Christmas Baby For The Billionaire. Donna AlwardЧитать онлайн книгу.

      The mile-long beach in front of the Sandpiper Resort was beautiful, even in late November. The waves were now more gray than blue, and the wind was raw, but there was a wildness to it that Jeremy loved, and the sound of the waves soothed his troubled mind.

      Because he was, indeed, very troubled.

      He’d left his running shoes on, meaning he’d have to shake them out later as the sand, even in the November chill, was still soft and thick. The wind whipped his hair around and made his jacket billow out behind him. Just a few months ago he’d walked this very beach with Tori. She’d worn a red bikini and had left her hair down, damp with seawater. They’d had so much fun; fun that had been missing in his life for too long. For those two weeks he’d put his troubles aside and let himself go. She had, too, or at least he’d thought so. They’d shared a blanket on the beach and soaked in the sun’s rays; nibbled at a picnic prepared by the hotel kitchen; plucked seashells out of the damp sand that she said she was going to keep in her bathroom.

      And then she’d taken him to her house and they’d spent hours exploring each other.

      Just the memory made his body react, and he briefly considered jumping into the ocean, fully clothed, to cool off.

      It had been easy being with her, because he’d known all along that he’d be leaving again. She wasn’t his usual type of woman; his family and his money generally ensured that his dates were not of the small-town, girl-next-door variety, and being with her had been utterly refreshing. Now he’d be tied to her forever, because she was having his kid and there was no way on earth he would abandon his own child. He’d never planned to have any children, but he had to deal with the reality that he was going to be a father, and he was determined to be a better one than his own had been.

      But how could he demand that Tori uproot her life? That wasn’t fair either, and as much as Jeremy was used to getting what he wanted, he was a fair man. Or at least he wanted to think so.

      He needed a plan. He was having a hard time formulating one because he was still stuck on the idea that he was going to be a dad.

      The idea was terrifying.

      The raw wind bit through his jacket right to his bones as he carried on down the beach. His own parents had divorced when he was two, and he barely remembered his dad. Too often he’d been a pawn in battles between his parents, to the point where he’d often felt like a commodity rather than a son. His mother had remarried when he was four, and his siblings had been much older than him. By the time he’d started high school, his sister had been eighteen and starting college, and his brother, ten years his senior, had already been working in Silicon Valley. Jeremy had gone to prep school, away from home.

      From the outside he’d certainly looked like a child of great privilege. There had always been money. There hadn’t been a lot of love or warm fuzzies.

      He stopped and stared out into the white-topped waves. Yesterday he’d watched as Tori cradled her gently swelling tummy and he’d seen the beatific expression on her face. That sort of maternal affection was completely foreign to him.

      No matter what, he wouldn’t take this baby away from her. And he or she would never be a pawn in some battle. Not if he could help it.

      He started the mile-long walk back to the resort, his thoughts still churning. It would be different if Tori forced his hand. What if she tried to shut him out? He wouldn’t try to shut her out, but he wasn’t about to let her keep him from being a part of the baby’s life. He didn’t want his child growing up feeling unloved, or that he didn’t care. The situation had to be handled with delicacy, that was for sure.

      When he was almost to the resort, he looked up and saw a figure moving around the deck that in the summer had been a patio restaurant. The woman wore a heavy coat and a headband covered her ears, a dark ponytail keeping her hair tamed and out of her face in the brisk wind. The swirl of tension in his gut told him that it was Tori, even though her back was to him. On closer examination, he saw that she was stringing lights along the railing.

      He jogged up to the main resort building and climbed the steps leading from the beach to the deck. “That’s a cold job,” he called out, and her head snapped up, the strands of lights forgotten in her fingers.

      “Sorry,” he apologized. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

      “I didn’t hear you over the wind and waves.”

      He opened the gate and stepped onto the deck. He had gloves on his hands, but her fingers were bare and red. “You should be wearing gloves.”

      “They make my fingers too clunky,” she answered, going back to the string of lights.

      Jeremy moved forward and took them from her, then removed his gloves, tucked them beneath his arm, and took her hands in his. They were icy cold, and he chafed his fingers over hers to warm them. “Here. Put these on.”

      “Jeremy, I’m—”

      “Shh. They’re warm.” He tugged the gloves over her fingers. They were too big, but she flexed her hands and he knew the material still held some of his heat.

      Moments ago he’d been ready to take her on if she decided to play hardball. Now he was giving her gloves for her cold fingers. For a moment he wondered if he was a weak man, but then he reminded himself that being on good terms would only help matters in the end.

      “Let me do a few of these. You show me how you want them.”

      “I’m just looping them on each post, see?” She held out a hand full of tie wraps. “Putting these on them, and snipping the ends with cutters.”

      Unease slipped through him. She was looping them, certainly, but he went back and saw how she did it and tried to re-create the same positioning of the string, though it took a few tries. And the tie wrap… He figured out that one end went through the other and he had to pull it tight, but it was a foreign sensation. He was not a handy kind of guy, in any sense. Someone had always done that sort of thing at home. He had many talents. Being handy was not one of them.

      Ugh. He really was a spoiled brat, wasn’t he?

      She reached into her pocket for her cutters, then tightened his wrap a bit more and snipped the end. “Have you never hung Christmas lights?” she asked.

      “First time,” he admitted, pulling on the strand until it was taut again. His fingers were already getting cold; how had she managed to put this many up without getting frostbite? But he pushed on because he didn’t want her to think he was a wimp or completely inept. Together they positioned, fastened and clipped the lights into place. Once they traded gloves so he could warm his hands, too, and then he put the lights up and over the arched entrance to the deck. “Will