He understood. A lot hung in the balance.
She glanced his way again and added, “I think the biggest thing to work out is the logistics. I mean, are you even set up for him to visit you in Boston?”
“I’ve got a condo.” The space was set up for a busy bachelor. He had no backyard. No play gym. “It’s not exactly kid-friendly, but I can move.”
“Really?” she asked, brows lifted. “You’re going to move, just like that?”
“Without a doubt,” he said, adamant. “I’ll do what Mason needs.”
Slight hesitation crossed her face, erasing the gentle peace he’d witnessed a moment ago. “While I appreciate everything you’re doing and plan to do going forward, I know this is a lot. Mason changed my life in huge ways when he came into the picture, and I had months to get ready for him. I can only imagine how jarring this all is.” She stopped her horse, and he pulled on his reins too as she added, “So, I want you to understand that it’s okay if we take two steps forward, one step back. We don’t need to rush anything. We need to let Mason get to know you, and you get to know him. For now, when you go back to Boston, we can FaceTime or Zoom. Maybe I can fly out with him and we can come to a game. Once the season is over, you can find a place and get settled. And if Mason wants to, he can come out for a visit. Okay?”
Yeah, he liked that idea, but… “What if I decide not to leave River Rock?”
“That’s silly,” she said with a snort. “What are you going to do, retire from baseball?”
“It is one option,” he told her.
She rolled her eyes as her horse started walking again. “Again, that’s silly.”
His horse quickly caught up. “Why is it silly?”
A big cloud drifted overhead, shadowing Clara as she said, “Because playing baseball is your dream, and you’re damn good at it.”
He considered, and the thought of leaving baseball gutted him. But at the same time, things had changed. He didn’t feel like the guy he’d been before the suspension. “But dreams change, people change.”
“Don’t do that,” she snapped, stopping her horse once more. Her firm gaze met his. “The greatest thing you could ever teach Mason is that living your passion and following your dreams is important. We can make this work. Sure, it might take a little wrangling to figure out the logistics, but please, don’t for one second think I would want you to walk away from baseball. In fact, that would break my heart. Baseball is in your soul. You retire when you’re ready, not because of us. I won’t have that. All right?”
Damn, he loved when she told things straight. It reminded him she wasn’t a young twenty-one-year-old woman anymore. She was twenty-eight and had her shit together. He liked that. Hell, he respected and envied that. “All right,” he said, before watching as she trotted off toward Mason.
Sullivan’s gaze fell to Amelia and Beckett, and seeing his friend’s longing for her made things very clear. He didn’t want to be longing for Clara. He wanted to be with Clara. He’d made the mistakes in the past, but then and there, he promised himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again.
Long after the ride was over, and with Mason tucked away in bed and sound asleep, Clara stripped off her clothes, tossing them into the laundry hamper in the closet. Amelia had decided to go into the city for the night and was sleeping over at Luka’s, so Clara embraced a side of herself that rarely came out to play. She turned the mama-mode switch off and settled into the naked skin of a woman needing some hot pleasure. She clicked the lock on her bedroom closed and then turned her attention to the shower, where Sullivan was washing off from the long ride. Heat and desire flooded her as she moved into the bathroom, her nipples puckering in anticipation. Years back, she’d been more reserved, shy. She wasn’t that twenty-one-year-old woman anymore. She knew what she wanted, and the gorgeous sculpted-to-pure-perfection man behind the shower curtain was exactly who she wanted. “Sullivan,” she called, not wanting to scare him.
“Be done in a minute,” he answered.
Yeah, not good enough for her. She pulled the shower curtain aside and got a good look at Sullivan Keene soaking wet, partly covered in soap. His muscular physique was in tip-top shape, his skin a gorgeous golden, and an impressively thick cock was growing harder with every second that he watched her.
He made a low noise in the back of his throat, scanning over her naked flesh. Then he arched an eyebrow. “Well, now, that’s the look of a woman who wants something.”
“I’ll start with your mouth,” she said, climbing into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.
He grinned, his damp hair falling over his brow. “Bossy, huh?”
“Not bossy,” she corrected. “Horny.”
His gaze roamed over her parted lips before his heated stare returned to hers. “Best I see to that, then.” He slid an arm around her and pulling her under the shower’s head. His gaze followed the water sliding down her chest, and he slid his hand lower against the small of her back, pulling her up against his erection.
She moaned her response. Passion and lust burned between them as his lips met hers and his kiss took her far away from there. Desperation overwhelmed her as she dragged her hands over his strong shoulders and down his biceps. Soon, he turned her around, her back to his chest. His hands explored her breasts, massaging, squeezing, tweaking her nipples, while his mouth continued to play on her neck. She wiggled against him, needing him, overwhelmed by the strength of him.
Hot and done with teasing, she turned around and pushed a little, sending him walking backward. His thick cock became her whole focus, and she indulged herself, lowering to her knees, never taking her eyes off his.
Hungry eyes met hers as he dragged his thumb across her lips, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted my mouth, Slugger?”
“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, running her fingers up his smooth six-pack until she wrapped her hand around the hard length of him. His low groan rippled across her. “I want this so much more.” Desperate to taste him, to see his gaze smolder from the pleasure she gave, she took him deep into her mouth. With the warm water splashing around them, she licked and swirled and played with him until she felt his legs tremble, saw the hunger deepen in his expression, and heard his rough growl. Only then did she close her eyes, focusing entirely on his pleasure, stroking him until his groans vibrated through her.
She felt him stiffen, nearly finish, but then she was in his arms. He turned off the shower and carried her to the bed, and she bounced on the mattress as he laid her out. He grinned wickedly—a smile that damn near stopped her heart—as he slid between her thighs.
“You’re not allowed to have all the fun.” At the first contact of his tongue against her needy flesh, she grabbed a fistful of bedsheets and arched up into the pleasure. His tongue was gentle and wet and warm, and each teasingly light stroke made her want more. Need more.
Reading her just right, his finger slid over her clit and stroked in lazy circles before gingerly moving down her folds until he entered her. She moaned greedily, shifting her hips against him and riding his fingers, desperate for more.
“Don’t worry, Slugger,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against her inner thigh. “I’ll get you there.”
Her heady moan was her only reply.
One finger soon became two, and those teasingly light strokes of his tongue heightening her pleasure, turning it into something else entirely. His fingers pumped now, his mouth sucking and flicking, and she moaned and wiggled into the pleasure, kept in place only by his arm pinning her. Building and building, until all that pleasure stormed in, taking her far away from there.
She vaguely remembered him flipping her onto her knees that barely supported her before she felt the latex between them. But then she became lost as he entered her and moved slowly at first. He pressed against her back, sending her bottom into the air. His dominating fingers gripped her hips, and she pushed back against him. She felt all of him and knew he felt all of her too. So
on, he began rocking into her. Hard. Fast. He gave no misunderstanding that he was wild for her. As he pounded into her, she hung on for the ride. And it was a great fucking ride.
His hands were everywhere, stroking, seducing, commanding her. Somewhere in the pleasure, a new sensation rose, one she grabbed onto and never wanted to let go. Here, in the strength of his arms, she let go. Completely. His strength became all-consuming, and she melted into his addictive pleasure.
Then he went even harder. Skin slapping rhythmically against skin. The scent of their sex filling her senses. It became too much—so good she couldn’t hold onto it anymore.
She came first, with her scream muffled in the pillow and her toes curled from the pleasure, and he followed behind with a strained groan. They fell apart together, tangled into each other, and she settled into the crook of his shoulder, both of them breathless and sweaty. She shut her eyes and let her mind relax, wondering if she could bottle up a moment and keep it forever. Because if she could, she would pick this moment, this quietness sliding over her. This peace and happiness.
Sullivan finally broke the silence. “I could get used to this.”
“Cuddling?” Clara asked with a laugh.
“Yes,” he said, seriously, stroking his fingers through her hair.
She leaned up to look at him, finding his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face. “You haven’t cuddled in a while?”
He peeked open an eye and gave a soft smile. “No, not like this.”
Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, and she smiled in return. “Well, you’re not alone there. I can’t remember the last time I cuddled with anyone.” Yeah, she could. It had happened seven years ago, with him.
He continued to stroke her hair. “You were never serious with anyone after me?”
“No,” she answered before she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have.
His reply came just as quickly, settling her worries. “Me neither.”
The loaded statement hung in the air between them, and Clara felt his arm tightening around her. “It’s not like I didn’t want to find anything serious,” she explained. “I just didn’t have the time for it.”
His hand froze. “Was there anyone at all?”
“Of course, just nothing serious. I had my fun when I could, but kept things casual. Just made things easier where it came to Mason. What about you? Were the tabloids always wrong about your love life?”
“In that regard, they were always right,” he muttered sleepily. “And like I told you before, for me, women were a distraction, an escape. I never made any promises.”
A long moment passed between them, a thousand unsaid things spiraling in the air between them. Until one thought stood out that she couldn’t push away. “Do you think that’s weird?” Clara asked, putting a voice to her worries. “That neither of us really moved on?”
“No.” He slid over her until he hovered above her, his damp hair curtaining his face. “And you know why?”
She became lost in his steady gaze as she slid her hands over his strong shoulders, down his flexed biceps, feeling him shiver under her touch. “Why?”
He dropped his mouth to hers. “Because we weren’t done yet.”
“No, I guess we weren’t,” she whispered against his lips, and then she let him claim her again.
12
Two weeks went in a blur of magic and possibilities, and Clara knew with each passing day that she was letting herself fall deeper for Sullivan. Everything was perfect, and during the time she had with him, she felt like she finally had the family she wanted, with Sullivan in their lives. He’d done the work, on himself and for her and Mason. She woke up this morning, and like she did every other day, she got Mason off to school before returning home to work. Only today, everything felt different, she felt…hopeful. Mason was happy and thriving, and Sullivan was fitting into their lives seamlessly. And while it still felt like they needed to go slowly, she knew she wanted to take these steps forward with Sullivan. Lately, everything seemed perfect, so perfect that she wondered if maybe, just maybe, this time everything would be different. That this time, they would get their forever they had once talked about.
With the exposure from Sullivan’s media stunt at the brewery and the baseball game lighting up their social media and causing their beer to sell out locally, Clara decided to send her final revisions of the contracts back to her lawyer for him to send off to the distributors for final negotiations. The terms were much better for the brewery mainly due to Sullivan’s help. So she grabbed a coffee from the coffee shop and returned home to get this deal done.
For once in a very long time, Clara let her heart bask in the happy glow. The day was clear without a cloud in the sky. The roads were quiet. And even though gossip had spread about Mason being Sullivan’s son after Mason told everyone at school, the townsfolk had been kind and understanding, not catty. Everything was perfect.
Until she arrived home and all hell broke loose.
Before Clara could even park, people swarmed her car. No, not people, she realized: reporters. A dozen in total, some with cameras, others with microphones, and some with video cameras. She exited the car, looking for Sullivan somewhere in the crowd, but he was nowhere in sight. “Excuse me. Please, excuse me,” she said, pushing through the people, feeling like a sardine in a can.
“Clara. Clara,” a reporter called. “Please, over here, Clara.”
A blink of the eye later, she found microphones shoved in her face, the flash of cameras blinding her, questions being hurled her way. Their voices blended together in a roar, making it impossible for her to make out what they were saying.
Feeling trapped and claustrophobic, she wiggled out from around them and ran toward the house, not looking back. Just as she made it to the porch, she spotted Sullivan running toward her from his rental truck.
He met her halfway, his eyes hard, angry. “Go inside. Now. Call the police.”
She didn’t need him to ask her twice. She booked it forward, running up the porch steps, and got inside in a second flat, slamming the door shut behind her. Her purse fell to the hardwood floor, and she dropped to her knees, ignoring the sharp pain and grabbing her phone out with shaky hands. “Hello, this is Clara Carter, over at Three Chicks Brewery,” she said, breathless. “I’ve just arrived home to a dozen of unwanted reporters on my property.” In hopes they’d get here fast, she added, “They’re being forceful in their questioning.”
A pause. Then the 911 operator said, “We’ll send a few cruisers out to the brewery now. Hang tight.”
“Thank you,” Clara breathed, ending the call. One of the blessings of living in a small town was not having to explain more than she had to nor give an address. She stayed right there, in the foyer, with her cell phone clenched in her hand, and breathed past the shakiness, trembling to her core.
After a moment, Amelia ran from the kitchen and snapped, “Thank goodness you’re home. I’ve been calling, but you must have had your phone on silent. I had no idea what to do. Do you know why they’re here?”
“I haven’t got a clue.” Feeling like her legs were under her again, Clara rose and moved into the living room. She pulled the flower-patterned curtain aside to sneak a look outside. Sullivan stood at the bottom of the porch steps, talking to the reporters still yelling out to him. “It’s a madhouse out there. I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Amelia peeked around the curtain too. “Do you think that’s all for Sullivan?”
“Maybe because his suspension is ending soon. Who knows?” Her heart went out to him. Is this what he faced all the time? Where was the privacy?
“Sorry to break it to you, but it has nothing to do with his suspension.”
Clara whirled around to Maisie. “Then, what is it about?” she demanded.
Maisie cringed. “Fair warning: you’re not going to like what I’m about to show you.”
Clara noted Maisie’s shoes were still on, indicating she’d come through the
back door. It didn’t take much to know something was terribly wrong. One look at Maisie’s curled shoulders said enough. “Consider me warned. What is it?” Clara asked.
Maisie’s brow wrinkled as she closed the distance to offer her cell phone. “I saw this in my news feed on Facebook. I came right away.”
First, Clara made out she was looking at an article from a trashy rag. Then she stopped breathing at the headline: Sullivan Keene has a secret love child. That in itself wasn’t the only problem; it was all the details of their lives that followed. They’d twisted every event that shaped their lives. They knew he’d left her, and they blamed him. Only him. And the final sentence in the article was a dagger to her heart: Can she forgive him for walking out on her son and her?
“Oh, my God,” Clara breathed, glancing up at Maisie. “How could they do this to Sullivan? To Mason?” Word after word, it painted them in the worst light. Sullivan looked no better than his abusive father. Clara looked like a weak woman who drowned without Sullivan, barely able to raise her son. Mason was dragged through the mud alongside her and Sullivan. “How could they do this to a child?”
Maisie recoiled. “I know. It’s bad. I’m sorry, Clara.”
Amelia scooped up the phone, read the article, and growled, “And why do they care anyway if he left and moved away? Or that you have a son together? Don’t they have more important news to report on instead of Sullivan’s personal life?”
Clara had seen Sullivan’s face on the grocery store tabloids for years. “Not when Sullivan sells magazines.” The worst part was that the picture they had used was from when they went to the zoo together. A reporter had obviously been following them. They’d taken a happy moment and twisted it until it became ugly. The photograph was of Mason running away from them, and while they hadn’t been arguing at all, Sullivan had his head bowed and looked sad. Clara remembered that moment. Sullivan had wanted to tell Mason the truth and not keep secrets anymore. “Why would they do this to him?” she asked, mostly to herself, shaking her head.
Feisty Red: Three Chicks Brewery #2 Page 12