The Wrong Wife (Morally Grey Billionaires #5)(75)

"Huh?" I narrow my gaze on him. "What are you talking about?"

"The woman who could be pregnant with your child as we speak," he murmurs.

"Hold on. The only woman I’ve slept with since I returned is—" my voice trails off.

"Exactly." He tilts his head. “Did you use protection?”

Realization sinks into my bones. I sit back in my seat. "Fuck."

"You did not, and you have to pay the consequences, my friend."

"She was a virgin," I say slowly. And I didn’t ask her if she was on birth control. Of course, she might be, but I didn’t check. And who was I to assume she wanted unprotected sex? I didn’t even think of using a condom. How could I be this careless? It didn’t cross my mind until Adam bought it up, which shows how distracted I’ve been by her. All the more reason to keep my distance from her. Except—if she is pregnant with my child, then— "Looks like you got ahead of the game. After all, the deal with your father was for you to marry in the next month and produce an heir in the next year, so things are going according to plan." Adam reaches for the bottle of water on the table and takes a swig. Asshole’s sworn off alcohol. Good for him. Wish I had the same restraint. But the booze is the one thing helping me forget—other than when I’m deep inside her and the noises in my head recede. And now, I have to find out if I’m paying the price for being addicted to her.

Adam places the bottle back on the table, then wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. "So, what are you going to do about it, hmm?"



Penny





"I’m coming! Jesus, if you bang on the door anymore, it’s going to break, you—" I throw open the door to the apartment I share with Mira, and freeze. There, framed in the doorway, with his shoulders filling the breadth of the entrance, wearing a suit, with his tie half-done and hair disheveled, is a very pissed off looking Sir.

He glowers at me. I shiver, then force myself to not do the obvious and drop to my knees, even though everything in me wants to when he glares at me with that look in his eyes that’s so damn sexy and dominant and hot. Why is he so hot?

"The lock on the front door is broken," he snaps.

"The landlord hasn’t gotten around to fixing it yet," I admit.

"And you opened the door without checking who it was."

"It’s you, so—" I raise a shoulder.

"It could have been someone else, someone who you didn’t know, someone who—"

"Was out to hurt me? Well, you hurt me, so it’s best you stay out then." I try to close the door, but he plants his foot in the doorway. I blow out a breath. "What do you want, Mr. Warren?"

"We need to speak."

"I don’t want to talk to you."

"You’re my employee—"

"In the office. Here, I’m not."

"Your contract requires you to work for me around the clock.”

"Eh?" I blink.

He shakes his head. "That pesky fine print again, huh? Should have read it all before you signed it." He steps forward.

I release the door, and he brushes past me, leaving that sea-breeze and pepper scent in his wake. My stupid nipples perk up, and my pussy—well, I confess, I’ve been wet since I opened the door and saw him. He prowls into the living room, which seems to shrink with him in the space. He’s drawn in all the oxygen, leaving me gasping for air. He glances around, then back at me. "Are you pregnant?"

"What?" My jaw drops.

He shuffles his feet. "We, uh… I didn’t use a condom."

I shut the door and lean against it for support. Shit, shit, shit. He’s right. And he came inside me. And I loved it and— "Oh, god." I press my knuckles to my mouth.

His jaw tightens. "I take it you aren’t on birth control?"

I shake my head. "Never needed to use it before."

His chest rises and falls, then he draws himself up to his full height. "Pack a bag. You’re moving in with me."

"Excuse me?" I gape at him.

"You heard me. Not going to repeat myself."

"You’re crazy," I burst out.

"And you might be carrying my child."

Any remaining blood drains from my features. He’s right though. I could be pregnant. Right now. With Sir’s child. I place my hand on my belly. His gaze drops there, and a nerve pops at his temple. "We’re getting married."

"What?" I gasp.

"Not for real, of course. I need a wife and an heir. And if you’re pregnant, you deliver on the second, pun intended. As for the first, you only have to pretend for the next year."

"A year?"

"Long enough for the union to be seen as legitimate by my father. Long enough for him to have signed over the company to me."

"And if I’m not pregnant?"

He blinks as if that possibility didn’t occur to him. "Well, then, I can simply pump you full of my cum until you are."

I wince. "Must you be so crude?"

"Just stating a fact." He looks around, then heads inside.

"What are you doing?"

"Since you don’t seem inclined to pack, thought I might do it for you."