The Sailor's Secret Baby Read online

  The Sailor’s Secret Baby

  Frankie Love

  About the book

  Sampson never wanted to settle down — that’s why he became a sailor.

  Then he meets Sweetie, with her pouty pink lips and innocent body.

  For the first time in his life he’s ready to drop anchor.

  But Sweetie’s burly brothers won’t let their little sister be taken so easily.

  Punches are thrown and lines are drawn in the sand—and Sampson is sent off to sea before anything can be set straight.

  Sweetie is alone, longing for her sailor.

  She needs him more than ever.

  Especially now that she is carrying his child.

  Dear Reader,

  This patriotic story is sure to set off fireworks! Sampson is more than a sailor—he’s a hero worth fighting for!

  With a body like that, he can board my ship any day!

  #ClimbMyMast #FullSteamAhead #AllHandsOnDeck #AnchorsAweigh #NiceBuoy

  xo, frankie

  Contents

  Copyright

  1. Sweetie

  2. Sampson

  3. Sweetie

  4. Sampson

  5. Sweetie

  6. Sampson

  7. Sweetie

  8. Sampson

  9. Sweetie

  10. Sampson

  11. Sweetie

  12. Sampson

  13. Sweetie

  14. Sampson

  Epilogue

  Preview

  Also by Frankie Love

  About the Author

  Copyright

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  Edited by

  Teresa Banschbach

  ICanEdit4U

  Copyright © 2018 by Frankie Love

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Chapter One

  Sweetie

  I need to get my own place.

  Nights like this make that fact more than crystal clear. The music booming from the five-foot-high speakers grinds on my last nerve. The raucous laughter of dozens of people I’ve never seen before has me clenching my jaw, and the smoke, oh the smoke. Why exactly do these strangers feel the need to leave the front door open while they smoke on the porch?

  Sharing a house with my three brothers is not my idea of a good time. Give me a mug of tea, a new book on my Kindle, maybe a scented candle, and I'm good to go.

  Not wild and crazy, but I like living in my little bubble when I'm not behind the front desk at my brothers' shop. Grim Reapers Tattoos. Not exactly warm and cozy.

  It's Friday night, and Nixon, Smith, and Porter have invited over their fifty closest friends, plus whoever decides to crash the house party.

  The music pounds in my ears and, as I leave the sanctuary that is my bedroom, I see Nixon reach for the volume on the speaker and turn it up.

  Frustrated, I push past people in the kitchen and reach for the kettle that's whistling, adding hot water to my mug. I'm not letting the people here ruin my night.

  After I fill my mug, I reach into the cupboard for my fancy chocolate, I feel a man's eyes on me. And not just any man. A man who is broad-shouldered, in a plain white tee stretched tightly across his ripped chest — all muscles, all strength. And when I look at him, even for a moment, my pulse quickens.

  I know just how out of my league he is, but still, his eyes rake over me. Feeling the power he holds with just one look, I adjust the hem of my bathrobe. It hits mid-thigh and suddenly seems way too short. Why didn’t I think to put on pants before I left my bedroom? Maybe because I shouldn’t have to. After all, this is my house too.

  I refuse to let on just how badly he turns me on. Turning to leave, I push my wavy brown hair from my eyes, stopping only to say, "A photo lasts longer."

  His eyes meet mine. "I think I’ve memorized you well enough."

  His words are flirty, but I don't flirt with my brother's friends. Ever. They are the same guys who hang around our tattoo shop, and I swore them off about the same time I swore off sailors. I may live in a Navy town, but that doesn't mean I have to sleep with the ship when it comes to port.

  "Classy," I say, rolling my eyes, all the while fighting to keep my composure. Truth is, he is the kind of man I want to give myself to. A man who is so sure of himself that he makes my heart all woozy with just a few words. A man with dark hair and darker eyes.

  As I leave the kitchen, I try to figure out what this guy is doing here. He doesn't look like the rest of my brothers’ friends. They are rough and rude and rarely appreciative of the fact, that without me behind the front desk, they would never get their artwork done. My brothers aren't exactly the brains behind the business; they drink way too much, make crass jokes and put way too many demands on me.

  This man, though? He looks different. And it isn't just the fact that he doesn't have any facial piercings or neck tattoos.

  He's darker, more intense as if his mind is somewhere else.

  I've never seen him before. But we live in a small Navy town in the Puget Sound of Washington State and there are a lot of people who come and go. Refusing to give this stranger any more of my attention, I adjust my tortoiseshell eyeglasses, turn from the kitchen and head down the hall. I want to sink into my bed and disappear in the pages of a romance novel.

  As I pass Smith on the way to my room, he scowls. "Put some damn clothes on, Sweetie."

  "I'm going to bed," I hiss, not slowing down. I was so clear about no more parties. The neighbors keep complaining about the noise and I don't want cops here again.

  As I head down the hallway, I see a large group of people flood in through the front door. I recognize some of them and a shiver runs over my body. These guys are dangerous. I know they've caused problems for other people in town, vandalizing shops and causing fights. And now they are in my home.

  Infuriated that my brothers don't seem to understand the situation, I head to my bedroom and slam the door. I don't care if it's loud-- it's not like anyone will hear over the noise of the party.

  An unsettled feeling washes over me as I think about why those guys just showed up here. Trying to ignore the niggling doubt, I set my tea and chocolate on the nightstand, turn on my lamp and turn off the overhead light. I pull off my terrycloth bathrobe and put it on the hook on my door, then look in the mirror, smiling at the splurge I made earlier this week when Victoria’s Secret was having a sale. I never shop there, preferring Target-variety panties and bras. But the nightie in the shop window made me wistful and I couldn't help but stop and make the purchase .

  It's soft pink and silky, and something women probably reserve for their lovers. But considering I've never had a lover, and that my brothers have threatened to beat up any man who so much as tries to talk to me, I don't exactly see a long-lasting relationship in my near future. Or any relationship.

  Still, that doesn't mean I shouldn't wear something pretty when I slip into bed, reading my Kindle, my fingers sliding between my thighs.

  It's flattering, the nightie. It hugs my curves, accentuating my wide hips and big breasts--something I never flaunt in real life, preferring oversized sweaters to anything low-cut.

  As I step out of my slippers and pull back the covers on the bed, I smile, refusing to let the chaos outside my bedroom determine how my night will go.

  But that's before the gunshot.<
br />
  Terror runs its way up my spine and my heart begins to race.

  As I rush from the bedroom, I see a raised gun, the crowd divided, and then I feel a man's hands on me, dragging me away.

  Chapter Two

  Sampson

  This woman has no business being here at this party. She's screaming, scared, but I point, showing her that the bullet clearly went through a window, not someone's skin, but still her knees give out. The room is clearing, fast. People are running from the front and back door, and I don't hesitate.

  I pick her up before she falls and carry her from the living room, back down the hall where she ran from.

  The moment I saw her, I knew she was something special, but it wasn't until a trigger was pulled that I realized she was more than a treasure. She is a fucking precious gemstone, and I would be the man to protect her.

  I see an open bedroom door and carry her inside. It's clear it is her bedroom, the tea she was making is still steaming on her table and I kick the door shut and lock it.

  "This is your home?" I ask her, sitting her down on her bed and looking down at this sweet thing.

  She nods. "Yeah, I live here with my brothers, but..." She shakes her head, her thick dark hair in her eyes. She pushes it away, and I see that there are tears in her blue eyes. "Nothing like that has ever happened. I should make sure everyone is okay."

  "No one was shot," I tell her.

  She nods. "I didn't think so. After I heard the noise, I ran out of my room and saw my brothers in the kitchen. That was right before you pulled me away."

  I run a hand over my jaw, taking her in. She's lost the thick bathrobe and is now in nothing but a teeny tiny nightie. "You were going to faint."

  "I still think I might." She exhales, and the rise and fall of her breasts is so damn sexy I feel my cock twitch at the sight of her.

  "No one can hurt you, not while I'm here. I'll protect you."

  Her eyes widen, and she presses a hand to her chest and licks her lips.

  There is a knock on her door and her eyebrows knit with concern. Someone is slamming their fists on the door, trying to open it.

  "Open the door," a man's voice calls.

  "Porter?" she asks, her eyes darting to mine.

  "Yeah. Open up," he hollers.

  Biting her lip, she stands and tells me to get in her closet.

  "Your what?"

  "My closet. My brother will kill you if he knows I'm here with you."

  "Your brother?"

  "Yeah, Porter. He's... overprotective." She shoves me toward a closet door and presses a finger to her lips, telling me to keep quiet.

  I hear her opening the bedroom door and listen without making a sound, but the door is left open a crack and I can see them. He's a big guy, tattoos all over him, and I wonder again why I let the guys from the ship bring me here tonight. It's not my typical scene, though looking at this girl’s backside in that silky nightgown, I can't help but think it was a good fucking thing I'm here.

  "You okay? There was a shot."

  "I heard it. Why were those guys here? Is everyone okay?"

  "Everyone's fine. They are clearing out and thank god no cops have shown up."

  "You promised to stop having parties. Now, do you understand why?" she asks.

  Porter pulls off the bandana tied to his head and runs a hand over his bald top. "I know, it got out of control. Most everyone is gone though, and you just need to stay in your room, okay?"

  She nods, her hand on the door to close it.

  "And put on some fucking clothes, you'll give people the wrong idea," he adds gruffly.

  "I can wear what I please."

  "So long as you aren't fucking around. The guys here, they're all sketchy. None of them are good enough for you."

  "You don't own me," she says defiantly.

  "I know, but you are my little sister, and it's my job to look out for you."

  "Okay," she says softly. "Well, I'm fine tonight."

  Porter nods. "I'm gonna go see if Nixon and Smith have gotten rid of everyone. I think a few of us will just sit on the front porch, make sure no one is coming and going."

  She nods. "Be safe. After everything we went through with Dad, I can't lose my brothers over some stupid rivalry."

  "I know. You won’t."

  She closes the door and locks it, leaning her back against it. I see she is trembling, and I don't know if it's because of the shit that went down in her house tonight, or if it's something more.

  I open the door to the closet and step into her room.

  "Hey," I say. "You okay?"

  She looks at me with such longing, I can't help but close the divide between us.

  "For what it's worth," I tell her, wanting to ease the tension, "I like what you're wearing, and it's not giving me any wrong ideas. Only right ones."

  She dips her chin, raises her eyes. "Oh, yeah?"

  "Yeah," I say, stepping closer, daring to wrap an arm around her waist and pull her close. She doesn't resist. In fact, she seems lighter in my arms now. Her shoulders fall, and I can tell that with me, she's relaxed; at ease.

  "And what are the right ideas?" she asks in a whisper, as my hand runs over the silky nightie, the hem so damn close to my fingertips. What I would give to slip my hand under it, to feel the soft fabric of her panties. To push them aside and feel just how tight this sweet thing is.

  "I told you I'd take care of you tonight," I say, taking in her cute upturned nose and the tortoiseshell glasses that make her blue eyes pop.

  She twists her lips playfully. "You said you'd protect me, not take care of me."

  "I'll do whatever you need," I growl in her ear, loving the way she shivers as I do. It’s almost as if she's never been held like this.

  And looking down at her, I think maybe she hasn't.

  "Are you scared?" I ask.

  "Of you?"

  "Of me. Of this moment."

  She shakes her head, so slightly it's almost like it didn't happen at all. "I've never..."

  "Never what?" I ask huskily, my cock throbbing as my hand runs over her back, loving the way her hips curve, needing something to hold on to right now.

  My life is a fucking storm, a raging current I can't control. I enlisted because life back home was a shit show, I needed steady, I needed concrete. I needed out.

  And now, holding her, I just need in.

  "I've never been with a man," she tells me, the pure, virginal words on her lips so fucking tender it could break my hard heart.

  I groan at the confession, though there's no way I am gonna take her now; not like this. Not when she's so innocent; when she's so vulnerable. A gun was just fired in her house, and she practically fainted in my arms.

  I may love pussy, but I'm not the sort of man who can sleep at night when he takes what isn't his.

  She must sense that I’m pulling away.

  "Don't go," she pleads. "Please. I want... I want you to take care of me."

  Clenching my jaw, I run a hand over her cheek. "I want to take care of you, too." I tilt her chin up, and our eyes meet.

  She smiles and then she lifts herself on her tiptoes, her lips aching to be kissed.

  I don't hesitate. The moment I saw her I knew she was mine.

  Chapter Three

  Sweetie

  His mouth is hot and needy as his tongue explores mine, his hands cupping my cheeks as if he's claiming this moment as ours.

  It is.

  "God, your lips are sweet," he groans against me and I whimper, loving the way he feels against me.

  Hard.

  Thick.

  "More," I ask, revealing my desire to this stranger who seems to see me. This is the moment I have been waiting so long for. A man to take me.

  "Be patient, little one," he tells me, his hand moving under the hem of my nightie. "I promised to take care of you, and I will."

  I nod obediently, loving the way he touches me. It's both gentle and demanding.

  "Now, is t
his your bed?" he asks, pointing to the narrow twin against the wall, the thick comforter on top of it and the dozen or so pillows gracing it giving me a nice cozy spot to read my deliciously dirty books.

  "Yes."

  He frowns. "You need a bigger bed if you want me to fit in there with you."

  I give him a coy smile. "I was hoping you would fit somewhere else."

  He growls again, this time with more urgency and he lifts me from the ground, carrying me to the bed. "Your brothers are right. You do need to be kept under lock and key. The things some men might do to you..." He shakes his head, looking down at me.

  "What could they do to me?" I ask, fully aware of how nearly naked I am under this man's gaze. I love it, feeling so vulnerable with a man so capable of taking control of me. His biceps are defined, his forearms ripped, his shoulders broad.

  He leans over me, taking my hands in his and pinning them above my head. "They could push up that nightie of yours, part your knees. They could rip off your little panties and take a good look at your sweet, tight cunt." His grip on my wrists is hard and a surge of pleasure washes over me. His filthy mouth gives me a cocky grin, and I know he is trying to shock me.

  "Then what?" I ask. "What would they do to my cunt?"

  He lifts an eyebrow and releases my wrists. "A sweet thing like you shouldn't say words like cunt."

  "Why not?" I ask, licking my lips. I ease up on the bed so my head rests against the pillows. Then I drop to my knees like a good girl. "I'm sorry," I say in a sugary voice. "I don't have on any panties."