Quarterback's Unknown Baby Daughter: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Read online

  “I would never take Grace away from you, Deanna, but I want to be part of her life. I deserve that, and so does she. Can we agree on that?”

  “Yes. Especially now that she’s met you.”

  Wyatt smiles. “Good. First-down,” he quips. “And it would be ridiculous to assume I could be part of her life without being part of yours too, right?”

  I nod again. “I don’t see how it could be avoided.”

  “Right. So we need a game plan for telling her who her father is.”

  “You would know about game plans,” I say, grinning.

  “Yes, I would, but I have to fly back to New York in the morning; it’s only by the coach’s good graces I was able to stay even this long. We leave for a series of road games soon, so I’ll be tied up for a few weeks.”

  “Oh. I see.” Concealing the disappointment in my voice is hard. But I’ve kept the secret for twelve years – how could a few more weeks matter?

  “After that, I’ll be back in NYC for a good while. How about you and Grace come out there for a little holiday next month… on me. Flights, accommodations, everything. You two can see the sights, do some shopping, catch a home game. Grace would like that, wouldn’t she?”

  My eyes widen in surprise. A trip to New York is beyond anything I’d imagined. He’s inviting us into his life… both of us. My heart beats a little faster. “You know she would. She’s a huge Jets fan.”

  “Great. We’ll go out to dinner one night someplace special and break the news then. What do you say?”

  “I don’t know… I can’t pull Grace out of school at the drop of a hat.”

  It’s Wyatt’s turn to be disappointed; a frown shadows his rugged face that I crazily want to kiss right now. I’m squarely in a danger zone sitting so near to him. I haven’t totally forgiven him, but I’m damn close. I have to be careful, but I also can’t let this opportunity slip away.

  “But you know, they have fall break coming up. Maybe the dates could match up?”

  Wyatt smiles and touches the rim of his glass to mine. “Sounds like we’re in good field position. When can you check? I’ll have the team admin make all the travel arrangements.”

  “I can find out from the school tomorrow and let you know. I reckon we should exchange personal phone numbers?”

  “I agree. Mom and Dad should be able to get in touch with each other at all times.” He takes a sip of his drink, his famous panty-melting gaze meeting mine over the crystal rim. Is it possible there’s a deeper meaning here, or am I imagining it?

  The whiskey is going down all too smoothly as I swallow another dram of amber fire.

  “Looks like you’ve got the game plan all sown up,” I say, the rich, oaked flavor warming my tongue.

  “It’s what I do.” His voice takes on a tone as smooth as the aged JD we’re sipping.

  He knocks back the last of his drink and sets the tumbler aside. Just then a new song starts up on the radio, and we both gape at each other in amusement. Damnation, it’s our song, our high school graduation song. One that we danced across the prom floor to… and the background track to more than a few hot make out sessions in Wyatt’s old car. I feel a rosy blush creep up my neck and blossom in my cheeks.

  “Oh, dear Lord can you believe that.” I giggle, setting my own empty glass down. Wyatt laughs and leans back, stretching one arm across the back of the sofa. “Isn’t that just the craziest timing.”

  I feel his body move in closer and the stray arm shift from the sofa to circle my shoulders.

  “Maybe not so crazy,” Wyatt says, tucking the fingertips of his other hand beneath my chin. Gently, he turns my face to his. “Maybe the music is trying to tell us something.”

  My heart races as he has me trained in his sights like a cornered rabbit, and I’m quivering just like one.

  “Like what?” I ask innocently.

  Say it, Wyatt. Say it so I can’t misunderstand.

  “That almost everything deserves a second chance.” His eyes search mine, and I’m gone; long gone and lost in the dangerous magic that was us so long ago.

  He leans in and kisses me, his lips soft but insistent, a fine stubble of beard grazing my cheek as his tongue seeks entrance. I allow him willingly into the moist haven of my mouth, vivid memories of a thousand past kisses rushing to the fore. Instead of our feet, our tongues dance to the music, urgently exploring the forgotten landscape of each other.

  Both his arms are around me now, drawing me in tight against his magnificently muscled chest. I’m locked in the prison of his hard body, and I want to throw away the key. I welcome it, I’ve longed for it. My hands instinctively snake around his neck, my fingertips lacing into the hairs at his nape as our kiss deepens; unleashing a hunger I’ve denied myself for thirteen long years. I revel in the taste of him, the scent of him, the solid mass of his shoulders as he holds me close.

  A tiny moan escapes my lungs as our lips part, both of us gasping for control.

  “This wasn’t part of my game plan when I came here tonight, I swear,” Wyatt says. “But I want you. I never really stopped wanting you, Deanna. And you’ve got me hard as a rock. What are my chances of scoring a touchdown in the bedroom with you right now?”

  I struggle to catch my breath. However much he wants me, I know I want him three times that. I always have and always will. I’m a fool to deny it.

  “I’d say first and goal to go,” I say in a shaky whisper.

  He smiles as I untangle myself from his embrace and take him by the hand. Without another word, I lead him to my room where my unmade bed from the sleepless night before beckons to be messed up further. I will oblige it.

  I turn and tug on the lapels of his jacket, helping him shrug it to the floor. I work on his belt buckle as his talented, NFL fingers pop the buttons on my blouse one by one. This strip-tease duet is a slow dance number we’ve rehearsed well and haven’t forgotten. We undress each other in silent, gentle wonderment. I suck in a breath as I peel away his black tee to reveal the marvelously sculpted pecs and abs beneath. Dear Lord, the man is built mighty fine, both above and below the belt line.

  Wyatt unhooks the front clasp of my bra and slips the silky undergarment off my shoulders, letting it drop to the carpet. My nipples tighten almost instantly at the rush of cool air and harden to throbbing spikes of flesh as he cups my breasts in his palms.

  “God, baby, you’re still so gorgeous.” His voice is husky with desire.

  I moan as the sweet, tingling pain bursts outward from my chest and rockets downward to my crotch. His thumbs brush circles around my already excited nipples, and my pussy responds with a gush of warm cream. Then his mouth is on mine again, delivering a kiss that calls my soul up from the depths of my being.

  My knees nearly give way to the onslaught of thrilling sensations, and he slips an arm behind my back just in time to prevent my collapse. His free hand takes hold of mine and guides it to his rigid, swollen shaft. My fingers can barely circle its girth. I stroke it up and down, my private muscles contracting in anticipation of welcoming it home inside me. I draw him back until we fall together onto the rumpled, flower-patterned sheets.

  My skirt and panties are hastily shucked along with Wyatt’s blue jeans and boots. With one knee, he parts my trembling thighs and slides his dexterous fingers through my slick, heated channel, paying special attention to my begging, long-neglected clit. My whole body spasms in pleasure at his touch as he alternately circles, taps, and beads the ultra-sensitive bundle of nerve endings.

  His insistent member rubs against my taut belly while his fingers breach my wet gate and move slowly in and out, priming me for his entrance.

  “Deanna...” he calls, his voice a hoarse whisper as he speaks my name between a series of tender kisses along my neck and shoulder. “You feel so good, baby.”

  I cling to him like a life preserver, lost in a raging storm of desire left unattended too long.

  “Wyatt, please. Take me now...” I say between panting breaths. />
  His face looms above mine, obscured in the shadows of my darkened bedroom, but still the face I’ve known and loved for nearly half my life.

  “Are you sure?” he asks quietly.

  My chin wiggles a nod, as I clasp my hands to his cheeks and lift my head to kiss him on the lips once more.

  His body moves into position, one hand slipping under my knee and drawing it upward to gain better access. I take in a shuddering breath as his cock enters me, stretching my feminine walls to their limits, yet I don’t feel pain; only soul-shattering satisfaction and joy as he penetrates me fully and begins to thrust.

  I wrap my other leg around his sculpted back, meeting his every stroke with my own, needing to capture every motion, every ounce of power and energy he has to give me. As his pace increases, I feel the pull of orgasm building inside me, like a wave still far from shore but moving swiftly and inexorably to crest and break on a warm and gentle beach.

  It hurtles toward me, and at the same moment Wyatt’s stellar body shudders and stills with his own climax, the dark wave finally consumes me, washing away all fears and doubts, tossing me carefree in its wake for perfect, precious seconds.

  “Wyatt...” I murmur dreamily, my hands stroking his sweat-dampened hair. I don’t know all the details of his life since he left Odessa, but at this moment, he’s right where he needs to be. “Welcome home. I’ve missed you so much.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Wyatt

  LEATHER AND LACE

  I hate this. Maybe I’m just getting old, but I hate all this moving around, catching planes at ungodly hours, being a slave to someone else’s schedule. Most of all I hate leaving behind the warmth of Deanna’s bed and the sexy softness of her body next to mine.

  Instead of enjoying another round of amazing sex with the best girl in Texas, I’m hunkered down in an airport lounge, drinking unlimited cups of courtesy coffee, waiting for yet another flight across the continent to add to all the other flights across the continent I endure inside of a regular NFL season. But it’s the life I chose, and I have to pay the price. Simple as that.

  I recall Deanna’s words back at the Sizzle Shack. Where you end up is only where your choices have brought you. It’s true, and I can’t help but think about all the things I didn’t choose in my lifetime. Joining my father in the oil business, for one – I hated that good ol’ boy mentality. Staying in Odessa and playing football at a state college like my mother wanted, for another. And topping the list – my high school sweetheart, Deanna Murphy.

  Dammit. Everything happened so fast; one minute we’re discussing our daughter’s future and the next we’re fucking like wild animals without another thought in our brains. We’re living high school all over again; can’t seem to keep our hands off one another or have a lick of sense to use any protection. Worst of all, I’m leaving her – again. I know she understands I have to get back to New York, but hell. How could she not harbor a little resentment for a guy who jumps straight from her bedroom to the airport?

  Leastways, she’s agreed to come to the Big Apple next month and bring Grace along. That’s a positive step. It’s mostly so that Grace and I can get to know each other – since we have twelve years of catching up to do. I have to admit there’s still some resentment on my part over that, but hearing Deanna’s side of the story, I can at least understand her reasons for not telling me, even if I don’t agree with them.

  A voice comes over the PA system announcing my flight is finally boarding. I feel a little stiff from sitting for so long, but then again maybe it’s from all the exertion of last night. I smile at the thought. Our sex was mind-blowing; best I’ve had in years, and maybe ever. That’s going some, considering all the women I’ve been with, but perhaps that’s just the point. I’ve had so much casual pussy thrown at me over the years it’s all started to taste the same, like the buffet line at an all-inclusive resort. Perfect and pretty on the outside, tasteless and boring on the inside.

  With Deanna, it was real; flavorful and satisfying, the way a mass-produced, industrial-kitchen-engineered dish can’t hold a candle to a home-cooked meal with garden-grown vegetables and Texas-raised beef. When she whispered ‘Welcome home’ I almost thought I’d imagined it, lost as I was in a post-coital daze. There’s no denying a deep emotional connection between us; one that will always be there now that we have a child together, but it goes beyond that. We didn’t just have sex; we made love. A powerful difference, one that only comes from truly caring about your partner.

  I take my seat in the first class section, waving away the offer of champagne or a cocktail. It’s seven in the morning, for Christ’s sake. Looking around the cabin, it strikes me that I’ve gotten used to the star treatment, expecting it, even to the point of finding it an annoyance. I’ve forgotten how it feels to have to stuff myself into a cramped coach seat with no legroom and listen to wailing babies overtop of engine noise for hours on end. I take for granted the obsequious attention from flight attendants, waiters, massage therapists, media personnel and the like, not to mention the obscene salary I collect and the endorsement deals I’m offered as liberally as the booze on this aircraft.

  I’ve been showered with so much good fortune and what have I done with it? Aside from making sure my folks were looked after, and the charity gigs and goodwill appearances, like the one I’ve just done with the PBYFL, I’ve not done a goddamn thing except blow it on my own needs and wants. Who or what have I helped beyond that? I can’t say I’ve been lonely or lacking for company, but I’m coming to realize what a hollow existence I’ve led. Money and success mean the most when shared, and up to now, I’ve had no one to share it with.

  This chance meeting, this random re-connection with Deanna and my Texas roots, perhaps it’s fate’s way of bringing me back on course, showing me what’s really important in life. I’m over the moon that I have a daughter, and I swear to God I’m going to do right by her. I can, and want, to give her everything she will ever need; give her every advantage my career and position can provide.

  I’ve been given a chance to reclaim a part of my life that’s been hidden from me, and I’m grateful for that. I can build a father-daughter relationship with Grace, but I wonder if by virtue of that I have a chance to rekindle something with her mother too? Is that what I want? Is that what Deanna wants? I know there’s a spark there that’s never truly burnt out. But I can’t speak for her; maybe her resentment still runs too deep to forgive me completely. At any rate, with our high-octane rough and tumble between the sheets, we never got into that conversation.

  In New York, we’ll have time. I’ll make sure of it.

  “Mr. Connor?”

  Oh, here we go.

  I press pause on my mental movie reel and look up into the smiling face of a comely flight attendant. “Yeah, darlin’?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you, but may I trouble you for an autograph?”

  “Surely, ma’am. What’s your name?” I ask, taking the proffered pen and airline-branded notepaper from her.

  “Oh, it’s for my son. His name’s Wyatt, too.”

  “Well, that makes it easy. I can spell that.” She laughs as I scrawl a short greeting and add my signature at the bottom. “Does he play football?”

  “Oh my, not yet. He’s only six. But I’m sure he will someday. He watches both leagues, NFL and CFL, and even college games when they’re televised. That child does love his football.”

  I hand her back the pen and pad. “That’s real nice.”

  “Thank you. Do you have children, Mr. Connor?”

  It’s an innocent enough question, but I’m like a deer caught in the headlights. Forty-eight hours ago I would have answered a definitive no. But now? I get it. I completely get how Deanna felt compelled to keep our child a secret. I have to say something and say it fast.

  “Hell, darlin’, I ain’t even married.”

  She smiles and laughs again, a little tinkling sound like sleigh bells. “Me neither, but that didn’t stop
me.” She exchanges the notepad for a magazine that’s been tucked under her arm. “Here. This is for you. Enjoy your flight.”

  I unfold the magazine to find this year’s swimsuit issue of Sports Illustrated. Across the bikini-clad cover model’s face is a post-it note with a handwritten name and phone number. Presumably the flight attendant’s.

  Underneath is a message: Flight deck restroom 09:45.

  I stifle a grin and stash the mag in the pocket of the seat next to me. I recline my seat and close my eyes. I think I’m getting too old for this; suddenly, I have neither the time nor the inclination to participate in the mile-high club anymore. Maybe it’s time to turn in my card and get serious. With one very special woman who has her feet on the ground, and not legs in the air.

  Chapter Twelve

  Deanna

  START SPREADIN’ THE NEWS

  I grit my teeth and say a silent prayer as the aircraft shudders and begins its descent. I didn’t tell Wyatt, but I’ve never been on a plane before. Hell, I’ve never even left Texas before. For the last decade, I’ve been too busy raising a kid and running a business to go anywhere at all outside of Odessa.

  I’m nervous enough flying through the air, let alone the idea of navigating New York City. Thank goodness Wyatt will be on the ground waiting for us when we land and take us where we need to go.

  My daughter, however, has no such reservations.

  “We’re going down,” she whispers with excitement. “We’re landing! We’re in New York City! Will we be able to see the Empire State Building from up here?” Grace cranes her neck to peer out the tiny airplane window.

  I’m only too happy to let her have the window seat; I’m sure I would throw up if I looked down and saw an entire city underneath us.

  “Well, you let me know if you do,” I say stiffly, my fingers going to sleep from gripping the armrests so hard.

  “This is so awesome,” Grace squeals, her knees bobbing up and down as her sneakered feet drum the cabin floor. “I can’t believe Mr. Connor is inviting us to stay here a whole week. You never said you were that good of friends, Mom!”