Breathlessly, I collapsed beside him, curling into the protective curve of his powerful arm, listening to his heart thunder away in his chest. I laid a hand over it, only to realize the subconscious intent behind the gesture.
No, I told myself. That’s not yours. This is a mutually beneficial business transaction with some stress relieving perks, that’s all. He’s your partner, not your lover, and don’t you dare forget it.
It wasn’t easy to close myself off to him, to tuck my heart away in a protective case, but it was necessary. The love swirling in my core, desperate to be shared, would just have to wait for the baby. I could love the baby without fear or restriction, utterly uninhibited. Jonathan didn’t want it. He didn’t need it.
All he needed from me was my womb and my public support, and I had given those over with just a few days of consideration. Why had I done that?
“I should go,” I said, rolling out of bed with a sheet wrapped tightly around me. I needed the barrier between my body and his irresistible pull.
He looked up at me with a confused frown. “So soon? No, stay for breakfast. I’ll be happy to drive you in to work.”
A million reasons why that was a bad idea flooded into my brain, but the only one which escaped was, “I don’t have any clothes here.”
He shrugged with a self-assured smirk. “I’ll have my driver pick something up for you.” His sharp eyes scanned the outline of my body in an uncomfortably calculating way. “I can’t keep up with vanity sizing, but I would guess you’re about a six? I’ll call my tailor up to do a fitting; then, you can relax over breakfast.”
New clothes? The idea was almost too tempting to turn down. But that was a gesture fit for a boyfriend, not a business partner. It confused me and left me stuttering.
Before I could respond, he had already lifted the receiver of the antique phone on his bedside table, and was giving languid orders to the other end.
“There,” he said, satisfied as he hung up. “Breakfast and clothes, handled. Come back to bed; the seamstress will be up momentarily.”
“Seamstress? I thought you said tailor?” I perched half-heartedly on the bed, still unsure about this new development.
He shot me a wicked grin which sent goosebumps running over my bare skin.
“Call me possessive, my dear, but I feel a female assistant would be more appropriate, considering.” He emphasized his point with a lusty gaze over my naked shoulders, and my face flushed hot.
“Oh…right. Yes.” I chewed my lip for a moment, still wracked with nerves. “But what if someone sees us driving in together?” I protested.
“They won’t,” he replied confidently. “My father never liked battling with morning traffic. My private ramp goes straight to the roof. Besides, Ms. Marshall—”
“It’s Kaley, for the love of God,” I burst out, my nerves materializing as anger. “We just spent the night together; I don’t think first names are inappropriate at this point.”
He raised an eyebrow as his lips quirked in amusement, and I looked away quickly. Why was it so damn difficult to keep my cool around him?
“Kaley, then. You left your car at the office. How were you planning to get to work?”
My mouth dropped open, and I shut it firmly. That was a very good question, and I kicked myself for not having realized that vital fact on my own.
Resigned, I settled back against the pillows with a sigh. He had it all wrapped up, from every angle. On the one hand, that was a positive thing for our future offspring; there would be no scenario unaccounted for, no plan left without a contingency. On the other hand, it made me wonder just how much he could manipulate me without my realizing it.
Had I already been maneuvered like a pawn in his master plan? Deep in my core, compounded by the slick spot between my thighs, I suspected that I had.
If so, I was in no position to fight it. Within the hour, I had been measured and fed, then led to the most glorious bathroom I had ever seen in my life. The shower area contained six shower heads, two benches, and enough hair and skin products to stock a salon. On the opposite side, the jetted tub glistened high on its pedestal, reflecting the sand-and-gold tones of the walls. Mirrors and windows flirted with one another, creating the illusion of endless, open space, and the whole room gleamed like a showroom.
I took my time in the luxurious shower, testing this and that, steaming myself clean beneath the man-made monsoon.
When I stepped out, feeling cleaner than I ever had in my life, I found two surprises waiting for me: a powder-blue tailored suit with wide legs and heart-shaped lapels, and a pearl-pink toothbrush.
Awe at the expensive material of the suit displaced my discomfort that someone had been in there while I was showering, and I finished drying off quickly in order to feel the delicious extravagance against my skin.
I spent far too long looking at myself in the mirror, turning this way and that, relishing the way the perfect fit accentuated the parts of my body that I liked the most.
“You look great,” he told me as I stepped out of the bathroom. “It suits you.”
“Your driver has an excellent sense of style,” I said, twirling for him.
I caught a small smirk on his face, but chose to ignore it. If he insisted on being unreadable, I wasn’t going to allow my good mood to be damaged in an ill-fated attempt to decipher him.
We were edging on tardiness, then, and he hurried me downstairs to where his driver was waiting with the door open. I thanked him for the clothes and he bowed, his blue eyes twinkling in an almost fatherly fashion. It made me miss my own father for a moment, but the moment passed quickly.
Mimosas and mini quiches were waiting for us in the back of the car.
“Do you always start your day like this?” I asked, completely blown away.
“Not always,” he answered smoothly. “Only when my morning company is worth the effort.”
Pleased, but confused once more, I accepted the drink. Clothes, drivers, mimosas, expensive dinners…if I didn’t know better, I would think he was trying to romance me. Romance wasn’t in the agreement, though, so why else would he be buttering me up like this?
I watched his face from across the car, but it gave me no clues. The sharp angle of his jaw emphasized his high cheekbones; his dark, heavy brows highlighted his silver eyes. His expression was pleasant, but sort of blank; there was nothing in his eyes to tell me what to expect next.
“I have a lunch appointment today, so we won’t be able to meet,” he said abruptly. “Tomorrow, however, I’m free. Come up to my office when you break for lunch. We wouldn’t want to miss a day.”
“I will,” I promised before I could help myself.
My desire for him hopelessly overwhelmed my misgivings. I knew then that I would meet him anytime and anywhere he asked me to.
Warning bells went off in the back of my mind, every worry trying to outrace the others to the forefront of my consciousness. The power differential was already astronomical, and I was only helping it grow. I drank my mimosa to shut up my chattering mind.
This is what you wanted, I reminded myself. Who cares if it’s not entirely real?
I did.
It became clear over the following weeks, as each new day brought another opportunity to touch him. Every lunchtime he had free was spent with me in his office—on each couch, the desk, the wing-backed chairs, and the conference table. When his lunches were booked, we would meet up after work.
Sometimes, we wouldn’t even make it to his place or mine, tearing each other’s clothes off on the roof of the parking garage, or going at it in the car like a couple of horny teenagers. I couldn’t get enough of him. In those moments, while he was inside me, I could almost see into his soul. In the afterglow, he was natural.
I dared not ask him any questions, though; the one time I pressed that boundary, he shut down from me. So, I simply basked in his stripped essence for as long as he allowed it, and found it warm.
As time went on, though,
my feelings became more and more difficult to suppress. It was lunchtime, and he had me on the leather couch in his lounge, his delicious lips on my throat, his hand on my breast, moving inside of me in just the right way.
The words bubbled up: those three, dangerous, life-changing words. I bit my lip until it hurt as I came, holding the words inside, shoving them down until I thought my heart would break.
When he finished, his dark, silver eyes gazed softly down into mine. He kissed me so tenderly that the pieces of my heart melted and rushed to my eyes. I didn’t want him to see me cry.
I wriggled out from under him and ran to the bathroom, catching his puzzled glance in half a dozen reflections on my way.
Locking the bathroom door, I sat and sobbed my aching spirit into a fluffy white towel.
By the time my face was dry and I was composed, he was cool and collected. He handed me my clothes without a word and I dressed quickly, suddenly embarrassed by my nakedness.
“I’m leaving tonight on a business trip,” he told me conversationally, as if we hadn’t just had the most passionate sex imaginable. “I’ll be gone for two weeks. You have my personal number, correct?”
“Yes,” I confirmed, forcing my tone to match his.
“Call me if there’s any news.”
He turned away and poured two glasses of water, offering me one. I took it and drank, desperately needing to replenish my body.
When I was finished, I found him smiling at me. He stepped toward me and touched my hair, pushing it back from my face.
“We’ll need to make up for lost time when I return,” he said, lowering his voice enough to send shivers down my spine.
“Of course,” I breathed.
He kissed me again. The kisses were new and exciting, and I realized that our entire relationship was working exactly backwards. My amusement at this fact lightened my mood, and I returned to work with a spring in my step.
The next two weeks would be difficult, I imagined.
I was right. Unwilling to bother him while he was working (what would we even talk about?), I didn’t call Jonathan for the full two weeks. My dreams were full of him, though, and I woke up every morning with sticky fingers and slick thighs. Every morning, that was, but one.
The second Friday after his departure, I was awakened before my alarm with a painful rolling in my belly and a watering mouth, forcing me to race to the bathroom before I was fully awake.
“Great way to start a morning,” I said to myself irritably, wiping my mouth.
Realization dawned on me. It was morning, I was sick…
I yanked my bathroom cupboard open and pulled a pregnancy test from it. I’d stashed five of them in there over the last few weeks, just in case.
Crossing my fingers, my heart racing, I took the test.
“Three minutes,” I read off of the box as I lay the test flat on the counter. “Three eternal minutes.”
I tried to spend the time usefully, but I couldn’t get my brain together. Instead, I paced my tiny, dingy bathroom, chewing my thumbnail with my eyes glued to the clock across the hall. One minute. Two minutes. I deliberately calmed my breathing to steady my trembling hands. Three minutes!
I snatched up the test and nearly fell over. The faint pink line down the center created a plus sign; the test was positive.
“Oh my God,” I whispered, sitting down hard. “Oh my God, I’m pregnant. Of course I’m pregnant. How could I not be pregnant after all that?”
I laughed and cried together, elated and distraught in equal measure, my own emotions utterly incomprehensible to me.
Fortunately, I knew someone who could wave emotions away with a flick of his wrist.
Chapter 11
Jonathan
I frowned at myself in the hotel mirror. I had grown increasingly irritable over the course of my latest business trip, which didn’t make any sense, given that everything had been going my way. One toymaker had accepted my offer, and would allow my company to expand even further. I had gone to oversee production, and was satisfied with the company’s policies and treatment of their employees; the transition would be a smooth one, and I would not have to ruin anyone’s life during my takeover.
Trips like this had always been the highlight of my work; this time, however, I spent every moment counting down the hours until I could be back in my own office.
I must be getting sedentary in my old age, I imagined, though at 32 I was hardly old.
I closed my eyes, focusing on the image that called me back: my sky-view office, my wide, uncluttered desk.
Uncluttered, save for the curvy, naked form lying across it, her brown-and-blue eyes laughing at me, her hair wild from my grip.
My ringing phone forced me out of my daydream, and I answered it with every ounce of irritability that had built up within me.
“Yes?”
“Oh! I'm, um, I'm so sorry to bother…”
“Kaley,” I sighed, squeezing my eyes shut. “No, don't apologize. Is everything all right?”
“Yes! I think it is, anyway. I took a pregnancy test this morning…”
My body tensed in a shock of anticipation. “And?”
“And…it's positive! I'm pregnant.”
Her voice caught, and I couldn't tell whether she was crying or laughing, so I laughed for us both.
“That's wonderful! I'm still out of town, but I'll move up my flight. I want to see you tonight. Excellent, excellent news! Take it easy today; I'll see you soon.”
I hung up the phone beaming, utterly delighted. It worked! I wasn't surprised. Things generally worked out in my favor.
Tension gone, I called my assistant to move the flight home, then went to my last meeting with a newfound bounce in my step.
The rest of the day was interminable, but finally I found myself comfortably seated in first class with a glass of champagne and a ridiculous grin. My assistant shot me worried looks until I laughed at him.
“What is it, Cory?”
“I just…I've never seen you in a mood like this. Are you feeling all right?”
“Perfectly all right,” I told him giddily. “Have James meet us at the airport with my car. I have a personal errand to run as soon as we land.”
“Yes, sir.”
Cory did as he was told, but continued to cast wary glances in my direction for the remainder of the journey. I ignored him. I had more enticing things on my mind. The image of Kaley, plump and round with my child, was more erotic than it should have been, and I was veritably aching for her by the time the plane touched down.
“Thank you, James. See that my bags get home and, er…don't wait up.” I winked at him and his eyes twinkled warmly in response.
Unlike my father, James's indulgent looks were always genuine, and never failed to boost my own mood. So, it was on wings of elation that I flew to her apartment, eager to see her, to touch her, to celebrate a successful first step.
I made two stops on my way, hurrying through checkout lines as quickly as possible, then drove to her building. Over the last month, the shock of her neighborhood had slowly worn off—the overflowing dumpsters, the stray cats, the graffiti and broken windows. The first time I’d visited her there, I’d nearly called the arrangement off, unable to see how someone so kind and beautiful could live in such a harsh, ugly reality.
I had suspected a darkness in her, but the warmth of her embrace and the sparkle in her eyes invariably called me back, and I had eventually determined that it was my own bias playing tricks on my mind.
Still, I parked as inconspicuously as possible and tossed a dingy, greasy cover over my car which I had procured for just these occasions. Kaley might be above reproach, but there was truth in every stereotype, and I wasn’t going to gamble my car against the possibility that everyone who lived around there was an angel.
I hurried through the lobby and up the stairs, ignoring the smell in the air and the small things skittering away in the shadows. She wouldn’t live here through her pregnancy,
I decided. This was no place for a sensitive baby to develop. Granted, the lower floors were dingier and more worn than the upper floors, and by the fourth floor, the building appeared to be almost respectable. Not quite, but almost.
The gifts in my hands seemed out of place against the stained beige wallpaper, just as my shoes felt out of place against the threadbare carpet. I was definitely moving her in with me as soon as possible.
Breathless and still flying high in spite of my surroundings, I knocked at her door.
“Jonathan!” She beamed, flinging the door open and her arms wide.
I reached for her, scooping her up off the floor in a strong embrace, meeting her lips without a second thought. She tasted heavenly and felt like home. We tumbled inside together and I kicked the door shut before spinning her through the room to fall upon her comfortable sofa.
My gifts were forgotten on the floor as I embraced her, feeding my starving soul with her taste, her touch, her sounds. She held me tight, touching me as eagerly as I touched her, pulling at me as I pulled at her, telling me with every gasping breath that she had known the sharp cut of deprivation just as I had. But there was an order to this, and it should be honored. I slowed my kisses and drifted away until I could see myself reflected in her ocean eyes, till I could touch her blushing face and run my thumb over her swollen red lips.
“I brought you something,” I told her, my voice hoarse in my ears.
I kissed her forehead and moved to retrieve the packages as she straightened herself on the couch. I presented them to her one after the other: the long-stemmed roses wrapped in satin, the sparkling lemonade in a champagne-like bottle, and the box of decadent truffles.
“I should have brought dinner,” I realized out loud as she gushed over the gifts. “I didn’t think of it.”
“Let’s order a pizza,” she said, her eyes twinkling mirthfully. “We’ll celebrate like non-billionaires today.”
I laughed at that, but she was already pulling out her phone and dialing.
Baby, ASAP - A Billionaire Buys a Baby Romance (Babies for the Billionaire Book 3) Page 8
