Second Draft

By: C. M. Seabrook & Carter Blake

“It’s much easier to become a father than to be one.” – Kent Nerburn

“Sometimes you get a second chance. Sometimes you don’t. Sometimes all you can do is forgive yourself for the things you can’t change.” – C.M. Seabrook

Chapter 1


I don’t see the car, only hear the screech of tires, the horn blaring right before I’m being tossed to the ground, a large, very muscular body rolling with me.

Gravel bites into skin, and the book I was reading goes flying from my grip.

The world flips a few times, and then stills.

A large hand cups the back of my head protectively, an even larger body presses heavily between my thighs.

Above me, the sun shines behind the man’s head, and it takes a few seconds for my eyes to adjust, but when they do my breath catches in my throat.

Dark scruff shadows his face, but it only amplifies the sharp edges of his jaw, the small, sexy scar through his left eyebrow, the slight cleft in his chin, and soft full lips that are parted slightly. But it’s his eyes, the lightest shade of blue, that seem to radiate with almost hypnotizing spark, that ignites something inside of me, and sends little shockwaves of desire through every nerve ending in my body.

Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush of almost dying, or the fact that it’s been forever since I’ve had a man between my legs, but a tingle, or rather an explosion of heat, that I haven’t felt in years, races through my core, all the way down to my toes.

My hero stares down at me, blue eyes dark, intense, looking at me like he doesn’t know whether to chastise or kiss me.

Kiss me. The thought pops into my head, and I quickly suppress it. Bad idea.

My heart is pounding in my ears, and I know if I don’t get this hulking giant off me soon, I’m going to do something even stupider than walking straight into mid-day traffic.

I push on his chest and wiggle beneath him, but that only makes the ache worse, because I can feel the enormous erection he’s sporting, digging into my most intimate parts.

A small moan bubbles up inside my throat, and I have to clench my teeth to hold it back.

I swear the guy chuckles. I don’t hear it, but I can feel it rumbling through his chest, and even though he may have just saved my life, I could slap him for it.

With slow, deliberate movements, he pushes himself up and away from me.

Damn, but I wished he’d stayed there for just a few seconds longer.

Bad thoughts, equal bad consequences, my mother’s voice reprimands me.

And isn’t that the truth. No one knows better than me how quickly a good thing can turn into a disaster. It’s one of the reasons I’ve sworn off sex, off relationships – off men.

“You okay?” His voice is deep and resonates through my entire body.

I nod, unable to speak. Not because of my almost near death experience, but because the guy crouching in front of me may just be the most gorgeous, sexy, dangerous man I’ve ever met.

Dressed in designer jeans that hang low on his narrow waist, and a tight black t-shirt that fits snug against his broad shoulders and chest, exposing the ink on both arms, he’s got that dark, smoldering, I’ll eat you for breakfast look.

And I have no doubt he would.

He’s the epitome of everything my mother ever warned me about.

But despite my current vow of celibacy, even I’m not completely immune to a man who practically reeks of sex, especially one who just happened to swoop in and literally knock me off my feet while saving my life.

Yeah, I’m in trouble. Big time.

“Can you sit up?” One dark eyebrow is cocked, his gaze never leaving mine.

“I think so.”

Wordlessly, he helps me to a sitting position, his large, inked hands never leaving my body. He tilts his chin, studying me, causing his almost black hair to flip to one side. Hair that’s long on top, and shaved on both sides, which only accentuates the bad boy vibe he’s got going on.

There’s a group of spectators watching us now, including a nervous looking man who gets out of the rusty, silver Toyota that almost hit me.

“Is she okay?” The little man strings his hands together, sweat beading on his brow.

“She’s fine,” my hero answers for me, then practically growls at the crowd, “Move on. There’s nothing to see.”

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