The Billionaire's secret baby bride

He was perfect, the right mix of class and secrecy, or so he seemed sitting alone in the lounge where the nightscape beyond the window poured in, bathing him in the faintest city lights.

Mira had kept her eye on him for the last twenty minutes, as she nursed a beer at the swanky hotel bar. For a Sunday night it wasn’t crowded, though guests of the hotel wandered from the bar to the lounge, drinks in hand, eager to find a cozy nook to enjoy their nightcaps before migrating up to their rooms.

She expected any number of women to walk up to him, whether for a pre arranged meeting or because they were feeling bold. Every time one of them passed his table, Mira’s chest tightened with disappointment. When they veered away, she relaxed and took another sip of her drink.

He wasn’t waiting for anyone, and if she wanted to claim him, she would have to get off this stool and make her move.

Leaning her elbow on the bar, she scanned the lounge, making sure he was the best option, though in the back of her mind she was already certain. He had won her interest by a landslide, but he hadn’t once glanced her way. He seemed lost in thought, shifting his gaze from his whiskey to the window and back again as though neither were of any importance.

He was wearing a dark suit, not black, but a slate blue that resonated the color of his eyes. His hair was thick and dark. Chestnut, she guessed, but that wasn’t what drew her eye when she’d first sat at the bar and surveyed her options. It was his mouth that told her he would make for the kind of evening she was looking for. Full lips framed with dark stubble that dusted his chin and the angles of his jawline. She could imagine having fun with that mouth of his, kissing him and guiding him to brush his warm lips over her most sensitive areas. The thought of feeling his cool breath the moment before he wrapped his mouth around her nipple sent a shock of excitement down her spine, and she straightened her back, drawing in a long breath without quite realizing it.

She slid off the stool, beer in hand, keeping her gaze trained on the man. She made her way through the candlelit lounge while trying not to feel underdressed in her black, skinny jeans and wedge heel sneakers. At least her top was loose and flowing. It hung playfully off one shoulder. Mira had never been one to dress up or frequent these types of establishments, but it had been her best option, all things considered. There weren’t too many hotels outside of Seattle. And having a long, carefree night with a total stranger had become something of a ritual. Before every rally and demonstration, she had sought out a sexy stranger, one who seemed from an entirely different world than her own. She wasn’t superstitious, but had come to realize that when she did have a wild night, she succeeded the next day. And when she didn’t, her efforts in activism turned to crap. Quite frankly, it boiled down to stress. She was overwhelmed with an entire community relying on her, and nothing relaxed Mira like being between the sheets with a man she’d never see again.

As she approached, he glanced at her and she caught the slightest movement at the corner of his mouth, but he suppressed his smile, making slow work of setting his glass on the low table.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked, indicating the leather lounge chair across from him. His expression was neutral, but his eyes flared with intrigue like any man's would, hoping the bold and beautiful woman approaching would turn out to be a sure thing. She was. “I like the view.”

 “Have you not seen Seattle at night?”

 “I wasn’t talking about the window.”

His brow arched slowly and he let the smile out that had been threatening to emerge, though he did a nice job of not seeming too eager or presumptuous.

“You’re welcome to sit,” he said in a deep and smooth tone, but as she did, he added, “but I have a lot on my mind and might not be the best conversationalist.”

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, drinking in the sight of him and not quite believing his good looks. From across the bar, he had reminded her of a young James Bond, but now that she was three feet away, she realized every inch of him was sexy as sin. When he didn’t respond, except to hold his breath then exhale in a carefully measured yet silent sigh, she said, “We don’t have to talk at all. I have a lot on my mind, as well. I’m looking for a distraction, not a confidant.”

His brow knit with interest and glanced down the length of her, as he drew his hands up his thighs until they rested at either side of the growing bulge beneath his slacks.

 “Who are you?” he asked through a crooked smile.

“No one,” she said, matching the sultry luster of his tone. “Just someone passing through town, hoping for a little company.”

“Do you have a name?”

“Does it matter?” she countered, having a bit of fun with the subtext of this blossoming encounter. She could feel the heat rolling off him. He liked what he was seeing and it thrilled her.

“No,” he said easily, “it doesn’t matter.” He rested his eyes out the window and his mood changed. “You couldn’t handle me,” he said frankly.

Just as she was about to object, he stated, “I wouldn’t mind a distraction, but there’s only one way to distract me and taking one look at you...,” he glanced at her, though quickly, then picked up his drink, “I can tell you are not up for it.”

He had her interest peaked, but she couldn’t deny his dark mood had her slightly apprehensive, though the feeling thrilled her even more.

“So, you would want to hurt me?” she asked in a challenging tone, but not at all giving up her conquest.

 “I wouldn’t want to, no.”

She cocked her head at that, which made him laugh and she couldn’t tell if the reaction was for her or directed at himself.

“It is a lot to take in, I’m sure,” he said as if that might clarify the matter.

It did, and Mira felt a rush of heat wash through her, but she didn’t like how his stance included a strong foothold in turning her down.

“I’m Mira,” she said, getting to her feet. “And if you would rather stare out the window all night, be my guest.”

 As she started for the bar, he said, “Wait.”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and after he held her gaze for a moment, he lifted her beer from the table. “Don’t forget your drink.”

She snorted a laugh. Clearly, he’d rather get off from turning her down than from thrusting inside her, and if that was his game, he could have it. She reached for her beer, fully prepared to return to the bar, scan the lounge for another man, and get what she’d come here for, but as soon as she wrapped her hand around the glass, he caught her wrist and their eyes locked.

“This isn’t my town,” he said in a low, deep tone that stirred her attraction to him. “I won’t be staying, and I won’t be coming back anytime soon.”

“If you are worried I’ll get attached, don’t,” she said with an edge in her tone. “Can I have my wrist back now?”

He kept hold for a beat to emphasize his point then released her, and she straightened up, looking down at him, which he seemed to enjoy.

Beneath his dress shirt, she could imagine the wall of his chest and wanted nothing more than to smell and lick and kiss it, working her way down to the promise between his legs.

 “I have a room upstairs,” he mentioned.

 “Yeah, I was betting on that.”

He stood slowly and Mira was surprised to find him towering over her. He had to be at least 6-foot-two, and when he didn’t motion to lead her through the lounge towards the lobby, but angled his dark eyes on her, her breath hitched in her throat.

“Really,” he said in a whisper as he leaned in, brushing her ear with his mouth, “who sent you?”

Curious, she edged back and studied his face. “No one. You have people in your life who would send a woman to you to spend the night?”

“The people in my life do a lot of things I can’t quite figure out,” he said then started through the lounge.

After taking a moment to consider the man she had chosen (he wasn’t typical, that was for sure), Mira caught up and they crossed through the vacant lobby. When they reached the elevator banks, he pressed the call button and glanced at the digital counter over the door.

 “Why are you in Seattle?” she asked.

“Seattle’s across the bay,” he said, correcting her. “We are in Bellevue.”

 She angled her eyes up at him as if to say, answer the question He shot her a steely glance. “I thought you said you didn’t want to talk.”

 The door slid open and he stepped inside and pressed the button for the presidential suite on the top floor, as she slipped inside.

“Maybe I would like to know a few things about you,” she mentioned, as the elevator glided upward at such velocity she felt pressure building in her inner ears.

“Getting cold feet?” He let out another laugh that made her wonder if he was laughing with her or at her.

 “Hardly.”

“You seem to know what you want,” he commented without looking at her. “Are you at the mercy of a craving?”

 “Something like that.”

 “Then don’t bite the hand that’s feeding you.”

She pressed her mouth into a determined smirk, locking her gaze on the floor numbers overhead as they rolled to the final floor.