by Jamie Knight
Look Who Hatched
A Spring Secret Baby Romance
Copyright © 2020 Jamie Knight Romance.
Jamie Knight –
Your Dirty Little Secret Romance Author
All rights reserved.
Big Apple Love is a series of standalone secret baby, billionaire and virgin romance books connected by a New York City setting and friends who re-appear in each other’s stories. They can be read and understood as standalones but are best binge-read altogether!
Be sure to check out the rest of the Big Apple Love series:
Little Pumpkin
Bun in the Oven
Bundle of Joy
In with the New Baby
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Table of Contents
Chapter One
Anne
Chapter Two
Sawyer
Chapter Three
Anne
Chapter Four
Sawyer
Chapter Five
Anne
Chapter Six
Sawyer
Chapter Seven
Anne
Chapter Eight
Sawyer
Chapter Nine
Anne
Chapter Ten
Anne
Chapter Eleven
Sawyer
Chapter Twelve
Anne
Chapter Thirteen
Sawyer
Chapter Fourteen
Anne
Chapter Fifteen
Anne
Chapter Sixteen
Sawyer
Chapter Seventeen
Anne
Chapter Eighteen
Anne
Chapter Nineteen
Anne
Chapter Twenty
Sawyer
Chapter Twenty-One
Anne
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sawyer
Chapter Twenty-Three
Anne
Epilogue
Anne
Sawyer
Sneak Peek of Little Pumpkin
Chapter One
Anne
A jacket was still needed to venture out into the wide world. It was just that time of year in late winter slowly turning into early Spring, in New York City.
Long pants weren't a bad idea either. Even though I greatly preferred to wear shorts. Even if they did tend to lead to me getting my ass pinched on the train.
The subway was packed as per usual for that time of day. I had to take the steps two by two to keep ahead of the heard of humans bearing up on me as we re-emerged into the light of day.
I was dodging the human traffic as it flowed around me, which seemed to be more of a feature of the system than a flaw. I made it the two blocks to my office without getting knocked down or run over. A win by anyone's estimation.
“You look like you've been through hell,” Amanda said, as I came into the office at Big Apple Physical Therapy Clinic, where I worked as a physical therapist.
She was my co-worker, as well as my friend. Like me, she loved this job – both of us enjoyed helping patients be restored to full health.
“Just rush hour,” I told her, taking off my jacket, revealing the tank top secreted beneath it.
“My guess was close enough,” Amanda said, as I went to the bathroom to change.
Feeling a lot more comfortable in my shorts and tank top ensemble, I tied my hair back in a loose ponytail and hit the coffee machine to get ready for the day. My neighbors had partied pretty hard the night before and I lived in one of those the infamous apartment buildings where you could listen to the TV through the wall.
I didn't think I had ever heard “Party Rock Anthem” played more times in succession. “Sawyer!” I said, coming into the exercise room.
My patient was dressed in a similar way to me, his chrome prosthetic leg seeming to gleam under the florescent lighting. He had been involved in motorcycle accident against a large semi-truck, and that was how he had lost the leg.
“Am I too early?” he asked.
“No, I mean, you're early but it's fine.”
I chugged down the rest of my coffee, dumping the cup in a trash can on the way to the bench where Sawyer sat.
“I figured since this was going to be my last session I might as well get an early start,” he announced, “with the best physical therapist in the City, which sadly I won’t be able to come see anymore.”
“What was that now?” I asked, confused and rather crestfallen as we started our routine.
“I'm moving up state. Not sure I can do the commute. I'm not going to stop with the program, though. I understand how important it is.”
“When did this happen?” I asked, trying not to sound as sad as I felt.
“Just since our last session. My settlement came through.”
“From the construction company?” I asked.
“For starters. The court agreed that the accident I was in was their fault for not having the proper warning signs up. Though the fact that the 18-wheeler hadn't had an inspection in over six months didn't help. I sued them both for millions. Plus, there was the money from the patent on the design for my leg.”
“The sale went through?”
“To both the military and the National Labs. They gave me stock.”
“They're huge!” I said, dumbly.
“Don't I know it.”
“How much did they give you?”
“Thirty-five percent.”
My breath caught in my chest. Sawyer was a fucking billionaire! Though I honestly couldn't think of anyone I knew who deserved it more. He had suffered so much and worked so hard, giving me the play by play as it happened.
Not to mention that our entire relationship was based on my helping him deal with the resulting muscle pain. Even more, it felt like more than that. It had been nearly two years that he was coming to see me, and I saw him as a friend.
“So, you're moving?”
“Up into the mountains. I got a great property up there. Comes with a luxury cabin on site and I've paid some local guys to build some other, smaller houses for my projects and for when friends come up. I'm not really into city life anymore, and I never was, honestly. Now I get to go and be in my own place. Though that's not to say I want to be on my own. You should come up some time.”
“I-I don't know. You're a client and—”
“Not after today. I already gave my notice to the clinic. When I walk out of here today, you are free from any professional obligations.”
He was right. If he wasn't my client anymore, then professional ethics weren't a concern. We would be just two single people. Besides which, we had always had amazing chemistry together. Almost a little too much sometimes.
During a few of our sessions, I had caught him glancing down my shirt or at my legs or ass. Not that I was completely innocent. Try as I might, I just couldn't keep my eyes off the bulge that would form in his shorts during particular exercises. The attraction was definitely mutual.
At the end of the session, he took a key out of his bag as well as a startlingly detailed hand-drawn map to his property.
“Think it over and come up any time. You don't even have to call ahead. If you ever want a private place to go, come up and take one of the houses. Number 3 and number 5 are made up for sleeping in. The key works for both of them. Or if you want to hang out, you can come right into the main house. The code for the door is on the back of the map, so don't forget it at a gas station or anything.”
“I'll guard it with my life!” I said, folding the map and stuffing it into my bra, not having any pockets in my shorts.
“Good to know,�
� he replied, with a good-natured chuckle.
He winked at me, his eyes directly on my chest, which wasn’t his fault at all since my hands had just been in that area. I could tell he liked it.
I barely noticed the commute back to the apartment. I was still buzzing with excitement.
It would be so nice to get out of the city for a while and the property sounded wonderful. I was also just excited that Sawyer had finally gotten his settlement and could get back to his brilliant work in robotics.
He would tell me about it sometimes, most of it going right over my head, but I still loved to hear him talk about it. He got so excited and it seemed to distract him from the pain.
Though part of me also wondered just how deep the invitation went. I didn't think he had some kind of dastardly motive. Though it felt like there was a bit of sub-text when he had said I could walk right into his house.
Did he mean I could stay there?
With him?
In his bed?
Clearly, he was leaving that up to me.
Why else would he have given me a key to a private cabin in his little piece of paradise? I was really confused. After thinking about it all the way home, I still hadn’t figured it all out by the time I got there.
“Someone's in a good mood,” my roommate Sophia said, from the kitchen.
I never knew how she managed to always get home before me, yet she always did. She must have teleportation.
“Do I?”
“What happened?”
“Well, you know Sawyer?”
“The hunky cyborg mad scientist you always talk about? Of course I know him. Or, I know of him, at least. It’s not like I’ve had the privilege of meeting this tech god in person.”
I was about to object on Sawyer's behalf but when I thought about it, I couldn't find any part of the description that was inaccurate. Also, I hadn’t realized I had talked about Sawyer so much. That was probably inappropriate, to have a crush on my client, but I couldn’t help it.
“Yeah. Anyway, he's not coming to therapy anymore,” I said, as if to remind myself as much as inform Sophia.
He wasn’t my client anymore, so I didn’t have to feel guilty anymore. I was free to fantasize about him or talk about him as much as I wanted. And I was sure I would be doing both things frequently, since I had already been doing that while he was my client.
“I thought you liked him.”
“Oh, I do! That's not what I mean; I didn’t transfer him to someone else or anything like that. He isn't coming anymore because he is moving upstate to some kind of mountain compound he is having built up there.”
“Where'd he get the money for that? Hold a world power to ransom with a death-ray?”
“He really doesn't do that kind of thing.”
“Extortion?”
“Or death-rays. All his inventions are really cool actually. His settlements for the motorcycle came through and he sold the patent to his prosthetic leg design to the government and National Labs who gave him a nearly 50% steak.”
“Holy shit! He must be a millionaire!”
“Billionaire, actually. Anyway, he invited me up there.”
“Bullshit.”
I held up the key and the map as proof. It took Sophia a moment to pick up her jaw off the two-tone tile floor.
“I'm not sure if I should go or not.”
“Are you nuts? A hot, billionaire genius invited you to his secret mortician compound! Of course you should go!”
“You make it sound like a comic book,” I said.
“It's not a million miles off.”
“I'm mostly just a little surprised he noticed me at all. I mean, I have a pretty weird personality. I suppose it would take a borderline super-villain to want to date me.”
“Hey now, you stop that this instant, young lady. I was just having some fun, mostly with the absurdity of the situation. Yes, Sawyer is awesome but so are you. You have really high standards and that isn't a bad thing. There can be a lot of creeps out there in this world if you're not careful, but from everything you’ve told me about him, I know that Sawyer is not a creep. You guys really deserve each other. I mean that as a compliment.”
I felt better after talking to Sophia. It actually was an awesome opportunity and Sawyer really was a great guy as far as I knew him. If I was being completely honest with myself, I really did want to fuck him, if that had indeed been what he had been hinting at.
The only problem was that I was still a virgin, even at 23, which was embarrassing, and I wasn’t sure how or if I could tell him.
Chapter Two
Sawyer
3 Months Later
The woods were really quiet in the morning. There were a fair few people, city dwellers mostly, who would likely say that the woods were quiet all the time. But that was just because they didn't live in them.
There was never a dull moment up on the mountain, if you knew what to listen for. A veritable symphony of birds and steams and all sorts of sounds could be heard at most hours of the day. Except for very late at night, when even the owls were usually asleep, and early in the morning, when the dew had just fallen.
Rolling out of bed, I picked myself up and started getting into my outdoor clothes. It was still pretty cold out, despite winter having finally released its icy grip on the world. It had more to do with the altitude than with anything else, the air actually getting thinner up here. Not to the point of needing oxygen tanks like an Everest expedition, but sufficiently cold that it was a good idea to wear a jacket, even at that time of year.
Getting into my jeans, which was still a bit of a production with my prosthetic, whom I had named Murphy in honor of Robocop, and thick plaid lumber jack shirt, I pulled my toque down over my ears and had headed out. I knew we were supposed to call them 'beanies' or 'knit caps' but once I heard the Canadian term for winter headwear, it just made so much sense that I adopted it as my own.
The kitchen was massive, which allowed for some pretty serious slam dancing around the island counter and oven area, as I made a truly triumphant pile of flapjacks with syrup and jam, Powerwolf blasting from the stereo in the living room.
Most of the work to the cabin – if that’s what you’d call a mountain retreat this massive, although I suppose the only other option would be “mansion” – had been done by the time I got up there. Though there was still a lot more I wanted done and decided it might be fun to try and do it myself.
I had so much money I didn't need to work a regular job anymore, but I also wasn't the sort to just sit around doing nothing. I would go crazy within hours.
While the main cabin had come with a sort of veranda at the front, complete with an old timey rocking chair, I decided it could also use a deck out back. I had built sophisticated robotics that actually worked and figured a back deck would not be beyond my abilities to build. Besides which, woodworking had been a passion of mine since I was a kid, building my first serviceable chair before I was old enough to shave.
I decided if I was going to do it, I was going to do it all the way, using wood from the surrounding forest, cutting, stripping and varnishing it myself. None of that chainsaw crap either.
I had decided to have a bit of honor and pride in the process, felling the tree I would use for timber myself with an ax, then splitting it into more manageable portions with the hatchet I had taken to keeping hung on my belt. It only further added to the woodsman look, and the beard I had grown from not bothering to shave for the better part of three months was the cherry on top. I doubted my own mother would recognize me, were she not long dead.
The wood pile hand gotten to be pretty impressive. There was just one smallish pile left to strip and then I could start putting up the base of the deck. Taking the hatchet from my hip, I picked up the first piece of wood, the mood set by Eldamar on my earbuds, the work helping to clear my mind.
I didn't miss city life at all, throwing myself as hard as I could into my new existence. I did miss people, though. I h
ad been keeping my own company, none of the people I had invited up to the mountain actually showing up.
I particularly missed sex. I’m not sure anyone would describe me as a master player, but I did alright, even after the accident, the fact that I built my own robot leg being an original ice breaker, if nothing else. I wasn't sure what I could do about my lack of sex problem, though.
I certainly didn't want to go back into the city and even if I could, I really wasn't interested in random hook-ups like I'd seen people do on Tindr. I like for there to be an actual connection before any funny business. That was kind of hard, living where I did, but it had been my choice and I had to find a way to live with it.
One of the main ways I had found to do that so far was to think about how miserable I had been in New York City. Some people love it, of course, and I could see why. But I guess I was just a true mountain man at heart. So, to me, the City was too loud, to crowded. There was too much nastiness. Too many fucking trucks.
Up on the mountain, it was just me, which on sober consideration, was much more of a blessing than a curse. I had to do everything myself, but that just made sure it was done right and that there was no one around to hurt me.
I had seen a coyote sniffing around the second week up I was up here. Remembering that they were mostly scavengers and kind of sissies, I just went outside, banging on a pot with a wooden spoon, and it had run off.
I asked around in the nearest town about getting a rifle, just in case there were wolves out there, too. I wasn't looking to kill it, pretty sure that a warning shot should do the trick. One of the guys who was working on the smaller houses had said his brother had a shotgun he might be looking to sell. $100 and a 24 pack later and I was the still somewhat skeptical owner of a gently used, second-hand Mossberg 12-gauge.
I was a bit disappointed that Anne hadn't come up. There were no guarantees we would have had sex. We were little more than friends at the time, but I had thought we had gotten along very well. We had a lot of social compatibility and it only stood to reason that our sexual chemistry would be similar.