Accidental Baby: A Billionaire Secret Baby Romance

by Lara Swann

  “Good.” Vicki laughs. “So basically, what you’re saying is the way to get over a guy is to get pregnant with another guy’s baby?”

  That makes me laugh again, even though it shouldn’t be funny.

  “Well…”

  “Going on a hot date with said baby-daddy probably doesn’t hurt either.” Vicki muses. “Especially when he’s sexy and rich and the baby-making process was so very fun—”

  “Vicki!” I protest, but I can hear how much she’s enjoying the idea from her voice.

  “Aww, c’mon, a girl can get a little bit excited when the father of your baby suddenly wants to date you, right?”

  “Shouldn’t it be me getting excited?”

  “Yes, it should. Don’t tell me you’re not.”

  “Well…”

  I try to sound calm and measured, but the truth is the butterflies escaped my stomach hours ago and now they’re fluttering all over my body. Excited is a little bit of an understatement. I really have no idea what to make of tonight’s date, but my body certainly knows how it wants to react. How it wanted to react when Damien told me how much he wanted this baby - and me.

  It’s crazy. I haven’t even heard from him since, so for all I know he’s changed his mind on that one, but…my god it was sexy. And tempting. Far too tempting.

  I can still picture just how much I wanted that the day I told him. How I wanted him to sweep me into my arms and tell me that this would work out. But now…now I’m glad he didn’t. It showed me that whole idea was just a fantasy - and how fragile fantasies can be.

  “Ava?”

  I blink. “Sorry, what was that?”

  “I was asking what you think - these curls are a little bigger than we usually go, but I like them.”

  She’s playing with the curl down the side of my face, holding a mirror up for me, and I smile as I see it.

  “Whatever you think, Vicks - really. You’re better at this than me.”

  She sighs wistfully. “Yeah. I’ve had my whole life to wish I had hair like this to play with. You’re going to look gorgeous tonight, I promise you.”

  I bite my lip again. “I don’t want it to look like I’ve gone to this huge effort though, Vicki. I don’t want him to think I’m…desperate…or something.”

  He might have promised me that the whole gold digger thing had never occurred to him, but it’s a hard thing for me to get out of my head anyway. I wasn’t going to do anything for tonight - just find a nice dress and get a bus to the address he text me - but Vicki absolutely insisted on doing my hair and driving me over, so…we compromised on Vicki doing my hair and driving me over.

  “It won’t. It will be perfect, babe, I promise. Just the right amount.”

  “Uhuh.”

  There’s silence for a few minutes as Vicki continues working around my hair, creating beautiful curls that bounce when I move my head. She is good at this.

  “Ava…” She says after a while. “If Damien wants to raise this baby with you, don’t you have a plan now - something to tell your parents about? I mean, it isn’t a disaster anymore, is it?”

  I sigh, wanting to shake my head but thinking better of it with the tongs so close to my ear.

  “He said that once, Vicki, after one day of thinking about it. How do I know he means it? That it will last? This is the first date we’ve even been on.”

  “But…it’s promising, isn’t it?”

  The hope in her voice is so close to the one that’s growing steadily in my chest, despite my best efforts, that it’s painful to hear.

  “I don’t know whether I want to think about that. It’s just as likely to go wrong.”

  But it is. I can’t deny it. It’s far more promising than if he’d decided to ignore me for the rest of this contract. The things he said still repeat in my mind, his voice appearing at the most unexpected times. The passion there. The intensity.

  “I’m scared to hope, Vicki.” I finally admit, my voice quiet enough I’m not even sure she can hear me. “I don’t want to think I can have something…that I can’t.”

  It feels like every day, the baby becomes a bigger part of me. It’s insane to think I can feel it inside me already, but I can definitely imagine it. And I can imagine it outside me too. The future. The one Damien painted for me so clearly, the one that might be a total illusion.

  It’s hard enough thinking about giving my baby up as it is - with every day I seem to try to find more excuses and reasons why I’d be a good Mom despite all my lack of prospects and ability to provide - but to have to face it after hoping for…

  I can’t do that. I know I can’t. I can’t let myself.

  “Ohh Ava.” Vicki says softly, one hand squeezing my shoulder. “You know…even without him…you still don’t have to—”

  “Don’t.” It comes out choked. “I can’t—don’t.”

  She falls quiet again and I manage to take a few deep breaths.

  God damn it. The last thing I need is to start crying just before my first date with the father of my baby.

  But that’s why I can’t tell her how hard the idea of giving my baby up for adoption really is. I can’t tell her, or my parents, or Damien - or anyone. I know they’d never let me do it, if they thought I felt this way. Even if it’s what’s best for my baby.

  “It’s okay, you know, we don’t have to talk about it. We won’t, I promise.” Vicki says, squeezing my shoulder again. “But I just have to say this. If it’s what you wanted, you’d be an amazing Mom, Ava. Your kid would be lucky to have you - and I have to say, because I can’t have you thinking anything else.”

  “Vicki.” I barely get it out and then I have to stop speaking altogether as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

  I have to try to block out everything she just said. I can’t take it right now, I really can’t.

  “I’m done.” She says, and I can feel more than see her raising her hands. “I just had to say it.”

  She goes back to my hair and a few moments later starts humming some vaguely-familiar tune. By the time she’s done with my hair, I’m mostly back under control and some of the tension of the momentous decisions hanging over me has dissipated again.

  Not that I think seeing Damien is going to make it any easier.

  But…it will mean I’m seeing Damien. That’s enough to send a small thrill through me, and I turn back to the nicer parts of this evening as Vicki hurries me to finish getting ready.

  “I want to see what your rich, sexy CEO’s house looks like already!” She gushes, and just like that it feels like she’s back to her usual self. Free of all the seriousness of her recent advice.

  “Is that why you’re insisting on driving me?” I ask, laughing a little and letting some of the intensity from the last few moments go.

  “That, and you can’t possibly take the bus to a hot date, Ava. I mean, c’mon girl.” She says, then grins. “Besides, this way I know where you are in case you go missing for days on end and I need to come rescue you. I mean, I’ll give you a day or two to indulge in all that sexy-rich-guy passion, but if I don’t hear from you after that - I tell you, I’m coming for you.”

  I roll my eyes at her.

  “We’re not going to—”

  “You said that last time.” She winks at me and I laugh.

  “Mm…”

  I make a non-committal noise as I take a last look in the mirror and trying to ignore the nerves that seem to want to burst out of my chest. I don’t know why this feels like such a big deal, but it does.

  “Okay.” I take a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

  “Let’s go then!” Vicki lets out an excited squeal.

  Her attitude is more than a little infectious, and by the time we’re pulling out of the basement parking lot for her apartment complex, I’m feeling slightly giddy myself.

  * * *

  “Oh my god.”

  Vicki whispers beside me as she pulls up outside the address Damien gave me, echoing my own internal reaction to the s
ight of his house. There’s a long drive leading down to the house, but I absolutely refused to let Vicki drive down there.

  I didn’t think this would be the big deal she seemed to think it would. Who really cares what someone’s house looks like, right? And I’ve seen plenty of nice ones in my time.

  I’ve just never…known anyone inside them enough to really stop and look.

  And there’s something about Damien’s that’s just elegant. It doesn’t scream wealth or power or any of that - all the nice arches and subtle Italian-type style just gives exactly the right hint of it, creating a beautiful looking building.

  “Ava.” Vicki clutches my leg. “You’re not going to screw this up, right?”

  “Yeah, thanks Vicki, that’s what I want to be thinking about right now.”

  “I’m just saying…” She looks back at the house. “That place is gorgeous.”

  “That’s not why I’m here.” I remind her, and then remind myself again. The last thing I need to do is get distracted by how pretty everything here is, in the nice part of Downtown.

  “Yeah, but…doesn’t hurt, right?”

  I nudge her. “If this all gets screwed up, then it was just never going to happen. I’m not expecting anything.”

  I refuse to acknowledge her comment about me screwing it up in particular. There could be any reason this goes nowhere.

  “Mmhmm…” She obviously doesn’t believe that last part, but she doesn’t press any further, turning back to look at the long driveway. “So are you going?”

  “Yes. Yes, I am.” I say, but I don’t move.

  I take a moment, breathing deeply, before finally working up the courage to open the door.

  “See you later, Vicki.”

  “Or not.” She winks at me again, and it gives me one last smile before I slip out of the car and start walking toward the house.

  Then I’m on my own - and I never thought I’d feel intimidated by a building, but weirdly I do. By the building and the line of sturdy trees leading down to it, and the nice gravel path and…all the things that are so far removed from my life living on my best friend’s couch. I mean, my parents have a nice enough house. Or at least I thought they did, before I really looked at something like this one, but...right now, all I can think about is that I just came from my best friend’s couch.

  And I was going to get the bus.

  It shouldn’t matter to me, but I’m suddenly secretly glad Vicki insisted on driving.

  I try to enjoy the walk down the nice driveway, but it gives me entirely too much time to think about what’s waiting for me at the end of it.

  Damien. A date. Whatever…this…might be.

  My hand goes to my stomach without thinking and I tell myself that these surroundings might be nice, but none of them really matter. And truthfully, they’re not what I want from Damien - not what I’m hoping for today.

  No, what you want is far more difficult.

  The door opens before I reach it, with Damien stood there in jeans and a crisp white shirt that fit him perfectly, leaving nothing to the imagination. Any other thought vanishes at the sight, as heat goes straight to my core. I realize I’ve never seen him out of a suit before and there’s just something about the way those jeans fit to his body that makes me want to reach out and touch - or maybe it’s just something about him.

  “Hey.” I say, slightly breathless as I look up at him from the bottom of the steps.

  “Hey.” His voice is deeper, with just a hint of amusement, the corners of his mouth turning up in the beginnings of a smirk.

  Before I can work out what I’m doing, I’ve climbed the three steps and I’m right up against him, tilting my head up toward him.

  I tug his mouth down and then it’s exactly where I want it, sliding over my own and kissing me again, firm and strong and warm. I linger there for a long moment before finally pulling back, still inhaling the heady musk that’s all Damien. Damn it, I missed that. I might not like to admit it to myself - but right now I can hardly deny it.

  “Is that how you start all your first dates?” He asks, the amusement deeper, even if it’s a little heated now as his brilliant green eyes sparkle at me.

  I laugh, my hand falling from the back of his neck and stroking against his stubble as it does, and suddenly all of the tension and nerves slides off me. His house might be beautiful, but I’m far too distracted by how gorgeous he is to care about that anymore.

  “It seemed right for this one.”

  I don’t tell him that this is only the second first date I’ve ever had.

  “I won’t argue with that.” He murmurs, before stepping back and gesturing me inside. “But if you do it again, I can’t promise to stop there…and it would be a shame to waste dinner.”

  His eyes are saying otherwise, looking just about ready to devour me instead.

  “I’m not sure I’d mind—”

  He reaches out, his hand caressing the side of my neck briefly and sending a shiver of heat down my spine.

  “I’d like to do this properly, Ava. Let me get to know you.”

  His hand withdraws and I finally come back to myself enough to hear what he’s saying - to think about the reason I came here tonight. And as hot as it would be…it wasn’t for that.

  What is it about this guy that I can’t keep my hands off him?

  I nod, knowing I’m blushing slightly, but refusing to be embarrassed by my interest.

  He leads me into the house and I have another chance to admire it - this time from the inside. It’s warmly decorated, with dark hardwood floors and cream colors, and despite the size it feels at least a little bit lived in. I’d wondered from the outside whether it was going to be one of those pristine-never-touched kind of places, but I’m pleasantly surprised to see the photos and little ornaments around the place.

  They’re the kind of thing that make me want to linger - to ask questions - but Damien doesn’t wait and I follow him through into an open-plan living and kitchen area. It’s bigger than the whole of my parents’ ground floor, and that’s saying something, but it doesn’t feel empty or minimal.

  “Your home is lovely.” I say, with real feeling. “Whoever chose all this…really makes it feel warm.”

  He turns back to me with a smile, holding two wine glasses. The lights are dimmed and there’s some sort of calming classical music playing in the background. Yeah, this is really really nice.

  “Emily put it together.” He says, the pleasure in his voice obvious. “She was studying interior design and wanted a chance to practice, so…”

  He shrugs and I smile again, suddenly wanting to know more about his sister - and to know more about Damien. We’ve barely talked and there’s so much I don’t know…but I feel strangely close to him anyway.

  Maybe having a baby with someone does that to you. Or insanely hot sex. Or both.

  It’s not until he hands me the wine glass that I blink, looking at it dubiously.

  “Damien…”

  He knows I’m pregnant.

  “It’s a non-alcoholic sparkling wine. I know you can’t have the real thing, but I figured I’d find something nice to drink with you.”

  “Oh, thank you.” My expression clears and I smile up at him.

  “To us…and wherever this may go.” He raises his glass to tap it against mine, but I don’t miss the way his eyes flick down to my stomach.

  I flush slightly, already knowing exactly where he claims he wants this to go, but I’m glad that he doesn’t say it in so many words. I don’t want this to turn into another discussion about our baby already. It hardly seems like a first date thing to talk about having kids together. Even if we’ve already skipped to the actually being pregnant part.

  I take a sip of the sparkling drink.

  “Hey, this is really nice.”

  It’s better than some of the real wines Vicki has made me try, actually, and I start wondering whether I could slip it to her in place of the real thing. It would certainly help w
ith some of the hangovers that nights out with her usually induce.

  “You don’t have to sound so surprised.” He says, amused, then walks around the other side of the kitchen island. “Dinner is almost ready - I’m just going to throw together a salad.”

  “Do you want any help?”

  “No, just relax.”

  I take him at his word, having no problem hopping up onto one of the bar stools and just watching him as he moves around the kitchen. I’ve only ever seen him at work before - or, I guess, that one time at the bar - and I find I like this a lot more. It feels somehow warmer.

  Not to mention it’s hot watching him work - his large hands as they grab different vegetables and the smooth, unconscious grace he has as he chops them into small pieces, like something it’s something he’s done a million times before.

  “So you cook, then?” I ask, a small smile playing around my lips.

  He glances up at me, not pausing in the chopping and tossing at all.

  “That surprises you?” He asks, then grins. “Please don’t tell me you’re one of those people whose idea of cooking is the microwave.”

  “No, no, I’ll have you know I’m perfectly competent too.” I laugh, shaking my head.

  My Mom would never have allowed otherwise - and by the time I went off to college the idea of living on beans and rice was alien.

  “Good. Then next time, maybe we can cook together.”

  I smile. That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Being wined and dined like this is nice, but there’s something appealing about the idea of being in the kitchen with Damien and ‘messing around with food’, as my Mom would put it.

  “Next time, hm?”

  “Of course.” He says easily, and there’s a sparkle in his eyes that makes me want to smile, even as I wonder if I should be objecting to the arrogance. “Okay, let’s eat.”

  He gestures me to the elegantly laid out table set between the kitchen island and the cream-colored living area. It’s got fancy cutlery and candles and everything, and I have to hide a smile at how strange this all feels as I sit down. Having dinner with the father of my child in this amazing setting…none of it quite feels real. Like some wonderful fantasy I’ll wake up from eventually.