The Billionaire's Secret Babies

By: Penny Wylder

Not going to lie, though, I feel more than a little jealous at discovering these clothes. I slip on the shorts and shirt, wondering who the lucky woman who snagged a guy like Cassius is. She must be hot as hell – probably some towering European model with millionaire parents or something.

Someone the complete opposite of me, sitting here with bags under my eyes and my hair a wild mess, feeding the babies as I blink sleep out of my eyes. Like always, they woke me far earlier than I’d prefer. I love them but damn, how long until they’re old enough to sleep in to a reasonable hour in the mornings?

Once they’re fed and reasonably settled again, I decide that going back to sleep will be impossible. I’m wide awake by now – and thinking way too hard about who this mystery woman of Cassius’s must be.

As I pad barefoot out into the kitchen to start on breakfast, I tell myself it’s unfair to be jealous. After all, I don’t know this girl at all. She’s probably really nice. And cool.

But ugh, life is so unfair sometimes.

I root through the fridge. Yep, no way this guy is single – there’s actually food in here. I fish out some eggs, cheese, mushrooms and green peppers. Omelets are one of my favorite comfort foods, and it’s the least I can do to make Cassius breakfast after he so graciously let me crash here last night. After I missed my bus like an idiot.

Great first impressions all around, Manila, I think bitterly.

I’ve finished the omelets and have moved on to frying some bacon when my spine suddenly starts to tingle. I turn around to find Cassius leaning against the doorway, watching me, his expression unreadable.

So much for telling myself not to be jealous. Fuck that other girl, I think, staring at him wide-eyed for a second. He’s just the perfect amount of sleep-tousled, his hair a wavy mess around his forehead, dressed in sweatpants that sag just far enough down his hips that I can follow his happy trail a little too well – someone does not wear boxers to bed. And his T-shirt is tight as hell, hugging him closely enough that I can make out every line and cut of his muscular body.

I want to be that damn shirt.

“Good morning,” he says, his voice somehow deeper, sexier than I remembered.

I swallow hard. He’s still staring, blatantly letting his eyes roam over me. I clear my throat, searching for something to break the silence. Is he mad I borrowed his girlfriend’s shirt?

“I, uh, I found this in the spare room,” I finally stammer. My voice sounds overloud and awkward in the huge kitchen. “I hope it’s okay with your girlfriend that I borrowed them.”

“They aren’t my girlfriend’s,” he replies flatly.

Well. That’s not exactly helpful. Does that mean he has a girlfriend but these aren’t hers, or…? I shake myself internally. Stop trying to hit on your boss! “Oh. Well, I’ll wash them and bring them back, whoever’s they are…”

“They’re yours now,” he says, then he strides across the kitchen toward the coffee maker, which has just started to bubble faintly.

I step in front of him to block his path. “I’ll get it.”

He nearly walks straight into me, and for a second, I stare up at him, nose nearly touching his chest. He holds my gaze, searching. I swear I can feel my pulse beating in my fingertips, my toes, and every inch of my body. He can probably hear it at this rate, the way my heart is thumping.

“Thank you, Manila,” he says, and his breath ghosts across my cheeks, mint-fresh. Someone brushed his teeth before he came in here. Would he normally do that or…?

Here I go overthinking this all again. But I can’t help it, with him standing so close I can feel the heat of his body.

“No problem,” I manage to reply, before I whirl back to the bacon. Crap. It’s about to burn. I grab the handle, flipping it onto a plate. But I didn’t think ahead – I forgot it’s not like my pan at home with the heat-proof handle. I cry out and drop the hot pan to the stove with a clatter, shaking my hand.

“Shit,” I curse, backing away from the stove. Ouch.

Before I can react, Cassius grabs my shoulders and practically picks me up, whirling me around to the sink. He turns on the water, takes my hand and holds it under the tap. His skin is hot on mine, the water freezing, and he’s still got his other arm around my shoulders, holding me in place. But we move so fast that the sink splashes us both, flecks of water scattering across our T-shirts.

Fucking hell. I can see through his shirt now, at stomach height, his abs on full display. I swear my whole body clenches in anticipation – especially my pussy. I’m getting wet just standing close to him, the conflicting sensations of the freezing cold water and his hot skin driving me wild.

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