Free The Billionaire's Reluctant Pregnant Bride: A BWWM Romance by Imani King

of my dress. When he reaches my neon pink thong, he lets out a low growl.
    He looks up at me, eyes dark, realizing that I planned this—that I wanted this—him and me, limbs tangled, unbridled passion that’s been brewing beneath the surface to finally come to an edge.
    He pulls away. “I can’t do this.”
    “What?”
    “Look, I want to. I’ve dreamed about fucking you for ten years, and after it happened, I walked around with a hardon for weeks. Right now there’s nothing I want more than to sink into that tight, hot pussy and claim it as my own, but it’s not right. Not until you remember.”
    The car stops.
    “We’re here, Tachell,” he says, opening the door.
    I’m tempted to not get out. If I strap myself in and start flailing, he’ll have to risk more headlines to send me on my way. But that wouldn’t be right…at least not yet.
    I accept his hand as I get out. Together, we walk to my front door as the bodyguards hold back the paparazzi.
    “Thank you, Tachell,” he whispers, kissing me on the head.
    I raise my eyebrows and step back. He shouldn’t thank me yet, because I’m not letting this go. I will discover whatever it is he’s hiding, and then I will show him it doesn’t matter. I’ll show him that he does deserve me. And, even more than that, I’ll show him that he deserves to be happy.

    I walk into my apartment with slumped shoulders.
    Sondra frowns from the couch. “You’re home early.”
    “Yeah, well, all we did was eat lunch,” I inform her.
    Her shoulders slump. “Really?”
    I nod. “He wants to wait until I remember everything.”
    She pouts as my mom walks in. “Hey sweetie! How was your lunch date with Preston.”
    “It went alright. He was a gentleman.” Too much of a gentleman if you ask me.
    “Well, that isn’t surprising. He always has been.” Her eyes go wide. “Oh yes! And before I forget, you had a call while you were out.”
    “Is that so?” I ask, not surprised.
    “It wasn’t Reggie,” my mother says. “Well, alright, Reggie did call and ask if you needed anything. He was a little upset you saw Preston without telling him. He thought you guys might need a chaperone.”
    “And let me guess, he graciously offered to take-up the position?”
    My mother smiles. “You know your brother.”
    “It isn’t hard to know him,” Sondra mutters under her breath.
    My mother tries to frown at Sondra, but can’t. It really isn’t hard to figure out Reggie. It was simultaneously one of his best and most annoying qualities.
    “So who else called?” I ask.
    “Oh, that’s right! Priscilla Easterbrook. Preston’s mother.”

Chapter 11
    Priscilla Easterbrook wanted to meet in the Easterbrook Garden Club. She considered the quaint (by modern mansion standards, at least) miniature gothic castle in the middle of town a second home. This was probably because it had been her grandmother’s second home—or at least one of them. Yes, Priscilla Easterbrook (Preston’s mother was named after her grandmother, as it turned out) loved to “summer” (whatever the hell that means) here. It had apparently been bought for her by her doting husband after she’d heard that he had an affair with another woman.
    Nevermind that the two hadn’t even met yet at the time of the affair.
    He’d apologized profusely for his errant ways. How he’d given into his baser passions at the age of 15.
    I thought it would make me a man , he explained. I didn’t realize that I was still acting like a boy.
    Priscilla said the only thing that would make her feel better was gardening. They were in the middle of New York City at the time, but Preston Easterbrook (yes, Preston was apparently named after his great grandfather, which made listening to this really weird if you ask me) would not be dissuaded. He bought his princess a garden.
    Did I mention all of this glorious green space was in the middle of New York City? It was practically another Central Park, except it had all belonged to