by Katy Kaylee
We Shouldn’t
The Raven Brothers - Book 2
Katy Kaylee
Copyright © 2019 by Katy Kaylee
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Description
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Marriage of Convenience (Excerpt)
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Description
Hunter Raven: A force of nature, the epitome of a broody alpha male.
Enigmatic, broody alpha male.
Guess I gotta push that out because I am his therapist now.
Turns out, he is going to be my most challenging client ever!
Everything about this relationship is wrong.
He’s ex-military, running away from demons of his past,
And I’m supposed to be treating him.
But I’m the one who’s going to need therapy now,
With his hands, mouth, ….and well…
I know, I know – we shouldn’t,
There’s no way this can work.
God help a woman who gave her innocence to this charming billionaire,
And had the most perfect ‘O’ ever!
We Shouldn’t is a full length, standalone romance with a very sweet and sugary HEA. It is also Book Two in the Raven Brothers Series, that features four brothers. We Shouldn’t is Hunter’s Story.
Each book in The Raven Brothers Series is a standalone featuring a different couple. Enjoy!
Prologue
Grace
I knew I was in over my head the first time I met Hunter Raven. While all the Raven brothers were assertive, often abrasive, alpha males, Hunter was that times one hundred. Tension radiated off him like there was a ticking time bomb just under his skin. His default mood was angry, whether it was expressed outwardly or in a subtle undercurrent. He didn’t trust anyone or anything, including his family, although he did have loyalty toward them.
None of these traits were surprising for a man who spent time in the military and had seen the atrocities of war. There was no doubt that he suffered from PTSD. Compared to many, he was coping better, but something had happened or was happening that threatened the tenuous thread on his mental health. There was a pain and guilt that had ratcheted up his anger and distrust to the point that his family had forced him to meet with a therapist.
I liked to think I was a good therapist, even if I was no longer sure it was the right profession for me. I understood people, and better still, I was able to earn their trust enough that they’d share their feelings, fears, doubts and struggles that negatively impacted their lives so that I could help them develop insight and skills to live more successfully. However, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do that with Hunter, which was a shame because there was something about him that hinted at a gentle, loving man.
“Your brothers seem to think something changed for you a few months ago that has you angrier. What would that be?” I asked him, knowing he’d likely not answer. While many people had difficulty pinpointing the origin of their issues, I was certain Hunter knew exactly what the source of his change was. In fact, I think he carried it on purpose, like a punishment.
Hunter gave his same dismissive eye roll. “Gee, let me think. My father wants his sons to live a fairy tale and procreate to earn our inheritance. My oldest brother has drunk my dad’s fairy-tale juice. The world is a dangerous place. My favorite TV show was canceled. Take your pick.”
“Tell me about ‘the world is a dangerous place,’” I prompted, curious about its inclusion in his list. Was he talking about war or something closer to home?
He shrugged. “Muggers. Stalkers. Crazy fucks…take your pick.”
“Have you been mugged—”
He let out a loud bark of a laugh. “No. People don’t mug me.”
No doubt, I thought. Not only was Hunter a tall muscular man, but he also radiated a vibe that said: “Don’t touch me or I’ll kick your ass.”
“Okay, how about a stalker or crazy fuck,” I prodded.
He turned away, using his forefinger to trace something along the back wall behind the couch he was sitting on. “They show up to Ash’s clubs sometimes.”
There was something more to that. “Have you had an altercation with one that was different from usual?”
He blew out a breath. “How is all this going to help me? I’m sorry that I’m an asshole. But it’s who I am. Why can’t people just leave me the fuck alone?”
“Is that what you want? To always be alone?”
“Yes.”
“Then why all the women?”
He crossed his arms over his chest, telling me he was closing down even more. “Why do you want to know? Want to be one of them?”
I’d be lying if I said there wasn’t an attractive quality to Hunter. No doubt, he knew how to make a woman happy in bed. As someone who’d never been with a man, the idea of letting him teach me wasn’t unpleasant. Unethical, yes.
I closed my notebook, so I didn’t appear as threatening. I sat back and crossed my legs, noting as his gaze drifted down to watch.
“Your brothers mention that you have a proclivity for one-night stands since retiring from the military.”
He laughed. “My brothers are jealous.”
I leaned forward, resting my forearms on my thighs. Hunter’s gaze dropped to my chest area. I briefly looked down. I dress conservatively. Today it was a white button blouse and a plain black pencil skirt. My top had gaped open when I leaned forward, showing a hint of cleavage. I knew I should lean back, but I couldn’t help but be intrigued by Hunter’s response.
Hunter was a man and it seemed like most men were slaves to their libidos. But Hunter was not like most men. Yes, he was sleeping around, but I was sure that was less about sex and more an attempt to fulfill something else. What was really interesting about his response was that Hunter was always in control. I suspected he never relaxed, even when sleeping, which could be part of his problem. So the fact that he was distracted by me was different.
“What are you looking for in these encounters? What do they fulfill for you?” I asked.
His grin was wolfish and wicked. “I’d be happy to demonstrate how fulfilling they are.”
Every nerve ending in my body was tingling at the promise of the ultimate sexual bliss his eyes relayed.
“There’s the first time I see her across the room. Luscious curves. Sexy lips. My dick starts to get hard just thinking about how tight she might be or how her mouth wil
l feel sucking me off.”
Holy crap. I resisted the urge to press my hand over my chest where my heart was starting to quicken at his erotic words and the seductive way he said them.
“Then there’s that first taste of her mouth when I kiss her. Hot. Wet. Sweet. Just like her pussy will be.”
Oh my God, my panties were getting wet.
“There is exploring her body. The way her nipples harden as I suck them. The way her body arches when I rub her clit. The perfect O her mouth makes when I drive her crazy into the first orgasm.”
First orgasm? There was more than one? I shook my head as I realized I’d lost control of my session.
“Does she have a name?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t sound too husky. It would be dangerous for him to know his effect on me.
The smug expression on his face dropped. He scowled at me, and I was glad for it as it effectively stopped the game he’d nearly trapped me into.
He quickly morphed his expression into something impassive, dismissive even, letting me know that he didn’t want me to know I’d annoyed him.
“Sure. They all do. Everyone does.”
“But do you know theirs? All these women you bring home, do you know their names?”
His jaw ticked. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, Mr. Raven, that you use these women the same way other people might use drugs or alcohol.”
He grinned. “Are you calling me a sex addict. Because that actually sounds pretty good. I don’t want to be cured of that.”
“No. I’m saying you’re using sex to dull the pain or fill a hole in your life.”
He didn’t like that. “So, what if I am?” he growled. “I’m not hurting anyone.”
“Except you are. You’re hurting you. You’re hurting your family—”
“My family can fuck off. I never asked to be a part of this business. I never asked for their help.”
“No. You ask nameless women to get you off every night.”
His lip turned up in a snarl. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“Maybe not, but I understand a lot about people in your situation. You’re angry and in pain. You could overcome that but you like being pissed at the world. Or maybe you’re afraid that letting go of it would somehow make you vulnerable. You like control. There’s also something about all those women—”
“Yes, they make me come,” he said going back that melodic, hypnotic voice he’d been using before.
Not wanting to let him work his seduction on me, I checked my watch. “That’s our time for today.” I stood and walked toward the door of my office.
He rose from the couch and came toward me. He pressed his hand against the door, preventing me from opening it. It was an aggressive move, but I didn’t feel afraid. Hunter carried a lot of anger, but he wasn’t reported to be prone to violence. Nor was there any indication that all the women he’d been with hadn’t been completely on board with having sex with him.
“Instead of talking about how good sex can be for mental health, maybe you should try it sometime, Doc.” His eyes were dark and filled with sensual promises as he looked down on me.
“I’m not a doctor.”
“And I’m not sick.”
I sighed. “No one thinks you’re sick. You just need to deal with your anger and your past trauma.”
“I deal with it just fine. Let me show you.”
His lips were on mine before I had a chance to realize his intentions. His lips were firm and smooth, and it sent a wildfire through my entire body.
But no, we couldn’t do this. I pushed him back. “Mr. Raven—”
“Under the circumstances, you can call me Hunter.”
“I’m your therapist. This is isn’t appropriate.”
“Isn’t it your job to learn about what makes me tick so you can help me?”
“Yes but—”
“This is what makes me tick.” He took my hand and pressed it to his groin. He was hard and long and, good God, how I wanted to see it. My hand rubbed against him before I thought better of it.
I withdrew my hand, but the smirk on his face told me he knew what he was doing and how I was responding. Of course, he did. He was a master at knowing what got women off.
“This is wrong,” I said, hoping I looked strong and defiant as I stared up at him.
“Isn’t there such a thing as sex therapy?” His hand rested on my hip, tugging me closer by slow degrees.
“For impotence. Clearly, that’s not you.”
“No. Clearly not me.” His lips consumed mine again, and God was he good at it. His tongue ran along the seam of my lips. I opened my mouth to let him in. My brain screamed at me to stop. I was a professional woman. But good golly, my body was saying, Yes, yes, yes. I’d never felt such a rush of desire and a building need to be touched before.
He pressed me against the door, his hands sliding up my legs, lifting my skirt until it bunched around my hips. Why wasn’t I stopping him?
He ground his hips against mine, his hard shaft rubbing against my cleft, making me gasp. That was why I wasn’t stopping this. Oh my God, it felt so good. But no.
I tore my mouth away from his, and put my hands on his chest intending to push him away. “We can’t. I’m your therapist.”
He looked down at me with hooded eyes, clouded with desire. A man had never looked at me like that before.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.” He ground against me, and again my body betrayed me by pressing back and moaning. His lips found mine again, and I was lost in sensation.
I wanted this. I wanted to know what it would feel like to have a man touch me, move inside me. To have an orgasm by a different method than my own hand.
But Hunter was my client. A client who needed boundaries. Who needed to learn to let go of his past and pent up emotions, while also learning to control his urge to solve his problems through sex. Letting him do this wasn’t helping and could possibly hurt his mental wellbeing.
And then there was the fact and I’d never been with a man. I couldn’t start my sexual journey by letting a client have me against my office door.
“I like the way you feel,” he murmured against my lips. “Are you wet?”
Oh god.
His fingers slid under the panel of my panties. “Ah fuck, yeah. You’re wet.” He flicked a finger over my hard nub and my entire body felt a jolt of electricity fire through it.
I was panting. Need coiled so tight at my center, I was afraid I might scream. I wanted him to touch me there. To deliver the promise of intense pleasure my clit was throbbing to know.
He chuckled. “Do you want to come, Doc?”
1
Hunter
One Month Earlier – Tuesday
I drove my fist forward, making contact with the dead weight of the bag hanging from the gym ceiling. The force reverberated up my arm and through my body as the bag jerked back. In my mind, the bag had the mug of a pretty-faced boy with a fucked-up head who thought my sister-in-law, Sara, belonged to him. Six months ago, my brother Chase nearly beat him to death, and it would have been deserved after what he did to Sara. But it shouldn’t have happened at all. Had I done my job, Sara wouldn’t have been hurt and their child, the first one, would be nearly due to be born.
Since returning home from the service, my dreams had been filled with my brothers in arms laying mangled and dead, while I lived for some reason. I could always hear the wails of those who weren’t yet dead. Smell the stench of fuel and dust and decay. God, how I wanted to get rid of those dreams.
Be careful what you wish for. That dream was now gone, replaced by another that somehow was worse.
“Fuck.” I struck the bag again as the image of Sara, beaten and broken, unconscious while handcuffed to a bed filled my head. That was how we—me, Chase and Jones, an old FBI friend of mine—found her. She was alive, but she lost her and Chase’s child.
Today, they seemed happy and were expecting another child. But I
saw how that day still haunted them both. And it was all my fucking fault.
I’d known that fuckhead had a hardon for her. I’d been the one to save her from him the first time he tried to walk off with her. So why hadn’t I done a better job to protect her? Fake marriage to Chase or not, she was a Raven and it was my job to protect her, and I failed.
When Chase first told me she was missing, I thought she’d run off with his money or was spending it all. Even though I’d known a crazy fuck had accosted her on the street, I’d dismissed the idea that she was in trouble. And as a result, she’d been hurt and her baby killed.
I tore an all-out assault on the bag as the guilt and self-loathing flooded my pores. An innocent woman was beaten and an unborn child killed on my watch. I couldn’t live with myself anymore.
If the military would take me back, I’d be there in a heartbeat. They knew how to work men until their brains were too tired to dream. If I was lucky, I’d end up like my dead soldier brothers, because living was getting to be too hard.
Sara and her baby weren’t my only failures of late as the head of all Raven security. That creep of a professor of Sara’s gained entry into a private family party at my brother Kade’s restaurant. How the fuck did that happened? Then there was a break-in at one of Ash’s clubs in which the thief walked off with thousands of dollars and several cases of expensive vodka. It had to be an inside job, but even so, it was my responsibility.
I felt like my life was unraveling and the harder I tried to keep it together, the faster it all came apart. It had been hard enough to adjust back to civilian life after my discharge. Before I began my professional decline, I lived my life always looking over my shoulder, certain danger was lurking. Even in my sleep, I didn’t find peace no matter how many hookups I brought to my bed to distract me. I knew it was called PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. I called it fucking frustrating that a brain rewired for war couldn’t unwire itself when we came home.