Baby Fever Virgin: A Billionaire Second Chance Romance

by Nicole Snow

  I look up, my eyes shifting over to Ryan, who's standing in the corner, staring up at the huge oil painting of old ships coming into Split Harbor, hauling ore and grain across the Great Lakes.

  “Who, him?” I nod toward the asshole in the suit who's come back to ruin my life after I worked so hard to undo his damage.

  Tom cracks a grin. “Excuse me? Are you saying you've never heard of Tanner Brooks?”

  “Wait...you're telling me that's him? The Mr. Brooks?” My mouth hangs open a little.

  The reporter just laughs. “I'm blown away. You really didn't know? I may be a small town journalist, Ms. Lilydale, but I know bait. Nobody can be that ignorant. Listen, I'm not going to walk into whatever PR surprise trap you've set with him.”

  Holy shit.

  It finally makes sense. The reason a corporate Goliath magically decided to set up shop in our little town...it's to bring him home, closer to me.

  “There's no trap, Tom, let me assure you.” Ryan – or Tanner's – hand hits my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze. “We've never met before this morning. All the contacts to set this up were through my chief of executive support, Becky Grahmer.”

  I look between the two of them. The old, balding reporter pushes up his glasses, his eyes suspicious.

  “Why don't we get on with talking about coffee, rather than badgering the poor woman over putting names to faces?” Ryan smiles, pausing for another long sip of rich black brew. “To get things rolling, I think this coffee is goddamned incredible – and you can quote me on that.”

  I stare up at him, my blood running hot. Every instinct I have wants me to shove his hand away, but I can't when I'm sitting in front of this reporter.

  He's actually trying to help me. Somehow, that makes him a bigger bastard than before.

  I can't let him know it. Better to keep my hostility in check, rather than give the local gossip mill something to really talk about.

  The tone shifts after that. Tom seems content to ask me about the boring stuff. Everything about the cafe's hours, its goods, its ability to serve the new arrivals quality coffee, which of course they're expecting since many of the managers are from the West Coast.

  Tanner the fake does more talking than I do. It unnerves me how easily he's got the reporter wrapped around his finger by the end.

  “So, Mr. Brooks, what can we expect next from you? Not the company, but the man who's in its beating heart.”

  He pauses a moment. Pulling out the chair next to me, he sits down, and gives me a hard look before he answers. “I'm going to keep building the greatest automotive tech company this country's ever seen, no doubt about it. Then I'm asking for more.”

  “More?” I say it before reporter Tom, turning up my nose.

  “I've never been satisfied with half-assing anything, Ms. Lilydale.” He stresses my soon-to-be maiden name, ignoring my earlier request, which only sharpens the needles in my blood. “I know what the tabloids and the blogs say when they name drop me. They're always calling the latest girl I've brought to my big events the one. They're always wrong, but one day, that's going to change. I'm getting to the point where I want to settle down, have a family, and do what people are meant to, regardless of billion dollar empires to run.”

  “Very touching, sir.” Tom scribbles a few more notes, nodding along.

  I'm ready to get up, walk out back, and hope the cool air will put out the fires roiling my center. He isn't helping himself, talking about other women, or the grand old future he's planning for his arrogant self.

  Christ, why am I jealous? I don't give a damn what Fake Tanner does with his time, or who he's with, as long as he stays the hell away from me.

  That's what I try to tell myself. Never mind that it's an obvious lie.

  “Thank you both very kindly for your time,” the reporter says, standing and grabbing his coffee. “I'll be sure this gets printed in our next issue. This place should be a lot more crowded soon, Ms. Lilydale. I'd better swing by a little early for my morning cup.”

  “We'll be ready,” I tell him, ignoring the way the bastard at my side decides to shift his knee into mine just then. “Thank you for the thorough interview today, Tom.”

  He's gone. The second I see the journalist open the door and step outside, Ryan's hand moves against my wrist. It's a gentle stroke, but it's also a movement that tells me he can grab me anytime if he chooses.

  If he does, I'm going to scream. I don't care how many people hear me. I'll tell them everything.

  “No thanks for me?” he asks, the same annoying smoothness in his voice as the kind that disarmed the reporter. Well, it won't work on me.

  “If you're smart, you'll pick yourself up and walk away now.” I snatch my hand away, glaring. He's bigger, stronger, older, and clearly a lot richer.

  One thing hasn't changed: his eyes are so familiar it hurts. They confuse me, and that's very, very dangerous.

  “Not like this. We can't say our goodbyes just yet, Kara-bou. I want to talk. Come out tonight, around nine, and meet me at the lighthouse. We'll go up it like old times, and catch up properly.”

  “I can get that out of your way if you're finished, Mr. Brooks?” Karen has the worst timing in the world.

  The seventeen year old kid chooses the very second I'm about to tell him to fuck off forever to stop by our table, collect our cups, and flashes her awkward smile.

  “Actually, I'd love a refill,” Ryan says, leaning back in his chair. Karen nods, grabs the fresh pot behind her, and returns a few seconds later to pour more in his cup.

  I'm about to explode. The bastard probably wants me to spill blood all over my business. Some kind of sick satisfaction because he obviously has the control to create something a thousand times bigger than my little shop will ever be.

  When she's gone, I turn to him, keeping my composure. “You're insane if you think we have anything left to talk about.”

  “Better to be insane than delusional. I'm afraid the second one's what you're flirting with if you keep ignoring me, Kara. You're going to make a terrible mistake with him. I want to stop it.”

  “You don't have to stop anything!” I catch my voice rising above a harsh whisper, and close my eyes, remembering to breathe. “You're not part of my life anymore, Ryan. I told you to butt the hell out.”

  “Kara, it's Tanner. Whenever we're in public like this –“

  “Oh, you're nervous, Mr. Caspian?” I lean toward him, using his real last name, until our faces are only inches apart. “Good. Now you know how you've made me feel since the second you showed up at my door yesterday.”

  “Wait,” he growls, going for my wrist.

  His fingers catch me, tug me backward. His touch keeps me sitting, even though I've pushed my chair out, screeching across the wooden floor. I hate having his skin on mine. There's too many memories every time we touch. Far too many I fought to kill, bury, and forget.

  But I'll never forget the first time we spent a night together. Naked, young, blissfully ignorant. He held my hand half the night, even when he was inside me. He pinned me down and didn't let go, nestling my fingers between his, feeling them twitch every time he caused me to come all over his cock.

  I've never had sex that good since. Reg's fetish has something to do with that, but it's also the spark that's missing.

  We had chemistry, and it makes me sick that it's lost forever. It's gone, G-O-N-E, because I'm not going to let this asshole seduce me a second time with those cold, beautiful blue eyes.

  I don't know what to do. Then the sick realization hits me that there's only one way to make him leave.

  “If I come out there tonight, my friends will know.” Telling him that I'm considering it makes me want to bite my tongue, but I need to get away from him. Now. “They're going to know exactly where I am, and who I'm with. I don't care what name I use. They're going to know it's you, and you're not getting away a second time if I don't check in when I should.”

  He smiles, softening his grip.
“I'm not a murderer, Kara. I would never, ever hurt you. That's everything I'm trying to prevent.”

  “I don't know that. I don't know you anymore. I'm not interested in whatever it is you want, Tanner.” Ugh, that name sounds so strange on my lips. “I'm agreeing to meet with you tonight because I want you to go away. Ten minutes. That's all I'm giving you, and then we're done meeting forever. If there's anything else you want with Grounded and Punch Corp, you can send one of your thousand employees to do your bidding.”

  “There's only three hundred between here and Seattle. I run a lean machine, babe, and I'm proud of it.”

  No more. The chair screeches again as I stand up, whipping my head around to see if anyone is paying attention to us. Thankfully, my employees are too busy, ringing up a few new drive through orders, and cleaning up the tables in the back for the lunch hour rush.

  I look at him one more time, making my voice like ice. “Stop calling me babe. No darling, no baby, no boo, no Kara-bou.”

  Slowly, he gets up after me, picking up his coffee cup. He takes a long pull, giving me more than enough time to drink in the huge, powerful, infuriatingly handsome edges he's hiding underneath his five thousand dollar suit. “I'll see you tonight.”

  I'm not impressed by his wealth. I have that with Reg, and I'm not doing too badly on my own with the earnings from this place. His body, on the other hand...

  The jackass never responds to my only condition, not to call me those names. I should run after him, snatch the cup from his hand, and throw it in his face. Then I should tell him there won't be any meeting tonight, and I'm going to file a restraining order if he gets in my face again.

  No, I don't care if he pulls his business from mine – I don't fucking need it to make this place a success.

  I don't do any of those things. I stand there, staring out the window at the ghost who's decided to haunt me after a five year absence.

  Why can't I just let go? Why can't I give him the same respect he gave me – none?

  My stomach sinks, watching him through the window. I know what's going to happen tonight. He'll try to ruin another engagement after he demolished my first chance at happiness because he took himself out of the equation.

  I'm a fool for letting him back in. But I'll be a bigger fool if I ignore his claims about Reg.

  My heart can't take another betrayal. If he's going to give me the truth, with proof to back it up, I have to listen.

  I'll deal with the devil himself if it saves me from another heartbreak. And as far as I'm concerned, Ryan is close enough to Lucifer thanks to the strange, intoxicating power he has over me after all these years.

  Later, I'm sitting with Reg and Amy, our wedding planner. We've been going over our floral arrangements again. Now, it's time to talk about chefs and caterers.

  He wants fine wines, champagne, pate and oysters, plus a list of fancy duck entrees I need to draw on my rusty French to pronounce. It doesn't help much, considering the fact that I've barely sampled any of these things.

  Fancy cuisine doesn't appeal to me anyway. I want barbecue, something that will go over well with my guests. I'm telling him Eddie's will bring us the best from several towns over, and there'll be more than enough to go around so no one will go home hungry, picking at their million dollar bird food.

  “Kara, I'm not dismissing your suggestion, but it's very unusual. The food you're suggesting would be out of step with the overall atmosphere we're working to create.” Amy flashes her huge grin. She's roughly my age, and still in braces.

  I despise meeting with her. Her family's close to Reg's, part of the same class, and almost as stuck up. She always shoots down more than half of what I want, siding with him.

  “It's my wedding,” I remind them both.

  “Ours,” he corrects, stabbing his pointer finger down on the list of recommended caterers in front of him. “Look, Kara, we can do barbecue for practically anything else. The people we're trying to impress, they're not going to be satisfied with ribs and baked beans. They want something on par with the best in Minneapolis, Detroit, or Chicago.”

  “Of course. It's only impressing your relatives and jackass business associates that matters. I should've known.”

  Amy holds her hands up defensively. Her and Reg share a look, and I'm left feeling like the odd bitch out for the millionth time. I want to stand up, sweep the papers off the table, and tell them the whole fucking thing is on hold until we fix our relationship.

  But his parents are paying for the entire thing, and they want answers. We already have a date, and unfortunately, it's coming fast.

  I can't buckle, or give up, or let several hundred people down. Biting my tongue is what I do best in this relationship. Too bad there's more incentive to do it because he's actually trying to fix us. I have to honor that.

  “Kara, babe, why don't you pick out the drinks?” he asks, softening his gaze. “I don't want to fight about this. If you're wanting to put whiskey or cocktails on the menu along with the wine and champagne I know everybody will be after, go right ahead. I won't get in the way.”

  It's a small consolation. Just enough to prevent me from chewing his head off in front of the uptight bitch grinning across the table.

  “I love that idea. Here, I was just about to go over this list of vineyards we're able to work with, if you'd like to do something domestic. We'll have the usual European selections, of course.” Amy slides yet another piece of paper over to me.

  One thing jumps out right away. “Nothing local?”

  She looks at me, baffled, just like I'm asking about a ten foot rabbit standing over her shoulder. “Well, I could check with several places in Door County if you really want a cherry wine from Wisconsin, but I'm afraid Michigan isn't really known for its –“

  “Forget the local crap,” Reg cuts in, eyeballing me with even more contempt than our planner. “Jesus, babe. When I told you I was fine with whatever, I didn't mean go crazy. We're trying to plan a wedding here – not a circus. If you want something to make your brother and his buddies happy with the local stuff, why don't we look at beer? I'm sure we can manage a few cases of craft brewed swill to keep our guests with simpler tastes satisfied.”

  Amy clears her throat. I'm about two seconds from getting up and walking out the door. The meeting with Ryan tonight, just a few hours away, is the only thing that makes me hesitate. I don't want to drag myself out of here on bad terms with my fiance.

  Reg deserves a fair trial, and an objective eye on whatever the bastard is going to drop on my head. If I walk out of here pissed off, hating him, knowing this entire thing is wrong, then there's a scary chance I'll lap up anything Ryan gives me without scrutinizing it like I should.

  The asshole across the table is the one I'm supposed to marry, after all. Not the ass who left me.

  I have to repeat my mantra.

  Keep it together.

  Keep believing. Because thinking about the alternative – another heartrending loss – turns my stomach a hundred degrees.

  “Fine. We'll do the beer,” I say, leaning over to whisper the rest in his ear. “But don't you ever imply Matt's just a stupid peasant drinking cheap beer. He's taken more risks than you ever will, honey.”

  When I pull away, he's glaring. I couldn't help it.

  Amy clears her throat yet again, shuffling through several more papers. She looks up with a smile after the clip holding all her stuff together snaps in place.

  “I think we can leave off here for today. We're making progress!” She gets up without either of us saying anything.

  Her tall, black heels sound like horse hoofs on the ceramic floor. When I look at Reg again, his eyes are fixed on her feet, giving me one more sickening thought I don't need.

  I need to get out of here. “I'm catching up with Courtney tonight, so don't wait up for me. She's only staying in Marquette tonight, and it's been awhile since we've seen each other.”

  He nods, something like relief flowing into his expression.
“Okay, good. I was just going to tell you, I'll be out for a few hours myself. I'm glad there's a few things we're still on the same page about.”

  Nodding, I ignore his last jab. We get up and walk to our cars together. It's silent, awkward, filled with tension rippling beneath the surface.

  “You're going to be here Friday, right? We're supposed to see Dr. Evans again. I'm sure he'll want to go over everything you've talked about by yourself in person. I'm looking forward to his take on the past week.”

  For a micro-second, his face twists. I wonder if I've caught him in a lie, maybe several. Has he been talking to our counselor on the side at all? Or am I letting the paranoia injected into me by Ryan take over?

  “I'll certainly be there,” he says, forcing a smile as he splits off and heads for his car. “Did everything go well today with the Gazette's interview?”

  Now, I'm the one twisting my face, keeping my back turned to him until I'm ready to climb into the driver's seat. We sat together for almost twenty minutes before Amy came to meet us. He could've asked me about my day any time.

  He didn't. He doesn't really care, except as an afterthought. No different than the rest of our relationship, including the wedding planning.

  “It was fine,” I tell him.

  Yes, just dandy, considering I'm about to meet the man I used to be engaged to at the place where he first proposed. All to bad mouth the man I just finished talking marriage with.

  Reg waves half-heartedly when he pulls out of the lot. I slide into my car and watch his tail lights disappear. The steering wheel feels so cold I reach into my glove compartment and grab my gloves for the first time this fall.

  Who am I? My faint reflection in the mirror doesn't hold any answers. What am I doing here?

  Deep down, I think I know.

  I'm scorned. Frightened. Sick of being yesterday's news.

  But like I told myself earlier, I'm nobody's fool. The Kara Lilydale who lost years off her life going to pieces for a man is dead. She died the second she moved in with Reg. I tell myself again I'm not going to let myself be used by either of these men, especially the one who almost seems easier to deal with, after the hideous session that just went down with my fiance.