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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.”

57

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, butThe Burndidn’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.

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 whenHuntressreplayed 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.