Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  There was no forgiveness in those blue-green eyes. He’d watched her throughout the ceremony. He tried to put his finger on exactly what it was about Franchesca Baranski that held his attention like a hand closing around his throat. She wasn’t his usual cookie-cutter beauty. She wasn’t refined. And she certainly wasn’t used to high society.

  He made sure the women he dated were all of those things. It made it easy, uncomplicated.

  There was nothing uncomplicated about Frankie. And she was dismissive about his wealth, something else Aiden wasn’t used to.

  But he longed to touch her again. It had been a test of both his and her reactions at Oistins. He’d pushed his luck on the beach at Rockley. But now that he had his answer, there was no way he was giving up the chase. He wanted her under him, naked and begging. Wanted to fist a hand in that curtain of curls and bring her to her knees. There was something dangerous about those desires. He wanted to own her, consume her.

  He wanted her to complicate the hell out of things.

  He watched her throughout the ceremony. While the other bridesmaids looked bored or practiced the perfect pose for the photographer, Frankie cried tears of sincere joy for her friends and the commitment they were making. She was a romantic, and he knew he’d spoil that in her if he touched her. If he got her to say yes. He wasn’t capable of love or romance. He excelled at winning.

  And even with the blood, the bruises, the lack of makeup, Franchesca was a prize worth winning. She outshone the rest of them, all posing like clothes hangers. The same hair, the same makeup, the same drive.

  He’d have her, Aiden decided, for purely selfish reasons. She didn’t make sense. She didn’t fit in his life. But he wanted her all the same. He’d have her even if it meant ruining her.

  He’d caught her eye during the vows, and the soft happiness in her eyes had shifted to steel. No, she hadn’t forgiven him. Nor should she. However, if that grudge was going to keep her out of his bed, Aiden was willing to grovel to destroy the obstacle.

  They spent the rest of the ceremony locked in a staring contest. His focus zeroed in until there was nothing but Frankie, her hair blowing in the breeze, her dress hugging her curves like she were a pin-up.

  “Knock. It. Off,” she mouthed to him. He grinned wickedly. Yes, this conquest would be more than satisfying.

  When the bride and groom linked arms in celebration and marched down the aisle to the cheers of their audience. Aiden felt the anticipation ratchet up.

  And then he was touching her. Frankie stiffly slid her arm through his.

  He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a handkerchief. He handed it to her. She frowned down at it. “You soak this in chloroform?” she hissed.

  His laugh surprised them both and drew the eyes of the ceremony guests.

  “You are one-of-a-kind, Franchesca.”

  “Ugh. Let’s get this over with, you steaming pile of shit,” she muttered.

  “Smile pretty for the cameras, sweetheart,” he said as they started down the aisle.

  “How about I break your nose like I did for your brother?” she offered sweetly, beaming up at him as if he were the most fascinating man in the world.

  “Half-brother. And if it gets you to forgive me, my nose is yours.”

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  They smiled and nodded their way down the white carpet, and Aiden captured her hand with his free one. A photographer darted in front of them, and Aiden squeezed her hand until Frankie pasted on a “fuck you” smile. They grinned at each other. His hand crushing hers, her nails digging into his wrist.

  He’d never wanted a woman this badly before in his entire forty years. Not even the voluptuous and unattainable Natalia when he’d been a fifteen-year-old virgin in private school. Two years older than Aiden, Natalia hadn’t remained unattainable, and Aiden hadn’t remained a virgin.

  However, Frankie was just stubborn enough to deny them both what they most wanted on principle. He couldn’t have that. He was a Kilbourn, and Kilbourns did whatever it took to get what they wanted by any means necessary as embarrassingly evidenced by his half-brother’s dim-witted move.

  Reluctantly, Aiden released her when Pruitt threw her arms around Frankie.

  The women hugged rocking side to side, and the tears returned.

  Aiden slapped Chip on the shoulder. “You did it.”

  “Thanks to you and Frankie,” Chip said, prodding his eyepatch. “So, you going to kill Elliot?”

  “I’ve got some plans for him,” Aiden said darkly. He was used to his family’s manipulations to some extent. But Elliot had crossed a line, and there was no going back.

  “What did he want out of you?” Chip asked.

  “A vote.”

  “Family, right?” Chip shrugged good-naturedly.

  “I’m sorry he dragged you into this. Rest assured he’ll pay.”

  “I had no doubt, Kilbourn. Now, let’s party.”

  Chip swept Pruitt out of Frankie’s arms and spun her in a circle. “Mrs. Randolph!”

  “Mr. Randolph,” she cooed back at him. “Now, tell me everything that happened.”

  Davenport appeared with Margeaux attached to him. She slinked over to Aiden and smiled slyly. “How do you feel about bagging a bridesmaid before cocktail hour?”

  He frowned and leaned in a little closer. “What happened to your eyebrow?”

  Margeaux growled. “That low-class, fat bitch Franklin bonded with the help, and they waxed it off.”

  “Oh, hey, Marge,” Frankie strolled by, plate of hors de oeuvres in hand. “You’ve got a little something right here.” She pointed to where the fake eyebrow that wasn’t fooling anyone had been sketched onto her forehead.

  “Why don’t you fuck off and go scrub someone’s toilet?” Margeaux snapped.

  “Actually, I’m in catering, so you should ask me to get a plate of food. But I can see how you’d get those confused, being a spoiled, selfish dumbass and all.”

  “Ladies,” Davenport said jovially. He threw an arm around both bridesmaids. “Can’t we all just get along?”

  “Sure, as soon as someone sends her back over the wall to Mexico where she belongs,” Margeaux sneered.

  “I’m Lebanese and Italian, you fuckwit.”

  “Whatever. Your people fold my laundry and cook for me.”

  “Margeaux, why don’t you do us all a favor and go off and fuck some poor schmuck who doesn’t yet know what a soulless harpy you are?” Aiden said succinctly.

  Frankie and Margeaux stared at him, open mouthed.

  “Don’t insult Franchesca again, or you won’t be happy with the consequences.”

  “Come on, doll. Let’s get you a drink and some appetizers that you can throw up later,” Davenport said, steering Margeaux away from Frankie.

  “I don’t need you defending me,” Frankie reminded him.

  “And I don’t need you being treated like shit.”

  “I can handle myself.”

  “I can see that. Nice job on her eyebrow by the way. She’s going to look perennially surprised in every photo.”

  Frankie’s full lips curved ever so slightly. “It wasn’t my idea. I wish it had been.”

  Cressida and Taffany joined them. Cressida snapped her fingers at a waiter bearing a tray of drinks. “You may leave these here,” she said, taking the tray from him.

  Taffany was a shocking shade of fuchsia. She reached for a glass and winced as her dress rubbed her raw skin.

  “What happened to you?” Frankie asked.

  “I fell asleep in the sun this afternoon after the spa,” Taffany said trying to lift the drink to her lips without stretching any skin.

  “Passed out actually,” Ford said, leaning over Taffany’s shoulder and grabbing a drink. He’d already loosened his tie and slapped on a pair of Ray-Bans. “Let’s get this party started!”

  “I agree,” Cressida said fiercely.

  “Woooo,” the burnt Taffany said without moving.

 
; Digby strolled by on his phone muttering about “not missing this IPO” and “restricted shares.”

  “Let’s talk,” Aiden told Frankie. He was pleasantly surprised when she let him guide her away from the festivity, his hand at the small of her back.

  Night was falling. The sunset cast a spectacular show of pinks and reds over the sky and ocean to the west. Behind them, the band warmed up with an old favorite.

  “You wanted to talk, so talk,” Frankie said, crossing her arms in front of her. The move made her breasts swell dangerously against the fabric of her dress.

  “I’d like to explain what happened.”

  “To me or to my boobs,” Frankie asked.

  Rather reluctantly, Aiden raised his gaze to her face. She was smirking at him, her hair spilling over a shoulder, the curls lifting in the wind.

  “To all of you, if you’ll let me.”

  She made a sarcastic and sweeping gesture with her hand. “The beach is yours. Talk.”

  “My family isn’t normal,” he began. She rolled her eyes but didn’t interject. “We don’t ask for things. We take them. We manipulate and maneuver until whatever it is that we want is ours or until we lose our interest.”

  “I thought you were trying to get into my pants?” Frankie quipped.

  “I’m trying to be honest. And I have a feeling honesty will get me farther than painting pretty pictures.”

  “So, you’re all selfish, manipulative assholes. I got it. Why did your selfish, manipulative asshole brother take Chip?”

  “Elliot is my half-brother. He’s spent years trying to prove to our father that he’s the better son.” Despite their ten-year age difference, Elliot had been born trying to keep up with Aiden. “I’m favored for whatever reasons my father has. But Elliot is constantly trying to outdo me, undermine me, prove his worth.”

  “Uh-huh. And abducting your best friend would help him how?”

  “We’re all on the board of Kilbourn Holdings. We’re looking for a new CFO. A powerful and lucrative position. Elliot wants me to vote for the candidate he’s backing. His candidate is… lacking. And I told him so, repeatedly.” It was the polite way of saying Boris Donaldson was a sexual harassing, egotistical, asshole who left his last position under the shadow of an insider trading scheme. Aiden wasn’t letting the man near his family business.

  “So, he took Chip to strong-arm you into it?”

  Aiden nodded. “It sounds stupid, but the business of it is complicated.”

  “It is stupid, but it’s not that complicated. Obviously, Elliot has a reason he wants this guy in place whether it’s personal or professional. CFO for Kilbourn Holdings. That’s a lot of money, not to mention prestige, and a voice as to what happens within the company. He either really likes this guy, or it’s a ‘I’ll do this for you, if you do this for me’ deal.”

  Aiden nodded, pleased that she grasped the situation. “I knew Elliot was behind it when you named the company listed on the room. He thinks it’s a secret shell corporation, but I know everything that happens under the company umbrella. I’ve kept an eye on him and his business.”

  “This is the part that really starts to piss me off. You knew where Chip was and who had him, and you could probably guess the reason. Yet you decide we have to leave him there and ‘regroup.’”

  “I told you I didn’t want to involve you.”

  “I could have held your coat while you kicked in the door, punched your brother in the face, and dragged Chip out.”

  His lips curved. That was probably the way Frankie would prefer to conduct business.

  “That’s not how Kilbourns react to threats.”

  “Let me guess,” Frankie said, tapping a finger to her chin. “You came back to the hotel, did a little digging, and found out why this Boris guy is so important to your brother so you could use it against him.”

  He nodded again. “Essentially. You’re not running away screaming yet,” Aiden pointed out.

  She shrugged. “It’s no kicking in a door and punching him in the face, but at least you were willing to do something vindictive. However, you were also willing to leave my friend at the hands of an idiot kidnapper for more hours than necessary. What if Elliot had hurt him?”

  Aiden shook his head. “That’s not Elliot’s MO. He doesn’t get his hands dirty. You saw the setup. Chip was locked in a room and fed.”

  “But you couldn’t know that for sure,” Frankie reminded him. “People go crazy all the time.”

  “Chip dabbled in mixed martial arts after college. I think he could take a sniveling idiot like Elliot without breaking a sweat.”

  She stepped closer. Her chin came up defiantly. “Your brother could and did hire other people to do his dirty work. You shouldn’t have assumed that they would have qualms about harming a rich, drunk American. You were so cocky in your assessment, you left my friend in a potentially dangerous situation and me in the dark. That’s not how you treat people, Aiden.”

  He frowned, her words striking a direct hit. “There’s no point in reviewing ‘what-ifs.’ I was confident that Elliot wouldn’t harm Chip, and he didn’t.”

  “You were willing to risk it.”

  “I got where I am today by listening to my instincts.”

  “Please. You got to where you are today because your daddy gave you a position and a big, fat trust fund. Maybe you’ve worked hard since then. Maybe you’re good at what you do. But you fucked up here. Chip could have been hurt while you and your brother were playing human chess. This wedding might not have happened, and a whole lot of other people would have gotten hurt.”

  “But it didn’t happen that way,” Aiden pointed out, his frustration rising. He wasn’t used to being lectured by anyone other than his father.

  “You were careless with other people, Kilbourn. That’s a pretty damning character flaw. I don’t go to bed with people who treat me or anyone else like shit.”

  “Franchesca,” he began. Defending himself was getting him nowhere. Time to change tactics. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I was careless and cocky, and my decision could have hurt people.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Aide, you tell me you’re a champion manipulator, and then you go and give me the perfect apology? Please. I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck. I know how far a man will go to get in my bed.”

  He didn’t particularly care for being called out for his tactics or having to think about any other man lucky enough to land in Frankie’s bed.

  “You wanted answers, you wanted an apology. And none of that’s good enough. What more do you want from me, Franchesca?” he demanded, crossing his arms.

  “I want you to be real. Don’t play games. Don’t paint me a picture. Be honest. Don’t try to strategize your way between my legs.” She turned and started back toward the party and then paused. “Oh, and you owe Chip and Pru a pretty massive apology. Make it a good one.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Frankie marched back to the reception ready for a good, stiff drink. She was exhausted. Chip was safe, Pru was married, and she’d knocked the great and powerful Aiden Kilbourn down a peg or two. Her work here was done.

  She was flying back in the morning. Back to normal life. Work, school, her insane mother. And as far as she was concerned, she’d be just fine if she never saw Aiden again.

  “There you are!” One of the photographer’s lackeys grabbed Frankie’s wrist just as she was reaching for a glass of something cold and alcoholic. “Time for portraits,” the woman said cheerily, dragging her away.

  “But, but tequila!”

  “I’ll have a hot cocktail waiter spoon feed you tequila if it means you’ll run, not walk,” the woman said through gritted teeth.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of the bride. There’s no zilla there,” Frankie said, warming up to a jog.

  “It’s not her. It’s Wannabe Annie Leibovitz,” the lackey said, nodding in the photographer’s direction. The woma
n was wearing diamonds and silk as if she were one of the higher end guests. “She’s terrifying.”

  “Send me that waiter,” Frankie hissed as the woman shoved her toward the photographer.

  “You!” The photographer pointed an accusing finger in her direction. “Makeup!”

  As if by magic, a hotel employee with a palette of gels and goops and glosses appeared in front of Frankie and started applying things to her face.

  “And you!” The photographer pointed at Aiden who had trailed in, a glass of something manly in his hand. “Your hair is a little long on top for my vision. We need to cut it.”

  “Or you’ll take me as I am,” he suggested calmly, his gaze finding Frankie.

  “Bah!” the photographer spat out a laugh. “Fine. Stand there and look broody. Perfect,” she said when he didn’t move a muscle. She pointed at Frankie again. “You. Go there.”

  “Where’s my tequila?” Frankie whispered to the assistant.

  “I’ll share,” Aiden offered, holding up his glass.

  She wasn’t getting through this without alcohol. She sipped, her eyes widening at the slow, smooth burn at the back of her throat.

  “Scotch?” she asked, taking another sip. A team of assistants appeared and shoved her at Aiden, arranging them for the photographer.

  Aiden nodded. His hand skimmed the small of her back, fingers curling around the curve of her hip.

  One of the assistants snatched the glass from her hand and Frankie glared, mutinously at the man. “I must have only had the bad kind before.”

  “I’ll give you a case,” Aiden promised.

  Frankie looked up at him sharply. “Don’t start with me, Aide.” One of the stagers grabbed her hand and laid it flat on his chest. “Hey!” Frankie didn’t care to be arranged like a Barbie doll. Especially not when her Ken was Aiden.