by Marie Harte
“But not in life all the time, I know. I learned my lesson,” he said.
“My patients know where I draw the line. And you know that now too.”
“Yep.”
She cupped her hands around his neck, so in love with him. “Landon, we need to go slowly. I can’t promise I’ll stop panicking about this relationship. I had my life mapped out.”
“A boring life with boring men. Elliot told me.”
“Did he also tell you I’ve been changing my list to make your qualities fit what I want in a man?”
“No shit.” His wide smile warmed her heart. He shifted her over him, and she felt something else warming her insides. “Tell me.”
“Well, my ideal mate has to be big. I like a man who can lift me up without breaking a sweat.”
Landon made a muscle, and she stroked his thick biceps. “You know I’m super hard right now, right?”
“And I need a man who’s smart and funny. He doesn’t have to have an advanced degree, but he has to be good at his job, whatever that might be.”
“Another check in the box.” He lifted her and slowly pulled off her pants. Then he tugged down her panties. “Pink. Oh yeah. Keep talking, Doc.” Landon pushed aside the blanket and straddled her over his lap. He kept those busy hands moving, stripping her down to nothing but skin.
She sighed when his fingers found the insides of her thighs. “A man who values family and friends. Who’s dependable.” She groaned when he sank a finger inside her. “Who’s willing and able.”
“Oh, I am.” He kissed her, this time with a hunger he couldn’t hide. “What else?”
“He has to be very good in bed.”
He smiled and removed his fingers, then eased her over his erection and watched as she slid down, seating himself fully inside her. “So do I have the job?”
“You do, Major Donnigan.”
“No, you don’t move.” He clutched her hips, then drew his hands to her face and cupped her cheeks. “We’ll grow to know each other better. I swear, I’ll do my best to open up to you. And you do your best not to run when I act like an asshole, because we both know that’s gonna happen.”
She kissed him, lingering over his neck, his ear. He tasted salty, manly. And that spicy cologne drove her crazy. She wanted to eat him up. “Often, I suppose.”
He groaned and swelled inside her. “Fuck. Yeah. But…” He blew out a breath as she nibbled. “I love and trust you. And someday soon, you’re going to marry me.”
Ava sighed when he lifted her hips and started dragging her up and down over him. “Yes, I probably will.” She kissed him again, lost in his touch. “But only if you let me go down on you again. You said something about getting a blowjob in your office?”
He felt so thick in this position, but she loved being able to watch him while they made love.
“You get me so hard.” He kept taking her, and she rode him, grinding over him, loving her big, buff man all over.
He groaned. “That crack about my secretary blowing me? All fantasy.” He swore and gripped her hips harder. “I don’t have an assistant. Just want you…”
He sucked her breasts, biting her nipples then drawing them deep. He rolled the buds, giving her small bursts of painful pleasure to ramp her desire higher. That cock just keep driving, and she felt herself climbing that journey right along with him, lost in desire and love for her perfect man.
“I’m inside you, baby,” he said his voice gruff. “So deep inside.”
“Deep inside here,” she said, bringing his hand to her heart.
“Oh yeah.” He kissed her, while he increased his pace, thrusting faster.
“I love you, Doc,” he said and yanked her down over him while he spent.
She didn’t have time to wish he could go just a little bit longer, because his clever fingers brought her off, and she cried his name as she came. “I love you too,” she gasped and clung to him, never wanting to let go.
After some time, they sat together, still joined, and stared into each other’s eyes.
“You can always count on me, Ava,” he said in all seriousness.
Stable, her sexy rock of trust. “I know.” She smiled. “Me too. I’ll never let you down.”
“I know.” He stroked her back. “There’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Were you the one who stuck that blow-up doll in my room?”
She blinked. “No. I assumed your brothers or sister did it.”
He gave a satisfied smile. “That’s what I thought. Don’t worry. As we speak, I’ve made plans to pay back the culprit. And now, you may kiss the grand master and king of this year’s prank wars.”
She kissed him, demanding details. But he refused to give in until she promised to let him tie her up to her bed later. Then he added a few toys and some oils to spice up the mix. But the hot wax was definitely the cherry on top.
With Landon, she’d never get bored, never want for love. And never, ever, get a haircut that wasn’t done by a professional stylist. She’d made him swear to that.
Poor, poor Theo.
* * *
Monday morning, Theo woke up from a party that had lasted way too long. He scratched his ass as he made his way to the bathroom he shared with his pig of a brother. Freakin’ Gavin. After taking a piss in a toilet not covered in plastic wrap—obvious much, Landon?—Theo washed his hands and splashed his face with water. But when he glanced into the mirror, he froze in shock.
With trembling hands, he rubbed his head. The mohawk wasn’t as long as it could have been, but the sides of his head were nearly bald. And the hair on top…orange. Oregon Beavers orange.
Son of a bitch! Landon!
So, big brother had found out he’d left the blow-up doll on his bed. No matter. Because now, it was seriously on. Landon would know so much pain…
The door behind him opened. His new friend from last night entered wearing a half-shirt and panties. “Oh, Theo. I really do love it. Your brother said you wanted a change. You’ll fit right in at work, Mohawk Man.”
At least he’d gained some cool points with his coffee shop buddies. But he knew the time had come for some payback. Because Gavin had been at that party last night too, egging him on to drink just one more beer. A coalition must have formed. Landon and Gavin against him and Hope. Just as soon as he saw his sister again, he planned on revenge.
But not until he had another go-round with Maya and her pierced tongue.
Chapter 21
Sam wandered in the rain, concerned about yet another damn dog. He’d found Macho easily enough last week. If that do-gooder Donnigan hadn’t picked him up, Sam would have. Typical McCauley. Donnigan, McCauley, Sam lumped them all together. It was as if Del had infected his team by agreeing to marry Mike, because now, everywhere he turned, Sam found himself bumping into a McCauley brother, uncle, or cousin.
Gave him hives being around so much family unity.
The wind blew more rain into his face. Just awesome. Another Sunday night spent roaming this damn stretch of Queen Anne looking for a scared puppy.
He idly wondered if Lancelot had fixed things with his chick. Poor bastard had seemed like a lost cause. But whatever. Sam had better things to do than worry about some jackass Marine.
“Hey, Scruffy. Hey, boy.” He tried to keep his voice down, because he wasn’t supposed to be hanging around the back lots of these particular offices. The cops had already questioned him once for being at the scene of a recent break-in.
That’s all I need. To head back to prison. Prison—not jail—where guys did hard time.
He squelched those memories in a hurry and continued to call out for the dog. The animal foster home he’d been helping belonged to a cranky-ass old woman named Willie. A few of her friends had mentioned a stray puppy looking in need of care that t
hey called Scruffy. Sam had already circled the park and the nearby neighborhood. He didn’t want the poor thing being dumped at the animal shelter.
He knew all about being a stray, needing a good home.
After a glance around, and spotting no cops, he crossed the tiny lot and slipped past the back gate. The light he could see shining through the window of the office gave him pause, and he decided to hang back in the shadowed courtyard, where he’d seen Macho last week. At least Macho had found a home. But this poor guy out in the freezing rain wouldn’t last too long by himself.
“Scruffy,” he tried again in a low whisper and glanced down at the bushes, wondering if the dog was hiding back there.
“Oh my God. You’re back.” The soft, feminine scold startled him. He hadn’t seen the woman exit the building.
If she found Sam, he’d be in some serious trouble. Considering he looked like a thug, was too big to escape notice, and too mean, wet, and cold to give a shit about sounding nice, he figured his best course of action would be to keep quiet and hope the chick would go back in.
Then he heard it. A small, trembling yip.
“Oh, sweetie. I’d take care of you if you’d stop running away. Now shush. You’re not supposed to be here.” She stepped into the light, and Sam stopped breathing.
Then she took that small, wet bundle in her arms and snuck him back inside.
Sam continued to stare at the back of the building, his mind not working right. Because that woman…damn. Talk about a lucky dog tonight. Scruffy had been tucked against a generous rack that gave Sam all kinds of ideas.
Here for the dog, not woman problems. Focus, Hamilton.
The wind blew and knocked over a flower pot that shattered on the ground. The door opened again. “Who’s there?” she called out.
He swore under his breath. Opening the door when any psycho could be out stalking was stupid. If he’d been inclined, he could have had her shoved up against a wall in seconds, dangling by her neck, before she could even think of screaming for help.
“I’m calling the police,” she warned and slammed the door.
He ducked away, halfway to his car before he realized he couldn’t just leave the dog in her care. A woman with those looks, foolish enough to put herself in danger like that, had no regard for safety. Scruffy needed a real protector. Someone like Sam, not some defenseless blond with the sense of a gnat.
He’d come back tomorrow and set her straight. That would be after a long night convincing himself not to gape like a jackass when he saw her again. Her looks shouldn’t matter. She was an idiot for opening that door. How the hell could she protect Scruffy when she couldn’t protect herself?
It wasn’t his job to police the damn city. Just the small, defenseless animals needing his help.
And there was nothing small about that blond. Nothing defenseless about that rockin’ body either. Nope. Not his problem.
Or so he kept telling himself.
For more Marie Harte check out
the Body Shop Bad Boys series
Zero to Sixty
On sale February 2017
For more Marie Harte check out
the Body Shop Bad Boys series
Zero to Sixty
On sale February 2017
Look for the first book in the McCauley Brothers series by New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Marie Harte!
“But Uncle Flynn, you promised.”
Flynn McCauley shook his head, his eyes glued to the television, where the Mariners played out the top of the ninth inning. “Just let me see the highlights from last night’s game. I promise I’ll turn it back in a minute.”
“But, but…” Colin tapered off, and Flynn watched the next few minutes in disbelief. He hadn’t thought the Mariners could pull off the win. Damn, he owed Brody twenty bucks.
The frightening sound of a child’s tears tore Flynn from the game. He stared at his nephew in shock. “Colin?”
Five-and-a-half-year-old Colin McCauley didn’t cry when he skinned his knees, when he’d suffered a black eye from a wild pitch, or when his father had mistakenly thrown away his favorite T-shirt just last week, thinking the holey thing a rag. The kid was tougher than a lot of grown men Flynn knew, a mirror image of Mike in too many ways.
“Colin, what’s wrong, dude?” Panicked when Colin continued to cry, Flynn hurried to change the channel. Then he offered him some of the soda Colin had been asking for earlier but wasn’t allowed to have. Anything to dry up Colin’s tears. “It’s okay, buddy. Don’t cry.” He crossed the couch to hug him, concerned there might be something really wrong.
After a few moments, Colin stopped his tears and squirmed to get free so he could see the television. His grief dried up as if it had never been, not even a hiccup to indicate emotional trauma.
A remarkable recovery. “Are you, or are you not, upset about something?”
Colin took a long drag of soda and laughed at the screen. “Not now.” He beamed, looking exactly like Mike—smug and annoying.
“Scammed by a kid. This is embarrassing.”
“Ubie told me it would work, but I didn’t believe him.”
“Uncle Brody, right. Now why am I not surprised?” He had his best friend and business partner to thank for Colin’s ability to lie with a straight face. “When did he teach you that?”
“At dinner last Sunday. Oh, watch this, Uncle Flynn. See how the monster eats the school? Awesome.” Colin dissolved into boyish laughter.
Flynn sighed and sank into the couch. Babysitting duty wasn’t so bad, or at least it hadn’t been when the kid attended preschool. But if Colin was mastering Brody’s tricks now, imagine what he’d be like at eight, ten… hell, as a teenager. Flynn resolved to have a firm talk with good old Ubie. No point in encouraging Colin to scam people if Flynn wasn’t allowed to be in on the joke.
Flynn sat next to Colin, enjoying the cartoon despite himself. He rubbed the kid’s head. Colin McCauley, future heartbreaker. He had good looks, a great sense of humor, and a quick mind, one that would keep them all on their toes for years to come. Mike had done pretty damn good with the kid, but Flynn liked to think he’d had a hand in Colin’s greatness. At least the part of him that kicked ass at sports.
Just as the back door opened and heavy footsteps signaled Mike’s return—thank God—the phone rang. And rang and rang.
“Flynn, answer the frigging phone, would you?” Mike yelled from the other room.
“What, are his hands broken?” Flynn asked the boy as he reached for the phone. “Can’t he tell I’m busy watching you?”
Colin ignored him in favor of a cartoon sponge. Like father like son.
Into the phone, Flynn barked, “Yeah?”
“Um, hello?” A woman’s voice. She sounded soft, sexy. Interesting.
Flynn straightened on the couch. “McCauley residence. How can I help you?”
Colin turned to look at him with interest. Flynn never used the good voice on anyone but customers or women.
“Is this Mike?”
“No, but I can get him for you.”
“That would be great.”
“Hold on.” Flynn sought his brother and found him struggling with a tool belt and muddied boots in the kitchen. “Yo, Mike. Phone call.”
“Take a message, Einstein. I’m busy here.” Mike struggled with dirt-caked knots on his work boots, the scowl on his face enough to black out the sun.
Flynn flipped him the finger while he spoke to the angel on the phone again. “Sorry, but he’s busy right now. Can I take a message?”
Silence, and then a long, drawn-out sigh. “Can you just tell him that we’re having a problem with the sink? I hate to bother, but my roommate threatened to cut all my hair off if I don’t get this fixed soon. The problem has been going on for a week.”
“Ah, hold on.” He covere
d the phone. To his brother, he asked, “Why is some hot-sounding chick asking you to fix her sink?”
Mike groaned. “Hell. That’s probably one of the tenants next door.”
“Mom and Dad have new renters already? Since when?”
“Been four months now. You aren’t that observant, are you? Didn’t get the family looks or brains, apparently.” Mike’s sneer set Flynn’s teeth on edge. Arrogant bastard. His brother glanced at the phone and sighed. “Tell her I’ll be right over.”
Flynn passed the message, then hung up. “I don’t remember Mom telling us about renting the house again. All I knew is they had some renovations done since the last bunch trashed the garage. I thought the cars I’d seen in the drive belonged to her fix-it crew.”
“Well, in case it’s escaped your notice, the garage has been fixed for a while now. She rented the place out to three women who moved in around the middle of February. I think you and Brody were doing that job in the San Juans then. They aren’t bad neighbors. Keep to themselves, really quiet, and I think one of them has been working on the flower beds in the front, because they’ve really taken off this year.”
Trust Mike not to come to the heart of the matter. “Any of them hot?”
“And this is why Mom didn’t mention them.”
Flynn frowned. “Don’t be a dick. Just because you refuse to, and I quote, ‘open your heart to love again’ doesn’t mean the rest of us aren’t interested.”
Mike finally stepped out of his god-awful boots. The things were like boats that had been dipped in muck and rolled over in stink. “First of all, don’t quote Mom to me at five o’clock on a Friday after I’ve spent all…” he glanced around and seeing the kitchen clear, continued, “…fucking day working on Jane Risby’s kitchen cabinets. The woman changes her mind about what she wants at the drop of a hat, and I’m tired. Second, just because I’m not willing to marry and procreate again doesn’t mean I’m against getting laid. But you don’t piss where you eat, and my neighbors are way too close to deal with in the event a date goes south.”
