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“Who is that?” Wow, she sounded bitchy.Get a grip.

“Ella Naas. Tour manager.” He tossed Charlee a knowing look. “Better make friends. She’ll be sharing our bus.”

Yay. Why did she have to be so pretty and smiley?

Standing a few feet behind Jay, Tony raised a hand, palm out, and gestured with her index finger toward the window at Nathan.

He straightened. “Ready for this?”

Charlee nodded and followed him out, snaking around the hustle of crew and security.

Jay stood at the rear of the bus, his back to her, his attention on Ella. Charlee gnashed her molars together and turned her head away.

The door folded open, and she climbed stairs into the hushed cabin. No one had boarded yet.

Nathan relieved the guard posted at the door and took his place. “Your things are already on board, Charlee. Get situated. We’re rolling out in thirty minutes.”

“‘kay.” She moved to the center of the bus.

Her breath swept out. Wow. Longer and more spacious than it appeared from the outside, there was so much to look at. Brown leather couches curved around both sides. Dark wood glossed the cabinets and enriched the moldings. Sliding doors covered every cranny. Strips of lighting chased the aisle and roof and reflected off the black marble floor. Stereos, gaming consoles and flat screens mounted four corners.

It was a monstrous, eight-wheeled symbol of luxury and arrogance. She curled her toes in her Doc Martens to refrain from bouncing with excitement.

The door swooshed behind her, followed by the steady gait she’d memorized over the past two weeks.

“Let me show you our bunk.”

His deep voice caressed her ear and the heat of his body enveloped her. Would he always have that effect on her?

Hands on her waist, he nudged her down the aisle, past the sitting area. The galley nestled in a corner cabinet on the left. On the right, a bench for four wrapped a fold-out table.

“Keep going.” His fingers tapped her hip bones.

The door behind the galley opened to a toilet and a miniature vanity and shower.

“The band has one rule on the road.”

She twisted her neck and met his twinkling eyes. Oh, this should be good. “Only one?”

“We made a second rule that required Laz to wear clothes in the front lounge, but it backfired. He wore banana hammocks the entire tour, claiming they were clothes by definition.”

She turned, pressing her mouth against his chest, and muffled a half-moan, half-laugh. “Do I dare ask what the one rule is?”

“No shitting on the bus.”

“What?” Looking up into his face, she was sure hers was an expression of horror.

He grinned, gorgeous and taunting, his hand clutching the door frame above her.

“Oh my God. I thought you were serious.”

“I am.” He was still grinning. “I mean, there’s a grinder to…you know, grind shit, but I promise you don’t want any of those guys taking a dump in here. Small space. No airflow. Dining table and kitchen a foot away. You get the idea. We make regular bathroom stops.”

It was going to be a long sixteen weeks. She pushed a drape aside and entered a narrow corridor. Yikes. Tight squeeze. A glance behind her confirmed his shoulders fit, but they brushed the wood panels on both sides.

Eight bunks enclosed her. Four on either side, stacked two high. “Crammed in like—”

“Rockstars?” He cocked his head, lips twitching, and pointed. “That one’s ours.”