waiting.

  The need for her touch was as a strong as his fear of the things it might rouse. Fuck it. He nodded.

  Keeping her fingers at a teasing distance, she leaned in and kissed his cheek. “If the bad stuff creeps in, sing to me, okay? I’ll hear you.”

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  ‡

  The flutter of fingers tickled Jay’s mouth. Charlee’s lips joined the sensation. Then her breath. The flutter moved over his cheeks and down his throat. His pulse picked up and the edges of his mind curled away, taking the sunlit garden with it.

  He focused on the heat of her lips, the fragrance of her skin, but there was a flame at his back and it burned. Oh God, it burned.

  “Sing to me.”

  A lulling voice in the dark. Where was he? Not the shed. Not with the fingers trailing all too gently down his arm. Not with the sweet voice humming from the mouth pressed against his.

  He blinked, tried to displace the darkness, couldn’t. So he sang. He could smell charred skin. He sang louder, let it pour out from deep within him.

  Lay still. Stop sniveling, boy. He wanted to put his clothes back on. Aunt El wouldn’t leave if he fought her. He pressed his face in the musty mattress, tried to suppress the tears she hated, tensing as the bed springs shook beneath her weight.


  A light, graceful peal shattered the dark. Someone laughing. He reached for it, sang along with the blissful sound. More laughter. He followed it out of the shed and into the blinding sun. She was there, inches away. Oceanic eyes, pale smooth skin of a pearl, cheeks rosy with the glow of amusement.

  He held himself still, wishing he’d never have to leave the center of her dancing gaze. “Something funny?”

  Her hands slid up his chest and rested on either side of his throat. She shook her head at him, smiling, still laughing. “I’m your oyster?”

  The remnants of his nightmares rippled off him as he pulled her from the bench to straddle his lap. Her hands went to his back, circling over his scars.

  “Tell me I wasn’t singing the oyster song.” He tucked her head under his chin.

  “You’re mine oyster, which I…with tongue will open…and suck out your juices.” She half-giggled, half-sang the lyrics he’d drunkenly written one night while fantasizing about her. “Who did you write that for?”

  “You’re my muse, Charlee. All of my songs are inspired by you.” His bandmates might’ve been annoyed with his three-year infatuation, but The Burn didn’t hit the charts until he started embedding her into their music.

  Her fingers moved up his spine, flirting with the hair at his neck. “I don’t know what to say to that except…how exactly do I inspire oysters?”

  “You’re shaped like one.” Bottling the laugh blooming in his chest, he couldn’t see her face tucked below his chin and forced himself to wait for her reaction. When she didn’t say anything, didn’t even pull his hair where her fingers toyed, he said, “You’re smelly, too. And you definitely don’t have any feelings.”

  She yanked his head back by the hairs on his nape and shoved his chest until his back hit the grass. As she followed him down, his horizon filled with her beautiful smile, his body tightening beneath her.

  “And here I thought it had something to do with my hidden pearl.” Her voice was smoky, pure seduction. She licked her lips.