Alton's Secret Baby

by Iris Parker

  Alton’s Secret Baby

  by Iris Parker

  Copyright 2018 Iris Parker

  All rights reserved

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  author.iris.parker@gmail.com

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  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places, dialogue, and events in this book are entirely from the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Nothing should be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  The cover art for this book makes use of licensed stock photography. All photography is for illustrative purposes only. All persons depicted are models. Neither the models nor the photographer have endorsed this work.

  Chapter One

  Jessie

  A frenzy of camera flashes lit up the two masculine figures as they climbed out of the limousine. They were both impossibly large and muscled, making the oversized vehicle seem small and dainty by comparison. The other reporters didn’t waste any time before shouting out a flurry of questions. The two men moved through the crowd with a pace that bordered on arrogance, completely ignoring the attention. Not that I was surprised—it was easy to be confident when you looked like Alton Greene.

  I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what was to come next. If I tried hard to ignore what was at stake, I could almost pretend like this was business as usual. That these were just two more important-looking, tuxedo-wearing guys in a sea of black and white.

  And red, I corrected myself with a wince, noting the vast expanse of voluptuous red carpet that separated me from my goal. I’d never been a fan of the pomp and cults that built up around famous people, and tonight was no exception. I was a bona fide investigative journalist and political analyst, not a celebrity reporter.

  I was supposed to be delving into corruption and scandal, not reporting on the Boston Bruins and their annual charity dinner. Undercover and low-key was my usual style, but not tonight. I was as far from subtle as you could get, with a floor-length dress that blurred the line between professional and downright in-your-face sexy.

  Or maybe it actually crossed that line, I thought, looking down at my shamelessly exposed cleavage with a twinge of guilt.

  Not that I could afford to care about any of that.

  There were more important things on the line tonight than a bruised ego.

  I took another deep breath and finally stepped forward, venturing closer to the two men. I couldn’t let fear, pride, or anything else get in my way tonight. Everything hinged on this moment, a single meeting where all the long sleepless nights would either pay off or fail.

  It wasn’t just the most important moment of my life—it was the most important moment of Ezra’s life.

  I stepped out in front of the two Bruins players with the biggest smile I could muster. Dominick Henderson was still the nation’s sweetheart of course, and no amount of hiding from the public eye was going to change that. His friend Alton Greene, on the other hand, hadn’t been hiding at all. He was the same playboy as ever, the star of countless women’s dreams.

  And lately, he had been the star of all my nightmares.

  Despite the guilt, the nerves, and the horrifying thought that I could actually fail, I was eager to finally get this damn plan started.

  The other reporters kept haranguing the men with endless questions. It wasn’t exactly a surprise—after Dominick’s recent accident and the shocking revelations about his life, he was the main attraction for any journalist here tonight. They swarmed around him like ants on spilled honey, and of course I would soon need to join them myself.

  But it wasn’t Dominick I was here for.

  Luckily for me, I’d be able to get that part over with quickly. WBSX had a long-standing close relationship with the Bruins, and so I wasn’t worried about landing an interview with Dominick. Even Alton would probably give me at least a short pre-dinner chat, which gave me an opening. I’d stacked as many cards in my favor as I could tonight, and all I could do now was hope that at least one of them would pay off.

  Because in truth, I was here for Alton.

  Only Alton.

  Of course, deep down—beneath the fake confidence and the overpriced gown I’d bought just for this—I was terrified. I thought I’d covered every possible detail, right down to the scandalous amount of cleavage I was showing, but what if I had missed something?

  What if all of this was for nothing?

  I pushed away the dark thoughts as the crowd of reporters broke, and I spotted the two familiar figures emerge from a haze of flashes. Plastering on a big smile, I greeted Dominick with all the enthusiasm I could muster. It felt strange to sound so optimistic and happy when deep down, I knew that I was drowning in desperation.

  Dominick flashed me a beaming grin, leaning on his cane for support as I closed the distance between us. Even though Alton was standing right next to him, I clenched my teeth and did my best to focus only on Dominick.

  “Our viewers are dying to get some good news, and we’ve gotten hundreds of emails and tweets about you. Tell me, what’s life been like for you since the accident? How is your recovery going?” I directed the mic close to Dominick Henderson's face, rattling off a bunch of questions I didn’t care about.

  My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to avoid looking at the guy I was really here for. But he wasn’t paying any attention to me—not yet, anyway. It was just enough time to fill me with doubt, cold feet threatening the little bit of calm I had left.

  “It’s going well, thank you,” Dominick started, and I forced myself to concentrate on his words. It wasn’t too hard, actually, I realized after a couple of seconds. Even through the fear and worry, I knew I couldn’t jeopardize my job—not when money was a huge factor in Ezra’s treatment.

  But eventually, the longer Dominick talked about his own recovery and the new baby gracing his life, the more I struggled with maintaining my composure. Alton wasn’t paying attention anymore, chatting instead with the woman who had captured Dominick’s heart. Even watching him out of the corner of my eye, it was obvious how handsome the man actually was. I’d always assumed the photos of him were heavily edited, but that was obviously not the case.

  Alton Greene really was that gorgeous.

  Eventually the interview ended, and my morale soared. Once I tracked Alton down again, it would finally be time. It didn’t take me very long to find him; all I needed to do was follow the gaze of practically any other woman in the room.

  Most of them were looking at him, after all.

  I wanted to chuckle, or maybe even snort out of spite. But I couldn’t afford to do either. Instead I walked up to him, a seductive smile on my face and subtle sway in my hips. I knew he liked that—it was yet another trick I’d picked up when researching the man, this time from a magazine that had named Alton The Northeast’s Last Eligible Bachelor.

  Which was, of course, a polite way of saying that he’d sleep with any woman that had a pulse—as if a man like him could be eligible for anything.

  I remembered Stephen, back when we first met. It was our first year at college, and he had been the perfect bachelor. And then the perfect husband. I’d been smitten from the day we finally got the courage to actually speak to one another, and the rest had just fallen into place naturally.

  Alton was…absolutely nothing like Stephen. He was ruthless and careless, a notorious playboy with no heart and no care for anything but endless sexual conquest. Years of working in investigative journalism had honed my intuition to a razor edge, and that intuition told me to run away any
time I looked at a man like Alton.

  But tonight, I was ignoring those instincts.

  Tonight, I was walking straight into the lion’s den.

  Anything to save Ezra.

  Alton

  The journalist motioned over at me to join her by the side of the red carpet, and I pointed at myself questioningly to make sure she really wanted to interview me. She nodded enthusiastically, her smile almost suggestive as I made my way to her. She looked different—strikingly beautiful and dressed to the nines, and she stood out in the sea of demure journalists and TV executives who were following our every move tonight.

  She looked vibrant, almost as if she was ready to party the night away.

  In other words, she was my kind of woman.

  But as I walked closer, something about her made me hesitate. I couldn’t quite put my finger on it, but it felt as if there was a lot more going on than I could see—her eyes held a hidden complexity, a sense of purpose that burned with more intensity than anything I’d seen from previous flings or even obsessed fans.

  In other words, she wasn’t actually my kind of woman at all. I didn’t do complexity, hidden or otherwise. If I had even the slightest bit of sense, it was telling me to trust my instincts and avoid her like the plague.

  Naturally, the very next thing I did was check her hand for a ring.

  I never claimed to be a smart man. At least not when I was thinking with my lower half.

  “Alton Greene!” the woman purred, my name rolling off her tongue like it was coated in honey. Not that I was surprised. She wasn’t the first journalist who’d wanted more than a bit of news on my career.

  And she certainly wasn’t going to be the last one to end up in my bed, either.

  She opened the interview with the usual chitchat, the kind of questions I could handle in my sleep, and I took the opportunity to give her a seductive wink. Even if I didn’t care for all the publicity, I did love my job and the perks it gave. I mean, why wouldn’t I take full advantage of the situation? These women were more than willing to have me, even if they never would’ve given me the time of day had I stayed in Roxbury.

  Nobody liked real bad boys, they just thought they did.

  But at least the delusion was strong enough to last a night or two, and that was all I really needed.

  “Happy for your friend Dominick's recovery?” the reporter asked, surprising me a little. I was used to getting questions about Dominick, but only when he wasn’t around.

  “Yeah, that bastard had us all worried. But he really pulled through, and in the end neither of us murdered the other,” I joked, and the glint of surprise in the reporter’s eyes told me that I’d caught her off guard.

  “And found love in the process,” she added.

  And that’s exactly why he was so damn insufferable for a while, I thought, but decided not to say anything. I’d been honest enough for one night, and it was really none of the public’s business anyway.

  “Yeah. Love and a family. He can have it all, as far as I’m concerned,” I laughed.

  “So no plans on settling down yourself, then?” the reporter asked. “Somehow, I’m not surprised.”

  Of course she wasn’t. My reputation always seemed to get brought up in the press and the media. It was almost to the point where it was more important than my athletic abilities, like a messed up trademark of sorts. Kind of reductive, but at least women knew what to expect—I was definitely not the marrying kind.

  Or even the dating kind.

  “Why would I settle down when I’m having so much fun like this?” I laughed, and the journalist’s cheeks grew pinker—as did her chest, which I was having a hard time prying my eyes away from for more than a few seconds. It was hypnotic, and I hoped that it didn’t translate too obviously on camera.

  I blamed the deep, ample cleavage, not to mention all the curves. Her dress fit like a glove, and on anyone else it might’ve looked too provocative. But not on this woman. Something about the way she carried herself saved her from that, an air of professionalism and intensity that was at total odds with the risqué outfit.

  There was that damned complexity again. It seemed like the part of my brain that should’ve been warning me off was asleep at the wheel, and instead I just felt intrigued by the contradiction. I wondered how she would look without the dress, and which side of her personality would show up in bed.

  Still, it wasn’t like me to stare quite so obviously. I balled my fingers into my palm, making a tight fist as I tried to will my cock to sleep. I did my best to focus on the interview—my expectations for the coming season—and not on little details like her adorable button nose, or those plump and inviting lips and what she could do with them. They shimmered in the light, and I wondered if she was wearing lip gloss and what flavor it was.

  Maybe I’ll find out tonight, I thought, surprising myself.

  I didn’t even like kissing during foreplay, so why was I thinking about it now?

  My eyes caught hers and I saw her thin eyebrows arch, almost imperceptibly. My breath caught in my throat, and I finally heard myself muddle my way through an answer to her question about…team spirit, maybe? At least I hoped she’d been asking about team spirit. For all I knew, the question could’ve been about my favorite Nirvana song. I bit my lip, wondering if I’d just made a fool of myself on television.

  But dammit, this woman had me entranced. I needed to end the charade, now, before I embarrassed myself for real. I scanned the room, catching sight of a limping Dominick and his partner in the corner. Helena was surreptitiously helping the man stay on his feet, although to the casual observer it just looked like a public display of affection from a new couple in love.

  Not only did the two look adorable, they also gave me an excuse to break out of the interview early while maintaining my reputation.

  “I’m going to need to go,” I interrupted, pointing at Dominick. “Someone needs to go interrupt those two before this gets out of hand. If we’re not careful, they’re going to ruin the mood in here.”

  “Ruin the mood?” the reporter asked.

  “That kind of lovey-dovey behavior is downright infectious. Before you know it, a slow dance is going to break out.”

  “Sounds terrible,” the reporter remarked dryly.

  “It’s all fun and games until someone plays Why Do Fools Fall in Love,” I joked back.

  “Then by all means, go and save us,” she said, talking directly into the camera as she wrapped up the segment. “There you have it, everybody. The infamous Alton Greene, just as incorrigible as ever! I’ve been Jessie Wilson, reporting live from the annual Bruins charity dinner for WBSX.”

  Jessie Wilson. The name echoed in my ears, but didn’t sound at all familiar despite my occasionally watching WBSX. I repeated her name a few times in my head, making note of it even though I was sure I’d never see her again after tonight.

  Or rather, I wouldn’t see her again after tomorrow morning. And by then it would be a little too late to ask her name—not that it would matter much at that point.

  I was getting ready to leave, but Jessie’s hand surreptitiously landed on my arm, stopping me dead in my tracks. She made sure she wasn’t on the air anymore before she turned her attention back to me.

  “So. No date?” she asked, her voice sounding once again like a purr.

  “Not tonight, no. I find that the charity auction usually takes in more if I show up alone. It helps encourage bidding,” I explained.

  “Surprisingly thoughtful of you,” Jessie said, sizing me up. Her face was hard to read, save for the clear hints of sexual attraction I could see in her eyes. “Not that you need to worry about that tonight,” she added cryptically.

  My cock twitched in my pants. Had Jessie been intending to make a bid at the bachelor auction? She certainly would’ve been quite a step up from the usual chaste dowager who typically got me, although I had no idea how a reporter could match the bids of old money looking for publicity. Even so, something
about her still seemed off.

  I was used to women throwing themselves at me. All kinds of women. Young college students looking for a wild experience, older women looking for reassurance, busy professionals who—like me—enjoyed a bit of sexual big game hunting. I’d seen it all, and yet….

  Jessie didn’t really fit the bill. Any of the bills. That damned complexity in her piercing eyes was still there, leaving me stumped and more than a little wordless. It was almost a treat to feel a little flustered, something I hadn’t experienced since becoming famous. Usually I had a way with words, but tonight they failed me.

  Good thing I had other stuff going for me. Celebrity status, a long winning streak, muscles—they were never after much more than that, after all. They knew the rules, and so did I. As long as I had an ever-changing parade of women in my bed to keep me occupied and satisfied, I was happy.

  Maybe it was a hollow life, but damned if it wasn’t a fun one. One that I was never going to give up, that was for sure. But this woman in front of me—Jessie—didn’t really fit any of that. She had one hell of a poker face, but from time to time she let just enough slip for me to read her.

  Lust. Arrogance. Sadness.

  I opened my mouth and closed it, unable to think straight. For one fleeting second, a shadow of doubt crossed her face. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by determination and… hunger. My eyes went down to the side of her plump lips, wondering again what her lip gloss tasted like.

  My cock stirred despite all my efforts to stop it.

  Sliding my gaze down further, her neck looked soft and inviting—but not half as soft or inviting as her breasts. Round and juicy, they were two pale globes that contrasted sharply to the shiny lamé of her black sequined gown.

  Maybe it was playing with fire, but dammit, I wanted her.