Destination Connelly (The Colloway Brothers Book 4)

by K. L. Kreig

  Knowing exactly what I’m doing, Asher laughs loudly, drawing the attention of two striking women in their mid-twenties sitting in the corner of the small café. When they giggle—annoyingly giggle—my eyes flick to them and back to Asher, my dick not even twitching.

  Even just a few days ago, I’d have been making eye contact, smiling, flirting, drawing them in. Getting into one, or both, of their panties, would be like taking candy from a fucking baby.

  So easy.

  Too easy.

  But since seeing Nora again, I have zero interest in any woman who doesn’t have haunted emerald eyes that hold tight to secrets of the past, honeyed red hair that lightly caresses the blades of her shoulders, or curves that rival Marilyn Monroe’s. Even thinking of Nora makes me harder than titanium.

  Jesus, I’m fucked ten ways to Sunday. I knew it the moment her footsteps faltered when our gazes violently collided two days ago, but can I be the man she needs? Can I give her what she wants and deserves? After spending so many years being emotionally unavailable and in more beds that I even care to count, am I even capable of intimacy? Of tenderness? Of selflessness?

  Do I truly think I can start over again with a woman who ruined me before?

  I don’t know, but I want to try. That much I do know.

  “If I give you the house at Mackinac Island this New Year’s Eve would that persuade you to keep your opinions to yourself?” Asher quips.

  “Hell no. I plan on winning that fair and square on Thanksgiving, asshole. Last year was a fluke and nothing more. And I think Alyse’s magic pussy has you so whipped you’re looking for things that aren’t there, brother.”

  My twin regards me silently, a slight curve tilting his lips, but anger burns hot in his eyes. I’m not sure, but I may have just earned my own fist to the face. Asher is fiercely protective of Alyse and I understand why. What I said borders on disrespect, yet I have nothing but respect for my twin’s beautiful wife who has made him happier than I’ve ever seen him.

  “I’m going to do you a favor and ignore the chum you’re intentionally flinging, but know this, Connelly. You’re not as cagey as you think you are. I’m the motherfucking expert at avoidance. I’ll be here whenever you’re ready to talk.” He rises and pushes in his chair before pinning me with a heated glare. “And you ever mention my wife’s pussy again, I’ll take great pleasure in laying you flat on your back, you fucker.”

  I grit my teeth and nod tightly, knowing I’ll have to apologize later, but still feeling too surly to do it right now. I throw two twenties on the table, exit the small café, and make my way to my office.

  An hour later, I’m reviewing the final SER acquisition paperwork, fuming that I don’t have a signed employment agreement on my desk yet from Nora Cantres. With every hour that passes, my irritation at her stubbornness increases. My fingers itch with the urge to make her acquiesce to my demands. My cock twitches with the need to board GRASCO’s new private plane, fly to Cincinnati, throw her over my shoulder, and haul her ass back, swinging and bellowing. Hell, I would even take great pleasure in binding and gagging her if necessary. After I strip her naked of course.

  My world-famous patience is nearing its end when my phone rings, dragging me from the multiple plans I’m formulating to get what I want. Seeing it’s our attorney, I quickly answer knowing it’s about SER.

  “Harold.”

  “I got a call this morning from Carl Steele. He has one final condition to the sale.”

  I hold in my angry sigh. Fucking Carl and his stipulations. It’s taken me months and a few strategically placed discussions to convince him selling his business to Wynn was the right—the only—decision he could make. If I could get away with stealing his company out from underneath this sorry excuse for a man and a business owner, I would. So far he hasn’t held up his end of the bargain. I’m not in the mood to give him anything else until I know I’m getting what I want, but Nora has to sign the agreement of her own free will or it will never hold up.

  “What is it?” I keep my voice calm when I feel anything but.

  Harold hesitates. I shake my head knowing this stipulation is going to be a doozy. “He wants written assurance that you won’t close the Cincinnati location for three years or lay off any of the employees at SER during that time.”

  “What?” I laugh. “Is he out of his ever-loving mind? He wants employment agreements extended to everyone at SER? He can’t negotiate what happens to his business after he sells. No fucking way. Forget it.”

  Harold ignores my unusual outburst, continuing. “There’s one more thing.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this,” I say on a chuckle. Leaning back in my smooth-as-butter Italian leather chair I grab my stress ball, tossing it in the air. I effortlessly catch it with each pull of gravity on the sponge. “Go on.”

  “Carl wanted me to pass along that Ms. Cantres has agreed to execute the employment agreement if you agree to this condition.”

  I freeze, the forgotten globe falling to the floor. It bounces across the room, where it stops against the leg of my cream-colored sofa. I think back to the conversation Nora and I had in the conference room about whether I intended to close the Cincy office and my response that I had no immediate plans.

  Then I smile.

  This is not Carl’s requirement. It’s Nora’s. In addition to being beautiful with a stellar professional reputation, she’s a shrewd businesswoman, too. The selfless side of Nora I’d witnessed many times when we were just kids is once again showing itself. I’m glad to know it’s still there underneath her irritating stubbornness.

  “Done.”

  “Connelly, my professional advice is to reject this condition. We have a solid offer on the table. This term limits your ability to effectively and efficiently integrate SER into Wynn. There are obvious areas of overlap and agreeing could be an expensive financial mistake.”

  I grind my teeth, pissed that Harold’s insinuating I’d make an intentionally poor financial decision for Wynn or GRASCO. As much as I want Nora, I would never do that to myself or my brothers or our company that we’ve busted our asses to build together. And essentially all she’s done is ensure that SER employees remain stable and that Wynn employees are the ones affected once we start thinking consolidation of functions and duties. Her beauty is breathtaking, but her intelligence is sexy as fuck. She senses how much I want this so she’s making me work for it. Classic Nora.

  “I said agree to the terms, Harold.”

  “Connelly—”

  “Harold, I respect and value your opinion, but do what I’m paying you to do.”

  “May I suggest an added clause?” he responds tightly.

  This time, I let my sigh free. “Not if it costs me the sale.”

  “This should be acceptable. It seems the concern here is for the continued employment of the SER associates, so I would offer a stipulation that we agree to one year and if business conditions change that require loss of employment, Wynn will provide a minimum of one-year of severance to any affected associates.”

  “Make it one and two years of severance.” Per the terms of a severance agreement, once the recipient is gainfully employed, severance ends. So this gives us time to develop and execute a solid integration plan and gets Nora what she’s asking—financial security for people she cares about. And, of course, garners me what I want.

  Her.

  “Of course.”

  “And you can tell Mr. Steele that as soon as I have Ms. Cantres’s signed employment agreement on my desk, we have a deal.”

  I can tell he’s irritated when he hangs up, but I don’t care. I can’t help the slow smile that creeps across my face. I think maybe Nora has been underutilized as just a recruiter, even though she’s excelled and has been highly successful in that role from everything I hear. When she works at my company, I have no doubt the sky’s gonna be the limit for her. The thought of her leading by my side, like the queen she is, makes my heart pound in excitement.

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nbsp; I stand and retrieve the ball, tossing it toward the net hanging from the back of my closet door.

  Swish.

  Picking it up, I aim and let the spongy roundness roll off the tips of my fingers again.

  Swish.

  My bum knee may have fucked up my college basketball scholarship, but after tens of thousands of hours practicing, I can still hit a three-pointer with consistent accuracy. Unless I’m having an off day, I always win when I challenge my brothers to a friendly game of HORSE. And since my off days with a ball in my hands are few and far between and my brothers can’t resist a bet any more than I can, I always rake in the dough. But with all of my brothers now paired off except for me, we don’t get to play as often as we once did.

  Swish.

  Swish.

  As I sink basket after basket, I let myself bask in the first win in my not-so-elaborate game plan. A few more legal formalities and Steele Executive Recruiting will be mine. Very soon, Nora will be here in Chicago working for me and I will put the second portion of my plan into motion. The first part was the hard, messy one.

  Swish.

  The second one, folks, is the simple one: getting her into my bed and keeping her there. I excel at many things, but getting a woman to willingly open her legs? Piece o’ fucking cake. Nora was the one and only exception. But that was then and this is now. Regardless of the cold shoulder she gave me earlier, she's still very much attracted to me. I know once I have her between the four walls of my business, getting her between the thousand-count Egyptian cotton sheets on my bed will be a breeze.

  I've already begun tying a continuous, complex string of knots and loops that will be wound so tightly Nora won’t know where she begins and I end. Despite what I thought a few days ago, that I didn’t know what I’d do with her once I had her bound to me, after setting my starved eyes on her again, I know exactly what I’ll be doing with her. And I’ll be doing it repeatedly because I also know sampling Nora once will not be enough to sate the starvation that’s cramped and twisted my insides for years.

  The need to ravage, claim, and strip her physically, emotionally, and spiritually raw so all she will know is me is too powerful to push away or ignore. For the first time in years, I want more than one meaningless night between the thighs of a woman whose name I won’t remember and sometimes don’t even bother to ask for.

  Swish.

  Ten in a row.

  Nora Cantres will be mine again, and there is nothing or no one that can possibly keep her from me.

  Swish.

  Not even her.

  Chapter 8

  Nora

  “Oh my God! It’s so good to see you, sweetie!” Kamryn Winthrop screeches in my ear as she squeezes the air from my lungs.

  “You too, Kam. It’s been a long time.”

  “Too long,” she whispers.

  In the early summer before fifth grade, when my father accepted a research position at UCal’s San Diego branch, my family moved from the icy cold of the Northeast to sunny La Jolla, California. We lived in a fancy, gated community filled with old people and even older money.

  I hated it.

  Until I met the person who would become one of my best lifelong friends.

  Kamryn Winthrop.

  It was a hot summer day. I was practicing my golf swing in the front yard with a nine iron and Wiffle balls. Most ten-year-olds are riding their bikes or going to the pool or even still playing with dolls, but not me. My Uncle Carl had me on the greens at the age of four, telling me that every young woman should “never rely on a man for happiness, money, or carrying your ass on the golf course.”

  I swing sure and swift only to watch my ball slice, missing the fake green I’d constructed in the middle of the grass by winding three jump ropes together. “You’re doing that wrong,” a squeaky voice yells from across the street.

  “And how would you know?” I mumble, not giving that tiny squawk the time of day. I didn’t know one girl my age who even knew what golf was, let alone understood the mechanics of a proper swing.

  I rear back, striking the small white globe again, watching it sail through the air to my right, once again missing the green.

  Darn it.

  “You’re pushing it,” miss know-it-all yells, a bit closer now.

  Who the heck does this girl think she is anyway? I’ve been golfing for six years already. She probably doesn’t even know where the ball’s supposed to land, let alone what type of club I’m holding.

  “You need to close your grip just a tad and follow through with your swing. And you’re not rotating your hips and shoulders all the way,” the disembodied small voice calls again; but this time, she’s practically right behind me.

  I drop my club angrily and whirl around to meet the most striking set of blue eyes. They would hypnotize you if you stared too long. They’re attached to a tiny human being with hair so blonde it looks dipped in bleach and a face so beautiful she resembles what I imagine an angel would look like.

  “And who are you? Greg Norman?”

  “No.” She smiles like the cat that ate the canary. “Clearly I’m JoAnne Carner.”

  That was it. That short exchange solidified our friendship for life. That little wisp of a girl and I bonded over a love of golf and hatred of absentee fathers.

  Holding me at arm’s length, looking me up and down, Kam tells me, “You look fucking hot, woman.”

  I’m sure my blush complements my hair. I hate how easily my skin flushes bright pink. It’s hard to hide a damn thing when your body visibly betrays you. “Thanks. I’ve gained a few pounds since college, but…”

  “Girl, shut it. Any hot-blooded man would cut off his right nut at a chance to do you. Besides, you know my motto.”

  “Fuck ducks who cluck,” we both laugh in unison.

  Kamryn has always been drop-dead gorgeous, even when she was just a kid. Classic natural blonde beauty with striking eyes and curves in all the right places. But the thing I’ve always admired most about her is how she embraces who she is, flaws and all. While so many of us incessantly focus on our imperfections, she has a take-me-as-I-am-middle-finger-to-the-world attitude that I envy. I care too much what people think about sometimes.

  “Thanks for meeting me for breakfast.”

  “My pleasure. I would have been upset if you hadn’t called. So, you excited about your move to Chi-town?” Kam asks after we put in our breakfast order.

  Last week, the acquisition between Steele Executive Recruiting and Wynn was finalized, and all my hopes that this deal would fall through went up in a plume of black smoke. Carl signed, GRASCO held a special board meeting, and a few simple swipes of the pen later, SER became a wholly owned subsidiary of GRASCO Holdings. So I’m now in Chicago for a couple of days for a planning meeting at Wynn that starts at one this afternoon and doesn’t finish until tomorrow at five.

  I haven’t seen an agenda, but I have no doubt I’ll have to spend the next thirty-six hours trying to keep my libido in check, because as involved as he’s been to date, I also can’t imagine that Connelly doesn’t have his hands all over this meeting.

  “Uh…”

  “Hmm, there’s a story there. Spill.”

  “Still golfing?” I divert, squirming a bit in my chair. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Kam, judging by the wag of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows, but she doesn’t press. Yet. It’s coming, I’m sure.

  “Not as much as I’d like. Too busy with the job. We just secured a new exclusive spring line at Macy’s,” she announces as I longingly watch her bite into a flakey croissant that was delivered moments ago.

  Damn, I wish carbs didn’t have a nonstop express line right to my thighs and ass.

  “Wow, Kam. Just…wow. That’s incredible.” In addition to being extraordinarily beautiful and a junior league LPGA champion two years in a row, Kam has an uncanny eye for fashion. I have no doubt she could have gone on to be a JoAnne Carner, one of the most famous and successful LPGA players of all time, but her interes
ts lay elsewhere. When she opened her own fashion design company at the young age of twenty-one, I also had no doubt she’d be wildly successful.

  “Thanks. Now, back to you and your evasion tactics.”

  “I’m not evading.” I shift my eyes and feel the warmth rise, heating first my cheeks, then my ears.

  Kam laughs boisterously. “God, my friends are all terrible liars. Have I taught you nothing?”

  “It wasn’t for lack of trying,” I reply, laughing myself, remembering how much trouble we got into for the four years we were neighbors.

  “Do you remember that time we snuck out when you were in the eighth grade and rode our bikes down to Brantley Bennington’s house for that teen dreams concert they were having in their basement?” Kam asks, wiping buttery crumbs of goodness from the corner of her mouth.

  “The Kiss concert where they made drums out of ice cream buckets and aluminum foil and played tennis racket guitars?”

  “The one and only.” Kam’s laughing so hard now she can barely speak. “And do you remember how Ricky Hamilton serenaded you with Beth and how his tongue was almost as long as Gene Simmons’s and how he tried to stick it down your throat in the bathroom?”

  “How could I forget? He slobbered more than a Basset hound. It took me days to get the taste of beef jerky, Dr. Pepper, and mint out of my mouth. To this day, I won’t eat or chew anything wintermint.”

  I got into so much trouble that night. When I tried to sneak back in the house, I found my window locked up tight so I had to use the front door to get back inside. I practically ran into my mother, who had moved a wingback chair right inside the door so there was no way I could sneak around her.

  Grounded for an entire month.

  But it was so worth it.

  “God, we were bad.”

  “That we were. I swore my dad took that job in Maryland to get me away from you.”