Headed for Trouble (The McKay Family #1) (30 page)

Ian circled her right nipple with his thumb.

She shivered.

He echoed the action on the other side and then eased her back, still watching her as he slid one arm behind her, arching her back. Her breasts lifted to him and she froze as his dark head bent over her. Then she cried out. His mouth was hot and wet, his tongue teasing the peak until it throbbed in time with her heart. There was a tickling sensation from his beard that added to the tangle of pleasure.

He shifted his attention to her other breast and she clutched at him, instinctively started to rock against him—or tried to. She had no leverage and frustrated, she wiggled, straining to get closer.

“What is it?” Ian muttered, lifting his head and staring at her. His mouth was wet.

“I want…” She groaned and sat up straighter, gripping his shoulders as she tightened her hips. “Please. I don’t…”

She looked so frustrated and flushed—so fucking fantastic he thought he’d never again be able to ride his bike without getting a bloody hard-on. As she fumbled with the words, he caught one thigh and then guided her leg farther around him. “Put your foot down. There’s a peg.”

She did so, first the right then the left and he had to wonder what the hell he had been thinking. She moved against him. Through his trousers and whatever skimpy thing she wore under the so-sexy dress, he could feel her and she was wet and he wanted to feel more of her.

Swearing, he caught the material of her dress and shoved it up. Ruffled flounces and silk bunched around his wrists as he closed his hands around her rump. Soft, sleek curves and warm skin, covered by a bit of something lacy. That was all that separated them.

It was too much. “I need you naked and these are in the way, love.”

She groaned and then went to push away before stopping. “I don’t want to stop touching you long enough to take the damn panties off.”

“Well, then.” He caught the material at the sides, fisted both hands in the silk, and ripped.

Her startled gasp sounded terribly loud and he held still. “Should I not have done that?”

Neve responded by wiggling her hips and moving closer. “Please tell me you have condoms.”

He let his mouth fall open. “But I thought…”

She stared at him. Her lashes fluttered and then she sucked in a breath. “But…”

He bit her lower lip playfully. “I’ve condoms, alright. Brought them with me on a hope and a prayer, but I have them. I was just teasing you, love.”

“I’ll hurt you.” She jabbed him in the ribs. “You do that to me again and I’ll hurt … oh.”

He pressed a kiss to her collarbone, her skin so smooth and soft and warm. “I’m sorry … should I beg forgiveness?” He didn’t want for her to answer as he tugged the material of her panties away with one hand. With the other, he found paradise.

She was slick and wet and hot.

“I can go down on my knees,” he whispered against her lips. Then, as her head fell back on a moan, he pushed two fingers inside her. “And beg you. Shall I do that, Neve?”

He pumped his fingers in, once, twice, drawing the slickness of her hunger out. He rubbed his thumb around the swollen bud of her clitoris. “You’re not answering me.”

“I want you inside me,” she said, the words tight, almost choked. “Not on your knees.”

“But if I’m on my knees…” He twisted his wrist.

“Ian!”

She bucked against him and he braced his legs as she pumped against his hand, her climax breaking over her. His hunger snarled, raged. “Perhaps I’ll beg ya later.”

Neve blinked at him sleepily and he was about ready to beg himself—for mercy, for control. Instead, he fumbled a rubber out of his pocket and fought with the packet, with the flounces of her skirt, and the trembling of his own fingers as he sheathed himself.

“You’re certain of this?” he whispered against her mouth.

She bit his lower lip.

When he pressed against her, Neve tensed.

She couldn’t stop it.

It had been too long since she’d had sex and that hadn’t been pleasant.

“Easy, love,” Ian said, his voice a steadying presence as his hands gripped her hips.

She rolled against him and gasped as the action worked him deeper inside.

“
Ian
…”

He groaned and she felt the heavy ridge of his cock jerk inside her. Instinctively, she tightened around him. The fingers on her hips gripped her harder and he swore. “Don’t…” A long shudder wracked his body and he stopped for a few seconds.

She could hear him sucking in air and then he spoke again, his breath coming in hard, ragged pants. “Don’t do that. You’re killin’ me…”

His brogue thickened and she barely understood him. Barely understood anything save for the need to have more. Curling an arm around his neck, she moved closer, her dress smashed between them.

Ian’s body tensed and she cried as he drove up into her, hard and fast.

Immediately, he froze. “Did I hurt ya?”

“No. Please…” She moved against him, but it wasn’t enough. Wasn’t
enough
—

He drove into her again and she cried out. “Please!”

“Please what?” He fisted a hand in her hair, forcing her to meet his eyes in the dark night.

“More.” She gulped in air, all thoughts of shyness gone. “I want more.”

“Fuck
me
.”

The hard, driving rhythm stole the air out of her lungs, stole the scream from her lips and left her clutching at him, breathless. One big hand caught her hip and drew her closer and the angle had her crying out. “Please, please, please…”

She didn’t even know she was talking.

She sank her nails into his arms without realizing she’d broken the skin.

And all the while, Ian drove up into her.

When the orgasm rushed up on her, she thought it just might swallow her whole. She tried to say his name, and couldn’t. But she heard him say hers, a low, ragged groan against her ear.

It was a pleasure so complete, it left her completely shattered.

*   *   *

The throbbing in his left hand pulled him back to earth.

Slowly, William lowered his head to stare down and he realized he’d wrapped the silk scarf so tightly around his hand, he’d cut off the blood supply.

Ian
.

Rage tore vicious bites out of him as he tried to pierce the darkness to see the man’s face.

It wasn’t necessary, though.

He already knew who it was out there.
Fucking his woman
. “Mine,” he whispered, the word all but soundless in the night, lost in the sounds caused by the night creatures—and the fucking whore William had chased halfway across the world.

That was Ian Campbell, a man who’d humiliated him. And Ian had his hands all over Neve.

William clutched the scarf tighter, imagined wrapping it around her lily white throat … and pulling.

*   *   *

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.