Dangerous Love Page 3

  Again, nothing.

  "I'm busy today." He planned to head back over to Mackenzie's and find out why the hell that woman was walking home alone, early this morning. Then, maybe if he got lucky, he could work her right of out his system.

  "No, you're not," Jack warned.

  "I don't work for your boss." Derk lit a cigarette, took a long drag, opened the laptop on the coffee table, and typed in his password.

  "Derk, you don't want to turn him down on this one," Carl tried to reason with him.

  "You don't want to piss with me today," Derk said coolly. "Only got an hour's sleep. I'm not pleasant."

  Carl chuckled. "You aren't pleasant any day."

  "Get out, I'm trying to get something done here," Derk growled.

  "Fine," Jack said. He jerked his head to Carl, and they both left without further annoyance.

  Jack and Carl weren't just any people to send packing and turn down a job. They were Derrick Murphy's two right hand men. Derrick was the crime boss of the Northeast. A dark and dangerous man that no one refused when he came knocking. Derk knew he should take Mr. Murphy's job request, but he had more pressing matters‒find out more info on Mackenzie.

  The mob boss probably won’t take kindly to his refusal, but like he said to Jack, he technically wasn’t on Murphy's payroll. He freelanced. His illegal talents were sought after by too many people to be tied down to one employer. That decision made him independently wealthy. He wasn't about to give that up any time soon.

  It had been Darren Murphy, Derrick's younger brother and original mob boss of the tri-state area, that found him and hired him out years ago. When Darren was killed in a car bomb, Derrick took over the reigns and continued to utilize his work. Both brothers appreciated his mad skills of hacking, collecting, and clean up–and paid him extremely well for those services.

  All right, maybe he should've listened to the job request the boss-man wanted before sending his two lead henchmen on their way. But, fuck it, he had an agenda that didn't involve wet work today.

  7

  Mackenzie sipped on her usual morning green tea. She'd never been able to sleep past ten in the morning and this morning she felt like crap because of that fault. Kayla had stumbled through the door at six and went straight to bed. She'd sleep until four or five in the afternoon.

  A sharp knock on the apartment door startled her.

  Who the hell?

  She found herself glued to her seat, unwilling to answer the door. They weren't expecting company.

  Another impatient knock.

  "Mackenzie, I know you're in there. Open the damn door¸" Derk barked.

  His hard, no-nonsense tone made her jump out of her seat. Good lord, he'd wake Kayla and she was not a happy early riser. Stumbling over the chair, Mac threw open the door before he felt the urge to break it down. His large, overpowering presence stalked past her and into the tiny kitchen. Closing the door, she spun to find him in her space. Up close and personal. Again.

  What was it with this man invading her personal territory?

  "Why the hell were you walking home at three-thirty in the morning?" he demanded, his voice alarmingly low and dark.

  What did she tell him? That she got raked through the coals? That her ex took everything because she’d been stupid? That she had no money except what she made in tips last night, so how could she possibly afford a car?

  “Well?” he snapped.

  "I don't have a car," she replied softly, backing against the door.

  He took a step closer.

  "Why don't you have a car?"

  "My ex took it."

  Brows knitted together, he tiled his head. "Your ex took it?"

  She nodded. "In the divorce, he got everything, including my car," she said ashamed. She found herself quickly confessing, "It's my fault. I was dumb. Everything had been his and in his name before we married. The house, cars, retirement, everything. I didn't bring anything into the marriage and ended up leaving with nothing. We were only married three years." She focused on the worn spot on the floor that needed replaced. "Yesterday we signed the papers. I had a car when I went into the courthouse, but when I left I had nothing, not even a place to stay."

  His harsh intake of breath seemed to echo off the metal appliances. One of his heavily tattooed arms came up and lifted her chin to look him in the eyes.

  "Don't you ever call yourself dumb, and don't you ever attempt to walk home alone again. You call me," he ordered.

  "Look, Derk, I appreciate you coming to my rescue last night, but I have no idea who you are, why you're here, and what you want," she said.

  "I want you," he bluntly said.

  Well...what did she say to that? Stunned, she stared at him. "I don't have anything to give you, Derk. I couldn't possibly have a relationship right now."

  He snorted. "I don't want a relationship, sweetheart, and you do have something to offer up."

  Oh. She didn't know whether to be flattered or insulted. “Well, wasn’t that romantic. Sorry, but I’m not the type.”

  He cocked a brow. “What type would that be, baby?”

  “The type that will jump into bed with you,” she spat.

  He chuckled. “I realize that, which makes me want you even more.”

  She knew confusion crossed over her features.

  He crowded her against the door, his big body radiating vibrant sexual heat. A strong scent of soap and cigarettes wrapped around her nostrils. Leaning down he ran his nose along her cheek, that longer shadow tickled her sensitive skin. He brushed his lips along her face, barely touching her, but leaving a tingling sensation in their wake.

  “Couldn’t get you out of my mind last night,” he admitted. “Don’t like the idea of you walking home late at night. Don’t like the idea you’re not bouncing up and down on my cock. Don’t like the idea you’re not underneath me, allowing me to pound into your tight body.”

  She pushed him away from her. “Could you get any cruder?”

  He laughed. “Yep.”

  Brushing past him, she went to the sink to wash dishes in order to keep her mind and hands occupied. Derk did strange things to her body, made her feel sensations she’d never had before. He certainly messed with her logical thinking. How could one man, in the matter of hours, create such a fiery stir inside a woman? That wasn’t something that happened in reality. Romance novels, yes, but in the real world, hell no.

  Clearly comfortable with himself, he casually leaned against the sink next to her. His long denim clad legs crossed at the ankles. "When do you work next?"

  She sighed and threw down the sponge. "Derk."

  "Don't fucking tell me to get lost, Mackenzie, 'cause it ain't happenin’. I won't allow you to walk to and from work," he warned.

  For the very first time in her life, the knowledge that someone truly was concerned for her well being overwhelmed her. Growing up an orphan, in and out of the foster care system, she never had the benefits of overprotective parents or family. Then later in life, when she married, her husband didn't fit the bill that a compassionate, engaged spouse should take. He never called to check in on her when she worked late, or stayed up when she walked in the door after three in the morning. He'd never asked about her day. Hell, the one time her car broke down and she called him for help, he refused to leave the couch to watch the football game. Instead, he sent his creepy, overly touchy friend to get the car started.

  She had to look away from Derk when tears threatened. Yes, he made it clear he wanted her only for sex, but he didn’t have to show an interest in her welfare, yet he did. A stranger, who didn’t know her, gave her more compassion than anyone else ever had. At least from her perspective. More than likely she was placing him on a pedestal he shouldn’t be on. Typical.

  "I work tonight," she said, picking up the sponge and cleaning coffee cups.

  "Time?"

  "Six."

  "I'll pick you up at five-thirty and again after your shift," he insisted, crossing his muscular
arms over his broad chest.

  She looked over to find him grinning down at her like he just won the biggest argument of his life.

  "Fine," she relented.

  "Good, got coffee?"

  "You're staying?" she asked, her voice an octave higher.

  "Nope, just waiting for a friend," he said.

  Why did that disappoint her?

  He leaned over and stage whispered into her ear, "Do you want me to stay?"

  Brushing her long hair off her shoulder, he placed a delicious kiss behind her ear. His lips worked down her sensitive flesh. Her body took over, and her head tilted to the side, giving him better access. That scruff did her in.

  "Even first thing after you wake you smell terrific." His voice vibrated down her neck. "Strawberries and vanilla, mmmm."

  His tongue ran from her ear down to her slightly exposed collar bone.

  "Do you want me as much as I want you, Mac?" he whispered into her ear. "Your nipples tell me, yes."

  God, she wished she'd put on a bra when she climbed out of bed.

  "I can't," she whispered, even though she exposed more of her neck. Those lips felt like silk against her hot skin. Combined with the five o'clock shadow, the sensation sent lush chills down her spine. What would it feel like to have those lips all over her naked body?

  He chuckled. "You can."

  She tried to argue. Truly she did. But that magical mouth of his expertly knew how to work her over. A slight nip of his teeth, then a hard suck of her skin had her eyes rolling into the back of her head. There was no possible way she could have stopped the groan that escaped.

  He pulled away, his hooded eyes gazing down at her. He reached up and stroked her cheek. "So beautiful."

  "Stop," she said harshly and shoved away from him. That wasn't funny. Men didn't see her as beautiful. Cute, yes. Not gorgeous, stunning, attractive.

  His face hardened. "What the fuck?"

  "Don't tease me," she yelled.

  "What the‒" His cell phone interrupted. Digging into his jeans pocket, he whipped it out. "What?" he answered short. He listened to whoever was on the other line while he shot daggers her direction. He ground out, "I'll be there in ten." He disconnected the call and cursed. "I have to go. We're not through with this conversation right here, baby. You just pissed me off." He leaned in. "Wrong fucking thing to do. I don't know what your problem is with me calling you beautiful, but if it's what I think it is, we're going to set that straight right away."

  With that, he stormed out of the apartment and slammed the door shut behind him, every loose object rattled in its wake. Mackenzie stood there flabbergasted. How was she supposed to respond to that verbal throw down?

  8

  Apparently, Mackenzie didn’t think she was beautiful. Talk about making a man’s blood boil. Derk knew immediately what her issue was when she pushed away from him. It was written all over that pretty little face. Did she realize she wore her thoughts all over her delicate features? Every reaction splashed quickly with a furrow of her brow, tightening of her lips, flash of her eyes, flush of her cheeks. He’d known her for all of two minutes and picked up on her easy tell. She’d never be good at a game of poker. Maybe he should sucker her into a game of strip poker.

  Derk stalked out to his truck, hopped inside, and gunned it toward the city. How messed up in the head was she that she didn’t see what every other man did? What the hell kind of number did her ex do on her?

  Rubbing the back of his neck, he understood if there was any chance of getting M underneath him, he was going to need to work on her self esteem issues. Which, shouldn’t be too difficult because the chick was gorgeous. All he’d need to do is pull out his smooth words, and he’d have her between his sheets in no time. Problem solved. Itch scratched. Move along.

  Once again, his fucking phone interrupted his thoughts about Mackenzie.

  “What,” he barked.

  “Homestead,” the man on the other line said then disconnected.

  In twenty minutes, Derk needed to focus on the job at hand. In the meantime, he could entertain himself in traffic with plans to get balls deep into Mackenzie.

  ***

  “Where is the fucking money?” Derk demanded menacingly.

  “I…I…I don’t know,” the twenty-five year old punk sputtered.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “You don’t know.”

  “J…J…Jim w…was s…supposed t…to bring it,” the kid said, then pissed his pants.

  Derk narrowed his eyes. Maybe he should cut the kid some slack for having lost control of his bladder functions, what with a Glock pressed to his temple, but he refused. Couldn't the thief die with some dignity?

  “Well, why don’t you call Jim,” Derk drawled. He’d been hired to recoup money stolen from one of the territory leaders. It wasn’t unusual in the mob community for the measly runners to think they could get one over on their bosses and some cash mysteriously come up missing. When that was the case, a lesson had to be taught. Usually broken limbs were favored as a scolding. Unfortunately for the kid knelt before him, he and his buddy had taken tens of thousands that didn’t belong to them.

  “O…o…okay,” the kid said and gulped.

  Handing the kid his own cell, the idiot punk took two tries to enter the correct number because his shaking fingers wouldn’t work. Derk was quickly losing patience. The moron finally entered Jim’s digits into his cell and hit send. Yep, now Derk had good ol’ Jim’s number. Dumb. Ass.

  By the slight remaining color in the punk’s face draining, it was clear his friend wasn’t about to answer the call.

  “He‒”

  Didn’t get to finish that sentence. Derk pulled the trigger, the silencer muffling the discharge sound of his weapon. He plucked his bloody cell out of the kid’s hands and wiped it down on the dead’s tee. He then took a seat in the corner recliner of the small, two-story home that needed major upkeep. Time to wait for Jimmy.

  9

  Mackenzie spent all day with her mind an utter mess. The last thing she needed in her life, when she was desperately trying to pull herself together emotionally and financially, was a hardcore, scary-ass...whatever the hell he was. Except, she found herself consumed by savory thoughts about Derk throughout the day.

  How he moved, like a lethal panther; sleek, quick, and powerful. His deep, dark voice that rumbled out of that granite hard chest. His dark eyes that turned black when he grew angry. His chiseled jaw and high cheek bones, slanted nose that looked as if it'd been broken once or twice.

  "Hey, whatcha doin'?" Kayla said, surprising her.

  She set down the romance novel she'd borrowed from her roommate. It wasn't as if she'd been concentrating on the read. Damn it. Not even a group of five extraordinarily sexy former military Special Forces agents who opened up a security firm in Texas could distract her from Derk.

  She sighed. "I have a problem."

  "You have many problems right now, girlfriend."

  "True." She chuckled nervously.

  "What type of problem?" Kayla plopped down on the sofa next to her.

  "I sort of met a guy," she said. Really, how did she classify what happened with Derk?

  "Oookaaay, how do you sort of meet a guy?" Kayla asked.

  "Well, he kissed me at the bar last night, and‒"

  "Wait! What? He kissed you? How? Details¸" her friend squeaked.

  Mackenzie explained the entire bar incident, then the walking home scene, the events at the apartment, and finally this morning.

  "Holy hell," Kayla whispered.

  "I know."

  "First, there's so much wrong with this. Second, this is so hot," she said.

  "How do you figure?" she squealed.

  "Well, that bar kiss thing. Hello, every chic-flick scene was covered in that one smooch. Hot with a capital H. Second, him coming to your rescue, again, straight out of a movie. Then showing up on your doorstep going all caveman and wanting to know why you were walking home—which I can't argue with
. You should have called me," Kayla scolded. "But here's the concern. How the hell did a man, who doesn't know you, find out so much about you so quickly? That is stalkerish."

  "Ish? You think?" Mackenzie bit back, then sunk into the cushions. "The problem is I don't feel creeped out by him."

  "Maybe you should," Kayla said, sounding unconvinced. "But I'm a firm believer in a woman's intuition. Just be careful. I have a feeling‒"

  A solid knock on the apartment door interrupted them.

  Mackenzie's head fell back. "Don't tell me that's him. He's not supposed to be here for another hour."

  "Wait, he's picking you up?"

  "He insisted that he'd take me to and from work since I don't have a car," she groaned and covered her face with her hands.

  "I can take you to work. We're scheduled the same shift," Kayla said, her tone going territorial. "I'll take care of this." Kayla stood and sashayed to the door.

  Mackenzie heard the door open but no voices carried into the living room. Kayla walked back into the room with Derk following. Her eyes were wide as she mouthed, "H-O-T."

  She couldn't argue. Dressed in a black fitted tee, dark washed blue jeans that hung low on his hips and a pair of shit kickers, the man wore badass brilliantly.

  "Mackenzie," he purred.

  Annnd she melted. Well, at least the area between her legs did. Or felt like it. Something went gooey.

  Finding her voice, she said, "I thought you were picking me up in an hour."

  "I'm early," he replied and slumped himself next to her on the sofa.

  "Kayla can take me to work."

  "Nope."

  "Derk, I don't‒"

  "M, if you tell me you don't know me, I'm gonna get real pissed." His tone stony.

  "But‒"

  "Shut. It." He leaned in, millimeters from her. "You don't get it, Mac. I want you, and we'll get to know each other on my terms, not yours. After your shift tonight, we'll get something to eat and you can ask away. Right now, I want your girlfriend to take a hike so I can have another taste of that mouth. Unless you like an audience." He raised an eyebrow. "Which I'm game. Kind of kinky. Most women don't‒"