Billionaire Werewolf's Secret Baby

Stevie

“...and that is my humble take on the Greek classic, moussaka.”

Theodore Collins, an award-winning restaurateur, a Michelin star chef, and my boss for the past three months, positioned the baking dish he had just pulled out of the oven on the table, angling it toward the camera. 

With the help of a pair of forceps, he placed a sprig of fresh oregano precisely in the center, then looked up to smile sexily at the camera. 

The long dimple in his right cheek peeked out, making my pulse race. 

I knew next to nothing about videography, but even I could tell how perfect the scene before me looked—the late afternoon sun shining down on the turquoise blue waters, the waves crashing against the cliffs of Santorini, the white-washed terrace, the countertop painted cobalt blue, but most of all, the movie-star handsome chef in khaki shorts and a button-down white shirt with several of the buttons undone.

“Cut! That's a wrap! Perfect shot, Ted.”

The crew applauded, Ted made a flourishing bow before pulling the shirt over his head and flinging it to the floor. 

“Hot as hell,” he murmured, and picking up a bottle of water from the counter, he chugged some thirstily, emptying the rest of it over his face. 

It dripped down his chin and onto his bronzed, muscular torso, which was now glistening wet. 

I licked my suddenly dry lips, unable to tear my gaze away.

When he caught me staring, his gaze turned dark, and I thought I saw something peeking out from the depths of his brown eyes. Something animalistic, dangerous even; something that made my pulse skitter not just with lust, but also with fear. 

I took an involuntary step back, and he went preternaturally still—like a hunter stalking his prey. 

I forgot to breathe. 

Despite the fear making my heart gallop, despite what I had found out earlier today, I couldn't believe how badly I wanted him. 

Throughout the shoot, Ted had flirted with the camera, and it was just my luck that I happened to be standing right behind the main camera. 

Every time he smiled or winked or looked at the camera through his long, thick lashes, my lust spiked; so that by the end of the shoot, my panties were soaking wet, and I was desperate for his touch. 

I did not understand why my body reacted to him the way it did, but it had taken me all of one week to break my solemn promise to myself and jump into bed with my boss, nearly three months ago. 

“Stevie?” 

I tore my gaze away from Ted and looked at the assistant cameraman, a college-going kid, younger than myself by a couple of years. 

“Hmm?” 

“A bunch of us are taking a boat to Crete later tonight. Do you want to join us?”

“Uh…”

Before I could answer, I felt a strong, possessive arm around my waist. “Stevie is going to be very busy.” 

I didn't have to look behind me to know it was Ted, and his voice was unnecessarily stern. The poor boy paled, making me bite back a sigh of frustration. 

Ted lost no opportunity to assure me that whatever was between us was purely physical; that he couldn't care less what I did in my free time; but every time any of the all-male crew even glanced in my direction, he aggressively marked his territory. 

It was thoroughly embarrassing. 

“Of course, Mr. Collins.” The boy scampered away without a backward glance. 

“My office,” he whispered in my ear in that gravelly voice, trailing his fingers over my hips through the fabric of my plain gray cotton skirt as he walked away, leaving me to stare at his broad, muscular back and his exposed calves. 

Who knew a man's calves would turn me on? 

A shiver ran down my spine. 

I knew why he wanted me in his office, and it had nothing to do with work. 

I considered resisting. But who was I kidding? 

I wanted him. 

***

When I knocked on the door of his makeshift office at the bread-and-breakfast the producers had rented, he asked me to come in. 

The blinds were pulled down, and the room was thrown in semi-darkness. 

He was sitting in his revolving chair, his feet propped up on the desk. 

“Why can't I stop wanting you?” He asked in a serious voice, his chocolate brown eyes fixed on me. 

In a trice, he jumped to his feet and advanced upon me. 

I took several steps back until I hit the closed door. 

He picked me up, not in a romantic swoop of his arms, but like a sack of potatoes, throwing me over his shoulders. He seated me on his desk, so I was facing him. With his strong legs on either side of mine, he held me in place. I clutched the edge of the desk as our gazes collided. 

His fingers slid over my thighs, my ribs, brushing the undersides of my breasts through my white blouse before moving to my hair to pull the stick holding my long red hair up in a shaggy bun.

When it came loose, he speared his fingers through it, fisted his hand around it and yanked my head back, exposing my throat. 

He was strangely obsessed with my throat. It moved up and down now as I swallowed nervously. 

Pinpricks of pain shot over my scalp, only adding to the lust.

Bending down, he inhaled my scent as his lips coasted down my neck. 

“This scent. It drives me crazy.”

My heart was leaping madly inside my chest. 

“Why can't I keep my hands to myself when you're around? What are you doing to me?” he asked, genuinely puzzled. 

He had asked me this many times before, and as always, I wondered if he really wanted an answer from me, or if it was a rhetorical question. Either way, I didn't know why. 

I had wondered the same thing about him too. My body was putty in his hands. 

And, despite my best efforts, despite the rigid ground rules he had laid down at the beginning of our affair, I had ended up falling in love with this handsome, s*xy, infuriating, arrogant alpha-hole of a man. 

The fingers of his other hand began to unbutton my blouse. “Is it because of these sedate, proper clothes you always wear?”

His hand molded my breast through my bra. I bit down on my bottom lip hard. “Skirt reaching well below your knees, blouse buttoned all the way up to your neck. And these glasses—black, thick frames trying to take attention away from these beautiful green eyes. But I know what you're hiding, Stephania.”

For one wild moment, my heart leapt to my throat. 

He knew? How? There was no possible way! But then, he had proven to be freakishly perceptive in the past. 

I forced my dry mouth to work. “You… uh… know?”

The hunger in his eyes was wild. “I know. I know what you hide under these clothes, Stevie.”

Relief made me sag against him. 

He reached for the waistband of my skirt and pushed it down my legs along with my thoroughly soaked panties. 

“This is my longest monogamous relationship. Are you a witch? Have you beguiled me in some way?” The note of accusation in his voice surprised me. Was he actually serious? He believed in witches? And he believed me to be a witch? That was ridiculous! 

When I stared at him, my eyes wide with surprise, something eased in his expression. 

“No, of course you're not.”

With his knees, he nudged my legs apart and stepped between them. I undid the button and the zipper of his khaki shorts, my hands eagerly reaching for his hard c*ck. 

He s*ck*d in a sharp breath, his hand moving up my bare thigh, his fingers parting my wet folds. “So ready for me. Always so ready for me,” he said, dragging the wetness up to my cl*t, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger. 

I cried out loud as my body exploded. Ted grinned a wolfish grin. 

“I love plunging inside you when your walls are still spasming.”

Reaching behind me, he leaned over the desk to open the top drawer and retrieved a condom.

Careful, always so careful. From the very beginning, he had ensured we would be doubly protected. 

Nearly three months ago, when I first agreed to have a no-strings-attached affair with him, he actually had his attorneys draw up a relationship contract, and an NDA, to my utter embarrassment. As per the terms of the contract, I was required to use a ‘reliable means of contraception’. Just telling him I was on the pill hadn’t been enough. And he had used condoms most times, if not every single time. 

Ted had been very clear from the very beginning: whatever was between was going to be purely physical. There would be no complications, no emotional attachments, certainly no foolish things like falling in love.

He did not want marriage, and he did not want children. 

In spite of that… My stomach somersaulted as I remembered the d*mn stick with the two dark pink lines lying on my vanity dresser at this moment. 

Suddenly, I had to know if he had changed his mind about—everything.

“Wouldn't it be crazy if I got pregnant despite all these precautions? What would you do if I got pregnant?”

Ted, who had been in the process of nudging my thighs farther apart, went rigid. 

In the dim light streaming in through the drawn blinds, I thought I saw something in his eyes I had never seen before---acute fear. No, not fear. Terror. But it was gone in a flash. His face went so hard, I almost shrank back from him. Grabbing my arms almost painfully tightly, he glared at me.

“I’m only going to say this once, so listen carefully—if you are pregnant, you will have to terminate it. If you refuse, you will not be paid the remainder of your salary, and you will be asked to reimburse the rest. Those are the terms of the contract you signed. If you try to go to the press, I’ll bury you under lawsuits. Remember, you have also signed an NDA. Don't get ideas, Stephania.”

His hold on me relaxed a little. “But of course, it’s a hypothetical question since there’s no way you can be pregnant.”

The last spark of hope inside my chest snuffed out. I swallowed my tears and looked away, not willing to show him just how badly his words had shattered me.

Even then, my stupid heart defended him.

Ted was still hung up on what had happened with him six months ago, or at least, that’s what I assumed since we never talked about anything real. But it still hurt to know he thought I would stoop as low as that model who had tried to trap him into a marriage for his money by pretending to be pregnant.

I felt physically sick, and wanted to get as far away from Ted as possible.

The knock on the door couldn't have come at a better time. 

“Ted? Could you please view the footage so the editorial team can get started?” It was the director. 

Ted let out a frustrated breath. “Yeah. I'm coming.”

Throwing away the unused condom in the trash, he pulled up his shorts and walked away without a backward glance, shutting the door behind him.

I slid down to the floor, dissolving into tears. 

This is what you get for breaking your promise, I scolded myself as I wiped my tears.

When I moved to New York three months ago, I was a mess—fresh out of a bad relationship, and with several thousand dollars worth of credit card debt. It was because of my friend Lori that I had landed this lucrative job as Ted’s temporary personal assistant, until his other assistant came back from her maternity leave. The generous pay would be enough to pay off the debts. After that, I could start afresh and start working towards my dream of opening a bakeshop.

I had sworn off men, and I had sworn I wouldn’t fall in love until I turned my life around. 

And look where I was now.

Maybe Ted was right. Terminating the pregnancy was certainly the easy option. What did I know about raising a kid on my own? Even after paying the debts, I wouldn't have enough to raise a child. I would have to move back home, and I would have to put my dreams on hold. My parents would be forced to help me. Again.

My hand slid down to my flat stomach. If I got an abortion, I could carry on with my life. 

But how could I? It was Ted’s baby. I might not mean anything to him, but I loved him.

And believe it or not, I already loved this baby.

As realization hit that my baby was never going to know its father, my heart shattered all over again.

Tomorrow, when we flew back to New York, I was going to collect my last paycheck and go back home. 

And I was never going to see Ted again.

Six years later…

Stevie

As the airplane taxied down the runway, butterflies somersaulted inside my stomach. 

The last time I had left, I had vowed I wouldn’t come back; I had vowed I wouldn’t meet Ted ever again. 

“Never say never,” I whispered one of Ted’s oft-quoted sayings with a rueful smile.

I glanced at my five-year-old son Dorian sleeping on the window seat next to me, his mouth open. He looked so much like his father even at five. The same thick brown hair, the same chocolate brown eyes, dimple in his right cheek. Heck, even his facial expressions were similar to Ted’s.

This was his first trip out of the small town bordering Mojave Desert where we lived, and all I had told Dorian was we were going to see Auntie Lori. 

Lori, my best friend of twenty one years, was only too glad to be hosting Dorian and I. She was Dorian’s godmother, and she complained incessantly that she didn’t get to see him as much as she would have