SCORE (A Stepbrother Sports Romance)

by Mia Carson

“Will do,” Keith grinned. “I’ll leave you two alone and go tell everyone you’ll live. Even Rossi was asking about you.”

  “Tell him I’m honored.” He was a little more awake now. “Who won the race?”

  “He did.”

  Keith left the room to spread the good news. I sat, still holding his hand. Despite my resolve, I couldn’t stop another tear that rolled down my face.

  “It’s okay, Summer,” he reassured me. “But whatever they’ve got me on, get them to give me some to take home, because…Wow!”

  “You asshole,” I spat at him. “Do you know how worried I was?”

  “I can only imagine”—he reached up to brush away the single tear—“and I’m so sorry. But I’m going to be fine. Here, pull that sheet back and hop on! I’ll show you how fine I’ll be!”

  That made me laugh. Sure, he was high on painkillers, but the color was returning to his cheeks and his eyes were bright again. Even his voice sounded more awake. His lips were dry and his voice sounded labored, so I held a small beaker with a straw in it up to his mouth so he could sip some water.

  “I thought you were dead for a minute,” I told him, “and I’m sorry. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”

  “I don’t even remember what happened,” he said.

  I filled him in on what we thought Blake did and that I was sure Suzi was behind it. I decided not to tell him about the video, though. Not yet.

  “Man, that’s fucked up,” he said. “Who knew she’d be such a psycho?”

  “Yeah, anyway,” I said, “we’re flying back tomorrow. But we still haven’t decided exactly where you and I will fly to.”

  “I thought about that. Tell me, you do own a bikini, don’t you?”

  James

  A day later, we touched down on the two-square-mile island of Mustique in the West Indies, about eighty miles west of Barbados. Summer was thrilled by the little single-engine plane we took from Barbados International Airport, and even though we’d just done an eleven-hour long haul from Buenos Ares, she looked impossibly fresh and stunning.

  We were here because we couldn’t agree on how to move forward. I owned a villa on this tiny billionaire’s playground, along with people like Mick Jagger, Paul McCartney, and the Duke and Duchess of Cambridge. My particular place had been built, lived in, and previously owned by David Bowie. It was basically a group of interconnected, Indonesian-themed pavilions built up in the hills over some small ponds and a pool. It was secluded, tranquil, surrounded by greenery, and utterly beautiful.

  I hated being on painkillers; I was pretty out of it and Summer had to fend for herself, take care of me, and find out where everything was for the first day or so. However, judging from her reaction on arrival, she wasn’t too upset about it.

  On the third day, I woke up alone. I had to sleep sitting up because my left arm was strapped up so my shoulder could heal, but on this morning, the pain was bearable enough that I thought I could get by on aspirin.

  It was near 11:00 a.m. and the sun outside was shining down from a deep blue sky, casting magically sparkling ripples across the pool outside. I put on some loose linen shorts and a thin white shirt—slipping only one arm in, obviously, and pulling the other side over my shoulder—before I wandered out to find Summer. I found this goddess lying naked and face down in the sun next to the wet bar. Her hair was as long and dark as usual, but damp and tousled from swimming. Her magnificent body had turned a wonderful coppery-brown and shined from sweet-scented oils and the tiny beads of sweat that tickled seductively along her curves. I instantly felt my cock start to firm up at the sight.

  “I have never seen anything sexier or more beautiful in my life,” I said breathlessly as I approached her slowly. “I guess this means you don’t own a bikini, after all.”

  “Mm, morning.” I heard her lips curl into a relaxed grin around the words. She turned her head to face me. “Are you feeling better?”

  “Yeah, I am,” I told her. “Thanks in no small way to finding you like this.”

  I crouched beside her, doing my best not to block the golden rays that illuminated her radiant skin.

  “Oh really?” She lifted her head and smiled temptingly at me. “Poor baby, it’s been two days. You must be so horny. I know I am. I would be lying if I said I didn’t start without you.” She licked the first two fingers of her right hand slowly, and it was the hottest, naughtiest thing I’d ever seen.

  Before I could ask her, she pushed me—shorts, shirt and sandals—into the pool. The water was cool, but my shoulder straps were now ruined. I stood in the water, not knowing quite what to say, when she got up off the low recliner and slipped into the pool in front of me. She pushed my undone shirt off me, off the one arm that was in its sleeve, then edged closer and leaned her head back so I could kiss her mouth. I could feel my dick bursting to be let loose from its linen cage, and Summer, always able to tell exactly what I wanted, ran her fingers down my wet chest, over my stomach, and attacked the fastenings on my shorts.

  I ran my movable hand all over her hot, oily breasts and tasted the salt around her lips from baking in the sun. She reached around to push the floating shorts down over my butt, then brought a hand around and took my shaft in her eager hand. I was rock hard, so her delicate touch made me gasp and my knees go slightly weak. The water lapped around our waists as she pulled me, by the cock, back to the edge of the pool.

  “God, I’ve been waiting for you to wake up,” she breathed, turning around to grip the pool edge. She wiggled her submerged butt delicately at me. “Please, just do it, hard and fast.”

  I didn’t need telling again. I pushed two fingers into her pussy. She moaned at the contact, and I could feel the thick slickness of her juices even though she was under water. Impatiently, she grabbed my dick again and pulled it towards her hole.

  “I need you to fuck me, baby,” she whispered, so I did.

  I slid in, pushing apart her hot, wet sex as I drove in deeper and deeper. She responded with a long, satisfied groan, and pushed her ass back to help me get even deeper still.

  “Oh, that’s so good, baby,” she moaned, and I could feel her pussy throbbing around me. How long had she been playing with herself out here? It didn’t matter. I’d only just entered her, and she was nearly ready to come.

  “I think you’re the horny one,” I whispered, my cock buried inside her. “Come for me, baby. It’s okay, don’t wait for me.”

  I brought my good hand across the front of her to cup one of her beautiful tits and stayed still while she slid herself back and forth on me. Controlling the exact speed and depth of how she needed it, she was really close in no time at all. Her cries got louder, and her pushes grew slower and weaker as she slipped further and further into ecstasy until she could barely move. I took over, urgently driving myself in and out of her, sending her even further out of control. She yelled, her legs buckling and shaking, and she lay her head on the tiles at the pool’s edge. Still, I hammered at her softly pulsing pussy, burying myself in her as deep as she’d let me. She cried open-mouthed in time with my every thrust, with no end in sight for her orgasm. She just kept coming.

  And it didn’t take long for me to get close, either. Her gorgeous hair, all tossed about and dripping. Her amazingly toned and bronzed body, skin almost painfully hot from the sun. Her sweet, wet, welcoming pussy, gripping me so firmly as she screamed, writhed and bucked endlessly against me. It was all such a turn on that I couldn’t stop myself. My dick seemed to swell even more, getting harder than I ever thought possible, before I lost the power of speech and simply grunted out a long, low, guttural groan as I released inside her. I grew dizzy and feared I might pass out from fluid loss as I seemed to be discharging shot after shot of thick semen into her body with there being no sign of let up for me either.

  As a moment or two passed, though, our orgasms trailed off, our bodies spent and our voices hoarse from shouting. Yet we stayed still, Summer leaning against the side of the pool, me leani
ng against Summer’s hot skin, and her pussy still impaled by my semi-hard erection.

  “Wow,” I panted, even though it seemed inadequate.

  “James,” Summer said in a small voice. “I…I love you.”

  I was stunned to hear her say it. Stunned, yet overjoyed. I heard her sniff and took a step back, separating us. I turned her to face me. She was smiling but weeping as well.

  “I never thought I’d hear you said it,” I told her. I gathered her to me and held her close. “I love you, too. I love you more than I ever dared imagine. I never want to love anyone besides you.”

  “Well…” She sniffed again and laughed, pushing me off her so she could look me in the eye. “That may be tricky.” I couldn’t keep a confused look off of my face. “You may have to love at least one other person.”

  “What are you talking about?” I demanded.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  We stared at each other for a long minute. The longest minute ever. Her face questioning, my face in utter shock.

  “Please,” she said desperately, “please say something, James.”

  “I…” I stammered. “I…think that’s amazing.” Staring into those hypnotic green eyes, a huge smile flowed across my face, which I saw quickly reflected by her.

  “Really? Oh, thank god,” she breathed.

  “But when?” I asked her, “I mean, how? I mean…”

  “That first night…” She smiled. “There were enough chances. And I would think you would know how by now.”

  “I mean, I assumed you were protected.”

  “Oh, I see,” she said, getting out of the pool. She put towels on the hot concrete, and we lay down naked in the sun, facing each other. “I thought I was, too. But I’d had a busy time and had been going through a dry spell with the guy I was seeing. I think I just lost track. I thought I’d be fine, but I guess if it’s fated to happen, there’s not a lot we can do. You’re not angry, are you?”

  “No, not at all. How could I be?” I reassured her. “When we were making love in the pool just then, I didn’t think I could feel any happier. But you’ve gone and proved me wrong. And it solves our problem.”

  “Which problem?”

  “About how to move forward. Let’s just say I know what we’re going to do now.”

  Summer

  I’d never been to Spain. Lucky for me, that was the next fixture for the Moto GP, a famous circuit called Jerez in the southern part of the country. Only this time, we were not here to race. James’s shoulder hadn’t healed yet, but that wasn’t the reason.

  I’d never been more nervous about anything than telling James about the baby. Never, except when I had actually found out I was pregnant. It was the first day on Mustique. James was happily in the land of groovy unicorns and funky painkillers when I realized I was late. Not too late, but when I thought about it, I also realized I’d been pretty fast and loose with my birth control. So I strolled down to the little island store. There was only one, and only one bar as well. I got a stick to pee on—after waiting in line behind Steven Tyler from Aerosmith, I realized later—and went back to the villa.

  The little blue lines announced my condition, and I sat still, utterly frozen for a long time. What would this mean for us? I felt a sinking hole in my stomach as I pictured James’s angry reaction. I wasn’t ready for this, and it certainly couldn’t have been high on his list of life goals right now. Then my hands began to shake as I wondered if it could be Derek’s after that unfortunate tryst on my couch. I calmed myself by deciding that the odds were clearly in James’s favor.

  Anyway, the Barcelo Montecastillo Golf, a five-star resort right next to the Spanish track, was our venue for this Friday night’s dinner, which James was throwing himself. The occasion? He was announcing his retirement from racing.

  The press would hardly report it. To them, it was just another also-ran failing to make it, but he was so loved and respected in the racing community that everyone he’d invited RSVP’d to this celebration of his career. It only seemed fitting to hold it at the time and place of the race, as well as making sure the multinational guest list would be mostly gathered in the same town at the time.

  The night went well. James was constantly occupied by friends, colleagues, and well-wishers. He was monopolized, taking him away from me a bit, but I understood. It was his night. And when he told me he couldn’t bear the thought of being injured again—or worse, putting me and a baby through that—I couldn’t have loved him more. I knew he loved it, but he was getting too old, anyway.

  Not only were almost all the riders from this year’s season in attendance, so were past heroes like Mick Doohan, Wayne Gardner, Carl Fogarty, Colin Edwards, and even Eddie Lawson. Their names didn’t mean much to me, but from the way James talked about them, they were clearly a bunch of big deals. Marc Márquez and sweet Sam from Dunlop were at the top table with us, as was the irrepressible little Italian, nine times world champion, Valentino Rossi who, despite his thick accent and having had a few drinks, had taken over compere duties.

  It was only me who looked for someone else. I saw Blake—who I invited without telling James—shuffling about on the fringes of the party with his wife, who looked far too pretty to be with a slime ball like him. He was shunned by most of the other guests because, though what he did had not been officially recognized as malicious, word had leaked out and it was a shitty thing to do to another rider. Eventually, I spotted Suzi, too. It had taken some arranging, but she was there as the date of one of the lower level riders. She wore a tight, short, blue-sequined number. Good. I wanted her to look fabulous.

  Valentino had been reading tribute cards from people throughout the industry, many of them rude or insulting in a good humored way, and all of them embarrassing James to some extent. Those, coupled with Rossi’s own stories about James’s escapades, all delivered in his over the top accent, had the crowd in stitches.

  Finally, he introduced a film reel we’d created, documenting his racing history with pictures and footage. It was projected on a huge screen behind the main table, and I saw James watching from behind his hands, totally mortified by all the fuss made over him.

  Then it happened. Near the end of the footage, it suddenly appeared as if the tape had been chewed up. The screen went blank for a second, to groans and boos from the audience, when suddenly, there was a new film on the screen. It was shaky and a little blurred, but you could make out Blake in the back of a car, looking sweaty and gross from the race, and Suzi deliberately putting her head in his lap before bobbing up and down, then reappearing and wiping her mouth.

  The screen went black again, and the room sat in stunned silence. Then, there was a slow clap. I looked around and saw James managing to applaud the two lovebirds on the film with his arm still in a sling, a huge and amused smile on his face.

  Mrs. Blake stood quickly, threw her glass of champagne over her husband, shouted at him, threw his drink over him, too, then stormed off. Blake paled as he looked around the room, then ran after her to the sound of laughter and thunderous applause. I looked around because I wanted to see the look on Suzi’s face. I couldn’t find her, but a sudden commotion beside me drew my attention. Suzi was running impressively in her heels, screaming swear words as she charged straight at me.

  I managed to react in time, getting out of my chair and stepping deftly to one side. She turned and lunged at me again, but I blocked her arms and my fist cracked her squarely on the jaw, putting her down. It happened so fast, none of the racers standing around, in spite of their lightning reflexes, had time to move.

  James was instantly by my side, though.

  “What the fuck was that? Are you okay?” he asked. I nodded and let him put his arm around me.

  Marc picked Suzi up and carried her away with a couple of other guys helping him when she started to lash out and kick. Valentino didn’t miss a beat, quickly presenting me to the crowd as the “Fantastic Ms. Spence, boxing champion of the world!” to laughter and appla
use.

  Sam laid a comforting hand on my shoulder, while James looked me in the eye.

  “I can’t believe you did that.” He grinned with unrestrained delight. “There was no need.”

  “Maybe not to you,” I told him.

  And, as I stared into his handsome face and his deep blue eyes, I knew I was not going to regret choosing him. I knew I was not going to regret facing my fear of commitment. Then, as he laid a gentle, loving hand on my stomach, I knew we were going to be happy together. All three of us.

  ***

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