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Nathan touched her hand. “Want me to read it?”

She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”

So Jay was the only asshole she was ignoring. He earned it, but he didn’t have to fucking like it.

She held up the nondescript envelope to the light. White. Standard size. No writing or logos. Was it a correspondence from Roy? A swarm of hostility took over his muscles, tensing him from neck to feet. “Did you see Roy? Was he here?”

She picked at the sealed flap, shoulders bunched to her ears.

His hands clenched with the urgency to be closer, to hold her pain for her. “Vanderschoot. Switch with me.”

The guard swiveled his balding head, looking around the tight seating arrangement, probably wondering how he would maneuver a switch while the vehicle was in motion. “Right now, Mr. Mayard?”

Charlee let her head fall back and glared at the roof. “Jay, would you please just sit there—” she let out a ragged, drawn out exhale “—and shut the fuck up.”

His face caught fire, his shame reigniting. If he were perfect, she’d be too good for him. He was far from perfect. “I deserve your anger, your hate, and anything else you want to throw at me.” None of that mattered while her life was in danger. He needed to be very clear, make her understand. He couldn’t face losing her again. “My fuck up does not change your need for protection.” He shifted to the edge of the seat and the force of his breath ruffled the crimson river of hair flowing over her seat back. “I employ your protective team, so I need to know what the fuck is going on.”

He snapped his fingers at Vanderschoot. “Switch.”

The lean man folded his body and crawled to the back beside Jay.

“Thanks.” With a lot less grace and an unnecessary hand on Charlee’s shoulder, Jay tumbled into the second row.

Gorgeous blue eyes narrowed on him, stealing his breath. Her lashes fluttered closed through a deep breath. “I’m pissed. Hurt. Ashamed…Frustrated.” She glanced out the windshield and whispered, “Blue ovaries frustrated.”

Jesus, she couldn’t have hit him any harder. He’d left her unsated. Again. While one of his weakest decisions fogged his head asheclimaxed. He buried his face in his hands, wanting so badly to take it all away. Too damn late. The ugliest, dirtiest side of himself had sauntered out of its hole and spread its legs in her face.

She didn’t run. Instead, she seemed willing to talk about it. He raised his head. “You want to do this right now? We can. My protective team knows all about my indiscretions. They’ve carried my unconscious ass out of more concerts than not. And maybe Nathan should hear what kind of a fuckwad he’s working for.”

Nathan drummed his fingers on his knee and stared out his window. “I’m already well-informed.”

“Be nice, Nathan.” She massaged her temple. “And Jay, please don’t insult yourself. It’s not helpful.”

Jay blew out a breath and leaned back. “The kid I shoved in the hallway slipped me forty migs of Oxycontin.”

She snapped her head toward him. The flash of passing headlights glanced off her rounded eyes.

“I wanted a light buzz, a dose of energy. Oxycontin gives me that without the appearance of being high.”

“So does Red Bull. And Starbucks.” She was back to staring out the windshield, the envelope twitching in her hand.

“Touché.” He bent his elbows on his knees. “I also needed a panic attack suppressant. I thought what I took was Oxycontin. Maybe I got the dose wrong. Maybe it was mislabeled. Because the high has…had a delusional effect. Like heroin.”

It had been only him and Charlee in that arena. No crowd. No groupies. Everything had peeled away, leaving an erotic euphoria with her at its center.

Narcotics had a way of driving him through the worst of his anxiety. A numbing appeal. But he would lose her if he didn’t take the wheel and confront his weakness head-on and sober.

“Are you delusional now?”

The single pitch in her voice vented her suspicion. He knew she was thinking if she couldn’t recognize the side effects, how would she ever know when he was high? Worse, he’d annihilated any trust he might’ve earned. “I’m clear-headed enough to know I made the second worst decision of my life tonight.”

She looked away from what he knew was desperation burning in his eyes.

“I’ll give up the tour, the shows…the band. Anything to make this right.” Yeah, he was choking with desperation. He hadn’t lied. He’d give it all up.

“Drama queen.” She flipped the envelope over and over through a weighted moment. Then she tucked her chin to her chest and asked, “What was your worst decision?”

The memory of the night he met her coiled around him, suffocating and intoxicating all at once. “St. Louis. Three years ago. Letting you walk away. If I’d delayed you, took you for coffee, kidnapped you myself…”