Little Secrets: Claiming His Pregnant Bride

The other logistical problem was that he only had one helmet. He had no idea if it would fit over her hair.

He went back to the bike and picked up the helmet. “Let’s see if this works,” he said. At the very least, she had managed to straddle the bike. The skirt had hiked up over her calves, and her legs were going to be cold by the time they got out of the hills, but there was no way he could risk having her fall off if she was riding sidesaddle. Maybe if she pressed herself against him, his body could take the worst of the wind. He’d be a Popsicle by the time they made town, but he’d take it for her.

But even that noble sentiment was almost completely overridden by the image of her arms around his waist, her chest pressed to his back, her legs tucked behind his. Of that lacy little thong and the corset.

Of a wedding night that ended differently.

He pulled at the collar of his shirt. Yeah, maybe he wouldn’t freeze.

She looked up at him, her eyes wide. “I can’t thank you enough, Seth,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m having a really bad day, but you’re making it better.”

If she were anyone else, he’d cup her cheek and stroke her skin with his thumb. He’d tilt her head back and brush his lips over hers. He’d offer comfort in a completely different way.

But she wasn’t anyone else. She was Roger’s pregnant runaway bride. So instead of kissing her, he settled the helmet over her hair. It didn’t work. He pulled it off. “Let me see what I can do here.” She tilted her head so he could get at the elaborate updo—it probably had some sort of name, but he didn’t have any idea about women’s hair. He could see the pins and clips—sparkly stuff in her hair. And hairspray. Lots of hairspray. He began pulling them out and shoving them into his pants pocket. What would her hair feel like without all this crap in it? Soft and silky—the kind of hair he could bury his hands in.

He really had to get a grip. The whole mass of hair sagged and then fell. It looked awkward and painful, but he was sure he could fit the helmet on now. “There.”

She looked back at him as he settled the helmet on her head and strapped it under her chin. She looked worried. “This will be fun,” he promised. Cold, but fun. “Just hold on to me, okay?”

She nodded. Seth took his seat and fired up the engine. It rumbled beneath him. He loved this part of riding. Bringing the machine to life and knowing that a journey was ahead of him.

After a moment’s hesitation, Kate’s arms came around his waist. His brain chose that exact moment to wonder—when was the last time he’d had a woman on the back of a motorcycle?

Of course he’d ridden with women before. That was one of the reasons to ride a bike—women loved a bad boy, and Seth was more than happy to help them act out their fantasies. Motorcycles were good seduction and he was a red-blooded American man. He wasn’t above doing a little seducing.

But there was something different about this—about Kate. This wasn’t a seduction, leaving aside the fact that he knew what her thong looked like. This was something else, and he couldn’t put a name to it.

Then he felt more than heard her sigh against the back of his neck as the helmet banged his shoulder. He winced but didn’t flinch as she settled her cheek against his back, her arms tightening around him even more. Her body relaxed into his. Which was good. Great. Wonderful. The tighter she held on, the safer this ride would be.

Except his body was anything but relaxed. He was rock hard and she’d know it if her grip slipped south in any way.

He needed to get her to a hotel and then he needed to get on his way. He had a future as a partner of Crazy Horse Choppers. He had plans for the business. He had motorcycles to sell.

None of those things involved a pregnant runaway bride.

He rolled away from the scenic overlook and hit the road back to Rapid City.

Kate Burroughs wasn’t in his plans. After today, he wasn’t going to see her or her stockings ever again.

That was final.

Four

“Good morning, Katie,” Harold Zanger said, strolling into Zanger Realty with a smile on his face and a bow tie around his neck. “It’s a zinger of a day at Zanger, isn’t it?”

As cheesy as the line was—and it had been cheesy every single day for the last month and a half—Kate still smiled. She smiled every day now. “It is indeed, Harold,” she said.

Harold Zanger was one of her father’s oldest friends. They’d been playing poker together for a good forty years—longer than Kate had been alive. Harold was almost an uncle to her.

Kate had not gone back to Burroughs and Caputo Realty. She just couldn’t—especially when her parents had made it clear that splitting Roger off from the business was going to be quite complicated, which was one way to say that her father wasn’t going to do it because he was beyond furious with her.

So it had been Kate to decide that, rather than grovel before her father and Roger, she’d start over. She was the one who put distance between them.

It had hurt more than she wanted it to, to be honest. Although she’d known it wasn’t likely, she’d wanted her parents to put her first. She’d wanted them to take her side and tell her it’d all work out. She’d wanted her mom to get excited about the pregnancy.

She’d wanted the impossible. Oh, Mom was excited—to the extent that she’d underlined the word excited three times in the congratulations card she’d sent. Other than that, there’d been no discussion of pregnancies, no trips down memory lane, no planning for the baby’s room.

There hadn’t been anything, really, since Kate had walked out of their house and driven back to the hotel where she’d been staying since Seth had dropped her off and paid for three nights.

And the hell of it was, it wasn’t like they had put Roger first. No, Joe and Kathleen Burroughs had done what they always did—they’d put their business first. Burroughs Realty—Burroughs and Caputo Realty now—had always been the most important thing. Her father hadn’t disowned her outright, but it was clear that, for the time being, there was no point in pursuing a family relationship. Joe Burroughs was a workaholic and Kathleen refused to go against her husband’s wishes.

No, the business came first, and Roger was now part owner of the business, which meant that Roger came first. So Kate had left because she hadn’t wanted to make things difficult for her mother.

Harold Zanger, gregarious and happy, had offered her a job. Kate strongly suspected it had put a strain on his friendship with Joe Burroughs, but Harold insisted everything was fine. Of course, he was an eternal optimist, so perhaps everything was. Harold had given her a desk and a blazer and some business cards and told her to “get out there and sell some houses, sweetheart.”

If anyone else had called Kate sweetheart, she would’ve walked, but Harold had been calling her sweetheart since she was old enough to crawl—probably even before that.

So here she was. Ready to get out there and sell some houses for Zanger Realty.

“Today’s the day,” Harold said, snapping the suspenders underneath his Zanger Realty blazer, which was a delightful shade of goldenrod. “Something big is going to happen today, Katie my girl. I can feel it.”

There was comfort in familiarity and Harold said this to her every morning. She hadn’t believed it at first—she still didn’t really believe it—but Harold’s optimism was infectious.

“Today’s the day,” she agreed.

“Your big sale,” Harold all but crowed, “is going to walk through that door. I just know it.”

“I’m sure it will,” she said with an indulgent smile. Really, it was sweet that Harold believed what he said, because that was just the kind of man he was and had always been. If opposites attract, then that held true for friendships, too. Joe Burroughs had been a pessimist, convinced that tomorrow the bottom would fall out and the world would end and so he’d better sell a house today so that his family would have something to live on. Disaster was always lurking right around the corner for Joe Burroughs, so he had to miss his daughter’s concerts and plays because there was work to be done.

Harold was the opposite. Today was a good day. Tomorrow would be even better. It would all work out in Harold’s world, and Kate would be lying to herself if she said she didn’t need that in her life right now.

Because she was three months pregnant. She’d sold exactly two houses—but they hadn’t been big sales. She’d earned enough on commission to rent a two-bedroom apartment and buy some secondhand furniture. But she had to sell a lot of houses in the next six months if she wanted to be able to take time off when she had her baby.

Roger would pay child support. Just because he didn’t love her and she didn’t love him didn’t mean that he would leave her out to dry. Roger wasn’t a bad guy, really.

But when they had sat down face-to-face and confronted the aftermath of their relationship and the baby that would always tie them together, it had been clear—he’d been relieved that she’d walked away. And he hadn’t even tried to hide it. He’d gone on their honeymoon trip to Hawaii without her and he hadn’t missed her at all.

Even more than that, Roger had been relieved when her father had not asked him to give up his stake in the real estate business. Which really had Kate wondering—had he been marrying her because of her or for the business?

She knew the answer—the business—but she couldn’t think about that.

If she ever had another wedding, she would be damned sure she was marrying someone who wanted her. Not her family’s business. Not her name.

Her. Kate Burroughs. Future single mom and semiprofessional hot mess.

Aside from child support, Roger made something else clear—they were done. He wasn’t going to be an active part of raising his child. It was painful, it really was. But at the same time, it was also a relief. She wouldn’t have to worry about navigating around Roger at the same school plays and concerts that her own father had skipped. She wouldn’t have to negotiate who would get the baby for Christmas and birthdays. It would be simpler without Roger.

It would be harder—she was under no illusions that being the single mother of a newborn wouldn’t be the hardest thing she’d ever done. But she only had to negotiate with herself.

She was on her own. For the first time in her life, she didn’t have to answer to anyone. Not her father, not Roger, not her mother. There was something freeing about that. Terrifying, but freeing.

Harold went back to his office and Kate turned to her listings. She had been a real estate agent for years, so it wasn’t like she was learning on the job. She knew what to do. She had grown up at Burroughs Realty, copying things for her parents and then going with them when they looked at houses. She’d learned how to stage a house when she was in high school. Her parents had paid her for her help, although not a lot.

She could sell a home in her sleep. But she needed buyers and sellers. She needed someone to walk through that door and instead of asking for Harold, to ask for Kate. That was what she’d had at Burroughs Realty. She had been a Burroughs, and any Burroughs would do for some people. The name was the important thing.

As her thoughts often did when she was faced with the weight of her future, she imagined that one person in particular walking through the door—a tall, dark, mysterious biker. A man who looked dangerous and yet treated her as if she were worth protecting.

Seth Bolton.

She had not seen him since he had taken her to a local hotel and shaken her hand in the lobby. He hadn’t even suggested that he come up to the room and make sure she got settled. He was too good a guy for that.

That had to be why she couldn’t stop thinking about him. It had felt like...like there was unfinished business between them. Which was ridiculous. They didn’t have any business together to begin with. She’d had the worst day of her life and he’d taken pity on her. That was all there was—a Good Samaritan doing a kind deed for a woman having a really terrible day. Because there was no way a man like that was single or available. And even if he were—why would he be interested in her? She had not made the best of first impressions.

Looking back at what had happened over six weeks ago, she could see with a little objective distance that she had been in a state of complete and total shock. Discovering she was pregnant had left her stunned. Deciding she couldn’t marry Roger had been a realization that sent her reeling. Each shock mounted upon the next. She still didn’t remember stealing the limo, but at least she hadn’t been arrested. Whatever Seth had done or said to the limo owner had worked. The cops hadn’t gotten involved, and she was beyond grateful for that. He had helped her see that her reasons for running were valid, made sure she was okay and let her cry it out.

But gratitude wasn’t the only reason she kept thinking about him. There’d been the way he’d untied her petticoat and slid it down her legs. And the way she’d wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned into him on the long, cold ride back to Rapid City. Hell, even just the way his jacket had smelled—leather and something lighter, maybe sandalwood. He’d smelled good.

She was not fantasizing about the man. Oh, sure, he drifted through her dreams every so often, but that didn’t mean she was fantasizing about him, specifically.

It was the fact that he had taken care of her. And she had needed to be taken care of. That was all.

She didn’t need to be coddled anymore. She’d gotten back on her feet. Her parents and Roger had handled the entire disaster with a surprising amount of good humor—for them, anyway. But that didn’t change the fact that, moving forward, she needed to sell a house. A lot of houses. Heck, even one big sale would get her through the winter.

While she was wishing for the impossible, she might as well ask for a pony. Sadly, Santa had never delivered on that one, either.

As she mused, she worked on assembling a potential list of houses. A family from out of town had called and said that the husband might be relocating to Rapid City. Nothing was definite yet, but there was a good chance that they’d move and if so, Kate was going to be the one to sell them a house. Harold had gifted her with this opportunity, rather than keep it for himself.

The Murray family had given her their standard list of requirements—three bedrooms, two baths, a fenced backyard, a two-car garage. She was putting together a list of potential homes and praying that Mr. Murray decided to take a job in Rapid City when the door jingled.

On reflex, Kate said, “It’s a zinger of a day at Zanger. Can I help you?”

Then she looked up at the same moment a hearty chuckle reached her ears. There was something familiar about that chuckle, warm and comforting.

She froze. There was something familiar about the man standing in the entryway. Tall, dark. Black hair, dark eyes—that motorcycle jacket settled over his shoulders like a second skin.

And that smile. She didn’t remember everything from her wedding day. But that smile? She’d been dreaming about that smile for a month. She was helpless to stop dreaming about it.

It was entirely possible, she decided as she stared at him, that she was still asleep because her fantasy had just walked into her office and into her life, hotter than ever. This was the man who’d talked her off the ledge. Who’d supported her when she’d admitted that marrying Roger would’ve been the biggest mistake of her life.

Who’d practically stripped her bare at a roadside overlook.

“Kate,” he said, his voice stroking over her name in a way that made her toes curl. “I was hoping I’d find you.”

Okay, that did it. She was definitely dreaming. “Seth? What are you doing here?”

If she were dreaming, the answer would be I have come to sweep you off your feet, my darling. Let me take you away from all of this and solve all your problems.

“I looked you up.”

She blinked. “You did? Why?”

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” He took another step into the office. “How are you doing?”

Her breath caught in her throat. As odd as it seemed, not many people asked that question. The fallout from leaving Roger at the altar had shown her who her true friends were—and the number was few and far between. Really, her mother was the only one who asked that question and was actually interested in the answer.

Except for Seth Bolton, a stranger who had seen her at her lowest moment. Instead of running, he’d stood by her side. He’d taken care of her. He’d made everything better.

Was it any wonder she’d been dreaming of him nearly every night?

This wasn’t possible. She could not be watching Seth walk into her office, that sexy smile on his face, asking about how she was. It simply wasn’t possible.

“I... I’m fine,” she told him. “I mean, I’m all right.”

“Good.” His smile deepened and she was stunned to realize that he had dimples. What a difference. That made him hot and sweet and more than everything she dreamed of. “I meant to check in on you earlier, but I had some business to deal with first.”

She lifted her eyebrows at that. Was he serious? She was nothing to him, other than a strange afternoon that had probably become an amusing anecdote. Did I ever tell you about the time I found a runaway bride in the middle of the Black Hills?

She would expect that if he remembered her at all, he’d remember the crazy woman who stole a limo and refused to marry the father of her child. Nobody should’ve found her desirable. Memorable, maybe. Definitely not someone worth worrying about.

“Well, as you can see, everything’s okay.” That was a gross generalization. She was exhausted and hormonal and worried sick about how she was going to make everything work out.

But she wasn’t the same lost woman he’d found by the side of the road, either. She held her head high and faced every challenge she met with open eyes. She had a job and a purpose. She didn’t need to be coddled anymore.

Not even by someone as attractive as Seth Bolton. Was it possible that he was even more gorgeous now? He took another step closer and she swore she could feel the tension between them hum, like he’d plucked the string of a violin.

The jacket was the same, but he had on a gray T-shirt with some sort of logo on it and a pair of well-worn jeans that were black. They hung low on his hips and she realized she was staring at the vee of his waist as if she’d never noticed that part of a man before.

She jerked her gaze back up, her cheeks hot. His lips quirked into a smile that did things to her. Things she hadn’t felt in over a month.

No, she scolded herself. It was one thing to fantasize about a great guy she’d never have to face again. It was a completely different affair to lust after a flesh-and-blood man standing in a real estate office.

Why was he standing in a real estate office? She cleared her throat and tried to relocate her lost sense of professionalism. “Was there something I could help you with?” Or had he just come here to make sure she hadn’t completely fallen apart? She hoped not. She didn’t want him to think of her as this pitiful creature who couldn’t function.

That string of tension that had been humming between them tightened as his eyes darkened. His gaze swept over her face, her body. Was he checking her out? Or just checking for signs of her pregnancy? It was still pretty early. Her clothes still mostly fit, although she’d already gone up a cup size in bras.

“Actually, there is,” he said. “As crazy as it sounds, I’m settling down.”

Oh. That sounded like...like he was setting up house with a girlfriend. Or a wife. Well. So much for that fantasy. She was not about to poach anyone’s man. At least now he’d stay safely in her dreams and she wouldn’t make a fool of herself over him.

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