Bad Boy's Baby (7 page)

His rippling muscle pressed against me, and I felt petite and fragile within the shadow of his bulk. I gasped, but that gave him the opportunity to capture my kiss and take it for his own.

My mind paralyzed. My heart would crack my ribcage.

And my body?

My body exploded into shivers. Every tremble, every stolen shudder raked over my form and twisted within my core. Within seconds I panted, feasting against the dragging nibble of his lips. Heat and sin and every naughty and terribly dangerous feeling I ever hid from Jack Carson flooded through me.

Kissing him wasn’t just a mistake…it was a complete surrender to a man who pocketed panties and broke hearts. He treated passion like it was another game to play and girls were a literal score.

And I wanted more than a kiss.

His tongue swirled over mine.

His hands grasped my hips.

And a hardness pressed into my leg—raging, fierce, and demanding.

He didn’t get to take those girls home last night, and every ounce of his sexual frustration pent up inside him. It turned him into a wicked beast. I was glad he didn’t have his fun with them.

Not because I worried about his reputation.

Not because of the impending disaster from his accident and the league.

Because that meant he kissed me instead.

This was bad. I meant to pull away, but my fingers only grasped his tighter.

I was good at my job, but I didn’t have the talent to lie and pretend like I hadn’t felt that
chemistry
he demanded.

Our kiss broke as my breath escaped in a timid gasp. Jack teased with a knowing, terrible glance.

Jack pulled away, trading a kiss for his smile. “Go out with me tomorrow night.”

“Out?”

“Easiest way to prove we’re a couple is if we are seen together.” He retreated, tensed and loaded, as though he faced an entire charging defensive line instead of wild-eyed me. “You and me. Out on the town. I’ll take you to a club.”

“I—” I didn’t dance. I couldn’t talk now either, which meant I couldn’t call him back as he returned to the field. “We can’t just do your normal hangout. You have to prove you’ve changed.”

He hesitated, thinking it over, his eyes brightening as he accepted the challenge.

“Okay. Then tomorrow, you’re gonna have the night of your life. Fancy food. Music. Fun.” He met my gaze, and I wished I had the ability to catch my breath after his kiss. “Be ready. You’ll love the Jack Carson experience.”

Yeah. I probably would.

And that was exactly what I feared.

Chapter Four - Jack

I didn’t think a fake relationship would be hard. Pick Leah up at seven. Let the media see me playing the gentleman. Make sure she didn’t storm out on me during dinner.

Except I forgot the most important thing.

Jesus
fuck
, this woman was absolutely gorgeous.

Leah had hips that shimmied, curves that bumped, tits that plumped, and eyes that would scold a man for ogling the most beautiful creature in the world.

She gave me the address to her apartment, and I offered to pick her up. Originally, I meant to take her out and let the public know I was spoken for. After I took her home, I’d planned to meet up with Bryon and the guys. They had a bead on a new bar stocked with craft beers and co-eds.

Not anymore. Bryon and his sluts be damned. One look at Leah and the only thing I wanted was
her
.

With me at dinner.

Coming home with me.

Sleeping in my bed.

Waking inside of her.

Worst part was, I knew it’d
never
fucking happen.

I thought I’d be cute and buy her a single red rose. The flower crushed in my fist when she opened the door, and I was just lucky my jaw hadn’t unhinged like some teenage idiot.

“Jack.” She clutched a little purse, matching the black dress clinging to her perfectly mocha skin. A crimson sash draped over her arms, a shimmering silk that hugged where I longed to touch. “You’re late.”

And we’d be late for dinner too if my cock didn’t settle the fuck down. I hardened immediately, studying her curves. Everything—her exotic complexion, her delicate ebony curls, the tips of her French tipped toenails—was meant to turn my cock into cement. Great. Even my most faithful partner-in-crime was punishing me for agreeing to this
fake
relationship.

I just wanted to use her as a momentary distraction to the league. Leah thought otherwise. I had nearly split when she dropped the ground rules. No partying. No girls. Nothing
fun
. I would have taken my chances with the league had it not been for her kiss.

A kiss that nearly had me come right there in the tunnel.

Hell if I could focus on the rest of practice. And I was pretty sure I’d fucked up the speech Leah forwarded to me, some sort of remark on how sorry I was for my behavior and the car crash or something. It was all bullshit anyway. What happened off the field
should
have been my business. And yet, here I was. Spending thousands of dollars on a publicist to make me appear like a man who wouldn’t rip off her crimson sash, lift that little black dress, and plow my way to a better reputation.

“Ready to go?” I found my tongue somewhere in my dried mouth. Apparently Leah found my head somewhere up my own ass.

“If you aren’t going to take this seriously, I won’t help you.”

She didn’t invite me in. The door slammed behind her and she walked to the elevator without me.

How did I piss her off? I
just
got to her apartment.

“What the hell did I do now?” I asked.

Leah shook her head. The dress was low cut and everything else good and holy in this world shimmied too. “You didn’t even
try
.”

“Try
what
?”

“The apology?” She whipped around, and her hair caressed her cheek. I tried to focus on her scowl, but, God…even mad she was beautiful. “I spent an hour crafting you
five
sentences to express your remorse for what happened, and you couldn’t even make it sound genuine?”

What did I do wrong? “I read what you gave me.”

“Exactly. You read it like a PR person gave you a statement.”

“Do you want me to take acting classes now? I’m a football player, not Chris Pratt.”

“Yeah, as if I could get that lucky.”

“Fine…” I shrugged. “I’ll do better next time.”

That pissed her off more. “Jack, there better not be a next time. That was your last public apology. No one will listen to you
next time
.”

Touché.

The elevator delivered us to the lobby. She brushed a cautious hand over her dress, like she didn’t trust that the skirt wouldn’t ride up and show a scandalous amount of leg. I was praying it would.

“Why are we so formal?” she asked.

I was a jock, but even I appreciated a good meal. “I’m taking you to
Le Meilleur
.”

She stiffened, staring at me with widening eyes. “That’s the best restaurant in the city.”

I smirked, offering her my elbow as we walked to my car. “Now
that
sounded genuine.”

I helped her into the Porsche, hating the brand new car because it wasn’t my classic Camaro. Leah liked it. She stared at the interior, the navigation system, the luxury. She was probably a girl who didn’t mind a little class.

Well, there was nothing classier than getting fucked in the back seat of a sports car that cost more than her yearly salary, but Leah didn’t seem the type. That didn’t stop me from imagining it. Wanting it. I adjusted my trousers as my dick swelled thinking about her skirt riding up and my cock sliding in.

Let’s see her write a spin piece on the best sex of her goddamned life.

The restaurant needed reservations a month ahead of time. I called two hours before we arrived, and a private table waited for the Rivets’ star near the dance floor. It was a perfectly romantic location for a man taking his
longterm
girlfriend on a date. Low lights, expensive food, and insufferable waiters. Every girl’s dream before slipping into bed with me.

But Leah didn’t seem the bed slipping type.

She folded her napkin neatly in her lap, sipped her wine, and looked positively humbled that I would bring her somewhere nice.

“Thinking you were getting a strip club breakfast buffet?” I asked.

She took a deep breath, meeting my gaze with those big, mocha eyes, as rich as the chocolate complexion of her skin. She turned my cock to stone, and she didn’t have a fucking clue.

“I didn’t know what to expect.” At least she was honest. Her voice shifted, taking on that professional, impersonal tone. “I’ve posted on social media about tonight. I have boxed seats for a baseball game and an event with one of the Rivets’ charities we can attend. But, for now? We should probably take a selfie together a little later, to pass around a picture of you that doesn’t include three drunken women and a totaled car.”

“Thanks.”

Her hands trembled. “I don’t know how to handle this from here. How to…make it seem like we’re an actual couple.”

Fucking her would convince me. “We’ll start by ordering an appetizer. I think a salad after that.” I leaned closer, voice low. “Then we’ll get real crazy and grab and entre.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.” I called over the waiter. “People eat on dates. You and I will eat on our date.”

I tucked a hundred dollar bill in the waiter’s suit. Leah hissed at me. I ignored her.

“Make sure the lady’s wine glass doesn’t go empty tonight.” I pointed to a variety of foods on the menu—not like I could read the French anyway. “That’ll be good for appetizers.”

The waiter nodded and scurried to the kitchen. Leah glared.

“
Please
.
Thank you. You’re welcome
. Ever hear of those words?” She couldn’t look angry sipping a glass of hundred dollar wine. “You have to be courteous, Jack. You’re a public figure.”

Since when did throwing a ball and dodging rabid linebackers mean I was a
public figure
? “Hey, I’m being a perfect fucking gentleman while you bill me for taking you out on the town.”

“You make me sound like an escort.”

“I wouldn’t know.” I winked. “Never needed one.”

Leah acted like she’d either let her guard down or dump the wine over my head. I liked the indecision. Made her feisty.

“I don’t understand you,” she said. “You’re the star quarterback of a professional football team. You have the money and the power and the opportunity to become the best of all time. Not
one of the best
, but
the best
. Why would you throw it away for a threesome with questionable women?”

“You’re missing the big picture. It would have been a
foursome
.”

“Oh, whatever.” She crossed her arms.

“Give me my moment of glory.”

“Was that what it was? Glory?”

“It was
fun
, Kiss. You know. What people do when they yank the sticks out of their asses?”

“I can have fun.” The shawl covering her bare shoulders said otherwise. “But I also know when it’s time to be responsible. You have to plan for your future.” She glanced at me, eyes big and beautiful and more distracting than the swell of her tits. “Have you thought about your future at all?”

“I have a plan for my future.” Two, if I counted getting her in bed. “Winning.”

“Winning?”

“Gotta win the first game. Gotta win the next. Gotta win the playoffs. Gotta win the championship.”

She waited, as if I had more to say. “That’s…it? That’s your goal in life?”

“Yeah.”

“What happens when you get the championship?”

That was the kind of dirty talk that got me harder than a lucky girl calling me
Daddy
. “You think I’ll win it this year?”

“Yes…You’re Jack Carson.” She picked at a piece of bread. “Of course you will.”

“I didn’t know you were that confident in me.”

She perked an eyebrow as she tasted the freshly baked bread. “You never asked what I thought, just kept banging random women on your way to
glory
.”

“What could have been.”

“I can’t imagine a foursome being a life goal.”

What was with her? “I don’t have any other goals. I told you. I want my championship ring.”

“That’s it?”

“Yes.” I frowned. “Why? What the hell are you planning?”

She sucked in a deep breath and downed the rest of her wine. “I planned to be engaged while in college at twenty years old. I wanted my first job at twenty-two. Married by twenty-three. First child by twenty-five. Six figure salary by twenty-seven. Second child by twenty-eight. Vacation in Paris by thirty. Rome by thirty-one. Vienna at thirty-two. I’d have my last child when I was thirty-three. That’s as far as I’ve planned for now since I’m certain the best school districts will change by the time I’m ready to sell my starter home and move into a thirty-year house.”

Holy fuck, she was a freak.

Who the hell choreographed their life like that? She raised her chin, looking proud and beautiful and as if she expected me to challenge her. She was right.

“Aren’t you my age?” I asked. “Twenty-four?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t look pregnant. She didn’t have a ring on her finger. I could read more than blitzes.

“So what happened?” I laughed. “Where’s the lucky man you’ve shackled to a life of no surprises?”

“Sleeping with my best friend.”

Shit. I didn’t expect her to be so honest. Neither did she. She couldn’t hide the shame and picked at the bread again.

Who was stupid enough to cheat on her?

“What a prick,” I said.

She shrugged. The shawl fell from her shoulder. She didn’t fix it. “Ironically, his wasn’t that impressive.”

“Well, that’s the real tragedy.”

Her wine refilled. She drank half right away. “It did the job before it wandered. I think.”

“You
think
?”

Leah caught herself, sighing as I stared in confusion. “That was just a joke.”