The Billionaire’s Sudden Christmas Baby: Christmas With the Denton Billionaires Book Two Read online

  She walked around with a constant lady boner in this place. In just three days, she’d come to appreciate all his different phases. Work Mitch, who wore the impeccable suits. Relaxed, After-Dinner Mitch, who unbuttoned the work shirt and rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves. And then there was Nighttime Mitch. Her favorite one. The guy who wore those cotton tees and soft shorts.

  All those Mitches were the man of her dreams, so it was hard to choose which one she was more attracted to. And each time she caught herself fantasizing about him, while feeding Noelle or working on the party planning, she tried to stop herself.

  But it didn’t stop her from masturbating in the shower each morning, thinking exclusively about what he might look like under those clothes.

  Blue-gray light filtered through the huge windows overlooking Manhattan. Noelle had woken up for a feeding, and now Jules needed some water. On her way to the kitchen, she heard some strange grunting.

  Ts….ts….nngh. Ngh.

  She paused midstride, her entire body going rigid as she struggled to identify the strange noise. What the actual hell?

  Nnngh….fff.

  She whipped around, trying to determine where it was even coming from. At night, the penthouse had a sepulchral air, completely cut off from the outside world save for the stunning view of the city. It wasn’t like most rooms in a hotel, where you could hear the showers of your neighbor or the hurried footsteps of children above or below your room.

  In here, sound didn’t seem to enter or escape. Which made this even stranger.

  Jules tried to follow the noise, and it led her toward Mitch’s side of the penthouse. She poked her head down the hallway to his master bedroom, and the noises grew louder. Now there was huffing. Definite huffing. Light spilled out of an open doorway further down, and she crept toward it.

  She poked her head into the doorway, squinting as her eyes adjusted to the bright light filling the room. She stared directly into a floor-to-ceiling mirror stretching across the opposite wall.

  And there was Mitch. Bent into a very awkward triangle pose.

  Shirtless. Sweaty. And impossibly muscled.

  Their gazes met in the reflection of the mirror, and shock crested his face. A second later, he tumbled out of his pose, landing on his ass. Hard.

  She put a hand over her mouth to stifle the giggles. “Are you okay?”

  Mitch sat up, draping his arm over a bent knee. He rubbed his face before dropping onto his back and groaning.

  “I’m fine. Believe it or not.”

  “Were you doing yoga?”

  A helpless laugh escaped him. “I was.”

  Damn. There was something endearing about this perfect, rich hottie who also did yoga in his private gym—and sometimes failed at a pose. She bit her lip, trying to rein in her mind before she fell into the abyss of hopeless attraction. “I’m sorry for butting in. I didn’t mean to interrupt or make you fall over. I just—I heard some noises, and I wasn’t sure…”

  More laughter shook out of him. “Oh god. I can only imagine what you were probably thinking.”

  That it sounded like you were masturbating? Heat scorched through her cheeks, and she tried to push the thought away. That probably was not what he was getting at. Still, now that her mind had gone there, it was nearly impossible to reel it back in.

  “No, no, I just…I was…” She had nothing available as an excuse or recovery. “I wanted to make sure everything was okay. You know, it could have been the neighbors…” Better to stop while she was ahead. Divert. Divert. “You looked good. Your form, I mean. The form of your body…like, the posture.” God, this was getting worse. More embarrassing by the second. “Like, your teacher would be proud, you know?”

  Mitch propped up on his elbows and looked at her with a curious smirk. His abs popped out in hard ridges sitting like that, and she couldn’t rip her gaze off him. Not even if a bomb exploded in the kitchen.

  “Do you do yoga?”

  “Yeah. Sometimes.” She shrugged. “Mostly when there’s wine involved.”

  He laughed again and pushed to standing. He grabbed for a white towel on a nearby rack and ran it over the back of his neck as he approached her.

  When he got close enough, she remembered that she was here. Like physically present in her just-woken-up glory. Mitch’s perfect form had been so distracting that she’d forgotten all about herself. Dressed in booty shorts and a skimpy tank top—one glance in the mirror confirmed the embarrassing reality. Her nipples had hardened into two obvious points beneath her shirt. She might as well just spread herself out now and ask him to mount her.

  “Do you work out other than that?” he asked, tilting his head.

  Now her cheeks were flaming; they had to be. She crossed her arms over her chest and affected the most casual stance she could muster. “Uh, yeah…well…I mean not really.” Her brain was officially dissolved. He stopped just a few steps away from her, his hands on his hips, that little white towel dangling over his shoulders. God, this man was perfect. Absolutely perfect.

  “That’s surprising.”

  “I know, I know—a Manhattanite who doesn’t work out.”

  “No, I mean, you have a killer figure. I thought you hit the gym all the time.”

  She jerked her gaze to his in shock. He couldn’t be serious. “Wh—” She shook her head. “You’re kidding right?”

  His brows drew together. “No. I’m serious. Have you looked at yourself in a mirror lately?” He swung around, pointing at their reflections.

  She caught her deer-in-headlights look and straightened, trying to wipe some of the shock off her face. “Well…thanks. My overworked and underfed lifestyle must be really paying off.”

  He smirked. “Don’t tell me you’re the type of woman who only orders salad at restaurants.”

  “Salad as a starter,” she clarified. “Which may or may not be followed by an enormous steak.”

  The smirk blossomed into a grin. There was something cocky about him now. Like catching him in his own oasis, messing him up and making him fall, had cracked something open between them and now the truth could pour out. He thought she was hot. That’s all she’d heard—that’s all that mattered.

  And now her curiosity—as well as her vanity—was aroused.

  If he thought she was hot, what else might happen?

  “You could have told me. I wouldn’t have gone out of my way trying to arrange these vegetarian masterpieces the past two days.”

  It was true—Mitch had made a big deal about bringing in healthy food from the hotel kitchen.

  “Hey, everything has been delicious. I have no complaints. None at all. But I wouldn’t mind a healthy slab of meat once in a while.”

  He hefted with a laugh, his gaze raking boldly over her. “I guess that’s what I get for trying to impress you.”

  Now her entire body prickled with awareness. That gaze of his might as well have broken skin.

  “Impress me?” His attention made her bold now. That undercurrent of attraction wasn’t just on her end; this morning confirmed it. “Why would you have to impress me? I’m just your little ol’ holiday roommate.”

  He scoffed, taking another step closer. Beads of sweat rolled down his chest, and the very sight of him was like something from a fever dream. “Trust me. There’s plenty I need to impress here.”

  Now her cheeks were flaming. They had to be. Her pussy clenched from wanting him nearer, wanting him on her. Like she’d imagined in the shower yesterday morning…and the morning before that, if she was being honest.

  “I don’t know about that,” she said, her voice coming out shaky. “If there’s anyone who needs to do some impressing, it’s me. You look like a Gucci ad, okay? I’m just a Target ad. A clearance Target ad.”

  A laugh rocketed out of him, and he closed the distance between them. “If you’re a clearance Target ad, then you’re the deal of the century.”

  She laughed, but the knot rising in her throat knocked the sound sideways. H
e caressed the side of her arm with his fingertips. But not in a friendly way. Not in a hey-we’re-just-making-jokes-in-the-weight-room way. No, his touch told her that he wanted things to go farther.

  Jules got lost in his gaze. His caress was a command, and hell if she’d disobey it.

  She pushed onto her tiptoes, urged forward by lust and the early hour and his near nakedness, and then their lips were touching. His mouth covered hers hungrily, eagerly, as if he’d been thinking about this kiss for days, too. They kissed again and again. His big hands cupped the sides of her face, and then a little whimper escaped her, unbidden, uncontrollable.

  The scent of him, the feel of him against her, it was almost too much. She’d never been kissed like this, and part of her screamed that it was just the trappings of luxury that had her floating in space.

  But no. This man’s lips, which he parted so that his tongue could slip through—they were velvet and heat and confidence. When the kiss broke and he pulled back, his eyes were clouded with lust. She recognized that look, because it was the same thing that swirled through her—drugged by what just happened.

  “Holy…” she managed.

  He wet his bottom lip, his gaze stuck on her mouth. “Mm-hmm.”

  “I’ve never been kissed like that,” she whispered, then regretted admitting it. “At seven a.m.,” she hurried to add.

  “Me neither,” he said. “And I should add, you kissed me.”

  She laughed but stopped short once she caught the tones of a wail. It had to be Noelle. Probably screaming her lungs out, if she could hear it this far away from the bedroom.

  “Oh no! Noelle! Hang on.” Jules rushed out of the weight room, heart in her throat as she hurried to check on the baby. Back in the bedroom, Noelle was wriggling and fussing, so Jules scooped her up into her arms. Mitch entered a moment later, looking concerned.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Just crying. Not sure.” She lifted her up and patted her back, in case it was gas. Almost immediately, the cutest little burp erupted from her.

  “That was it,” Mitch said, reaching out to stroke Noelle’s cheek. “Now she’s a happy baby again.”

  He held out his hands, and Jules passed Noelle off, grinning as he rocked her and cooed at her like any loving daddy would. As always, her chest went tight as she watched him. He would make a great dad someday, if he ever had kids.

  Hell, the two of them would be great parents together. They’d already proven their teamwork and excellent cohabitation skills. It was only three days in, but it seemed promising. Maybe this was a sign—she and Mitch were a good fit.

  Except she needed to stop thinking these crazy thoughts. Intense, early-morning kisses and three days of sharing a penthouse didn’t mean anything. They were just riding out the holidays and sharing the responsibility of caring for Noelle.

  That was it.

  Why was that so hard to remember?

  10

  Later that day, Mitch and Jules were in his office working on the party plans. Noelle was spending the afternoon in the hotel daycare, which allowed them a few precious uninterrupted hours to knock out the bulk of the planning work.

  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about the kisses they’d shared in his weight room that morning, which made concentration difficult. Every time he glanced up at Jules, all he could see were those perfect pink lips. The way they’d smashed against his like she was starving for him.

  His cock had been at half-mast ever since, and it didn’t seem like he’d be calming down anytime soon. Not with her so near, yet still so far away.

  He cleared his throat, trying to snap himself out of the Jules fog. He tapped his foot, brushing something, then caught Jules’s shy gaze flit his way.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  “I thought you were playing footsie.”

  He grinned, then brushed his foot against hers again. A blush stained her cheek. Man, this made his work day a lot more fun. Why hadn’t he thought of this before?

  Not like finding an abandoned baby and asking a stranger to move in with him had ever been on his to-do list before.

  “Careful there,” she warned.

  “Or what? You’ll kiss me again?” His grin widened, and he sought out her foot, brushing it intentionally along her heel.

  “Exactly,” she warned, her pretty lips puckering. Then someone knocked on the door.

  “Mitch?” Rose asked, poking her head in. “Oh, good. No new babies this time.”

  Mitch laughed, waving her in. “That’s the last unexpected baby you’ll find in here, I promise. What’s up?”

  “You know I’m here to tell you about another problem.” His heart sank when she said that. Rose knew him and his approach to work better than anyone, and over the years she’d come to be his right-hand woman. So when she said they had a problem, usually it was serious. “The toy shipment for the Children of the World exhibit for the gala just arrived, but a lot of it is…how do I say it? Unfinished.”

  Mitch furrowed his brow. “Sorry?”

  “The wooden toys are just…blank. It’s the damnedest thing.” She shook her head and sighed.

  “Let’s go check this out, shall we?” He stood, looking pointedly at Jules before heading out of the office. The most recent shipment had been set aside in the delivery bay at the back of the hotel. The box had already been opened, most likely when Rose checked it out, and sure enough—nearly half the toys were completely bereft of a design. Just naked wood objects.

  “What the hell?” Jules asked, picking up a very large red top in one hand and an unfinished top in another. “And nobody noticed this?”

  Mitch chewed on the inside of his lip as he thought about what to do. The party was in two weeks. Sending this back only to get another shipment was out of the question. The company they’d chosen for this task required a three week turn-around on all orders, and he suspected a replacement order would be the same.

  “I’m definitely asking for a refund,” Mitch said. “But returning this is out of the question for this particular company. So the question is: how to rectify.”

  Jules picked up a few other toys—a horse, a house, and a cow—and said, “Why don’t we just paint them ourselves?”

  Mitch was quiet as he considered the idea. She picked up another finished toy. “Most of the painting is really basic. Two, three, maybe four colors max.” She shrugged, looking up at him. “I think we could knock these out ourselves. Or, worst case scenario—set up a toy painting station for the older kids to occupy themselves. One of the staff could oversee it, just to make sure nobody goes around painting walls or dresses. What do you think?”

  In an instant, all his tension dissipated. She was right—and more than that, he was excited about her ideas. “That’s great, Jules. Let’s see how many unfinished toys there are first, then we can decide which direction to go.” They unpacked the box, laying out all the toys according to their level of completion. They counted one hundred fifty unfinished toys.

  “How many kids are we expecting for the gala?” Jules asked.

  “Probably fifty or so. Not many. And usually never little ones like Noelle. I’d say, ages five and above.”

  “Perfect. So let’s paint about fifty of these ourselves and leave the rest as a fun station for the kids.” She assessed the laid-out toys, nodding, like she internally confirming the decision.

  “So that would be a hundred unfinished toys we’re leaving,” he said.

  “Right. Which means that some kids can paint two or three. You never know which kid is gonna want to paint one of each shape. It’s a thing, I promise.”

  Mitch looked over at her, resisting the urge to pull her into his arms. Not here in the loading bay, where everyone would see them. Back in his office…maybe. But up in the penthouse? Definitely.

  He was so relieved he could have skipped back to the office as they had a dock worker haul the toys on a cart behind them. Not because the toy problem was resolved. No, the wooden to
ys were honestly the least of his worries.

  It was the fact that he had a problem solver at his side. It felt good to have someone around him, willing to get creative and find a path forward. He was used to operating solo, with just Rose beyond his office door and his father dropping in with demands or requests.

  Having Jules at his side felt like having a partner in the messy business of running an empire. The toys were inconsequential. It was her attitude that really got him.

  Mitch called for supplies and sent out a call for other staff members to help with the painting. He divvied them up into piles of twenty, and instructed managers to hand out the tasks to their willing employees. When the paints and tarp arrived at his office, they got to work painting their lot of toys. The first ones were a little shaky—unsure lines, uneven eyes on the horse, a very weird grimace on the nutcracker—but by the time they hit their rhythm, the toys were coming out just as professional as the originals.

  Better, even. Because they were made by them, right here in his office, amid laughter and jokes and plenty of references to those steamy kisses that morning in the weight room.

  Once they were finished and it was almost quitting time for the day, Mitch noticed Jules had a streak of paint on her face. He reached over to wipe it off, but only spread more blue paint over the bridge of her nose as a result.

  He laughed. “Oops. Messed that up.”

  She feigned insult and twisted around to look in the mirror near his desk. He could see himself in the reflection, and he crept closer to her over the tarp they’d laid out on the wood floor.

  She gasped when he came up behind her, their gazes locking in the mirror.

  “What is it about us and reflections?” she asked. When she turned to him, he didn’t waste time. He surged forward on his hands and knees, capturing her lips in a kiss. She made that whimper noise again, the one that told him she wanted it just as much as he did.

  They kissed eagerly, sloppily even, until Mitch pulled back. This needed to progress to the next level.

  “What—”

  He pulled her to standing, covering her mouth with his once more as he guided her backwards toward his desk. He tried to push some papers out of the way but couldn’t spare the attention. He hoisted her onto the desk. Something fell over, but he didn’t care. She laughed through a kiss, though it faded when he pushed his hands over her knees and up the sides of her thighs. His fingertips slipped over the sheer fabric of her pantyhose. She’d worn a sharp black wraparound dress and equally sharp heels. All of which he was eager to tear off her.