The Playboy's Baby: A BWWM Pregnancy Romance (7 page)

“I’m still here,” Raymond said. His voice was soft and Janie had to bring her phone close to her ear to hear his words. “I wasn’t expecting an apology Janie. I should be the one apologizing to you. I dragged you into this mess by not telling you that I had a fiancée. When we broke up, I asked her not to dirty your name in any way—”

“Yeah?” Janie asked with a laugh. “How do you think that worked out?”

Raymond chuckled along. “Apparently, she was a little more upset than she let on. I thought my threats were enough to keep her in line, but I misjudged her lack of empathy.”

“You threatened her?” Janie scoffed.

“Well, I wasn’t going to just let her talk about you in that way. I thought I could appeal to her sense of honor, but my mistake was assuming she had a soul.”

“Well, thank you for trying to retain my honor and dignity. It was a good effort, I think.” Janie took her phone and moved over to sit on the couch in her office. She propped up her feet and piled pillows behind her back. Comfortable, she closed her eyes and sighed. “Listen, Raymond, I was thinking. If it’s alright with you, I’d like us to remain friends. Maybe I could come back out to the yacht sometime.”

“Friends?” Raymond barked into the phone. “Janie, I’m not the least bit interested in being friends—”

Janie’s heart sank. She hoped after everything the two of them had been through that they could remain close for the baby’s sake. They were both mature adults. At least, Janie had hoped they were both mature enough to have a platonic relationship with one another in order to raise a healthy, happy child. But maybe she had given Raymond’s maturity level too much credit.

“I don’t want to be friends,” Raymond reiterated into the phone, his voice clear and loud with authority. Janie had no problem hearing him now. “I want us to be lovers. If you want to come out to the boat again, expect to be ravaged completely before I ever let you off.” Raymond breathed hard into the phone. Janie’s heart hammered in her chest. It was a moment before either of them spoke. “What about dinner on the yacht, Friday night at seven-thirty?” Raymond finally asked.

"Friday night is Christmas Eve,” Janie reminded Raymond.

“Do you have other plans?” Raymond asked.

“What about Denise?” Janie asked. “I would think you would want to lay low right now after all of her unsettling accusations—”

“I don’t care what Denise thinks or says to the media. Denise never meant anything to me. You are the only person I can think about. The only person I dream about. And it is driving me insane. Please say you’ll come on Friday. I have to see you again.”

Janie hesitated, clicking her nails against her thigh as she carefully weighed her options. She wanted to totally trust Raymond one hundred percent, but she wasn’t sure if he really was ready to give up his playboy side. But she missed the way he touched her, the way his mouth seared her flesh as his lips crawled up and down her body. Her thighs tingled just thinking having his hands pressed against her. Janie knew could definitely get used to weekends on Raymond’s boat.

“I’ll have the chef make whatever you want. Steak and lobster? Shrimp scampi? Name it and it’s yours.”

“And for dessert?” Janie asked seductively.

Raymond sighed into the phone. Janie heard the longing and desire in his pent up breath. “I think we could scrounge up something nice. You’d look nice covered in strawberries and whipped cream, and I would love to lick champagne out of your navel…and nether regions.”

A shiver of delight crackled up Janie’s spine at the thought of Raymond putting his tongue anywhere near her nether regions. A flash of heat spread through her inner thighs. She pressed her palm into the edge of the couch and suppressed the urge to moan into the phone.

“Will you come?” Raymond asked. His voice was deep, filled with a desire that permeated the air as if he stood next to Janie, breathing against her neck as his hands slid up and down her chest.

“What should I wear?” Janie asked in a puff of lustful breath. “I don’t think there’s enough time for you to send me another dress. And the undies you sent last time were a bit…tasteless.”

Raymond laughed unrestrained into the phone. A growing desire filled every inch of Janie’s body at the waves of raw sexiness that rolled over her ears. She felt Raymond’s smile on the other end of the line and could almost see his pearly white teeth turned up in a devilish grin as he said, “Your best bet? Absolutely nothing.”

THE END

Message From The Author:

Hiii

I hope you enjoyed the main book. Keep reading as there is something more for you!

As promised and as part of this special package there is a bonus book included that has never previously been released anywhere before and you can start reading this now on the next page!

Enjoy

Tasha x x

BONUS BOOK

HIS ASSISTANT'S BABY

TASHA BLUE

About This Book:

Being personal assistant to powerful lawyer Rafe was a brilliant job for Cheryl. However, one faithful night things became very complicated.

An office affair developed and it soon became much more as Cheryl found herself pregnant. Rafe must now face up to the fact that he is the father of his assistant's baby and that includes everything that is about to come with it...

HIS ASSISTANT'S BABY 

Chapter One

Cheryl stared down at the motionless body, the dead eyes staring back at her with what she could only assume was malice and hatred. She could have screamed. She could have flailed her arms around like the love interest in a horror movie. But instead, she merely picked a spatula out of her utensil rack and poked it with the handle end. The body rocked from side to side. Rigor mortis had already set in. Its eyes were now focused on the popcorn ceiling of her small one bedroom apartment. The fur covering its tiny paws were sticking straight out. She hated rats. At this point in time, she wasn’t sure if she hated dead rats or live ones more.

As Cheryl stood in her bathrobe, she contemplated calling the super to get rid of it but with his track record and her already being late for work, she decided that a quick removal would be best. She flipped the spatula around and scooped it up, then plopped it in the garbage bag. Then she plopped the spatula in as well. As she tightened the drawstring on the white plastic bag, she had images of the beast coming back to life; apparently, she had seen The Nutcracker one too many times as a child.

She waved goodbye as she dumped the bag into the trash chute just across the hallway. Her head bowed down as she said a short prayer in her head, “Thank god. I couldn’t take your squeaking through the walls anymore. Rest in peace.” As she turned around, she could feel someone scanning her entire body but there was no one in the hallway. Her eyes turned toward her neighbor’s door. She could see movement from under the door – shadows of his feet shifting from side to side.

“I can see you, Paul,” she said. There was a shuffle and the shadows quickly disappeared.  She adjusted her robe and walked back into her apartment. There was still time to take a quick shower before picking up the dry cleaning and heading to the office.

Inside her tiny apartment, the living room was littered with books, most were leather bound and antique-y looking. However, in between the sophisticated and classy looking literature were hardback books about prenatal care and self-help books about “becoming a better person” and “ways to be a successful person”. All of which had cheesy looking covers where the authors were pointing expectantly at the reader.

On her way to the bathroom, she passed a stack of textbooks and law books – an expensive reminder of how she often spent her nights instead of going out to the bar with her friends. They called her often but their calls were only answered by her voicemail.

As she arrived at her bedroom, she stripped off her robe, revealing a pair of black lace undies and a pink tank top. Her room was neat and organized – a clear sign that she hardly spent any time there. In fact, most nights she fell asleep at her desk or on the couch amidst her cityscape of books.

She let out a long sigh and rubbed her neck as she adjusted the temperature of the water in her bathroom. She had fallen asleep at her desk last night. Her shoulder and neck screamed in agony.
A hot shower should fix it,
she said to herself.
At least I hope so. I don’t want to spend the rest of the day like this. Not today, at least.

The water ran down her flawless skin and felt phenomenal. It was just what she needed before a long hard day at the office. It was closing day, so everyone would be both exhausted and anxious, which could potentially be a deadly mix when it came to high-powered, privileged executives. Lots of paperwork today; lots of filing. Long hours and even longer hours once everyone headed home.

Closing days were always wrought with emotion for everyone in a suit. For her, the best part of the day was always after everyone left for drinks. Not because she liked to go drinking with them, no, no, no… It was because the offices were silent. Everyone would either be at the bar or at home and the only ones left at the office were the dedicated, mousey associates, the secretaries, and the personal assistants. She would often bring in her books on those days so she could study at the office after finishing the paperwork and filing it away.

*   *   *

The building was already a buzz at seven o’ clock in the morning. Cheryl stepped into the foyer in a grey pantsuit that showed off her long legs and slender build. Her long wavy hair settled on her shoulders and bounced playfully as she made her way across the marble floor and into the elevator. With a garment bag draped over her left arm, her heels clacked faster and faster as she ran to the quickly closing doors. A hand suddenly jutted out from inside the elevator, triggering the doors to stay open for her.

“Good morning, Miss Goode,” said the sharply dressed man inside the lift. “Tenth floor?”

Cheryl nodded. “Yep. How are you doing today, Mayor Stevens?”

The Mayor shrugged. “I’ve got a seven thirty meeting with Rochester about the new claims that my – ahem – wife is making.” He rolled his eyes. “Soon to be ex-wife of course. Can’t wait for that.” He took a deep breath. She could see the buttons on his suit jacket strain to keep it together during the process. He was a rather large man and reminded her of Santa Claus without the beard.

Cheryl looked down onto the tile floor. “I hope everything goes smoothly.”

“As do I. I just can’t wait for this to be over already. Between her stupid antics and the angry phone calls from the teacher’s union, I’m liable to just run away.”

Cheryl could feel his eyes on her. She turned her head to face him. His warm eyes smiled at her. “If I ran away, would you come with me?”

She chuckled. “Not until after the divorce,” she said.

Mayor Stevens let out a loud belly laugh. “Yes, of course. Of course.”

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. Mayor Stevens stepped off and waved a salutation at Cheryl before the doors closed again. Alone in the quiet elevator, her right arm, free of any object, clutched her abdomen. She looked down at her hand, which rested on her white shirt. The contrast of her shirt against her skin reminded her of elementary school. The kids never really knew what to make of her. She wasn’t as dark as the other black kids in the class but she wasn’t as light as the other kids either. Her friends always expected her father or her mother to be white and were surprised to find out that they were both black. The schoolkids didn’t care. They called her “mulatto” anyway.

Her child though, the one growing in her right now, would be called mulatto and it would be the truth. But Cheryl was determined not to raise her child with such derogatory terms. She would raise her child to know that both of her parents love her, no matter what. Cheryl’s hand moved from side to side, caressing her still flat abdomen. She wasn’t quite showing  yet, but it would be any day now and she didn’t know how to break it to anyone.

It was the ding of the elevator that brought her back to reality. The doors opened and revealed the busy tenth floor of the Rochester-Raymond & Associates building. She stepped off the elevator  and waltzed into the crowd. The tenth floor was reserved for Paul Rochester and Associates.  They were just finishing up a big murder trial and Cheryl knew not to get in the way. She shifted around the bustling people in three thousand dollar suits and made her way to the back office.

The heavy oak door had a white frosted glass window with the name Patrick Raymond (though everyone called him “Rafe”) scrawled across it. Just beyond the door was a small room with a desk, a duo of tall filing cabinets, a small rug, a leather couch, and a large Sansevieria Trifasciata plant growing out of an ornate red pot.

Cheryl quickly set her  purse down on her desk and knocked on the door at the other end of the room. “Rafe?” she asked.

“Come on in.” His voice was small, but it always was. Patrick was a soft-spoken man – almost painfully shy. But he knew what he wanted and when he was in front of the other associates, at the head of a meeting, or even in a courtroom, his presence enveloped everyone in the vicinity. He was almost a different man when determined. She’d seen it in him before.

She opened the door slowly, almost expecting to accidentally barge in on him in a meeting but he was alone, sitting at his desk, and reading a paper. “Have you seen this?” he asked. He held the paper up in the air. “The Times already called our victory, even before the jury came out.” He let out a small chuckle. The twinkle in his bright blue eyes made Cheryl’s knees go weak, but she tried not to show it.

“I have your dry cleaning,” she said, hanging up the garment bag. When she turned back around to face him, his gaze had already moved back to the paper. She watched his small motions as his eyes darted from one paragraph to another. His thin lips formed a small smile as he continued to read.

His icy good looks often got him out of trouble and she wondered if they ever got him in trouble as well. His build was strong with a thin face and a long nose that was often overlooked because of his warm smile or his kind eyes. He looked up at her, probably because he felt her eyes on him. His cheeks flushed a little, adding a touch more color to his tan face. “Oh.”

She smiled, trying to play it off. “I’m thinking about going on a coffee run in a little bit. George still only has that Colombian brew stuff in the break room. I know you don’t really like it that much...”

“You know what I like,” he said, not even looking up from the paper. Before she could make it out the door he added, “How are you feeling?”

“What do you mean?” she asked as she turned to face him. Her hands automatically went to her stomach.

“Can I get you something?” He stood up from his desk. He was in his white button down shirt, his tie was draped across his desk and his suit jacket was hanging off the back of his chair. Rafe made his way around his desk and stood in front of her. The concern in his eyes made her gaze drop down to the floor.

“I’m fine,” she finally managed. “I’m fine. The doctors say that everything is normal and that I have nothing to worry about.”

“Well, since we’re alone do you want to talk about—"

“No,” she blurted out. Her reaction caught them both by surprise. She took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Really. I don’t need any special treatment or anything.” She kept her gaze down at the floor. She couldn’t look him in the eyes or she might say something that she would regret like “Take me now” or “Your shirt would look great crumpled in a pile on the floor” or—

She watched as Rafe’s hand reached up and lifted her chin so that she would have to look at him. His touch was gentle, just like she had imagined. Their eyes met. This is where she imagined herself swooning and falling into his arms but instead she just gave him a confident smile. “I’m fine. Really. Nothing to worry about.”

He nodded. “All right. All right. Don’t say I never offered you anything.” His smile turned into a coy grin.

Oh no,
Cheryl thought.
You’re not going to get me with that. I’ve got control of this conversation. You can’t just smile and-
The phone in Cheryl’s office began to ring.
Dammit
.