Baby Fever Virgin: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  “Kara-bell, use my guy. For the hundredth time, he'll do it right, do it fast, and save you a ton of money.”

  I open my eyes. Reg stops there, and gives me a sheepish smile. At least he realizes the last thing we need tonight is another fight over why I'm adamant on doing things my way, instead of taking the easy route with his family's resources.

  “Do you want me to run you a bath?” he asks, something he hasn't done in months.

  Nodding, I lay my fingers on his neck, just enough to feel his pulse. “That sounds really nice. I'll be in bed shortly. I just need a little time to myself to digest all this.”

  “I love you, babe. Don't ever doubt it.”

  Before he slips away, I dig my nails into his neck, and bring my lips to his. We kiss, soft and sweet, for just one second.

  It isn't much, true. But after everything that's happened, it's enough to stave off disaster.

  Later, after I've had a couple more glasses of wine and soaked my skin to pruning, I slip into our silky sheets. He's fast asleep, snoring gently on the far side of the bed.

  Baby steps. There's no need to hold him tonight, much as part of me might want to, much less do anything that doesn't involve our clothes.

  It's been months since we had sex. Probably twice as many since it was normal. That part of our relationship has never been perfect, but there was always enough good outside to make up for it.

  Reg has...unusual tastes. When times were better, I did everything I could to indulge him, even though it didn't do much for me.

  No, it wasn't a total waste.

  I let him spend big on his habit. I still have weeks worth of pedicures to cash in, and rows of heels to show for it. They're useful outside the bedroom, at least.

  Just worthless for making me wet. It's the same when he asks me to let him rub my feet, or run his tongue across my shiny new Louboutins.

  If you can't imagine getting sick of foot rubs, try being with a fetishist. I wish I could trade them away most nights.

  I need to be fucked in our bed, and hard.

  Our sex life has barely come up in therapy, and I cringe when I think about it. Tonight, I'm too exhausted to dwell on it. We need to fix the emotional gap between us before we can talk about the physical one.

  I'm content that our drag out fight has been diffused. Thankful for small victories, I drift off staring at my fiance's face. It reminds me that I really do love him, and we're going to get through this.

  I'd rather work through these issues now than revisit them when we're forty with three kids. As long as we're upfront, motivated, and honest with each other, we'll survive.

  Jesus, we have to.

  Losing another engagement when I'm leaving my early twenties isn't an option. I can't stand another heartbreak.

  It's get through this, marry Reg, imperfections and all...or else I'll wind up asking myself why I'm doing this. Why I need him, or any man, to fill the craters blown open in my life.

  There's no way I'm going into that dark place. It's taken five years, but I've learned my lesson, over and over and over again.

  Cope. Never look back. Don't ask too many questions with painful answers.

  There's nothing more dangerous than why.

  6

  Peephole (Ryan)

  I'm at my new desk, so shiny it's almost blinding, staring at my laptop. It's all there, the video I shot with my military grade spy cam around seven o'clock last night. I'm watching the footage, fighting the urge not to put my fist through my nice new screen.

  He comes out of the hotel with a woman hanging on his arm. She's decked out in a silky purple dress. He kisses her one more time before he climbs into his car, making damned sure to let his hand swoop down her low back, grazing the top of her ass. Both their smiles say they've just finished fucking like it's Valentine's Day.

  I want to kill the cheating bastard.

  I want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze until his eyes pop like marbles. I want him to die slowly, painfully, and without mercy because he's fucking her over – literally and figuratively.

  He fucks her once with his dirty little secret, the secret life she knows nothing about, and again when he comes home and climbs into her bed.

  Meanwhile, I'm being fucked by my own jealousy. It wraps around me like a snake, glues my eyes to the screen, and makes me look at the man I despise for one simple reason.

  The lying, mild mannered little prick is having her, and I'm not.

  My fist comes down hard. It echoes in the office like a gunshot, and there's someone at the door a second later.

  I can't help it. I haven't been this upset, this pissed off, since I saw it go down with my camera last night, hunkered down in my Tesla with my coat pulled up over my mouth. And before last night, I haven't been that pissed since the night I lost her, sent her like a lamb into the arms of this skirt chasing wolf.

  “Mr. Brooks? Is everything all right?” Becky jiggles the doorknob when I don't answer quickly enough.

  “Yeah!” It takes me several seconds to have a long swig of coffee, and then compose myself. “Come in.”

  She enters, all smiles. I ought to be grinning too, considering the way everyone's bonuses around here have bloated five times bigger this quarter. It takes every muscle in my face not to scowl.

  “Are you okay?” she asks me again.

  “Not exactly, Becky,” I say, standing up and straightening my tie. “We're better than okay. It's going to be an incredible day. Are they ready for us?”

  The uncertainty on her face melts in another sun beam smile. “That's why I came up to get you.”

  We make small talk on the way out. Leonard is already waiting in the limo, looking more sleepless than usual. His newborn is forcing him and his wife to burn extra hours on no sleep. He'll get a break soon enough, but it's been rough with the duty I've had him pulling, making certain our grand opening in my old hometown goes off without a hitch.

  “Can you believe it, boss?” he asks, just when the big crowd in front of the factory comes into view.

  “I can. We worked our asses off to get here, and we're not leaving until everybody's a whole lot richer. That means us, plus the good people of Split Harbor. You're not allowed to quit when your company crosses the billion mark.”

  He smiles. “Only a year ago. Jesus. Some days, it gets to me, trying to believe this.” He spreads his hand across his chest, an exaggerated display that makes Becky laugh.

  “Yeah, it better. Appreciate it. We're big enough for other companies to start poaching talent. If I don't keep it rolling in, there's no way either of you are going to stay with me in this little town.”

  “It's really very quaint,” Becky says, staring into her phone as she applies more lipstick. “Quieter, I mean. More peaceful than the little towns down the coast from Seattle.”

  “Almost too quiet.” Leonard wrinkles his nose. “Can't stand the energy here in all honesty. Without the private jet home, we'd be screwed.”

  “Tell me that again when you see how many good, hardworking people we snatch up in this town. The whole U.P. is teeming with people who just need a break. Besides, we don't need geniuses with PhDs and ten years experience to operate our machines. That's why we're a perfect fit.”

  “Yeah, but why here, boss? I'll never understand how you found this place. Marquette is small enough. This place, down the highway...it's like we're in Timbuktu. There's only two shops serving coffee in the morning in town, for Christ's sake!”

  Becky and I laugh. I'd better keep smiling, or else I risk revealing history no one needs to know about.

  “Used to spend my summers in Michigan,” I lie. “It doesn't take too many drives up and down this shore to fall in love with the scenery, plus the little towns. You should try it sometime, Leonard. Better way to pep yourself up than tossing down three espressos a day.”

  “Shit, only three? That was before the kid. Boss, I'm up to five with Billy keeping me up!”

  I smile, laying a
brotherly hand on his shoulder. “It's going to get easier. Trust me.”

  I'm pretending I know, but I don't have a clue. Ignorance stings.

  Yes, I'm happy for him. Doesn't mean it isn't a wicked irony.

  I'm sure my advice sounds just as ridiculous to him. As far as anybody with an exec title knows, I'm still playing the field, plodding my way through the finest clubs in Seattle, leaving heartbreaks and hangovers in my wake.

  I haven't fucked in almost a year. Not since our company got its biggest contract, and I saw the blueprints for this place with my own eyes.

  Several valets rush up from the spot where the mayor is waiting, opening our doors. I step out with the firm smile I've cultivated over the last five years and wave to the people like I own the world. Today, in this town, I do.

  I'm careful to check my cuffs one more time, just to make sure they're covering the ink expanding on my skin.

  Deep down, I'm nervous.

  It's got nothing to do with the first day jitters where hiccups in component production are bound to happen, or the fact that I'm about to address people who knew me under my old name.

  I'm not worried about being recognized. I've spent enough time in town to know nobody places this face to the kid who disappeared. Even stopped wearing the contacts to change my eye color when I realized how dead and forgotten Ryan really is to this town.

  It's like he never existed. Maybe they never wanted him to, after they think they found out who he really was.

  My speech is brief. I'm here to pump them up, not give them a lecture. I give them the usual spiel about prosperity, jobs, creative energy, and a Seattle sized drive to kick ass in the Midwest.

  By the end of it, the mayor wraps her arms around me. We both share the oversized gold scissors, more like garden shears, and cut the red ribbon near the doors.

  Everybody cheers. Leonard, Becky, and so many more I've worked with for years lose their shit, lost in the moment, drunk on our triumph and dreaming about tomorrow.

  For Punch Corp, it's a victory. Growing up here, this was the moment I fantasized about, the day I'd know beyond any doubt I'd made it.

  Too bad it isn't her.

  No factory can compare to Kara. Neither can the dozens of lucrative contracts, or the millions in personal investments I'm accumulating every week.

  Richer on paper. Poorer in heart.

  Once upon a time, I thought that 'money can't buy happiness' schtick was the biggest BS I'd ever heard. Now, I'm afraid it might be true.

  The rest of the ceremony drags. I keep the same beaming grin plastered to my face, hobnobbing with my associates and a hundred people whose names I won't remember tomorrow.

  The instant we're done, I'm back in the limo with Leonard and Becky, listening to them chatter about priorities impatiently when I just want to get back to the office.

  “Len, I want you to sort out the kinks,” I tell him, drawing a surprised look from Becky. She can't believe I'm trampling on my inner perfectionist. “You two are smart, you're capable, and you've been with me the longest. It's time for me to stop micro-managing and focus on the big picture. I'm leaving early today. There's something I have to do, but I'll be in tomorrow for the full rundown on what's going right and wrong. Do your best.”

  They don't say anything except “yes, sir.” I'm out of the limo before I can get any more weird looks, heading for my car.

  It's a tense ride to the place where she lives with the cheating asshole. I refuse to call it her home when he's got her trapped in a lie.

  The last time I gripped a steering wheel this tight, I was leaving town in a stolen yacht. It's strange to drive through it, taking the twists and turns through the forested boulevard on the edge of town, then down to the wealthy lodges and condos along the waterfront.

  I'm bigger, richer, and more successful than anybody here. Doesn't seem to matter. Part of me still feels like that kid, helpless to forces bigger than I can understand.

  When I pull up to the curb outside her condo, I don't get out right away. My eyes scan the walkway near the heated garage. The small slanted windows there are just big enough to let me peer inside.

  I see her car. She's home.

  It's been months since I seriously worried about being recognized here. When I walk into the entryway and look for the attendant to ring her, there's a cold sweat prickling my brow.

  Will she recognize my voice?

  Will she remember my face?

  Will she turn me into the police, or maybe kill me herself, the second she figures out who I am?

  “Ms. Lilydale, there's a man here to see you,” the desk clerk says, holding down the button to radio her condo. “He says he has business concerning your cafe.”

  “Business with Grounded? Really?” Her voice crackles through, soft and surprised. She hesitates for several seconds. “Okay, whatever. Send him up.”

  The man stands up, walks over, and slides his card through the elevator. We exchange friendly glances as he holds it open for me. Soon, I'm heading up to the third floor, second guessing myself more in those agonizing seconds than any other time in the last five years.

  There aren't many units to walk past. It's a lot like my place in Seattle, private and exclusive, except here there are fewer luxuries and a more old world charm.

  My fist is clenched while I head down the hall, ready to knock with just the right pressure.

  Except I don't have to. She's hanging out the door. Blond, green eyed, and beautiful as the day she said yes to me. Prettier than the day I kissed her for the last time and said goodbye.

  She looks at me and smiles. I'm still about eight feet away. If she knows who I am, there's no recognition.

  The biggest surprise of all is the kid. He's hanging off her leg like a little monkey, a toddler just learning to walk, bashfully pulling behind her when he sees me coming. Maybe he can sense the atmosphere coming undone all around me as I'm heading for judgment.

  “I have to say, this is a surprise. I didn't think I'd made any real inroads at that roasters convention last month. Who do I have the pleasure of meeting, Mr. –“

  Her tongue turns to stone. I'm standing right in front of her, and I watch her eyes go huge in slow motion, filling up like she's sucked in a storm, desperate to hold it. The kid at her feet smiles, and giggles.

  “Oh my God. Come on, Holden, we're way overdue for your nap.” She reaches down, starts scooping him up, ready to retreat back inside and slam the door in my face.

  My hand shoots straight past her, knocking it into the wall. “Wait.”

  “Leave!” she hisses, one word like an arrow through the ribs. “Leave now, Ryan, or I'm calling the cops.”

  “Just like that? The old Kara would at least ask why I'm here.” I smile, gazing deep into her eyes for the first time in years.

  They're beautiful. Electric. And so damn alive, even when she's afraid.

  I'm placing bets doing this, but I'm also drawing lines. The kid throws a wrench in everything. He's the reason she's being so careful, but I'm not going to take advantage of it. I won't do anything that scares him.

  In all my planning, all the times I imagined this fragile moment, I didn't account for any visitors. Fuck.

  “I'm a married woman now,” she says quickly, her eyes darting around. “Married, with a family. There's nothing to talk about. You have no right to barge in like this.”

  I hold in a nauseating laugh. She's a horrific actor.

  What the hell happened to the woman I loved? She never would have lied like this in the past. She's either petrified, or she's changed so much I barely know who I'm seeing beyond the surface.

  “We can stop pretending. I know he's Matt's son, Kara. If you want to talk, lying to my face isn't a good way to start.”

  “I don't want to talk to you, unless you're going to admit to being a stalker freak. Christ, it's hard to even look at you.” She turns her face so hard a brilliant golden lock of her hair whips across her shoulder. “Nothing you can
say will ever change my opinion. You think you're so smart, don't you?”

  Yeah, launching a billion dollar company will do that. I hold my tongue, keeping my ego in check, because the last thing I want to do is piss her off more.

  “I don't give much thought to my intelligence. I think you're still beautiful.” My hand uncurls and reaches for her face, cupping her cheek. It's like lightning, my skin on hers, a jolt filled with memories, passions, and dreams unfulfilled. “I'm not here to scare you, Kara. I came home to make things right, including with you. Give me a little of your time. That's all I'm asking. We'll meet somewhere after your nephew's home. I'll explain everything, I promise.”

  “Time?” It comes out like a curse.

  She shakes her head, turns around, and starts walking. Too bad she's got the kid, or I'd be going after her. No, I don't care about tromping on the cheating asshole's Turkish rug. I've got five of them worth thousands more in my own place. I'd roll her fiance up in it and drop him off the nearest bridge if it brought her back to me.

  Why won't she look at me?

  I'm pissed. Volcanic blood surges through my veins, electrifying my temples. I try to look cool, holding myself up in her doorway, waiting until I hear her footsteps coming toward me again. I'm surprised she doesn't have her phone out, ready to make good on the threat to dial the cops.

  She's empty handed. Her arms are folded. She's glaring, and I've never seen those eyes I fell in love with burn with such hatred.

  “You want time, Ryan? That's what you came to ask me for?” I open my mouth to answer, but she never gives me the chance. Her little hands fly out. They're slapping my shoulders. I'm so taken aback I stumble into the hall, and she follows, still hitting me, this time in the face.

  “The nerve...you're a sadistic, creepy, backstabbing asshole! I can't believe you have the fucking nerve to ask for time after everything you stole from me. You robbed away years from my life.”

  “Kara-bou – stop!” Catching her wrists, I squeeze them hard, and push her against the wall. “It isn't like that.”