Break The Rules

by CC MacKenzie

She had a rule, one time with a man and that was it.

  End of.

  He grinned again, and wasn't it a shame that Sean Kennedy lived to break the rules?

  It had been six long weeks since she'd seduced him in his hospital bed when he'd been too weak to put up much of a fight.

  Actually, he might have been dosed up to the eyes with pain medication, but he'd loved every single minute of it. Hell, he'd even kept the revolting purple teddy bear she'd bought him. Although he'd dumped the Get Well Soon silver balloon.

  What he needed, Sean decided, was a plan.

  He was ex-military.

  He was good with plans.

  What was her weakness?

  When it hit him, he had to smile.

  Sugar.

  The girl had a sweet tooth.

  Laughing softly, he kicked back in his chair and decided to beard the lioness in her den.

  Seeing her natural habitat, her environment, would give him a much better idea of how she ticked.

  Knowledge, as the old saying said, was power.

  At the end of the day, he was a goal-oriented man.

  His goal was to get her into his bed and keep her there.

  For good.

  The girl, he decided, didn't stand a chance.

  Sean discovered she lived in a converted Mansion apartment near the edge of The Mall.

  Super-expensive.

  Fancy.

  Very fancy.

  The chatty concierge was ex-army, which had been a lucky break for Sean.

  Seemed T.C. had the top two floors—impressive—rich—unexpected.

  She didn't sound rich—no private school plummy accent.

  She didn't dress rich—except when she was all dolled up to go out with her pals on a girlie night.

  From what he'd observed when he'd seen her at Ana's and Olivier's apartment, she tended to live in a legging-T-shirt-sweatshirt combo, not designer threads.

  As he stood outside her flat, he admired the huge arched double doors made of oak. They had handles and a heavy knocker made of a brass so polished he could see his reflection.

  As he lifted his hand to the knocker, Sean wondered what he'd find inside.

  ***

  Her belly might still tremble and jump with shock, but T.C. felt more like herself as she sat at her glass topped desk. Her fingers rattled at over one hundred words per minute on the keyboard of her slim silver laptop.

  At the last count, her blog had two million followers and was growing nicely, with a core group of hardened fans who hung onto her every word. Which, in T.C.'s mind, meant she owed it to them to do the best job she could when it came to recommending beauty products.

  Just as well they couldn't see her now.

  Her skin was pasty and sallow, which was a disaster of epic proportions for someone who promoted the clean and natural look. According to her mirror this morning, she looked like an extra from the Walking Dead. And if fashion guru Danni had set her critical eyes on her, she'd have had a heart attack. She'd certainly consign T.C.'s ratty T-shirt and moth-eaten yoga pants to the nearest dumpster.

  T.C. found comfort in the old and the familiar and since both were comfortable, she reckoned Danni could kiss her ass.

  On a positive note, this morning she'd found the energy to shower and wash her hair. She'd used a super secret sample of a new shampoo, which had arrived by courier, from a Big Name beauty company.

  T.C. grabbed the end of her messy ponytail and inhaled. The scent, sort of fresh flowers mixed with spring time in the mountains, was to die for and, more importantly, didn't turn her horribly sensitive stomach. Her hair was silky soft and manageable. As her fingers flew over the keys to write up her report, she reckoned they were on to something big with this product. She opened an email to the company and filled in their tick sheet, made a copy for her files, and sent them her initial findings.

  A glance at a wall clock the size of a dustbin lid told her she'd been working for four hours straight.

  Time to take a break.

  She padded on socked feet into her vast kitchen-dining-living space to fill the kettle. While she was at it stuck a finger in the soil of the herb pots on her window ledge. She gave them a drink. The waistband of her leggings was definitely too loose, probably because they'd been washed so many times the elastic had worn.

  A firm hand on the knocker on her apartment door made her frown.

  Eddie, the concierge, usually made sure all deliveries were buzzed up first.

  Maybe it was his day off?

  Still frowning, T.C. opened the door to a Sean Kennedy standing there as large as life and wearing a shit-eating-grin.

  Two things seriously annoyed her, the clutch in her belly and the fact she struggled to feel surprised.

  Good God, how could she have forgotten how tall he was—how big.

  Beyond furious that he'd caught her when she was a hot mess with a bare, shiny face without even a slick of lip gloss. And worse—no bra.

  Couldn't he have called first?

  But then she remembered she'd ignored his calls in a clear message to back off.

  In typical Sean Kennedy fashion, he'd called her bluff.

  Damn him.

  Her brows rose as she took in the black leather boots, combats and long sleeved muscle shirt.

  "I'm ready and prepared to do battle." His deep voice had that soft lilt of Ireland which always made her melt. Then he drawled, "With my new fiancée."

  To hide how happy she was to see him, her eyes narrowed into slits. "I'm not a real fiancée. You know perfectly well the hospital wouldn't permit me to visit you unless I was close to you. What was I supposed to say?"

  He leaned his shoulder against the doorjamb and smiled, forcibly reminding her of a great white shark. "Hmm. You behaved like a real fiancée. You brought me a purple teddy bear and a silver balloon. You brought me flowers. You kissed me. I've never had a fiancée before. You're my first."

  Her cheeks glowed, because she had done all of the above and an awful lot more.

  However, no matter how much her hormones wanted to dance with him, she seriously didn't have the patience for him right now.

  She needed time to think, to plan, to decide what to do and to come to terms with her situation.

  Therefore, she wanted him gone.

  Now.

  "I bet you think you're funny, don't you? Well, let me tell you, your attitude stinks. You piss me off so much my butt cheeks feel as if they suck lemons."

  "The last time I saw your butt cheeks they were working like a piston on my dick." And with that he strolled through the door.

  The memory of her behavior, plus the unintended consequences of her actions, made her face burn with a lot more than embarrassment and shame.

  All it had taken was one look at him and her ovaries had gone into a hormone driven meltdown.

  Telling herself not to go there and that she was so not ready for a showdown with this man, not yet, T.C. slammed the door hard enough to rattle the glass crystals of the outrageous chandelier fixed to the high ceiling.

  She stalked after him. "Excuse me? Who invited you into my personal space?"

  In response, he opened a door at random and poked his head into a coat closet. "I'm sussing out your place to make sure it's a safe venue for Anastacia to visit. I take my job very seriously."

  T.C. told herself to keep calm.

  "That's the most pitiful thing I've heard in years."

  Since he had his back to her and was happily checking out a guest powder room, she told herself to take absolutely no notice of his tight ass, or his long legs, or those awesome shoulders. The man was built. And as she knew to her cost he didn't have an ounce of fat on him. Unlike her. She had bits that wobbled, especially around the boobs and ass.

  "I am diligent in my duty to serve and protect," he carried on as if she hadn't spoken and led the way through open double doors into her vast sitting room.

  "You're a—" she caught herself before she said a
word that would surely bring a shower of reprisals down upon her head.

  He turned to her and shot her a wide smile that took her breath away. Those amazing tawny eyes danced into hers. "Well done. I'm proud of your restraint."

  Her eyes narrowed. "I'm swearing in my head."

  He took a step towards her.

  She took a step back.

  They continued the waltz until her back slammed against the wall.

  "As long as it doesn't come out of that gorgeous mouth, I don't care."

  The music of the land of his birth was in his deep voice, a rhythm that sang through her blood.

  He was so close she smelled his shampoo, something manly and fresh.

  His hair, the color of rich chestnut, had grown, but the style didn't soften his hard face or that firm mouth.

  Her fingers itched to touch the five o'clock shadow on a strong jaw.

  Taking her by surprise, he dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, so soft her bottom lip trembled as her heart went crazy in her chest.

  "You smell amazing. It's a shame you're such a bad, bad, girl," he said in a low voice.

  Masculine.

  Dominant.

  The man had absolutely no idea how bad she really was.

  They were both in deep shit and he didn't even know it.

  In response to how he scrambled her pulse and the way her legs trembled, her chin lifted.

  "Yep."

  His knuckles gently stroked her flushed cheek, while hungry eyes studied her mouth.

  "You are an impossible woman."

  When she bit down hard on her bottom lip, she caught the way his breath hitched.

  Seemed he was just as affected by her as she was by him.

  The fact she had a certain amount of power over this big, strong, man made her smile.

  "You haven't seen nuthin' yet."

  "You're enchanting." The Irish in his voice again danced through her veins.

  She loved the sensation so much, her lip curled. "Now that's a new one."

  His strong, hard, body pressed hers against the wall. "I will have you," he said in a low voice. "Naked and craving and crying out while I bury myself deep inside you over and over until you scream my name and then I'll do it all over again. And then, just maybe, I'll walk away from you the way you walked away from me."

  Phew.

  Spoken like that, all hot and heavy, put all sorts of dirty pictures in her head.

  Beneath her T-shirt and yoga pants, her body tingled, throbbing with lust.

  Her mouth was so close to his, she saw slivers of a tawny brown in those eyes of dark gold. His heavy erection, hard and thick, pressed into her belly. The man was a predator. And she'd been the one to make the first move all those weeks ago in Paris. Then she'd walked out on him and ignored every single one of his attempts to contact her. She knew perfectly well he was the type who wouldn't put up with that sort of behavior.

  And if T.C. was being completely honest with herself, she'd known it at the time and had done it anyway.

  After studying her carefully, his eyes narrowed. "I can see your devious little mind considering all the angles. If I were you, I'd think very long and very hard about what you are getting yourself into with me."

  She fluttered her lashes.

  My dear man, you have no idea.

  Her brows rose.

  Her top lip curled.

  "Meaning what exactly?"

  In response to the snark in her voice, a big hand cupped her chin to tilt back her head, his thumb gently rub, rub, rubbing her full bottom lip.

  The way he had his hands on her thrilled her to the bone.

  Her hormones sang the mating song of the ages.

  And just like that, she made a decision.

  She wanted him, so she'd have him.

  And then they'd see who walked away from whom.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Searching eyes of a stunning blue, Sean noted the flash of anger and felt the tremble of lust through T.C.'s body before her thick lashes lowered.

  Beneath his hands her body hummed like a tuning fork.

  He smiled a slow smile.

  Not as cool and calm as she appeared, was she?

  Unless he was wrong—which he doubted—she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

  Seemed Ms. Catliff was under the delusion she was in control of this... situation, or whatever it was, between them. Seemed she thought she could use her sexuality as a bargaining tool. He didn't mind her attempting the latter, but if she thought she could take him on there was a couple of things she needed to understand.

  "Meaning you mess with me, you'd better be prepared to face the consequences, darlin'."

  He dipped his head to inhale her scent.

  She smelled amazing, hot sex and summer by the sea.

  What a combination.

  His eyes lowered to that full, somehow vulnerable, mouth. The thought of this women ever being vulnerable lifted his gaze sharply to tangle with hers. "Because I'm not looking for a quick fuck, and I know you know exactly what I mean, Theresa."

  "Maybe I only want you for your big dick. Maybe I only want it fast and hard."

  He knew the outrageous words were designed to bait and put him off his stride.

  Not a chance.

  A vision of what he wanted to do to her entered his mind.

  He decided to share. "I'm going to bend you over the arm of the big couch over there, strip you bare and play with your sweet clit until you're screaming my name. I want at least three orgasms from you today. Three. And then I'm going to take you so hard and so fast you won't be able to count at all."

  Only when her face paled and her breath panted in her throat with a lust that shone from her blue eyes did he release her and turn away.

  Thanks to the epic erection tenting his pants, he walked with a limp.

  Since snooping into another person's habitat was something he considered a big part of his job, and it was always helpful to see how another person lived their life, Sean felt absolutely no guilt as he wandered down the vast hallway in T.C.'s plush apartment and pushed open the arched double doors to her bedroom.

  He entered to find a girly love-nest decorated in pale gold with ivory soft furnishings. Ceiling to floor curtains in heavy silk the color of a newly minted copper coin decorated vast arched windows. A long low couch in velvet the color of mouse held matching cushions edged with amber beads. A huge standing wall mirror, gilt, reflected an immense bed, a glittering chandelier of black crystal, and a couple of large chests of drawers in a highly polished dark wood. The furniture looked expensive, maybe antique. A long bureau, the top crammed with bottles of lotions and potions and perfumes, caught his eye. His nostrils flared as he inhaled the unique scent of a female who liked to indulge herself. A chaise longue the color of pale honey and crammed with ivory cushions sat at the bottom of the bed. The room smelled of woman. Gorgeous. Erotic. Sensual.

  "I suppose in your line of work spying on people is a fucking given?" The cranky tone in her smoky voice had him turn to her, unsmiling.

  Fascinated by something edgy, a sort of tension, in the atmosphere that seemed to swirl between them, something he didn't understand, he watched the blush rise over T.C.'s neck, her cheeks.

  The anxiety in her voice and the wary look in her eyes made him wonder if he intimidated her. After thinking about it for a moment, he found he couldn't be sorry for it.

  The time for games was over.

  The time had come for them to have a little heart to heart.

  "Didn't we already have a conversation about your mouth?

  Her body language, the hip thrust, the folded arms and the superior lift of her brow, all screamed, ‘Are you kidding me?'

  "Fuck off."

  In spite of ribs that weren't quite one hundred percent healed, Sean moved fast.

  The scuffle was too short to be ugly.

  Within moments, he had her cheek crushed to the wall and her slim wrists caught in his hand and shoved above h
er head.

  His thighs, hips, pinned her in place.

  T.C. knew she'd pushed him too far.

  Every time he lost control, it seemed to give her a perverted sort of pleasure.

  "Let me go," she said through gritted teeth.

  "No. You've had plenty of warning of what would happen if you dropped the F-bomb one more time."

  When she tried to buck under him, he simply used his weight to press her into the wall. He had at least one hundred pounds of muscle on her and he now used every single ounce of it to effortlessly hold her still.

  Her heart might be thud, thud, thudding against the wall, but his hard body, the scent of him, the feel of him, was doing X-rated things to her libido. In fact, she was so turned on she couldn't believe it.

  What the hell was wrong with her?

  When had she ever been aroused by dominant behavior?

  There was no way she was a submissive.

  No way.

  The thought of it had her growl in her throat.

  "I understand discipline, Theresa," he said into her ear. His pleasant voice was so low and deep, the sound vibrated through his chest pressed against her back. "I understand that there are many different levels of punishment for many different types of misdemeanor."

  "You hurt me and I will have your balls in your throat."

  His response to her promise was to fix his mouth to her neck to nuzzle a pulse going crazy. His tongue licked and then he set his teeth on her. The shudder of pleasure was so intense it rippled from her head to her toes. The sheer force of it had her close her eyes tight.

  This time all she could do was whimper.

  "I can promise never to hurt you. But neither do I tolerate disrespect from you or anyone."

  She opened her mouth to spew vitriol, when his teeth on her lobe stopped her dead.

  "Swear at me one more time and I'll have your bare ass over my knee and burning from my hand. One warning, Theresa. One. Take a nice deep breath and think about it."

  His voice might be mild, but she picked up the gravity, the absolute assurance, to follow through.

  Oh, how she wanted to rant, to rave.

  But something, it might have been the tone of his voice, hard. Or it might have been the words, sincere, made her bite her tongue.