Baby Fever Secrets: A Billionaire Romance Read online

  I stop gawking and give raven hair a friendly smile before my eyes return to her friend. She bites her lip hard, refusing to look at me for longer than half a second, bashfully draining a melting ice cube from her glass.

  My hand goes up, signaling to the waitress. “Whatever they'd like, and another bourbon for me,” I say, waiting for their order.

  The loud one grabs the drink menu and moves her finger over it. “Oh! How about the lobster trap, Bekah? Vodka, citrus, pomegranate, with a cherry in the middle. It's totally Maine.”

  “Not from around these parts?” I ask, begrudgingly taking my eyes off the shy one to chat with the girl doing all the talking. She's my key to the quieter, sexier door.

  “Nah. We saw this place on a travel channel we like. Nice break from the Big Apple. So far, so good. We're having a blast, and it's only our first day. Right, Bekah?” She moves like she's lightly kicking her friend under the table.

  My eyebrows twitch. New York? Too close to home for my liking.

  Exactly what I avoid when I'm here on the off chance I'm recognized. But then I see how Bekah jumps, stiffens in her chair, and looks at me with a bright, all too sober flush on her cheeks. I extend a hand, spread my fingers over hers, tightening my grip until she gives me her eyes.

  Her heartbeat quickens when her fingers loop through mine. I smile, but it's only half as big as I want to.

  Heat arcs straight to my dick. This will be fun. Oh, fuck yes, very fun.

  “Grant. It's a pleasure, Bekah.” Her name rolls off my lips, sweeter than this bourbon. So smooth I decide not to use a fake name, though I've done it before with girls around the city when I really want to lay low. “And you must be?” I nod toward her friend.

  “Trouble,” Bekah says, her voice soft and mild, the first word I've heard her say.

  “It's Taylor, but everyone calls me Tay.” She takes my hand, giving it a respectable shake.

  “Welcome to Chandlersport, ladies. You'll find about ten lobsters to every tourist between the beaches and bars.” Bekah laughs, and Tay rolls her eyes, just as our drinks show up.

  We're on a roll.

  “What brings you girls here? Marine biology?” I ask, enjoying the even warmth from my drink as it settles in my veins. It's a lot more soothing than the primal fire crackling in my blood every time I look Bekah's way.

  “As if!” Tay says, laughing. “We're both grads with boring office jobs. We're here to beat the urban hustle for a couple days. The boring crap will be there for us when we get home. The travel show tipped us off: you've got boating, drinks, and men who have to work harder than swiping right to get their junk wet.”

  “Bekah looks too nice to come fishing for dick.” I set my drink down, eyes never shifting over to Tay. “She can't even look at me. How's she prowling this bar for any boys her own age?”

  “What's my age got to do with it? Are you saying I can't have older guys?” She finally snaps out of it, meets the challenge in my eyes, and then looks mortified when the words are out of her mouth.

  Tay laughs. “That's my girl. Too honest for her own good. Come here, beard, I'll let you in on a little secret...”

  I'm suppressing a smile. Bekah's eyes get a whole lot bigger as her friend leans her lips to my ear and whispers. “I'm trying to get her laid, jackass. Don't screw it up. She likes older guys, and I think she likes you. So play along.”

  “You're right,” I say, pretending my dick didn't just jerk to her confirming everything I already knew. “Bekah is kind of cute when she's drunk.”

  “Tay! I'm not even close to drunk.”

  I believe her, but she's slurring her words for another reason. Same reason she's aiming a dirty look her friend's way. Her cheeks go so red they're probably numb. I wonder how many places she's imagined my hands on her since I took her little fingers in mine.

  “That's your third sangria, lightweight,” Tay says, elbowing me surprisingly hard. “Excuse us. I think we need a little trip to the ladies' room. It'd be a shame if anyone says something really embarrassing.”

  “What the hell?!” Bekah fights her friend, but not really as Tay yanks her up, walks her toward the back of the bar, and looks at me, flashing a wink over her shoulder.

  Think I'm starting to like this girl.

  The awkward ones are always hit or miss on approach. There's a thrill in the uncertainty, and it never fails to get me hard.

  While they're gone, I watch the crowds, spotting Mack's son, Dean, who's pretending not to watch the redhead in the corner while he sweeps the floor. I try to telepathically transfer some of my luck to the kid. He needs it more than me.

  I'm not sure whose karma train I rode to make it this easy tonight. But I know before the night's done, I'll be up inside Bekah. I'm sure.

  And double sure I'll find out how hard she bites that lip when I tell her to call me sir.

  When they come to the table again, they're both a lot more collected. The girls sit and we talk. Tay sucks up most of the conversation, telling crude jokes and talking about the latest duds she slept with. I force my way in between her half-drunk anecdotes and train wreck date stories, focusing my words on Bekah.

  None of the boring shit.

  I want to know her passions. “Tell me a secret: what brings a tear to your eye? A happy one.”

  “Humanitarian work,” she says. “I've been involved with water access in the developing world. Colombia, mostly. My grandfather owned a fruit company there. It's heartbreaking, but it makes me happy, knowing I'm doing good. No one should go thirsty, or worry about dying over tainted water.”

  I drain my bourbon and lean in closer. It's a curious cause to latch her young self to with so many hashtag movements vying for attention elsewhere. Clean water in Colombia isn't exactly winning any popularity contests. It's pleasantly surprising.

  “Why water? Your characters catch too much cholera playing Oregon Trail or something?” Fuck, as soon as I've said it, I wonder if the game I played in history class is before her time.

  This one's young, but she gets it. I tell by the sour smile twisting her suckable lips. Offended and innocent angst shines through her green eyes. “Do you know what it's like to go without water?” she asks quietly.

  “No. I don't do dry bars or dry spells. Haven't had to worry about them since I was fifteen.” I look her dead in the eye, watching as her jaw drops.

  “Of course. I should've known I was expecting too much. Like getting your dick wet is totally the same thing I was talking about.” She looks away from me, clearing her throat of sarcasm before she mutters the last word under her breath. “Ass.”

  She's right. I'm being a royal asshole.

  Deep down, I admire what she does. It's laudable. If this were a standard business charity event, I'd be the first to raise a toast. But I'm not here to kiss ass. Or to make her pussy dry up talking about the very real suffering overseas.

  Lord knows, I've raised fortunes for good causes. No Shaw ever skimps on charity. It's part of our branding, and also something that mattered to our dearly departed mother. We honor her memory by giving back to a world that's given us so much.

  I just don't wear my charity on my sleeve. Neither do my brothers. If the women I'm after know I've got a heart, they're all too likely to sink their claws in, and never let go. That just doesn't jive with one and done.

  The table wobbles slightly a second later. I can tell by the way Bekah jumps that her friend has kicked her under the table, flashing her warning eyes. What the hell are you doing? He's not that bad!

  Tay's glance says it all. She's obnoxious, but I like having her on my side.

  “I don't know...” she mouths to her friend.

  Fuck, this isn't the time for second guessing. I muster my warmest smile and shoot Tay a quick, subtle wink before I turn my chair toward the tender little minx.

  “It's a joke, Bekah,” I say, grabbing her hand. “Learn to laugh. It's a stress reliever. You've also got a million dollar smile hiding between those c
heeks.”

  The barbs in her eyes soften the instant I've said it. Across the table, Taylor laughs, muttering something into her half-empty glass that sounds a lot like, “Oh my God.”

  “Tell him about your charity!” she pipes, banging her little fist on the table.

  Bekah flushes. I don't let her hand out of my grip, even though I feel the heat flowing in her skin as her pulse quickens.

  She shakes her head, giving her friend a hard look. “It's just something I do on the side. My father's company puts money into health and human services every year. I pitched the water thing a couple years ago, and helped as long as I could getting it off the ground. As long as dad let me, I mean. I'm still involved, even though it isn't moving as quickly as I'd like...”

  She trails off. My fingers move deeper through hers, giving them a reassuring squeeze. I love when the secrets start flowing fast and freely.

  “Initiative is sexy,” I tell her. If it weren't for keeping my super secret identity under wraps, I'd offer her a contact or two who'd get her project moving a whole lot faster than whatever piddly business her father owns. “What else does Bekah get up to when she isn't saving the world?”

  “Road trips with her bestie, when she'll listen.” Tay cuts in, much to my annoyance. “I had to drag her up here. She needs it, though. It's her last big vacay for awhile.” The last word gets swallowed by a hiccup.

  Thank God shifts are just turning over at the bar. When the surfer college kid Mack hired for the tourist season comes by our table, checking for another round, Tay's attention goes straight to him.

  “Excuse me, guys,” she says, sliding off her chair and bounding after him. She looks over her shoulder one last time before she's gone, heading toward the counter in the back, where her beach bum crush is shaking ice like he's demolishing a landmine. “Remember what I said – lighten up!”

  Bekah lets out a sigh. “I have to apologize. She's not herself when she's had too many. Or when she's found her target for the evening, I guess.”

  “Let the girl have her fun. We'll make our own.” I wait for the flush to appear on her cheeks that makes my dick twitch again. “It's getting loud in here. I know a place where we can pick this up without the noise.”

  Her grip tightens in mine. I throw down a wad of cash for the tab – another technique to make sure I stay anonymous – and lead her out to my car.

  I'm expecting her eyes to light up, and maybe get a preview how she moans with delight when we reach my Tesla. It's a custom model with a sleek blue coat of paint, all the bells and whistles, some that aren't even on the market yet for regular buyers.

  Yeah, I'm doing my part to save the environment with an electric car. My chartered flights burn enough energy.

  She slides into the leather passenger seat without reacting. Nothing more than a strained smile, trying to hide her shyness. The neon pink Christmas lights hanging off Sanford's year round catch her chestnut hair, adding a warm glow that burns almost as hot as the need to get her naked raging in my blood.

  I can't figure this chick out.

  No, I'm serious. She's either unimpressed by wealth, or she's so damned shy, it'll take half the night to get her between the sheets.

  I watch her buckle up as I start my car, taking my sweet time checking all the lights, observing her in my peripheral vision. She sits like a statue, elbow propped on the door, her hand pulling a long lock of hair around and around her finger in a circle.

  Hello, tension. It's so tight I think I could cut it with a knife.

  “My place is just a short drive up the road,” I tell her as we pull out, placing my hand over hers one more time. “You sure you're game for this?”

  As much as I want her, I'm not into forcing it. Where's the fun in that?

  “Wouldn't be leaving with you if I weren't, Grant. Tay's just a phone call away if you turn out to be a creepy clown serial killer, or something.”

  “Or something. Thanks for ruining the surprise.” It takes her a second. She laughs at the silly joke, before I give her a serious look. “Actually, Bekah, there's a lot I have to show you. In exchange, you'll keep that pretty grin on your face all damned night.”

  “You don't need to work so hard, you know,” she says quietly. “You had me at the beard, if you want to know the truth.”

  “You're making this too easy.” I smile, running my fingers through the dark bristles covering my jaw. Every penny I dropped with the barbers who taught me to care for this beast was worth it.

  Money, power, and the sky blue eyes I was born with have nothing on the pussy magnet attached to my face. If everything else sells this package, the beard closes the deal.

  I'm also happy to see her confidence. She leans in when I slow the car, turning onto the long dirt path leading to the carefully concealed gate to my place in the woods. Her lips touch my cheek, kissing through my scruff.

  Sweet fuck, her kiss burns.

  It's a smooth, easy blaze. Sinks straight to my core. Better than the expensive scotch my brothers like to break into when we're together, and hotter than the whiskey that's more my style, too.

  This isn't the usual hookup. She's keeping me guessing, something which should frustrate me to no end.

  But it's more than that.

  Guesses give her character. They give me a mystery I'm almost as interested in unraveling as the summer tank top hiding her body under the cardigan wrapped around her shoulders.

  Chandlersport is my playground. I can have my pick of women who worship the ground I walk on anytime.

  They're good for emptying my balls, and not much else. The timid, playful, sexy little thing coming home with me, though...shit.

  She might be more.

  Before the night's through, she may well scratch an itch I didn't even know I had.

  2

  This is Crazy (Bekah)

  I don't know how I ever let Tay talk me into going home with a complete stranger for casual sex, but I'm starting to feel glad I did.

  Yes, Grant makes me feel small. But despite his good looks, despite the years he has on me, despite how he teases me to an easy flush, he's a perfect gentleman.

  His hand rests on mine the whole short ride through the darkness, and past his tall gate. When we park, he tells me to wait, and walks to my door to help me out. The gate we've just driven through, before circling the neat stone driveway to a stop, whirs shut behind us as I step out. I smile, slipping my hand into his, wondering why it feels so natural there.

  Good manners come with the high class, I suppose. It's nothing new to me, but it's reassuring.

  I've grown up around men like him my whole life. They haven't stopped kissing up to my father, hoping they'll earn a few crumbs off his wealth and prestige. When I first saw Grant's car, I expected a high paid hothead pretending to be rich, and desperate to be for real.

  His cabin tells me he actually is.

  The tall mansion with the old world stone walls and the mahogany trim looks like a castle from a fairy tale, if the prince had a time machine to pack his royal abode to the gills with modern conveniences. Grant escorts me into the huge living room with the plush rug in front of his leather sofa. There's about as much money in here as my family's second home in Florida. I'm not sure whether I'm charmed to be with a man in my class, or worried.

  “Have a seat, beautiful,” he tells me, laying his hand on my shoulder. “I'll bring us a treat from the wine cellar. Maine Moscato all right?”

  “Good pick. I love them,” I say, hiding my latest blush. He must have an uncanny ability to read my mind because a good local moscato is my favorite.

  Yes, it's cheap. It's simple. It's worlds apart from the five figure cabernets and tongue tickling champagnes flowing like water at dad's fancy dinners. I'm only twenty-one, and I've already had my fill of the gaudy, class status waving liquid gold flowing down millionaires' throats.

  My respect for him just went up because he doesn't need to impress me with the exotic, hard to pronounce raritie
s no doubt stashed in his huge wine cellar. I'm excited.

  Maybe too much.

  Breathe, I tell myself, as soon as he treads down the hall, leaving me a few minutes to collect myself.

  Tay brought me up here to get laid. Her mission, she said, especially with that creepy French guy dad brings around every week when we're both home. He wants us to date.

  His business associate from overseas, Ethan, is everything I told myself I didn't want. Entitled, disgustingly rich, and totally awkward when he tries to put the moves on. I rarely give him a chance, finding any excuse to get away from him. Anything to save myself from another cringe-worthy poodle hug with his gross, clammy hands wandering around my waist.

  His only endearing quality is helping me figure out what makes me wrinkle my nose in a man. Ethan is wrong on so many levels, but tonight, it seems like all the reasons why are being thrown into a blender and scrambled.

  This beautiful lumberjack looking bastard raised Tay's eyebrows instantly when she caught me looking his way.

  “Really, girl? He's got the lumbersexual thing down pat, but isn't he a little old?” I remember her first words. They had me blushing before he even came to our table, took the spot next to me like he owned it, and swallowed me up in his bright blue eyes.

  Yes, those eyes. Good God.

  They're as dangerous as they are beautiful. Ocean hued gems. The finishing touch in a sculpted work of art. They give life to the square jaw covered in soft, well groomed hair, his broad shoulders, arms so big they look like they could tear a man in half without causing him to break a sweat.

  Sure, he's a complete stranger. Exactly how it should be, according to Tay. What little I know about him, I like.

  I know Grant is rich.

  I know he's at least a decade older.

  I know he's as smooth as this soft leather sofa.

  He's a messy, intriguing, walking contradiction. If the reckless wild and sleek sophistication were given a shotgun wedding, they'd be him to a tee.