ROMANCE: BAD BOY ROMANCE: M.V.B. - Most Valuable Baby (Sports Secret Baby Romance) (Contemporary Interracial Pregnancy Romance) (50 page)

Good plan, Frankie thought as she speed-walked to the parking lot.

In retrospect, Jack’s occasional suggestion for her to move back to New York City should have tipped her off in regards to his infidelity. If not that, then their constant bickering, maybe. Or the fact that every time they went to events together, he eventually ditched her.

“Got caught up in something,” he had told her over and over again. “Sorry, babe. Maybe you should go back to New York?”

Had he been cheating on her this entire time? Frankie couldn’t help but wonder as she gaped at Jack and an another woman getting it on in the back of Jack’s pickup. The very pickup she had helped him buy.

The blaring sun rays reflected off the vehicle at various angles, blinding Frankie a bit. Yet she could not look away—could not ignore the sounds of Jack grinding into this woman, the result of that being the slight rocking of the truck.

The woman wasn’t even moaning or gasping. He wasn’t even doing it right.

Frankie glanced around. There were a couple people in the massive parking lot, but no one noticed the dry-humping that was going on. Unbelievable.

She nearly shouted—nearly grabbed Jack—but she steeled herself at the last moment and backed away. Heart shattering, Frankie found the strength to turn around and walk away. The rage searing through her was chaotic and painful, as if it was trying to tear itself out of her skin.

She kept walking though. She would not be an abuser, would not be an attacker like the cowboys here.

Jack was no innocent calf, but she was no cowboy.

CHAPTER TWO

Adrenaline rushed through Hanes’s veins as he settled himself on top of the bull, huffing and stamping in the tiny stall. Hanes grinned with a maddening kind of delight. The audience had gone quiet, their anticipation thick and sweet in the air. Hanes swore he could hear his own pulse—feel the massive animal beneath him twitch.

The others helped to make sure he was seated fully on top of the bull—each boot in its respective stirrup and all that. Hanes barely noticed anyone else though, his eyes trained on the back of the animal’s neck.

Everyone backed away.

Seconds of silence ticked by.

Hanes tightened his grip on the rope that was tied around the bull’s torso.

Bells rang—the buzzer blared—and the gate was opened, allowing the bull to rush forward.

The crowd cheered as the bull sprinted and jarred Hanes side to side.

His sweaty palms, though covered by his gloves, scraped against the rope. He didn’t feel it though and he tightened his grip. Euphoria and fear iced his blood, making his torso tighten and tickle.

The bull bucked, throwing Hanes up a bit but not all the way off.

A laugh got clogged up in his throat.

This was living. Being near the edge of death, facing off with an animal physically stronger than yourself—it made Hanes feel realer than he did doing anything else. The pay wasn’t half bad either, though it would be considerably more if he branched out to other rodeos—other companies, sponsors—

The bull shoved itself against the wall and bucked, making Hanes reel to the side before snapping back into place. A laugh did burst out of him then, brief as it was, before the bull jumped toward the center of the arena.

This was never about money, not really. Money was nice, but it meant very little to Hanes Copper in the wake of his father’s death. Hanes’s brothers can deal with the lawyers—can make future plans in regards to the stables, ranches, and the whole damn company—Hanes didn’t care. Dad was dead, gone forever, and no amount of wealth or control was ever going to ease the agony that pulsated deep within Hanes’s torso.

An adrenaline rush came close though.

The bull jiggled, then bucked.

Breathless, Hanes smiled.

After the rodeo ended, the announcer telling the departing audience about other scheduled events, Hanes lingered in the stands. His elbows rested on his knees, his forearms hanging downward. Now that he was calming, grief echoed more loudly in his empty chest. He stared forward.

His dad was a good man. Money hadn’t changed him, no sir. Not like it did to Hanes’s brothers. They grew up wealthy, and they were desperate to always stay that way.

Hanes lowered his head, his hat tilting forward in response. Anger and resentment radiated through him. He wanted to hit something—wanted to shout. But he had done those things repeatedly over the past few weeks, and it hadn’t resulted in anything satisfying.

He didn’t want to go back to his trailer. It was too quiet. But the only other places he could go to was his parents’ estate or maybe some bar, and he was too worn to deal with the kind of trouble those places brought.

He needed another bull ride.

Cursing, Hanes stood and pushed back his hat. Even if he didn’t want to go back to his trailer, remaining still was just as painful as being at home. He needed to move—to forget.

He walked out of the stadium, his tall body weaving around people as they also exited the area. The parking lot was full of them—people chatting, kids laughing—and the noises soothed his restless psyche. Even as he headed for the patch of dirt next to the bleachers, the dirt where all the trailers were parked, he could still hear those distracting noises from the parking lot.

He stepped softly, craning his head back a bit. His trailer was mere feet away now. Reluctant, he glanced back at the parking lot.

The sun was lowering toward it. Evening would turn into night soon, though the heat in the air would not diminish much. As always, it will probably be hellish trying to sleep in his cramped trailer that night.

A choked, wet sound made Hanes stiffen. He turned back to his trailer and held his breath, his ears straining.

A hiccuped sob, then a sniffle, came from the other side of the trailer.

Weariness settled on Hanes’s chest. Quietly, he walked around the trailer. When he got to other side, his heart twisted at the sight before him.

A beautiful woman was sitting on the ground, her dark, curly hair hiding her face as she sobbed and trembled. Her hands were clenching and unclenching, as if they were trying to choke the life out of an invisible critter.

Hanes, being raised to be the respectful sort, removed his hat and held it by his side. “Ma’am? You alright?”

The woman jumped, but she didn’t look up. She rubbed the back of her wrist against her nose, sniffling and clearing her throat. “No. Sorry.”

His torso filled up with sorrow, empathetic in nature. “There’s no need to be sorry.” He lowered himself to a crouch in order to convey he was no threat or bother to her. His grip on his hat loosened. “Is there anything I can do? Anyone I can call?”

She chortled, then choked a bit. Wiping her face, she finally looked up at him. “No. There’s no one.”

Hanes’s eyebrows shot up. He had seen her earlier, walking about and looking for something. She had seemed fine then, just a little lost.

She was certainly beautiful. Dark eyes, glinting with emotion and thought…

Hanes stopped that train of thought. He liked a good time as much as the next guy, but there was a difference between having fun and being an ass. His father had taught him that, along with many other things.

“You know,” Hanes said, swallowing back his own wave of grief. It got trapped in his chest, aching, “I just lost someone, so I know how lonely you must be feeling right now.”

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Now, now, none of that.” He smiled gently. When she calmed a bit, he glanced over at his trailer and placed his hand on it. “This is actually where I live, so if you want me to get you a bottle of water or something, it’s no trouble at all.”

Her eyes skittered back and forth between the trailer and him. Her expression contorted into self-consciousness, her shoulders hunching up as if trying to protect her face. “You got anything stronger.”

Hanes couldn’t help himself. He smirked. “A girl after my own heart.”

She smiled back at him.

Honest to God, he hadn’t meant for her to follow him inside the trailer when he went inside to get the bottle of bourbon. But once she was in there, it would have been considerably rude to kick her out. No longer crying, she still held a look of someone wounded—face puffy, eyes pinkish.

She stood as close to him as she could without completely pressing herself against him, and a pleased hum vibrated through Hanes’s form. God forgive him, he couldn’t push her away no matter how considerate the gesture would be. Besides, the trailer was cramped—walls and furniture practically pressing against them…she probably didn’t know where else to stand.

Hanes got out the bourbon from an upper cabinet, along with two small glasses, and then he poured their drinks. All the while, her flowery and salty scent wafted in the air. Hanes inhaled deeply before handing her the drink.

Their fingers brushed together as she took the beverage, her eyes locked with his.

They hadn’t said a word yet, not since entering the trailer. Not one damn word. And try as he might, Hanes couldn’t think of the right thing to say. She was so close, so pretty…

And then, after they each took a sip of their own drinks, she held her drink by her side before leaning forward and kissing his chin.

Hanes always tried to be a gentleman, but he was only human—only a red-blooded American male. Her soft lips on his chin sent a thrill through his flesh that he couldn’t ignore.

He kissed her proper, on those soft lips of hers, and she was quick to kiss back.

One thing led to another, and soon they let passion wash over them as they both looked for a feeling to displace their unspoken grief.

CHAPTER THREE

Frankie woke up warmed and covered. Though the air was a little stuffy, she felt as loose as melted butter. It had been ages since she felt so relaxed, so comfortable. She stretched and smiled, her eyes fluttering open.

The back of a man’s head was in front of her. His torso was bare, the blanket pooling in between his rear and her stomach.

Frankie snatched the blanket and pressed it over her breastbone. Her insides jumped a bit until memories of last night soothed her, albeit embarrassed her. Blushing, she sank a little bit beneath the blanket.

She didn’t do one night stands. Was it okay that she had stayed the night, or was it presumptuous of her? It wasn’t like she could go back to the apartment where Jack and what’s-her-face were having their own good time, assuming they went back to the apartment.

Frankie pressed a hand to her moist forehead. A headache slowly bloomed beneath her light touch, the situation’s awkwardness seeping deeper and deeper into her conscience.

God, was she…she supposed to pay him or something? No, no, that was prostitution. Still, it seemed rude not to give this man something.

Frankie’s stomach dropped. Dear God, she didn’t even know his name. She had sex with a complete stranger.

She buried her face into the blanket and withheld a groan.

The man beside inhaled sharply—gasped and moaned a bit.

Frankie’s eyes widened. Hesitant, she peeked over the blanket.

The man stretched, his muscles tensing and moving accordingly. It was like watching a lion sprawl itself over a log—majestic in its sluggish way. And the light sheen of sweat on the man’s tan shoulders and back made something primal burn pleasantly within Frankie’s lower belly.

She was quick to shake it off. One sex-related mistake was more than enough for the week.

The man turned. The second he registered that she was awake, he beamed. “Morning, darling. You hungry?”

Frankie blinked and bit her lower lip. What was the polite response? Was she supposed to buy breakfast? She hadn’t brought her purse with her yesterday—it was in the apartment, presumably with Jack. Frankie lowered the blankets and opened her mouth, even though she still wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say.

“Well, I’m hungry,” he said, winking at her. “I’ll cook breakfast, okay? You can stay for as long as you want. No pressure either way.” He stood up and let the blankets fall off of his naked body.

“Thanks,” Frankie squeaked, forcing her gaze away from his rear. Entire body flushed, she blurted, “Uh, I’m Frankie, by the way. Frankie Carmichael. I’m from New York.” Should she tell him more?