Baby Fever Virgin: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I know I've let her get under my skin when I'm thinking about the last real talk I ever had with my father in the middle of a storm. Turbulence doesn't care about my woes.

  A gale reaches up beneath the plane and slams itself into the underbelly. Sensors I've put off maintaining start to hiccup, screaming warning lights. I grab the controls, my eyes flicking over the mess on the panel, trying to guess which one is real while rain beats down on my windows.

  I'm thinking about Robbi again when another warning illuminates and begins screaming.

  STALL.

  This is no mistake.

  The plane drops like a ten ton anchor, nose-down, into the black, stormy atmosphere howling around it. Sweat drips into my eyes as I grab at the controls, trying to recover pitch, pull the fuck up before I'm vaporized on impact.

  It's like an out-of-body experience. My fingers jerk the lever as hard as I can. Sweat pours off me. The metallic smell of pure adrenaline fills the cabin. Every instinct I have focuses on saving my aircraft and my life, but my mind is a thousand miles away.

  I'm there, and not there, if that makes any sense in what-the-zen-is-happening sort of way.

  Death has a way of making a man see everything with crystal clarity. My entire life doesn't flash before my eyes. Just the most important parts, the ones with her.

  I see the first time I screamed at her when she walked in on my edgy music. See the other night when I slammed the door in her face a second time, walked away from the minuscule opening she left for me.

  I see my mistakes, my dreams, my disappointments. They're written in time, but they seem so fluid with my life on the line, like it isn't too late to erase anything.

  I did it for a good reason...right?

  Fuck, if I could do it all again, would I?

  Yes, I tell myself, clenching my teeth. I've known all along her bitch of a mother lied to her. Ripped her away from me and blamed it on my dead father. She was a willing co-conspirator all along.

  I knew, and I owned that knowledge. Didn't have a choice.

  I kept her away from me. I kept her safe. Kept her sanity intact and saved her from being dragged into the self-loathing shadows that were a constant drag on my young life. Pushed her out of the family drama poisoning her life, all so she could have a good one without me.

  Tore my own heart out protecting her from pain, shielding her from me, and it still wasn't enough. Because the improbable threw her into my life, forcing us to share a spotlight when we should've had our own.

  Separate sunrises, and sunsets. Separate lives. Separate road leading her to a man who'd make her happy, without my problems, and would take me to the place I've always sought for some shred of peace.

  So far, I haven't found it. I never will if I don't pull out.

  “Pull the fuck out, damn it!” My whole body hurts down to the bone, trying to right the plane, just a few thousand feet before recovery becomes impossible.

  Lightning flashes near my right wing, blinding me. When I open my eyes, ready to see the ground threatening to kill me, I'm drifting upward again.

  My heart doesn't beat normal until I'm flying steady, heading into the calm blue morning ahead. It's twenty more minutes before there's sun reflecting on the wings. That's when I start laughing like I've lost it.

  You almost died, you magnificent bastard.

  I'm wide awake. Wondering. Thinking about how insane it seems that I can't just walk right up to Robbi, tell her the damned truth, wait for her apology, and get on with our lives.

  I'll come to my senses when I'm on the ground. But up here, after I've just survived a brush with the end, it seems like anything is possible.

  I'm still shaking off my stupor, under two hours to Chicago, when the satellite phone in my ear goes off. “Hello?”

  “Hey, brother.” It's Grant, his voice as crisp as the big smile he always wears, peaking through his lumberjack beard. “Hayden and his girl are square again with the public. Thought you should know. He's already talking about having a proper wedding reception soon, and he wants us both there.”

  “Fine. Good riddance to the baby mama drama,” I growl into the mic. “Not that I really give a shit what's tarnishing the Shaw name this week.”

  Grant chuckles. “Lucky for you, Hayden and I care enough for the three of us. You'll get your inheritance out of the trust soon, too. Kayla's fled since Hayden found out she put the bitch trying to derail his marriage up to it. He would've sued her into the ground with the statement he got for the court.”

  I close my eyes, wincing when I think how it went down. Kayla was dad's last woman. A gold digger of the highest order, and one he was stupid enough to marry before he croaked. She would've gotten everything, if Hayds hadn't forced her to flee the country, relinquishing her claim to our trust.

  Sometimes, I'm afraid the fateful confrontation I had with my father led him down to disaster. The poor SOB fell for her plastic looks and very eager doting. Fell for it so hard he married her, wrote her into his trust, and almost screwed Hayden's real estate empire to ruins.

  “I don't care about the money. Glad it's wrapped up, for your sake.”

  “Yeah, well, there's something else.” His normal jovial tone disappears.

  “Don't tell me. You're flying to Alaska next week to fight grizzlies with your bare hands because tromping around in the Maine forests aren't enough.” Why my brother spends his free time out of New York City in the wild, I'll never understand.

  “Fuck you,” he says with a laugh. “It's Hayden's Penny. She's got herself a bun in the oven. Hayden told me himself last time we talked.”

  “Smart enough to run circles around the big guys on Wall Street, and you still haven't figured out how babies are made.” I stop yanking his chain for a second to allow myself a smile. It's perfect timing with the sun splashing into the cockpit, warming my face. I pull my sun glasses over my eyes. “Seriously, that's great. Always thought I'd make an awesome uncle.”

  “You and me both. Just thought I'd let you know, Fly Right.” He calls me by the old nickname he's used ever since we were boys, and I discovered my budding fascination with flight. It's a savage irony since I'm anything but perfect, the black sheep of the Shaws. “See you soon at the reception. Heard you're going back to Chicago for your porno.”

  “It's an erotic romance, jackass,” I snarl. “Won't even be an NC-17 rating by the time the studio gets through with it. We're making art here, whenever we're allowed to get back to it, after they resolve their union issues.”

  “Uh-huh. Remind me again when I have to see your balls hanging out at the world premier.“ He pauses, letting his words sink in.

  I'm about to lay into him, tell him he's a fool for thinking there'll be any full frontal nudity in our production. But it's Grant's job as my eldest brother to bust my balls. I take the brotherly sucker punch with silence.

  “Honestly, brother, hope you kill it. Keep up the great work doing what makes you happy. I'll see you soon. Try not to crash that thing.” He cuts the call.

  Another Shaw. A new generation, and a clean slate. I think about the baby, wondering what it'll be like to have a nephew or a niece. It doesn't matter, as long as the kid coming from Hayden and Penny winds up happier than my brothers and me.

  Children aren't even on the radar. Haven't given baby making much thought since I went looking for Robbi's ring, thinking about our future. There's no settling down when I'm playing lead with an ex who hates my fucking guts.

  Despite my wink from death an hour ago, it might be for the best. There's no fixing what went haywire between Robbi and me years ago overnight.

  Hell, there's practically no chance at fixing it in a thousand years.

  What's done is done. I have to work with her, get on with my life, and stop second guessing.

  Maybe I'll always have questions, what ifs, and second guesses. Maybe they'll fly out and hit me in the face whenever I let them, like when my plane spirals out of the sky.

  Having them
boxed up neat in a dark, secret place I control is no sin. I'm only in danger if I release them. If I let them consume me.

  Then there's no excuse for fresh mistakes. And any attempt to re-kindle an old flame that's better off extinguished would be the biggest fuck up of my life.

  One week of negotiations turns into two, then three, then five. I hate being back in Chicago, especially with nothing to do. Riding the city's L-line like a normal person and casual flights over Lake Michigan get old after awhile. I don't do the fancy balls and limo rides to cross the streets like a normal billionaire.

  I take a couple trips out to the old place in the country with Hayden and Penny. They're selling our family's old estate now that Kayla is out of the picture. Their reception in a couple weeks is the last time we'll gather there as a family, before it passes into the new owner's hands.

  Good fucking riddance. That's what I think when I wander through the overgrown gardens, walking down the path to the rundown bungalow.

  It's like a historic marker where everything went wrong in my life. I've never told my brothers about the trouble with Ericka that cost me Robbi. Hayden and Grant have a rosier view of dad than I do. They were older, lucky to leave our ancestral mansion behind before his drinking and skirt chasing led him off the rails.

  I'll let them keep their memories untarnished. There's a large tree with its branches stretched over the old servants' quarters. A single robin sits on it, singing into the lonesome evening.

  I should look up and think some symbolic shit about the beautiful little bird who got away from me. There's nothing. Sentimental, mopey thoughts left my head years ago.

  Turning my back, I walk, heading to the car.

  There's no rebuilding what was ruined here. I have to stay strong when it's time to work again.

  Looks like the time has come when I see a voice mail from my agent, Jim. “Studio says we're back in business, my man! They want you downtown tomorrow, and they're pretty picky about making up for lost time. Pierce is in a bad mood with these delays. Be on your best behavior.”

  My best? I don't know how to give anything else to the biggest break of my life, even if there's a mad, sexy obstacle I never imagined.

  I can't bow. Can't break. Can't ever stop to think how I'd lure Robin into my embrace, put her where she belongs, and slam the door shut. Not even if a tiny whisper deep inside me won't let go of the idea.

  I set my little bird free for a reason. There's nothing more important than remembering why.

  7

  Bruises (Robin)

  One Week Later

  “Bad girl, Ali,” Luke, or Miles, rumbles the words into my ear. I'm pinned against his breakfast bar counter. He's standing over me, my hair in his fist, staring out the window at the Chicago skyline stretching on forever. “We have a certain corporate culture around here, and there's zero tolerance for espionage. Did you think I wouldn't find out about the snooping you did? That I wouldn't discipline your sweet little ass?”

  His hand comes down hard on my bare, rippling ass cheeks. Insta-scream. The impact burns, totally unhinged.

  It's a louder and more intense spanking than the script calls for. My moan slips out, just as over-the-top. So much for keeping it together. It was supposed to be a whimper, a virgin girl set to get a very kinky introduction to ecstasy by her billionaire boss.

  This is more.

  More, because I was that girl with him, once upon a time. Now, I'm stuck pretending love and hate aren't rending me in two with the man I abhor plowing his harsh palm into my ass.

  “Mr. Black, please!” I yell, shaking as my fingers grip his desk. “I'll never do it again. I've learned my lesson! I was curious. Worried. I thought the whole company was going down in the D.C. investigation when I saw the Senator's name in your contacts. It's not my place, I know. Forgive me for caring.”

  Luke pauses, pacing a neat circle around me. He walks to the corner of the luxurious penthouse, grabs two black cords from a drawer, and walks back to me. Ali Evers stuck her nose too deep where it didn't belong, into Black Corp political contacts, and now she's being confronted. It's my job to pull off the scared, lovestruck virgin girl act seamlessly.

  “Caring? You think I need your sympathy more than common sense? When I hired you, I thought you'd know better. Thought you knew to respect my damned privacy!”

  My pussy tenses, helplessly excited when I see him from the ground up.

  Polished black shoes. Charcoal trousers. A dark jacket with a burgundy tie tucked down the middle, one that's going to be wrapped around my wrists in the near future.

  “Seriously, you want to go there? Talk about privacy?!” I spit the last word. “Like I haven't caught you trying to look up my skirt when I'm standing on your glossy marble floor at just the right angle. Like you didn't push me to the wall last week before your meeting, brushed your lips on mine, and told me there's no room for flirting at the office? Like you haven't hit on me every day since I started working with this...this weird dynamic. I don't even know, Mr. Black. You keep going to this dark place, and I swear, you want to bring me with you.”

  Funny. If I avoid his face, I swear the emotions are easier to tolerate.

  But then his blue eyes appear next to mine again, deep as oceans, and just as unforgiving. “Do you want to see my dark place, Ali? You can't keep your little nose out of places it doesn't belong, so I think you do. Hell, I'll do you one better. I'll make you feel it.”

  He starts binding my wrists and ankles to the small leather sofa, stretching my arms and legs to conform to its shape. It's conveniently disguised as household furniture, but it's able to accommodate much more than sitting.

  I close my eyes, searching for my happy place. It's safety, where I'm able to pretend Lucus Shaw is just Miles Black, a meaningless name whose emotional appeal is strictly pretend.

  I grit my teeth, hoping it doesn't make the muscles on my face twitch for the cameras. It shouldn't be this fucking hard.

  Oh, but it is.

  I thought the weeks off filming would do me some good. I relaxed, I did yoga, even tried meditation. Every defense fails me now thanks to Pierce insisting on the spanking scene. Weeks of dread and anxiety, replaced by real, up close and personal glances from Luke. Plus the unbearable reality – being stripped bare in front of him yet again.

  “Close your eyes, my curious little dove,” he whispers, bringing his lips so close to my ear his breath blows warm against my skin. I tremble. “Secrets are a two way street, and the dark places sometimes swallow you whole. I want you to count for me, love. Once for every sin I'll make your ass pay for.”

  It's over the top. It's dangerous. But I do it.

  The next time he brings his hand down on my ass, I jerk tight in my restraints. My neck cranes, and I let out a half-moan, something that's not in the script.

  “One!” I cry, wondering if this is even acting anymore. I don't have to imagine what Ali feels. I'm as scared, turned on, and vulnerable as she would be, the tense knot deep in my body coming undone as his palm crashes into me again.

  “Two!”

  Two, you bastard, I count to myself. He's still using a lot more vigor than his part calls for when he's spanking me.

  My eyes pinch shut, and I bury my face in the leather beneath me. Three, four, five!

  Those numbers are muffled. So is the climax building in me, a slow moving boil seated in my womb, hot and wet and rampant when it comes.

  Luke used to hint he'd introduce me to kinky things when we were young and stupid. Neither of us ever thought it would happen like this, lovers-made-enemies following studio instructions, his willing prisoners for the next few minutes, or however many retakes this scene needs.

  Oh, God. What if Pierce needs retakes?

  I have to get this right.

  Luckily, my body doesn't need much extra motivation. It snaps back against his hand during the next few whacks. I'm face down, growling the words into the leather muzzle under me, legs out and spine arched when I
call out the numbers.

  “Six! Seven! Eight – oh!”

  Oh, mercy.

  Spittle flies from my lips when he hits me again, leveling his force on the red target he's painted on my right cheek. “Nine!”

  It's either great acting on my part, or completely terrible. Worse, I'm dangerously close to coming. Something I never signed up for when I walked in for this scene.

  Sure, I'm supposed to pretend Miles Black just gave me the most mind blowing orgasm of my life when it happens in the next thirty seconds.

  But I'll never forgive myself if it goes off for real. He's standing over me, taking a small break, studying my aching, red buttocks beneath him. He walks to the front of the bench, pushes his rough fingers through my hair, and pulls my head up just enough to press his lips into my ear.

  “Three more, and you're done.” He lets me drop.

  My wrists move in the restraints, finding the tension I need to resist.

  Resist, damn it. You've spent your adult life trying to resist Lucus Shaw and his terrible memories.

  I tell myself I'm not losing control. It'll be over soon. I'm not going to be in a sweaty, tender, post-orgasmic haze when he's done smacking my ass and lifts my head for the famous kiss.

  I don't know who I hate more: Isabella Frieze for writing this crap, or my own body, hot and bothered, lurching into total mutiny.

  “Ten!” I scream it, bristling when I feel the sting his hand leaves on my left cheek.

  “Eleven.” I'm exasperated. The threat of having to re-do this scene can't stop the earthquake rolling through my legs. His crisp palm bites my right cheek, and I'm dying holding it in.

  He takes his sweet time. Somewhere behind his character's steely expression, he's smiling. Deep down, he's loving this. It would make me sick to my stomach if it wasn't numb with butterfly wings beating like mad.