Four Secret Babies - A Second Chance Billionaire Romance (San Bravado Billionaires' Club Book 7)

by Layla Valentine

  Amy must’ve picked up on my dip in mood.

  “I mean, don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’m pretty sure if he wanted to, you know, have his fun with you, that he’d have done it by now. I think.”

  “We haven’t done…that yet,” I said. “We’ve only kissed.”

  “Hmm,” said Amy, considering the matter. “Well, I don’t know the guy much aside from his reputation, but I doubt he invites every girl he thinks is pretty to some fancy ball. And takes them to his private tailor.”

  I felt better.

  Before the conversation could continue further, my phone buzzed again. I took it out of my pajama pants pocket and checked it. It said “King” again, but this time it was Jordan.

  Heard the news about my dad. That means I get you all to myself today. The dress should be at your place by three, and I made an appointment at a beauty salon for you downtown for four. Be ready by eight on the dot.

  His first text was followed by the name and address of the beauty salon. I eagerly typed back an affirmative response and set the phone down.

  “Look at you all giddy,” said Amy with a smirk.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve never had a guy treat me like this before. Or been so attracted to him.”

  Amy’s expressed turned more serious.

  “Just…be careful,” she said. “I’m glad you’re happy, but I don’t want to see you end up as another notch on the great Jordan King’s bedpost.”

  I wanted to argue, to tell Amy that he wasn’t like that, but I knew there was some truth to her words. I was getting so wrapped up in him that I’d managed to mostly forget the long string of women he’d left in his wake.

  But my fear was soon replaced by eager excitement. I had a quick breakfast and showered, trying to keep busy until the afternoon arrived. I passed the time wondering about the party, wondering who was going to be there. And then another question popped into my mind: was this our first actual date?

  Sure enough, as Jordan had said, the dress arrived at three. I opened the plastic carrier, gasping as I took it out. It was long and elegant and gorgeous—something that I’d never in my life imagined I’d wear. And the shoes and clutch that came along with it were like little treasures, just for me.

  I set the dress carefully on my bed, grabbed my things, and headed downtown to the salon. Jordan’s name was like a key to the city—as soon as I told the girl at the front desk who’d made the appointment for me, the red carpet rolled out.

  I was whisked away to a private room in the back, and a team of beauty professionals flocked onto me. Over the course of the next hour, my eyebrows were done, along with my makeup and my hair. My golden curls were put into a glamorous up-do, and by the time the girls were finished with me, I couldn’t believe what I saw looking back in the mirror.

  I arrived back home at around six thirty—more than enough time to finally put on the dress. Once I had it on and looked at myself in the mirror, I nearly broke out into tears. I’d never looked so elegant, so refined. And it was all in preparation of a date with one of the most desirable men in town.

  The doorbell rang at eight o’clock on the dot, just like Jordan said. I eagerly opened the door and nearly gasped at what I saw. It was Jordan, all right, dressed in a black-and-white suit that looked so well-made that it almost didn’t seem real. His fire-red hair was slicked back, and in his hand was a bouquet of gorgeous flowers.

  “Wow,” he said, looking me over. “I mean, wow.”

  For the first time since I’d known him, Jordan King was taken aback.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” I said.

  He handed me the flowers, a wonderful, fresh floral scent rushing up to my nose as soon as I took them. I glanced behind Jordan at the street outside and saw a sleek, coal-black limo parked and waiting for us.

  I couldn’t help but chuckle.

  “What’s all that about?” asked Jordan.

  “Nothing,” I said. “This is all so amazing. It kind of reminds me of prom.”

  A curious expression formed on Jordan’s face for a moment before he let out a warm laugh.

  “It does, kind of,” he said. “But there’s a twist.”

  Now it was my turn to be curious.

  “And what might that be?” I asked.

  “Come and find out.”

  We stepped out onto the front porch of the apartment.

  “Um, is there any chance we can make the ‘prom’ thing complete and take a picture of us?” I asked, taking out my phone and extending it in front of us for a selfie.

  “Afraid not,” said Jordan, putting a hand over my phone and firmly pushing it down. “We’re actually on a tight schedule—no time for selfies.”

  I was disappointed, but I understood. Still, his firm insistence struck me as odd.

  Jordan led me out to the limo, the awaiting chauffeur opening the door for us as we arrived. I slid into the luxurious interior of the limo and was greeted with a small, rectangular box on the seat.

  “What’s this?” I asked, picking up the box and looking it over.

  “That’s the twist,” he said. “Open it up.”

  I gave Jordan a curious look before setting the shoebox-sized container on my lap and slowly lifting the lid. Inside, seated on a gentle pillow of silk, was an elegant, ornate mask. I gasped as I lifted it up, admiring the intricate design and gorgeous gem inlays.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “This is a masquerade ball?”

  Jordan nodded, a playful smile on his lips.

  “I didn’t know that the San Bravado crowd went in for that sort of thing,” I said, my eyes locked onto the mask, the thing both strange and beautiful at the same time.

  “Of course, they do,” he said. “Some of the wealthiest, most influential people in the world are going to be at this event. Sometimes they like to go out for a night of fun and have their privacy be intact.”

  It made some sense. I placed the mask on my face, noting how light it was in spite of how much it looked like a priceless antique.

  Jordan spoke to the chauffeur through the intercom and let him know it was time to be on our way. The limo’s engine purred to life, and we were off.

  “Care for something to drink?” asked Jordan, pressing another button and revealing a fully stocked bar.

  “Oh, yes please,” I said. “I’m always in the mood for bubbly.”

  “That we certainly have,” said Jordan, taking a green bottle from the cooled portion of the bar and popping it open.

  He poured two glasses, handing one to me. The two us of drank and chatted as the limo took us out of San Bravado and into the outskirts of the town. My stomach tingled with anticipation; I couldn’t wait to see what the evening had in store for us.

  Finally, off in the distance, I spotted an enormous mansion situated on a gently sloping hill. The place was secluded and remote, and as we approached, I could make out several dozen limos and other luxury cars parked in the large, circular driveway.

  We drove closer and closer and spotted a large fountain in front of the place, along with a massive staircase that led to two double doors. Elegantly dressed men and women slowly made their way inside.

  It wasn’t long before the limo came to a stop, the chauffeur opening the door for us once we did.

  “Come on,” said Jordan, stepping out and extending his hand to me, a mask now on his face. “Let’s have a night to remember.”

  Chapter 8

  Chloe

  “The password?” asked one of the two enormous masked guards as Jordan and I approached the front doors of the mansion.

  “Fidelio,” said Jordan, his voice low and conspiratorial, and the guard nodded and gestured for us to enter.

  The first room of the mansion was a large entrance hallway, a dome ceiling far above us and a grand spiral staircase that led to the many floors of the home. Unlike the King residence, which was decorated in a subdued, modern style, this home looked like something out of eighteenth-cen
tury France.

  I gasped as we entered, unable to process the luxury and wealth on display, the men and women in attendance slowly filing through the entry hall and entering one of the other rooms, all of them wearing unique masks.

  “Come on,” said Jordan. “I’m ready to check out the scene.”

  I was right there with him. Jordan took my hand and led me through the crowd, my fingers on my face to make sure my mask didn’t fall to the floor. We moved through another reception room, arriving at one more set of giant double doors, which were open to a ballroom more amazing than anything I’d seen before.

  We stepped in, the space taking my breath away. It was a grand ballroom, the sides lined with ornate columns and the ceilings dozens of feet high. The floor was beautiful, all shiny parquet, and old-fashioned portraits, some looking to be over ten feet tall, lined the walls. The room was decorated in renaissance style, matching the theme of the masquerade.

  At the back of the room was a large stage, a twelve-or-so piece symphony filling the air with beautiful music.

  “Holy crap,” I said, my immature little swear about as much of a contrast to the elegance of the place as I could imagine. “This ballroom is amazing.”

  “Holy crap indeed,” Jordan said, flashing me a smile under his mask.

  “Who owns this place?” I asked.

  “No one,” said Jordan. “Well, several people, all of them anonymous. The house is kept in a trust and set aside for occasions like this. It’s actually one of the oldest homes in the state, built by some obscenely wealthy newspaper magnate over a hundred years ago.”

  That made sense—nothing about the place said “modern.”

  A masked, tuxedo-clad waiter zipped past us, and Jordan was quick to take two glass of champagne off his tray as he did. Jordan handed one to me, and I brought the glass to my lips, still taking in the incredible scene before me.

  “So,” I said. “How does anyone…talk to anyone else? I mean, no one can see anyone, so they don’t know if the other person is a friend or acquaintance or anything.”

  “It just works,” said Jordan with a smile.

  Right at that moment, a couple approached us, both of them wearing masks, the man dressed in a suit that was almost as nice—but not quite as nice—as Jordan’s, and the woman wearing an elegant red gown.

  “Good evening,” said the man. “Is this the first masquerade for you both?”

  “It’s her first, actually,” Jordan offered, raising a finger toward me.

  The couple both nodded, their eyes appearing to analyze me through their masks. I couldn’t tell how they felt about a newbie being in their midst. And something about the man’s voice struck me as familiar. I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  “In that case, welcome,” said the man. “It’s always nice to see new faces here—so to speak.”

  We all chuckled at his joke. Jordan thanked the man for his gracious welcome and the pair was off to chat with more guests.

  Then it occurred to me just who that guy was. He was an anchor for one of the biggest news shows in the country.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “Was that—”

  Jordan raised his hand slightly, cutting me off in mid-sentence.

  “Ah-ah-ah,” he said. “It’s bad form to guess at who you think someone is. Goes against the spirit of the party.”

  “Ah, right,” I said softly.

  I took a sweeping look at the many people in attendance. Some of them were tall and extremely well-built, and I figured they had to be professional athletes of some sort.

  Jordan walked me through the room, the two of us dipping into conversations here and there. Despite the rule of the party, I couldn’t help but guess in my head who some of these people were. I wasn’t able to say for sure, but I suspected the identities of a few famous actors and actresses, along with some politicians. And I instantly recognized the voice of a very famous and very hot-headed British chef. I’d watch too many episodes of his show for there to be any doubt about that.

  But I kept my mouth shut when it came to guesses, instead having fun with the strange, vague conversations that you were forced to have when speaking with people who you didn’t know and couldn’t find out anything about.

  As odd as the party was, I found myself having a blast. Eventually, Jordan led me out onto the dance floor as the band began a slow number. I’d had a few glasses of wine by this point, and the buzz in my head was just delightful.

  Jordan pulled me close, placing his hand on the small of my back. Being so near to him, especially after the heated kiss that we shared, was making me more turned on by the second. The more we danced, the more I wanted to get him all alone, all to myself.

  After the dance, I stepped back from Jordan, the mixture of the wine and the party and everything else making me feel overwhelmed.

  “I think I’m going to get some fresh air,” I said to Jordan.

  “Sure,” he said. “I’ll give you a few minutes. I know this whole scene is a lot to take in.”

  I nodded before making my way through the crowd and leaving the ballroom, exiting to the enormous balcony. I stepped up to the stone railing and looked out across the property, the rolling hills leading to the ocean beyond. It was all so incredible.

  There was just one problem: Jordan was being the perfect date. Too perfect, in fact. He was being polite and sophisticated, but after our kiss, that was the last thing I wanted. I wanted Jordan to be the cocky, slightly arrogant man that wasn’t afraid to flirt with me right from the moment he laid eyes on me.

  I began to wonder if this kind of hot-cold thing was part of his game. Amy’s words had stuck in my head. I wanted to know how much of the real Jordan I was seeing versus how much of his playboy persona he was putting forward, wearing as surely as the mask on his face.

  Regardless, I wanted him, and I decided that if he wasn’t going to make a move, it was going to be up to me. I finished my glass of wine and, feeling confident about what I wanted, I re-entered the ballroom and made a beeline for the band.

  They finished a song as I approached. I strode up to the bandleader and got his attention.

  “I have a question,” I asked.

  He raised his eyebrows over the top of his mask.

  “I’m loving what you guys are playing so far, but is there any chance you could play something, you know…spicier?”

  The bandleader stared at me for a moment, and I began to wonder if I’d broken some other rule of the party. Before I could wonder too long, however, he spoke.

  “I know just the thing,” he said. Then, he nodded and turned back to the band. He said something that I couldn’t quite make out, and moments later the music started.

  It was a hot tango tune, the beat much faster and more sensual than anything they’d played so far. I turned and watched the mood change over the crowd, dozens of couples eager to partake in dancing to the new song.

  I scanned the attendees, looking for Jordan. Finally, I spotted him. He strode over to me, taking my hand when he was directly in front of me.

  “I saw you talking to the band leader,” he said. “This little number is your doing?”

  “It just might be,” I said.

  “An interesting choice,” he said.

  “Just what I happened to be in the mood for.”

  The wry smile on his face suggested that he knew what I was implying. Jordan took me out onto the middle of the floor and, with a quick and surprising motion, pulled my body close to his. A hot flush ran through me as he brought me close, the nearness to him what I wanted.

  He fell instantly into the rhythm, and I was happy to join him. The music went on, and Jordan held me close as we moved sensuously along to the slinky beat of the tango. The strings played beautifully, and I quickly found myself lost in the music, lost in the passion boiling inside of me for Jordan.

  He dipped me, and he twirled me, and most of all, he held me close and tight, the heat between our bodies building by the moment. And he d
id it with expert skill and precision. I figured Jordan could move a bit on the dance floor, but I was totally surprised by how good he was.

  The strings hit a crescendo, and soon the world beyond Jordan and I melted away. His blue eyes fixed on me all the while, he moved me through the last pulses of the music, and by the time the song was done, I could hardly catch my breath.

  Smatterings of applause broke out among the crowd—me and Jordan’s moves had caught the eyes of more than a few party-goers. But I didn’t care about anyone at that moment but the man holding me in his arms.

  “I…I think I need some fresh air,” I said, my chest rising and falling as I tried to compose myself.

  “I know just the place,” said Jordan.

  He lifted me to my feet and, my hand still in his, lead me out of the ballroom and through a small side door. The door led to a narrow hallway, and I found myself very curious as to where he was taking me.

  We eventually arrived at a small door that Jordan pulled open, revealing a gorgeous, secluded garden. The small space was beautifully arranged, with a narrow path of stones that curved through the colorful flowers that rose up along rows of trellises. In the center was a lovely fountain that bubbled gently, water spouting from a statue of a rotund cherub at the top.

  “This is beautiful,” I said. “I can’t believe there’s no one here.”

  “Just you and me,” said Jordan. “For now, at least.”

  He led me toward one of the benches that lined the path here and there. I took a seat on the cool stone, and Jordan moved next to me. My blood still pumped hard from the dance, and I was so excited that I felt like I might never catch my breath.

  Jordan gazed at me with hungry eyes, and I knew the message I’d sent with the music had been well-received. He placed his hand on the small of my back and pulled me close, his red lips striking in contrast to the pearl-white of his mask.

  He brought me close, so close, holding me only a few tantalizing inches away. My lips parted on their own, and I was ready for him to take me, to do whatever he wanted with me. And he seemed to know this, savoring the pregnant moments of pure tension that hung in the air between us.