Free Chased by the Billionaire 1 by Stella Blaze Page B

that she and the
hubby decided to procreate.
    So Sara Marie Jacobs was
born.
    What does all that have to do with my
sexual drought?
    Well, I'm her best friend in the
world—and since baby Sara decided to come into the world a full two
weeks early, when Kevin was out of town on business, I was pulled
into the whole birthing drama. I’m talking about driving Susan to
the hospital, threatening the geeky ER clerk with rather
imaginative bodily harm if he didn’t get her in to see a doctor
immediately, fending off calls from Susan and Kevin’s parents, and
then holding Susan’s hand while she went through the screaming,
crying, sweating, nausea, grunting, and creative
cursing.
    I didn’t mind when I lost feeling in
the hand she was gripping. What are friends for? I didn’t mind
running out of the room and grabbing her socks for her—she was
sweating like a whore in a church, but her feet were
cold!
    What I did find disturbing was when I
re-entered Susan’s hospital room.
    “ She’s coming!” Susan cried
out in the throes of the mother of all contractions, her hand
outstretched for me to take. I started toward her and slipped on
the tiled floor. It was a quick trip, I landed on my ass, clipping
my shoulder on the floor but thankfully missing my head.
    It was the scramble to my feet that set
the sexual purgatory I’m currently in into motion.
    The doctor and nurses were busy, so no
one noticed my slip slide to the floor. I grabbed hold of the end
of the bed to pull myself up from the floor, right beside the OBGYN
stationed between my friend’s legs, and I got an eye full of what
the good doctor was looking at.
    Christ on a fucking
crutch!
    These kinds of sights are best left
NEVER seen.
    Baby Sara’s head was just
crowning.
    It was right out of that
movie Aliens .
    Susan screamed at me again and I tore
my gaze from the gynecological front line and staggered to her side
again, welcoming the pain her desperate, bone crushing grip caused
when she took my hand again.
    But that image was burned onto my mind
like a cattle brand.
    Since that day I have not felt even the
least bit turned on.
    No matter how many precautions I
take—condoms, spermicidal lubes, vaginal foam, the pill—I just
can’t stop thinking about the sight of my best friend’s girly parts
bloodied and distended in excruciating pain.
    Like the blaze of a strobe light
flashing over and over and over again in my head.
    No matter how hot the guy is, no matter
how much I want to—and good god, how I want to—as soon as the
kissing and the groping starts, I just go cold. My body switches
off and my mind starts running a horrifying baby-birthing
loop.
    I looked up when the discreet chime of
the front door tolled.
    I blinked.
    This was not Franco.
    No… it was so not Franco.
    This man had the Roma’s delivery heated
bag, and a Roma’s t-shirt stretched across his broad, well-formed
chest.
    I smiled to myself as he came closer.
Dark, penetrating eyes, long, lovely boy lashes, a pouty, kissable
mouth, and the longish, lustrous hair that made a woman want to run
her hands through it—
    Or have it run over her breasts and
down her body as he kissed his way down to her pussy…
    Oh yeah, this man was just what the
doctor ordered.
    He strode over to me and winked. “Hey
there… I’m Franco.”
    I laughed. “No, you’re not.”
    He blinked, confusion lighting in his
eyes. Then he smiled, a wickedly sexy smile, showing off a killer
set of pearly whites and sexy dimples.
    “ I’m Franco junior,” he
explained. “I’m filling in for my dad for the week.”
    “ Are you?” I was already
planning to have Roma’s delivered for the rest of the
week.
    “ Yeah, he took my mom on a
second honeymoon to Florida.” He blushed as he talked.
    Okay, enough talk.
    “ So, Franco. You look… hot.”
I left the word and the innuendo floating in the air.
    He licked his full lips and leaned
against the counter, showing off biceps and forearms that obviously
took hours