Her Swedish Billionaire's Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance For Adults

A
complete pregnancy romance, brought to you by bestselling author Cher
Etan.

When a
handsome Swedish billionaire shows her interest, it seems like the
final piece of the puzzle is coming together for Samara.

Being
the daughter of a con artist, Samara's always found it difficult to
get out of her father's shadow.

But with
seemingly the perfect man in her arms, and a whirlwind romance which
results in her pregnant with his child, it seems she can finally
leave her previous life behind.

That is,
until her Swedish man Bjorn finds out about her past.

Will
Samara be able to convince her man what they have is real, and not
just a way to con him out of his fortune?

Find out
in this sexy and twisting romance by Cher Etan of BWWM Club.

Suitable
for over 18s only due to love making scenes so hot, you'll want your
own Swedish lover to seduce.

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Copyright
©
2016 to Cher Etan and SaucyRomanceBooks.com. No part of this book can
be copied or distributed without written permission from the above
copyright holders.

Chapter
1

Chapter
2

Chapter
3

Chapter
4

Chapter
5

Chapter
6

Chapter
7

Chapter
8

Chapter
9

Chapter
10

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Samara climbed out of
the car she’d hitched in and thanked the driver, slinging her
backpack over her shoulder and hoisting her duffle bag. UCLA. She was
really here.

She checked her cell
phone to see if there were any messages from Dad or Alison. Nothing.

So many students.
They were everywhere. She’d never been around so many people at
once; Dad avoided crowds. You never knew who might recognize you and
call the cops, who or what might be lurking there, what weapons they
might have on them. It made Samara nervous by proxy, eyeing
passers-by, looking for sidelong glances, furtive behavior, the
favoring of the side on which was kept a concealed weapon, but
nothing looked amiss. It was just like being in high school with
Alison; everyone was just a little older and hopefully more mature.

She followed the
stream of people gathering at the registration tables, and she set
down her stuff when she got to the front of the line. A matronly
woman smiled kindly as she looked over her acceptance letter and
other information, which had her real name on it for just about the
first time in her life. That was how she’d done this college
thing from the beginning: not the way Dad or some other hustler would
do it, but her own way. She would be going her own way from here on
out. She had to. Dad had made it all too clear there was no going
back.

The matronly lady
seemed satisfied as she looked over her papers, not saying anything
about how bent and dirty they were, but then she frowned, concerned.
“Oh, I don’t see a dorm assignment on here.”

“
Oh,
I, uh ... already got an apartment here in town, so I’ll be
staying there.”

“
Oh
....” She looked her up and down with an expression she
couldn’t place at first. She chuckled softly, shocked, when she
did. It was worry. This nice lady she didn’t even know was
worried for her. Why? What was the worst that could happen to her
here? She wouldn’t find a good place to sleep or get much to
eat for a while? It was so strange ... and so sweet. “All
right,” she finally said, as if something about her discouraged
further questions. Then she looked around behind her. “Aren’t
your parents here?” she asked anxiously.

Samara shook her
head, taken aback. She was used to dodging questions, but not this
kind. Usually she was trying to escape serious trouble, not trying to
save someone’s feelings. “Um ... yeah. Yeah. They’re
right outside, waiting for me. So many people in here, you know ...
they don’t like crowds.”

She felt a distant
vicarious joy, seeing the relief flood her face. “Oh, good,”
she gushed, like she felt a million times better. “Well, I
won’t keep you away from them any longer. Here you go. If you
take this, you can go get your photo ID taken, and then you’ll
be all set!”

“
Great,
thanks,” she said, took it, and wandered away, glancing back at
her a couple times. If this were a town they were living in for a few
weeks or months, she was the kind of person she’d befriend. Dad
and Alison didn’t seem to believe in making friends, so she
never let on that she did this, but Samara had found her friends came
in very handy, when she needed a place to crash, when she couldn’t
stand one more second around Dad or Alison, when she ran away again,
even for a night. There was never any harm in befriending these
people; they skipped town before they could find out too much about
the Khaleds.

Samara always tried
to say goodbye, though sometimes Dad whisked them away before she had
a chance to. Samara had learned to always write down their phone
number early so that in case this happened, she could sneak a final
call to explain they’d moved away and leave them feeling okay
about their friendship, or at least like they hadn’t been
played by her. She was still in touch with some of those people,
e-mailing them whenever she got the chance from one of her secret
webmail accounts her family didn’t know about. Fortunately,
neither Dad nor Alison was too good with computers. If any of
Samara’s friends lived in UCLA, she could probably have imposed
on them for a place to stay before she found her own digs, but none
of them did. The Khaleds had never spent much time in California,
which was another reason why this was the perfect college for Samara.

If this were her old
life, she’d have befriended her, but this wasn’t her old
life, and already she could tell none of the old rules applied.

After getting the
photo for her student ID taken (also the first ID she’d ever
had with her real name on it), the first order of business was to
find a place to stay for the night and some food. The hippie who
drove her the rest of the way here had shared what she had, but it
wasn’t much. Without conscious effort, Samara cased the
cafeteria and every other campus building for what she needed.
Wandering into the cafeteria, pretending to be lost, she quickly
determined it would be nothing to break in after hours and take
whatever she needed. This was a huge relief; she’d been afraid
getting food would be a problem, but they spoon-fed these college
kids practically like they were babies.

The more she wandered
around, the more astonished she was by how thoroughly and generously
every possible need or want these college kids might have was already
provided for. Dad would be bitching at every turn about how easy they
had it. Samara felt almost guilty at how easy it was ... but if she
could have picked anything in her whole life to be easy, it would be
this, because this was the hardest thing she’d ever done, and
that included aiding and abetting her father’s con artistry by
pretending to be hurt so her father could collect cash from some
unsuspecting chump.

Next up was a place
to sleep. She wandered dorms, classrooms, the student union, the gym,
and other facilities, until it occurred to her the answer had been
under her nose from the beginning, as if angels were looking out for
her: The nice lady, fretting over her dorm assignment. She’d
seen how casual and disorganized the registration process was.
Apparently they never expected to deal with a seasoned hustler like
Samara who might take advantage of their system.

She waited until the
nice lady’s position was taken over by someone else, then she
wandered around behind the registration tables, watching the way
everything worked, until she had it figured out. It was a
self-explanatory system, pretty basic: if they weren’t already
in the system all you had to do was enter the student’s name in
the computer under the name of the dorm, whether and how much they’d
paid, whether they had a board contract for the cafeteria, etc. She
might have waited to do it until after everyone was gone, except the
one security feature the system had was that each employee had to
enter a password when they first logged in. Samara changed into nice,
respectable-looking clothes in the bathroom, stowed her stuff in a
safe place, and walked up to the easiest mark among the people
getting kids registered. She smiled at her regretfully. “Hi,
I’m from the registrar’s office. Some parents are making
a big stink over there because of a mistake you made on a--”
Samara consulted her own acceptance papers “--uh ... ‘Samara
Khaled.’”

She looked concerned.
“I did? Oh no!”

“
If
you could just fix it--or, if it’d be easier, I can do it for
you. Either way.”

She leaned down over
her shoulder, using her height to intimidate her into moving aside,
then quickly entered her own information into the system. Single
room? Yes. Board contract? Yes. She smiled as she hit save, thanked
the lady, and took the dorm key she gave her to give to this Samara
Khaled. She then magnanimously assured her everyone makes mistakes,
it was no big deal, and she would take care of the cranky parents.
She was home free.

*****

She wasn’t sure
what to expect when she went into her dorm, but whatever it was, it
wasn’t this: Tons of nervous, blustering kids moving in
spectacular amounts of crap, assisted by weirdly doting parents. She
smiled and tried to look friendly to everyone who looked at her and
skirted the edges of the already forming cliques, watching closely
without seeming to. She’d collected an impressive amount of
information by the time she got to her room on the second floor: she
knew who the troublemakers would be, who the easy targets were, and
she’d even spotted a couple of people who would probably make
useful friends.

Still, it was a
tremendous relief to arrive in her single room, lock the door, set
down her stuff, and stretch out on the tiny twin bed, knowing no one
would bother her or even think about her in here, safe for the
moment. Half an hour had passed before it occurred to her: for the
very first time in her life, she was on her own--not until Dad and
Alison found her and dragged her back, but for real. Forever. Joy
exploded through her like fireworks at the realization. She’d
dreamed of this day from the time she was six years old. She never
thought it would come.

Inevitably, her
thoughts drifted back to the epic fight she and Dad had when Dad
realized she was leaving. “If you walk out that door, don’t
you ever come back.” Those were his words. Alison had looked
like Dad had stabbed her in the heart when he said that. Neither of
them had any idea how happy that sentence made Samara. She’d
planned to slip out without either of them noticing, but of course
Alison knew. Samara suspected Alison had known for weeks, because
she’d seemed to be watching her even more closely than usual,
not to mention being way nicer than usual, as if to make sticking
around seem more appealing. Alison caught her climbing out their
bedroom window, and as Alison begged her to stay, here came Dad.
There was nothing to do but tell them her plans. The whole time
Samara had been planning her escape, she’d thought the big
danger, the thing she’d have to worry about the most, was Dad
coming after her and dragging her back into the fold. When Dad said
she couldn’t come back, what Samara heard was, “I’ll
let you leave.” That was the greatest relief of all.