Stone Hard: A Secret Baby MC Romance

by Melinda Minx

  “They might make you go back to prison,” I say. “I don’t think I can stand being away from you again.”

  Stone grins. “I can’t stand the thought either, but Lenk is dead. You and Logan are safe now. Even if they lock me up again for a few years, I’ll do my time like a man and come back for you. No more dark shadows looming over us.”

  I nod. “So you’ll talk to the police with me, I’ll back you up.”

  “Yeah,” Stone says. “But if you make the call right now, we’ll have to go give our reports, and they’ll detain me straight away.”

  “So you want to…”

  “I want to rest, I want to hold you in my arms again, and I want--”

  I jump onto him, wrapping my legs around him. He grabs hold of me and laughs.

  He walks me to the bedroom, and we stay extra quiet as we pass Logan’s room.

  He sets me down, and I try to kiss him again, but he pushes me away. “Hold on.”

  “What?”

  “Look, Jo,” he says. “I tried to figure out how I could do this the right way, but--”

  “God, it almost sounds like you’re going to break up with me…”

  “He reaches into his pocket, but doesn’t take out his hand. “With the police, and the short time we have...fuck it, I’ve gotta do this now, Jo, right now.”

  He falls down onto one knee, and pulls out the jewelry box from his pocket. He pops it open, and a big diamond ring is suddenly staring up at me.

  “Will you marry me?”

  I fall down beside him, laughing. “Yes! Why would you think this is a bad time?”

  He looks somewhat shocked, but slides the ring onto my finger. “It’s just...I wanted to do something big, but I wasn’t going back to prison without putting a ring on your finger.”

  The smile that is plastered to my face feels like it will never come off. I stare down at the ring on my finger in disbelief, and then I look up at Stone. Tears form in my eyes.

  “This is big,” I say. “It doesn’t matter how or where you do it--”

  “The wedding will be big,” Stone says. “I don’t know when or where it’s going to be yet, but it’s going to be big. All our family will be there, your parents, my mom, Logan, everyone.”

  I start to tug at his shirt. “I can’t get this off without your help. I want to fuck my fiancé.”

  He tears his shirt off and throws me onto the bed. “And I want to fuck my fiancée. With two ‘e’s!” It’s pronounced the same, right?”

  “Yes,” I say, giggling.

  And soon we’re not talking at all anymore. Stone takes off all of my clothes, and I get his pants off. His dick is rock-hard as always, and I’m as wet as I’ve ever been. We go at each other like it’s the first time all over again, but it certainly won’t be the last.

  Epilogue

  “Yo!” Tony’s voice breaks into the garage.

  I turn the volume down on the speaker, which is blasting classic rock through the garage while Stone and Logan work on the car.

  “Hey, Tony,” Stone says. “What’s up?”

  “Just checking in,” Tony says. “Seeing how my investment is doing.”

  Stone rolls out from under the car, his strong, tattooed arms covered in grease. Logan rolls out shortly after him, he’s almost ten now, and he looks so much like his father.

  “I changed the oil all on my own,” Logan says, beaming with pride.

  “Yeah?” Tony asks.

  “Yeah,” Logan says. “Dad didn’t even help; just watched.”

  “Just like me,” I say, leaning back in my chair.

  “Mom never helps!” Logan says, pointing an accusing finger at me.

  Stone wipes his hands off on a greasy rag. “Mom works hard from nine to five, Logan; it’s your job to help me in the garage, not Mom’s.”

  Logan scrunches up his face. “I still think she should have to lay on her back and get dirty sometimes.”

  Tony’s eyes widen, and Stone tries to stifle a laugh.

  I blush.

  Finally Stone breaks the silence. “She does, kid, she does that plenty.”

  “I never see her doing it! When?”

  Stone mutters under his breath, “Trust me, not something you wanna see.”

  Stone turns to Tony, “We’re really starting to bring in mad cash now, Tony. I gotta waiting list, man. Word spreads about an honest-to-god honest mechanic. And the customers love seeing Logan helping me out all the time, shows that it’s a real family business.”

  “Dad doesn’t even pay me!” Logan shouts. “He charges $35 for an oil change, but my allowance is only $5 a month!”

  Tony grins. “Yeah, Stone better watch those child labor laws…”

  “You finished your homework yet, Logan?” I ask, still leaning back in the chair with my book on my lap.

  “Ugh,” Logan groans. “You have to help me Mom. It’s all word problems.”

  “Go ahead and do your homework, Logan,” Stone says. “I’ll finish up here. You’ve always had a way with words, so word problems should be no problem for you.”

  “It’s like math, Dad. Math and words, it’s so dumb!”

  Logan lets out a frustrated sigh and runs inside.

  “Wash your hands!” I shout. “And face!”

  We make some small talk with Tony for a while, and he leaves, promising he’ll bring some lasagna around next time.

  “Jane’s wedding is next week,” I say. “Don’t get busy and forget about it.”

  “We’re staying at that fancy hotel,” Stone says, winking. “Grandma’s watching Logan while we’re gone. Of course I won’t forget. You’re going to be laying on your back and getting dirty with me all night.”

  I laugh and shove him, but I get grease all over my hands.

  He grins at my hands and licks his lips. “Oh, you wanna get started now, huh?”

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  Part I

  Preview of Smolder: A Fake Marriage NAVY SEAL Romance. Coming in December.

  1

  Andrea

  Snow. Shit. Snow. It wasn’t supposed to snow.

  Never hike alone! The sign said.

  But my friend bailed on me, and I it wasn’t supposed to snow.

  Thick flurries are falling down all around me, and they’re sticking to the ground. I’ve been walking down the trail for well over an hour, pushing on two. The trail was easy to follow, but it’s going to be dark soon, and the trail is going to be covered in fresh snow.

  I pull out my phone. No signal. Of course.

  The main thing I need to do is not panic. Even with snow, I know I just need to head West. The sun is setting, so if I just follow the sun, I know I’m going the right way.

  The soft, fluffy flurries lash against my face as a bone-chilling gust of winter air blasts through the forest.

  “Don’t panic,” I mumble to myself.

  I keep walking toward the burning ember of the sun, but it falls below the horizon much faster than I’d expected, and the moon casts little more than pale light onto the fresh snow.

  I’m suddenly enveloped in darkness, walking blind through what feels like a few inches of snow. It’s getting deeper minute by minute. Deeper and harder to walk through. Deeper and colder.

  My thin gloves and jacket with jeans are quickly becoming insufficient. Each wintry gust saps more warmth out of me, and I have to open and close my hands to keep my fingers from feeling numb. The wet snow soaks through my shoes, and there’s no way at all to get my toes warm.

  I keep checking my phone as I walk blindly through the forest. Am I still on the trail? How long would I need to walk until I saw the lights from town?

  I have a map in my bag. I pull it out and light it up with my phone. I realize that a map is only useful if you have the slightest idea of where you are. I need GPS.

  Still no signal on my phone
. I swear I had a signal on the way in, I texted Lindsay to let her know how much fun I was having without her.

  Never go hiking alone. It was in red letters with three exclamation points, in huge font at the top of the sign. I’m an idiot.

  I study the map anyway. The whole trail is 16 miles, but it wraps around a lot. The forest itself is 10 miles at its widest. There’s no way I walked 5 miles in, so as long as I go in a relatively straight line for a few miles, I should exit the forest.

  I stuff the map back away and soldier on. One foot in front of the other, eyes forward, and--

  My stomach churns as I fall. I scream out in surprise, and my feet slide down a wet slope. My ass slams into the ground, but I keep sliding. I plant my hands into the snow to stop myself, but my gloves pull off and I slide faster down the steep hill. My foot hits a tree, and my body spins. Now I’m going headfirst downhill. I stick my arms out to shield my head, but thankfully I hit the bottom of the slope.

  Yeah, thankfully. My hands are freezing and covered in melting snow, and a whole lot of snow went straight down my jacket and is currently freezing my boobs off. I stumble up onto my feet, unzip my jacket, and shake the snow out. Opening my jacket lets in the full force of the snowstorm, and I realize I won’t be able to walk another mile. I can barely feel my legs.

  I look up in desperation, as if the hill somehow propelled me several miles out of the forest and into safety. As if I didn’t just fall completely off the trail. I could be stuck now in the thick of the forest, unable to climb back up onto the trail. Assuming I had even still been on the trail.

  But then I see a small, faint light in the distance. I squint. There shouldn’t be any lights here, I’m still miles from town.

  But it’s not lights. It’s a light. One. It’s a cabin, I realize. A cabin in the woods, and someone is home.

  2

  Coal

  I’m lounging on my porch with a nice warm cider—I brewed it myself--when snow flurries begin to fall.

  “Shit,” I say, “Wasn’t supposed to snow tonight.”

  Living out in the woods has hardened me against the cold, but unexpected snowstorms always hit the hardest. I better get chopping.

  I chug the cider down for extra warmth, leave the bottle behind, and head out toward the woods.

  I stop at my chopping block--a thick tree stump--and pull out my axe.

  Satisfaction surges through me. Living alone and being self-sufficient is the only thing that makes sense anymore. After my time in the SEALs and in Afghanistan, modern society felt too much like one of those over-complicated drinks that women order. Life in the woods is a nice, simple cider.

  Snowstorm coming? Grab your axe and chop down some trees. Build a bigger fire. These are the kind of problems I like to deal with. Simple problems with simple answers.

  The fresh, icy air hits my lungs just right, and I decide to venture out further than normal. There are dozens of hiking trails snaking through these woods for a reason--it’s nature at its best. Especially in the winter.

  The sun sets, and darkness swallows the forest. I pull out my flashlight.

  I’m wearing a thick sweater with a thick coat. My jeans were warm enough for lounging on the patio, but they aren’t quite cutting it as the storm picks up. I zip up my jacket and look for a tree small enough to haul back.

  “Here we go,” I whisper, finding the right one. I set the flashlight down to illuminate the tree.

  I swing my axe into it, and the wood splinters and flies. I pull the axe out, steady my aim, and swing again. Despite the ferocity of my swing, I hit the mark with pinpoint accuracy.

  After aiming a rifle at a target over two klicks away--while covered in freezing water--swinging an axe at a tree right in front of my face is a cake walk.

  Each time I swing, I hear the chunky echo of the axe cutting bark echo through the forest. It’s a calm and soothing sound, and my body goes on autopilot as I chop my way through the trunk.

  But then I hear a scream, and I snap back awake and into the moment.

  “The fuck?”

  I listen as the scream echoes through the darkness. The echo is ghostly, but the scream was real.

  I sigh. So much for simple problems.

  I pull my axe out of the tree and hoist it over my shoulder. I grab the flashlight and head toward the source of the scream.

  What idiot would be out here at night and in a snowstorm? Maybe a hiker spotted a wolf or something? If that’s the case, it’s a good thing she screamed--that usually scares the wolves right off.

  “You need help?” I shout into the dark.

  “Yes! Please!” A terrified voice calls back. I can barely make out the words, but the desperation in the voice is clearer than anything.

  “Stay where you are,” I shout, “I’ll come to you.”

  The last thing I need is for her to wander around and walk off a cliff or something. There’s plenty of sharp inclines around here, and I get the feeling this hiker may not even have a flashlight.

  “How close are you?” She yells.

  “How close do I sound?” I shout back. Her voice is near now, I should be on her soon enough.

  “I’m really cold,” she says.

  I really wanted to just chop wood and sip cider, then maybe gaze into the fire until I passed out. Now I’ve got to rescue some ill-prepared dumbass.

  “I got you,” I shout. “Stay still.”

  3

  Andrea

  “Stay still!”

  My feet are completely numb. I don’t have much choice. I curl into a ball to retain more heat.

  The next thing I know, someone is carrying me. It feels almost like the forest itself is carrying me--the hands wrapped around me are so strong and solid. Could a mere man’s hands be so strong? Maybe it’s not hands, but tree trunks--but no tree is as warm as this.

  I drift away into sleep as the strong hands carry me away toward the light.

  I wake up wrapped in a blanket, with the light from a roaring fire in front of me. Shadows dance across the wood-planked floor, and I hear a kettle boiling in the distance. That must be what woke me.

  My toes feel warm again. I move them back and forth, and realize I’m not wearing shoes. When did I take off my shoes?

  Where am I?

  I look around, and see that I’m in a cabin. The cabin. The one I saw in the distance. I remember the arms carrying me away. I remember the man’s voice from the darkness.

  “Hello?” I shout, but my voice is hoarse.

  I’m on a couch, wrapped in blankets. I’m wearing…

  Where the hell did my clothes go? I’m wearing some huge t-shirt and no pants.

  “You’re awake,” the man’s voice says. It’s soft, but strong.

  I sit up and see him holding a steaming hot cup, walking toward me.

  He’s...he’s gorgeous. His dark black hair is short and wavy, and his face is hard and strong. His sharp cheekbones are cut high, and below his thick stubble I can still see dimples cut into his cheeks as he smirks at me. He’s wearing a tight t-shirt, and his thick biceps really are thick as tree trunks--and covered in tattoos to boot.

  His eyes are blue as ice, but warm as the fire. And yet, behind those beautiful eyes is a hint of pain, of something he doesn’t want others to see.

  “Hot coffee,” he says. “I don’t have chocolate.”

  “I…” I mumble, but I don’t even know what to say.

  “Can you drink?” He asks. “The frostbite didn’t get you, but it looks like you took a real nosedive.”

  I take the mug in my hand, holding the blanket tight against my body in my other. My cheeks flush and burn when I realize he must have been forced to peel the wet and frozen clothes off of me to keep me warm.

  Jesus, a man that hot took my clothes off, and I wasn’t even awake to enjoy it?

  “I’m Coal,” he says, letting go of the mug.

  “Andrea,” I say, reaching out a hand.

  The blanket falls as he gently
grasps my hand. I pull away from him to adjust the blanket.

  “Your clothes are hung up by the fire,” he says, pointing.

  I blush as I see all of my clothes hanging to dry.

  “You--” I stammer, but my cheeks burn so hot I can’t get any words out.

  “Look,” he says. “I was just trying to enjoy some cider on the porch, I didn’t ask for you to fall down the hill and interrupt my night. But your clothes were soaked through and frozen. I had to get them off you. I tried not to look.”

  He grins at me, and his eyes wander down my body.

  Tried not to look? Does that mean that he did look?

  “No need to thank me,” he says dryly, “Just drink the coffee and warm up.”

  “Can I...can I get some pants?”

  He laughs. “None of my pants would fit your tiny little body. You’ll have to keep the blanket on until your clothes dry.”

  Tiny little body? This is too embarrassing. Forget the clothes. I’ll wad them up into a sopping wet ball and make him drive me into town.

  “Yeah, uh, Coal,” I say. “Thanks. But I’ll let you get back to your lumberjack routine, if I could just ask you to drive me back into town now? I don’t want to inconvenience you more than I already have.”

  “No can do,” he says.

  I look at him with a frustrated scowl. “Excuse me? I’m not...saying the night here.”

  “You’re free to walk back,” he says, picking up another log and throwing it into the flames.

  “But…I can’t find the way back.”

  “Should have thought about that before you went hiking alone at dusk in the winter.”

  “It wasn’t supposed to snow.”

  “Well,” he says, prodding the logs with a metal poker, “It did snow. And here you are. Lucky for you I found you.”

  Yeah, really lucky.

  “It couldn’t take more than 20 minutes for you to drive me into town--”