The Billionaire’s Risky Pregnancy

*****

“Step into my parlor, Tasha.”

Taking his arm with a smile, she let Smith lead her up a stone staircase to a pair of double doors resting under an archway. His long fingers were quick to strike the keypad just off to the left before they stepped into the foyer. With the flick of a single switch, a warm glow filled the room, and she took in the high ceilings overhead and the marble floors under her feet.

“You do well for yourself,” she said as he stepped closer. The scent of salsa tinged with beer wafted off his breath as he bowed his head, looking like he wanted to kiss her when he stopped short and winded one arm around her waist.

“Like you didn’t already know that,” he teased as he tipped her chin to peer deeper into his eyes. His hand reached down her jawline and tenderly stroked her chin. She started to sink into his touch when she pulled back but still offered her hand.

“How about a proper tour?” she asked. “Or was there some other reason that you asked me in?”

“Maybe,” he said with a wink. “But where are my manners?”

“Hope you didn’t leave them at the restaurant,” she said.

“Let’s see, Tasha.” His hand locked around hers and he traced a tiny circle into her palm as they descended one step and he flipped another switch. “Now this, my dear Miss Finn, is what we call a great room. Fine spot for entertaining and making small talk. Wheeling and dealing and the like.” The sunken sofas looked comfortable enough to slide into right on the spot, but she stayed standing and noted the lack of artwork on the walls, nothing but an oversized HD TV hanging over the mantle.

“Looks more like a place where you slip into your shorts to watch the big game,” she said.

“Was that a suggestion?” he asked as he touched the small of her back.

“Careful,” she said. “Manners.”

“Right.” He walked her past a pair of French doors, and Tasha felt drawn to a soft rippling sound from outside when he guided he down a long hallway.

“Powder room,” Smith said as he pointed to his right. “In case you need it for later.”

“And you’re so convinced that I’m sticking around that long?” she asked.

“Well I am your ride,” he reminded her.

“There’s a little thing out there called Uber,” she shot back. “Got the app on my phone. Perhaps you’ve heard of it.”

“Cute, Tasha,” he said as he tightened his hold on her hand and kept moving down the hallway. “Some closets here and there. Not much in them.”

“You should see my mess,” she quipped. He stopped in his tracks, releasing her hands as he pressed his fingers to his hips. “What’s wrong?”

“Just occurred to me that you didn’t give me anything in the way of a grand tour.”

“You saw the living room and the kitchen and the bathroom,” Tasha said. “There’s only one other room. And you could fit two of them in your foyer.”

“Still seems like it was the best seat in the house,” he said. “One of these days you’re going to return my favor.” It wasn’t meant for right now, and she followed him to the end of the hallway. He cracked open a narrow door, and she pushed forward to see a home office cluttered with papers on the blotter and papers piled high beside the desk. No lack of artwork here; most of it was comic book pages torn from their bindings, mounted and framed. A stocked bar sat off to the side, and Tasha smiled as she started to help herself to a sip of vodka when she noticed the mini-fridge lingering underneath.

“May I?” she asked.

“Help yourself, Tasha.” Opening the small white door, she found several bottles of Corona perfectly chilled along with some leftover pizza carefully wrapped away for a later date.

“Now this makes more sense,” she said as she reached for two bottles and dangled them between her fingers. “Every man needs a cave. You should really find a way to smuggle the TV in here.”

“Walls aren’t big enough,” he said. “Here.” He reached passed her, and Tasha tingled at the brush of his arm as he retrieved a bottle opener. After prying the caps from the Corona’s, Smith fished a lime from the ridge and deftly sliced it with an available knife and dropped two slices down each neck.

“You have your preferences,” she said.

“Cheers, Tasha.” Tasha chugged a healthy swallow and pictured him sitting in this room until all hours making plans to take over the world.

“Do you ever get lonely?” she asked. “Working here all alone?”

“Nah,” he said. “So much to do. Who has the time to feel sad or whatever?” She took another sip and felt the lime juice mingling with the beer as it trickled down her throat.

“And where are the plans for what used to be a playground?” The question struck her as strangely familiar, but before her mind could focus on the source, Smith tossed his head back with a laugh and reached for her face.

“An old school Madonna fan,” he said. “Cute.”

“I’m surprised that you recognize it,” I said.

“I’m full of surprises.” She imagined that much and more as he polished off his beer and licked his lips clean. Why couldn’t she focus on anything but the feel of her tongue on his mouth?

“Care to share, Tasha?” he asked. Shaking the idea away as she finished her beer, Tasha sauntered towards the desk. Like a cop without a warrant who was not supposed to touch anything that was not in plain sight, her eyes still scanned the papers.

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“I already told you,” she said. “Why you’re making this move. Maybe I might find some way to change your mind.”

“No shop talk,” he scolded. “Didn’t we shake on it?”

“Yes,” she admitted, and he cupped her chin in his hands. Leaning again, Smith finally, tenderly claimed her mouth. The kiss was so chaste, but she felt her knees starting to knock together under her skirt. Tasha was in his arms. His large hands slowly caressed her back, and when he reached the nape of her neck, he pushed into her skin. Gasping as she broke away for a breath of fresh air, she felt flush and blinked fast.

“Why, Smith?” she asked.

“Why what?” he whispered.

“Why are we doing this? Why are you doing this?” He tilted his head in confusion and kept tracing the side of her face.

“Like you have to ask,” he said. “If we’re doing an old school thing, how about I just say that I like you?” The captain of industry morphed into an awkward little boy. As if he had always worn that costume. But his eyes flashed with sadness, and a sharp swell working its way between her legs told her that she would act now and ask questions later.

“I like you, too,” she muttered. “So what now?”

“Don’t try to tell me it’s your first time,” he said with a laugh as he took her back into his arms.

“No,” she snorted. “Is the tour over?”

“If you want it to be.”