The Billionaire's Baby Bargain
Chapter 1
“Shall I find out who she is, Señor Montero?”
Andrés Montero didn’t immediately answer the discreet question from his assistant. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the woman who’d caught his attention just moments ago.
A hot summer breeze rolled in off the Mediterranean, lifting the blonde’s hair as she ran. From where he stood beneath the palm tree, Andrés watched her shove back the curly strands while she maneuvered her petite curves around a row of sunning chairs near the path that led to the resort.
Lifting his snifter of brandy, he took another sip. But it wasn’t the alcohol that warmed his blood at this moment. Intrigued far more than he cared to admit, he visually traced the soft curves of her breasts beneath a dark blue bikini top, down to the pale glow of her bare stomach, to the flare of her hips concealed beneath a white sarong.
Una turista. She looked young, with a carefree spirit and optimism he usually had no patience for. And yet he experienced a twinge of disappointment as she disappeared inside the luxury hotel a moment later.
His luxury hotel.
With the reputation as being Spain’s elusive bachelor billionaire—tabloid-dubbed, of course—Andrés never found himself without a willing female to warm his bed. But he was quite careful and selective of the women who actually made it that far.
He swirled his brandy before taking another sip. All he had to do was give Pablo the word, and the blonde could be waiting naked in his bed within hours. Though first she’d be pulled aside and questioned extensively and discreetly. If she met Andrés’ requirements and was interested, she’d be presented with a confidentiality contract.
The women, of course, were always interested.
He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to the Mediterranean Sea, which basked in the lavender and coral swirls from the sunset just a short while ago.
Already he could imagine the blonde reclining upon smooth sheets, the loose curls of her hair falling over her shoulder to tease creamy breasts. It had been several months since he’d taken a lover, and his body stirred at the image.
But once more, he made the decision to place business first. He had a meeting with the manager of the resort in less than half an hour. And he had not arrived at his position in life by thinking with the wrong head.
Andrés gave a firm shake of his head. “No, gracias, Pablo,” he finally murmured. “Tonight is for business, not pleasure. I think I will walk alone for a bit prior to the meeting.”
Chloe Wilkinson slung her backpack over her shoulder and rushed back out of the employee lounge. She pushed another unruly hair away from her eyes and groaned in frustration.
Running around. She was always running around somewhere at this darn resort. At least now she was officially off the clock doing it.
She huffed a sigh and picked up her pace. Everyone would probably be done swimming by the time she returned to the beach. How could she possibly have forgotten to grab her backpack? She took it with her everywhere, using it in place of a purse. Though the most valuable thing in there hardly had a monetary value.
She thought of the aged leather journal that told the story of two people who’d fallen in love…lovers who had now been dead for over a year. Chloe’s stomach clenched and a heavy wave of sorrow pricked tiny holes through the excitement of her evening.
Not now. Not while she was in Spain.
Once again pushing aside the momentary stab of sadness, she exited the resort through a side entrance and let herself smile. These were the moments she loved the most. When she was finally off her shift waitressing at the posh resort and had a few moments to enjoy the beauty of this country.
Stepping onto the path that led to the beach, Chloe clutched the strap of her backpack. The palm trees blocked the light from the rising moon.
It was all so romantic, with the sounds of the Spanish guitar being played by the resort’s musician. They did that for the tourists. Funny, but after the first couple of weeks in Spain she’d stopped thinking of herself as a tourist. This country was in her blood like a fever she couldn’t shake. Had no desire to. It would be hard returning to the States after being here for two months.
She’d been fortunate to get the job at the resort, allowing her to work in Spain. Though it helped that she had experience waiting tables back in the States. To pay her bills, waitressing had become a second job to her part-time position as a magazine columnist. Writing for the magazine was her true passion, and someday she hoped Modern Coquette picked her up for a full-time columnist position. Maybe this article she was working on would help that.
With a sigh, Chloe moved onto the beach, loving the silken sand weaving between her toes. She closed her eyes for just a moment to enjoy the night’s ambience. Then slammed into something. Hard.
“Shall I find out who she is, Señor Montero?”
Andrés Montero didn’t immediately answer the discreet question from his assistant. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the woman who’d caught his attention just moments ago.
A hot summer breeze rolled in off the Mediterranean, lifting the blonde’s hair as she ran. From where he stood beneath the palm tree, Andrés watched her shove back the curly strands while she maneuvered her petite curves around a row of sunning chairs near the path that led to the resort.
Lifting his snifter of brandy, he took another sip. But it wasn’t the alcohol that warmed his blood at this moment. Intrigued far more than he cared to admit, he visually traced the soft curves of her breasts beneath a dark blue bikini top, down to the pale glow of her bare stomach, to the flare of her hips concealed beneath a white sarong.
Una turista. She looked young, with a carefree spirit and optimism he usually had no patience for. And yet he experienced a twinge of disappointment as she disappeared inside the luxury hotel a moment later.
His luxury hotel.
With the reputation as being Spain’s elusive bachelor billionaire—tabloid-dubbed, of course—Andrés never found himself without a willing female to warm his bed. But he was quite careful and selective of the women who actually made it that far.
He swirled his brandy before taking another sip. All he had to do was give Pablo the word, and the blonde could be waiting naked in his bed within hours. Though first she’d be pulled aside and questioned extensively and discreetly. If she met Andrés’ requirements and was interested, she’d be presented with a confidentiality contract.
The women, of course, were always interested.
He narrowed his eyes and turned his attention to the Mediterranean Sea, which basked in the lavender and coral swirls from the sunset just a short while ago.
Already he could imagine the blonde reclining upon smooth sheets, the loose curls of her hair falling over her shoulder to tease creamy breasts. It had been several months since he’d taken a lover, and his body stirred at the image.
But once more, he made the decision to place business first. He had a meeting with the manager of the resort in less than half an hour. And he had not arrived at his position in life by thinking with the wrong head.
Andrés gave a firm shake of his head. “No, gracias, Pablo,” he finally murmured. “Tonight is for business, not pleasure. I think I will walk alone for a bit prior to the meeting.”
Chloe Wilkinson slung her backpack over her shoulder and rushed back out of the employee lounge. She pushed another unruly hair away from her eyes and groaned in frustration.
Running around. She was always running around somewhere at this darn resort. At least now she was officially off the clock doing it.
She huffed a sigh and picked up her pace. Everyone would probably be done swimming by the time she returned to the beach. How could she possibly have forgotten to grab her backpack? She took it with her everywhere, using it in place of a purse. Though the most valuable thing in there hardly had a monetary value.
She thought of the aged leather journal that told the story of two people who’d fallen in love…lovers who had now been dead for over a year. Chloe’s stomach clenched and a heavy wave of sorrow pricked tiny holes through the excitement of her evening.
Not now. Not while she was in Spain.
Once again pushing aside the momentary stab of sadness, she exited the resort through a side entrance and let herself smile. These were the moments she loved the most. When she was finally off her shift waitressing at the posh resort and had a few moments to enjoy the beauty of this country.
Stepping onto the path that led to the beach, Chloe clutched the strap of her backpack. The palm trees blocked the light from the rising moon.
It was all so romantic, with the sounds of the Spanish guitar being played by the resort’s musician. They did that for the tourists. Funny, but after the first couple of weeks in Spain she’d stopped thinking of herself as a tourist. This country was in her blood like a fever she couldn’t shake. Had no desire to. It would be hard returning to the States after being here for two months.
She’d been fortunate to get the job at the resort, allowing her to work in Spain. Though it helped that she had experience waiting tables back in the States. To pay her bills, waitressing had become a second job to her part-time position as a magazine columnist. Writing for the magazine was her true passion, and someday she hoped Modern Coquette picked her up for a full-time columnist position. Maybe this article she was working on would help that.
With a sigh, Chloe moved onto the beach, loving the silken sand weaving between her toes. She closed her eyes for just a moment to enjoy the night’s ambience. Then slammed into something. Hard.