by Lia Lee
Table of Contents
Accidental Baby for the Billionaire: A Billionaire’s Baby Romance
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
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Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Epilogue
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CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
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Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
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Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
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Chapter Six
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Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
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Epilogue
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Epilogue
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Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
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CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
Accidental Baby for the Billionaire: A Billionaire’s Baby Romance
By Lia Lee & Ella Brooke
All Rights Reserved. Copyright 2018 Lia Lee & Ella Brooke.
This story is a work of fiction and any portrayal of any person living or dead is purely coincidental and not intended.
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Chapter One
Brent
Jessica’s hair fell in waves down her back. In the fading light, her dark eyes sparkled mischievously. She took Brent’s hand, and his breath caught in his throat as they slipped into the cave.
The sea lapped against the rocks of La Jolla Cove outside, and Brent’s hands found their way to Jessica’s curvy sides. She was a ripe plum begging to be picked. Her snug bathing suit hugged her hips and breasts, but the cut-outs along the sides allowed Brent to glut his senses on her flesh as he looked into her eyes. He couldn’t believe she was here with him, droplets of ocean mist on her cheeks as she smiled up at him.
Hidden away here in this spot away from the prying eyes of the tourists who frequented during the daylight hours, the pair was entranced with one another. Brent had brought Jessica to here for an evening of relaxation, some time away from their complicated lives. He moved his hands down her back and rested them above her well-rounded behind.
She was luscious. Wanting her and not having her had almost been more than Brent could bear. Thoughts of her filled his days and drove him to distraction. He pulled her body flush against his chest and leaned in to press an unhurried kiss to her full lips. Her foot moved up his calf, and she arched her back slightly as she brought her leg up and curled it around his.
His hands roamed over her warm, wet body, and soft half-sighs came from Jessica in between kisses. Their lips met over and over, growing more needful and frantic. Long kisses punctuated by ever heavier breaths. Neither wanted to part for some time.
When Jessica finally pulled back, she cradled Brent’s face in her hands as she looked up at him with her luminous brown eyes. Their depths had always amazed him, but tonight there was something there, something primal and intense.
Then, she slowly moved downward, her eyes fixed on his. She let her hands trail over his naked chest as she went, and then, her fingers hooked over the waist of his swimsuit and dragged them down.
Brent grinned.
Her hands slid up his thighs and around to his ass before she parted her lips and licked them teasingly. His erection stood proudly before her, bobbing slightly when she squeezed his thighs, and he involuntarily jerked forward in anticipation. With a coy smirk, she leaned in to kiss the tip.
Then, her tongue swirled around it, and Brent groaned softly and let his head fall back. This woman could bring him to his knees every time. And she was determined
to do so now, proceeding at a glacial pace, teasing him with her licks, her lips, the gentle graze of her teeth. She had him trembling before she finally wrapped her lips around him and began taking him in. All of him. Thirstily. Greedily. She wanted him and made it known with every wet suck and every moan.
Brent’s palm smacked against the damp rocks behind him and his hips bucked forward as he let out a groan of appreciation. Between her teasing and the perpetual state of arousal she caused in him, he could barely keep himself from coming undone completely.
But she was determined, energetic. She swallowed him whole and dared him not to thank her for it. Soon, he was coming forcefully and letting out a guttural cry.
She was a treasure. As she rose to her feet to meet his gaze again, she wiped her smiling lips. She was his treasure. Brent wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.
She was his, and he wouldn’t be letting go.
Chapter Two
Brent
Two months earlier
Tires squealed as Brent pulled into the parking marked off for parents in front of the two-story, clean-white La Jolla Country Day School. He was late. After years of parking in the lower school lot, he’d naturally driven over there for the parent-teacher conference, instead of the middle school, where his daughter actually attended now.
He hopped out of his Porsche, straightened his tie, and secured his phone before jogging up the stairs. Cara would still be on campus for her after-school activities. He was pretty sure that she either had band or Homework Club today. Or lacrosse? Or was that the fall sport?
Walking briskly but with care not to appear rushed, Brent checked his phone once more to ensure that he was heading to the right classroom. The guard at the front door checked his ID with a nod and gave him directions. The hallways were so wide and clean that almost everything looked alike, although there were some posters here and there for a school musical.
When he arrived at Ms. Ramirez’s room, he could hear her still speaking with another parent. This irked him a little. His time was valuable. He slipped inside and took a seat to wait while looking around at the room. The desks were arranged in a circle facing the center of the room, and the windows were so enormous. The sun was setting, and the dying light streamed through them, casting long shadows. He scanned the room to see what the children had been up to. It had seemed strange to him that La Jolla sent the children on to middle school at fifth grade rather than sixth, but Cara was sharp enough that it hardly mattered. They’d been struggling to find additional age-appropriate materials for her to read in the lower school anyway.
Finally, the other parents seemed to be moving toward the door. Brent rose. A few more time-consuming pleasantries and he was sitting with Ms. Ramirez and being offered coffee.
“I’m glad you could finally make the time for a face-to-face meeting regarding your daughter, Mr. Sanderson.” There was no malice in her voice, but Brent felt annoyed by the “finally” anyway. She continued, setting a folder in front of him: “As you can see, Cara is an excellent student. She finishes her work far faster than the other students – I think so she can go back to her book or daydream. But there are no subjects she’s currently lagging in.”
“So she’s on track for her level?” Brent took a moment to look through the papers, where he saw his daughter’s neat but utilitarian handwriting. The girl had learned cursive but always refused to write with it.
“She’s definitely above level with most of her subjects. Math is a struggle, but she is keeping up with her class. The Homework Club seems to be helping her there.” Ramirez paused and looked Brent over. “And she’s keeping up, in spite of her focus on her athletic activities.”
“So she’s doing very well, it looks like.” He gestured to the folder. “Her grades are excellent. Why did you call me in today?”
Ramirez sighed. “Cara doesn’t socialize much. You know that La Jolla focuses on making students into the best, most well-rounded citizens that they can be… However, she’s not interested in talking with her peers during breaks or at lunch. Most days, she’ll find an empty table and sit to read. I’ve noticed her twice trying to approach a group of girls and walking away without having engaged.”
She hesitated.
“Have you noticed a change in her behavior at home? Is she more withdrawn than usual? Or has something happened that might cause her to turn inward?”
“Cara is the same as she’s always been. If the girls at your school won’t be friends with her, that seems like an issue with the girls and the school,” Brent said sternly.
Ramirez folded her hands in front of her. “Mr. Sanderson, I think Cara needs better socialization. She doesn’t know how to talk to people and gives up quickly when she tries. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t have any friends. She’s lonely, Mr. Sanderson.”
“Is that so? Where is she, by the way? Shouldn’t she be here for the conference?”
Ramirez raised her brows. “I’m sorry, but I think the email did mention that we don’t have the children attend these meetings unless it is a case of redirecting behavior of the student. I wouldn’t consider this a behavioral problem, but it could be a developmental one if she continues to feel alienated and separated from her peers.”
She hesitated again.
“I think that she is spending too much time alone at home. She has her school activities, but those mostly provide a structured environment for physical activity or completing her schoolwork. Afterward, she goes home, where she has mentioned she has the penthouse to herself and sometimes doesn’t see you that evening at all. If you have an early meeting, she doesn’t see you in the morning.” Ramirez held a hand out. “Cara is remarkably adaptable, and you should be proud that she manages so well on her own, but she may need much more time with you than you’ve been able to offer, as a single working parent.”
Heat rose through Brent’s chest and neck. “You’re telling me that I need to spend more time with my daughter?”
“I’m suggesting that Cara simply needs more time with another person. A maid around cleaning, a butler, or additional tutors won’t cut it.”
Brent frowned. Ramirez must have asked Cara about her home life. She smiled, an expression too warm and practiced to be entirely free of judgment, and slid a few pamphlets over to him.
“I have some suggestions for after-school activities that require more one-on-one social interaction. Or if she’s too busy for that, having a nanny at home or to accompany her to activities when you’re not available might help her come out of her shell a bit.”
Brent tensed his jaw but took the pamphlets.
After pressing Ms. Ramirez further about Cara’s performance in math and extended tutoring, they parted with civil goodbyes, and Brent strode down the hallway in search of his daughter. After peering into a few windows, he spotted her in a classroom that had to be the Homework Club.
Of all the “clubs” Brent had ever heard of, he had imagined this one would be the least popular, but La Jolla was competitive, so sessions tended to be pretty full. He saw Cara sitting by herself, frowning determinedly down at her paper as two girls beside her chattered incessantly. The teacher came over to get in between the girls and redirect them to their work, but their obedience only lasted until he had gone to help someone else.
Cara didn’t look up. She sat there, erasing furiously, then writing again, just as intensely. She didn’t seem maladjusted to him. Just focused. Most parents with kids her age could only be so lucky to have a girl who would sit there quietly and do her work without a peep of complaint.
Still... Brent watched her with worry, her shining blonde hair tied perennially into pigtails on either side of her head, her shoes swinging back and forth in the chair as she worked. He would give her everything in the world. Anything that was humanly possible to give her. Regardless, the idea of introducing someone into her life who was only there because they were paid to spend time with Cara was repellent to Brent.
***
The problem irked Brent all week. He mulled it over, chewing over every possible consequence or benefit that might come from this new person’s contact with Cara. He’d even made the error of complaining about Ms. Ramirez’s judgments to his father at their standing Wednesday night dinner.
This, of course, only resulted in his father telling him, yet again, that he needed to get remarried to a proper woman and hand the job of Cara over to her, as though a wife were simply someone hired on to babysit the children while a man was at work. Annoyed, Brent reiterated that marrying a woman with an ulterior motive like that would be worse than not having a wife at all.
It did no good, of course. His father was impervious to logic or even scientific data. Especially scientific data. Brent had once tried to bring him articles attesting to the fact that children would fare worse under the care of parents who fought constantly or couldn’t demonstrate a healthy, loving relationship than they did under the care of a single parent. His father could always turn any argument around, dismiss any source, ignore any point made. He was slippery as hell and would never be caught admitting he was wrong.
Admitting fault was weakness to Donald K. Sanderson.
The man had never brooked weakness in Brent, certainly. Or anyone else around him. Brent had, at one point, tried to convince himself that this stemmed from his father’s time in the Navy, but percentage-wise, the man had spent more of his life in communications technology building a damn fortune to hold over Brent’s head.
Truthfully, Brent suspected that the old man just liked controlling people.
The following day, Brent found thoughts of nannies and unsubtle fatherly puppeteering driven out of his head by schedules and contracts and all of the other issues demanding his attention from his independent movie studio. They had several movies they were juggling at the moment, some of which they expected might do well at Sundance and Cannes.
Brent kicked back in his chair and propped his feet on his desk as he started skimming through the second pass on a script one of the agents had secured for them. It had merit, but the characters on the first run hadn’t been nearly clear enough in their motivations. He had just started making notations when his assistant, Mona, popped her head in and told him that the school had called.
He straightened up and motioned for her to hand him the phone. “This is Brent Sanderson. To whom am I speaking?”
“This is Principal Davenport. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to come pick up your daughter.”