Sweet: A Dark Love Story
R.E. Saxton
Amourisa Press and Kit Tunstall, writing as R.E. Saxton, reserve all rights to SWEET. This work may not be shared or reproduced in any fashion without permission of the publisher and/or author. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 or over if engaged in sexual activity.
© Kit Tunstall, 2015
Cover Images: Depositphotos.com/photographee.eu; Sickamore font
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Contents
Blurb
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
About R.E. Saxton
Blurb
Justice failed, but revenge is sweet…
Six years ago, Declan lost his wife and unborn child to a heinous crime, and the man responsible was let off on a technicality. He’s spent six years planning his revenge, and denied the pleasure of destroying the long-dead murderer, he’s turned his attention to the man’s daughter. She’ll pay for her father’s sins, and revenge will be sweet.
After a lifetime of disappointments, Katriona shouldn’t be surprised when the vacation she’s supposedly won ends up making her a captive to Declan, a man she’s never forgotten—a man now determined to claim her and use her in his twisted pursuit of vengeance. Knowing his intentions, it shouldn’t be difficult to fight him, but with his every touch, and every mark he leaves on her as a sign of his possession, she falls deeper under his spell and into the darkness inside her.
Pleasure is nice, but pain is even sweeter, and love is the ultimate agony…
This novel has content some readers might find objectionable. It is a dark romance with dark themes. If that isn’t your preferred reading material, this probably isn’t the book for you. If you like a possessive, deeply (emotionally) scarred alpha male with revenge on his mind and the dark urge to possess his woman in every way possible, spend some time with Declan. He’s pretty sweet deep down…very deep down.
Prologue
Katriona sneaked a peek across the aisle, where Declan Mulgrew sat like an impassive sentinel behind the prosecution’s side. It was the same post he’d held for the past seven days of the trial, but she didn’t think she was imagining he looked even tenser than usual. Her gaze flicked back to Joseph Evans, who looked anything but tense.
Considering the seriousness of his crimes, and the penalty he faced, he should have been the one looking like he was waiting on tenterhooks. Instead, Joe, clad in the white jumpsuit issued by the county jail, slouched easily in his seat, feet kicked out in front of him, and arms hanging loosely at his sides. He could have been at any enjoyable event and certainly gave no indication that he was on trial for double homicide.
Her gaze moved to the judge as they all returned to their seats, the bailiff having announced Judge Harper’s entry and told them to rise just seconds before. The judge looked heartsick, and his already-furrowed face that she had gotten quite familiar with over the last week looked more wrinkled than ever.
She was certain she knew what he was going to say before he ever opened his mouth to speak. Apparently, Declan and Joe had a good indication as well, judging from the way both men sat forward, Declan seemingly with an air of resignation, while Joe’s laidback demeanor had morphed into smug eagerness.
The judge looked down at Joe Evans with a scowl. “I’ve been all through this, searching for an alternative, but finding none. Due to a technicality, a simple clerical error on the arrest form, I’m forced to dismiss all charges against you. I do so with a heavy heart, Mr. Evans. I have no doubt of your guilt, and the heinous atrocity of your acts makes me wish I could throw you in prison for life. My hands are bound by the legal system.”
Looking pained, the judge turned his gaze to Declan Mulgrew, who seemed to have turned to a statue in his stillness. “It’s with deep regret that I dismiss this case, Mr. Mulgrew.” The judge tapped his gavel twice, and pandemonium broke loose.
Joe Evans got to his feet with a whoop of joy and clapped his court-appointed attorney on the shoulder. The kid was only a few years older than Kat, and he looked sick by the outcome as well, though he had certainly provided an adequate defense. He had done his job, and his client would walk free, though he seemed as disgusted by the turn of events as everyone else.
Declan sat there stiffly, never turning to look at Joe, which allowed Kat one last chance to memorize his profile. He had smooth and handsome features, though they were currently set into a grim line, and pain radiated from him. She wanted to go offer comfort or apologize, but she was certain the gesture would not be met with pleasure. Declan Mulgrew had every reason to hate her because of the link between the her and Joe.
As Joe turned to face the gallery, which was packed mostly with journalists and a few spectators, he lifted his arms as though he’d just made the touchdown that would catapult a small team to state. “Victory,” he shouted with a smug grin.
His expression took on a sullen edge when no one congratulated him, and no one made a production of the outcome, other than in a negative way. There was discontent in the mutterings around them, and it was obvious Joe Evans was the only one who was thrilled by the outcome.
Kat sank deeper into the bench, praying Joe’s eyes wouldn’t find her. She wasn’t even certain why she was here. No, that wasn’t true. She hadn’t been sure why she had come the first day of the trial. It certainly hadn’t been to show moral support for Joe.
She knew why she had kept coming back though, and the answer was as simple and as complicated as the man across the aisle, who still sat without moving, seeming to be frozen in time, or perhaps locked in stasis from the deep pain he must be feeling. He fascinated her, with his chiseled cheekbones, dark hair, and haunted gray eyes.
She was drawn to him, and so she had continued to return every day. Her place was firmly behind the defense’s side, but more than once she had wanted to cross the aisle and slip into the bench beside him, take one of his clenched hands in hers, and offer unspoken support.
Two things had stilled the impulse. The first was she was actually shy anyway, and at sixteen, the idea of approaching someone at least a decade older, and under these circumstances, made her tremble inside. The second reason was far easier to understand. There was no way Declan Mulgrew would want comfort from her.
She cringed when Joe’s gaze settled on her, and he seemed surprised to see her. She had ensured she slipped into the courtroom every day after he was already seated at the defense table, not wanting him to know she was there. When he grinned, her stomach churned with nausea. “Hey, baby, I didn’t know you were here. Come to support your old man, huh?”
She didn’t respond, not even fully looking at him. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug off her indifference, pat his attorney once more on the shoulder, and walk around the defense table and down the aisle.
She stiffened when he paused by Declan, holding out his hand in a smarmy gesture. “Hey, Mulgrew, no hard feelings, right?”
Declan didn’t even look up at him, though his jaw tightened further. Kat was certain it took everything he had not to even look at her father, let alone stand up and start pummeling him. It was what Joe Evans deserved, and she admired the show of restraint on Declan’s part. In the world she had grown up in, men settled their differences wit
h violence, so it was refreshing to see Declan remain still and calm, at least on the surface.
With a shrug and a hearty laugh, Joe Evans strolled down the aisle and was soon out the double doors, disappearing from sight. There was a ruckus in the hallway, and she heard his boastful voice grandstanding about how justice had prevailed. Feeling sick, she shook her head. As the gallery around her emptied, she couldn’t seem to bring herself to move. Her gaze remained focused on Declan Mulgrew, who also remained in his seat.
He didn’t stir until the last person had left, aside from her. When he moved, her own paralysis was broken, and she got her feet. Kat gathered her backpack and slung it over her shoulder, all the while staring at Declan with sympathy and something else she couldn’t describe.
It hurt when he didn’t even look at her as he stood up and started down the aisle. Suddenly, her feet were acting independently of her brain, and she was moving after him in a rapid clip. As he reached the double doors, through which he would disappear forever, a single word slipped through her lips, “Wait.”
He froze, not quite looking at her, but turning his body slightly toward her and away from the exit. He didn’t speak, and from the tight way he had clenched his jaw, perhaps he simply couldn’t without giving voice to the grief and rage he must be feeling.
She took a hesitant step toward him, closing the distance between them. Kat lifted her hand, lightly touching his forearm, but immediately withdrawing her hand at his sharply indrawn breath and the way he stepped back. “I… I’m sorry.” The words were inadequate, and she didn’t even know why she had spoken them as the full as his attention turned upon her for the first time.
His eyes were cold, and his expression was full of rage. “Sorry?” The single word was full of scathing dismissal and open mocking.
She gasped and took a step backward, feeling as devastated as if he had physically struck her. Her lips trembled, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she bit down hard on her tongue to keep that from happening. As copper filled her mouth, the hot sting of tears receded.
He shook his head, his derisive gaze raking over her, starting with her long black hair, past her cheap clothes, and ending at her toes peeking out from the flimsy flip-flops. For some reason, she was abruptly and deeply ashamed of the bubblegum-pink polish on her toenails. “Your sorry is as worthless as the justice system, Katriona Evans.”
She jerked when he said her name, surprised he recognized her, though she supposed she shouldn’t have been. She’d been present at the trial for the last few days, and though her name had never been mentioned in the papers, the journalists had alluded to Joseph Evans’ teenage daughter a few times when dragging up information about the murderer. “I really am…”
Declan sneered at her. “Sorry? Not yet, but you will be.” With those cryptic words, he turned away from her and strode from the courtroom, leaving Kat bereft and confused as she stared after the husband of the woman her father had killed, wondering why she felt such a deep connection to him, and why his rejection of her heartfelt, if inadequate, words hurt so much.
Chapter One
Six years later
Kat looked out the window of the helicopter as the island got closer, becoming more detailed and less like a small dot in the center of the ocean. She had been pleasantly surprised to discover she had no airsickness, and rather than be frightened by the small conveyance, she had enjoyed every second of the helicopter ride that had picked her up from a private air terminal on the coastline. The entire vacation had been incredible so far and had barely begun.
She was still amazed that she had won the competition, which had yielded a full scholarship to art school, and also a vacation to a private island for a week of rest, relaxation, and inspiration, according to the brochure for the contest. She had submitted one of her best works, a mixed-media of charcoal and oil paint in stark black and white, with the faintest hint of red woven throughout.
She’d been proud of the work, but had still been shocked to learn she was the winner. The news had come the day of her graduation from college with a degree in business administration. It was the direction her foster parents had encouraged, and Kat had accepted the wisdom of possessing a degree that could be used for multiple careers, but her heart had always longed for the arts instead.
She’d accumulated enough credits to almost have a minor in art and design, but she hadn’t been able to go against Claire and Clay’s gentle guidance. The Blakes had done so much for her in the short time she had been their foster child, and they still acted more like parents than her own ever had, so she hadn’t been able to disappoint them, especially since they were the ones helping her pay for college.
They were both too kind to have insisted on her taking business administration, or have refused to fund her education if she had chosen art instead, but they were pragmatic people, and she had wanted to please them. Now she had a bachelor’s in business, but no desire to use it.
She had entered the art contest as an impulsive decision when her professor had shown her the brochure. She’d never expected to win, but she had, and it was the start of a new direction in life for her.
The scholarship was for a small, but impressive, art school with a two-year program that would immerse her intensely in a variety of mediums, and she would emerge a bright and promising artist, according to the brochure. She had never heard of the Cordelia Academy before, but if they wanted to allow her to attend for free, she was certainly willing to do so.
But first, this amazing vacation, and she drew in a deep breath of appreciation as the helicopter reached the spot where it would land. There was a huge white house about a hundred yards from the landing pad, in a Mediterranean style, and she couldn’t believe it was all at her disposal for the next seven days. She almost bounced in her seat like an eager child, but restrained the impulse as the helicopter pilot spoke through her headset.
“Ms. Evans, the instructions I have tell me to drop you off here, and you’re to walk into the residence. You’ll find it unlocked, and your personal assistant for the week will be waiting for you inside.”
She nodded and smiled at him, feeling slightly awkward for a moment. “Um, I’ve never ridden in a helicopter before.”
The pilot, man in his late forties with a fatherly demeanor, gave her a small smile in return. “You did beautifully, Ms. Evans.”
She blushed. “Thank you, but what I really want to know is…am I supposed to tip you?” It was so gauche to ask, but she had no idea what the etiquette was in a situation like this.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, I’ve been well compensated. Enjoy your vacation, young lady.”
She beamed at him as she grabbed her only bag, having packed lightly. It was more of a necessity than anything, because her wardrobe was sparse. The Blakes would have offered her money for a new wardrobe if she had asked, but Kat couldn’t bring herself to do so. They weren’t really her parents, though they had acted like that for the last six years, and she didn’t want to take advantage of them. “Thank you for the ride.”
A few seconds later, she had disembarked from the helicopter and took a step back, watching it lift into the air and fly away as she waved. Then Kat turned on the tarmac, her gaze finding the walkway made from paver bricks almost the same shade as the lush greenery surrounding her.
She followed the emerald path to the large white house, her stomach bubbling with excitement. She wasn’t certain what she was going to do first, perhaps besides grab a bite to eat, because she was starved. A week of relaxation loomed before her, and she was certain there would be a pool at a place like this, which probably meant a hot tub too. She might be able to conquer her fear, at least a bit, and sit in the hot tub. The ocean was lovely and tempting, but she had never learned to swim, so that was too dangerous.
She was humming softly to herself when she stepped up the marble stairs, pausing to admire the ornate pillars holding up the second level of the villa. She hesitated for a moment at th
e door, almost knocking before remembering the pilot had told her to walk on in. It felt strange to cross the threshold of someone else’s home without awaiting permission enter, but she did so with a reminder that this place was hers, at least superficially, for the next seven days.
The short heels of her sandals clicked on the travertine tile as she entered the foyer, mouth falling open at the luxury surrounding her. She’d never seen anything like this before and had certainly never experienced it firsthand. The Blakes had a nice middle-class suburban existence, which had been a huge change from the ghetto apartment where she had grown up, but this was a completely new level of luxury, with which the average family home couldn’t compete. She was torn between feeling awe and intimidation at the decadence surrounding her.
She walked a few feet farther, emerging from the foyer to an open room, where a spiral staircase dominated most of the space. She paused before it, a hand on the banister, which felt smooth underneath her fingers. “Hello?” she called, her voice sounding vaguely scratchy from travel. There was no answer, and she cleared her throat before calling out again, louder this time. “Hello? Is someone here?”
“Hello, Ms. Evans.”
She let out a yelp surprise at the sound of someone speaking so closely behind her. She had been unaware of anyone approaching, and her heart was racing in her ears. As she turned around to face the person who stood behind her, something was whispering in the back of her mind. The voice had been familiar. Who was it? It wasn’t the woman who had called to tell her she had won and arranged all the details. No, this was a deeply masculine voice, and her heart accelerated even more rapidly when she turned fully and looked up at the man who had spoken.
Her mouth dropped open with shock, and she immediately placed the voice. “Declan Mulgrew,” she whispered softly, stunned at the sight of him. He was obviously older, with a touch of gray at the temples now that hadn’t been there six years ago, but his cold gaze was exactly the same. It might have been six years, but he still seemed to be enraged, though there was no sign of the grief now.
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