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A laugh burst out of him. “I better be there when that happens. I’ll help you clean the grit out of those hard to reach places.”

He pulled her in, crushing her back against his chest. They would be pushing out of San Diego immediately after the set was broken down, and the remainder of the trip was inland. He kissed the crook between her neck and shoulder. There would be plenty of downtime after the tour to take her to every ocean in the world.

Swift footfalls that could only belong to Tony whispered through the cabin. Phone to her ear, she grabbed the remote and switched off the guys’ video game.

“What the fuck, Tony?” Laz held the controller in the air, his mouth agape.

“Got it. Thanks, Faye.” She pocketed her phone and flipped through the channels, stopping on a news station. “Alan Patera, assistant to—”

“We know who he is.” Adrenaline heated Jay’s cheeks and spiked his pulse.

Charlee straightened, her twisting fingers echoing his unease. He clutched her hands.

Tony shifted to unblock Charlee’s view of the TV. “He called to warn us of a news report coming— Here it is.” She dialed up the volume, and the camera panned to a middle-aged anchorwoman with botoxed lips.

“Recently retired CEO of Windsor Records, Maxim Windsor, announced today that Jay Mayard, vocalist and guitarist of the popular rock band,The Burn, has been having sexual relations with his daughter, Sylvia Windsor. It is unknown if these relations began before Sylvia’s eighteenth birthday last month. If accused, Jay Mayard could be facing statutory rape charges in the state of California.”

Dread constricted his airflow, and Charlee’s fingers tugged uselessly in his flexing fist.

“What the fuck kind of fucking bullshit is this?” Laz hurled the controller, and it smashed somewhere in the galley.

“Shh.” Tony slashed a hand in Laz’s direction.

“…Oxford Industries’ acquisition of Windsor Records, Mr. Windsor stepped down from his position as CEO of the label; however, he contends thatThe Burn’spopularity is owed to Jay Mayard’s relationship with his daughter. Jay Mayard has declined to comment on these allegations, and Sylvia Windsor could not be reached for comment.

“Jay Mayard is not new to lawless behavior. His career has been plagued with drug use. In 2011, he was carried off the stage at Madison Square Garden due to a supposed overdose of speedball.”

“Turn that shit off.” Jay jumped up, shoved his hands in his hair, pulling, twisting, his heart tearing through his chest.

“That is so not cool.” Wil reached for the remote and clicked off the screen. “Jay has never OD’d.”

“Jay. Sit down.” Charlee’s tone was soft, too soft.

No way would she believe him after everything he’d done. He didn’t want to face her, didn’t want to see any more pain straining her face.

“Sit.” Stronger that time, but not angry.

He sat, dragged his eyes, burning as they were, to meet hers.

“Have you slept with her?”

The ache in his eyes clouded his vision. His teeth sawed at his cheek. An eighteen-year-old? Never. He was twenty-seven, for Christ’s sake, but why would she believe him?

She raised a hand to touch his cheek and withdrew it before she made contact. His heart sank.

“No, you haven’t slept with her.” Her eyes brightened. “Have you met her? In public or otherwise?”

Wait. What? She just looked at him and saw the truth? He gathered her to his chest and squeezed her harder than he should have. He didn’t care what the press said about him. Only Charlee’s opinion of him mattered.

He pressed his lips against the top of her head and cupped her face, lifting it to look into her perceptive eyes. “I met her once. A promotional eventafterwe signed with Windsor. She…” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “She propositioned me.”

“For sex?”

His stomach rolled. “I turned her down.” His response was coarse and tasted like acid. He remembered the girl’s determination, her attempts to touch him. He hadn’t let her down easy.

“A woman scorned.” She sat back, eyes rimmed red, and his hands slipped from her face. “She made Roy’s favorite score too easy.”

“Favorite score?”