“You look the way you do, you’re a hard-as-nails ass-kicking biker. You’re sweet, you’re sexy, you’re incredible in bed. You can play the guitar,andyou can make them?”
He grinned. “I’ve written the music for most of Myles’s songs. May as well add that to the list. He writes the words, I write the music, we hang out with a bottle of whiskey and smash the two together, and he’s got a song.”
I rolled my eyes. “Is there anything you can can’t do?”
“Resist you.”
Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Direct hit.
“Smooth,” I said, swallowing only with major difficulty, and sounding like it.
He touched my cheekbone. “Ain’t a line, and I wish to fuck I was kidding.”
“You wish you could resist me?”
He nodded, and I saw no humor in him. “Helpless to resist feelings ain’t a fun place to be, you know?”
“Feelings?” I tried to joke us out of the conversation. “Lust doesn’t count as catching feelings.”
“Lust is way the hell up there, not gonna lie, babe. I wanna do some real nasty, dirty, sinful shit with you, and I want it in the worst way. Want things that I’m not sure you’ve even dared fantasize about.”
I swallowed hard. “Like what?”
He just smirked. “Not gonna sidetrack me with that this time, Charlie. Yeah, babe, I got a whole hell of a lot of lust for your sweet-ass body. But I’m catchin’ some serious and seriously scary feelings foryou.”
“Don’t say that,” I whispered.
“Why not? You scared?”
I nodded. “Yeah, I am.”
“Me too.”
“You’re a nomad. You live a rock star life. Your life is totally incompatible with everything I thought I’ve ever wanted in my life: stability, a family, a good job doing something I like. Sure, it’s vanilla and boring, but it’s what I want.”
“Well, there ain’t a single goddamn thing about me that’s vanilla, so I don’t know where that leaves us.”
“Me neither,” I whispered. “Because I’m catching feelings, too, and that’s why I’m scared stupid by it all, because you represent everything that’s…literally just the complete opposite of who I am. Yet I still want you.”
“You do?” A flat statement and a question at the same time, both sounding a little surprised. “Wantme, or feel lust for me?”
“Both.” I whispered it, admitting it to myself as well as him. “Alotof both.
We lapsed into silence, then, and it wasn’t tense or uncomfortable, but it was clear we both had deep thoughts circulating in our brains.
Crow tossed a stack of cash on the bar, and didn’t wait for change. “Come on.” He took my hand.
“Where are we going?”
“I gotta piss, and I ain’t leavin’ you alone in this crowd. Too pure, too beautiful. You draw trouble like honey draws flies.” He winked at me. “Don’t worry. I’m in control. I won’t deflower your fucked-in-a-bathroom virginity just yet.”
“Awww,” I said, staring boldly at him, heart hammering, core clenching, thighs shaking. “I’ve never beendrilledbefore, much less in a public bathroom. Sounds kinda…fun.”
We reached the bathroom and he yanked me in behind him. Two men were at the sinks, washing their hands; Crow seemed to swell, his presence and his persona and his energy just…darkening. Threat poured out of him.
“Out.” His voice was the icy hiss of a razor blade sliding across a whetstone.
The two men—both gargantuan and tattooed and decked out in leather cuts and ragged jeans and chain wallets and pocket knives and shit-kicker boots—took one look at Crow, at each other, and left without a word, their hands still wet.
