Christmas Baby for the Billionaire (South Shore Billionaires 1)

“You really do believe everything, don’t you? About it being yours and everything?”

He let out a sigh. “I didn’t react so well when I saw you were pregnant. But yes, I believe you.”

“When the baby is born we can do a DNA test. I wasn’t going to do an amnio if I could avoid it. The idea freaks me out.”

“A what?”

“An amniocentesis. It’s a test where they insert this needle and withdraw a bit of the amniotic fluid—”

He shuddered. “Ouch, and gross.”

She laughed. “Yeah. And there are some risks involved. I didn’t want to take any chances.”

“So you really do want the baby.”

She nodded. “I do. It wasn’t planned, but I... I don’t have much family. And I like children, a lot.”

Her clock hadn’t really begun ticking yet, not at twenty-eight, but she couldn’t lie. She’d been starting to think about a family the last few years. This pregnancy was inconvenient and a shock, yes. But also a blessing.

“I’m not close to mine, as you might have gathered.” He took a long pull of his beer and pursed his lips. “I’m closest to my sister, and we both live in New York so we see each other most of anyone. But my brother... He’s on his third marriage already and does his own thing.”

“And your mom?”

“She’s still at the family home in Connecticut. Married to my stepfather. Socializing with the right people, that sort of thing. My dad left and she got the house. Not much else, but we all had our trust funds and she married again within a few years. She made sure she was looked after.”

There was a bitterness in his voice he couldn’t disguise, and Tori wondered about the little boy he must have been. “I take it she wasn’t the nurturing type?”

He laughed—a short, mocking sound. “Not an ounce,” he replied, then drained his beer glass. He got up, went to the minibar, and took out a bottle of Cape Breton whiskey, adding a significant splash to a highball glass. He swirled it for a moment before turning and looking at her. “My mom was a social climber. I didn’t know it then, but I know it now. I see the type. And when Dad left, she lost her ticket. She would have had to sell the house and finish bringing us up on her own. Instead she married Bruce, and since she came with the house, he brought the rest of his money and status was restored. Some investments on her part paid for our college. Bruce, apparently, was more than happy to pay my four years of tuition to boarding school. I wasn’t really home after I finished eighth grade.”

He downed the whiskey in one gulp, and poured another.

She sat quietly. First of all, clearly the topic was painful to him, because he was fortifying himself with alcohol. And secondly, as much as his words were delivered in a factual, who-gives-a-care way, she could tell that the lack of affection had left its mark on him.

Tori couldn’t imagine not loving your own child, or considering them in the way. Or sending them away, at such a difficult age.

“Where did you go?”

“Merrick Hall, an all-boys school in Connecticut. Very Dead Poets Society with old buildings and rituals and dormitories. Top-notch learning, though.” He must have seen her alarmed look because he attempted a smile and went to her. “It was fine, really,” he assured her. “I belonged there. I met my best friends there. And despite my cold family, I do have some really great friends.”

Tori let out a breath. “Oh, of course you do. But now I understand your reluctance. Do you still see your mother? Your stepfather?”

He nodded. “Now and again. Despite everything, she is my mother.”

Tori was glad. Estrangement could be such a horrible thing.

“So now you know what I didn’t want to talk about over lunch.” He sipped at his drink this time, to her relief. “I don’t know what kind of father I’ll make. But I promise to try. Any kid of mine is going to feel wanted and loved. Not in the way.”

He said it with such finality that Tori’s heart broke just a little. She’d been brought up in a home with so much love. It was incomprehensible to think of a parent being so careless and dismissive, but she knew it happened.

She looked up at Jeremy, at his dark hair and stormy eyes and cheeks, slightly flushed from the day’s wind and the warm whiskey. She wanted to reach up and brush the errant curl off his forehead, to smooth the creases on his forehead, to see his lips curve in a smile again. But she kept her hands to herself, knowing that touching him, kissing him, would only make matters more complicated than they already were.

“Then we’re going to be fine,” she whispered, twisting her fingers together to keep from reaching out. “Because that’s what I want, too. And we’ll figure out the rest of the details somehow.”

Their gazes held for a few seconds, and then a few seconds more, long enough for something to stir between them. Her body remembered what his felt like and ached to feel it pressed against her again. She remembered how he tasted, the way he angled his head to kiss her, and how he nibbled at her lower lip before taking a kiss deeper.

She stepped back, unwilling to cross that line again. “I should go. It’s getting late and I’m on shift again tomorrow.”

“When do you get a day off?”