The Billionaire’s Risky Pregnancy

He stayed closer to her back as she unlocked the door and led him up a dusty staircase. Her living room was a mass of clutter. Her remote was on the floor. Junk mail on the chaise lounge that no one ever sat on. Her clothes scattered here and there. She kicked a pair of panties and her work bra under her couch.

But his eyes were quick enough to see her make the move.

“Is it okay if I ask you what you’re wearing now?” he asked with a timid smile. On what planet could Smith Heller ever look so shy?

“This and that from the laundry basket,” she said. “You wouldn’t like the look of it.”

“I like the look of you calming down,” he said. “I’ll take you being angry if we can get to this place.”

“What’s that?” she asked. “Me looking like a shut in that shops in the dead of night?”

“Hey. I was right there with you,” he said. “And everything else, we have another chance.”

Maybe that much was true. Tasha smiled as she took the bag from his hand and moved to the kitchen.

“It’s a mess in here, too,” she said. “I never get around to putting the dishes away.”

“Good thing since we’re going to pig out in like ten minutes flat.”

“Ten minutes?” she asked. Smith pulled the box of pasta and the jar of Ragu from her bag.

“It’ll take you that long to boil the spaghetti,” he said. “Can I help?”

Smith took the dishes from the strainer and placed them on the countertop as she cracked the spaghetti and stirred the noodles in the pot.

“You should add some salt,” she said. “Here, I…”

Smith opened the cabinet just over her head and found the box of Morton’s half full. Sprinkling a few of the grains into the water, he watched her stir and stayed close to her side. The steam wafted over the edge of the pot, and Tasha hated the feel of him leaving her as he tore open one frozen pizza.

“Can you heat the oven?” he asked.

“It doesn’t work,” she said. “It hasn’t for years.”

“Haven’t you complained about that?” he asked. “You pay your rent. You have the right to cook?”

“Tried,” she said. “But the management keeps changing. No worries. Just pop it in the microwave.” He looked like she was asking him to be the first man in space as Tasha pushed the button and showed him where to place the pizza.

“It won’t taste right,” he said. “All rubbery.”

“You’ll live, Mr. Heller,” she said. “Can you pass me the colander?” Smith looked at the dishes that had yet to make their way back home, and nudged his ribs as she pointed to the cabinets close to her ankles.

“One thing that I managed to put away,” she said as she winked. “Are you going to get it for me or what?”

“Yes ma’am.” His body bowed, and Tasha kept turning the noodles as his fingers brushed against her leg. She looked down and saw the grin in his green eyes when he suddenly shot up and placed the colander into the empty sink.

“Got anything to drink?” he asked.

Leaving the pasta, she popped open the fridge and revealed a box of golden Chablis.

“Now before you go calling me common, let me just tell you that it never lets the air out and always taste fresh.

“Let’s put your theory to the test.” Smith presented two mismatched glasses. She pressed the plastic button and topped off his blue glass first before she poured into the purple. Thank God there was enough; Schroeders’s aside, no liquor stores were open this time of night.

“Should we toast?” she asked.

“What are we celebrating?” Tasha tapped his glass and started to sip before she smiled at him over the rim of her cup.

“You,” she said. “Being sweet. I like the look of you right now.” Smith returned the gesture and drank deep. He laid his free hand on her face with a smile.

“I’m… I’m just really glad that I was there,” he said. “Not that you can’t take care of yourself or anything. But to just help you out a little—”

“It was a job well done.” Tasha stretched to the tips of her toes. His lips were alluring, but she settled for his cheek and gave him a quick peck. She might have gone further had the microwave not signaled the start and stop of the pizza.

“Rubbery?” she asked.

“You won’t like it,” he said.

“Let’s see, Mr. Heller.” Smith plated the pizzas, and she dished out the pasta right on top along with the Ragu without the benefit of boiling. Her place still smelled like an Italian bistro, and they settled on her couch to eat and drink.

“So do you make a habit of this?” he asked between bites.

“Letting strange men into my apartment in the dead of night,” she said as the wine worked its way into her veins and relaxed her body. “That would be a no.”

“I meant hitting the grocery store when you can’t sleep.” Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she felt a shy smile cross her lips and sucked on the rim of her glass.

“It’s not like an every night thing,” she confessed. “But something was on my mind.”

“Care to enlighten me?” he asked. Sliding a little closer, their thighs nearly touching. Tasha was feeling bolder as she peered into his eyes and parted her lips.

“You, Mr. Heller.” A light laugh left his throat, and she wanted to see him turn shy when he stretched away. Dropping his plate on the coffee table as the glass still dangled around his fingers, Smith resumed his signature smirk.

And Tasha was back on high alert.