Bad Boys Teaser: A Sizzling Bad Boys Anthology

by Warren, Rie

  “Can you just hold me?”

  “’Course I can.” Rugged hands reached around me, and he brought me even closer until our legs tangled together and the beat of his heart thudded against my breast.

  All the things I’d missed out on for so many years.

  Six years too long.

  “Can you stay?” I asked.

  “Nowhere else I’d rather be, darlin’.”

  Those words in his voice. His arms surrounding me—the protection I’d never let myself have.

  Sleeping next to the man was part restful, part torture. The feel of his skin against mine—the coarse hair at his groin and on his legs, the tickle of his midnight-colored stubble, the sensation of his cock growing hard against my pelvis—trickled into my subconscious and filled my dreams with wicked desires.

  When I woke in the morning, I was more hot than warm.

  Rafe.

  Mmmmm . . .

  I opened my eyes, immediately drinking in the sight of him asleep as his eyelids briefly fluttered, his lips gently twitched. He wasn’t as perfect this close up. The bridge of his nose was a little crooked. He had a small white scar on his cheek. And maybe he wore his hair a little long and shaggy because I could swear one of his ears was slightly off kilter.

  Totally not perfect at all. So that just made him even more appealing. Of course it did.

  And the sheets were shucked down to his thighs, his morning wood practically shouting Suck. Me. Off.

  He’d held me all night long. Snuggling sweetly. Hard where I was soft.

  Capable, strong, solid, commanding, talented, funny . . .

  And fuck me . . . so big and hard.

  I sat up as quietly as possible, trying not to disturb him. I leaned over his waist, temptingly close to his glorious erection.

  Right there! Right in front of my face! Practically waving at me in invitation.

  Yup.

  And he always tasted so damn good.

  UNF.

  Okay. Time to move before I fall face first into his lap.

  I pulled myself away from his naked body. After staring. A lot. Drooling. A bit.

  He frowned in his sleep until I leaned over to kiss his lips—lightly, not enough to wake him—then he rolled into my pillow and sleep-slurred my name.

  I didn’t shower—I wanted the smell, the imprint of him on me to last. I wanted it so much I snagged his rumpled shirt from the floor and shrugged it on with a pair of panties underneath. He was so much bigger than me the tails flapped around my knees, and his scent enveloped me completely.

  Half an hour later, I was at the stove, making an omelet—I hoped—when Rafe snuck up behind me and wrapped his strong forearms around my waist.

  A giddy feeling swelled in my chest and lifted my belly.

  “I like you in my shirt.” He pressed against my back, and I could feel just how much he approved of me wearing his shirt.

  “Oh yeah?” Turning in his embrace, I linked my hands behind his neck.

  His gaze fell to my breasts. “Like you better out of it.” That dirty little smirk.

  He lowered his head, and his lips searched across mine. That disaster of an omelet was definitely burning . . .

  Burning like my body, straining to melt into his.

  Rafe drew my tongue into his mouth, his hands dropping to cup my ass—

  “Mommy!”

  I reeled away from Rafe as Callum flew into the kitchen.

  “Mommy?” Rafe’s brows beetled together.

  Nineteen

  Ragin’

  Rafe

  MOMMY?

  I immediately jumped away from Peyton like she was on fire—in a different way than just a few seconds before when her lips had moved so softly against mine.

  Mommy?

  Holy fuck. How did I not know this?

  The little guy raced into the room and wrapped himself around Pey’s legs. Kinda where I’d just been. And thank fuck I’d pulled my damn jeans on upstairs earlier.

  Shit. This did not look good.

  Aaaand where was the dad?

  I watched Pey scoot down to his level, grabbing the kid into a hug. “Hey, baby boy. You’re home early.”

  “Auntie Phil got grouchy when I woke her up so I made her watch cartoons. Then she took me to the IHOP. And we already went to the park so I could ride my bike. And Auntie Phil tol’ me I weared her out so she bought me an ice cream.”

  I chewed on the inside of my cheek, so damn close to laughing.

  Peyton’s mystery son or not, the kid was goddamn infectious.

  He yanked on her hair, the cinnamon color almost the same shade as his.

  “Who’s that man, Momma?” With one arm looped around her neck, he pointed at me.

  “Um . . .”

  Fuck it. I just had to remember the swear jar rule around him, but otherwise I was a wizard when it came to the young’uns.

  I stepped forward. “Hi. I’m—”

  “Rafe”—Peyton interrupted—“and this is my son—”

  “You’re Rafe Mac!” The tiny tot couldn’t have been more than four or five years old, and he obviously took after his momma.

  Bold. Spirited. Completely undaunted as he rushed over and beamed up at me.

  Squatting down, I shook the hand pushed toward mine. “Sure am. Nice to meet you, buddy. What’s your name?”

  “Callum. Momma calls me Cal. I’m gonna be a quarterback just like you when I grow up.”

  One glance at Peyton and I could tell she wasn’t entirely thrilled by that prospect.

  “There’s way cooler things to be. Like an astronaut.”

  At that suggestion, Peyton shook her head in the background.

  “A marine biologist? Totally boss.” I threw another idea out there, captivated by the little dude with the crooked smile and slight gap in his top front teeth.

  “Sharks,” Peyton coughed into her hand.

  “How about a lawyer? All that drama in the courtroom.”

  Callum scrunched up his nose, apparently unimpressed, but I was out to score points with Mommy.

  Mommy. Peyton. Callum. Four . . . five? I peered from him to Peyton. Saw the way her face had turned a little chalky.

  Something clicked.

  Something I . . .

  “Oh, gurrrrl. Auntie needs to call a time out because baby boy done wore me out.” A beautiful black woman strode into the kitchen.

  The famous Doctor Phil, Peyton’s BFF, Coach D’s daughter. And she looked at me with a slowly intensifying gaze.

  “Philomena, this is”—Peyton’s voice dropped a register—“Rafe Macintyre.”

  Phil drew up short. She stared at me. Then at Callum. Then at Pey.

  Then her eyes widened into saucers. “Shut the front door! He’s the spitting—”

  “Phil—”

  “Dayum, girl. Just day-um.” Phil reached across the kitchen island as I rose to my feet to shake her hand.

  Her smile was fierce as she glanced at Peyton. “Double damn. You dirty, dirty dawg, honey chile.”

  “Thanks for taking Cal, Phil, but I need you to leave now,” Peyton hissed in what might’ve been meant to be an undertone.

  “Mmm hmm. Well, you better hollah back at me tonight.”

  My head started spinning.

  Seconds later I heard the pair at the front door as Pey showed Phil out.

  “How did I not know?” Phil asked, and that question carried all the way to me.

  Puzzle pieces started slotting together, but I couldn’t . . .

  Callum still stood in front of me, his little head cocked at a curious angle.

  The bright red hair. The deep green eyes.

  Peyton rushed back into the kitchen. “So you had a good time with Auntie Phil?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

  Her hand shook slightly as she ruffled Callum’s hair.

  “How old is he?” I asked.

  “I’m dis many.” He held up six fingers.

  I quickly calculated th
e months, the years, and didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

  “Not until January, buddy.” Peyton rolled her eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. You’re growing up too fast as it is.”

  Callum screwed up his face in my direction. “But you can still come to my birthday party?”

  He’s gonna be six.

  I rubbed a hand across my mouth, nodding because all of a sudden everything made perfect sense—why Peyton had never invited me to her house before, why she’d up and disappeared so many years ago, why she’d returned . . .

  And everything I’d thought was true made no sense whatsoever now.

  “Hey, hon.” Peyton squatted down beside her son. “Why don’t you go up to your room for a bit? I bought you a new book. It’s on your special pillow.”

  She followed him to the bottom of the stairs, waited to hear the door close, hesitantly rejoined me.

  I’d turned off the burner. Tossed out the ruined eggs. Suddenly saw the sippy cups lined up on the counter and the big chalkboard wall scrawled with reminders half-covered over with giant multicolored drawings. The kind Liv used to make with her markers.

  As I braced my arms against the sink the pit of my stomach dropped.

  “He’s mine, isn’t he?” My head hung low, and I peered over at Peyton. “That night? That one night?”

  “I didn’t know what to do.” Her voice so low I barely registered it, Peyton stood beside me, her arms folded over her stomach.

  “What the hell happened?”

  “You tell me.”

  “We used condoms.” The knots in my stomach rose to clog my throat.

  “They’re not foolproof, you know, Rafe.”

  “Over five years?” I had to blink because tears suddenly stung the corners of my eyes.

  She stepped closer, giving me a sad smile. “His birthday is January seventeenth.”

  His birthday. His sixth birthday. Callum Fox. Should’ve been Macintyre.

  I curled my hands over the lip of the sink until my knuckles turned as blistering white as my anger. “Just who the hell does he think his dad is?”

  “Cal still believes in the stork. Everyone else thinks he was just some random college guy, something that never panned out. I’d never have gotten rid of him, Rafe.”

  “Do you even know who I am? Do you think for one second I’d have asked you to have a fucking abortion?”

  She looked aside. “I didn’t know you then, not at all. What we did was stupid, Rafe! But Callum—he’s my whole life.” Her whispered words did nothing to ease the burning pain inside. “I did what I had to do to keep your identity out of it. To protect you.”

  Swinging around to pace across the kitchen, I felt like breaking something, hitting something. But Callum was upstairs, and he had no goddamn clue.

  “Jesus Christ, Peyton. You’re the mother of my child. A son I didn’t even know about!”

  When I faced her again, tears trailed down her cheeks. “You didn’t remember who I was the next day!” Her voice dropped to a seething whisper. “You didn’t even remember fucking me.”

  Caught up short, I sucked in a deep breath.

  “I remembered everything about that night.” I held myself tightly restrained. “You were the owner’s daughter and it was the night I got signed onto Carolina Crush.”

  She swiped the tears from her face. “Exactly.” Those sad wet eyes lifted to mine. “And now I’m the owner.”

  “Fuck. I know.” Her connection with the team was the reason I’d blanked her in the first place as soon as I’d figured it out.

  Some of the anger whistled out of me.

  And every part of me still wanted to hold her regardless of the fact she’d had my child, never told me about him.

  This was such a fucking mess.

  I’m a dad.

  “Can you imagine the scandal? Do you have any idea what kind of position this puts me in?” Peyton came closer, and I had to shut my eyes against the sight of her.

  She’d always been my weakness.

  Always the one.

  She’s the mother of our child.

  “He’s my kid, Peyton. And I . . .” I shook my head. I wouldn’t say what I felt about her. That I thought I was falling in love with her. “Do you really think I'd be such a shitty dad?”

  Her tone softened. “No. I’ve seen you with Liv, but . . .”

  “But what?” I nearly growled at her. “What are we gonna do, Pey?”

  “I’ve raised him by myself.” Her rash words hit me like a challenge.

  “Because I didn’t goddamn know!”

  Twenty

  Surprise! You’re a Dad! Ugh

  Peyton

  MY HEART BROKE FOR Rafe. The man had every right to be pissed off.

  But so did I.

  I had raised Callum, virtually on my own. I’d done the whole fat-waddling-pregnant thing—nine solid months of fiery heartburn and swollen cankles and OB appointments—without a man to take care of me.

  I’d provided for Cal. Worried about him every single minute of every damn day. I’d monitored his fevers, stayed up all night when he was sick, took him for his shots, and kissed the booboos better.

  Because the simple fact remained Rafe hadn’t wanted a relationship back then. Hell, he hadn’t even acknowledged my existence the morning after we’d had sex the night my dad signed him onto the team. I’d woken up in my bed, alone. No note. No text. No nothing. The wreck of the bedsheets the only evidence of our one night together.

  The night I’d gotten pregnant. The night Rafe was drafted.

  My dad supported me through it all. I’d given birth—my life permanently linked to Callum that first moment he’d moved inside me, my heart snagged the first second he’d been placed in my arms.

  I’d finished my degree. I’d fought for success. I’d taken care of the two of us.

  And all the while, Rafe was out there.

  The father of our son.

  We’d had sex. He’d disappeared during the night then the next day at the signing event all I’d received was a blank stare when we met, formally, face-to-face.

  My shoulders slumped, and I bit back the viperous words I could’ve blasted Rafe with.

  I’d also been there to cuddle Cal. I’d memorized his baby scent, witnessed every one of his major moments from first tooth, first Christmas, first steps, and every milestone since his birth.

  Jesus. This was not how I wanted Rafe to find out.

  Surprise! You’re a dad!

  I didn’t touch Rafe as his lips curled down, his forehead creased, but I wanted to. I wanted to explain . . . the thing I’d never understood between us.

  Instead I poured two cups of coffee. “Can we go sit down?”

  I walked into the living room I’d rushed him through last night, set the mugs down on the end table, and watched Rafe stride to the fireplace. He made straight for the mantelpiece decorated with myriad pictures of our son.

  Our son.

  My heart clenched.

  He stopped at the one of Callum and me. I’d been sitting in the rocking chair, a beam of sun slanting across us. Our red hair almost the same shade, his peaking from beneath the little cap embroidered with the Carolina Crush emblem, and his tiny face tipped up in my direction. He’d fit perfectly in my arms at two months old.

  I remembered every moment. Every moment Rafe had never experienced.

  His fingertips stroked lightly over that perfectly captured memory.

  Tears starred my vision, and I tried to blink them back. Perched on the edge of the sofa, my sole focus was on Rafe, his on the photographs until he turned, scrubbing his palms down the sides of his face.

  “Why did you even bring me to your house?” He waved his hand back at the pictures. “You had to know I’d find out, Pey. The sippy cups in the kitchen and”—his throat bobbed—“all this.” His forehead crumpled. “Why?”

  “I was going to tell you. Today. But Phil came back early with Cal and . . .�
�

  “You call him Cal?” Rafe’s rough voice brought my eyes to his.

  His were mossy green, damp.

  Biting my lip, I nodded, and another flood of tears threatened my eyes.

  “What’s his middle name?” Rafe took a step forward.

  Then another.

  “It’s . . .” I wasn’t sure my voice still worked at that point. “Mac.”

  Rafe stopped in the center of the floor and a shaft of sunlight from the huge windows shimmered over him. “Why?”

  “Because I always wanted you to be part of this, but . . . you couldn’t.”

  “You didn’t let me.”

  “You lied to me, dammit!”

  He stiffened, and his eyebrows cranked down. “Wait. Wait a goddamn second, Pey. You met my mom. Callum’s grandma! Liv. His auntie. And you never said anything to me. Not for all these years?”

  I jumped up. “You don’t understand. The guilt’s been eating me up inside, Rafe!”

  “So much you couldn’t be fucking bothered to pick up a phone and tell me about my son?”

  “It’s not like that.” I lifted my chin. “You pursued me that night. You started in again the minute I came back on the scene.”

  “You’re not entirely innocent yourself.” He cursed under his breath.

  “I know.” I sagged back down to the sofa, my legs shaking, my tummy quivering. “It’s just . . . you were so young.”

  “We were young.” Cupping my cheek in his palm, he raised my face.

  I held his hand against me before sliding away from his touch. “You were just starting this all-star career. I didn’t know what to do.” Hugging myself, I lowered my gaze. “I did what I thought was best. Getting knocked up by the number one draft pick? When you pretended we’d never been together? Do you think I’d be a gold digger like that?”

  When I peered at Rafe again it looked like all the strength had sapped out of him. His shoulders slumped as he walked from one photo to the next. He coasted his fingers against Callum’s books haphazardly lined up on the shelves. Crouching down in front of the windows, he started pushing the caboose around Cal’s train table.