Take Me Harder Read online

  Take Me Harder is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2017 by Jackie Ashenden

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  Ebook ISBN 9780425286289

  Cover design: Jae Song

  Cover photograph: Ollyy/Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

  ep

  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Jackie Ashenden

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Contrary to popular rumor, Rush Redmond hadn’t actually killed anyone.

  Oh sure, he’d gone to jail for the manslaughter of a woman, that was an undeniable fact. But what people didn’t know was that he was innocent.

  He’d been in jail for eight years, doing time for someone else.

  He didn’t mind that no one knew, that everyone thought he was guilty. There were bonuses to being thought of as a mean-ass motherfucker. He didn’t regret the choice he’d made to take the fall either, though there had been times when he might have, if he’d allowed himself to.

  What he did regret was the eight years of celibacy that jail sentence had earned him. Eight years without a woman was a damn long time for any guy, let alone a guy like him.

  On the other hand, it made him appreciate occasions like this one, sitting at a table with a cold beer in his hand, watching a woman dressed in very little spiral slowly around a large silver pole in time to a sexy beat.

  The stripper blew him a kiss, and he grinned. Candy was blond, stacked, and unbeatable in the sack. She’d promised him something special tonight, and he was looking forward it. He liked special, especially if it included her friend Chantelle.

  “I think she likes you,” Rhys commented dryly from the chair opposite.

  No one had been more surprised than Rush when the blank-faced bounty hunter from Duchess Bail Bonds had been the only one to respond to his casual “hey, let’s go to a strip club” invitation earlier that day. Rush had been expecting West, the other bounty hunter and a guy who looked like he’d enjoy a party, to take him up on it.

  But no. Rhys had instead.

  Rush didn’t mind. It wasn’t like he needed the company, though having a fellow pussy connoisseur along always made things more fun.

  Rhys, however, didn’t seem to be much enthused about the pussy. He’d spent most of the evening nursing his one beer and looking at his phone.

  “Well,” Rush said, stretching his legs out in front of him, enjoying the view of Candy’s round behind as she bent over and shook it. “What’s not to like?”

  Rhys gave a noncommittal grunt, his attention returning to his phone.

  Weird. What was the point of coming out if the dude wasn’t going to enjoy the ladies? Maybe Rush should have asked his brothers instead, though on second thought, maybe not. He knew what their answer would be already: a categorical no. Zane because he was uptight about shit like strippers and he already had a pretty woman in his bed. Quinn because…well. Quinn was grumpy as fuck, and actually Rush didn’t want to spend time with the douchebag.

  In fact, come to think of it, Rhys was the best choice for the night. He only spoke when he had something to say—which wasn’t often—and he left Rush alone to contemplate the very fine ladies he would be making closer acquaintance with later on that evening. Couldn’t ask for better company than that.

  Candy did another revolution around her pole, her hand reaching up behind her to undo the catch of the sparkly blue bikini top she wore.

  Suddenly a figure blocked Rush’s view.

  He frowned and tilted to the side.

  The figure moved with him.

  Okay, that was just rude. “Get the fuck out of the way,” he muttered, reaching out with one booted foot to nudge whoever it was to the side.

  The figure remained un-nudged. “No,” a light, feminine, and familiar voice said. “I need to talk to you, Rush.”

  He knew that voice, and now that he thought about it, the legs standing in front of him were familiar too. They were long and covered by dark blue trousers in a not particularly flattering cut. Uniform trousers.

  A cop. A female cop. And there was only one female cop who’d call him by his first name…

  Sitting back in his seat, Rush glanced up to see if his suspicions were correct, and indeed they were.

  Round face, check. Pale skin dusted with freckles, check. Big copper-colored eyes and perfect little rosebud mouth, also check. Red hair pulled back tightly at the back of her head, yep, double check.

  It was Ava St. George, the sheriff’s daughter and newbie cop.

  Christ, he hadn’t seen her since he’d gone to prison, but she looked just the same. Well, okay, maybe not quite the same, since she’d only been fourteen when he went away, but yeah…pretty much just an older version of the teenager he remembered.

  He’d known her for years due to the fact that their fathers had once had a close, personal friendship. Her father was a widower, just like Joseph Redmond, and the two men had bonded over beers and the shared loss of their wives. Ava had always accompanied the sheriff on his visits to the Redmond household, and Joseph had made his boys keep an eye on her, something that none of the teenage Redmonds had enjoyed. Ava had been much younger than they were and not the slightest bit interested in listening to rock music or trying to sneak bourbon from their father’s liquor cabinet. In fact, she’d been a little scaredy-cat, sitting there silently and not saying a word, watching them with her big eyes while her father and Joseph drank beer and shot the breeze.

  Quinn and Zane always ended up ignoring her, but Rush hadn’t. He’d felt sorry for her, because Sheriff St. George tended to ignore her, and he knew what it was like to be ignored by your own father. He also knew what it was like to lose a mom, and Ava had just lost hers too.

  So whenever she visited, and because he liked looking after people, he used to take her to the kitchen for a glass of milk and a cookie, and then he’d sit and chat with her, sharing stuff about his own mother, letting her know—without it being a big deal—that she could talk to him about her mom too. She’d been a bright little thing once she’d opened up, and he’d developed a kind of big-brother-type relationship with her.

  But that was then and this was now, and after eight years inside for a crime he didn’t commit, he wasn’t feeling very brotherly toward anyone, let alone little Ava St. George. Who’d clearly grown up into the world’s most uptight-looking cop and was currently blocking his view of the very fine Candy Laine’s perfect bare tits.

  What the hell was she doing here? Christ, if it was to welcome him home, then she was a good two months too late.

  Leaning back in his seat,
Rush stared up at the woman standing in front of him, looking ridiculously wholesome in her freshly pressed uniform, not to mention incongruous in the seedy red light and dingy decor of the strip club.

  He was actually kind of pissed, now that he thought about it. Two months since he’d been out, and she’d chosen tonight to come and see him? And at Sugar Daddy’s, for fuck sake?

  She’d written him some letters while he’d been inside, telling him she wanted to visit, but her dad had told her no. Given that she’d only been fourteen, he’d agreed with the sheriff. Later, though, as she’d gotten older, he’d told her not to come because he hadn’t wanted his bright spark of a friend to see him locked up like a fucking dog at the local pound. So she hadn’t come, and he thought he’d been fine with that.

  Except right now it turned out that he wasn’t actually fine with that, he was actually a little pissed. And if he’d been any sort of good guy, he would have given Ava a smile and a hug like the big brother he’d once been to her. But he wasn’t a good guy, and though there were nicer ways to get rid of girls like her, Rush’s current favorite was to be as offensive as humanly possible.

  “Ava,” he drawled, “you’re in the way.”

  Ava’s eyes narrowed. She flicked a glance at Rhys—who’d given her a once-over before returning his attention to his phone again—then looked back at Rush. And didn’t move. “Hi, Rush. Nice to see you too.”

  That’s all he got? After eight fucking years?

  You’re not supposed to care, remember?

  Oh yeah, that’s right, he didn’t. Not anymore.

  He gave her his trademark don’t-give-a-shit grin. “You’re two months late, but yeah, hi. I’m good. It’s nice being on the outside again after all this time. Freedom sure feels great.”

  It was difficult to tell in the light of the club, but he was certain she blushed. “Well…I’m glad to see you on the outside too.”

  He was making her feel bad, he could see that. Good. True, it wasn’t her fault she hadn’t come to see him, and it wasn’t fair to add her to the list of people who’d left him to rot in prison, but too bad. He was working on his asshole badge, and he’d always been a conscientious Boy Scout.

  “So, any particular reason you’re here?” he asked. “Got a welcome-home present for me? A card? A bottle of Jack? No? Shit, not even a goddamn balloon?”

  Her mouth tightened. “I…didn’t get you anything.”

  “Then why, pray tell, are you here?”

  “I need to talk to you,” she said again. “Now would be a good time.”

  “Sadly, it’s not a good time for me.” He gestured toward the stage with his beer. “Move your pretty ass, honey, or else I’ll move it for you.”

  Unimpressed with this threat, she frowned. “It’ll only take five minutes.”

  Okay, so clearly he wasn’t being offensive enough. Looked like he needed to up his game.

  Rush raised his beer and took a long swallow, taking his time about it. Then he put the bottle down and pinned her with a look. “Listen, sweetheart, to get my attention you’ve got two options. One, take off that uniform and get up on that stage. Or two, get down on your knees and open your mouth.”

  Unfortunately, far from being offended, Ava only looked impatient. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, giving another scan around the club in a way that screamed cop. “I don’t have time for any of that nonsense.”

  Which was not the response he was looking for. Jesus, did that mean he’d have to be even more offensive?

  Or you could just talk to her.

  Yeah, he could. But he didn’t want to. And these days he no longer did what he didn’t want to do. Apart from staying in Austin and working for his brother, of course, which was part of the agreement for his early release from prison. A release totally engineered by Ava’s father. Despite the promises everyone had made him, Rush had only had to wait eight years for someone to get him out. Not such a long time for a crime he didn’t commit, right?

  Ian St. George had gotten the deal for him, a favor that had so many strings they might as well have given him a guitar and called him Kermit. Because shit, if it wasn’t easy being green, it wasn’t easy being an innocent man forced to keep working with the guy who’d gotten him locked up in the first place.

  Yessir, that was Rush’s definition of hell. Being someone else’s puppet.

  Then again, he only had a year here and he’d already worked two months of it, which meant he only had to stick it out another ten. Then his time would be up and he’d be outta here—they wouldn’t see him for dust. He was thinking of going to Vegas, spending quality time in some of the more expensive strip clubs, maybe play some roulette or blackjack, or maybe he’d just hole up in a hotel room and work his way through the minibar and a couple of cocktail waitresses.

  But first, before he did that, he was going to track down his biological father. The one no one knew about but him and his mom. The one who wasn’t an alcoholic and who hadn’t died of liver failure a couple of months earlier.

  Track him down and then nail him to the goddamn wall.

  So yeah, talking to Ava St. George about anything wasn’t high on his list of important things to do.

  Up on the stage, Candy rolled her eyes at him and swiveled on a six-inch heel, strutting across the stage to a group of rowdy suits who were waving notes at her, obviously a more lucrative prospect than a guy with a cop standing in front of him.

  Goddammit.

  “Sweetheart,” he said, allowing a bit of his annoyance to creep into his tone, “you’re on the verge of spoiling my evening. And I don’t like it when my evening gets spoiled. So if you’re not going to show me your tits or suck my dick, why don’t you run along and go arrest some teenagers or something?”

  Ava stared at him, frowning slightly, her copper-gold eyes dark in the dim light of the club, and he had the disturbing thought that the look on her face was very similar to the look his mother used to get when he’d done something especially naughty as a kid. Disappointed but patient as well, as if he should have known better, yet she wasn’t surprised because he was only a boy.

  Pretty fucking patronizing, in other words.

  “It’s only five minutes, Rush,” she said, as if he hadn’t said the words “tits,” “suck,” and “dick” in the same sentence in reference to her. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to miss anything important.”

  The annoyance deepened, and he knew he needed to lock it down real quick. Getting angry wouldn’t help anything, it never did, and anyway, letting Ava St. George get to him was like a wolf admitting it was scared of a lamb, and that just wasn’t happening.

  Maybe once her smile had made him feel like he wasn’t a complete piece of shit all the way through, but those days were long gone.

  “Tits are important, honey,” he explained patiently. “Especially when you haven’t seen any in eight years.”

  “They’ll still be there when we get back, I guarantee it.” She glanced around the room again as if searching for something. “I need to talk to you in private. Perhaps we could get the owner to give us one of the VIP rooms?”

  Jesus Christ. The cop and the ex-con in the VIP room of Sugar Daddy’s. What a headline that would make. But as much as he wanted to do it just to see what would happen, he knew he couldn’t allow it. The sheriff would have a full-blown aneurysm if he knew his daughter had had even five minutes alone with Rush in one of those rooms, and Rush wasn’t ready to piss Ian off. The guy had pulled strings and gotten him an early release, and repaying him by messing around with his daughter wasn’t a good look.

  Besides, a personal link with the cops was useful to Lone Star Bounty—the Redmonds’ fugitive-recovery business—and though Rush wasn’t interested in staying on Quinn’s good side or in keeping the business going, he liked to have something to hold over his brother if he needed it.

  And then there’s the fact that she was once your friend and even though you haven’t seen her in years, you
actually still care about her, right? Or at least you used to.

  Yeah, “used to” being the operative term. She used to be his friend. And he used to care about her. But caring wasn’t something he did anymore, not after prison, and he didn’t need her hanging around reminding him about all those times when another person had mattered to him. When he had mattered to another person.

  Times like when he’d gone off to the army and she’d unexpectedly burst into tears as he’d said goodbye, holding on to him and telling him he wasn’t allowed to go. Or when he’d gotten back three years later to find her grown into a stubborn, determined eleven-year-old, angry that her father wouldn’t let her follow her dreams of being a cop just like her mother. Times like when he’d shown her his gun and taught her how to shoot it, because if she wanted to be a cop then she should be one, no matter what anyone said.

  The cop she’d ended up becoming, clearly.

  “We’re not going into a goddamn VIP room,” Rush said shortly, trying and failing to ignore those unwanted memories. “Sit down here and we can talk.”

  Ava’s frown deepened, and she shot a doubtful look at Rhys. “This isn’t very private.”

  Obviously sensing something was going on, the guy glanced up from his phone, his dark eyes flicking from Rush to Ava and back again. Then he said, “You want a refill?”

  Rush’s estimation of him rose a couple of notches. He could excuse himself when necessary, with the minimum of fuss, and get beer. What more could a guy ask for in a friend?

  “Hell yeah,” Rush said, grinning. His bottle wasn’t actually empty, but he wasn’t one to look a gift beer in the mouth. “Get one for this pretty thing here too.”

  “No, thank you.” Ava’s tone was all prim politeness. “I’m on duty.”

  Rhys gave a nod, then got up and disappeared in the direction of the bar.