His for One Night

by Sarah M. Anderson

  “I’ll... I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said softly, taking a sleepy James back from Flash. Then her gaze dropped to his lips.

  This wasn’t Flash’s first rodeo. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, his voice barely a whisper. Then he leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers.

  He didn’t linger, didn’t press the issue. “Call me for any reason. I can be right back out here in under twenty minutes.” He’d have to see about getting a different hotel room closer to her house.

  She nodded, looking breathless. Flash was sorely tempted to lean in for another kiss, something longer and hotter and...

  Yeah, no. He backed away before he let his dick do the thinking. That’s what had gotten them into this mess in the first place. “Good night, Brooke.”

  He was almost out of the room when she spoke. “Flash?”

  Yes. But he didn’t cheer. He turned and asked, “What, babe?”

  “This can’t get out yet. I can’t have my mother finding out about you. Not...” Even across the room in the dark, he saw her swallow nervously. “Not yet.”

  Hadn’t she mentioned her mother earlier? Brooke’s record company and mother had all decided that she had to keep her pregnancy and baby a secret because Brooke wouldn’t name him as the father? And now Brooke wasn’t necessarily afraid of the press finding out about the baby, but she was clearly worried about her mother.

  That bothered him. Damn it. He wished his own mother was still here. She’d be able to tell Flash if that was a normal mother-daughter thing or not. But maybe his sister-in-law Renee could shine a little light on how tense mother-daughter relationships worked. He’d have to ask, after Oliver got done chewing him out.

  “I won’t. No one outside of Chloe and Pete will know until you’re ready to tell them. Well,” he quickly corrected, “Chloe and Pete and my older brother, Oliver, and his wife, who’s Chloe’s best friend. It doesn’t go farther than that.”

  They’d all wait to tell Milt Lawrence for a little bit. If Dad found out he had another grandbaby, life would get very complicated very fast.

  “Your brother and his wife? Will they keep it quiet?”

  “Absolutely. But outside of them, no one will know. You can hold me to that, Brooke.”

  She sagged in what he hoped was relief. “Okay. Good. Um, good night.”

  “Night, babe.” Then, moving as quickly as he could, he walked his butt right out of that house and started thinking hard about tomorrow.

  How did a man propose a marriage of convenience the second time after completely botching the first time?

  Ten

  “So you’ll think about it?” Kari Stockard said, trailing after Brooke as she walked out of the conference room. “The press we’d get from the baby pictures alone could put your album sales over the top, Brooke. You know that.”

  “Yes, you said as much in the meeting.” Repeatedly. Kari was a fine PR manager, but Brooke could take only so much browbeating, and what should’ve been a quick check-in about the Bluebird performance had instead been Brooke on one side of a conference table and seven—seven!—executives, managers and other people wearing suits on the other side, all trying to tell her what to do with her personal life. And they didn’t even know about Flash yet.

  Brooke had done a thorough internet check before she’d walked into that meeting this morning, and there was nothing connecting her and Flash. Bless Kyle Morgan’s heart, he’d kept his mouth shut.

  Brooke wished she’d brought Alex as backup today—but this was supposed to have been a short meeting, not the full-court press, so she’d told her best friend to take the day off because she wasn’t up to the conversation Alex would want to have about Flash. Brooke hadn’t even brought Mom, who was technically her manager. Instead, Mom was at home with Bean. Not that Mom would’ve been much help, anyway. She would’ve agreed to everything the label wanted, as evidenced by her parting shot this morning, which had been, “Sweetheart, don’t you think that, with the album release coming up, you’re going to want to tell the world about Jimmy?” No one called Bean that except for Crissy Bonner.

  “The timing is perfect,” Kari went on, still trailing Brooke. “Think of the buzz!”

  So, yeah, Brooke was on her own here and it was exhausting. Was it wrong to want someone in her court? She picked up the pace. If she could make it to her car...well, then she could go meet with Flash and fight a completely different battle.

  She didn’t want it to be a battle, though. She wanted...to feel like she was in control of something. Anything.

  Kari wasn’t giving up anytime soon. She matched Brooke’s pace. “We wouldn’t even have to name the father. We could say you’d done in vitro! From a sperm bank?”

  “Nope.” She was practically jogging at this point. “When I’m ready to take him public, I’ll let you know.” She made the door.

  “Before the album drops?” Kari yelled after her.

  “You, too!” Brooke called over her shoulder, intentionally mishearing Kari’s question. Her head hurt. Kari didn’t know who Flash was so there’d been no discussion of a redemption arc or marriage, but, otherwise, Kari’s plan was practically identical to what Chloe had outlined last night.

  Brooke got to her car and paused long enough to make sure Kari hadn’t trailed her before she slumped back in the seat. The day of public reckoning was coming, that much was certain. But would it involve a wedding or just a baby?

  She just wanted to write her songs and perform, and, yeah, she wanted to make a lot of money—money she controlled, not her mother or her uncle, the rat bastard. Being raised by a single mother meant that Brooke hadn’t grown up rich. But everything else that went with being famous? It was all a huge pain in the ass, frankly.

  She sat for a moment, trying to get her thoughts in order. Which, of course, took the shape of a melody. Somewhere in the middle of the night, dozing in the chair with Bean, the song in her head had shifted to something darker, something more raw. Don’t say something romantic was still there, but another song was lurking at the edge of her subconscious.

  The stripped-down acoustics of the new melody ran through her mind, full of anguish. A song about being stuck in an impossible situation with no right answers. She opened the notes program on her phone and dictated the lyrics. If nothing else, art imitating her life made for good inspiration.

  God, this was a mess.

  Because the fact was that everything Chloe Lawrence had said last night hadn’t been wrong. Legally, Flash was a persona non grata when it came to Bean. He wasn’t on the birth certificate and, until paternity tests happened, he couldn’t prove that he was Bean’s father, although all anyone had to do was look at the way those two smiled to see the truth.

  It didn’t matter how Chloe or Kari promised to spin it to her advantage—the simple truth was that for a few weeks, the press would be brutal. All the more so because she’d had the nerve to hide her pregnancy and child this long. Maybe it was selfish or cowardly, but she didn’t want to face it alone.

  Part of hitting it big last year had been the public perception that Brooke Bonner didn’t screw around, do drugs or drink. She might write some saucy songs, but she was a role model to girls—play by the rules and you’ll go far. Shattering that mostly true image with an out-of-wedlock baby would cost her fans.

  Getting married to Flash—and quickly—meant that she wouldn’t have to face the press on her own. It’d also mean she wouldn’t have to hide the fact that she was sleeping with him. Assuming she was going to keep sleeping with him.

  Was she assuming that?

  Just thinking about the orgasm last night kicked her pulse up a notch. But that perfect moment, like the one in Fort Worth over a year ago, was completely overshadowed by what came afterward.

  How was marrying Flash the smart thing to do?

  The words but how could I say no? popped into her
mind. Frankly, after that meeting, Brooke could use a drink. I could use a shot of something stronger, she dictated, letting the words flow, feeling her way toward what came next.

  Can’t afford the mistake the whiskey would help me make?

  Yeah, it needed work. And she was stalling. She’d told Mom she had a coffee date planned with Kyle Morgan to go over a song. And she was, technically, thinking about lyrics, so it wasn’t a total lie. But she had an afternoon to decide the direction of her life for the immediate future before everything spun out of control for her again.

  She knew what she had to do. She needed to ask Flash to meet her at a coffee shop. Where are you? she texted.

  He answered back in seconds. My hotel. Where do you want to meet? Clearly, he’d been waiting on her. The thought made her relax just a bit.

  The responsible thing to do would be to name a bar or restaurant or coffee shop. They needed to stay in public, as part of a crowd, so they could have a mature, rational discussion about parenting and not getting married like adults. That certainly would be the smart course of action.

  But all the logic in the world didn’t seem to apply when it came to her and Flash. She wanted to feel like she had a choice. And, damn it all, she wanted him. In a bed, this time. Yeah, she was apparently going to keep sleeping with him. What’s your room number?

  The replay came immediately: 623—you want to meet here?

  She wanted a do-over of last night, before it’d all blown up in her face. Just him and her and no big surprises, waiting to ruin everything, lurking in the wings this time. Brooke wanted more than fifteen minutes of satisfaction in Flash’s arms. It was selfish, sure. And after last night, it was clearly a mistake of epic proportions.

  But, apparently, when it came to Flash, she’d just willfully keep making that mistake.

  I’m still not marrying you, she typed, hitting the letters with extra force. Just FYI.

  Noted, he replied.

  It was so hard to tell if he was looking forward to her showing up or if he was bracing himself for the worst or what. Well, he could just brace. She needed a little more from him. Just for her. Then they could go back to being co-parents or whatever.

  I’m coming to you, she texted, and then started the car.

  Just as she pulled out of the parking lot, he texted back, Thank God.

  * * *

  Brooke knocked on the door, at least 73 percent sure she was making a mistake. But before she could bail, it swung open and Flash was there.

  Damn, he made rugged look so good.

  He wore a black All-Stars T-shirt, which showed off his muscled forearms. But the funny thing was his feet were bare. No boots, no socks. He gave her that look that she’d always been powerless to resist. “Hey, come in. Thanks for making it.”

  “No problem.”

  A memory pushed to the forefront of her mind, of the last time she’d been alone in a hotel room with this man. Of Flash pressing her against the door and whispering in her ear, “Tell me what you want,” as he’d ground his erection against her, her entire body humming with need for him. “I’m going to give it to you, Brooke,” he’d all but growled in her ear. “But be honest.”

  She shuddered and shoved the memory away. Now was so not the time for erotic flashbacks. God, meeting in his room really was an awful idea, wasn’t it? She hadn’t even been alone with him for thirty seconds and she was already thinking about sex.

  Flash shut the door behind her and, dang it, she startled. He had a knowing smirk on his face. “You sure you want to meet here?”

  “No.” She didn’t like this awkwardness between them and she liked it even less that she was the only one feeling it.

  Once upon a time, she had promised him honesty. She’d done a terrible job of that when it came to Bean. Being up-front with Flash now was the very least she could do for him. So she took a deep breath and said, “I don’t think I should be alone with you.”

  He chuckled, not looking the least insulted. God, Brooke just wanted to curl into him but, no, she couldn’t. She had to remember why she was here and, more importantly, how she’d gotten to this point. Neither of them would be in this position if she and Flash had been able to keep their hands to themselves.

  “If you’re not supposed to be alone with me,” he asked slowly, “what are you doing here?”

  “If we met in public, we’d run the risk of being spotted.” It wasn’t a great excuse.

  And Flash knew it. His gaze sharpened. “Are you saying you’ve decided to keep this,” he said, motioning between them, “a secret?”

  “No. I’m saying I don’t want public perception to force our hand.” She turned away from him because it was hard to think with him like that. He looked so damn good in this hotel room.

  Wow, she hadn’t realized he had a corner suite instead of a regular room. This place was bigger—and nicer—than the apartment she and her mom had shared for most of her adolescence. She certainly hadn’t been able to afford rooms this nice when she’d been touring—especially not after her uncle embezzled all her earnings.

  This was a very nice room. Huge windows behind a dining room table set for eight showed her the view of Music Row and the Cumberland River. She was standing in a living room that not only had a couch and matching accent chairs and tasteful lamps—not industrial light fixtures, but real lamps with stylish shades—but the whole thing was arranged on top of an expensive-looking Persian rug. An office area backed up to a full wet bar. Next to the dining room table, to the left, there was what looked like a full kitchen and a set of doors to the right where, she assumed, there was a bathroom and a bedroom. With a bed. Probably a nice one.

  Nope. Not thinking about the bed Flash slept in.

  She turned her back on those doorways and walked toward the window overlooking Music Row. Even though this was probably one of the nicer hotel rooms she’d ever been in, she could still tell that Flash had settled in. Behind one of the accent chairs was a duffel bag with a protective vest and ropes spilling out—his bull ropes, no doubt. Chaps were draped over one of the dining room chairs and his black hat was tossed onto the granite countertop. Coffee cups were scattered around the coffeepot on the wet bar, along with a few plastic grocery bags.

  Okay, so Flash wasn’t the neatest of guys. Somehow, that made him seem more...real. More normal, anyway. He wasn’t just this perfect fantasy she’d created or this thug the headlines had painted him to be. He was a flesh-and-blood man.

  One who could afford the best room in the hotel, apparently. Rodeo riders weren’t known for their tastes for the finer things in life. Half of them lived out of their cars during the summer or crashed on floors because the money from rodeos was only good if one was winning. Hadn’t Chloe said something about the Lawrence family being billionaires? It’d been couched in a vaguely threatening statement about affording the best lawyers, but...

  Was Flash actually rich?

  “I got you some tea,” he said, startling her out of her thoughts. “I didn’t know which kind, so there’s a few sample packs. The concierge found an electric kettle so you wouldn’t have coffee-flavored tea to drink.”

  Oh no—thoughtfulness. This was terrible—if Flash was going to be both charming and thoughtful, she was doomed. “Any green tea?”

  “Jasmine or peach?” She heard the sound of him rustling through the bags. “Oh—there’s a plain green in here, too.”

  “Jasmine, please.” She couldn’t let herself be sweet-talked. She had to remember why she was here, and it wasn’t because she’d missed Flash or he’d missed her or even that they’d been great in bed together and would probably get even better.

  She was here because Bean was almost four months old and had spent a whopping twenty minutes with his father. She was here to ensure that Flash was a man of his word and really had turned his life around. That everyone last night had been tell
ing the truth when they’d said Flash was just hitting pillows and that his whole family and their possible billions of dollars wouldn’t be used to cower her into submission. She was here to make sure her son would be safe with Flash.

  That she was safe with Flash. She wanted to know that he wouldn’t make her fall in love with him and then rip her heart right out of her chest. That he wouldn’t force her into a marriage and then force her to choose between her child and her career. She needed to believe that he wouldn’t abandon her to deal with the hard realities of parenthood alone while he chased the rodeo once the naked lust between them cooled.

  Because it would cool, right?

  Flash wasn’t the kind of guy who settled down. He played the field, kept his options open and never met a woman he didn’t love.

  Except...was that him? He sure as hell had been that a year ago when she’d taken him up on everything he’d had to offer.

  But he’d been waiting for her outside the Bluebird. He’d come to her house. He’d said repeatedly that he hadn’t looked at another woman since their night together, and his sister had casually mentioned that she knew Flash had it bad for Brooke. Would he be faithful to her—even if they didn’t get hitched? Was she even being fair to ask that of him if she kept telling him no?

  The fact was that she wanted it all—great sex with a perfect man who made her feel wonderful and her career and an equal partner to raise Bean.

  But she knew if she asked for that, he’d be hustling her down the aisle before she could do anything else and there’d be no guarantee she’d get anything on her wish list. No matter how much charm Flash wielded right now, he wouldn’t be in a big hurry to drop the rodeo and be a stay-at-home dad. The rodeo was in his blood, just like the music was in hers.

  She couldn’t have it all. There simply weren’t enough hours in the day. Which meant she couldn’t have Flash. She had to put her son first. Her selfish wants and physical needs came last.

  No, not last. Marketing plans and press releases and, ugh, magazine covers with exclusive interviews and redemption arcs and record sales—all of those things were dead last on her to-do list. But that didn’t mean she could ignore them.