Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1)

by Shiloh Walker

  A scowl twisted his face. “You were awake.”

  She tightened her grip on the glass and propped her other hand on her hip. Hopefully that would keep him from noticing the shaking. “Don’t worry, Brannon. I won’t dirty your doorstep again.”

  “I … what?”

  “Please.” Unable to keep looking at him, she turned away. “I don’t think you could have sounded any more disgusted if you’d found a dead rat in your underwear drawer.”

  Without waiting for a response, she strode toward the door.

  When she went to shut it, he slammed a hand against it. “Just hold up there, Hannah.”

  She went to shove him back but decided not to bother. She’d never move him and she wasn’t going to give up any more dignity than she had to. “Do you mind? I’d like to shower and get dressed.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.” He crowded her up against the wall of the narrow hallway, his big, muscled body blocking out everything else.

  She swallowed as he fisted a hand in the towel she’d wrapped around herself. One tug, and it would be gone.

  “You’re sort of in the way,” she pointed out. “I can’t shower when you’re pinning me up against the wall.”

  And I can’t think when you’re so close. Please … just go away.

  “Am I in the way?”

  She opened her mouth and Brannon braced himself for whatever smart-ass reply she’d come up with. He’d take her anger, because he’d earned it.

  But no words came out and Brannon felt something hollow settle in his chest when she closed her eyes and dropped her head back to the wall behind her.

  “Would you please leave me alone?” she asked and her voice was soft, trembling.

  “I’m sorry.” Brannon pressed his mouth to the corner of hers as he spoke. “I … fuck, Hannah. If you think I was disgusted with you, then clearly you weren’t paying attention.”

  He unclenched his fist from her towel, resisting the urge to tug it away. Her body … damn, he didn’t know if he’d ever be able to sleep without seeing those powerhouse curves in his dream. And he wanted more. Skimming his hand down, he curved it over her hip and held her still as he leaned into her, slowly rolling his hips. “If that’s the case, then pay attention now.”

  A low, shaky noise escaped her.

  “Does this seem like I’m disgusted?”

  She pushed her hands against his chest and something cold splashed on him.

  Looking down, he saw the glass, a wet stain spilling across his chest. He took the glass from her and looked around. There was a narrow alcove with a table and he leaned over, dumped the glass there before focusing back on her.

  Harsh breaths escaped her, forcing her breasts up and down and the towel started to slip.

  She went to catch it but he got there first and her eyes widened on his as he peeled the towel away, baring the lush, ripe curves. Still watching her, he let the towel fall to the floor before he reached up and skimmed the back of his knuckles across one erect nipple. It drew even tighter and he dipped his head, catching the swollen peak in his mouth.

  She whimpered and the sound jolted through him. Once more, she pressed her hands to his chest and he braced himself for her to push him back.

  But she fisted her hands in his shirt and arched closer.

  Control snapped and he grabbed her, boosting her up and leaning into her, her weight supported by his body and the wall at her back.

  “I want you,” he growled against her mouth. “Say you want me.”

  Her nails bit into his skin through his shirt. Her sigh, soft and erratic, ghosted across his lips when he lifted his head to stare at her, waiting.

  “Want…” She looked almost sad as smiled at him. “I guess that’s one way to phrase it.”

  Before he could puzzle through that one, she tugged his mouth back to hers.

  Mindless need replaced rational thought and Brannon gave into the driving urge to have her again.

  She clutched at his shoulders, her long legs wrapped around his hips as she rocked against him.

  He barely remembered fumbling his jeans open, barely remembered shoving them out of the way. They were an obstacle, something that stood between him and her and that was the only importance they had. His cock, exposed to the air, jerked viciously and he shifted her weight, hooking her legs behind the knees with his elbows to open her.

  Hot silk, wet as rain, flowered open around him as he found her entrance.

  Without thinking about anything but the need to take, Brannon surged forward, burying himself inside her.

  She cried out and he caught the wavering clamor with his mouth, driving his tongue inside her mouth as he drove his cock into her slick, wet core.

  Again, again, again …

  She strained against him, twisting and rocking in an effort to take him faster, harder. He answered the unspoken plea with deep, driving strokes.

  She came around him, hard and fast, and unable to fight the pleasure, he shattered, erupting inside her with a furious snarl.

  * * *

  Wet trickled down her thighs as he lowered her feet to the ground.

  Hannah’s legs wobbled and she clutched at his shoulders, trying to steady herself.

  He’d come inside her.

  No rubber.

  She mentally groaned, even as she thanked the irregular periods that had eventually forced her to start taking the pill. That much, at least, should be okay.

  Brannon stroked his hand down her back, easing in closer, his breathing still heavy and fast.

  When he went to kiss her again, she averted her face. Then, forcing herself to do what she should have done to begin with, she pushed him away.

  He went reluctantly and she ducked out from between him and the wall.

  Not bothering to grab the towel, she strode to the minuscule bathroom and grabbed her robe from the hook on the door. As she fumbled her way into it, she heard him coming up behind her.

  She freed her hair, staring at the small couch in the little living room of the houseboat. “We didn’t use a rubber.”

  Slowly, she turned and stared at him.

  He’d tugged his jeans back up, but he hadn’t zipped them or buttoned them and the thickness of his cock pressing against his underwear seemed to belie the past few, furious minutes.

  He was still hard.

  And she still wanted him, ached inside for him. Not just for the hard thrust of his cock, but for him. Everything about him.

  “I…” His jaw went tight and he reached up, rubbing his hands up and down his face. “Son of a bitch. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

  She looked away. She hadn’t been thinking, either.

  “I’m on the pill.” Turning away, she strode into the kitchen. She needed a drink. She wanted something strong—whiskey, preferably, the hot burn of it gliding down her throat and easing the edges of the misery. “So that’s not a big concern there. I’m clean.”

  She grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as she waited for him to answer.

  “I…” He sighed.

  Something cold gripped her and she turned, staring at him. “Brannon?”

  “Shit, stop looking so panicked. This is the first time I’ve ever been with anybody without a rubber.” He eyed the water bottle. “Got another one of those?”

  Silently, she retrieved a bottle.

  As he accepted it, he started to speak. “I can’t say I’ve ever been checked for anything, but I don’t have sex without a condom. Well. At least up until a few minutes ago.”

  “Good.” She jerked a shroud of ice around her emotions, pushing past him.

  “Would you … son of a bitch. I’ll get checked. But you don’t have to worry.”

  She wasn’t worried.

  She was tired. The emotions she’d kept hidden inside had snuck out past her guard and ambushed her, stripping away any and all defenses and at the worst possible time.

  “Hannah.”

  He came up behind her and she
closed her eyes as he curved an arm around her waist. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I just…”

  She closed her eyes as he lowered his head to her shoulder. “I’m fine, Brannon,” she lied.

  He seemed to hear the falsehood.

  “Then what’s wrong? You haven’t … how insane will you think I sound if I tell you I’ve kinda missed seeing you on your balcony?”

  “What?” She gave a derisive snort as another crack formed in her heart. “You miss me playing Peeping Tom? Although, FYI, you could always just close your damn curtains.”

  “Then I wouldn’t see you.” His teeth scraped over her shoulder.

  It sent a shiver down her spine. “I find it hard to believe that would bother you much. You go out of your way to avoid me.”

  “Because I didn’t want … this.”

  She didn’t think he meant to say that. Slowly, she turned and when she looked into his eyes, he averted his. “This,” she echoed.

  “I … look, Hannah. I’ve known you too long.” Blood rushed up to stain his cheeks red as he turned his head and met her eyes once more. “In my head, I’ve had you about a hundred ways to Sunday and every time I see you, I want to try at least one of those ways out. But I…”

  His words trailed off.

  Feeling chilled, she pulled away from him. Moving to the small L of the counters, she leaned back. “You what?” she asked coolly.

  “I’m not looking for any sort of relationship,” he said, voice flat. “Sex is all well and good, but I don’t want anything else. That’s not … I just don’t want it. Especially not now. I’ve got too much going on as it is and somehow, I get the feeling casual sex isn’t really your speed.”

  Well. He summed that up pretty nicely, she thought dully. She couldn’t fault him for being honest—or accurate. No. She didn’t do casual sex.

  This was what it felt like to have the deepest desires of the heart shattered.

  It sucked.

  She went to tell him to leave, but that wasn’t what came out of her mouth.

  “I’ve been in love with you since I was in high school.”

  Brannon’s mouth fell open.

  She should have been horrified, but all she felt was numb. It spread through her, turning everything inside her icy and cold.

  “No, Brannon. Casual sex isn’t my speed.”

  “Hannah, I…” He shook his head, looking completely lost.

  “You don’t need to say anything.” Nodding her head to the door, she gave up on the dream. “You just need to leave.”

  “Hannah, wait…”

  “No!” It ripped out of her and she shoved past him, intent on just one thing. Getting the hell away from him. She ducked into her room and slammed the door. Just before it closed, she saw him moving toward her. She flipped the lock and leaned back against it. “Go away, Brannon.”

  “Hannah, come on.”

  “Are you fucking deaf? I want you gone!” She clapped a hand over her mouth and slid down to the floor, her back still braced against the door. “Just leave…”

  * * *

  Dazed, Brannon sat in the car.

  Sweat trickled down his face and it wasn’t until it stung his eyes that he realized he was sitting in the car with the doors and windows closed, the trapped, overheated air turning the small space into a suffocating sauna.

  Swearing, he started the car and stabbed at the buttons, sending the windows gliding silently down.

  In love with you …

  Her words rang inside his head.

  It was bullshit, of course. She couldn’t be in love with him.

  Still, he felt miserable and hollow, sitting there, parked in front of Hannah’s houseboat while he knew she was inside, hurting.

  Had she been crying?

  He hadn’t wanted to leave.

  No, he didn’t want any kind of relationship, but when she told him she loved him, her voice oddly flat and lacking the familiar sarcastic humor, all he’d wanted to do was hold her.

  All she wanted was him gone. She’d made that clear.

  Okay. Okay. He’d leave. For now. Leave, think. Let her calm down and then he’d come back.

  They’d … talk.

  Hopefully, he could get her to realize that she didn’t really love him.

  The idea settled inside him, uncomfortable and hollow, so he shoved it aside.

  He’d go out to his place. He spent too little time there as it was.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Shayla Hardee was a lot of things, but she wasn’t stupid.

  She’d been doing this a long, long time, after all. She’d started out small and worked her up. She’d made a few mistakes on the way—and a few of them had almost gotten her in trouble, but she’d lived and learned.

  Along the way, she’d collected quite a few cards in her deck, including a cop, a news anchor over in Baton Rouge, more than a few businessmen throughout the state, a judge or two, and most recently, a damn state senator.

  This latest one, though … oh, he was a feather in her cap.

  She’d been trying for years to get this sort of mark. She checked the time as she killed the engine. She was early—very early. Roger was out of town. He told her he had a business thing to deal with, but she knew the truth. He had some stupid little trailer-trash whore about a half an hour away. Really, Shayla didn’t care. She had her own fun, but she was careful when and where she took it.

  She might take some of her fun tonight, even, after she dealt with business.

  She got to the marina early and took her time setting up the cameras—there was the first one, set up in a fairly obvious manner. But the other one? That was the kicker and it took a few minutes.

  The second one had to go in a place where it couldn’t possibly be seen, but would still catch everything. She’d started doing this after one of her clients—really, that is how she saw them—had tried to get physical.

  She was nervous.

  This could be big—so big.

  But that meant dangerous, too. The bigger the pig, the bigger the danger. But she’d stay in the light, by her car, keep her distance while they did business. If he tried to get too close or get her to walk anywhere with him? She had the sweet little handgun Roger had given her for Christmas. She was a damn good shot, too.

  Minutes ticked by.

  As the hour got later, Shayla’s nerves got stronger and she checked her watch, checked the parking lot, listened hard. The narrow path that led her was so narrow and rutted with potholes big enough to bury a car, there was no way anybody could sneak up on her. He wasn’t here.

  What if he wasn’t coming?

  Swearing, she started to pace.

  She’d been so certain.

  Agitated, she checked the gravel road once more and then hurried over to the camera, giving it one final check.

  Was that a car—

  Something came around her throat.

  “What—”

  “Idiot.” It was delivered in a cool, condescending voice. “You stupid cow, did you really think you could manipulate me so easily?”

  He jerked harder. Shayla’s feet left the ground and terror had her reaching up, dragging her nails down the back of his hands, trying to claw her way free.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  … couldn’t … breathe …

  * * *

  He dropped her body to the ground, chest heaving as he struggled to slow his breathing. She was stronger than she’d looked. Stronger, and stupider.

  Dead now.

  He knelt by her side and touched her throat, just to be certain.

  There was no pulse.

  Her eyes were wide and fixed, staring up overhead.

  He checked the camera she’d set up by her car. What had she planned to do? Immortalize her own stupidity?

  Behind the mask he wore, he smiled.

  In a way, she’d done just that.

  They’d find her body. A murder in such a small town was rarely forgotten.

  *
* *

  Her back braced against the tree, Hannah struggled not to make a sound.

  He was moving through the trees now, quick and fast, and she was torn between taking off after him or rushing to Shayla’s side. Okay, there was a third urge—the urge to tuck herself into a ball and hide, but she’d done that for too much of her life. She’d watched her mother get knocked around and she’d never done anything to help her.

  But she could try to help Shayla.

  Something too strong to be called frustration gnawed at her as she slipped around the tree, moving with care and watching the darkness around her, waiting for him to come back.

  She clutched a heavy branch in one hand, the bark all but cutting into her palm from how hard she gripped it. If she hadn’t dropped and busted her phone, she could have already called for help.

  But she was nearly a mile from the dock where she kept her houseboat.

  Terror chittering inside, Hannah knelt by Shayla and had to swallow the urge to puke. She’d dealt with dead people before. She was a paramedic. It was almost a job requirement.

  But she’d never seen anybody killed and her vision kept trying to gray out on her and her stomach was violently heaving.

  Shayla’s skin was still warm, her eyes wide open and staring.

  With another look around, she bent over and straightened Shayla’s neck. She’d try to resuscitate her for a minute, but if she didn’t have any luck, she’d have to call for help. She fell into the rhythm and each second dragged by.

  Nothing.

  She bent over, blew another desperate breath into Shayla’s mouth.

  Breathe!

  A branch cracked.

  Jerking her head up, she stared into the darkness.

  A shadow, darker than the rest.

  Shit.

  Jumping up, she grabbed the branch. Something clinked near her feet and she looked down.

  Keys!

  She swiped them and took off running, never more thankful for the running habit she’d developed back when she was struggling to lose weight in college.

  She never ran fast, but the ground seemed to fly by under her feet and she burst into the small parking lot just as she heard a low, ugly voice behind her.