Cold Hearted: Bad Boy Romance

by Amy Faye

  "We're out," he told her.

  "We're out," she agreed. And then she pressed another kiss. They were out, and there was nothing more to worry about.

  Epilogue

  Caroline settled into the bench that surrounded the hexagonal cage, and watched Shannen wrestling around with Jeremy. The boy was small, still; it still gave Caroline the heebie-jeebies to see Shannen seriously fight, even in training, but it would be years before the little boy was able to challenge his father, and by then Shannen would be on the wrong side of his life for fist fights anyways.

  The gym was clean, which was a first; she wondered how long Shannen had spent cleaning up before she got there, because its usual state was to have sweat stains all over everything, discarded energy drink bottles wherever people had thought to hide them.

  Not today, though.

  "Come on, you two," she called in. "We're going to be late."

  Jeremy squirmed easily out of Shannen's hold, showing exactly how seriously Shannen had taken the hold, crap ground game or not. "Come on, mom," he whined. Just a few more minutes?"

  "You said that ten minutes ago," Caroline reminded him. But she could already feel herself caving in. It wasn't like she was looking forward to the dinner any more than either of them were. But there were responsibilities to keep in mind, right?

  It wasn't until Shannen started in with the puppy-eyed expression that she finally surrendered. "Fine," she sighed. "Ten more minutes. And not a minute more!"

  They started rolling around again on the mat. Shannen let Jeremy slip his grip and made pained noises as the boy twisted his arm in what might have been an effective lock if it weren't for the hundred pound size discrepancy between them. Caroline hated this sport, but she smiled, leaned forward on the bench, and something made her shout out:

  "Kick his ass for me, Jeremy! You got him!"

  The boy grinned at her and tried to yank. The yelp of pain that Shannen let out wasn't totally fake this time; he pulled his arm loose and turned under the boy, pinning him to the mat, his fingers darting in and poking and tickling until Jeremy was a mess of laughter. Caroline stepped into the cage and knelt down beside them.

  "Okay, big guy, I think you got him. Come on, let's get going."

  Jeremy wriggled free and started moving, and Shannen looked up at her, a faint smile on his face.

  "You too, mister."

  "Are you gonna make me?"

  She got down and straddled his waist. "You bet I am,"

  "You're going to have to hurry, then, if you want to get it done before Jer gets back."

  "I can tap you out in a second," she boasted. "You just don't know it yet."

  He leaned up and pressed a kiss on her lips and pulled her back down with him. "Sure you can."

  The President’s Secret Son

  Bad Boy Romance

  Amy Faye

  Published by Heartthrob Publishing

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  Here’s a preview of the sexy love story you’re about to read…

  "You fucking asshole," she breathed in his ear, moving herself up to straddle him. The seats were big enough to accommodate both of them. "I can't fucking stand you."

  The words came out of her mouth and she wanted to believe them. But they lacked any punch. They lacked truth, and she knew it as well as he did.

  "I know," he said. His hand cupped her ass and she hovered over him, her weight pressing him to the chair.

  "Then fuck me," she growled, and dipped her head to nip at his neck. She was the one in control now, she told herself. She was the one in charge and she was the one setting the pace. But if he pushed back, she knew that it wouldn't be long before she was the one who was eating out of the palm of his hand, no matter what Lara tried to tell herself.

  He pulled her shirt off and threw it aside. She worked the clasp on her bra easily and as soon as it had slipped from her shoulders he claimed one nipple in between his lips. Her hips ground down into him, feeling his cock stiffening against her.

  That was what she wanted. That was what she needed, even after all this time. He held her roughly, forcing her hips down harder. Her skirt had already ridden up around her hips, her stockings and his pants the only things separating them. He moved a hand between them, exploring the outside of her lips with his hand.

  "You've been looking forward to this," he accused, and she ground herself against his fingers in answer.

  She slipped off his lap and between his knees. She had no trouble with his belt. Ten years hadn't dulled her memories of taking off a belt very much like this, from trousers very much like these. Hadn't dulled the memory of freeing his cock from his trousers.

  The smell of sex was heady and immediate and she couldn't help herself from wanting a little bit more. She took him into her mouth without hesitating and moved quickly. There was something inside her that needed it, needed him, and she hated it but she couldn't deny it either. That was her reality now, whether she liked it or not, and she was going to have to accept it.

  His fingers dug into her hair taking a fistful and using it to force her head where he wanted it. Lara couldn't help letting her voice out a little bit as he fucked her face, claiming her as his. Some part of her kept repeating in her mind that she should have known better. That she wasn't going to be taken in like she was before. But she was going to be, she knew. That was the reality.

  His cock moved into her mouth, entering her throat. She was practically choking on it and she didn't think she could have made him stop if she wanted to. She didn't think that she could have stopped herself if he was trying to stop her, either.

  She slurped as he pulled back and then he entered her mouth again. Taking her. If she wasn't going to be his, and he wasn't going to be hers, then she could at least outdo that stupid bitch of a stewardess.

  Tears started to run down her cheeks, purely from the sensations shooting through her. She pulled herself away, climbed up and rubbed herself against his hard cock, slick with her saliva and pressing against her through the sheer fabric of her hose she enjoyed the feeling of him against her.

  Paul didn't wait, apparently didn't have any interest in teasing. He grabbed her hose and ripped. He seemed to be experienced with it. She rubbed back again and the feeling of his skin directly on hers, even before he entered her, was electric.

  He lowered his hips as she pulled forward, and when she pushed back again he entered her easily, between her own arousal and the wetness of his cock. She rocked back and forth, her weight pressing constantly to get his cock to hit her right where she wanted it, to take the pleasure as much as she could. His lips found her nipples and bit down.

  Lara bit down on her finger again. She had never been quiet during lovemaking, but then she'd never been surrounded by so many people, so many of them who must have been wondering whether or not she was fucking him.

  Well, they would have their answer as soon as they came into the front cabin, she supposed. Was that a problem? She didn't know. It could cause trouble for Paul if it got out, but so could any of the other affairs that she knew he was having. There must have been plenty. But here she was, no doubt almost twice their age, and she was the one that had him this time.

  There was a sort of feral victory in that. She moved harder, faster. His mouth unlatched from her breast and his head pressed back into the chair as she moved. His breath came in hard rasps and his hips moved to meet hers with every thrust, anticipating her coming back by a second as the orgasm that was building inside him threatened to overtake him.

  Lara was close, too, she knew. There was one thing that would do it. One thing that had always done it. It had gotten her into trouble once, and if she had kept track properly, today was the furthest thing from a safe day.

  The very idea made her shudder, sent her spiraling closer and closer to the edge of the orgasm that had been building up in her the entire time.

  "Lara," he
breathed. "You should-"

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  1

  Paul Green watched out the window of the private plane. There was nothing else to be done yet. They had a good sense of how much needed to be done, and he was going to do it. That was enough, for now. Four months out of the election and he'd already gotten through all the trouble that they could throw at him.

  If his opponents wanted to make something up, sure. They could do that. But otherwise, he'd been careful since he entered the public eye. Helen looked over and smiled. There wasn't a hint of anything in that smile. It was like a mask that she was putting on.

  "Ready?"

  He took a breath and wished that there was anyone else on the other side of the plane, next to him. There were a thousand women he'd rather have been with. Women whose names he didn't even know had been better company than his wife.

  "We'd better do this," he said, his voice low and tired. He had to put on a face for the public. A face that never tired, a face that moved as fast as the nightly news coverage did. A political candidate for a generation raised on MTV, where thirty seconds was too long to pay attention.

  She kissed his cheek. Paul dutifully allowed it. They'd never had children, and there were a thousand reasons for it. Even at her most drunken, Helen had never let him touch her. She seemed disgusted by the entire idea, and as Paul looked at her, a body like a boy's and a heart made out of a lump of coal, he wasn't much less put off by it on his part.

  He turned away and she put a hand on his shoulder. Her grip was tight and she pulled until he turned back to face her. "Something wrong, dear?"

  Her expression was dark and angry. Like it usually was, he thought, but he kept his thoughts inside his head. "Don't you fuck this up for me, you fucking asshole. I'm counting on this."

  "Yes, dear," he said. Maybe once he had been put off by that attitude, too. As if she were owed something. As if he owed her something. But now it was something that he was used to. Something he'd known when he was still just a Utah District Attorney.

  Helen was a useful fighter to have in your stable. Anything beyond that was beyond her. She couldn't be nice, no matter how badly she wanted to. She couldn't be a lover. She wasn't capable of that sort of passion. She wasn't someone he loved.

  But Paul had moved past love. That was something that he couldn't feel himself any more. The last time he'd felt anything for anyone, she'd disappeared and taken what little hope he had to escape from the prison of his future with her.

  So instead he substituted it. Like he was doing right now. He substituted respect for affection and hoped that it would work. Then he stepped up to the door to the plane. A pretty young cocktail waitress smiled at him because she no doubt thought that their time together meant more than it did.

  "Are you ready?"

  Helen nodded and they stepped out. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and she wrapped an arm around his waist and for a moment, maybe, they looked affectionate. Paul couldn't wait to get his hands back to himself. Once the campaign was over, she could take a little time to herself, and he could take a little time for himself.

  "Senator!" A thousand shouts went up all at once as he walked down the steps and up to a podium set up for him to give a speech. "Senator, what do say about the recent allegations of the President has been working with foreign leaders to undermine American trade?"

  Paul took a deep breath and looked across the crowd. It was the same faces that it always was. He could name them all–in spite of that, he didn't like any of them, either. Part of him asked why he was doing this for the hundredth time. Then he repeated the memorized list of reasons why he was doing it.

  Someone needed to be President. That much was clear. Someone needed to do it, and he wanted it. He'd wanted it since he was a boy. He was as good as anyone else. Apparently, if the recent allegations were true–the word had been circulating Washington a lot longer than it had been circulating the press corps–then he was better than some. Better than the incumbent.

  He knew what he wanted out of it, too. He wanted to get important stuff through. If he could just solve the health care problems, and nothing else, that would be enough. If he could just take care of student debt, that would be enough.

  Paul's list of things that needed fixing were as long as the pre-flight checklist that they had to go through, four or five times a day, and if he could just cross one of them off the list then would be an actual improvement.

  That was why he was doing it. Because those problems needed solving, and he had solutions. He took a deep breath and repeated the question in his mind before he started speaking. 'What do you say about the allegations…?' His position on the security committee gave him a unique look into those allegations. He knew them to be true. But that wasn't the right answer.

  "President Noble has an excellent track-record and of course he only has the best interests of the American people at heart. I'm as surprised by these recent allegations as any of you, but if, by some strange turn of fate, they turn out to be true, then I'm as aghast as any of you, too." He put his hands on the podium. They were shaking from tiredness and his body wanted to stop. But he couldn't afford that. "The American people have the right not to be sold out, as you know. I hope that the FBI will be able to identify and root out the source of this rumor and verify it, or definitively put it to bed."

  His heart started beating hard the minute that he saw her. It wasn't certain right away–not entirely. But someone at the edge of the press corps, in the peanut gallery, looked terribly familiar. A memory of ten years ago. Salt Lake City and the last time he'd felt better than 'doing what he had to do.'

  As he glanced again, looking harder while trying hard to seem like he wasn't looking… he was sure. Lara Beech had aged well. If anything, she looked better than ever. And she was here to see him.

  He took another question, and as they spoke, he formulated an answer in his mind. But he wasn't feeling it. His thoughts were on a petite woman standing off to the side, and the young boy in his arms.

  2

  Lara Beech pressed a hand against her forehead. She wasn't feeling good this morning. If she'd been smart then she would have just stayed in bed. She had the day off, after all. There was no reason that she needed to go and see Paul after all these years.

  Not after the way that things had ended with him. He didn't want to see her and she was more than willing to accept that. But she could have at least spared herself the unpleasantness of going to see him. She could have spared herself that unpleasantness when she was sick.

  But she'd already scheduled it so that she could take Tim to go. It was important to be involved in politics, and with the new challenger in town, there was plenty of reason to take him to see a speech. It was just a little one, and the weather was warm enough for her to go without a coat, so there was no special reason to avoid it. No matter how much she wanted to.

  She slid down in the couch until she was laying out along the cushions and closed her eyes. Tim was back at school already and she had the day off, so… that was enough. She could nap. Once she had gotten a little sleep, she'd feel better. She had to hope, anyways.

  She hadn't quite gotten to sleep–or at least, no more than cat-napping–when something woke her. A noise. Specifically, the noise of someone rapping on the front door of her apartment. She forced herself to her feet and walked across the room.

  "Yes?"

  "Lara?" The voice on the other side of the door was familiar, and just like it had earlier that day it hurt her chest to hear it.

  "You shouldn't have come," she told him. She hadn't expected Paul to see her at all. If he did see her, then she expected him to ignore her, like he had for so many years. In the unlikely event that he didn't ignore her, and he did see her, then she hoped he would have the good sense to stay gone.

  "I just wanted to come by."

  She let out a breath. "Give me a mi
nute to put a jacket on."

  "You're not going to let me in?"

  She raised an eyebrow, in spite of knowing he couldn't see it. "No, Paul, I'm not going to let you in. I'll let you take me to coffee if it's that important to you."

  "Okay, then I'll wait."

  She went and fetched a jacket. She wasn't sure that he was serious about any of this. In fact, she wasn't sure what the hell kind of game that he was playing. He'd left her hanging.

  Left her pregnant, for that matter, with a big check and specific instructions on how he thought she was supposed to take care of it. Paul Green's attitude was and always would be easygoing in person, but it was what he did when he didn't have to look you in the eyes that told everything about his character, and he would do anything to get himself ahead.

  She opened the door and let out a breath. He looked good. He looked tired, but the years hadn't been hard on him. Every day she was finding new gray hairs and her boobs seemed to sink lower every year like clockwork, but he looked as if he had barely aged a day, though he hadn't slept in the intervening period either.

  "What's this about?"

  Lara dropped her keys into her pocket.

  "About? I saw you at that little speech earlier."

  "So, what? You thought you'd just come by and remember how good old times were?"

  Paul smiled at her. He had such a warm smile, such a winning smile. He'd always been a charmer with a smile like that, and it was that charming nature of his that had talked her panties off. It was that charming nature of his that had her practically living at his beck and call and convinced that any day now he was going to leave his wife and come to her.

  Cheating wasn't exactly a proper Mormon thing to do. But then, she wasn't sure what cheating was in a political marriage. She'd met Helen, and she'd been pretty clear about the complete lack of misunderstanding about what she and Paul were up to.