Unprotected: A Secret Baby

“We’re here, Mr. Lincoln,” said the chauffeur.

Distracted, I glanced up as the car stopped. Yep, sure enough, we were at Maggie’s place. The front door opened then, and out bounced my best girl with a sweet smile

Fuck, she looked amazing.

Under the pretty yellow sundress, those big boobies jiggled and swayed. And shit, those hips. I shifted in my seat as she slid in, dick already hard and ready to take.

No other woman did this to me. Ever.

“Good morning,” the pretty brunette murmured, kissing me on the cheek. A waft of floral perfume drifted over my senses, mixed in with the heady smell of musk.

“You look nice,” I grunted, hands already itching to stroke and feel.

But Maggie was playful today.

“Thank you, Mr. Fiancé,” came a giggle. “So what are we doing this afternoon?” she asked, making herself comfortable, nestling into the leather. I had half a mind to tell the driver to drive in circles while I made love to my girl in the backseat. But that wasn’t right. There were important things that needed to get done.

I cleared my throat.

“You ready for your ring?”

Her mouth flew open, eyes wide.

“My-my ring?” she stammered, cheeks growing pink. “What ring?”

I smiled.

“No Lincoln bride goes without an engagement ring, sweetheart. So we’re going to pick out a diamond. What do you think?”

The girl couldn’t speak for a moment.

“A diamond?” she gasped. But then she stopped herself. “Evan,” she said slowly. “It’s not necessary. Really not necessary.”

But I wouldn’t hear of it. And I didn’t want to hear it, frankly. How this was just a business transaction. How I’d paid her ten thousand dollars to masquerade as my fiancée. It didn’t seem relevant at this point, the exchange of money so far in the past.

So I quashed her protests.

“You’re getting a ring,” I growled, blue eyes intense. “And that’s that.”

For once, my girl didn’t say anything in return, merely looking back before turning her gaze out the window.

And we drove in silence for a while, easing through the streets of Manhattan, towering highrises and corner bodegas crammed onto the same city block.

Within ten minutes, the car pulled up at an unmarked building, ramshackle with peeling paint. It didn’t look like a jewelry store, that was for sure. There were no glistening baubles under the bright lights, no fancy displays or security guards looming with firearms on the ready.

While the chauffeur waited in the car, I escorted my best girl up the steps, ringing the bell.

“Where are we?” Maggie asked in a low voice. “What is this place?”

I didn’t blame her. This was the opposite of Cartier or Tiffany. Instead, it looked like we were at a seedy back alley, about to enter an illegal gambling ring.

But seconds later, the door opened with an electronic chime before swinging shut silently behind our forms.

Two security guards stood there, burly and huge. But it was the space beyond that made Maggie gasp. Because despite the dingy exterior, inside no expense had been spared. The store was brightly lit with spotlights, each one highlighting priceless items below, baubles sparkling so bright that my eyes squinted involuntarily.

“Mr. Lincoln!” sang a male voice. “Welcome!”

Raul Lozano swept out from behind a counter, bowing and smiling like a courtesan. Thin and elegant with graying sideburns and stooped shoulders, Raul greeted me a limp handshake. But no matter. I’ve been doing business with the merchant for years. He was the one who made my sister’s graduation necklace, the one who designed my mom’s silver anniversary bracelet. So yeah, he’s quite the artisan.

“Is this the lovely lady?” Raul cooed. “Is this the Mrs. Lincoln to be?”

And I never saw Maggie blush so hard. But my words were straightforward.

“Yes, this is my fiancée,” came my firm tone. “We’re here to pick out an engagement ring.”

“Of course, of course!” cooed Raul, bowing elegantly. “Congratulations to the happy couple! Come with me, my dear, we’ve got quite a few things you should see.”

And just like that, we were swept into a private back room. Maggie stared like she couldn’t believe it, a cup of tea and cookies appearing at her side. But believe it, sweetheart. Private placement is the only way to go when you’re a billionaire, the salespeople catering to your every whim.

And not a moment was wasted. The gems came out, sparkling and brilliant, vivid with fire burning within. Raul gestured delicately, hands encased in white velvet gloves.

“These are the best we have,” he murmured. “Of course, there are others in the back if none are to your satisfaction.”

I grunted, my gaze sweeping over the tray. The stones were gorgeous of course. Every shade of diamond possible. Pink. Canary yellow. And of course, clear, brilliant white. Princess cut. Emerald cut. Even a few heart shaped ones in case my girl preferred a unique stone.

But they weren’t big enough. Not for a Lincoln bride, at least.