Nixon (Raleigh Raptor Book 1)

by Samantha Whiskey

  I sighed, waiting until the waiter had finished refiling our drinks before answering.

  “I’ve had two real boyfriends,” I explained. “As you know, I’ve spent a great deal of my life traveling. Kind of hard to maintain anything when you’re always jetting off somewhere new for a few months.”

  Nixon nodded. “Okay, so I don’t have to worry about crazy exes coming out of the woodwork?”

  “No, definitely not.” I shook my head. “They were mutually understood splits. Besides, last I heard Dan was in Bosnia removing landmines, and Bill is in Antarctica protesting whale poaching.”

  Nixon cleared his throat, shifting in his seat enough to make those broad chest muscles of his ripple. He quickly scooped up the small cardstock menu on his right, his eyes scanning it but not truly seeing. “Do you want dessert?” His tone was strained.

  I tilted my head, watching that muscle in his jaw tick but not really sure of the why behind it. But I knew one thing with absolute clarity, whatever bothered him, whatever had him emotionally backing away…I wanted to soothe it. Explore it. Heal it. I wanted to be there for him, wanted to be the one he came to when he decided he wanted to talk. I wanted to be trusted, and for me to be able to trust him.

  Basically, I just fucking wanted him.

  On more levels than the heat pulsing through my blood demanding I get my hands on his skin again.

  I dipped my fingers over the menu, drawing his attention. “Oh, I definitely want a treat,” I whispered, leaning over the table to brush my lips over his. I sighed at the contact, at the way the tautness of his jaw relaxed under my touch. “But it isn’t here,” I said, my eyes on his, a silent conversation weighing between us.

  His gaze sparked, and my entire body warmed from the mere promise in those dark eyes.

  A flash flickered over us, and I jolted from the shock of it, effectively knocking over both our water glasses and soaking Nixon’s pants.

  “I’m sorry!” I scrambled for the cloth napkin and hurried around the table, desperately trying to right my fumble. More flashes popped around us, and I froze, reality crashing down on top of me.

  Paparazzi. Six of them. All capturing me acting like a complete idiot, toweling off Nixon Noble’s crotch.

  “Ohmigod,” I said, completely mortified as I dropped the napkin. Not only had I embarrassed myself, but I’d likely humiliated Nixon. I hurried toward the exit of the restaurant while Nixon turned his back on me to face the group still flashing their damn cameras.

  “Guys,” I heard him say as I made it to the doors. “You know I’m always ready to answer your questions outside, but in here?”

  I didn’t have to turn around to know he flashed them his most charming and polite smile. The one that only the public saw. Not the real Nixon edged with pain and raw vulnerability and fear and mischief and delight…

  And omigod I’d be all over the media soon.

  “Hey!” Nixon called, jogging to catch up with me. I’d made it all the way down the block. Where was I headed since his driver was likely waiting somewhere near the restaurant? No idea. But I had to get away. Had to escape the mortification, though I wasn’t sure if it was possible.

  “Liberty,” he said, his tone half-plea, half-command, and it did things to my body.

  I stopped and slowly spun to face him.

  His hands gently clutched my shoulders. “You didn’t have to run off.”

  “I did!” I snapped. “God, Nixon. That was mortifying.”

  His shoulders dropped, the lines of his mouth rigid. “I know it isn’t easy being thrown into this world. I’ve dealt with it so long it’s like second nature.” He sighed, backing up a few steps. “I shouldn’t have forced you into all this. Put you in a position to be embarrassed—”

  “Me?” I cut him off. “No, Nixon.” I rolled my eyes. “You know I don’t give a shit what people think of me.” His eyes flared wide. “It’s you,” I said, and I had to speak around the lump in my throat. “I’m…Nixon. I’m not the girl they usually see on your arm. I’m not a model or a celebrity or a socialite. Hell, I don’t even own a car made in the last decade! I have enough clothes to fit into a backpack, and I certainly don’t have the poise and grace of someone meant for the cameras.” My stomach sank with each fact I stated. “I’m humiliating you.”

  A deep groove furrowed his brow as he returned to me, our bodies nearly flush. “That’s bullshit,” he said, and chills erupted over my skin at his tone. “You could never embarrass me. Hell, you could’ve stripped my pants off to dry them back there, and I wouldn’t have blinked.”

  I snorted, arching a brow at him.

  “Okay,” he said, a soft smile shaping his lips. “I may have blinked, but you know what I’m saying.” His arms snaked around my back, pressing me to him. “I won’t stop you if you run for your own reasoning,” he said, smoothing his hands up and down my spine. “But don’t run from me because you think you’re hurting my image. Because fuck that.”

  I tilted my head to meet his gaze, reading the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of the night settling over my chest. I wrapped my arms around his hard middle, squeezing him back. “Fine,” I said. “I won’t run from you. On one condition.”

  “Anything,” he whispered.

  “You don’t run from me, either.”

  Understanding rippled in his gaze, and he visibly swallowed. I watched the battle rage over his features—the want to let me in, but the need to keep me out. A protective instinct, one I couldn’t rip off and let bleed all over the both of us.

  So, instead of forcing the issue, instead of selfishly prodding, I reached up on my tiptoes.

  Nixon met me halfway, his lips slanting over mine in a sweet touch that stole my breath.

  And then he was hauling me against him, spinning me to gently press my back against the brick wall of the building. His tongue slipped between my lips, a claiming and a request. I opened for him, drinking him in, relishing the taste of him, the feel of his hard, warm body against mine. The way his broad frame blocked out the world beyond and nothing existed except us.

  I sighed between his lips, my fingers digging into his back muscles as his kiss set me on fire.

  “Liberty,” he growled between kisses. “I can’t get enough of you.”

  I turned liquid at his words, at the desperation and hunger in them—for me.

  Raised voices echoed from down the street, and Nixon tensed against me. He broke the kiss, his eyes churning with want, and took my hand.

  I followed his gaze, noting the paparazzi had followed us outside of the restaurant despite his requests for them to leave him alone for the night. He fished out his cell, and after a quick text, his driver pulled around the corner. Nixon tucked me in the back of the sedan, sliding in next to me as the driver headed toward home.

  I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip.

  “Talk to me,” he said.

  “How could you want to raise a child in all of that?” I whispered.

  Nixon tensed but didn’t take his arm from around my shoulders. “I can’t help the life that comes hand-in-hand with my career, Liberty.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’m not faulting you, I promise. I just…they’re insatiable. And have little regard for your well-being—physical, mental, or otherwise.”

  “Are you saying you’re worried about me?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “And for the baby.”

  Nixon slid his hand over my stomach, the gentle touch enough to empty my head of thought and sound.

  “I’ll take care of you both,” he said. “In whatever way I need to.” The truth in his words slayed me. “And I’ll talk to my team,” he continued. “Find a better way to handle them, avoid them. We have time,” he said. “To prepare.”

  I nodded, tilting my head up to his. “Thank you,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “For being willing to do that. For not pushing me away due to my lack of experience with all of this.”

  He
trailed the tip of his nose over mine, his lips brushing against mine so lightly I barely felt it, and yet, my entire body tightened from the touch. He cradled my head, angling it so he could kiss me deeper, his tongue grazing the edges of my teeth with expert flicks and rubs. I trembled against him, my body coiling with want, need.

  “I won’t run from you,” he repeated our earlier words against my lips.

  I nipped at his bottom lip, relishing the growl the move drew from him. “And I won’t run from you.”

  And as he continued to wind me up on the ride home, I realized how much I wanted our words to be true. How badly I wanted to keep taking the next step with Nixon and see where we landed in the end.

  I could only hope we’d be on the same page, but it was hard to see that future when we were from completely different worlds.

  11

  Nixon

  “Is she always this late?” I sent a glare toward the clock as I paced in the tiny exam room like it could make our doctor appear faster. It was already forty-five minutes past our scheduled time.

  For the thousandth time, I wished Liberty had agreed to move her care over to the better-rated OB clinic. Not only did they have a lower complication rate for delivery, but I bet their doctors were on time, too.

  “Contract negotiations not going well?” Liberty calmly flipped through an issue of Parenting Magazine as she sat on the edge of the exam table.

  “What?” I paused.

  “You’ve been grumpy since you got off the phone with your agent, which leaves me to assume that contract negotiations aren’t going well.” She turned another page.

  “Contract negotiations are…whatever they are. I’ve got a franchise tag on me, which means it’s not like I can walk out, and I want a ten-year deal, not a five. And I haven’t been grumpy since I got off the phone with Jim. My rise in irritation directly correlates to every single minute the doctor continues to not show up. She’s forty-five minutes late!”

  “I told you not to come.” She said it gently, but it hit me like a battering ram.

  What the fuck?

  “Of course, I came,” I said slowly. “I’ve been at every appointment since that first ultrasound.” Last month’s appointment had been worth the fine I’d incurred for missing practice, but it wasn’t like Liberty knew I’d gotten slapped with one, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to make her feel guilty for it.

  The magazine hit her lap, and her expression softened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. I just know that you have a flight to catch.”

  “You have an appointment.” It was simple in my mind: our baby trumped the flight. If worse came to worst, I’d charter something to Pittsburgh in order to make it there eighteen hours in advance of kick-off.

  “And you need to be on that flight.”

  “Then stop making appointments on Fridays. Do you think she realizes how late she is? How far behind can you possibly get by nine-thirty in the morning?” How was this a normal thing?

  “All Fridays?” Her eyebrows knit. “I can’t make any appointments on Friday?”

  “You can make appointments whenever you want.” I loosened my tie. “But if you’d like to make it a little easier for me to attend, then steering clear of Fridays—and sometimes Thursdays—before away games would be pretty helpful.” I walked over and took her hand, running my thumb across her knuckles and pausing on her ring finger.

  What do you mean you haven’t proposed? Mom’s voice bulldozed through my brain, just like it had when she’d nearly shrieked the words at me over the phone last week.

  “So, I’m supposed to carry around a copy of your schedule?” She arched an eyebrow.

  “Google works.” A smile tugged at my lips. “Honestly, I’m not going to tell you when to make appointments. I’m going to do whatever I have to so I can be here. Period.”

  “What happens if you miss the plane?” Worry etched little lines in her forehead.

  “I’ll charter something. Don’t worry.” I gave her hand a squeeze.

  “Your coaches won’t get mad?” She adjusted her long skirt—she’d called it a maxi.

  “Probably.” I had exactly one hour to make it to the airport, and we were forty-five minutes away.

  “Probably?” Her voice rose. “Okay, well, what can happen if you miss that plane?”

  “I’m going to be fine. Don’t worry.” I turned her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. God, she smelled good, and it wasn’t just the cookies she’d been snacking on for breakfast.

  “Seriously, what’s the worst that can happen to you?” Her gaze darted to her phone, no doubt checking the time.

  “Do you always think about the worst-case scenario?” I teased, making a point to relax my posture.

  “Nixon.”

  I sighed. “They could fire me, I guess.”

  “You guess?” she shouted.

  “It’s not likely,” I assured her. “I mean, the Texans fired their quarterback when he missed a flight, but that’s not going to happen. I’ll probably get a fine. Nothing big.”

  “How much?” Her eyes widened, and her knuckles whitened as she gripped the edge of the exam table.

  “Ten grand or so.”

  Her face fell, and my stomach twisted at the sight. I took her face in my hands. “This is nothing you have to worry about.” I kissed her, brushing her lips just long enough to feel that jolt of electricity slide through my system that kissing her always gave me.

  “Nothing I have to…” She jerked her face out of my hands. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

  “Because I didn’t want to stress you out any more than you already are.” I stepped back when she narrowed her eyes at me. “The money isn’t an issue.”

  “And you getting fired isn’t?”

  “They’re not going to fire me.” I kept my voice level.

  “You should have told me.” She sighed. Hard. “You have got to let me in, Nixon. If you would’ve opened up about this, I wouldn’t have put you in this position.”

  “Let you in? You live with me, Liberty. How much further in would you like me to let you? You’ve met Nathan and Harper. You’ve talked to my parents on the phone. I’ve brought you to every team event and never ever hidden you from the press. You woke up this morning in my bed—is that not close enough for you?” For fuck’s sake, I hadn’t let a woman this close to me in years, if ever.

  “That is not what I mean.”

  “I’m pretty new at all this moved-the-woman-I-was-lucky-enough-to-conceive-a-child-with-into-my-house stuff, but something tells me that we can’t exactly know everything there is to know about each other already.”

  “I barely know anything about you,” she countered. “Every time I try to get close, you throw up a wall about ten feet tall and a billion miles thick.”

  “You just asked about my contract negotiations, and I told you.” I shoved my hands into the front pockets of my slacks. “What am I missing here?”

  “What happened to your brother?”

  “I’m sorry?” Everything within me, including my heart, stopped, then began the well-practiced process of freezing over. My mouth went first, clamping shut.

  “You don’t have to answer me. Not right here and not right now.” There was a plea in her eyes. For what? The answer? Understanding? “But do you see the way you’re standing? Do you hear the bite in your voice? That wall is already up.” Her hand smoothed over the swell of her belly. “I don’t know how to navigate all of this if you keep me in the dark about who I’m doing this with.”

  I sucked in a breath and concentrated on unlocking my muscles. “Okay. Maybe I’m not the most forthright person. I don’t like picking off scabs just to watch them bleed. You want to know what happened to Nick? Google it. The press has made a pretty good living off my family’s tragedy. We’re ratings gold.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I want you to tell me. I want you to let me in.”

  “Right. Like you let me in that the internship you’d w
anted to take wasn’t even in town? Talk about the shock of my fucking month when you told me how upset you were that you had to take the local one. The only reason I didn’t fly off the handle was because I was genuinely concerned that you were upset, and at least that told me you weren’t leaving in two months.”

  “I never hid that from you.” She shook her head, drawing back like I’d wounded her.

  “You didn’t exactly lay out the details, either. Do you honestly think I would have been so calm if I’d thought you were moving—pregnant with my child before he or she was even born? Is that really what you think of me?” I backed up and leaned against the edge of the small workstation, putting as much distance between us as I could in the small room.

  Her mouth opened and shut a couple of times before she found her words. “I guess I hadn’t really thought about it. I assumed you understood, and you weren’t upset, so I didn’t pursue any line of thought where you would be. I didn’t know you, Nixon.”

  “And according to what you just said, you apparently still don’t know me, so let me make this clear. I don’t know what’s going on between us, but we need to figure it out. If not because of the obvious attraction we share, then definitely for the good of our child.” I swallowed the tension in my throat as she drew her lower lip between her teeth.

  “I know. It’s just a really heavy subject that comes with a lot of choices I’m not ready to make.” She folded her hands in her lap. “You’d think for someone who is trained to read people and diagnose mental health issues, I’d know my own mind a little better, right?” She flashed a quick, fake smile.

  “We really suck at communication, don’t we?” Except when we were in bed. Skin-on-skin, we communicated effortlessly. I’d never been so at-ease around a woman, and so torn up at the same time.

  “We’re going to have to change that,” she admitted. “Look, if you need to make your flight—”

  Two knocks sounded on the door, and the doctor entered with her nurse. I gave her a nod as she made her apologies and took my spot at Liberty’s side as the doc got her ready for another ultrasound.