Second Shot: A Men With Wood Novel Read online

  Table of Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Second Shot

  A Men with Wood Novel

  C.M. Seabrook

  Copyright © 2017 by C.M. Seabrook

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

  Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.

  [email protected]

  COVER DESIGN: Jessica Hildreth

  COVER MODEL: Jase Dean

  PHOTOGRAPHER: LJ Photography

  EDITOR: Michelle Noland

  Contents

  Prologue

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  About the Author

  Also by C.M. Seabrook

  Prologue

  Brynne

  I hate him.

  The thought goes through my head the same second my traitorous body shivers in need from his touch.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Kane growls against my ear, his fingers tangling in my hair, his breath just as ragged as my own. His hard body is pressed to mine, trapping me against the wall in the entrance of his penthouse suite.

  “Then let me go,” I whimper, palms coming up to his chest in a pathetic attempt to push him away.

  “Is that what you want?” The words tickle my cheek, sending another wave of warmth straight to my core.

  What I want?

  What I wanted was to come here and tell him off. To tell him he had no right talking about my brother the way he did during his post-game interview today.

  He had no right to talk about Sam at all. No one does. Not when he’s not here to defend himself.

  Suicide. That’s what the police report had called it a year ago today. What the media blasted across every news channel and newspaper. What Kane hinted at tonight in his interview.

  It wasn’t just his words, but his audacity to act like he fucking cared.

  Kane Madden cares about no one but himself.

  “I hate you.” The bitter words come out in a choked sob and I see him wince slightly, but he doesn’t let go, not even when I ball my fingers into fists and hit his chest. “I hate you.”

  “I know,” he says through clenched teeth, resting his forehead against mine. “Hate me all you want if it makes you feel better.”

  His words twist inside me. “Don’t do that.”

  “What?” He cups my face, his thumbs stroking across my jaw, intense blue eyes searching mine, making my insides melt and my knees go weak.

  I hate that he can do that to me, even now, when I want nothing more than to blame him for everything.

  “Don’t act like you care.”

  He swallows hard and I see his nostrils flare, a touch of anger pulling at his lips. “Sam was my friend.”

  A vicious chuckle vibrates in my throat. “I’d hate to see how you treat your enemies.”

  Kane sighs and gives a harsh shake of his head. “I loved him like he was my fucking brother, Brynne. You know that.”

  I want to call bullshit, but I see my own pain mirrored in Kane’s eyes, and something tugs inside my chest.

  Hate. That’s the emotion I need to hang on to. Hate. Bitterness. Rage. Because if I stop feeling those things, I know I’ll be unable to resist the temptation in front of me.

  I’ve heard people say that love and hate are two sides of the same coin. But with Kane, it isn’t love; it’s lust that distorts my feelings.

  It doesn’t matter how much I despise him, my body trembles anytime he’s near. And right now, all six-foot-two inches of him is hovering over me like he’s a predator and I’m his prey.

  He’s beautiful. Which I’ve always thought was a weird thing to call a man. But Kane is.

  Being the daughter of Steve Jacobs, head coach of the Annihilators, I’ve been around hockey players all my life. But none look like Kane Madden.

  It’s not just his chiseled jaw, or the deep dimples in both of his cheeks when he gives one of his rare smiles. It’s not even that the man’s body is hard as granite, with muscles that ripple beneath naturally bronzed skin. It’s his eyes. The lightest blue around the center, darkening to a deep cobalt around the edges.

  Beautiful.

  Everyone loves him.

  Women.

  Fans.

  The media.

  Especially my father.

  I snort, and shake my head.

  Kane is the son he always wanted. A son he could be proud of. And he’d made it known to Sam every chance he got. He never understood my brother, and he definitely never accepted him.

  And now he’s gone – forever.

  “You think you’re so perfect, don’t you?” I cringe at the slight slur of my words, and when I speak again I try extra hard to pronounce each syllable carefully, but I’m pretty sure it just comes out forced. “You get everything you want. Don’t you, golden boy?”

  I curl my lips as I hiss the nickname my father gave him ten years ago when he was still playing in the juniors. A name that stuck even after he was drafted to the NHL.

  Kane “The Golden Boy” Madden.

  In the world’s eyes, Kane Madden can do no wrong. But I know better. I know exactly who he is.

  My worst enemy. The man who took my brother from me.

  Kane’s eyes narrow. “You’ve been drinking.”

  “So?” I jut my chin out at him defiantly. I don’t usually drink, but tonight I finished an entire bottle of Chardonnay before calling an Uber to come
here.

  And it feels good.

  It feels fucking terrific to finally let go.

  “You’re the last person who should be judging me.”

  “I’m not judging,” he says past a frown, taking a small step back so he’s no longer touching me.

  I feel the loss of his heat immediately, and my body protests.

  Kane rakes his hand through his thick, dark hair, and I have an urge to do the same, to feel those silky strands between my fingers as his face is buried between my thighs.

  I lick my lips, and a small, silent moan builds in my chest.

  “Brynne,” Kane says sharply, his gaze hard.

  “What?”

  “Why are you here?”

  Because I’m lonely. Because as much as I hate you, you’re the closest thing I have left to Sam. Because I feel numb all the time, but when I’m around you I finally feel again, even if it’s only anger. Because I can’t stop thinking about your mouth, your hands, your body.

  Because I need you.

  A low growl rumbles from Kane’s chest, and it’s then that I realize I’d spoken the last four words out loud.

  Shit.

  “Brynne.” My name is a deep, guttural rasp. He moves swiftly, capturing me against the wall, his hands firmly planted on either side of my head, his body barely touching mine, but I can feel the heat of his skin burning through the layers of clothes between us.

  His gaze is intense and his breath feathers on my lips, smelling of scotch. I’m not the only one who’s been drinking.

  I can see the desire burning in his gaze. He wants to kiss me, and I’m dying for a taste of his lips. I’ve fought this – him – for so damn long.

  “I hate you,” I whisper, trying to hold on to my last ounce of strength.

  “I know,” he whispers back, just as his head lowers, his hand cradling the back of my head as his lips crash against mine.

  I kiss him back.

  Rough.

  Hard.

  Unapologetic.

  “Brynne?” He says my name harshly, and I hear the question in his voice.

  What are we doing?

  I don’t want to think. I just want to feel. To take. To use. To forget for one fucking minute how messed up this world really is.

  “Don’t say anything.” Frantically, I tug at his shirt, needing to feel the warmth of his skin against mine.

  He gives a small nod as if understanding, and reaches behind his head, pulling his shirt off and letting it fall to the floor.

  Swiftly, his hands work my jeans down my hips, his thumbs locking in my panties as he forces them down my thighs, while I struggle with his belt.

  Our lips lash, and our tongues dance in a frenzy of desperate need. Years of pent-up longing boil over the surface, making everything seem more than it really is.

  My fingers roam across his skin, across every line, every hard muscle, and I whimper, lost in him.

  “Brynne.” His touch slows, and I can hear the hint of concern in his voice.

  I don’t want his concern. I want his body. Nothing else.

  “Don’t stop,” I beg, slipping my fingers into the waistline of his briefs and pushing them down until his heavy shaft springs free.

  With a satisfied grunt, his hands are on my ass, and he lifts me up, so that my legs are wrapped around his waist and his cock rests hard against my entrance. He moves so that my back is against the wall, and he leans into me, holding me up with the weight of his body as his hands skate across my skin.

  “Say it.” His voice rumbles across the sensitive skin of my neck, where his lips rest. “Say you want this, Brynne.”

  “I want this,” I moan, as he pulls back, so that the thick head of his cock nudges at my entrance.

  No. I need this.

  A cry of pleasure mixed with pain leaves me as he thrusts forward, filling me with one hard stroke.

  I gasp, feeling pleasure within the deepest part of me.

  I’m ready for him. Warm and wet. He pulls back, then slams into me again.

  My muscles tighten around him, clenching with an urgency that builds quickly.

  There’s no tenderness in his movements. He takes me hard, fast, rough.

  “Look at me, Brynne,” he growls out, but I refuse.

  Eyes clenched shut, fingers digging into his skin, I take what I need, and he uses me the same way.

  One hand grips my hips as he continues to drive into me with deep, powerful strokes. His other hand reaches behind my head, tugging at my hair, and he demands, this time more forcefully, “Look at me.”

  I blink, my breath catching when I meet the blue of his gaze.

  God, those eyes. Usually so hard and merciless, they hold a vulnerability now that makes my chest squeeze with emotions I have no right to feel.

  Not able to hold his gaze any longer, I crush my lips against his, demanding the pleasure I can feel ready to explode through every nerve ending in my body.

  Within seconds, my orgasm rips through me, a blinding ecstasy that sends flashes of white light behind my closed lids. Back arched, head tilted back, I cry out as wave after wave of pleasure rolls through me.

  Kane isn’t far behind. With one final thrust, he groans and spills himself inside of me so powerfully that I can feel the hot, heavy spurts at the back of my womb, causing my pussy to clench and spasm one more time around him.

  His forehead rests against mine, and he breathes out roughly. “Jesus, Brynne.”

  We stay like that for a long moment, our sweaty bodies tangled as our breathing slowly returns to normal.

  I don’t want to move. I want to hold on to this feeling of euphoria that’s already slipping away.

  “Fuck,” Kane mutters, still buried inside me, fingers tangled in my hair.

  Guilt.

  Regret.

  I see it in his eyes when he pulls back to look at me.

  “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  I, not we. Like I was just some spectator in one of his depraved exploits.

  Any connection I thought we had vanishes with those words.

  “Don’t worry, I’m not going to run to Daddy, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Anger tightens my voice as I push him away.

  He lets me, slowly lowering me to the ground and taking a small step backwards.

  “That’s not what I meant.” There’s a hollowness to his words that reminds me of the same empty void I carry around inside of me.

  He pulls his pants up, tucking himself back in his briefs.

  Keeping my gaze averted, I adjust my bra and shirt, then pull my jeans on, feeling the slickness of our pleasure cool and wet against my panties.

  “We should talk.” He rakes his fingers through his hair.

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Brynne. I care about you-” He reaches out to touch me, and I flinch, drawing back into myself, into the steel cage I’ve resurrected around my heart.

  “Care?” I snort. “That’s funny coming from you. Kane Madden doesn’t care about anyone but himself.”

  Brick by brick, I reconstruct the wall around my heart.

  He frowns and drops his hand, taking a step back, and has the nerve to look like I hurt his feelings.

  Bullshit.

  “What? Did you think that actually meant something to me?” I bold-faced lie. I chuckle darkly and shake my head. “You’re nothing to me. And this—”I throw my hands up between us.“—was just sex. Nothing more. That’s the way you do it, right?” I narrow my eyes, going deeper into the abyss of resentment. “All those one-night stands you’re so famous for. You know how this works better than me. Why try and complicate it with talking?”

  His lips tug down further, and I see something cross his expression – pain. The kind of pain that breaks a person. Shatters them from the inside until they’re completely numb.

  Good. Let him feel it in every cell of his body.

  I let the thought grow, let it fester, because I want him to hurt. I wa
nt to be the one to pierce through his cold, callous heart and make him feel the same brokenness that he’s left me with.

  When I turn to leave, I half expect, half hope he’ll try and stop me.

  He doesn’t.

  I shut the door behind me, my heart beating wildly in my throat, and the tears I’ve been holding back finally fall free across my cheeks.

  I focus on why I came here tonight – I hate Kane Madden.

  Chapter 1

  One Year Later

  Kane

  “You all right, old man?” Austin Branson chuckles as he unlaces his skates on the bench beside me. Dark blonde hair falls over his eyes before he does his signature head-flip thing that all the girls go ape-shit over.

  The kid looks like he should be in a boy-band, not the starting forward for one of the best teams in the NHL.

  I grunt and roll my shoulder, wincing when I hear the pop and crackle of my joints. I’m only eight years older than the kid, but today my body feels ancient and beaten down.

  “You’d be feeling some pain, too, if you didn’t have me protecting your ass out there.” Today was only a practice, but even with our own guys, Coach has me watching the kid’s back.

  At twenty, he’s the youngest starter on the team, and a damn good player. But there’s something wild, almost volatile underneath his cocky playfulness. He reminds me a little too much of myself at his age. Which means one thing – trouble.

  Austin grins at me. “You coming to the Landing Strip tonight?”

  “No.” He’s referring to the team’s preferred strip club. The kid isn’t even old enough to be in the damn place, but playing for the Annihilators has its perks. Free alcohol and easy women are just a couple.