My Secret Irish Baby: A Second-Chance, Secret Baby Contemporary Romance (Irish Kiss Book 7)

by Sienna Blake

Darren found out when he caught me watering the weeds beneath the picnic table with my Guinness when Michael went to dance with Zara.

  "You're not going to be able to keep that a secret for very long," he said with a rare smile. "Especially not in this family."

  "Damn, Abbi," Michael said as he returned breathless to the table and saw my empty pint glass. "How am I supposed to keep up with you when you're drinking that fast?"

  Darren struggled to keep his knowing grin hidden as Michael wrapped me in his arms and peppered my cheeks with kisses. "You just want to get me wasted so you can take advantage of me, don't you?"

  I ruffled my fingers through his sandy-blonde hair warmed by the sun. His cheeks were already red from the alcohol and dancing and heat.

  "She's always trying to get into my pants," Michael told Darren, who nearly choked on his beer.

  "I have a feeling it might be the other way around, mate," Darren replied, eyes flashing mischievously at me.

  Michael frowned. "What's that?"

  "Let's dance!" I shouted, grabbing Michael's hand and tugging him away.

  I shot Darren a glare from the dance floor, and he just laughed as Kayleigh joined him and they started whispering excitedly together.

  It took Eoin a bit longer to notice. It was in the early afternoon and the bright sun beat down as the music swelled and swelled and the drinks poured and poured. Eoin insisted we do shots to celebrate “love and shite” after putting two and two together and realising it had been me all along who he overheard on the phone with Michael ten years ago.

  He handed me the first shot and when he tipped his back, I dripped mine to the grass. He was drunk enough to think I'd spilled. So he ordered two more. I chuckled to myself as he again downed his second drink in thirty seconds and chastised me for being too drunk to get the liquor to my mouth.

  "And Americans think they can outdrink the Irish," he snorted, ordering two more shots of Poitín. "Pro tip on this one, Abs. Close one eye if you're seeing double. I believe in you."

  Eoin wailed in distress when I laughed and again dumped the shot into the grass.

  "You're wasting it!" he cried.

  I shook my head. "Oh, Eoin."

  I stopped him from ordering more drinks and stretched up onto my tiptoes to whisper into his ear. "I can't drink."

  "No, shite," he said loudly. "You can't drink for shite."

  I rolled my eyes and tried again. "I'm can't drink because I'm pregnant."

  Eoin jumped back with wide eyes. He grabbed at his hair and stammered, apparently too excited to say anything. I laughed and touched his arm.

  "But listen, Eoin, Michael doesn't know yet so—"

  "Noah," Eoin shouted as Noah passed with his arm around Aubrey's shoulder, "Noah, Abs here is knocked up!"

  "So don't tell anyone," I finished with a sigh and a shake of my head before laughing.

  Noah wrapped me into a tight hug and then Eoin wrapped Noah and me into an even tighter hug till we were both gasping for breath.

  "Michael doesn't know yet?" Noah asked after wheezing for air.

  He looked over my shoulder down toward the lake shore, where Michael was half buried in the sand and Zara was making him into a mermaid.

  "Nope," I said, "he hasn't caught on yet."

  And he didn’t catch on when I found an excuse to not try the local wines and he didn't catch on when I claimed my favourite song was on and darted to the silent dance floor to avoid taking shots and he still didn't catch on when I went out to dance with him and he was the one who fell back on his ass.

  "Baby, let's go have a shot of Poitín for old time's sake," he said when a sea of stars took the place of an ocean of blue in the wide sky above us.

  We were dancing with the whole family in the wild grasses and my stomach did a nervous flip as I grabbed his wrist and shouted, "Michael, I can't."

  He giggled and dismissed me with a wave. "Of course you can. We're practically sober compared to the last time we were here."

  I cupped Michael's face to still him as he danced wildly, happily, freely. "Michael, I am sober."

  "Ha!" he laughed. "Yeah, me too. Stone cold sober."

  "Michael, I haven't had anything to drink," I said, giving him a purposeful eye.

  He frowned slightly. "I've seen you…that beer—"

  "I dumped in the weeds."

  Michael stopped dancing. "That shot."

  "Over my shoulder."

  "That other shot."

  "Gave it to Eoin."

  "That other other shot."

  "Gave it to Eoin."

  Michael looked over the crowd of people dancing toward Eoin, who was dancing with Duffy, slumped lazily over her shoulders. His slightly unfocused eyes came back to mine. I tried not to laugh as he pieced it together.

  "But…but why…but why wouldn't you…"

  He looked from my face to my stomach. I watched his eyes widen. "Abbi, are you…?"

  I smiled and nodded.

  "You're pregnant?"

  "Yes."

  Michael looked bewildered and ecstatic and overwhelmed and joyful and, yeah, still drunk. He dragged his fingers through his hair and then placed his hands on my stomach.

  "You're pregnant?" he asked, eyes searching mine.

  "Yes," I laughed.

  "You're pregnant?"

  "Yes!"

  "You're pregnant!"

  Before I knew it Michael had lifted me from the dirt dance floor to spin me around and around, the strings of lights all transforming into comets across the night sky. His lips found mine, warm and eager with the fire of whiskey. My toes found the ground again and he gripped my shoulders.

  "We have to tell everyone! We have to—"

  "Tell everyone that Abbi's preggars?" Eoin asked, appearing in the crowd with Duffy beaming by his side.

  "You knew?" Michael said before turning to me. "He knew?"

  My cheeks grew warm as I shrugged sheepishly. "Well…"

  "We all kind of knew," Darren said as he and Kayleigh, followed by Noah and Aubrey slipped through the dancers to join us.

  "All of you?" Michael asked, pointing to them as they grinned and nodded.

  "Okay, okay, but what about—"

  "Me?"

  Michael whipped around to find Zara behind him, holding Ma's hand.

  "You knew?"

  Zara smiled at me. "Mom said it was supposed to be a secret. That she wanted to wait till the perfect moment to tell you."

  "And I did," I said, moving close to Michael and intertwining my fingers with his. "With everyone around us, in the place where we first fell in love, this, this was the perfect moment I was waiting for. I can't imagine a moment more perfect."

  Michael kissed me and Zara came to wrap her arms around us and before we knew it, we were surrounded by our family. Our family that was going to grow just a little bigger.

  And a whole lot stronger.

  The End

  Get your hands on From the Heart: An Irish Kiss Novella ~ FREE!

  Dear Readers,

  To thank you for reading through the Irish Kiss series, I’d like to give you this Irish Kiss Novella (featuring all your favourite O’Sullivan brothers) as a gift.

  You’ll also get an occasional email when I have a new release or sale.

  This novella cannot be found anywhere else!

  Michael O’Sullivan is convinced something is wrong with their mother - she’s been spacy, secretive, and taking phone calls from her doctor into another room…

  Even move convincing is when Ma O’Sullivan cancels their regular Sunday lunch last minute. It only means one thing…

  It’s time for an O’Sullivan brothers’ stakeout!

  Your favourite O’Sullivan family characters return for one last romp in this sweet novella that’s from the heart.

  Click here to download it!

  Please post a review on Amazon!

  Did you enjoy My Secret Irish Baby?

  Please leave a review! Just one sentence. One word.
An emoji!

  It really helps other readers to decide whether my books are for them. And the number of reviews I get is super important.

  Thank you!

  Sit tight, dear readers. The Irish Kiss series might be completed, but there’s a few sexy Irish billionaire characters who made a minor appearance in The Irish Lottery (some of Michael’s clients actually) who are about to get their very own spin off!

  Stories in the works!

  If you want to be the first to hear about it…

  Join my Reader Group

  You’ll get access to Advanced Review Copies of my books, exclusive giveaways, sneak peeks into what’s coming up next, and get to vote on covers, titles and blurbs.

  Join my Bloggers List

  If you’re a Blogger, please sign up to my Bloggers List for ARC opportunity alerts in your inbox.

  Stay sexy,

  xoxo Sienna

  www.siennablake.com

  www.facebook.com/SiennaBlakeAuthor

  www.instagram.com/SiennaBlakeAuthor

  Want more broody billionaire baby-makers?

  Can beauty tame her billionaire CEO?

  This marriage was supposed to be another business deal. I need an heir. Which means I want her belly swollen with my child before the year is out.

  She was supposed to be my perfect little bride. Quiet. Uncomplicated. Unemotional.

  I didn’t foresee the stunning firecracker who tumbled into my life and woke the savage beast in me.

  I didn’t plan on falling for this beauty.

  Can you tame this beastly billionaire in this intense fake-marriage romance? Although this book is part of a series, it is a standalone novel with no cheating and a Happily Ever After.

  Grab it on Amazon now!

  Keep reading for an excerpt…

  Excerpt of Mr. Blackwell’s Bride

  I clambered into the limo, my skirt flouncing ungracefully around me before realizing, to my horror, there was someone already inside. I thought it was empty. It was not.

  A broad-shouldered man in a dark three-piece suit sat facing me in the center of the wide leather seat, one arm outstretched across the back, a gold watch glinting on his wrist. This must be Mr. Blackwell.

  “Well, this is certainly an attractive option.” His voice was deep and boomed around the cabin, resonating with power, causing a rush of goose pimples across my skin.

  Was he calling me an attractive option? I wasn’t sure whether to be insulted or flattered. I mean, really, what did I expect from a man who “bought” his wife?

  “I don’t care what Deloitte thinks. He’s not the one with his ass on the line.”

  I frowned. Then spotted the small clip in one of his ears. He was talking on the phone.

  The car door slammed shut, cutting out the wind and rest of the world. I was left alone with him—my husband—the silence between his words deafening.

  I placed my bag beside me and leaned back in the seat as the limo pulled away. The seat was firm, the new leather smell still clinging to the overly air-conditioned air. The rest of the interior was wood paneling and chrome.

  Outside, through the heavily tinted windows, street lights rolled by as we passed out of the airport. He continued to talk on the phone, his voice animated. I had time to study him.

  He wore a tailored suit, open at the jacket to reveal a dark gray shirt underneath with a matching silver tie. I didn’t know clothing brands well, but I could tell it was tailored, clinging to his wide shoulders. He had midnight hair that appeared disheveled, as if he’d run his hand through it a few times, a wide jaw that kept clenching in the pauses between his sentences. His cocoa eyes were hooded, deep-set. He stared right at me, a slight smirk pulling at his perfectly sculpted lips.

  I was taught never to stare back; especially to a man I should be showing respect. I’d never been one for conforming. Besides, I couldn’t seem to help it. He was mesmerizing, dark power rolling off him. This was a man who knew what he wanted and would not take no for an answer. This was a man who demanded the world and always got it.

  As I watched him watching me, something foreign pricked at my lower belly.

  “Call Mike. Ask him where that damn preliminary report for the Forrest takeover is. If he doesn’t have it ready, fire him.”

  I frowned. We’d been driving for at least twenty minutes now. Was he going to talk on the phone the whole damn time?

  I crossed my arms over my chest. His eyes dropped blatantly and unapologetically to my breasts. Small yet perky, they were being pushed together by my crossed arms. Something flashed in his eyes. My chest tingled at his heavy assessment. I wanted to uncross my arms but I was paralyzed, like he’d somehow pinned me with his stare.

  “I don’t give a shit. It was supposed to be on my desk by the end of last fucking week.”

  His cursing caused me to flinch. I’d never heard such blatant swearing. So foul. So rude. The prickling in my stomach turned…warm. Liquid. How strange.

  His eyes snapped back up to my face, his voice growing more aggressive at the unknown person on the other end of the line.

  I wanted to snatch that stupid earpiece from his head.

  Instead I pressed my lips together, tilted my head and raised an eyebrow at him. I knew I shouldn’t be displaying my disapproval—this was not the action of a good wife—but dammit I was jet-lagged, I hadn’t slept for almost twenty-four hours, and I’d ripped myself from my family and married a stranger who lived on the other side of the world. It might as well have been another planet.

  I felt like I might cry. I didn’t want to. Especially not in front of him.

  Instead I channeled all of this flurry of emotion into my glare.

  “Roger, I’m going to have to call you back.” Without waiting a beat, he ripped the earpiece from his ear and tossed it onto the seat beside him.

  His eyes assessed me, his perfect lips pulling into a half smile. I was sure my hair was a mess and I had bags under my eyes, but he seemed pleased with what he saw.

  “Noriko.” His voice moving across my name was seductive like bassy jazz.

  “Mr. Blackwell, I presume,” I replied in English.

  “Please, call me Drake.”

  “Drake,” I repeated his name. It felt like power on my tongue. “How good of you to notice I’m here,” I couldn’t help adding.

  His dark eyebrow raised in response. “I came to pick you up at the airport.”

  “Well, that certainly compensates for not being present at our wedding ceremony.” My lips dripped with sarcasm.

  “I had something important arise that I had to deal with personally.”

  “So you sent an assistant in your place to pretend to be you in front of the celebrant?”

  He gave me an odd look, like he was trying to decipher me. I imagined that it wasn’t often that he was met with such blatant disapproval. “My signature on the contracts are real, I can assure you.”

  I almost snorted. “Will you be sending an assistant to perform in your place on our wedding night?”

  His lip twitched. Now I’d really pissed him off. “That will not be happening,” he growled out between clenched teeth.

  “Good to know that you will be present for some things.”

  “I’m a very busy and important man,” he said as if he was telling me a truth, not bragging at all.

  “And so humble, too.”

  “I’m just telling you how it is.”

  “I’m not surprised you think so. You seem to surround yourself with people who are all at your beck and call.”

  His lip lifted into a scowl. “Do you even know how much that telephone call that I cut off for you was making me? Do you even realize how much my time is worth?”

  “I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” I muttered.

  His eyes flared. Before I could react, he reached across the divide with his long arms, grabbing me by the wrist. His grip was firm, on the verge of hurting me, but not quite. He yanked me across to where he was
sitting. I landed, sprawled across his lap. I let out a yelp and stiffened.

  He was close. He radiated heat even through his suit; I felt my own body growing hot. He smelled heavenly, of expensive cologne, fresh and clean like a sea breeze.

  His lips brushed my cheek sending tingles down through my body. What the hell is this?

  “Forty thousand a minute,” he said in a low voice, his deep tone vibrating through my cheekbone. “So the fact that I’ve taken time out of my evening to meet you at the airport and am choosing to sit here arguing with you, my dear wife, instead of on the phone with my CFO is a big fucking deal.”

  Forty thousand dollars a minute.

  I didn’t know what the equivalent was in yen so I had no idea what that meant.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. “You don’t seem impressed.”

  “Sorry, should I swoon or giggle insipidly at you?”

  “I expected some sort of positive reaction, especially considering the conditions I pulled you out of.”

  I stiffened. The conditions…? As if my family lived in squalor. Okay, we were poor, but there was nothing that we wanted for. “Typical western man,” I spat out, “you think money is the answer to all your problems.”

  He leaned in closer. I could feel the heat of his breath on my ear. “Money is the answer to all problems. Your father’s problems were certainly solved with my money.”

  I sucked in a breath. He knew about my father? Of course he did. He probably had me researched before he picked me out. “Well,” I said, “I hope you get your money’s worth.”

  “I’m beginning to wonder about that,” he muttered under his breath. “I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.”

  …you Japanese girls…

  I should slap him.

  But my stomach jumbled with fear, overriding my anger. I thought you Japanese girls were supposed to be demure or something.