Free Bad Boy's Baby by Sosie Frost

for the highway. I thought he would settle down, but every agonizing mile only pumped him more. I knew he had a temper, but he white-knuckle gripped the wheel. Was he really that upset on my behalf?
    I didn’t ask where we were going. He drove me out of the city and took the exit for Teagan Heights.
    This was a section of town where I didn’t belong. There, the houses were worth millions, and the men inside worth ten times that.
    Jack took me to his house.
    The mansion wasn’t the gaudy palace I expected, but it was gated, huge, and wrapped with a pool, hot tub, and evergreen trees to offer privacy. He pulled into a ten car garage. Only four of the bays were filled. A Mercedes, one motorcycle he was restoring, a totaled classic car, and an old Toyota. Jack stormed past it, but I pointed. He didn’t look.
    “My dad’s old car.”
    He waited for me at the door to the house. I remembered his file. “Your dad passed away?”
    “Day of the league draft.” He toughened, intentionally, hiding the pain. “He didn’t live to see the Rivets take me. Come in.”
    Jack’s extravagant living room was too classy for both of us. The parlor was a fancy, untouched slice of what a millionaire was supposed to like, complete with chandeliers and paisley patterns. He showed me the kitchen and dining room with a wave of his hand, but he steered clear of the sitting room that had probably gone unused since he purchased the home.
    His den was downstairs, and it was a true man cave. He installed a wet bar and leather seats, a fireplace and every game system imaginable for the wall sized TV. It was dim, cozy, and served as an award room. He didn’t hang trophies and accolades, but jerseys and photographs. I lingered near the newspaper articles from his high school and the letters from old teachers and friends who congratulated him on everything from his college bowl games to getting drafted by the one of the most prestigious teams in the league.
    This was the real Jack, but even in his familiar setting, he hadn’t recovered his temper. He poured a drink and downed it immediately. He had another before offering me anything with a grunt.
    “Jack, it’s okay,” I said.
    “He called you a slut .” He abandoned the hard liquor and opened a beer instead. The bottle shook in his hand. “I’ve been with a lot of girls. Most of them are easy, but you aren’t like them. I won’t let anyone talk about you like that.”
    I wished my heart hadn’t fluttered a little harder. “I can handle my own PR.”
    “That wasn’t good PR. He just wanted to snap a picture of me getting in trouble with a new girl.”
    I raised an eyebrow. “But that’s exactly what we want . People have to see us together. Those pictures will sell the story. It’ll be proof that we’re a real couple.”
    And the kiss the reporter captured on camera was evidence enough, damning or otherwise. Every part of my body still buzzed with the intoxication of Jack’s lips. My skin heated. My tummy flipped. Parts of me that should never have pulsed for a man like Jack suddenly came alive.
    “We aren’t telling people like that ,” he said. “Not with a big fucking headline calling you a slut . Christ, I’ve tried to get you into bed since the day I hired your damn company. If you’re a slut, you’re the slowest score I’ve ever had.”
    “Isn’t that sweet.”
    He set the beer on the bar and walked to me—long, confident strides that trapped me before I could position the couch between us. “Look, Kiss. I’m a little…protective of you.”
    “Since when?”
    “Since some asshole photographer with a blog decided to flash a camera in your face!” Jack bit his words. I pretended not to flinch, but he saw. Apologized. “You aren’t some random girl with me. Even if this wasn’t fake, even if we were a legit…you’re not like the other girls. You’re…Kiss. You’re Leah.”
    I swallowed. It didn’t help. It was the first time in a year he actually called