His Runaway Bride (Alphalicious Billionaires Book 7)

by Lindsey Hart

  Cason. He had no idea where he’d come up with that name. Or why the hell he’d offered to make something he couldn’t order in and pass off as his own cooking. Or just plain offered TV and takeout.

  Noemi was sweet. She’d just had her whole life upended. She was the kind of person who struck him as sincere, a woman who had a good family and was loved and loved them in return. She was obviously vulnerable and not just because she’d fled everything familiar. It was easy to swoop in and be the white knight she needed.

  Except that he wasn’t. A white knight. Or what she needed. He wasn’t any kind of knight, because knights didn’t exist. If they did, he’d be that washed up, tarnished kind that had a sagging horse, armor he’d lost in a bad hand of cards, missing teeth, ale on his breath, and likely a good case of something that was going to rot his dick off from getting drunk and engaging in questionable encounters with tavern maids.

  Hardly fit to rescue a damsel in distress.

  Then there was the whole problem about him being the one she was actually on the run from.

  What he should have done was told her his real name and then followed it up by a conversation highlighting his better points- the few that he had- promising that he wasn’t actually that bad, telling her he didn’t want the marriage either, pointing out their obvious chemistry- because they did have something brewing at that table that wasn’t fake, even if everything else was- and ending it all by proposing his marvelous solution to all their problems.

  Which he had yet to come up with.

  Instead, he’d panicked a little and made up a fake name. He’d made up a fake everything, because he thought she’d run, and he’d never see her again.

  There was this small, ridiculous, questionable part of himself that wasn’t completely tarnished by being ultra-rich and jaded by life in general, that wanted her to stay because she was beautiful and he could already tell that she was funny and smart and kind and he really did want to see her get those waffles that he promised. And he wanted to find her dickhead ex and if he didn’t have a butthole on his forehead, tear him a new one right in that spot.

  In short, he was into her. He was into his own fiancé- sort of fiancé- and he wanted to know more. He wanted to know her.

  Fucking karma. Or irony. Whatever it was, the universe either had a hard on for him or straight up fucking hated him and decided to make him the brunt of every joke possible.

  At just after seven, the doorbell rang. Byron had been rushing around the kitchen, trying to use his phone with floury hands to figure out how the hell to cook waffles. He didn’t actually realize he needed a waffle maker and had gone out for it at the last minute.

  He couldn’t remember the last time he’d put so much effort into anything, but then again, if he lost Noemi, he’d lose the whole fucking deal and he’d worked far too hard his whole life to let it go to shit over waffles.

  He pulled the door open to find Noemi smiling shyly at him from the doorstep. She’d curled her hair and it hung in thick ringlets trailing down her back. She had on a red dress, tighter on top, that flared out at the waist. She’d paired it with a set of black flats and had the same black leather bag slung over her shoulder that she’d used that morning. Her makeup was minimal, like she couldn’t actually be bothered with it, though she obviously took time with her hair and he was willing to bet the floor of her hotel room was littered with discarded outfits.

  It made him feel strange, seeing her there, though he couldn’t really say what kind of strange. A twinge and his chest and a knot in his stomach kind of strange. Which was enough, given that he generally felt a whole lot of nothing at all when it came to other people.

  “You came.” He stepped aside, the door hanging open.

  “Yeah.” Her brows knit together in an adorable frown. The fact that he noticed and thought it was adorable said a lot. There was a distinct possibility his balls were in serious danger. “Oh, I get it,” Noemi said as she swept into the house and he backed up a step, his floury hands at his sides. “You thought I wasn’t going to show.”

  “I had some doubts,” he admitted, because damn it, he did. Of course, he did. She had every reason to ditch on him and then he’d have to come up with plan fucking B when plan A had already taken a considerable amount of effort.

  Noemi actually slipped out of her shoes and lined them up on the mat. He was treated to the sight of her bare feet and somehow, those delicate toes with the painted red nails were like taking a fist straight to the kidneys.

  He glanced over at her shoes and just as he thought, of course they were from her father’s line. She probably had an overflowing closet full back home in New York.

  “Come on, Cason, you didn’t really think I’d stand you up. I mean, I wanted to. I thought about it.” She threw him a loaded glare. “You’re a good-looking guy though, and you’re probably used to getting what you want, so you don’t have to act surprised.”

  “No, I am surprised.” He rubbed his hands on his jeans, leaving white streaks on his thighs. Cason, right. Have to fucking remember to actually respond to that. “Thanks for the backhanded compliment. My ego appreciates it, but I wouldn’t say I’ve done it justice.”

  “Oh, come on. Women must fall all over you.”

  Yes. And I am used to getting what I want, in every way. “Not as a rule.” When her brow arched, he amended that statement. “I’m busy. I don’t have time to- dating isn’t…” he ran a hand through his hair, half an act, half a little discomfited by Noemi’s direct black-eyed stare.

  She ducked her head. “Sorry. I guess it’s pretty rude to judge a book by the cover, even if that cover is quite pretty.”

  He let out a husky laugh that was completely genuine and totally shocked. Noemi seemed the quiet, shy type, but so far, she was smashing those assumptions to the ground. “You think I’m pretty?”

  She blushed, the red cutting all the way through her darker, olive toned complexion. God, looking at her, the living room and hallway light shining down on her raven black hair, that pale pink illuminating flawless cheeks right below the arc of her cheekbones, he was reminded why Italian women were some of the most beautiful on the planet.

  “I- I might have had a few glasses of wine back at the hotel room before I came.”

  Byron glanced out the front window and sure enough, her car was nowhere to be found. “You took a cab.”

  “Yeah.”

  “How many glasses did you have?”

  The flush on her cheekbones deepened. “Enough that I normally wouldn’t say things like this, but I can’t stop myself at the moment.”

  He just couldn’t help himself. She was too adorable not to tease. He was slightly out of practice with flirting. He didn’t do that shit. He usually just sat there and let whatever woman was trying to get him wherever for whatever fuck she wanted, do the romancing before he just agreed, paid the tab, fucked her senseless, and moved on.

  A hopeless fucking romantic, right to the heart, he was not.

  “So, if I was a book, what kind of book would I be?”

  She didn’t even have to think about it. Her response was immediate. “You’d be one of those old books, the crazy kind, from the middle ages, that were kept in like old churches or something. You know those ones with all the gold leaf illustrations? The kind with the gold spines and the extremely fancy covers that look like they’re probably worth half a million dollars?”

  “I’m not exactly sure…”

  “That’s the kind you would be.” She twisted her hands in front of her dress after, like she was just a little embarrassed at how certain that statement sounded.

  “I- well- thanks.” He remembered that he’d purposely been growing his hair out lately, and that he hadn’t shaved since days before he left New York. On him, it might as well have been a month. His facial hair had always been thick and dark. It used to piss him off that if he shaved at six in the morning, before he even got to work he had a shadow forming. “I’d personally go with one of
those ancient books, the ones falling apart a little at the bindings, plain black cover with the embossing, that typical old book smell when you lift it up to inhale it.”

  “Jesus. Have you thought about this before?”

  “No.” He grinned back at her. “I just happen to like the classics. Just not as classic as you described. That kind of stuff is usually only found in museums.”

  Noemi bit down onto her bottom lip and chewed a little. It was a habit that she probably wasn’t aware of, but he’d noticed it twice now and it made his cock twitch both times.

  Her dark eyes slowly travelled around the small living room. She took in the leather couch, the throw rug, the modern coffee table and end tables, the few potted plants around the place, the TV in the corner, the black and white art on the walls.

  “Your place is nice.” She swallowed hard. “Manly. Just like I thought.”

  “I don’t honestly know if that’s a compliment or not.”

  “It’s…”

  “Do you want those waffles I promised? They’re good. Buttermilk. It’s my secret ingredient.” Thanks Mary Ashley Albernathy, blogger and waffle specialist. He winked at her. “But don’t tell anyone. You know. Since it’s a secret.”

  Noemi started at him. “Or else you’ll be forced to torture and kill me?”

  “That’s a little extreme. Personally, I just like to cut out the tongue.” She gaped at him and he let out another deep, genuine laugh, which made about twice in the past year that he’d laughed at all and they were both with her, in the span of the last five minutes. “It’s not so secret. You can probably readily find over a thousand recipes online with a click that all call for buttermilk.” I know because I must have gone through at least a hundred of the damn things.

  Noemi fidgeted with her dress. She pointed her toe and ground it into the hardwood floor. When she glanced up at him, he could tell that she was a buzzed, like she’d admitted, but she wasn’t that drunk. Her eyes were still focused, even if the pupils were a little blown.

  “Actually- I- I’m not very hungry. Not yet. I was hoping- there’s something that you could- I’ve been wondering. I mean, I could use the favor. A win. It’s been a long time and- my last experiences were- god. This is so freaking embarrassing.” She went back to sawing away at her bottom lip and he couldn’t have that. Her lips were far too pretty for her to wreck herself.

  If there was going to be damage, he was the one who wanted to cause it. He imagined biting her there and his cock just about ripped through his jeans.

  Was she seriously asking what he thought she was asking? Maybe she’d had a few more glasses of wine than he thought.

  “I- I was wondering- I mean, I know you’re not a freaking doctor or anything, but I just wanted a second opinion. My ex-”

  “Butthole forehead dude?”

  “Yeah. That guy…” Noemi’s eyes searched the room wildly, landing anywhere but on him. “He said that- er- that I- had- he said that- that I- that I had an ugly… that my female anatomy was…”

  She let out a frustrated sigh and he didn’t interrupt her. What kind of response was there for something as strange as this? He felt like they’d just stepped through a portal into another dimension. He waited, watched while she chewed the hell out of her lip and finally put the rest of it out there while she made a production of studying the floor.

  “He said that my lady bits looked like a roast beef sandwich. He said it, as like, some kind of justification for screwing his secretary. It’s been a year and I- it probably sounds so stupid, but I- thought- that’s all I’ve thought about.”

  “That why you’re running from this arranged marriage?”

  Her head cranked up and her eyes landed on his face. It was a second before she realized he was joking and offered a lopsided, self-depreciating smile. “God. You must think I’m crazy. And no. No, that doesn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You’re asking me to check and see if- if I think that your lady bits look like something I’d have for lunch?” he asked dryly.

  Noemi let out a little gasp, like she wasn’t the one to stand there and start the whole damn conversation. The universe definitely had a sense of humor because this woman standing right in front of him was the one he was supposed to marry. The one who ran from him so she’d never have to be in the same room as him. Never married to him. Never in his bed.

  And currently she was asking him to inspect her lady bits.

  When she didn’t answer, he decided to fill her in on a little secret. “Sweetheart, let me tell you. Vaginas come in all shapes and sizes and there are few out there, at least based on physical anatomy, that I wouldn’t want to have for breakfast, lunch, or dinner, or any snack in between. So no, I don’t need to look at you to tell you that you’re perfect and that guy was a piece of shit. Gaping asshole, remember? He probably had a two-inch dick too. No offense.”

  Noemi twisted her hands again. She studied them, not him. “No, it was pretty small.”

  He choked back the urge to laugh hysterically. “You should never have listened to his bullshit then. He was probably overcompensating, and he was definitely just being an asshole because somehow his pride was wounded that you wouldn’t take his cheating, snaky ass back.”

  “So, you...”

  “I don’t have to check.” He winked at her again, just because the whole conversation was strange as hell, but she didn’t look up to see it. “Let me ask you a few questions. Does it have teeth?”

  Noemi’s head shot up again. “My- what? Does what have teeth?”

  “Does it have a third nipple?”

  “What are you talking about?’

  “Does it have scales and a ten-foot tongue that will grab me and swallow me whole in my entirety?”

  “That’s just crazy…” Finally, she was catching on.

  “If you answered no to all of the above, then your vagina is perfect. No need to check.”

  Noemi stared at him, her eyes burning. She stared. She didn’t blink. He stared back, but his eyes got dry fast and he had to blink. Still, she didn’t. She kept on staring.

  “I mean…” he brushed a hand through his hair. “I can double check. If you want me to. I just didn’t want you to feel that you- that I- I invited you over here for waffles. Not for… waffles.”

  “That’s confusing,” she breathed.

  “I’ll make it simple then. Do you want to eat or do you want me to eat you out? Waffles or waffles?”

  “Oh.” Her cheeks went right back to flaming, but her eyes darkened with a new, feral intensity. She backed up a step, out of view of the window that still had the blinds open, facing the street.

  He followed. She took another step back, down the short hall, and another, until she was just about in the kitchen. She didn’t look around to take everything in. She kept her eyes locked on his. She took one more step back and froze. Her hands went to the hem of her dress and slowly, she pulled it up past her knees, up her glorious, shapely thighs, higher, exposing a set of red lace panties that were the same exact shade as her dress, like they’d been bought as a set just to ensure that his balls imploded on sight.

  “I think I’ll take the waffles,” she said coyly, and pulled her dress up around her hips.

  CHAPTER 6

  Noemi

  Noemi officially had no idea what she was doing. Not only had she already made the worst of the worst decisions coming alone to a stranger’s house, she was now standing, semi-nude in his kitchen, showing him her panties.

  And he was staring at her like he really, really appreciated what he saw.

  This wasn’t just about Rob and his stupid comment. It wasn’t just about getting back up on the horse. It was, that for the first time in her life, she was doing something truly for herself. Something dangerous and daring, wicked and sinful. She wanted to do Cason.

  She’d always been a good girl. Done the right thing. She’d had her first kiss at eighteen. She’d thought she was go
ing to marry her first boyfriend. That hadn’t worked out, but she’d only done any fooling around after six months of dating. She’d waited until she and Rob had gone out for a couple months before she had sex with him. All her life she’d played it safe and done what she thought was right.

  She had plenty of regrets about her first boyfriend, who’d stomped all over her heart, and Rob, who had humiliated her and torn it out completely. What was the difference between waiting months to have regrets and waiting hours?

  At least with Cason, the sex might actually be good.

  The new Noemi, the Noemi that flew halfway across the country to restart her life rather than forfeit it to a loveless arranged marriage, wanted to be reckless. She wanted to take chances. She wanted to do something that made her happy.

  So, she lifted her dress up a little higher, raking it around her hips. She was going to pull it off completely, but Cason reacted, charging her like a bull seeing red. Red lace panties.

  He was on her so fast she didn’t have time to blink again before his big hands were at her hips. She was lifted easily, carried to the kitchen counter and set down hard enough to make her teeth rattle. Dishes went clattering into the sink a few feet away and onto the floor. Something spilled with a dull whomp onto the floor. The place smelled like flour and buttermilk and Cason’s dark, animal man scent.

  It was the best combination she’d ever inhaled in her life.

  While his hand guided her legs apart at the edge of the counter, his mouth descended to hers, crushing her lips brutally in a scathing kiss that left her breathless. They were blazing hot, just the right shape, and shockingly soft. He kissed her like he hated her and loved her at the same time. When his tongue butted up against the seam of her lips, she exhaled and opened her mouth, granting him entry.