Baby Fever Virgin: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  It's not just regret with its teeth locked onto me, tossing me around the room like a ragdoll in a Rottweiler's mouth. It's the memories, and they come faster and harder than the sweat pouring off me, louder than my beat up heart banging thunder into my blood.

  I remember her kiss. How hot, how sweet, how perfect she tasted the day she said yes to that simple little ring I'd worked like a dog to buy.

  I remember her eyes, green and beautiful, deeper than the peaceful forests ringing our little town. Her hair, like soft gold, worth trading everything I'd earned before and after the engagement.

  All gone.

  Gone forever. Stolen by a freak accident.

  Running isn't enough tonight. I step off the treadmill and dry myself with a towel. My legs are about to explode, but my upper body has some fight. I drag myself over to the punching bag, where I slip on the gloves to protect my knuckles, and lay into hell.

  Yes, hell. That's what's spilling out of me every time my punches land. Thank God I'm alone because several minutes in, I fucking scream.

  Over-dramatic? Insane? The sound of my own heart coming through my ribs in pieces?

  Yes, yes, and yes it is. I don't give a single shit.

  I can't. Because if I become a modern day Midas, richer than every billionaire who's ever turned grit to gold in this city, and there have been a lot of them, it changes nothing. Even if I out earn Ty Sterner and his huge local empire, the whiz kid billionaire who married his own step-sister, I'm the same hollowed out shell.

  It won't take away what happened. It won't bring her back. And if it wasn't for trying to enrich my friends, my employees, nursing the dreams I'm clinging to for sanity, I'd hang it all up and turn myself in just for a chance to look into her eyes one more time.

  I'm not an idiot, though. Bart would never forgive me if I gave up, lost it, and did something that insane. Now that he's dead, it seems like I should double down on honoring his memory, the second chance he gave me to make this life matter.

  I owe him. I can't screw this up. And I damned sure can't bring his little girl more pain, even if every selfish bone in my body aches like mad for one more chance to make this right.

  I'm a realist, the older I've gotten. It's done me a lot of good. I wouldn't have gotten anywhere in a multi-billion dollar business without it.

  When I collapse on the floor, drenched in a second wave of sweat, unable to put my exhausted fists over my head, I lean on that cold, rational side of me to put the leash around my throat. That's the part that keeps me in line, prevents me from doing something stupid.

  And injecting myself into the ruins of Kara's life again would be very foolish indeed. I'll leave her to grieve, and mourn us as long as I need to.

  Come Monday, everybody in Punch Corp is going to know we're making plans for Michigan, even if it'll be years before we're manufacturing there. I'm coming home in six months as Tanner Brooks.

  There's a chance we'll cross paths again, me and Kara, if I spend more than a week setting up the factory. If it happens, then there's a greater chance she'll still recognize me beneath the hurt, the muscles, the tips of the dark tattoos that sometimes bow up around my collar, or out the edges of my sleeves.

  What then? What can I possibly say?

  “I'll do what I need to,” I mutter to myself, bowing my aching head. Serious as a monk before raw, divine power. “I won't hurt her again.”

  Except, that's one more lie. There's one thing I should do if I ever see my woman again – turn my back and walk away. It's the only option I've got to keep the big lie going, everything Bart spelled out crystal clear the night I lost it all.

  Fuck prison.

  Losing my freedom, going to jail, that isn't what worries me. It's reminding her of what we once had, and seeing the pain in her eyes as it's ripped away a second time.

  5

  Vicious Cycle (Kara)

  Two years later

  The asshole is going to be late for our engagement party. I'm already sick and tired of these pretentious toasts and tight black heels threatening to strangle my feet.

  That isn't saying anything about being back here, in the Armitage lighthouse, the same place a man asked me to marry him for the first time ages ago.

  Of course, I never told Reg about that. I think I've only mentioned the name Ryan Caspian once in the eighteen months we've been together.

  He knows what happened, and so do I. We don't need to dwell on it. Everybody says we're a beautiful couple. Two families in town struck by the same tragedy, about to come together as one.

  Don't get me wrong. I wouldn't be at this engagement party at all if Reg didn't sweep me off my feet.

  It's been a whirlwind romance, a rollercoaster of highs and lows. I can't believe it was less than two years ago when he started to frequent my new cafe, Grounded. My little bakery and coffeehouse was deserted then, too new and too fresh to have any regulars, except for one.

  Reginald Drayton. The man who didn't care that I chewed him out the first time we met over his answer to chalk board trivia for a ten cent discount. He just kept coming back for more of my stuff, smiling across the counter with his lean, civilized looks and wisp of a brown beard.

  He's handsome, in his own way. He'll never be built like Ryan – but I'm over that.

  He's wealthy. He's intelligent. He's logical, and it only makes him an asshat once in awhile, which means he's easy to fall for.

  “Kara! Where's Reggie? We're about to fire up the speakers in less than an hour.” I whirl around to face the voice, and see Patricia in her usual tall grey heels, a fresh perm, and a dress that must cost five figures.

  “I've been trying to get in touch with him,” I say, reaching for my phone. “He's probably taking the scenic route here. It's a beautiful evening out there.”

  She smiles, nods, and looks past me at the bright red sunset splashed across the horizon. I've known my future mother-in-law for more than a year, but I'm still outclassed. I'm standing here in an ivory evening dress he bought me a month ago, the one our wedding planner recommended. It looks like I'm wearing a potato sack against her jungle green flourishes with the gold trim and spacious neckline to show off her 24-karat necklace.

  “He'd better not embarrass us again.” She clucks her tongue, her smile disappearing, facing me seriously.

  I put my hands up, remembering how she blew up a month ago, when Reg picked me up late and we rushed to her charity art gala in Marquette. Naturally, we missed her opening act, where she aggressively reminded everyone they were there to raise as much as they could, buying paintings and statues worth more than most luxury cars.

  “He won't, Patricia. It's our engagement, after all. He'll be here.” An uneasy smile tugs at my lips. “Reg is very excited. He's been talking about it all week. I could try him again if you'd like?”

  “No, forget it. There's no need to bother him unless Mr. Williams is doing the intro.” She turns, like she's about to walk away, but then she stops mid-step and gives me one more hawk-eyed glance. “I'm not angry with you, Kara. I hope you know that. Creating more stress when you're trying to right the ship with my son is the last thing I'd ever want.”

  I don't say anything as she stomps away, heading toward a gaggle of attendants still shuffling a few last chairs into place for our guests, ready to micro-manage them to perfection.

  My stomach sinks into itself. I hate that she knows the truth.

  We've tried to hide our recent issues from everybody. Told ourselves we'll play the happy couple everybody expects, and we'll keep doing therapy until we get it right.

  We love each other, and we aren't giving up before we've even begun.

  It's way too early for that. Still, it's times like this I'm amazed how I can feel so distant from the man I fell in love with last year.

  We were so good in the beginning. Almost like me and Ryan. Reg was the ultimate gentlemen, taking me out for long drives and evenings at the best restaurants. He never flinched when I snapped – and there wa
s a lot of that. Just smiled his warm, smart grin with an uncanny ability to make me feel more comfortable than anyone had since I lost the other two men in my life.

  Wait, two? What the hell is wrong with me?

  Daddy's the one who really mattered. I catch myself thinking about the asshole who's ancient history by now, and I hate it.

  Ryan should be the last thing on my mind. I know it's because things have been troubled between my fiance and me lately. Being in this lighthouse doesn't help. That's the real reason he keeps haunting me.

  Except, it isn't really true. Because even when things were good, when I started thinking about what it'd be like to become Mrs. Reginald Drayton, Ryan still clung to the small, dark spots in my brain.

  I sneak a glass of wine from one of the servers and take a seat near the back, hoping the alcohol will numb what's coming. With a drink in hand, I let myself wonder just where the hell Reg is, anyway.

  Last night, before he slipped into bed and gave me the cool peck on the cheek that's replaced our old fiery kisses since the troubles began, he told me he was going into town.

  Something about meeting with his financial advisor to manage new distributions from the trust left by his great uncle. He tells me there's probably going to be a big surplus this quarter, and maybe we can get away from it all for a couple weeks, go down to Chicago like we have twice before for a getaway dripping in luxuries.

  I never did anything except nod my head, not wanting to risk another argument. I'll have to save it for our counselor, the fact that I'm so low on his priorities he's already forgotten I can't just leave the bakery for two weeks at a time.

  I promised I wouldn't get into it before this party. Reg comes from a different world than I do, and he doesn't understand how life works. When you're born into a massive trust ready to spit cash every month like a magic ATM, it's easy to forget other money can only be earned by hard work and active management.

  “I'm sorry, honey. He couldn't make it tonight, but he wants to have lunch tomorrow.” My heartbeat spikes when I turn around, worried somebody means Reg.

  No, it's just mom, her happy eyes shining down softly. She's talking about Matt, who's on his way home right now for several weeks of leave. He said he'd make my engagement party tonight if he got in early, but clearly that isn't happening.

  I shrug. I'm not that disappointed – I've mended fences with my big brother since daddy's funeral.

  Our relationship is cool and peaceful. I'm not about to rip into old wounds by laying into him over missing the most important moment of my post-Ryan life – especially when he's gone through his own personal hell since daddy died.

  “What is it this time? An early night out with the guys?” I gently poke my mother, my gaze going down to the smiling little boy in her arms. “Not more crap with Maggie? She wouldn't normally let you have Holden on a week night.”

  Mom's expression deflates, and she passes my three year old nephew into my waiting arms. “I told her it was your engagement party. I didn't want Matthew to worry about picking her up when he lands on the red eye tonight, so it's perfect timing for everyone.”

  “Funny. Since when has the bitch started caring about what's going on in our lives?” I'm careful to keep my voice low, so none of high class Drayton associates chattering around us will need to clutch their pearls over hearing me swear. “Does she have another date or something? I know the latest didn't last long...what was he, number three after Matt?”

  “Kara...” Mom looks down and stops just short of wagging a finger. “What she does with her life is none of my business, as long as she's playing by the rules. She's not part of this family anymore.”

  There's a sour taste in my mouth. It fades when I bounce little Holden on my lap, listening to him babble something that sounds like Auntie Kara a few times.

  My brother's marriage to the unfortunate woman who's Holden's mom only lasted six months. He came home from a tour in Afghanistan and found her in bed with the neighbor. He's a hundred times more qualified to raise his son than the cheating slut, and so are we to help him, but the courts are never kind to military fathers looking for custody.

  It's incredible how fast everything transforms. I hug my nephew closer, holding him as he yawns. I want someone to swoop down and tell me I'm not walking into the same terrible mistake my big brother made with his marriage.

  Mom keeps me company. I pass Holden back to her and casually sip my wine, shifting my knees under the table while I wait for some word from Reg.

  Patricia isn't kidding about the embarrassment if he comes in an hour late. Anger courses through my blood.

  I don't know what's going on with him lately, and the uncertainty hurts.

  Half an hour later, there must be dozens waiting. Every table is packed with men in suits and women who have never done a day's worth of thrift store shopping in their life. Their dresses are new, their purses are imports, and they're talking about trips to warm islands I've never heard of. Soft classical music pipes from the custom speakers installed just for us overhead, echoing through the lighthouse, but it's easily drowned out by the voices.

  Patricia stands near the podium, giving me a nervous glance every few seconds. When she stares a little too long, I shake my head, telling her I haven't heard a damned thing from my other half. Reg's father, Harold, stands next to her. He reaches up and clears his throat, an anxious tic I've seen several times at their stuffy fundraisers and corporate parties. Can't blame him for being as worried as the rest of us about how this is going to go if Reg blows it.

  This lighthouse used to be so beautiful. Why does it feel like a fucking prison now?

  I'm practically kicking myself underneath the table for not speaking up when he pushed for our engagement party here.

  This place is cursed, and I should've known it.

  My mind wanders while the wine warms my veins, a pleasant distraction from the rising panic over Reg's mysterious absence. A few minutes later, Patricia pulls her keynote speaker into the corner. I don't need to read lips to know she's gone nuclear.

  “Kara-bell. Sorry I'm late.” Reg grabs my shoulder. By the time I look up, half the room around us is staring at us, cheering and applauding.

  The Prince has returned. I try not to glare.

  “Where the hell were you?” I whisper, remembering at the last second to smile and wave to the happy crowd.

  God. I don't know how celebrities and politicians do this public persona crap.

  Stuffing my real feelings down my throat, and keeping them there in front of hundreds of strangers, threatens to make me sick.

  Is this how that California girl in the tabloids felt when she shacked up with Prince Silas overseas? I read about her fairy tale romance a few months ago, how she married him to save her father, and then fell in love for real. Some people get all the happy endings.

  Reg doesn't say anything, just plops down into the seat next to me. He grabs my hand, pulls it into his firm grip, and lifts the back to his lips like we're prudish aristocrats who haven't ever locked lips.

  Way to feed the ridiculous lie we're presenting here.

  I go along with it, keeping my grin as wide as humanly possible. Several cameras flash, exploding around us, lighting up the fancy silver and gold balloons swaying against the walls. My fingers ache when they brush his lips because I want to slap him for leaving me hanging in front of everyone.

  At least Patricia and Harold look relieved. His parents are walking smiles with the keynote now, Mr. Williams, who's about to step up to the podium and heap praise on the youngest, brightest, most upstanding young man he's ever had the pleasure of mentoring at Drayton Financial.

  My predictions are dead on. Reg holds my hand through the entire flowery speech. His near constant smile turns a little more tense when he catches me scowling. His big grey eyes would outdo a whimpering puppy's.

  “What's wrong?” he whispers, during a big round of applause near the end of the speech.

  “You couldn't
have even sent a text?” I'm pouting, and I don't care. “Seriously, Reg, how hard is it to tell the woman you're going to marry why you're late to our first big outing as a couple?”

  “Correction, I wasn't late. I had two minutes to spare.” His smile weakens. I wonder if he actually remembers how much I hate it when he says correction. “Kara, I'm sorry. When my dad's guys heard about the engagement today, they all insisted on buying me a drink. We had a few rounds in the office, and I had to sober up before the drive. I let it get to me. Here I am, babe. You know I wouldn't miss this for the world.”

  He squeezes my hand. I stare into his eyes, wanting to believe him.

  They're a pretty shade of grey, but they're also dense as the heavy storm clouds drifting over Superior. They're not blue, at least. After Ryan, I don't think I'll ever trust another man with his sky blue eyes again.

  “Let's not ruin the night. Remember what Dr. Evans said last week? Forgiveness is divine.”

  My fingers tighten in his, and I let out a sigh. Thankfully, we're alone in the moment. Everybody around us is distracted, laughing at some charmingly subtle joke Williams just made.

  Yeah, divine, like the counselor said. I'd love some divine intervention right now to put a stronger drink in my hand.

  As much as I don't like to admit it, the jerk I'm going to marry might be right. The fact that he's thinking about our therapy at all tells me he's trying. I'm obligated to follow his lead.

  “I'll hold my fire until we get home,” I whisper.

  Reg puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me into him. “That's my girl. If you still want to fire away after tonight, I'll get down on my knees and let you put one right between my eyes.”

  He reaches up, taps himself on the forehead, and makes a jerking motion. He gets a point for making me want to laugh – for real – mostly because I remember the time we went to the gun range last year.

  He dragged me with him as part of this country club get together with his firm's clients. I wound up being a natural the second I picked up my first gun and took aim at the targets.