Page 22 of Secret Baby for a Damaged Billionaire

Instead, we walk through the theater district, and I point out the various theaters and well-known performance spaces, feeling like a tour guide. For some reason, it’s my favorite part of the city and I want to walk through it with Emily.

“I love this spot,” she says. “Have you been to any performances here?” Her gaze sweeps over the ornate facades and flashing signs of the historic buildings.

“Never by my own choosing,” I reply with a chuckle, stopping at a coffee cart. “But once inside, I have to admit, I don’t hate it.”

Emily hums, appearing somewhat impressed. We grab two hot coffees, the best in town from a small vendor who knows his stuff, and as we get ready to move again, I notice the prolonged glances from assholes in suits checking her out. I can’t blame them, the way her jeans fit so perfectly and her gorgeous blonde hair blowing across her shoulders. My chest inflates at first, feeling jealousy rising, but then I decide instead to feel lucky to have her with me.

“Hey, Em, you’re causing some serious whiplash,” I tease, giving her a playful elbow nudge.

“Really? And what about you, Mr. Navy SEAL Jujitsu Master?” she retorts. “You’re quite a spectacle too, you know.”

“Can’t dispute that.” I grin.

#

We weave through the crowd of people on Newbury Street, dodging a group of tourists and a street musician strumming Bob Marley. The shops and restaurants line the street for blocks, their windows spilling out every luxury item possible. Emily beams with enthusiasm as she bounces from store window to store window, her eyes twinkling.

I gaze up at Rebecca’s, the iconic bistro that sits on the corner of Newbury and Boylston, and my stomach grumbles. “Hey, how about we snag some grub from here? We can take it back to my place,” I propose, motioning toward the café.

She nods, her mesmerizing green eyes sparkling with mischief.

We step inside and are immediately hit with a blast of warm air carrying scents of garlic and rosemary. The space is cozy and inviting, with muted lights and rows of booths lining the walls. As we wait for our order, I can feel the tranquility in the air; it’s like we’re in our own little world.

Once everything’s all packed up neatly, I look over at her expectantly. “Ready to roll?” I ask, my hand instinctively gravitating toward hers.

She smiles at me knowingly as she curls her fingers around mine. “Yes, sir,” she responds before tugging me out of the restaurant and into the night.

We weave our way to the end of Newbury Street, past fluttering streetlights, until we finally reach my building. I can practically hear the gears in her head grinding in curiosity as we approach the entrance.

“This is your bat cave?” she asks, her eyebrows lifting.

“Affirmative,” I shoot back, nonchalantly.

The doorman stands tall at his post and tips his hat as he opens the heavy glass door to let us inside. Emily gasps, her jaw dropping open at the sight of the sprawling lobby. Sparkling chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting an ethereal glow over everything. The marble floors shine like mirrors, and you can almost feel the energy radiating off them.

“Holy shit, Lucas,” she murmurs, her eyes wide with wonderment.

I shrug nonchalantly and say, “Ah, it’s just a little something I picked up.” I don’t want her to think that I’m just flashing my cash.

As we step into the elevator, I feel her hand trembling slightly in mine. I turn to look at her and see a familiar twinkle in her eyes that only appears when she’s really excited. We ride up the express route, the anticipation growing with every floor that passes. The elevator doors slide open, and Emily gasps at the sight before us—my penthouse, its walls of windows giving an impressive view of the Common below.

“Lucas, this is… wow,” she breathes.

I smile as I watch her wander around the living room, her slender fingers tracing along the leather sofa and lingering on each piece of artwork that hangs on the walls.

“Welcome to my humble abode.”

She shakes her head in disbelief, scanning the room once more before gasping. “Is that a grappling mat?” she exclaims, pointing to the far side of the sunken living area.

I chuckle. “Guilty as charged. I guess I can never really leave my martial arts behind.”

She teases me with a playful tilt of her head. “Care to give me a quick lesson?”

I smirk back at her. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to hurt you, now,” I tease.

“Come on, tough guy. Show me what you’ve got,” she goads, stepping onto the mat and assuming a mock fighting stance.

I can’t resist the challenge in her eyes, so I step onto the mat with her. Our bodies move together in a tangle of limbs as we start with some basic wrestling moves. The intensity grows between us until it seems like sparks are flying off our skin. We’re both breathing hard when she finally concedes defeat, her hands weakly gripping my shoulders as I pin her down. Our eyes meet and all traces of laughter evaporate, replaced by an undeniable desire that neither of us can ignore.

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