My Mom's Husband: A Forbidden Romance

By Cassandra Dee

The billionaire man of the house desperately wants a baby.

Katie:
When my mom married Grant Thorn years ago, everyone was surprised.
Dowdy Nancy Jones had captured a handsome billionaire’s heart?
Well, sometimes dreams do come true.
Except Grant wants kids, and my mom’s too old.
Guess who they want to use as a surrogate?

Grant:
Katie’s been teasing me the moment she moved into my mansion.
Those sassy hips.
The sweet curve of her mouth.
The way her laugh tinkles in the air.
But what the feisty girl doesn’t realize is that I’ve never had my sights set on her mom.
Instead, the brat’s always been my obsession … and this time, I’m putting a baby in her belly!

Hey Readers – This book is forbidden times TEN in the best way possible. But there’s a sweet HEA as well, with a bun in the oven and a second chance. You’ll love it, I promise! Xoxo, Cassie

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• Language: English
• Publisher: Cassandra Dee Romance
• Release date: Dec 24, 2019

Book preview

My Mom’s Husband

~A Bad Boy Billionaire Romance~

~The Forbidden Fun Series~

© 2018

By Cassandra Dee

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DEDICATION

For everyone who’s craved the man of the house.

Live dangerous and stay merry!

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

Hi! Thanks so much for reading My Mom’s Husband. This is the latest book in my Forbidden Fun series. So many folks kept asking me for taboo relationships that I had to write more naughty tales.

I hope you enjoy Katie’s tale of finding love in unexpected places!

Happy reading,

Love,

Cassie

ABOUT THIS BOOK

The billionaire man of the house desperately wants a baby.

Katie:

When my mom married Grant Thorn years ago, everyone was surprised.

Dowdy Nancy Jones had captured a handsome billionaire’s heart?

Well, sometimes dreams do come true.

Except Grant wants kids, and my mom’s too old.

Guess who they want to use as a surrogate?

Grant:

Katie’s been teasing me the moment she moved into my mansion.

Those sassy hips.

The sweet curve of her mouth.

The way her laugh tinkles in the air.

But what the feisty girl doesn’t realize is that I’ve never had my sights set on her mom.

Instead, the brat’s always been my obsession … and this time, I’m putting a baby in her belly!

Hey Readers – This book is forbidden times TEN in the best way possible. But there’s a sweet HEA as well, with a bun in the oven and a second chance. You’ll love it, I promise! Xoxo, Cassie

TABLE OF CONTENTS

My Mom’s Husband

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

A Sneak Peek: Client Number 6

CHAPTER ONE

A Sneak Peek: Sold at the Auction

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

MORE BY CASSANDRA DEE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Chapter One

Grant

I slide into the back seat of the black town car, and there’s a woman waiting inside. Damn. Not a great day, since I wanted to be alone. Even worse, it’s Samantha Call me Sam Smith, a reporter for a local paper. She’s gorgeous, but that means nothing because reporters give me the shakes. They always misrepresent things, or twist what I say until it’s near unintelligible. If I could throw every reporter I know into the Hudson River, I’d do it in an instant.

But my expression remains neutral despite the unpleasant surprise. I nod to my driver, who nods back without saying a word, and starts the car. Sure enough, the divider comes up between the front and back seats, rendering my conversation with the reporter inaudible. Good man. The driver doesn’t want to hear what she has to say anyways.

As if on cue, Sam turns to me, crossing her legs. She has her phone balanced on a yellow legal pad, with an audio note app running.

Do you often come down to the New York Stock Exchange yourself, Mr. Thorn? she coos, batting her long dark lashes.

About once a week, if my schedule allows for it, Ms. Smith, I say politely. Sam makes a note of this on a legal pad, and my eyes can’t help but look over her figure. She’s tall, leggy, and has perfectly coiffed raven black hair paired with dark brown eyes. She’s dressed in a gray blazer and pencil skirt, but has worn a daringly bright red blouse with a few too many buttons undone, letting the swell of her cleavage rise to the top.

Her intentions couldn’t be more obvious. But I’ve been a billionaire for ages now, and I’m used to women from all walks of life trying to lure me in. It gets tiresome real fast, to be honest.

I was wondering about the origin story of Thorn Investments, she continues sweetly. It’s perhaps the most famous story on Wall Street – it rivals the tale of Steve Jobs and Apple or Bill Gates and Microsoft. You’re the God of Hedge Fund Mavericks.

I nod politely, waiting for her to get to her point. I forget who originally coined the phrase the God of Hedge Fund Mavericks. What a cheesy line. I think it was the New York Tattle because that sounds something they’d say. When it was first used, I was twenty-seven, and like a nitwit, had the article framed and put up on my office wall. Now at forty, the whole thing just seems lame and used up.

Twenty years later, do you have different thoughts on the story? Samantha asks, batting her lashes.

I consider this. I’ve told my founding story ad nauseum to investment bankers, CEOs at corporate retreats, and even during a TED Talk. Anyone who’s interviewing me probably already knows the story back and forth, and Sam Smith is no exception. I guess she’s looking for a fresh angle on it to keep the hordes happy, so I indulge her a little.

Now that I’m in my forties, I realize how fool-hardy the whole thing was. I was twenty, working at Addison & Grimes, and basically doing everything, including taking out the trash and cleaning the bathrooms, I add wryly. But when you’re young, you’re fearless. After all, what is there to lose? I had no family, and no obligations. So I went for it. I wasn’t satisfied with being a low-level employee, so I scheduled a meeting with George Addison himself and demanded a promotion.

I watch Sam’s eyes glisten. She’s completely captivated with the tale and leans forward eagerly.

Addison was furious at me, and rightly so, I continue. "If one of my people came in and demanded the same of me, I’d have them thrown out onto the street then and there. Addison was kinder, but he warned that if I didn’t learn my place, I was going to be out of a job. A smart man would have given up and laid low. But I was young, stupid, and full of fire. So I told him that I was quitting, and that one day he would be begging me for a job."

Did he ever come looking for a job? Sam asks, right on cue.

I snort.

No. His company collapsed after a bad investment about five years later. Go figure, it was bad management. But Addison himself had already amassed an immense fortune by then and decided to retire rather than rebuild. I still see him from time to time at the club. We laugh about it now.

Sam springs into action and scribbles furiously on the legal pad. The fact that Addison and I were friendly, if not friends, is a new dimension to the story. Lost in thought, I look out the window for a moment. The story is true, but like most legends, it’s not the whole truth. Yes, I’d stormed in and demanded a new job, and yes, Addison and I had had a dramatic showdown. But what the world doesn’t know was that it wasn’t a spur of the moment tantrum. I had been planning my exit for over a year because Richard Pettis, a senior member of the firm, had approached me. He was getting tired of working for Addison, and wanted one last adventure before he cashed in his chips. So we came up with a plan: we would create a new company with my name on everything, called Thorn Investments. Then we quietly asked some clients if they would be interested in following us over. Once we had enough clients lined up, that’s when the showdown happened. I knew that Addison would never promote me, and that was the point.

I orchestrated the whole encounter.

I was leaving that job, no matter what Addison said.

And I was taking his clients and money with me.

Sure enough, after our company was formed, Pettis took the lead for the first three years as I learned what I needed to learn. Once he felt I was ready, he retired too, leaving the firm in my hands.

I owe that man everything. I often wonder if I should talk about it in the press. Pettis is in his late seventies now, and even though I’ve privately expressed my gratitude, I think a public acknowledgement would be nice. I ask every year, and he turns it down.

It’s important to keep the legend alive, he reminds me. I snort.

This firm is just as much about you, as it is about me, I say dryly. I know that, and you know that.

But Richard’s a modest guy.

Don’t worry about it, he says generously. I’m as old as Methuselah now. I don’t need more feathers in my cap.

As a result, everyone thinks Thorn Investments is my baby, that I hatched and created on my own. But the truth is that every great man stands on the shoulders of others, and I had a very sturdy pair on which to balance.

I sit back on the soft leather seat of the limo. As tempting as it is to share this with Sam, I don’t. Maybe in another twenty years, when I’m getting ready to hang it all up, I’ll tell the truth. Meanwhile, a little mystery never hurt. It keeps the masses hungry.

Sam gushes about the story for the last few minutes of the drive. My driver takes us to an underground parking structure, and I tell him to go ahead and park rather than drop us off by the elevator. I get out, then open the door for Sam. She gracefully glides out of the car, letting her skirt ride up her long, toned legs.

Just a few more questions, she says with a bright smile. We start walking across the parking garage towards the elevators. What are your plans for the future? Do you have any desire to start a family? Maybe find the right woman, settle down, and move onto the next phase of your life?

She’s trying to reel in the lure, and on another day, I might be tempted to bite. I would take her to a nice dinner, take her back to my place, and make sure she got what she wanted. If she was good at it, I’d sleep with her a half dozen more times over the next week. Maybe I’d keep it up for a month if she was really good.

But today, the offer doesn’t appeal. The mention of family, and especially children, bashes into my heart like a metal baseball bat into a window. I want children. I’ve wanted children for the last five years, but I’ve never found the right woman to be the mother.

It’s ironic, really. I can get any woman I want. I’ve had models, actresses, heiresses, and even a princess once. Okay, she was minor nobility of a tiny city-state, but still. The sky’s the limit, and this sophisticated, sexy reporter batting her lashes at me is just par for the course.

Besides, the mother of my children has to have more than a pretty face and a come-hither smile. She has to have something special. Of course, I don’t know what that something special is exactly. If I did, I would have found it by now, but instead, I keep waiting.

We stand in front of the elevator.

It might be time for me to start looking for a wife, I admit to Sam. She doesn’t write it down. Instead, she takes a step forward, our faces only inches apart.

Really? she breathes. Well then …

I cut her off. Thank you for the interview, Ms. Smith. I look forward to reading it.

I shake her hand and turn my back on her. I don’t bother to check for shock or anger or disappointment on her face. I slide my keycard into the elevator and step in.

Damn. It was my fortieth birthday last week. If I have a child right now, I’ll be fifty-eight when they graduate high school, and sixty-two when they graduate college. Time is not on my side. But I’m in good health, I exercise, and fortunately men can have children at any age.

Still.

Time is not on my side. I don’t exactly want to be the old dad hanging out at the playground. So yeah, I need to take action. I’ve been passive long enough. If I can’t find a woman to marry and carry my children, then maybe I’ll just hire someone to do it. There are surrogacy agencies, and some of them are high end and exclusive. They screen the women for the genetic defects, for beauty, intelligence, and the works. I could order the perfect child.

My phone buzzes. Without realizing it, I’ve already exited the elevator. I’m standing in the reception area of my office. I pull my phone out of my pocket – it’s just a reminder for the conference call I have in fifteen minutes. I’ll need a receptionist to help me call in in about ten minutes.

Where is the receptionist for this floor, come to think of it?

My building is sleek and modern, and the reception desk is a white half-circle with a raised counter. Usually there’s someone at the desk, but this one’s empty. Maybe she or he is in the restroom.

As I walk towards my office door, I catch a glimpse of a slumped form in the corner of my eye. I walk over to investigate – there’s a woman with her head on the desk, sheltered by her arms.

Excuse me, I say, letting my annoyance fuel my voice. The woman snaps up immediately. She’s a dowdy woman in her late thirties, unremarkable in her cheap business clothes and plain, tired face.

Oh my God, Mr. Thorn, I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t hear you come in, she babbles.

And if you had, you would’ve cut your nap short? I say.

No, no, it’s not what it looks like, I swear. I have a terrible headache, that’s all. I apologize. It won’t happen again.

What’s your name? I ask. Who is this person? I don’t know everyone who works at Thorn Investments, but I know everyone who works on my floor. She must be a temp.

The woman almost quivers with fear.

Nancy Jones, Mr. Thorn. I’ve worked for you for two years.

Two years? How did I miss that. I harrumph.

Yes, Nancy, I remember now. Do you get these headaches often? I ask. I wonder if she really is in pain, or if she’s actually nursing a hangover. She hesitates before answering.

I get migraines from time to time. Usually they don’t affect my work, Mr. Thorn. I apologize. However, I was up late last night. My daughter was at a gymnastics competition.

Oh really? I ask, raising my eyebrows. I’m so used to hearing excuses that they go in one ear and out the other. But Nancy scrambles into motion.

Yes, let me show you, she says, reaching for her purse. She pulls out her phone and unlocks it, then taps a few commands on the screen. She passes the phone to me.

I open my mouth to speak, but my voice catches in my throat.

The most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen is looking back at me from the screen.

She has curly brown hair, and a gorgeous figure wrapped up in a multi-colored pink and purple leotard. Her hips are wide,

Reviews for My Mom's Husband

[cuddykaorl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

love this book 100%.....Will be reading more books form this author