Twin Babies with the Billionaire for Christmas

1. Chapter One

Chapter One

Rachel

Excitement, anxiety, and lust war within me as Tristan leads me away from the crowds.

The warmth of his hand on my back sends tingles through my body. We wind our way through the party, eventually emerging onto a quiet balcony overlooking the twinkling Seattle skyline.

"Better?" Tristan asks, his voice low and intimate.

I take a deep breath of the cool night air, feeling some of the tension leave my shoulders. "Much. Thank you."

He leans against the railing, studying me with those intense cognac-brown eyes. "So, you have rules and limitations on these kinds of contracts, apparently. Beyond being able to determine your own hours and where you stay and so forth, is there anything else that I should know before we start working together?”

I stare at him for a moment. I know I should be fighting against his presumptions, if only for the sake of calling him out on his haughtiness.

But I know, deep down, that this mysterious and handsome man has already tangled me in his web. I’m intrigued, and I won’t say no to him.

“I’ll send over a contract tomorrow. Give me your email address. You can look it over and see if it will suit your needs.”

“So professional,” he murmurs, reaching into the breast pocket of his suit and pulling out a business card. “So proper and prim.”

“Prim?” I snort. “That’s a word that belongs in a Jane Austen novel.”

A hint of a smile tucks itself into the corner of his well-cut mouth. He holds out the card to me. “She’s one of my favorite authors.”

I take the card, sucking in a little breath when his fingers collide with mine. I feel like I’ve been zapped with electricity, and my greedy core clenches with want.

“You’re new to Seattle.” He’s stating a fact, not asking a question.

I hesitate, unsure how much to reveal. "I needed a change of scenery. Alaska was beautiful, but..."

"But not conducive to the life of a biographer?"

"Something like that," I hedge. "What about you? Cara mentioned that you split your time between here, New York, and Montana."

Tristan nods. "It's one of the joys of running a tech empire. I’m always chasing the next big innovation." There's a hint of weariness in his voice that surprises me.

"Sounds exhausting," I say softly.

His gaze sharpens. "It can be. But tonight…tonight I'm finding myself very glad I made the trip back for Cara's party."

The intensity in his eyes makes my breath catch. I should step back, put some distance between us, but I find myself rooted to the spot.

"Tell me about your most recent book," Tristan says, mercifully changing the subject. "I found the way you put together those generational stories fascinating."

I blink in surprise. "You’ve read my work."

He chuckles. "Did you think I would want to hire you if I hadn’t?"

"No, I just..." I trail off, unsure how to express my shock that this powerful tech mogul had not only read my most recent biography, but that he seemed to have genuinely enjoyed it.

"I make it a point to be well-read," Tristan explains. "Your book caught my eye. There was something raw and honest about your writing that kept me turning the pages."

I feel a blush crawling up my neck at his praise. "Thank you. That means a lot, especially coming from someone like you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"

"You know, successful, busy..." I fumble for words. "I wouldn't have thought my book would be on your radar."

Tristan steps closer, and I catch the scent of him again. "The thing is, I'm full of surprises, Rachel. And I have a feeling you are too."

The air between us feels charged with electricity. Something about his tone when he says ‘ the thing is’ makes my heart race. What’s up with that?

I know I should make my excuses and rejoin the party, but I can't bring myself to move away from this captivating man.

"So, what's next for you besides writing for me?" Tristan asks. "Working on another book?"

I nod. "I am, actually. It's still in the early stages, but I'm exploring themes of love, loss, and the search for meaning in life."

"Heavy topics," he observes. "Drawing from personal experience?"

I tense slightly. "Aren't all writers, to some degree?"

Tristan holds up his hands. "Fair point. I don't mean to pry."

"No, it's okay," I assure him. "I've lost some people…and things in my life in the last few years. It's been challenging, to say the least."

His expression softens. "I'm sorry.”

I shrug, trying to downplay the wave of emotion his sympathy evokes. "Life goes on, right? We adapt, we survive."

"We do," Tristan agrees quietly. I can see empathy in his eyes. We seem to be sharing an understanding, perhaps even pain. But before I can analyze it further, his underlying arrogant confidence resurfaces. "But tonight isn't about surviving. It's about living."

He reaches out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The simple gesture sends a shiver down my spine.

"Dance with me," he says, and it's not a question.

I hesitate. "I'm not much of a dancer."

Tristan's smile is suddenly playful. "Neither am I. But I have a feeling we could be great together."

The double meaning in his words isn't lost on me. Every instinct is screaming that this is dangerous territory, that I should politely decline. But there's something magnetic about Tristan Black, something that makes me want to throw caution to the wind.

He takes my hand while I’m still thinking about what to do, and slips the other around my waist, pulling me close to him.

"Okay," I hear myself say. "Just one dance."

He leads me back inside. The music has shifted to something slower, more sensual. Tristan pulls me close again, one hand resting on the small of my back while the other keeps a gentle hold on mine. We begin to sway to the rhythm, and I'm acutely aware of every point of contact between our bodies.

"See?" Tristan murmurs, his breath warm against my ear. "Not so bad, is it?"

I shake my head, not trusting myself to speak. The combination of his proximity, the music, and the lingering effects of the champagne is making my head spin.

I should feel uncomfortable, out of my element at this fancy party with this raw, overwhelming man. Instead, I feel alive. I am more present in this moment than I have been in months.

Tristan asks me more about my writing, my move to Seattle, and my plans for the future as we sway to the music. His genuine interest is flattering, but I realize that he probably charms people for a living. After all, most successful men know how to be charming when it suits them.

The song ends, but neither of us makes a move to separate. Instead, Tristan's hand slides up my back, coming to rest at the nape of my neck. His touch sends a shiver through me, and I meet his gaze.

"Rachel," he says softly, his eyes searching mine. "I know we've only just met, but…"

My heart races. I know I should step back, make my excuses, go home to my quiet apartment, and wait to begin working with him. But the attraction between us is also undeniable.

Tristan's expression intensifies. "Come with me," he says, and again, it's not a question.

A thousand reasons why this is a bad idea flash through my mind. I barely know this man. He's too old for me, too influential, and—in his eyes—set to become my boss.

Even though I logically know that the boss part is not totally true…Tristan could decide to choose someone else for the project, or worse, he could fire me once we’re up and running.

So, he does hold the power of my future in his hands…sort of like a boss. And I need this job, the pay is absurdly good, and I need to be in Seattle.

I’ve got to play my card right.

Shit.

But at this moment, none of that seems to matter. All I can focus on is the warm wetness in my panties and the weakness of my legs.

We make our way out of the party, barely stopping to say goodbye to a very smug-looking Cara. As we step onto the chilly street, Tristan's arm wraps possessively around my waist.

I look up at him, taking in the desire in his eyes, the anticipation thrumming between us.

For once, I silence the cautious voice in my head and allow myself to embrace the moment. I think I deserve that after everything that has happened over the last two years.

“There were…complications…in Alaska,” I whisper to him, my heart clenching at the memory of the man I had moved there for. It had seemed so kind of him to set me up with a beautiful she-shed to write in, and a lovely care provider to take care of my brother. Until I realized that the “nurse” wasn’t actually a nurse and was just another one of the women he was sleeping with.

Not long after that, I lost my aunt, who had always been more like a mother to me than my own distant, narcissistic mother. The pain is still sharp, even though it’s been six months since my Aunt Ellie died. I push down the anger and the sadness and blink at Tristan as if I’m resurfacing from deep water.

“I can’t give anything to anyone yet…I’m just picking up the pieces.”

“I’m not asking for anything,” he says quietly. He reaches up to press his thumb to my lower lip, and I instinctively suck it into my mouth.

His eyes go dark with desire. “I just want us to have fun. Are you up for that?”

"Yes," I say, and I mean it.

He rewards me with one of those dizzyingly sexy grins of his and slips his thumb from my mouth. He captures my hand and tugs me along with him as he walks rapidly toward the parking garage.

I tilt my head up and look at the stars twinkling over the city. I know it won’t last, but for this moment, I feel painfully, brilliantly, beautifully alive.

I smile and hurry after Tristan.