Tempted By The Billionaire Next Door. Therese Beharrie
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‘I’m just your typical unwed pregnant woman, I guess.’
She didn’t look too bothered by it, which forced him to ignore the hope that stirred inside him again. ‘Somehow I doubt that.’
‘That I’m unwed and pregnant?’
‘That you’re typical.’
‘You barely know me, Dylan.’
Her eyes met his and it felt as if lightning flashed between them. The seconds ticked by, the current of energy between them grew more intense, but neither of them looked away. Eventually, he said, ‘What are you in the mood to eat?’
A moment passed, and then he could see her force herself to relax. ‘Do you have peanut butter?’
It was such a strange request that it broke the tension he still felt inside him. ‘Yeah, I think so.’ He narrowed his eyes. ‘You want peanut butter? I’m pretty sure there’s something more substantial in the fridge.’
‘Peanut butter is plenty substantial,’ she replied defensively. ‘Especially if you serve it with those bananas over there.’
She nodded to the fruit bowl on his kitchen table, and he felt the smile on his face almost before he even knew it was there. ‘Peanut butter and banana?’
‘Peanut butter and banana,’ she confirmed, and smiled. ‘I tried to warn you about what you were getting into by inviting a pregnant woman for lunch.’
‘Yeah, you did,’ he answered, though he struggled for the words because her smile was so...distracting. As was her face—the smooth curves of its oval shape, the high cheekbones, those cinnamon eyes, the glossy olive of her skin, those generous lips...
Even her hair was distracting. The dark brown strands were clipped back into a messy style that he couldn’t decide whether he liked. Mostly because it made him want to tidy it up. No, he corrected his thoughts immediately. Because it made him want to muss it up even more.
Her clothing was loose, hiding the curve of her stomach. That was why he hadn’t noticed she was pregnant at first—though he’d discovered it pretty quickly, so he couldn’t blame ignorance for the fact that he’d flirted with her.
But he didn’t want to think about what he could blame flirting with her on, so he was glad when she spoke.
‘Who looked after Daisy while you were away?’
‘Actually, I got her in London and then brought her back with me.’
Daisy wagged her tail when he looked over at her and love filled his heart. She’d saved him from depression, from the loneliness of his grief and anger. From his guilt. And she’d needed him in a way that was more simple than he could ever remember being needed.
His experience of being needed by his mother and sister had always—always—been complicated. And he blamed himself. He’d been the one who’d chosen to look after their family when his father had abandoned them. When his father had decided that gambling was more important than the woman he’d married. Than his children...
Dylan had been the one to take care of the household when his father’s abandonment had meant that they couldn’t rely on their mother any more either. So yes, maybe after they’d found out the man had died, Dylan had wanted to leave it all behind. And yes, maybe finding out a few days before his father’s funeral that his mother hadn’t been the victim she’d pretended to be all those years ago had given him even more incentive to leave.
But he was back now. Because his sister hadn’t lied to him, hadn’t betrayed him. And it was time that he stopped acting as though she had.
‘Daisy’s English?’ Jess asked, interrupting his thoughts. She snapped a finger and Daisy was at her side in an instant. ‘I’ve never met an English dog before,’ she said, cooing at his pet.
‘I don’t really think they have nationalities.’
‘Really? Because Daisy gives off a distinct English vibe. Like she’d invite me for tea and scones every afternoon at three.’
He laughed. ‘The English actually have their tea—’ He broke off at her smirk, and the laugh turned into a smile. ‘You don’t care, do you?’
‘Not unless I’m going to the UK, which is obviously not happening any time soon.’
‘How far along are you?’ he asked, and began to prepare their lunch. Since peanut butter and banana didn’t seem quite as appealing to him, he decided on a chicken mayo sandwich for himself.
‘Just over five months. Um, Dylan?’ He glanced at her. ‘I know the naked chef is a thing in the UK, but you not having a shirt on... Well, it’s really distracting. Do you mind?’
HIS EYEBROWS ROSE, and then a grin curved his lips. ‘I’m distracting you?’
‘Yeah,’ Jess said, and tilted her chin. ‘Wouldn’t you be distracted if I made your food half-naked? No, don’t answer that,’ she added quickly, when his grin turned naughty. ‘It wasn’t the right comparison.’
‘Probably not, but I liked it.’ He winked, and something flipped in her belly. She was fairly certain it wasn’t the baby. ‘I’ll grab a T-shirt.’
He left the kitchen and finally air flowed easily through her lungs again. She hadn’t noticed how hard it had been to breathe around him. But she knew it was a sure sign that she was digging a hole that she might not be able to get out of.
And it wasn’t only because of how he made her feel. It was because Jess knew what Anja and Dylan’s relationship was like. And because she knew how much he’d hurt her friend by leaving.
Anja hadn’t even told Dylan that he was going to be an uncle. Or that his niece or nephew would be brought into the world by a surrogate. She hadn’t told him about her miscarriage after years of fertility struggles, or how those struggles and that miscarriage had been the reason she’d decided to use a surrogate.
Or, Jess thought, about the fact that she was that surrogate.
Jess couldn’t say she agreed with her friend’s silence. But then, Jess didn’t understand the dynamic between siblings since she didn’t have any. Nor did she understand what it was like to be part of a real family unit, where hurt and betrayal resulted from a member of that unit doing something the others didn’t approve of.
She could barely call her family a family, for heaven’s sake, let alone a unit.
Anja was the closest thing Jess had to family, which was why she’d offered to be Anja and Chet’s surrogate. It was also why she should have been calling Anja, telling her about Dylan’s return instead of waiting for him to put a shirt on so that he could make her lunch.
Jess distracted herself by looking around. The open-plan living room and kitchen were filled with light from windows and doors that made up most of the rooms’ external structure. From where she stood, she could see a sunroom where she would kill to spend a few hours in the afternoon sun, furnished in muted colours that told her Dylan had incredible style, or had hired someone who did.
The living room was just as stylish, though she wasn’t a big fan of the darker finishes he’d chosen. She couldn’t deny that it was striking against the cream-coloured walls and solid brick fireplace, but she preferred the warmth of the kitchen. With its light waterfall counter and space around the island, it was the type of room she’d always felt more comfortable in. Understated and tasteful. Despite the fact that she’d grown up in opulence. But more likely because of it.
Before she could go down that path, Dylan walked in wearing a blue T-shirt that did nothing to detract from his sexiness. She almost sighed when her heart did a quick tumble in her chest, and a voice in