Unleashed: Declan & Kara (Unleashed #1-4; Beg for It #1)

by Callie Harper

  “Kara, when are you gonna slow down?” Harlan chastised her.

  “I was going the speed limit, Daddy,” she pouted.

  Aw, fuck. The boss man’s daughter. I should have known. Pretty china up on a shelf, look but don’t touch. Just my luck.

  “Come on over here and meet Declan.”

  She started walking toward us and I should have looked away, but I had to watch her move. I leaned against the house, boot up, playing it cool. Like I didn’t have a huge hard-on for her. The hotter you got, the cooler you had to act. I’d learned that fast in life. The instant you showed your weakness you were fucked.

  She took one long stride after another, sex on legs, a lingerie model on a photo shoot. Well goddamn, the boss had a daughter hot as fuck. 100% off limits. Harlan wouldn’t want me messing with her, that much I knew straight away. He’d likely cut my balls off and I liked my balls. If I’d known a stick of dynamite like her was included in the job offer, I might have turned it down. I didn’t need that kind of trouble. I needed the work. I didn’t need some cheerleader porn star prancing around me, screwing things up.

  I could see her me checking out. She got close enough that she saw my tattoo. Part of me wanted to flex, give her a ticket to the gun show and see her eyes widen in appreciation. I knew girls liked what they saw, all muscle and man. I’d had more than a few women come up to me, using interest in my tattoos as an excuse to touch, flirt, show me what they wanted. I was only too happy to oblige.

  Kara’s lips parted as she gazed at me. I knew I’d never had anyone like her. There was something so fresh and pure about her. The girls I knew? They were out for what they could get, and seemed to know from a real early age that it might not be much. Life could be brutal and once you’d seen some serious shit go down, the kind that changed you for good, you sized up every new person you met like a potential enemy.

  Kara wasn’t from that world. She had a sweetness to her, you could see it right away. Innocent, probably generous and trusting, too. She needed to stay the hell away from me.

  I brought my arms up and crossed them against my chest, hand up over my tattoo: not for you, kiddo. This chick? I knew she wouldn’t want to play, not the way I liked to, rough and dirty. And there was no way in hell I’d go there, not with her father standing over us. I needed this job.

  I glared at her. She got the message. She looked away, a flicker of hurt passing over her lovely features. Then she just looked pissed off.

  “This here’s my little girl, Kara.” Harlan gave her a pat on the head like she was a toddler.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said to me, real tight and dismissive.

  I nodded in response. I’d show her cool. Kara turned her attention to Harlan, working him, clearly used to getting everything and anything she wanted. A spoiled brat. And she had a boyfriend, her dad mentioned him. Some beefy farm boy, no doubt, taking her out to a goddamn bonfire or some shit that night. Dumb country bucks thinking they owned the world.

  Someday, someday soon, I’d get the fuck out of there. I’d make something of myself and put all of the shit I’d been through behind me. It didn’t matter what was on paper, the stats—absent father, junkie mother, foster kid, criminal. Those were all just labels. I knew I was more than that. I had drive. I worked hard. And I had ideas, good ones. All I needed was the right opportunity. It might be at Harlan’s ranch. I just had to stay out of trouble, play my cards right and it would happen. I knew it would.

  Whatever it was that Kara wanted, she got. “Course you can, princess,” Harlan said.

  That nickname was perfect. I smirked. The princess caught me and scowled.

  “Have a good time, sugar.” Harlan sent her off. She turned tail and flounced away in that tiny scrap of a skirt on up to her house. I didn’t watch. I locked my attention onto Harlan and kept my mind on business.

  Harlan did too. He got right into saying exactly what I knew he’d say next.

  “That girl walking right there? That’s my whole world.” Harlan chewed on a long piece of grass, looking out into the middle distance. “I’d kill anyone who hurt her. Not think twice about it.”

  I nodded. Message received, loud and clear.

  “What you do off this ranch? That’s your business. ” He looked at me, now, dead serious. “What you do on this property? That’s my business. You’re here to work and work hard. You stick to that and we’re going to get along just fine. How’s that sound to you?”

  “Sounds good to me,” I answered honestly, straight and direct. I meant it.

  He nodded. “You got determination, boy. I can see that in your eyes. You want to make something of yourself. I like that.”

  “OK.” I shifted my weight. A guy warning me off of his daughter? That I got, I knew how to deal with that. But fatherly praise? That made me uncomfortable. My father had up and left before I was even born. That kind of ‘I believe in you’ shit didn’t sit right with me.

  “Come on, let me show you around your new home.” I followed Harlan, wondering about that word. Home. I couldn’t say I’d ever had one. It wasn’t melodramatic. It was a fact. I’d never lived in one place more than a year. My mother never stayed put, always off in the middle of the night when she couldn’t make rent, crashing somewhere until we outstayed our welcome. Then after the fire, after she’d gotten locked up, then came the foster homes. None of those had exactly stuck. I had a few permanent scars I’d carry around with me, but nothing permanent about the houses and people who’d passed in and out of my life.

  I wouldn’t stay at Harlan’s ranch long, either, just five months. Head down, eyes on the prize, I’d work my ass off. And I’d keep my mind and hands off that ass on my boss’s daughter.

  §

  That night, I checked out the local bar. I was 21 now but I’d had a fake ID for a couple of years and passed easy for 25. I was big and tall and tough. I hadn’t had a problem getting into a bar for a couple of years now.

  I drank a few beers, keeping to myself and checking things out. It seemed pretty much like every other honky-tonk bar I’d been in across the state, and I’d been in more than a few. You had some married, drunk truckers trying to score with drunk local girls. You had some young bucks, showing off shooting pool and trying to score with drunk local girls. And you had me, figuring out which drunk local girl I was going to screw that night.

  I surveyed my options. They teetered around in heels too high for them to handle and skirts too short to fully cover their goods. Bra straps slipping down, drinks sloshing across their tops, things got messy as the night wore on.

  A scene like this, I was in my element. Easy pickings. No questions asked, a minimum of small talk, and some sweaty, balls-to-the-wall sex.

  I always made sure they came first, such a gentleman. Really, it was that I got off on that, too. I liked seeing a girl’s face when she came. That moment when she forgot everything, whether she’d been trying to act sexy or whether she’d been nervous about looking good with her top off. I liked it when she got lost in desire, grunting and moaning and desperately needing more, shoving her pussy against me and bucking her clit for release. I loved watching a girl arch back and scream. Depending on where we were, sometimes I’d cover her mouth firm with my hand, keeping her quiet. Lots of times that made it even hotter, her eyes wide when she started to come, then closing in complete surrender.

  I always marveled over it, how they lost themselves. Like they forgot everything, where they were, who they were with, maybe even their own names. They always came hard, though sometimes it was after a slow and steady build-up, coaxing it out of them. Sometimes it was fast and dirty, them grabbing my fingers and shoving them up inside like they’d been dreaming about it all night.

  I always came, too, don’t get me wrong. And I definitely enjoyed it. But it wasn’t as if I ever forgot my name. My mind was always going, always on, churning through what was before me, what was past, what was ahead. I never forgot myself.

  And tonight, I felt rest
less, more restless than usual. Even after a few beers, my mind burned with a fever.

  I wondered about a girl like Kara. Had she ever been in a place like this? I doubted it. She’d probably get real freaked out in a seedy bar. Confused and maybe even scared, she’d demand whatever sad sack of a guy she came in with take her home at once. Harlan and I were of one mind: Kara was off the menu. That girl was trouble with a capital T.

  I saw some girls milling around in the dimly-lit haze, their eyes on me like circling sharks. Soon, one of them would work up the courage to come over to me. I liked them easy, and filtering out the shy, reserved ones in favor of the ones bold and horny enough to come to me worked that out real nice. It also decreased the likelihood of some dumb shit of a boyfriend entering the scene while I was over hitting on his girl. I didn’t need to add any more drunken bar brawls to my name. I’d fought and won my fair share, no need to prove myself on that score. Now wasn’t the time to get in trouble. I didn’t need Johnny law in this two-bit town circling my name on his list. Now was the time to turn my shit around, get my plane in the air and fly straight up and out.

  I wanted someone free, ripe and ready. The kind of girl who’d come up to me, serve herself up on a platter. She’d probably say something stupid and touch my tattoo, following the patterned band up my muscles.

  I could tell Kara had wanted to do that this afternoon. She had no idea what she really wanted. It wasn’t me. She was pure, spun gold, all honey sweet and good. I was dirt and grit and pain. I was the poster boy for dark, tortured souls. Some girls liked exactly that. Others liked the challenge of changing me, as if they could be the one to turn me around. It would never happen.

  “Hey. Are you from around here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” A girl came up next to me. She had jet-black hair, dark red lips and a short denim skirt she let ride up as she sat down.

  “Hey yourself.” I gave her a slow smile, checking her out, and then took a long swig of my beer. She smiled back and trailed a finger down her necklace as if playing with her jewelry. Only her finger kept on going, tracing a line down to her cleavage, then along the edge of her tank top. Right where my tongue would be in a few minutes.

  Later, in the parking lot in my truck, she sucked my cock good. And she liked doing it, dripping wet and moaning as she sucked while I twisted her nipples and forced her head down on me so she’d take it deep. I could spot the ones who liked it that way, who got off on it the way I did.

  This one would be fun to play with. She’d liked to be fucked good and hard against my truck, like it raw and fast up against a bathroom wall. But as I closed my eyes and she pumped me, sucking nice and tight, it was Kara’s lips I pictured doing it. It was Kara’s hair I pictured fisting, her mouth I felt going down on me. Kara taking me deep down her throat, swallowing it all as I shot out a huge, hot load of come.

  Now

  Landing fist after fist, I made the sweat pour off of me. I always worked out full-throttle, but that afternoon I had hell’s fire licking at my heels. I worked the bag, taut muscles rippling as each fierce punch landed.

  Why did I have so much pent-up energy I could fuel a city grid? It didn’t make sense to be so worked up. Kara was just a girl, like so many others. My fists pounded the bag vicious, relentless.

  That pout when I’d asked her why I should bail her out, her plump lips that I wanted to bite. Those tits straining against her thin white t-shirt. The image was burned into my brain, how round, how perfect they looked, thrust out as if mine for the taking. But they had never really been mine for the taking.

  I remembered how she’d stood in front of my desk as my eyes had roamed the length of her body. She’d stood still for me, letting me take her all in, allowing my fantasies to play out over her curves and planes. When I’d looked at her breasts, picturing exactly what I’d like to do, teasing, sucking, licking, biting, her nipples had hardened. As if she knew exactly what I was thinking and she liked it, wanted it, maybe even needed it the way I did. So responsive, like she’d been made for me.

  I couldn’t think at all after she’d left. I’d paced my office like a caged wild animal, made it through a few calls, then cancelled everything that afternoon and hit the gym. For my second workout of the day. I gave my punches my full body weight, pounding the bag with a series of furious hits.

  I’d underestimated the power of seeing Kara again. I’d told myself it wasn’t a big deal. By the numbers, she was simply one of many girls I’d known. I honestly figured by now she’d be married and maybe even pregnant with some other guy’s kid. Not standing there looking hotter than ever, defiant and strong yet also more vulnerable than I’d ever seen her before. Needing me.

  But I didn’t do emotions. I was always in control, stone cold, in command. I was damn good at it, too, in all aspects of my life, personal and professional. My ruthlessness served me well in business. And in the bedroom, it made things simple when you never let emotions interfere. I was always clear with any sub: what we engaged in was pure, raw, paint-peeling sex. And nothing else. It didn’t dampen any of their enthusiasm. It even made some of them enjoy it more, abandoning all of their inhibitions to walk on the wild side.

  Panting, I paused to take a swift chug from a gallon water jug. I wiped my forehead with a towel, then stood with it dangling from my hand on my hip. Across the room the new girl at the front desk was just about falling out of her chair watching me. She was eye-candy, put up there near the entrance in a short skirt and tight top to draw guys into the gym. It worked. She was hot. I couldn’t remember her name. I gave her a nod and she practically lit up like a Christmas tree.

  I looked away. I wasn’t interested. I moved over to the speedbag. I needed to keep at it, make the sweat pour off of me, punch something senseless if I had any hope of clearing my head.

  Who ever thought I’d be in this position now, Daddy Warbucks to Kara Brooks? The spoiled, precious daughter of the ranch owner living high up on the hill. Out the window of the spartan, one-room cabin where I’d spent my summers, I could see it. To me, it had looked like a mansion. Sometimes a light would twinkle down from her bedroom, letting me know that the princess in her tower was still awake.

  When I’d come to work for her dad, I’d been a lean, rangy mutt. Aged out of foster care, already with a criminal record, I’d been bouncing around between odd jobs, drifting through life. Some days, I hadn’t always had enough to eat.

  Kara had seemed like a luscious dream. Man, the way she used to look at me. I swore under my breath. Blonde and blue-eyed, sweet and innocent, Kara saw moonbeams in the air and rainbows in the sky. And when she looked at me, it was all stars in her eyes.

  Her dad hadn’t exactly been thrilled about that. I moved back to the punching bag, grunting and sweating with effort and deep-seeded frustration. She’d been up on a pedestal that I couldn’t touch, tantalizing me. The girl I couldn’t have. But now look how Harlan had failed. Here she was, coming straight to the jaws of the wolf, looking for help.

  Damn it. I punched again, thinking of Harlan. I’d tried to warn him, six years ago. That ranch was going belly-up. I’d known it way back then. I’d tried to talk Harlan into the future, tried to get him to see the potential in his ranch. The luxury tourism market was booming in Montana. All those rich city slickers wanted to come out and buy themselves a slice of real life and they didn’t mind paying through the goddamn roof to do it. But Harlan hadn’t been interested. He’d been too set in his ways.

  And now Harlan was dead. Drenched and panting, I finally rested my head against the punching bag.

  Why hadn’t I heard about that? Why hadn’t Bill called me? I would have gone to Harlan’s funeral. Of course, I hadn’t checked in once during all the intervening six years. Why would Bill have called me? There was no way for him to know that I still thought about the ranch and Harlan. Or how often I still thought of Kara.

  I took another long slug of water and wiped the sweat from my brow with a towel. The clock overhead read 5:30
. I didn’t want to stop moving yet, though.

  I jogged the blocks back to my condo. People were getting out of work, heading into the late June sunshine that still felt hot at quitting time. I wondered where Kara was, somewhere nearby. I’d see her in a little over an hour.

  I got to the Stanyon hotel and took the elevator up to the top floor. I owned the whole building: restaurant, bar, hotel and the penthouse suite where I stayed while I was in Montana. I didn’t spend much time there these days. Scoping out new sites, checking in on investments, meeting with partners took me all over the states. I hadn’t gone international yet, but I was talking to a couple of people about expansions. Constantly being on the move suited me well. I liked the feeling of always pushing ahead, taking things to the next level. When life got quiet, I got restless.

  I stood by the picture windows in my living room. The view was breathtaking, the city laid out beneath me framed by the mountains beyond. But I didn’t see it half as vividly as the woman I was meeting for dinner.

  I was pretty sure that she had no idea that I owned the property. I liked that. I wanted to see her eyes widen when she found out. It would gratify the monster inside me that wanted her to know how well I’d done. I wanted her surrounded by my power, feeling it deep inside. I knew it was childish, that I was a sick bastard, but I wanted her to feel just how much the tables had turned.

  Starting to pace, I forced myself to think about the easy way out. Tonight, I could keep things simple. I could meet Kara for a quick dinner, cut her a check, and get her out of my life for good.

  Of course I’d give Kara the money. I didn’t know how much she needed, but I was sure it wouldn’t be a problem. I’d done well over the past few years, really well. I now owned and operated luxury wilderness lodges and communities all over the western states. Lately I’d started expanding into other high-end commercial real estate ventures like the Stanyon. Money made more money and I was damn good at what I did.