by Nicole Snow
Table of Contents
Copyright
Description
Crave On (Grant)
This is Crazy (Bekah)
Surprise, Surprise (Grant)
Home, Sweet Home (Bekah)
Barely Touched (Grant)
Running Out the Clock (Bekah)
Real Talk (Grant)
Can't Go On (Bekah)
Welcome Distraction (Grant)
God No (Bekah)
Broken Cog (Grant)
Closing In (Bekah)
Frantic (Grant)
Knife to a Gunfight (Bekah)
Another Sunrise (Grant)
Stepbrother UnSEALed
Bastards and Beach Bums (Delia)
On Target (Chris)
Truth or Dare (Delia)
Landmines (Chris)
Over a Ledge (Delia)
What Happens in Vegas... (Chris)
One Week in Paradise (Delia)
Under the Skin (Chris)
Unforgettable (Delia)
Unnatural (Chris)
Distortions (Delia)
Sweet Delia (Chris)
Alone (Delia)
Hearts That Bleed Together (Chris)
His (Delia)
Thanks!
Baby Fever Secrets
A Billionaire Romance
Nicole Snow
Ice Lips Press
Contents
Copyright
Description
1. Crave On (Grant)
2. This is Crazy (Bekah)
3. Surprise, Surprise (Grant)
4. Home, Sweet Home (Bekah)
5. Barely Touched (Grant)
6. Running Out the Clock (Bekah)
7. Real Talk (Grant)
8. Can't Go On (Bekah)
9. Welcome Distraction (Grant)
10. God No (Bekah)
11. Broken Cog (Grant)
12. Closing In (Bekah)
13. Frantic (Grant)
14. Knife to a Gunfight (Bekah)
15. Another Sunrise (Grant)
Stepbrother UnSEALed
Copyright
Description
1. Bastards and Beach Bums (Delia)
2. On Target (Chris)
3. Truth or Dare (Delia)
4. Landmines (Chris)
5. Over a Ledge (Delia)
6. What Happens in Vegas... (Chris)
7. One Week in Paradise (Delia)
8. Under the Skin (Chris)
9. Unforgettable (Delia)
10. Unnatural (Chris)
11. Distortions (Delia)
12. Sweet Delia (Chris)
13. Alone (Delia)
14. Hearts That Bleed Together (Chris)
15. His (Delia)
Thanks!
Content copyright © Nicole Snow. All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
First published in May, 2017.
Disclaimer: The following ebook is a work of fiction. Any resemblance characters in this story may have to real people is only coincidental.
Please respect this author's hard work! No section of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. Exception for brief quotations used in reviews or promotions. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. Thanks!
Cover Design – CoverLuv. Photo by Wander Aguiar Photography.
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Note: This special edition includes the complete military romance novel, Stepbrother UnSEALed. Baby Fever Secrets ends about halfway through. Enjoy!
Description
I CAN'T HIDE IT FOREVER. WHEN HE FINDS OUT...OMFG!
BEKAH
He was just a hookup.
I wasn't supposed to see him again.
He wasn't supposed to be my boss. Or dad's new business partner.
We weren't supposed to keep doing this, night after sheet-clenching, heart-pounding, lip-biting night.
Look, I'm not stupid. Grant Shaw doesn't settle his gorgeous, cocky, billionaire self down with anyone. Especially not with me, the intern who could cost him everything.
But I haven't told him the big secret yet – or should I say the little one?
What happens when he realizes it's so much more serious than business casual?
GRANT
Until her, I never broke my cardinal rule: one and done.
I was the man who left them aching for more. I was Wall Street incarnate, too busy to wife up any woman. I was in control.
Now? I've met obsession, and its name is Bekah.
Obviously, she's wrong for me. Don't make me list all one hundred reasons why.
Obviously, I'm stark raving nuts if I'm risking the power and fortune I've made my soul to chase a woman almost half my age.
Obviously, I'll destroy everything if I march her into my office this very second, push her against my desk, and do the unspeakable. Ideally, ten more times.
Obviously, I don't give a damn.
I need more. I can't let her turn to ice when we used to be fire.
I'll have my way like always. Even if the price is torching every single rule in my book that says she's off-limits...
1
Crave On (Grant)
One day, she might kill me, but first I'm convinced she'll drive me insane.
I'm devastated every time I see Bekah Corbin. Furious when I remember she's off-limits.
She's made me a smitten, unthinkable caricature of who I used to be, and everything I swore I'd never become.
Worse, there's no way back to sanity. All roads are as fucking closed as my balls are blue.
It's been weeks since we met and I first had her under me.
Weeks since being the Bastard Axe of Wall Street meant something.
The steady twitch in my eye speaks volumes when I see my reflection. It says the impossible. It creeps up in a sardonic voice and whispers in my soul, you, sir, are utterly screwed.
This wasn't meant for Grant Shaw.
I'm no stranger to fate, but obsession? Fuck.
Maybe if I were on my knees thanks to a catastrophic trade on the wrong side of Mr. Market, then at least I'd understand. I'd forgive. Career madness always has a certain mercy. But this, this woman I can't ignore, and damned sure can't bleach from my head...she's cost me so much more than mere fortune.
She's stolen my focus.
Set my level head on fire.
Sapped my calm, my patience, my cool, sure as desert sun.
She's bruised my ego more than I'll ever admit.
Shit, I'm in my office for the third time today, watching her through the one way glass overlooking the cubicles, dick throbbing so hard I feel it in my throat.
At a simple glance, she's just another cog in my empire. Indistinguishable from the thirty or so boys and girls at their desks, watching share prices and resistance points on their screens, screaming into their phones like the double dealing attack dogs they are. Hungry for their fortune, their personalized pat on the head, every last one of them confident I'll be able to spin their passion into gold. Often, I do.
Obviously, there are a few key differences with Bekah.
They're clear as ever when her body draws my eyes. My gaze goes to the ripe breasts she's hiding behind her little blouse, or the ass that caught my hand when I took her cherry less than a month ago, or sometimes the long, wavy brown hair I wrapped in my fist, holding her face up, ready, and aching for my lips.
No, she's not like the others. She doesn't have their frenzied energy, their
need to make their first million, their puppy dog urge to impress every time I call them into the board room to talk this week's numbers.
She has an effect on me like no one else in this office.
Hell, like no one else on this planet.
It doesn't make sense. We've already fucked. I spent the best two days of my life taking her over and over again in my quiet cabin, breaking the silence with her screams and my vicious grunts. I brought myself off in her a dozen times.
That's eleven more than I normally need to remember my first commandment with women: one and done.
Before Bekah, it never failed. I never second guessed myself, not even once, too balls deep in my career to find the time.
That was before everything got complicated. Before I knew who she was. Before she walked into my office, and shot almost as much adrenaline through my heart in two minutes as the two insatiable nights we had in Eden.
Utterly screwed is absolutely right. I know I am when I'm watching her with sweat beading on my brow, one hand on the wall for support. I ask myself for the hundredth time why emptying my balls in this girl hasn't flushed her out of my system like it always did before. Why isn't one and done enough?
I don't fucking know.
Logic flew out the door the day she walked back into my life. So has my infamous, calculating caution, the biggest tool in my box I have to thank for the billions I've earned in a tough market over the past decade.
They don't call me the Bastard Axe for nothing. I earned my moniker. I know when to swing, when to hack miracles, and when to cut and run. This is my world.
Driving hard bargains. Accepting no excuses. Chewing competitors up for lunch, and shitting out any shark who crosses me – especially the clueless, entitled trust fund brats disarmed by my beard and the warm smile buried in it. They think I'm easier than dealing with another clean shaven piranha. They're always wrong.
She can't be my Waterloo. The Bastard Axe isn't brought down by girls almost half his age, who chew bubble gum at their desks between calls involving my biggest deal ever, and brush off multi-million dollar contracts like they're no big deal.
Until Bekah, I knew who I was. Knew my many strengths and non-existent weaknesses.
Now? Oh, there's weakness, all right. It begins and ends with spreading the legs I can't stop thinking about long enough to remember my own name.
Tell me it's wrong.
Tell me it's madness.
Tell me what's made her off-limits on more levels than I can count.
Tell me I must be pathologically obsessed when I'm threatening everything I've ever built for one more sip of her moscato lips, sweet and dangerous and rare.
Tell me a hundred times. Burn it in my brain. Brand it on my skin.
I don't care.
Tasting Bekah once wasn't nearly enough. Ill have her in my bed again – very fucking soon – or else I'll lose what's left of my mind and it won't even matter.
Three Weeks Ago
Sweet freedom.
I start smiling like a fool when I see the sign for Chandlersport. Ten more miles ahead, and hundreds from New York City, plus my obligations. The private lodge I've spared no expense to build in this tiny Maine town feels like home, more than my condo in Manhattan ever will.
I love New York for work, but play? I need quiet, trees, and lots of fresh Atlantic wind in my hair. The city, the exchange, and the office gave me billions, but they'll never give me the glory within a few more miles of lonely coast.
Part of that glory is the challenge when I hunt down a woman for the night. The girls out here are wholesome. None of them have seen my face on the New York gossip rags, or read my latest hedge fund interview. The billionaire schtick is just icing on the cake, and for much of the pussy I've poached, not very much.
Sometimes, they're local gals. Others, starry eyed tourists. Their tastes in men aren't much different.
They want charm. Class. Heart.
They love being wooed by a man who knows how to wear a tie, but doesn't run at the first sign of a bar brawl.
They love a beard against their thighs and lumberjack strong hands to hold them open. I don't spend much time chopping firewood in the boonies, but I've cultivated the look. It's become my trademark in a suit, and completely naked when I'm in bed with my next lucky lady.
This week, there's extra cause for celebration and a well deserved break. I've made progress toward a lucrative merger with a fifty year old fixture on Wall Street. In another year or two, my ten figures could be eleven. And there's no better reward for the good things to come than a couple bourbons on the rocks while I decide which small town honey will get every inch of me tonight.
As soon as I'm checked in at my gated wooden palace up the long dirt road and dressed down into a fresh Oxford shirt and jeans, I'm ready. I feed and water my boy, Jack, who rubs his velvet blue head against my legs, and gives me a garbled mew for good luck.
“You love when daddy's home. Hell of a lot more exciting than chasing birds and squirrels, huh?” I pat his head and he squeaks again.
The cat was a stray. He came to me on my doorstep here one snowy morning a couple winters ago. Didn't have the heart to turn him away. Since his fateful entrance, he's made my cabin his, at least when I'm in town, or he decides he wants an easy meal left by my maids and a warm place to sleep.
“Chow down so you have plenty of energy to look cute tonight when I get back with my girl,” I tell him. “They always appreciate that.”
It's true.
Something about having pussy to stroke and smile at in front of my rustic fireplace gets the pussy I'm most interested in extra wet when it's time to bring them upstairs. They never realize until much later I've done them a big favor, easing them into it. Because once our clothes are gone, I go hard, and they find out these muscles covered in ink are more than just a wild lumberjack aesthetic.
I fuck like one, too. Longer, meaner, and dirtier than any city boy should.
Sanford's is my traditional hunting ground. I'm in good with the owner, Mack, the only man in this town who knows what I really do back in NYC. It's also clean, well lit, and they do the kind of craft cocktails that pull touristy chicks from across New England like bees to pollen.
I order my usual, pull up a stool, and sip my drink while my eyes wander over tonight's offerings. The two bubbly blondes in the corner are both in their mid-twenties. They're already laughing, making eyes at me the first time I give them a glance for more than a second.
It's like watching puppies fight over a bone. It wouldn't take much to bring them both home tonight, but I've been there and done that too many times. Lately, my dick just isn't interested in threesomes.
There's nothing quite like giving one lucky woman my complete, unbridled attention. The Grant Shaw Experience isn't meant to be shared, and if any woman walks away without that pleasant hangover lingering in her thighs in its fullest, I cringe.
I ignore the girls when they wave. Next, I tell myself, taking a fresh pull off my drink.
There's the lonely redhead in the corner, nursing her margarita and reading something on her phone. She's hot enough, shy enough, and innocent enough under ordinary circumstances.
Too bad Mack's son has had his eye on her for months. I've seen the boy eyeballing her like he's a kid prepping for his first prom. I don't shit where I eat, even if he's too ridiculously shy to make a move.
I ignore her, eyeballing the door as several more small groups stream in. It's the evening crowd. Men and women mixed together, mingling. They're cheerful, loud, and probably halfway blasted to drunk already.
My guts clench. Ever since I hit my thirties, the party-sorority scene that shows up from the colleges down state doesn't do it for me. It's too young, too rowdy, and there's nothing special about being one great O-maker in a long stream of men for the girls aiming to get their tickets punched as many times as they can before graduation.
Next, damn it. There has to be somebody. Look again.
&n
bsp; My frustrated eyes pierce through the crowd, going over the tables on the other side of the bar again. I'm not sure how I overlooked the two girls keeping to themselves at first, but I did.
“They've been over there for an hour sucking down sangria,” Mack says, noticing where my eyes have fallen while he wipes the counter behind me. “Go on, Grizzly. Surprise me with who you decide to take home tonight.”
“Yeah, I just might surprise myself.” I stand, taking a second to let the whiskey do its delightful churn in my guts, before I start moving toward them.
The bartender always likens me to a bear, and the nickname stuck. He's doubly careful not to say my name. This helps keep me incognito.
Smiling, I drift out of my chair, channeling my inner beast as I push through the stragglers, toward my lovely targets.
I'm next to the one with the dark hair, darker eyes, and softball sized tits before they notice. One look at her tells me I'm not interested, despite her impressive assets.
“You're just in time,” she says with a huge grin. “Grab a seat. Bekah and I could use another round of drinks.”
She knows the game. She may be thirstier for booze than she is for dick, but a gentleman always buys. Her friend, on the other hand...
Christ, she's young.
They both are – maybe younger than the chirping sorority girls I turned my nose up at. Still, the woman next to her draws my eyes a second time, and then a third.
I can't look away. She's as alluring as an ocean sunset, and just as impossible to ignore.
Long chestnut hair. Jade green eyes. A hint of the shy librarian thing that gets me hard, minus the glasses.
Reserved in her posture, perhaps to the painful degree that tells me she's interested. Her lips are a deep red contrast to the rest of her face. I'll bet she usually has a rosier glow, but it isn't evenly distributed because the heat, the energy, the blood has gone somewhere else.
Yeah, there. The parts begging to feel warm and wanted on my mouth, my fingers. If there's any doubt I haven't found my target for the night, it evaporates when I notice how hard I am.
