Make Me: Twelve Tales of Dark Desire

by Aleatha Romig

  Eyes locked on the glide of her tongue, he swallowed. “That, too. I also like Shakespeare’s analogy. The world’s mine oyster, Which I with sword will open. The oyster is wealth. Opportunity. Possibility. You’re my oyster.”

  With her bent over him, her face so close, he could make out the pale dust of freckles on the arches of her cheekbones.

  She traced his eyebrows, the curve of his nose, his lips. “And your tongue is the weapon in which you acquire the opportunity. Not just in the obvious sense. Your tongue, through music, acquires the oyster, doesn’t it?” Her lashes fluttered downward. “It had this oyster three years ago when Huntress replayed over and over in Roy’s penthouse.”

  He lifted his head, used that weapon to part her mouth and delve inside. She welcomed every lick and nip with matching intensity. Their legs twined together and their thighs rubbed, her toes sliding down his jean-clad calf and digging into the leg opening. She clung to his shoulders and his fingers bit into her hips.

  He cracked his eyes and hers were squeezed tight in concentration. She could kiss him with a passion that arched his back and wrenched him from his memories with the mere sound of her laughter.

  It was a known fact that every great song slipped in a riff where the chords went to a unique, unexpected place. She was that song, those non-scale chords. Fuck, did he love this girl.

  Too soon, she broke the kiss and pushed up on her elbows where they perched on his chest. “I triggered your memories, huh?”

  He tucked a fiery lock of hair behind her ear, the soft ends slipping over his fingers. “I triggered them. You shut them off.”

  She stroked the stubble on his chin, studied his face. Then her gaze turned inward and her nose scrunched.

  “What are you thinking?”

  She shook her head, eyes flicking away.

  He curled up to a sitting position, adjusting her legs around him, groin to groin, chest to chest. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll just throw you over my knees and spank it out of you.”

  She straightened her back, eyes wide. “I think I just creamed those pretty white panties you picked out for me.”

  It was his turn to squeeze his eyes shut. “Jesus, Charlee.” Could he take her right there? Lay her out between the hedges and slide between her legs? Who was manning the cameras? Could he block their view? He glared at her. “You’re distracting me. Tell me what had your face all scrunched up.”

  An irritated hum vibrated in her throat and her little bounce in his lap didn’t help his swelling erection.

  “Oh fine. I was wondering how many women it takes to get you off on a normal night. Maybe I just lucked out last night. Maybe you were thinking about orgies with big-boobied blondes while you fucked me.” She blew out a breath. “There it is. I said it.”

  An onslaught of vertigo slammed into him. His cologne suddenly smelled pungent rather than exotic. His jeans cut into his groin, vulgar in their tightness. She wasn’t suggesting he was shallow and repulsive, but the feeling hit him with dizzying regret.

  He searched for the right thing to say and couldn’t grasp it. An apology was just words. His anger with Felica would distress her. Action would prove his devotion, but that took time.

  Gathering her against him, he nuzzled his face into her neck, breathed her in, memorized the soft curvy feel of her. There was one thing he could clear up. “You were blonde when I met you.” He let that sink in, felt her lift her hand and move it over her scalp, probably imagining the shorn blonde hair she wore that night in her tattoo shop.

  “Oh.”

  Not enough. He raised his head. When her eyes idled on his, he said, “I didn’t want intimacy with them. More than one…” Just say it, fuckhead. “More than one woman at one time guaranteed no intimacy. It’s a disgusting reason, but it’s the truth.”

  As if in slow motion, a swallow bobbed in her throat, weighting the delay in her response. “I want intimacy.”

  A surge of relief washed away some of his unsteadiness. “Me too. Only with you.”

  She nodded and it seemed to be more for her sake than his. “Okay.” She jumped up, offered him a hand. “Nathan has something to tell me about Roy. It won’t be good. Will you join me?”

  His head was still spinning around her last declaration. He reached for her hand, but stayed where he was. “Those women are vicious. Almost as bad as the tabloids. Stay away from all of it, Charlee, and I’ll protect you from it as much as I can.”

  Her eyes turned to frozen lakes. “I assure you, I’ve endured worse. I’ll deal with those women. You don’t need to protect me from everything.”

  He rose and used his height to punctuate his stance on this. “I do and I will.”

  A muffled titter floated up. He angled his head and glimpsed a twitch in her lips. The little brat was chuckling. He reared his hand back to swat her ass, and she darted. In a flash of red hair, she disappeared around the wall of bushes. Fuck, she was fast. He chased her, his own lips pulling away from his teeth.

  Up the path and through the front yard, he couldn’t tear his eyes from the sway of her ass through her strides. He tripped over the curb of the sidewalk. Righting himself through a forward lurch, he picked up his pace and caught her at the front door.

  She was frozen, muscles tense beneath his grip. He followed her gaze to the entertainment room, where Roy Oxford’s face stretched across the sixty-inch widescreen.

  Nathan stood before it, a hand on his hip, the other pointing the remote, adjusting the volume.

  “Your sources are accurate, Meredith.” Roy’s smile oozed from the screen and crawled over Jay’s skin. “Negotiations began this morning. Oxford Industries will acquire Windsor Records.”

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  ‡

  “Dickless psychopath.”

  Charlee realized she’d spoken her thoughts out loud when Jay and Nathan swung their heads toward her. Their faces held the same shock that had arrested her at the front door. Roy’s retaliation was expected, but beginning acquisitions of The Burn’s label in less than a day? That was one hell of a quick play.

  The clatter of silverware pulled her attention over her shoulder. Faye slid a plate of eggs, sausage, and cantaloupe across the island to Tony. The aroma of fried pork seasoned with red pepper hung over the counter in a cloud of lip-smacking spiciness. A reminder she hadn’t eaten since the flight the prior night.

  Seated around Tony, Jay’s bandmates shoveled through their own plates of breakfast grease. All eyes were on the TV as Nathan rewound the clip and started it again.

  Charlee’s situation with Roy affected the entire household. A heavy weight of guilt made her want to crawl in the corner and disappear, but that kind of weakness wouldn’t help anyone.

  “Go eat.” She pushed Jay toward the island.

  He glanced at her hands where they rested on his arm and gave her a small smile. She’d touched him without thinking, and he wasn’t having a meltdown. At least, they had that.

  Without moving her hands, she faced Nathan. “When did this air?”

  “Twenty minutes ago.” He paused the image of Roy’s face pinched in concentration and stared at it as if it held some hidden solution to all their problems.

  “He’s in his home office.” She gestured at the leather wallpaper and rich wood shelves in the background. Had there been a slave between his legs, sucking him off while leashed to a chain? Dread rolled over her in shuddering waves.

  “We had him tailed after we left your apartment yesterday,” Tony said around a mouthful of melon. “We assumed he went back to San Francisco, but we couldn’t confirm his arrival. This is good news. We know where he’s at.”

  They knew where he was twenty minutes ago. Charlee wasn’t sure what her expression held but Jay set his half-filled plate on the island and tugged her under the mantle of his arm. “San Fran is a six-hour drive from here. An hour and a half by plane.”

  He was telling her she had a couple hours before she needed to worry about Roy circlin
g the property in person. She nodded.

  When she turned back to Nathan, she noticed the vacant veranda behind him. Where were all the girls?

  “We sent the visitors home,” he said, perceptive as always. Worry lines creased the corners of his eyes. Something else was going on.

  Her head throbbed. “Nathan, how’d you know about the record company acquisition before it was publicly announced?”

  “I didn’t.” He powered off the TV. “This isn’t the news I received this morning. Sit down, Charlee.” He pointed to a deep cushioned chair in the living room.

  Her hands shook as she dragged her bare feet over the wood floors. Was Roy already blackmailing the band? Had they decided to turn her over to him? A violent surge of fear choked her breath. Worse, was the alarming pressure behind her eyes at the thought of being separated from Jay.

  Jay stayed at her side, carrying a plate piled with bacon and buttered toast. Lowering into the chair, he pulled her with him into his lap. “Half of this is yours.” He held the plate under her nose.

  Dishes rattled in the kitchen and multiple footsteps shuffled in around her. Faye perched on the armrest of a love seat. Rio, Laz and Wil spread out on the couches, unusually quiet as their eyes lingered on her longer than she was comfortable with.

  Nathan must have gestured them over. Why was everyone staring at her as if they’d never seen her before? Her insides knotted and she tried not to fidget under their scrutiny. Their expressions were heated, not with the anger she expected, but with a rawness that turned her stomach.

  She jerked her gaze to Nathan. “You told them.” How much had he told them? Did they know every sickening detail of her time with Roy?

  Tony paced into her periphery and stood beside Nathan. “We both did. They needed to understand—”

  “It’s fine, Tony.” Jay set the plate on the end table and shifted Charlee in his lap to face him. “I was going to tell them regardless. The band and everyone we employ will be impacted by your presence here, whether it’s adding more guards, upping the safety precautions… changing record labels.” His eyes were soft, gentle.

  Guilt stabbed her anew. In a way, it was a relief to not have to live in subterfuge and filter everything that came out of her mouth, but she didn’t want those luxuries at the expense of Jay’s friends and their careers.

  She swiveled in his lap to meet their eyes, the effort in her movements slogging with shame. “I knew this would reach beyond me, and I came here heedless of the trouble it would cause. I’m sorry.” She held the eyes of each musician. “Did they tell you everything?”

  Laz shrugged and leaned back in the couch. “We got the cliff notes. I already knew some of it, what you told me in the limo in New York. They filled in the rest. Imprisoned twice by this Oxford prick. He did things to you. Bad things. To his guards. Killed your boyfriend, too.” His expression was soft in the way that made her neck sink into her shoulders. He knew exactly what those things were.

  He sat forward, elbows on his knees. “Then there’s the arms-trafficking. Blackmailing. Bullying acquisitions. And now he’s on a mission to destroy our band.” He shrugged. “To rip us apart from the top down. That about sum it up?”

  She nodded, numb. He hated her. As he should. She looked at Wil, who fiddled with the drawstring of his trunks. His eyes rolled up and snagged hers. “I just want to know when you’re going to tattoo Laz’s dick.”

  A ripple of chuckles relieved some of the tension in the room. Well played, Wil. But the muscled legs beneath her turned to stone.

  Jay moved to the edge of the chair, taking her with him. “Are you mentally handicapped? She’s not going anywhere near Laz’s dick.”

  Wil flicked a blond coil out of his eyes. “A bet’s a bet.”

  “A bet I didn’t make. Someone else can do the tat.”

  Nathan rubbed his temples. “Can we focus on the point of this meeting?”

  “You’re touching him.” Rio’s deep bass jerked every head in Charlee’s direction. “Fucking hands all over his fucking body.” His dark eyes were the size of cymbals and wrinkles formed on his bald head.

  Charlee’s palm stilled on Jay’s bicep beneath his shirt sleeve. The other pressed against the sinews straining in his neck.

  “No one touches Jay,” Rio rose. “No one ever touches Jay.”

  Laz dropped his jaw. “You’re a fucking miracle.” He pointed to guys, grinning. “She’s cured him!”

  In the next breath, Rio’s massive body plowed into them, knocking the chair backward and sprawling the three of them across the floor. Charlee rolled free of the grappling limbs.

  Rio pinned Jay to the floor, straddling his hips, and arms hooked around him in a bear hug. She crawled toward Jay’s head to make sure he wasn’t lost in his memories.

  His eyes were shut, his arms crossed over the other man’s back, and a smile tugged one side of his mouth. It was a pose that might’ve made a straight man blush. A man outside the intimate circle of the band, anyway.

  Nathan hadn’t moved from his spot near the TV. Hands in his pockets, eyes on Tony’s stiff stance a few feet away. He seemed to be taking advantage of the diverted moment. He looked so content, Charlee hoped he had a lot more of those moments in his future.

  Charlee climbed to her feet to watch the strange display of affection from afar. Laz and Wil jumped on Rio’s back, pulled him off and took his place. Wil grabbed Jay’s hands. Jay widened his eyes just as Laz’s fist caught him in the stomach.

  Gasping, she jumped up to intervene, but Jay caught her gaze and shook his head. His smile convinced her to back off.

  Rio pulled away from the twisting pile of bodies and approached her. “How’d you do it?”

  The touching? She shouldn’t have been surprised by how affected they were by it—or lack of it. “He’s doing it. He’s fighting it.”

  Without warning, Rio’s arms came around her, pinning her hands at her sides and lifting her from the floor. Oh shit. His lips landed on hers, slobbery and aggressive.

  “Riooooo.”

  At the sound of Jay’s distressed bellow, Rio released her and bent over, clutching his knees and roaring with laughter. “Dude, I kept my tongue to myself.” He stepped away, hands in the air, eyes twinkling. “Next time, I won’t be such a prude.”

  Laz used the distraction to slap Jay’s face. His hand stayed there, holding his jaw. “I’ve wanted to do that for so damn long. And this…” He shoved Jay’s face away, rolled him over with Wil’s help, all three grunting with the effort to out-wrestle each other.

  “Hold him.” Laz fought Jay’s arms while Wil put a knee in his back, pressing him to the floor.

  What were they going to do? She looked at Rio in a silent plea to stop them, but he only stretched an arm in front of her to block her. Poor Jay was on his own.

  Laz reached under Jay’s waistband and yanked his briefs.

  Jay’s yelp accompanied the rip of cotton. “Sonofabitch. The one day I wear underwear—”

  “That’s payback for giving me a wedgie in front of Cindy Hollis in ninth grade.” Laz grinned at Charlee as if her witnessing the performance was the true punishment.

  Jay flopped to his back in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. All these years, they could never hit him, hug him, or seek childhood restitution. She could see now the barrier his triggers had put between him and his friends. Yet, they had somehow maintained a bond that ignored limitations.

  “Jesus.” Nathan paced beside the wrestling match. “Can we have the touchy feely reunion another time?”

  But they were too caught up. Jay was still laughing as the three of them rolled through the room, red-faced, throwing legs, ripping t-shirts, and slamming each other into the wall.

  Charlee stood back, her fingers curled against her lips, her heart right there with them.

  A high-pitched whistle pierced through the grunting and fist smacking. Faye stood on the leather ottoman, fingers between her teeth.

  The guys broke apart and
stared up at her, panting. She’d done this before.

  “As much as I don’t want to disrupt a happy fight for a change, Nathan’s been trying to get your attention. Sit your asses down and give it to him.”

  After a few skull smacks and playful shoves, everyone returned to the couches. Charlee righted the chair, climbed back onto Jay’s lap, and handed him his breakfast. Hair mussed and face flushed, he gave her a brilliant smile.

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  ‡

  Charlee’s earlier anxiety returned as Nathan approached her. Seeing his tense expression and hands on his hips took her back through their years on the run. He was worried.

  “We have a spotter at Roy’s penthouse.”

  “Another one?” Adrenaline heated her blood, energized her. This was great news. Nathan had been the one and only spy they knew of. Given the manner in which she escaped, it was safe to assume Roy wouldn’t be so trusting with new employees.

  A twitch rippled over his jaw. “He works for Henry Munt.”

  “The same Henry Munt who funded your undercover assignment?” After losing his family-owned company to Roy, Henry was determined in his revenge. And Nathan fucked that up by blowing his cover when he rescued her.

  “Same Henry. His spotter has been embedded within Roy’s ranks since before I was there. I remember him. He’s good. I never suspected he was anything other than one of Roy’s corrupt guards.”

  “Why did Henry hire you if he already had a spy in position?”

  Nathan shrugged. “To cover his bases. In hopes one of us succeeded.”

  Holy hell. That meant the spotter had been working undercover for over three years. She filed through all the possibilities. “He should’ve found a way to collect video footage by now. Of me. Or maybe of some of the behind-the-door conversations of Roy’s dealings.”

  Nathan sighed. “Impossible, Charlee. Roy’s business is defense technology and information security. His shit is locked down. Videos feed to unknown locations. All data transmissions are encrypted. And with alerts on his equipment, he knows the moment someone tampers with it.”