The President's Secret Baby: A Second Chance Romance

by Gage Grayson

  “Yes, please don’t talk to me. I need some peace and quiet.”

  That’s a salty comeback of a different kind, but I still enjoyed saying it.

  He runs his hands through his hair in exasperation, leaving them clasped behind his head.

  That position does wonders for displaying his muscles—his strong biceps, toned shoulders, and ripped triceps. I’ve never been more attuned to a muscle group before.

  I see a prominent vein in one of his arms, and I imagine myself tasting it, running my tongue down it as I ride him.

  What the hell? This champagne really fucked with my head.

  Is that why the fancy stuff’s so expensive?

  I clear my throat and tighten my arms, hugging myself lightly.

  “Fine. Go change. I’ll be waiting,” I say, trying to control the audible shake in my voice.

  My body’s trembling from his onslaught of wants and my champagne-induced visions.

  I need to get my shit together—quickly—before I find myself drooling over his body at the beach, unable to focus on anything else. Or worse, fall prey to his charms.

  I walk quickly to the bathroom to grab a towel and splash some cold water on my face. Hopefully, that’ll get me out of this haze.

  Looking at the mirror, I notice my pink cheeks and sated gaze. Fuck. I’m sure he enjoyed seeing the reaction still scrawled across my face.

  Seeing the obviously amazing woman staring back at me, with a spark of rare intelligence—nay, genius—in her eyes, I’m suddenly inspired to give a little pep talk and wipe away the trace of tentativeness on her face.

  “You got this, Macy. He’s a fucking prick with some sort of supernatural ability he probably doesn’t deserve, but who cares? He isn’t worth your time and energy. You have important things to focus on than that walking dick. If anything, just objectify him.”

  I relax a little, knowing that I can just stare at him. I don’t need to talk to him.

  Fixing my cover-up, I ready myself for what I know will be a gorgeous sight.

  But I’ve seen it before. It’s nothing new. Now I can at least prepare myself for his magnetic pull.

  I open the door and run straight into his fucking chest. Damn it.

  My hands land below, touching the sharp curves of his abs.

  I linger, feeling his soft skin and hard muscles. My body tingles, reeling from the sudden surge of electricity sparking between us.

  Our bodies touch, skin on skin.

  It doesn’t help that he also smells delicious. It’s a spicy, vanilla musk that I find oddly intoxicating.

  It could give the champagne a run for its money.

  “Ow, what the hell? Watch where you’re walking!” I yell, though it’s a bit of a delayed reaction.

  I move out of his way and stare into his eyes. Not at his body.

  Don’t look at his body!

  Lord, it’s good, though. Just as amazing as I remember. Every inch of it looks like it was sculpted by a Greek god.

  It’s almost too much.

  He knowingly smirks. Fuck, I got caught gawking.

  Whatever, it’s what I told myself to do. And who cares what he thinks of it?

  “I think you’re the one who needs to watch where they’re walking. Or better yet, be more aware of your surroundings.” He winks at me. “Stalkers are a real threat, you know?”

  He just can’t help it, can he? What an ass.

  But that’s okay, too. I needed a reminder as to why I’m not sleeping with him.

  I shoot daggers and lasers at him with my eyes. His expression doesn’t change at all; it’s like I’m not even there. “I do need to get a towel, though.”

  He walks past me into the bathroom.

  I watch as he walks away. His ass is just as good as the rest.

  His blue swimsuit does nothing to hide his well-rounded and tight ass. That’s one thing I haven’t seen naked…yet.

  No. Calm down.

  Enjoying the view is one thing but getting overheated like this could lead to trouble.

  Like what, though?

  Fuck, nope, I can’t let myself talk myself into anything.

  I need some water. I need to sober up quickly.

  Now I feel like I’ve stepped back into the sauna.

  “I got you a towel, and I’m going to grab a bottle of water. Let’s go!” I say, trying to get us out of the suite-turned-sauna as fast as possible.

  The suite might be luxurious, the most breathtakingly gorgeous two-story suite I’ve ever seen or ever been in. But when a man as attractive as Aaron is in it—who also has the largest fucking ego—things can get hot, dangerously hot.

  “Well, thanks for letting me know now…” He rolls his eyes at me and emerges from the bathroom with two more towels.

  Ignoring his attitude, I throw him a bottle of water that I got from the fridge and head toward the door.

  He catches it surprisingly, though he fumbles to keep everything in his hands.

  I smile, feeling a little satisfied and slightly vindicated as he struggles.

  There’s my wit that I also enjoy using, even in that throw.

  Turning to leave the room, I think about how long I’m going to be out tonight and what’s going to happen between now and the time I get back—and when I do walk back into the suite next, what things will be like then.

  Mainly, I wonder, with some trepidation, if I’ll still be a virgin.

  Aaron

  I follow the stylish, stately hostess that met us at the bottom of the stairs at the entrance to the beach. She leads us over to our VIP reserved lounge section.

  “Holy shit. This is awesome.”

  Macy settles on the opposite side of the huge lounge bed.

  It’s covered with an awning and has pulled back drapes for the sides with an unobstructed view out to the ocean.

  “This spot is yours for the week. It corresponds with your room, so if you see anyone else in it, please let me know. Or whoever is on duty for the VIP section.”

  She gives us both a demure smile. “I’ll send one of the waiters over right now.”

  “Thank you.”

  Dropping my bag on the ground, I throw myself backwards into the lounger.

  The cushion bounces a little and is covered with a waterproof material. I have seen these loungers before, but I’ve never actually used one.

  “Well, this is super. But I’m still going to get you to help me put some sunscreen on my back.”

  Macy is pulling her sheer cover up over her head as I look over.

  Fuck. This is like being in bed.

  Sure, it’s outside, but these loungers have all kinds of canopy drapes around them that you can keep open and closed.

  And she looks so good. Her hot pink bikini is a barely there number that shows off all her assets perfectly.

  “I think I can handle that.”

  Sitting up, I pull off my own shirt.

  “Maybe you could do mine after?”

  Macy already has her back to me but looks over her left shoulder with the smile.

  “Sure.”

  Grabbing the sunscreen between us, I shake it down and squeeze some onto my hand.

  She’s gathered her hair up onto her head. Slowly, I swirl the sunscreen around her back to distribute a layer before starting to rub it in.

  Her skin feels hot and silky. This week is going to end up driving me fucking crazy, after all.

  She seems to be having the best time I’ve seen her have since…well, ever, over the last couple hours. The sunshine and expertly prepared cocktails are sitting pretty well with me, as well.

  “Drinks?”

  Looking up, the waiter is there with a tray. They’ve got good timing here.

  “Sure. Can I get a beer, like a Corona?”

  Macy seems like she enjoys a drink, but she’s not too well-versed on the more obscure treasures in stock at the resort.

  “Yes, for sure. And for you, sir?”

  “I’ll have the same th
ing, thank you.”

  There are still a few days to introduce her to things, there’s no need to dive headlong into everything.

  Shit, maybe the latitude really is getting to me.

  Whatever. It’s sure to be a fun fucking week no matter what. After all, it’s always fun to introduce something new to someone and experience it through their eyes.

  Squeezing a little more sunscreen into my hand, I move down her back, running my fingers in a light massage.

  “Done with champagne for the moment?”

  I need to distract myself just a bit so I don’t have some sort of breakdown.

  “Yeah. I figured that alcohol would be part of this trip, but I probably shouldn’t have too much booze in me when we go swimming with the sharks.”

  “Well, not being drunk would definitely be a plus.”

  I chuckle, and she pulls away from my hands to turn around and look at me.

  “Are you laughing at me?”

  She definitely doesn’t seem offended. Or serious.

  Well, I guess our beloved Macy is finally lightening the hell up.

  I throw myself back on the pillows with my arms behind my head to prop it up.

  “I would never laugh at you.”

  She doesn’t miss my mocking tone.

  Smacking me on the chest playfully, she demands, “Roll over.”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  I oblige and settle on my stomach with my head facing her.

  She studiously avoids looking at me, but when she gets situated to rub the sunscreen onto my back, her lap is almost in my face.

  And she smells wonderful. Like sunscreen and sunshine.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much about the swimming with the sharks. Can you imagine the liability if an amenity at a popular resort included being eaten by fucking sharks?”

  My logic doesn’t seem to impress her.

  “I didn’t say I was worried. And if I were, I think it’d be more biological than rational. We have a built-in ‘resist the danger’ meter inside of us.”

  She does the air quotes and everything. I’m not usually a fan of those, but she sure makes them cute.

  “What’s your meter saying about me?”

  I’m honestly curious, and I’m trying to sound serious.

  “That even though you strut everywhere like you’re the cock of the fuckin’ walk, deep down you’re just a frightened little pussycat looking for approval.”

  I arch into her hands, like the frightened little pussy I apparently am, pushing my butt into the air as she reaches my tailbone.

  She jerks her hand away, laughing.

  “I’m not a pussycat, but I do love pussy.”

  She did walk right into that one. She snort-laughs, and even without seeing her, I can tell she’s shaking her head.

  “Couldn’t resist, could ya? I’d like to think you were being ironic with that joke, but I should know better by now.”

  I look at her and smirk, and she finishes up.

  “Seriously though, I’ve protected you enough. Come on, Sunscreen Boy, I’ve got enough of this shit on my hands to last a lifetime, and I’ve got a feeling you don’t always use that much of it.”

  I roll over slowly, revealing my chest and abs.

  “So, you like my tan, I take it.”

  “Oh, you take it, alright. As a compliment, that is. I should’ve known you’d find some way to manage that.”

  “Are you sure you’ve managed to slather on enough sun protection? I mean, it’s the tropics, so go nuts. Or, go wherever you want.”

  Macy’s ravishing smile drops, and I realize that what I thought was usual wit has kind of turned into shit very recently. In fact, I’ve got so little wit left that I don’t even know what to say next.

  Luckily, I see our drinks coming. I subtly grab a few bills from my wallet.

  “For the Mrs.”

  He hands Macy a glass beer bottle with a picture-perfect lime wedge stuffed into the neck.

  “And for you, sir.”

  I leave an exceedingly generous tip on the tray before taking my own longneck.

  “Thank you very much. I’m Carlos. So, just yell my name when you’re ready for more.”

  With a jaunty salute, Carlos takes off.

  “Sure thing. Most appreciated.” I jam the lime wedge down into my bottle with my thumb, letting the citrus do its work for about a second before taking take a long sip of the pale lager.

  It’s so ice cold I can barely taste it. Macy leans onto her back and appears to be avoiding looking at me. That won’t do. Time to break the ice again.

  “So…Mrs. That’s so mundane. I’m tempted to call you the old ball and chain.”

  Her head swivels towards me slowly. Even with her sunglasses on, I can feel the indignation radiating from her eyes.

  I keep making it worse, I guess, but...

  “Are you freestyling? Or is that the new Lil’ Pump song or something?”

  A burst of laughter escapes from me. “I’ll just call you wifey.”

  The word sounds foreign as I say it.

  Her lips curve up by about a micrometer.

  “Why do you have to call me anything?”

  She picks up the sunscreen bottle and squeezes a generous amount on her hand.

  “Because you’re just so damn cute. And I like your attitude and watching you get riled up. You know, like ‘take my wife, please.’ Remember?”

  She’s rubbing the sunscreen on her stomach, right over where I left condensation from the beer bottle.

  “I’m afraid I’m not that old.”

  She sounds annoyed. Time to change the damn subject again.

  “Are you looking forward to the massage?”

  Definitely a better question, because she smiles immediately.

  It’s a couple’s massage, and she knows that, but I leave that part out for now to try and keep her mood up.

  “Now that’s going to be fucking fabulous. I don’t get the opportunity to get massages very often.”

  Macy must have massages on the brain because she’s massaging sunscreen all over herself liberally.

  “So,” I shrug. I’m trying to act casual, like everything’s completely normal right now, and it’s not like there’s some goddess around or anything, acting super fucking charming, sexy, adorable.

  No, just a normal day at the beach.

  “Swimming with sharks, the couples massage, dinner on the beach, and then there’s a boat tour…What am I forgetting?”

  Either the alcohol is hitting me, or I’m just super relaxed—because I can’t think of anything else off the top of my head.

  “Everything sounds like a cakewalk—especially the swimming with sharks. I bet you’re into doing that today and getting it over with.”

  “If you’re that worried about it, we don’t have to go.”

  I’m trying to suppress yet another smirk.

  She looks at me sharply. “Don’t you try to deflect, you big scaredy-cat.”

  “Hey, hey, Macy, it’s okay, there’s no need for this. If you’re that scared, we can go stare at some goldfish in the lobby bar instead. It’s not the end of the world if—”

  “Oh, that’s it. Now I really want to go, just to see how scared you really get. I bet we don’t even get off the beach before you collapse, whimpering into the sand.”

  She smiles and tosses the sunscreen at me.

  “Didn’t you say you needed more of this stiff—I mean stuff. Fuck!”

  Watching Macy blush and roll her eyes in embarrassment, I already feel like collapsing, whimpering, onto the sand.

  The effect this woman has on me is greater than the greatest great white is, and I’d gladly swim through a frenzy of the hungriest sharks the Caribbean has to offer for a chance to show her the time of her life.

  Macy

  I have to give him an A for effort.

  If I didn’t have my guard up, there’s a chance his charm would really get to me. Although he must be trying, he project
s an effortlessness about it.

  As anyone who’s ever felt even a hint of self-consciousness probably knows, that shit’s not easy.

  “You’re gonna need a bigger boat.” He’s smiling without effort now, for example. This is also the fourth time he’s said that fucking line in the last hour.

  “Shut it with that.”

  There’s that laugh again. It sounds so genuine, but to me, it just confirms the effort involved.

  “This isn’t Jaws, Macy. You don’t need to be scared of this water.”

  “Excuse me? I’m not scared. You’re scared. You’re trying to reassure yourself.”

  “Hey, wouldn’t that be a twist? The handsome, easy-going guy enjoying a laugh and trying to reassure his terrified bride...”

  “I’m not y...I’m not terrified.”

  The way he breaks out into laughter makes me feel like I said something genuinely funny. I wasn’t trying to, but, it kind of makes me feel good.

  You know, because laughter is one of the things that makes us human. Go watch Quest for Fire if you don’t believe me.

  “Has anyone who’s ever said, ‘I’m not terrified’ actually not been terrified?”

  “You know what? I am terrified, terrified of the idea of staying with you forever. I don’t know what I was thinking there.”

  I keep our secret—that I’ll be flying back to New York in a few days, never to see my fake-husband again.

  “Macy, I’d just like to mention—and no, I’m not accusing you of being scared or anything—but I just thought you might want to know that coconuts kill more people than sharks every year.”

  An even deeper secret is that, in some ways, if Aaron comes back with me, he’d make better company than some of my NYU classmates—especially the dudes most interested in hanging out with me all the time.

  But there’s no way that fucking coconut thing is real. “The deadly coconut, huh? Care to furnish some proof of that? Because this honeymoon’s been stressful, and I’m not in the mood to laugh.”

  He shakes his head as it occurs to me that we’re not just walking together—we’re walking slowly along the sand together.

  Barf.

  “No jokes here, Macy. I’ll show you, it’s in the brochure, the one that advertises the shark swim.”

  Because I feel like I’m going to have to challenge some logic on this very soon, I actually fucking think about it for a second. How do they even gather these statistics?