Charlotte Hawkes - Surprise Baby For The Billionaire

‘Maybe I should be in a more festive colour.’

Anouk glanced at Saskia’s own dress enviously—another much-needed boost to Saskia’s uncharacteristically wavering confidence.

In fact, her friend had already waxed lyrical about the ‘stunning’ emerald dress, claiming that it might have looked gorgeous on the rack but ‘on your voluptuously feminine body it looks entirely bespoke’.

For a moment Saskia had been worried that it had been code for, I can tell you’re pregnant and it’s beginning to show. Even though Saskia knew she wasn’t showing at all. There wasn’t a hint of any swell over her abdomen yet, and she couldn’t help wondering if it was this lack of physical manifestation of her pregnancy which had stalled her in seeking Malachi out at MIG International when he hadn’t shown up at Care to Play .

As if a part of her believed he might doubt what she was saying if he couldn’t see it for himself.

‘I think I look like a Christmas tree.’ Saskia made herself laugh again, with a wave of her hand towards the glorious eighteen-foot work of art which dominated the entrance of the venue. ‘Although if I looked that amazing I’d be happy.’

‘You look even better and you know it.’ Anouk replied instantly. ‘You’ve only just walked in and you’ve turned a dozen heads.’

And yet there was only one head she wanted to turn. Supposed rebound or not.

‘They’re probably looking at you—and, either way, I don’t care. Tonight, Anouk, we’re going to relax and enjoy ourselves.’

‘We are?’

‘We are,’ Saskia said firmly, hoping she was convincing her friend even if she wasn’t convincing herself.

She snagged a champagne flute from the tray of a passing waiter, for something to do with her hands, before realising she couldn’t drink it and passing it straight to Anouk. ‘Starting with this.’

‘You still feeling sick?’ Anouk frowned, eying her with a little too much intensity.

‘Yeah,’ she lied, and another stab of guilt shot through her as she tried to suppress the heat flooding her cheeks.

Anouk didn’t look convinced. If anything, her friend seemed to tense, as though she knew.

The guilt pressed in harder. They’d never deceived each other in over twenty-five years. As soon as she’d told Malachi she would tell Anouk. Why hadn’t she told her before? Was it because she’d always known that, much as her best friend had never encouraged her to leave her ex-fiancé, Anouk had never really taken to Andy?

Ironically, Anouk had even apologised on the one occasion when Saskia had pressed her for an opinion, only for her friend to tell her that whenever she looked at Andy all she saw was another playboy—just like Anouk’s mother’s lovers.

‘Relax.’ Saskia nudged her gently now. ‘Enjoy your drink.’

‘I don’t really like...’ Anouk began, but her friend shushed her.

‘You do tonight.’

Anouk balked, and Saskia knew that all Anouk could see was her mother, downing glasses of wine and popping pills.

‘One glass doesn’t make you your mother.’ Saskia linked her arm through Anouk’s, reading her mind.

It was Anouk’s turn to offer a rueful smile. ‘That obvious, huh?’

‘Only to me. Now, come on, forget about your mother and enjoy this evening. You and I both deserve a bit of time off—and, anyway, we’re supporting a good cause.’

‘We are, aren’t we?’ Anouk nodded, dipping her head and taking a tentative sip.

Saskia told herself to stop scanning the room for Malachi, like some meerkat on watch duty. If it was meant to happen tonight, then it would. Otherwise she would go to his offices in the morning and she would finally tell him.

He had a right to know. And he had a right not to want to be involved.

She wouldn’t force him.

He would have to want her. And their child.

‘A word.’

Every inch of her skin prickled into goosebumps at the rich, deep sound of Malachi’s voice in her ear. As lethally silky as the hand sliding around her elbow even now.

And something about the tone sent a warning whisper coiling its way through her body.

He couldn’t know about the baby, could he?

Unless he’d spoken to Babette.

Saskia cursed inwardly. She was an idiot for letting that woman get to her enough to tell her a single thing, let alone for Babette to be the first person to find out that she was pregnant.

She couldn’t shake the idea that Malachi knew and, worse, that he’d found out from her ex-fiancé’s new fiancée instead of straight from her. It was little wonder that the air between them positively hummed with barely restrained tension.

Saskia wasn’t sure why she allowed him to lead her across the ballroom at the charity gala without even a word of objection.

She’d only managed to slip away from Anouk by taking advantage of Sol’s unexpected appearance to pretend she was going to check the seating plan. Just so that she could see if she could find Malachi.

And now he’d found her.

If he’d come to say what she feared then she had only herself to blame. She should have told him herself. The unspoken accusations already bombarding her were her own fault for being such a coward. And the longer the silence the more forcefully they hurtled into her, leaving her edgy and agitated and full of apprehension—and something else which she didn’t care to examine too closely at all.

As if Malachi knew that the uncertainty was unsettling her, he seemed to be prolonging it, by not speaking another word until they were near the now deserted entrance, well away from the beautiful, well-heeled crowd bustling inside the ballroom, each jostling to set themselves ahead of the pack. Too many of them would be competing with each other to write the biggest cheques just to prove who was higher up the food chain.

It was disheartening to see just how few of them were actually there because they cared about the charity. About the kids.

Like Malachi does?

Abruptly Saskia pulled her head back to the present just as Malachi stopped, turning her to face him before he released her. The fierce, furious expression on his face was one she hadn’t ever seen before, but she feared she could read it in an instant.

‘It’s mine.’

So that answered that question, at least.

Malachi knew she was pregnant, and whether Babette had told him, or someone else had, it hardly seemed to matter now.

Saskia fought to breathe. It was as though someone was sitting on her chest, squashing her lungs, stealing her air. Perhaps it was at the sight of the utterly masculine, foreboding figure in front of her. Or maybe it was because he was suddenly watching her with a cold, hostile expression in those eyes, when up until now she’d only ever known them to be kind and friendly—the colour of the richest, warmest cognac in his enviable drinks cabinet.

Every thought fell from her head, and everything tumbled around her. Her heart accelerated so fast she could barely even feel it. Or maybe it simply stopped.

And then suddenly a sense of calm overtook her and she knew she couldn’t deny it. There was only one thing she could say.

‘Yes.’

He tilted his head sharply.

‘I suppose I should be grateful you didn’t make this any more complicated than it already is by lying.’

Then, taking her elbow again, he steered her outside, neither of them speaking a word, and into the back of his waiting car. When he slid in beside her, filling up every last bit of space, Saskia was sure she was going to suffocate from the sheer pressure of the moment.