Hard to Hold

Hard to Hold
is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

A Loveswept Ebook Original

Copyright © 2016 by Colleen Bosler

Excerpt from
Hard to Handle
by Katie Rose copyright © 2016 by Colleen Bosler

All rights reserved.

Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

L
OVESWEPT
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colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book
Hard to Handle
by Katie Rose. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

ebook ISBN 9781101968772

Cover design: Lynn Andreozzi

Cover photograph: Gabriel Georgescu/Shutterstock

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ep

“So how does it feel to be home?”

Logan Hart stretched out his legs in front of him and reached for his beer with one hand, using the other to smooth back a recalcitrant blond curl from his forehead. It was Friday night happy hour, and the noise level in PJ Whelihan's Pub seemed to have gone up a few decibels, but he still managed to understand his teammate's question.

“Home in the U.S.? New Jersey? Or Cherry Hill?” He gave Sergio Bragazzi a laconic grin even as he gestured to the waitress for another round.

Logan got her attention immediately. At twenty-seven years old, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, it was impossible to miss his ripped body, megawatt smile, and bulging biceps. And as a Major League Soccer player with the New Jersey Hurricanes, his chiseled features would have given David Beckham a run for his money, and his crystal blue eyes were the downfall of more than one female.

But even more appealing than that was the air of detachment Logan Hart naturally assumed, as if observing the scene around him from a distance without being personally involved. It was a quality that served him well on the field, enabling him to keep a cool head regardless of what went on around him.

And in life.

“It was tough leaving Italy,” he admitted. “Beautiful scenery, fantastic food, gorgeous women…Not that we don't have that here. The women, I mean.” He sent the waitress an appreciative glance as she put the drinks on the table and she gave him a flirty smile in return.

“The girls in Milan are stunning,” Sergio agreed, his gaze following the waitress, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was checking out her ass. “It's been a long time since I've been there, but I remember. You were gone what, two or three years?”

“This time.” Logan hid a shudder as his teammate shoved a mountain of chips into his mouth and washed them down with the beer. “The Hurricanes loaned me to Italy as part of my training last season. But when I was a kid, my dad insisted I learn in Europe if I wanted to play soccer, so I lived there for a few years.”

“Did you get homesick?”

“Yeah,” Logan admitted. “It's funny the things you miss. TV. Nachos. The NFL. When it got bad, I would call my kid sister, Jessica, or watch some bullshit reruns on my TV just to feel more at home. You wind up thinking about everything here, and everybody. Except you.” He delivered a big grin.

“Pussy,” Sergio shot back, returning the smile. “Although our scoring average went way down while you were away, so I guess you are good for something.”

They continued to banter back and forth, trading insults and indulging in beer and bar food. Neither of them noticed a young woman pushing her way through the crowd, carrying an infant in a car seat on her arm like an oversize purse. She seemed to home in on the soccer players as if by radar, narrowly missing a waitress carting a tray full of platters.

When she reached their table, she stopped as if having arrived at her destination, and her eyes fell on Logan.

“Logan Hart. It's been a long time.”

Logan looked up at the female before him, his lazy glance taking in her too-tight jeans, halter top, and CFM heels, all of which were distinctly at odds with the baby seat. Her long blond hair was pulled back into a saucy ponytail, and big silver hoops danced on her ears. She wore entirely too much makeup, and there was a hardness about her that belied her youth.

“Yeah?” There was something vaguely familiar about this girl, a not-so-distant memory that niggled in his mind…and then it came to him.

Last spring. Winter break. Just before he went back to Europe.

She'd been a brunette then; the hair had momentarily thrown him. They'd met at a bar after practice when the other guys had gone home. And although casual sex wasn't his thing, he'd been lonely and had wanted the comfort that only the feel of a woman beneath him could bring. He knew he was going away again, to a foreign country where he always felt out of place…

“Dez?” His brows lifted as the fluid memory solidified. Backseat of his Chevy. Hot, wet, satisfying sex. Desiree's shirt rolled up to her neck and her skirt to her waist…

“Glad to see you remember me. That makes things easier.” There was an edge to her voice, as if he'd done something wrong. Sergio shot him a look and he shrugged as if to say,
What the fuck?

As if in response, she plopped the plastic baby seat on the center of the table between the wings and the nachos. Inside he caught a glimpse of a slumbering infant clad in a pink romper with little hearts on it. Her little freckled nose wrinkled and a rosebud mouth pursed as she dreamed.

“Her name is Cinnamon. You know, like the song?”

“Cinnamon Girl.” He heard the tune in his head as he peered curiously at the baby. He was still puzzled, though a buzzing was beginning to start deep inside his brain. This baby looked to be about three months old, and there was something around the eyes…

“And?” Logan looked directly at the woman facing him, her hands on her hips.

“I thought soccer guys weren't stupid like most athletes,” she sneered. “I guess I have to spell it out for you. She's yours.”

A pregnant pause followed her words. Anger rushed through Logan, but he didn't betray his emotions with even a tic in his jaw. Instead, he took a long pull of his beer, set it down away from the baby, and returned her stare.

“No. Fucking. Way.”

Her smile was triumphant as she pulled a thick envelope out of her purse and tossed it in his direction. “I figured you'd try this shit, so I came prepared. It's a paternity suit.”

Logan shoved the envelope away from him unopened, took another sip of beer, and then glanced once more at the baby. “There's no way in hell she's mine,” he continued grimly. “First of all, I use protection. Always.”

“Think again.” Her dark eyes flashed. “My doctor told me that condoms are only eighty-five-percent effective. I guess you can say we're the lucky fifteen.”

“This means nothing,” he said, indicating the envelope before him. “There's been no DNA test. You could point to any guy and say that.”

“The judge will order one if you contest,” she snapped.

She had an answer for everything
.

He contemplated the baby once more even as Sergio got up, mumbling something about getting the pitcher refilled. Damned if she wasn't cute, with a thatch of red hair springing from her head as she yawned, oblivious to the drama.

A redhead.
Just like his sister, Jessica
.

And although he didn't believe a word of this, he sort of felt sorry for the child, with a mother like Desiree.

“So what is it you want?” He waited for the demand for support, having no doubt that this woman had Googled him when she found herself pregnant. She probably assumed he was pulling down millions, and could easily afford to throw a few bucks her way.

But her next words stunned him.

“I'm leaving her with you. I've taken care of her up until now, but it's not working out. I have a job, I can't afford a sitter, and a guy like you has a lot more resources than me. She's all yours.”

Sergio returned just in time to hear the last part. The glass pitcher of beer he carried went crashing to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.

Logan shot him a look. So his normally glib buddy was dumbstruck? Imagine how he was fucking feeling. This woman he barely remembered was talking about dumping a baby on him!

His gaze returned to Desiree. “If this is some kind of joke, I'm not laughing.”

“It's not. I can't take care of her, and you can. It's that simple.”

He was beginning to realize she meant it. Was she crazy? What kind of woman did something like this? Panic was beginning to replace incredulity. How the hell could he take care of an infant? He didn't know the first thing about babies.

Taking a deep breath, he decided to try logic.

“In case you haven't heard, I am a pro soccer player. I travel all over the fucking country to play, week in and week out. Even if she is mine, I'm in no position to take her on. So you've had your good time at my expense. I suggest you leave before I get pissed.”

But Desiree seemed prepared for this also and unloaded a quilted bag that had been slung over her shoulder. “I've written down all of the instructions. How often she eats, her doctor's phone number, everything you need. There's some bottles of formula inside, along with some diapers and clothes. The hospital gave me a number for advice or questions if you need it. Goodbye, Logan.”

There was something inscrutable in her eyes as she glanced one last time at her daughter. Regret? But to his astonished disbelief, she turned on her heel and started for the door.

Logan leaped out of his seat and went after her, weaving his way through the dozens of families who came in for the drinks and the kid-friendly food.

But when he charged outside and looked frantically around the parking lot, he didn't see Desiree anywhere. A few seconds later, he heard the screech of a car backing out of the lot, and a red Cruze whipped past him toward the highway.

Fuck!
Logan saw her at the last possible moment. At least he had the presence of mind to pull out his phone and click a picture of the license plate.

She was driving a Chevy, of course.