He made her laugh. She couldn’t help it. No matter how mad he made her, no matter how many times she swore she was leaving Somerset because of his or the cousins’ antics. At the end of the day, she loved him.
Just as he loved Rowdy and Natches.
And she loved Doogan. Doogan was her adventure; she’d just had to be there to find him, or for him to find her.
“Well hell, let’s go upstairs then and tell the family we’re leaving,” he sighed. “But you have to stay safe, Zoey. Stay safe. You’re too damned important to lose.”
“We’ll lose you first,” she snorted. “You’ll worry yourself to death.”
He chuckled at that. “Gotta hang around a while longer, girl,” he promised her. “Who else is going to keep those little pricks you girls keep marrying in line? Now my sweet little Laken done promised her daddy he could pick out her husband all he wanted to.”
Satisfaction filled his voice, but Zoey stared at him in horror.
“She was five when she made that promise, Dawg,” she burst out, horrified. “Oh my God, you can’t hold her to that. Besides, you made her promise.”
He shot her a mild glare. “Promise is a promise,” he told her gruffly. “Laken knows that.”
“No, Dawg . . .” He moved quickly up the stairs at her protest. “No, listen to me. That doesn’t count . . .”
Poor Laken.
—
It was almost dark when everyone left.
Checking the clock on the wall, she frowned, realizing Doogan was still in the gym. He’d gone down just after she and Dawg had entered the living room, and he’d no doubt realized she must have been downstairs somewhere.
He hadn’t looked at her, hadn’t spoken to her, just disappeared down the front stairs, the most direct route to the gym. And he was still down there, no doubt furious with her for eavesdropping on him and Dawg.
But if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t have known. She would have never known how he’d lost his daughter, or the wife she thought he loved had betrayed him. Of course, the fact that she hadn’t known was telling. If he’d intended to stay, if he meant for her to be a part of his future, he would have told her, wouldn’t he?
She’d known when she let him into her bed that he wouldn’t stay, that her time with him would be limited. She’d warned herself of it more than once. And it hadn’t helped. She hadn’t been able to keep him out of her heart, no matter how she tried. And she had tried. She had fought it, she had told herself it wouldn’t happen, refusing to admit it already had. It had happened six years ago, at a time when having him was impossible.
Stepping into the gym, she stood in the doorway watching him at the punching bag. The way his fists slammed into the heavy weight, the sound of power smacking into canvas. Sweat gleamed on his naked chest and shoulders, beaded on his face, and ran in rivulets down his powerful back to the band of his sweatpants. His expression appeared to be one filled with concentration until she glimpsed his eyes, glimpsed the pain and rage that filled them, darkened them.
Leaning against the door frame, she watched somberly. He knew she was there. Was he hoping she’d just leave? That she wouldn’t be here, hoping to make that bleak pain she’d heard in his voice go away?
Straightening, she kicked off her sandals. He saw the action, his gaze flicking to her shoes before he turned his back, his fists still striking the bag. Moving into his line of sight once again, she unbuttoned her jeans and shimmied out of them, before leaving them discarded at the edge of the mat.
He paused this time, his gaze going over the brief tank top and white panties she wore.
“Panties or shirt next?” she asked, the throaty tone of her voice filled with hunger.
“You don’t want this right now, Zoey.” Pure steel filled his voice, but pain raged in his eyes. Just as lust was beginning to rage through him. His erection was clearly visible behind the cotton material of his pants.
“You think?” She gripped the hem of the top and pulled it up her body, over her head.
Before it fell from her hands a sharp, pleasure-filled cry tore from her lips.
Heat, rasping, hungry damp heat surrounded her nipple; the force of the pleasure, the rough, desperate need in his sucking lips, the hard hands that lifted her to him, and the male groan that surrounded her instantly pushed her into blinding, chaotic wantonness.
Sexual heat rose like wildfire, overtaking her senses, surging through her bloodstream and filling her with a voracious need.
She needed him. She needed the fiery hedonism she’d only ever experienced at his touch. At the ravenous, ravishing hunger he touched her with.
“You shouldn’t have come here,” he groaned, his lips lifting from one nipple, moving to the next. “You should have left it alone.”
His lips surrounded it, sucking it into his mouth, exerting a firm, heated suction that sent electric pulses of frenzied abandon to sweep through her. Her womb clenched; heated moisture spilled from her vagina, coating the outer lips with a slick lubrication that only made her hotter, her clit more sensitive. And it made her wilder. The silky slide of it along sensitive tissue was like a teasing caress, a hint, a shadow of what she needed.
“I would have stayed away from you,” he breathed out, his voice so rough and filled with carnal intensity that it stole her breath.
“Why?” Her nails rasped down his side until they reached the elastic band of the pants circling his waist. “Take them off, Doogan. Pleasure me.”
So she could pleasure him. So she could steal the sorrow and the loneliness she’d glimpsed in him for just a few moments. For the space of time that he was a part of her, that he was as lost in the pleasure they created as she was.
“God, yes,” he muttered, his lips moving to her neck, his tongue licking, tasting her, his teeth rasping and nipping. “Let me pleasure you, Zoey. Let me give to you. Give to you . . .”
Her panties were ripped from her hips. A second later the band of his pants cleared the thick, throbbing head of his cock. Zoey gasped as he lifted her, pushed her against the wall, and slipped between her thighs.
“Put your legs around me.” The order was followed by a nip to her neck and the fingers of one hand lifting her thigh, guiding her legs into place around his hips.
She lifted her legs, curled them around him as the broad crest of his cock parted the folds of her pussy and began pressing inside.
Zoey ground her head into the wall behind her, lips parting as she fought for breath, her lashes nearly closing, so heavy as sensual weakness began flooding her. Pleasure and pain clashed and merged as the iron-hard width of his erection began pushing inside her, slowly. So slowly. Stealing her breath and her mind with the incredibly erotic sensations.
“Doogan.” She whimpered his name, her eyes locked with his as he took her, pushing inside her, stretching her, killing her with the need for more.
“You’re so sweet. So tight and wet.” Pulling back, pushing forward, taking more of her with each thrust, his expression tightening with each cry that spilled from her.
She was dying for more of him and he wanted to take his sweet time entering her?
“Look at your face,” he groaned, his voice growing guttural, his thrusts deeper. “So pretty. You’re so fucking pretty, Zoey.”
Her fingers tightened on his shoulders, her thighs clenching desperately at his hips. She lifted, settled against him, used the powerful muscles braced between her legs to anchor herself as she moved against him.
“That’s it, baby.” His fingers gripped her rear, moving her, lifting her until only the broad crest remained inside her, stretching her. “Now, take me, Zoey. Take all of me.”
“Doogan.” She cried his name, nails digging into his shoulders, her neck arching as the engorged width thrust partially inside her.
His expression twisted, a grimace pulling at his lips.
“You like that, don’t you, Zoey? All that pleasure and that bite of pain?” He pulled back, his hands tightening at her rear a
gain, holding her still for just a second before pushing harder, deeper inside the clenched tissue.
A wail spilled from her lips, shudders tearing through her as rapture threatened to explode through her senses.
“You love giving it,” she panted, her pussy rippling around the intruder, milking the hard flesh throbbing inside her. “You love it, Doogan. Every second of it,” she sobbed.
“Love it.” Something flashed in his gaze. Something gentle, something filled with regret as he lifted one hand, cupping the side of her face and lowering his lips to brush against hers. “Hold on to me, Zoey. Let me give you more.”
His hips bunched, pulled back, and in the next breath his hips slammed forward, his cock burrowing hard and deep, filling her to the hilt and dragging a keening wail from her lips as she felt her orgasm explode with brutal strength through her pleasure-tortured senses.
“Doogan . . .” The shattered cry tore from her lips, the feel of hard, desperate thrusts extending the ecstasy, pushing it higher and forever binding her pleasure to his touch alone.
She felt it. Felt the invisible brand that went inside her, and accepted it.
“Fuck. Zoey. Baby. Ah hell . . .” His lips buried at her neck, his cock pulsing, spewing his seed inside her.
His hips jerked with each ejaculation, pushing his cock deeper inside her, the flex of the wide crest stroking her internally. Holding to him, Zoey buried her head at his shoulder to hide the tear that escaped, spilling it against his skin, knowing he’d never know, never realize how much of her he owned. That she’d given him all her heart, all her soul, and watching him walk away would tear both to shreds.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered as she lay against him long moments later, fighting to catch her breath. “I’m so sorry, Zoey. I never wanted to hurt you.”
She lay still, silent, waiting, feeling it coming.
“You know I have to leave,” he finally whispered. “We agreed. Just for a while . . .”
“Just remember, you promised to come to me when it snows.” The sobs were held back; the hoarseness of her voice could be excused by the aftermath of pleasure. “Don’t forget me when it snows, Doogan. I get cold . . .”
Breathe. Just breathe. She was dying inside. Every dream she’d tried not to build around him was exploding inside her.
He released her slowly, letting her legs slide from his hips until she had her feet on the floor and he stepped back from her.
“Zoey? Please don’t cry,” he whispered, turning her face up to him, his gaze tortured.
Zoey shook her head, forcing a smile to her lips. “No tears, Doogan,” she promised, though they were tearing her apart inside. “No tears.”
Stepping away, she gathered her clothes and left the gym. She felt exhausted, drained. The tears she’d promised she wouldn’t shed were choking her, strangling her with every breath she took.
She forced herself upstairs and into the shower. Forced herself to step beneath the heated spray of the water before she let herself break the promise she’d made him. And there, in the corner, water raining down on her, Zoey slid to the floor, her forehead resting against her knees, silent sobs shaking her shoulders as she let herself accept the fact that it was almost over. He was almost gone, and when he walked away, it would kill her.
EIGHTEEN
His pants once again around his hips, his entire body drained, Doogan sat on the wide bench next to the rack of weights close to where he’d fucked Zoey against the wall.
Hell, he hadn’t even kissed her. He’d just pushed her against the damned wall and fucked her like he was dying.
Resting his elbows on his knees, he wiped his hands over his face and tried to make sense of the emotions ripping him apart. This was why he tried to stay away from her. He was damned if he could sort through everything she made him feel, and all the regrets he’d fought to bury when he’d buried his baby girl.
Just the thought of walking away from Zoey tore him apart.
She was too damned innocent, too damned sweet for the likes of him, and he knew it. And still, he hadn’t been able to walk away from her. Hadn’t been able to stay away from her.
And he was beginning to fear that might well be the only way to protect her.
—
Dragging herself out the shower, Zoey quickly dried her hair before braiding it, then pulling on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt to sleep in. She didn’t expect Doogan to be up anytime soon. Hell, she didn’t really expect him to be up at all. He was too busy trying to find all the reasons why he shouldn’t be with her to see all the reasons why he should be. And Zoey could have fought anything or anyone else to be with him, but him. At this point, she wasn’t going to fight him for it.
Leaving the bedroom, she had every intention of dipping into a bottle of wine and turning on some sappy, romantic tearjerker. She made it halfway across the living room when she came to a slow, stomach-churning stop.
“Well, it was hard enough getting in here.” The voice was pleasant enough; the expression was pure evil, though.
Smiling, the emerald-green eyes were like ice, his expression all the more dangerous for the amused derision in his gaze.
“Dawg’s baby sister,” he sneered, the dull gleam of the gun he held on her terrifying. “I had such plans for you and Dawg. Rigsby was so certain that drug would work.” Fury flashed in his gaze. “All he was concerned with was that pact. All I was concerned with was seeing you in prison and Dawg suffering.”
Luther Jennings looked like his father, except for the eyes. The odd brilliancy to the green eyes marked Mackay blood. He had that. The eyes would have actually been pretty, if they weren’t so marred by hatred.
“You look like his daughter.” He stepped fully from the corner of the room where he’d been standing, his head tilted to the side thoughtfully. “I want you to know, that actually made this harder. For some reason, striking at a child revealed a conscience I wasn’t aware I possessed. Though it would have been easier to mess with Laken’s young mind, I guess.”
Zoey could feel the oily, noxious feel of the terror she’d felt that night washing over her now. She remembered his threat to rape Laken, to hurt her.
“You won’t get away with this, Luther,” she warned him, stepping back, trying to get as close as possible to the metal steps leading to the ground floor.
Doogan was still in the gym. He would hear Luther if she could just get him closer to the entrance to the room where she’d left Doogan.
Luther smiled in vicious amusement. “Your boyfriend left. Pissed him off, did you?”
“What are you talking about?” Doogan hadn’t left. He wouldn’t have left her there alone. And even if he’d had to, he would have told her first.
“Chatham Doogan,” he answered, his voice filled with contempt. “He left. I watched him slip from the back entrance. Didn’t he tell you he was leaving?”
He hadn’t.
Why would he leave her alone?
She couldn’t conceive that he’d actually desert her. Or that he’d slip away without even warning her.
“No,” she finally answered, still backing away from Luther. “He didn’t tell me.”
He wouldn’t have done it. That just wasn’t Doogan. He was too protective, and he cared too much for her. He might not love her, but she meant something to him, she knew she did.
“Keep trying to run, little rabbit.” He laughed at her with a low, evil chortle. “There’s no way to escape, you know. The security system won’t work now until I release it. And I won’t release it until I kill you.”
Yeah. Right. Eli had created that security system for her and he’d thought of that. There was a safeguard. A simple, quick release of the locks that had nothing to do with the electronics. It was a safeguard only she and Eli were aware of.
“Just to hurt Dawg.” She shook her head at the knowledge that anyone could be so vicious. So utterly merciless and evil.
“Just to hurt Dawg,” he agreed, hatred flashing across his exp
ression. “Just because he’s the reason my father was killed, the reason my grandfather was killed. If that bitch Chandler Mackay was married to hadn’t been so conniving, then my father and my uncle would have had the inheritance they deserved. It should have belonged to my father.”
The child of an incestuous relationship. Johnny Grace’s parents had been Dawg’s father and his aunt, Nadine Mackay Grace. And after Chandler’s death, she had been her other brother’s lover as well. Some said the two brothers shared her before Chandler died in a fiery vehicle accident.
“That wasn’t Dawg’s fault, nor was it mine,” she tried to point out logically, working her way slowly around the dining room table.
“It was Dawg’s fault my father was killed,” he sneered, watching her carefully, like a jackal moving in for the kill. “Natches killed my father to save Dawg and his whore wife. He didn’t give him a chance to live, didn’t give me a chance to know him.” Rage filled his voice. “He didn’t have to kill him.”
Johnny Grace would have never stopped. Leaving him alive would have ensured that Dawg and Christa faced the same danger later. And possibly Natches and Rowdy as well. Johnny’s hatred was just as deep and just as all-consuming as Luther’s was.
“And who will you blame for killing me, Luther?” she cried, as though fear were getting the better of her. “There’s no one here to brainwash. No one to take the fall for killing me.”
“But you’ll still be dead,” he snarled, his lips drawing back from his teeth, the dark blond of his hair falling over his forehead carelessly as he gave his head an enraged shake. “It doesn’t matter who takes the blame or if no one does. You’ll be dead, Zoey.”
“Because I’m the only one you could get to?” Just a little farther.
She just had to get closer to the end of the table.
Luther laughed at the accusation. “You were easy, I’ll admit. As I said, though, Laken would have been easier, but no challenge. She’s just a child, after all. What challenge would a kid be?”