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

by Callie Harper

  But that would all have to wait, because I had to take a call from my lawyer. The phone rang, right on time. Stephen was as tenacious as a dog after a bone. That was what I paid him for, after all.

  “Are you sitting down?” Stephen began the conversation. It wasn’t like him to be so dramatic. I figured he must be joking around.

  “Why, Stephen? Do you have something shocking to tell me?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Oh.” Well, then I’d sit.

  “I’ve received a communication,” he continued. “From an attorney in New York. He’s under the employ of your late father’s estate.”

  The drink I’d been sipping choked in my throat. I sputtered and spat the liquid out as if it had burned me.

  “Are you all right?” Stephen asked.

  “Yes, damn it.” I dismissed his question. The hell I was. My late father? In New York? “What are you talking about?”

  “It seems your biological father has recently passed away. His attorney has been trying to locate you. He has been for some time. He was under the impression that your last name was Kavenaugh.”

  “Kavenaugh?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place why.

  “Yes, Kavenaugh, your late father’s surname.”

  My head swam. What the fuck was going on here? Stephen was right. I was glad I was sitting down.

  “There’s quite a lot to review, Declan. You’re going to want to do it in person.”

  “I’m out in Bozeman.”

  “Yes, I can meet you there tomorrow morning. We can go through it all together.”

  I sat there, dumbstruck. The phone felt like an alien object in my hand, as if I’d never held one before. What was he saying again?

  “My father died?” I repeated.

  “Yes, your father, Richard Kavenaugh.” Stephen repeated it all, clearly understanding that I needed to hear it again. My biological father had just passed away, but his attorney had been trying to find me for a long time. There was an estate to settle. My father had been trying to find me. And now he was dead.

  “Nine a.m. tomorrow, Declan. I’ll come to you.”

  “All right.” My voice sounded wooden, my head felt packed with cotton as I ended the call.

  “Everything OK?” Kara asked, emerging pink and concerned from the shower, a towel wound around her. Why she bothered with towels, I didn’t know. I’d just take them right off. Even in my shock, I still was a dirty dog.

  “I just got some news.” My hand rested on the phone.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, taking a step forward. I must’ve looked shaken.

  “My father’s dead.” I repeated the words, though they still sounded absurd to me. “He lived in New York. But he recently died.”

  Turned out, I didn’t need to take the towel off of Kara this time. Her hands flew up to her mouth in shock and the towel dropped right off, falling to the floor around her feet.

  §

  Tomorrow morning, it wasn’t just Stephen who stepped out of the giant, black SUV. A small man accompanied him. He looked about 70 years old, but taut energy fueled his steps as he approached us. His formal suit contrasted starkly with the rugged, Montana wilderness.

  “Nelson Armistead,” he introduced himself in a formal British accent, “attorney for the late Mr. Richard Kavenaugh.”

  “Declan Hunt.” We shook hands.

  “You’re a hard man to find,” he said, surveying me in my cowboy hat, jeans and boots.

  “Not really,” I replied. I kept myself composed, my words and actions revealing no emotions. But if you looked close you could probably see the pulse pounding in my neck, the firm set of my jaw.

  “I suppose it helps if you’re looking for someone under the right name,” the lawyer agreed.

  I didn’t know what he was talking about, but I figured I was about to find out. We walked to a room in the resort’s main building, set up for business with leather arm chairs and a rectangular wooden table. Our guests came to get away from it all, but we’d discovered that ‘it all’ frequently came along with them, anyway.

  Kara joined us. Last night when we’d received the news, I hadn’t assumed that she would. I was used to doing everything on my own.

  “You think I’m going to make you learn about all of this on your own?” she’d questioned me, aghast. Guess I was going to have to get used to someone caring about me, looking after me. I was willing to give it a try. I was grateful to have her by my side.

  Plus, Kara actually seemed excited about all of this. Due to my cold shock, she was keeping it in check, but I knew her well enough to see the subtle smile pulling at the edges of her mouth. She thought it was cool, a missing piece in the picture of my life. She’d been urging me to find my father, and now look what had happened. My father had up and found me. But not until after he’d already passed away.

  Nelson the attorney didn’t waste any time. Brisk, efficient and to the point, he gave us the background story. Twenty-eight years ago, real estate mogul Richard Kavanaugh had traveled with some business associates from New York to Montana on a fly-fishing getaway. While vacationing, he’d met an attractive young woman named Celia Cruise at a local bar. They’d spent the night together. Then Richard had returned to New York where he lived with his wife and infant son.

  “Oh my! He was married! And he had a baby?” Kara exclaimed at my side. I rubbed my hand across my forehead, feeling like I’d somehow just stepped into a trashy reality show. Only it was my life.

  “Yes,” Nelson continued. He sounded slightly disapproving, but that could have simply been his English accent. “Nine months later, Richard received a phone call informing him that he now had a second son.”

  “She didn’t tell him she was pregnant?” Kara asked, shocked but engrossed. Apparently she enjoyed trashy reality TV.

  Nelson shook his head no. “I’ve been the Kavanaugh family attorney for four and a half decades. Mr. Kavanaugh did not know that she was pregnant.” He paused, then looked at me to add, “He did not know about you until after you were born.”

  “How do you know I’m his son? Do you have proof?” I managed to still maintain my composure. All those high-stakes business meetings in my past served me well to perform under pressure, and I asked the question calmly. Under the table, though, Kara held my hand tight. Despite my stoic demeanor, she knew this was hard.

  “We do.” I looked at him, awaiting further clarification. In response, he asked, “What did your mother tell you about your father?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Only that he left before I was born.”

  “The day after you were conceived,” Mr. Harrison agreed. “With no knowledge that you had been.”

  “But how do you know that he’s my father? My mother wasn’t exactly honest.”

  “We’re aware of that.” Nelson pushed a legal-looking document toward me. I could see it was a birth certificate, for a baby named Richard Kavanaugh, Jr. “This was the copy of the birth certificate she provided to us. We didn’t realize at the time, but it was forged. You were not named Richard Kavanaugh.”

  I looked at the forged document like I was seeing a ghost. It had my birthday on it, and my mother’s name and signature.

  “She fooled us on that count,” Nelson continued. “But she eagerly cooperated with paternity testing. Under supervision. You are, without a doubt, Richard Kavanaugh’s biological son.”

  I brought my hand up to my head again. Kara subtly rubbed my shoulder.

  “I’m going to tell you everything, Mr. Hunt, without delay. It’s going to be a lot to process and I’ll be happy to review any details. But I always feel it’s better to get everything out in the open.”

  “Go on,” I agreed. Kara leaned closer to me, her shoulder pressed against my arm. It kept me grounded, and I needed it because everything else seemed like crazy talk.

  “Your mother lied about your name, making up both first and last so she could control and conceal your identity. This was b
efore the Internet, personal computers, social media, all of that. Identities were much more easily withheld.”

  “She made up the name Declan Hunt?” Kara asked.

  “Yes,” Nelson confirmed, then continued with his incredible story. “Mr. Kavanaugh wired Miss Cruise money every month, more than enough to keep both of you comfortable.”

  “We had nothing,” I interrupted, shaking my head.

  “You had nothing,” Nelson corrected. “She had her drugs.”

  I looked down at the table. I wanted to walk right out of the room, but I couldn’t. I knew I had to sit, listen and learn the truth about my past.

  “By the time you were eight or nine we’d become well aware that Miss Cruise was less than trustworthy. But she proved difficult to track down.”

  “We moved all the time,” I recalled.

  “Every time we were getting close to locating you.”

  “Montana’s not that big a state,” I protested.

  “Big enough. She used several aliases. And this was a different time—”

  “Yes, before the Internet. You said.” My voice had an edge to it now. “He couldn’t have tried that hard to find me.”

  “It became much more difficult once Miss Cruise became incarcerated.”

  I winced at the words.

  “You no longer lived with her and as we didn’t know your real name, we had no way to search for you. We contacted all of her known relatives and associates, but most hadn’t seen her for some time. None had any knowledge of your whereabouts.”

  I swallowed, tense. “I was in foster care.”

  “I only learned of that recently.”

  “Richard Kavanaugh.” I repeated the name, my eyes fixed on the table as I realized. “I met him.”

  “You did,” Nelson confirmed.

  “That night at the Met.”

  “He attended the charity event,” the lawyer said. “He’d read about you and become curious. You resemble your mother more than your father, but he wondered. He always worried about you.”

  I bristled at the assertion, not exactly ready to buy this version of reality. My long-lost father searching for me, worrying about me. But I said nothing while he continued, explaining that my father had become convinced of my identity after we’d spoken that night. But it had taken time to piece it all together, and he didn’t have time.

  “As you may have noted when you spoke,” Nelson remarked, “he was quite ill. He passed away from cancer shortly thereafter. Only 62, far too young.”

  The lawyer paused. I kept perfectly composed, my poker face firmly in place.

  “It was a source of great pain to him that he could not find you. Even given all of his considerable resources,” Nelson continued. “It was his dying wish to give you a full inheritance alongside your brothers and sister.”

  “What?” Kara spoke up at that. She clutched her hand to my arm. “Brothers and sister?” Of course she was more excited about the revelation of family than the inheritance.

  “Yes, three half-brothers and a half-sister. Gigi is the youngest. She just turned 20. All of them are from his marriage to his first wife, Margo.”

  “Gigi’s 20?” Kara asked. Oh man, here we go. Kara was probably crocheting her a scarf as we spoke.

  Nelson nodded, then continued. “Richard also left behind his wife and stepson from his second marriage. Your presence, Declan, has come as quite a shock to them all.”

  I snorted. “I’ll bet.”

  “Do you doubt that?” The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, but only slightly. He clearly knew how to keep emotions in check as well.

  “I don’t doubt it. Not at all. I’m sure they all hate the idea of splitting their pie with me.”

  “There’s no need to be crude about it,” he scolded me.

  “You forget,” I grinned without mirth, “I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. You couldn’t find me. I got dragged all over, sometimes without a winter coat or shoes that fit my feet. I am the definition of crude.”

  Kara cringed at my words, at the image of me young and helpless. I never talked about those days. She likely knew how much I hated to do it now.

  But I didn’t need to, did I? I didn’t need to sit there and re-live my worst days, hear more news about how my mother had lied and cheated and screwed me over. I was done with this meeting.

  “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want any inheritance.” I stood up from the table. “This meeting is over.”

  “I thought you might say that.” My lawyer, Stephen, spoke up for the first time all meeting. I’d almost forgotten he was there.

  “You knew about all this?” I looked at him, accusatory.

  “Only for the past day. I was briefed on the details. But I thought you should hear it all in person. And I told him there was a good chance that you would refuse your inheritance.”

  “If you prefer,” Nelson spoke to me, “the inheritance will be gifted entirely to your charity for foster children. Your father admired your work greatly.”

  I grunted, non-committal.

  “But first you must do one thing.”

  I stood and waited for it, my whole body tense.

  “It was Mr. Kavanaugh’s wish that you meet your family. For any funds to be released, you must agree to do so.”

  “No,” I declined, abruptly.

  But he continued, undeterred. “There’s an annual family gathering he specified that he’d very much like you to attend. It’s in a few months, around the holidays. It would present the ideal opportunity to meet all of your relations.”

  “No,” I answered quickly and decisively, then turned to leave the room. Kara rose to join me.

  “It was his dying wish,” the lawyer said to my back, still not raising his voice.

  “Not my problem,” I responded, hand on the doorknob.

  “You may want to learn the amount of money that you’re refusing before you walk out the door.” Now he spoke up a bit, to make sure he was heard.

  With great certainty, I turned to face him. “Nothing you have to say will change my mind.”

  “Two hundred and fifty million dollars.”

  The number sat there like a big cartoon word balloon hovering over all of our heads.

  “What!?!” Kara exclaimed. Unschooled in the art of containing emotion, the words flew out of her mouth.

  “Kara, we’re done here.” I took her hand and led her from the meeting room.

  Back in our cabin, I didn’t know what to say. Everything we’d just heard swirled around my head like hallucinatory smoke coming out of a pipe.

  “What just happened in there?” she asked me, her eyes wide, her face caught in a pantomime of astonishment.

  “I have no idea,” I answered, honestly. I didn’t know what to believe, didn’t know what to do with it all. So I did the one thing I felt certain about. I wrapped my arms around Kara, exhaling into her hair, kissing her forehead.

  “This is crazy,” she murmured, circling her arms around me, her hands along my back, tracing my muscles. Her touch felt so good, instantly igniting the flames within me. I kissed her neck, slow and loving, breathing her in, enjoying the hitch in her breath as I sucked on her soft skin.

  “Are you all right?” she asked me, sounding more breathy, her hands clasping at my shoulders, traveling down to my chest.

  “I am now,” I answered honestly, popping open a couple buttons on her shirt and taking her full breast in my palm. I leaned my head down and licked, pulling the silk down to get at her nipple.

  “Declan!” she gasped, her peak hardening for me, so responsive. I sucked hard and she cried out again, her hands twining in my hair. Amidst all the uncertainty of the day, I knew what I needed. Right then, right there, hard and fast and raw.

  I swept her up in my arms and carried her into the bedroom. My urgency built as I practically tore off her clothes. She fumbled at mine with just as much need. Nothing between us, I climbed over her on the bed. I grasped her legs and hooked them up a
nd over my shoulders. I needed to possess her, drive into her and feel her come on my cock.

  She looked up at me, her lips parted with arousal. I sank into her with one, deep, long thrust. Her eyes rolled right back into her head with pure, intense pleasure.

  “Yes, Declan!” she cried out. I angled her just right and thrust into her again, the width of my thick cock spreading her pussy. With her legs up and over my shoulders, I drove into her, claiming her with savage need. I plunged all of the way in, groaning deep in my chest. Then I grabbed her hands. This ride was going to get rough.

  “Brace yourself,” I told her, placing her hands up on the headboard. “I need to fuck you hard.”

  “Yes,” she replied, breathless, pressing against the headboard and tilting her hips up to meet me thrust for thrust. I launched in, taking her so hard the bed shook. Her head nearly banged against the headboard. She had to push against it with her palms. My body was so big, my need so great driving into her, but I couldn’t hold back. Not anymore. And she didn’t want me to. Even as I stretched her, as her small frame worked hard to take in all of me, I could see how much she wanted it, how she matched every thrust. She grunted and screamed with pleasure.

  I kept her legs up and over my shoulders as I rammed my cock into her, hitting her just right, her slick depths taking me in all the way, fitting around me tight as a glove. I loved watching her, her eyes half-closed, her mouth open, her tits bouncing and her skin glistening in a sweaty sheen. I brought my finger down and pressed, circled, pressed on her swollen clit in rhythm with my strokes.

  I rammed into her again and again, merciless until her orgasm rushed up and consumed her. It shuddered through her as her eyes flew open and she screamed in deep, orgasmic pleasure.

  “Yes! That’s it!” I drove into her, again and again, claiming her, marking her like an animal, our sweat mingling as I didn’t stop. I took the crest of the wave of her orgasm and rode it straight into another one, greedy, demanding more of her, more pleasure. She gave it up wholeheartedly, surrendering yet again into complete bliss.