Billionaire's Secret Babies (An Alpha Billionaire Secret Baby Romance Love Story)

by Claire Adams

  “I can’t believe this,” he whispered, taking the tiny pair of baby shoes from the box.

  I wanted to react. I wanted to ask him what he expected would happen. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know how to make babies, and with all the raw sex his appetite craved, it was bound to happen sooner or later.

  He turned to me, his eyes ringed red with tears and he fell onto my stomach, planting kisses there and pulling me into his arms. I breathed a sigh of relief as he met my eyes and smiled.

  “This is the best gift ever.” He shifted himself closer so he could kiss my mouth and his hands held my face as he gazed into my soul. “I love you, Luna.”

  “I love you, too.” I hid my face, grateful I’d been wrong, as tears of relief washed across my cheeks.

  “What’s wrong?” His eyes were filled with concern.

  I wouldn’t spoil our happiness by telling him I’d had doubts. My heart filled with joy thinking about the year to come. “Nothing, Gabriel. I’m so happy. You give me everything, you know. I’m happy to finally give you something for a change: something special.”

  He smiled and placed his hand over my heart. “Every day you love me, Luna, you give me something special.”

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  BEAUTY AND THE BILLIONAIRE

  By Claire Adams

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams

  Chapter One

  Corsica

  I gritted my teeth and headed up the steep incline of the next block. If this place is any farther, I'll be able to see the Golden Gate Bridge, I thought.

  North Beach hummed with diners on sidewalk patios, the buzz of neon signs, and lines of people waiting behind velvet ropes. The towering skyline of San Francisco blocked out the wide bay, but I could still feel the chill of the water. Wisps of fog clung to the taller buildings. Summer always brought cool ocean breezes and banks of fog to the city, and this June was no exception.

  "Why did you make me wear these heels?" I whined to my friend.

  Above me on the steep sidewalk, Ginny was almost even with my height. "Because they make your legs look great," she said over her shoulder.

  I inhaled the chill night breeze and smiled. My feet were killing me, but I felt loose and free for the first time in years. My little black dress clung to me like a secret power. I dressed up like that to feel that way.

  "Love that smile." A mountainous man stepped in front of us. He was at least a foot taller than my 5'6" frame and muscled like a Mack truck. His dark eyes glittered with male appreciation as he held open a velvet rope.

  "Thanks." Ginny blew him a kiss as she dragged me into the swanky nightclub.

  He winked at me, and my stomach skittered with excitement. Still, I grabbed Ginny's arm and stopped her in the narrow hallway by the coat check. "What are you doing? We can't afford this place."

  "Who says we have to afford anything?" Ginny fluffed her short-cropped, dark curls. "You're on fire, and gentlemen still like buying hot women drinks. And just wait until they hear you sing."

  "Oh, no, wait." My fingers lost strength, and I let go of my friend's arm. "We're just here to dance and have fun. In fact, I don't know how you talked me into this in the first place. I have 101 things I need to be doing. Did you see my list of applications I need to complete and send?"

  "Corsica, we just graduated. You're allowed to celebrate," Ginny sighed.

  I crossed my arms. "Graduating is not about celebrating; it's about the next steps," I said. "A bachelor's in hospitality is not going to get me a job or a place in an MBA program."

  "You can study hospitality at the bar." Ginny looped both her arms through the crook of my elbow and dragged me into the dance club. "And then you're going to sing in the karaoke lounge. I know you secretly wish you'd studied music performance. You should have. Now, enjoy yourself for once. Take a night off. Just one night."

  "You want me to take the whole summer off," I grumbled.

  Ginny slipped into the crowd and skipped down the stairs to the dance floor. I hesitated on the top step, and suddenly, he was in front of me. Even in the dark, pulsing light of the nightclub, I could see gold flecks spark in his eyes. Shocked by the burning response I felt, I dropped my eyes to his lips. He frowned at me, and I knew what he saw.

  I was just some ditzy, blonde rich girl. As if I could help the color of my hair. And I was proud of the haute couture dress I'd found secondhand at a garage sale. I took pride in how I looked. He, on the other hand, had the careless look that normally repulsed me.

  Despite the generous line of those frowning lips, his square jaw was hidden by a thick beard. The arm flexed on the banister was tattooed with an intricate web of interconnected designs covering almost every inch of skin. I even saw the point of a tattoo reaching up past the neckline of his worn T-shirt. He brushed back his dark, wavy hair and swept a gaze over me.

  The heat I felt melted my insides, and my brain kicked into panic mode. How could I be so attracted to this man?

  His dark-brown eyes clashed with mine again, and the flare of anger made me step back. It disappeared as he stepped forward, a rueful smile on his wide lips. "You are goddamn gorgeous," he said.

  "And that's a bad thing?" I flipped my hair and then cringed inside. Misfiring nerves fried my system, and I defaulted to aloof.

  He chuckled and brushed back the few strands of hair that I missed. His coarse fingers skimmed my bare shoulder, and a fissure of electricity lit up my whole body. "It is for me. Let me guess, I'm not your type."

  "I don't have a type."

  "Yeah, sure, princess. Look, your friend snagged a couple of financial district boys. Better go have a few free drinks." He took the last two steps in one stride and stopped an inch in front of me. "Maybe I'll see you around."

  "I'm from Santa Cruz." It was important to put that distance between us. I had to tip my head back to meet his eyes, but my body refused to step back from him.

  "Of course you are. Dammit." He shook his head and twirled one of my golden curls around his finger. "I'm there a lot for work."

  "You work?"

  The words were a defense mechanism. I didn't trust myself around him. His rock hard chest was only inches from my lips. If I was snobbish and horrible, he would back off and I could get myself back under control. At least, I hoped. I had never felt this knocked out of orbit before.

  "Relax, princess. I was just walking by." He stepped around me and slowly let my hair slip through his fingers. Then, he shook his head again and disappeared into the nightclub crowd.

  I reached Ginny and took a long sip of the martini her new friend in the gray suit handed me. She made the introductions, and I smiled at the businessmen, but my eyes kept dragging to the man I'd met as if he were a magnet. I watched him shake hands with a waiter, then slip past a velvet rope and up a curving staircase.

  He was the opposite of every man I had ever found attractive. Ginny often joked that my fantasies were cut from a J. Crew catalog. I liked clean-cut, clean-shaven men whose wardrobes were exclusively business casual or tailored suits. No jeans, no worn T-shirts—no matter how the soft fabric clung to his chiseled shoulders.

  Tousled hair, thick beards, and tattoos did not mesh with the vision I had of my future.

  Just one night off, I thought as I glanced at him again. What if, for one night, I was someone completely different?

  "Come on; I want to sing."

  Ginny bounced with excitement and grabbed my hand. We waved goodbye to the businessmen as she dragged me across the corner of the crowded dance floor to the arched doorway on the other s
ide of the club.

  "Wait, who was that guy you were talking to?" Ginny stopped with one hand on the doors.

  "What? Nobody."

  She fixed narrowed eyes on my face. "It didn't look like nobody. He looked like a whole lot more than that."

  I smoothed my long hair. "He wasn't my type."

  She tipped her head and grinned. "I think looks can be deceiving. I mean, you look like a million dollars."

  "Very funny," I said. "One of these days, I'll have a million dollars."

  "At the expense of fun." Ginny shoved open the padded doors. "I'm just glad he inspired you to sing."

  She skipped ahead before I could correct her. Through the padded doors was another set of glass doors, but the bouncer had it open as soon as he saw us.

  The karaoke lounge was a world apart from the nightclub. The round tables ringed a raised, black stage backed by black, velvet curtains. A piano player lounged on his bench and waited for singers brave enough to opt away from the karaoke machine.

  Three chandeliers lit the stage, and a wrought iron railing separated a second level. Black, leather booths and larger tables ringed the balcony where waiters darted back and forth.

  "What's up there?" I asked.

  The bouncer glanced up at the balcony. "VIP lounge. Access is at the staircase in the dance club."

  VIP lounge. Is that where he'd gone? He didn't look like the VIP type. My stomach tightened. I wasn't the VIP type either, but one day, I'd be different. I wouldn't be the Midwest girl that ran away from my namesake hometown of Corsica, South Dakota. I would be rich, recognized, and standing at that railing with an ever-full glass of champagne.

  Then, I caught sight of the vintage microphone on the small stage. I knew I'd get to the VIP lounge if I stuck to my practical plan, but there was always a wild twinge of hope when I thought about singing. It was silly. I'd never make a living as a singer. Yet that was exactly what my heart wished for every time I was near a microphone or a stage.

  I stopped and shook my head at Ginny. Why get my hopes up?

  She planted her fists on her slim hips. "Oh, no. You're not backing out this time. I graduated, too, and this is my celebration, and I want you to sing!"

  Ginny sat me down at a small, round table and went to talk with the piano player. After a few minutes of negotiations, he looked up and grinned at me. Ginny sauntered back to the table looking very pleased with herself.

  "I'm not ready," I said.

  "You have a few minutes." She sat back and clapped as the next singer climbed the stage and waited for the karaoke machine to kick in.

  "If you picked some pop tune, I'm not going up there."

  She waved my anxiety away and smiled at the tall waiter that appeared next to our table. "With compliments from the VIP lounge," he said.

  "See?" Ginny asked, raising her fresh martini in a toast. "Someone else wants you to sing, too. Here's to liquid courage."

  My throat was so dry, I was sure I'd choke on the drink. Plus, there was no way I could lift the thin-stemmed, wide-mouthed glass without sloshing alcohol all over myself. I laced my fingers together in my lap and tried to breathe.

  No one knows you here, Corsica. Just let yourself go. It's just one song.

  The reedy-voiced singer finished as the small crowd clapped wildly. I watched the piano player stretch his fingers and dance them over the keys in a quick warm-up. The key was familiar, and I knew the song before the host announced it.

  "One of your best," Ginny winked.

  She'd chosen an old lounge singer's tune about what the stars look like when you are in love. I knew it well and was on stage with one hand curled around the microphone before my mind could protest anymore.

  Then it happened: the wave of joy that washed away all my fears and worries. I gave the piano player a sultry smile, and he jumped in to the bouncy syncopation of the first bars.

  My voice sailed over the top, smoothing out the strong beats and tinkling flourishes of the piano. The crowd was all shocked smiles. I swayed my hips and emphasized the lyrics with flutters of my free hand. People began to nod and cheer.

  Then, I saw him.

  He was leaning over the wrought iron railing with the hint of a smile curving his beard and mustache. Despite his shaggy hair and the distraction of his tattoos, I was suddenly singing to him alone. The lyrics, my voice, reached out to those dark, eyes sparkling above me like I was wishing on a pair of stars. I couldn't help it; my stage presence had taken over and it felt great.

  The song came to an end, and the piano player jumped off his narrow bench. "That was great! Damn, girl! I never would have guessed you had it in you. Please tell me we can do another one."

  The small crowd filled the little lounge with applause. I looked up to see if he was clapping, too, but he wasn't at the railing. "Is he allowed to do that?" I asked.

  The piano player glanced at the narrow, blocked-off staircase that ran from the VIP lounge balcony to backstage. "Him? You mean Penn? Sure."

  Penn had jumped the gate that secured the staircase. He jogged down the steps to disappear behind the black velvet curtain. I felt him before he appeared, like a wave surging in the water. Then, he flipped back the curtain and walked around the foot of the stage.

  "Tell her she has to sing again, Penn," the piano player begged.

  "You really should," Penn held up a hand to help me down from the stage, "later."

  "What do you want?" I asked Penn as he pulled me towards the bar.

  "To buy you a drink."

  "No, thanks."

  He turned and grinned down at me. "Why? You only let rich and appropriately-dressed men buy you drinks?"

  The quiver in my stomach brought my defenses up again, and I could hear the snobby tone as soon as I opened my mouth. "You must work here to be so free with your drink offers."

  Penn blinked. "Work here? No, I don't work here. He does, though. He's a bar-back. And, she's actually the owner of the karaoke lounge."

  I looked at the people he pointed out. The woman he named as the owner was petite and wearing an even smaller dress. Her long hair was bleached white and knotted into dreadlocks. The bar-back noticed me looking and waved, his dress shirt crisp and bright in the dim lounge.

  "Hard to tell about people because clothes can be deceiving," he said.

  I scowled at his smugness. "So, what can you tell about me?"

  He looked me up and down, those dark eyes roving over my body with the heat of lasers. "You like slumming it almost as much as you like designer dresses. Though, you really can sing. There's no mistaking that. How come Daddy isn't buying you lessons or your very own record label?"

  The heat from his eyes turned to cold ashes at the mention of my father. "You don't know anything about me, Penn. You don't even know my name."

  I tipped my head back to give him a defiant glare and was surprised by the soft empathy I saw there. Just being near him was tossing my equilibrium. There was a magnetism I had never felt before that pulled me in even as his words and his appearance repelled me.

  Penn took my hand and raised it to his lips. "Please, do me the favor of telling me your name."

  I yanked my hand back before he could kiss it, sure the sensation would fry what was left of my rational thoughts. "Corsica."

  "The island where Napoleon lived in exile?"

  "Sure. Why not?" I often chose not to disclose the origin of my name because I had worked very hard to cut all ties with South Dakota.

  A waiter appeared with two drinks that Penn took without hesitation. I didn't understand how the man who looked as if he should be changing people's oil was the one being waited on.

  "Why are you here if you don't work here?" I asked.

  Penn frowned and swirled the olives in his drink. "I've been summoned to San Francisco by the big boss man. I just didn't feel like rushing right over to wait for him, so I came here. I'm glad I did."

  I felt steadier. "So, you get special treatment because everyone knows who you work
for? Doesn't that bother you?"

  "That would bother me, if it were true. I knew these people when I had nothing, and, yes, the drinks arrive a little faster now, but I haven't changed."

  "So, you're from San Francisco?"

  I could have let the conversation fizzle. I could have thanked Penn for the drink and walked away. I could have returned to the small table where Ginny was reuniting with an old co-worker.

  Except, the longer I was near him, the more I felt tying me to him. His presence sent my system into chaos, but I felt a familiarity with his thoughts and an attraction that was nearly impossible to deny.

  Ginny smiled and waved from across the lounge, and I knew I would not be able to deny that Penn was the most interesting man I had met in a long time.

  "Yes, though I've never been a good city-dweller," Penn said. "How about you?"

  "Here and there."

  Penn snorted. "Singers always say that, don't they? So, Corsica, what do you plan to sing next?"

  I shrugged. "Depends on what inspires me."

  "What inspired that last song?"

  I didn't want to admit it even to myself, so I took another sip of my drink and continued walking along the bar. Penn followed, and when I reached the corner near the emergency exit, he tugged me into the short, dim hallway. I didn't resist. It was impossible; I wanted to press my body against his and feel just how hot he could make me.

  "What is it about you?" Penn asked on a harsh breath. He hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me closer. "You're snobby and stuck up and quick to get the wrong opinion about people."

  "So what are you doing?"

  "I don't know, but I'm sure it's going to be bad for me."

  He leaned down, and I was shocked by the soft brush of his beard. The light chafe of it against my cheek had my lips parting in surprised pleasure. Penn's wide lips were still frowning, but he was about to kiss me.

  "Sorry to interrupt," Ginny called. "Remember how I posted where we were going because I was sure he never read my stuff, anyway? Well, I was wrong."