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“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.

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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 same 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.