Start Again Series: A Billionaire Romance Box Set

by J. Saman

  “You’re at ten centimeters again, Kate. You ready to push out baby number two?” Clarkson asks.

  She nods as tears stream down her face.

  “You’re doing so well, baby. I’m so proud of you. I love you so much,” I whisper into her ear, watching the doctors continue to work on our son.

  “Push, Kate. Now,” Clarkson demands and Kate complies, but the baby doesn’t come out as quickly as the last one did. It takes her three more contractions and three pushes with each one before our little girl comes out.

  Unlike with our son, she cries instantly, and so does Katie as she whispers something about giving Maggie siblings. I can’t begin to imagine just how emotional this moment is for her.

  Both an extreme high and extreme low.

  A few minutes later, our perfect babies are placed on Katie’s chest, and both immediately latch onto her beautiful full breasts—who can blame them really?

  The staff gives us privacy for a few minutes now that our son seems to be out of the woods, but they’re still taking both of them up to the NICU for a few days at least.

  Fine. Whatever, I won’t fight it.

  “You did so well, sweetheart. They’re perfect,” I kiss her sweet lips, looking down at our instant family. I never knew happiness could feel this way. Never realized that things could actually get better. But they have.

  “You were part of this too, you know?” She looks up at me with the most contented expression I’ve ever seen.

  “Love, all I did was orgasm inside of you. Not exactly a hardship for me. In fact, when they give us the go-ahead, I’d like to do that again.”

  Her eyes widen in horror. “Make more babies?”

  “No.” I shake my head. “Orgasm inside of you.” She really should have gotten that point. I’ll blame it on the fatigue and hormones. “I think we’ll start with the two babies we have and see where we end up in a few years.”

  “Thank Christ. I was worried there for a minute.” She looks down at our little bundles that are happily sucking away.

  “We have to name them.”

  “You don’t like the names we came up with?”

  We had two of each gender since all we knew was that we were having twins. We decided to be surprised on the rest.

  “Yes, but which ones, love?”

  “Oh. Right.” She sinks her teeth into her lip, worrying it back and forth. “I think I like Will.”

  “I assume that’s for our son?” She looks up at me like I’m an idiot. “Just making sure.” I hold my hands up in surrender. “Will, it is. I think I like Leah for our girl.”

  She nods. “Will and Leah. Perfect.”

  “Just like you. And them, of course.” I lean down and kiss her lips again, brushing my fingers across their tiny soft heads and kissing them. I’ve heard babies smell good, but I never realized just how amazing it really is.

  All of it. Every single thing about this is just…perfect.

  “We’re perfect, Ryan,” Katie says, echoing my thoughts as she always seems to do. “And thank god we didn’t have them in the car.”

  * * *

  The End

  Like Ryan and Kate’s story? Get the second book in the series (Luke’s story), Start Over. Sign up for my Newsletter and get a free copy of one of my books. Keep reading for a sneak peek of Start Over.

  START OVER

  One decision changed his entire life. And he's been paying for it ever since.

  * * *

  Seattle felt like the perfect place for Luke Walker to hide.

  A reformed hacker who now fights for the other side, he’s a country onto himself.

  Especially since his past is never far behind.

  But when he sees Ivy Green again, the woman he was never able to forget, he wants her. For so much more than the one-night stand they had ten years ago.

  It doesn't matter that his dark past and dangerous present mean he can't keep her.

  That his secrets would destroy any shot at a real future.

  After all, she's leaving in a month.

  What’s the worst that can happen?

  Text copyright © 2016 by J. Saman

  All rights reserved. Except for the use in reviews, the reproduction of utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented including xerography, photocopying, digitally copying or recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system is forbidden without the written permission of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, place and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and resemblance to the actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Edited by Gina Johnson

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Ivy

  * * *

  “No one drinks like that unless they’re in love,” the woman next to me says. I’ve been drinking in the pub for the past hour, and though I had noticed the nice pair of legs dangling out of the tiny skirt when she’d sat down next to me half an hour ago, I didn’t do further research.

  I ignore her as I take a sip of my Manhattan, which I only drink during dire situations.

  “Oh, come on,” she continues, clearly not taking my not-so-subtle hint. “It can’t be that bad.”

  I turn my head to her. She’s pretty. Red hair and dark blue eyes, at least that’s how they appear in the dim lighting, attached to petite yet soft features.

  I shrug a shoulder, turning back to the mahogany of the bar, hoping the heavy bass beat will serve as enough of a buffer between us.

  I’ve never been in this pub before. I guess that really shouldn’t surprise me since I’ve never been much of a boozer—not even in college when you’re supposed to hit the turps.

  I only live a few blocks away. Staggering distance. That’s what they call it, isn’t it?

  Yes, that’s exactly what they call it. I plan on getting good and drunk tonight. I’m sure I’ll regret it in the morning, but for now, it seems like an ace of an idea.

  My drinking neighbor says it can’t be that bad, but she’s wrong.

  I lost someone today. Not me per se, and it wasn’t my fault or anything, but still. It’s a life gone. A family devastated. You’d think by this point I’d be used to it and no longer take it personally, but I’m not, and I do.

  So I’m getting pissed.

  I take a sip of my second Manhattan of the night, admiring the fact that the bourbon and sweet vermouth are now flavorless.

  “Breakup or unrequited love?” the girl on my right asks again.

  “Neither.”

  And it’s the truth. I’m not in love and I’m not going through a breakup. Sometimes, life just requires a night of drinking in solitude. I don’t share these moments of somber contemplation with anyone. Not my colleagues or staff. No one. Which is probably why I don’t have a ton of friends. They’re all big on commiserating together. I’m not.

  Why does everyone always assume that everything has to do with the opposite sex?

  “Okay, fine,” she says a little dramatically as she sips her . . . whatever the hell that is. “If you don’t want to talk about it, I get it.”

  “Sorry, it’s not you.”

  “Oh right, the whole it’s not you, it’s me line,” she laughs. “Your ex must have been a real bitch.”

  I can’t help but laugh with her because this woman is actually a nice distraction—one I could use.

  “A bitch?” I turn to face her.

  “Yeah, to make you so bitter. Was she whoring around?”

  “Whoring around?” I feel like we’re playing dirty Mad Libs here, but I can’t quite get the punchline. And now I’m mixing metaphors, which tells me I should have eaten dinner before I took to the booze.

  Wait, did she say she?

  Ginger here looks at me equally confused. “The woman you broke up with,” the redh
ead enunciates each word like I’m a child.

  “I’m not gay.” I tilt my head, wondering why she automatically assumes I am. She should meet my sister, Sophia, then her gaydar would be off the charts. “And I didn’t break up with anyone.”

  She bites her lip, amused as hell. “If you’re not gay, what are you doing in a gay bar?”

  Her question catches me completely off guard, and I spin on my stool to survey the crowd.

  Sure as rain, she’s right.

  Judging by all the female couples, this is very much a lesbian bar. “Oh.” At least I have a good place to take Soph when she comes to visit next month. The drinks are ripper.

  She laughs out loud, head tilted back, smacking the bar twice for effect. “It’s fine; I’m not gay either. Well, not really anyway.”

  I swivel back, reaching for the stem of my fancy glass.

  “Then why are you here?”

  She shrugs a shoulder, “They have the best mojitos in town.”

  I eye her drink quickly before turning back to my own and finishing it down. “I’m Ivy.”

  “Claire.”

  “Nice to meet you.”

  “Ditto.”

  Claire downs the rest of her drink in one impressive slurp of the straw before slamming it on the counter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She stands up slowly, adjusting her tiny skirt before slapping a twenty on the bar.

  “You ready?”

  I furrow my eyebrows. “For what?”

  “To get out of here.”

  “I thought we already established that we’re not gay?”

  She snorts, “I’m not going to screw you, Ivy, though I do think you’re rather babealicious—in a serious, brooding sort of way. I’m headed to a party at a friend’s house, and I want you to come with me.”

  “A party?” I deadpan. “You don’t even know me.”

  “True, but that doesn’t mean we can’t be friends. Now come on, I’m borderline bitchy late instead of fashionably late.”

  What the hell.

  I toss down some money and follow my new friend, Claire, out into the cool misty night. She turns right, immediately setting off at a good clip and crossing her arms over her chest to stave off the cold.

  “I like your accent. Australian?”

  I nod. “Yes, but I’ve lived in the States for nearly sixteen years now.”

  “That explains why you have a slight accent, but don’t sound over the top Aussi.”

  I snicker. “Over the top Aussi?”

  “Yup. I would know. I lived in Australia for six months when I was a kid.”

  I turn to her, taken a back. “Oh, yeah? Where abouts?”

  “Sydney. Army brat. My dad was there for training or something.”

  I can’t imagine moving around like that for short stints at a time. Probably explains why she’s so affable and outgoing. How else do you meet people or make friends in that sort of situation?

  “What about you?”

  “Just outside of Melbourne.”

  “Is your family still there?”

  I shake my head, stepping around a couple who decided that the middle of the sidewalk was the perfect place to make out. “My mum and dad are here in Seattle now, and my sister lives in California.”

  “Nice.” Claire stops at the foot of a large craftsman-style home. “This is us.”

  I angle to her, my eyebrows raised, because the house is completely dark.

  There are no lights on and no cars on the street or in the driveway.

  “It’s a surprise engagement party for my boss and my best friend,” she explains, climbing the few cement steps up to the door. “They’re getting married in a couple of months, but the ceremony is going to be super small, so one of Kate’s work friends set this up so they could celebrate with her.”

  “Oh, that’s a lovely thing to do.”

  “It is.” She looks at me as she opens the front door like she lives here. “But if you say lovely again, we can’t hang out.”

  I snicker, grinning for the first time all day as I wearily follow her in.

  “Don’t worry, it’s just me,” Claire calls out, clearly not wanting a houseful of people to yell surprise at her.

  “About damn time, Claire,” an enticing male voice bellows out from the dark.

  “Suck it, Luke,” Claire says as she grabs hold of my wrist, seeming to know the way. I allow her to lead me, wondering what the hell I’m doing in a strange house with a strange girl. Around us, people are giggling and shushing one another.

  Stumbling over someone, I mutter out an apology as Claire jerks me down to the ground behind a heavy, solid piece of furniture that can only be a sofa or chair.

  “If you had gotten here on time, I wouldn’t have to give you shit,” the same male voice whispers in my ear.

  “Sorry?” I whisper back, a little unsettled by his proximity. Our hands are essentially touching as the warmth of his body cascades over mine, his breath brushing my face. He smells like the rain, fabric softener, and some woodsy cologne. It’s fantastic, and I practically breathe him in before I can stop myself. It’s the sort of scent that women all over the world fantasize about because it’s just that good.

  “You’re not Claire,” he says, and I feel his fingers skimming my own in what can only be a purposeful motion. I jerk my hand back to my lap.

  “No, I’m not.” I don’t offer more of an explanation than that. Suddenly I’m embarrassed to be here, practically sitting against a strange man in the dark. His body and face somehow seem closer, though all I can make out are shadows without specific features.

  “That’s a good thing,” he whispers. His breath blowing at a wisp of hair near my neck, sending chills across my skin.

  What the bloody hell was that?

  It’s the alcohol. It’s making me dizzy and not myself.

  He must not realize how close he is to me, so I shift to the other side, abutting Claire’s small frame.

  As I look around, squinting my eyes against the black, I realize that this isn’t just a house party—it’s an intimate gathering of friends, and I met the only person I know here twenty minutes ago.

  I’ve never done anything like this, and I have no excuse for my behavior now except that it was a real bastard of a day and I needed the mental diversion.

  “Luke,” Claire whispers, leaning across me.

  She must have bloody night vision goggles or cat eyes or something because she seems to have no difficulty seeing in the dark.

  “This is Ivy. I picked her up at Cello’s, even though she’s straight. Ironic, huh? I meet the only other non-lesbian there and talk her into leaving with me.”

  “That’s fucking hilarious,” Luke deadpans. “Now can you shut up so we don’t blow the lame-ass surprise? They just pulled in the driveway.”

  I’m about to ask how he even knows that when I hear car doors slamming shut and a man and a woman talking and laughing.

  Keys jiggle in the lock, and I can feel Claire—at least I hope it’s her—grab my hand in excited anticipation. The door flies open and someone flips the switch on the lights, and suddenly everyone jumps up, including me, and yells surprise.

  I’m temporarily blinded by the sudden transition in lighting, and as my pupils constrict and accommodate, I’m being pulled into the rushing crowd of well-wishers.

  Somehow I manage to pry myself away from Claire’s ninja grip and maneuver myself to the back of the heap.

  The group of about thirty people is laughing and talking animatedly with a woman I cannot see, but her fiancé is towering over the rest with dark, nearly black hair, a thick beard, and glasses.

  Not a bad-looking bloke.

  My eyes scan the room, debating if I should make a run for it out the back when a small blonde woman with an angelic face and light blue eyes approaches me. She looks familiar, but for the life of me I can’t place her.

  “Ivy Green?”

  “Um . . . Yes?” Why does that sound like a
question?

  “Welcome,” she says warmly, and I smile, feeling horrible for not knowing her name when she clearly knows mine. “I’m Kate Taylor. I work at the hospital with you. I’m a nurse in the ICU, but float to the ED sometimes.”

  And then it all clicks into place.

  “Yes, of course,” I beam, relieved that I know a second person here, again, sort of. “I apologize for not realizing who you were straight off.”

  She waves me away like it’s nothing. “Claire said you were her date for the night. She’s my maid of honor.”

  That relief from moments ago crashes to the floor, shattering into a million pieces. I’m mortified, because this is clearly her engagement party that I’m crashing, and I didn’t even know her name.

  “Yes, sorry. I hope that’s all right?” I look around helplessly. “I realize I’m intruding.”

  “Not at all. I’m glad you’re here. The more people I know at the hospital, the better.”

  I can relate to that.

  Though I’ve been working there since the start of my residency, I haven’t really clicked with many people. But that’s all on me. I’ve been consumed with work and thought of little else.

  Scanning around, I see a slew of other familiar faces, including Craig Stanton, who mercifully has yet to notice me.

  “It’s a bit unexpected that I’m crashing the surprise party of a work colleague.”

  “I know, right?” Kate laughs out loud.

  “What’s so funny?” Claire hops over to us. Literally, she’s hopping across the room. “You macking my date?”

  “No, but I definitely knew her before you did.”

  “No way,” Claire half-yells, pouting with a disappointed jut of her lip.

  “It’s true, mate,” I say, patting her shoulder like she’s a small child. “I work at the hospital with her.”

  “Figgity fuck, Kate. How is it you’ve met everyone I know before me?”

  “Not Luke. You definitely knew him first.”

  “True, but that dickwad doesn’t count.”