Untamed Billionaires: Marriage: For Business or Pleasure? / Getting Red-Hot with the Rogue / One Night with the Rebel Billionaire
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Brittany wriggled her toes in her favourite Garfield slippers, pulled her fluffy tangerine robe tighter and cradled a hot chocolate while scanning her emails.
Not that she needed the extra calories after the mountain of food she’d consumed at Nick’s, but chocolate didn’t count, especially of the liquid variety. Besides, the way she was feeling right now, she needed comfort food, and this was it.
Nick had been right, damn him.
She had behaved like a country virgin, the exact way she used to act around him ten years earlier, jumping like a cane toad whenever he glanced her way; which had been often, though that hadn’t been the hard part.
The hard part had come when he’d looked at her as if he wanted to gobble her up and come back for more. Several times.
As for that almost-kiss…yikes! She’d deflected it with some pathetic line about needing to concentrate, but he hadn’t been fooled. She’d seen it by the knowing glint in his toffee eyes, by the smirk that had played around his kissable lips. And they were definitely kissable.
She’d wanted that kiss so badly she’d almost tasted it yet had done the smart thing and fobbed him off.
Smart for whom?
For both of them. She wasn’t interested in making this marriage real. She had a successful career waiting for her in London, a fabulous promotion, good friends, a great apartment. Everything a girl could want.
But what if she wanted more?
If she did, Nick Mancini sure wasn’t the guy to give it to her. His life was poles apart from hers.
His business was here, hers was in London.
His heritage was here, she’d always craved to escape family here.
He didn’t want a real marriage, a small part of her did.
Huh?
Where had that last bit come from?
Sighing, she took a comforting sip of the creamy hot chocolate, savouring the mini marshmallows melting on her tongue.
Unfortunately, as fabulous as her life in London was, there was one thing lacking and that was a real, steady relationship. Not some casual fling, not some short-term dating and not some modern equivalent of ‘being involved’—meeting once a week for a regular meal and sex. She’d tried these options and found them infinitely depressing.
No man had come close to matching what she’d felt for Nick, had once had with Nick.
And therein lay her problem.
‘Just great,’ she muttered, hitting the delete key on several joke emails and wishing she could erase her feelings for Nick as easily.
She’d been back a few days and had already reverted to her old ways: thinking about him constantly, wondering what he thought of her, hoping he felt half of what she did.
Pathetic.
The last email in her inbox effectively distracted her from the Nick problem. Her boss had given her leeway to complete this job, so why send her an email with ‘Tight Timeline’ in the subject header?
Clicking on the email, she quickly scanned the contents.
TO: BrittanyLloyd@Sell.London.com
FROM: DavidWaterson@Sell.London.com
SUBJECT: Tight Timeline
Hi Brittany,
How’s my number one marketing guru enjoying her trip Down Under? Working hard, I hope.
I know we left your timeline fairly open for this pitch, but there’s a change in plans.
Looks like Sell is expanding the NY office sooner than we thought and they want me to head it up ASAP, which means my job here needs to be filled within three months.
To be fair to all prospective candidates, we’d need your pitch presented in eight weeks.
Hope this is viable. If not, contact me.
We’re expecting big things from you, don’t let us down.
David
Brittany rubbed a weary hand across her eyes and quickly reread the email.
Eight weeks.
Two brief months to collate information, take pictures and perfect her pitch. Oh, and throw in a snap wedding.
What was she thinking?
But if the wedding didn’t happen, she wouldn’t have access to the farm, and no access meant no chance at the promotion anyway.
Her hands were tied. So why did it feel as if her insides were following suit?
Off the record, David had virtually assured her the MD role if she presented a killer pitch. She should be doing cartwheels.
Instead, the longer she stared at her boss’s email, the more aware she became of exactly how far away London was from Noosa…and her soon-to-be husband who resided there.
CHAPTER SIX
‘THIS place has changed so much.’
Brittany’s head swivelled from side to side as she strolled up Hastings Street, Noosa’s main thoroughfare, with Nick.
‘Boutiques, cafés, restaurants, five-star hotels. We almost rival London in the trendy stakes, huh?’
‘Almost.’
London had a vibe all of its own and she loved it, and coming home to find Noosa had turned hip and cosmopolitan was a nice surprise.
Nick laid a hand on her arm and she stopped, more startled by his touch than the mini-city’s transformation. ‘There is one thing we didn’t discuss the other night.’
Just one? She could think of several, including how platonic this marriage would be, where they would live, how long they’d keep up the pretence. And that was just for starters.
‘What’s that?’
‘How long you’re sticking around for.’
She had to tell him the truth, had to tell him they had eight weeks to make it look as if they had a pretend marriage for real.
Shrugging, she pointed to the tapas bar they’d stopped outside.
‘All depends on how long the job takes. Fancy a snack? I’m starving.’
‘Okay.’
He led her into the bar, to a cosy table in the furthest corner, and ordered for them before turning that penetrating dark gaze back on her.
‘So are we talking two months? Four? Longer?’
‘You’re really hung up on this timeline thing, aren’t you?’
He raised an eyebrow. ‘I wouldn’t call it a hang-up. An honest answer will do.’
Hating the little white lie she had to tell, she said, ‘As long as it takes. I have the workers in place, so once we’re married I can really get stuck in.’
She picked at an olive from a tray that had been placed in front of them. ‘I guess you want to know what happens after I’m done.’
To her surprise, he shook his head. ‘Not really. I’m more concerned with the here and now, and solidifying my reputation with investors.’
She could leave well enough alone. In fact, she’d rather be discussing anything than their cold, calculating marriage scheduled for the morning. But if she left in two months as planned, where would that leave Nick and his precious reputation?
‘So when I leave…’
She trailed off, not wanting to voice her doubts out loud. The way she saw it, she was getting the better end of this deal: full access to the farm to nail her promotion then she walked, back to her old life, leaving Nick to fend off curiosity about why his marriage fell apart so quickly and the possible financial fallout from his investors.
‘When you leave, I act like nothing is wrong. We’ll have a modern marriage, where we spend several months of the year together and have highly successful careers on different continents. Business people understand that.’
‘But—’
‘It’s nobody’s concern but ours,’ he said, his tone cool and confident, at odds with the banked heat in his enigmatic gaze. ‘This is going to work. Trust me.’
He placed a hand over hers before she could blink and rather than pulling away, the sane thing to do, she turned hers over and curled her fingers through his.
With a squeeze, he smiled and her heart flip-flopped in predictable fashion.
‘That’s my girl. So, you ready for tomorrow?’
‘Ready as I’ll ever be.’
She’d found a dress in a high-end boutique, shoes to match and had booked a hairdresser appointment.
Did a simple outfit constitute ready? A smart up-do? In reality, she’d never be ready to walk down the aisle with the only guy she’d ever really loved, knowing their marriage was fake.
‘About the honeymoon…’
She snapped her gaze to his, not liking the naughty twinkle in his one little bit. ‘A honeymoon isn’t part of the deal.’
She all but yanked her hand out of his on the pretext of reaching for her water glass. He shrugged, a roguish smile playing about his mouth, and in that moment she wished she could take it back.
She’d always been a sucker for that smile, from the first moment he’d squatted to pick up her books strewn in the dirt when she’d tumbled off the bus the day they’d met.
He’d smiled his way into her life, her heart, and she’d be damned if she sat here and let him do it all over again.
‘Okay, no honeymoon.’
‘Good.’
She folded her arms, glared at him. With little effect if his growing grin was any indication.
‘But we do need to have a wedding night.’
‘No way—’
‘This marriage has to look real. I’m a prominent businessman in the area and if we don’t go away, we’d have to do something special for our wedding night, otherwise people would talk.’
He had a point, damn him.
No biggie. They could share a room; didn’t mean they’d have to do anything in it.
‘Fine,’ she gritted out, her admission as painful as the time she’d had to admit she’d sent him that secret admirer Valentine’s card in eighth grade.
Leaning forward, he whispered in her ear. ‘You won’t be disappointed.’
Hating the surge of lust that made her knees shake beneath the table, she managed a mute nod while sending a silent prayer heavenward for strength.
She had a feeling she’d need it to resist what the reformed bad boy had in mind come tomorrow.
Brittany’s hand shook as she waved the mascara wand over her lashes and she blinked several times, grateful she’d chosen the waterproof kind.
She’d already been near tears twice, first when she’d opened the door to a gorgeous bouquet of frangipanis and then when she’d carefully hung her wedding dress encased in plastic on the back of the door.
Nick had sent the flowers. His note had been brief.
For my bride
Nick, x
While the flowers were breathtaking, that one little x had her clutching them and burying her nose in their heady fragrance, her eyes filling to the brim.
She wanted his kisses, wanted him, and, no matter how many times she told herself this wedding was a necessity to be free of her past, she knew when she walked up the aisle shortly she’d want him more than ever.
As for her dress…
She’d wanted to buy something understated, practical, a dress she could wear again, for why spend money on a real dress when this marriage would be far from real?
That was before she laid eyes on the strapless, sweetheart gown in ruched ivory silk chiffon and her neglected romantic soul demanded she buy it.
And she had, for when she touched the dress she imagined magic.
A magical marriage filled with light and laughter and love.
A magical mirage of a handsome groom with stars in his eyes and a bride who believed in the happily ever after she’d always dreamed about.
A magical mystery, that despite their motivations for this marriage they were embarking on something truly wonderful today.
Taking one last look in the mirror, satisfied she hadn’t streaked her make-up in a fit of misplaced sentimentality, she shook her head.
Magic wasn’t real and she was foolish to dream of anything other than what this marriage was: a business arrangement.
She slipped off her robe and padded across the room to the wardrobe, her fingers trembling as she slid the zip open on the dress’s carrier bag.
Every metallic slide, every crinkle of the thick plastic, every rustle of silk chiffon brought her closer to her wedding and her tummy twisted as she reverently lifted the dress out.
Emotion clogged her throat and she swallowed several times as the soft flowing skirt cascaded to the floor in a silken ripple.
The dress was a dream, and her breath whooshed out as she steeled her nerve and slowly, carefully stepped into it, wishing she could channel some of that magic.
Closing her eyes, she tugged at the bodice, smoothed the skirt, ignoring the sick churning of nerves gone awry as the reality of marrying Nick hit home, and hard.
Almost faint from anxiety, she took a deep breath, another, before opening her eyes…and gasping.
She looked like a bride.
But it wasn’t the divine dress or the fancy hairdo or the immaculate make-up that made all of this real.
It was the starry-eyed expression in her frightened gaze that said it all.
In spite of every sensible thing she kept trying to tell herself, she looked like a bride on the brink of marrying the man of her dreams.
Brittany’s breath caught as she stepped out of the portico and got her first glimpse of her husband-to-be.
Nick stood under a beautiful poinciana lush with vivid crimson blossoms, his black tux framed against the vibrant colour. With the sun setting behind him, casting a golden glow over everything, and the fairy lights strung around the trees in the garden just twinkling to life, the entire scene was surreal.
It shouldn’t be this romantic, this enticing, this special. This wedding was all business.
Tell that to my heart, she thought as she took a tentative step, her stiletto sandals skidding as they hit the sandstone pavers.
She couldn’t see Nick’s expression from this distance but as she walked towards him the shadows cast from the blossoms cleared and what she saw took her breath away all over again.
Honest to goodness, undiluted happiness.
Why would he look like that?
He was the one who’d proposed this ridiculous arrangement in the first place, had made it more than clear what they’d both get out of it.
So why the ecstatic, proud expression of a man who’d just glimpsed his real bride for the first time?
Her heart hammered in time with her steps, beating a rapid rhythm as she all but tripped towards him, eager to get this over and done with.
While the setting might be picture perfect and her groom beyond handsome, this wasn’t how she’d envisioned her wedding ceremony.
Sure, the groom might be the same guy she’d imagined, but that was a lifetime ago. So much had happened, so much had changed, and she was a fool if she thought for one second that anything about this marriage resembled her dreams of years gone by.
The closer she got, the louder her heart roared until she could barely hear by the time she pulled up next to him, a nervous, trembling mess.
‘You’re a beautiful bride,’ Nick murmured in her ear, so close his warm breath raised a trail of tiny goose bumps along her neck and she knew while this marriage might be all business on paper, she wondered how on earth she’d manage to keep it platonic in the bedroom.
‘Thanks.’
She cast a nervous glance at the civilian minister in a crass white suit, and a pair of bored witnesses in hotel uniforms. Her eyes squeezed shut as she dragged air into her lungs.
How had it come to this?
A quickie wedding, empty and meaningless, to a man she’d once loved with all her heart yet who hadn’t loved her enough in return, when all she’d wanted to do when she’d come home was gather enough information to secure a promotion.
‘Hey, it’s going to be okay.’
Nick squeezed her hand and she opened her eyes, captured by the kindness in his, kindness underlined by happiness she’d glimpsed earlier.
‘Trust me.’
Trust him?
She’d trusted him with her heart.
She’d trusted him with her virginity.
And he’d sent her away anyway.
So excuse her if she was a little light in the trust stakes these days.
Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile. ‘Let’s get this done.’
Shadows gathered in his eyes, obliterating his joy, and she mentally kicked herself for sounding so abrupt.
He wasn’t forcing her into this. She was a big girl, she’d made her own decision, and now the moment of truth had arrived she had to suck it up.
Nick gestured to the minister to start and the next fifteen minutes flew by in a blur of meaningless vows, empty promises and pretend smiles.
Her heart ached so much she almost cried, twice, but one look into Nick’s determined dark eyes gave her the strength to get through it.
Until the kiss.
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
The minister beamed as if he’d just bestowed the greatest gift on them, but all Brittany could think was how she’d hold it together when Nick’s lips touched hers.
Her eyelids slammed shut against the threatening tears, against the determination on his face as his head descended, slowly, agonisingly slowly, when all she wanted was for this to be done with.
She wanted a quick, seal-the-deal kiss.
What she got was something else entirely as his lips brushed hers, so soft, so gentle, so tantalising, drawing her towards him like an invisible gossamer thread being gently tugged.
She couldn’t break the hold, break the spell, as he bundled her in his arms and kissed her, really kissed her, with every ounce of pent-up emotion bubbling between them.
The tears started falling then, swift, coursing, raining down her cheeks and splattering his lapels as he dabbed them away with his thumbs, his smile too warm, too tender, too understanding.
‘Damn you, Mancini,’ she muttered, her gaze firmly fixed on the second button of his dress shirt as she blinked rapidly.
‘I feel this too, Red.’
He tilted her chin up, giving her no option but to meet his scrutinising gaze. ‘Don’t fight it.’ She had as much chance of fighting this as receiving a welcome-home hug from her father! But she knew she mustn’t give in entirely to this attraction simmering between them, couldn’t give into the insane dream to make this marriage real.
She had a life in London, a promotion to nail. Then why the renewed rush of tears at the thought of leaving all this, leaving Nick, behind?
‘Come on, almost done, then we can relax.’
He held her hand the entire time through the signing of the certificates, through the forced pleasantries from the minister and the false congratulations from the witnesses she didn’t know, and the trip in the elevator to the fifth floor.
‘Where are we going?’
Stupid question, for she knew, and every cell in her body was on high alert.
They had to have a fake wedding night for people to believe this marriage was real, she got that. The part she was having trouble with was reminding herself of the fake part.
‘Our suite.’
Two little words that sent a tremor of longing through her as she wished she were being whisked away to a fabulous room with her husband for real.
But this wasn’t real, none of it was, and she needed to keep telling herself that as he held onto her hand as if he’d never let go.
‘It’s one of the hotel’s best. The type of room that allows the occupants to step into a different world and lets all their fantasies come true.’
Her head snapped up at his husky tone, her skin prickling in alarm at the basest desire glittering in his eyes.
Oh, heck, why did he have to go and mention fantasies? It would’ve been hard enough resisting him without the added pressure of envisioning all sorts of inventive ways she could share a room with the hottest guy to walk the earth, possibly seeing him naked, his hair ruffled by sleep first thing in the morning, that sexy smile playing about his mouth…
‘I’m sure the room will be fine.’
Could she sound any lamer?
‘Oh, it’s better than fine.’
She inhaled sharply, Nick’s subtle woody aftershave that had teased her for the last hours warping her senses when she had a precarious enough hold on them as it was.
‘It’s the French suite. Hope you like it.’
The French suite?
Suddenly, her magnanimous decision to share a room for a faux wedding night with Nick took on a whole new meaning.
A basic, boring, run-of-the-mill room she could’ve handled. Something like the French suite sounded way too seductive for comfort. Though right now, with Nick palming a key card out of his pocket as they stopped outside an elaborate ivory and gold door, she had more important things to worry about.
Such as how she could keep the guy she’d loved all those years ago at arm’s length.
More importantly, did she really want to?
CHAPTER SEVEN
NICK gripped Brittany’s hand as he slid their room card into the slot and waited for the tiny green light to flash.
Their room.
They’d be sharing a room, tonight, their wedding night.
He could barely think of anything else as he pushed the door open and gestured to her to step inside.
‘Oh, my.’
Her gasp of surprise had him standing taller. Every inch of this hotel was his idea, from the boutique-styled foyer with its casual elegance to the extensive range of ‘fantasy’ suites designed to please the most discerning traveller.
Having the woman he’d married, the woman whose opinion he’d always valued, admire this room filled him with pride.
‘You like it?’
She nodded, her eyes wide as they swept the room, alighting on the massive four-poster king-size bed covered in gold and ivory cushions and draped in yards of filmy chiffon—he’d labelled it ‘some fancy thin material’ and stood corrected by the aghast interior designer who’d taken him through the hotel suite by suite when he’d first dreamed up the idea.
The memory brought a smile to his face, a smile that quickly broadened when Britt turned her wide eyes, now filled with mischief, towards him.
‘Knowing your sense of humour, for a second there when you mentioned French suite I had visions of a maid’s outfit hanging in the wardrobes rather than fluffy robes and baskets of…’
She trailed off, bit her tongue and he raised an eyebrow.
‘Of?’
With crimson cheeks, she said, ‘French letters.’
He chuckled, urged her into the room with a gentle push in the small of her back.
‘I haven’t heard condoms called those in years.’
She waved her hand at him. ‘Forget I said anything. Speaking before I think.’
She looked adorable with her flaming cheeks and wobbly smile, in stark contrast to her wedding gown and upswept hair.
He shouldn’t tease her, he really shouldn’t, but he didn’t have her on the back foot very often and he couldn’t resist.
‘If this suite is too boring, we could always change to another. The Roman room, complete with marble columns around a central spa bath right in the bedroom, is pretty nifty. Or there’s the Scottish room with its lavish faux fireplace and fur rug in front of it, or if you’re feeling really adventurous there’s always the Tack room, complete with whips, for those who need a little added excitement in their lives.’
‘Whips?’
Her voice came out a squeak and he laughed.
‘Okay, so I’ve just invented the Tack room, but hey, what the hell, it might draw a few customers.’
‘What sort of hotel are you running here?’
‘I resent what you’re implying, lady.’
To his surprise, the mischief had returned to her eyes as she quirked an eyebrow. ‘It’s wifey to you now.’
Just like that, it hit him all over again.
They were married.
It was their wedding night.
And no amount of kidding around or playing the fool would douse his driving need to consummate this marriage.
Business might be the motivator behind their nuptials but his unquenchable need to have Britt in his arms again was a definite bonus.
Taking a step closer, he ran a fingertip down her arm, delighting in the slight tremor, proving she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like him to believe.