The Billionaire's Reluctant Pregnant Bride: A BWWM Romance (3 page)

I gulp and stupidly glance up at his dark eyes.

My breath catches. I remember being on all fours on his bed. His confident fingers running over my bottom lip and then slipping into my mouth. Him pulling back my hair so I was looking up at his strong face and our sweaty reflection in the mirrors above.

Yeah. That’s right. The guy actually had
mirrors on the ceiling above his bed
.

And, to my infinite shame, at the time I hadn’t been disgusted. Instead, a dark thrill had shot through me because it meant I could see his perfect ass pistoning in the mirror as he took me hard and fast again and again and again.

I take an uncertain step back. What the hell was going on? How was I losing control this easily just from him being so close?

His lips curl into a predatory smile. “Speechless?”

Not as speechless as you’re about to be
, I think. That’s right. I came here for a reason. I came here to take care of business, and
not
the sexy kind.

But Preston, with his one track mind, has no idea how big the shit I’m about to lay on him is. “It might have just been one night, but we made love many times. I can’t believe how uninhibited you are.”

“We fucked. We didn’t make love,” I correct, still inching back.

He keeps advancing and he runs his tongue over his front teeth as he does, reminding me of the Olympic-worthy stunts it had pulled off on me down there. “I love a woman who doesn’t mince her words.”

I could do without the “love” bit, but I decide to take the compliment for what it was. “You’re right. I don’t.”

My back hits the door. He leans over, planting his forearm above my head. The masculine and undeniably intoxicating scent of his cologne fills my nose.

“Tell me what you came here for,” he whispers.

I gulp. Alright. Go time. Slowly, I look up one last time, and his eyes flare with possession and desire.

“Preston…I’m pregnant.”

Chapter 3

It’s the first time I’ve
ever
seen Preston Easterbrook at a loss for words.

He’s gone as still as one of the Queen’s guard. All the color has drained from his face. His eyes are wide with confusion. His mouth hangs open.

Is it bad that I’m enjoying this just a
little
bit?

Alright, fine. I’m enjoying it
a lot
, and I refuse to feel bad about it…especially since my life recently has been one disaster smashing into another and seeing this look on his face almost makes it worth it.

Almost
.

I reach behind me for the doorknob and twist it. “Well, I think that concludes our meeting. I’m keeping the baby.”
And I’m not letting you make me regret it.
Sure, the conception was a mistake, but every baby was a gift and I was determined to be the best mother I could with or without Preston’s help. “It looks like you need a little time to digest this information. I fully understand. Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

Then I push back, opening the door. Preston’s still leaning against it, and his stiff body falls forward while I turn and walk back to the elevator.

The receptionist stands, frowning as Preston stumbles forward. “That was fast.”

I smile cheerily. “Yep. Turns out there wasn’t much to talk about.” I hit the button next to the elevator. This time it was only one floor away, thank God. Something told me I didn’t want to be here when Preston came to.

The receptionist’s frown deepens. “Should I call an ambulance?”

I watch Preston flop against the wall, breathing heavily. “Na. He’ll be fine.”

The receptionist recoils like I just threw my head back and started cackling uncontrollably like a cartoon villain. I can’t say I blame her because I’m sure I look pretty damn creepy. It’s not often one comes out on top after an altercation with Easterbutt.

(Yeah, that’s right.
Easterbutt
. You might not be laughing, but I’m pretty sure that when my kid turns six she or he will think it’s the funniest thing they ever heard. I sure did at that age.)

The door slides open with a glorious ding. I’ve never heard such a wonderful sound in all my life. I’d been up in the clouds for too long; it was time to come back down to earth. I step into the glamorous elevator and hit G.

“Tachell!”

I frown. Did that desperate voice belong to Preston? It sounded like Preston, but no, it couldn’t be. If there was one thing I could count on that asshole for being, it was sure of himself. There was a tenderness in that voice that seemed to mirror my own uncertainty for the future…and share my hope.

I lean to the side, trying to get a better view as the gold doors start to close.

I stop breathing. Stop thinking. Stop moving.

That wasn’t Preston.

It couldn’t be.

Sure, until five minutes ago I’d never seen Preston at a loss for words…but I’d also never seen him make an expression like
that
. It went beyond desperate need. It was like he was reaching out for everything he’d ever wanted in life and, at the same time, terrified that he’d lose it. The last thing I see are his blue eyes piercing mine with such possessiveness that it makes me tremble.

It’s like they’re saying:
You can’t run away anymore. I will find you, because you belong to me. You’ve always belonged to me.

Then, the doors slide shut.

The brass bar hits my back as I fall against the wall of the elevator. I shut my eyes, now dreading the sound of the little ding because I know it means the doors will open again and he will come through and I’ll be trapped inside with
him
.

The elevator jostles, then starts its descent.

Thank God
. I exhale, unaware that I’d been holding my breath up until now.

Okay, that was terrifying. Yes, I’d thought the news would knock that cocky grin right off his face, and I’d looked forward to seeing it happen. Maybe that made me a bitch, or maybe it was my just desserts. Either way, I figured that’s where it would end.

Well, alright, I
actually
figured it would actually end with Preston demanding a paternity test…but still. I wasn’t expecting
that
.

He’d looked at me like he owned me. Well, that guy had another thing coming. A few orgasms (or few dozen, but who’s counting?) and a baby didn’t make me his. I would never belong to any man, least of all him.

I glance at the digital readout pasted just above the elevator’s doors. I was only on floor 50. It was a
long
way down, and the ride was made even longer by the fact that I knew Preston was going to be chasing me. I didn’t know what he wanted to say, but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to hear it.

I shut my eyes and remind myself to breathe.

It wasn’t so bad. At least I had a head start.

I haul ass out of that lobby. Unfortunately, it’s the kind of place where people generally do not haul ass, and the old man at the front desk glares at me like I lifted something.

I’m tempted to flip him the bird. I’m also tempted to ask him to call security. They might act as a good buffer between me and Preston.

No, wait. Calling security was a
horrible
idea. Preston would ask them to drag me back to his office, and because he paid their salary they’d do it no questions asked. And once he had me locked inside his nocturnal pleasure tank, only God knows what he’d do.

Discarded frilly pink thongs fall like cherry blossoms in my mind.
I feel so bad for God.

Once I’m at the front desk, I hear someone call my name. And by someone, I mean Preston. And by call, I mean shout out like his body is currently being consumed by the fires of hell.

This, unfortunately, does not go unnoticed. The old man at the front desk grabs the phone. I hear him utter the word “Security” right before I decide it’s time for me to haul ass a little faster.

I’ve never been so happy to be in my paint splattered boots. If I’d been in heels, I never would’ve reached the rotating doors ahead of the beefy security dudes all decked out in black that swarm the entrance.

Damn. This sure escalated fast.
And because of that, I didn’t think I needed to stick around for the finale.

The lobby erupts like a maggot-infested carcass as I push through to freedom. Or almost freedom. Because right behind me is security.

Shit!

I take off down the street. Shouts roar behind me. Immediately, my side starts to ache from that mocha I indulged in earlier. God damn! I always refused to go on runs with my best friend, Sondra. It would be a waste of my time, I explained. I could be doing art.

Of course, after that, I’d park my ass on the couch with a pint of ice cream and watch
Broad City
.

Sondra would return all sweaty and tired, rolling her eyes at me. I’d offer her a few consolatory scoops of ice cream, which she’d of course accept. And I’d return my attention to the TV, feeling like I’d come out ahead. But the thing is, it’s impossible to come out ahead when you tire yourself out after half a block.

Damn! I ran a seven minute mile back in High School. What the hell happened? It’s only been seven years!

I look over my shoulder, heaving.

An army of angry guys with shaved heads and flaring nostrils are charging at me.

Fuuuuck!
I close my eyes and dig deep, trying to find a strength that has been buried by junk food and reruns of crappy reality TV show.
What the hell have I been doing with my life?!?
And when that strength doesn’t magically surface (big surprise, I know), I pray to God for help.

And then God answers my prayers. Sort of. Because all of a sudden, the air is filled with Preston Easterbrook’s commanding voice.

“STOP! YOU’LL HURT THE BABY!”

My stomach drops.
He did not just shout that on a crowded New York street.
But oh, he did. The paparazzi’s ears perk up like a cat’s when the can opener goes off. They whip around and hold their flashing cameras up in the air, trying to catch something…anything. Because, while they most likely don’t fully realize what’s happened yet, they know instinctively that the words “Preston Easterbrook” and “baby” mean money.

The security stops chasing me and starts restraining the crowd. I’m very thankful for this. However, I’d be even more thankful if they didn’t also just clear a pathway from from the entrance of Easterbrook tower straight to me.

I look up to find Preston making
very
good use of this walkway. His eyes blaze. His jaw is set and determined. And he strides towards me with the calculating confidence of a man who has just successfully cornered his prey.

Oh no
. I look behind me, but bodyguards are everywhere. I’d have to muscle through them
and
the paparazzi to break free. The only other way to run is directly into Preston’s arms.

Turns out I don’t have to run into them, because Preston does that for me.

His hands shake as they hold me close, pushing me into his hard, muscular chest. “Tachell,” he whispers, his warm lips against my ear, “never run from me again.”

Oh man!
I feel like my mom just caught me trying to feed broccoli to the dog under the table. “W-when did I ever run from you?”

His perfect muscles in his torso strain as he brings me in even closer. “What the hell would you call what just happened?”

“I’d call that you being an asshole.”

He sighs, gently pulling away. When I look up, I’m surprised to find him smiling.

“I’ll work on that.” His expression sobers. “Is it really mine?”

What the hell?
“Of course it’s yours! Do you think I’d drop everything and race over here so you’d be the first to know some other dude had knocked me up?”

His eyes start twinkling. “I’m the first person you told?”

“Well…yeah. You’re the dad. I felt like you should know.”

“Oh Tachell,” he whispers, pulling me into his arms again. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“Well, it’s not too surprising since we only used a condom the second, third, and fourth times.” We
did
remember a few times. It was important to remember that we were like 30% responsible.

He lets go of me and takes a deep breath. “Tachell, I will take care of you. And, more than that, I will be the supportive partner you deserve. I dedicate my life to you and to our child.”

“You don’t have to go
that
far,” I tell him, though it truly warmed my heart that he sounded like he wanted to be in the child’s life.

“No. I have to go farther.”

Farther? What is he talking about?
How do you even go farther than—

He drops on one knee and takes my hand.

The crowd starts screaming. I might even scream, too, if I wasn’t so damn confused. Especially since I’m pretty sure the last time this guy got down on one knee for me he had proceeded to ask if I wanted to pull his finger.

“Tachell,” he whispers, grabbing my hand.

Wait…he wasn’t going to ask me again was he? Surely he was a little more mature than that.