Billionaire Brides: Four sexy cinderella romances

by Clare Connelly

  His eyes bore into hers and she couldn’t look away now. Her breath was burning through her body, her knees felt weak, completely insufficient to support her weight. She stared up at him and with every second that passed she felt herself slipping back in time, back to when he’d been the sun and the moon to her earth. “Why did you come here?” The words emerged as a groan.

  He shifted his body then, pushing her against the wall, and she was grateful for the support even when she was held up by his strong frame, his body pressed hard to hers so she felt every edge and plane of him, so she wanted to moan for how good that felt.

  “Why do you think?”

  She shook her head, unable to comprehend, unable to offer any answer that made sense.

  “You were my wife, Alessia.”

  The statement was sobering. “I was a woman you married, not your wife. There’s a difference.”

  “And what is that difference?” He pushed, moving his hips so she felt the hint of his arousal and had to bite down on her lip to stop from making any kind of verbal response to that.

  “You know the answer to that.”

  “Sex?” he prompted, moving his hips once more.

  She swept her eyes closed, unable to think clearly, unable to speak when her pulse was hammering so wildly inside of her body. She had wanted him in a way that had made her desperate and almost mad with longing. And he’d rejected her again and again.

  His rejection had critically undermined her confidence and belief in her sexuality – she’d never been with a man because deep down she knew herself to be completely undesirable.

  So having Max here now, proof of his desire hard against her belly, she wanted to scream at him, to claw at his chest and she wanted, almost more than anything, to go to bed with him.

  And she hated that weakness.

  “A lack of sex was one reason our marriage failed.”

  “Actually, our marriage failed because of the presence of sex,” he reminded her, the words firm like stone. “Specifically, you having sex with another man.”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to deny that – she’d let another man kiss her, in a childish, drunken attempt to make Max jealous – but that had been the end of it. She’d hated it. She’d hated the feel of another man’s lips on hers, his hands on her body. She’d pushed him away just as soon as the journalist had got their photo.

  “What did you expect, Max? That I’d wait until you realised I was a flesh and blood woman?” Much better. Bringing it back to his disinterest in her was safer than discussing her alleged infidelity.

  “I expected you to honour our marriage vows, at least.”

  Five years ago, she’d been glad for Max to think she’d cheated. She’d relished throwing it in his face, hoping it would inspire a reaction of some kind from him. Five years ago, she’d been hurt, wounded and childish, acting out of pain and heartache. What was her excuse now?

  Desire might have been burning through her, making thought almost impossible, but she had better instincts now. She was a grown woman and letting him believe her capable of that no longer sat well with her. Especially when she knew how he felt about infidelity, and why.

  “I did honour them.”

  His laugh was harsh, but he stayed where he was, so she was losing her grip on sense and rational thought. “Sure you did.”

  “No, you don’t understand.”

  His eyes were fierce though, the anger and emotion she’d desperately wanted to see five years ago deep in his expression now. Had it been there then and she’d missed it? Had her own wounds been too deep?

  No. He’d been cold. Emphatic. We shouldn’t have done this. Our marriage was a mistake. I’ll find another way.

  She’d never known what he meant by that.

  “I understand.” His breath was warm on the side of her face, his body something she craved with all her senses. “I – along with the rest of the world – saw the pictures.”

  She closed her eyes a moment, those damned photographs as real now as they’d been then. It had looked like a passionate kiss, as though they couldn’t keep their hands off each other.

  “The pictures painted the wrong story. It was just a kiss.”

  He stilled for a moment and she forced herself to look at him, saw the emotions wrestling inside of him. Surprise, disbelief, cynicism. “Sure it was.”

  “It’s the truth. I didn’t sleep with Andrew. He kissed me. I let him.” Pink lifted in her cheeks. She’d known there were photographers at the A-list hotspot. She’d been glad to have her picture taken, glad to think her inattentive husband would see it.

  “There’s no need to lie. Five years is a long time. There’s a lot of water under the bridge, for both of us.”

  “More for you than me, I think,” she retorted, barely needing to think to remember the articles that had run about Massimo. Photo upon photo upon photo of him quickly resuming his single life, dating – sleeping with – myriad beautiful other women. For a year, she’d found it almost impossible to go through the motions of life. She’d continued her medical degree, because it was a habit and a distraction, but she’d shut everyone else out. Friends, family, she’d barely eaten, she’d stayed indoors, she’d been destroyed and distraught.

  She would never let a man hurt her that way again. Even when Dom ended their engagement, she’d been surprised, and disappointed, but not hurt. Her emotions had never really been involved with him, because she knew better than that now.

  “You forget, Alessia, I have first-hand experience of your libido.”

  She drew in a sharp breath, her eyes unconsciously revealing her hurt at the low blow. If only he knew the truth! She was a virgin, completely inexperienced with members of the opposite sex. And that was, in large part, thanks to him. “A libido you never indulged.”

  A muscle throbbed at the base of his jaw, and his eyes burned their way right into her soul. “I’d like to rectify that tonight.”

  Her stomach looped a thousand times. She wanted to say ‘yes’ with all her being but anger kept her strong in the face of that. “How dare you?”

  “I dare because you were my wife.”

  “’Were’ being the operative word. Past tense, Massimo. You’re nothing to me now.”

  He nodded slowly, and something burst inside of her. Pain – fresh pain, because he was going to disappear, just like she was asking. And she didn’t want him to.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” She bit down on her lower lip, surrender in those words, a surrender they both heard.

  “Tell me something I don’t know.” That had her dragging her eyes to his and for the smallest sliver of time she saw the same torment deep in his gaze that she felt in her heart. It was as though he was fighting a battle all of his own, his apparent desire at odds with what he knew he should be doing.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” she repeated, but he stayed where he was, and she did the same, locked between her ex-husband and a wall of a corridor here in the Four Seasons hotel.

  “Tell me to go and I will.” There was almost a plea in those words, like he wanted her to send him away. As though he’d be grateful if she did. It was all she had to do – tell him to go. Tell him he didn’t belong here, that he didn’t get to look at her, much less touch her.

  But oh, it wasn’t so easy.

  Alessia hadn’t loved her fiancé. Dom had been kind and sensible and she’d truly believed their marriage would be comfortable and happy, but there’d been no passion, no love, nothing that could ever hurt her. So his rejection of her – when he’d been a ‘safe’ choice – had cut deeply. She felt discarded, unvalued, unwanted.

  Having Max – the man she’d believed she loved at one stupid time in her life – offering himself to her? It set every spark in her body alight.

  Could she do this though? Despite how he’d treated her? Despite what he thought of her?

  Yes. This wasn’t about him. He didn’t matter. He was – to some extent – irrelevant. She wanted to have sex wit
h him. To use his body to slake the needs within hers. She wanted to lose her virginity – finally – and to a man who, admittedly with good reason, thought the worst of her. She wanted to show him how wrong he’d been. She wanted to take what she needed from him, finally, as a way of righting a past wrong, and then she wanted to walk away without a backwards glance. Because he didn’t deserve that.

  “I’ll never forgive you,” she said darkly, needing to assert herself, to remind him that desire didn’t change anything.

  “That goes both ways.” He volleyed back, so something like a whip jerked against her spine.

  She took his anger and held onto it – it was good to remember why there was no love lost between them.

  “I don’t ever want to see you again,” she added, for good measure, wondering at the pain in her chest as she threw those words at him.

  His eyes narrowed, a small crevice forming between his brows.

  “After tonight,” she clarified. His expression shifted by degrees, features relaxing a little.

  “After we’re done,” he amended, sending a little shiver of anticipation down her spine. It spoke so specifically of what he was proposing. This was madness and yet it was delicious and impossibly tempting.

  “I really do hate you.” But the words were swallowed up as he dropped his head and pressed his lips to hers, the kiss hard, hungry, desperate, demanding. And now she gave into the groan that had been threatening, kissing him back with years of pent-up needs, desperate for this, desperate to peel back time and allow herself the pleasure of the man she’d married – for one night only.

  LOVING THE ENEMY is coming soon!

  Books By Clare Connelly

  HARLEQUIN TITLES

  Bought for the Billionaire’s Revenge

  Innocent in the Billionaire’s Bed

  Off Limits

  Her Wedding Night Surrender

  Burn Me Once

  Bound by the Billionaire’s Vows

  The Season to Sin

  His Innocent Seduction

  Bound by their Christmas Baby

  Her Guilty Secret

  Shock Heir for the King

  The Greek’s Billion-Dollar Baby

  Spaniard’s Baby of Revenge

  The Bride Behind the Billion-Dollar Veil

  The Deal

  Cross my Hart (Notorious Harts Bk 1)

  SINGLE TITLES

  Regret Me Not

  Just This One Summer

  Loving The Enemy

  Her Guardian’s Christmas Seduction

  Stolen by the Desert King

  In the Hands of the Sheikh

  His Nine Month Seduction

  The Sheikh’s Contract Bride

  Seduced by the Vengeful Tycoon

  The Sheikh’s Stolen Bride

  The Sheikh’s Secret Baby

  The Sheikh’s Million Dollar Bride

  The Tycoon’s Virgin Mistress

  The Sheikh’s Virgin Hostage

  Bartered to the Sheikh

  The Sheikh’s Arranged Marriage

  Marrying for his Royal Heir

  The Greek’s Marriage Revenge

  The Velasco Love Child

  The Sultan’s Virgin Bride

  Bound to the Sheikh

  The Medici Mistress

  His Loving Deception

  The Sheikh’s Convenient Mistress

  The Princess’s Forbidden Lover

  Marrying her Enemy

  Rakanti’s Indecent Proposition

  Seducing the Spaniard

  The Italian’s Innocent Bride

  The Greek Tycoon’s Forbidden Affair

  The Terms of their Affair

  A Second Chance at Love

  The Sheikh’s Christmas Mistress

  At the Sheikh’s Command

  The Billionaire’s Christmas Revenge

  Seduced by the Italian Tycoon

  Raising the Soldier’s Son

  Warming the Sheikh’s Bed

  The Tycoon’s Christmas Captive

  The Brazilian’s Forgotten Lover

  Betrayed by the CEO

  The Billionaire’s Ruthless Revenge

  The Italian Billionaire’s Betrayal

  The Sultan’s Reluctant Princess

  Love in the Fast Lane

  Bought by the Sheikh

  The Tycoon’s Summer Seduction

  All She Wants for Christmas

  One Night with the Sheikh

  A Bed of Broken Promises

  Tempted by the Billionaire

  The Sheikh’s Christmas Wish

  To the Highest Bidder

  The Tycoon’s Secret Baby

  Bedding His Innocent Mistress

  The Sheikh’s Baby Bargain

  The Greek’s Virgin Captive

  The Sheikh’s Inherited Bride

  Claiming His Secret Baby

  Blackmailed by the Spaniard

  Her Surprise Baby Christmas

  COMPENDIUMS

  Casacelli Brides

  Mediterranean Tycoons

  Desert Rulers

  Billionaire Bad Boys

  Too Hot to Handle

  Desert Kings

  Happily Ever After

  The Darling Buds of May Café

  Royal Weddings

  The Evermore Series

  About the Author

  Clare Connelly grew up in a small country town in Australia. Surrounded by rainforests, and rickety old timber houses, magic was thick in the air, and stories and storytelling were a huge part of her childhood.

  From early on in life, Clare realised her favourite books were romance stories, and read voraciously. Anything from Jane Austen to Georgette Heyer, to Mills & Boon and (more recently) 50 Shades, Clare is a romance devotee. She first turned her hand to penning a novel at fifteen (if memory serves, it was something about a glamorous fashion model who fell foul of a high-end designer. Sparks flew, clothes flew faster, and love was born.)

  Clare has a small family and a bungalow near the sea. When she isn't chasing after energetic little toddlers, or wiping fingerprints off furniture, she's writing, thinking about writing, or wishing she were writing.

  Clare loves connecting with her readers. Head to www.clareconnelly.co.uk to sign up to her newsletter, or join her official facebook page.