Always My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance
Page 19
So beautiful.
And all mine.
I stand up straighter, and as they near, her mom clucks her tongue.
“He stepped right out of that novel for you,” she says with a teasing wink at me, and we all laugh. She leans in, kisses Miranda on the cheek, then hands her over to me.
Our vows pass in a blur, and I mean every damn one of the words. Her own words are soft and sweet, full of conviction, and she holds my eyes as she whispers, “I do.”
“You may kiss the bride.”
I gather her in my arms, bend her back, and give her a kiss that makes the few people here catcall and whistle. She flushes and grins, then holds up her bouquet in victory with a whoop and holler that make all of us break into laughter.
She’s mine. I’ve wanted her so badly it’s hard to believe she wears my ring and bears my name, that we don’t have to spend another night apart from each other ever.
“I love you, Miranda Lord,” I say in her ear, as we head over to the yacht, where my team’s prepared a French feast fit for royalty.
“And I love you, Mr. Lord,” she says with a fetching smile that makes me want to whisk her away from our planned honeymoon on the French Riviera and claim her right here, right now, in our room right aboard this ship. But we stay with our small group of friends and family. We dance, we feast, and Shane toasts us with a toast that makes even me wipe a tear from my eyes.
“When Gabriel Lord sets his mind to something, that man gets what he wants,” Shane says, making us all laugh. Then he sobers, uncharacteristically serious. He holds my gaze, his voice husky with emotion. “And when he loves someone, he loves with all his heart. There are few people who can say they were created for one another, but I have to say, Miranda and Gabriel absolutely were.”
“Amen!” her mom hoots, and I can’t help but laugh.
Shane hands the mic to Lexi, who stands in front of us and sings a beautiful, soulful song of love and hopes and dreams. Miranda sighs and rests her head on my shoulder.
“I’ll have to re-do our mantra.”
“Our mantra?”
Her eyes twinkle as she looks up to me. “Mhm,” she says with a self-deprecating wince. “I used to always tell my girls and even myself that our cardinal rule was “never fall in love.” But I’ve gone ahead and broken it.”
I chuckle, lean over, and kiss her cheeks. “You have, Miranda. But I think that’s forgivable.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “I’m eternally grateful that you’re mine,” I say, my chest expanding with pride and victory. “And that you’ll always be my babygirl.”
Thank you for reading Always Be My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance. Please read on for a preview of the other book in this series!
BE MY BABYGIRL: A BILLIONAIRE ROMANCE
Preview
Be My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance
Prologue
Darius
I sit in my darkened office, the screens in front of me lit up like a mission control center.
Hell, that’s exactly what it is.
Tonight’s mission: find a tall, lithe brunette with large eyes and pouty lips to wine and dine, seduce her into a one-night stand, and never let her know my name. I smile to myself in the darkness, then shake my head. Jesus, I feel like Batman.
I take a long pull from my beer. Downstairs, in front of others, I drink nothing but the finest whiskey, thank-you-very-much. Scotch and bourbon—select reserve. But up here in the privacy of my penthouse, I like to pop a cold one. Some say beer’s unrefined for a guy like me, but it’s my comfort food, reminiscent of simpler days and simpler times.
I finish the beer, sigh with contentment, and place the cold bottle down. I lean back and prop my feet up on the desk, lace my fingers behind my head, and stare at screen after screen after screen. But the more I look, the more discontent I become.
I stab at my phone, and it sparks to life. My contentment quickly sours when my calendar pops up and two big fucking entries this month flash before me like obnoxious neon road signs. I don’t need the reminders.
I shut my phone off and toss it on my desk. I watch as it slides before it skitters to a halt at the very edge. I get to my feet and stretch, energy vibrating through me. I pace, my eyes on the screens, but I’ve seen these faces so many times it feels like watching reruns.
Poker table.
Buffet line one.
Craps table.
Live performance.
Drag show.
I sigh and scrub a hand across my brow. I need something new, something different. A little excitement. Something that once again sparks the joy I once had, now buried beneath years of hard work and success.
Something.
And then my eye catches sight of a glimmering, glittery display so opulent, it’s attention-grabbing even for Vegas. I squint at the screen. What the hell is that? I step closer to the screen. It isn’t until I see Miranda Montague in her regal heels walk by that I feel my brows go up in surprise. I reach for the phone on my desk and push a number. My secretary answers on the first ring.
“Yes, Mr. Morrow?”
“Ruth, I thought the Escort Service wasn’t coming until the end of the month?”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Morrow. They had initially planned on the end of the month, but we had a cancellation, and the Sugar Daddies were eager to take the opportunity.”
I flinch when she says their given name.
“I see.”
“Is that a problem, sir?”
Not a problem at all, unless you’re hungry for a pretty girl to fuck, long and hard and on your own fucking terms, and you know every damn woman in that lineup’s a knockout. But Sugar Daddies to them means something altogether different.
But I’m the boss, and I didn’t get here by sleeping with the help.
“Not at all. Thank you. Have a good night.”
I disconnect the call, walk around my desk, and lean against the very edge of it. I fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes on the screen, this time my only focus, the long table laden with food, and a handful of women dressed in cocktail dresses and platform heels. The others haven’t arrived yet. These are the pros, the ones running the show preparing for the others.
They look classy enough to grace the cover of Esquire, and for good reason. Sugar Daddies is the single most profitable escort service in all of Vegas. We prefer euphemisms for what they do, of course, because technically prostitution is only legal in some places in Nevada, and Vegas isn’t one of them. On record, they’re only Sugar Daddies.
I glance at my watch. Thirty minutes until the girls arrive. Just enough time for me to get dressed, head downstairs, and watch them enter in person.
I won’t choose one, of course. Absolutely not. I’m much too civilized for that.
I pour a shot of the best scotch I own from the sideboard in my office as if to remind myself I’m better than that, I’ve risen above. That I don’t need to pay a woman to share my bed, and I fucking don’t.
I have a job to do.
Just a job.
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Forever My Babygirl: A Billionaire Romance
Prologue
Prologue
Rawley
What does a man with limitless funds, too much time on his hands, in the throes of a bad breakup do to get his life back on track?
Easy.
Hire an escort for the night.
Hey, it worked for my brother.
Darius Marrow is the king of Vegas, and he met his wife through an escort service for God’s sake. I’m not looking for a relationship—hell no—after what I went through with my beauty pageant ex-girlfriend, Tiffani, I’ve sworn off women.
That doesn’t mean I don’t need a good fuck.
Sugar Daddy’s Escort service is a discreet little company that keeps your daddy fetishes, as well as the fact your fucking paying for sex, a secret.
A year ago, if you asked me if I’d ever go after a sugar baby—a woman that likes her ass spanked while
she calls her man daddy—I’d tell you, hell no. But after watching my brother with that curvy little blonde wife of his, the way she hangs on his arms and stares up at him with those big brown eyes, my imagination runs to my own night stand with a babygirl.
A pretty girl who wants nothing from me but a chunk of cash? Me smacking her ass, while she’s calling me daddy…yeah, I’d say the idea gets my dick gets pretty hard.
So why not?
I’ve got nothing to lose.
I only need one night to get Tiffani off my mind.
Then, I’m moving on.
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About the authors
USA Today bestselling author Jane Henry pens stern but loving alpha heroes, feisty heroines, and emotion-driven happily-ever-afters. She writes what she loves to read: kink with a tender touch. Jane is a hopeless romantic who lives on the East Coast with a houseful of children and her very own Prince Charming.
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What to read next? Here are some other titles by Jane you may enjoy.
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Shanna Handel
Shanna Handel is an Internationally Bestselling author of romance. She is living her dream as a full time writer married to the love of her life.
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