Sexy Beast Read online

  Sure, I prefer the nights when we have hours and hours to kiss and taste and explore—I’m already itching to go down on him, to take his cock in my mouth and drive him to the point of insanity with the things I can do to him, but there’s no time. My body is still on top of his, he’s deep inside me, when my doorbell buzzes and the faintest hint of a male voice comes to us.

  ‘Shit.’ I push up onto my elbows, casting a glance at the diamond-encrusted wristwatch I always wear. ‘He’s early.’

  Beneath me, Theo’s expression is laconic. He’s the cat that got the cream, but there’s no time for post-coital bliss. I roll off him and pick up my dress, my knees a little wobbly as I stand and pull the fabric over my head.

  My brother’s voice comes through the door again. ‘Shit,’ I mutter. Then, louder, ‘Just a second.’

  I turn to Theo, who’s watching me with a curious look. ‘You have to hide.’

  He bursts out laughing. ‘Hide?’

  ‘Yeah. Hide.’ I reach for him, grabbing his hand at the same time I bend down and scoop his clothes off the floor. I thrust them at his chest, a warning look on my face. ‘In there.’

  He shoots a look over his shoulder in the direction I’ve pointed, then shakes his head. ‘I’m not hiding in your closet.’

  ‘My brother’s here.’

  ‘So? Aren’t you going to introduce me?’ He’s teasing but I instantly reject the suggestion, even when it’s not a suggestion made in earnest.

  ‘Er...sure. “Hey, big brother! Here’s the guy who’s been fucking my brains out the last six months.”’

  ‘You could just use my name.’

  ‘And say what? That you’re my very convenient fuck buddy?’ I draw my brows together. ‘Just—stay in here.’ The words hold a warning. ‘Shit! Where’s my—?’

  He’s holding my thong on the tip of his finger. His look is pure molten seduction. Damn it, I want him again and he knows it. I snatch the thong and pull it on a little awkwardly, then run my fingers through my hair.

  ‘How do I look?’

  ‘Like a woman who’s just been ravished.’

  Great, I was afraid of that. ‘Just...don’t make a sound. Shut the door behind you when you leave.’ I press a harsh kiss to his lips and move to my bedroom door but, before I walk through it, I rush back to him. ‘Thanks. You were great.’ I wink and squeeze his butt before turning and leaving.

  Joshua, dressed in a tux, looks exactly like our father. ‘Hey.’ His eyes scan me and show the exact opposite reaction to the one I saw on Theo’s face fifteen minutes ago. I don’t mean I’d expect my brother to look at me like he wanted to rip my clothes off, but where Theo looks at me like I’m the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, Joshua’s expression always shows a hint of disapproval. He strides past me, presses a perfunctory kiss to my forehead, then moves into the kitchen.

  Which is seven paces closer to my bedroom.

  I look down the corridor betrayingly, and note the outline of Theo’s body through the crack of the door. He’s pulled his boxers on, at least, but if Joshua happened to look down the hall he’d see a half-naked billionaire smiling smugly back at him.

  ‘Shouldn’t we be going?’

  ‘We’ve got a few minutes if you want to fix your hair, Charlotte.’

  I bite back a pithy retort. My hair is fine, though probably a little wild after Theo’s ministrations.

  ‘Fine, help yourself to a drink.’ I wave my hand towards the kitchen then clip back towards my bedroom, tempted to give Theo a piece of my mind. But when I walk in he’s nowhere to be seen. I click the door shut, my eyes scanning the room. Where is he? I stride into the en suite bathroom and reach for my hairbrush, gliding it over the soft waves a few times before Theo comes up behind me, pressing his body to mine. The touch sets off a thousand and one fireworks in my bloodstream.

  But that’s nothing to when he catches the hem of my dress with his fingertips, pushing it up so his fingers can brush my sex, his palm cupping me and pulling me back against him. I swallow a moan, my eyes locking to his in the mirror.

  ‘No time,’ I mutter, dropping the brush into the sink with a clatter.

  ‘Wanna bet?’

  Oh, help me. Theo loves a challenge. I know this about him, and I love this about him, but in this moment... ‘It’s my stepmother’s birthday,’ I murmur, making no effort to move away. ‘I can’t be late.’

  His eyes flare with amusement. ‘You won’t be.’ His hand moves faster; a finger pushes inside of me. I buck backwards and moan. He laughs, spinning me around and kissing me, swallowing the sound. Pleasure ricochets through me, volcanic and urgent. A beautiful, hot delight that lashes my core and makes me tremble. I brace myself on the vanity as pleasure sears me, red-hot and fierce.

  ‘Charlotte?’ he murmurs into my mouth, his thumb padding my sex.

  ‘Long story.’ I find his lips. ‘You started this. Don’t you dare stop.’

  ‘Charlotte? Are you done?’ My brother’s voice is a very unwelcome intrusion. I rip my head away from Theo, but his grin is my undoing. I hold Theo’s eyes, lifting a hand to his shoulder, and shout towards the door, ‘Just a sec. I’m coming.’

  And I am. Seconds later, I’m spiralling completely out of control, his mouth swallowing my frantic cries, his hand holding me together and driving me apart at the same time. My fingers are in his hair, tangled in its length, and then, almost as soon as I’ve crested over that tsunami of sensation, he’s pulling away, rearranging my dress around my thighs. ‘It’s good to know we can add quickies to our repertoire.’

  My breath is rushed. ‘For sure. Next time you have five minutes between meetings, call me.’

  ‘Will do. Charlotte,’ he adds as an afterthought, a teasing smile on his face. But there’s something in his eyes, a seriousness, a question I don’t want to answer. A question he doesn’t really want to ask—because we don’t do that. We don’t really talk about anything other than how much we want each other, and that suits us both.

  ‘Only my brother calls me that.’ I poke my tongue out. ‘See you soon.’

  I feel his eyes on me as I slip from the room and knowing he’s watching me brings a huge smile to my face, just like always.

  * * *

  I look around the en suite bathroom with curiosity. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Toiletries, make-up, and a lingering scent of her that makes me want to go out into her kitchen and announce to her brother that actually she won’t be coming with him at all because she and I aren’t done yet.

  We didn’t plan to keep seeing each other for so long. She’s busy, I’m busy, and sometimes our schedules are such that we can’t manage to catch up as often as we’d like. But that’s the best part of this no-strings situation. It’s no big deal. There’s never any drama with Asha. We agreed to that from the start, and for the last six months it’s been working perfectly. In fact, I’d have to say I think I’ve cracked the code for the perfect relationship. Keep it physical and keep it light.

  That’s it.

  Et voilà.

  I wonder whether, if my dad had worked this out, he might not have married every woman he slept with. Briefly, my chest tightens, as it always does when I think of my father. No, that’s not right. He’s the man who gave my mother sperm but he was never really much of a dad. Not to me, not to Jagger, and definitely not to Holden. Darkness descends for a moment and I close my eyes, the hatred I feel for him rushing through me.

  Asha’s muffled voice brings me gratefully back to the present. I can hear their voices but not clearly enough to know what they’re saying. Curiosity has me moving closer to the door.

  ‘I organised the diamond necklace,’ Asha is saying, her eyes sliding to the door so she sees me and I grin. She blanches and jerks her head back to her brother. His back is to me, so I only have the impression of a tall, slim man dressed in a dark tuxedo.


  ‘She’ll love it. What’s happening with Angel Pie?’

  Angel Pie? I frown.

  ‘We’re just waiting on FDA approval for the mascara. The packaging is almost finalised—we’re down to two box designs. Market testing is showing amazing strengths across the whole product line.’

  The brother nods. ‘You’re happy with it?’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ Asha’s face lights up. My gut punches. She’s so gorgeous. ‘I’ve only been working on this for four years.’

  Her brother nods again, slower. ‘Good. I’m proud of you, Char.’

  She hesitates for a moment, in a way that has me holding my breath for no reason I can think of. Then she smiles. ‘Let’s go.’

  ‘I guess we have to.’

  ‘It won’t be that bad.’

  ‘Sure it won’t be.’

  They share a look that is purely conspiratorial and a twist of longing spears me. I miss Holden. I know I literally just came from his place, but I don’t mean in a physical sense. I mean I miss him as part of our family, as someone who looks at us like brothers and grins. He’s a part of our fabric and I don’t care what any DNA result says. He’s a Hart as much as I am, as much as Jagger is.

  The front door clicks open. I move nearer her bedroom door so I catch the moment she pokes her head back in the corridor to meet my eyes. She’s glaring at me but I see amusement in her features and I shrug my shoulders, pulling her bedroom door wide open. Her brother’s out in the communal corridor; there’s no risk of being seen. But nonetheless, she quickly withdraws her head, slamming the door to her apartment behind her.

  It’s only the third time I’ve been in her apartment, and it’s the first time without Asha. Charlotte. A small frown smudges my face. My curiosity is natural. We’ve been sleeping together for just over six months but I know hardly anything about her beyond the basic biographical details. That she’s the MD of her family’s luxury cosmetic and lifestyle brand, that she works her beautifully shaped rear end off, which explains why she’s twenty-eight and, up until she and I happened to meet, hadn’t had sex in almost a year. She’s fiercely intelligent and doesn’t take shit from anyone—two things I respect enormously about her.

  I’m tempted to snoop. Just a little. Yeah, yeah, it’s kind of a bullshit thing to do but, looking around her apartment, I can’t help but notice little details that I would never have guessed at—details that have previously passed me by because I don’t notice anything except Asha when Asha is around.

  Things like the fact she must enjoy cooking, going by the healthy assortment of cookbooks near the kitchen. I pick one up. It’s well thumbed, vegetarian, which she definitely isn’t. I replace it, then do a three sixty. Her taste in furnishing is eclectic and bright, not what you’d expect from a woman who runs a company like Fleurs Sauvages. This is fanciful, frothy, feminine. I smile at a pink cushion shaped like a pair of lips.

  I’m so tempted to look around, but I don’t. Not just because it would be weird and creepy, but because no part of this is about getting to know one another. Our cardinal rule was formed a week after our one-night stand: this is just sex. I don’t ask about her life, she doesn’t ask about mine.

  I’ve never been in such a perfect relationship.

  I whistle as I pull the door shut, already wondering when I can see her again...

  Copyright © 2020 by Clare Connelly

  New York Times bestselling author Chantal Fernando returns to the Knights of Fury series with her most complicated hero yet. He may be the epitome of cool, but this MC president isn’t called Temper for nothing...

  Temper

  by Chantal Fernando

  Prologue

  Five Years Ago

  “Can I have a whiskey, please?” the brown-eyed behemoth of a man asks, studying me with a little too much intensity for my liking. He’s wearing a black cut over more black clothing, and he smells good, like leather with a hint of cologne. “You have pretty eyes.”

  “Thank you,” I reply, ducking my head. My eyes were always a source of insecurity for me growing up, with them being quite bright and amber in color. To say I was teased about them was an understatement. At school they used to call me a cat and say I was possessed. I don’t care what people think about me anymore, a confidence I think comes with age, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t get embarrassed when someone says something about them.

  “What’s your name?” he asks, never moving his eyes from me.

  “Abbie.”

  “I’m Temper,” he says, then clears his throat. “I mean, Tommy.”

  “How many people call you Tommy?” I find myself asking, trying to hide my smile. I’ve heard all of the bikers that pass through use road names for each other. I don’t know how many of them actually go by their real names, but it’s nice that he offered it to me. I can only imagine why they call him Temper, and if that isn’t warning to stay away from this man, I don’t know what is.

  “Uhh.” He tilts his head back, actually considering the answer to my question. “None.”

  I laugh softly and slide him his drink. “Okay, Temper it is.”

  Suddenly feeling shy, I start to wipe down the counter while his friend returns from the bathroom and sits down next to him. “You didn’t order me a drink?” he asks Temper, unimpressed.

  “Sorry, Prez, got a little distracted,” Temper replies, sounding amused.

  Prez looks at me. “Hey, sweetheart, could I get a beer, please?”

  “Sure,” I say, grabbing the first bottle I can reach from the fridge. “Is this one okay?”

  He nods. “Perfect.”

  Setting the beer in front of him, he throws some money on the table and smiles. “Thank you.”

  My mother always warned me about the bikers passing through the bar, and while I have had bad vibes from other bikers in the past, I don’t get any from these two. But what do I know? I’m twenty-three and have never even left Nevada. I’m the stereotypical small-town girl, something I always thought I’d never end up being. Our bar is off the major interstate that is one of the only ways to get to Vegas from Southern California and vice versa. Because of our location, we see just about every type of person—truckers, families, young people and bikers.

  “What time do you finish work?” Temper asks me as he stands to leave. “Can I take you out for dinner? Or coffee, or something?”

  I shake my head, taken aback by his request. “No, I don’t think so. But thank you for asking me.”

  He’s older than me; I know that much. If I had to guess, I would say he’s in his midthirties, which is maybe why I’m so surprised by the fact that he asked me out. If I’m being honest, while I am attracted to him, the age difference freaks me out a bit. I’ve been stuck here pretty much my whole life—I wouldn’t know what to talk to him about. I’d probably bore him to death. Also, I’m flattered, but I don’t think going out with a man by the name of Temper would be a good idea.

  “Okay.” He nods, brown eyes flashing with disappointment before he masks it. “Have a good night, Abbie.”

  “You too, Temper,” I respond, our gazes holding and lingering for longer than necessary.

  Flashing him a smile, I head back into the kitchen to hide, pushing away a slither of regret that hits me out of nowhere. Yeah, he’s good looking, but so what? There’s plenty of good-looking men out there.

  I’ve never been on a proper date before, and my first one isn’t going to be with a man like that.

  Chapter One

  Present Day

  “That man keeps staring at you,” Sierra says under her breath, eyes on the cash register. “He’s kind of sexy, in an ‘I don’t know if I’m going to give you the best orgasm of your life or kill you in your sleep’ kind of way.”

  I don’t bother looking up, because I already know exactly who she’s talking about. Temper, Presid
ent of the Knights of Fury MC, has been coming into our family-owned bar, Franks, for several years now. He’s not a regular—in fact, the MC only passes through maybe once or twice a year—but he’s not someone that’s easily forgotten.

  The last time he was here, he told me that he was now the president because his Prez had died, and he practically cried as he said it. When he asked me out, like he always does each time he is here, I almost caved.

  Almost.

  “Abbie,” Sierra growls. “Pay attention, he’s coming over here.”

  I glance up just as he stands in front of the bar. “Abbie,” he says with a nod, smiling. “How have you been?”

  “Not too bad,” I reply, taking in those brown eyes and shaved head. I’m not quite being honest. With my mom’s declining health, I’ve had to take over Franks, and had to drop out of college to do so. I spend every day here or at home, helping her as much as I can. My younger sister, Ivy, helps too, but I insisted she stay in college, so she can’t always be here.

  One of us had to make a sacrifice, and I volunteered. She can still become something, get out of this small highway town and follow her dreams.

  “Really? It’s been about eight months since I’ve seen you, and that’s all you have to say?” he asks, brow furrowing.

  I wish I had something exciting to say, like maybe tell him about a vacation I went on, or a competition I won, anything really, but I have nothing.

  “Just work,” I explain, smiling sadly. “Mom’s not well, so I’ve had to take over with running the place.”