Surprise Baby for the Billionaire

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Surprise Baby for the Billionaire Page 4

by Charlotte Hawkes


  And all the heat she remembered from their time together—the heat which had been simmering again the other day at the hospital—flooded around her, almost drowning her in its intensity.

  Lord, how was she to survive being in such proximity to him when a traitorous part of her wanted to revisit every inch of that hewn, addictive body which the tuxedo did nothing to temper?

  ‘May I ask where we are going?’ she asked primly, surprised at how even her voice sounded when she might have expected it to be shaking.

  The unexpected truth was that it was almost a relief.

  ‘My place.’

  His tone was grim but he didn’t even look at her. His gaze was trained out of the window, as if he couldn’t bear to.

  It hurt. More than it had any right to.

  ‘Why?’

  Her voice was sharper than she’d intended, but the idea of being back in his penthouse was daunting. Every room would surely trigger X-rated memories of their weekend together—and she already had enough of them in her own brain, without returning to the scene of the crime.

  His head swivelled slowly to face her and abruptly she decided she preferred him staring out of the window after all.

  ‘To discuss how we proceed from here.’

  His low, controlled voice didn’t fool Saskia for a second. And there was a carefully restrained fury in the cognac depths of his eyes—though whether that was because she was pregnant or because she had concealed it from him, she couldn’t quite be certain.

  Either way, he sounded ominous. Especially when she already knew what kind of a force of will Malachi Gunn was.

  There was something else in those depths, too—and it was infinitely more dangerous than his anger.

  Desire.

  Still.

  She could feel it rolling over her body as sure as if it were his hands themselves.

  A low ache began building right there. Right between her legs, deep and insistent, and only Malachi had ever made her feel it.

  Good grief, she couldn’t trust herself around him for a moment.

  The realisation was like a blow to the gut. If she went back to his apartment it would only amplify her haywire emotions that much more. Until they were completely out of control. Until she was.

  Panic clutched at Saskia.

  ‘Stop the car,’ she muttered abruptly.

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I said, stop the car.’ She raised her voice, tapping on the glass between them and the driver. ‘I need some air.’

  She was vaguely aware of Malachi dipping his head in confirmation before the car slowed. Stopped.

  Saskia was out in an instant—but not fast enough to beat Malachi, who had materialised right by her side. He took their coats from his driver, who must have retrieved them from the cloakroom before they’d left the gala.

  Why was she even surprised? Of course Malachi hadn’t left the event on a whim. The man never did anything on a whim. Except that long weekend with her, that was.

  And now this baby.

  Taking her arm, Malachi steered her to the riverside. The bracing air walloped her, mercifully knocking her out of her panic.

  ‘Not exactly the balmiest evening for a walk along the promenade.’ His tone was clipped. ‘But at least the wind has dropped.’

  ‘It’s invigorating,’ she lied, turning away from him and beginning to walk.

  Anything was better than being pressed up to him within the confines of that car. Remembering the feel of his hands as they had explored every last millimetre of her body with such reverence. The heat from his breath as he had tracked down the column of her neck, leaving her shivering with desire and desperate for more. And the way he had moved between her legs, holding himself up and locking his eyes with hers before he surged into her, making her whole world explode in a riot of colours she’d never known before.

  Had that first time been the moment the die had been cast? The moment her journey to pregnancy had begun? Or had that been later, in his apartment? On the couch or on the rug? In the swimming pool or in the bedroom? In his shower or in his bed?

  He had claimed her over and over and over again, as if she were his.

  She had actually felt like she was. For that one incredible weekend.

  And then it had been over.

  She’d made herself leave, sneaking out when he hadn’t been able to postpone a conference call for a fourth time, because she’d been afraid she wouldn’t be able to walk out through the door if he was watching her.

  Over the last three months she’d told herself that she’d imagined the way it had been between them. That her memories had been blown out of proportion to all reality.

  Now, with her body reacting in ways it had no business doing, Saskia was beginning to fear that her memories hadn’t even done reality justice.

  ‘Is this really where you want to talk?’

  Malachi’s rich voice cut through her thoughts. She toyed with telling him that a part of her didn’t want to talk at all. But she knew that would be unwise. Either way, it was better here...where her body wasn’t so assaulted by memories.

  ‘There’s no one around.’ She shrugged, even as a faint shiver entered her voice.

  She wouldn’t last long in this cold, wearing only what she had on. He would use that to his advantage.

  ‘So be it.’

  They managed about fifty metres in silence, but if she’d been hoping the location might put him off then clearly she’d been mistaken.

  ‘Were you planning on telling me?’ he demanded, without preamble.

  When she didn’t answer it appeared that he couldn’t stop himself from goading her—just a little.

  ‘Or was there some doubt in your head that it was mine?’

  She lifted her eyes up to his dark, blazing ones. A sense of belated dignity was apparently struggling to make itself known.

  ‘Is yours.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Is,’ she repeated clearly. ‘Not was.’

  ‘My apologies.’ He didn’t look in the slightest bit apologetic.

  ‘And, for the record, I don’t make a habit of one-night stands,’ she managed stiffly, compelled to make the point even though it didn’t remotely answer his actual question. ‘I’ve slept with two people in my life. Andy was my first. You were my second.’

  Another flash she couldn’t recognise went through his eyes, and another thread of taut silence wove its way around them, as if binding them tighter together even in the expanse of the promenade.

  ‘Is that so?’

  She licked her lips.

  ‘It is. And I know I told you that already. Three months ago.’

  He still didn’t answer, and she had to wonder whether her pedantry made her more of an idiot in his eyes or less. Either way, his intense glower did funny things to her insides. The way it had three months ago. And the way it had every time she’d thought of him since then.

  Except that this was so much more...real. So much more potent.

  ‘You should have told me,’ he growled.

  Yes, she should have. No matter how she ran events through her head, that simple fact was unmistakable.

  Saskia paused. She wasn’t used to feeling so cautious, as though she was on the back foot. She prided herself on being confident, strong and bold. Ordinarily she would have brazened it out. But then ordinarily she wouldn’t have been facing off against Malachi.

  Still, she tilted her head up boldly.

  ‘I know that it was a one-night stand. I understand that. And that this is an unforeseen consequence. But I want to keep my baby, and that’s my choice. It doesn’t have to be yours. Right here, right now, I’m officially releasing you from any responsibility.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  His eyes glittered furiously, and it was all Saskia coul
d do to hold her ground.

  Not that she thought she was in any danger from Malachi—at least not physically. But emotionally...? That was a whole different concept.

  It made her choose her next words very, very carefully. ‘I’m trying to be reasonable here,’ she offered at last, trying surreptitiously to take a step back.

  He took a step closer to her. Just one, single step. But his stride was longer than hers anyway, and it was enough to force her to tip her head back to look up at him.

  Enough for her entire traitorous body to leap in thrilled anticipation. Her hands actually itched to reach up and grab the material of his dark wool coat which had no business clinging to every ridge and muscle which she already knew lay beneath.

  ‘Reasonable?’ he echoed quietly. Too quietly. ‘Is that what you call it, zvyozdochka?’

  ‘It is.’

  Her voice was altogether too raspy for her own liking. And the name he’d called her that first night coursed through her as though it somehow made her his.

  She took another step back before she realised how it might look to him. ‘You don’t agree?’

  ‘Damned right I don’t,’ he growled, taking them both another step backwards, until she felt the cold sea wall against her back and realised she had no further to go, and his arms locked down either side of her, effectively to cage her.

  What was wrong with her that she found the whole thing so utterly arousing?

  He wasn’t some knight, claiming her. And she certainly wasn’t a damsel in distress.

  ‘That’s my baby you’re carrying. You don’t have the right to “release” me from it as though I have no say in the matter. As though the baby has no right to a father.’

  ‘That wasn’t...’ She shook her head. ‘That isn’t what I’m doing.’

  ‘That’s exactly what you’re doing.’

  ‘No. I was just...’ She took a breath, trying to get her thoughts straight in her head before attempting to articulate them. ‘You said that I should have told you, and you’re right—I should have. I was all geared up for it the first couple of times I went to Care to Play, only you weren’t there.’

  She stopped, giving him a chance to respond. Almost hoping that he would say something to explain it, but he didn’t. Yet his expression had altered and her heart tumbled.

  She was right. He had been avoiding her.

  ‘You were always there before we had that weekend together,’ Saskia whispered, with no idea how she managed to stay upright, to seem confident, when inside she was crumbling like a sandcastle on the beach under the onslaught of the incoming tide. ‘But after that weekend you were never there. At least not when you knew I would be. As though you were avoiding me...’

  And still he didn’t answer. He didn’t even move. If she hadn’t known better she might have thought he’d turned to stone.

  She didn’t want to hear the answer—she didn’t need to hear it. She already knew the truth. Still, she couldn’t stop the question from slipping off her lips.

  ‘Were you avoiding me, Malachi? Were you so concerned that if I saw you at the centre again I’d take it as some sort of sign that we were in a relationship?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MALACHI COULD BARELY remember getting Saskia back into the car, or telling his driver to continue. His mind was too full of emotions so tightly entangled that he couldn’t hope to begin to unravel them.

  But suddenly he was tapping in the code to let them into his penthouse suite, and the moment Saskia stepped over the threshold he was assailed with images of the last time she’d been there.

  He hadn’t felt this out of control, this blindsided, since he’d been a kid.

  It had been one thing to suspect that Saskia was pregnant, but quite another to actually hear her confirm it. His worst fear.

  At least that was what he’d always thought it would be. That was why he’d always been so fastidious about using protection with all his other women.

  Only now it wasn’t fear he was feeling. It was guilt. Because Saskia was right—ever since their weekend together he had been avoiding her. Not because he was afraid, as she’d suggested, that if she saw him again she’d take it as some sign that he wanted more, but rather because a foolish, traitorous part of himself did want exactly that, and he was afraid she saw him as nothing more than a much-needed rebound. A fling to be dismissed and forgotten.

  Which was why it made no sense at all.

  He should have welcomed that—the lack of complication. He might not have the playboy reputation his brother did, but he’d had his fair share of women seeking a relationship with him when he could offer them nothing more than the physical.

  Yet, as much as he’d kept telling himself that the weekend with Saskia had just been about sex, deep down he suspected there had been more to it than that. Some deeper, inexplicable connection had drawn him to her from the moment she’d walked into his centre and volunteered her skills as a paediatric doctor.

  At a time when other people might have focused on themselves, on what they were personally going through—in Saskia’s case, the breakdown of her engagement—Saskia’s instinct had been to reach out and try to help others. It said more about the kind of person she was, about her generosity of spirit and her selflessness, than anything she could have told him.

  Malachi busied himself trying to get his head around this new, unwanted revelation. This wasn’t the time for overanalysing what he did or didn’t feel. Or for reading something into nothing. This was the time for taking a problem, looking at it logically and dispassionately, and finding the best response.

  Something he usually excelled at.

  But he was failing today.

  ‘So, what now?’ Saskia managed, in an impressive show of confidence.

  Especially after the way she’d halted so abruptly, not allowing herself to progress much further into his apartment before she spun back to face him. And the way her eyes slid away from the room to focus on some point just over his left shoulder, where the front door now closed slickly behind him.

  Almost, he considered, as if she couldn’t bear to look at the room where he’d stripped her naked the moment they’d tumbled through the door—it felt like a lifetime ago—and knelt at her feet to bury his face in all that glorious heat.

  It was certainly the first image which had raced into his own head the moment they’d stepped into his apartment.

  It didn’t help that she’d been dressed to kill that night, too. In a dress which had been infinitely sexy, if not quite as stunning as the creation she was wearing now. An emerald green thing, which complemented her dark skin tones to perfection.

  Before he could stop himself, his mind leapt to the question of whether she was wearing the same delicate bra and thong set. And were those infinitely long legs encased in the same style of sexy lace-top hold-ups?

  God, what was the matter with him?

  Malachi fought to drag his mind back to the present and failed, almost despairing of himself—until he saw the quickening, jerky pulse thud at the base of her elegant neck and realised that his wasn’t the only mind that had wandered.

  Good! Satisfaction pounded through him. Maybe he could use that to his advantage.

  ‘We should have this conversation somewhere a little more comfortable than standing in the entrance hall, don’t you think, Saskia?’ he murmured, moving to usher her through to the main lounge.

  ‘I seriously doubt this is going to be a comfortable discussion wherever we have it,’ she shot back crisply.

  He had to force himself to keep sauntering into the living area without glancing around, as though he felt as casual and self-contained as he miraculously appeared.

  ‘Surely all the more reason not to exacerbate things, then?’

  Moving around the space, he busied himself with a drink he didn’t even want for himself, and
a bottle of the mineral water he recalled she favoured, then threw himself into a soft leather chair and deliberately stretched out, as if he was at ease. Her eyes widened, even as she drew her lips into a thin line and lifted her nose ever so slightly in the air.

  Malachi didn’t realise he’d been holding his breath until she finally, stiffly, followed him into the room.

  She eyed the leather sofa—where even now he could remember laying her out almost reverently, before finally burying his face in her sweet, intense heat—and she perched, rather awkwardly, on its arm. The mineral water was left untouched on the table between them.

  ‘What now?’ she repeated sharply, but he didn’t miss the glimmer of nervousness.

  The problem was that he didn’t really know the answer. She was pregnant with his baby and she’d been so afraid that he wouldn’t want to know that firstly she hadn’t even told him, and secondly she’d tried to absolve him of all responsibility.

  Fresh anger surged through him, and suddenly Malachi found himself talking without even realising what he was saying.

  ‘Now, Saskia,’ he bit out, ‘you will move in with me and I will provide for you and for our baby.’

  ‘I’m sorry...what did you just say?’

  She looked utterly stupefied. Exactly the way he ought to feel. He could hardly believe the words that had come out of his mouth—move in with him—where had that even come from? It was ludicrous. Sheer folly.

  And yet there wasn’t an atom of him that wanted to take it back.

  He ought to feel numb.

  Detached.

  Instead he suspected that what he was feeling—for the first time in a long, long time—was alive.

  And that made no sense either.

  Even now, after everything she’d said, it was taking more self-control than he felt it ought to not to reach out and haul her to him. He wanted her with a ferociousness he didn’t recognise in himself.

  A yearning.

  And he didn’t yearn. He wasn’t desperate. Not ever.

  At least not any more. He’d left that nonsense behind along with his childhood. Yearning for a better life, a kinder childhood, a fairer world—all of which he’d quickly learned wouldn’t simply come to him. If he wanted them, he’d have to take them. Claim them. Seize them. In business and in his personal life. Fighting with every fibre of his body—even as an eight-year-old—to keep himself and Sol off the Social Services radar.

 

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