Billionaires and Beach Bums: Two Complete BWWM Romance Novellas

by Mia Caldwell

  I sigh. “Just tell me.”

  “Googling local schools and real estate.” He raises his eyebrows in this “You mad?” way. I just nod. “And maybe playgroups.” Andrea coughs into her napkin.

  I’ll just change the subject then.

  “Those ginger candies you brought me were great,” I say, “only I left a lot of them on Brad’s shoes.”

  He laughs, but Andrea says “Could you not? This isn’t really a good meal to mix with that kind of story.”

  True enough.

  “I’m glad they worked, though,” says Tyler. “I use them the first day at sea. Before I’ve gotten my sea legs.”

  “Oh, do you sail?” asks Andrea.

  “It comes with the rich guy package,” I say. “Once you make a certain amount of money, you’re required by US law to start sinking some of it into the yacht industry.”

  Tyler laughs. “Sinking’s a poor choice of words. I take it Walker has a boat, too?”

  Andrea nods. “But don’t ask me anything about it. I know it’s pretty and mostly white and bigger than I thought it would be. And its name is Christina, after his mother. That’s all I’ve got.”

  “Does he keep it here?”

  “No, it’s moored at his house on Bonaire. He says he doesn’t have the skills to navigate the commercial waters up here.” She smiles, “Did I use the right lingo?”

  “Like an old salt,” says Tyler.

  “That sounds less flattering than you think.” I can tell Dre is charmed by him. Good sign. Of course, he’s not the usual sort of guy for me, so she’s not struggling to figure out why I’d think an alcoholic bouncer at strip club is a good hook up.

  No, our talk is easy and fun. You know, like grown-ups have. After Andrea tells the story of Walker’s dramatic rescue, Tyler realizes he knows who he is.

  “The guy with the frying pan! Yeah, everyone was talking about him. Was it some kind of psychological game, was it a luck thing? Yeah, yeah. And because he wasn’t a regular player, they were all freaked out. We didn’t meet, but I wanted to shake his hand. Swoop in, drive everyone into a frenzy, win, swoop out? That was classic. I look forward to meeting him!”

  So he’s planning to hang around…

  “How long are you staying in DC?” asks Andrea, like a best friend should.

  Tyler looks at me and my stomach does a little flip. “As long as I need to. As long as I’m welcome.”

  “Get a room, you guys.”

  I realize we were gazing at one another for kind of a long time and laugh as I turn back to Andrea. “Too late.”

  “Eh,” she says, "You’re not going to get more knocked up."

  True dat.

  Tyler’s hand drops to my thigh again. Quickly, our meal becomes all about getting food into our bodies and getting the hell out of there. Andrea’s smirking like a cat because we’re being pretty obvious.

  When the check finally comes, Dre and I both reach for our wallets, since that’s what you do, but Tyler grabs it and says “Seriously? Rich guy, remember? I have the obligatory yacht?”

  And then we’re out of there. I’ve ridden on a motorcycle before but I’d forgotten how much, um, vibration there is. It is rather stimulating to cling to the back of a hot guy in leather with 400 lbs of vibrating steel between your legs. I point out all the side streets and we’re back at my place in no time.

  Tyler brings the bike right up into my sad little yard, we don’t have time for parking places. As soon as we get through the front door, Tyler grabs me and pulls me close. He smells of lentil stew and leather and Autumn air. He’s let his beard come in a little and the stubble is rough on my face. Which I happen to love.

  My hands slide inside his jacket, over the buttery softness of his sweater. I can feel that hard, tanned body underneath and I can’t wait to see it again. He pulls my jacket off my shoulders and I let it fall to the floor.

  I pull out of his kiss and say “C’mon,” kicking off my shoes and heading for my bedroom.

  I go to unbutton my shirt, but his hand stills mine.

  “Let me undress you,” he says. “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time and I want to savor it.”

  My mood is well past “savor”, but I stop and try to change gears. Tyler unbuttons my shirt slowly, opening the placket wider at each button, tracing a finger down the newly exposed skin. When it’s open all the way, he slides it off my shoulders and lets it drop.

  My breasts have swollen a little. They’re tender and spilling over the top of my bra. Tyler’s fingers lightly brush the mounded flesh. “Nice,” he says low.

  “Yeah, surprise benefit,” I say and then gasp as his fingers slide into one of the cups, brushing my hard nipple. He unhooks the bra and it, too, falls to the floor.

  He admires me standing there, topless, in my skirt. “Very polynesian,” he says, grinning. “I like it.”

  “All right Gauguin, you old perv,” I say, laying down some Freshman Art History knowledge on him.

  He chuckles. "And so smart," he says as he unzips my skirt and lets it fall.

  I’m just standing, letting him take the lead, waiting to see where it will go, but my body is electrified.

  He slips a hand between my legs. He can feel that my lacy underpants are soaked. I lean into his touch and a moan escapes my lips.

  He pulls the sides of my panties down and I wriggle out of them. He takes a moment to just look at me, standing naked before him. His eyes are shining. Then he pulls me in. His sweater is soft against my breasts and the rough fabric of his jeans is pressing into my mound. I’m standing on tip-toe, meeting his rough kisses. He seems hungry, almost animal, his hands running over my naked back, cupping my rear, back up.

  I feel vulnerable, yet somehow safe in his arms. While it is exciting to be naked while he is fully clothed down to his shoes, I want to feel his warm skin against mine. I start pulling at his sweater’s hem, pulling it up over his head. I kiss down his chest, between his pecs, down that sexy ridge to his navel. Looking into his eyes, I unbuckle his belt and unbutton his jeans. Button fly. Hipster. I keep unbuttoning. The fabric is pulled tight and I can feel how hard he is under my fingers.

  When his jeans fall, he kicks off his shoes and steps out of them. No socks, in the boating style. He is filling out those black briefs quite nicely. He looks like an underwear model. I have a momentary flash of "what the hell does this man want with me?" but I see his expression and know that he does. And the why doesn’t matter.

  I pull off those briefs, sinking to my knees. It’s even better than I remembered. Maybe he grew a little with my pregnancy hormones, too. He moans as I lap gently at the very tip. I stood there while he undressed me slowly; now it’s his turn to be patient. With gentle nibbles of my lips, I work my way down the underside of the shaft. He’s completely hard and when I gently cup him in my hands, he roars “Enough!”

  Before I can react, he scoops me up and carries me to the bed. I have not been picked up since I was a child. It’s a weird feeling to made to feel so small. He lays me down and immediately begins to kiss my neck, down to my full breasts. My nipples are so sensitive that I actually cry out when he sucks one into his mouth.

  “Are you okay, was that too much?” he asks, suddenly concerned.

  “No! Keep going!” He smiles and goes back to it. It does hurt, a little, but in that very very good way.

  He is cupping each breast in a hand, kissing from one to the other. I’m practically writhing with need. His body is pressed along mine and I can feel that his need is just as strong. His hand trails from my breast to between my legs. His finger slides into me easily, I’m more than ready.

  “Enough,” I breathe, and pull him onto me.

  “On the bottom, are you sure?” he asks.

  "Tyler, it’s like 5 weeks. It’s fine."

  He doesn’t need convincing. A month is a long time when you’ve been thinking about the person every day. As he enters me, I’m flooded with something like joy–pleasure, happin
ess, relief. It’s like finding your house when you’ve been lost in the woods. I pull him to me, as close as I can.

  “Oh, Kiera,” he breathes into my ear, his voice reflecting what I’m feeling in my own heart. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I…”

  “Shut up and fuck me,” I say. And he does.

  Tyler

  I’m in that happy dozing state following what has to have been the best orgasm of my life when Kiera says, “Tyler?”

  “Mmm?”

  “Tyler, I want to have the baby.”

  My eyes fly open and I roll over onto an elbow. “Are you sure? This isn’t just the sex talking?”

  She smiles. “No, that was amazing, but I’m sure. Really, I kind of knew as soon as you walked into the courtroom. But it felt ridiculous to think it, you know? I want this baby.”

  My heart flips. “Me too,” I say. I reach over and gather her to me, hugging her with what little strength I have left.

  “I want something else, though,” she says, pulling back with a smile.

  “Name it.”

  “I want to get married.”

  “Uh…shouldn’t you be getting down on one knee or something? Oh shit, no, that’s me. And I’m too tired.”

  “I’m serious.”

  “Um, okay, tell me where this came from?”

  “I’m a lawyer. And I’ve been studying up on probate for this interview. I see what happens when estates aren’t sorted properly. It’s a huge mess even if there’s only a few hundred dollars involved. I want to be sure that our baby is taken care of. No matter what. The easiest way for that to happen is to be married.”

  I’d be lying to say I hadn’t given any thought to marrying Kiera. As soon as she told me she was pregnant, I imagined us all together on the boat, teaching a little guy to body surf, fantasy stuff. But I hadn’t really thought about it in real, legal terms. The way Elizabeth told me to think of it.

  “And I want to be married before the baby comes,” she adds.

  “You’ve caught me by surprise, but yeah! Let’s do this! I mean, you know nothing about me, really. You’ve never even seen any of my houses, this boat I claim to own. Nothing but a rental bike and a hotel keycard. I might live in a refrigerator box.”

  “Tyler, I know how to use Google. If you’re living in a refrigerator box, it’s from a Sub-Zero Industrial Grade fridge.”

  We lay there grinning for a bit, then I have a thought. “I have something I want, too.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I want you not to work until the baby is a year old.”

  “Oh. I’m not sure I can do that.” Her brow knits together as she frowns. "I need to work, it’s part of who I am. I want to work."

  "Okay, fair enough. Then I want you to find the job you want and will enjoy, rather than taking one just to pay the bills. Your bills will be my bills and they’ll be paid. So do what you want."

  “Huh,” she says, rolling onto her back. “I honestly never even thought of it. I can figure out what I want to do. In law school, I really loved reading about those landmark cases in human rights, maybe I could do that. Or absolve myself from my work with Gensler by working for Greenpeace…”

  “And you won’t have to rush into a job. Take your time, figure it out.”

  “The rich really are different, huh?”

  “Yeah. May as well use it for good.”

  “Maya’s husband is leaving her,” Keira says, still looking at the ceiling.

  “I’m sorry,” I’m not sure what to say since that came out of nowhere and I’ve never met my future sister-in-law. holy crap I’m going to have a sister-in-law. And parents-in-law. That I’ve never even seen a photo of.

  “She says they just stopped having sex and he got a grad student knocked up. I always thought they were this perfect couple, but apparently they had been nothing but roommates for years.” She rolls over onto her elbow again to look at me. “Let’s not do that, okay? I mean, we really don’t know each other. This is practically an arranged marriage, but let’s at least be honest. Let’s not just drift apart and grow angry. Okay?”

  “Okay. Good plan.”

  “And it’s okay if we want to do things the other one doesn’t want to do. I mean, I might learn to like surfing, but if I don’t I’m not going to be mad if you go on a surf trip when the kid gets older. And you don’t get to make fun of me for wanting to go line dancing.”

  “You go line dancing? Geez, it’s like I don’t know you at all.” She gives me one of those playful punches. I like them.

  “You’re not going to resent having to give up thrill seeking for a couple years?”

  “What could possibly be more terrifying than having a baby? Have you ever watched them? They spend every moment trying to kill themselves.”

  She flops back on her back again and we lay there some more, lost in our own thoughts.

  “Let’s do it pretty soon,” she says at last.

  “I can be dressed in ten minutes.”

  “No, really, I want it to be before the baby comes, but I don’t want to be look pregnant in pictures. What if I’m one of those women that just gets huge?”

  “I promise to love you anyway.”

  She’s up on her elbow again. “Do you? Do you think you love me?”

  “I don’t know, really. This feels different from anything else. I don’t know what to call it.”

  “Yeah. It’s weird, right? I mean, I feel a thing I want to call ‘love,’ but that seems nuts. But what the hell, if we’re going to get married and have a baby, we may as well say we’re in love, too.”

  “You make a good case, counselor. So. I love you, Kiera.”

  “I love you too, Tyler.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  “Yes. Yes I will. I will also have your baby.”

  “Wow, you’re forward. I like that in a girl. C’mere.” I pull her in close. Andrea had a good point. It’s not like you can get more pregnant…

  Epilogue

  “Sorry, that seat’s saved for my wife,”

  The woman gives me a look that clearly says “liar, you just want the space,” but moves back to the third row nonetheless. I look at the time on my phone again. Kiera has exactly three minutes to keep me from looking like the jerk that won’t let other parents sit close enough to see their kids.

  My phone buzzes and I see her text: In lobby, where are you?

  Second row center. Hurry, other moms rallying to kill me and take our seats.

  Moments after I hit Send, I hear her “Excuse me, ‘scuse me” as she threads her way down the aisle and plops into the seat next to me.

  “Holy crap, I didn’t think I was going to make it from the airport! I hate flying into Dulles, you never know what the traffic will be. Well, you know it’ll suck. But not how bad. And ugh, such a long flight. My ankles are as big around as thighs.”

  I kiss her--chastely, it’s a public place, we’ll save the reunion kisses for tonight, swollen ankles or no--and pass her a program. “Allison’s class is on third. I think they want to send out some of the older ballerinas first, before our attention flags.”

  “They know we don’t care when it’s not our kid.” Kiera’s scanning the program for our daughter’s name. Her finger lands on it and she smiles. Allison Riordan.

  Before I can ask about her trip, the lights go down. We sit in the dark, holding hands, as normally awkward preteens leap across the stage in their fluttery costumes. We clap politely and wait patiently.

  As the opening strains of “Teddy Bear's Picnic” play, Allison’s ballet class of two year olds tiptoes onto the stage. Kiera grabs my arm to stop my spontaneous clapping almost before it begins. But c’mon, that kid deserves a standing ovation before she starts! Look at her, smiling out into the auditorium like they all came to see her. Her light brown curls are pulled back into a bun, but stray ringlets have pulled free to frame her face. I just feel bad for all the other parents. They have to see, too, right? My little girl’s the st
ar.

  She starts scanning the crowd as she goes through their simple routine. When her eyes land on us, she stops dead to wave furiously. Kiera waggles her fingers back.

  We sit through the rest of the show, which tragically doesn’t contain Allison. Well, I sit through it. Kiera sags to sleep against my shoulder. She just got in from Indonesia. We opened a surf resort in Sumbawa that’s been successful enough to need my lawyer’s attention. Luckily, I married her, so I get a pretty good rate.

  This was probably her last trip away from us for a while, though. Our next kid--a son this time!--is due in four months. Kiera doesn’t want to travel for business in what she calls “the hippopotamus trimester.” If you ask me, she’s nuts, she got that big round belly but never waddled. But maybe I’m blind.

  When the recital finally ends and Kiera wakes with a start, wiping the drool from my shoulder, we go to the backstage door to retrieve our ballerina.

  “Mommy!” She flies right past me and into her mother’s arms. Fair enough, she hasn’t seen her in a week. “You’re home! Now we can go to Baruba!”

  Kiera laughs. “Next week, baby. Next week we’ll all go to Aruba.” It’ll be a nice mid-winter vacation together and then we can hunker down to wait for the new kid’s arrival.

  “I want to see hulahula girls!” Allison squirms to the ground and shakes her tiny hips back and forth the way the class of big girls--nine and ten year olds--had done in the recital.

  “That’s Hawaii, Alli-saurus. Hula girls live in Hawaii.”

  She scowls at me. “Den let’s go to Hawaii.”

  “Not this time. But we will.” Her expression is still dark, so I try, “Hey, if we wait a little bit, you can teach your new brother the hula before you go. The hula girls will all be super impressed.”

  She fixes me with a side-eye that looks way too much like her mother’s have you lost your damn mind? face. “Bruvvers don’t hula. It is for girls. Dat’s why it’s hula girls, Daddy.” She looks to her mother and rolls her eyes. Kiera shakes her head in sympathy.

  Damn. This boy can’t be born soon enough. I’m outnumbered.

  Knowing when to give up, I say “Who wants ice cream?”