In the morning, he was gone.
~
It was now or never.
His team still had a chance to make it to the playoffs, and it would come down to this last play.
Jackson was focused. He knew what he had to do.
They had just come out of the huddle, and he had called the play. Right before he stepped onto the field, he looked into the stands.
There was Abigail, wearing his jersey. She smiled and waved at him, and he smiled back.
Then he threw a touchdown pass.
There was a knock on his door later that evening.
Abigail was standing there, still in the jersey. He smiled.
“Can I come in?”
He stepped aside so she could enter.
“That was a great game you played,” she said.
“Thank you.”
She sat. “Jack…I don’t even know where to start.”
He sat next to her. It was only then that he could fully appreciate the terrible situation she was in. But the fact that she was here was not lost on him either. “I don’t have all the answers,” he said. “I just know I want to be with you.”
“I want to be with you too. But – ”
He stopped her with a kiss. “Do you love me?” he asked when she broke away.
“I love you.”
He leaned in and kissed her again.
“And do you trust me?”
“I trust you.”
He leaned in and kissed her one more time. This time, she smiled.
“Then we’ll make it work.”
*****
THE END
Sign up Here to receive a FREE romance ebook and links to the hottest new romance ebooks on Kindle delivered directly to your inbox every week! (Click the link or enter http://mitspages.com/mits/PonderosaPublishing/multicultureinterracial into your browser.)
Here is a FREE Bonus story “The Billionaire SEAL’s Secret Baby” by B. Angelica Ellmoor.
The Billionaire SEAL’s Secret Baby
“How can you not want to be here? It’s the biggest event of the year!” Pamela couldn’t understand why I was hesitating at the entrance to the party. “Do you know many people would pay to be in your shoes right now?”
We’d been best friends since high school, but she still didn’t seem to understand that this was one thing about me that wasn’t going to change.
“I’d pay to be out of these shoes.” Shifting, I remembered how miserable my feet felt. “I have no idea how women can walk around in these all day.”
“You are hopeless,” Pammy sighed.
She didn’t seem to understand how little these things meant to me. Wining and dining with the socially elite was not something I had ever wanted to do. I found it boring at best and torturous at worst. In fact, I tried to avoid these situations altogether.
But it seemed that wasn’t easy to do when you worked at one of the top newspapers in the city. Somehow I was stuck covering events for the society pages, so I was forced to spend time attending things I would have prefered to pretend didn’t exist.
“I think we’ve passed the point of fashionably late, Tanya.” Tugging at my arm, she took a step forward.
“Is there such thing as fashionably not showing up?” I huffed as I reluctantly followed her.
“You wouldn’t want to look that good and stay home.” It was the third time Pam had commented on my appearance. “What if the man of your dreams is in there?” she giggled.
“The man of my dreams would be spending his money elsewhere,” I reminded her. “He wouldn’t be wasting money entertaining wealthy people. He’d be using it to help those who need it most.”
“Right.” The roll of her eyes told me she wasn’t taking me seriously. “This is amazing,” she added as we walked through the door.
I had to admit that, in terms of beauty, the event was top of the line. The color scheme was a simple black and white with crystal everywhere. The glasses, candleholders, and bowls twinkled in the light from the chandeliers -- also crystal.
That was part of the reason I hated these events. Enough money had been spent on this party to feed the homeless population of the entire city for months. It could have funded a youth program in the low-income parts of town. It could have provided housing for those without or been used to add to the shelters. Yet it was spent to impress those who already had enough money for five lifetimes.
“Your job is wasted on you,” Pam said, bringing me out of my thoughts.
“It’s not like I want to stay in this position,” I said, reminding her that my goal was eventually to work on important stories. Social, not society. “It’s a stepping stone.”
“You know,” she turned and looked at me, “this is a fundraiser. So it is being held for a purpose. Perhaps even one that would meet your criteria of worthiness.”
“I doubt that.” Shaking my head, I looked at my friend. “Skip the elegant party and use the money spent on all of this for the cause they are raising funds for. That would meet my criteria of worthiness.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” said a male voice behind us. Pam and I both turned our heads at the sound. “These things are a complete waste.”
I wanted to respond -- ask why he had chosen to attend if he felt that way -- but the words were stuck behind the lump in my throat. Throughout my life I’d heard and read stories of seeing someone and feeling butterflies and instant attraction. I’d thought it was just a way of appealing to women who wanted to believe in fairy tales and Prince Charming. I’d never actually felt it.
Until that moment, that is.
This man had literally taken my breath away. He had to be six foot three at least -- causing him to tower over my five-six frame. His hair was a dark blond -- well groomed and falling just above his eyes -- but appearing lighter against his bronze skin. Piercing blue eyes watched me as I tried to steady myself.
Unlike everyone else in the room, he had chosen to skip the formal attire. Instead he was wearing jeans and a form-fitting polo that did his hard, muscular body far more justice than a suit or tuxedo ever could have. For a brief moment I caught myself wondering what it’d feel like to run my hands along his wide chest.
Electric waves crashed through me as I tried to remind myself to breathe. I wasn’t sure how long I stood there looking dumbfounded and unable to talk, but it felt like it’d been hours.
“Tan,” Pamela’s voice echoed in my ear, sounding distant and almost impossible to make out. “You okay?”
I had to pull myself out of this before I looked like a complete jackass to everyone around us. Taking a deep breath and swallowing hard, I looked at my friend to steady my nerves.
“Of course.” The words sounded far more confident than I felt. “I was just about to ask if he felt that way then why pay money to be here?”
“I could ask the same,” he said, acknowledging the words I hadn’t even spoken directly to him, “since you are here and all.”
“I’m a reporter. This is an assignment. One that I wish was assigned to anyone else.”
“That bad, huh?” the stranger asked.
“Worse.” I’d finally found my voice. “I don’t understand why the rich feel the need to make everything a spectacle. Why can’t they just raise money and help people with an old-fashioned potluck or barbecue?”
If I’d found him attractive before, the genuine laugh he emitted would have sealed the deal. Something about this man was unnerving me, and I didn’t like that. My mind recalled Pam’s words outside.
What if the man of your dreams is inside?
“Expectation, Ms. Reporter,” he answered with a look of disappointment. “If this had been a barbecue, no one would have shown up. They expect lavish luxury in exchange for parting with their money. It makes them feel important and look good.”
“Helping people because they need help would make them look good,” I mumbled.
“Agreed.” He nodded. “I just try to focus on the cause at the heart
of it and not the choices of those who attend.”
“I suppose,” I shrugged, and then turned and looked around.
“So, Ms Reporter,” he began.
“You can call me Tanya,” I corrected with a smile. If a man was going to make my insides come undone the least I could do was share my name.
“Okay,” he smiled, and I felt that flurry of excitement blended with longing again. “Tanya. Are you just here to cover the party?”
“That’s the goal,” I nodded, adding an eye roll for effect. “Hopefully to speak to the man behind it as well.”
“Going to harass him about his spending?” A small laugh followed his question.
“I doubt he’d care,” I shrugged. “Probably too busy planning the next way to show the world he’s rich and important.” Suddenly I remembered Pam standing there. “This is my friend Pamela,” I added as an afterthought.
Both of them shook hands, but she didn’t seem to be nearly as taken by him as I was. Instead she was watching me as I tried to hold myself together.
“Brant Wells,” I mumbled as I looked at the small notepad I’d hidden in the decorative purse. “Even his name sounds like an asshole.” That comment elicited another laugh. I knew that it was time for me to go further into the party and get what I needed to write the story so that I could leave. I just didn’t want to walk away from this man and the feelings he provoked.
Pam stood looking longingly at the guests, waiting patiently on her chance to join them.
“I guess we should go mingle,” I said, halfheartedly, and her eyes lit up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get your name.”
“Brant Wells,” he grinned.
“Brant…you…I mean…you’re…”
“The asshole? In the flesh, sweetheart.” The room spun slightly with his laughter as the background music.
I had just insulted the wealthiest man on the eastern side of the United States and the one who was hosting the event I was covering for the paper. In that moment passing out would have been preferable to having to face what I’d just done.
*****
“You certainly have a unique way of securing an interview,” Brant laughed as we walked to a private room to talk.
Pam had migrated into the party and the last I’d seen her, she was enjoying it enough for both of us. Sometimes I wondered how she had been passed over for the society pages. Somehow she didn’t find the announcements section nearly as appealing. Births, weddings, and deaths. To me it sounded far better than socialite parties and the who’s who of the rich and famous.
“I like to be different,” I joked. Brant had fortunately taken me calling him an asshole lightly. In fact, he’d applauded me for honesty and granted the one-on-one that I’d requested. “I do feel bad, though. I didn’t mean…”
“No worries, Tanya,” he laughed again, shutting the door behind him. “With the exception of the asshole part, I wholeheartedly agree with everything you said. Off the record, of course.”
“Did you ever think that going on the record just might change the perception you speak of?” I was hopeful that someone would listen to me.
“It would be suicide. Calling the rich selfish and indulgent would defeat the purpose. Not only would they not change, they would withhold much-needed money. I’m a man who believes the end result is the important factor.”
“Is that on the record?”
“The last sentence,” he grinned. “Have a seat and tell me what you’d like to know.”
The goal in coming to the party was to cover the event for the paper. I would write the basics and it would go out with a glowing review of the party. Typical.
I’d hoped, however, that a personal interview with the man himself would impress my boss enough to consider me for another section. This inside scoop wasn’t a requirement, But that didn’t mean it wasn’t a bonus.
Spending an hour with the sexiest man I’d ever met and learning about him and his life was the best part of the entire evening. His words seemed to flow like honey, and I found myself curious if that was what they meant when they spoke of silver-tongued devils.
There was much more to Brant Wells than money. In fact, money was fairly new to him. He told me stories of his time in the Navy SEALs. How close he’d been with the other men. He didn’t share much about his missions, just feelings that he still had about them.
Brant Wells had grown up poor. Actually he had grown up further into poverty than I’d been. I was surprised as he told how the Navy had given him a chance and a way out. They’d pay for college. They’d pay him. When he returned he’d have a future outside of the projects he’d grown up in. I personally had a hard time imagining the beautiful, well-groomed man in front of me having ever lived in that kind of environment.
Once in the Navy, they’d seen potential he didn’t know he had and he’d been trained to be a SEAL. He spoke of the bonds that had formed, and how he’d never have been the same person had he not experienced the things he did.
Apparently he’d saved the life of a fellow SEAL, earning him honors. When cancer had taken his friend only a few years later, Brant had learned that he had inherited everything the man left behind, which just so happened to have included a shit-ton of money.
“I didn’t have a damned clue that he was rich,” Brant shook his head. “Now that’s honor and devotion. You’ve got all you need in life and you still go join the service.”
I felt tears well in my own eyes as I saw his tears forming. This man wasn’t anything like I’d expected him to be. He wasn’t the self-absorbed person I’d assumed the rich were.
“This,” he waved his hand to signify the party. “It’s for him. All of it.”
“How so?” I didn’t understand totally how his friend and this elaborate party were related.
“He had a very rare type of cancer. One that is almost always fatal. It hits fast and hard. Once diagnosed, few see more than three or four more years at best. Some as little as six weeks. This is to raise funds for research. It’s important. “
“We’ve made great strides in cancer research,” I reminded him. “Things have improved drastically.”
“They have,” he agreed with the smile that melted my core. “The problem is that research is always focused on the key forms of cancer. The ones being diagnosed the most. What you don’t realize is that those forms aren’t the most deadly. But because the diagnosis is so rare, it isn’t really being researched.[S3]”
“I see.” He certainly knew a lot about his topic.
“I’m trying to fund research to treat and hopefully someday cure it. If that means I go all out and deck this place in crystal, so be it. As long as those people out there take notice and write checks.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just donate your money?” It was a question I’d always wanted to ask one of these rich fundraiser hosts. “I mean, you have enough.”
“It would be. Then it’d fall through the cracks again. Political issues would take the forefront. Research postponed. How many people have to die before it’s taken seriously? I need more than money, I need attention and care. When the people start to care, the results begin to happen.”
You’ve really thought all this out, haven’t you?”
“I told you, Tanya,” he grinned, “it’s important to me.”
“I….it’s….maybe…”
My words were coming out staggered. The longer I spent in the room with this man, the harder it was to walk away. I needed to go. Breathing was difficult and the more he showed his true emotion, the stronger my desire became.
“You’re cute when you blush,” he laughed, causing my face to deepen in color.
“I…uh…thank you,” I managed to fumble enough to at least show appreciation for the compliment.
“I’d like to take you out,” he said as he stood and walked around the desk between us, planting his backside on the edge directly in front of me. “Get to know you better. I find myself strangely drawn to you, Tanya,” he finish
ed softly.
“There you are!” An impatient voice filled the silence that hung in the air after his words. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. It’s about time for your speech.”
She was about my height, a good thirty pounds lighter, and looked like a porcelain doll. Perfect blonde curls touched her shoulders and the beautiful blue gown she wore matched the color of her eyes. She looked like the princess most girls dreamed of becoming.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, suddenly realizing I was in the room.
“Hadley, this is Tanya,” he smiled at me again. “She’s interviewing me and covering the party for the society page.”
“Oooh,” she almost squealed, turning towards me with bright eyes and excitement all over her face, “that’s so exciting.” Reaching out her hand, she waited patiently for me to take it in my own.
“Tanya,” Brant’s eyes showed an emotion I hadn’t seen since meeting him. Sorrow was what I believed it to be. “This is my wife, Hadley.”
*****
“Just when I thought he was a good guy.” It was Monday morning and I was still venting to Pam about my experience at the party. “He goes and does something like that.”
“What a pig,” she managed to say through a mouth stuffed full of ziti. “Just like a man.”
“He seemed….I don’t know…different,” I shrugged.
“Were you interviewing him for the paper or a date?”
“The paper!” Our lunch break was almost over and I’d have to go back to my desk and remember the reaction I’d had to the man, his spoken desire to take me out and then meeting his wife. The combination in such a short time had fucked with my head, leaving me curled under blankets on the couch eating ice cream all weekend. “I just didn’t think he was the type.”
SEALing The Victory Page 4
