The Pregnancy Affair
A billionaire, a baby—and a family secret that changes everything!Renny Twigg's job is simple: locate a mobster's long-lost grandson—not end up in witness protection with him! But after informing self-made billionaire Tate Hawthorne of his unknown family ties, that's exactly what happens. It's clear the sable-haired heartthrob doesn't want to be the next Iron Don. Still, he's more than game to be her temporary lover. But when baby makes three… He's having enough trouble keeping famiglia out of his life. What's he supposed to do with a family?
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A billionaire, a baby—and a family secret that changes everything! Only from New York Times bestselling author Elizabeth Bevarly!
Renny Twigg’s job is simple: locate a mobster’s long-lost grandson—not end up in witness protection with him! But after informing self-made billionaire Tate Hawthorne of his unknown family ties, that’s exactly what happens. It’s clear the sable-haired heartthrob doesn’t want to be the next Iron Don. Still, he’s more than game to be her temporary lover. But when baby makes three... He’s having enough trouble keeping famiglia out of his life. What’s he supposed to do with a family?
“It’s not a good idea,” she said quietly.
He circled her wrists with deft fingers and moved both their hands behind her back, then leaned in again. “Oh, I think it’s a very good idea.”
He started to lower his mouth to hers, and, God help her, Renny stood still for the merest of seconds and waited for him to make contact. He was just so unbelievably… So extremely… So totally, totally…
His lips brushed hers lightly… once, twice, three times, four. Heat splashed in her belly, spilling through her torso and into her limbs, warming parts of her she hadn’t even realized were cold. Then he stepped closer and covered her mouth completely with his, and those parts fairly burst into flames. For another scandalous, too-brief moment, she reveled in the fantasy that was Tate Hawthorne and the wild ride it promised. Then, nimbly, she tugged her hands free of his and somehow broke away to scurry to the kitchenette.
“Hey, are you as hungry as I am?” she asked when she got there.
Belatedly, she realized the glaring double entendre of the question.
* * *
The Pregnancy Affair is part of the Accidental Heirs series: First they find their fortunes, then they find love.
If you’ve read my older books, you know I have a not-so-secret fascination with the mob. I have no idea why. Maybe it’s because of the stories my grandmother told me about her mobster neighbors in the Chicago apartment house where she lived in the 1930s. Maybe it’s because of nicknames like “Baby Fat Larry,” “Vinny Carwash” and “Willie Potatoes.” Maybe it’s the hats.
Anyway, I shouldn’t have been surprised when the mob popped up in a book again. What did surprise me was realizing my hero was a made man. Okay, a made toddler. Fortunately, Tate Hawthorne escaped into the witness protection program with his parents at the age of three. Just as well, really. “Tate the Venture Capitalist” doesn’t have the right ring.
Unfortunately, his government-assigned identity has been blown, so he’s taken into protective custody again. Worse, he’s trapped there with Renny Twigg, the woman who accidentally outed him, threw his entire existence into turmoil and potentially endangered his life. Worst of all, the feds have hidden them in the wilds of Wisconsin without so much as basic cable or dial-up internet. Or a post-1999 issue of Maxim. Or a decent wine list. Or, you know, clothes.
It’s going to be a long five days. Whatever will Tate and Renny do to pass the time? Especially when the Scrabble game is missing most of its vowels? And what happens when Renny gets home and discovers she’s brought a fairly life-changing souvenir with her? It’s going to be a long nine months…
Happy reading!
Elizabeth
ELIZABETH BEVARLY is an award-winning, New York Times bestselling author of more than seventy books. Although she has made her home in exotic places like San Juan, Puerto Rico, and Haddonfield, New Jersey, she’s now happily settled back in her native Kentucky. When she’s not writing, she’s binge watching British TV shows on Netflix or making soup out of whatever she finds in the freezer. Visit her at www.elizabethbevarly.com.
For my grandmother,
Ruth Elizabeth Hensley Bevarly, who told me some really great stories when I was a kid.
I miss you, Nanno.
Contents
Renny Twigg threw her car into Park and gazed at the Tudor-style house beyond her windshield. Or maybe she should say Tudor-style castle beyond her windshield. Its walls were made of majestically arranged stones and climbed a full three stories, and they were tatted here and there with just the right amount of ivy. Its stained glass mullion windows sparkled in the late-morning sunlight as if they’d been fashioned from gemstones, and its turrets—one on each side—stretched even higher than the slate roof, looking as if they’d been carved by the hand of a Renaissance artist. The lot on which the mansion sat was nearly a city-state unto itself, green and glorious and landscaped with more flowering shrubs than a Spring Hill catalog.
There was rich, and then there was rich. The first was something with which Renny had a more-than-nodding acquaintance. She’d come from a long line of powerful attorneys, financiers and carpetbaggers, the first of whom had arrived in this country hundreds of years ago to capitalize on the hugely exploitable land and its even more exploitable colonists. The Twiggs who followed had adopted the tradition and run with it, fattening the family coffers more with each ensuing generation. She’d grown up in a big white Cape Cod in Greenwich, Connecticut, had donned tidy blue uniforms for tony private schools before heading off to be a Harvard legacy, and had worn a sparkly tiara—with real diamonds—for her debut eleven years ago. Renny Twigg knew what it was to be rich.
