Second Draft
C.M. Seabrook
Carter Blake
Copyright (C) 2017 C.M. Seabrook, Carter Blake
ISBN 978-1540768506
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
Warning: This book is intended for readers 18 years and older due to bad language, violence, and explicit sex scenes.
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Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Epilogue
“It’s much easier to become a father than to be one.” – Kent Nerburn
“Sometimes you get a second chance. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes all you can do is forgive yourself for the things you can’t change.” – C.M. Seabrook
Chapter 1
Layla
I don’t see the car, only hear the screech of tires, the horn blaring right before I’m being tossed to the ground, a large, very muscular body rolling with me.
Gravel bites into skin, and the book I was reading goes flying from my grip.
The world flips a few times, and then stills.
A large hand cups the back of my head protectively, an even larger body presses heavily between my thighs.
Above me, the sun shines behind the man’s head, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but when they do my breath catches in my throat.
Dark scruff shadows his face, but it only amplifies the sharp edges of his jaw, the small, sexy scar through his left eyebrow, the slight cleft in his chin, and soft full lips that are parted slightly. But it’s his eyes, the lightest shade of blue, that seem to radiate with almost hypnotizing spark, that ignites something inside of me, and sends little shockwaves of desire through every nerve ending in my body.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush of almost dying, or the fact that it’s been forever since I’ve had a man between my legs, but a tingle, or rather an explosion of heat, that I haven’t felt in years, races through my core, all the way down to my toes.
My hero stares down at me, blue eyes dark, intense, looking at me like he doesn’t know whether to chastise or kiss me.
Kiss me. The thought pops into my head, and I quickly suppress it. Bad idea.
My heart is pounding in my ears, and I know if I don’t get this hulking giant off me soon, I’m going to do something even stupider than walking straight into mid-day traffic.
I push on his chest and wiggle beneath him, but that only makes the ache worse, because I can feel the enormous erection he’s sporting, digging into my most intimate parts.
A small moan bubbles up inside my throat, and I have to clench my teeth to hold it back.
I swear the guy chuckles. I don’t hear it, but I can feel it rumbling through his chest, and even though he may have just saved my life, I could slap him for it.
With slow, deliberate movements, he pushes himself up and away from me.
Damn, but I wished he’d stayed there for just a few seconds longer.
Bad thoughts, equal bad consequences, my mother’s voice reprimands me.
And isn’t that the truth. No one knows better than me how quickly a good thing can turn into a disaster. It’s one of the reasons I’ve sworn off sex, off relationships – off men.
“You okay?” His voice is deep and resonates through my entire body.
I nod, unable to speak. Not because of my almost near death experience, but because the guy crouching in front of me may just be the most gorgeous, sexy, dangerous man I’ve ever met.
Dressed in designer jeans that hang low on his narrow waist, and a tight black t-shirt that fits snug against his broad shoulders and chest, exposing the ink on both arms, he’s got that dark, smoldering, I’ll eat you for breakfast look.
And I have no doubt he would.
He’s the epitome of everything my mother ever warned me about.
But despite my current vow of celibacy, even I’m not completely immune to a man who practically reeks of sex, especially one who just happened to swoop in and literally knock me off my feet while saving my life.
Yeah, I’m in trouble. Big time.
“Can you sit up?” One dark eyebrow is cocked, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I think so.”
Wordlessly, he helps me to a sitting position, his large, inked hands never leaving my body. He tilts his chin, studying me, causing his almost black hair to flip to one side. Hair that’s long on top, and shaved on both sides, which only accentuates the bad boy vibe he’s got going on.
There’s a group of spectators watching us now, including a nervous looking man who gets out of the rusty, silver Toyota that almost hit me.
“Is she okay?” The little man strings his hands together, sweat beading on his brow.
“She’s fine,” my hero answers for me, then practically growls at the crowd, “Move on. There’s nothing to see.”
The command has people scattering, carrying on with their day as if they hadn’t just witnessed a twenty-one-year-old woman walk directly into oncoming traffic because she was nose deep in chapter twenty-two of Vi Keeland’s newest book. A book that now lays scattered across Main Street.
Damn it. I was only halfway through it too.
“What the hell were you thinking?” My inked savior is staring at me, all dark and broody, like it was my plan to almost be run down. “You could have been killed.”
I wince, knowing he’s right, but I barely get any time to read. Not with juggling two jobs, and trying to get my GED certificate at night.
He grunts, still watching me with a heaviness that makes my skin warm, and my insides knot.
Unsteadily, I stand, and dust off the pieces of gravel that stick to my jeans. “Thanks for pulling me back.”
His mouth quirks up, in the first semblance of a smile he’s given me. But I’m not fooled. I know what’s coming. I can see it in his eyes, in the way his body leans closer to me, drawing me to him like a magnet.
The guy has danger written all over him. Yeah, I wouldn’t doubt it’s written in ink somewhere on that beautiful, sculpted body.
His blue eyes twinkle, despite the intensity in his gaze. Slow, and predatory-like, he closes the distance between us, and I can feel the heat he produces like a flame on my skin.
“I can think of a way you can make it up to me.” His tone is both playful and dripping with promise, and I can’t help the shiver of anticipation that races down my spine.
“I’m sure you can,” I mumble sarcastically, even though my body is begging to find out just how many ways I can make it up
to him.
“Have dinner with me.” The slant of his mouth, the look in his eyes, is so self-assured, so confident, it’s clear that he isn’t used to being turned down.
“Just dinner?” I raise an eyebrow, knowing there’s always a catch. A man like him, would never want just dinner.
He pins me with a full out smile, one that shows off the dimple in his cheek, and leaves my knees turning to jelly. “Unless you’d like breakfast too.”
There it is. If I wasn’t so damn hot and bothered right now, I’d probably chuckle at the predictability.
He leans in closer, his smile confident, almost arrogant, as if he’s used to getting whatever he wants with just a single request.
To be honest, if I was any other person, one who wasn’t completely terrified of what a man like him could do to a woman like me, I’d probably take him up on his offer.
“Thanks again for helping me.” I start to turn, but he reaches for my wrist, and a thousand bolts of electricity race through my veins, sending a stabbing heat straight to my core.
Damn him. And damn the way my body responds. All warm and tingly, and willing at any second to throw itself into his arms.
His thumb strokes my skin, and his eyes search mine. His touch is like a taser, making it impossible to move, or even speak.
“At least give me your name.” His tone, dark and deep, skates over me like a rugged caress.
My mouth parts, and it takes me a few seconds to find my voice, “Layla.”
“Layla.” My name rolls off his tongue. His gaze filled with wicked intent.
Another shiver races down my spine, and I sear he knows it, because his grin only broadens.
This man would destroy me. The small, unbroken fragments that are left of my heart wouldn’t stand a chance against him.
Electricity.
Fire.
Those things destroy. I’d already been burned once, and I wasn’t about to let it happen again.
“I have to go.” Breaking the contact, I turn, and despite how ridiculous it seems – I run.
Chapter 2
Carter
The crowded bar throbs with house music, pulsating through me like the high I’m looking for. I need something. Anything to dull the constant ache that presses between my ribs.
The past four years have been a goddamn avalanche of heartbreak. Tonight, I just want to drown my pain with booze and maybe a nice pair of tits. Because tomorrow I hop on a plane to New York to start my new life as a sports journalist.
What a fucking joke.
The pay is shit. So is the magazine. But I’m not doing it for the money. That’s not why I took the damn job. I took it because it’s my only way to stay connected to my old life.
Hockey.
It’s the only thing I cared about for years. Until fate decided to screw not only with my family, but my career. Now that it’s gone, it’s like there’s a piece of me missing. An emptiness I can’t seem to fill. It’s stupid, I know. It’s only a goddamn sport. But it’s what defined me for so long, that sometimes I don’t really know who I am without it.
I snap open my prescription bottle and pop my last oxycontin, chasing it back with beer.
A shattered kneecap after being checked into the boards last spring ended my career in the NHL. Two surgeries and ten months of rehab, and my leg is still a mess. Chronic pain, and sideline view of the game are all I have to look forward to now.
People are dancing, grinding, as the lights flash and pulse to the rhythmic beat that thumps through the speakers.
It’s not my typical scene, but being my last night in town, I let my brother drag me here. But right now, I need a small break from Travis, who’s currently doing Jagerbombs on the far side of the room with some chick he picked up twenty minutes after we got here.
At twenty-one, the kid, if I can still call him that, is living every teenage boys’ dream – on my paycheck. Unemployed, living off the money I give him each month, screwing countless women in the house I bought for him. Travis’ only responsibility is not getting himself arrested – again – for disorderly conduct.
Sometimes the seven years that separate us feel more like twenty. But then, I was never as set on self-destruction as Travis is.
That’s not to say I haven’t done my share of drinking and screwing hot women, but in everything I do, there’s order and control.
Like now. My gaze scans the crowd, seeking the woman I’ll take home tonight. Blonde, brunette, redhead, I don’t care as long as she knows the rules – no strings attached. One night of pleasure. No phone numbers exchanged. Just sex.
Because it’s all I have room for right now.
Not that I plan to stay single for the rest of my life. One day, I’ll settle down, have a couple of kids, but that reality is so far from where I am right now that there’s no sense pretending I want anything more than a good screw.
Sitting down at the bar, I order another Heineken, and grin at the blonde on the stool next to me. She gives me the eyes, the ones that say fuck-me-please, and leans closer, practically shoving her ample cleavage in my face.
“Hi.” She bats her fake eyelashes at me. “Want to buy me a drink?”
It’s almost too easy. I like a bit of a challenge. And the way I’m reading her, it would only take a few flattering words to have her blowing me in the basement restroom.
Not what I’m looking for tonight.
I grunt and shake my head, causing her to pout, then turn back to the guy she was previously hitting on.
Paying for the beer, I’m about to walk away when my gaze lands on a figure, sitting in the shadows at the far end of the bar. Layla. The girl who’d practically run from me after I’d saved her life. The girl I hadn’t been able to get out of my head for the past two weeks.
Light brown hair hangs in waves over her shoulders, and her brows turned down intently as her gaze skims the pages of the book she’s reading. She’s fucking reading, in a bar. I almost chuckle at how out of place she looks, until she glances up and meets my gaze with those eyes.
It’s not just the color, which in this light look like a soft brown, the color of caramel– it’s what’s beneath them.
Innocence.
Warmth.
The complete opposite of everything I am.
Those eyes go wide with recognition when they land on me, and I see it, the spark of lust that she hadn’t been able to hide, despite her attempt.
I give her one of my crooked smiles. The one that usually has girls begging me to fuck them. Her cheeks turn red, and she quickly looks back down at the book in her hand.
A small chuckle rumbles in my throat, because no matter how hard she tries to hide it, I can see she’s into me. I felt it in her body when I’d been on top of her. The heat. The need that radiated off her waves.
But I know what she sees when she looks at me – danger.
It’s not only that I’m big, at six foot four I tower over most men. Or the ink that covers my arms in full sleeves. It’s not even the muscles that bunch and coil with my every movement. It’s the darkness I carry with me, like a black aura, pushing everyone away. Even my own damn brother.
She’s right to be afraid, because in all fairness, she’s too young for me. Too innocent for the things I want to do to her.
Hell, she barely looks old enough to be in this place.
And me? I may only be twenty-eight, but I’m as tainted as they come.
Broken?
No.
My wounds have healed, but not without leaving thick, impenetrable scars on my body and my soul.
I should walk away. But my cock won’t let me. It’s begging me to cross the fifteen feet towards her, and make her mine – at least for tonight.
I’m not the only guy who’s noticed her.
With gritted teeth, I watch as a meathead-looking-dude approaches her, a cocky ass grin on his ugly face. Across the room, a table of rowdy guys yell out a few crude comments, edging him forward.
He
leans on the bar in front of her, getting in her personal space.
If it wasn’t there before, it is now. The big fuck off sign plastered on her forehead. But the guy either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.
Yeah, so not going to happen, buddy. I almost feel sorry for the bastard, until he puts his hands on her.
He reaches out and drags his fingers down her bare arm. It’s a subtle touch, but it stirs the inner caveman inside of me.
Walk away, Carter, I tell myself. No girl is worth the fight. Especially not a bar fight.
But hell, if that overprotective Neanderthal part of my brain doesn’t kick into high gear, muting out all common sense.
The guy is practically mauling her by the time I cross the distance between us.
“Come and have a drink with us,” he slurs, wrapping a meaty arm around her shoulders, and leaning heavily.
There’s fear in her eyes when she places her hands on his chest, trying to push him away. “I’m waiting for–”
“Me,” I growl out, my voice rumbling above the music.
The guy turns in my direction and gives me a look that says he doesn’t believe me, then his eyes widen slightly in recognition.
Fuck. It doesn’t happen very often anymore, but it’s always uncomfortable when it does.
“Oh shit. You’re–”
“Your worst enemy if you don’t get your hands off my girl.” I don’t need him announcing to the whole bar who I am. Or more accurately, who I was.
Carter the Crusher Bennett. New York Rangers second draft pick almost a decade ago. I sent more guys home on a stretcher than any rookie that first year, while placing a giant target on my back doing it.
“Sorry, man. I didn’t realize.” The guy stands abruptly, putting his hands in the air and takes a couple of steps back. But he’s still watching me, and so is Layla.
“Hey, sweetheart. Sorry I’m late.” I place an arm possessively around her shoulders.
“You’re right on time.” She gives me a look that says she doesn’t know if I’ve just saved her, or put her in more danger.
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