Hardcore (Filth Book 3)

A decent man would have let her go after our one-night stand, but I’m not decent. Three years ago, Kennedy Mclane saw the real me after we had sex. She saw the ruthless attorney who gets clients—yes, even the guilty ones—off on technicalities. She glimpsed my heart of stone and ran in the other direction, because I’m everything she shouldn’t want.
For three long years, I’ve waited for my good girl to turn bad. ’Cause when she does, it won’t matter if she’s ready for me, or if she can take it. Hard. We have unfinished business, and I’ve been more than fair. She'll probably hate me by the end of all this. But I don't care anymore. I’m going to get her out of my system, one way or another.**From the AuthorI ball my hands and glare down at her. "Why were you at my father's funeral? Why didn't you say anything to me about it?" She pulls a hand through her hair. "I don't know what we are, Duke. I've never known, but I wanted to be there for you. You didn't need--no, you didn't want anyone to show you a shred of sympathy. You made that perfectly clear to everyone who tried to talk to you that day. So I..." Her eyes are wide when she whispers, "Have you cried yet? Have you once grieved for your father?" When I think of my father being gone and never seeing him again there's nothing but a black pit. Some days there's anger. Too many there's indifference. Do I want to feel something other than the bleak cold? I don't know. I can't...I won't tell her that. "You can't miss something you've never had, and I've never had a father." "All the more reason to grieve." My temper slips through my fingers. "What do you want from me, Kennedy? To curl into the fetal position? To cry over the fact my father didn't hug me enough? No. Hug me, period. Apologize to my cousin for making him eat crow? What? What the fuck do you want?" "For you to stop lying to yourself." Her tone is soft, warm and my stomach knots at the tenderness she's showing me. Fucking, Kennedy. I press my finger nails into my palms to court pain, to feel anything but the brush of her words. Except she keeps talking. "Stop believing you're this heartless man, but you can't let go of that. You might actually get hurt if you let your guard down for one second." Huh. You really do see red when you're enraged. The anger works its way down from my vision and squeezes my throat. "Like I did three years ago?"  The words barely get above a whisper. She straightens away from me like I've hit her. "What?" I'm not fucking repeating myself. "I have to go back to work." She grabs my tie. "Say it." "How about 'fuck this?'" I offer instead. "Take me or leave me. I'm going on a trip this weekend. Camping. You're welcome to come. Be at my house at six in the morning Saturday. If you're not there...whatever." She wraps her hand around my tie and tugs me closer. "You've never let your guard down with me."
















"Neither have you." I release the knot on my tie and leave her with it.