F*ck Club: Con Page 3

  Charli rolled her eyes as she went to pick up her purse.

  Con slanted a look at the man sitting two seats down. “No, thanks. She’s pretty, but I don’t see my sister that way.”

  The man blinked at him. Then he smiled at Charli. “You need company then, sweetheart? If your brother’s the best date you can find—”

  “I’ll pass.” Charli gave him a cool smile and nodded at Con.

  He watched as she headed for the back.

  “Con, order up!”

  Sighing, he turned to get to work.

  A few minutes later, one of the guys tapped him on the shoulder.

  “That idiot sitting at the bar followed your sister out.”

  Con looked up, swore. “Cover me?” It was Brody and he had some—not a lot—but some training behind the bar.

  “Yeah. Might want to hurry. Shame saw him, too.”

  “Fuck.”

  He practically ran out of there, crashing into somebody in the hall, throwing an apology over his shoulder.

  If she heard him, he had no idea.

  He shoved open the back door, following the noise.

  His sister was yelling. There was another voice, too. A man’s—unrecognizable, but full of pain.

  But there was nothing from Shame, nor would there be.

  “Shit.” He strode forward, grabbing a glass of water that had been left on one of the patio tables. He threw in Shame’s face.

  Shame paused—briefly. It was the only chance Con would get, and he knew it. Throwing himself in, he wrapped a forearm around his friend’s neck. “Let it go. You can’t kill him.”

  Shame’s entire body was rigid, unyielding as steel.

  Con could make out the man’s ruined face over Shame’s shoulder, could feel the tension pulsing in his friend’s body.

  “That fucking psychopath!” At least that sounded like what the man said. “I want the cops here! I want him arrested.”

  Shame struggled and jerked at Con’s grip. Con tightened it, desperate to hold him.

  “You don’t want to the cops.” Charli stepped closer and squatted, her elbows braced on her knees as she looked at the three of them. “If you try that road, I’ll be filing a complaint myself. You assaulted me.”

  “I— Fucking liar!”

  Shame snarled.

  Con had never once heard a noise like that come from a human being.

  Shame practically threw him off in a renewed attempt to break the grip Con had around his throat. “No!” Con shouted. “Charli is fine. She…fuck.”

  Wheeling his head around, he looked at her.

  And when he did, he saw the split lip.

  There was a bit of blood, but it would have been enough to enrage Shame.

  Shit.

  Shit.

  “Max.” At the sound of Charli’s voice, Shame shuddered. But he didn’t look up. He never answered to that name. She sighed, then said, “Shame, look at me.”

  Slowly, Shame did, some of the tension draining from him.

  “Don’t make us have to bail you out of jail,” she said, reaching for a teasing tone.

  “Fuck.” He shuddered again, like an animal shaking water out of its coat. “Let me up, you dumb-ass,” he said to Con.

  Slowly, Con did, knowing the storm had paused, if not passed.

  When the man dragged himself upright, Con moved in close. “You’re lucky I don’t take over. Now get the hell out of here.”

  “I want to call the cops,” he said again.

  A low noise came from Shame.

  “Fine, we can do that. But we got security cameras all over the perimeter of the property,” Con said calmly, staring the man down. “If we see you putting your hands on my sister, I wonder how that’s going to go for you?”

  The man disappeared.

  Con turned back to say something.

  And was struck mute.

  Shame had cupped Charli’s chin in his hand, angling her face up to the light so he could inspect the small cut.

  And damn, if he wasn’t looking at her with…something. There was something in his eyes.

  Without saying a word, he edged around them and went inside.

  Chapter Five

  Hot sun pounded down on his back as Con rounded the path.

  The park was one of his favorite places to run and it wasn’t just because a lot of ladies came there to run, either.

  Although, yes, he did enjoy that.

  The shade of the trees was a bonus and there were several different paths he could take.

  Much better, in his opinion, than running on a stupid treadmill or just pounding concrete in town.

  He’d just cleared four miles when he heard footsteps coming up the path behind him. He was ready to wind down, so he moved to the side of the path.

  But the other runner drew even with him instead of passing.

  He could have cussed a damn blue streak when he caught sight of who it was.

  Instead, he pasted a smile on his face. “Shawntelle.”

  He managed, barely, not to grit his teeth. She didn’t make any attempt to go around him. Still, he was hopeful. “Am I in your way?”

  “Nah.” She stared straight ahead. “I’m just out enjoying a run.”

  “Funny. I don’t recall seeing you here before.” And he ran there every day, or just about. She’d been living in town for close to two months, and working at the pub for roughly half of that.

  “Oh, I’ve been here a few times. It beats the gym.” She slanted a look at him. “How’s your sister? Haven’t seen her at B&B since the night that drunk tried to put the moves on her.”

  A cop had come by the next day to talk to Con and Shame.

  After Con provided a copy of the surveillance video to him, the cop had left.

  A few days later, the cop called and spoke to Shame. It had taken Con nearly thirty minutes to get him to say why.

  Asshole ain’t pressing charges, Con. That’s it.

  A call to Charli had confirmed what he suspected. Charli had threatened to press her own charges and affirmed that Shame had jumped in when he heard the struggle.

  She didn’t say whether or not Shame had followed her out there, although it was no secret that was what had happened.

  “She works a lot of hours.” He’d noticed, though, that she hadn’t been by.

  Just as he’d noticed Shame’s reticence. Of course, Shame was normally reticent. Which meant now he hardly talked at all.

  “Yeah. She’s doing her internship, right?” She talked easily, despite the pace she kept.

  Con gritted his teeth. “Yeah.” He ran a few minutes more and she kept pace with him. He glanced over at her and smiled. “I’m not much for running and chatting. See you around.”

  He put more power into it.

  She caught up, and kept time easily. “That’s all right. We don’t have to talk.”

  And every time he tried to break away, she just adjusted her stride. He gritted his teeth and not just because his competitive streak was trying to clamor and take over, either.

  Con considered himself a calm, reasonable sort and hardly ever got mad. He didn’t let people get to him, either. Well, except Riley and Charli, but Riley was his big brother, Charli their little sister, and if his siblings couldn’t piss him off, there was a problem in the world.

  But Shawntelle Callahan could piss him off, too.

  That irritated him.

  She was also sexy as fucking hell and being stuck working with her side by side, day after day, for almost two months was eating at him. She played it cool. Didn’t push or try to hire him again. She was just…there. It annoyed the hell out of him because he could tell she was waiting for something, watching him somehow.

  He could feel the weight of her stare like a palpable thing and more often than not, the hours spent around her were in a state of semi—or full—arousal.

  And she wouldn’t open up about what in the hell she wanted.

  He put more muscle into his run
, ignoring the fact that his lungs were starting to burn.

  And still, she kept up. Her strides were easy and smooth and he was starting to suspect she could just go all day.

  That idea made his brain go a little fuzzy.

  He caught sight of the parking lot up ahead and decided he was going to have to yield. He’d already done an additional three miles. Seven miles was his limit if he wanted to do more than crawl tomorrow.

  He slowed to a jog and resolutely kept at it even when she did the same.

  “Feel free to keep running, Callahan,” he said, struggling not to sound like he was panting for the oxygen needed to speak.

  “Oh, I think I got in a decent run.”

  After a few more moments, he slowed to a walk.

  She did the same.

  If he ground his teeth together any harder, the enamel might crack. “Any reason you’re hanging around?”

  “Like I said, I wanted a run. You’ve got a nice stride, Steele.”

  He stopped in the middle of the path and turned.

  And surprise, surprise, she did the same.

  “What do you want?” he asked slowly, enunciating each word.

  Two more joggers came by, nodding at them. As one, both Shawntelle and Con stepped out of the way. The narrowness of the path, the trees crowding in on both sides, had them standing closer than he liked.

  Actually, he liked it a lot, and that was the problem.

  The thin jogging shorts did damn little to conceal his reaction to her.

  And she didn’t move away, either.

  “I want to talk to you,” Shawntelle responded, finally dropping the bullshit.

  “Really.” He swiped the back of his forearm over his forehead but it did little to get the sweat out of his eyes. “I thought we already did that. I told you I’m not giving you a fucking story.”

  “A fucking story. Cute.” Her eyes gleamed with laughter.

  To his disgust, his cheeks went hot. “Shit, you know what I meant.”

  “Oh, that’s even cuter. You’re blushing.” She touched the tip of her finger to her cheek, head cocked. “I would have thought that sort of thing would be burned out of you.”

  “And I would have thought you’d get bored and move on.”

  She slid her eyes down, let her gaze linger. A soft sigh drifted from her and she shook her head as she met his eyes once more. “If only I could.”

  The look was so purposely erotic, he felt his cock go to full-mast in the blink of an eye. Determined not to let her get to him anymore than she already had, he returned her look, giving her body a slow perusal, taking in the running gear—tank top and sport bra, shorts that displayed curvy, muscled legs. The legs of a serious athlete, he decided.

  “I don’t see anything tying you down, Shawntelle. You can move on whenever you choose.”

  “Sometimes,” she said softly. “The tethers are the things you can’t see.”

  She stepped in closer. Her breasts brushed his chest.

  When she reached up to touch his cheek, he caught her hand.

  “Don’t.”

  Giving him a slow, sultry smile, she asked, “Don’t what? Touch you? Kiss you? We both want it.”

  “You’re my employee. I don’t sleep with employees.”

  “Okay.” Her smile widened. “I quit. Now you can sleep with me.”

  Hissing out a breath, he resisted the urge to say, Fine. Let’s go. He wanted her enough to be stupid about it.

  “Have you decided to do an article on sexual harassment in the bar scene?” he bit out.

  “If anybody is sexually harassing anybody, it’s me harassing you.” She was still smiling, leaning in closer so that their hands were caught between them. “What’s the problem with us being together, Con? It’s not like I’m asking for forever.”

  “Back away, Shawntelle,” he said, feeling himself already getting drunk on the scent of her.

  Another runner came by.

  Shawntelle swayed.

  Maybe he did.

  But somehow, her mouth brushed his.

  He jolted, the impact hitting like a blast of napalm.

  Stiffening, he gripped her upper arms and steadied her, putting distance between them even though it had him moving off the path and onto the edge of a deep, downhill drop.

  “What kind of game are you playing, damn it? What do you want?” he demanded. It was like choking out gravel, each word rough and hoarse.

  “Right now? The only thing I want is you.” Her lashes drooped and as he watched, she slid her tongue out, wetted her lips. Then she shrugged, lifting one smooth, silken shoulder. “But I’ll settle for drinks.”

  He was too busy staring at the damp track her tongue had taken, too busy thinking about doing the same thing—licking that very sexy mouth.

  Tasting her.

  But he didn’t, because even the smallest taste would be enough to do him in.

  “Drinks would be a bad idea,” he said gruffly.

  “No. It would be a very good idea. We don’t work together now. I told you, I quit. I was going to do it in a few days anyway. I’ve got to leave sooner than I planned. So…we only have a little while. Drinks, Con. Drinks…bed. Or just bed.”

  Don’t be an idiot, Con.

  Chapter Six

  He was an idiot.

  Pacing his apartment, still wearing his workout clothes, he listened to the sound of water coming from his bathroom.

  She’d talked him in to having a drink with her at one of the local bourbon joints.

  But she wanted to change first—it was a long drive back to her place, though. Maybe she could use his shower?

  He had to damnedest feeling he was being played.

  He’d said yes anyway.

  Con was being all sorts of stupid when it came to Shawntelle Callahan, but damned if he could stop himself. The sound of running water in his bathroom kept intruding on his thoughts, reminding him that she was naked and wet on the other side of the door.

  He could open it, look in, see her slick, wet naked self…

  What would she do?

  She’d told him more than once that she wanted to get horizontal with him. It wasn’t a lie, either. One thing Con understood well was heat—the kind of heat that ran between two people—and the heat between them was very, very real.

  If he opened that door, how would she react?

  She’d probably give him that slow, taunting smile and push open the door to the shower stall.

  His cock went rock-hard and he pressed his hand against it for relief, but that wasn’t going to happen.

  Occasionally, the sound of water would change and shift, and he could imagine her moving under the spray, arching her neck, exposing her breasts.

  “Son, you like torture.” He drove the heels of his hands against his eyes and tried to drown out thoughts of her in his shower. He wasn’t successful.

  When the water cut off, he went straight into his room, jerking the clothes he’d selected from the bed, and waiting for the bathroom door to open.

  When it did, she emerged in a puff of steam, smelling of his soap.

  Her hair was pulled back from her face, still dry, but the rest of her was damp and gleaming…and wrapped in a towel.

  “I forgot my gym bag. I’d put a change of clothes in there earlier,” she said, rolling her eyes.

  That towel did more to highlight her body than it did to hide it.

  She might as well not have bothered.

  It was old and threadbare. He had newer ones, thicker ones. They hung on the towel rod and there were more in the closet. He knew it. They were all clean, too. Weren’t they?

  But he couldn’t think straight with the sight of her nipples, erect and stabbing into the material, taunting him.

  “Just get dressed in here. Or use the half-bath down the hall,” he said shortly, cutting around her and storming into the bathroom.

  It wasn’t any relief to be in there, away from her.

  Now her smell wrap
ped all around him.

  But she wasn’t in there to tease him and that was a blessing in and of itself.

  Con dumped his clothes on the counter and leaned forward, hands braced on the smooth marble surface and he drew in a breath, then let it out. He needed to calm down.

  He needed to quit thinking about her.

  His cock jerked in demand and tossed up another need.

  You need to fuck her.

  Yeah, that would help.

  But sadly, it wasn’t an option.

  Lifting his head, he stared at his reflection. “She’s playing you,” he muttered under his breath. “Remember that.”

  Stripping out of his cloths, he left them in a pile on the floor, right next to the clean towel that had been spread out. It was the deep blue one that had been hanging on the rod. “Shit.”

  That woman was a witch. All there was to it.

  After retrieving another towel—one of several plush, thick towels—he climbed into the shower. He didn’t bother with a cold one. It wouldn’t do any good.

  He went straight for a warm, pulsating spray and braced his back against the wall.

  Not that much time had passed since he’d first laid eyes on Shawntelle Callahan. He’d still been bruised and battered from his run-in with a dirty cop when he’d walked in to find Riley giving her the tour. She’d looked at him, cocked her head, then smiled. “How does the other guy look?”

  He didn’t like the fact that he’d been tempted to brag. He wasn’t into that. But she’d pulled it out of him.

  Riley had distracted her, giving him the chance for a graceful exit.

  But within twenty-four hours, he was working side by side with her. And every day since then, every time he saw her, he looked into those dark-brown eyes and wanted.

  Now, as the water pulsed down around him, he fisted his hand around his cock and pumped. Up, down. Up, down. He watched as he did it, saw the head disappear into his fist, then slowly appear as he stroked down.

  If he kept his attention focused on himself, on the physical, maybe he wouldn’t think—

  Too late.

  Already he could picture Shawntelle in there with him, on her knees, that perfect, beautiful mouth going open around his cock as he fed her one slow inch after another.