The Crow Brothers: JET - TULSA - RIVERS - RIDGE

by Scott, S. L.

  This feels like what I want.

  She feels like what I need.

  11

  Nikki

  “I’m stuffed.” I think about passing out right here on Tulsa’s bed.

  I’m tempted to stay for more than just because I’m stuffed. I think I’ve watched him lying on the other bed more than the movie he ordered. Although I’m weak for a Hemsworth brother, when I catch Tulsa with his hand rubbing over his hard and very defined abs, I’m starting to think I’m weak for a Crow brother too.

  I’m not sure when this happened. When did I start looking at him differently? The past few weeks have been like a cupid’s arrow hit me in the ass, and now Tulsa’s quips that once annoyed me charm me instead.

  Sandy-blond hair that tends to the darker side and blue eyes that hold more depth than my boring blues aren’t my typical type. I’ve always been drawn to a bit of darkness—hair, eyes, mystery. That’s what got me in trouble in the past. It wasn’t mysterious, just cruelty. Lesson learned.

  But here Tulsa Crow is, with his wide-open heart being exactly who he is for the world to judge.

  It’s not one thing that’s drawn me in. All of him pulls at me—that handsome face with the strong jaw and straight nose with the slight bump like he’s been in a few fights. His almond-shaped eyes that seem to find me even in the dark of the backstage. His hair when it’s not slicked with gel but has untamed waves trying to escape. Broad shoulders and, from what I’ve seen in stolen glimpses, great abs. He’s tall like his brothers and has the same kindness in his eyes. He talks a big game about girls without making apologies, but I have a feeling that, by the way he mentions his mother and seeing him interact with Holli and Rochelle, he respects women. It’s everything I’ve witnessed about him, and how he’s treated me that brought me to him tonight.

  He flirts with me, but he’s gentle. He held my hand to his chest with such heartwarming care. He held my hand while we walked down the hall. He fed me pizza and let me pick the movie.

  I’m not looking to be just another woman he sleeps with, but I’m starting to see why women find him hard to resist. Especially when he’s being sweet, and his ego is kept at bay.

  So while I lie here watching him, he lets me—

  Until he doesn’t. “Stop staring at me,” he says. His eyes stay on the TV, but his lips quirk up at the corners. Cocky bastard. Not that he’s wrong; I am staring.

  Okay, so he’s had it too easy with women. I’m not surprised, considering what he looks like. And I’ll give him credit where it’s due. He’s smooth with the lines and probably right about not having to work to get laid.

  “What do your parents look like?”

  His gaze flicks to mine. “Okay, that’s out of the blue. What do your parents look like?”

  I punch my pillow to get more comfortable and turn on my side. I’m tired of pretending I’m interested in the movie. I’ll just face him now. “I look like my mother. I’m not only told I look like her, but that I’m a younger version of her. It’s creepy in some ways, flattering in others.”

  He watches me, his gaze moving between my lips and eyes, sometimes dipping lower and back up. No apologies. “Why would it be creepy?”

  “Because in certain aspects I was expected to be her, not me. We look alike, but I’m still my own person.”

  “Does she sing?”

  “No, she has a terrible voice.”

  “You have an amazing voice.”

  My cheeks feel hot. Damn it. Blushing always gives my thoughts away. Distract. “She has a way of owning a room without any effort. It’s magical.”

  “Guess you share more than just good looks.”

  Goosebumps pepper my arms, but I’m not cold. “Can I tell you a secret, Tulsa?”

  “Anything that’s said, or done, in this room stays here.”

  I notice the minutest eyebrow lift when he added the “or done” part in there. That boy is horny if nothing else. I smile because I’m finding he brings out the same in me. “I always felt small, not able to shine as bright as her.”

  “Were you in competition with each other?”

  “No. She’s always wanted the typical things for me, like wanting me to have the best, be the best, marry the best. But she never pegged me against her. She’s been a great mom. It’s just all in my head, this feeling less than her business. Nothing she’s done.”

  “Does your brother know how you feel?”

  Rolling onto my back, I think about Laird and what he knows and what he doesn’t. “Some things. He’s a guy, so I haven’t told him everything.”

  “I’m a guy, and you’re telling me.”

  I sit up, the conversation as a whole making me uncomfortable. “Sorry, I hope you know what I mean.”

  A flicker of worry runs across his face, but he tames it and chuckles without humor. “Yeah, just one of the girls.”

  Nothing less than all man over there. “No, I just feel I can trust you.”

  All remnants of that concern dissipate. “You can, Nikki.”

  “His friends have hit on me when he wasn’t looking and then hit on my mom when they thought I wasn’t looking. My dad’s friends have hit on my mom when he wasn’t looking and hit on me when no one was looking.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “Yeah. Sucked.” I sigh. “This makes it sound like I’m emo or something. I’m not. Not anymore. At one time, my insecurities made me seek out anything that was the opposite of what I was, to find a place where I felt bigger inside.”

  “Did you find that place?”

  “Not where I was looking.”

  “Where were you looking?”

  “I turned to a guy I never should have. Everything about him was wrong for me.”

  “I think we all try to find ourselves in others.”

  Closing my eyes, I squeeze the memories out of my mind, not wanting to revisit them tonight, or ever, if I could have my way. “I lost myself.”

  Laird and Lauralee know the most, and Shane a little, but there are still dark parts I’ve kept hidden from everyone. And they’re starting to fester. I need to get them out of me. To purge them so I feel alive again.

  He gets up and stands at the side of the bed. “Move over.”

  I hesitate, but then I slide to the other side. Tulsa starts with his belt and then drops his jeans to the floor. I’m not worried about fending off advances. The heavy turn the conversation has taken makes me welcome his warmth.

  When his shirt gets tugged off from his back and pulled over his head, I lick the corner of my mouth, my lips feeling dry all of the sudden.

  Good God Almighty. Tulsa Crow has a body that gives him every right to be cocky. He also has three crow tattoos on his chest, which I want to lick and nip.

  In green briefs, he climbs under the covers and says, “Kick off your shoes and come over here.”

  I should give some snarky comment, protest, or even tease him, but I don’t. I kick off my shoes and get over there. My heart beats strongly in my chest, my breath comes a little quicker, and my throat thickens as I settle against his side. His arm cradles me as I rest my head on his shoulder.

  He lowers the volume on the TV and whispers, “Tell me about losing yourself.”

  No one has ever asked me that before, and I’m still not sure I want to respond now. But it’s as though the words are sitting on my tongue begging for release. And this man, this kind and funny man—my friend—wants to know. It’s as if he wants to carry some of the burden for me. So what do I do? I tell him.

  “I rebelled. So boring and normal. I met a guy one night when I was partying downtown. I was nineteen and in my second year at San Diego State.”

  His arm tightens around me, and he rests his cheek against the top of my head. My heart starts beating faster because it’s been so long since I’ve been held, but I realize it’s not just how long it’s been. It’s that this feels real. This feels special and meaningful.

  My breath comes harshly, so I take a deep bre
ath and try to regulate it. I continue, “This guy spent the night wooing me with free drinks and a few pills, which I popped without question. So fucking stupid.”

  “You’re lucky to be here.”

  In his arms? Yes. Alive? He has no idea. I nod against him and then take a chance by slipping my arm over his stomach. Yes, I feel lucky to be here. “Fast forward two years. It didn’t matter how many times he screamed that he loved me, I knew I had to leave. I had to get out, or I’d lose myself forever.”

  “What happened?”

  “Do we want to get to the dirty details while we’re sober?”

  “It’s best to deal with the pain instead of numbing it. I tried the other way, and it never did heal the wounds. I just had to face the pain to lessen it.”

  Anyone who hasn’t experienced pain couldn’t possibly relate so well. He makes me want to take away any remaining pain he feels. “Your mom?”

  His answer comes quietly. “Yeah.”

  Sitting up, I lean against his chest and look into his eyes. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Tulsa.”

  “So am I.” I’ve never heard such sadness. I want him happy, flirty, or even goofy. I want to see his smile and feel his warmth. I close my eyes and kiss his chest. Resting my forehead against his skin, I hold in the tears that threaten to fall for him. “Don’t cry for me. Enough tears have been shed. She’d want us to be happy.”

  His hand holds the back of my head, and he presses his lips to my hair, kissing me as if he wants nothing more than to see me smile. I’m seeing a whole new side to him, one I only got glimpses of before.

  I feel safe in his arms. Safe enough to tell him what I’ve kept from everyone else. “My ex used to tell me he’d never let me leave. That I was his. He said that if I left, he’d make sure no one else would ever be with me.”

  “The fuck?”

  “I left anyway. I knew I’d rather be alone than with him.” Getting comfortable again, I ask, “Why am I telling you all this? Isn’t it a golden rule not to talk about exes on dates?”

  “I’d like if this was a date. Is it?” He would?

  “Does it matter how we label things?”

  “Not really. It’s only for us—what we do and what we say.” He sits up. “If you were mine, I’d always touch you, kiss you, and make you feel . . .” His words trail off, and he turns his back to me, leaning away and running his hand through his hair.

  I’m left lying there behind him, feeling exposed and stupid. He turns back, pinning me with his piercing, blue eyes. “When I hear your pain, I want to heal you, Nikki. You make me want you when I’m not supposed to, when I’m not allowed to.”

  “Why aren’t you allowed to?”

  “Because everyone told me not to go near you.”

  “Everyone?”

  He nods. “Yes, pretty much everyone.”

  “Because of the tour?”

  “Yes.”

  “And because you sleep with a lot of women?”

  “Probably.”

  “How many?”

  “A lot.”

  Damn him. I’m close to being another. “You don’t know a number?”

  “No.”

  I shouldn’t be surprised. I’m not really. He’s a seriously sexy man. And right now, even though he’s slept with so many women, I want to be in his arms anyway. I want his touch. His kisses. His smiles. Him. I lie back down and reach for his hand to bring him to me. He bites his bottom lip—so sexy, even if he doesn’t intend it to be right now—and lies next to me. I reach my arm around the back of his neck to get him to face me, lying alongside me.

  “What if I tell you I don’t care about that number?”

  There’s that smirk. “I still can’t touch you.” But he’s rolled me onto my back and is inching his body carefully over mine. I barely breathe.

  “You’re touching me now.” His hips are pressing into mine, and I know he’s turned on. And, God, so am I. His fingers run down my cheek to my chin. So good.

  “God, yes, and you feel so fucking good.”

  “If I did this,” I start, and wrap my legs around him, “could you stop?”

  His eyes flutter closed for a brief second. “If you told me to.”

  “What if I told you not to stop? What then?”

  Dipping his head to the crook of my neck, his lips brush against me, and then he slides up to my ear. “It’s not just the outside that shines for me. It’s who you are on the inside—the woman on stage, the one who’s not afraid to share her thoughts, the woman who doesn’t put up with any garbage from a guy.”

  If he only knew that who I am is the result of putting up with garbage from a man. Maybe I was supposed to go through the past I had in order to get to the future I deserve.

  “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  I’ve been told that before, but it was hollow, superficial at best. Something in my gut tells me to believe Tulsa is telling the truth—this isn’t just about a pretty face. This is about how he sees the whole package.

  My insides become jelly.

  I could blame my body for betraying me like this and dropping all walls to let him in on the fact I haven’t had sex in too damn long, but I’d be lying.

  None of this makes sense. I barely know Tulsa, and he barely knows me, but the attraction between us feels more than physical. He appeals to my mind and soul as much as my body . . . and man is he appealing to my body right now.

  “Kiss me, Tulsa.”

  12

  Nikki

  Tulsa rolls to his back.

  No!

  That’s not what I want. That’s not what I want at all.

  He looks back and says, “I want to kiss you, more than you know, but if I kiss you, you’re going to want more, and then I’m going to give you more because I want more too. Then we’ll wind up in a full-on love affair, sneaking around for quickies backstage and at hotels. Little looks of lust exchanged between sets and hiding how we feel from everyone else. Then what? We’ll end up becoming a couple and eventually falling in love, which will lead to marriage, a new Crow tattoo, and a baby in the baby carriage.”

  My mouth is hanging open. “I only wanted a kiss.”

  “But a kiss can lead to so much more. Are you ready for more?”

  My head jerks back. “Are you?”

  “Your brother will hate me.”

  “He’ll get over it.” Wait, what am I doing? Am I actually trying to convince him to kiss me, or more? Tricky bastard. “Look. It’s been a while. Fine, you got me to admit that, but I’m not desperate. Sex is dispensable, just like women are disposable to you.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth. Just because there have been a few doesn’t mean women are expendable to me.”

  He says all this while sitting with an obvious hard-on. His eyes dip to my breasts, and I guess I can’t blame him. My nipples are seemingly clambering toward him like the little whores they are. I cross my arms over my chest in a failed attempt to hide them.

  But when he stops staring down, I find myself more annoyed. Ugh. I’m such a mess. This is what hot guys do to me. They make me stupid.

  Flipping the covers off, I stand, keeping the bed between us, and cross my arms over my traitorous breasts again. “Look, Crow, this reverse psychology won’t work on me. I’ve gone a long time without getting involved with someone for good reasons. That includes sex. Sex leads to entanglements I don’t need. I’m good. I’m great, in fact. Never better. Once I dug myself out from the hole my ex-boyfriend put me in, I’ve done nothing but soar. So, I don’t need a guy to make me feel better about my life or to ride in like some suave superhero ready to save my vagina’s day.”

  “What are the reasons?”

  “What?”

  He stands across from me, mimicking my position—arms crossed, tense jaw, turned on.

  I can use reverse psychology like the best of them, whoever “them” are. Right now, it’s Tulsa. My gaze glides over each amazing ab until all eig
ht have been properly eye-fucked, and then I go lower.

  Convincing me I’m the one who wants him is not easy when his body clearly gives him away. “Those underwear don’t hide much,” I remark, feeling awfully smug about now.

  “Like what you see, sweetheart?” He shifts and tugs on that lower lip of his, making me wish it was my lip instead. “I really like what I see.”

  “We’re not going to have sex, Crow, so get your mind out of the gutter.”

  “I swear I thought you were begging me to kiss you a minute ago.”

  “You thought wrong.” I lick my lips because, holy dryness. I think all the moisture in my body has flowed to my lower half. “These babies have more interesting things to kiss than your mouth.”

  His hand covers his cock, and he shifts. “Damn, woman. You know how to tease a guy.”

  I hate that he makes me want to touch myself. I hate that I’m already plotting to get off when I get back to my room. I really hate the way he looks at me like he can picture all the ways he wants to make me come, but not really. “Fine.”

  An eyebrow goes up, and he asks, “Fine?”

  “I’ll let you kiss me.”

  He’s smart enough not to laugh, but the restrained smile he’s sporting kind of says it all. “All right. Do you want to stand or lie on the bed?”

  Hmm. Decisions. Decisions. “Stand.”

  When he comes around, I ogle him because nobody works that hard on a body and doesn’t want others to appreciate it. So I appreciate it . . . uh . . . him and all that hard work. So what if I lick my lips while I ogle—I mean, appreciate him as he comes closer.

  I’ve stood beside him before, but there’s something about him standing in front me mostly naked, completely invading my personal space with all his manliness and a scent that speaks to my hormones now. Traitors.

  Tulsa doesn’t touch me, but I can feel the intensity of his gaze all over my body. I shift because it’s not just lust residing in his eyes. If I’m not mistaken, it looks to be more. I swallow, staring intently into his eyes. “Are you going to kiss me, Crow?”