The Billionaire's Seed_A Secret Baby Romance

by Natasha Spencer

  She managed a feeble smile. All these last-minute guests were trying to make this a true celebration, without knowing any background details; and she appreciated their effort.

  Meanwhile, Ben, who had deliberately parked himself beside her, was putting on quite a show. Which didn’t fool her for an instant. Strange, how the mere feel of his arm around her waist seemed not so much support as entrapment. Oh, yes, he beamed his sunny grin all around the room, and occasionally even let a ray or two overflow upon her. As if he were the happiest man on earth, and this his happiest day.

  For the future, Caroline would make sure she remembered how casually and how easily he managed to pull the wool over so many pairs of eyes.

  A world-class photographer, who had already gotten his formal shots, was now wandering around, snapping candids. Guests willingly posed for the wedding album everyone realized could only be superlative.

  After an elaborate dinner, which Caroline felt almost too keyed-up to sample, and a variety of wines, mixed drinks, and the requisite champagne, the party began breaking up. With polite farewells —or, with a more boisterous leavetaking from those happily in their cups—the room slowly emptied.

  The easy Texas twilight was giving way to full dark, pinpricked by low-set landscaping lights, garish neon lights, sodium street lights, and the colored lights of restaurants or store fronts. Seen at a distance, from the Sherman Club’s third-story dining room, it was a magical fairyland sight, and Sophie was entranced.

  Or would have been, if she and little Becca Sampson weren’t yawning in tandem.

  By eight o’clock, Lila approached the bridal couple with both girls in tow.

  “Time to be off,” she informed her hosts. “Billy and I will settle these two in bed once we get home. Although they’re both tired enough they’ll prob’ly fall asleep on the way.” At Caroline’s look of surprise, Lila’s brows raised. “Oh, you didn’t know? Good ole Ben here asked if Sophie could spend the weekend with us. Some honeymoon privacy for the newlyweds, wink wink.”

  Caroline’s hands, with the spiffy new diamond band that attached her to the Ten Buck as surely as any of its branded livestock, clenched into fists behind the skirt of her charmeuse dress. “Thank you, Lila,” she managed a fast recovery. “That’s very kind of you and—Billy?”

  “Yeah, as in husband. Here he comes now.” Introductions flowed back and forth: a pale, too-slender bride, and a tall, lanky redhead whose whipcord frame probably gave the lie to any perception of laziness.

  Bending down, Caroline enveloped Sophie in a good-night hug and thanked her for being such a vital part of this special day. Even half-asleep, the little girl beamed. It took so little to make her happy—merely love, attention, and approval. Just like a tropical plant, waiting to bloom.

  The room was nearly empty when Ben finally turned to look at his bride, full-on, straight and square, with a little quirk to his mouth.

  “Well, now,” he said softly.

  At the almost insulting purr of his voice, the hair actually began to rise on Caroline’s arms.

  “I hope you’re not too tired. Thought I’d treat you to a real nice hotel, over in downtown Austin. Come on, the limo is waiting for us. And I’m anxious to see what exactly you’ve got under that dress.”

  Chapter Eight

  It was not what she expected.

  But, then, whatever was, when it came to this man and his behind-the-scene machinations that no one could read in advance, nor understand?

  They had entered a splendiferous room, on the sixth floor of a splendiferous hotel, far enough above the busy streets to provide the view of a twinkle of moving lights. While Ben busied himself at the bar, Caroline eased out of her white satin slippers and padded barefoot to the window.

  “What d’ you think of the place?” he invited, turning to survey her with watchful eyes.

  Had she noticed, just then, she would have silently reflected that those watchful eyes made up his usual expression. Although humor seemed to be his typical way of dealing with any stressful situation, the humor that engaged his wide mouth never quite reached his eyes. Watchful, careful eyes. Did such caution come from an issue of trust?

  “What do I think? Luxurious, of course. Thank you, Ben; it’s far more than I’m used to.” She would give him that much, at least, since he seemed to be waiting for it.

  Silken moss green and old rose framed every window, covered several chairs, draped the bed and bench. Cool, restful, comforting. How was that color scheme to fit everyone’s accepted idea of a wedding night, when passionate reds and blacks ought to dominate?

  “Want something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve about had my quota for the day.”

  “Huh.” He raised his glass to her, took a few hasty swallows, then set it aside. Liquid courage, for what lay ahead? “I’m no great shakes as a lady’s maid, but how about some help with whatever you’re trying to do?”

  She had raised both arms to reach for something to unfasten at the back of her dress, without success. Her involuntary wriggles translated into a sexy little dance, as she struggled to grasp hold, that would have attracted the attention of the most hardened of men. And Ben Taggart was hardened in only one way.

  “I would appreciate that, very much,” she was forced to admit.

  Caroline emitted a little gasp as she felt him instantly behind her, quick to take advantage. Pressed against her upper shoulders, his fingers, as they sought and smoothly moved the concealed zipper downward; pressed against her lower backside, that very hardness, ripe and ready for use.

  Bending his head, he blew a warm breath to the nape of her neck. Then touched his lips to the spot. Then took a light but possessive nip at her skin. Caroline gave another gasp and shivered.

  “The valet put our bags in the bathrooms—one for each of us,” he told her huskily. “Why don’t you go get gussied up in that fancy rig you bought and join me in bed?”

  She fled.

  When she returned to the main suite, some time later, the lights had been dimmed, music was playing softly in the background from some built-in apparatus, and Ben was lying stretched out naked upon the king-size frame. At least, she assumed he was naked, but he had been thoughtful enough of her sensibilities to at least pull a sheet of rich Egyptian cotton up to his middle.

  Caroline was no prude, nor was she some shy virgin who might faint at the sight of male nudity. She was, however, principled. To fall into bed with a man in whose company she had spent so little time seemed somehow very wrong—even though she had agreed to it; even though that man was her legal spouse. She was finding it quite difficult to reconcile reality with the absurd.

  Meanwhile, she must admit this was a fine-looking specimen, indeed. Tough, and muscular, as befits a cowboy who spends much of his life in the saddle, with whorls of brown hair across his chest that trailed down impressive abs to where bare skin stopped and the sheet began.

  “Sure you don’t want a drink?” His look gave her a slow, lecherous once-over; his grin gave her a case of bridal-night nerves. “Then, c’mere, wife of mine. Pretty as that outfit is, I’d like to get rid of it, if you don’t mind.”

  Caroline did mind. Exceedingly. The man might feel quite comfortable in his own frame, but she never had. Less so, now, with faint scars still needing to be healed, and a body hardly considered voluptuous after its ordeal.

  Hesitantly she made her way toward him. Tiny pink rosebuds trimmed the straps of her negligee, which was made of a nearly sheer white batiste that floated around her ankles—her only bulwark against whatever was about to happen. Over which she had no control.

  Backlit, her figure was outlined in blurry detail that, observing it, deepened the smoke of his eyes and the dimples in his cheeks.

  “Carrie,” he whispered. Taking hold of the nightgown’s hem, he gently tugged her forward, into his grasp.

  Absent he might have been for far too long, from the ranch and from her existence; but present he certainly was now. H
is right hand slipped under the fabric to skim upward over her bare calf, her knee, her thigh, to the very cleft that waited for his touch. Before her eyelids drifted shut and her trembling body swayed toward him, she saw that the sheet had suddenly tented itself, in anticipation.

  Suddenly, in the midst of what was feeling so delightful, so almost depraved, Ben gave a great shout of laughter and pulled himself upright, haunches planted on the mattress and feet flat on the floor. “Ha. Gonna make me work for it, huh?”

  Hooking that one exploratory hand around her waist, as if to prevent any escape, he yanked the modest maiden gown up over her head in a swift motion. Caroline cringed. Even in dim light, even by the least exacting of standards, surely the imperfections of her form could never meet his expectations.

  Still, he seemed not to notice. Because, at the moment, he was more interested in visiting the most delightful, the most delicious of torments upon all that he had laid bare. Seated as he was, his curly head on a level with the niche he sought, Ben began applying himself diligently with touch, tongue, teeth in a series of bold caresses that left her weak-kneed and whimpering. In fact, he worked so much magic that she could feel her muscles beginning to quiver, her bones softening into mush, her internal juices heating and flowing.

  Caroline let out a little whine. Then a moan. Helplessly her hands dropped down to tangle into his hair, urging him closer, tighter.

  After a few minutes, he surged upward without warning and, giving an animal growl, captured her breasts. A firm grasp, first, to cup and knead. Then a rough nuzzling and suckling of each, that sent sweet fire deep into her womb and left her teetering on the edge.

  Finally, he burst forth with another great laugh and pulled her onto the bed beside him.

  “C’mon, my little puritan. I’ll bet if you relax, you might really enjoy this night. So let’s see what else you can do.”

  She could surrender, utterly and completely, to physical bliss.

  And so she did.

  Chapter Nine

  Caroline awoke to the muffled sound of a waterfall.

  Having slept in a number of contrasting beds in the past few months, she needed to regain full consciousness to accurately pinpoint her location. The hospital? The rehab center? Her own room, sadly gone forever? The pretty suite at Ten Buck?

  No.

  The luxurious hotel room in downtown Austin. And the sound of water rushing came from Ben’s shower.

  Smiling with complete and utter satisfaction, she stretched both arms over her head as sinuously as a cat. There was the good feeling of long-dormant muscles pushed to discomfort by hard use, and the slight reminiscent soreness of an interior having been filled and overflowed beyond capacity.

  “Wow,” she murmured. “Wow.”

  They had coupled that first time, she and Ben, for what seemed to be hours, into a state past exhaustion. He had arranged her acquiescent limbs into a number of interesting positions, and introduced her to pleasure beyond meaning with every one of them. Following his lead, she had tried to return the favor with as much panache and energy as he had given her. Put your hand here, and cup, her besotted brain instructed. Put your mouth there, to sip and swirl and suckle.

  Once he had finally finished with her, they had fallen apart to drift into weary slumber. Sometime after midnight, she had been aroused by the poking and prodding of what felt like a telephone pole against her backside, and shifted position to accommodate. Then, again, just as early dawn light was stealing into the room, he had piled on top of her limp, overworked body to take her again, with very little foreplay but a great deal of enthusiasm and passion.

  “Wow,” she murmured again, smiling that same smug smile.

  Still. As wonderful, as exhilarating as was that whole night of musk and lust, Caroline had the sense that clinical, textbook knowledge had been involved in their coming together more than any actual feeling. Mere physical enjoyment and release. Then, even as that awareness flashed through her tired brain, there came with it a “So what?” moment.

  This was what she had bargained for, after all: a mail order bride facing bankruptcy and penury due to a mountain of medical expenses, all now paid for, thanks to this arrangement. She would be living a life many others would envy, surrounded by comfort and ease. And now, as so ably proven by the Ten Buck master, absolute top-notch sex into the bargain, probably as often as could be arranged. What more could she possibly want?

  Lovemaking? The actual, honest making of love?

  “Hey, honey pot.” Emerging from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, Ben, bronze skin still beaded with moisture all the way down to the towel that encircled his waist, wandered toward her with the grin of a satyr. “Time to rise and shine. Otherwise, be prepared to accept the consequences.”

  Settled face down and front, with her head resting on both crossed arms, she returned his grin with a lascivious one of her own. “Indeed. And just what might that be?”

  The mattress gave way, just a little, under his weight. So, with the movement, did his towel. Her eyes widened at the truly awesome erection deliberately presented for her view.

  “What d’ you think?” he asked huskily. “Ready for another go-round?”

  “Ben. Seriously?”

  “Naw. I rode you pretty hard last night. Better give this ole boy a rest. However,” he reached out to lightly slap her sheeted rump, “we do have things to do today. Got a museum tour scheduled, and lunch at a real nice restaurant, and an afternoon movie. How does that sound?”

  “It sounds,” she told him gravely, and with appreciation, “as if you’re spoiling me. But I’ll enjoy every minute of it. Turn around, please.”

  “Huh?”

  “Please turn your back. I want to go take a shower.”

  A rollicking gale of laughter, larger than life. “Darlin’, I’ve seen—and touched, and tasted—just about every square inch of that body you’re hiding. You’re trying to pull that same ole modesty thing on me that you used earlier?”

  “For as long as possible,” she said with dignity. “Now turn around, or I’ll never get out of bed.”

  “Well, that would be a real shame, because then I’d have to diddle you again. And then we’d argue some more. However,” still chuckling, he obliged with her request, “I bend to your will. Make it snappy, Hootchie Mama; I’m ready for breakfast.”

  “You can’t have it both ways, you know,” Caroline complained, as she disappeared into her bathroom. “I can’t be a tramp and a puritan, all at once.”

  “Different strokes, different moods,” he called back. “I’ll take what I can get, either one.”

  Once dressed and on their way an hour later to the hotel dining salon, Caroline congratulated her husband on his magnificent restraint.

  “Restraint?” Quirking a brow, he politely seated her at their small private table in a windowed corner of the room, then joined her opposite.

  “Yes. Since yesterday morning, you’ve actually let our wedding, and the celebration and so on, take precedence over that everlasting corporation of yours. No phone messages, no faxes, no texts, no emails.”

  Frowning a little now—with displeasure?—he picked up the heavy menu and began to leaf through its pages. “Don’t play wife with me already, Carrie.”

  Stunned, Caroline could only stare at this man to whom she had just willingly handed over her body, if not her soul. Only to be so casually dismissed. “I—I beg your pardon?”

  “Sorry to disillusion you, but—those few times I was out of your sight at the reception? Work. Last night, while you were getting undressed? Work. This morning, while you were in the shower? Work. Regardless of my private doings, that everlasting corporation, as you called it, goes on; and I have to go on with it.”

  “I see.” Lips tightened with disappointment and displeasure, she opened her napkin. “Coffee, please,” she insructed the hovering waiter. “Lots of it.”

  “Same here. Look, Carrie.” Earnest in his desire to emphasize a point, whether or
not it caused hurt, he leaned toward her, handsome as all get-out in Sunday attire. “I expect you to find plenty to do around the ranch, taking care of Sophie and managing the household. Because you sure can’t plan on using me to stay busy and fill up your life.”

  “I hadn’t thought any such—”

  “That won’t make either of us happy. You do your thing, and I’ll do mine, and that’ll be what works. When I need you for some social function, or I want you in bed, I’ll let you know. Otherwise, rest assured that I’m not some moonstruck calf about to trail around behind you, ready to make your every whim come true.”

  At his cool tone, at his insulting and insensitive words, color rose in her frozen cheeks, and a suspicious moisture beaded her lashes. More, as always when circumstances spun out beyond her control, her spine stiffened into Vermont marble.

  Damn. And he had actually seemed human this morning, too, dressed in a casual polo shirt that brought out the blue of his eyes and pinned the dimples into play.

  Which only rendered true the old saying that appearances can be deceiving.

  Bastard.

  “I am all too aware of that.”

  “Well, good. Then we understand each other. You keep the personal stuff operating smoothly, Marilou can keep the office stuff operating smoothly, and I’ll be able to support all of us.”

  “At Ten Buck.”

  “Yup. Dunno where else I’d be.”

  You utter fool, Caroline wanted to snap at him. That corporation runs you; you don’t run the corporation.

  “Now then, what’re you having to eat?” Adroitly, man-like, he changed the subject. ‘I’m not a big fan of fancy dishes like this stuff with Hollandaise sauce or whatever. Just give me fried eggs, some big chunks of steak, and a bucket of hash browns.”

  Dumped over his finely shaped head, possibly.

  Swallowing her irritation for the time being, Caroline merely smiled her tight smile as she made a mental note of this conversation. One day. One day. She wasn’t sure what might happen one day, but she surely hoped to be around when it did.