Brannon wanted to feel accomplished, and maybe he would. Later.
For now, he needed to hit something and he needed to do it hard and fast.
He had a message from Ella Sue and it made him want to hit something.
Let me know when you want that lasagna.
But the idea that Ella Sue now understood his fury was enough to twist his guts into hard, ugly knots. This kind of cruelty wasn’t supposed to touch his world, his life. That monster had come into his life.
Back at his loft, he hit the heavy punching bag he had set up in the small home gym. It took thirty minutes of pounding before he felt like he’d shed even a fraction of the fury.
He’d kept his mood under control.
Ever since Neve had told them.
But earlier that afternoon, he’d received the report. No, he hadn’t been content to just go by what Neve had told him; he’d respect her privacy and keep what he’d learned to himself, but he’d damn well know what he was dealing with.
Neve had put the son of a bitch in jail and while pride burst inside him, it was mixed with fear. The sick son of a bitch had tried to break her but she hadn’t let him. Still, while he hadn’t connected William Clyde with that bastard from university, he hadn’t forgotten what Sam was like.
Both Brannon and Sam—William—had been born into money, but there were oceans of difference between them.
His parents had made sure he knew early on that the world didn’t owe him jackshit—but he did have responsibilities. The McKay name came with power, and his dad had used the old adage, “With great power comes great responsibility.”
The McKays took pride in their history, in their family name, and they worked damn hard.
But William … Well, William was the sort of man who believed the world did owe him. He thought the whole world had been handed to him. Not on a silver platter, but a platinum one. What wasn’t given was simply to be taken and money could cover all sins.
He’d used his money and the family name to hurt Neve. Brannon thought maybe he could tear the coward apart with his own hands.
In his mind, it wasn’t a heavy bag he was pounding on, but William. He drove his fists into it, listening to the rattle of the chain. Those clinks and clangs became a man’s pitiful cries and the leather of the bag transformed into the broken, bloody body of the man who’d hurt his baby sister.
It still wasn’t enough.
The river of rage was so deep, so all-consuming, he couldn’t see past it, couldn’t think past it. He wanted to find Neve, make her tell him where Sam was. She wasn’t home. Moira had gleefully told him she was out on a date with Ian.
Ian. His best friend was dating his baby sister.
Brannon slammed one foot into the heavy bag—one final driving kick—just as somebody knocked on his door.
He stopped, bent over at the waist as he panted for air. Blood thrummed in his ears and his heart had found a rhythm that was something close to oh, fuck.
It got even worse when he opened the door and saw who was waiting on the other side.
Hannah Parker had been a thorn in his side almost since the day he’d come home from London.
He’d seen her in Treasure Island, back when it had still been a dive, back before he’d first started contemplating the idea of buying the place and doing something more with it.
She’d been bent over a pint of Harp and laughing with a guy she’d dumped a few months later. He’d known who she was, just from the sound of her laughter—rich and full and throaty—the same laugh she’d had when she’d been one of Neve’s few friends.
She’d glanced up at him and he felt the impact of it straight down to his balls. Brannon had wanted, even then, to kiss her until neither of them could think straight.
It wouldn’t have taken much. He couldn’t think straight now; just looking at her turned him stupid. And that made him surly.
“What?”
* * *
My, my, my …
There had never been a man more beautiful than Brannon McKay, not in her opinion.
He might not be the angelic sort of pretty made famous in some of the big museums and he might not be Hollywood handsome, but he was still the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
His red hair was darker with sweat and curling around his face, while his blue-green eyes shone with sparks of temper. He was shirtless, his chest rising and falling in hard, heavy pants.
The temper in his eyes was nothing new. He seemed to live in a constant state of temper, as far as she was concerned. She didn’t know why he was considered to be the more laid-back of the family. She’d always loved Neve the most, but then again, she was probably prejudiced. Neve had saved her tail once or twice—or a dozen times—back in high school and she adored her.
Unconsciously, she touched her tongue to her lower lip as a bead of sweat rolled down his temple to his jawline before following the line of his neck on down his chest.
And whoa. What a chest.
Thanks to his lack of modesty—and curtains—she’d seen him bare chested—and bare assed and bare everything more than a few times, but it had never been up close.
Damn if she hadn’t been missing out.
“You just going to stare at me like always or did you want something?” he demanded in typical Brannon fashion.
She blinked and fought the blush that threatened to turn her as red as a rose. She’d thank the heat, and the fact that she’d been out running.
She’d been trying to burn off her temper—and her worry. Joanie Hanson had called to say she was going back to that prick, Lloyd.
The run hadn’t done a thing to level out the anger or the fear, so now she was hot, sweaty, and agitated.
Her agitation was sliding into something else altogether as she stared at Brannon. He was every bit as sweaty as she was, although it looked a lot better on him than it did on her.
Some of her temper bubbled out and she snapped at him. “Is there a reason you’re always such an ass to me, Brannon McKay? Did I piss in your Cheerios or something?”
Brannon blinked. Then he straightened, crossing his arms over his chest. “Maybe I don’t like being your morning entertainment.”
“My…” Hannah narrowed her eyes. You arrogant ass. She curled her hand tighter around the item she’d found on the sidewalk—the item she’d found that belonged to him. She was tempted to throw it in his face, but at the last minute, she controlled that instinct. Brannon McKay might not be like the school bullies who’d haunted her life for too long, but he still had one thing in common with them—he wanted to get a reaction. She’d give him a reaction, all right.
Cocking her head to the side, she let a slow, wicked smile curve her lips. She held his green gaze with her own and then let her eyes run over his entirely too-delicious body. “Honey.” She drew it out, drawling it with the sugared warmth only the ladies of the South can manage. That tone somehow managed to convey humor and insult all at once. Brannon’s shoulders stiffened slightly as she took one step, then another, closing the distance between them. “I wouldn’t call that entertainment. Scenery, maybe, but it takes more than a good-looking guy in the buff to … entertain me.”
His lids flickered as she eased just a bit closer. The hot scent of him rose to tease her and when she breathed in, it all but flooded her senses. Was it her or did he seem to get even hotter? Maybe it was both of them. The temperature seemed to spike and Hannah was so hot, she thought she might combust.
“Now,” she whispered, close enough that she could feel the caress of his breath teasing over her skin. “If you want to entertain me, I can give you a suggestion.”
He dipped his head and she stared into his eyes.
Heat scorched her.
“Well?” She swayed closer as she spoke, close enough that words were all but murmured against his lips.
Taut silence slid between them and she sighed.
“Too bad.” She eased back. “Here.”
He didn’t even look down. He just
continued to stare at her.
Her nipples went tight, stabbing into the sturdy cloth of her sports bra—that damn thing was practically bulletproof, it was so thick, but it was no barrier to the erect pressure of her nipples.
“Oh for crying out loud,” she muttered as he continued to watch her.
She edged sideways and leaned past him just enough to dump his wallet on the little table near the door. “You have a ni—”
* * *
The temptation of Hannah Parker was one he’d been able to resist, as long as she stayed away, as long as he was able to keep his vague memories of her from years ago firmly in the forefront of his mind.
She’d just shattered those memories. Gone was the painfully shy child who’d all but been Neve’s shadow. Now, the predominant image he’d have of her in his head would always be how she’d looked as she backed away from that almost kiss—her face flushed from her run, her wavy hair escaping from her braid to frame her face in wisps and her porn-star mouth curved in a taunting smile. As if that wasn’t bad enough, his peripheral vision had caught a view of her chest and that would haunt him—large nipples stabbing into her tank top and now he thought he just might die if he didn’t peel her damp clothes away and lick the sweat from her, make her damp in other ways.
As she brushed against him to dump his wallet—where in the hell had she found it—on the table, Brannon’s control snapped and he caged her up against the doorjamb, his mouth crushing against hers as he swallowed down whatever smart-ass comment she’d been about to make.
A small, startled noise caught in her throat and he held there, not ending the kiss, but not doing anything else—yet.
When her arms came up and curled around his neck, he hauled her against him.
Hannah had the body of a starlet from Hollywood’s golden years: full hips, large, natural breasts that would fill his hands to overflowing, and long, lush legs. He slid his hands down to cup her ass and yank her closer.
She made an approving sound and arched to meet him.
Before sanity completely deserted him, he pulled them both inside, spinning and using her body to shut the door. She reached for him but he caught her hips and pushed back, nudging her back against the door. When he caught her tank, he looked up, stared into her eyes. Her chest rose and fell in a ragged rhythm and he couldn’t fucking wait to see get her naked.
When she didn’t do anything to protest, he pulled her tank away and then wrestled the sports bra off, too. The damn thing was like a suit of armor, double-layered and sturdy, but when he peeled it away, he could practically feel his tongue gluing itself to the roof of his mouth. She was … Brannon groaned and went to his knees in front of her, tugging her down until she half straddled him. Her skin was a warm, soft tan—all over—and he had to wonder how she managed that lovely shade of gold.
Cupping her breasts in his hands, he stroked his thumbs around the nipples, slowly, working his way in.
Hannah shivered.
“I’ve probably fantasized about getting my hands on your tits about a hundred times now.”
Her eyes went foggy.
When she went to lick her lips, he leaned in, doing it for her, licking at the seam of her mouth until she opened for him. She tasted salty and warm and she moaned into his mouth, the low, rough sound of need tripping down his spine like an audible caress.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he kissed a hot, hungry line up to her ear and rasped, “If you’re going to call this quits, now’s the time.”
Her response was to bite his lower lip.
“Up,” he ordered, wrapping his hands around her waist and urging her back to her feet. She wobbled and leaned back, resting her weight against the door as he rose.
Still staring at her, he reached out and snagged his wallet.
Luck was with him. He had one condom in there. There were more in his bedroom, too, which was good because he didn’t think one taste would be enough. Shoving the condom into one of the loose pockets of his gym shorts, he caught the waistband of her form-fitting capris.
Her eyes went wide as he dragged them down, but she didn’t move.
Dropping the black cloth to the floor, he braced his hands over her head and stared down at her. Her body was a wet dream. Breasts rising and falling with each breath, she stared back at him boldly and when he lowered his eyes to study her, she did the same. He could feel the heat of her gaze roaming over him and it had his cock jerking, throbbing like a bad tooth.
She reached out and every muscle tightened in anticipation. Her fingers brushed down his neck, along the line of his right shoulder before moving down to his chest. Each gentle stroke sent a jolt of sensation ripping through him, arrowing straight down to his balls.
When she slid her hand down and cupped him through his shorts, he hissed out. Fisting his hands, he held himself locked in place as she started to stroke. The thin material of his shorts was suddenly a terrible thing and he wanted them gone, but if he moved, even a muscle, his control would snap and he’d put his hands on her and this crazy ride would be over before it started.
She stroked up, squeezed, stroked down. Stroke up, squeeze …
Brannon closed his eyes.
Stroke up, squeeze …
He panted and shoved himself into her hand. She made a low, hungry sound in her throat.
Brannon opened his eyes and stared at her.
But she wasn’t looking at his face.
She was staring down, her gaze locked on the rhythm of her hand. When her tongue slid out, Brannon swore.
* * *
Hannah’s mind was whirling.
She could count her lovers on one hand and still have fingers left over. The lovers who had made her feel like this? Count of zero.
When Brannon knocked her hands away, she blinked up at him, startled. “What…?”
The question was smothered under his lips.
She heard foil tear.
Reaching up, she slid her hands up the ridged muscles of his sides and clutched at him.
He boosted her up, and automatically she curled her legs around his waist. That simple action forced her open and she whimpered as it brought her in full contact with the rigid length of his cock.
She caught her breath.
He knocked it right out of her as he drove in, one hard, deep surge that buried him inside her completely.
A strangled moan choked her.
He pulled out and then drove back in.
Scrabbling against him, she tried to ground herself.
Another deep, lunging thrust.
Hannah opened her mouth, tried to tell him to slow down, to … to … to what? Let her breathe? She didn’t know and before she could figure that out, his mouth slanted down over hers and he pushed his tongue into her mouth, echoing the hard, stabbing motions of his cock.
Hannah lost it.
The world exploded and fell away and she couldn’t do anything more than hang on to him. A gathering heat tightened deep down low inside her.
He caught her ass and tilted her hips, changing the angle—just the slightest shift, but it left her screaming. Or she would have screamed, if she’d had the breath.
It hit her hard and fast, the pleasure exploding out from her core, but it didn’t stop—it kept going and going, rippling through her with every thrust of his hips.
She whimpered his name as tiny black pinpricks swam before her eyes.
Vaguely, she heard him groan, felt the rhythmic pulsation of his cock.
His lips brushed across her cheek.
Hannah turned her face away, because she had the worst feeling she just might start to cry.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
A couple of giggling teenagers probably would have attracted less attention, but fortunately for them, there was nobody around to notice as Ian and Neve half tumbled off his bike and all but supported each other on the way up to the door that led to his flat.
They didn’t make it inside on the first try.
Ian pinne
d Neve to the door, his hands on her waist, his mouth on hers as he whispered, “I can’t even walk through here now without seeing you, d’you know that? I see you, taste you, feel you…”
She whimpered as he kissed his way down her neck, his beard tickling and soft against her skin.
Through the silk of her dress, she felt his mouth, hot as a brand, just as devastating. He kept going, moving down and down, and then she gasped because he’d somehow caught the hem of her skirt and the petticoat, shoving them up and disappearing beneath them.
“Ian!” It came out a choked, strangled cry and when she would have spoken again, she only made a low moan, because he had speared his tongue through her damp curls and was licking her.
Dazed, she looked down.
It was somehow twice as erotic, not to be able to see him as he hid below the cover of her skirt and petticoat, his hands now gripping her hips and his mouth pressed against her aching core. He licked her again and a shudder left her shaking so hard, she would have fallen if he hadn’t steadied her.
She reached down, blindly seeking the support of his shoulders. Her hands slipped off his shoulders twice before she found purchase and then she started to move against him.
He responded with a low, hungry growl.
She felt it vibrate all the way through her.
The climax was hard and fast and when it ended, Ian stood up.
She would have said something but he was already kissing her now. “Now,” he muttered in one of the brief pauses.
“Now?” she asked, dazed.
He boosted her up and she forgot how to breathe as he drove inside her.
“I told myself,” he panted against her mouth. “I told myself I’d have you here, like this … just like we would have been that night…”
Arms curled around his neck, she clung to him.
Her heart raced, keeping time with the driving, deep thrusts and when he drove her into a breath-stealing climax, she thought maybe, just maybe, this was the closest thing to bliss she’d ever known.
* * *
Something soft brushed her skin.
Light teased her eyes.
“Are you waking up there?”
Neve jolted upright, a gasp lodging in her throat.
Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) Page 24