SECRET BABY (A Billionaire Romance)

by Mia Carson

  On Monday, I was at work when lunchtime rolled around. I was trying to decide where to eat when I got yet another delivery. It was small this time. I tipped the messenger and sent him on his way, then opened the package to see I’d just received my lunch: a hamburger, fries, and one of those little mini bottles of champagne. There was a card that read ‘A delicacy where I come from.’ I couldn’t help smiling when I thought about the room service he’d ordered on that amazing first night.

  I called him again. I had told him to quit with the expensive gifts and come up with something real. This package couldn’t have cost more than ten dollars, but it stirred up all the right emotions. That first night together clearly meant as much to him as I was now realizing it had meant to me.

  “So, what are you doing this weekend?” I asked him as soon as he’d said hello. He must have been able to hear the smile in my voice.

  Sucking air in noisily through his lips, he replied, “Bad news. I have to be in Argentina on Thursday.”

  “Argentina, huh?” I quipped. “I haven’t been there in years.”

  James

  That changed everything. Summer would be there. I could switch right back into being excited about the race. The only problem was that the anticipation of her joining me made it hard to focus.

  Still, Argentina was an amazing country, with a vibe and feel totally different from anywhere in the States. The small town of Termas de Río Hondo was known for its hot springs and spa resorts, but over the last couple of years, it had been revamped by having to host the annual Moto GP at the nearby track, or Autódromo. No grand hotels here, but there was a pretty nice spa called Los Pinos, about fifteen minutes from the circuit, which I usually booked team JSR into, but there was no kind of central hotel hub like you might find at races in major cities.

  The local airport definitely felt newer and more modern since we were there last year, but the best car I could rent was still only a Nissan Maxima. As the team arrived, we unloaded the truck from the cargo plane, sorted out transport for everyone, and got on with the business of racing.

  Friday was my first opportunity to get on the track. I had a nice morning session, getting everything dialed in. During my first lap after lunch, I went into turn seven a little too aggressively and slipped on cold tires. In the grand scheme of things, it was no big deal. What I wasn’t going to tell Keith and Ray was that I’d been daydreaming about Summer when I should have been concentrating on riding. Like all my other thoughts about Summer, these were none of their fucking business.

  We hit the ground at about sixty miles per hour, and I slid along on my butt into the gravel trap, placed there specifically to slow sliding bikes and riders before they hit the tire wall. Laying still on the sharp stones, I wiggled my fingers and toes to make sure everything still worked. So far, so good. I picked myself up and dusted myself off. My leathers had no holes, and I seemed to be okay, so it could have been worse. Except I’d have to wait for a recovery truck to come and haul my battered bike back to the pits.

  The problem with gravel traps was that when careening bikes flew through them, they tended to pick up a few pounds of loose stones in their engines, which could make it a little difficult to get them started again. That was racing, though. The wait for recovery meant we missed out on a lot of the practice session, so I cursed myself for not being entirely focused on the job at hand. Still, I couldn’t stop wishing Summer would get here. At least then I wouldn’t have to keep wondering when it would happen.

  Back in the pits, Ray and Keith berated me for falling off, while Other James busied himself fussing with my number-two bike, making sure it was ready to go. It wasn’t the worst thing in the world. It just meant we had to start from scratch regarding suspension settings and gearing, all of which gave me a few minutes to look forward to Summer joining me later. Damn, I couldn’t stop picturing her here with me. I couldn’t stop feeling aroused and imagining us together. Most of all, I was screwing up this race because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I needed to get a grip.

  She hadn’t told me which day she was flying in, and she wouldn’t let me pay for her flight. She insisted on making her own arrangements. I couldn’t wait for her to join me, though. It had been two weeks, and I still felt as excited to see her as when we first met, grinning like an idiot every time I thought about it. I had a chance to discover all those new things about her. Her past, her future plans, her favorite places to go, exactly where she liked to be touched…

  Keith kicked my foot, breaking me out of my reverie.

  “You do know I’m your boss, right?” I asked him.

  “Yeah, whatever. Just get on your fucking bike.”

  *****

  It was Friday night, and she still hadn’t arrived. We went for dinner as a team, but the guys noticed I was withdrawn and quieter than usual. A couple of times, Keith and Ray mocked me as a lovesick puppy, ‘taking the piss,’ they called it. It’s a strange English custom that seemed to involve many unfeeling and heartless remarks at my expense, all designed to make me feel like they actually cared. It did work a little, but I was still disappointed. I was starting to feel lost without her, panicking that she may not be coming after all.

  Rays of sunshine beamed down onto the outdoor pools of Los Pinos spa to indicate the dawn of Saturday, and despite a couple of tender heads among my race team, we had morning practice, followed by a timed session in the afternoon to determine grid position. The early morning sun was soon replaced by clouds, and a light rain fell for most of the morning, which meant few of us went out. Racing in the rain is no fun, at least as far as I was concerned. And, with it forecast to be dry in the afternoon and on Sunday, there was not much point wasting the tires or fuel. Plus, as Ray pointed out, we didn’t have any more bikes if I wrecked another one.

  I sat in the little kitchenette in our truck, trying to watch TV. I studied footage from last year’s race, trying to see where the fast boys found extra drive or went into turns deeper. Only it wasn’t working. It started as idle thoughts, feelings, and sensations I had experienced with Summer that first night together. But my mind turned to less pleasant wanderings. I really knew very little about her. I quickly dismissed thoughts that she might be some sort of femme fatale serial killer or sadistic psycho as ridiculous, but I then started thinking about her reluctance to let anyone in and these strange rules she had. Was I actually condemning myself to a relationship with a self-serving, selfish bitch I was going to have to jump through hoops for, just to have a quiet life?

  I shook my head, trying to rattle loose all the dark thoughts so they would drop away. I told myself I was just being crazy. Yet the reason I’d been so happy for so long was by staying away from relationships. Was I about to fuck all that up? And had I been happy all this time? I thought so, but I’d never felt as good as when I was with Summer. My head started to spin and I began to feel sick. It was a relief when Nick came in to tell me Keith needed me outside.

  The sun broke through the clouds at lunchtime and began to bake the damp track dry. I sat under our little awning at our plastic tables, working through a plate of home-cooked pasta, courtesy of Nick and our race truck’s little stove, when it hit me. Through the smell of grease, rubber, gasoline and smoke, I sniffed the delicate aroma of freshly made cotton candy, sweet and promising.

  “Hi, James.” Her soft, slightly anxious voice was behind me.

  This was not how I pictured this moment. I spun around. Summer stood there, her hair as full and gorgeous as I remembered, her makeup light and perfect, dressed in dark tank top, short denim skirt, and brown cowboy boots. She looked stunning and effortlessly sexy, as she had the countless times I’d fantasized about her being here.

  I wore scuffed race leathers with sweat baked into the lining, undone to the waist to display an old Motörhead T-shirt. My hair was a mess, I had a mouth full of pasta, and there were probably black smears of grease on my face, none of which had been in my imaginings. I chewed and swallowed as fast as I co
uld.

  “Hello, yourself,” was all I could manage. My heart was thumping in my throat and I couldn’t breathe. We stood still, facing each other, for about a decade. Was she happy she came? Was she about to tell me it wouldn’t work? Was she about to elbow Other James out of the way, grab my race bike, and rocket out of here as fast as she could? I didn’t know until, finally, her face melted into a wide smile, mine mirroring hers exactly, and we dove into each other’s arms.

  She leaped onto me, wrapping her legs around me. Holding her gorgeous body against mine again brought back vivid memories of the first time I was inside her. I held her tight, kissing her neck until she brought her face in front of mine, our lips about two inches apart. Our eyes locked. I stared into those beautiful green circles for a second, and it felt as if we understood each other. Our mouths finally met. Her lips were softer than I’d ever imagined, her breath as sweet as the rest of her. Her lips parted slightly, and my tongue caressed their velvet softness. My head started to spin from the pleasure of it, and responding with same kind of helpless need, she moaned with our mouths still pressed together.

  I’d missed the feel of her, the smell of her, so much. I wanted her so badly, and I could feel blood rushing to my loins as we kissed. It was like the first time. It was the first time our mouths met, our tongues touched, and I just wanted to devour her right there. We broke our first kiss.

  “Holy shit!” laughed Summer, as she pressed her forehead to mine. “I’m about ready to fuck you right here!”

  “I’m flattered.” I smiled back. “But not in front of the boys.”

  Ray and Other James pretended they weren’t listening as they fiddled with my broken bike. Summer saw it for the first time.

  “What happened? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I reassured her. “Listen, are you hungry?” She nodded. “Okay, come with me. We should probably talk.”

  ***

  There was a pretty decent French restaurant just down from the pit lane used to catering to high-level racers and team owners. I convinced Summer to get on the back of the little dirt bike we used to zip around the circuit. She was not enthusiastic because of her short skirt, but when I pointed out it was about a half-mile walk, she hopped on.

  “I have about another hour before qualifications start,” I told her as we entered the building. The host showed us to a table overlooking the track, and I ordered a single malt for her and a sparkling water for me. “So…”

  “So…” she agreed, and we both burst out laughing.

  I took her hand across the table. “I was so pleased to see you,” I told her. “I was really worried you weren’t going to come.”

  “Worried?” she asked, raising a beautifully sculpted eyebrow.

  “Well, concerned,” I conceded.

  “Listen, James,” she began, taking on a very straightforward tone. “I don’t commit. I’ve never been in a relationship longer than six months, and I’ve never lived with a man. That was just me. But…a few things have happened over the past couple of weeks to make me rethink my outlook.”

  “Well, that’s good to know,” I said as the waiter brought over our drinks and a menu. I waited for him to leave us before continuing. “The lobster bisque and steak entrecôte are pretty good here, depending on how much you want.” Summer nodded and put aside the menu. I took a breath and summoned the courage to tell her what was worrying me. “I’ve never been one for commitment either. I don’t think I’ve ever had what could be described as a relationship.”

  “Why not?”

  “A couple of reasons,” I explained. “One, I was pretty sure they would want me to give up racing, which I’m not ready to do. Two, I’m never entirely sure if they are into me or my money, and I only have an expensive divorce to look forward to in six months’ time.”

  “Come on.” Summer smiled. “You can’t be worth that much.”

  “I can.” I smiled back. “Why do you think I didn’t want to tell you much about me when we first met?”

  “I thought it was a turn on,” she said, just as our mustachioed waiter arrived to take the order. He gave a subtle huff of distaste. I guessed, even though we were in Argentina, that he must really be French. To my surprise, Summer ordered both the soup and the steak, indicating that she was ravenous. I was racing in an hour, so I just ordered a green salad.

  “It was one hell of a turn on,” I agreed when we were alone again, “but I didn’t want you to know about me unless you decided you really liked me, regardless of my money. Now that you’re here and you wouldn’t even let me buy your ticket, I know you do.”

  “Hey, don’t go jumping the gun there, buddy.” She smiled again, teasing me, before dropping her voice to a low whisper. “I like your dick. I haven’t actually made up my mind about the rest of you yet.”

  Goddamn, this girl made me hot. I could feel my cock stiffening. Unfortunately, in my leathers, there was nowhere for it to go.

  “Good enough,” I replied. I could feel her foot working my leg again. How did she get her boot off without me noticing?

  “So,” she continued as though nothing was going on under the table, “how much are you worth, then?”

  “Me personally? Or my family?”

  She thought for a moment. “You.”

  “About two billion dollars, give or take.”

  “Wow.” She kept her cool. “And your family?”

  “About twenty times that.”

  Summer

  It was hard to keep a straight face as James told me how much money he really had. I had realized he was rich, but not that rich. Didn’t matter to me, of course. I’d feel the same about him if he worked in a fast food joint. It was just a little disarming. You hear about billionaires, but you don’t run in to them in the real world. They’re like an urban legend. I could see, though, why he didn’t like to let on to prospective hookups. There were hundreds of girls around any world-class sport who would get on their knees for a rich athlete. If any of them met an actual billionaire, they’d go nuts.

  But it was so good to see him. On the plane, I hadn’t been able to eat or sleep because every second brought me nearer to him. And when I found him looking all cute and scruffy instead of his usual, polished façade, I couldn’t have been happier. I felt an ache, a huge, surging longing in the deepest parts of me, and I had to fight really hard to stop myself from boning him right there.

  So we had kissed instead. For the first time. We both knew it was right, and, boy, was it some kiss. His full lips felt like they were made for mine. The kiss was so good I almost swooned. I know girls in the twenty-first century didn’t swoon anymore, but I don’t know how else to describe it. I almost cursed the fact that we’d been missing out on that kind of kissing this whole time.

  “Summer?” he said, and I could listen to him saying my name over and over again. “Not that I don’t appreciate what you’re trying to do under the table, but these leathers mean you may as well be trying to give a toe-job to a department store mannequin.”

  “Damn things!” I smiled at him. “Take them off at once!”

  He laughed deeply, loudly, and genuinely. I thought maybe this could work. This could lead to the happiest I’d ever been. Then my soup and his salad arrived, so I ceased my sub-table flirtation. As we settled into eating, he asked about my issues with racing, and gradually the story about my parents and my father’s death came out. I kept it together, but he looked horrified.

  “So all this time you’ve been afraid to get hurt because you were convinced men always cheat? And you’ve only just found out that your dad never cheated at all?” He sounded like it was hard to swallow, and I couldn’t say I blamed him.

  “That’s about the size of it,” I confirmed, straight-faced.

  “And if racing hadn’t killed him, your whole outlook on life and relationships might have been different?”

  “Yup,” I confirmed again. “And here’s the kicker…” I told James how his racing was going to remain a pr
oblem because of the chance he could get hurt. Despite what he said, I couldn’t help wanting him to stop, even if it made him resent me.

  “I knew it would come to this eventually.” He sighed while I finished my steak, which was actually pretty good. “But I can’t deal with it now. I’m sorry.”

  “I know.”

  “I have to go,” he apologized. “Qualifying starts in ten minutes.”

  He paid the bill, and we jumped on his dirt bike and buzzed back over to the pits. I couldn’t stop myself from trembling when he kissed me again, despite the dour direction our conversation had taken. He suited up and roared out onto the track. My heart was in my mouth and I couldn’t breathe. What if something happened to him? What if I was about to watch him die so soon after I’d decided I wanted to be with him? It was a lot to deal with.

  Keith and Ray and their two assistants were so kind. They fell over themselves to make me feel welcome, getting me a chair, drinks, showing me where to watch from, and explaining how the whole process worked. The big screen that displayed the riders as they flew around the circuit didn’t show James very often. It concentrated on the fast boys instead of the also-rans, so we only saw him each time he rounded the last bend and blasted down the straightaway. I swear I’d never seen anything move so fast before he’d hit his brakes and slowed dramatically for turn one. As he circled, faster and faster, my fear began to fade. In its place came a feeling of pride. He looked so fluid and in control, so focused, just like when we made love. I started to get a little wet and began wishing this qualification thing was over, not so he wouldn’t get hurt but so he could fuck me.

  Soon enough, he came hurtling back up to the garage. He leaped off his bike, ripped off his helmet, and we fell into each other again, making out like high school kids. He smelled of smoke, gas, and sweat, so masculine I wanted to lick all the beading moisture off his face.