He peeled off the stretchy black pants I wore. Next came my thong. Then he was helping me out of the top. I lay naked with him still clothed, and I bit my lip as he drank me in as if for the first time. Then I sucked on a finger before placing it on my clit. That got things moving. He undid his pants and took the time to completely remove them after his cock bobbed free. He ripped his shirt over his head. Then he put his knees between my legs before settling on top me.
Our lovemaking was languid and slow as though we had an abundance of time. Seven hours, I guessed, was a while.
“Fighting against wanting you is impossible. We’re bad for each other and I don’t care.”
I wanted to disagree, but only with the part about us being bad for each other. But then he was kissing me. The man knew how to kiss. I could have come just from that.
His hand slipped down my body and stopped at my thigh. He lifted it and inched forward until I felt his cock at my opening. I ran my nails over his scalp, down the back of his head to scrape over his back, and dug into his ass, urging him to thrust forward.
He didn’t deny me. I was so wet, he slid right in without resistance. He worked his glutes slowly, finding a languid pace we both enjoyed and making love to me in a way that didn’t require words. When we came, it was quiet and reverberated through the both of us. Out of all the times we’d been together, this was the one I’d remember the most.
We slept after that, me cocooned by his big body. I smiled when he fell asleep before me. Given his history, I felt empowered and loved even if he hadn’t said the words. None of it mattered because I felt it.
We left around nine in the morning, Ireland time, and we arrived in the New York—actually New Jersey—around eleven in the morning because of the time difference.
“Thanks for everything,” I said to Grant as we prepared to disembark.
“No problem.”
“I shouldn’t ask, but are you single?”
He laughed and looked over my shoulder. “I am, but I try to stay away from married women or clients.” He winked.
“Oh, cute boy, I’d ruin you,” I said, winking back. Then I felt heat at my back and knew Striker had invaded my space. “I only ask because I have several friends—okay, acquaintances—who wouldn’t eat you alive. And it’s not often one comes across such husband material.”
His laugh became a little nervous. He probably got enough indecent proposals. I was about to cut him some slack when the man behind me spoke.
“She’s only kidding,” Striker said, stepping beside me.
I wasn’t, but I let it go.
Striker held out a hand and Grant took it. “I can’t say thanks enough. You’ve really been a lifesaver.”
“No, thank you. We’d love to fly you wherever you need,” Grant said.
Did he say we because he was part owner? I would have asked except Striker replied, “You’ll be my first call,” before ushering me out the door.
“Cock-blocker,” I teased, enjoying lightening the mood.
“Your bestie is married and so are you.”
I grinned when he confirmed our status. “I have other friends…” When he looked unconvinced, I said, “Including Anderson.”
“And you think Grant would be interested in him?”
“No, but I’m making the point I know other people. Like the girl who wanted to swallow your dick at Bailey’s wedding.”
“You mean when you got jealous?”
I had been, but I took comfort in how we left the plane after a few days together. At the bottom of the stairs, Striker held our bags in one hand and his other hand was at the base of my back.
“Me? Jealous?” I said with a hand to my chest as though that was impossible to believe. “Never.”
“You were.”
“And look who’s here,” I said, pointing. “The man who brings out the jealous side of you.”
Waiting for us in the parking lot was none other than Griffin.
“Why are you here?” I asked before giving Griffin a hug.
“He’s giving me the death stare, darling. How do you think he’d react if I grabbed your ass?” Griff teased.
I giggled and pulled back before he could. Striker was right there to tuck me under his arm. Possessiveness wasn’t always bad. Especially when you had questions about your relationship status.
“Griffin,” Striker said.
“Boyo,” Griffin said. “Kalen and Bailey are about an hour behind you.” Striker nodded and Griffin continued. “I’ll drive you in and they’ll have a car waiting since…”
“Whoever is after me or my brother,” I said.
“There’s that,” Griffin said. “But I don’t think they knew you were in Ireland.”
“Can we have this conversation in the car?” Striker suggested.
Griffin nodded and we got into the SUV. Surprising me, Striker sat in the back with me, leaving Griff alone up front.
“Tell me what you’ve found out,” Striker said.
Griffin proceeded to tell him that a rival drug lord had been in town at the same time Matt was. Whoever Matt was working for in Chicago thought he’d come to have a meet-up with the other player behind his boss’s back.
“We are waiting for Matt to confirm, but we haven’t heard anything yet,” Griffin finished.
“What? You haven’t heard from my brother?” I sounded on the shrill side, but it was warranted.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds. He’s deep undercover now, especially if they don’t trust him. He probably can’t make a safe call,” Griff said.
“And that’s it?” I asked.
“You could call the FBI and ask about him. But is anyone supposed to know he works for them? Or are you supposed to think he works for the Chicago PD?” Griff argued.
I sighed. “The police department.”
“Your brother is smart. Based on what I’ve seen when he helped with the Bailey thing, he’s been doing this a long time. He can handle himself,” Griff said.
I’d been telling myself that very thing since I found out, but it didn’t make me less worried about my brother. I squeezed Striker’s hand, which I’d woven with mine. He was there for me as I was there for him. If he couldn’t see we’d built a relationship against all the odds, I didn’t know what else to do.
“How’s my father?” Striker asked.
“Out of surgery and in recovery. I only know that much because Kalen told me to pretend I was him.”
Striker said, “You’re taking us to the hospital, right?”
“I doubt they’ll let you in, laddie. Not until he’s transferred to a room, most likely in the ICU.”
“I don’t care,” Striker said.
Griff eyed me in the mirror. “I can take you to the house.”
I doubted Connor’s father lived in a house. It was probably a mansion. “I’m going wherever—Connor’s going.” I had to catch myself. I didn’t know if Griffin knew him as Striker too.
“Well, wait to you see the place,” Griff said. “It’s something to behold. Six levels, twenty thousand square feet, between Madison Avenue and Fifth. Heated marble floors and, catch this, heated sidewalks so snow isn’t a problem in the winter.”
My eyes widened. My parents did okay with a six-thousand-square-foot two-level condo on Park Avenue, but Connor’s place near Central Park would be something else.
“Oh, there’s a roof deck with views of the park, and a swimming pool on the lower level,” Griff continued.
“Did you grow up there?” I asked Striker.
“I was at boarding school most of the time.”
I nodded, hating that I’d brought up that memory.
“Kalen notified the staff to have your room ready,” Griff said.
“I haven’t lived there in years,” Striker said more to himself.
I still had so many questions, but Striker seemed lost, so I said, “Maybe you should call the hospital.”
“My phone’s dead,” Striker said.
&nbs
p; Griffin tossed him his phone. “Here. Use mine. It’s the last number I called.”
My phone was likely dead too, wherever it was. I hoped my parents hadn’t called. They would be worried. We hadn’t been gone a week though, so I crossed my fingers they hadn’t called. “Griffin, do you have my phone?”
He looked at Striker, who said, “I have it,” and pulled it out of his bag.
“You had it the entire time?” I asked.
“Yeah. You didn’t ask for it.”
Sometimes you didn’t sweat the small stuff. Striker had probably had his reasons for keeping it from me—like me trying to make a call on the island and giving away our location. Yeah, I did that. So I let it go. Now wasn’t the time to debate the merits of him keeping my phone, considering he’d probably been right. Plus, his father could be dying.
I took the phone and asked Griff to charge it. He was able to charge both of our phones while he drove. My parents typically only called once a week, but I needed to make sure they hadn’t been looking for me. They’d been at the wedding and left the reception early. They wouldn’t have known my brother and I’d left without a trace.
My parents hadn’t left a message, but I wanted to hear their voices. Not wanting to be cruel, I waited until we were at the hospital to call them. While Striker was talking to the nurse to get an update, I stepped a few feet away and made the call.
“Mom.”
“Elizabeth,” she said, which threw me off.
“Is something wrong?”
“I got the strangest call earlier today.”
I didn’t like the sound of that.
“The person on the other end asked if I had a son. I didn’t think anything of it and said yes. Then he asked what he did. When I told him it was none of his business, he asked if I had a daughter. I told him my son the lawyer would sue them for harassment if they called back.”
“You lied?”
“Of course I did. But I’ve called Matt several times and he hasn’t returned my call. I was just about to call you.”
“I’m fine. I’m sure it’s nothing.” But I knew better. “Let me see if I can get Matty on the phone.” We ended the call about the same time Striker walked over. In a hushed tone, I asked, “How is he?”
“Still in recovery. She wouldn’t tell me more than that. She said she’d page the doctor to come speak to me. We’re to wait in the private waiting room.”
“Private waiting room?” I asked before I could stop myself.
“Yeah, Dad donates to this hospital.”
Of course he did. I nodded because being snarky right now wasn’t a good idea. We took the elevator up to a quiet floor with less hustle and bustle. Things were certainly private—Striker had to enter a code on a keypad to get us into the waiting room. The nurse must have given him the number. As soon as we entered, his phone rang.
“Yeah. Is it done?” he said into the receiver.
I couldn’t hear what the other person said.
“Good. Do I need to sign anything?” He listened. “Good.”
When he ended the call, I asked, “Who was that?”
“That was my lawyer.”
“Oh.” I sat back. I didn’t want to protest because I’d been the one who had said that once we were back in New York, I wanted out of the marriage.
He eyes were steady on mine when he said, “I bought the island.”
“What?”
“It was compromised. I had to un-compromise it and my relationship with the previous owners. So I bought it, or rather the organization Mr. Black owns did.”
“Mr. Black?” I couldn’t seem to say more than two words. I hadn’t exactly grown up poor, but my parents couldn’t buy an island on the fly.
“He made a few purchases. He’s also a proud owner of a Lexus 350 yacht.”
“You bought the boat?”
“Seeing as I wasn’t able to return it, it felt like the right thing to do.”
“So you bought a yacht and an island that quickly?”
“Not today. I started the process when we landed in Ireland.”
He hadn’t moved and neither had I. Nor did I speak.
Striker said, “I know you don’t like rich guys.”
Not thinking, I blurted, “They get away with murder.”
“I’m not that guy.”
“And yet you bought a freakin’ island like that.” I snapped my fingers.
“Only because I endangered the person who did me that favor. Is this going to be a problem?”
I stood because I needed space. “I mean, I get it. I should be thanking you. This is all my fault, or my brother’s. Either way, it isn’t yours. But damn. You own an island. You grew up with parents who lived in a twenty-thousand-foot mansion a block from Central Park.”
“A half of a block. And I could live without the money. It hasn’t done me many favors in my life.”
Debatable, I thought. “Let’s not talk about this. You are who you are. Not like you had a choice of parents. We’re here for your father. That’s all that matters right now.”
He held out a hand, and I went to him.
“Thanks for being here,” he said and kissed my knuckles. “You didn’t have to after everything.”
If he meant when he broke up with me, then yeah. But if we tallied the score on things we’d said and done to each other, we’d come up even.
I bent and kissed him. He cupped my face and drew me nearer. I might have crawled in his lap if not for the door opening.
“Mr. King.”
I shot upright, feeling the sting of embarrassment paint my cheeks. Not wanting to look ridiculous, I sat down slower and took Striker’s hand.
The doctor introduced himself and gave Striker a rundown of the surgery. I wasn’t a doctor and didn’t understand all of the terms. Like laser angioplasty, which they’d apparently tried before but it hadn’t been effective. Now they had to do a triple coronary artery bypass graft. It could take six weeks for him to completely recover before he did the simplest of tasks, like driving. If his father didn’t take his medication and change his diet, stress, and activity level, he’d risk having a stroke.
“When can I see him?” Striker asked.
“He’s being moved to a private room on this floor. Once he’s there, I can give you the okay for a very short visit. Then I would suggest you go home and come back tomorrow. Though I must insist that his stress level remain low at all times.”
Striker silently agreed.
The doctor said, “Let me go check on him and I’ll have a nurse come get you.”
Whatever had happened in the past between father and son, Striker loved his dad. It made me think of my brother and father and whatever fight had happened between them.
“It’s going to be fine,” I said.
He squeezed my hand. “No matter what he did in the past, I can’t fail him now.”
I wasn’t sure what that meant.
A nurse came in. “I’m here to take you to see the patient in room 2B.” The poor girl looked starstruck as she gazed longingly at Striker. “He’s only allowed one visitor at a time.”
“It’s fine,” I said and gave her my Barbie smile, all plastic and fake.
Striker gave me a kiss before saying, “I’ll be back and then we can go home.”
I didn’t know if he’d said home to take the puppy love look out of the poor girl’s eyes, but I ate it up anyway. Home.
The question was if we could make a home together. The dominant and the sarcastic blonde. Oh, what a pair we made.
Eighteen
Connor
Going to my father’s ICU room felt like walking the green mile. How many chances or opportunities would I have to forgive my father? Because in truth, I hadn’t. He’d made a mistake in sending me to that school—a big one—but we all did at some point in our lives. He’d tried his best to make it up to me.
One thing I’d heard was that forgiveness wasn’t for the guilty party, but the wronged person. Harbori
ng all that hate and pain wasn’t good for one’s soul.
The door opened and I saw my father resting on a bed. I was grateful there weren’t many tubes going in and out of him.
“The doctor said you can have five minutes. Then I’ll be back,” the nurse said.
I saluted her and moved the solitary chair closer to his bed. An IV was in his hand. The only other tube was an oxygen canula under his nose. I didn’t think that was usual and would have to ask the doctor about it the next time we spoke.
“Dad?” I said.
His eyes opened. “Connor, my boy.”
“How are you feeling?” Though it sounded scripted—because everyone in my situation said the same thing every time—I had nothing else.
“Like I want to get out of here.”
“That’s what got you here in the first place. You need to rest. They’ve only given me five minutes with you.”
With surprising strength, he gripped my hand. “I need to talk to my lawyer right away.”
“Charles?” I asked, referring to his best friend since childhood without thinking.
“No. That fucker screwed over my business and my wife.”
Though at my request, I didn’t get daily updates about the business, I’d been told Charles had been fired. To further complicate my life, he’d been arrested for fraud surrounding the company a month or so before Kalen’s wedding. Charles and Mom had tried to reach me, but I’d ignored their calls. Whatever was going on, I wanted nothing to do with it. I’d never liked Charles, and if he could lie to my father for years, screwing the business and my mom, he couldn’t be trusted. The other reason I avoided them was I didn’t want to believe Charles was my biological father.
“Dad, you need to calm down,” I said as his face reddened.
Wires led from the bed to a machine with a screen that showed his heart activity increasing—and not in a good way, if the change of color of the readings from white to red was an indication.
“I can’t die married to that woman. She won’t get a dime from me, I swear to God.”
The machine let off a wail of alarms. I feared he would kill himself with stress.
“The only thing she did right was have you.”
Kingdom Fall: A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance (Kingdom Come Book 2) Page 11
