Swallow (Kindred Book 2) (3 page)

The grate of him dragging his zip down razed the air, crackling in the space between them. He crouched and drummed his fingers against her flesh to take the hem of her dress in his grip. Keeping his eyes on hers, he raised her skirt and let it gather at his wrists.

Beneath the fabric, his hands sank around her butt and hoisted her off her feet. On reflex, she grabbed his shoulders and found her stability by securing her legs around his hips. Hooking her underwear out of the way, Brodie plunged into her without warning. He went all the way, deep inside. At the same time, as if he’d known it would come, he covered her mouth to conceal the gasp that answered his penetration.

Out he slid, then he drove back into her. This man’s covert skills knew no bounds. He stood here in the kitchen, pinning her to the cupboard, with his dick buried to the hilt within her trembling passage, and he didn’t even blink. He kept on moving in her, teasing the flesh of her ass with his fingers and the skin on her neck with his mouth.

All of their woes and heartache were forgotten when she came all over his dick. Her mouth was still covered by his hand, but when she climaxed he stopped moving in her and the wicked tilt at the corner of his lips told her he had felt the explosion in her loins.

When he slid back, her nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt. Loosening the clamp of his hand from her mouth, Zara nabbed his middle finger with her teeth. The growl in his eyes betrayed that his tolerance was at a tipping point. Most of the time they were together, he tried to prolong the experience for both of them, but he could only go so far before she would topple him into his own release.

Dragging out, he slammed into her, and he was already back out and in before she caught her breath. The fire in his dark eyes soaked her, giving him easy undulating access inside her, she grew slicker with every thrust.

She tasted blood when her teeth clamped in sync with her inner muscles, which were desperate for the scream that joined the sparkles of heat that exploded in her womb. Forcing himself deeper, Brodie’s palm slapped the wall and his curse stuck in his throat.

Tremors still racked her when he stayed in place corking his seed within her. His hand slid away from her mouth, but she took it in hers and kissed the wound she’d caused, hoping apology conveyed in her eyes.

When he slid out of her, she gasped at the remaining frisson of pleasure he delivered. His knuckle grazed her clit when he dragged her underwear over the intimate opening he’d just violated. He lowered her back to her feet and ensured that she had her balance before he put himself away.

Something about the moisture of their union now dampening her underwear strained her already aching nipples and didn’t help her wobbling legs. Catching his arm for balance, he only let her hold him for half a second before he pulled himself away from her. They hadn’t spoken, but that only heightened the power of the moment they were in. Every experience she had with Brodie was sexier than the last and the contorted expression of satisfaction on his face almost mocked her, as though he could read her mind and knew that he was the most intense lover she’d ever had.

Still plastered against the kitchen cupboard, trying to quell the panting that wracked her body, Zara shivered when Brodie left her to cross the kitchen and snag a beer out of the fridge. Walking back, he grabbed the cooked steak from the counter she’d left it on and took a bite.

“Go home, Zar. No one needs you here tonight,” he said, taking his steak, his beer, and leaving her alone all over again.

CI was the same as it always had been. If Grant had succeeded in selling Game Time to Albert Sutcliffe, cult leader and criminal, the domino trail would have led straight back here, and the company would have been irrevocably changed.

Thanks to the Kindred, the near miss had escaped everyone’s notice. Grant was probably quite pleased that no one had figured out his intentions because he got to carry on in his role of authority without answering questions that could only lead to the implosion of his cushy existence.

Before Brodie came into her life, she’d been unaware of Grant’s agenda to sell the Game Time device. But because she’d missed those signs in the boss she’d had for five years, she was now hyperaware of indicators that might imply he hadn’t gotten over his warped ideas of vigilantism.

It served the Kindred’s interest that she didn’t criticize or question Grant about Game Time, Sutcliffe, or Art’s murder. She played nice, so she and Grant had fallen back into professional step with each other without disruption.

A knock on her office door made her look up from her desk. When she saw Grant entering, she shot to her feet and took off her glasses. Her office was right next door to her boss’s and he typically called her to come to him if he needed her to do something. This impromptu visit could be cause for concern.

Subduing her surprise, she kept her cool. “Is there something you need, sir?” she asked, hoping for a quick and simple explanation for this appearance because it was Friday night and past time for her to go home.

Grant wanted her back at CI and seemed to just accept her lack of questions as though they’d come to an unspoken truce. Neither discussed what had transpired in the Atlas warehouse and Grant was fine with that. He’d never suggested anything to the contrary.

In the times her thoughts had meandered back in time while working here at CI, she fizzed with anger. They lost Art because of Grant. Albert Sutcliffe, his buyer, was only a part of their lives because Grant had been determined to make the deal and sell Game Time. Her boss hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, but none of them would have been in that warehouse if it wasn’t for him. Avoiding discussion of those events prevented her from blowing her cover and releasing that pressurized rage.

Though from the tilt of his head and his furrowed brow, she feared those days of business as usual might be over. “No. I wondered if you needed a shoulder,” he said, and she couldn’t quite figure out what he meant. The McCormack’s sure knew how to do cryptic, though the younger McCormack did brooding better. “I’ve seen how distracted you’ve been recently. You zone out at meetings, come in looking tired, sporting new bruises.”

His pointed look at her neck made her raise her hand to the mark Brodie had left on her. Pulling up the collar of her shirt, she cursed herself for not reapplying the makeup she had used to hide the hickey that morning. She’d had a conversation like this with Grant months ago, except she’d been the one to highlight his erratic behavior, now it was his turn to call her out.

Having avoided any personal conversation of late, she could only assume that this was a dressing down, so she responded with appropriate contrition. “I’m sorry, sir. I’ll get more with it. I’ve just…” There was no acceptable end to that statement without mentioning the topic they’d so far avoided.

Grant took care of that awkward transition for them. “You know,” he said, coming in and closing the door behind himself. “I know what he’s going through.”

Diverting her eyes to the work laid out on her desk, she wasn’t sure of her footing. Her relationship with Brodie had been another taboo subject. So far, that had worked out for her as thoughts of the fraternal relationship aggravated her already agitated wrath.

Aware of her covert role of observation here at CI, she couldn’t lash out at the CEO or he might realize she wasn’t as pliant or forgiving as he assumed she was. What she wanted to do was beat the crap out of him, to scream at him for what he’d done and for how selfish and senseless his apparent motivation was. Art was gone, Brodie was lost, and Grant had suffered no punishment.

But she was here to play it meek and get inside information, so she pulled her lip into her mouth and let her eyes drop portraying that she was uncomfortable with them broaching this previously off-limits topic. “I, uh…”

Grant wasn’t interested in her response. He was focused on getting out what he wanted to say. “When Frank died, it was like losing them all over again,” he said. “I didn’t think that anything could hurt more than losing our parents, especially in the way we did… Then with Frank, he was… he was my father, my confidante, my support and when he was gone… I suppose if I had any excuse for what took place, losing Frank would be it.”

In implicit terms, he’d brought up Brodie, the loss of Art, and the Game Time deal all in one swift release. “I know it was difficult for you,” she said. Once she’d revered her boss, now when she looked him in the eye all she felt was betrayed, which was funny because technically she was the one who’d betrayed him by giving her loyalty to his younger brother. But her anger didn’t completely overtake her compassion. Frank had been Grant’s guardian through his latter teenage years and his death just over a year ago had hit Grant hard. “I remember how you struggled.”

His solemn expression warmed. “I wouldn’t have gotten through it without you. You kept this place together and fended off every meeting that might have made me lose it. I was angry, so angry, and I tried everything to control it. Anger can consume a man. It distorts his thinking. The world becomes skewed and you believe you’re handling things until… you’re not.”

Zara had gotten so used to consoling herself that she played the same platitudes for Grant. “He’ll be fine,” she said, nodding and trying to believe that Grant’s concern was genuine. “He’s getting better.”

She had been telling herself these things since the day they lost Art, but Brodie didn’t seem to be getting any better. Still, she had to believe that there was hope.

Grant didn’t accept her appeasement and excuse himself. “So much better that reports are being missed? So much better that you’ve been late three times this week?”

She couldn’t figure out what it was that he wanted. Having gone from awkward to understanding to commiserating, he’d now landed on subtle reproof. She didn’t know if she should apologize or explain. Given that she didn’t want to reveal anything of her private life to him, she went for the former. “I apologize for—“

“No,” he said, walking across the room. “I am not looking for an apology. I don’t mind, I just…” He sighed and surrendered to the direct approach. “It’s Friday. Don’t you go to Purdy’s on a Friday night?” Not in the last three months. Usually, she went straight home after work or she got errands done before she went over to McCormack Manor. “You look like you could use a drink. How about you let me buy you a glass of wine and we can talk about whatever you want? I promise not to mention his name if you’re worried about how he’ll react to us socializing.”

The last thing she wanted to do was get cozy with Grant, who had proved he wasn’t as tame or humble as he was trying to appear. Whatever his reason for wanting to make friends with her again, Zara couldn’t ignore the opportunity that this occasion presented. She wanted Grant to think that she was warming toward him, that she considered his perspective and cared about him.

Grant hadn’t mentioned Brodie before today, not once, and Zara always assumed that was out of respect. She’d been protective of her love for him and hadn’t denied it once the truth was out. But maybe if Grant thought her feelings for Brodie were wavering since his descent into depression, it would make her boss believe she was more susceptible to his suggestions.

She had no errands to run tonight and she could be at the manor all weekend. Brodie wouldn’t notice her tardiness. He didn’t keep a check on her schedule. So she exhaled and nodded. It might be good to get out of her routine of fretting as well. She was getting good at being in a constant state of anxiety. Now she had the chance to test her skills as an undercover operative.

Grant collected her coat from the hook beside the door while she shut down her computer and grabbed her purse. He helped her into her coat and then curled her fingers around his elbow.

“Let’s see if you remember how to have fun,” Grant said and took her out of the building.

Fun might be pushing it. But she was certainly having something at Purdy’s. The bar was the same as it always had been, that was the first thought she’d had after coming inside. With everything that had gone on in her life in recent months, she expected everything and everyone in the world to be somehow changed. Yet, Purdy’s proved her wrong. The same décor and generic affluent professionals still characterized the unchanged space.

While Grant ordered the drinks and got them a table, she considered whether or not it was reassuring or terrifying that so many profound things could happen while so many other things remained entirely the same.

Conversation had remained neutral, they spoke about CI, about projects going on, and Grant told her about the remodeling he’d done at his apartment. There was nothing difficult about small talk, but she was beginning to lose patience. She had better things to do than sit around shooting the breeze with the man who had caused her lover such pain.

“Another?” Grant asked her, wearing a smile that betrayed his ease.

They’d been here for almost an hour, and she had just finished her glass of wine. His loose form and pleasant demeanor exasperated her. Grant’s life was just the same as it always had been. He hadn’t been close to Art, hadn’t seen him for years, so he couldn’t care that his uncle was dead. Having her here enjoying a drink with him, while his brother grieved, must have given him an ego boost because his arrogance had been on eleven since they sat down.

Swallowing the cool liquid, she shook her head because she didn’t intend to encourage his superiority. “I should get going.”

Raising his brows, Grant spread a hand on the table and met her eye to enhance his condescension. “If the last three months have taught you anything,” Grant said. “It’s that he’s not going anywhere.”

Squirming in response to such a patronizing platitude, she rolled her tongue in her mouth and lowered her volume. The patrons surrounding them weren’t eavesdropping, they were more interested in their own conversations, but dropping her tone to a growling whisper helped to emphasize her displeasure. “You promised not to mention him.”

If the topic of Brodie came up—while there was alcohol in her system—she couldn’t trust herself to keep her annoyance in check. Using the professional setting of CI as a smokescreen, she’d managed to restrain her desire to ream Grant out. In this social environment, the professional shield wasn’t as reliable.

Beyond the fact that she wouldn’t betray or discuss Brodie, and couldn’t see how they could talk about him without Grant discovering her true loyalty and motivation for returning to CI, she hated Grant talking about his younger brother with familiarity or superiority because he hadn’t earned the right.

He laid a suited forearm onto the table to huddle closer. “I know and I’m sorry,” Grant said. “But sometimes a little tough love is what’s required. He has to know that you won’t always be there. He has to learn to take care of himself.”

Hearing him dishing out advice in relation to her love was too much for her to tolerate. The wine boosted her adrenaline and she had been keeping a lid on so many emotions for months that she was beginning to worry about her grip on them.

Ire and impatience made her lose the will to maintain this charade tonight. “I have to go,” she said, thrusting up from her stool and hooking her bag up over her head across her body. “Thank you for the drink.”

Pouncing onto his feet, he snatched her arm to impede her retreat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s just difficult for me to see you like this. You’re a special person and you deserve more than he gives you.”

Leaning closer, she allowed her anger to thrive. “You don’t know what he gives me,” she hissed. “You haven’t cared about him for years. He’s your baby brother and you couldn’t care less if he was dead or alive. Yeah, things have been tough on us recently, all of us, we are our own family and we don’t turn our back on each other just because things get difficult.”

Yanking her arm away from him, she prepared to spin and storm out. But the thrum of automatic gunfire made her tense in shock while others screeched and furniture fell. Dropping into a crouch, she turned and saw through the screaming people and scattered furniture that there was a gang of masked men storming the bar.

For a second time, the lead man aimed his gun at the ceiling and let out another blast of bullets that left a trail of holes in the ceiling. The unexpected and threatening display led to further screaming and furor. Most people were on or near the floor in submissive positions cowering for their lives.

One suited patron tried to rush the first guy, but he never reached his target. Another member of the gang aimed his weapon and fired, killing the businessman without hesitation.

Whatever this was, it was no joke. There were six gang members and all held similar machine guns. The leader was on route to the bar, one man stayed at the door, blocking the exit, while the others herded patrons to the wall, shoving tables and chairs out of their way to clear space and pen people in.