Those poor Tannen boys. Did you hear about their mother? Did you hear about their father?
Bobby, he’s the nice one, though that’s not saying much because those brothers of his are hellions through and through. And the sister? Well, poor thing never had a chance.
Cross the street and don’t look him in the eye, or he’ll probably fly off the handle again. Anger management problems, the whole lot of them.
Pity he could never do anything with that God-given talent. Some people just don’t get the same opportunities as other folks do.
Here, onstage, none of that matters.
They think they know me because I stand up here and willingly bleed myself dry for their enjoyment. The truth is, I hold the power with every chord. I choose what I share, what stories to tell, and how they see me.
I’ve perfected several images. A rough cowboy with a heart of gold. The asshole who’ll beat the shit out of anyone who gets in his way. A hard-working farmer with a voice filled with gritty honesty. The man everyone wants but no one gets.
There’s truly only one person I care about in this crowd tonight, and she’s waving at me with her bar towel. I throw her a smile, knowing that she sees all of me and loves what she sees.
Love is real.
I get to work, planning to put on a hell of a show for Willow.
“Hi, everyone. I’m Bobby Tannen.”
With a strum of my strings, I play. Old songs, new songs, cover songs, and originals.
I do the schtick to encourage everyone to get a drink and tip their waitress and bartenders well. “Especially the blonde,” I add with a wink, and people laugh, the ladies saying ooh.
Sometime around my cover of Cody Jinks’s Loud and Heavy, I look over to find a guy in a blue polo shirt, khaki slacks, and clean boots leaning across the bar. Willow’s standing across from him.
He’s probably ordering a drink, man. Chill out.
But as I launch into the chorus again, the animal instinct in my gut says that’s not the case. Especially when those gray eyes cut to mine and she doesn’t smile. I damn near stop the song and use the microphone to tell this asshole to back away from her. But he’s not doing anything wrong. I just feel the need to piss on my territory again, even if I have to punch out another tourist to do it.
Instead, I use another weapon.
I look pointedly at Brutal and catch his eye, then look to Willow. He follows my gaze and immediately gets up to rescue her for me. We’re Tannens, and we’ve been looking out for each other for a long time. Now, we protect what’s important to us too, like Rix, Allyson, Cooper, and even the Bennetts.
And now Willow.
I finish the song and let my fingers dance aimlessly over the strings as I watch. Brutal looks back to me and lifts his chin. ‘All good, man.’
Willow’s eyes are dancing brightly now, and even from here, I can see the laughter in them. She blows me a kiss, and it’s the only thing that keeps me in place and singing the next song.
I finish my set and put Betty in her case, slipping her behind the curtain. I take a quick minute to go around back and wipe down because it’s hotter than Satan’s taint out there tonight with the huge crowd and lights.
Hank’s office door opens and Willow struts in like she owns the place. She basically does at this point, I think.
“Thinking of punching someone out again?” she teases.
“Worked last time . . . got you in here alone with me. Oh, and look . . . worked again. Seems pretty successful, if you ask me,” I reply dryly.
I put my hands on her hips, hooking my fingers through the beltloops, and pull her in close as I spin her. Her hands go to my chest, but I’ve got her, sure and steady as I pin her to the door with my body pressed against hers.
Tonight felt like a private concert for one, no matter how many people were in the room. She was all I could see, all I cared about, and she was too far away. I liked it better when we were sitting together on my tailgate, just the two of us and the night as I sang and she took pictures. That felt right. That felt better than any show I’ve ever done.
It quieted the beast inside me more. Giving my music to her was all I needed to truly be at peace.
I stare at her lips, making us both wait one more second to let the anticipation build. She licks them, getting ready for the kiss she knows is coming.
“Don’t you want to know what that guy was asking?”
I shake my head. “Don’t care. Just want to kiss you and feel you kissing me back. I want to grab your ass and lift you up so you straddle me. I want your arms and legs wrapped around me so tight it’s like you’re trying to climb inside my body, and then I want to get inside yours, fuck you all night and have you tell me you love me every time you come.”
“Oh.” All the wind is gone from her sails, and she sags into my arms, letting me put her where I want her. I bend down and make good on my words, meeting her lips with mine tenderly and letting our passion ignite into the inferno it always becomes. I grip her ass, and she hops up, her bare legs wrapping around my waist and her arms going over my shoulders.
“Yes,” I grunt, grinding against her.
There’s a loud knock on the other side of the door, and she freezes, eyes going wide. “Oh!” she says quietly. She unlocks her legs and slides down my body until her tennis shoes hit the floor.
“No hanky-panky in my office, young lady. And where’d you put the Jack again?” Hank calls through the wood.
Willow shakes her head and whispers, “He knows where the whiskey is, but I’m pretty sure that means he wants me to come do the cocktails so he can sit down at the taps. That’s what I want too. Nearly had to tie him to the chair to keep him there in the first place, so I’d better go.”
She steps away, and I stop her by grabbing her wrist. “That the only thing you want?”
Her blushing cheeks are adorable. “No, I want . . . what you said too, but after we go home, ’kay?”
“Promise?” I demand teasingly.
She smiles and repeats after me, “Promise.”
I reward her with another kiss, but the throat clearing on the other side of the door says we still have an audience.
When Willow opens the door, Hank is leaning on the opposite wall, arms crossed over his chest.
“Sorry, Unc. I’m on it!” She hurries past him and back out to the floor.
When she’s out of earshot, Hank’s blue eyes narrow sharply. “Hurt her and I’ll end you, Tannen.”
He’s protecting Willow, something I deeply understand and respect. “No need. If I hurt her, what you do to me won’t be nearly as bad as what I do to myself.”
“Hmmph,” he grunts, which translates to ‘we’ll see about that’, and I remember that Hank was in the military for a short while. I wonder what he did and what secret skills he might be hiding. He’s damn good with a baseball bat, I’ve witnessed that firsthand, but for all I know, he’s a crack shot and has ninja knife skills. And even if he doesn’t, I’m a damn big target, which makes me pretty hard to miss.
We walk down the hall together, me slowing my pace to match his.
“Polo shirt guy was asking questions about you. Thought you should know,” Hank says with zero expression on his face as we re-enter the main room. I could almost pretend that I imagined it, but I know he actually said that. Unfazed, he walks behind the bar and plops himself back on his perch.
The info is an olive branch from him, a sign of respect after I passed whatever test that was by not cowering in response to his threat of violence.
I huff a small laugh. Violence, I know. Violence, I understand.
I sit back down with my family, who congratulate me on a great show.
“What’s the title of that new one you did?” Allyson asks. “Brutal’s been humming it nonstop, so I know you’ve been working on it recently.”
“He has?” I’m surprised. Brutal listens to me write all my songs because I find pockets of time here and there to work, usually in the fiel
ds when we’re taking breaks. And melodies get in my head and I hum them on repeat until they make sense for a song. I hadn’t realized that Brutal was picking up the melodies too. He’s scary observant, so I knew he was aware of my process, but singing them when I’m not around is a sign that the tune is catchy. And that he cares. Allyson nods, and I tell her, “It’s called Bridge Over my Broken Heart.”
“It’s a great one. My favorite of the night for sure.”
“Thanks.”
I don’t tell her, and sure as shit haven’t told Brutal, that they’re the inspiration for that song. A love that was meant to be but got so epically screwed up. Fate intervened, and in the end, they got their happily ever after the way it should’ve been.
I take a sip of the Jack someone ordered for me, sighing as the alcohol goes down my throat, soothing the sting of prolonged singing. Putting the glass down, I realize no one is looking at me. Instead, they’re looking off to the side of the table.
Another groupie who wants to hop on my dick? Fuck, don’t be Loretta. Please don’t be Loretta.
The good news . . . it’s not Loretta. The bad news . . . it’s polo shirt guy.
“Hi, Bobby. I’m Jeremy Marshall of NCR Records. I’d like to talk to you about your career, if that’s okay?”
“My what?” I growl.
Wait. Did he say NCR Records? Like music records?
Polo Shirt—I haven’t decided if I’m calling him Jeremy yet—takes a chair from a nearby table, spinning it around. He sits backward, straddling it and putting his arms on the chair back.
As he talks, I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
I can’t wait to tell Willow!
We’re celebrating, sweetheart, because your man’s going big time. Maybe.
Willow’s exhausted after a long shift and a late clean-up once she got everyone kicked out well after two. I’m exhausted from farming, Shay’s deliveries, and the show, but I’m buzzing inside.
“Tell me again what he said,” she orders.
We’re sitting in her bathtub, which is way too small for the both of us, but it’d seemed like relaxation we both need. We both deserve some before we fall into bed tonight. I’m still going to take her, I’m never too tired for that, but it’s nice to simply sit here in hot, bubbly water with her ass pressed up against my cock and her back lying against my chest. As she breathes, her tits lift and lower out of the bubbles enticingly.
“Huh?” Distracted by her pink nipples, I have no idea what she said.
“What did Mr. Marshall say?” Her butt wiggles, teasing me, but it’s just her excitement, not a seduction.
I smile, not believing it myself. “He said he was in town with his wife for a wedding, but he’s a talent scout so he likes to get out to the local dives wherever he goes to ‘keep a finger on the pulse’.”
“Like Hank’s,” Willow interjects.
“And he liked my voice and wants me to fly out to Nashville for a meet and greet with his team. Do a demo, maybe hit a few places there to do a short set so they get some real-time feedback. Stuff like that.” I’m trying to downplay it because I don’t want to get my hopes up too high. This is major, more opportunity than I’ve ever had.
“Oh, my gosh, I can’t believe it! That is so awesome. I told you I had a good feeling about tonight, and I was right. I’m so happy for you.”
She twists to look back at me, her smile beaming. Even when she kisses me, that smile stays, and I can feel it pressed along my lips. “Your name is going to be in lights, Bobby Tannen. Just like you always dreamed, just like you deserve.”
She sounds so sure that I can almost believe it myself.
Chapter 17
Bobby
The sun rises over the horizon outside Willow’s bedroom window, painting highlights and shadows on the walls and the curves of her body. She’s curled into my side, her head on my chest as my fingertips dance along her skin. Every fiber of my being strains for her, though I know my cock is too spent to go again yet. Though not inside her, I feel connected with her as we lie here, relaxed into one another.
Moment stretched, a tattoo on my soul in the shape of your smile.
“I wish you could come with me,” I whisper. The truth is, I’m nervous and could use her at my side to help me stay calm and not fuck this opportunity up. If these Nashville people like me and my music, this could change everything . . . for me, for my family, for Willow and me.
“Me too, but Unc . . .” Her voice tapers off, and she doesn’t finish the thought. There’s no reason to. I know Hank needs her here more than I need her to go with me. He’s had a rough week for some reason. One day, I thought he seemed a bit pale, but he brushed me off grumpily, and he’s been bitching about having to do everything himself while simultaneously sitting on his ass and directing everyone else around. It’s made for some long shifts and late nights this week.
In fact, we’re not up early for my Friday flight to Nashville. We’re still awake from last night’s Thursday two-dollar draft crowd. The bar closed at two. I’d helped with cleanup, but we still hadn’t gotten out of there until after three, then we’d made love twice, knowing that the weekend was going to be long and lonely.
But possibly the start of something amazing for my music.
“It’s fine. I’ll fly out there, meet with these folks, do their dog and pony show, and be back on Tuesday. You gonna be okay without me?”
She will be. I’m sure of it. However, I’m not at all sure that I’ll be okay without her. I think my weekend is going to be filled with thoughts of ‘what’s Willow doing right now?’ and obsessively refreshing her blog like a fucking creeper. I already told the family to come by Hank’s as much as possible to check on her. They gave me shit for it, but they’ll do it.
She laughs sweetly. “Me? I’ll be working my butt off slinging drinks and answering all sorts of nosy questions about you this weekend. I’m more worried you’re going to go out there and be blinded by those big city lights and not come back to me. I’ve seen how pretty they can be.”
Humor is woven through her words, but I can sense a true fear deep inside. I squeeze her tight, laying a kiss to her forehead, and promise, “There is nothing and no one that could ever make me stay away from you. I love you, Willow.”
Her cheek lifts against my chest, letting me know she’s smiling again. I did that. I make her happy, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep on doing that time and time again.
“I love you too,” she whispers into my pec right before she returns the kiss, her lips against the skin right over my heart.
Tattoo my heart with your kiss. It’s already whispering your name with every beat.
“Come here, sweetheart.” I roll to my back, pulling her on top of me. Her knees bend, dipping into the mattress on either side of my hips. “Can you take me again?”
Honestly, I want her sore. Not because I want her to feel pain, but because I want her to remember me with every step she takes while I’m away from her. I want her to feel the void where I belong inside her body, knowing that I’ll fill it as soon as I get back.
She bites her lip, nodding as her hips already sway back and forth along my hardening length, spreading her juices over me. My tip teases along her entrance, and I’m fighting every urge to slam into her. I want to feel her with nothing between us for a moment. No condom, no barriers, no walls, just raw and real, allowing me to fully claim her body and mark it with my cum.
Even the thought puts me on the edge in an instant. “Shit. Condom.”
“I’m on birth control,” she whispers.
My eyes move from where we’re so close to joining up to her eyes. Those gray mood rings are glittering, emotions swirling there that I can’t name. I don’t want to try right now, but later, I’ll picture this moment as though it’s one of Willow’s photographs and try to put labels on everything I see, everything I feel.
“You sure?”
In answer, she lifts her hips and I line up with her puss
y. Holding around her hips, I guide her down my shaft in one hard, quick thrust.
“Oh!” Her voice is high, broken at the end as a shiver runs through her body.
“Fuck.” I’m surrounded by absolute heaven—tight, wet, hot bliss.
Her nails dig into my chest for purchase, and I arch into them, wanting that sharp bite of her mark on my skin. I use her hips, pushing and pulling her faster and harder.
This is not gentle lovemaking. And though it’s rough and primal, it’s not fucking, either. This is claiming, me of her and her of me. Though we’ll be apart for a few days, she’s mine and I’m hers. This trip doesn’t change that. Hell, nothing would change that.
“Take it, sweetheart. Take my cock and take my cum. Tell me you want it,” I demand.
She gasps at my dirty talk, still shocked every time, but I can feel what it does to her. The filthier I talk, the wetter she gets. She comes near-instantly when I make her say things my sweet girl would never say on her own.
“I want it.” She’s holding back, and I give her a punishing stroke. Her head falls back, exposing her neck as her mouth falls open. “I want . . . your cum. God, I want to feel it, Bobby.”
I grunt, her words sending me over the edge. My whole body tenses, and an electric jolt shoots from my spine through my cock as I spill inside her. Bare for the first time. The thought of painting her with my cum is powerfully heady and so fucking sexy. But I need her to come too.
Staying inside, I swipe a thumb across her clit, fast and soft like she loves it and tell her, “You feel so good, Willow. Let me feel you come.”
She explodes, losing the rhythm, but I keep pounding at her and rubbing her as she comes and comes.
She has never looked so stunning as she does right now—glistening with sweat, hair plastered to her forehead, naked and bare physically and emotionally, sitting astride me, with our combined cum making an utter mess of us both.
Fuck, I love her.
She collapses over me, panting erratically.
Rough Country (Tannen Boys Book 3) Page 23
