by Maya Banks
* * *
“Push, Pippa! That’s it. Now breathe. Okay, one more time, breathe in deep. Hold it! Now push and count to ten.”
Dear God but this baby delivery stuff was for the birds. Pippa puffed and strained and she really did try to hold her breath but it all came rushing out by the time she got to five.
If it wasn’t for epidurals, she would have given this up already and begged for someone to knock her out.
“You’re doing great, sweetheart.”
Cam’s voice, low and reassuring, gave her a much-needed jolt of energy. He had his arm behind her back, holding her tightly as he breathed through each contraction with her. His hand was tightly curled around hers and he murmured words of encouragement in her ear in between kisses.
“When is he going to be here?” Pippa wailed.
The nurse on her right smiled and then the doctor looked up from between her legs. “One more push and we’ll have the head. Concentrate hard and bear down with this next contraction.”
That sounded better. She was almost finished with this.
As the contraction began, she felt the mounting urgency to push, almost as if her body took control and she no longer had any say in the matter.
She sucked in her breath, closed her eyes and put her chin to her chest.
“Push, baby. Push,” Cam whispered over and over. “You can do this. We’re almost there.”
“The head’s out. Okay, Pippa, relax for a moment while I suction. We’ll get him all the way out on the next push but the hard part’s over.”
“So says you,” she grumbled.
The nurse laughed and the doctor just smiled.
A moment later, the doctor told her to push again and suddenly it was as if her belly caved in. The enormous pressure was gone as the baby slid from her body.
She gasped, overwhelmed by the sensation, and a baby’s cry echoed across the room.
“Oh, my God,” she whispered.
“Ready to meet your son, Pippa?” the doctor asked.
It took just a moment to finish suctioning and to wrap the baby in a blanket before the nurse laid him in Pippa’s arms. Tears burned her eyelids as she stared down at the red-faced squalling baby.
Then she looked up at Cam and slowly held the bundle out to him.
Cam took the baby gingerly, his expression one of complete and utter awe. He stared down in fascination and then he smiled.
It was the most beautiful, honest smile Pippa had ever seen. There was so much joy in his expression that it choked her up and she had to swallow away her tears.
“He’s beautiful,” Cam whispered.
And then to Pippa’s complete surprise, a tear slid down Cam’s cheek, followed by another and then an other. His hands shook as he cradled the baby closer to his chest.
Then he leaned forward, touching his forehead to hers as he held the baby between them.
“I love you,” he choked out. “Thank you for this, Pippa. Thank you for my son. Dear God, he looks so much like you. He’s so perfect. Every part of him.”
Pippa closed her eyes as tears of her own trickled down her cheeks. There was never a more perfect moment than this. Never would she forget this time in their lives.
“What are we going to name him?” she whispered.
Cam carefully put his son back into Pippa’s arms but leaned forward on the bed so he could watch every movement.
“What about Maverick?” Cam suggested. “Maverick Hollingsworth.”
“Our little Mav,” Pippa said with a smile. “I like it.”
Cam found her lips again as the baby settled to sleep against his mother. As he drew away, he caressed her face with trembling hands.
“I’m going to love you and Maverick every single day, with every single breath I have, for the rest of my life. I’ll glory in every single memory we make.”
Despite her fatigue, Pippa’s smile was so big that her cheeks ached.
“I know you will, Cam. But you know what? I’m going to love you every single minute of every single day of my life and I plan to live a damn long time. When you’re eighty I’m going to be the biggest pain in your ass you ever had and I swear you’re going to love every single minute of it.”
Cam threw back his head and laughed. His eyes twinkled merrily. “I absolutely believe every bit of it. I have no doubt that when I’m old and gray you’ll still be telling me to straighten up and fly right.”
The nurse interrupted to give Pippa instructions and get her ready to move to a regular room.
“Why don’t you take Mav out to see his family?” Pippa suggested. By now the Copelands would be here and all of Cam’s friends had followed them to the hospital and had kept vigil the entire time Pippa was in labor.
Cam rose and once again took Maverick from Pippa’s arms. He stared down at his wife—he’d never grow tired of that word—and thought she’d never looked as beautiful as she did right now.
Tired, beautiful, so very courageous. He leaned down, kissed her brow and then stood to his full height again.
“We’ll be back before you know it.”
She smiled tiredly and gave him a look so full of love that it was like a fist to his stomach. She still did that to him. Every damn time.
He turned and walked to the door, his arms cradling his new son protectively. The knot grew in his throat as he walked down the corridor to where the others waited.
His son. His miracle. His second chance at life and happiness. At being a father.
His eyes burned and he blinked to keep his vision clear.
The others looked up and then surged to their feet when Cam entered the waiting room. Cam stopped and then smiled. Smiled so big that it was like stepping into the sun after living in the dark his entire life.
“I want you all to meet my son.”
* * * * *
Nadia Jordan certainly didn’t plan on spending the night with Grayson Chandler during the blackout, but the bigger surprise comes when he subsequently introduces her as his fake fiancée to avoid his family’s matchmaking!
Read on for a sneak peek of BLAME IT ON THE BILLIONAIRE
A Blackout Billionaires novel
from USA TODAY bestselling author Naima Simone!
“Any word yet?”
Grayson glanced down at the woman sitting on the floor of the hallway. The light from his cell phone revealed her back pressed to the wall, her long, entirely-too-gorgeous legs stretched out in front of her and crossed at the ankles. Jesus, what this woman did for denim…
Dragging his attention away from the siren’s call of her thighs, he returned it to the cell in his hand. “City-wide blackout,” he replied, his voice rougher, more abrasive than usual. Unexpected, and inconvenient, lust clawed at him. “I wasn’t able to get any calls out, but I managed a couple of texts. According to my friend, the police are advising everyone to stay where they are. Which won’t be a problem for us. It seems the tech guru who owns this mansion installed a state-of-the-art security system that has now malfunctioned, locking us all inside.” Grayson shook his head. He’d met the man earlier. The guy epitomized the definition of “book sense but no common sense.” As the grandiose house and the money spent on it testified. “So until the blackout is over, and power is restored, we’re trapped here.”
Quickly, he typed out a text to his parents, but it didn’t go through. Damn. But at least he knew they were safe somewhere in this building.
“Shoot,” she muttered, thrusting her hand through her thick brown hair.
No, not brown. That was a woefully inadequate description for the beautiful blending of auburn and shades of copper and chestnut.
“Yes, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future,” he drawled, lowering to the floor and setting his cell phone between them, so the flashlight app created a small, dim circle of light. Drawing his legs up and propping his wrists on his knees, he glanced at her. “Look on the bright side. I could be your supervisor.”
He chew
ed up the word supervisor, angry still at the thought of the nameless, faceless man. What spoiled, selfish asshole made his employee traipse all the way out to the Gold Coast to bring him a shirt on the weekend? She still hadn’t revealed his identity, but he intended to find out. And when he did, Grayson would enjoy throwing around his last name to put the fear of God in the man. No, the fear of a Chandler.
“Good point,” she agreed absently. But then a smile lit her face, and a peculiar and unwelcome catch snagged in his chest. Forget the light from his phone, the beauty of that smile could illuminate the entire building. Hell, the Chicago skyline. “Oh, thank God. He’s safe.”
“Who’s safe?” he asked, because screw it, he was curious about her. Any woman who showed up to the DuSable City Gala in a leather jacket and skinny jeans was way more interesting than one in gowns and jewels.
At first, he didn’t think she’d answer, but after a moment, she said, “My brother. I left him at his baseball game, but he’s at a friend’s house instead of on the road.”
“Did you try reaching your parents? Just in case he wasn’t able to contact them?” Almost as soon as the words exited his mouth, he wanted to snatch them back. Emotions flickered across her expression, there and gone before he could decipher them. Well, except for one. Pain.
“It’s just my brother Ezra and me,” she said, tone flat.
He recognized that particular note. Too well.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, curling his fingers into his palms until the short nails bit into the flesh. It was either that or erase the distance between them and cup her too-lovely face. “I know the pain of losing someone, too.”
Her eyes, as dark as espresso, softened. She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry for your loss.” If he hadn’t been studying her so closely he might’ve missed the slight shift of her hand from her lap. As if she, too, considered touching him, but decided not to at the last moment. “My parents aren’t dead. They’re just not…here. I’m my brother’s guardian, and we moved to Chicago a little over a year ago. It’s just us.”
More questions piled into his head, his curiosity about this beautiful woman insatiable. That in itself should’ve alarmed him. The last woman to elicit even a tenth of this magnetic pull had left his heart and pride battered and bruised.
Still, she’d satisfied a small piece of his curiosity. That honeyed drawl. Definitely not a clipped, flatter Chicago tone. She hadn’t mentioned where she’d moved from, but he’d bet his favorite bottle of Glenlivet that she’d lived somewhere hot and south of the Mason-Dixon Line. The slightly exaggerated vowels and soft consonants flowed over his skin like a heated caress. He had the insane urge to strip naked and let it touch every inch of him.
He shook his head as if he could somehow dislodge the thought. Yet…he couldn’t stop his gaze from roaming over her features. When he’d first bumped into her, he’d focused on steadying her and keeping her from falling backward. But when she’d lifted her head, he’d been struck dumb for the first time in his life.
Years ago, he’d started boxing as a way to release aggression and get some exercise. He clearly remembered the first time he’d had his bell rung by a sparring opponent. The other guy’s fist had plowed into Grayson’s stomach, blasting the air from his lungs, leaving his legs rubbery and his head spinning. When he’d peered into this woman’s dark brown eyes and beautiful face, he’d been back kneeling on that mat again.
Long-lashed eyes that turned up at the corners. Regal cheekbones to match the almost patrician slope of her nose with its flared nostrils. Below, her wide, full, utterly perfect mouth had him fighting the urge to press his thumb to it. Just to feel the softness of that slightly heavier bottom lip that formed a natural pout. That mouth would inspire both worshipful poems and dirty limericks.
Then there was her body.
Even the worn leather jacket, simple white T-shirt and ripped skinny jeans couldn’t detract from the lushness of her curves. If anything, the plain clothes emphasized the miracle that was her body. Tall, even in gym shoes, the top of her head brushed the underside of his jaw. Strong but slender shoulders. Beautiful, firm breasts that would more than fill his hands—and God, did he want to find out for himself if that were true. A tucked-in waist that accentuated the wide flare of hips that had his palms tingling to cradle her—hell, degenerate that he was, he wanted to dig his fingers into her …leave his prints behind on that flesh. Impossibly long, thick legs and that ass. He briefly closed his eyes. God only gave asses like that to those He really loved… He must love the hell out of her. Round. High. Flawless. Made to be adored.
Yes, Grayson’s first glimpse of her had pummeled the sense from his head and ignited his body like a struck match tossed in a pool of gasoline. Not even Adalyn had garnered that reaction from him.
And sitting here with this woman in a private world carved out of darkness, he couldn’t deny that he wanted her. Wanted to feel her breath on his lips, his skin. Wanted to taste her mouth, taste that golden almond skin, discover its flavor for himself. Wanted to feel those abundant curves pressed to his larger, harder frame, adhered to him by sweat and lust.
The clawing desire also had him mentally scooting back.
Nothing that powerful could be good. Especially for him and his addictive personality. During his teens, it’d been the excess afforded him by his parents’ wealth and social status. Later it’d been women. Then he’d poured that intensity and driving need into founding and building KayCee Corp. And then into Adalyn.
Yeah, he sensed that he could become wildly addicted to the woman next to him, whose vanilla and earthy scent—like fresh wind after a summer storm—reached out to him, tempted him. Hell, a woman whose name he didn’t even know.
And that scared the hell out of him.
And yet…
“What’s your name?” he demanded.
Her hesitation was brief, but he still caught it.
“Nadia,” she said.
“Nice to meet you, Nadia,” he murmured, stretching his hand out toward her. “Grayson.”
Again, she paused. But then, she slid her palm into his. And when an electrical charge sizzled up his arm and straight to his cock, he instantly regretted touching her. Only pride kept him from jerking his hand away.
He shifted his gaze from their clasped hands to her eyes, expecting to see the same shock. Instead he glimpsed resignation. And shadows. His gut clenched. Experience had taught him that secrets lurked in the shadows. Lies lived there.
Slowly, he released her, returning his hand to his knee. Resisting the urge to fist his fingers and ease the residual tingling.
Or capture it.
Turning away from her, he stared straight ahead into the enveloping dark. “Why don’t you want me to know your name?” he finally asked, casting aside the socially acceptable tact that had been drilled into him since birth. “Do we know each other?”
Her sharp but low intake of breath glanced off his ears, and he faced her again, openly scrutinizing her face for any telltale signs of deception. But she was good. Aside from that gasp, her expression remained shuddered. Either she had nothing to hide or she was damn good at lying.
He couldn’t decide which one to believe.
“No,” she whispered. “We don’t know each other.”
Truth rang in her voice, and the vise squeezing his chest loosened a fraction of an inch.
“And I guess, I didn’t see the point of exchanging names. If not for this blackout or you being in this hallway instead of the ballroom, our paths wouldn’t have crossed. And when the power is restored, we’ll become strangers again. Getting to know each other will pass the time but it’s not because we truly want to. It’s not…honest.”
Her explanation struck him like a punch. It echoed throughout his body, vibrating through skin and bone. Honest. What did he know about that?
In the world he moved in, deception was everywhere—from the social niceties of “It’s so good to see you” to the cagey plans to la
nd a business deal. He wasn’t used to her brand of frankness, and so he didn’t give her platitudes. Her honesty deserved more than that.
“You’re right,” he said. “And you’re wrong.” Deliberately, he straightened his legs until they sprawled out in front him, using that moment to force himself to give her the truth. “If not for me needing to get out of that ballroom and bumping into you here, we wouldn’t have met. You would be outside, unprotected in the parking lot or on the road. And I would be trapped in the dark with people I wish I didn’t know, most likely going out of my mind. So for that alone, I’m glad we did connect. Because Nadia…” He surrendered to the need that had been riding him since looking down into her upturned face, and clasped a lock of her hair, twisting it around his finger. “Nadia, I would rather be out here with you, a complete stranger I’ve met by serendipity, then surrounded by the familiar strangers I’ve known for years in that ballroom.”
She stared at him, her pretty lips slightly parted, espresso eyes widened in surprise.
“Another thing you’re correct and incorrect about. True, when the lights come back on and we leave here, we probably won’t see each other again. But in this moment, there’s nothing I want more than to discover more about Nadia with the gorgeous mouth, the unholy curves and the underwhelming fairy godmother.”
Maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it with the comments about her mouth and body, but if they were being truthful, then he refused to hide how attractive he found her. Attractive, hell. Such an anemic description for his hunger to explore every inch of her and be able to write a road map later.
Her lashes fluttered before lowering, hiding her eyes. In her lap, her elegant fingers twisted. He released the strands of her hair and checked the impulse to tip her chin up and order her to look at him.
“Why did you need to escape the ballroom?” she asked softly.
He didn’t immediately reply, instead waiting until her gaze rose to meet his.
Only then did he whisper, “To find you.”
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