Expecting the Playboy's Baby

By: Sam Crescent


Prologue



The night of the party



Jennifer Dixon stood in the library staring at the array of books. The room was old-fashioned compared to the rest of the house. She’d seen all of the modern conveniences in place whereas this room was like stepping back in time. Running her fingers over the books she stared at each title, amazed by some of the first editions.

Patrick Thompson was proving to be an enigma. He was a notorious playboy who slept with a different woman every night. At least the press liked to report he had a new woman every night. She’d never met him, and the only reason she was at his house was because her parents were looking to make a deal with his. His father had arranged for the party.

She stared down at her long black evening gown wishing she hadn’t been forced to come. Linda, her best friend, had been unable to attend because of prior commitments. Jennifer wished she’d had another excuse rather than eating a tub of ice-cream. Most of the people glared down their noses at her. She might be part of their world because of her last name, but she felt as cut off from them as any other person.

While everyone was mingling around the house, she’d wandered off trying to find some peace and quiet.

“What are you doing in here?”

Turning towards the voice, she stared at Patrick across the room. He’d closed the door to the library and stared at her. From that one look she felt arousal hit her hard and deep. She’d never heard of lust at first sight, but then Patrick was a hottie. “I’m sorry. I needed to get away,” she said.

“You shouldn’t be wandering around other people’s property.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Jennifer.” She kept her last name to herself. For some reason she didn’t want to tell him her last name.

“Join me in a drink,” he said, handing her a glass filled with amber liquid. “The finest brandy money can buy.”

She took the glass he offered and sipped. The brandy burnt her throat and made her eyes water. She was careful and held the tears back. The mascara she wore was not waterproof.

“I know it’s strong stuff.”

“Why are you hiding?” she asked. He didn’t mention her leaving. She couldn’t stop staring at him. He was more beautiful up close than on any of the glossy mags.

“I’m tired of being flirted with. There was a time I’d have been flattered with the attention. Now, it’s just boring. The same old crap for the same old Patrick.” He filled her glass.

Jennifer was shocked by his honesty. “I thought you liked the lime-light and didn’t care what people said.”

“Babe, the lime-light is not the problem. The women are the problem. I mean, they want to talk about themselves or spend my money. I’m tired of being a neverending bank balance for them. I’m nothing but a cock and money for the women who want me. I guess I’m getting tired of the same old crap day after day,” he said.

She stared at him, amazed. Patrick was not known for having much feeling. He partied all the time, and his reputation for being a playboy was one of the worst in their social circles. This was the first time she’d ever met him.

“Take a walk with me,” he said. He offered her his arm, and she took it without question.

“I have to say, Patrick, you’ve surprised me, and that doesn’t happen often.” The night’s breeze felt good against her warm body. The air in the house had been thick and cloying.

“What’s surprised you?” he asked.

“You appear to love the attention sent your way. I don’t see you having an issue with people knowing your business.” He stopped in front of a beautiful water feature. She admired the lighting and beauty of it.

“You believe everything you read in the papers?”

“Not all of it.”

“Then don’t believe it all about me. A lot of the crap written is merely that, crap.”

He moved her on. They passed couples on their way deeper into the garden.

“I’ll keep it in mind. I won’t believe another word of it with regards to you being a playboy of the highest order.”

Patrick laughed. “What do you think of the party?”

“They’re not really my style,” she said.

They stopped in a gazebo. She let go of his arm to look around at the rest of the garden. “Your place is beautiful.”

“My father took over and decided to throw this blasted party. I hate having people around in my space. They always think it’s their property and they’re free to touch what they like,” he said.

“You don’t like people touching your things?”

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