Page 22 of The Billionaire Alpha's Surprise Baby

A wide grin spreads across my face as I slip out of my pajama bottoms and into the sweats. They’re probably the softest thing I’ve ever put on my body, and paired with the matching sweatshirt, I don’t even look like a sloppy pregnant girl.

Buoyed by the thoughtful gift, I return to the mirror to finish my makeup and run a comb through my hair. Garrett arrives at six on the dot, and I have to stop myself from sprinting across the apartment to let him in.

When I finally throw the door open, I can’t help but laugh. My suave, sexy date is also in a sweatsuit, though considering that the pants alone probably cost more than my entire wardrobe, I’m not sure it counts.

“You look beautiful,” he says, those intense midnight-blue eyes of his sparkling as they study my face.

“Thanks for the sweats,” I say, self-consciously slipping my hands inside the pockets. “I . . . wasn’t sure what to wear.”

“Well, I promised I’d cook you dinner, and since I’m only ever in Denver on business, I have a very strict dress code at home.”

“Sweats?”

He lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “When I’m here, I spend all day in mind-numbing meetings wearing a suit and tie. Sweats are the only acceptable evening wear, other than birthday suits.”

“Good to know,” I say, unable to hide my grin.

Garrett seems strangely nervous as he places a hand on the small of my back and guides me down the steps to his car. At least, I think it’s his car. I certainly would have noticed if anyone else on my street drove this thing.

It’s an old-timey silver-and-red jalopy that looks as though it dropped straight out of the nineteen twenties. It also appears to be in mint condition, which is no surprise if it’s Garrett’s.

“This is your car?” I ask as he opens the passenger-side door.

Garrett scoffs. “The Roadster is not just a car. She’s my pride and joy.”

I grin and slide into the scalloped red leather seat, admiring the polished wood interior and all the gauges mounted along the dash. I reach up behind me to pull down the seat belt — only there isn’t one.

“Not a lot of room for a car seat,” I observe dryly as Garrett climbs in beside me.

There’s actually no back seat whatsoever, in addition to being completely without seatbelts.

“Noted,” says Garrett in a casual tone. “Although it is a convertible, so we could just strap the baby to the top of the back seat.”

My horror must show on my face, because Garrett throws his gorgeous head back and laughs. “I’m kidding.” He puts his hand on the back of my seat and reverses out of the parking spot with the fluidity and grace of someone who lives to drive. “I’ll buy us the safest family car on the market, angel — though I draw the line at minivans.”

“Agreed,” I say, feeling myself relax as we fall back into our easy banter.

Garrett zips us easily through the heavy traffic, and I quickly lose track of where we are. I’m new to Denver, so I’m not familiar with every area, but the houses here are a million times nicer than any in my neighborhood.

A long stone wall appears in my periphery, and Garrett follows it to a ten-foot-tall wrought-iron gate. He punches a code into the keypad, and the gate swings open to let us through.

If I hadn’t already seen Garrett’s ski chalet, my jaw would have hit the floorboard. A gigantic cream stucco house with a white brick porch is situated on an immaculate green lawn. Huge glass lanterns are glowing in the dying light, and Garrett zips into the circle drive and hops out to get my door.

He leads me through the front entrance, and for the first time tonight, I feel seriously underdressed.

While his chalet in Aspen was all heavy exposed wooden beams, stone, and expensive old rugs, this house is light and airy — all crisp lines, minimalist furniture, and a tasteful mix of cream and beige. The house feels both modern and classic, though oddly sterile.

“This is your house?” I ask, thinking it could be a rental with how impersonal it seems.

Garrett gives a careless shrug. “It’s my family’s Denver house. It’s where I stay when I’m here on business.”

I let out a low whistle and look around. “Should we be expecting them anytime soon? Your family, I mean.”

“No,” says Garrett, a hard edge to his voice. “We have the place to ourselves tonight.”

At those words, I get a little flutter in my belly that’s completely different from the baby wiggles I’ve been feeling for the past two weeks.

Garrett, too, seems suddenly self-conscious as he watches me take in his house. He’s got his hands in his pockets, and his shoulders are raised and tense. It’s almost as if he’s waiting for something — to see if I like it, maybe?

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