Can't Let Go--A Bad Boy Romance

by Gena Showalter

  What the what! He wasn’t just protecting Ryanne and her establishment. He was actively participating in the sale of alcohol. For her. Because he cared.

  Beautiful, heart-breaking, heart-mending man. Stick a fork in me, I’m done. She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed.

  He turned, his eyes wide with hope. “What brought this on?”

  “I like you.” She clasped his hand, lifted and kissed the strawberry etched into his wrist. “A lot.”

  The corners of his mouth twitched. “I like you, too, shortcake.”

  “Good. Now that that’s settled...” She raked her knuckles over the stubble on his jaw before backing up a step. “You keep working. I’ll grab another jar of moonshine from the basement.”

  He offered no protest as she reached for the door handle concealed among the shelves of liquor. As she moved into the entryway, she tugged the string hanging from the ceiling. Light flooded the dark corridor, illuminating the concrete steps. The lower she went, the cooler and danker the air became. At the bottom, shelves were covered with glass jars. Some of those jars were filled to the brim, others were empty.

  She lifted a full one, but someone latched on to her wrist, stopping her. Jude! The calluses on his palm sent shivers whisking down her spine.

  “I’ll carry it,” he said. “You shouldn’t be lugging heavy objects.”

  “I remember a time I had to heft an entire box of moonshine up the basement steps, all on my own. I asked you for help, and you asked me if I was testing you.”

  “I was a jackass. Thankfully, you’ve trained me better.”

  “Or you’re worried about me because I’m pregnant.”

  “That, too.”

  “Too bad, so sad. I can handle a single jar.”

  “I know you can.” His gaze bored into hers, currents of electricity arcing between them. “But I’m here.”

  Here...ready to be seduced...

  “You certainly are.” With her free hand, she traced her knuckles down his muscled chest, not stopping until she reached the waist of his pants. “How about you put yourself to better use and give me an orgasm? Just a quick one? Then I won’t have to take my mom’s advice and go after the guy wearing the wifebeater.”

  Despite everything, she wanted a future with Jude.

  He sucked in a breath—and stepped closer, pressing her against the wall. “I’ll give you an orgasm, nice and slow, if you’ll agree we can be married in the morning.” Down, down he leaned. He plucked her lower lip between his teeth, nearly singeing her with lust. “All you need to do is say yes, and I’ll do the rest.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  HUNGER CLAWED AT Jude’s insides. His body trembled with need. Ryanne stood before him, hair a dark, silken cloud that framed her exquisite face. Her rich brown eyes glittered with arousal. Pregnancy had given her olive skin a radiant glow. She wasn’t just a part of his life; she was his life.

  Every day his desire for her strengthened.

  Every day his determination to win her intensified.

  Every day, more and more, she became his reason to breathe.

  “Say yes,” he whispered, his lips hovering over hers. His arm snaked around her waist, holding her. The hold wasn’t gentle, either; it was more of a demand to stay put. “Please, say yes.”

  Tremors rocked her against him. “I admit, I kind of want to,” she said, “and that’s huge for me. I hadn’t planned on this, on you, but I think I could get on board with the whole hubby-wifey thing. Maybe. Probably. I’ve liked having you around, and I certainly do like the idea of you being legally required to wait on me.”

  He brightened—

  “But,” she added, and his mood darkened. “My answer is no, and it will remain no until you’ve beaten the fear of losing me and the baby.”

  A flash of cold. “What makes you think I fear losing you?”

  “Jude, you follow me everywhere I go. Fear is stress, and stress is bad for your health.”

  “Maybe I like watching your ass as you walk.”

  “Maybe? Ha! Definitely. But you can’t deny you’re stressed 24/7.”

  No, he couldn’t. “I have fears, yes, but so do you.”

  “What? Me? No.”

  “You’re afraid of losing your identity, changing for a man.”

  “I...I...” The color in her cheeks drained.

  “Don’t try to deny it. It’s true. The only difference between us is your fear won’t cost me my life. But what if I fail you? What if I can’t keep you safe? I’m missing part of my leg and—”

  With a scowl, she gripped his shoulders to shake him. “You are the strongest man I’ve ever met. And maybe you’re right. Maybe I am afraid of losing myself. But either way, I’ve realized I can take care of myself.”

  “I know you can. I don’t think I would have let myself risk falling for you otherwise.”

  Her eyes widened, becoming windows of amazement. “You’ve fallen for me? I mean, duh. You’ve fallen for me, and your heart is filled with rainbows and unicorn tears. It’s obvious.” She brushed an invisible piece of lint from her shoulder. “But this is the first time you’ve said the words.”

  “Do you need the words?”

  “Do you?” she challenged.

  Perhaps more than he’d ever needed anything. “I do.”

  Though she melted against him, she didn’t tell him she’d fallen for him, too. She simply tightened her grip on his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt to ensure he remained in place. As if he would ever leave her side again.

  “Fight the fear,” she said, “and you can have me.”

  You can have me...

  The hunger inside him rubbed a fork and knife together, ready to feast. “I want you now. Say you’ll marry me.”

  “I’ve set my terms. All or nothing.”

  Stubborn woman. “I notice begging for forgiveness isn’t among those terms. You’ve exonerated me for everything I’ve done in the past?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. You’ve messed up big time. Over and over again.” As he glowered at her, she added, “But you’re the father of my child, and holding a grudge against you would be counterproductive. I mean, I have no idea what to do with a baby. You do. You can help me.”

  The words child and baby were becoming easier to hear.

  “How do I fight the fear?” If it were the only obstacle in their way, he would overcome it. He would overcome anything in order to spend his life with this woman.

  She pondered his dilemma, came up blank. “How did you fight fear in the army, when you had to go on dangerous missions?”

  “I focused on the task at hand. Rescue. Kill. Or both. But then, I knew my enemy and my objective. With you, everyone is the enemy. Everything is an accident waiting to happen—waiting to take you from me. My objective is to protect you from everyone and everything.”

  She sighed. “Life happens, and in the end, we only regret the chances we didn’t take. When worries do rise, don’t feed them by running negative scenarios through your head, force yourself to think of something else. Something good. Like how I might reward you for your bravery...”

  “I like the sound of that.” He rubbed the tip of his nose against hers. “I’ll talk to Daniel, too. Maybe he has a few secrets.” Having lost his mom as a boy, and watched multiple friends and soldiers die from explosions, enemy gunfire and even friendly fire, the man had once suffered similar fears. For a future with Dorothea, he’d somehow overcome.

  “Baby girl.” Selma’s voice echoed through the cellar. “You might want to come up. Someone’s here to see you and your pretty boy. I put her in your office. Oh, and you might want to hurry, because she looks like the five-fingered discount type.”

  Pretty boy?

  “Coming,” Rya
nne called.

  Not yet, but she would be. “I’ll figure out how to beat my fears,” he whispered to her, “and then you’ll be mine.” He kissed her, a brutal meeting of lips. A brief meeting of lips, far too brief, before he took her hand in his to lead her upstairs.

  Her panting breaths made him smile—and groan. He wasn’t sure he would survive another night sleeping on the floor.

  Up top, Jude entered the office first, a hand on the gun sheathed at his waist. He drew up short.

  Savannah. Savannah and a dark-haired little boy. Thomas.

  The blonde was ashen as she paced in front of the desk. Her son watched her from a desk chair, spinning, spinning.

  “Savannah,” Ryanne gasped out, rushing around him. “What happened? What’s wrong?”

  Savannah wrung her hands. “Only everything.”

  “Who the hell are you?” the boy demanded with a royal tone, as if the world existed for his delight.

  A groan from Savannah. “Thomas, please. Hell isn’t a nice word. Okay?”

  “You’re not the boss of me.” The boy spit at her, and she cringed. “Hell, hell, hell.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said to Jude. “I should have gone with you, but I wasn’t sure I could trust you. I’ve just... I’ve been through so much and decided to pay a customer to get me out of town. He claimed to love me, but he only wanted... Anyway, Martin’s been on my trail and almost caught me.” Chewing on her bottom lip, she stepped closer and whispered, “He wants to punish me, kill me, and keep Thomas for himself. I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “You can stay here, with us,” Ryanne told her. “I know you’ll be close to Dushku, and that isn’t ideal, but our security is top notch.”

  Savannah’s presence would endanger Ryanne and the baby.

  Already endangered. True, but this would give Dushku another reason to attack.

  Jude’s pulse raced, and his chest burned. The fear he was supposed to fight overtook him, and he knew he’d just failed a very big test. But here and now, he didn’t care. He wouldn’t negotiate or second-guess his instincts when it came to Ryanne’s safety.

  “She can stay at the cabin with Brock,” he said. “Security is just as tight there, and she won’t be exposed to customers coming in and out, or be seen by people at Dushku’s work site.”

  As he spoke, Savannah nodded. “Yes. The cabin. We’ll stay there.”

  Ryanne surprised him when she, too, nodded.

  He must have gaped at her, because she said, “What? I know a better plan when I hear it.”

  Not kissing her proved impossible. A warm blush stormed her cheeks as he pressed his mouth against hers, lingered for a moment, only a moment. Savannah watched with raw envy in her eyes, and Thomas pretended to gag.

  “I’ll get Brock, and we’ll head out the back way.” He strode from the office, holding on to Ryanne’s hand until the last possible second before stalking through the club to find his friend.

  Brock sat at a table in back, shrouded by shadows. Empty beer bottles littered his table. He’d stopped shaving his head, the strands now sticking out in spikes as a woman combed her fingers through. His eyes were bloodshot, and there was no sign of his usual smile.

  Jude knew he’d heard from his parents early this morning. The pair had a way of blackening his mood. Not exactly a shock. They referred to him as a disappointment, and pushed him to return and take over the family business.

  At the moment, he was busy glaring at the bar...at Lyndie, who sat with Dorothea and Daniel, laughing as Selma mixed drinks.

  Daniel and I aren’t the only ones battling fear.

  When a man approached Lyndie, Brock jumped to his feet, the woman on his lap forced to straighten or fall.

  Jude swooped in, apologizing on his friend’s behalf before sending her on her way. “Need your help,” he said to Brock.

  Without hesitation, his friend focused on him. “Of course.”

  On the way to the office, he explained what had transpired. In seconds, Brock transformed from moody civilian to fierce soldier. A man capable of any dark deed. Jude had witnessed the transformation a thousand times, and it was one of the reasons he’d gravitated toward the male during training. Like called to like.

  Savannah had Thomas in her arms, resting on her hip. Ryanne was the one pacing now.

  “Savannah, this is Brock. Brock, Savannah.”

  Thomas stared at Brock with eyes as wide as saucers. “You’re big.”

  “I eat lots of broccoli,” Brock muttered.

  “Stay here,” Jude said to Ryanne. Daniel would watch over her.

  “Nope. No way.” She shook her head, dark hair caressing her cheeks. “I’m going with you.”

  What would Earl do?

  Though Jude wanted to argue with her, he decided to shut his stupid mouth and let Ryanne do what she thought was best—fighting fear, trusting the mother of his child.

  He waved to the door, indicating she was to follow Brock, who had taken the lead.

  Chin high, Ryanne wrapped her arm around the blonde’s waist and, together, they swept out of the room, heading for the back alley entrance, near where he’d parked his truck.

  Outside, cool night air wafted over him. Wind whistled.

  The alley was empty. Usually homeless men and women waited for Ryanne to serve leftover food.

  Apprehension pricked his neck, combat instincts flaring. Must have pricked Brock, too; he stilled.

  Then he heard a gun being cocked.

  “Get down!” he and Brock shouted in unison.

  Jude shoved Ryanne, Savannah and Thomas to the ground, while Brock dove in the other direction, unsheathing a semiautomatic.

  A shot rang out, and a sharp pain sliced across Jude’s bicep. Warm liquid spilled down his arm. He twisted midair, taking the bulk of the impact upon landing. Then he turned, tucking Ryanne underneath his body.

  Brock jumped to his feet and gave chase. Despite the pain in Jude’s arm, he ushered the women and child into a corner and palmed his .44. Savannah was crying, but Ryanne was silent and pale. Thomas was smiling, as if they were playing a game.

  No game. This was life and death.

  Judging by the location of Jude’s wound, he suspected Ryanne or Savannah had been the target.

  Had he not pushed the women out of the way...

  The bullet could have hit Ryanne. He could have lost her and the baby.

  The baby! How was the baby?

  “You’re bleeding,” Ryanne gasped out. “Jude, you were shot.”

  “Just a flesh wound.” He’d been shot and grazed enough times to know the difference. “How are you?”

  “Fine, I’m fine, but...you’re bleeding,” she repeated.

  “This is nothing. You’re sure you’re okay?”

  His fear must have proved contagious. No longer simply pale, she was chalk white. “Why? Do you know something I don’t? Could impact hurt the baby?”

  A cursing Brock returned, saving him from having to reply. “Shooter got away.” He sheathed his weapon and drew the small flashlight he always carried. “You got lucky. Just a flesh wound.”

  “Told you,” he said to Ryanne.

  “Get him to a hospital,” she cried. “And me! Now. This second.”

  The top of Jude’s prosthesis dug deep into the underside of his knee as he stood, Ryanne cradled in his arms. “I’m taking her to the city,” he told Brock. And then...it might be time to end Dushku once and for all. He’d warned the man. Hurt Ryanne, and pay.

  “Put me down.” She uttered the command without moving, clearly too concerned about his well-being to risk hurting him. “Please. I’ll walk.”

  “I’ll take care of the others,” Brock said. “Go.”

  Jude hurried to the truck. />
  “Jude,” Ryanne said, resting her head against his chest, her fingers tangled in his shirt. “Be honest. Do you think something happened to the baby?”

  He blocked her voice, unable to reassure her—unable to reassure himself. Get her to the hospital, listen to reason later.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  RYANNE PERCHED ON the bench in her shower, hot water raining upon her. She was alone. A good thing. She wanted to punch Jude in the throat and hug him, all at the same time. Her heart hadn’t stopped fluttering; the organ reminded her of a butterfly with clipped wings.

  Tonight she’d had an ultrasound. Her first. It had been a rushed job to assure fearful parents their baby was alive and well. She’d hated and dreaded every moment—until at long last the heartbeat was found, strong and sure.

  Jude’s fear had fed hers and vice versa. And afterward, even though she’d been limp with relief, she’d still been tense, because Jude had refused medical attention until after the ultrasound.

  What if he’d bled out during the wait?

  Trembling, she drew her knees up to her chest, wrapped her arms around her legs and rested her forehead against her knees. What a horrible night. Attempted murder. Jude injured. A taste of the terror he’d once lived with on a daily basis.

  No, he didn’t live. He couldn’t live like this, with fear cemented in his heart, forming an impenetrable wall, and in his mind, shredding every joyous memory and leaving only despair. He simply existed.

  After leaving the hospital, they’d visited with the chief of Blueberry Hill PD, as well as the sheriff of Strawberry Valley PD. Both men had appeared genuinely upset, and had promised to look into the shooting, but she doubted anything would be found. Men like Dushku knew how to cover their tracks.

  Tears burned her cheeks as different facts bombarded her.

  Jude had taken a bullet for her, and no one would be punished.

  At least her baby had a strong heartbeat.

  Jude could have died.

  Her baby was the size of a grain of rice.

  Dushku was capable of murder. What if he decided to end Jude? The baby?