A Secret Vow: A Bad Boy Secret Baby Romance (5 page)

His fingers press under my chin, lifting my gaze up. He wipes the dried tears away with one thumb. His calluses are rough, but the motion is gentler than I imagined possible. I know I shouldn’t be here. If anyone happened to wander out and see us, it would be a debacle to end all others. But I’m powerless to resist anymore. I see a buoy floating out in the ocean and for the first time I can empathize with it. Neither of us have any ability to control where we go. We’re victims, helpless against tides way bigger and stronger than us. Fighting back just means we drown sooner.

Mortar plucks the cigarette from his mouth and puts it between my lips. “Suck in, gently,” he tells me.

I haven’t smoked since high school, but the tangy edge of the smoke helps to clear my head. I cough a few times, my eyes watering, but once the coughing eases, I feel a little better.

I still can’t bear to look at him. I keep my eyes fixed on the ground at his feet. There’s a graffiti tag on the concrete sidewalk that reads, “Joan + Pablo 4ever.” How is something so stupid making the tears start all over again?

“I can’t go through with it,” I whisper. My throat is hoarse.

“So don’t. I told you already: come with me.”

“I don’t know how.”

“It’s easy. Just start walking. I’ll be right here.” He reaches out and lays a hand on top of mine. The warmth of his skin against mine is exactly what I need. It’s like catching hold of something solid in the middle of drowning. All my attention is riveted on his touch.

Before I know what I’m doing, I stand up and hurl myself at him. My arms wrap around his neck and my lips find his hungrily. His hand keeps me pinned against his torso, which is the solid granite I need. He’s stable, unmoving, completely the opposite of everything else in my life. My tongue dives into his mouth and he meets me with the same intensity, the same passion.

I pull back. “You have to help me get away.”

“I will.”

How could I have doubted him? Of course he didn’t break his promise. He’s right here, right where he said he would be. I feel silly for thinking he wouldn’t be here when I needed him. He brushes away another tear from my cheek.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells me. Normally, I would balk at the compliment. I’m not beautiful, never have been. No one has even told me I’m pretty since I first got engaged to Grady. But when he says it, it’s impossible to deny. He isn’t trying to persuade me or flatter me. He’s stating a fact as he sees it, and the thought is every bit as immovable as he is. Even though there’s mascara running down my cheeks like an oil spill, he says it and means it. And I believe him.

He leans forward to kiss me again. This one is gentler, softer, fainter. Our lips are hesitant to meet each other’s, like birds flirting in the sky. Touch and go, touch and go. Mortar’s hands on my waist are just as fleeting. He’s tap dancing on the skin that peeks through the slitted dress, just enough to tantalize before retreating again. I wrap myself against him. Maybe I can just fold myself away, let him consume me, and then everything will be fixed. That’s what it feels like kissing him: a cure-all.

He kisses me harder. His lips break away from mine and slide across to my earlobe. He suckles with the tiniest nip of teeth against my skin before moving down my neck. I sigh. I want him to kiss me everywhere.

“Mortar…I need you.”

“I know.”

He spins me and pushes me up against the brick wall behind us. I’m trapped between a wall and a man who is every bit as permanent, but for some reason, I’m not scared, not even a little bit. It feels right, like I’ve stepped into a shelter that was designed for me and me alone.

The lingering rational part of my brain tells me that this is insane, borderline suicidal. If Grady stepped out here, we would both be stone cold dead before we could blink. I’ve seen him rage at a passerby tossing a casual compliment in my direction. Full on infidelity is a death sentence.

That’s what this is, after all. I’m officially married, in the eyes of the community and the church and whatever cruel God is subjecting me to this life. To be kissing Mortar here and now is breaking vows that are hardly an hour old.

But this is a deeper vow. Mortar made me a promise. He swore to take me away, to protect me from the man imprisoning me. I don’t know if I can trust him yet, although my body responds to his like they speak the same language. He is, after all, a criminal, a drug dealer, a bookie, an outlaw in every sense of the word. Even more so than those surface details, he is the type of man who always has an angle. The type of man who always wants something. I don’t know yet what he wants from me.

But he made me a promise. Between him and Grady, there is only one choice. I choose Mortar—at least until I can find another way.

Mortar pulls up my skirt to push his hand beneath. His fingertips tracing along my inner thigh is everything I was imagining and more. It’s heat right along the edge of my lace panties. It’s pressure on my mound, with just the barest screen of fabric between his touch and my hot pussy.

He bites on my neck as he pushes aside the last barrier between us and inserts a slow, steady finger inside me. I clamp down on his shoulder to stop from crying out. The hours and days of waiting and dreaming that have intervened between that first kiss and now have built up an unbearable pressure within me.

I spent so many nights tossing and turning while I replayed that moment in the studio. This is what I had been anticipating. I’d hoped for it to happen but never dreamed that it actually would. Even when I admitted out loud that I wanted it, there was always the cool, logical voice telling me that it would be the closest thing to asking for death by Grady. My body knew all along though that this was what it deserved: Mortar’s thumb rubbing heated circles on my clit while he pushed two fingers inside me and stroked.

“Let go,” he breathed into my ear. “Come for me.”

It took only a few more strokes before I did what he wanted. I came hard, shuddering, sending juice sliding down his fingertips while I spasmed under his grasp.

“Mortar,” I moaned. I pressed one hand on my own breast and felt the nipple peaking as the waves gripped me in a relentless ebb and flow. Mortar pressed his palm against my mound while I came to steady me against the vibrations.

When the orgasm eases, I know I want more of it, right now. I can’t wait any longer. “Here, now, please,” I gasp. He knows what I mean. My brain is completely shut off. No more voices telling me this is wrong. The only thing I can hear is the heavy panting of my breath and the endless ringing of my body in the throes of the deepest hunger I’ve ever felt.

“Not here.” His eyes are so steady. I feel like I’m centered on them. I was falling and they caught me, or something like that. “Come with me.”

“Okay.” That’s it. The last bit of my resistance falls away. I’m barely aware of what I’m doing: running away from the man I just married, mere hours after the ceremony has taken place, to hide with a stranger I barely knew. I am letting this man, who has made me some fragile promise I barely understand, let alone trust, tug me apart from the bonds of life as I know it. I’m putting my life in his hands, and I don’t know what he wants from me.

Somehow, I’m okay with it.

I let him lead me to his motorcycle, parked on the sidewalk at the end of the alleyway. He helps me settle onto the back, then he mounts in front of me. I wrap my arms around his waist; the abs under my touch are the solidity I need. He starts up the engine and we take off down the road with a roar.

We reach the boardwalk. Mortar starts to take a left. “Wait,” I say. He looks back at me curiously. I tug the ring from my finger and look at it for a moment. It catches the sunlight. It’s objectively beautiful. Even in my current state, I know that. More importantly, I know everything that it represents.

Which makes it that much sweeter when I cock back my arm and hurl it into the ocean. It sinks beneath the waves with barely a blip. Mortar leans back and gives me a rough kiss. Then we speed away, headed for a new life filled with nothing but uncertainty.

I hope I haven’t made a fatal mistake.

Chapter 4

Mortar

This is one hell of a ride.

Can’t say I’ve ever felt so damn giddy on the back of a bike. Not since the first time I rode. Back then, it was about freedom—open road, wind in your hair, all that kind of cheesy shit. This time is a little different.

This time, it’s about victory.

I picture that fucker Grady and the world’s biggest shit-eating grin takes over my whole face. Gotta love it. Who couldn’t? I’m giving that bastard a one-two punch like he’s never seen before. The only downside is that I don’t get to watch his face when he finds out.

I’m cruising down the boardwalk with his girl—scratch that, his
wife
—hot and horny right behind me. Shit, I can smell her pussy from here. My cock is hungry as hell for a taste. She’s a special girl, too, far more than just a next piece of ass. I can’t quite put my finger on it yet, but there’s something beyond the fucking here. I intend to explore.

All the cards are just falling into place. Grady and Kendra in one fell swoop. Both mine, albeit in completely different ways.

We pull up to my place. It’s a bungalow on the edge of town, spitting distance from the beach. The Angels prospects keep the yard landscaped. I like the bushes big. Keeps the passerby from looking too closely. You grow up the way I did and you come to value a little bit of privacy, however you happen to find it.

I park the bike around back and help Kendra off. She’s still wobbly on her heels. It’s hard to say whether the exhaustion is emotional or physical. Still hits you the same either way, I suppose. We walk inside.

“Sit down,” I tell her. “I’ll get us some drinks.”

She’s too shaken to respond, but I ease her onto the couch and she follows without an ounce of resistance. I wonder what kinds of thoughts are going through her head.

I step into the kitchen and find a bottle of whiskey and two tumblers. Bringing them back out into the living room, I fill a couple fingers’ worth in each glass and slide one in her direction.

“Drink slow,” I caution. She nods numbly. I watch as she raises the cup to her lips and takes a tiny sip. She winces, but the effect is immediate. A long sigh comes straight out of her belly. I can see some tension easing, too.

I make sure I keep still as I sit across from her. I haven’t said anything about the other day. I don’t think she’s ready for that yet. Who knows how long it will be until she is, but it’s not my place to make her confront all the shit she’s been through since that first night at the races.

The weird part is, I don’t want her to confront it; I want to confront it for her. It’s a strange feeling, wanting to take on someone’s battles for them. The only other person I’d ever fought for was Colin. That won’t be happening anymore. I lost that battle.

After he died, I figured that was it. Stick to your own wars. Everyone’s fighting something, and without any family left, I never pictured myself as a knight in shining armor. I still know I’m nothing even close to that, but there’s this niggling little feeling that’s saying the same thing over and over to me:
Protect her. Keep her safe.

I find myself agreeing with it. I almost have to stop myself from nodding, from saying yes out loud. It’s true though; I do want to protect her. I want to see her vulnerable, pregnant with my child, looking up at me with that trust and longing in her eyes as I stare back down and tell her, “Yes. You’re safe. You’re mine.”

I just wonder how realistic that is. In a career path like mine, death is just one misunderstanding away. I’m already beating the odds by being alive at thirty. The fact that I’m still on this side of the dirt is nothing short of a miracle. I’m running out of time to bring that vision to life. But when I see that vision again, it’s powerful enough to make my heart clench: Kendra, belly rounded, leaning her head on my shoulder.

I take a sip of whiskey to make it disappear. I need to focus on one thing at a time.

“How are you feeling?”

She takes a while to respond. “I’m not really sure.”

Damn, she is beautiful. That caramel skin catches the light just right. I bet it tastes just as good as it looks.

“That’s fair.”

“None of this is fair.”

“That’s fair, too.”

She snorts at that. Just a hint of a laugh, but it’s progress.

She looks up at me for the first time since we sat down. “How did I end up in this mess?” Her voice is so soft and scared. She’s like a little doe, all on its own. By the look in her eyes, I can still see she’s deciding whether I’m a fellow deer or the big bad wolf. I’m not sure what I could tell her, to be honest. The truth is probably somewhere in the middle.

“You tell me,” I say. “Start in the beginning.”

“That’s so far back.”

“We’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Do we, though?” She gnaws her lip.

“Didn’t I promise you?” The way I say this is so important. I need her to know that she is safe here. I will protect her. I’m still torn on what exactly I want to do with her, although a plan is forming in my head as she sits across from me and sips daintily at the whiskey. But no matter what I decide, I made a promise and I intend to keep it.

She doesn’t say anything for a while. It’s hard to tell what gears are working behind those eyes. I have to trust that they’re the right ones. Eventually, she starts talking. She keeps her gaze on the liquor in the glass, swirling it back and forth while she speaks.

“I just wanted to make art. They told me I was good when I was in school, and honestly, I was. I had such a good imagination and it made me so happy to do it. That’s what really counts, you know? If you love what you do, good things come from it. I believe that. Well,” her voice catches as she pauses, “I used to believe it, anyway. I’m not so sure anymore.”

I see one tear leaking down her cheek. Fuck the bastard who ruined this girl. She has so much spark in her. It’s a fucking crime what Grady did. I want to tell her it’ll be okay, but if I interrupt, she might never open up again. I have to let her keep going. She needs the space to tell the story herself.

“I took out huge loans to buy this studio space. You saw it—it looks out over the water and the light in there is perfect. It’s just so perfect, I can’t even explain.” She looks up at me now. I see that her eyes are full of tears. They start to spill over and run down her cheeks like a river. “You have to understand me; it was the perfect place.”

“I believe you,” I say quietly.

“But then my mom got sick. I had to stop painting for a while so I could take care of her. I thought I had enough money to make it through. But the bills kept piling on, and I couldn’t keep up.” She sniffles and wipes her nose. I don’t think this girl could do a single thing that isn’t beautiful. Even her crying face has the exotic angles that have been driving me crazy for a week.

“When Grady offered me the loan at first, I thought he was saving the day. I really did.” At the mention of his name, my stomach clenches. I know exactly what the bastard had done. He saw a pretty, naïve girl who had gotten trapped in an unlucky situation, and he just pounced, as if she was prey. It made me sick.

But that thought came with another: hadn’t I done the same? Didn’t I manipulate people? Didn’t I extort, pressure, rob? Didn’t I take?

I couldn’t deny it. How could I be so sure that I wouldn’t have done the same thing if I were in Grady’s position? I know I’m not the same as him. He’s a true monster. Me, I’m just an outlaw. But I’d be lying if I said that, even now, I’m not searching for an angle so I can squeeze what I want from this girl. My heart might feel one thing, and my dick might even agree. But my mind is the same relentless survivor it has always been, prowling for leverage, never stopping. It’s not a thought I enjoy entertaining.

“He’s from a rich family. He never needed the money. When he offered it to me, I thought it was a gift. He told me he’d take care of me.” Her knee bounced up and down frantically just inches from mine. Our eyes were locked together.

“But right before he gave me the check, he told me he needed something from me, too. He said he wanted a wife. He’d bought a ring and everything, and he was almost…
nice
, in a way. Nice enough that I never could have imagined all of this happening. I didn’t know what else to do. I said yes.”

Of course she did. Grady found her, pushed her into a corner, and then acted like he was the one showing her the way out. In reality, he was just blocking any hope of an escape. My fists curl.

“Everything went downhill from there. I couldn’t believe how fast it all fell apart. He made me move in with him. Then he said it was a loan, not a gift, and that I needed to start paying him back. I tried, I really did. But it just wasn’t enough. He wanted too much at once. I couldn’t make it happen.”

Something breaks loose and the tears begin to pour down her face. Her back shakes as she sobs into the heels of her hands. I pull her head on my lap and stroke her cheek. She’s limp, putty, Jell-O in my hands.

“Shh,” I murmur. “It’s okay. It’s over. You’re out.”

I don’t know how long we sit like that. It is a while until she calms down and starts to breathe again. I just keep stroking her cheek, over and over, trying to bring her back to reality. Soon, she sits up and looks at me. I see a clench in her jaw.

“I hate him. I hate him.”

The venom in her voice is surprising. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he hasn’t ruined her. Maybe Kendra still has some fire left, just a few sparks remaining. If I try, if I say the right things and touch her the right way, I just know that I could be the one to revive them.

I pull her into a hard kiss. It’s not quite angry, although there’s some edge to it, but it’s not soft, either. It’s somewhere in the middle, bouncing back and forth between a careful tenderness and the blazing passion that I know we both feel.

Our tongues lash together, separate, then spar again. I push back, lowering Kendra onto her back on the couch. I hear the twin thumps of her heels hitting the floor. She’s still in her wedding dress. The fabric is spread across the cushions.

I want to feel her skin. Pushing up her dress, I grip the outsides of her thighs and squeeze her against me. Our hips meet. I can sense the heat dribbling between her legs. I dive back down to kiss her again, even harder than before. She gives back every bit of the same intensity, pushing her mouth into mine, not caring if it is neat or pretty. We want to taste each other as fully as possible. I want to fill my mouth with her. I want to make her mine.

My fingers slip from the outside of her thigh to the inside. She still feels as delicate as she did the first time we held each other, when a flying chunk of metal had tried to end this before it even started. What a pity that would have been, if I had died before I got to find out what it was like to hold Kendra against me. Now that she’s here and in my arms, I need to savor every second.

She’s got a taste as unique as she is. It’s sweet and salty all at once, and I take my time exploring every corner of her mouth while my fingers tap dance teasingly near the edge of her lingerie. I can feel her body responding to my touch automatically. It knows what it wants, even if she isn’t aware of it yet. There’s still a sense of hesitation to her. Every flutter of her tongue is hungry, desperate to touch and be touched, but lingering there on the edge is the slightest pause before everything she does. She isn’t sure if she can trust me yet.

Frankly, I don’t blame her.

But the time for trust will come later. Right now, this is about carnal desire. This is about my tongue on hers, my body on hers, my heat on hers. This is about smashing together and leaving all the worries off until later. When I run my finger softly on the outside of her panties just over the warmth of her mound, I hear her letting go of the last vestiges of concern.

“Mortar…” she whimpers.

“Trust me,” I tell her. That’s the only way this whole thing will work.