Autumn Rolls a Seven (Billionaire Baby Club Book 2)

by Jasinda Wilder

  “Yeah. Pencil skirt, blouse, blazer, flats.”

  “That’s fine. It’s not a black-tie place, just nice. And quiet. I’ve got us a private table on the roof.”

  “Oooh, romantic.”

  “Told you I had plans.” I received a text from him with the address. “Just sent you the address.”

  “Got it.” I put it into my phone’s map system. “Maps tells me I should be there in just under forty-five minutes.”

  “Great. I can’t wait to see you, honey.”

  “You don’t even know, Seven. I woke up dreaming of you and I’ve been horny and missing you all fucking day.”

  “Yeah, sorry, I was going to come up after my workout and wake you up, but I got a call from the director of the gym with an issue that required my attention in person.”

  “It’s fine, babe. It’ll just make it all the sweeter when we can finally get naked together.”

  He’d opened a gym for underserved urban youth in one of the rougher parts of downtown LA, where he taught boxing personally, along with teaching fitness, nutrition, and finances. The program had proved so successful in the neighborhood that he’d opened four more across LA in the past six months, and there was talk of expanding to San Francisco, San Diego, and Sacramento, and he’d even had interest from investors in New York, Chicago, and Atlanta. He’d convinced many of his friends in the boxing and MMA industry to volunteer their time at his gyms, teaching masterclasses and hosting mini seminars, day camps, and weekend events. There was always a hot shower for anyone who needed one, as well as an industrial kitchen where any kid enrolled in the program could get a free hot meal, and he even had a small number of cots in case someone needed somewhere safe to crash.

  His time in the foster system had left a deeper impact on him than I think he’d ever really recognized, until he started the gym. At first it had just been a place for inner-city kids to go and box instead of running with gangs, dealing drugs, and getting killed or going to prison. His vision had swiftly expanded as he spent time with the kids, and began to see the depth and breadth of their needs. He’d formed a nonprofit organization and began hiring—social workers, counselors, instructors, people who knew the work and had a passion for it, and as the months had gone by and his gyms had exploded in popularity, he’d personally become so invested in the work that he’d even discussed leaving ESPN to devote all his time to the gyms. I was more proud of him than words could say.

  I wasn’t letting on because I wanted to keep it a surprise, but I had news for him too. I would let him share his first, though.

  I arrived at the restaurant fifteen minutes later than I’d planned, because traffic was murdery, as usual for LA. By the time I got there, I was ready to chew on my own shoe.

  I saw his Venom parked under the valet portico, blocked off by orange cones and watched over carefully by the attendants. I had my car valeted—he’d officially and formally given me the Ferrari, signing the title over to me. My BMW had been given to one of his counselors at the gym who, Seven had discovered, had been taking a dizzying series of busses clear across LA to get to work each day.

  I think I’d gotten more enjoyment from the tearful, stunned gratitude on the young man’s face than I had when Seven had given me the title to the Ferrari.

  I was met by a hostess, who greeted me by name and brought me across the crowded, hushed restaurant, to a doorway marked “PRIVATE,” which led up to the roof. There was a wooden pergola up there, draped with white lights, and wreathed with a profusion of climbing white roses. A tiki torch burned at each of the four corners, and tea lights lined a pathway from the stairway door to the single table draped in white cloth under the pergola. Seven was waiting at the table, dressed in a bespoke blue suit, with elegant tan leather shoes and a white button-down, no tie.

  All at once, I was struck dumb, tearful. This man was mine.

  All six feet four inches of him, all two-hundred and thirty muscle-bound pounds of him. The hewn-from-granite features, the puppy dog brown eyes, the chiseled jawline, the expressive lips, the rugged two days’ worth of stubble, the massive, scarred, powerful hands, the physique that screamed raw primal power, even swathed in clothing. He was mine.

  I crossed the rooftop and was in his arms within moments. “Hi, my love,” I whispered. “You look so fucking hot.” I kissed him, devoured his mouth greedily, let him feel how badly I’d been missing him today.

  There was a particular reason for that, today especially, but that reason would become clear soon enough.

  “You look so yummy in that suit,” I murmured, running a palm over the hard cliff face of his shoulder. “Now I wish I’d had time dress up a little more for you.”

  His hands were all over me, his lips. “Nah, baby. You look gorgeous. You don’t need a fancy dress to look elegant and sexy.”

  I kissed him once more, and then pulled back and looked around. “This is amazing, Seven.”

  He grinned. “It is, isn’t it?” He led me to one of the chairs, pulled it out. “Sit. Drink some wine. I have courses on the way…” He paused and glanced at the doorway, through which a pair of servers were coming at that moment. “Right now.”

  They set a small tossed house salad in front of each of us, crispy bread with soft fluffy white insides, a shrimp cocktail, and a cheeseboard.

  My stomach rumbled, and I laughed. “I haven’t eaten since eleven this morning, so I’m ready to seriously eat someone in a second.”

  “Dig in, baby.”

  There was a bottle of red opened and breathing, and Seven poured me a glass. We ate in silence for a while, chatting here and there about our day and our schedules and plans for the coming week. The main course was pan-fried salmon, a filet mignon, and a steamed lobster tail served family-style, shared between us. A second bottle of wine, savored slowly as the sun set with an explosion of crimson and orange.

  I wondered at the rest of Seven’s plans, since I knew this all was leading up to something, but I was content to wait for his timing. I also had a pretty good idea of what he was planning, and my YES! was already on my tongue.

  Dessert was a chocolate sampler, featuring dark chocolate mousse, flourless cake, house-made fudge, and liqueur-filled truffles. We sipped the last half-glass each of the second bottle, neither of us interested in more.

  Dessert over, I was getting antsy and curious.

  I heard the door open, close, but paid no attention to it, assuming it was a server come to clear the table. Instead, I heard a violin begin to sing, soft quavering low notes, slow and sultry. It was joined by a cello moments later, and then an accordion. I glanced over my shoulder and saw the trio in one corner of the rooftop. When I looked back, Seven was standing beside my chair, hand extended to me.

  “Dance with me?” he murmured.

  I only smiled in response, taking his hand and letting him sweep me into motion. He was, unsurprisingly, an excellent dancer, light on his feet, with exquisite rhythm. We circled the rooftop as the trio played—“Clair de Lune,” of course.

  When the song ended, we slowed to a stop, and Seven’s arm held me against him. His eyes burned with love, with heat. He slid a hand into his hip pocket, and his lips slid across mine. His other hand captured my left hand, brought it up to rest against his chest.

  He had a ring in his hand, encrusted with diamonds on either side of an enormous princess cut diamond that had to be at least two carats.

  His eyes seared into mine. “Marry me, Autumn Scott.”

  He had my ring finger, had the ring poised over it. He knew my answer already.

  I laughed, my breath on his lips. “What are you waiting for? Put that ring on me already.”

  “You’re supposed to say yes, you goofball,” he said, chuckling.

  “Oh, sorry,” I laughed, breathlessly, “Yes. Yes, yes, yes, yes. Yes. Is that enough yes for you?”

  “Just to be clear, here,” he said, sliding the ring onto my finger. “That’s a yes, you will marry me?”

  I
pretended to think. “Hmmm. Let me make sure I’m sure. Mmm. You know what, I changed my mind. Take it off. I would rather die a lonely old hag.”

  He snorted. “You’re mean.”

  “I’d have said yes months ago, had you asked me,” I said. “I’ve been ready and waiting.”

  He kissed me, deeply, slowly. “I know. I just wanted to get the gyms in the local area off the ground so I could take time off.”

  “Time off?”

  “Plan the wedding together, get married, and spend a month or two on vacation in the Caribbean. I have a place leased down there until fall.”

  “For real?”

  “Yep. So, unless you wanted a long engagement and a big fancy wedding, I was thinking we’d do something small in our backyard with your friends and mine, maybe even in the next couple weeks, and spend the rest of the time on honeymoon.”

  I giggled; never a giggler, typically, he just brought it out of me, which annoyed me and made me love him all the more in equal measure. “I like the way you think. You, me, the girls, your best buddies, and a little party at home. That sounds perfect.”

  “You’re sure? I’m not trying to talk you out of a big church wedding.”

  I snorted. “I have no family to invite, and neither do you. Your dad can join us, of course, no matter where or when. But no, Seven, a big lavish church wedding is the opposite of what I want. I just want to be your wife as soon as we can make it happen.” I bit his lower lip. “And then spend a couple months naked on a beach with you.”

  “I love that we’re always in perfect synch.”

  We were dancing again, more swaying together than anything. The trio had resumed, playing something soft and sweet and quiet.

  “I have something to tell you, too, actually.”

  He held me tight, chest to chest, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, hard huge arms encircling me in his safe embrace. “What’s that, soon-to-be Mrs. Autumn St. John?”

  I sighed. “Ooh, I really like that. Autumn St. John. I can’t wait to change all my business cards.”

  “Let me do it for you—I have a guy.”

  “You have a guy for business cards?”

  “Yeah. I met him a while ago and he specializes in these really cool one-of-a-kind business cards with fancy engraving and embossing and such. I’ll get him to work up some designs and you can pick your favorite.”

  “Okay, then, that sounds good. I just make mine online and have them shipped to me as cheaply as possible.”

  “Nah, if you’re getting new cards, they’re gonna be pimped out.” He rumbled a laugh. “You’re a St. John now, baby—we don’t do cheap shit.” He touched my chin and kissed me. “So, your news?”

  I nuzzled into his jawline. “Well, it’s like this—three months ago, I stopped my birth control.”

  “You did?”

  I nodded. “Mmmhmmm.”

  “I mean, I know we’d talked about having kids at some point in the near future…” he said, by way of leading me on.

  “And the more I thought about it, the more I realized I want to have a baby with you. I really, really do. So badly. I’ve had three regular periods, and since I’m just shy of forty, I had my fertility tested. I got the results today, and wouldn’t you know it, I’m a real fertile Myrtle.”

  He stopped swaying with me and pulled backward, holding my arms in his hands. “So what you’re telling me is…?”

  I closed in, curling my hands against his chest and kissing his chin, the corner of his mouth. “What I’m saying is, Seven St. John, I want you to take me home and put a baby in me.”

  He wanted to be a father. We’d talked about it, of course, in bed over the past few months. After dedicating so much of his time to helping kids at his gyms, he wanted one of his own to raise and love, to be the father he’d grown up without. He was ready. He’d been ready. He’d just been waiting for me.

  “What if you’re pregnant before we even go on honeymoon? You won’t be able to drink on our honeymoon.”

  I shook my head, shrugged. “I don’t care, Seven. That doesn’t matter to me. I want your baby inside me. I want to be your wife, I want to be the mother of your child. That’s literally all that matters to me.”

  He kissed me again, hands on my cheeks. “I love you so much, Autumn.”

  “Take me home and show me, husband-to-be.”

  15

  About a month and a half ago, we’d both sold our condos and had bought a house together midway between Malibu where my offices were and downtown LA where his gym was. We’d paid a fortune for it—it had an incredible view, three bedrooms, lots of space, a huge garage for his cars, and best of all, a full gym big enough to house a boxing ring, and for me, a walk-in closet bigger than my entire bedroom in my condo had been. I’d negotiated the hell out of it, and had gotten it for way less than we honestly should’ve paid, and we were deliriously happy. He’d given me some kind of big heavy black credit card which he’d said had no limit I’d ever be able to reach, and had given me free rein to decorate the house to my heart’s content. And boy, had I.

  When I’d stopped taking my birth control, I’d been so sure I’d be pregnant within a few months that I’d started planning the nursery. Everything was saved in online carts, all I had to do was press order, and we’d be ready to go.

  First, however, the fun part.

  When we got home—in record time, even for the way Seven liked to drive—I was raring to go. The whole way home, I’d been teasing Seven, tracing my touch up and down his thighs, over his zipper, until he’d grabbed my hand in a crushing grip and set it aside with a growl.

  “If you want me to get you home where we can do this right, you gotta stop teasing me, woman.”

  “But teasing you is such fun,” I breathed.

  “Payback is gonna be fun, in that case,” he growled.

  I just laughed and kept teasing him, because payback was always the most fun part of things. By the time we were pulling into the garage, I had his fly open and his cock was a throbbing spear behind his underwear, the tip peeking up over the top. He snarled as he undid his seat belt, flexing his hips as I rubbed my hand over his erection.

  “Got me all kinds of riled up, Autumn,” he snarled.

  I unbuckled, letting the seat belt snap back against the pillar. “Just how I like you.” I stretched across the console between us, tugging the underwear down to bare his cock. “Riled up, and in my mouth.”

  I suited action to words, tasting him on my tongue as I slid him between my lips. He groaned, a long aching growl of pleasure as he filled my mouth.

  “Jesus, Autumn. Been teasing me for the last twenty minutes—do that any longer and this’ll be over in seconds.”

  I clutched him, pulled him away from his body and swirled my tongue around his tip. “Good thing I happen to know there’s plenty more where it came from, huh?”

  He grunted as I palmed his sac, stroking his length while suckling around the plump fat head. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  I had him on edge, had him thrusting and growling, moments from exploding. Instead, he pulled me away.

  “Any other day, I’d be all about letting you finish what you’re doing there, baby, because you know how much I fuckin’ love it.” He pulled my face up to his, kissed my mouth greedily. “But this time? Nuh-uh, baby girl. I need to be inside you.”

  He gave me no chance to respond, unfolding from the car, circling around, and gathering me in his arms. He didn’t close the car doors, the garage door, or the door to the house. He carried me inside, up the stairs. He was heading for our room, naturally enough.

  “No,” I whispered, pointing to the room that would be the nursery. “In there.”

  “It’s just an empty room, babe,” he muttered. “But suit yourself.”

  He opened the door, and stopped short. There were rose petals everywhere, candles lit in flickering profusion. “What? How?”

  I laughed, nipped at his earlobe. “You’re not the only one who can do romantic
surprises.”

  “You did this? For me?”

  There was a mattress on the floor, and nothing else, but what else did we need?

  “I had Zoe come over when we were on the way home,” I explained. “This is going to be the nursery. Figured we’d better christen it before there’s a baby in it, right?”

  He knelt with me onto the mattress. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me,” he whispered.

  “Happy ‘You’re About To Impregnate Me’ Day,” I said, lying back onto the mattress.

  He laughed, sitting backward with my feet in his hands. He slid my heels off, tossed them aside. Reached up, found the side zipper of my skirt and unzipped it, tugged the skirt down and off. I sat up and shucked my blazer, and then he was unbuttoning my blouse, sliding it off my arms. I lay in front of him in bra and underwear, hair coming loose from the neat bun I kept it in while working. He freed my hair of the elastic band, combed his fingers through it. Brought me up onto his lap and pulled me to himself and fused his mouth to mine. He was still fully dressed, except for the open zipper of his suit slacks. His mouth was wild and hot on mine, his tongue searching and hungry. As we kissed, his fingers found my bra closure and opened it, and I pulled backward to allow it to droop off, falling to our laps. He tossed it aside, and then, without breaking the kiss, lay me backward and levered over me, bracing his weight with one hand and tugging my underwear down with the other.

  Once I was naked, his mouth broke away from mine, and I knew the payback for teasing had come due.

  And tease me did, mouth delving down my body, plying kisses to my skin here and there and everywhere, tongue laving over my pebbled nipples, flicking and teasing, then nipping and gnawing, and then sliding lip-stuttering kisses lower and lower over my belly, my navel, to my hipbones, my thighs, down my shins to my feet—he even kissed the bottoms of my feet, brave man that he was. Up the insides of my calves, then, to the silk of my inner thighs, and finally to my sex.

  But even then, his teasing continued, and took on renewed mischief. A tongue flick, a kiss, a lick, and then nothing but his tongue sliding feather-light over the outer lips, and then probing in, touching my clit but no more.