Thousand Yard Bride (21 page)

L
etting
Victoria plan our wedding had allowed Hunter and me to focus on planning our honeymoon. I was looking forward to it far more than the actual wedding day.

It was the fifth week of the football season which meant that we could go to New York and see the leaves change in Central Park. On top of that, it was my favorite time of year, and New York was my favorite city in the world. So, you'd think it was me who was pushing for the trip, right?

Wrong.

Hunter was acting like he couldn't wait to honeymoon together—even if it was a quickie trip nearby. The more he talked about getting us alone, about a chance to really spend time together, the more suspicious I got.

And . . . more excited.

There was no way this wasn't abnormal. Hunter should have cared about the football season. It was where he shined, where he came
alive.
Once, his father caught us holding hands when he surprised us on the training field. Acid boiled in his glare, aimed right at me. I'd physically winced from that stare.

The man hated me. But why? I'd done everything he'd asked. I let myself be paraded around as Mrs. Daniels with my growing belly on display. How could Hunter Senior loath me so much?

Then I got the call from Victoria just hours before we were scheduled to leave for New York. “Jo, dear, it’s Victoria Daniels,” Hunter’s mom said after I answered the phone, as though I didn't have caller ID.

“Hi Victoria, are you looking for Hunter?” I asked.

“No, dear. I need to speak with you. It’s about this weekend."

My heart sank. “We’re going to be out of town on our honeymoon,” I began, but she was talking over me.

“It’s my second annual Cocktails and Wickets, dear, and you know what they say about sophomore slumps. This is an emergency, you understand. I’m in quite a bind. Vance Lansing, you know, the actor, just dropped out. He had to fly to Vancouver to re-shoot a scene. It’s six teams of three, you see. If I don't replace Vance, then the Bolton twins won’t have a third. It’s a crisis.”

My brain glazed over as she prattled on. I wanted to shout, “This is not a crisis, Victoria!” Instead I said, “And you can’t find anyone else? I’m happy to use my contacts and I’m sure someone would love to take Vance’s place. It’s great press.”

She puffed out air, creating static in the line—my ears rang from it. “
By tomorrow?
I’m not sure we can count on that!”

“Hunter and I need to be seen on our honeymoon," I said, hoping to get through to her. "I’ve already told a few reporters where to find us. We can’t cancel.”

“If you're so good at your job, then surely you can skip your honeymoon in New York and still look the part.”

Was she baiting me? She had to be—she'd been much kinder to me before. Perhaps she really was stressed about the situation. Leaning on the wall, I shut my eyes. “Fine, Victoria. Hunter and I will be there.”

Her voice was sweet as pie. "I knew you'd understand. See you there."

The instant I heard the dial tone, I slammed my cell phone down on the coffee table, grabbed my head, and just
yelled.
I paced around Hunter’s living room, my steps heavier than usual even considering my eggplant-sized baby.
There has to be a way to make this work! Maybe I can call her back, or talk to Hunter, or—
"Fuck!" I gasped, my foot slamming into something hard.

Pinwheeling my arms, I grabbed the door frame to balance myself. There, at my feet, looking oh so innocently like it wasn't about to break my neck, was a suitcase.
Hunter already packed,
I realized with growing despair. He was going to hate this news more than me.

I was gutted. I could pretend the call with Victoria had never happened, but I wasn’t comfortable lying to Hunter and I knew we’d never hear the end of it from his parents. I could arrange for someone else to show up in Hunter’s place, but that would make Victoria my enemy. I didn't need more of those.

If society politics weren’t an issue, I’d just say fuck it. But this world had its own rules, and if I wanted to keep us safe, I had to play by those rules. Marrying a Daniels wasn’t all perks.

There was a creaking sound in the hallway—something slammed. "Jo?" Hunter called out. "I'm back! Let's get our asses moving so I can see yours in something cute in New York." He came through the door, finding me sitting there next to his suitcase.

His beautiful amber eyes focused on me, reading me so quick. "Something happened. What?"

“We can’t go to New York,” I wailed, tears filling my eyes. “We have to stay and play stupid celebrity croquet for charity instead!” Then I started crying. I felt incredibly silly. Logically, I knew my hormones were crazy, and that the city of New York wasn't going anywhere. This was selfish to cry about being forced to change my plans from private time with Hunter to . . . anything else. I felt cheated.

Hunter pulled me close and as I cried into his broad chest I felt his shoulders shaking. Was he crying, too? Had I made my burly football player husband cry?

I pulled back and realized he wasn’t crying—he was laughing. “I’m sorry, Jo,” he said. “I don’t want to play stupid celebrity croquet either. I’m sure it’ll be really awful. The only whacking I wanted to do this weekend was with you.” Then he laughed some more, and I found myself laughing with him.

Wiping my eyes, I said, “This will be the worst honeymoon ever.”

Hunter tipped my chin towards him. “I won’t say I’m not disappointed, Jo, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t looking forward to planning a second honeymoon. Something bigger and better, something just for us.”

Just for us.
I loved the sound of that.

He led me to the couch, sat down next to me and pulled me close. “Look on the bright side. It might not be Central Park but it will be
a
park. New Haven’s finest, even. It’s super great. Just ask all the Yalies. Those fancy co-eds know what’s up.”

Hunter was laying it on extra-thick. I appreciated the effort.

“I guess you’re right,” I said, rubbing at my red nose. As I held Hunter tightly, I breathed him in. Like always, he smelled like mint, cool and soothing. His hair was still wet from his post-practice shower.

I felt the back of his neck with my hand. I played with his hair. His pulse escalated, buzzing through my fingertips—sliding down to my core. "That's nice," he whispered, watching me through half-closed eyes.

Thrilled, I said, "I'm glad."

"Glad?" he chuckled warmly. He pulled me on top of him, I was worried that my huge belly would crush him. But as it pressed into him, I felt him breathing easier . . . not harder. There was no struggle here, and by the heat in his eyes, I was sure he loved the weight of me. "This should make you feel more than glad, Jo. If anything is going to make you cry . . .

ever. . . it should be this sensation."

My tears had stopped, but they threatened to start again. "Idiot," I sniffled, wiping at my eyes with a smile. "I don't want to cry. I'm tired of tears. I want something else."

Hunter had plenty to give. My tears stopped as soon as he kissed me, his hand on the back of my neck the way mine had grazed his earlier. But this wasn't sweet—no. Hunter's energy was morphing into a wild, wicked thing.

“This is better than a fake honeymoon,” I whispered against his lips.

His teeth nipped me. “There's
nothing
fake about this." Cupping my face in his hands, he dared me to break away. “Let’s have our honeymoon here, right now. We don't need New York or anything. I don't want to fucking wait—I'm so sick of planning things."

I swallowed loudly, my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth. Everything was dry but my panties, and I briefly wondered how many clean pairs I had access to since I'd packed everything up for our trip. "Your room. Now," I demanded.

"Yes, Ma'am," he chuckled. When he sat on his bed, I crawled beside him, reaching for his shirt. His eyes glinted, curious to see what I'd do next.

It had always been a secret desire of mine to strip Hunter bare. There was something taboo about taking control, peeling his shirt away on my own accord, revealing his array of shiny tattoos.

He leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. "Keep going," he urged.

The bed springs rustled under me as I inched over his body. My stomach got in the way a few times; I realized what position would work best for my goals.

Lifting my shirt away, then my bottoms, I striped down to nothing. Hunter ate me up, making me feel like I was a lingerie model and not incredibly pregnant. Crouching on his ankles, I traced the hard edge of his jean's top button. It gave way, the zipper joining in.

His erection was massive—it always was. Tingling with anticipation, I scraped my nails down his stomach until he shuddered. His cock twitched, eager to be exposed. I was impatient; I pulled his briefs down, ogling his naked cock.

Hunter laughed in his throat. "You act like you haven't seen it before."

"I guess I'm just still impressed," I said, smiling shyly.

"Good. I want you to be. Don't let that change."

It came out like a command. My insides tightened, warm and excited. I loved when he got a little dominant. Even now, though I was the one undressing him and sitting on top, Hunter had a casual alpha male aura to him.

Sliding up his legs, I perched my pussy over his throbbing length. Gingerly, I rubbed across him, grinding onto my clit. "Fucking
hell,"
he hissed.

Reaching between us, I nudged him until he was sliding inside. Hunter's thickness stretched me out, his cock-head scraping along my roof, colors dazzling behind my shut eyes. Nothing was as satisfying as burying him deep in my walls.

Even if I didn't want to, my muscles flexed, drawing him deeper—fucking him helplessly. I was addicted to him by now. Maybe I had been from our first night together.

"Jo," he whispered, holding my hips and guiding me.

My belly arched in front of me, hiding most of Hunter's beautiful ink on his chest. I stopped caring about that soon, just riding him as my orgasm rose to the surface. It always happened too fast, so easy with him.

Driving down onto his pelvis, I groaned and squeezed my teeth together. A single breath made my pussy twitch, another flooded me with delirious pleasure. Who needed a honeymoon in New York?

"Fuck!" I squealed, shaking with the pulsing of my body. The tension snapped, pleasure exploding through my core and pussy, my being one big muscle that could do nothing but spasm and come and drool.

"There you go," he coached me, holding my wrists. Thrusting hard, sharp, he forced me to hold still as his cock swelled. The burst of come was violent, I felt it hit my cervix—felt it soak into my brain.

There was a uniqueness to having him finish in me. I'd never let anyone do this before Hunter. And I hoped . . . I never would.

* * *

H
unter took
my hand under the sheets. We were both lying there on our backs, catching our breaths. I realized that my belly made a bump under the cloth and I suddenly felt self-conscious. It was like Hunter could read my mind because he said, “You’re as amazing as the first time, Jo. Every curve of you is perfect. I'm a lucky man.”

“I wish we could stay in bed all weekend,” I said.

“You think you've got that kind of energy?" he teased, glancing over at me. His arms were folded beneath his head, the shape highlighting the lines that made up his muscles. No matter how many times I saw him naked, I was blown away.

He watched me closely, whispering, "Did I make you forget your witty response?"

My smile was frail. "I don't have one this time."

Hunter blinked, the moment stretching as we studied each other, like we could find clues to what we were thinking. Or why we were even thinking it.

Licking my lower lip, I said, "I love you."

He crashed on top of me, his hand going to my stomach, thumb grazing my navel. "I couldn't keep going if you didn't."

For the first time since moving in together, we fell asleep in his bed.

W
as
it weird that I thought Jo looked hot in her preppy clothes?

Maybe it was the lingering endorphins from our night of heart-pounding sex, but I saw nothing but a sensual creature waiting to break free from that stuffy pastel outfit. It was more yellow than a school bus, but seriously, she was killing me with it.

I'd barely finished adjusting my painful hard-on when my mom scurried our way, her hands clapping loudly. “Dear Jo, you look like you fit right in.” Then she called my dad over. He already had a drink in hand—I was jealous. “Look at these two. Don’t they look just perfect? I had that outfit sent to Jo this morning.”

“They almost look like they belong together,” my dad said dryly.

“We do belong together,” I shot back.

“You can drop that act, son. I don't think Jo had time to plant any of her reporter friends in earshot.”

I didn't want to spend the entire day sidestepping his verbal abuse, so I cut to the chase. “There's no act, but let me spell it out for you.” I put my arm around Jo and pulled her tight against me. "I love this woman. I love our child. Accept it or don't, I'm tired of caring."

Wiping his mouth, he stared at me so fiercely I wondered if he was trying to make me combust from sheer will. “That’s preposterous. You’ve only known the girl for, what is it? How far along are you, Jo?”

She put her arm around my waist, her touch reassuring. “Six months. A
wonderful
six months, even." Her over the top perky voice had me biting my tongue. Watching her turn my dad beet red was too amazing.

“What is wonderful about any of this?” he growled, his drink spilling from his sharp gesture.

My mom touched my father’s arm. “Honey,” she said to him, “Maybe this is for the best?” I was happy that at least my mom was on our side.

“How could that possibly be?” he sputtered. “Our son is clearly being manipulated!”

Jo shook her head. “I’m not manipulating anyone, Mr. Daniels."

“I’m speaking to my wife,” he snapped at her.

Her grip tightened on me, her tone dropping. "Then don't talk about me like that in earshot. I’m standing right here."

“Well, you shouldn't be. You don't belong here. You don’t belong with my son. Daniels men marry
suitable
women. You're no one." He started to step towards us.

Putting an arm out, I shielded Jo and came close to slamming my nose into my father's. He stepped back, startled at my quick movements. “She's the mother of my child,” I hissed, my lips pulling over my teeth. Slowly, a thin smirk grew on my face. "Jo means more to me than you could possibly understand, you hollow excuse for a piece of shit."

His nostrils flared, eyes going dark as the bottom of the sea.

“Come on," Jo cautioned in my ear. "We don’t need to do this now. Let’s just have a nice time today.” I let her lead me towards a table holding lemonade and other refreshments. My parents watched us go, neither of them speaking.

I was happy to get away from them. It was a feeling I’d felt too many times. My mom would force me to do something, to go somewhere, and then when I was trapped there, my dad would let me have it.

Jo's fingers cut into me like claws. Grunting, I gave her my full attention. She'd stopped dead in her tracks, and I saw where she was looking—no, at
who.

Benny was here.

My mom didn't tell me that any other Hawks players would be at the charity tournament. When he saw us watching him he plastered a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Let’s just avoid him,” she mumbled.

I was starting to think we should just jet the hell out of here. The event had barely begun and already my hackles were up. Why was I bothering with this again? Why did I let my family have such a hold over me?

Because your dad can kick you off the team,
I reminded myself grimly.

In the background, Benny laughed at something. My fist cramped up from how hard I clenched it. I tried to put him out of my mind the entire day, but after a few rounds of croquette—most of which I planned to bomb, but my competitive side took over, like always—it turned out that his team and mine were facing off.

After the sixth time seeing his fucking grinning face today, I wanted to beat him.

I'd do it with my croquet mallet, if I could get away with it.

My team consisted of Jo and some older friend of my father's. I vaguely remembered him from when I was little and my dad would sit outside, smoking away and pretending to pay attention to me.

Unlike my father, Lance—or was it Chance? I kept forgetting—had a genuine smile and a positive air. “We have to take these guys down like the clowns they are,” he said, smacking me on the back.

“Down to the ground, dead in a mound,” Jo responded. She said it so flatly that we both gawked at her until she blushed and look away.

Lance-Chance chuckled. "I like her spirit."

Breaking our huddle, we took our spots and began the immensely uninteresting and really only entertained by the rich sport of croquette. I'll spare the details—there was lots of clacking, spinning balls, and high-fives as my team crushed Benny's.

Really, that's the only important part, anyway.

Jo cheered, trying to jump in place. I lifted her, helping her along. The look on Benny’s face was priceless. Especially when we stood next to my mother and accepted the ridiculously gold trophy. I wouldn't have even cared, except it was making Benny glower and I admit—I loved that.

My mom asked me to give a speech, so I decided to rub it in a little more. “First, I’d like to thank my wonderful wife, Jo." Reaching out, I pulled her against me. In the crowd, my dad's face was melting into a mass of angry wrinkles. This moment couldn't get any better. "She’s been my rock, and she’s completely changed my life. If anyone here deserves a trophy, it’s her.”

Then I heard somebody laughing; Benny. He shouted, “That’s bullshit, man, and you know it.” The crowd parted for him, allowing the asshole to join me on stage.

A camera flashed—Jo gave me a nervous glance.
Shit. This might get out of control.
I'd been having fun, but if this went any further, Benny might lose it. “What are you doing?" I hissed at him under my breath.

“I’m fucking sick of you," he shouted, his voice cracking around the corners. I'd never seen him so unhinged—was this because of the stupid trophy? "You have it so damn easy. You have everyone fooled. They think you’re some kind of fucking prince but I know what a piece of shit you still are. And I know the truth about you and Jo."

Only my father had ever made me shiver with his cold smiles.

Benny got to join that special shelf, now.

"Don't," Jo said, her hands lifting to plead with him.

He pulled away from us, escaping me as I tried to yank him back. I don't know if I could have silenced him, but I would have tried. Over the crowd his shouts stretched easily—he had their full attention. “You should all know that you’re being fooled! Jo and Hunter aren’t together. Nope. Not really. He
fucked
her. He
knocked her up
, and then to save his image, they got married to make it seem like some fairy tale. They think you’re all idiots!” He was laughing again. Whispers rippled through the crowd.

“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” I said, my hands involuntarily fisting at my sides.

“Oh no? That’s funny, because I have proof!” Benny pulled out his cell phone. There were texts on the screen—or screenshots of texts. At first I was confused, why the hell would I have ever messaged Benny about anything? Especially Jo?

Then my stomach began to eat itself. The screenshots weren't from Benny's phone, or from mine. They were from Reese's. Somehow, Benny had managed to get shots of Reese's phone, capturing a conversation I'd had with him the night I'd told him she was pregnant.

Hunter: Tell me if I'm crazy.

Reese: You're crazy.

Hunter: She's got my baby in her, man. What can I do but marry her? Isn't it the only way?

Reese: It's a shit plan.

Hunter: It's my only plan.

My eyeballs throbbed. I could barely stand. Swinging forward, I tried to grab the phone but Benny jumped off the stage, dodging me. "How the fuck do you have those?" I asked, my words moving faster than my brain, telling everyone around by my reaction that the messages had to be real.

"You can thank Poppy for that," he said, backstepping further away. "She said Reese was really nice for helping her out at the wedding when she needed air. What a guy." Already people were crowding him, begging for more info, to get an interview.

Jo made a weak noise, barely a croak. She'd gone pale as a sheet as the conversations among the crowd grew louder and their looks more disapproving. Her lips moved at me, spelling my name—begging me to take her away. As she crumbled to the stage, I caught her by her arms and cradled her against me.

More cameras flashed. More bulbs blinded me.

I’d had enough.

Shouldering everyone aside, I lifted my wife and stomped off the stage. Someone was calling my name—no, multiple people were. Ignoring them all, I rushed through the bodies until Jo and I were in the empty parking lot.

"Hunter," she said, her nails wrapping in my shirt. "We messed up."

"
I
messed up. Sending those messages was so stupid of me." Reese couldn't have known. Poppy was slippery, she'd snooped on me multiple times. Getting Reese's phone and sending herself a screenshot of our conversation was exactly in her wheelhouse.

"It's over," she whispered, holding her belly. "Your career is done. Mine, too."

Setting her in the backseat of my car, I curled her against my chest and cradled her stomach protectively. It was warm and stuffy but we didn't care. There was silence here, a rare serenity.

Now that our secret was out, I wasn't sure we'd find such peace and quiet ever again.