Secret Baby: Billionaire Stepbrother

by Dance, Candy

  The next morning, I lay in bed a long time before Bart woke up just listening to his soft breathing, while thinking about all that Beck had missed in Bart’s young life. Beck was a workaholic, but I’d seen him around kids before and he really liked kids. You don’t grow up with the guy half your life and not know him pretty well, so I knew Beck would make a good dad. A really good dad.

  But I’d had these thoughts a thousand times before, and they always circled into the impossible. We were stepbrother and stepsister, and nothing could change that. And that fact could ruin Bart’s life, if I ever let the truth out. And I knew once the truth was out, it could never be taken back.

  Maybe Beck thought he knew, but he couldn’t really know, unless I told him. So no matter how much I wanted us to be a normal guy and gal in love, and having a baby ... I just couldn’t.

  I wiped at my tears, staring at the ceiling in my old bedroom. I had been in this position a lot in my life; all those teenage years fighting my attraction for Beck. I had done it at times with my heart hurting so much, when he’d take another girl out to date. I never wanted to live through that angst again.

  “I need to get out of here, fast,” I muttered. I’d managed to make myself bigger than the attraction I felt for Beck once in my life, and now I needed to do that again. Even though it would be so hard to leave him one more time. “Maybe I can do it before he gets up.”

  I pushed myself off the bed with determination and I decided it was going to be easier this time to leave Beck, because I was doing it for Bart. I just needed a really good and quick excuse to get out of there.

  Only once I got to the playpen to pick up Bart, who was still sleeping, I found out why my normally early rising son was not awake yet. It was because he had a fever. The plans I had fled my mind, as I picked Bartie up, turned him in my arms and felt his forehead. I tried not to panic, but I went directly for the source of support that had always sustained me.

  “Beck!” I yelled, and then I took Bart towards Beck’s room.

  Beck opened his door wearing only tight black boxers, and I couldn’t even get excited over how hot his body looked, because I was so upset.

  “Feel his forehead. How hot does that feel to you? Damn it, I forgot to bring a thermometer or anything!” I exclaimed at Beck. Beck’s sleepy gray eyes turned sharp immediately and he lifted his big hand to Bart’s forehead. While I continued ranting, “I shouldn’t have brought him on that long car drive and then took him out last night!”

  Beck’s big hand grasped my shoulder and squeezed, “Calm down, your son needs you levelheaded,” he ordered.

  I knew my gaze was pleading with him to tell me that everything was going to be all right as I fought to calm myself. “I’ve never felt it so hot,” I whispered, with obvious fear.

  “Boo sweetheart, I agree. Now we just need to decide what we’re going to do. Doctor here, the emergency room, or—”

  Before Beck could finish, I exclaimed, “His doctor and all his records are back home!”

  Then Beck blew my mind by interrupting and saying with a growled voice, “I can have you fucking home in an hour, maybe an hour and a half, if we waste time gathering your shit.”

  That’s when I found out over the next couple hours that Beck was filthy rich now, so rich he had a jet, and it was even parked in our small town waiting for him to leave. I couldn’t even comprehend something like that, but I was so worried about Bart it simply passed me by.

  Beck was like a commander. He got Bart, me, and all our things into a limo, which arrived at his call, and to the airport in less than forty minutes, while I talked to Bart’s doctor on the phone. Thank God, I was on the phone when Bart had his first fever seizure so the doctor could tell me Bart wasn’t dying.

  Both Beck and I gasped as we stood in the aisle of Beck’s private jet, waiting for the pilot to finish his preflight check.

  Beck grabbed the phone from me, where I’d been talking to the doctor, and he sharply ordered, “Put him on the seat, Mil.”

  I couldn’t do anything but follow Beck’s orders I was so freaked out, while Beck explained precisely to the doctor how Bart was acting.

  Then clearly for me to hear, Beck said, “It’s not that unusual for infants to have mild fever seizures. They don’t hurt them.”

  The minute I heard that I nearly cried, as I fell down next to Bart and cuddled my head next to him on the seat. I didn’t hear the rest of what Beck said to the doctor. But a while later, Beck’s deep voice brought me out of my worried daze.

  “Millie, you have to keep it together. The doctor said babies have extreme fevers and to make certain he’s not wrapped up too tightly.”

  I grabbed Beck’s hand and brought it to my cheek. “Thank you. Thank you for helping us.”

  Then Beck was next to me, sitting down on the floor with his body curled around me and his big hand came around and brushed the top of Bart’s head.

  “Hang in there son,” he muttered.

  The deepness of his voice thrummed through me as I wished with all my heart, I could tell him the truth—that Bart was really his son.

  Beck didn’t lie; we were at the hospital in my town, in less than two hours.

  The minute I hit the emergency room they put Bart and I into a wheelchair. At the desk, they asked me a thousand questions, one of which I didn’t even realize how significant it was, when I answered and I gave them Bart’s birthday.

  Then we were in a room, and Beck was with us when Bart’s pediatrician showed up. I was so relieved I sagged, and Beck pulled me back from the hospital bed where Bart lay, so my pediatrician could look Bart over.

  I felt Beck’s arm move across the back of my shoulders and I wilted into him as I looked up and saw his clenched jaw. It was a sure sign he was holding back intense emotions.

  “Well, you two,” my pediatrician said, standing straighter. “I think his fever peeked on the plane and he’s going to be fine.” I couldn’t help it, I sobbed and turned my face into Beck’s chest, hugging him tighter, as I heard Bart’s doctor say,” Beck, anytime you need a little extra help, just ask. It’s nice to work with a level head.”

  I wondered what the doctor meant, but I was too relieved over Bart to think about it much, and the only thing that got me to let go of Beck’s strength was to go to Bart so I could cuddle him.

  It wasn’t until we were being released from the hospital that I found out Beck really wasn’t on my side as much as I thought he was. Outside of the hospital there was a cab waiting, which he went to and opened the door.

  I’d expected him to get into the cab with us, but instead he grabbed my arm right as I was entering, and he growled, “April? You fucking said Bart’s birthday was in April. Now you just told them in the hospital it was February. I’m not a fucking fool, Millie.”

  I opened my mouth to say something, but nothing came out, as I shuddered with remorse, fear, and the aftermath of Bart’s close call.

  But then Beck was pressing me into the cab, where he leaned down, and to the cab driver, he ordered, “Take her to the address she tells you.”

  I looked up at Beck and I saw fury etched on the hard lines of his face, and then the cab door slammed shut. Tears filled my eyes as the cab pulled away and left Beck behind.

  The only thought that kept blaring through my mind over and over: He knew. Beck knew Bart was his son.

  Chapter Five

  Beck texted me five times over the next two days, asking if Bart was okay. He never said anything else, and I was too much of a coward to say anything but reassure him that Bart was recovering. At first I tried to ignore the situation with the justification that Bart needed my attention.

  It was easy to fool myself that maybe if I ignored it, it would go away. So I dug deep into my denial, until everything started coming back to normal, and I was sure Bart was okay.

  Then, I had to start thinking about work and about my car. I had to start thinking about getting back into my routine. That made me realize I couldn’t ign
ore the big looming problem in my life. It wasn’t going to go away.

  But how was I going to explain keeping Beck’s son from him.

  Then I realized Beck was rich now, and he could make a lot of trouble for me. He had to hate me and despise me since he’d learned the truth. And, I knew Beck wasn’t a pushover—Beck didn’t let other people run over him.

  He’d always stood strong, and he fought back. That’s what he had wanted to do about our attraction. He’d wanted to date me and be with me, and let people go fuck themselves if they thought it was wrong.

  But I’d been too weak to do that, and tears filled my eyes, because I was still too weak.

  But I knew Beck well enough to know he wasn’t going to let a son, he knew lived in this world alone and thinking his father didn’t care about him. Beck would never do that. That’s why I was afraid of what he might do.

  So maybe I wasn’t surprised the afternoon of the sixth day, when I was trying to figure out how I was going to get my car back, that I got a call from a lawyer. It was Beck’s lawyer apparently, and he told me Beck was requesting a paternity test on Bart. He said I could either get a lawyer to go to court to try to stop it or I could save a lot of money and heartache and get the paternity test done.

  I was choked up when I got off the phone—how could my stepbrother do this to me? How could he not call me and talk to me directly. I felt as if he was attacking me; a vulnerable mother and her child.

  But then someone was at my door, and I swiped at my tears, and went to answer it. On my front porch, I found a man holding out keys to me.

  “Beck said to bring your SUV and the keys here to you, ma’am. He said to tell you all your things are in the car.”

  I looked at the unknown man, who was about fifty years old just wearing a button-down shirt and slacks with no name tag and no sign of any company affiliation, while I fought my tears.

  “Thank you,” I whispered, not knowing what else to say.

  He nodded, then added, “I’m supposed to help you bring the things in, if you need it.”

  That’s when I decided that my stepbrother was the most confusing man I’d met in my entire life. But I’d always kind of known that. Usually no one understood Beck like I did, but we were adults now and I wasn’t sure even I did anymore.

  It seemed like he was conflicted, and I realized I had to woman up and go talk to my stepbrother and make things right. Or at least attempt to. What I’d done might never be forgiven.

  To the man, I said, “Please, I’d appreciate it if you’d help bring my things inside.”

  Quickly I had a hatched plan to see if I could get the man to tell me where Beck was.

  ***

  Beck cursed as he poured a cup of morning coffee, in his hotel suite, in the town his stepsister lived in.

  He’d fucking dreamed about her again last night.

  It was another carnal and erotic dream that he wouldn’t be able to get off his mind all day. Again.

  Instead of being furious with her, he ought to go fuck her.

  But he didn’t do betrayed, and she was one person in his life that he had always thought he could trust. It fucking hurt that he couldn’t trust her. But that didn’t seem to have any effect on how much his body lusted after her.

  He had always lusted after her.

  It must’ve been for more than just her body though, because she’d been slender back before the baby and he’d desired her then, but now she was full-figured and he wanted her even more.

  That’s what his dreams were about, finding out how those curves of hers looked naked, and how they would feel in his hands. But he knew what a brat she could be, and he would just bet she thought she was fat.

  He’d like to be the man to disabuse her of that notion.

  So nothing had ever been easy where Millie was concerned, and it didn’t look like it was ever going to get easier. Right about then, with the position he was in, and the fact that they were not living back in their small town, they could have gotten together, for real, and his billions would have overcome all obstacles that were left.

  But now he couldn’t do that, because she’d lied to him. And it wasn’t only a simple lie that he could overlook. She’d tried to take something precious from him.

  Sometimes when he tried to forgive her in his head, he’d nearly come to it, until the thought would hit him; if he hadn’t found out, would she have ever told him. That always stopped him cold.

  Now he was dealing with it through lawyers, when he wanted to deal with it by having her in his bed—him on top of her. Her thighs spread and him breeding her hard, and putting another baby in her. Then he would be able to see her pregnant, feel her pregnant, and fuck her pregnant.

  “Damn it,” he cussed harshly. “You fucking need to stop thinking this way.”

  Just then, there was a knock on the door to his hotel suite, and he thought it was his standing morning breakfast order, so he pulled the door open. His entire body hardened when he saw Millie standing there.

  His hand twitched to slam the door in her face.

  “The time to talk was fourteen, fifteen months ago,” he growled at her.

  Then he wondered why it didn’t give him any satisfaction to see her flinch. But she used that soft voice she used on him when she wanted to get her way with him.

  “I know,” she whispered. That surprised him; her coming right out and admitting it. “Beck, can we please talk. Can you let me try to explain?”

  His arm locked, holding the door open and he didn’t invite her in, which didn’t stop his wayward attention from detailing every hot inch of her. He knew his stepsister well enough to know she’d dressed to her advantage. An advantage over him.

  Her full breasts were showcased in some type of clinging wrapped top, a short skirt flared over the curves of her hips, and she wore sexy high heels. Her lipstick was dark, drawing the male eye, and her blond hair was silky and hanging in waves to the tops of her breasts.

  “You do the paternity test, and then we will talk,” he demanded, forcefully overriding his hunger for her. Then just to solidify his resolve away from lusting after her, he asked, “Where is Bart?”

  She pursed her full lips, and there was a spark in her sexy black eyes. He’d seen that spark getting hotter when she climaxed for him.

  “With a reliable babysitter, of course,” she said, with an edge. Then she loosened her shoulders and tilted her head at him. “I’d really rather not say this standing out in the hallway, but I suppose I deserve it. You don’t need a test, Beck, because I’m here to tell you Bart is your son.”

  Shock reeled in his chest, and the next thing he knew he’d grasped her arm and pulled her into his hotel suite. Her three inch heels were not made for fast moves and she tottered, while he grasped both her upper arms and pressed her into the wall, as the hotel room door swished shut behind them.

  Her dark eyes pleaded with him, but the injustice wouldn’t allow him to forgive her. “Mine,” he uttered. “Say it again,” he demanded.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, dropping her purse to clutch under his forearms. “Bart is your son, Beck. I-I’ve never been with anyone else.”

  It amazed him again, when he’d thought nothing she could say would let him cool off, but the fact no man but him had ever touched her, started to—until that relentless thought hit him again.

  “Would you have ever told me, if I hadn’t figured it out?” he asked, with an accusatory snarl.

  Her eyes clenched and her soft lips pursed, while her body shuddered. Then her head started to slowly shake. She was about to add words to her treachery, when he slammed away from her, and overrode the sound of her voice.

  “Fuck! That’s why you and I will never be together again,” he thundered once, then he quieted.

  When he looked back, she looked in agony against the wall. “By omission the lie got so big, I didn’t know what to do with it,” she wailed.

  Beck grabbed his hair and tugged. “You were a fuc
king coward about us, and you’re a fucking coward about this,” he said nastily. Then accusing her, he added, “My son.”

  Her arms clasped her middle as if he’d punched her. “If we’d just been a regular boyfriend and girlfriend,” she started to say.

  He roared over her, “Not that shit again, boo! I wanted us enough not to throw us away.”

  Her head fell forward as she looked at the floor, clutching her body as if he was battering her. “I was weak, I was afraid. I didn’t know what to do,” she said with anguish. “Y-You left. You went back to work.”

  Then he was there in front of her and her head lifted back against the wall to look up at him.

  “Millie, you say it like it’s a fucking bad thing. I was trying to build something,” he growled. “I was trying to build something big enough that no one could fucking touch us with their morally outraged crap!”

  “You didn’t tell me,” she cried.

  And then he snapped ... he just fucking lost it. In one second, he’d grabbed her and slammed her into his body, up on her toes, and then he crushed his mouth over hers. The next second Millie grabbed him and she started kissing him as violently and uncontrollably back, even through her tears dribbling over their urgently moving lips.

  Before they’d been sweet lovers and nothing about this was sweet. This was hot, urgent, and wild. It was as if they couldn’t control their hunger or if they thought about it, they would stop, and they each fiercely didn’t want that.

  Her mouth was like fire. It was wet heat and she bit the corner of his mouth, lashed her tongue over the spot, and then he swept his tongue deep into her mouth. She moaned a wild high sound, and she tried to crawl up his body.

  His hands helped her, lifting her leg over his hip with one hand and hoisting her bottom up with his other. That was when he discovered his hot stepsister was only wearing a thong under her short skirt.