Surprise Baby for My Enemy Billionaire

SURPRISE BABY FOR MY ENEMY BILLIONAIRE AN AGE GAP ENEMIES TO LOVERS ROMANCE A J SUMMERS ATTRACTION PUBLISHING CONTENTS Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Also by A J Summers About the Author CHAPTER 1 BRAN “No offense, Mr. Stawarski, but you’re old.” I stare at her. Her face is alluringly heart-shaped, her eyes two green globes that sparkle when she speaks. The silk bridesmaid dress she's wearing, in a soft golden color, not only flaunts her curves but also makes her olive skin shine. She is undoubtedly the most beautiful woman at the reception, surpassing everyone by miles, including the bride. However, I must confess that I'm drawn to her for other reasons. In all my forty-four years on this planet, no woman has ever managed to keep me engaged by insulting me. She does. “Am I?” I ask mildly. I resist the urge to smile, although something about her elicits a slight upward curve of my lips. “You are,” she says. Her voice is calm and poised, while her eyes sparkle with mischief. She’s enjoying this. Almost as much as I’m enjoying her. She turns around and glances at my twin brother, who is standing a few feet away, holding court with three ladies. I can hear enough of what he’s saying to know he’s giving them a condensed version of the speech he keeps handy—Yeah, you find me attractive, and that’s all well and good. But you should REALLY vote me for congressman. “You're old,” she persists, driving the point home. “You and your brother have been in business all your life. Is this how you want to spend your time as you approach retirement age? Competing in an election out of boredom?” I cock my head to one side. Even though she's raising salient points—the same ones I told my brother when he came up with the ridiculous idea of running for Congress—I'm barely listening. Instead, I'm imagining what it would feel like to pull her close to me and feel her silken gown pressed against my skin. I push those thoughts out of my head, for now. I did not come here to have a good time. This is Ian McCullough’s wedding. Poor bastard. Theo and I needed to show up for our childhood friend to extend our congratulations—and condolences. We’d been waylaid by a group of women as soon as we stepped into the reception hall. I wasn't surprised. After all, we're the Stawarski brothers. I can't recall a single moment in my adult life that wasn't marked by whispers and stares whenever I stepped out with Theo. Our six-foot-three height and strikingly similar appearances made us impossible to miss. And being the co-presidents of Manhattan's largest media company only added to the attention. But what I am surprised at is finding someone as remotely interesting as the curly-haired spitfire in front of me. I’d noticed her as I fought my way through the thick crowd that surrounded us when we walked in. Theo did not have the luxury of doing the same. He’s trying to be a politician, and a huge part of the job involves conversing with people—at least, until he gets the job. I noticed her staring at me from across the room, and something about the intensity of her gaze made me look back. It wasn't the vapid stare I usually receive from women who envision a future with me. There was something purposeful about the way she was looking at me. And now, after I’d given her the attention half a dozen women in this room would kill to have, she’s talking to me…about my brother’s campaign. “You should be talking to my brother about this,” I tell her. “Yes,” she says, her gaze fixed on me, “but I’d much rather talk to you.” If it were any other woman, I might assume that this was the official start of a flirtatious conversation. But there's a coy, teasing glint in her eyes. She's speaking those words with the calculated ease of a seasoned player, as if she knows exactly which buttons to push to make me crumble. My amusement grows as I survey her, trying to ignore the way the silk drapes against her skin. She's quite young, maybe not even thirty. Her bridesmaid dress is far more chic than the dresses I've seen on the other three women scurrying around the party, so I've assumed she's the maid of honor, or maybe a close friend of Ian's new wife. I don't know anything about this woman beyond what I can see, and all I know about Ian's bride is her name—Andrea. But I know enough about women in general. Enough to play along, strip her of her control, and bring up whatever carnal passion lurks underneath her carefully poised exterior. “Careful,” I tell her, my voice a slow murmur, “that almost sounds like a proposal.” She smiles. “Maybe it is.” I feel a twinge in the pit of my stomach. As much as I enjoy flirting with beautiful women, there's something about her that makes me want to skip the banter and take her straight to my bed. “But,” she continues, her face losing her smile, “I do really want to know about your brother’s campaign. And why he wants to run.” I feel a hint of annoyance. Although I've been utterly devoted to my brother's campaign, I don't want to talk about him at the moment. I throw him a glance and note his terse smile as he engages an even bigger crowd. He notices me watching and looks up to lock his eyes with mine. There’s a silent plea on his face: Help me! I sigh. I would rather die than join him in