Bad Boy's Revenge: A Small-Town Romantic Suspense (39 page)

A night of continuous pleasure.

A cock buried inside a clenching, dripping, begging pussy.

Watching as Leah came and came and came against me.

Fuck, why the hell did I work my entire life for a championship when the only goddamned thing I wanted was to give this woman the ultimate delight of my tongue flicking against her clit?

“Jack…” Her fingers ran through her hair, gripped the cement, reached for me. Nothing would ease that need in her. One orgasm or a hundred, it wouldn’t matter when the girl wanted to be fucked and fucked hard. “I’m…
I’m
…”

She didn’t have to say it. I felt it. The tensing of her body, the clenching of that perfect pussy over my tongue. She whispered my name, but it sounded louder in my head than when they announced me entering the stadium on game day.

Leah arched and bucked and exploded for me, on me, because of me, and nothing in my life looked more beautiful than that woman enjoying the gift I gave her.

She sunk to the cement, resting against the warmed concrete and letting her legs fall wide.

She was mine.

“Jack, God...”

Wasn’t the first time I was compared to a deity. Wouldn’t be the last either.

Enough of this bullshit. I had no contract extension. Articles were going to run labeling me some sort of sexual predator.

Fuck it.

Why not get one good thing tonight?

I hauled myself out of the pool, stopping only to gather Leah in my arms. I was soaking wet, and she murmured about her clothes, but they wouldn’t stay on her long enough to matter.

I busted through my living room, tracking water over the carpet. I’d rip it up and buy a new one, I didn’t care. Leah whispered a protest. Hell no. I wasn’t letting her cool off.

I stopped where we were, lifted her in my arms, and took another kiss—deep and hot and promising so much more than a simple orgasm delivered poolside.

Leah moaned, gripping me tight.

I was in.

I had her.

I steadied her over my couch. The TV blasted loud. The remote hid somewhere, fuck if I knew. I’d ignore it…

…But the sports channel I watched said my name.

Like a moth to the goddamned bug zapper, I was drawn to my own destruction.

“…No amount of talent is worth it. Jack Carson would be one-hundred million dollars’ worth of trouble.”

Sons of bitches. I knew the anchor—Ainsley Ruport, some silver-haired douchebag who never stepped onto a field but thought he could play quarterback better than me. I threatened a lot of reporters. Only one deserved the punch, and I was pissed I never got the chance to crush his nose in.

Leah’s tongue flicked over mine. I tried to focus on her, but the insults kept coming.

“…
With the new morality and behavioral clauses in contracts, no team will risk a fine for a player who refuses to put the team first…”

My fingers tightened on Leah. A photo from the championship game appeared on the screen—the confetti dropping over the podium as quarterback Tim Morgan hoisted the trophy that should have been mine.

“
Morgan’s got a solid head on his shoulders, and he should be expecting a significant bonus and extension to his contract
.”

Bullshit. Tim Morgan had more whores in his closet than skeletons. No way that bastard was the pretty boy favorite now?

The picture changed. He held the trophy
and
his year old daughter on the podium. Christ only knew who he knocked up, but there he was. Brandishing the kid. Changing hearts and minds.

The press loved the baby more than the trophy.

“
…This new father really turned his life around and made strides to mature and represent his team…”

What the hell did being a father have to do with being a good quarterback?

Fucking
nothing
.

But they coo’ed over the goddamned baby pictures as if the kid were the starting quarterback instead of Tim.

The idea crashed into my head, so sudden and fucking
perfect
I dropped Leah on the couch only to turn the volume up.

“Jack?” Leah straightened her skirt, confused.

I didn’t take my eyes from the TV, my grin growing by the second.

“I just solved our PR problem, Kiss.”

“You did?”

“I know exactly how to win over the league.”

She sat up straighter, glancing from me to the TV. “How?”

“I wanna make a baby.”

Chapter Seven – Leah

Make
a baby?

What in the ever-loving—

“Are you out of your mind?” I yanked my skirt down, covering a part of me way too exposed to Horny McKnockup. “You want to
make
…you don’t
make
a baby. You
have
babies!”

“Don’t get greedy, Kiss. I only need one.”

I bolted off the couch. He had a raging hard-on and an idiotic idea. It was the Jack Carson Trouble-Maker special, and I hadn’t ordered
any
of it.

“You want to have a
baby
?”

“Look at him!” He pointed to the television, gesturing to a very smug and attractive looking man I recognized only once they showed him in uniform. “That is Tim Morgan. He’s a cocksucking son of a bitch. If the earth had an asshole, he’s it, walking around, pretending he’s God’s gift to the league. That bastard has taken every drug on the market, fucked every whore on the gulf coast, and threw his bowl game in college because he had money riding on it.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

Jack snorted. “We used to be friends.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“Tim knocked some girl up two seasons ago, and now that asshole is on every cereal box and video game. He didn’t change a damn thing about himself. Just holds up that kid and people think he’s the second coming. The baby changed his image. Everyone forgot the bullshit, and now they praise him for being a great
father
.”

“You think having a
baby
changed his image?”

“Yeah, I do. And it
worked
.” Jack set his jaw. That sexy determination infected him with the worst ideas ever. “I need to have a baby.”

“Wanting to change your image is no reason to have a
child
.”

“Why not? I like kids.”

“Oh, my God.” My legs were still wobbling from the most amazing orgasm of my life. “Are you serious right now?”

“Uh-oh. If you don’t like that idea, you’re gonna hate the next...”

Jack raised his eyebrows. His gaze was positively lecherous.

I knew
exactly
what he wanted.

I pointed a finger at him but regretted not flipping the one he deserved. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s a convincing argument.” I stared him down, but the dashing blues were entirely too excited for this conversation. “Might as well just beg me because
all the cool football players are doing it
.”

“Hear me out—”

“Jack, I’m not having a
baby
with you!”

“Look, we’re already playing the committed relationship card. This would
really
make them think I’ve changed.”

“How about instead of making them
think
you’ve changed, you stop getting into trouble? You take some responsibility for yourself?”

He shrugged. “Be realistic. The league likes having a scapegoat. They
want
to punish me. The media loves to catch me with my pants down and a girl sucking my cock. They’re looking for reasons to fuck me over. It won’t matter if I turn celibate and never leave the house. I’ll make a mistake, and they’ll use it against me. Having a baby is like…like…”

“Don’t say it.”

“Insurance.”

“You swallowed too much pool water.”

Jack grinned. “Swallowed more of you, Kiss. You’re slicker than the pool.”

“Stop.”

I avoided trapping myself within his reach. Jack’s pecs and abs still glistened from droplets of water, highlighting every chiseled definition and shadow caught in his muscles. The water ran to the V of his hips, the solid form of an athlete at his peak physical condition and then some. I’d never met a man as attractive, as deliciously gorgeous as Jack.

If I was smart, I wouldn’t meet him again.

Letting him touch me with those skilled hands and his tempting tongue was dangerous enough. Now he looked at me like a woman who needed to be fucked…and I didn’t think he meant to use protection now.

“You wanted a kid,” Jack said. “A couple. Hell, you planned to be pregnant already.”

I knew it was a bad idea to be honest with the playboy. “Yeah. I also planned to be
married
.”

“To the asshole that cheated on you.”

I swallowed. “Yes, I was going to marry Wyatt. Don’t insult the life I wanted. He broke my heart.”

Jack crossed his arms. His muscles flexed, but the only bulge I studied was the one between his legs. “You didn’t love him.”

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t think you loved him.”

He was right, but I’d never admit it. “You think you know me that well?”

“Love is overrated. You need
passion
and
excitement
and a night where you’re free to get into trouble. He never gave that to you.”

“No, but I never asked for it
.
I chose stability. Responsibility. A plan and a routine. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s boring.” Jack teased me with a smile. “You need more, Kiss. It’s time to take that step. So what if your plan is accomplished out of order?”

“What—”

“With me, you get a baby. You get to advance that career. Hell, you can even travel…at least to a couple different stadium cities.” He extended his arms. “So? What do you say?”

I braved a chance to face him again. I marched before his broad chest and tried to reason with a man who memorialized his every mistake with a tattoo inked into his flesh.

“Jack, you’re talking about having a
baby
.”

“You wanted a baby.”

“Not like this.” I stared at him, wondering why he still looked so calm, so dedicated to such a crazy proposition. “Just stop. We already have one crisis with this article coming out tomorrow. I…I’ll go back to the office. See if I can’t organize an interview or something for you to refute the allegations.”

“I’ll give you a million dollars.”

My heart stopped.

I turned, staring at him, my mouth dry.

He wasn’t serious. Was he?

“You’ll…
pay
me?”

“To have my baby. Yes.”

“Jack, are you—”

“Kiss, I can’t think of anyone better for it. You’re smart. You’re talented. You’re fucking beautiful. We have a good relationship. Why couldn’t we have a kid together?”

“We aren’t in love.”

“So? We could handle it.”

Was he that naïve? I didn’t speak, just took my steps backward and hoped I wouldn’t crash into anything while I rushed to the door.

Jack knew he made a mistake, but he called to me again.

“I know you want to be a partner in Jolene’s firm,” he said. “Screw her. Leave the agency, and I’ll follow. I’ll be your primary client, and I’ll get a couple of the guys on the team to sign on too.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Why struggle to become a partner when you can get your own agency? I’ll give it to you.” His voice lowered. “How’s that plan looking now? Your own company
and
your baby all at the same time. That’s some good multi-tasking.”

This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t how I planned anything.

And it was nothing I should have considered while my core still heated from his touch.

I backed away. “Jack, we can’t do this.”

“Think about it.”

“I don’t have to.”

“Think about it anyway.”

“I should go.”

I didn’t let him walk me out. I escaped, grabbing my belongings before I suffered another mistake within Jack Carson’s hands.

No way.

I wasn’t even going to
consider
the insanity he proposed.

He got me in trouble when he lied about us dating. Before we started the fake relationship, it was hard to keep him
out
of the news. Now that I had to artificially insert him into stories, dropping hints about our life and relationship, I couldn’t get him in enough articles. No one wanted that news.

Jack had a bad habit of taking the sack when he should have thrown the ball away. He dug in, and now I faced the blitz with him.

I couldn’t.

A
million
dollars?

My own PR company?

God, he was
buying
a child from me. What was more insensitive—wanting a baby from me or insinuating that love was irrelevant to the beginning of a family? Sure, people had kids all the time without being married, but that wasn’t me.

…Was it?

Hadn’t I already got the paperwork? Considered finding a donor?

Was my life so structured I’d break down into desperation if even one aspect fell out of place?

I didn’t like those thoughts.

I raced to the office and chose to bury myself in work. The article defaming Jack was running in a major sport magazine with high visibility for the critique of the
wholesome, family
atmosphere
he tarnished by remaining in the league. The entire story was just a hit piece, meant to make him look bad.

Granted, Jack was bad, but he wasn’t malicious, he only wanted to have fun.

He
was
fun.

And now I was defending him.

Jolene’s light was on in her office. I rapped on her door. She hadn’t even gone home yet. The clock on her shelf chimed—eight PM. She warmed a Styrofoam cup of soup in the microwave and juggled two phones and a laptop between two different conversations. One call ended, but she didn’t have the free hands to hang up.

I rushed to help as a stack of folders, newspapers, and paper coffee cups fell. She yelled at whoever was on the other end of her cell, ended the call, and lost the phone somewhere in the disaster of her desk.