Pregnant by the Billionaire (Billionaires & Babies Book 3) Read online

  Her heart raced as his movements slowed slightly, but the friction was still there, the base of his cock against her throbbing clit. The power of his orgasm somehow transferred to her too, and the combination of everything—the heat, the sweat pooled behind her knees, the dizzy climaxes they’d reached—sent more warmth spilling through her. This orgasm was weaker, but holy hell, it was there.

  She laughed weakly, collapsing into his arms. His chest heaved beneath her, his arms rock steady around her.

  “That,” she said, barely able to force the words past dry lips, “was number three.”

  4

  Melissa had promised good contestants.

  And based on how many times he’d driven her to climax last week, Donovan was pretty sure she’d make good on that promise.

  Even though technically, with the three orgasms he’d given her, she had signed over her own hand in marriage.

  The euphoria of their unexpectedly sexy meet-and-greet last week still hadn’t quite left him. And while Melissa had made sure all things returned quickly to business, Donovan found himself stilling his hand on more than one occasion with the urge to text her. Invite her over again. Ask if she’d like one more tour of the house. Tell her that three orgasms were the new minimum when they met up.

  Donovan grinned as he watched Melissa walk into the interview room and set down her papers on an empty desk in the middle of the room. He and another producer were safe behind a one-way mirror, watching like police detectives as Melissa started the last round of contestant interviews. She had the final say, but Donovan was expected to give input.

  And the only input he had today was how damn sexy she looked.

  He loved her style, caught somewhere between boho and studio executive. Today she wore a loose-fitting emerald sweater over a white sheath dress and kitten heels. The studious glasses had returned, along with that top knot. His fingers twitched with the urge to loosen her hair, something he hadn’t gotten to do last week.

  He couldn’t stop imagining what she’d look like with that hair spilling down her shoulders.

  “Okay,” Melissa said, strutting toward the one-way mirror. Her gaze didn’t land exactly on Donovan or her colleague, Frank, since she couldn’t see them. She pursed her lips. “I’m bringing in the first round. You two ready?”

  Donovan knocked on the window to signal a yes, and she spun on her heel to bring in the first interviewee. They’d gone through a similar round a few days after he and Melissa hooked up, paring down the contestants until only the top ten remained. They were looking for six. So now it came down to the critical elements: a healthy mix of drama potential and love potential. Too much in either direction could prove to be an imbalance.

  Melissa led in a pretty blonde who clutched a handbag against her hip. A skintight dress highlighted drool-worthy curves. Donovan assessed her clinically, like a doctor searching for worrisome moles. Then his gaze shifted to Melissa. She sat down primly, her face uncharacteristically stoic and concentrated. The face she reserved for business. He was coming to know her sides—and they fascinated him.

  Donovan tapped out a quick text to Melissa. “Better be careful, your face might get stuck like that.”

  Melissa cleared her throat as her phone lit up. He watched her check the screen. A smile ghosted across her face, and she squinted toward the one-way glass. That was as much of a reprimand as he’d get. For now.

  Melissa launched into the interview smoothly, going through the standard battery of probing questions, ranging from emotional to psychological. Donovan followed along—mostly. After all, Melissa had made it clear that she was the final arbiter regarding these contestants. And really, Donovan didn’t entirely care. He knew they’d all be pretty. They’d all be ratings material. He paid attention enough to catch the gist, but really? He watched Melissa.

  The way she lifted her brows, feigning engagement, when the contestant rambled off about something petty, like manicure issues or slow service at Michelin-starred restaurants. Sometimes Melissa’s gaze would swing his way, and he wondered, was she searching him out? Their eyes would lock without her knowing, and still that surge of acknowledgement would pass through him. It made him smile just thinking about the snarky comment she had buried away.

  The current interviewee, a brunette named Jasmine, had just been debriefed about frankenbites—the common practice in reality TV shows of splicing together disparate conversations to make them into something new, usually with entirely different meanings. The producer had full control of how to portray all these contestants. It was a lot of power. Donovan wondered how Melissa might manipulate even his image.

  “You can make me say whatever you guys want,” Jasmine said with a laugh, smoothing down her hair. “Honestly, I just want the screen time. If the bachelor is hot, well, that’s a plus, too.”

  Donovan smirked, reaching for his phone. He tapped out a message. “Make sure you tell her I’m not just hot but fire, and my oral sex skills are out of this world.”

  His heart raced while he waited for the tell-tale buzz of her phone against the desk. She looked at her phone, rolling her lips inward.

  And there it was—a blush. Melissa covered her mouth with her hand and cleared her throat.

  Once Melissa’s questions with Jasmine were done, she sighed as she came back into the room alone.

  “Any preferences from the peanut gallery?” she asked, arching a brow in their direction. “Not getting a lot of feedback today, and it’s kind of making me nervous.”

  Donovan leaned forward, turning on his intercom. “Um, yes. One major point. How can you wear white after Labor Day?”

  A big laugh ripped out of her, which made Donovan’s heart skip a beat. He couldn’t fight the grin that overtook him. It was so rewarding to tease her, to banter.

  “Based on that feedback, some of these women are destined to be your soul mate.” She sank into her chair, flipping through some pages. “Frank? Nothing from you?”

  “We’ve got a solid base,” Frank said, speaking into the microphone. “Just keep it going. I’m letting you take the lead on this one. You’ve got it under control.”

  Melissa nodded, pausing to skim a sheet of paper. “Remember Yesenia? I’m thinking of cutting her. Donovan, hope that’s not gonna break your heart.”

  Yesenia. Former porn star turned SAG actor turned reality wannabe. She’d been one of the few gamers in the mix. And the only one who’d heard of Donovan’s company.

  “Sure, cut the one woman who stood a chance of beating me in Call of Duty.” That sort of irritated him, and it came through in his voice.

  “The shared interest is a nice touch, but unfortunately, she didn’t pass our background screen. She poses too much of a social risk. The dirt on her is insane.”

  Donovan pushed the button for the intercom. “You know best. Just make sure I don’t pre-fall in love with another gamer again, or else I’ll really be mad.”

  Melissa smiled, shaking her head. Then she clapped her palms against the tabletop. “Okay. Let’s keep the interview train going! We’ve only got a few more until we can finalize the cast and you find true love.”

  She strutted to the door to bring in the next interviewee. Frank looked over at him from his chair, pausing his scrolling on the phone.

  “You know, I almost think you two would make a good match for the show.” Then he laughed and shook his head.

  Donovan crossed his arms, trying not to let the comment sink in. Much less affect him.

  But it was hard not to. Because the same thought was jumping around inside his skull too.

  Melissa attracted him way more than any of these women. And granted, this show wasn’t about attraction—not really, anyway—so all decisions had to be made based on pure business sense. He could respect that, as a businessman himself.

  But what if he just wanted to get to know Melissa better and not any of these other women?

  Donovan frowned as another contestant entered. Tara. Girl-next-door type,
but big boobs and a little airheaded. He stared at her, daring himself not to look at Melissa.

  You should be excited about being trapped in your own house for the next few months with your only responsibility to have sex with six women.

  All he could think about was the insane sex he and Melissa had on his couch.

  You gotta enjoy it while it lasts. Before you become a married man.

  Even though the only thing he wanted to enjoy was getting to know Melissa more.

  This shit had to stop. He wasn’t in a position to focus on Melissa, and working with her was as far as things should have gone. The contract he’d signed made backing out of the show not an option, at least not unless he wanted to pay a ridiculous kill fee that would put a serious dent in his bank account. They’d both agreed last week that the fling, while fun, needed to stay there: a one-time thing firmly in the past. It made sense.

  No matter how fun Melissa was, she was just a coworker on this project. A means to an end to get the exposure his business needed and to win the bet with his friends.

  And nothing more.

  He’d do well to remember that, too.

  5

  FOUR WEEKS LATER

  “Got it.” Melissa sliced a finger across her neck to signal camera one that he’d gotten the shot. They were well into week two of filming, and things had been going well.

  On set, at least.

  At home, Melissa was a mess.

  She’d overslept every single day this week. It was entirely unlike her. She usually ran on caffeine and celery sticks and four hours of sleep, but these days? She was lucky if she could drag herself out of bed after a solid eight hours.

  It made her nervous. Was this old age? She was only twenty-nine, but damn. She checked her phone. It was almost noon. Which meant she was overdue for her lunch break. Except today, she had a specific lunch destination in mind.

  The pharmacy. Because today, she was going to buy a pregnancy test.

  The thought had emerged from the back of her mind, sneaky and cool, after day two of the strange fatigue. But it had to be impossible, she counseled herself time and time again. It had to be impossible because they’d used a condom. Sure, they weren’t infallible. But it just couldn’t be true.

  There was no way she was pregnant, but the deep unknowing percolated inside her, prompting her to act.

  Melissa had always dreamed of having a baby—probably just one, but she was open to two—with some sensible, television-involved man with a nice SUV and a great hairline. She didn’t want much in life, really. Stability. Entertainment. Laughter. That was about it.

  She’d never even imagined this situation. Getting knocked up by the man about to go make a name for himself as a reality man-whore? She squeezed her steering wheel as she drove, unable to stop the grimace. This felt like watching somebody else’s poorly produced reality show. She couldn’t have come up with this script if she’d tried.

  Donovan himself was…fine enough. He was hotter than hell and hilarious and so fun to be around. But he was inherently unavailable. She fought daily against getting wrapped up in their banter, against the simmering jealousy as he wooed and dined the gorgeous, horny contestants. She had no right to feel jealous, but still, the feelings persisted.

  No matter how much she tried to rationalize them away.

  Melissa bought the test and raced back to Donovan’s house.

  Everyone was in the backyard filming and refilming the pool scene. Where Donovan flirted and played with all the contestants, but Jasmine specifically was slated to have a jealous attack. Each glance, comment, and jump into the pool had to be filmed from all possible angles, so they’d be back there for a while.

  Perfect time to see if her entire world was changing or not.

  Melissa followed the test instructions and then started pacing. She checked her phone every thirty seconds. Once five minutes were up, she could have sworn a half hour had passed. She drew a deep breath. And then she peered at the stick.

  Two pink lines.

  Two pink lines.

  Two pink lines.

  She scrambled to find the tiny instruction booklet that had accompanied the kit. She had a feeling about what these two pink lines meant, but she needed to be sure. She needed to double check. Her hands shook as she found the section labeled “READING YOUR TEST.”

  Two pink lines meant pregnant.

  She blinked and reread it.

  She was pregnant.

  She stood, mouth agape as she stared at the wall, for what felt like an eternity. A door slamming shut somewhere inside the house jolted her back to reality. Feminine giggles wafted through the air.

  Fuck fuck fuck.

  The pregnancy wasn’t bad. It was something she’d always wanted. But this situation left something to be desired.

  And now she had to go out there and face this reality setup as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She couldn’t even take a shot or have a glass of champagne to take the edge off. Because she was pregnant.

  She stuffed the test and the booklet back into the box it came in, then buried it in her purse. She’d dispose of it later, somewhere it couldn’t be found. For now, she needed to forget she’d taken it. Forget that after today, everything was going to be different.

  Forever.

  She walked on wooden legs toward the voices and found a couple of the girls in the kitchen raiding the fridge. Tara smiled over her shoulder at Melissa as she came in.

  “Hey, girl.” Tara was a sweetheart, as were most of the girls. When they weren’t playing catty and possessive, at least. “You missed the most hilarious pool scene!”

  “Tara pushed Gemma into the water on her face,” Jasmine said, pulling out a carton of ice cream. “And Gemma flipped. Unscripted.”

  Tara giggled, pulling a handful of spoons from a drawer. The entire cast had gotten comfy in Donovan’s house. He was right to protect his sacred spaces. Last she’d seen, the master bedroom and the door leading to the third floor were shut with padlocks. The entire rest of the house was taken over by filming. The girls filled the guest rooms upstairs, and though Donovan slept in his master bedroom, they’d agreed that for any “sexy time,” he’d use a spare room staged to look like his.

  And speaking of that…she needed to get him prepped for a “sexy time” this evening.

  They were far enough into filming that it was time for Donovan to start hooking up.

  The idea turned her stomach—though maybe it was just the pregnancy. Suddenly, a lot of other things made sense. The lack of appetite. The tiredness. Her consistent jealousy while watching him be a player among these willing women.

  Tara and the others wandered out of the kitchen, and she braced herself to go into the backyard. The camera crew had taken a break. Donovan stood by the edge of the pool, his perfect Greek-god torso gleaming in the sunlight, water dripping off his swim shorts. Of course, the costume crew had insisted he use the most obscenely tight shorts out there. Basically a Speedo, with only slightly more coverage. His dick made a huge bulge between his legs. Absolutely huge. She couldn’t look away.

  Melissa rubbed at her face. She couldn’t do this. She had to tell him, but when? In the midst of all of…this?

  A splash of water jerked at her attention. She looked up—Donovan had launched Jasmine into the pool. She surfaced a moment later, screeching. And Donovan just grinned and grinned. Having the time of his life. The ultimate bachelor, surrounded by gorgeous women and so much pussy.

  He must have noticed her, because the smile fell, and he started heading her way. She straightened under the sudden attention, trying to affect a casual look. Unbothered. Not pregnant.

  “Hey, Melissa.” He hadn’t used his nickname for her since the night they’d screwed. She almost wished he would. “Haven’t seen you since this morning. Everything okay?”

  She tried to laugh, but it came out hollow. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

  “You were over here scowling. Like I’d jus
t thrown your disabled puppy into the pool.”

  She frowned. “Did you have to put it like that?”

  Donovan shrugged. “Just one way of saying it.”

  “I’m fine. Actually, I need to talk to you.” Her voice faltered. Not about that—yet. “Let’s go over the filming schedule for tonight.”

  She led him into the makeshift office she’d set up in his sunroom. It was the best place in the house to think, to bask in warmth, to look out over the expansive green lawns. Yet today, for all the thoughts swarming her head, she couldn’t focus for shit. She pawed through papers on her desk.

  “Is this it?” Donovan held up a paper a moment later. Exactly what she was looking for. He’d wrapped a towel around his waist somewhere along the way, for which she was…grateful?

  “Thanks.” She grabbed for the paper, another frown coming on.

  “You sure you’re okay? You seem a little distracted.”

  She gave an “Uh-huh,” but it was the cheapest sounding answer she could have mustered. Donovan didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t say anything. She launched into the filming schedule for that evening. Donovan needed to get intimate with one lady of his choosing.

  “Tara,” he said, without even thinking.

  Melissa lowered her paper, peering up at him. “Tara?”

  He nodded, crossing his arms. “What? You don’t agree?”

  “Don’t you think she’s kind of…” And then she stopped. She was being petty. She was acting like it mattered to her. Because it did. Except no, it didn’t. She didn’t care. She’d repeat it until it became true. “Never mind. That sounds good.”

  Donovan narrowed his eyes. “Is there something I should know?”

  She shook her head, dropping the paper on the desk. “Nothing. I need to go now.” She turned to leave.

  “Melly, you’re acting weird.”

  There it was. The nickname. She stopped in her tracks, hating that it rooted her to the spot. She wanted to crumple into his arms. Feel the reassurance of their connection, or something. Anything to make her feel wanted, less alone.