Blood Brothers by Keith Latch Read Free Book Online Page A

him.
    After all, what was anything worth, without a
tally?
    Ordering lunch of a steak sandwich and pasta
salad, Michael ate watching CNN. Most days, he didn’t go a good
hour without getting updates from some news service or another. He
had the CNN ticker on all his computer screens, his Blackberry cell
phone dinged with the latest national and global developments and
anytime there was a TV around it was either turned to CNN, Fox
News, Headlines News or ESPN. While it was true that not very much
of the news covered on those stations had a direct impact on him,
it was always wise to know as much about the world around you as
possible.
    When he was full, he sat back in a deep
chair, propped his feet up on an ottoman and waited.
    An hour before the people from Entrepreneur
were due he took a hot shower and freshened up. Dressing in a long
sleeve black shirt and grey slacks, he wiped his Italian leather
shoes until the shine was so bright he could see his face
clearly.
    So fresh and so clean now, he stood at the
window, not risking sitting and wrinkling his clothes. The one bad
thing about the Peabody was that it lacked an impressive view.
Still, with a strong cup of cappuccino that had been waiting for
him after his shower, the view was good enough. Coffee, he liked.
Cappuccino, he liked. Not much of a drinker, there would be enough
Champagne tonight to float a battleship. He would surely nurse the
same glass for an hour, merely sipping, and then exchanging it for
a new one.
    The phone rang as he took down the last dregs
of the cooling liquid. That was the good thing about cappuccino, no
bitter last sip like with coffee. The caller was the concierge. The
journalist and reporter had arrived. After Michael told them it was
fine that they come on up, he stepped into the bathroom to give
himself one last look. Who knew, he just might end up on the
cover.

    ***
     
    The door burst inward with slightly less
force than an explosion. Banging against the wall, a framed
photograph fell to the floor, the glass shattering.
    She felt strong hands all over her. He was
pulling her closer and closer to him. This man possessed real
power, true strength, the kind not manufactured at a health club
but from living life, from taking it by the horns and breaking it
down. That, more than anything, more than his rugged good looks,
more than his money, aroused her. It aroused her a lot.
    She was backpedaling now. He was driving her
where he wanted and she allowed it without so much as mock
resistance. His lips were soft yet firm, his tongue quick and
precise and his mouth hot and hungry. She felt the backs of her
legs collide with the bed and it took just one little shove before
she collapsed on her back on the cheap mattress and scratchy
comforter.
    Carrie was sexually active but not
particularly promiscuous. Today, however, she’d let her passion
flow freely and once it had reached its pinnacle, there was no
holding back. Derek wasn’t the only one with hands and a mouth.
She’d started this, in her car. They had left the office in
separate vehicles, but after the first house she’d felt the twinges
of lust growing exponentially. After leaving his car at a gas
station, he’d ridden with her. While usually a careful driver,
she’d thrown caution to the wind and took the first step.
    Now, here they were in a motel on the
outskirts of town. He’d been a complete gentleman, going in
registering, paying for the room, everything. He’d said it was
better for her not to be seen and she couldn’t argue with that. If
Michael heard about this—
    Michael…she tried to concentrate. She needed
to leave now; it was already after three in the afternoon. But
Derek was so…persuasive.
    He was on top of her now. The blouse spilt in
his hands and Carrie couldn’t help but think of a romance novel
she’d read less than a month ago. In it, the man had ripped the
woman’s blouse completely in two. It had struck her as silly and as
something that could never