Christmas Baby for the Billionaire (South Shore Billionaires 1)

“What’s wrong?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm, concern etching her face. “You’re frowning.”

“Just thinking,” he replied, but consciously relaxed his features. “I should probably go up and put my thoughts together for Branson, and give him a call.”

“Right. I keep forgetting today was work for you.” She smiled, then looped her arm through his as they walked toward the lobby doors. “It was fun for me.”

He tried to ignore how good her arm felt around his, her body pressed close to his side. “It was for me, too. Not every day is like this, though.”

“Do you think your friend will put in an offer?”

“Perhaps.”

“Why Nova Scotia, instead of somewhere else? I mean, there’s Cape Cod. Or the Maine coast. What about the Hamptons? Don’t all the richest people live in the Hamptons?”

She was so sweet and artless. She was looking up at him with a playful smile and he fought the urge to simply turn her into his arms and kiss her lips. “I think there’s a family connection somehow,” he replied, swallowing against the urge to make a move. And that was all he’d say about Branson’s connection to Nova Scotia. The rest would require explaining about events of recent months, and he valued Bran’s privacy too much.

They stepped into the lobby, straight into warmth and hospitality and holiday cheer. A new addition—a ten-foot Christmas tree—was front and center, with sparkling white lights and blue plaid ribbon wrapped around its evergreen fullness. Clear, silver and blue ornaments shone from the tiny lights. “The Nova Scotia tartan,” he murmured, nodding at the tree. “The ribbon. Whose idea?”

“Every year a different department gets to decorate the tree. This year it was housekeeping.” She let go of his arm and walked to the tree, then plucked off an ornament and shook her head. “Oh, look at these,” she said, holding it out in her hand.

He took it from her palm and turned it over in his fingers. The ball was white but transparent, and in silver paint was the word Dream.

There were others, they discovered. Some said Rest. Others Relax and Indulge. “I bet Miriam made these,” Tori murmured, hanging one back on the tree. “She’s amazing.”

His mother would die before having handmade ornaments on her tree, and yet here he was in a luxury hotel and it was celebrated, not discouraged. The ornaments were as nice as any he’d seen, simple but elegant. At the top of each one was a perfect bow made from the same tartan pattern.

“You have some talented staff.” He ran his fingertips over the sharp needles of the tree. “And you let them thrive.”

“Everyone brings talents to the table. What kind of place would we be if we didn’t take their ideas into account? Some of them are very, very good.”

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, standing way too close to her. As if they suddenly realized it, he took a step back and Tori shifted away. But then the distance gave him a chance to see what was above her head. A large sprig of fresh mistletoe hung from the archway, and Tori was directly beneath it.

Before he could talk himself out of it, he stepped up to her and put his hand on the nape of her neck.

Alarmed eyes met with his. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

And then he pointed up, to the mistletoe above their heads. And when she looked back at him again, the confusion was gone and her face reflected back to him what he was feeling. Longing and fear together.

He leaned forward and touched his lips to hers, softly, testing. She was stiff, as if holding her breath, but the moment he paused and slid his fingers an inch through her hair, she relaxed and her lips opened a little. Just a bit, but enough that their mouths fitted together with a sweetness that shook him to the soles of his feet.

This woman. This moment. Carrying his child.

His head said he should not be kissing her. But to his heart it felt...right.

He didn’t let the kiss linger too long; he slid his fingers over the curve of her neck and moved away, a few inches at a time, marveling at the quick beat of his heart from such an innocent bit of contact. Her cheeks were flushed and her lips pink and plump, open as if in surprise.

“I couldn’t let perfectly good mistletoe go to waste,” he murmured, and he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. It was a mistake, because the taste of her lingered there. He’d be a liar if he said he didn’t want more.

“Then I think we should just say Merry Christmas and good-night,” she replied, taking a shaky breath.

“It’s not even dinnertime yet.”

“Then...goodbye, then. I mean... Damn. I said then twice. I just mean...”

Her stammer was adorable, and told him she was just as affected as he was.

“I’ll see you later. Then.” He added the last word and smiled, and before he could change his mind, walked to the stairs that would take him to his suite.

What she did for the rest of the evening was none of his business. None at all.