Pregnant by the CEO

“This is your fault.” Noah shook his head then slipped into the hallway, but not before taking one final shot. “You’ll see.”

* * *

It had been three days since they’d had sex. Every night they’d pretend to go into his bedroom together then she’d sneak out. Inevitably, about fifteen minutes later there would be a knock on the door. Derrick saying good-night. Derrick kissing her. Last night, Derrick tunneling his hands up her shirt and touching her, which she’d absolutely encouraged.

But when he showed an interest in more, she pulled back. She had to until she could get her thoughts in order. Being there, the domesticity, it all felt real. The first time together had been all consuming. She wanted to act like she could handle a no-strings fake relationship and walk away, but she wasn’t sure.

She waited for those before-bed visits. Yearned for them with a fierceness that scared her. Last night she sat on her bed, staring at the doorknob, willing it to turn. It took him a full eighteen minutes to show up. She’d spent every one of those extra seconds counting down, trying to drown out the doubts welling inside her and making her jumpy.

That sort of unsettled sensation couldn’t be normal. It had her reassessing, even as she knew she’d give in. Because she wanted to give in. She wanted more from him, for them…and that was the problem.

Now, they were out in public. All dressed up, with him in a tux that looked like he’d been born to wear. The black coat with his nearly black hair…she’d actually made a small pfffing sound when he’d come out of the bedroom. No one should look that good. Ever.

When Derrick mentioned a charity gala a few days ago, she’d told him she planned to be sick that day. Gala sounded like an opportunity for more cameras and she was about done with that part of their arrangement. He responded by threatening to drag her to it in her gym shorts, which left her no choice but to borrow a fancy dress from Vanessa. Thank goodness for those money-raising gallery events Vanessa hosted all the time.

The gown was beautiful in a princess sort of way. It had a fitted sleeveless top covered with beads and a long, flowing, light blue skirt in a fabric soft enough to beat out those expensive sheets Derrick had at the house. Vanessa was taller, so Ellie had on three-inch heels she was pretty sure would snap her ankle in two if she stepped the wrong way.

Vanessa also wore a smaller bra size, so the top of the dress, while stunning and sparkly, was also slowly strangling Ellie. She put her hand on her stomach and tried to figure out how to permanently suck it in. “I think I’m going to pop.”

Derrick looked over at her. His gaze slipped to her hand, which had moved to her chest. “I have no idea what to say to that.”

“The bodice on this is a bit tight.” It was choking her. But why be dramatic about it? “It has to be to hold everything in, but wow.”

His gaze shifted to the tops of her breasts, which were spilling out more than they probably should be. “Well, we wouldn’t want anything sliding out.”

“It’s Vanessa’s fault. My boobs are bigger.” She touched them as if she needed to emphasize the point.

“Okay, yeah. I’m purposely not going to talk about your best friend’s body.”

Ellie couldn’t help but smile at that. He looked on the defensive and a little haunted by the idea. “Good call.”

“I’m not a total dumb-ass.” He took a sip of his champagne as he glanced at the dance floor.

A few couples moved around, looking stiff and out of place. Between this event and the one where she’d met Derrick, Ellie had come up with a theory. Many DC business people didn’t exactly thrive in social situations.

Derrick looked perfectly suited to the room. Just as he looked great behind his desk and adorable in the morning in his lounge pants as he sipped his coffee in the kitchen. She’d never met anyone who “fit” into any situation like he did before.

“You are such a guy.” The comment slipped out before she could think it through.

Derrick being Derrick, he did not let it slide by him. “I’m going to regret this but…what?”

“You look like that.” She waved a hand over him, up and down as she took in every perfect inch. “You probably get up looking like that.”

He followed her gaze. “I don’t generally wear the tux to bed.”

“Well, you should. You look ridiculously hot.” When his eyebrow lifted and his attention switched from half scanning the room to full force on her, she snorted. “Oh, please. Don’t look surprised. You own a mirror. I’m sure there will be a thousand photos of us all over the internet tomorrow and you can see for yourself.”