Jack leapt forward impossibly fast, crashing over the last few stairs to slide under me as I fell. He caught me in his arms, spun me, and plunked down on the floor. I gripped his arms. His hand rubbed my belly.
I breathed deep. His fear trumped mine. He pulled me close, grasping me hard and furious.
I baited him with a smile and tried to laugh. “My hero—”
His kiss stole my words. He captured me, nibbling my lips, invading to flick my tongue, and groaning as I went limp in the intensity of his hold. My pulse raced, not just for the near-fall, but because I stared into the wild blue eyes of a man who used his strength, speed, and athleticism to protect me.
I curled my hands in his jacket. Neither of us moved.
I had no idea what to say.
What to think.
How to feel when I was so safe and warm and comforted in his embrace.
My lip trembled, and the damn hormones overwhelmed me. This time, the tears weren’t a result of Jack making a sandwich with the last of the peanut butter.
These felt genuine. Real. Just as honest as when I wept in his arms in the nursery and agreed to move into his home.
But I couldn’t trust the tears. Or what they meant. Or how much I loved when he brushed them away with his thumb. I wiggled from his arms before I snuggled into his chest forever.
“Come on,” I said. He helped me to my feet. “We’ll be late.”
“Are you okay?” His hand grazed my cheek. Too soft. My god, this man. “We don’t have to go.”
“Can’t wait for that headline—Jack Carson Misses Fundraiser When Pregnant Ex-Publicist Falls Down Stairs.”
“Girlfriend.”
I stilled. “What?”
“The headline would say girlfriend. Cause we’re…you know...”
My stomach bumbled, twisted, and turned. “Right.”
I was his pretend girlfriend. We were just sleeping together. Having a child.
All the perfectly normal things for two adults to do platonically.
How the hell could people live like this, going day-to-day with no real plan? Jack lived for the season to start in five weeks, and I had six months to prepare for a monumental, life-altering change. I missed my lists. My job. The eight-to-five certainty.
Knowing what to expect if I landed in his arms again or how to react when received by a huge crowd in a fancy dining hall, all cheering for the arrival of Jack Carson and his expectant girlfriend.
The fundraiser was a formal dinner in support of the foundation sponsoring research into new leukemia studies. The event was fine; the seating arrangement left much to be desired. We sat at a table brimming with journalists. Jack handled it with ease, grinning at the same men who salivated for his scandals and deliberately misled the public with every story about him.
At least, until his latest arrest. Once Jack “Play-Maker” Carson became Daddy, all was forgiven.
It wouldn’t last long. The news cycle grew stale about him. They’d need something big, something the announcement of a baby couldn’t hide. They waited to nail him. Without Jolene, I didn’t have the resources to combat it yet.
The waiters served white wine. Jack ordered me a ginger ale and crackers before I even asked.
It was the little things he did that twisted me up the most.
“So, Jack…” Ainsley Ruport, the lead anchor for the National Sports Network, greeted him with a smile. It was false sincerity. Ainsley was firmly in the pocket of Frank Bennett. He wanted nothing more than the scoop of Jack’s latest scandal…then he’d work to expel Jack from the league. “I never did hear the story of how you two met.”
Ironically, neither did I. Jack accepted the challenge before I could answer for us.
“We met at a bar,” Jack said. “She rebuked me a couple times, but I wore her down.”
Goddamn it. I kicked him under the table. “He’s joking.”
“I am?”
I stared at him. “I repped Jack with my previous publicity agency. The bar came later.”
“Oh, right.” Jack gulped his wine. It didn’t suit him. He was a one-beer man, no wasting empty calories. “We’ve known each other a while.”
“How long?” Ainsley asked.
“Three years,” I said.
“Five years.” Jack spoke at the same time. He swore. My head started to ache. “Only three?”
I forced a smile. “I didn’t know you in college, darling.”
“Must just feel like we’ve been together forever then.”
He was blowing it. At least he knew it. His fingers brushed mine under the table. An apology.
Ainsley tilted his head, a not-so-subtle glance at my tummy. My heart beat a little faster. He searched as if he expected to find me stuffing a pillow under my dress.
I wasn’t fake pregnant. We were just fake dating.
The distinction was important.
“And…congratulations are in order,” he said.
Jack grinned. At least that didn’t take any thought. “Thanks. We’re excited.”
“Strange that your mother didn’t know.”
Another chill on my spine. Jack stiffened, blinking at the reporter. Ainsley appeared quite pleased with himself. He tucked his napkin into his lap and helped himself to an appetizer. He slurped a buttery oyster out of the shell, smacking his fat lips when he was done.
Jack’s voice lowered. “What about my mother?”
“When I called her, she said she had no idea you were going to be a father.”
“You called my mom?”
“For a reaction piece,” Ainsley said. “She was just as confused as me by the whole thing, but she expressed her excitement for her grandchild.”
Oh no. I bit my lip. Jack stayed quiet. That scared me more than if he launched across the table.
“In fact…” Ainsley leaned closer. His butter-soaked finger glistened in the light as it pointed between us. He slurped a second oyster, loudly. “She said she had no idea you two had been dating for so long.” Another gulped oyster. I’d be sick. “Or at all.”
Jack darkened. “Do you tell your mother who you’re banging?”
I pinched him under the table as the other five journalists silenced their conversations. They turned their attention to us, listening for the story Jack was bound to give them in his customary rage.
“It was strange your own mother didn’t know about your lady-friend,” Ainsley said. “Or that you’re expecting.”
“Been busy.” Jack spoke through gritted teeth. “Had a lot going on.”
“And you, Miss…” Ainsley glanced to me. “How did your family take the news?”
I answered reflexively, offering a statement I prepared the day I agreed to have the baby with Jack. “We’re all very happy and blessed. A baby is a welcomed addition to our loving family.”
The comment would satisfy him. He didn’t need to know what my mother said—that her words still screamed in my mind, a variety of phrases and insults that had me crying into Jack’s shoulder for an entire night.
“May I quote you?” Ainsley asked.
What the hell was he up to? I nodded. He pulled out a notepad. “Leah Williams…is that correct?”
“Yes.”
He turned to Jack. “And, just so I can write this up, what’s her middle name?”
I sucked in a breath. Ainsley silenced me before I answered. He pointed to Jack. “Please.”
Jack tightened his jaw. “She doesn’t have one.”
Oh, we were screwed. Was he an idiot?
Ainsley tapped his notes. “It’s Ruth, actually. According to my sources.”
Jack didn’t blink. “She hates it. Prefers not to use it.”
“Of course. And being her long-term, committed boyfriend, you would know that.”
“Damn right.”
Jack’s fist tightened. I took his hand in mine and pulled it under the table. Safe, for now.
“Been in a lot of trouble lately, right, Jack?” Ainsley’s smile turned cold and unforgiving and, worst of all, smug.
“Always,” Jack said.
“Having an illegitimate, bi-racial baby is more than trouble, don’t you think?”