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Nathan’s hand on her back nudged her forward past the view of sun-bronzed boobs. “Faye’s in the kitchen. Go introduce yourself. I’ll be back. Then we have some things to talk about.” He flicked a finger over his shoulder and exited through the front door beyond the edge of the kitchen.

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.