Front Page Affair

by Mira Lyn Kelly

  What he’d just seen—that smolder of lust banked not quite well enough—told him he didn’t need space or understanding. He needed seduction. Dirty, down-low seduction that would get Payton writhing, naked beneath him.

  The sex had always been more emotional than she’d wanted to admit. He’d known it from the start. Even that first night, he’d seen it in her eyes. She couldn’t leave her heart out of anything she did, least of all making love.

  So he needed to get her back into his bed. Use his body to batter down her defenses. Unlock the emotions and wants she’d tried to banish. And once he got her there, made her moan and gasp and look up at him with those eyes that gave too much away, he’d hold on and wouldn’t let go. He’d make her feel so good she wouldn’t think twice when they hopped on a plane to Vegas.

  And that was how it was going to have to go. Fast. No time for second thoughts or backtracking. The only problem was actually getting her beneath him.

  If she saw him coming, she’d shut him down a mile away.

  So the trick would be to exploit her weakness without letting on what he was doing. Based on the way their proximity and his state of undress affected her tonight, he had a good idea of where to start.

  It wasn’t fair play, but playing fair hadn’t gotten him where he needed to go. He wanted her back. Wanted this whole matter resolved. Payton in his bed. His ring on her finger. Their baby between them.

  And now he had a plan.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PAYTON stood before the closed door to her apartment, hand hovering above the knob as she mentally shored up her defenses. Nate was on his way up. Invariably looking like a new page in some man-by-month calendar, and too dangerously good for her peace of mind. He always looked good. And she’d generally been able to handle it. Register the attraction, tamp it down, sweep it aside. Right up until the night a week ago when she’d gotten her hair stuck in his shirt. Ever since she’d been fighting a losing battle against temptation.

  It was unsettling. And what made matters worse, Nate had stopped berating her with the merits of marriage. Oh, she wanted to believe he’d suddenly come to terms with the impossibility of that scenario for her, but this was Nate. Relentless. Ruthless. Single-minded in his unwavering determination to make the world bend to his will, Nate. Now that she’d been on the receiving end of all that intensive focus, she didn’t believe for one minute he’d actually given up the fight.

  Which meant he’d be coming at her in some new devious manner. Unless of course the hormones had made her paranoid in addition to everything else: Hungry, sick, weepy, tired, irritable, sentimental…the list went on and on.

  “Hey, Payton, you planning to let me in?”

  Startled, she grabbed for the knob, shaking off her suspicion in the hopes of spending a pleasant morning with the father of her child. Whether his change in attitude was legitimate or not, she couldn’t deny that Nate in “friend” mode was far superior to Nate as “adversary”.

  Swinging the door open, an apology poised on her lips, she stared in stunned disbelief…at her high-school fantasy come to life.

  Nate Evans dressed in black soccer shorts, jersey, guards and cleats, a ball tucked under his arm and a sport bag slung over his shoulder.

  Oh…my…

  “I know we’d talked about looking into those Lamaze classes, but Rafe needed a fill-in for this morning’s game.” One shoulder propped against the doorjamb, not really in or out, he cocked his head toward the hall. “Wondered if you’d like to put the research off until afternoon and get out for some fresh air now?”

  She swallowed, trying to loosen her throat enough to spit out a simple, smart, “No, thank you”. Only she truly loved soccer. It had been ages since she’d seen a game and, as she remembered it, there wasn’t much better than watching Nate play. Besides, he was right, it was a beautiful day—crisp and sunny, in the low fifties. She’d been planning a walk down at the lakefront anyway so it didn’t make sense not to go just because her libido had all but rolled over to beg at the sight of Nate outfitted in soccer gear.

  God help her, what was she going to do?

  Forty minutes later, Payton was comfortably situated in a folding chair Nate had dragged out of the trunk of his car. She had a bottle of water, an organic green apple and a clear view of the players warming up before the game. Nate juggled the ball a few times, causing her gaze to drift down to his legs, the heavy muscles of his thighs flexing and bunching as he deftly passed the ball from knee to knee and then caught it in his hands and brought it back to his chest.

  Those legs. Her mouth watered…

  What was she doing? The days of pining were over. She wasn’t waiting for her favorite player to notice her anymore. He’d noticed. Knocked her up and thrown her over already. Now the only game she could afford to play was keep away. And mooning over the silky caress of his shorts as he limbered up his legs was a definite violation of the rules.

  So why then, minutes later, when he scored his first goal and shot her one of those victorious smiles that never ceased to devastate her heart, was she jumping from her seat cheering with the unrestrained enthusiasm of a fourteen-year-old girl dreaming of love and happily-ever-after?

  Two things not on offer.

  With that in mind, she tempered her reaction and returned to her seat. Forced the cool reserve she’d long ago perfected and watched Nate tear down the field. Held steady when she caught the flinty shift in his eyes.

  He was assessing. Calculating. Strategizing for a tactical advantage in a game that had nothing to do with landing a ball in the goal.

  He was playing her.

  Driving forward, circling back and taking shot after shot until he found a way to outmaneuver her defense. He wanted the win. Her and the baby under his roof and in his care. He wanted to do the “right thing”, only he couldn’t seem to grasp how not right living that life would be for any of them.

  Nate said he didn’t want their child to miss out on the full-time love and attention living with both of its parents would afford. But what he wasn’t considering were the implications of growing up in an environment of pretend. Children knew. Though they might not be able to discern the complexities of why, they sensed when something in their home was off. Like an imbalance of power or detachment of emotion.

  Nate had never wanted to marry her. He’d never wanted a child. And though he said all the right things, talked such a good game about raising their baby, she’d yet to see any indication from him that the child growing inside of her was more than something to claim. He knew it was there. He knew how fathers were supposed to feel. What they were supposed to do. But he didn’t actually have those feelings himself. And no matter how he might want to provide a perfect life, no one could convincingly fake an attachment they didn’t feel forever, something Nate knew from firsthand experience.

  Add to that a mother’s heartbreak made new through each passing day of make-believe affection—what kind of life would that be for their child?

  The kind she didn’t want to imagine and wouldn’t allow to come to pass. She couldn’t make Nate feel. She couldn’t make him love. But she could ensure that her child always had a safe haven to return to. A place where the love was unconditional and abundant and the emotional stability wouldn’t waiver.

  She could do it. So long as she remembered that marrying Nate was not an option.

  The game had been fast paced and exciting. The teams evenly matched, exactly the kind of challenge Nate thrived on. But the thrill of the win was dampened by the loss of ground he couldn’t explain, except to say, one minute he’d had Payton looking at him as she had all those years before. And the next she’d closed down. Shuttered her emotions and put all that distance back between them.

  Unwilling to concede any form of defeat, he jogged over to where she stood at the sidelines, blanket and chair clutched in her arms like a shield—against him.

  Going to take more than that, sweetheart.

  Giving her his g
rin, he grabbed her load and tucked it under one arm.

  She blinked, looking just nervous enough to truly whet his appetite.

  Go ahead and run. Try it.

  “So congratulations,” she said with a timid wave toward the field behind them.

  “Yeah, good game, wasn’t it?” He wiped the sweat from his brow with a sweep of his forearm, and caught the hungry drift of her gaze following his motions.

  “You were terrific.”

  “It felt good to get on the field again.” Have an outlet for some of the tension accumulated over the last month. Though as outlets went, he had a better one in mind. One he intended to make use of before the day’s end.

  Suddenly he couldn’t wait to get back to Payton’s place and put his plan into action. He ducked down to grab his athletic bag, straightened and then froze as the dark brown eyes he always thought of as soft and vulnerable bore straight into him—cold and hard.

  He didn’t like it. She was thinking too much.

  But he knew exactly how to make her stop.

  Looking away, he hiked the bag over a shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

  The ride back into the city took longer than he’d liked. Too much time for Payton to sit quietly, contemplating her defensive strategies. He’d kept up the conversation, but her head hadn’t been in it and eventually he’d left her to her thoughts.

  At the apartment she’d predictably tried to put him off about the afternoon, but he had the Lamaze research as his passport and easily gained entry. From there, it was just a matter of chipping away her defenses…one garment at a time. He wished he’d had a camera for the way her jaw dropped when he jerked his jersey over his head—outwardly oblivious to the impact of his actions, inwardly gloating over her reaction to his unsubtle striptease.

  And how could she argue when he suggested they look over the different schedules and programs…after he’d cleaned up in the shower? By the time he’d headed off to her bathroom, she’d been shaking, unable to even look at him.

  Perfect. And that was just the warm up.

  This was the main event. Nate glared into the fogged mirror. It was go time.

  “Hey, babe?” Nate called from down the hall.

  Payton looked up from the magazine she’d been blindly staring at for the last ten minutes while futilely attempting to keep her mind out of the shower where all that lathering was taking place. Talk about wasted effort. Try as she might to stop them, images of slow-running suds slipping over hard-packed muscles, tight nipples and more flitted one after the next through her mind. Memories of the salty taste of his skin… Not good.

  With a shake of her head, she stood, calling back, “Wha—?” but that was as far as she got.

  “Did I leave my bag out here?” Nate stood in the hall, a white towel hanging precariously low on his hips. He smiled crookedly her way while he used another towel to rub his hair dry.

  The air in her lungs leaked out in a slow hiss, leaving her empty and weak, stunned and lightheaded, hungry and horrified as she fell back into her seat.

  The crooked smile vanished, pulling into a hard frown as he dropped to a knee at her side. Concern furrowed his brow. Concern and something else she couldn’t quite—

  “Payton, sweetheart, are you okay?”

  “Yes—no,” she stammered in confusion, her chin tucking back. “I’m fine…” But then he was right there. So close she could feel the damp heat rising off his skin, see the water beaded across his chest and shoulders, his eyelashes clinging together in darkened points that made the blue of his eyes stand out bright in vivid contrast.

  “You’re pale.” His voice was a low rumble at her ear, rough and midnight dark in the middle of the day. And then his big hands were moving over her, checking, gently probing… touching her in a way she knew she should stop but couldn’t summon the strength to do so. “No swollen glands.”

  “Nate.” Her voice was weak, thready. Something even she wouldn’t listen to.

  Long fingers skimmed up her neck, teasing through the hairs at her nape… “Chills.” They curled over her jaw, brushed her cheeks, and then moved in a slow caress to her forehead. “Flushed, but not feverish.”

  His thumb swept a gentle arc across her cheekbone as his gaze locked with hers, pulling in slow strokes at that secret place where all her dreams dwelled.

  Tell me. Tell me you love me. Give me something. Anything.

  “Your pupils are dilated,” he murmured. But there was nothing wrong with her. Nothing beyond the fact that temptation had just taken her a step closer to ruin. Making her pulse race and the air go thin and her body begin its achy plea for more of the touch she’d gone too long without.

  She wanted him. Needed him. And if it were only her—but it wasn’t.

  She swallowed. Closed her eyes and thought about her baby before opening them again. “My eyes are fine, Nate.” She’d be fine if he stopped touching her.

  “Then what is it?” he challenged, meeting her gaze head-on, the heat of it stoking her to smolder.

  Tell him. Only if she said the words, let him know how seeing him like this affected her, then he’d use it against—

  Wait. The bag in the hall? He couldn’t. The shower. The striptease complete with the stretching-out of all those muscles. He wouldn’t dare! Only, this was Nate and he’d decided what he wanted. To hell with everyone else.

  The soccer game! How long? This week for sure. Her stomach sank with dread.

  Heat flamed her skin, only it had nothing to do with attraction and everything to do with outrage.

  So he thought he could play her by using his body? Well, she knew a thing about that game. She knew what he liked, knew what sent him past the brink of control. And he’d just given her a lesson in how to achieve it without investing any actual emotion. Thank you, Nate. She could do that, too.

  Time for Nate Evans to get a taste of his own medicine.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  HE WAS losing her.

  He’d been so close. She’d been there, he knew it. He’d seen her weaken, start to melt. Felt the hot lick of her eyes over his skin, the current charging the air between them. And then, just that quickly, it changed.

  The temperature dropped. The static grounded. And a swarm of angry bees manifested beneath his skin, buzzing in his head, making him itch and sting and want to roar in painful frustration.

  Why wouldn’t she damned well give?

  Fighting the vise around his chest, he surged to his feet. Wasn’t surprised when Payton rose with him. She leaned into his space, looking up at him with eyes that were flat and bleak, devoid of emotion and speared through his soul like a blade.

  “Maybe I don’t feel so well after all.” Her hand settled cold at the center of his chest.

  No. He saw what she was offering him—nothing—and he wouldn’t take it.

  He wouldn’t let her look at him like that. As if somehow the lively, soulful woman who’d lived in this body had been obliterated, leaving an empty husk behind. No, not empty. Just unavailable to him. He couldn’t stand it. Wouldn’t allow it. Wouldn’t let her shut him out and look through him as if he weren’t even there.

  With too much testosterone burning through his veins like acid, his hands moved possessively to Payton’s hips. His thumbs rubbing deliberately over the delicate bones there.

  He knew her and no matter how she wanted to close down and bury herself away from him, she couldn’t do it completely. But if he wanted her, alive and hot and angry in his arms, he had to find the spot where she was most vulnerable and—even if it meant he was going straight to hell for it—cut deep.

  Gaze fixed on the opaque waters of her eyes, he skimmed a hand beneath the hem of her shirt at her hip. Took a gulp of air and braced every muscle in his body as he pressed his palm to the one spot he hadn’t touched—hadn’t wanted to touch—in all the weeks since he’d learned about the pregnancy.

  Payton flinched, her eyes going wide and sparking with all the emotion she’d
wanted to cloak. Rage and hurt flashed beneath the surface. And then something stronger than them both swirled in the liquid brown depths below. Hope. The sight of it was so powerfully alluring after the bleakness he’d witnessed only seconds ago, he didn’t know if he could ever break free from its spell.

  If he ever wanted to.

  But then Payton’s hands covered his own where they lay flat against her belly—and the world tilted off its axis as they held their child together for the very first time.

  There was a soft rise to the belly that had been a flat plane the last time he’d laid his hand to it. A gentle mound protecting the tiny body within. His child. The mergence of two souls into one. Their child.

  He swallowed, unable to speak. And suddenly he was on his knees, pushing her shirt at both sides so he could see. So he could feel.

  His thumbs brushed the smooth skin around her navel. And then he pressed his forehead against the softness there, turned his ear to rest against her. Wondering if he could hear the sound of her body building its precious shelter. If his baby could hear him.

  “Hello?” he whispered against her skin, unable to stop himself.

  Slight fingers stroked his hair, teasing through the strands with that familiar touch that after too long without had become foreign.

  He turned into her belly and kissed. Drew in the sweet perfume of her skin and kissed again, opening his mouth against her as he prayed she wouldn’t push him away. Wouldn’t close herself off to him. Again and again, he kissed across the feminine terrain until Payton’s fingers tightened in his hair, holding him close.