The Millionaire's Pregnant Mistress. Michelle CelmerЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Ben sat at his desk and ripped open the envelope his lawyer had messaged over. With a heavy heart, he read the results of the paternity test she’d taken last week. The wounds that had begun to heal in the year since his son’s death ripped open and grief twisted his insides.

      Tess had been telling the truth. The baby was his.

      If he had been able to talk Jeanette out of taking the trip to Tahoe while he wrapped up postproduction on his last film, she and his son would be alive. Even the doctor had said it was late in her pregnancy to be flying. Ben should have insisted, but when Jeanette wanted something she usually got it.

      He would never forgive himself for letting them down, and he wouldn’t let it happen again. This baby was his, whether he wanted it or not. He would see that it was taken care of and raised properly.

      In his son’s honor, he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to this child.

      “I take it the news wasn’t what you’d hoped.”

      He looked up to find Mildred Smith, his housekeeper, watching him from the doorway. Any other of his employees would have been fired for insinuating themselves into his business, but Mrs. Smith had been with his family since before Ben was born. It had only been natural to hire her when his parents moved permanently to Europe three years ago. She’d been with him those horrible months after the crash and had nursed him through the worst of it. She was more like family than hired help. More of a mother to him than his own mother had ever been.

      “It’s mine,” he told her.

      “What do you plan to do now?” she asked.

      The only thing he could do. “I’m going to make sure she and the baby are safe. I’ll bring her here to live with us until it’s born.”

      “You know nothing about this girl.” Her tone was stern, bordering on cold, but that was just her way. He knew she cared deeply for him. The past year hadn’t been easy for her, either. Though Mrs. Smith had never cared for Ben’s wife, the loss had hit her hard.

      “I don’t know her, which is exactly the reason I need to keep her close. That’s my child she’s carrying.”

      The one thing he didn’t get, that didn’t make sense about this whole situation, was why she’d waited so long to tell him. According to her due date, she had to be close to sixteen weeks pregnant. Meaning she’d known she was pregnant for at least a couple of months already.

      He was sure she had her reasons.

      He found the number Tess had jotted down on a slip of paper. It had been sitting there on his desk, taunting him for days. He hadn’t yet written it in his book, on the slim hope it was all a mistake. Since her visit last week, all communication had been through his attorney. Now it was time to make his position clear. Face-to-face.

      “Suppose she doesn’t want to live here?” Mrs. Smith asked. “What then?”

      He gave her a look, one that said he didn’t anticipate that being an issue. “You think a girl like that, with a menial job at the resort and next to nothing to her name, would pass up the opportunity to live in luxury? I know her kind. She’ll take whatever I have to offer.”

      Two

      “Absolutely not! There is no way I’m moving in with you.” All that Hollywood fame must have gone to Ben’s head if he thought he could boss her around. He hadn’t even asked. Instead he’d issued an order.

      He sat casually behind his enormous desk like a king on his throne addressing his royal subjects. The only thing missing was a scepter and crown.

      And tights—which she had to admit would be well worth seeing.

      Instead he wore black again. Black shirt, black slacks. Did he own a single article of clothing in color?

      Tess turned to see if the stern woman who had let her in was still standing in the doorway listening.

      Thankfully she wasn’t.

      Ben, Tess could handle. At least, she was going to give it a valiant effort. His housekeeper on the other hand—Lurch’s twin sister—gave her a serious case of the creeps.

      “I have an apartment,” she said. “I don’t need or want to live here.”

      “I didn’t need or want a child, yet one is being forced on me.”

      “I did not make this baby all by myself,” she reminded him. “Besides, what has that got to do with where I live?”

      “You live in a disreputable part of town. It’s not safe.”

      “I do the best I can.” Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth—or in his case, an entire service for twelve. She was quite sure he had no concept of what it was like to struggle, to live on canned spaghetti and Wonder Bread until the next payday.

      “If geography is such a problem for you, we can compromise. If you help me out financially, I can get a place in a part of town you deem as safe. Then we’ll both be happy.”

      “Not acceptable. I need you here.”

      “As I said, I don’t want to live here.”

      “Shall I send someone over to help you pack?” he asked, as if she hadn’t just emphatically stated that she would not be moving.

      She normally had interminable patience, but this guy was pushing all her buttons. “Are you hearing impaired? I said that I’m not moving into your house. That’s final.”

      He went on as though she hadn’t spoken. “I also think it would be best if you quit your job. As a maid, you probably work with harmful cleaning solvents, and heavy lifting must be involved. It could be damaging for the baby.”

      Whoa. Someone had serious control issues. Did he really think she would allow herself to become totally dependent on him? She’d been on her own since she was sixteen. She knew how to take care of herself, and she would take care of her baby. She just needed a little help—emphasis on little. A couple hundred bucks a month to help cover her extra expenses.

      She glanced at the crystal tumbler filled with some sort of amber colored alcohol sitting on his desk. Warning bells clanged like crazy through her brain. She’d heard rumors from the other employees at the resort that he’d become a reclusive alcoholic since he’d lost his wife. The reclusive part she believed, the alcoholic part she’d only hoped wasn’t true. Looks like she might have been wrong.

      Not that everyone who drank was an alcoholic, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

      “I’m not quitting my job. I’ll give you weekly updates on my condition if it will make you feel better, but that’s it.”

      “That reminds me,” he said. “I’ve picked an obstetrician I’d like you to see. He’s the best in the area.”

      And it just kept getting weirder. Now he wanted to pick her doctor? Next he would be telling her how to dress, and what to eat.

      “I already have a doctor I’m comfortable with that takes my insurance,” she told him.

      “Expense isn’t an issue.”

      “It is for me, since I’m the one paying for it.”

      He folded his arms across his chest and leaned