ROMANCE: BIKER ROMANCE: Valentine Biker (MC Alpha Male Pregnancy Romance) (New Adult Valentine Romance Short Stories)


Copyright 2016 by Lyra Daniels - All rights reserved.

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Outlaw Valentine

MC Romance

By: Lyra Daniels

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Outlaw Valentine

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“That’s right,” Summer Jones intoned as she watched him leave. “Go crawling back to your high school- aged skank. See if something lasting comes out of
that
.” She slammed the door, not bothering to look as her now ex-husband Tom drove away from her in his red pick-up truck. She swiftly removed her wedding ring and her engagement ring from her finger, and slammed them down on the table before crumpling up into one of the chairs.

She finally allowed herself to cry. Her husband of five years had left her. She’d suspected that he’d been cheating on her, and he informed her that he had. “She’s twenty-five, and she can provide something for me that you can’t,” he’d told Summer shortly before ditching her and the life they’d made together.

This was an insult to Summer for a number of reasons. She was twenty-nine; she wasn’t exactly old yet by any stretch of the word. The ‘something’ he’d mentioned was children. Summer had been told by at least three separate doctors that she was not going to be able to conceive. Her body just did not release enough eggs. Some crap like that. She had gotten past it somehow, but apparently Tom had not.

Sobbing in her kitchen, Summer didn’t know what to do. At last, she called up her best friend Rose. She cried into the phone and could barely get any words out, but finally she was able to say, “He left me.”

“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry,” her friend said. “Did he say why?”

Thinking about his reasoning didn’t exactly help. “He said he wanted to be with someone who could have his kids. As if anyone would want to have kids with him!”

The truth was that she had wanted that.

She could hear Rose sigh. “Do you want to do something tonight? I’ll buy you a milkshake at the Shake Shack…”

Summer shook her head even though Rose couldn’t see that through the phone. “No, thanks, though. I’ve got work.”

“Work?” Rose asked, surprised. “No, no no. You cannot go to work. It’s Valentine’s Day and your husband is an asshole. You should not make your day worse by serving customers.
No
.”

Despite how much pain she was in, Summer laughed a little at that. “I have to go to work,” she said. “I’m not going to be able to pay for myself if I don’t keep working for myself.”

She told herself that Valentine’s Day didn’t mean anything to her. It was just some dumb holiday invented by both the greeting card and the candy companies. It didn’t hold any significance at all for her. Nope…..

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Bonus Stories

The Dark Duke

The great hall twinkled by the light of a hundred candles as the orchestra started up for the final set of the evening. The annual County Ball had been a huge success once again, and the highlight of the social calendar was almost at a close. Abigail Carmichael clung to the shadows that flickered against the back walls of the large ballroom in an attempt to shake off her many suitors; ageing, balding and pot-bellied wealthy landowners, exactly the type of man that she did not want to marry. Not that she wanted to marry any man, let alone one of her father’s lecherous neighbours; she hated the thought of being any man’s property. Abigail was not considered to be a natural beauty but there was something wild and magnificent in her manner that men seemed attracted to; wanted to tame. Her mother had died giving birth to Abigail's sister Janine, and the two girls had been raised by their father and a kindly nursemaid by the name of Anna. Although he had tried his best, the two girls had been left mainly to their own devices, and shared a freedom that other girls of their class and status were not permitted. From a young age Abigail had roamed freely in the great house but especially in the acres and acres of moorland that surrounded it. She had grown up with a love for the outdoors; the wildness of the land shaping her own nature. She would not be caged; not by any man
—
especially a man she could not respect or love.

When the weather had kept her indoors she had turned to reading; great novels where she imagined herself the heroine; adventure and freedom at the turn of every page. When the books where ended she would sketch scenes from the great outdoors; some from memory, others from her vivid imagination. 

A tap on the shoulder brought her back from her thoughts. Turning round she faced Henry Driffield
—a
red faced gentleman farmer who had attempted to catch her eye all evening. She had made the mistake of offering to dance with him at some point during the night, hoping that she would manage to lose him. Now here he was; wet lipped with eyes shining, ready to seize his prize.

The room was hot as Henry waltzed her around the floor; the music playing and the room spinning around her. Closing her eyes she imagined that she were a simple country girl, jigging with a young farm hand at a local barn dance, free from duty and obligations and not a care in the world.

As the dance finally ended she hoped to escape back to a darkened corner but Henry had other ideas and kept tight hold of her gloved hand whilst escorting her outside onto the balcony. Protesting tiredness she tried to stop him but there was something urgent in his eyes and he would not stop until they stood quite alone in the cool night air.

"Miss Carmichael, it has been a pleasure to dance with you tonight. I am wondering perhaps if I might be permitted to call in on you tomorrow. There is a matter I would very much like to discuss with your father?"

Abigail could feel her heart start to thump heavily in her chest. Despite the cool air she felt claustrophobic; cornered like a trapped animal. She knew Henry's intentions; they were clearly marked in his puffed cheeks and glinting eyes. His wife had died a few years earlier and it was common knowledge that he was looking for a new, young wife. She spoke quickly, her face flushed; feigning innocence of his intent.

"My father will be away on business for a few days, but I'm sure his Estates Manager will be on hand to discuss any business in his absence"

Mistaking her flushed appearance for a maidens’ blush the farmer grew bolder.

"You mistake me my dear, it is not business that I seek to discuss with your father; it is something more of a delicate nature. If you are in agreement I would very much like you to be my wife."

Abigail had not expected him to be so direct. Usually these country buffoons became tongue tied in her presence and she had always managed to weasel her way out of potential situations with her wit and clever words. She had never been asked so directly. Panicking, the words raced through her head as she blurted out her feelings, sparing no thought for his.

"Mr. Driffield, I cannot marry you I am afraid," her voice trembled with emotion.

The words served no effect on the man and a smile spread across his face.

"Ah my dear, I understand these womanly protestations of yours. By nature you creatures like to beguile us lesser mortals and keep our passions blazing by holding us at arm’s length. There is no need my dear. I hold you in the highest esteem and my love for you could not be greater."

Abigail could hardly hear his words but watched his slick, red mouth open and close as she grew more agitated, hands perspiring inside her white silk gloves.

"But Mr Driffield, I do not love you," she tugged at her hand to free herself of the odious man yet he clung on fiercely.

"My dear, you cannot expect love to come so easily. I do not expect you to love me immediately. You will find it will grow as the years pass."

She had held her tongue for as long as she could. Panic was rising in her chest and she could not hold back.

"Mr Driffield. I do not love you and never could. You are an old and ageing farmer and I would rather remain a spinster than marry you. Your head is bald and your belly fat- I would rather marry one of your pigs than yourself."

He let go of her hand immediately, his mouth opening and closing but this time with no words, like a fish gasping for air on dry land. His eyes bulged and face grew redder as he spluttered and coughed in his own embarrassment.

With some relief the great clock struck midnight and Abigail rushed for the quiet comfort of her father’s carriage, waiting for her at the front entrance, leaving poor Henry Driffield behind.

Sinking back into the carriage seat she allowed herself to relax. It had been a close call but Henry Driffield would not be bothering her again. Smiling to herself she thought of what a good tale she would tell of it when she arrived back home. Janine would be waiting up for her and how they would laugh at poor Mr Driffield; even her father would see the funny side.

As the carriage approached the house she could see all the lights ablaze. Her father must have returned back from London earlier than expected. He had been called away on business and had been gone almost a week. 

By the time Anna had opened the door and she stepped into the dim hallway her mood had lifted and she hummed one of the evening’s waltzes. Taking the young mistresses coat, Anna advised that her father and sister were waiting in the library.

As soon as she opened the door a chill crept over her; spoiling her mood. Despite the blazing fire in the grate the room was cheerless. Her father sat at his desk; his face white with anxiety and brow furrowed. Janine sat by the fire silently weeping.

The scene before her stopped Abigail in her tracks. Something had happened and it wasn't good.

Rushing to her sister’s side she glanced up at her father; her eyes questioning.

"Janine, whatever is the matter. Father?"

Janine was 2 years younger than her sister and although brought up in the same haphazard manner, was more reserved and restrained than her older sister, with a delicate, almost fragile beauty. Abigail hated to see her so upset and cradled the dark auburn curls in her lap as she sat by the fire.

"Father, whatever has happened?"

John Carmichael stood up and walked towards the fire. He was not a young man but he had always been full of vigour, now he walked slowly and looked older than his years. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but not finding the words closed it again.

"Father?"