Seduced

by Cari Quinn

  His phone buzzed and he picked it up long enough to see the caller was his sister, not Jazz. He’d deal with Ricki later. He could only handle one angry female at a time, and telling Ricki that she wouldn’t be getting her rent money for a few more days would not go down well.

  Why did he even care? His dad sure hadn’t given a fuck when he’d pushed Nick out the door at seventeen and told him not to come back. It was a line he’d stuck to until he’d gotten hurt on the job and started counting on Nick to pay his rent. Ricki had never left, staying with their dad because he “needed” her.

  Right. The only thing Marty Crandall needed from his kids was weed and money. In that order.

  With a sigh, he dropped his head back on the arm of the couch. Still no response from Jazz. He’d texted her multiple times and even left a voicemail. Nothing. He wasn’t surprised, really. They’d gotten through the afternoon at the studio, but it had been strained. Even Simon and Deak had been sullen and mechanical. They were probably wondering about the fallout to Nick’s latest massive screwup.

  If it was any consolation, he was wondering too.

  The mic thing had been an incredibly dick move. So what if Gray got into the studio ahead of him? He’d get there. They needed guitars in the song. His guitar. It wasn’t as if he really relished playing in front of everyone anyway. He wasn’t looking to bust his pipes like some male version of Mariah Carey either. The vocals were just a means to an end to him.

  Let Gray and Deak and Simon sing. In the meantime, he’d try to get his head straight without the distraction of Jazz, who smothered a lot of his stage fright and stirred up a bunch of other crap inside him he wasn’t ready to face.

  He liked her. Not just screw-your-brains-out-until-you-can’t-stay-upright liked, but genuine affection for more than her naked body. Which he still had not seen, and now probably never would. He didn’t intend to start drawing hearts around their names, but it would be nice to hang with her away from the band. Maybe go to dinner or something. Or a movie. When he could afford those things.

  Never was the first available date for that to happen.

  This was why he stuck around babes with low expectations. He had nothing to offer. A waiter/band boy/son of a druggie/brother of a drug pusher was no one’s good bet. And he’d proven it to Jazz by getting her into a band fight the night she’d been caught blowing him, then getting her off in a closet, then turning on her mic during an orgasm at the studio.

  His classy side was definitely not showing.

  He’d have to stop calling Simon a douche, because that title was now officially his. If he had any money left for beer, he’d toast himself.

  Sick of his thoughts, he tossed aside the cheese puffs and crawled off the couch to go take a shower. Fifteen minutes later, he was back on the couch again in his ripped pajama pants with a bottle of some foul shit of Deacon’s he’d found in the back of the fridge. He’d just settled into more cartoons when a couple knocks sounded and the doorknob turned.

  The guys were finally back. Maybe they’d even brought some real food.

  He sat up hopefully. “Hey, you got any—” He fell silent at the pink and purple head poking into the basement. Shit. “Oh, hi. Come in.” His stomach—and the area below his waist—jumped as Jazz stepped inside. “I’ve been calling you all night.”

  “I know. I wasn’t ready to talk.” She shut the door. She looked around the messy, spartan living room as if seeing it for the first time then skirted the coffee table crates and took a seat near his feet. He’d pulled his legs up nearer to his chest in case she wanted to sit, but it still kind of amazed him she was willing to get that close to him after his insane stunt.

  He took another drink of the blueberry crap of Deak’s and set the bottle aside with a grimace. It wasn’t the protein shake stirring up his gut. After he got used to it, the stuff really didn’t taste that bad. Nope, it was nerves. Plain and simple.

  Little Jasmine Edwards made him nervous as fuck.

  “I’m sorry,” he murmured, staring hard at the side of her face as she gazed down at the hands she’d clasped in her lap. “I have no defense for what I did.”

  The delicate line of her throat bobbled with her swallow. “Are you just messing around with me to get at Gray?”

  “Are you?” he countered.

  “No.” She looked him dead in the eye and lifted her chin. “I don’t have any reason to hurt him or make him jealous. It’s not about that with us. He just gets overprotective—”

  “Jazz.” Nick reached for one of her soft, cool hands and wove his fingers through hers. She was so small. So breakable, if he wasn’t careful. The hell of it all? He had a sneaking suspicion she might be able to break him too. “He told me it was more than that. At least from his side.” The last part he added for his own benefit, not Jazz’s.

  There was no mistaking her shaky exhale. “What exactly did he say?”

  Nick wanted to tell her. He really did. That would be the right thing to do. But since when had he played by the rules?

  “You have to see how he looks at you,” Nick said instead, forcing back the words that weren’t his to say. It was up to Gray to man up enough to tell her his feelings. He’d be damned if he did his dirty work for him.

  She swallowed again and curled her fingers tighter around his. “What do you see?”

  “He wants you. He…” Fuck it. “He loves you. And not as a brother, not even in any of those places where brother and sister get way too close.” Her laughter surprised him and teased out his smile.

  “I still think you’re reading more into it than is there. He’s had all these chances to tell me and he never has. He doesn’t say jack to me. He’s just possessive.”

  Nick grunted. “Possessive. Right. If I didn’t basically dislike him on principle for hijacking my band, I’d dislike him more for making me feel guilty over you.”

  “I know, I know. You want to fuck me. We colored in those pictures already.”

  “We haven’t colored in that picture. I’d remember, I’m pretty sure.” When she laughed again, he turned over her hand and traced a circle on the inside of her palm. “You grew up together. You and Gray.”

  “Since we were teenagers, yeah. His parents took in fosters, and I was one of them.”

  “So you guys got close?”

  “Yeah. Gray was different back then. Not the way he seems now. He used to crack jokes constantly. No one could make me laugh like he did.” She wrapped her free arm around the knee she pulled up to her chest. She couldn’t seem to stay still. “We used to sit in the backyard and play together for hours.”

  “With or without clothes?”

  She didn’t laugh. “Him on his guitar, me on mine. I played that and the keyboards before I moved on to the drums. His mom got me my Sonor. I couldn’t believe she’d bought me something so kickass.” She smiled wistfully. “He’s the one who encouraged me. I hated going to class, so he helped me study. When I didn’t have a date for the dances at our fancy prep school because everyone thought I was weird with my lime green Kool-Aid-dyed hair and my obsession with band, Gray took me. He was my best friend.” She shook her head. “Is.”

  Part of Nick wanted to hear more. The storyteller in him could never resist a good juicy tale, and he suspected this one had some bite. But this time he was more involved than he usually was when he was pretended to listen to his friends’ stories, all the while mentally mining what he could use for his next song.

  “What happened?” he asked as Jazz’s hand clamped tighter around his. Her grip was truly a thing of beauty—until she started squeezing the life out of his fingers. “Why did he change?”

  “There were a couple reasons, I think. Maybe more than I know. It’s not like he’ll tell me.” Restlessly, she rubbed their joined hands over her thigh. “Things were different when we were in Montecito. I lasted at Gray’s place a couple of years, longer than I’d managed to anywhere else. I always was that kid with behavioral problems, you know?”
<
br />   Did he ever. “Yeah.”

  “No one gave a shit about my past, how it had messed with my head. And Gray’s family seemed so great. They cared about me. Or at least that’s what I thought. They’re mondo rich and stable, but there were…other issues.”

  “Like what?”

  She pulled her leg underneath her and stared at some spot on the floor. “Gray’s older brother tried to rape me.”

  “Tried?” Nick kept his voice steady. “He didn’t hurt you?”

  “No. Gray stopped him.” She bit her lip. “Both times.”

  “Jesus. And you wonder why the dude’s protective of you?”

  “No, I don’t. I’m protective of him too. I would kill anyone who hurt him or even tried to—” Shaking her head, she shut her eyes. “He’s not how he used to be. Everything changed when we left his parents’ place together. He stopped being the funny, happy guy I knew. The one I loved. He suddenly started trying to be my father. Always watching me to make sure I didn’t do anything too wild or crazy. Getting mad at the kinds of guys I wanted to date, saying they were all assholes who only wanted one thing.”

  “Well, hate to burst your Kool-Aid-colored bubble, sweetness, but they probably did.”

  “You think that’s all I’m good for?” Her chin quivered and he felt like a first class dipshit. “A quick fuck?”

  “Never said anything about quick,” he mumbled, pleased to see a smile creep across her mouth.

  She toyed with the hole on the knee of her jeans. Poking her finger through again and again. Making it bigger. “When I met you, I knew he’d hate it if I started anything with you. But you actually talk to me. You see who I am. Gray just wants to keep me in a box. Safe. Protected. As good as dead.” She sighed and gestured to her lap. “Why do you think I got that crazy piercing? It’s not like I let just anyone down there, and a complete stranger pierced me. But I wanted to rebel so fucking bad.”

  There was nothing he could say to that, so he said nothing and waited for her to continue. Knowing she would.

  “You’re the first real taste of freedom I’ve had. When it’s just you and me, I can breathe. I like you, Nick. This isn’t a game to me.” She clutched him tighter. So damn tight. “I’m not using you, I swear.”

  “I like you too,” he echoed, feeling like a chump. But she didn’t seem to hear him.

  “When we’re together, I don’t have to wonder what’s wrong with Gray. Between us, it’s just sexy and fun.”

  Nick grunted. Sexy fun. Right. He’d have to remember that the next time his chest and dick were taking turns feeling stomped on.

  “Gray won’t talk to me anymore. Every time I try to figure things out, he shuts me down. Something’s not right with him, and I don’t know how to fix it.” She rubbed her eye, hard. “He walked away from his life for me. His family. And I’ll never be enough to—”

  “He’s in love with you. That’s why he’s not right.” Nick brought her hand to his mouth, kissed the tips of her fingers. “You offer a man something he’s always wanted, hold it two inches from his nose, then deny him from having it, he’s gonna get a little crazy, baby.”

  “I haven’t denied him anything,” she whispered, and Nick’s throat went tight and hot. In sympathy. In fury. In fear. “He’s never asked. He hasn’t ever said one word.”

  He tried to come up with a suitable response that wasn’t “why in the frilly fuck am I talking about this with you?” But his brain didn’t want to work.

  Jazz sighed. “Let’s say you’re right, that he thinks his feelings for me have gone beyond friendship. With everything that’s gone on in our history, with how he’s protected me, how could he ever be sure that it’s real?”

  “I’m sure.” The statement echoed through the door, as quiet as a gun with a silencer. And just as deadly—at least to Nick’s hand, now caught in the pinching death grip of Jazz’s fingers.

  Gray walked in, looking as cool as a flame dipped in ice. Every part of him steady and resolute except for the wild intensity of his eyes. “I followed you,” he said. “You borrowed my car to come here?”

  She didn’t speak. Just shook faintly, as if she’d suffered an electric jolt to the heart.

  Nick’s free hand tensed beside his thigh. How long had Gray stood in the hall listening to their conversation? And how long did he have to grab the fire extinguisher and aim it in Gray’s face before he booked for the door?

  Yeah, maybe it made him seem like a wuss, but his bruises had just started healing from the last fight. He’d start taking appointments for a fresh ass whupping at the end of next week.

  Gray shut the door behind him and braced a hand on the wood above his head, then turned and strode over to the sofa, his gaze fixed on Jazz. Not wavering for an instant. Power and purpose thrummed through him, cutting a swath through the room as physically as a gust of air. He knelt in front of her, his Adam’s apple rising and falling with every breath.

  Gray and Jazz stared at each other so long that Nick thought about getting up to leave—though it was his place—but Jazz’s fingers had turned into implacable iron clamps around his. She clearly intended to make Nick bear witness to…whatever the fuck this was.

  Maybe even making him a part of it. Somehow.

  The silence pulsed like a heartbeat. Then Gray leaned forward and caught Jazz’s face in his hand, lifting it to meet his mouth.

  It wasn’t a kiss. Nick had seen fistfights more loving than the clash of their lips. It was mating, pure and simple. Hunger strained like a crazed beast between them, snapping in the air. Charging the basement with way too much lust in way too small of a space.

  Nick shifted, his jeans uncomfortably tight. He needed a cigarette. A forty. A blow to the head to knock his ass out. In that order. He was a bystander to this clusterfuck and shouldn’t have been affected. Especially since this guy was kissing the girl he’d fingered to orgasm what, six hours before? He wasn’t a stranger to threesomes—or foursomes, then there was that one time with five—but this wasn’t that. If he joined in this fray, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d come out balls intact.

  He really liked his balls. They’d been with him for twenty-three years now and had provided many hours of faithful service.

  But he also liked Jazz, and she wasn’t letting him go.

  He definitely had no complaints when Gray pulled back enough to yank her shirt over her head and send it flying. She wore a bra, sort of. It was basically a band with a couple ribbons holding up each of her tits. In about three flicks of Gray’s fingers, that was gone too, and the flesh banquet on display had Nick groaning and pressing a hand to his dick. They’d resumed kissing like maniacs and didn’t seem to care that he was about ten seconds from going to jerk off in the bathroom.

  The sounds in the room grew. Pants, whimpers. None of them his.

  Just when he’d definitively decided to get out of there, Jazz shifted onto Nick’s lap, her still-purple eyes beaming straight into his and pinning him in place. He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe as she feathered her hands over his chest, rubbing them up and down while her breasts brushed his already inflamed skin. God. If he’d thought his brain had turned into a stirfry before from their conversation, now she’d turned the temp up to broil.

  She glanced back at Gray and waited for some signal. It came in the form of a nod that nearly caused Nick to slide from the couch.

  Okay, so his balls were in knots big enough to block his vision, but had Gray really nodded for this to continue? With him?

  Nick hauled in air as she slipped her hand under the waistband of his pajama pants, her pupils dilating as she felt how hard he was. Not too surprising, since he knew every ounce of blood in his body had redirected to that spot. She slid down his legs as if he was a human slide and crouched in front of him, peeling down his pants without hesitation. He sprung free, stiff and ready. The tip wet. Eager for her mouth.

  It didn’t get it.

  Gray moved behind her, his long-fingered hands encirclin
g her breasts. Hiding her from Nick’s gaze. Even without words, he got Gray’s meaning.

  Sharing with you doesn’t mean I like you. Nor does it make her yours.

  Message accepted. Just sex. If Nick chanted it like a mantra in his head, who could blame him? It was easy to forget in the moment. Hard to remember when he’d just had a heart-to-heart with a woman who mattered.

  Gray leaned forward to lick her shoulder, his gray eyes flicking up to Nick. They were feral and possessive, as if he guarded the last available scrap of meat and was on the verge of going homicidal if anyone dared touch it.

  Oddly enough, Gray’s territorial expression soothed Nick. For a minute he’d felt like he’d stumbled into the Twilight Zone. Now he was back on firmer ground.

  Gray was challenging him to a duel that was no different than the guitar swordplay he and Simon had engaged in since they were kids. Except they’d fight to share this beautiful instrument of war and pleasure between them.

  And her name was Jasmine Edwards.

  Nick lifted his thumb to caress the valley between her breasts, skirting close to Gray’s no-touch zone and earning a growl for his efforts. He smiled and continued up her throat to her parted damp red lips, slipping between them like he ached to do with his dick. She sucked hard, her dark lashes coming down to shield her eyes. Her head fell back against Gray’s shoulder as his hands began to massage her, squeezing more gently than Nick could’ve managed with his current erection. He was even having trouble not jamming his thumb into Jazz’s mouth.

  After a minute or two of watching Gray pluck her nipples until they were tight and dark pink, Nick decided to up the ante by undoing her jeans. He flipped open the button, yanked down the zipper and tugged the denim over her curvy hips. She wore a lacy thong that matched her bra, and he wanted it off her. Now.