Shameless

She’s everything he never wanted
…

Haunted by a tragic accident twenty years ago, John Everest knows he doesn’t deserve a family of his own, so he spends his days building the most successful fitness franchise in Seattle… and his nights alone. But that all changes when Samantha Rossi storms back into his life.

Happily single, Samantha feels there are only two types of men in this world: those who are good for nothing and those who are good for one thing. Now she needs that one thing desperately, because she wants a baby. John, a man from her past, is the perfect donor. He doesn’t want children. He doesn’t want a wife. He just wants her body. She can live with that.

John agrees to Samantha’s no-strings-attached proposal, never expecting to fall for the fiery beauty he’d wronged so many years ago. It’ll take more than a shameless proposal to overcome their tragic past, but with a little luck and forgiveness, anything is possible.

SHAMELESS

by Rebecca J. Clark

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.

Shameless

Electronic Edition

COPYRIGHT © 2012 Rebecca J. Clark

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

Contact Information: [email protected]

Cover Art by Rebecca J. Clark and Rachel Conner

Copy Edited by Jennifer Gracen

Formatted by LK E-Book Formatting

Published in the United States of America

Dedication

To my beautiful sisters:

Jennifer, for inspiring me to be more generous, kind, and gracious.

Laurie, for motivating me to work harder, step out of my comfort zone, and follow my dreams.

Thank you both for believing in me. I love you.

Prologue

January—20 years ago

Someone should have noticed the stop sign.

They hung out the windows of the stolen Mercury, screaming along with the Scorpions into the cold night air. One of the boys, Carlos, swung a bat at each passing mailbox. His average was two for ten. If he hadn’t pounded back ten brewskis in the past hour, he’d have connected with more.

This highway was a teenage boy’s dream. Northeast of Seattle, sparsely populated without a single traffic light, mile upon mile of straight, flat road stretched out like a carrot on a string. Temptation at her finest. Carlos swore he’d gotten his car to 120 out here. Johnny Everest knew his friend was full of shit. Everyone knew a piece-a-crap Vega, even one with an overhauled V-6, would shimmy and shake before it hit eighty.

Johnny glanced out the open backseat window, the wind blowing his stringy blond hair onto his face. Fence line surrounding the passing farmland whizzed by in a ghostly blue blur in the darkness. It should be him driving. It had been his idea to swipe the car.

He shoved a hand into his jeans pocket and retrieved a crushed pack of Marlboros. He shook one out and lit it. Inhaling, he pictured his parents’ reaction were they to see him right now — a cigarette in one hand and a half-empty beer in the other. They wouldn’t be surprised. His father had low expectations of him. Johnny couldn’t blame him. He was a failure. Always had been, always would be. At fourteen years old, he wasn’t good at much of anything. Actually… that statement wasn’t quite accurate. He wasn’t good at being good. But he was damn good at being bad.

Tonight was no exception. He blew a stream of smoke out the window and the wind blew it right back in his face. Four of them were piled into the stolen Mercury, five if you counted the girl passed out on the backseat floor. Except for her, it was the same old gang. Johnny couldn’t really call them his friends. A person should like his friends. He didn’t particularly give a rat’s pink ass about any of them. He was sure they returned the lack of affection. But they understood each other. Watched each others’ backs.

He chugged his beer and chucked the can. “I’m empty.”

Dennis tossed back a can from the front seat. Van Halen blared from the radio. Johnny popped the top and took a long swig. He made a face at the foul taste. “What is this? Piss?” He glanced at the Olympia beer can in his hand. “What idiot bought this shit?”

“Don’t look at me,” Dennis said. He motioned to Carlos, who still worked on his batting average. “Carlos swiped it from his neighbor’s back porch. It might taste like piss, but it’s free.”

Johnny grabbed his crotch. “I can get free piss any day of the week.” He drained the can and crumpled it in his fist, then tossed it out the window. “We got any more Schmidt?”

Dennis rooted around at his feet and snagged a can. “It’s the last one.”

“I see my name on it.” Johnny reached for it.

Dennis yanked it away. “No way, man. This one’s mine. You think I like drinkin’ piss any more’n you do?”

Johnny stretched his arm over back of the front seat and made a fist. “Rock, scissors, paper.” He picked rock, Dennis chose scissors, Johnny won. He always won that game.

He leaned back in his seat with his beer. He had no foot room with that girl taking up all the floor space. Her head rested on his shoe. He wiggled his foot. She didn’t budge. Johnny shoved at Dennis’ shoulder. “Shouldn’t she be awake by now?”

Dennis shrugged as Carlos came away from his little game out the window.

“Do you think she’s okay?” Johnny asked.

Carlos lifted the hem of the girl’s shirt and peeked under. “Hell yeah, she’s okay. Take a look at them titties!” He pumped his arms at his sides. The guys had been making lewd comments about her since Morris dumped her unconscious form into the car after that college party they’d crashed at the old airstrip.

“Leave her alone,” Johnny commanded.

“Why should we leave her alone?” Carlos asked. “We ain’t hurtin’ nothin’. Look, she don’t even know what’s going on.” To prove his point, he dribbled beer onto the girl’s pale face, which was mostly hidden beneath a fan of dark brown hair. She didn’t move. “See?”

As if that made everything all right, Johnny thought. Asshole. “Cut it out, Carlos.” Johnny stared at the girl. “Does anybody know her name? Morris? You’re the one who picked her up.”

Morris glanced over his shoulder, causing the car to swerve over the center line. “Sammy Jo.” He paused. “I think.” Morris shot Johnny a hard glance through the rearview mirror. “I’m trusting you to keep an eye on my bitch. I want everything to remain in working order, ya know?”

Hiding his concern, Johnny gave a cool nod. Morris was 22 years old and the scariest dude he’d ever met. His eyes never showed any emotion, kind of like Freddy Krueger. Real freaky. He’d basically kidnapped the girl from that party. She’d been sitting next to the keg with some girlfriends. Johnny had noticed her the second they’d arrived. She looked old, maybe nineteen or twenty. She had long dark hair with eyes to match. Killer body in her Calvin Klein jeans. Major fox. She, of course, hadn’t spared him a glance. No attractive girl ever did. What girl in her right mind would be attracted to a scrawny, young shit like him when a hulk like Morris was around? The guy might be a king-sized prick, but the chicks loved him.

Johnny glanced at the girl again. She hadn’t seemed impressed. Morris had been scamming on her big time, but she’d acted more annoyed than interested. At least three times, Morris had refilled her drink when she wasn’t looking. Johnny didn’t like the thoughts that sprung to mind. Morris hadn’t been able to have her while she was sober and conscious, but now… Johnny swallowed hard. He knew Morris’ reputation. The girl wouldn’t have a prayer. She’d wake up and have no idea where the hell she was or who the hell she was with. He shivered in spite of the warm summer night.

What the hell was he doing hanging around a bunch of losers like this? It takes one to know one.

“Yo, Morris!” Carlos called out. “Pull over. I gotta take a leak.”

Dennis nodded. “Yeah, I gotta piss, too.”

Morris shook his head. “You kidding? I ain’t stopping anywhere until we ditch this car. You shitheads’ll have to hold it.”

Carlos rolled down his window the rest of the way. “Hell if I’m gonna hold it. Watch this.” He stuck his upper body out the window and unzipped his fly. He pulled his dick out of his pants and aimed it at the fence line.

While everyone else was busy watching Carlos pee, Johnny bent over the girl at his feet. The faint scent of roses reached his nose. He was surprised to see her eyes open. They slammed shut, but not before he’d seen her fear.

“Hey,” he whispered, poking her shoulder. “Sammy Jo?”

She didn’t respond.

“I know you’re awake.”

Still no response.

“I won’t hurt you.”

“Yeah, and the Pope ain’t Catholic,” she muttered, her voice thick from the alcohol.

He had to grin at her spunk. He glanced at the other guys to make sure they weren’t paying attention. They weren’t. Dennis had joined Carlos in spraying the landscape with a golden shower. “Are you okay?”

“Peachy.”

He wondered if she’d been unconscious when Carlos had looked up her shirt. He hoped so. “You’re not hurt?”

“No.” Anger replaced most of the fear in her eyes. “Where are you jerks taking me?”

“This was Morris’ idea — the driver. I don’t know what he has in mind,” Johnny lied. He knew exactly what Morris had in mind.

The girl started to sit up and he pushed her back down. “Stay put, okay? You’re probably better off with them not knowing you’re awake. When we stop, I’ll figure something out.” At least, he hoped he would.

He saw the argument in her eyes, but finally she nodded. She obviously didn’t trust him. Why should she?

“Yo! Pendejo!” Carlos roared from his stance out the window. “You pissed all over me!” He ducked inside the car. “Dennis, you dickweed, you pissed all over me!”

Johnny straightened. He and Morris howled with laughter as Dennis sat back down. “You shouldna been hanging so far out,” Dennis said with a nonchalant shrug of bony shoulders under a red T-shirt.

“If you had a bigger dick,” Johnny told Dennis, “you’da had better range.” Everyone except for Dennis whooped. Morris swiveled around and high-fived Johnny.

No one saw the stop sign.

Johnny’s last conscious memories were the flash of a white station wagon in the intersection ahead, a glimpse of two, small faces in the window right before impact, then an ear-splitting explosion of metal and glass.

Johnny sat on the cot with his back against the wall, knees folded to his chest. Thank God they’d put him in a cell alone. He had no desire to be some loser con’s butt boy. With the way his head pounded and how his body ached like one giant bruise, he doubted he’d be able to defend himself.