Luke's Absolution (The Colloway Brothers #3)

by K. L. Kreig

  Egotistical asshole.

  For a full minute, I let my inner child out, stomping around my room and muttering wildly under my breath as I pull a fresh pair of jeans from my drawer and throw on a light, three-quarter-sleeve lavender sweater. I pull on a pair of cognac-colored Frye riding boots that I splurged on over the winter and take in my appearance in the full-length floor mirror. Satisfied, I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom brushing up my makeup and throwing a few curls in my long hair.

  When I emerge, I assume Luke has also left. All the lights are off except for a lamp throwing a soft glow in the living room. Even though it’s a warm spring day, I grab a heavy brown leather jacket from the coat closet and, pulling my keys from my purse, head out the front door and down the three flights of stairs.

  Our apartment doesn’t have garages; there’s a small parking lot in the back that holds enough spaces for about half the tenants. The good news is I can generally get a spot relatively easily because the average age of our building is about seventy and a lot of the elderly don’t have cars. Sometimes, on Sundays, I will help a couple of them run errands, to the grocery store or the pharmacy to pick up their meds. They have no one else and I’m a sucker for old people.

  Just like bad boys.

  Absently pushing the back door open, I’m preoccupied with finishing my forgotten text to Livia when I hear the distinct rumble of a motorcycle coming to life. I freeze and slowly raise my head, knowing exactly who that roll belongs to. Not many seventy-year-olds or single mothers driving a bike where I live.

  There in all his glory, watching me like I’m his next meal, sits Luke on his Ducati Diavel. The titanium beauty is absolutely stunning, but by all that is holy, if I thought Luke was like a sex god before, he is unequivocally the King of Kings with a 500-pound, 160-horsepower machine sitting between his long legs. I want nothing more than to lie down on that magnificent contraption and selflessly offer myself up for his pleasure. It would be a hardship. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for all of womankind, though. I’m noble like that.

  Trying not to let him know he’s getting to me, and pushing down my disappointment that his black leather jacket now covers up his sexy tats, I look away and head to my car. But that vindictive bitch called Murphy’s Law apparently has it out for me, because as luck would have it, it’s parked right beside his bike.

  “Hop on,” he demands as soon as I’m beside him. Oh, I’d like to hop on, all right, but I’ll be hopping on pop, not your bike.

  With a slight shake of my head and a deep breath, I gather my wits and move to fully face him. “Did you fall and hit your head as a child? In what instance do you think I’m going to follow your every command?”

  “Oh, fireball,” he drawls seductively, “trust me, there’s a time I know you’ll follow my every command. Each roughly whispered wicked one of them.”

  I suck in a sharp breath at his insinuation, the one that just landed with a loud thud straight between my legs. His deep licentious voice drips thickly with sex and promise. But not the type of promises I’m looking for.

  Okay, okay I lie. I want those promises. Badly. I just want more than that, too.

  “You walked right into that one, sweetheart.” He laughs darkly. He’s right. I did, however, I still want to wipe the sexy smirk off his face. With my mouth…and maybe a certain other body part. Let’s just say Luke Colloway isn’t the only one who knows how to ride. I’m so lost in my lascivious thoughts and trying to come up with my next snarky comeback that I almost miss his next comment.

  “I’m not going to argue with you, fireball. We’re already late.”

  “What do you mean we’re already late?” I ask slowly. Goddamn Livia Colloway to hell. She knew exactly what she was doing. At least, I know Luke wasn’t in on the ruse either until just a few minutes ago when he got a text, probably from Gray, because there was no doubt he thought I was getting ready for a date. For some reason, it makes me feel marginally better that I wasn’t duped by him.

  “We’ve been summoned to dinner, doll. Now get on.”

  “I can drive myself, thanks,” I mutter, getting more livid by the second. There is no way I can sit with my crotch flush against Luke’s ass and my palms tightly pressed against those corded chest muscles for thirty minutes. That, combined with the reverberation of the bike between my thighs, will have me coming in record time. I’ve been on edge for months, my own fingers not cutting it anymore.

  I’m already thinking of excuses I can use to get out of this…

  Flat tire.

  Attempted mugging.

  Bad case of mouth herpes.

  …when suddenly I’m lifted off the ground and plopped unceremoniously onto the back of Luke’s Ducati.

  “What the hell?” I try struggling; Luke’s hands hold me tight.

  “I was told to bring you. That’s what I’m doing.”

  “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. You’d even be surprised to know I’ve been doing it since I was about ten.”

  “Addy, we’re going to the same damn place. Why would we drive separately?” he asks with utter exasperation.

  You’re exasperated? Well, get in line, buddy.

  “Because I want to leave when I’m ready, not when you are.”

  “Jesus, woman. Must you always be so goddamned stubborn about everything?”

  “Me?” I screech, my blood pressure ratcheting up with each second that passes.

  “Yes. You,” he pipes back loudly.

  “Let me tell you something, you pompous—” Before I can get another word out, his hands wind through my hair and he pulls me to his hard, unyielding mouth, effectively silencing me.

  His kiss is controlling. Demanding. God. It’s divine. It’s like nothing I could have possibly imagined in my wildest, most erotic dreams. His lips are full and soft and fit perfectly to mine. I fight him for all of one and a half seconds before I melt into his dominance.

  When his tongue touches mine for the first time, electricity fires like a headwind through my veins, making me hot and dizzy with longing. He swallows my unwanted moan, making a low growl of his own. At twenty-eight, I’ve been kissed by plenty of men before, but never like this. This is pure, animal male branding. And just like that…I am his.

  Almost as fast as he descended he’s pulling away. Leaning his forehead against mine, his breaths come in short harsh gasps. Mine doesn’t. I’m not breathing at all. When his molten, hooded eyes meet mine, I swallow a whimper and begin thinking of a whole new litany of excuses to get out of dinner. There is no way on God’s green earth I can spend an evening with Luke after being kissed like he owns me.

  Or else he will. Own me. My lips already singe with his branding.

  I don’t want to be his. I can’t be his.

  He will break my heart.

  He will destroy me.

  He’s right. I would follow every roughly whispered wicked command. God, I’m weak. So pathetically, horribly weak.

  I am in so much trouble.

  With a slight shake of his head, like he’s as confused as I am, he silently reaches in his sidesaddle and grabs a helmet, gently putting it on me. He adjusts the strap until it’s snug, but not too tight. He takes the keys and phone from my hands and throws them into my purse before sliding the strap over my head and under one arm, so it’s taut against my body.

  I let him handle me like a rag doll; each movement is slow and tender as if he’s afraid he’ll scare me away. Little does he know that each soft touch draws me in further. Putting on his own helmet, his movements are quicker and rougher now.

  My eyes never leave his face, and his refuse to meet mine again. I pull my bottom lip between my teeth, chewing nervously.

  I tell my legs to move, hefting me off of this bike and back to my car. They won’t.

  I tell my mind to stop replaying that kiss over and over and over again. God help me, it can’t. My lips still tingle, reminding me that kiss really just happened.

&nbs
p; Luke scootches me back slightly, so he can throw a long leg over the seat. Once settled, he reaches back, pulling me snug to him. Taking my arms and placing them around his waist, he says huskily, “Hang on tight, fireball.”

  Then, before I reattach the pathways between my brain and mouth—which were burned away with his kiss—he revs the engine, backs us up, and winds our way carefully out of the lot. Once we hit the pavement, he takes a right and opens her up, forcing me to meld my front to his back or become road kill. Against my will, he hurtles us toward the city where I’ll have to suffer a long, interminable night in the presence of Sin Incarnate himself.

  Fuck me. Could my life possibly get any worse?

  Chapter 8

  I’m royally fucked. Never, in a million years, did I think that a woman could taste so good. Her unique flavor still lingers in my mouth, making it water. Sugary honey mixed with a healthy dose of stubborn. Over these last several months, I’ve imagined a thousand times how Addy’s lips would taste and what her tongue would feel like dueling with mine for the upper hand. I thought I’d have to wrestle it away from her like a goddamned alligator fight. She vehemently holds on to her reins of control, just like I do.

  But feeling her sweetly melt into me after only a second was just about my undoing. My dick will be wearing the metal bite of my zipper for a week. I shit you not; I just about picked her up and carried her back into the apartment, fucking her until we both passed out in sated exhaustion. Then I’d re-nourish us and start all over again until her pussy was so swollen my cock wouldn’t fit anymore. Hell, I almost didn’t make it out of the apartment in the first place after seeing her barely there lingerie. That sight is still smoking in my memory banks, clouding my vision.

  I’m no manwhore, although I’ve also never, ever had a serious relationship, choosing to move from bed to bed instead. It’s true my door has revolved with too many women whose faces I don’t even remember or care to remember. Not one of them was noteworthy. Not one of them has crossed my mind past the one or two times I fucked them. Hell, if you showed me a police lineup of women I’ve fucked and those I haven’t, I honestly couldn’t tell you which ones I wet my whistle in. That may make me sound like a rat bastard, but trust me, I was doing them a favor. It was wrong to draw a woman into my lifestyle, so I never even tried. Truth is…I’ve never met one I wanted to drag into my debauchery.

  Until her. Christ, I want to debauch Addy in so many ways I need a goddamned journal to note them all, like a bucket list, so I can tick them off one by one after I enact each wicked fantasy currently racing through my mind. Otherwise, I’ll never remember them all.

  The minute I laid eyes on Eric’s little sister, the chemistry between us has been arching hot under the surface, like a sleeping volcano. And with one kiss, I just woke that fucker up. The moment my lips touched hers I felt the heat rain down around us and I swear I heard a big cosmic boom. It reverberated so loudly in my chest, I felt its echo throughout my entire body. Twenty minutes later I’m still reeling from its incessant pings.

  As we fly down I-94 toward Gray’s, I let my hand drift briefly from the handlebars to curl around hers. I feel her chest expand and her palm tighten against my pec, which twitches under her hand. Before moving my hand back, I glide it from her upper thigh, close to her crotch, and down to her knee, making sure to press my thumb down the sensitive inner meat, which causes her to squeeze me tighter.

  I want Addy. Fuck, how I want her. My balls have been in a perpetual state of tightness for months. And while I’ve had every intention of just getting into her pants, after only one taste I want more than that now. I’m fucked because I want her.

  Wanting and deserving are two totally different things, though. I do not deserve her. And after that kiss, for the first time in my life, I want to deserve something. But I know I never will and it cuts me deep.

  I’m nothing like my brothers. I have not lived a pampered adult life, running a multimillion dollar company. I didn’t have family I could count on, except my mom. My mom has always been there for me even when no one else knew it. I missed dinners and holidays and birthday parties. I have a jaded view of the world that can only come from seeing its vile and depraved underbelly. I’m rough and crude and definitely on the wrong side of heaven. Damaged, at best. Ruined, at worst.

  I am not husband material. I am not father material. Hell, I don’t even think I’m boyfriend material. I’ve never wanted any of those things until I came back into the family fold. Watching Gray, Asher, and their women drown in happiness is hard to stomach when I know I’ll never have the same.

  As much as I loved Livia, I knew in my heart those things women dream of could never happen between us. There were so many reasons why, the least of which was I was a criminal at the time, even though that was the last thing I wanted to be and in many ways was forced to be. Hell, I thought I’d be pining away for my brother’s wife for the rest of my life…that I’d be on the outside looking in, always wanting what I couldn’t have.

  Until I met her, the one woman I never expected to meet.

  Mine.

  Addy is like no other woman I’ve ever known and she continually proves that each time I’m around her. She’s smart, quick-witted, and has a one-of-a-kind fiery spunk I’ve never run across before. I want to shut her mouth with my cock as much as I want to hear the next blistering thing she’s going to say. I’m drawn to her like moths to a goddamned blue fluorescent light. I can’t make myself stay away no matter how hard I’ve tried.

  I need to just walk away before I do something I’ll regret. Like hurt her. There is no doubt that will happen. It won’t even be intentional; I could never hurt her on purpose. But that won’t stop it from happening, anyway. I need to drop her off, turn my damn bike around, pack up my shit, and move out tonight, never laying eyes on her again.

  Problem is…I fucking can’t.

  If I thought I felt at peace just being in the same vicinity as her, that’s a fraction of the serenity and contentment I’ve found with her touch. Very simply, she’s the solace to my tattered soul. Her light blinded me the first time I set eyes on her and it felt so fucking warm and good, I can’t even begin to describe it.

  And once the spots in my vision faded, I saw color. She’s infused brilliant color back into my life. If you want honesty, she’s the real reason I moved my business here. She’s the light that drew me home. Yes, I wanted to reconnect with my brothers, but the genesis behind my move is currently sitting with her pussy pressed snugly against my ass, tits smashed to my back, holding on to me for dear life.

  This sounds so clichéd, and I fucking hate clichés: she makes me want to be a better man, if for no one else but her. I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks of me. I’ve lived my life on my terms and if someone doesn’t like it, pound fucking sand. But I care what she thinks. Probably too much.

  God, I hate myself, some days more than others. I deserve a slot perpetually burning right alongside Peter Wilder for the pursuit I’m about to lay on her, because it can’t end any other way than with both of us decimated, our hearts broken and bleeding.

  Today I’ve stooped to a new low. I’m about to drag an innocent down with me. I’m just too selfish to give her up.

  Yep. I’m a real prince.

  Chapter 9

  With Luke’s easy maneuvering, it took less than thirty minutes to arrive at Livia’s. Unfortunately, those thirty minutes felt like thirty hours. My skin burns everyplace I touched Luke. So long as I live, I’ll never forget the feel of his masculine perfection pressed against me. And when he briefly caressed my hand and thigh during our cool ride, I moaned. Loudly. Thank God the rush of the wind carried it away. The last thing I need is to stroke his overinflated ego.

  The minute he parks his bike, I whip off the helmet and hop off the seat like fire ants are crawling up my jeans. I don’t even look back after my feet hit the ground, not caring if he’s behind me or not. In fact, I pick up my pace, practically running for the front
door. Once inside, I wave to Sam behind the security desk and rush to the elevator bank. Pressing the up arrow, I bounce from foot to foot while I anxiously wait. The last thing I need is to be in another closed space with Luke for a second longer.

  Yet once again, the luck of the Irish has completely fucked me over; just as soon as the steel doors open and I step through, Luke is on my heels.

  “Have to pee or something?” he drawls. Goddamn, he’s good at that. I hate it when men talk almost condescendingly to you, but on Luke, it’s not. It’s as natural and instinctual as breathing and Luke wouldn’t be Luke without that tone and inflection in everything he says. I love it and hate it equally.

  “Or something,” I mutter, trying my damnedest not to look at him and his sexiness. He laughs loudly, his deep voice echoing off the steel walls until I’m sure I’ll hear it in my sleep tonight. Great, infect all my senses why don’t you.

  Damn you, Luke Colloway. Damn you.

  As if by small favors, the elevator rises quickly to the penthouse and the doors open in short order. I exit first and almost as quickly as I knock, Livia answers. Throwing my arms around her, I curse in her ear. “I swear on my grandmother’s grave, I will get you back for this, Livia Colloway.”

  “I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about, Addy.” Her feigned innocence grates on my nerves, so I simply glare before turning and heading into the kitchen.

  I need a damn drink. A strong one. And a lot of them.

  Then I need to use the bathroom to ease my sexual discomfort. Pronto.

  “What’s your poison tonight?” Livia asks, the devious bitch sauntering in behind me. Luke is following her, but I don’t look at him.

  “Tequila if you have it. And keep ’em coming.”