Hard to Fall Read online

  Hard to Fall is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  A Loveswept Ebook Original

  Copyright © 2016 by Marquita Valentine

  Excerpt from Royal Scandal by Marquita Valentine copyright © 2016 by Marquita Valentine

  All rights reserved.

  Published in the United States by Loveswept, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York.

  LOVESWEPT is a registered trademark and the LOVESWEPT colophon is a trademark of Penguin Random House LLC.

  This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming book Royal Scandal by Marquita Valentine. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.

  Ebook ISBN 9781101969151

  Cover design: Okay Creations

  Cover photograph: Photographee.eu/​Shutterstock

  randomhousebooks.com

  v4.1

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  Contents

  Cover

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1: Hayden

  Chapter 2: Saylor

  Chapter 3: Hayden

  Chapter 4: Saylor

  Chapter 5: Hayden

  Chapter 6: Saylor

  Chapter 7: Hayden

  Chapter 8: Saylor

  Chapter 9: Hayden

  Chapter 10: Saylor

  Chapter 11: Hayden

  Chapter 12: Saylor

  Chapter 13: Hayden

  Chapter 14: Saylor

  Chapter 15: Hayden

  Chapter 16: Saylor

  Chapter 17: Hayden

  Chapter 18: Saylor

  Chapter 19: Hayden

  Chapter 20: Saylor

  Chapter 21: Hayden

  Chapter 22: Saylor

  Chapter 23: Hayden

  Chapter 24: Saylor

  Chapter 25: Hayden

  Chapter 26: Saylor

  Epilogue: Hayden

  Dedication

  Acknowledgments

  By Marquita Valentine

  About the Author

  Excerpt from Royal Scandal

  Chapter 1

  Hayden

  For me, family comes first, and before you get that oh, isn’t he just the sweetest, allow me to disabuse you of the notion. It’s our family business that comes first and it’s American as the Declaration of Independence.

  Walkers are career politicians.

  Have been since the Revolutionary War.

  Which is why I’m here, at my family’s home, listening to the senator wax poetic about the great expectations his constituents have entrusted in him and how he’s going to continue to meet every single one with lower taxes and small-business incentives, instead of spending my weekend off at the lake.

  And I fucking hate it.

  Don’t get me wrong. I love my family—my brothers—the little shits, who aren’t so little anymore—and my parents. What I don’t love is being held to a promise I made when I was barely eighteen, before I had a chance to really explore what life had to offer. Before the blinders were removed and I stopped believing that politicians could change the world.

  As a waiter passes, I grab a glass of champagne and head for the table laden with food. One thing I can always count on is the amazing spread. This time the theme is seafood, and due to my family home’s close proximity to the coast, it makes sense. If there’s one complaint I have about living so far inland, it’s the lack of right-off-the-fishing-boats seafood.

  “Hayden, darling. Come give your momma a kiss and say hello to Lyla Jane Barringer.” Georgiana Walker is the epitome of a southern belle. Her voice is graceful, she floats rather than walks, and her sense of style is impeccable. Nearing sixty, she doesn’t look a day over forty with her light brown hair and sea-green eyes. The laugh lines on her face are few and far between. Whether this is due to genetics or Botox, I’ll never know because I’ll never ask. She’ll never tell, either.

  We don’t call her the keeper of all secrets for nothing.

  Either way, I love my mother. She’s the rock of our family and frankly, I know that without her influence, my father would have never allowed me to leave Burgaw again, once I graduated from Duke University.

  Like the dutiful son I am, I pivot and do exactly as my mother asks. “Momma. Ms. Barringer.”

  “Call me Lyla.” Her gaze is assessing as she licks her bottom lip.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Her cheeks flush pink. Charmingly so, but I don’t believe for a second that it’s real. “We went to Easton Prep together. I was a year behind you, though. I doubt you remember me.”

  I nod; bits and pieces of my high school years flicker through my brain. “You were yearbook editor, right?” At her happy nod, I continue. “Wow. I don’t know how you did it, but thanks for not making me look like a tool in my pictures.”

  “That wasn’t me. That was all you, Hayden.”

  My mother pats me on the shoulder. “Looks like the two of you have so much to catch up on that I’ll leave y’all to it.”

  “Would you like to get something to eat?” I ask.

  “I would love to!” Right after my mother is out of earshot, she lowers her voice and purrs, “Actually, I’d love to have some private time with you. I heard you provide all of your dates with amazing…views.”

  Not what I was expecting from Lyla, but I’ll take the distraction just the same. “Only amazing?”

  “Spectacular better?”

  “Marginally.” I cock an eyebrow at her, taking note of her perky tits about to pop out of the top of her strapless sundress. “You’re ready right now, aren’t you?”

  “The greenhouse is empty.”

  Bad idea. Really bad idea. I’ve been so good lately. So damn good that I haven’t slept with anyone in three months.

  She leans in to whisper, “I forgot to wear panties today, but considering how wet I am right now…I think that’s a good thing, don’t you?”

  Lyla smiles seductively, one of her hands brushing right over the growing bulge in my pants. “How delightful. The rumors don’t begin to do you justice.”

  “I’m not fully there, yet.”

  Her eyes widen and her cheeks flush, this time with lust. “The flowers, if you please.”

  Ah, fuck it. I grab her hand. “Who am I to deny a lady?”

  “Always knew I liked you.”

  For the next thirty minutes, I allow Lyla to use me like an erotic playground made just for her. By the time I roll on a condom and enter her, she screams my name so loud that I have to cover her mouth with my hand.

  Her eyes widen and she licks my palm once before biting down hard. I snatch my hand away with a muffled curse and she starts shouting my name along with God’s again.

  Shit. She wants to get caught.

  I am an idiot. Of course she wants to get caught. It’s one thing to have a discreet affair at a hotel, quite another to fuck a lady at a party where anyone can catch you.

  “Are your parents here?” I ask through gritted teeth as I continue to slam into her. Yeah, I’m pissed, but my cock doesn’t give a damn.

  Her head falls back against the glass and she grinds down on me, contracting around me so hard that I’m forced to join her.

  My vision goes blurry and blood roars in my ears as I come hard in the condom.

  “Yes. Oh, yes,” she cries out.

  My ego loves it. Loves the way her tits are hanging out of her dress and the way the material is bunched up at the waist while her heels are still on. The way I have her pinned up against a potting table.

 
But my head…maybe even my heart feels disconnected.

  “God, I wish we could do this every day,” she says.

  “I’m not marrying you.”

  She laughs at me. “I’m already married to a very old man who can’t do shit with his dick.”

  “You’re fucking married?” The taste of ashes fills my mouth. I’ve never been with a married woman, never been with a woman who had a boyfriend or fiancé. While I don’t consider myself a paragon of virtue, I do have morals and standards. Those include staying away from women who were in relationships with other men.

  Until now.

  After disposing of the condom, I adjust my clothes and make sure that I look presentable again. By the time I’m done, Lyla’s waiting by the door, the very picture of a woman who merely spent some time studying my mother’s flowers instead of cheating on her husband.

  With me.

  “You should leave first.”

  She pouts. “We came together. Literally.”

  The reminder makes me want to roll my eyes, but I pin her with an emotionless stare. “Then we both got what we wanted.”

  “And?”

  “And what?” I wash my hands in the sink by the door, making sure to fix my hair and wipe the lipstick off my face.

  “Wasn’t it any good for you?”

  I dry my hands, then toss the towel into a wicker basket and shrug. “Passed the time.”

  Her mouth drops open in outrage. “Passed the time?”

  “Exactly what I needed.” Ignoring her look of pure fury, I shove my hands into my pockets and move past her. “Great catching up with you, Lyla.”

  I hear a muffled scream of outrage, but I don’t look back. I keep on the straight and narrow brick path that leads me right back to where I should have stayed in the first place.

  My younger brothers, Briggs and Brooks, shoot me identical looks of You just got laid, didn’t you?

  I shake my head at them, trying to warn them away, but they join me anyway, walking on either side of me.

  “She didn’t go to school with you,” Briggs says.

  “Her sister did,” Brooks adds.

  Fuck my life. “Is she…legal? Is she even married?”

  “Yeah. Married Mitch Crossville last year.”

  “At least she didn’t lie about that,” I mutter.

  Brooks grabs my shoulder. “Thought you stayed away from married women.”

  I look away from the disappointment in his eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  “You didn’t ask.”

  I shrug him off and start walking again. “Our mother introduced her to me as Ms. Barringer.”

  Briggs punches me lightly in the other shoulder. “Not your fault, man.”

  I want to disagree with him, but I can’t. My judgment was clouded by my need to get laid. “Quit yapping and let’s eat.”

  Someone taps on a glass as we’re loading up our plates and I mentally groan.

  The crowd grows quiet, turning their attention to my father. He’s probably been appointed to the Senate’s Appropriations Committee, something he’s been aiming for since he was first elected to Washington, due to the prestige and power the members wield.

  Except he can’t stand the chairman, Jonathan Sterling III. From what I understand, the feeling is mutual. I’ll even go so far as to say that our families are like the Montagues and the Capulets, without the teenage drama. No way in hell any of us Walker boys would ever marry any Sterling girl now, though.

  Came pretty damn close once.

  “Hayden, come join me, son,” my dad asks, and I inwardly cringe. First Lyla…or whatever the hell her name is, and now this.

  “I can’t wait to hear his announcement,” Brooks murmurs.

  I pass him my plate. “Hold this for me, will you?”

  “Can’t promise there’ll be anything left,” Briggs chimes in, already chowing down on my crab cakes.

  “So lucky to have y’all.”

  “Admit it, you love us.”

  “Eat all my food, and I will love kicking your asses,” I warn, but the two shits just laugh at my empty threat. Okay, so it’s mostly empty because I do love them. However, every now and then, they do need a good ass kicking from their big brother.

  Putting on a smile, I stride up to my dad, standing at his side, as if it’s the thing I want to do most in this world. Disagreements are allowed in the Walker family, just not public ones.

  “As y’all know, I’m honored to represent the great state of North Carolina, but I’m even more pleased that my son, Hayden, has agreed to consider running for Hamilton’s vacant seat next year.” He puts his arm around my shoulders, his blue eyes sincere as they look at me. “You don’t how proud your mother and I are of you. First, to serve the citizens of Charlotte as a firefighter and now to serve the citizens of this great state as senator. That is, if he’s elected. But we all know that a Walker is a shoo-in.”

  Only years of being in the public eye keep me from reacting less than pleased. In reality, I’m shocked and pissed as hell that it’s being sprung on me like this.

  Except it’s not.

  I know this is my duty. I know this is what is expected of me, but I have a job, a career, but none of that matters to anyone but me. Sure, he added in the word consider. Most people attending this function won’t hear that word. The press won’t quote him correctly, as usual, and my face will be everywhere with articles about my entire life.

  My privacy be damned.

  “Thank you.” While wearing that winning Walker smile, I lift my glass and toast my father, even though I want to shout to the world that there’s no way in hell I’m running.

  Ever.

  “It’s an honor, to be sure. If y’all don’t mind, I need some private time with the senator for some guidance.”

  That gets a round of applause and cheers from the crowd. The media present are typing furiously on their phones while others are simply holding one up, immortalizing my unknown-to-them humiliation and fury.

  “You’re a natural, son.” My dad lets his arm fall. “You’re also a good man to keep your promise.”

  Yes, in my clearly-eager-to-please-my-dad days, I verbally agreed to run for office once my father vacated it, but I assumed it wouldn’t be for another thirty years at least. Walkers are career politicians. Normally, they don’t leave office until they’re toothless and can’t remember the name of the current president.

  He kisses my mother’s cheek, then starts working the crowd as he works his way to the house.

  The senator and I head to his office, and as soon as the door shuts, he’s opening his best bottle of scotch and pouring two glasses.

  “To the next generation.”

  I take the drink, but I don’t support his toast. “I agreed to consider to run for office?”

  “Never mind that.” He waves a hand at me.

  “Actually, I mind that a lot. You made an announcement without my permission.”

  His blue eyes, identical to mine, narrow. “Thought you wanted to discuss strategy. Two Walkers running for office in the same year is something for the history books.”

  “I don’t want to run. You know it. I know it. Only the American public doesn’t.”

  “That’s not a strategy, boy.”

  “But it is the truth.” Taking a sip of the amber liquid, I swirl it around in the glass. “I like where I am in life.”

  “You’re a twenty-eight-year-old bachelor with no prospects,” he scoffs.

  “I’m a damn good fireman.”

  “Who has no plans to become chief,” he points out, as if that’s something to be embarrassed over.

  I shrug, then set my glass down on his desk. “Not every Walker aspires to be the top dog.”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “Your mother and I would like to see you settled, give your brothers something to look up to.”

  “My brothers could give two shits about what I do. They’re seniors in college, for God’s sake
, more concerned about pussy and sports than anything else.”

  “Sounds like they’re emulating you.”

  My jaw works. “Firefighting is not a sport.” I won’t debate his point on how much of a cad—his words, not mine—he thinks I am, because it will fall on deaf ears. Besides, my interlude with Lyla or whatever the hell her name is doesn’t support my argument. “In any case, I will consider running, just like you announced.”

  My dad smiles at me like I’ve just given him the keys to Air Force One. “You’ve made the right decision, son. Now, let’s talk—”

  “I said consider. We have, what, a year and a half before I would have to file?”

  He nods tersely. Senator Walker is not a happy camper at this moment. “Give or take some months.”

  “If I did decide to run, then my position as fire captain would have to be filled. That can take at least six months, possibly more, and I don’t want to give our constituents a false hope. No telling who’d want to run against me.” See, I want to shout. I can be just like you, old man.

  “You have a year, then we revisit the issue and plan your campaign strategy.”

  Although I don’t want to allow him to have the last word on the matter, I know it’s the only way he’ll let me leave this office. “Great party, Dad.”

  “You go on out there and enjoy yourself. Get some pictures with your brothers.”

  Thankful for the reprieve, I move toward the door.

  “Don’t forget to shake hands with Mitch Crossville. He’s one of my biggest donors now. Has the sweetest wife. Shy little thing. Make sure you make her feel welcome.”

  I flush hot. “Mother already did.” And so did I. Multiple times.

  “Thought as much, but then you disappeared.”

  “Had to take a phone call from work. You know how that is,” I say smoothly.

  “At least fighting fires has reinforced the Walker dedication to the job that runs through your veins.”