The billionaire's baby bargain

Chapter 4

One would think she’d be used to it by now. As she sat down on the soft leather seats, she looked out the window. It was almost like a wonderful dream, but if that were true, hopefully she’d never wake up. Morning came too early. Andrés woke to the sun filtering in through blinds they had not closed. He lay still, unwilling to move and possibly disturb Chloe, who laid half on top of him. And he resisted the temptation to stroke a hand through the silky strands of hair. He closed his eyes again, thinking back on the previous evening. He’d enjoyed their time together more than he could ever remember. Chloe was a charming woman, absorbing the culture of his country and trying all foods with uninhibited delight. Then they’d danced the night away in some small cantina until their feet throbbed. Choosing the discreet, quiet section of town had ensured they weren’t bothered by any media. Which was likely a good thing with how unreserved he’d been last night. He was still a bit dismayed to realize just how carefree he was in Chloe’s presence, how easily she could make him laugh. Dismayed, and a bit troubled. It was obvious Chloe had enjoyed their evening out as much as he had. She had seemed overwhelmed and easily delighted by the simplest of things. The drive in the Rolls-Royce, the food he’d chosen for them, the kisses he’d brushed across her knuckles during dinner. And the red Gazanias he’d purchased for her from a vendor on the street. She’d clutched them all night, burying her nose in them and inhaling with a look of pure enchantment. When they’d driven home she’d been all too tempting while curled up against him, her cheek pressed to his chest. She’d chatted, asking him seemingly innocent questions about his life. Ones he’d managed to brush off with vague answers. He never let a woman get too close or know too much about him. He was a fascinating enigma to the media, and he’d learned over the years that even the most rubbish information—like what kind of wine he drank—could be prodded out of a waitress looking for a bit of extra change in her pocket. But he sensed he didn’t have to worry about any of that with her, and if she’d found his responses odd, she didn’t remark on it. Which drew him to her even more. When they’d arrived back at the resort, he’d had to restrain himself in the elevator up to the penthouse. They’d just barely made it in the door before he’d taken her again on the glass table just inside the entryway. What was it about Chloe that was simply irresistible? As if she could hear every thought that raced through his head, Chloe stirred. She cuddled closer and nuzzled his chest. Andrés body began to respond and he made a low rumble of approval in his throat. “What time is it?” she asked, her voice still husky from sleep. “A little after nine,” he murmured. She gasped and jerked away from him, climbing out of bed. “Oh jeez. I’m going to be late. Again.” She moved to the dresser and fumbled through her backpack they’d retrieved from her work locker last night, along with a change of clothes. Letting his gaze wander over her, his groin tightened with need once more. “Come back to bed,” he commanded softly. Chloe paused and cast an incredulous glance over her shoulder. “Andrés, I just told you that I have to work.” One phone call and he could have Chloe cleared from the schedule without repercussions. His mind wandered, already planning a trip they could take around the countryside. She’d confessed to not nearly seeing as much of Spain as she’d wanted to. But before he could make the offer, she’d already grabbed her clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. A thump sounded, and Andrés glanced back to the dresser to find her backpack had fallen down and half the contents spilled out. With a sigh, he climbed out of bed and went to clean it up. He closed his hand around what looked like a leather diary with several papers falling out. He was about to place them back in the backpack when he spotted his name written on one of the papers. The nape of his neck prickled with suspicion, foreboding built in his gut. He pulled the paper free from the book and glanced over it. The sound of the shower turned on as he moved blindly across the room to grab his mobile off the bedside table. Cristos, it was impossible. He could not have been so blind. A slow throb began in his temple and his jaw flexed as he speed-dialed Pablo’s number. Anger began to brew hot in his belly as he paced the room. “Pablo. I need you to call Modern Coquette magazine and find out if Chloe works for them.” And heaven help her if she did… Chloe stepped out of the shower and hurried to get ready. She was going to be in such trouble. Estella Martinez was not going to be forgiving two days in a row. She shouldn’t have been careless enough to oversleep. And after spending the night in the room of a guest, no less. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to regret it. Last night had been incredible. Andrés had literally and figuratively swept her off her feet on multiple occasions. The dancing, the dining, the discussion. The lovemaking… Just the memory of it had her cheeks flushing and heat sliding throughout her body. After one last quick glance in the mirror, Chloe opened the bathroom door and stepped into the massive bedroom. But it was empty. In fact, it was entirely too quiet in the penthouse. She grabbed her backpack off the dresser and then left the bedroom. She glanced over the lush interior of the penthouse and discovered the balcony door half open. Andrés stood outside, looking out over the water. Her heart fluttered with just a glance at him. Tucking a damp hair behind her ear, she walked out to join him. “I need to leave for work,” she said, surprised to feel her cheeks were reddening. That she could even be shy after the night they’d shared seemed silly. Andrés didn’t respond at first, and there was a stillness in him that sent a frisson of unease through her. He turned slowly to face her, his eyes shockingly void of emotion. “Yes. I supposed you’d better.” There was no warmth in his tone. Something had happened. Chloe swallowed hard and a massive knot formed in her stomach. For a moment she was certain his icy disposition was due to something she’d done, and had the crazy urge to retreat and run. But she stood her ground, silently chiding herself for being a fool to take whatever was bothering him personally. Perhaps he’d just received upsetting news? It couldn’t be directed at her. Not with the passionate night they’d shared. Never had she felt more cherished and desirable. Never had she connected with someone on such a deep level like she had with Andrés. Chloe took his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, only wanting to see the hardness from his eyes vanish for a moment. “I’ll miss you,” she said softly. “Will I see you later tonight?” Andrés’ mouth curled slightly, but it was hardly a smile. If anything, his eyes grew even colder. Instinctively she went to pull away, but his fingers tightened around hers. “Actually, no. I don’t think you will see me.” Her confidence faltered, her stomach took a nosedive. She said faintly, “Oh. You have other plans?” Again no reply. Until he suddenly jerked her hard against him, his arms wrapping around her like steel bands. Chloe’s heart slammed into her chest and she ran her tongue over suddenly dry lips. His move wasn’t about passion. This gleam in Andrés’ eyes might’ve held a flicker of desire, but there was so much more anger. And this time she didn’t fool herself into thinking it wasn’t directed at her. “Andrés.” She whispered his name, almost a plea, needing to know what she’d done. Whatever it was, she needed to set it right. “Did you think I wouldn’t find out, cariño?” “Find out what? I don’t understand. Please, Andrés, whatever I’ve done—” “You are a reporter?” She faltered, blinking in surprise. He knew about her job at the magazine? That wasn’t something she’d shared with anyone in Spain, and didn’t really want anyone to know about due to the article she was working on. So how had he discovered it? Chloe swallowed hard and then finally admitted, “I’m a part-time columnist.” “You were going to exploit me?” He stroked his thumb down her jawline. It was a light caress, but hardly tender. If anything, there was a tinge of fear in her when he approached the pulse in her neck. “No,” she whispered, with a short jerk of her head in denial. “Of course not.” Andrés arched a brow. “You had no intention of writing about me whatsoever?” Dammit. Her cheeks flooded with heat. How did he know this? Yes. She’d considered adding her romance with him in the article to put a spin on things. Had even taken notes if she’d decided to do it. But she would’ve been discreet with no last names or identifying factors about him. “You knew who I was all along, didn’t you, Chloe?” Apparently not. The heaviness in her stomach grew. Rose upward until it filled her throat with tightness. Oh, God. She was missing something. Something big. Just who was Andrés that he’d get so upset about her writing about him? She shook her head faster. “No. I promise you—” “I’m usually quite careful,” he continued softly. “Having the women in my bed thoroughly researched ahead of time.” The women in his bed. And she’d just become one of them. “A confidentiality contract signed,” he continued. “But you slipped under the radar. And that was your plan all along, wasn’t it, cariño? With that innocent act?” She blanched, struggling to catch her breath. “No.” “I’ll bet it was all staged. Bumping into me that night.” “No.” She jerked away from his grasp, putting distance between them. Each accusation he made stabbed into her like toxic darts. His eyes glittered with disgust. “And the American attacking you on the beach. Was that arranged as well, cariño? A friend of yours, perhaps? Is that why I’ve been unable to locate him?” She was going to be sick. The loathing on his face made everything inside her crumple with pain, made it almost impossible to breathe. What kind of woman did he think she was? Chloe wrapped her arms around her stomach and choked out, “You think I planned that?” “And why wouldn’t you? Gaining my trust by playing the damsel in distress—giving me access to your body,” he rasped and then gave a slow, cold smile. “In fact, I doubt this is your first time. Do you make it a practice to seduce men to get a story?” Fury overrode the pain, and she lashed her hand across his face with a tortured cry. Andrés grabbed her by the wrist and hauled her back against him. “Never make the mistake of hitting me,” he said, his tone turning glacial. “Even if the truth isn’t always pleasant to hear. Were you really so naïve to think you would get away with it?” Her mouth opened and it was on the tip of her tongue to scream the truth. That she had no idea who the hell he was. That she’d never slept with a man for a story and that he was only the second man she’d ever slept with, period. But why bother? Why defend herself to a man who was obviously nothing like she’d thought? He’d been an illusion. The passionate, considerate person she’d begun to fall for had just tainted himself with hideous words and accusations. He wasn’t gentle or loving but instead an assuming, ruthless bastard. Researching the women he sleeps with. She wanted to get sick. Wanted to purge her ridiculous notions of who she’d thought Andrés was. The only thing he’d gotten right about her was that she was naïve. Her heart clenched and she blinked back tears. God, she was a fool. The blood raged in Andrés veins, but he held his anger in check. Chloe’s cheeks filled with color and that sensual mouth that continued to tempt him began to quiver. She seemed about to say something, to explain—as if there could be an explanation—and then her mouth closed with obvious resolution. Andrés wanted nothing more than to claim that mouth in a kiss, even now with how furious he was at her deception. Her soft curves pressed against him and his groin stirred, pressing into the softness of her belly. Still holding her with one arm, he lifted her chin so he could search her face For a moment he could’ve sworn he saw pain in her eyes, but then she squeezed them closed. Something inside his own chest tightened and he drew in a slow breath. “It is much too late for regrets, cariño,” he said, surprised to find his tone gentling. Her lashes fluttered back up and there was such intense anger in her gaze, he knew he must’ve imagined the previous emotion. “The only thing I regret is ever letting you touch me.” Andrés allowed the foreign feeling of disappointment to flow through him. The laugh he finally gave was derisive. “You touched me as well. Quite skillfully, might I add. But then it was all in a day’s work. No?” She was a good actress. Quite good, really. The way she feigned shock and the flicker of hurt in her eyes. But he didn’t believe they were valid emotions for one moment. He was done playing the fool. He was done letting his desire for her control his mind. “There will be no article about me, Chloe,” he warned in a hard tone. She gave a bitter laugh and shook her head. “Trust me, the article my editor approved would be a far cry from the one I’d be tempted to write about you at this point, Andrés.” So she admitted it. Made no attempts to even deny she’d been seeking to use him in a story. His jaw hardened and any potential for sympathy faded. He released her, forcing himself to ignore the tightening of his chest and step back. “I’ll leave now.” She turned, her body stiff as she strode toward the door. Everything primal within him protested her leaving, and he cursed himself for the unwanted reaction. She hadn’t been real. Chloe had been nothing but a carefully created fantasy to manipulate her way into his life. Control his emotions. All for the credit of an article in some trashy American magazine. But she was a fool. Andrés Montero would never make the mistake of opening up and giving anyone ammunition for a story about himself. And even more so, he would never let them into his heart. So very numb, Chloe moved toward the door to the penthouse, surprised how easily he let her leave. But then, why should she be surprised? Not after every vile, horrific allegation he’d slapped her with. Her throat tightened with tears she refused to let free. She snuck one last glance back at Andrés’s face and flinched. His gaze was hard, with his handsome face twisted into an expression of disdain now. Turning, she continued toward the door to the penthouse. Waiting for the sound of footsteps. Waiting for him to stop her. But again, the only thing that was proved was her naiveté. It was in the elevator, riding down to the ground floor, that she lost the ability to hold back her tears. She scrubbed them from her cheeks, letting herself admit her complete lapse in judgment with Andrés. How could she have been so absolutely stupid? Jumping into bed with a man she barely knew. It was that old diary and the article she was writing. Somewhere deep down, she must’ve harbored the silliest fantasy that she’d find something similar to the love described between its weathered pages. Chloe swallowed hard and bit her cheek to stop the tears from falling. Jeez. What a class-act fool she was. Not only had she given her body to a man she shouldn’t have, but she’d come dangerously close to falling for him too. She’d been vulnerable, she told herself, arriving in Spain while still grieving. She’d let herself succumb to a gentleness and protectiveness in Andrés that obviously had never existed; had been as much of an illusion as he believed her to be. The elevator stopped, and Chloe rushed blindly out, making her way to the employee restroom. Seeing that she was already late, she would just take a few minutes to clean herself up. Staring in the mirror, she shook her head and sucked in a ragged breath. At least she still had her job, she reminded herself. She’d get through this. She would. Andrés was a guest—albeit apparently an important one—who would no doubt be gone in a few days, and then hopefully he’d fade from her heart just as quickly. Her chest tightened at the thought and she knew she was being unrealistically optimistic. She left the bathroom and headed down the hallway, telling herself to look at it like a brief vacation fling. It wasn’t as if there were any lasting percussions. Except the scars on your heart, the astringent voice inside her piped up. When she entered the employee lounge, she heard her name called. Turning, she saw Estella Martinez striding toward her. “Señorita Wilkinson, what are you doing?” the older woman asked sharply. Chloe hesitated, taken aback by the hostility in her employer’s demeanor. “I was going to start work. I’m terribly sorry I’m late.” Señora Martinez stared for a moment, then her red painted mouth curved into a satisfied smile. “You’re not just late. You’re fired.” Chloe reared back, her heart stopping. Panic slammed into her. No, not on top of everything else. She couldn’t lose her job too. If she lost her job, she couldn’t stay in Spain. “You’re firing me?” “No, I’m not,” the manager practically purred. “Andrés Montero is.” The blood drained from her face and Chloe shook her head, wanting to deny the words. “He has that kind of power? To have me terminated?” Señora Martinez’s smile widened, and Chloe had the distinct impression the other woman was enjoying this entirely too much. “Are you really this dim? I thought you knew—I was informed you were extra cozy with him last night.” She paused, then went in for the kill. “Señor Montero owns Diablo’s Paraíso and a few dozen five-star resorts throughout Europe.” The room spun, and Chloe gripped the wall to keep from falling. Andrés Montero. The name finally, completely sunk in. How had she not seen it? He wasn’t some random, elite guest. When he’d said he had the power to save her job, he’d been dead serious. This was Andrés’ resort. He not only had the power to save her job, but to take it too. As he’d just proven. Her entire world was crumbling. She closed her eyes, fighting the merciless waves of shock. Faintly she heard her manager telling her to clean out her locker and leave. Two days later, Andrés received the package. He’d just completed his business at the resort and was packing to fly out to Paris later that evening. He needed to get away from this hotel, from the reminder of Chloe. His temper had been quick to ignite lately; his mood had never been quite as foul. When Pablo strode into the room carrying the small package, Andrés bit back a snarl of annoyance at the interruption. He kept himself in check, giving a nod of thanks while he accepted it. There was no return address and the padded envelope simply had his name on the front. He ripped it open, only mildly curious to see what was inside. But his interest increased tenfold when he pulled free the black silky halter dress and heels he’d bought her. There was no note. Nothing personal except for the surprising return of the one gift he’d bestowed on her. “When was this delivered?” he demanded swiftly, turning to Pablo. “Just minutes ago, Señor.” Which meant she was likely in the building… Unwanted excitement poured through Andrés’ blood. He crumpled the dress in his fist. Dammit. He shouldn’t care one ounce where Chloe was and what she was doing. The woman who’d enchanted him had been nothing but a carefully woven fantasy. Their time together a lie. She’d gone to bed with him not because she’d shared that same shocking chemistry, but because he was a hot-topic story for her magazine. He drew in a slow breath, careful not to reveal the turbulent thoughts in his head to Pablo. He prided himself on his ability to keep his emotions controlled. “Señorita Wilkinson is at work?” he asked calmly. Pablo cleared his throat. “No, Señor. Someone else delivered the package. Chloe’s position at the resort has been terminated.” Andrés stilled. Terminated? “By whom?” “Señora Martinez.” Alarm stabbed sharply in Andrés’ gut. He shook his head and turned away from his assistant. Estella had fired Chloe? On what grounds? Because she’d been tardy for work? “Do we have an address in Valencia for Chloe?” he murmured absently, not quite sure why he was even asking. He couldn’t possibly be considering reinstating her job, could he? “We do,” Pablo said carefully. “But it is no longer valid. Señorita Wilkinson flew back to America yesterday morning, Señor.” The announcement slammed into him like a fist to his stomach. Could it possibly be true? But the expression of regret on his assistant’s eyes left little doubt of the validity of his statement. Chloe was gone. She was literally thousands of miles and an ocean away from him now. Gone from his life as quickly as she’d come into it. So why was he not thinking good riddance? Guilt pricked deep, and was maddeningly persistent. He couldn’t brush it off. Not while knowing the greeting Chloe would find from her magazine employer when she returned to America. She is no longer your problem. “Very well then,” Andrés finally said. “Have my bags carried down, and prepare the driver to take me to the airport to fly to Paris.” Turning on his heel, Andrés strode out of the penthouse suite, pressing the button to call the elevator. Chloe had made her bed, and now she would lie in it. He had no reason for guilt, no reason to even be thinking of her any longer. The elevator doors slid open. He stepped inside and hit the button to go down, and closed his eyes. Unfortunately, the image that greeted him behind closed lids was of Chloe in his arms. Sweet and vulnerable. Crying out with pleasure when he’d claimed her. An illusion. He opened his eyes once more and stared at the paneled walls inside the elevator. He would forget Chloe ever existed. There had been women prior to her, and there would certainly be many after. Chloe pulled off her sneakers, fell back onto the couch, then rubbed her aching feet. Another double shift at the diner, serving greasy food to cranky patrons for the last sixteen hours. Quite the far cry from the posh resort in Spain she’d been at just a couple of months ago. She shook her head and laughed. Only it wasn’t really a laugh, more of a hysterical whimper. One that quickly morphed into a choked sob while fat tears rolled down her face. She hadn’t thought it could get any worse. Not after returning to America and discovering the diary and her notes were missing. No doubt taken by Andrés, apparently the reason behind his assumption that she was a dirty reporter willing to do anything for a story. And his absurd belief had ultimately led to the dreadful call from her editor. Tracy had been beside herself, apologizing and ranting in the same breath as she’d fired Chloe. How could Chloe be so foolish? Sleeping with such a powerful man and wanting to write about it? Andrés was threatening a lawsuit that could crumple the entire magazine, which left them no option but to promise to fire Chloe and not run the article. Fired from the resort. Fired from the magazine. And now this. Her watery gaze slid to the coffee table and to where the results of the pregnancy test still sat in a plastic sandwich bag. She was pregnant with Andrés’ child. She was an i***t. Because she hadn’t even considered the possibility of a pregnancy after the initial panic they’d had that night. She’d been certain conceiving would be a challenge when the time came. And now, one time without a condom and she was pregnant. Pregnant with the child of a man who’d singlehandedly wrecked her life and yet, as much as she resented it, still had part of her heart. Chloe pressed a palm to her belly and closed her eyes. Her pulse quickened and something inside of her softened with warmth. She was going to have Andrés’ baby. It would be a tangible reminder of their passion and of their two soul-changing nights together, before everything had gone terribly wrong. She couldn’t be happy about the pregnancy, could she? And yet… But how on earth can you afford a baby? The stressful reminder stabbed at her again and caused another flood of tears. She was barely staying afloat financially as it was. Three weeks ago she’d nearly been evicted from her apartment until some unknown person had paid off the amount she’d been short, plus an extra two months’ rent. Chloe suspected the good samaritan was Martha, another waitress at the restaurant, though she’d never admitted it. Martha was also the same friend who’d insisted she take the pregnancy test. Chloe’d been getting sick for two weeks straight like clockwork, but had refused to consider what the symptoms could potentially mean. Chloe had been reluctant to take it, because denying the possibility of a baby was really so much easier if she didn’t have proof. But now there was no ignoring it. She swept her hand over her belly where there was additional proof—her jeans were growing snug. A swell of panic and helplessness took root inside her. She knew the right thing to do was to inform Andrés. But just the idea of facing him again made everything within her recoil at the idea. And yet, you’re carrying his child. Unlike when she was in Spain, she now knew exactly who Andrés Montero was. How she could’ve ever failed to recognize him in the first place was inexplicable. He was routinely found in business magazines and papers, often making headlines because of his ruthlessness in acquiring small resorts and hotels that were in financial woes and then transforming them into five-star luxury resorts. And the tabloids went nuts trying to find out all they could about one of the sexiest, wealthiest bachelors in Europe. They followed him to all the public events. Analyzed any woman who appeared on his arm. She wondered how he’d ever taken her out in Valencia without such scrutiny. Andrés was power and magnetism personified. Women wanted him and men just wanted to be him. All she had to do was look at his picture and her pulse raced, her body tingled, and she was recreating all the feelings that had gotten her into trouble in the first place. On her coffee table she had the latest issue of a gossip magazine, flipped to the page he was on. Andrés looked just as devastatingly handsome as when she’d met him at the resort over the summer. But what made her absolutely sick was the woman draped on his arm in this picture. Estella Martinez, the manager of Diablo’s Paraíso, was curled up against Andrés’ tall frame, her smile smug and her body spilled into a tight red dress. While Chloe carried his child, Andrés had already moved on to another woman. But then, why would she expect anything else? It’s not as if their time together had meant anything to him. Her heart twisted, even while anger burned low in her gut. For the briefest moment she considered not telling him. What could it hurt if he never knew? A shiver ran down her spine and she shook her head. Andrés was a ruthless man. When he’d believed she’d slept with him just to get a story for a magazine, he’d shredded her career as effortlessly as if he’d swatted a fly on the wall. If he found out she kept a baby from him…