The Campus Jock: A College Bad Boy Romance

by Serena Silver

  Trevor who had seemed rooted to his spot till then, suddenly felt that something was wrong with the wife of his employer. The first person that came to his mind at that moment was Eileen. He looked towards her cottage just a few feet away. He then remembered that the Doc was supposed to be having Lunch with her today. He was now sure that Gray Cottage was his next destination and he slipped away like a shadow, unnoticed.

  A quick glance down the sheet of paper told Jim that it was a letter addressed to him by his grandmother, just a day before she had died. In the letter Andreadora had apologized to him for coercing him into doing something he had not wanted to do, blackmailing him and turning his marriage into a wager.

  “Is that all I have ever been to you? A gamble? And is that all our marriage has been? Just another deal?” Alex asked him in an accusatory tone. Tears were flowing down her cheeks, and she was keening. The hurt in her eyes was killing Jim.

  He looked down at the letter as if the answers to his problems could be found there. It was clearly incomplete. His grandmother must have intended on completing it once she was back from the Harvest Festival. But she had never gotten a chance. And her partial avowals of regret had given Alex a completely different impression of his intentions towards her.

  He had married her out of helplessness, out of blackmail. But all that had changed a long time back. The quiet and serene girl, her fiery spirit, the whiskey colored eyes had conquered him long back. He was now completely and irreversibly in love with Alexandra Sullivan.

  “Alex, it’s not what you think it is.” he said and practically heard the hollow ring of his words.

  “You used me,” she said indignantly. “I considered this marriage sacrosanct and gave all I had to it. I gave up who I was to please you. And all this while you had been playing a game. That’s what it has been for you all this while, a bet?”

  She said, looking at him pleadingly, hoping he would deny it. But he did not. He could not.

  “Alex…” he put out a hand to reach her.

  “No…,” she said and pointed a finger at him warning him to keep his distance. Her hair was all distorted, the eyes were red, and she trembled like an autumn leaf. At that moment Jim just wanted to gather her close and keep her warm and safe. He looked pleadingly at her, beseeching her silently to understand but standing just next to him she seemed a thousand miles away.

  Suddenly she balled her fists and moaned. A tearing pain had shot through her body, and she went down on her knees. Jim bent down to support her. She was beyond the point of consciousness and did not resist.

  As he stood her up, taking all her weight on to himself, she saw Eileen and the Doc striding towards them through the fields followed by a haggard looking Trevor. He had never thought he could be so thankful to see the bloke in his entire life.

  “Mother…Alex…I think she is dying.” he said pathetically.

  The earth stopped moving for Eileen, at that moment. Then in the very next one, she pulled herself out of the haze of emotions that were swirling inside her. Whether he called her mother or no, her son needed her right now.

  “Jim” she called out sharply, “There is nothing wrong with Alex. She is going into labor. We have to take her to the cottage…now.”

  Alex who had momentarily floated out of her midst of semi-consciousness fought him with all her might. She pushed away Eileen’s hand when she offered to hold her.

  “Don’t touch me, Jim Sullivan. You disgust me. You are just a hard-hearted scoundrel, for whom everything is a game to be won.” When Eileen tried to help her once again, she turned on to her vehemently.

  “Stay away from me. Your son has no feelings; no humanity he is just an emotionless empty shell. And you have made him so.”

  Jim and Eileen looked at each other more with worry that anything else.

  Then Jim snapped out of his trance and picked up the semi-conscious Alex into his arms and started towards the cottage followed by the rest of the party.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Ruth Andreadora Sullivan was born a little before dawn. When Jim held his daughter for the first time, he was bewitched. The wee little thing had firmly closed her fist around her father’s finger, and Jim had felt the squeeze of that fist around his heart. She had a firm grip and a blue gaze, just like his.

  As his mother carried the baby away, Jim turned to his wife who had been sleeping peacefully since the time he had entered the room. Quietly he lowered himself onto the bed next to her and covered her hand with his where it rested over her midsection.

  “Alex,” He said tentatively as she slowly opened her eyes.

  “Jim, did you meet our daughter?” she said weakly but with a twinkle in her eyes. Jim nodded then said,

  “She is beautiful, Enchanting, just like you.”

  “She has your eyes.” she stated simply.

  “Alex, about what happened in the field this morning…”

  “I apologize for my behavior then; I was in a lot of pain.”

  “Does that mean, you forgive me?” he said taking both her hands into his firmly and squeezing.

  “As usual, you are not listening. There is nothing to forgive. I am not mad at you.”

  “Oh you were plenty mad,” he said smirking at the memory, then suddenly narrowed his eyes and looked down at his wife.

  “What do you mean, as usual.”

  “You know what I mean sweetheart. You are usually headstrong and bossy. And your daughter is just like you. As soon as she was born she created a huge racket and insisted that she be cleaned and wrapped and fed before anyone attended me.” Jim smiled dreamily.

  “Poor Trev was out of his mind. He helped me get you here without complaining once of the obscenities you hurled at us. For that alone, he ought to get a rise.”

  “The Doc and Eileen took good care of me.”

  “Yes, they are a good team.” He said pensively. The suddenly looked down at her and said watching her reaction.

  “They are getting married.”

  “I know.” She stated calmly

  “Why didn’t you tell me if you knew.”

  “Doc just told me, while I was in labor. I thought he was trying to distract me.”

  “Don’t know about you but I was distracted, shocked, stunned.”

  “Jim.” she said, and he knew she was going to bring up the subject they had been both skirting around.

  “I am sorry for what I said to you and Eileen, back in the fields. But you need to let go of your resentment.”

  “Why?” he asked sulkily, not looking up at her, toying with her wedding band.

  “Because it has let go of you. For some time now, I have noticed, you don’t feel the same antagonism for her, as you used to. But like I said you are stubborn and wouldn’t let go of the feeling. Being angry is easier for you than loving. That way you get to hide your emotions.”

  “Quite the psychiatrist, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t believe in Psychiatry.”

  “It’s an emerging science.”

  “It’s humbug. The human mind is pure. It doesn’t need a doctor.”

  “But there are minds that are ill. My father was,” he said once again mumbling under his breath and avoiding to look at her.

  “Jim, the Doc will make her happy.” She said kindly rubbing her palm over his upper arm.

  “He better. Otherwise, I will hunt him down and kill him.”

  “Jim you are ridiculous.” Alex laughed

  “I have already told him so.” He said sullenly.

  “No you didn’t,” she said shocked and tickled at the same time.

  “Oh yes, I did. When he was out there pacing with me before Ruth was born.”

  “Jim, I love you.”

  “I love you too. But there is something I need to read out to you first.” he pulled out a folded sheet of paper from his pocket and said waving it in front of her.

  “What I that?”

  “The missing part of the letter from my grandmother, that y
ou never got to read.”

  “Where did you find that,” Alex asked surprised.

  “Eileen gave it to me. She found it in the drawer where the recipe book was kept. It must have fallen off.” Jim said. Then he slowly opened the sheet and held it up in a toast before he started to read from it.”

  “…all my inhibitions disappeared when I saw the bond the two of you shared. Alex has transformed you. She has turned this game marriage of yours into a real one. The kind, I had always wanted you to have, the kind that will make you happy. I know it will irk you to know, but you are in love with her Jim. And love has made you a better more forgiving person.”

  When he looked up at her, a lock of hair fell across his forehead making him look almost boyish and vulnerable. Alex lifted her hand to stroke it, and he caught it in his, drawing it over the side of his face and placing his lips upon it.

  “She is right. You have made me into a better person Alexandra. And for that, I love you beyond reason.”

  The two lost themselves into each other’s compelling gazes as they heard Ruth scream and the Doc and Eileen laugh in the background. They had created a world around them, a world that held the promise of a lifetime of bliss.

  Ride Me Rough

  A Western Romance

  Chloe Martel

  Ride Me Rough

  Copyright 2017 by Chloe Martel

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal.

  NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR:

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to a person, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: Due to mature subject matter, such as explicit sexual situations and coarse language, this story is not suitable for anyone under the age of 18. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all acts of a sexual nature are consensual.

  Chapter One

  Alma Abrams rode Roach into town, which comprised a long dusty road, a post office, a newspaper office, three hotels, four general stores, a meat market, bars, brothels, three restaurants and two boarding houses. There was a deputy sheriff, two constables, three doctors, a justice of the peace; and two lawyers. There was even a telephone and telegraph service. Calico, the Mojave’s silver-producing star, with over five-hundred silver mines—this was where the wanderer Alma Abrams would make her home.

  She rode to the closest tavern, outside of which a dirt-encrusted man sat, his head lolling on his chest. Roach let out a soft neigh. Alma stroked her mane. “Easy, girl,” she muttered, and Roach quieted. “You, my good man,” she said, trotting over to the man and gazing down at him.

  “What sort of evil excuse of a man bothers a working man . . . arg!” He looked up under the rim of his hat, and his expression changed in a moment from one of hatred to one of complete shock. Alma knew what the man saw and what he had expected to see. He had expected to see a man, like him, covered in dirt and with a robust body worn by decades of hard labor. Instead, what he saw was a woman of twenty-four, with smooth, white skin, full blue eyes, golden hair tied back in a bun, wearing trousers which hugged her tight figure and a shirt – a man’s shirt – which showed the tops of her pert breasts. Alma allowed him one of her smiles. A smile is just one weapon in a woman’s arsenal, after all.

  “Excuse me,” the man breathed. He climbed to his feet and dusted down his clothes. “I didn’t mean to speak with such haste. Neither did I mean to imply any sort of . . . of . . . Excuse me, miss, but what is a woman like you doing in Calico?”

  “I seek a room,” she said. “Surely a man as distinguished as yourself would know the best room in the town?”

  Alma was not surprised when the man blushed and then puffed his chest up. Men, she had learned, were gluttons for flattery. Even when the flattery was obviously absurd, even when it was completely dissociated with the reality of the situation, they were gluttons for it. This man did not look distinguished, but that did not stop her cool calm flattery from reaching his ears and having its effect.

  “There’s Beryl’s hotel at the end of the road, there.” He pointed to the far end of the town to a two-story building whose blue paint chipped and flaked in the setting sunlight. “Be careful, mind, miss. All hotels round here serve a double purpose, you see, as, err . . . How do I say it, miss? Err . . .”

  “Brothels?” Alma offered.

  The man was so shocked to hear Alma – clearly an angel – utter such a dirty word that he took a step back. His blush deepened, and then he nodded quickly. “Yes,” he muttered.

  “Very well, then,” she said and led Roach toward Beryl’s.

  Alma did not have to look back to know that the man was watching her. If he stopped to think for a second, he would realize it was completely unnecessary to ask a local where the hotels were. Calico was a small town of around one thousand inhabitants. It would not be a tall order to find the hotel for herself. But the man wouldn’t think; he would do exactly as Alma wanted him to. He would go into the tavern and tell the miners about the arrival of a golden-haired woman wearing trousers and riding a horse, unaccompanied by a husband, seeking to lodge. And the miners would whisper fiercely, and soon the owners of the Silver King Mining Corporation would hear of it. Alma’s plan would be set in motion.

  She tethered Roach to the post and walked into the hotel. A barrel-chested woman stood behind a desk. She had thick, strong hands and thick, strong legs and a thick, strong head. She grimaced when Alma approached the desk. “Is your husband here already?” she said.

  “I am afraid I am a widow.” That wasn’t strictly true, but the Lord knew that people – women especially – treated widows better than lone traveling women. Wanton women, Alma thought with a bitter taste in her mouth. But she did not let her internal monolog show on her exterior. She liked to think of herself as a master of the exterior. Her mind could run in the opposite direction to her face, and nobody would know but her. She could grin during an execution and scream in terror during a proposal of marriage.

  “So you are alone?” Beryl grunted.

  “Alone.” Alma nodded. “Just like so many lost souls in the great Mojave.”

  “Oh, you’re a poet, are you?”

  Alma smiled. “I am merely trying to befriend the owner of Calico’s finest hotel.”

  As Alma said this, a half-dressed woman stumbled from a nearby door, followed by two men. The half-dressed woman kissed one of the men fully on the mouth while the other explored under what little clothing she wore with a meaty hand. Alma pretended not to notice. This seemed to impress Beryl. She smiled as though to say: “Ah, so you’re not a fussy one.”

  “I’ve got a spare room,” Beryl said. “It’s nasty, but it’s cheap.”

  “Cheap and nasty have never been a problem for me. And you have a place to stable my horse?”

  Beryl nodded. “We can take care of that, too.”

  “Very good.”

  Alma encountered two more whores as she climbed the stairs to her bedroom. One said nothing, only looked at the ground in a vain attempt to hide the blooming bruises that painted her eyes. The other – a toothless crone, her prime a tiny dot somewhere in the vague past – grinned a gummy grin. “New competition, eh?”

  Alma found she had had enough of playacting. She looked up and down the hallway. When she saw that she and the crone were alone, she approached the woman, so she stood over her, looking down at her. “I hate you, ma’am,” she said, “for no other reason than you amuse yourself with saying unintelligent and cruel things to a woman whom you have never met. I just thought you should know that.”

  She turned on her heels and walked t
oward her door. Behind her, the woman grumbled something, but Alma ignored her. Her spirit was restored; she had allowed her mask to slip for a moment. One must indulge one’s true nature every so often lest one go insane, she thought.

  Chapter Two

  Alma woke to a knock at her door. She rolled over and buried her head in the paper-thin pillow (as much as one could bury one’s head in something paper-thin), but the knock came again. “What!” she called.

  “Excuse me, miss,” a voice replied. “I have a tray of breakfast, miss. If you do not want it now . . .”

  “I’ll take it,” she said, leaning up and rubbing her head, her arms, her legs. Everything ached, but everything always ached when she slept in places like this. “Come on!” she snapped when the door did not open.

  The man who entered was tall, muscular, and black-skinned. His skin was so black it was like the night’s sky. He wore a shirt which seemed molded to his body, showing his muscular chest, biceps, and triceps. His neck was thick with muscle. His legs showed their muscle through his britches. His eyes were a brown so dark they, too, were black. His hair was jet-black. Alma gulped. He was a handsome man. She so rarely met handsome men.

  “You can bring it here,” she said, extending her bare arms. She wore only her nightclothes.

  The man stared steadfastly at the ground, as though that would change the fact that a man whose father may well have been a slave was in a half-dressed white woman’s bedroom. “It’s okay,” she said, once she’d taken the tray. “You needn’t look so frightened. I’m not going to hurt you. A big man like you frightened of a rake-thin woman like me!”

  The man’s lower lip trembled. “Ma’am,” he muttered, and then made to leave the room.

  “Wait,” Alma said. “Sit with me, if you will.”

  It was a request, but it did not have the tone of a request. The man pulled the one chair – a wooden, creaky thing – across the floorboards to the side of the bed. He still gazed down. Alma started on her food, a simple meal of bread and water with a side of some kind of miscellaneous meat. “What’s your name?” she said.