Tough Love (The Shakedown Series Book 3)

by Elizabeth SaFleur

  “What was that?”

  “Why he avoided me during his rages. Mostly, anyway. He went after my sisters more but usually avoided me.”

  “Maybe he loved you more.”

  She twisted to meet his ice-blue eyes. “No, he underestimated me. Like I was a kitten in the corner. He assumed I was already weak, cowed.” She faced the urn again. “And you know what? I’m sick of feeling like the weakest link.”

  “I have never seen you as weak.”

  Then why? Why had their father ignored her? She was sick of questioning that ghost. “Then you’re the only one.”

  “You stood down my father—a man who has reduced grown men to blubbering messes.”

  “I don’t care about your father. Sorry, but there it is.” Her knees were growing numb from their position. She pushed herself to standing.

  “You shouldn’t. He’d been horrible to your family.”

  She faced him. “But you haven’t been.”

  He slowly shook his head. “But the sins of the father…”

  “Shouldn’t fall to you.”

  “They won’t soon.”

  She held out her hand to him. “Then get me out of here?”

  20

  “Where would you like to go?” Carragh spun his hand on the wheel of his car.

  “I wish I knew.” Her face had relaxed, and her fingers lay still on her lap.

  They’d walked out of the funeral home, hand in hand past Max, the bulldog bodyguard, and through the door. Then again past Declan, her sisters, and Cherry, the overprotective drag queen, to Carragh’s car. Their mouths were dropped open, and their protests came in a rush.

  She told him under her breath, “Let’s just go.” She then raised her phone at them. “I’ll call you.”

  “I’ll take care of her.” He tried to sound reassuring, instead earning glowers from all but Declan. His face remained still as stone.

  Luna remained silent the entire drive—except for her damned phone, which pinged like gunfire was going off inside of it. She finally huffed and silenced it.

  The highway soon gave way to his familiar tree-lined street. She didn’t seem to care where she was, her eyes glazed and staring out the window.

  He pulled into his drive and jumped out quickly. Frank, his house man, jogged down the steps to greet them.

  “I’ve got this.” Carragh circled to her door, opened it. “Luna, this is Frank. He keeps me organized.”

  The man nodded once in her direction. “Bags?”

  “Hi, and no.” She shook her head.

  Frank thought she was moving in? Carragh didn’t hate the idea, but right now she just needed to be somewhere where she could forget things for a bit.

  As soon as she stepped into his kitchen, what she thought reflected in her eyes. Carragh’s house was nothing as she’d likely envisioned.

  His tastes were eclectic—and all his own. She stepped over to the floor-to-ceiling windows in black steel frames overlooking his backyard blooming with hundreds of daffodils, purple irises, and red and yellow tulips. He rather enjoyed the color.

  “Frank, get us some coffee, will you?” he asked the man. “Or perhaps you’d prefer tea, Luna? Sparkling water?”

  She smiled over at him. “Water would be great.”

  “With both lemon and lime,” he directed.

  Carragh led her down a hallway into his living room. Now that he looked at the room, lined with bookshelves, peppered with art deco statues that stood on pedestals, and modern furniture, he could see her here. They’d spend their weekends listening to music, talking…

  “I like that.” She pointed to an Erté bronze of a woman holding a peacock feather.

  “The 1920s were a special time.”

  “Full of gangsters.” She winked at him.

  “You’re a little obsessed with gangsters.”

  “Only one.”

  A male throat cleared. Frank set a cup of coffee and her sparkling water on a small tray table. “Sir, I’m heading out for the evening. Do you need anything else?”

  “No. Thank you.” He didn’t take his eyes off the woman who just admitted she might be obsessed with him.

  He gestured for her to sit on the couch. “You should let your sisters know where you are.”

  “You’d let me tell them?”

  “Of course.”

  She pulled out her phone and tapped on it, then put her phone face down on the glass coffee table. Probably not wanting to see the barrage of protests coming back in return.

  It warmed his chest that she had people who loved her enough to be worried. No one had worried—truly expressed concern—about him in too long.

  He moved her silky hair over her shoulder. “How are you?”

  “Fine.”

  Was she? “I lost my mother when I was a teenager.”

  “Did you get to say goodbye at least?”

  An arrow of pain—sharp and hot—ran through him. “No. Do you want to talk about your father?”

  “No.” But then words spilled from her pretty pink lips. “He wasn’t so bad to me. I mean, I got hit but not like them. Do you want to hear something stupid? I broke my arm once. We were playing in a creek nearby and I slipped. When I got the cast, I pretended Dad had caused it. In my mind, I mean. So I was more like my sisters.”

  He couldn’t have unclenched his jaw if he wanted to. “You wanted…”

  “No. Not really. But he always went after them first. Especially Phee.” Luna rubbed her forehead. “Does that make me sick?”

  “No.” It made him uncommonly sad. This woman raised too many emotions in him. “No one should have to endure abuse.”

  “What was your childhood like?”

  How did he answer that? “I was raised to do everything with and for my family. Lots of big family picnics. Then later, dinners out. Every holiday.”

  “Sounds nice.”

  “It was when my mother was alive. Then…”

  “It became an obligation.”

  She nailed it.

  “Now you want out?” Her blue eyes were filled with questions.

  He slowly shook his head. “No. I’m going to redirect it.”

  “How?”

  He’d told her he was going to overthrow the man, sell off assets and more when they visited the speakeasy. Now she wanted more details? He’d give them to her.

  “Starting with removing my father as the executor of all the family businesses. Then I’m going to divest myself of them.” It should be a relatively straightforward procedure. His father needed to name him, however. None of the other families would leave them alone until Carragh was truly in charge. They’d continue to work around him, with Tomas.

  “He’ll fight it.”

  He had to hand it to her. She viewed things clearly. “My father likes to fight. He’s kind of lost when things are too good. I think it stems from his greatest fear that he’ll be forgotten. That’s why he tries to push everyone under him. He’ll do anything to retain his standing. And I know just how far he’ll go, what he’s done.” He looked directly at her. “Who he’s killed. That’s how I’m going to remove him.”

  Her lips parted. “You’re going to turn him in?”

  “I’d have to incriminate myself.” This woman made him voice truths that even he had trouble thinking of. “But there are things he did when I was young I just can’t prove. That’s not the evidence I have.”

  “But it’s out there?”

  “Someone knows something. I’m going to turn over every stone until I have it. Until then, I’ll be sure your family isn’t mixed up in any of the fallout. You have my word.”

  “I believe you.”

  His shoulders relaxed a bit because it was important to him she did.

  “Family is always complicated, isn’t it?” She laughed a little, then licked her pretty bottom lip.

  “It is. Especially when you let feelings run you.”

  “You said I remind you that your heart still beats.”


  “Yes.” He could feel it pumping even now. Funny how he’d never thought about that organ before, except when a gun was pointed its way.

  She rose and he had no choice but to follow her lead. She placed her hand on his chest right where his heart lay. “Then let’s have this night. One single night where… I can feel it against mine.”

  If it was possible to feel good on this night, she’d found the one loophole that existed to this whole mess to make it happen. As much as he wanted her, though, a tiny sliver of hesitation arose.

  “Declan is right, you know. Even if I make things right with my family, you should walk away. I’m no Prince Charming.” He could have her—wanted to have her in so many ways. But what do you know? She raised a conscience in him he didn’t know existed anymore.

  “Who says I wanted a prince?”

  “Doesn’t every little girl grow up believing the prince will sweep her away after slaying the dragon?”

  “Rather, the demons. But that’s what you’re doing, right?”

  He supposed it was true. The problem was his demons were his own family. But then this woman also had had them in her past—and was finally rid of the biggest one in her father.

  Truth? He would slay anything that got between him and her.

  She took another step closer so her whole body pressed against his. A low, involuntary growl rumbled in his throat.

  Her pink lips were so close… “One night.”

  He lifted her into his arms.

  21

  Carragh positioned her so her back pressed against the tall poster of the bed. She stood before him, her clothes puddled and abandoned on the thick beige carpeting under her feet while he stood before her the same. He was even larger without those suits, his muscles straining under starched white shirts.

  The cuts in the wood ate into her bare flesh. She liked the sensation as it kept her present. This was real. This was happening.

  She ran a fingertip along the tattoo on his neck, down his pec dusted with hair as dark as night. His ink wasn’t a snake at all, like she expected. Dragon wings spanned across his chest. The creature’s tail looped around itself and twisted upward to his neck. She’d been seeing the tip of its red tail peeking from his shirt collars.

  When Carragh inhaled, his abs—divots and planes—lifted and made the green and blue scales dance. It was as if the dragon was alive—breathing.

  She could see why he had his chest inked, rather than his back. The dragon’s pointed head, with its nostrils blowing out smoke, its eyes alight in amber, along with Carragh’s face, could then stare directly into opponents he faced. Pity the poor soul who was their target.

  The confrontation broke so clearly in her mind. Carragh would shed his shirt entering a fight ring. Lift those large arms so they flexed the dragon’s wings. He’d lower his chin as he raised his fists. One look at that tattoo, and then Carragh’s ice blue eyes, would burn away the courage inside the fiercest man.

  Jesus, her imagination was on fire. Even greater? That ache between her legs had ignited an inferno. She wanted his dragon to burn her alive.

  She traced the wings with her fingertip, and his chest shuddered under her touch. Her hand moved lower.

  A triangle of softer hair arrowed down to a part of him she never believed she’d get to hold. Her hand curled over his thick cock, and muscles in his jaw twitched under her handling.

  Impacting a man—is there any greater power? A little drunk off the idea that this commanding man, this keeper of dragons, who had so many women at his disposal, twitched and growled a little by her small touches.

  She swallowed. “I haven’t… in a while.”

  One side of his lips curved upward. “Good.”

  Tingles cascaded down her legs at the possessiveness that fired in his eyes. He’d give chase if she tried to run now. Part of her wanted to—to feel his arms band around her, capture her body and throw her on the bed.

  Wouldn’t happen, though. Nothing could make her turn away from this man.

  She brought her other hand up to his forehead, moved a curl that had fallen to his eyes.

  His hands bracketed her cheeks. Finally, his lips came down on hers. Tongues tangled, lips glided—feasting on her, indeed. He moved his hands to still her hips, which was necessary. Otherwise she’d have slid down that carved bedpost to the floor.

  He deepened his kiss and she melted against him as his fingers curled around to her ass. Her feet left the floor and her thighs squeezed around his waist. Granite met her pubic bone as his cock sandwiched between them. Even better, her breasts pushed into the dragon wings, and she swore she could feel them beating.

  Air whirled around her as he twisted and laid her on her back against the bed. He caged her against the comforter with his arms, his legs, his torso. He held most of his weight off her, so her hands found the small of his back and she urged him to let go. As his mouth worked over hers, she wanted him to crush her with his body.

  She hadn’t been much for rougher sex in the past, but Carragh needed to take her, hard and brutally. Make her his, even if just for this night.

  Instead, he pulled back. More growls came from him as he lifted one of her legs so her foot rested on his shoulder. His hand circled around her ankle and he pressed a kiss just inside her calf.

  “You have no idea the things I’ve thought about doing with these legs.” The vibration of his lips against her flesh travelled all the way to her clit. She had to suck in a big gulp of air and will her back to stay on the bed—not arch into the air like a cat.

  He laid kisses down her knee, inner thigh, and settled between her legs.

  Oh, God. When his mouth began to work her over, sucking and licking slowly as if taking his time, any control she had over her body flew out into the night.

  Before she could come, he climbed up her body and his lips and tongue launched a new assault on hers. More weight came down on her, and his cock dug into her belly. Her hips began to move, seeking him, begging him to just fuck her. She squirmed and bucked against his cock until she was practically riding him on her back.

  A low, rumbling chuckle went off in her mouth. His lips left hers. “My little vixen wants something.”

  “Please,” she begged.

  One hand covered her breast and his fingers and thumb pinched her nipple. She winced a little, her mouth dropping open into a gasp. He captured her peak and the tip of his tongue swirled around it. His teeth then tugged on her nipple a bit, and little sucks of air moved over her lips.

  He moved to her other breast and gave it the same treatment. Her nipples, now hard pebbles, pressed against his chest as he moved back to kissing her mouth.

  Pain, pleasure—they really were a fine line, weren’t they?

  Cold air hit her body as he suddenly rolled off her. He pulled open his nightstand drawer, objects being moved around sounded. He was back, ripping open a condom wrapper with his teeth. It was rolled on him in no time.

  He stood, grabbed her legs, and yanked her to the edge. “Need to watch you.” His cock found her pussy, and Jesus, she was so wet, his cock glided inside her like they were designed to go together. Maybe they were because she’d never felt this good before.

  She tried to raise up on her elbows, but he growled, “Lie back.”

  She fell back as he forced her legs around his waist. Keeping her eyes on his, he pressed his crotch hard against hers, hitting her right where she needed it. A mewl left her throat and she bit her bottom lip to keep from crying out too much.

  He stilled, fully seated inside her. His beautiful blue eyes pierced the growing dark to focus down on her. “I want to be so hard with you.”

  Even in the dimming light, she could make out muscles in his jaw tensing and releasing as if he had to hold something back. The dragon wings moved along his pecs, as if desperate to be free.

  “Yes,” she managed to breathe out.

  He began to move—maddeningly slowly.

  Her hands clutched at the bedspread u
nder her, her fingers unable to get much purchase on the fabric. A sheen of sweat broke out on his forehead. His pace was costing him, too. He didn’t need to be so concerned about her. In fact, she was tired of everyone treating her like she was a china doll.

  “Carragh,” she whispered. “Closer, please.” Anything to feel his body on top of hers—he could have anything.

  With a sly smile, he reached around her waist and pulled her up to sitting without leaving her. She clutched at him, her hands wrapping around his shoulders, her legs around his waist. He rotated and sat on the bed.

  Face to face, she peered into his blue eyes. “I… need.” Why weren’t more words coming to her?

  “Then show me.”

  She began to arch and tilt her pelvis, moving herself against him. His mouth melded to hers once more and she simply disappeared into him. Skin to skin, they rocked together for long minutes until she moaned loudly into his mouth.

  He grasped a handful of her hair and tipped her head back so he could nip at her neck. The delicious pull on her scalp, his arm forcing her against his chest, her insides being filled had her gasping for breath.

  He rose once more and whipped her back down to the bed. Finally, he engulfed her with his body, pitching his cock into her so fast she moved higher up on the bed. He then stopped being so careful.

  As he thrust hard and deep, faster and faster, the skin on her back burned from the rough fabric under her. It was just the beginning. Soon, she was on fire—everywhere. Any sense of gentleness he might have had with her was gone. He used her body harshly, and she loved him for it.

  He was giving over the true Carragh.

  A minute later, a cry flew up her throat and out into the room as she shuddered through her orgasm. He followed suit, his growls against the bedspread quieter than hers.

  Weight on her body eased as he lifted himself up. He rolled off her, his chest heaving. The room had grown fully dark, and when she rolled her face toward him, reflecting light from the ambient streetlight through the large bedroom window shone in his eyes.

  “You are so beautiful,” he whispered.

  His hand grasped hers, and her eyes stung. Loss. That’s what came up in an instant. Already, the thought of being without him took residence in her chest.